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“He’s been gone too long,” said Stephen grimly. He stared out of the Sanctum’s library window, as if he’d be able to see his husband from across the city if he squinted hard enough.
Sensing his concern, Morgan stopped coloring and began to fuss. He heaved a sigh, long and deep, then crossed the room to where she sat in the corner. Hoisting her up into his arms, he began to sway with her on his hip. “Could you tell that I’m worried about Daddy?” he asked her.
She nodded.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sure he’s fine.” The words seemed to soothe her, though he could tell that she didn’t quite believe them.
She’d always been too sensitive to other’s emotions for her own good. Especially his and Tony’s. They didn’t fight often, but when they did, she was inconsolable no matter how hard they tried to hide their bickering from her.
Stephen continued like that for a few more minutes - walking around the room, bouncing his two year old daughter to hide his own restlessness.
Finally, he caved and pulled his cellphone from the pocket of his too-wide jeans. Had he put on Tony’s by mistake this morning? He glanced down at his feet. Yes, his ankles were showing. Definitely Tony’s. He’d change them later - it wasn’t as if the other man would mind. His husband had made it clear that he liked when Stephen wore his clothing.
After what felt like an eternity, his screen flickered to life and he tapped Tony’s face where it sat at the top of his Recent Calls list.
It rang and rang, and as it did Stephen couldn’t help but hum the ridiculous ringtone the other man had set for him: Baby Got Back. It never failed to make him blush, but none of his attempts at persuasion had convinced Tony to change it .
Finally, the line clicked over to voicemail:
“Hey, you’ve reached the private line of Tony Stark-Strange. I’m probably in my workshop doing something mind-blowing, revolutionary, and totally badass. I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Unless I don’t like you. In which case, go away and don’t leave a voicemail.”
Five minutes. He’d force himself to wait five more minutes before calling again. He waved a hand in a complicated gesture to set a timer, not trusting himself to accurately keep track himself. The glowing numbers hovered in the air beside him as he headed down the ornate wooden staircase, Morgan still tucked securely in his arms. Now was as good a time as any to feed her. It was almost 12:30, and she’d start getting crabby if he kept her waiting too much longer. Anything to keep himself from watching the seconds trickle away on that damn timer.
Tony had promised he’d be home in time to join them for lunch, and again Stephen felt a flash of worry before tamping it down for Morgan’s sake. Three minutes and twelve seconds left.
After setting her up with some reheated chicken nuggets and cooked carrots left from last night’s dinner - both cut into very small pieces - there was nothing to keep Stephen from watching the clock slowly tick down to zero.
1:12
1:11
1:10
1:09
1:08
Was he overreacting?
1:07
1:06
1:05
1:04
1:03
Tony was a grown man. He could take care of himself.
1:02
1:01
1:00
0:59
0:58
Who was he kidding, Tony was horrible at taking care of himself. Stephen was the responsible one in their relationship.
0:57
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0:53
He was the one who made sure Tony ate and slept on a regular schedule.
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The one who dragged him out of the shop when he’d locked himself inside for days.
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The one who made sure Morgan ate her vegetables and brushed her teeth.
0:42
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It was a wonder Tony had survived so long without him, really. He supposed he had Pepper to thank for that.
0:37
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He shouldn’t be panicking. There was no reason to panic.
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But he’d had a bad feeling this morning.
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He’d told Tony not to go. That he should stay home.
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But Tony had insisted. He’d said he had to, that there was no other option.
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And now here Stephen was, pacing the kitchen, because Tony was over an hour late.
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His heart was beating faster, harder, making his chest hurt with the force of it.
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Tony was frequently late. And it didn’t usually worry him.
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But this time he was definitely worried.
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His breaths were faster, shallower, making his lungs ache and burn.
0:13
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Tony promised that he’d be home by eleven.
0:11
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He’d promised Morgan that he’d be home by eleven.
0:09
And Tony never made promises to her that he couldn’t keep.
0:08
He forced himself to take a breath.
0:07
Just a few more seconds.
0:06
And then he could call his husband.
0:05
Another breath.
0:04
Screw it.
Stephen flung out his arm and stopped the timer a few seconds early. He pulled his phone out of his pocket with shaking hands and glanced toward Morgan. Apparently she’d found the ketchup on her plate to be much more interesting than the real food - she was happily painting sticky red squiggles and circles onto the hardwood table. He sighed. He’d clean it later. At least she was too preoccupied creating her latest masterpiece to hone in on his stress.
Stepping out of the kitchen, he once again tapped Tony’s face on his phone screen.
It didn’t even ring before the voicemail picked up.
“Hey, you’ve reached the private line of Tony Stark-Strange. I’m probably in my workshop -”
He hit the small red circle on the screen with more force than necessary.
Redial.
“Hey, you’ve reached the private line of Tony -“
End.
Redial.
“Hey, you’ve reached -“
Fuck.
