Chapter Text
part one: first light
assumed stability
December 1993
The first thing that Cassandra Gillespie saw when she was (finally) allowed up to her childhood bedroom after returning from uni, was a dress.
Not just a dress, but heels, jewelry, and a watch too. An entire outfit, hung up on display where she couldn’t possibly miss it.
Cassandra sat on her bed - cheeks pink from the frosty wind outside and still half glazed over from too many hours of studying for final exams. She stared, taking in the details.
The dress was Calvin Klein. Red, bias-cut, silk, with a neckline low enough to be suggestive but modest enough to be only suggestive. The heels were Manolo Blahnik, a season out-of-date. The watch was delicate but utterly featureless, as was the necklace.
Looking at it, she knew that this outfit was the culmination of her entire upbringing.
Cassandra Gillespie was not simply a second-year Philosophy, Politics, and Economics student in Somerville College at Oxford University. For as long as she could remember, possibly as long as she’d been alive, she had been raised and groomed for one job: knowing Tony Stark. Not knowing in the social sense, nor in the casual sense, but knowing in a way that spiders knew webs and planets knew gravity. She knew Tony Stark as well as she knew her own face.
This was not due to her own interest. This was all thanks to her mother. Once upon a time, in the bedtime story she was told growing up, Gertrude Gillespie had had the chance to know Howard Stark in his up-and-coming years. And she, a weapons manufacturing and defense genius in her own right, had stuck his nose up at him. That mistake, in addition to her gender, had cast her to the sidelines of the industry, where she had toiled to make a name for herself. Always five steps behind Howard’s ever-growing shadow.
That sort of failure did funny things to a person.
Cassandra had never received a standard British education. When most children were learning to count to one hundred and distinguish consonants from vowels, she had been studying multiplication and how to distinguish designer from off-the-rack. Meals had always been provided, she’d never had to question that, but if she’d wanted dessert, she’d had to make a compelling argument for it, citing her accomplishments for the day and all the reasons she deserved dessert.
The older she had gotten, the more tailored her tutelage had become. She had first heard the name Tony Stark when she was ten; but by her fourteenth birthday, she could recite all his preferences, his full class schedule at MIT, and every event he had attended within the last year.
Sometimes, she wondered where she ended and Tony Stark began. She wondered whether she liked chocolate sweets or whether she enjoyed them because he did. She wondered what kind of relationship she might have had with her mother if Tony Stark hadn’t been the mold around which it had been shaped.
In the end, it didn’t matter. Phenotype followed selection pressure, not aspiration. The fish didn’t lack wings because it didn't want them badly enough. Cassandra was and only was what she had been designed to be.
And here she sat, the cuffs of her denims cold and soggy from tromping through snow, staring at an outfit.
All she saw in it was seduction.
Tony Stark liked women. He liked women a lot. That said, he had preferences about the women to whom he afforded his (usually brief) time. The outfit should never outshine its wearer. Obvious, flashy women had to be singularly gorgeous to catch his eye; a woman hiding mediocrity behind glitz and glam could promise little once the clothes came off. Anyone less could only hope to ensnare him with intrigue.
Cassandra had looks, but she would never walk a runway. She had learned this deficit in her skillset at the ripe age of twelve (when her mother had tried to sign her with a modeling agency and money would only get them so far), and she had never once forgotten it.
The outfit offered the exact brand of intrigue that would work. Each piece was expensive but understated, suggesting that the wearer was neither new money nor desperate. The dress was shaped well, but the color and neckline avoided attention more than asked for it. The last-season shoes implied a disinterest in trends. The brandless accessories all but begged onlookers to look the other way.
Tony Stark would take all of it as a challenge. Why should he look away? What kind of woman didn’t want to snag his magpie attention? Why else would she be in the same space as him?
Cassandra stared at the outfit, tired and more than a little keen for a night of tea and reading and knew that the last ten years of her life had been leading to tonight. Tonight, she would have sex with Tony Stark.
All she could think, all there was for her to think, was this: If she completed her life’s mission and slept with Tony Stark, what would she be allowed to do tomorrow?
***
Obadiah didn’t often make Tony go to events. He was still working on his second Ph.D. after all and was a year away from taking over the company.
