fanficition cove

Originally written/posted: December 2011
Fandom: Avengers (2010)
Pairing: Steve/Tony (eventual)
Rating: T
Word Count: 3,116
Warnings: accidental baby acquisition, this fic has been abandoned
Notes: Not reread. This one was also never finished so this is all I have published of this one. Pity!

Tony has never been good enough for anyone.

It’s not something he spends a lot of time thinking about, because that’s when his thoughts start to get sticky, fuzzy around the edges, when the thirst for alcohol and motor oil gets so thick that it becomes hard to breathe, hard to think about anything other than the demons he’s tried to permanently leave behind. So he tries not to be over-analytical about the small things, because that’s usually where he runs into trouble, when his mind would process faster than absolutely necessary.

Tony’s a bad man without the liquid influence, and he doesn’t need the added help. And he tries to be a better person than his father was–who was only concerned with new inventions and dark, lost secrets swallowed by ice and snow. It’s what ended up tearing their little family apart (long before it was started, if he actually sits back and looks at the variables), and while Tony doesn’t have a family much to really account for, he doesn’t want to end up ruining himself–or rather, more so than he already has.

Tony likes to believe he’s better than his father, that he cares more, but with each passing day, his face becomes less his own, each new callous on his fingers making him more like the ghost that still haunts everything he does; waiting, watching. Almost like the shade is playing in the ruins of what Tony’s already destroyed, biding it’s time, eager for that next new path of destruction.

When his mind is too sleep muddled to really fight back, Tony believes that he’s good, deserving even; but on most days, not even the brightest, well-hidden fantasy can take him from reality. That’s one of the downfalls of being a genius, he supposes, the fact that he knows what’s real and what’s not real, what’s possible and what’s just seemingly so, surreal but not real to the point where it’s something to believe in.

On those days, he hates himself the most.

*

It happens on a Thursday. Or rather, she happens on a Thursday. It’s simple, really, it starts with a phone call, as these things often do. At first, it has to be a joke, a greatly played prank; there are many things Tony can be, but a father isn’t one.

There’s a nurse on the phone with him now, sighing impatiently into his ear, like she’s heard it all before. “Mr. Stark, Ms. Nove–”

Tony cuts her off. “I don’t even know who you’re referring to,” he says, because he doesn’t. That’s one of the horrible things about the strictly sexual relationship he keeps with most of the people he sleeps with, it’s a one time deal because Tony, on principle, doesn’t like to get attached–bad things happen when he gets attached to someone. Pepper things, things better left buried deep.

“Well, I’m afraid you must’ve known her, because it lists you here as the father,”

Tony takes a breath, a deep one-two kind of breath that pushes all of the air back into his lungs. He’s not going to panic here, that’s not what he does, at least not when it comes to situations like this, situations, that aren’t probably his to deal with anyway.

“This has to be a joke,” he tries again, fiddling with the pencils between his fingers. “Someone has to be behind this. Is it Happy? Did Happy put you up to this–”

“This isn’t a joke, sir,” she says, her voice gravely serious.

“How?”

“Car accident,” she says, automatically, like it’s something she’s rehearsed, and Tony realizes belatedly that she probably has. The thought doesn’t sit well with him.

“Your name is on her birth certificate,” she adds, when Tony’s silent for too long on the other end.

“What would happen – who would–” He doesn’t finish, but somehow she understands.

“Orphanage, most likely,” she pauses for a moment, considering. “Foster home, if she’s lucky.”

If she’s lucky. Luck had never been too keen to stay on Tony’s side before–the mechanical purr of the reactor is suddenly loud in the darkly lit space of his workshop, as if to draw emphasis to this, to make Tony more aware of the fact, a fact that he resents–and really, who says luck would be on hers? Especially with Tony’s genetics.

Tony doesn’t know her very well, not yet, not very much at all, but he isn’t about to take that chance.

“Okay.”

*

Pepper is supportive.

“This will be good for you, Tony,” she says, smiling at him in a way that suggests she has way too much work to do to be having this conversation, work that doesn’t involve Tony.