“FRIDAY, text Tony.”
“What should I say?”
“Ask him if he’s okay.”
“Is that it?”
“Tell him that if he is okay and he keeps ignoring my calls, I’ll divorce him.”
Her Irish lilt held a hint of humor. “Will do, Doctor.”
Stephen huffed and walked back into the kitchen. Morgan was no longer smearing ketchup onto the table. No, she had moved onto bigger, better things: the floor.
Hearing his footsteps, she looked up at him and flashed a wide grin. It was so much like Tony’s that it made his heart ache. He gave her a small smile in return, though, and began stepping over the red shapes she’d traced onto the white tiles to reach her.
His heart rate slowed down a little once she was finally in his arms again, and he pressed a kiss into her chocolate curls.
“FRIDAY?” he asked. “Has Tony texted back?”
“No, sir. Though it’s only been forty-six seconds since I sent your message to the boss.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not waiting any longer. He needs help.”
By now, Stephen was almost certain of the fate had befallen his husband. And it was his responsibility to save him.
The beginnings of a plan blossomed in his mind.
“Morgan?” The sorcerer turned to look at the toddler in his arms. “Want to help me rescue Daddy?”
“Rescue!” she said cheerfully.
He smiled, ruffling her hair affectionately. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He turned to sit her down on the kitchen counter, and felt a blob of ketchup squish under his sock. The sorcerer sighed, but didn’t take the time to clean his foot or the floor. He couldn’t afford to let his mild disgust distract him from the mission.
“This will tickle a little,” he warned Morgan. “But it won’t hurt, I promise. Are you ready?”
“Ready!” she parroted back to him.
Stephen flicked his wrist, twirling his fingers as he did so. Instantly, Morgan’s face grew red, splotchy, and swollen. Even though he knew perfectly well that it was just an illusion, his chest still constricted a little at the sight.
“I’m going to open a portal to Daddy. When I do, I need you to start screaming. Scream and don’t stop. Like when we took away your markers last week after you scribbled on the Cloak. Got it?”
“Got it!”
“Good. So what’s the plan again? Repeat it back to me.”
“Portal. Scream. Daddy!”
“Perfect. Okay, here it goes.”
Stephen pulled the sling ring out of his pocket and made the portal, closing his eyes so he could picture his husband in the clearest possible detail. He didn’t know what Tony’s surroundings would look like, but he knew Tony - down to the small red spot where he’d cut himself shaving yesterday, the long raised scratches down his back that Stephen had left last night, and the look on his face this morning that had filled Stephen with a sense of foreboding.
A circle of orange sparks opened, presenting him with a view of a large room with blue walls, white ceilings, and bright fluorescent lights.
Morgan, true to her word, began to scream to holy hell as if the devil himself were hiding under her bed. He quickly swung her back up into her arms and pretended to stumble through the portal. A fearful, frantic look was plastered to his face. As he entered and began to speak, he glanced around surreptitiously. The sorcerer had passed on his chance to become an Avenger, and it wasn’t every day that someone out of the fold got to see their inner sanctum.
“Tony, where’s Tony?!” he yelled to overcome Morgan’s wailing, letting panic seep into his tone. Everyone else in the crowded room was stunned into silence by their arrival. He whipped his head around dramatically, searching the sea of faces for the one that was most familiar.
As Stephen had suspected, the meeting had formally ended a while ago; the heroes were broken up into scattered clumps around the room. His eyes skirted over Rhodey and Carol Danvers, Natasha and Clint, Wanda and Vision and Scott Lang and T’Challa. All of them staring in shock and concern.
Until finally, finally, he spotted his husband.
Tony’s olive-toned skin was frighteningly pale, his eyes red-rimmed, chest shaking as he struggled to suppress a cough. He looked even worse than he had that morning. Stephen’s heart melted at the sight, though he managed to keep his frightened expression from slipping.
He saw the engineer’s eyes snap up at the sound of his daughter’s cries and his husband’s shout. “What’s wrong, why is she screaming?” he choked out, unable to suppress the cough that came when he opened his mouth. He shoved past Shuri and Peter and Bruce, who’d cornered him against the far wall - likely talking about new tech or something equally unimportant - and hurried over toward Stephen and Morgan.
Or at least, Tony attempted to hurry. After the first step he began to sway dangerously, and Stephen was certain that it was only the man’s previous expertise in walking while heavily intoxicated that kept him from falling. Instead, he stumbled but managed to stay on his feet.
“Holy fuck what’s wrong with her face?” he asked once he’d reached them. He put a pale hand on his daughter’s cheek, eyes widening at the sight of her rash as she continued to wail.
“She’s having an allergic reaction,” said Stephen hurriedly and tugged him toward the portal. “Come with me, quickly.”