But, he had been in London anyway, because he was hoping to apply for a course of study at Oxford after he finished his current degree. A chance to get out of the US for a bit might help stop the nightmares that he had far too often of his parents’ deaths. Or, at least, his mother’s.
So off to some benefit for some great cause. He didn’t know. Or care. He just hoped the Scotch was good quality and that the women were beautiful.
Or Scotch that was drinkable enough that most women would be beautiful with a couple of shots in him.
He was pretty certain the evening would be boring.
And, for the first hour, that was certainly the case. He was so surrounded by sycophants that he had a hard time getting the amount of liquor he wanted into his system.
The conversation he was in had long ago lost his interest and he was bored and only half-listening. When he saw her.
A woman of average height (alright, if he was being honest with himself, possibly a little taller than him) and looks. Her dress was perfection. But that’s not what caught his eye.
It was the fact that she hadn’t moved. She had been staying still and simply chatting politely with anyone who came up to her. She hadn’t approached him. Or anyone. In fact, if he was not mistaken, she was just as bored as he was. And that dress - she wore it with complete confidence, and yet, there was just something off about it.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, possibly halfway through something one of them was talking about, as he made his way over to her.
“You look like you don’t belong here,” he said by way of introduction.
She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. “Whatever do you mean?”
He gestured around them. “Everyone else here wants something from someone. You’ve just been…standing here. Thinking about something. What are you thinking about?”
She downed the rest of her wine glass, glanced, just for a second, in another direction, and then gave him her full attention.
“I’ve been thinking about how regulation always lags innovation - especially when innovation moves faster than public understanding. It’s the topic of my thesis. And what gets me through these endless, boring nights.”
It clicked. She was there for him. How disappointing. Well, he wasn’t going to let her think that she would get the better of him.
“So. Are you here to congratulate me, criticize me, or convince me I’m trying to ruin the world?” He asked, amused, but already ready to move on.
“I was hoping to wait until you’d finished your drink.” She said without missing a beat, with a slight smile, looking at his glass that had been refilled by the bartender when he wasn’t paying attention.
“Smart. It’s better for everyone if I’m hydrated.”
“Better for everyone if you’re distracted,” she quipped back.
He laughed. A real laugh. Not the fake one that he had been using all night. Maybe things were interesting here after all.
“I’m assuming you’ve got an opinion on alternative energies. Everyone does.”
“Of course. Just not the one people expect.”
“Oh, I like surprises,” he said, not actually expecting to get one, but sure as hell willing to bet she’d try.
“Then you’ll hate this one.” She indicated for the barkeeper to give her a refill.
He raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”
“You keep talking about efficiency like it’s the goal.”
That was not what he was expecting. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s the accelerant. Not the outcome.” She continued when he didn’t say anything. “The problem isn’t how much energy you can generate. It’s how quickly it changes behavior once it’s cheap enough to ignore.”
“Energy changes behavior. That’s kind of the point.”
“Yes. And systems collapse when behavior changes faster than infrastructure, regulation, or culture can adapt.”
He takes a slow slip of his drink, suddenly not feeling the urge to be completely sloshed.
“So what? You want me to slow down? That’s not really my brand,” Tony smirked. Not that he had a brand yet. That would come. Soon.
“No. I want you to aim sideways,” she corrected.
“Sideways,” he repeated.
“Release paths that absorb demand before it turns predatory. Civilian applications. Transitional tech. Things that make the dangerous version that you’ve been working on… boring.”
He blinked. This wasn’t just some bimbo. She did know what she was talking about. Although he did prefer dangerous to boring.
“I don’t think I caught your name.”
She smiled wanly. “Well, I don’t need to ask yours. I’m Cassandra. Cassandra Gillespie.”
It clicked. “Daughter of Gertrude?”
“The very same,” she said, with a barely-noticeable wince.
Interesting. A rival’s daughter. His father had railed against Gertrude Gillespie many times. About how she kept sending spies to his organization to try to steal their secrets. How she was always a little closer to his heels than he would like.
She ordered another cocktail. Kir royale.
“I didn’t think that your mother was interested in this type of science.”
“Maybe I don’t care what my mother is interested in,” she said, a little too sharply, and she downed her drink. Oh, he knew that feeling.
“Maybe you don’t care, but I’m sure she does.” He realized, from the corner of his eyes, that her mother was carefully watching them. Cassandra noticed him noticing.