“I don’t think so, Pep,” he says, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk, heaving a put-upon sigh. “I’m kind of, you know, ill-equipped in the whole dealing with children department. They freak me out. They’re kind, uh, scary, I guess. Terrifying? Disgusting? You know. Not so very nice, kind of evil.”

Pepper smiles sweetly. “Kind of like you, Mr. Stark?”

Tony dismisses that, doesn’t rise to the bait. “Pepper,”

“There’s not much choice here, Tony. You either do or you don’t, and you live with the consequences of that decision. I know you’re not particularly used to those consequences; you push them away. But you can’t do that with a child, Tony.” She pauses for a moment, narrows his eyes at him. “I don’t think you would, either.”

But he could, which was what bothered Tony the most. He could ruin everything, her life, her personality, her future; he didn’t want something like that on his conscious, but Tony had never been the man not to try something. And this baby, no matter how much of a stranger she was to him now, was as much his as anything had ever been in his life.

He looks up, messes with the odd Ferris-Wheel type thing on her desk with his fingers, trying to hide that they were trembling. By Pepper’s quirked smile, she knows.

“I might fuck her up,” he says, honestly, too honestly.

“You won’t,” Pepper says.

Tony sighs into his hand, looks up into her pale blue eyes, and for a moment, believes her.

*

Tony meets her on that Friday.

If Tony got nervous, he would’ve probably been shaking, but because that didn’t happen, he isn’t. It’s like any other day to him, really, or he tries to make it seem that way, because don’t babies feed off of your energy? He’s not really sure, but the thought keeps him calm so he clings to it.

The room is small, white; plain. There are no decorations on the wall, save for a few small indents and scratches, rough with old age. There is a single carriage in the middle of the room, transparent and simple as everything else, and his heart aches. He can give her better than this, can give her absolutely anything she wanted, a real bed in a real room with real toys and real paint.

The baby is smaller than Tony thought she would be. She’s nestled under a thick blanket, her onesie poking out of the soft cotton. His breath catches in his throat when he sees her face for the first time. She’s beautiful, even in sleep; her pale, crimson flushed skin catches the light–it makes Tony’s heart jump into his throat–and her long brown eyelashes that feather across her delicate cheekbones.

“Precious,” he whispers, his finger barely grazing her skin. She’s too gorgeous to touch, almost.

“Isn’t she though?” Tony turns around, sees a nurse that is looking at him like he might just be kind of the most adorable thing she’s ever seen. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.

“She’s mine,” he says, wistfully, and turns back to her, almost fearing that if he looks away long enough that she might cease to exist at all.

“You must be Tony, then,” the woman steps forward, offers a pretty smile. Tony returns it with more ease then he’s used to. “I’m the nurse you spoke with on the phone.”

Tony nods, figured as much, and shakes her proffered hand. “Nice to put a face to the voice,” he says.

A few moments of silence pass, before Tony looks up as he realizes something. “What’s her name?” He probably should have asked before, but between being in denial and being utterly overwhelmed, the name got lost in the crowd of other emotions.

The nurse reaches behind the carriage, and pulls out a card: her birth certificate. “Raeann,” she says. “Raeann Stark.”

*

He doesn’t remember her mother’s name, or what she looked like, what she was like really, but in that moment, staring into Raeann’s bright, sapphire-blue eyes, Tony vows to never forget hers.

*

“If it’s the last thing I do,” Tony whispers to Raeann, looking down at her angelic face, soft and beautiful with sleep. He’s never seen anything more perfect. He’s never seen anything more his. “I’m going to do right by you. You’ll be the one thing I get right, I promise.”

Tony’s never been good at keeping promises, but now he really wants to try. And for the first time, he might actually succeed.

*

It’s like falling, free through space and time, no boundaries or gravity to hold him back. It’s kind of like being on the best batch of heroin, the strongest alcoholic drink.

If someone were to ask him what parenting was like, this is what Tony would have told them.

Oddly, Tony’s okay with this.