Tony obliged without a backward glance toward the Avengers, letting the sorcerer guide him into the Sanctum’s kitchen. Stephen caught one final glance of a crowd of stunned faces staring at them, before the doorway closed and the orange sparks fizzled away into nothingness.
“What do we do?” asked Tony frantically. “Is she dying? We need to get her to a hospital. Stephen you went to school for this stuff, do something!”
Stephen patiently ignored him. “You can stop now, sweetheart,” he said, and Morgan quieted instantly. He carried her back to the kitchen table, careful not to step in any ketchup. Once he’d set her down in a chair, he flicked his wrist and her face returned to its normal shade.
“I - you … how did you do that?” wheezed Tony. He picked Morgan up and cradled her to his chest.
She snuggled into the contact, burying her face in his neck. “Daddy!” she squealed happily, clearly thrilled that their plan had worked and he was finally home.
“Baby are you okay? Stephen did you fix her?”
The sorcerer took their daughter from his arms, balancing her on his own hip instead. “Don’t hold her, you’ll get her sick. You should be in bed. Go and I’ll make you up some soup.”
“Our daughter almost just died from an allergic reaction,” he croaked, “and you except me to go to sleep?”
“It was an illusion, Tony. If she was really experiencing anaphylaxis, her throat would have swollen shut. She wouldn’t have been able to yell like that.”
“Excuse me for not remembering those details from parent school when she was screaming and her face was the color of a tomato.”
“Well, as you can see, she is perfectly fine. Now go upstairs and lie down.”
“I’m fine,” Tony argued. And then he coughed - a deep, wet sound that shook his whole chest.
Morgan tilted her head up to Stephen. “Daddy sick?” she asked sadly.
“Yes, Daddy’s sick,” he confirmed. “And if he doesn’t go to bed soon I’m going to teleport him there.”
“So, wait, you -“ His words were interrupted by another coughing fit, body swaying dangerously with each shuddering inhale.
Stephen guided his husband into the chair with his free hand. He went willingly, which spoke volumes as to how terrible he was really feeling under all his pride and stubbornness.
“Tony, you know how dangerous upper respiratory infections can become for you. The damage that the arc reactor caused to your lungs is permanent, they won’t be healing themselves any time soon. It’s a miracle that last one didn’t put you in the hospital.”
“So you tricked me into thinking our daughter was dying?”
“No, I tricked the Avengers into thinking our daughter was dying. Worrying you was an unfortunate but necessary side effect.”
“Necessary? Why would that be necessary?”
Tony coughed again, and Stephen shot him an incredulous look. “They would have kept you there for hours, and you’re too hellbent on being their savior to resist,” he said. “You promised to come home early if you got any worse. Instead you’re over an hour late, and you sound like you’re on death’s doorstep.”
Morgan whimpered.
He stroked her dark brown curls and began to bounce her. “Shhhh, it’s ok, I was just exaggerating sweetheart. Daddy will be fine.”
“Stop fighting,” she sniffled.
Tony’s anger melted. “Why would you go through so much trouble just to save me from a meeting?” he rasped.
“For you, always. We love you, Tony. Even though sometimes you don’t seem to love yourself.”
The engineer ran a hand down his pale face, then sighed. “I love you both too. What should I tell the other Avengers when they ask about Morgan later?”
“You will be resting. I will tell them that she’s allergic to mushrooms. She already hates them, we might as well give her an excuse not to eat them.”
“Icky mushrooms!”
Stephen smiled at the child on his hip. “No more mushrooms,” he promised. “It’s your reward for being such a good girl and helping me rescue Daddy.”
The toddler beamed back up at him, then turned to Tony. She flashed a grin at him as well, but it faded to concern when he was sent into another coughing fit.
Once his breathing had settled, Stephen pointed toward the door of the kitchen with his free hand. “Go get some rest, for the love of all that is holy. I’m calling Christine for a prescription of antibiotics, and if you get pneumonia I will not refrain from saying ‘I told you so.’ I’ll bring you up some soup soon. Morgan, say goodnight to Daddy.”
“Night Daddy!” She blew a kiss to Tony, which he pretended to catch and hold to his heart as he exited the kitchen.
“Night baby girl.” He turned to his husband, and his smile grew softer. God, his eyes were beautiful, even when they were red and glassy with fever like this. “Goodnight Stephen,” he said from the doorway, then turned the corner and was out of sight.
Stephen set Morgan on the counter. “You didn’t really eat your lunch,” he pointed out, eyeing the abandoned plate of chicken and carrots, and the ketchup squiggles that he had yet to clean from the table and floor. “Do you want soup too?”
“Soup!”
“Chicken noodle soup for everyone, then.”
Stephen curled his fingers and twisted, and a large black pot appeared on the stove. She clapped at the display of magic, watching in fascination as soup ingredients began to fly out of the fridge.
Stephen couldn't help but smile. Though Morgan was technically the only child in their family, on most days she was easier to take care of than Tony. Still, he loved him. He loved them both.