“She wants me to seduce you,” she blurted out.
“What?”
“Bloody hell,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth. “I’m gonna be sick.” She ran away quickly, already heaving.
Tony followed. Now he was really intrigued.
She stopped short just outside the woman’s restroom. “Are we out of her sight?” She asked, all-of-a-sudden no longer looking like all she drank was about to come up.
“Huh?”
“My mother?”
He craned his neck. “She can’t see us. I can’t see her.”
“Good. Look - I was going to try and go about this in a different way. But, I only have one year until I’m out from under her thumb. And I don’t want to spend that year pretending to be in love with you.”
Well, tonight was certainly not dull.
“Pretending?”
She rolled her eyes. “Pretending,” she confirmed.
He straightened his back. “Maybe you’d actually come to like me,” he purred in his best seductive voice.
She laughed. “You know - I heard that you were funny.”
“I’m hilarious,” he blinked. “So, what was the plan? Are you some sort of brilliant actress who memorized all that information about what I’ve been working on to - what? Get me into bed so that I would…”
“Tell me your company secrets,” she said, “naturally. Isn’t that how sex works? You have your way with me, and out tumble all of your father’s secrets?”
“Oh no, do they not teach sex education here in England? Because that is not the result of sex.”
She grinned, and he thought it was the first real reaction he had gotten from her. He loved it.
“And maybe,” he said, looking her up and down, “a night with you would be worth a secret or two.”
“Do you want to get out of here?” She asked.
Yes. Yes, he wanted that so badly. It had been ages since he had talked to a woman this interesting. Or anyone at all this interesting.
“Where to? Your bed or mine?”
Her eyes crinkled with a smile. “Neither. Someplace better.”
“Lead the way.”
***
For all the years that she had been forced to spend learning about Tony Stark, Cassandra was shocked to find that he was nothing like what she had imagined. Sure, he pretended to be, but she felt like she was getting glimpses at the real Tony.
They had been walking comfortably along toward her favorite spot in all of London, just exchanging small talk about their studies and comparing notes on famous professors they had both learned under. As they crossed a bridge across the Thames, the water flowed below them, dark and patient.
“So. Just to be clear, your mother sent you to seduce me.”
She snorted. “I think she’s been training me to seduce you my entire life. And I didn’t even make it ten minutes.”
“Honestly? Those are rookie numbers. I’ve had people keep the charade up for weeks. And your whole life? Wow. That’s just sad.”
She winced a little bit at the teasing rebuke. “My mother thinks attraction is leverage. I think she’s still mad that your father didn’t fall for her feminine wiles. If someone wants you, they’ll do what you ask.”
He hesitated just one beat. “That explains a lot of my inbox.”
The city hummed around them.
Not normally one to speak so boldly in a situation like this (although - when had she ever really been in a situation like this before?) she decided that she had nothing to lose. Leaving with him and telling Tony the grand plan was enough to be a disappointment to her mother. Why not add a little humiliation on top of that?
“You’re not…disappointed?” She asked.
“That you’re not trying to manipulate me? God no. It’s the nicest thing anyone has done for me all week.”
She studied him. He was walking with confidence, hands in his pockets. Even though it’s chilly in London and he was from California, he didn’t seem overly bothered by the cold.
Their conversation continued. Easy, especially now that it felt like the pressure is gone. She didn’t have to impress him. She didn’t have to pretend to be someone she was not.
And he’s, somehow, both hilarious and nice. Like he’s dropped a front too.
She stopped suddenly, taking in their location. “Would you like to see a part of the city that’s not trying to sell you anything?”
“Does such a place exist? If so, I think I need to see it. Maybe it can be monetized, and they just need a brilliant American to come in and tell them how to run a business.”
She rolled her eyes and led him to the Tube.
The Tube was busy in that half-awake way it gets before midnight - loud with laughter at one end of the carriage, utterly silent at the other - and for the first time all night, neither of them felt the need to fill the space.
“How many stops?” He asked at one point.
“Just two. Camden Road.”
They returned to their own thoughts.
Exiting the Tube station, the night felt open. Like anything could happen but nothing had to.
The first thing (and her favorite part of this walk) that happened is that they left the streetlights behind. The only thing lighting the night were the city lights, the moon, and the sparkle from the snow that had fallen the day before.
