I hate hospitals: the smell of sterile, over-starched linens, the exaggerated presence of the color blue, and the way you never really know what the nurses are thinking. The waiting is the worst; God, I hate waiting. The foam and faux-leather exam room table I'm sitting on is uncomfortable, and I think I'm starting to lose my mind. The door I'm staring at must be bolted shut, because it hasn't opened since I was told to sit here and wait. It feels like I've been sitting here for a day. Apparently time actually stops when you're waiting to find out if you're pregnant.

Tony isn't with me. He's probably at home focusing on a project in his shop, thinking that I'm off running some work errand or attending a meeting. I didn't ask him to come, even though I know he would have. But instead I'm sitting in a doctor's office, agonizing over test results on my own. It's not that I don't want children, or that I don't want them with Tony. I love him, and we've been together in some capacity for so long that I honestly can't picture my life with anyone else. At times I've envisioned a girl with his smart-mouthed sense of humor, and a boy with his big, expressive eyes – that's the kind of thing most women think about when they're in love with someone.

Who knows if we're ready. Sitting here as I picture the man I love with a child that is part of both of us, I lose my breath for a moment and I can feel the slow grin forming on my lips. When that child grows, though, and is old enough to notice that his or her dad isn't home every night, how am I supposed to explain why he has to bolt himself into a metal suit of armor and fight for things that sometimes I don't even understand? Iron Man doesn't work a 9 to 5 and, well, that complicates things a bit. Things like his girlfriend possibly being pregnant.

When the door finally opens and the doctor strolls in, I seem to lose my breath all at once.

"Alright, let's see what we have here." He takes a seat on a stool in front of me and starts rifling through the papers in his hand: presumably the results of my blood test. He's silent as he reads; my lungs are screaming at me to breathe and my heart has somehow managed to get into my head, because I can hear my pulse throbbing in my ears. He needs to say something; I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to yell a bit when his silence starts to feel just a little too long. When he finally looks up at me, he smiles.

"Congratulations... You're pregnant."

Oh.

Walking into Tony's shop sometime later feels like some sort of hazy habit: like my limbs are not acting deliberately, but from memory. When people describe huge moments in their lives, they always say they're surreal or like some sort of out of body experience. I've always thought it was entirely cliché, but I have to admit that seeing Tony and knowing what is happening in my body makes me wonder—somewhere in the back of mind—whether I'm actually living this moment or if what I'm feeling is real. The floor below me could melt away, taking me with it, and I would be in too much of a daze to notice. Overwhelmed, I am full of questions, uncertainty, excitement, and fear. Tony meets my gaze from where he kneels by his Hot-Rod, tinkering with a new part he's installing. There must be something in my face that gives me away because in a second he's up and walking up to me with concern in his eyes.

"Pepper, what's wrong?" I don't know when I started crying, but he wipes his thumbs gently on my cheeks to dry my tears.

"I-uh, I have to tell you something."

It's the first time I've said anything since I was told I'm carrying our baby and all things considered, my voice is surprisingly steady. He takes my hand and sits in one of the chairs nearby, pulling me onto his lap. Closeness might not be the best idea for this conversation but I let it happen anyway. His hand rests on my thigh, his fingers stroke my knee and he looks at me in way that gentle way that says he loves me without words. It's simple – and lasts no more than a second- but I'm reminded why I'm with him, and how much we've already faced together.

I lean down and kiss his cheek because I can't help it. It's no secret to me that other women ogle my boyfriend and consider him to be sexy; he is quite present in the public eye, after all. What they don't know is how much more he is everyday. He's loving, considerate, and when he really wants to be he's romantic. He plants his lips on my neck and sighs.

"Can we talk before I get distracted by you and completely forget the art of conversation?"

I take a finger to his chin and make sure he's looking me in the eye again.

"We've never discussed what the future is going to be like for us." As I say it, his brow furrows as if he's confused.

"Are we about to have that 'where is this relationship going' conversation because I feel like we're not like most couples who need a definition." He pauses there and adds, "What I mean is that I'm pretty sure you're stuck with me, babe." He winks at me as he emphasizes that pet name and I have to laugh at him.

"Since when do you call me that?"

"I'm trying it on for size."

"And?"

"Not sure I like it. You might be more of a honey or a sweetheart. Maybe I'll be real daring and just call you Pepper."

"I think we're getting off topic here."

