Chapter Text
When you are born, you cry as the world rejoices. The objective of life is that, when you die, the world cries, and you rejoice.
Everyone dies. Everyone is born. Expectant parents know that, going in, that what is to come will all end the same. What comes, goes. From dust we come and from dust we will be returned. There will be a line on every tombstone, a dash of time between birth and death, that contains anywhere from minutes to decades of change, growth and memory. As a light grows, a shadow forms. Dust gathers on the mind, it constantly does.
At 2:58 on a Saturday morning in November, Pepper Potts waits at the seat of the toilet, drumming her fingers against her thumbs. A minute to go, and in that minute, endless hours of impatient waiting. The little white stick tips back and forth as her knees bob up and down. Her hair is tied up in a bun at the nape of her neck, and the shorter hairs stick to her skin where sweat has begun to prickle in anticipation.
The word appears without warning. She smiles, and her heart drops. It is wonderful and terrible and incredibly exciting.
"Oh," she says, running her finger across the block lettering. A tear runs down her face. Dimples form at her cheeks as her smile widens, and she wipes her eyes. Pepper makes sure to wrap the stick in toilet paper and take it with her so she can figure out what to do with it later.
◇◇◇
Tony has one sworn enemy, at this point and time, which continues to baffle and destroy him at every opportunity.
Baby shoes. Well, toddler shoes, to be more accurate. "They make high top converse for three year olds, can you believe it?"
"No, Tony. Don't do that to him."
Snow boots. They seemed to fit in the store, but are refusing to slip over Peter's growing toes. "Hey bud?"
Peter kicks his little legs up again. Tony rolls his eyes. "Can we stay still?"
Peter giggles and playfully kicks him again. Tony falls back on his ass and pretends to be deathly wounded by the blow.
"Oh God, you got me." Tony falls back the hardwood floor, brown and silver speckled hair fanning out behind him. Peter jumps off the chair and squarely onto Tony's ribcage- which, in truth, is really painful, and the man let's out a wheeze. This just spurns Peter on into a fit of laughter.
"Jeez, you're built like a tank." Maybe it's being enhanced and whatnot, but the kid is huge for his age. "Littlebit, now that you've given me a mortal injury, can I put your shoes on now?"
Peter lies on Tony's chest and props his tiny face up in his hands. He shakes his head.
"No? Really? I'm not gonna lie, buddy, that's greatly offensive. C'mon, chunk. Sit up."
Tony cups his hands under the toddler's underarms and hauls him up and on to the chair. "Let me get this one shoe on, and I'll get you a juice pop, yeah?"
Peter smiles. "Two."
"How about one for each shoe."
"Okay."
Pepper appears in the hallway. "Are you guys almost ready?" She eyes Peter's shocked feet and her shoulder sink. "Really? Not one shoe?"
"We worked out a deal."
Pepper crosses her arms.
"Sweets for good behavior. Just give me two seconds."
She laughs and shakes her head. "You've got to stop with the sweets. He'll get cavities."
Tony looks up, cocks his head. "Can he even get cavities? I mean, like, he's a super baby, right?"
Pepper's brow furrows. "Well, I guess, but I'd rather be safe than sorry."
One boot slips over the toddler's foot. Tony holds up a finger. "You'll get your juice pops after you comply, okay?"
Peter pouts, and manages not to kick as Tony pops the other shoe over his foot.
"I think I'm gonna have to build something to do this for me. Putting on your shoes is a helluva workout."
Pepper rolls her eyes and chuckles, twirling the key for the car around her finger. "I'll get the car warmed up- no juice pops in the car, okay? It gets it all sticky."
And that it does. Ten minutes into the car ride, Peter pulls a rogue juice pop from his coat pocket and begins to lick at it. Smears of the melted stuff end up all over the carpeted interior. They don't really mind. This wouldn't be the first time.
Tony and Pepper hold hands as she drives them to the hospital. They hold hands then, and later too, across the desk of the radiologist. The grip tightens. The worry increases. The warmth in Pepper's belly shifts and rises like smoke and burns her insides.
The thing is, we all come and go. We form out of millions of molecules and later separate and disperse into the same. But to find that the dispersal will come sooner, the dash on the tombstone potentially shorter, knocks the breath out of you.
The iceberg in the ocean in the path of the shop is found in the right breast. A mass the size on a plum, found on a night of fun. Soft and hard and movable.
"What's this?" He asked, gently pressing the lump.
She flinched under the covers, unaware of the pain before now. He lead her hands to the raised patch of skin, where she felt and felt and let the panic sink into her chest.
And the ship collides with the iceberg. Water pours in. Passengers abort the vessel. The captain stayd planted. Precious cargo remains in danger.
Peter doesn't understand what's going on, not really. He doesn't know what a mammogram is, or what it means, or what the BRCA 2 gene implies. He plays with the legos in the corner, and let's the words drift right past him.
The car ride home is quieter. Mom and Dad no longer hold hands. Peter's sticky finger grip the headrest of his mother's seat, and peers over the cushion. Her strawberry blonde hair waves across her eyes in the heat. Pete touches the sides of her forehead and wonders why she seems so sad.
He looks to his father, who has tears in his eyes, and wishes to reach out and wipe them away. It's such an instinctive feeling, a pull at the heart of a child so young, but so old deep in his heart.
Enemies like shoes seem so small as they step out of the car. Pepper holds her arms so tightly against her chest, and at first, one could mistake this for a brace against the chill. Yet, here, she is holding herself up and together, one touch or snowflake away from toppling over and splitting apart.
Winter wind stings her cheeks and her hair flies and twirls behind her. Tony lifts their son from the car and holds him against his chest. A morning so simple is far beyond them in the rearview. Peter sinks into the chest and watches his mother face the cold.
Her head tilts back to look at them, eyes and nose reddened. Her ginger eyelashes flutter, catching snowflakes in the feather grasp. "It will work out," she whispers, maybe to herself, maybe to her husband and child.
In truth, it wont. She knows what she must do- but she will need Banner's help.
For now, she must decide if and how to break the news to Tony. She smiles, an expression deceiving of faith. She knows her dash has been shortened. But she will not have the world weep for her as she rejoices.
In the quiet of the drive, she has made a plan. But she will work out the details later.
Peter runs his fingers through his father's beard, unaware that the world is about to change around him once again.