As they crunched their way up the gravel path, Tony seemed to grow impatient with the silence.
“Do you take all your failed seductions up here?”
“Only the ones I don’t feel like impressing.” She answered sharply, without hesitation. He laughed quietly. They passed a couple sitting farther down the slope, voices low. No one looked at them. No one cared.
As they approached the top of Primrose Hill she slowed and Tony matched her pace without comment.
“This feels illegal,” he commented.
“It’s not. People assume that just because it’s quiet.”
The city began to reveal itself. One ban of lights at a time.
“You know, if this were a movie, this is the part where I’d be expected to say something from the heart that would make the music swell.”
“You still can, I just won’t reward it. And no buskers are out this late at night in winter.”
He huffed a laugh. Didn’t continue on that train. She felt like she had passed a test of some sort as his shoulders relaxed.
By the time they reached the top, neither of them felt like they arrived. It was more like the hill finally let them stop.
They sat, shoulder to shoulder on a bench that they had swept the snow off of first, and faced the skyline. The wind tugged at Cassandra’s hair. Tony offerred his jacket out of habit, then paused.
She shook her head, already smiling.
They didn’t talk for a while.
And when they did, it was not about what this was - just small things. The way the city looked unreal from up here. How quiet could feel like permission.
In typical American fashion, he felt the need to get to the point, eventually. Or maybe he was just finally cold enough to want to call this quits. “So…just to be clear, this isn’t headed anywhere…where your mother might expect it to, is it?”
She shook her head. “No.” She considered for a second. “If this were romantic, I think I would have dodged out before we got on the Tube. From the discomfort of it all.”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t have held a conversation this long without at least trying to get you onto some sort of comfortable surface.”
She ignored that in favor of honesty, which scared her. “I think it is headed someplace solid, though.”
He gave her a sidelong look. “Good. I could use more solid in my life.”
They ended the night, walking side-by-side still, arguing about scientific policy and the effects of progress on the human condition. No ego or pretension or expectation between them.
***
Eight Years Later
Cassandra stood outside the Malibu mansion - fidgeting. She had been putting this off for way too long as it was, and waiting wasn’t going to make anything any easier.
The thing was that she wasn’t sure if she was more worried if he would be upset or if he would be happy.
Their friendship had only deepened over the years. They didn’t see each other often, but when they did it was like no time at all had passed. Her mother had died - oh about four months ago, finally setting her completely free. Tony had come to the funeral. And had taken care to see her whenever she was stateside.
She loved Tony.
Still not romantically. Sure, they had slept together, in the end. But only after they had established that it was because they both just wanted to feel…safe…for a bit. The most recent time had been about comfort, the intimacy of really knowing someone, and having a warm body to cozy up to. No strings attached.
Or at least, that had been the idea.
Oh, the irony that it was Her death that made this whole…thing…happen.
With a deep breath, she moved her hand up to knock. But, before she could, the door flew open.
“Cass!” Tony greeted with his million-dollar smile. He was in a Brioni - double-breasted, charcoal wool, cut so precisely it looked engineered rather than tailored. But his tie was almost careless - a navy Charvet grenadine, knotted loose like he hadn’t given it a second thought. “You should have told me you were going to be in town. I thought that you were in Thessaloniki at the Helios Accord. I heard that they finally saw some sense and made you the keynote speaker this year.”
“I was in Greece, but I left the conference early, Tony - ”
“So sorry, darling, but I have this benefit tonight and Obadiah has been on my ass about skipping all of the boring social functions. I mean, would it kill them to plan something that is actually fun? Then I’d be there anytime. But hey, take a load off, relax in the hot tub, I’ll be back in a couple of hours and…”
“You’re not going to the fundraiser.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I do like it when you’re feisty, Think Tank, but I’m afraid that…”
“Tony, I’m pregnant.”
That shut him right the hell up. She would have felt smug (getting Tony Stark to shut up was a remarkable talent that not many people had).
After he finished gaping at her, his face turned serious. “Come in,” he said.
***
He was shaken, she could tell. After he made a quick phone call to tell one of his people to tell one of Obadiah’s people that he would not be making it to the fundraiser, he had seemed a complete and total loss.
