Tony never really liked children.

Okay, no. That wasn't true. Not exactly. He liked them when they were calm and quiet, sometimes, if they didn't touch anything and if they were asleep in their cribs, or whatever the hell they slept in these days – he didn't know. But that was it. Nothing else. Nada. No more.

He didn't like them when they opened their beady little eyes and started crying for mommy, wanting nothing more than some titty to suck. He didn't like them when they started crying immediately afterwards – because of course they needed something else after the food, which he could never figure out. He didn't like them when they had to be constantly watched (really, it's a baby. How far can they get on their own?) And he especially didn't like them when they shit themselves. That was straight up nasty.

Honestly, he could never figure out why more parents didn't give the finger to repopulating the world and spend the rest of their lives sipping beer on the beach and having sex all day. That's what he would do, anyways. He'd take Pepper somewhere nice, somewhere warm (more so that Malibu, anyways) and they'd retire under the sun. Wait, scratch that. They'd go to Europe. Pepper would shrivel up and die under all those UV rays – he didn't want to hold a lobster at night. Jesus, the sheer fact that she managed to keep as pale as she did in southern California confused the hell out of him.

Just another thing to add to the list of what makes his mind dance stupid little circles around his head. Of course, the scotch wasn't exactly helping that little problem at this very moment. But the liquor did help keep those things people call emotions away from his heart and reality locked up in a nice little box in some corner.

Things had been absolutely fine this morning – dandy, in fact. Sunny, fall day, clear skies to fly back to Pepper and Malibu in, and a full day of absolutely no plans. Just how he liked it.

He'd been at Mack's – one of his favorite hole-in-the-wall bars he'd found when he was about nineteen – since seven, which was currently around six and a half hours ago. He was only halfway through his second drink, even though he wished he was on his sixth - his head was hazy enough without the alcohol.

He'd been down in the shop, head bent over the arm of one of his suits, when she'd hobbled down the stairs and through the glass door. Though he hadn't looked up to watch her, he knew she was in her robe and bare feet – there was no click of her heels. He hoped she was in some of that new lingerie he'd bought her for her birthday last week.

There was a moment of silence after the door shut behind her. "Can we talk?" He knew there was something different from the tone of her voice, but he ignored it.

He offered her a brief glance, quickly noticing that she looked exhausted – and clothed in old sweats – but didn't give any indication of truly listening. "Yeah, sure. What's up?"

She had crossed her arms as she let out a sigh. "Talk to you, not your suit."

"I'm listening. Promise," he assured her. "Tell me what's got that mind of yours spinning."

"Tony."

And she had said it so quietly and so weakly that when her voice cracked he could actually feel his heart stop beating in his chest.

He took a gulp of the scotch, immediately blocking out her voice. He didn't need to reminisce what was gone, what was never really even there. Steve would try to tell him otherwise tomorrow – of course he would be the one too – but this is how he was trained to think like, just as his dad did before him. He couldn't change the past, no matter how technologically advanced he was or what he invented, so don't mope over it.

Yet here he was.

Almost instantly, his head snapped up and the gloves he was wearing were thrown somewhere on the floor. As he approached her, he said, "Talk to me, Pepper."

It surprised him that her eyes were glued to the ceiling and not to him. Her body simply looked like it as closing in on itself and he was rightly terrified. A missile in outer space was nothing compared to this – the thought that she was shutting down. Or something of the sorts. He took in the whiteness of her fingertips from griping her arms too tight and the way that her knees were trembling beneath her. She was scared, too.

She still wasn't talking like he'd told her. "Sweetheart," he soothed as softly as he could while still pushing her to say something. His hands gently went to cradle her elbows. "You gotta talk to me, otherwise I can't fix what's wrong." Nothing. Except now she was blinking multiple times per second as silence overtook the room. It seemed as though she was now looking everywhere but at him, even though there was now barely six inches separating their chests. "What happened?"

He had dealt with an angry Pepper (on an embarrassing amount of occasions), he'd handled an exhausted one, a nervous one, a drunk one, a sassy one, and a sad one – but never once had he been faced with a petrified Pepper. She looked almost as though she was terrified to open her mouth – which made him question how she was even able to talk to him two minutes ago. Maybe it was the hormones.

He tried again as he rubbed her arms. "Do you want to go upstairs and sit down? Get some water? Tell me what you need, baby. Talk to me. Please." His words were losing patience as his worry increased.

She opened her mouth and he almost smiled at the action. Her eyes had settled on something on the wall behind him as she mumbled blankly. "I – um…" She stopped.