"Then by all means, let me know what the topic is." He's giving me that lopsided grin of his that has playful arrogance; I often hate myself for being so attracted to it because he's only encouraged to use it more.

There's a beat of painful silence and I rub my tired face with a shaky hand. This discussion could go in two very opposite directions and I have no idea which is more likely.

"Have you ever thought about having a family?"

He doesn't seem to give it much thought before he answers, and I can tell by the shine in his eyes that he's going to make a joke to avoid the topic.

"Well between fending off my hundred or so enemies and coming home to you, I don't have much time to think about anything other than the present."

"Tony." I'm hoping my tone will beg him to be serious. I need to know if he's thought about this in the way that I have, for some semblance of reassurance.

"Seriously?" he prods, and I nod. "Sure I have."

"Really?"

"I had a dream about it once." He smiles and looks away from me for a second, and I swear I see him flush. I mesh my fingers in his hair, silently encouraging him to go on. "I had a dream that we had a daughter. She looked just like you. But I woke up, and…"

"And what?" I can't let him trail off, because I have never actually seen this near unsettling sensitive side of him.

"Well doesn't every bad parent use the same tired excuse? Daddy issues."

"Tony, just because you grew up-"

"What are we getting at here, Pep?" He has no interest in rehashing the past. Suddenly I feel suffocated by our proximity, and I have to stand up and breathe deeply for a moment. When I face him again, that same concern that was etched on his face when I walked in the door is back. Now it's joined by a twinge of skepticism and I know that on some level he's already guessed what I'm about to say.

"I'm pregnant."

He nods slowly, as if he's trying to process the words, and looks down at his hands in his lap.

"But we were careful-"

"I know."

His face goes blank and he nods absentmindedly again. Needing to be face to face with him, I sit on the coffee table in front of his chair. On any day, I will confidently tell anyone that I know this man better than anyone else, but in this moment I can't tell what's going through his mind.

He smiles. He's actually beaming in that way that reaches his eyes, and for a second I am exhilarated because he's happy. I laugh in a breathless and blissful way because I can't contain it anymore. But soon enough his face falls and I know it won't be that easy. Before I can say anything he's up, pacing before he comes to a complete stop and just stands completely motionless. I can practically feel the tension exuding from his frame. The grin on my face disappears and suddenly I'm terrified of the conversation we're knee-deep in now. My hand has at some point come to rest on my stomach, a silent acknowledgement of what is happening in my body. I come to the realization that I want this baby: our daughter or son.

"Say something." I plead, the words coming out as quiet and cautious.

"I'm trying to figure out what to say." His back is facing me, and frustration is beginning to build up because I wish that he would at least look at me. He's close enough that I reach out and touch his hand; as I stand, our fingers lace together. I crave the contact because it'll keep him here with me and stop him from losing himself in the frantic thoughts in his mind.

"Just tell me what you're feeling, Tony." It's a long shot, I know. He's not the most emotionally articulate man in the world. But his heart has to be telling him something. I just hope he'll put it into words.

"Fear." His face is full of just that, and it's all I can do not to wrap my arms around him and tell him we're going to be okay.

"I told you, your father-"

"I'm not talking about that… Pepper, I'm Iron Man."

"Trust me, that's not going to be something I'll forget anytime soon."

"Then think about it." He pauses for a moment, as if to wait for my conclusion, but I just stare at him in silence. "I have an entire list of enemies: some I'm sure would take immense pleasure in making me suffer."

I open my mouth to say something, but sound gets caught in my throat when I realize what he's trying to tell me. Panic sparks and explodes in my chest, rushing through my veins like a jolt of ice through my blood stream. My hands quiver in his.

"You think that…" I can't even finish the sentence because somehow it would make the possibility all too real.

"What better way to get to me than to go after the only things I love?" His grip on my hands tightens to the point of nearly cutting off circulation and I don't know how to comprehend just how overwhelmed I am at the moment. I'm caught somewhere between the impulse to smile at his acknowledgement of the baby and the feeling of absolute terror. This time I know I'm crying because I can feel a lump begin to form in my throat before my vision blurs.

"God, damn it…" Tony groans, and the tears fall from my eyes because I'm not sure I've ever heard so much pain in his voice. My gaze follows his as he turns his head to glare at the suits he has on display in his shop. I rest my forehead on his shoulder and close my eyes.