Tony removed his tie and headed over the bar cart. “You need a drink? I need a drink. I just got a Springbank 15 from Scotland…and shit, you can’t drink, can you? Crap, I’m already a terrible father. I am the father right? You’re not one to sleep around. Not that it would matter if you were. I certainly am, which is why this situation shouldn’t be surprising but I could have sworn that we were careful, even after…”
“Tony,” she interrupted his rambling. “Yes, you’re the father.”
He sighed and poured himself a healthy three-fingers of Scotch. Stoically, he sat down on the sofa. “Three months ago? Charleston?” He clearly was doing the mental math. Which she had done three dozen times over.
She nodded grimly. “Yeah. Charleston.”
“Hmm, we really took shagging to a whole new level. And here I was the naive American who thought it was just a dance.”
“No one has used shagging to describe the dance since the 1970s,” she said with an eyeroll.
“Hmm.”
“Look, I’m not asking you for anything. I’m going to keep it. But I thought you’d at least like to know. That you had the right to know.”
He stared at her some more.
“And I’ll do a DNA test. I know that…”
“Shit, Cassandra, you are the last person on Earth that would lie to me. Hell, I think you are the only woman on Earth that wouldn’t see this as a golden opportunity to trap me in marriage.” He thought for a second. “Crap. Do you want to get married? Because…”
She burst out laughing, all her nervous energy spilling out with that one ridiculous thought.
“Ok, first, rude,” he said.
“I don’t think we could even stand to date each other. Can you imagine marriage? You’re a narcissist with control issues and I – ”
“You are obsessive and rigid with terrible taste in fashion,” he finished for her.
For a moment, they stared at each other.
And then they both started laughing hysterically.
“You know I love you, but I can say that it is for the best – both for this child and you to never even mention us marrying again. I think my lawyers are just shaking at the very thought of the pre-nup you and I would have to create to make that feasible.”
Tony visibly relaxed.
“Ok. So. Let me summarize. We’re having a kid. You, the Princess of Respectability, and me, the Playboy Billionaire. You were so sheltered growing up that it only took half a glass of Chardonnay to get you drunk the first time we met, and me, who has been in and out of rehab four times…”
“Five times,” she corrected. “You always forget that stint you did in Tampa.”
He smiled. “Right. Five Times.”
“And I’m afraid that my family is not a member of the peerage. Lady of Respectability.”
“Your mom couldn’t buy her way in?”
She shook her head. “Are you kidding? Our family emigrated to the UK during the Victorian era. New money, through and through.”
“Hmm, how undemocratic. Well, there goes my mother’s hopes. I know she would have loved for me to marry into a title.”
“To disappointing our mothers,” she said, raising her non-existent glass in the air. He nodded and raised his own glass and downed it.
“Alright – let’s talk this out,” he said, “and we’ll do our best to keep all of our lawyers out of this mess.”
***
Tony had no desire to be a father. Or, at least, he hadn’t thought he did. Until Cass had shown up to his house and announced that there was a small life in her.
Oh, he was terrified.
It wasn’t like he had the best example growing up. Or even a mediocre example. Howard Stark had left a lot to be desired, and part of Tony was petrified of that legacy.
The morning (alright, afternoon) after she had shown up, he had decided that, for the first time in his life, he was going to have to take something absolutely seriously.
He found her in the kitchen, making coffee.
“Are you sure that you don’t want to get married? Because I think you deserve a diamond ring for this brew,” he said as he took his first gulp.
She just shook her head. No smart reply.
Uh oh, he thought, the time for banter is over.
“Now that you are over your shock and I’m over my nerves of telling you, we need to talk, Tony.”
He was tempted to make a joke, but he decided to just keep drinking his coffee. “Yeah. I know that we swore off lawyers last night, but if you’d like…”
She shook her head. “I think there is a time and place for lawyers, but let’s get them involved when you and I are a united front. I barely slept last night, and I’m not sure that you even went to bed before the sun came up. I’ve had some time to think. And I think you have too.”
Cass wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t sure what time he passed out in his lab, but he was sure that it was even later than he would have if he had actually gone out the night before.
“Let’s sit,” he suggested, gesturing to his obnoxiously long glass dining room table that had seemed like a good idea at the time of purchase.
She nodded, and, seemingly out of nowhere, brought out a notebook and pen.
They sat across from each other, each lost for words for a couple of minutes, when they both started speaking at once.