"Pepper," he urged, cupping the back of her neck and practically forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Tell me."

Her beautiful blue eyes welled with tears and there was something in there that he knew would absolutely destroy him.

He dropped his head as he closed his eyes, willing what had just taken place hours before away. The scotch in his hand was shakily brought to hip lips – unsuccessfully, this time – for the umpteenth time that night before it was placed back on the napkin. No matter how many he could try to drink, it wouldn't help anything tonight.

The bartender – Rick – slowly approached from the right side of the counter, Tony could tell without having to look up. "Last call, Tony," the older gentleman said. He nodded at the man as a wallet was grabbed and a fifty thrown on the table. He was notoriously known for his generosity at the place.

With a stableness that was normally vacant whenever he visited Mack's, he left the building and felt the crisp November air hit him like a ton of bricks. A year from now this month would hold a completely different meaning. All of them would.

"I'm sorry," she finally muttered with the last ounce of strength in her body as the tears began to flow. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." She repeated that over and over again, it was mechanical. The hands that gripped her elbows now reached out to lock onto his shirt, clamping down on it as she pulled him to her.

"Shh, shh" he cooed to her – trying to calm her as best he could – while he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her against his chest. "It's okay, I promise. I'm right here – talk to me. There's nothing to be sorry for. Tell me what's wrong." That's all she needed to do.

"I – I," she began to hiccup, her voice muffled from his shirt. "I'm sorry. I couldn't – it just – happened and I didn't know…panicked…"

That sparked his interest. He cut off her rambled with a curt question. "Pepper, are you hurt?" His grip tightened fractionally.

She didn't answer right away. He barely heard her whisper into his chest, "I'm not."

There was a moment of quiet relief before her words truly sank in. His heart began to pick up more speed as he asked something he really didn't want to. "Who is?"

Now, she was full out sobbing. There was no warning to it – something just burst. She lost the little stability in her legs as she fell into him, grabbing as much of his body as her hands could. He slowly lowered them to the floor as she wept and as slurred, unfiltered words left her mouth.

"Gone…couldn't do – anything…sorry…so – scared…no one home…sheets…not – unusual…gone."

As she cried, tucked under his chin, she never saw him pale as reality hit him square in the face.

Pepper fell asleep in his arms. It took her about forty-five minutes before she blatantly passed out from the energy it took to cry as much as she did. He was surprised she had any left at all. Nothing he did helped her – but in all honesty, he can't recall what exactly he did for the life of him. It was like his body went on autopilot as his mind began to turn a million miles per minute; it was almost like going into shock.

The first thing he thought of was why she didn't call him. Granted, he was on a completely different continent, but he would have instantly dropped everything he was doing (even if it meant the fate of the world) to come home and be with her. He hated himself for not knowing – he hated the situation. And he hated himself for putting her in that said situation – alone.

He didn't know what to do.

It was 1:48 in the morning and the self-proclaimed genius was slumped against a lamppost with absolutely no idea how his life had stopped in a matter of a minute. He knew he needed to go home, wake Pepper up during the worst sleep of her life, talk to her, and deal with this as husband and wife – that's just what a person did. But Tony was a selfish and proud man, and he didn't follow the rules.

He didn't care that he had just as much as a right to break down as Pepper did. He didn't care that she didn't mind his emotions – she welcomed them. He didn't care that this was something that friends and family should know because they're supposed to help him. He didn't care.

Miscarriages be damned – if they didn't play fair, neither would he.

Eventually, he found his way to a bench. It was just outside a park and if he squinted his eyes through the darkness he could see a hint of a playground. There was a slide and a swing set and all those damn things that made a family happy – that made the kids happy.

He and Pepper could be happy. They should be happy.

But life had a way of always finding a way to fuck him over, which consequently always found a way to hurt the ones he cared about. So no, Tony didn't like children. They ruined lives and never apologized. They hurt their fathers and destroyed their mothers because that's what they do. Always taking, never giving. He hated them – never wanted to look at one again. In fact, he never wanted to hear the word again because it would tear him apart. He knew he was being selfish and he knew that he was overreacting but he didn't care. Not one bit. This was his life and he wasn't about to let some fucking baby ruin it.

However, all it took was for the wind to howl out a whisper of a high pitched laugh – just the slightest trace of a young child – and all of his anger disappeared. Just the emptiness of what could have been his remained.

Bowing his head in his hands, Tony cried.

Good to be back to this fandom. Thoughts? Let me know!

~GD