He mumbles something more under his breath as he leads me out of the shop, up the stairs and to the nearest couch. I collapse onto it without hesitation, and sit up just long enough for him to join me before I curl into his side and he settles on his back. The way his arms wrap around my waist is just a bit tighter than usual, but he is gentle in the way he presses his lips to my temple. Moments like this are what I live for with Tony: when he strips away the extravagance and eccentrics and just lets himself be. These moments are extensions of the short glances of sincerity and honesty that he showed me before we were together, and it's in instances like this that I'm overwhelmed by how much I love him. He can be Tony Stark, Iron Man, or the face of Stark Industries everywhere else, but in the silence when his arms are around me, he's simply Tony and we both seem to breathe a sigh of relief.

My eyes meet his as I set my chin on the hand I have resting on his chest, and I try to smile at him reassuringly. Unsure as he may seem, he does also appear genuinely happy as he looks back at me.

"I'm excited, you know." He admits, his gaze turning distant, like he's voicing an internal monologue rather than talking to me. "I'm just apprehensive."

Tony does not admit to feelings of fear often (if ever), so I know it must be stirring in his mind on a far more fundamental level than he's letting on.

"Hey," my whisper catches his attention, "we'll figure it out. We can't just live life expecting the worst all the time."

"I know." He trails a hand down my spine and rubs a slow, lazy circle into my back. His laugh is breathless as he tells me, "I hope our kid gets your level head." I scoff.

"I love your unlevel head."

We lay there for a while longer, talking about the family we'll soon become. He tells me I'll be a great mom, and I feel the contented sigh that escapes him as I refer to him as a dad. We both admit that we have no idea what we're doing, but we'll learn together. Eventually he starts listing off some names that he knows I'll hate just to get me laughing, and I do until my cheeks hurt.

At some point, I guess I fall asleep because I wake up to his touch on my arm. When I open my eyes, though, he's not laying beside me. Instead, he's sitting next to me and looking down at me with a glint in his eye that tells me he's up to something.

"Where'dyougo?" my voice is full of sleep and my words are slurred.

"While you snored I ran an errand or two." His fingers entwine with mine and he brings them to his lips to kiss my knuckles.

Wait. My still napping brain wakes with a start when I realize there's something on my hand that wasn't there when I went to sleep. It's amazing that I don't give myself head rush with how quickly I sit up.

"Tony, what is…" The loss of words I experience is a direct result of my realization that there's a diamond sitting on my finger.

"That," he pauses for emphasis and grins at me in that impossibly endearing mixture of mischief and excitement, "is a ring. The jeweler got particularly excited about the quality- something about carats and whatnot- but I just wanted to see you wear it."

Still, I'm at a loss as I gape open-mouthed at the ring and back at him. It's a beautiful canary diamond sitting between two smaller stones, on white gold. It's stunning without being overstated, and for a second I forget just how shocked I am.

"It doesn't have to be an engagement ring or anything... I'm not just giving it to you because you're pregnant. Think of it as a symbol of what I said earlier: you're stuck with me." He leans over, kissing what I'm sure is a dumb look off my face. When he pulls away, his palm rests gently on my abdomen. Fingers sneak gently under the hem of my shirt and stroke my skin softly without purpose. He gazes down at his ministrations and smiles.

"Hey, baby. Can you get your mom to say something for me?"

"I love you so much." I breathe, because it's the only thought going through my head, and I pull him into a hug. Glancing over his shoulder in our embrace, I notice something more out of place, several feet away. I giggle and pull away. "Is that a giant stuffed rabbit?"

"For the baby." He says it simply and shrugs.

"You chose a 5 foot tall rabbit."

"In my defense, I don't think I've set foot in a store since I hired you."

"True." Feeling my smile tug further at the corners of my mouth, I reach up to graze my fingers across his cheek. The diamond on my hand glints in the light of a nearby lamp.

"What if this was an engagement ring?" The words tumble from my tongue before I can realize their magnitude.

"Did you just propose to me, Potts?"

"I believe you're the one who bought it."

"Still… I thought you'd never ask." He sighs dramatically with mock surprise and delight, a picture of a clichéd hopeless romantic. As I chuckle, he leans over and places a kiss to my forehead and whispers a gentle "love you". When my laughter fades and silence falls again, draping over us like a warm blanket, fear does not settle in. In this fleeting moment I'm not wondering what if or thinking of all the things that could go wrong. I am happy. And as Tony entwines his fingers with my left hand again, I know he is too.

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