“You sure that…”
“What should we…”
Tony shook his head. He was used to being the one to interrupt, but this didn’t seem to be the time. He indicated for her to go ahead.
“I meant it last night when I said you didn’t need to be involved, Tony,” she said, “but if you want to be, then we have a lot to work out. And I’m not talking about La Mas classes and birth plans. This kid is going to be famous.”
“And rich,” he added.
“Filthy rich,” she agreed. “And neither of us had the ideal upbringing. Mine was all bodyguards, background checks, and kidnapping drills, and yours was…”
“Being pressured to be perfect and then being ignored unless I did something that shamed my family name, then lots of yelling and an occasional belt.” That was an understatement.
“Right. And having every mistake ever made being broadcast for the entire world to see.”
He hadn’t even thought about the press yet. It should have been his first thought. His stomach sank.
“Alright, how do we protect the baby?”
“Have you told anyone else yet?” She asked sharply.
“Of course not! It’s been what - 12 hours?”
“I know you, you could have called Rhodey in that time. Or Obadiah. It’s big news.”
Another thing he hadn’t thought to do.
“I haven’t. Have you?”
“Only my doctor. My family’s personal physician.”
“Who is buried under a mountain of NDAs?”
“And patient-client privilege.”
“Yeah. That’s safe. What are you saying - we keep this under wraps? Is that even possible?” Or even advisable? He wondered. He didn’t want any child of his to think that he was ashamed of them. But he also didn’t want the pressure.
“I think so. I’ve done some pretty extensive research. The first step is the name.”
“Surely it’s too early for that - do you even know if it’s a boy or a girl?”
She rolled her eyes at him. Right, she would have told him if she knew.
“No. Not the first name. The last. I don’t think they should have yours or mine.”
He startled. “What?”
“It’s easiest if their name - on their birth certificate - is not Gillespie or Stark.”
“But…” he heard his father’s voice in his head. Stark men are made of iron, he had always said. But what if this child wasn’t a Stark?
“It could be changed later, if they want,” she said, “but to keep this a secret for as long as possible…”
“What last name would they have then?”
Cass looked thoughtful. “It doesn’t really matter to me. But I know how important your family was to you. So I was thinking - what about Carbonell?”
“My mother’s name?” he blurted out.
“Yeah. More obscure and less known than my mother’s maiden name. And I also want you to create a fake papertrail for us. Don’t take this the wrong way, but, for records, I think you and I should also be Carbonells. What about Steven and Lillian?”
He shuddered. “Not Steven,” he said sharply.
“Right,” she said, “I forgot about that.”
By that, she meant Howard’s lifelong obsession with finding Steve Rogers. It drove him to drink. It made him mean. And Tony wasn’t convinced that his father hadn’t loved the dead man more than he had loved his only son.
“Antonia and Casper,” he said with a smirk.
She gave him a crack of a smile. “Sure. For now. You good with this?”
He was. He couldn’t help but think of the times he had wished his last name had been anything except Stark.
They talked for the rest of the day, only pausing for a couple of food breaks. By the time the clock struck midnight, there was a plan.
Cassandra would move, publicly, to LA. Move the headquarters of her company here. It was as good of a place as any and certainly not as dreary as London.
Tony would create the paper trail. Fake identities for them both. They would have a marriage license, fake degrees, fake jobs, and a real mortgage under those names.
The child would be raised in a nice home that wasn’t a sprawling mansion or a shiny penthouse. They would both have public liaisons (not that Tony’s were ever very private anyway) and rarely be seen together in public. It was well known that they were friends, but they didn’t want there to be any suspicion that they were anything more to each other.
And the list of people who knew about the baby would be minuscule. Two people each to begin with.
Cassandra’s Aunt Lucy and her best friend Jennifer.
Tony would tell Rhodey. And Obadiah.
Security teams and nannies would come into play later, but, for now, that was it.
“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” He asked, wondering if this was some sort of dream. A weird dream, sure, but not a bad one.
She smiled. Nearly glowing, looking happier than he thought he had ever seen her.
“Yeah. We are.” She pulled his hand towards her (still flat) stomach.
“Tony Stark, meet your child.”
Even though he couldn’t feel anything from her body, he felt a warmth in his heart. “Hey buddy,” he said. “Love you.”