Chapter Text
It was long past midnight when Tony crossed the Wakandan border. Exhausted didn't begin to cover his state of mind, but he refused to stop for fear that, if he took even a few minutes to rest, he wouldn't be able to keep going. And he couldn't stop when he was this close. He kept moving, kept smiling, kept rambling, all to bluff his way past the guards and be granted an audience with the King and his unofficial guests.
Surprisingly, Clint was the only one who showed up openly armed. But it seemed safest to assume that everyone else was, too. Tony's gaze skated over Sam, Scott, Clint, Natasha - and finally landed on Steve. All of them looked so cold, so unfriendly. Considering that they hadn't parted on the best of terms, Tony curled instinctively around the bundle in his arms.
T'Challa joined them a moment later, still fully dressed in spite of the late hour. He surveyed Tony for a moment, and then he asked, "What brings you to my doorstep, Tony Stark?"
"I... I'm..." All of the rehearsed words dried up in his head. He'd spent hours thinking of what he would say, the explanations he could give, and all of it was gone in the span of two seconds. Tony stared, not at the King, but at Steve, as though that would be enough. The silence dragged on.
And then the bundle in his arms started to cry. Frankly, it was amazing that hadn't happened sooner. Tony winced a little, tried to soothe it without letting on what was inside, because he didn't know if this was a safe place yet or not. There was a long, shocked pause, broken only by the pitiful wails, before Scott finally spoke.
"Are you carrying a baby?" He looked around at the others. "Wait. I'm not the only hearing this, right?"
"Tony?" Steve said, eyebrows high.
"She's yours," Tony blurted out, and okay, maybe that wasn't the best way to go about doing it, but he was just - he was so tired. "Yours and - and mine. Ours."
"And Stark has finally lost it," said Clint, drawing an arrow from the quiver on his back and fitting it to his bow. Tony had built that bow, once upon a time. He could still remember the grin on Clint's face when Tony handed it over to him. At the sight of it, or maybe at the unwanted memory, Tony flinched. Natasha silently reached out and set a restraining hand on Clint's arm.
"Ours?" Steve repeated. "Tony, I know the future has come a long way, but that's -"
"Ross was experimenting," Tony said to his shoes. There was a hole in the right one, his big toe poking through. His tongue felt numb, words tripping out. "He wanted the serum. He wanted - he tried cloning but none of the test subjects were surviving the process, see, we're not that far along and it wasn't working for him, so he thought that the next generation might be more diluted, more workable, and at the same time they could get a Stark that actually listened -"
"Not possible," Clint stage whispered.
"But we're both male," said Steve at the same time, looking at Natasha and T'Challa, as though they might offer up some words of wisdom.
"Science," Tony said, shrugging. There was a better explanation, of course. It had to do with a hell of a lot of research and some experimentation that was definitely illegal. But Ross had made it a point to tell him as little as possible, and besides that biology had never been Tony's strongest point. Especially not when he hadn't slept for the past five days. It was taking everything he had just to keep functioning at this point, never mind delving into a highly scientific explanation that only a handful of people would actually understand.
Steve scowled, crossing his arms. "How would he even get a sample from me?"
"Had sex since you woke up?" Tony said, past the point of being tactful.
The tips of Steve's ears colored, but he nodded.
"All it takes is one woman or man working for the wrong side. One condom." At one time Tony might've leered. Or smirked. Now he just looked at Steve, willing him to believe what was an admittedly ludicrous story.
"And I bet they had so much trouble getting your sample," Clint drawled. The arrow was still drawn.
"I didn't give it. They took it," Tony said without thinking. It was true, but he didn't like the frankly astonished look Clint gave him. Or the frowns that were beginning to appear on everyone else's faces. It was like looking at a crowd of strangers. He shivered, holding the crying bundle a little tighter, and wondered if this had been a mistake after all.
But he had nowhere else to go.
"Okay, this is way past the point of weird, but frankly you look like you're in shock and I think you need to sit down and maybe drink something warm," said Sam, squinting at Tony.
"I'm fine. I just - would you keep her?" Tony said, turning to Steve.
"What?" Steve recoiled, and Tony's heart sank.
This was the only place she would be safe.
"They grew her in a test tube," he said tightly, willing Steve to understand. "The others - she's an experiment for them, Steve. Not a baby. I can't keep her safe. I thought maybe you - please. Please." Tony hated begging. His voice cracked as his face flushed, but it would be worth if it Steve said yes.
"What's the matter, Stark? Not getting along with Ross anymore?" Clint asked.
Tony ignored him, ignored all of them in favor of staring pleadingly at Steve, and that was a mistake. He missed Natasha getting closer. She was like that even now, stealthy as anything, and he didn't realize how close she was until she put a hand on his shoulder. He startled badly, flinching and ducking his head over the baby, staying perfectly still in anticipation.
The whole room went quiet.
"Tony -"
"They called her Number 009-XP," Tony said before Natasha could finish. "I - when I took her, I thought - I called her Rita."
"Rita?" Steve repeated.
"Margherita," Tony said, and then - "Margaret." He looked up at Steve, but not at his eyes.
"Peggy," Steve whispered. It hurt, but it was just one more ache on top of the pile and Tony was numb by now.
He was losing feeling in his arms now, too. Numb on the inside and out. He carefully unwrapped the blanket. Rita's brown eyes were glassy with tears, like she wanted to cry and was too tired or too hungry. She stared up at him accusingly, and Tony - Tony felt like worst kind of monster.
"Please," he said for the third time, holding the baby out.
"Just where are you planning to go?" Scott asked.
Tony ignored him, watching Steve. Finally, after Sam nudged him pointedly in the back, Steve stepped forward and very awkwardly took the baby. He was all thumbs, holding her as though he expected her to explode.
"Tony, are you - Tony!"
The floor was comfortable, Tony discovered. And cool. He rested his burning face against the stone, every muscle in his body loose. There were voices around him, T'Challa summoning guards and people yelling his name, Rita's howls rising above it all. She was safe now, though, and that was all that mattered. His eyes slipped shut and he stopped fighting.
--
It was dark when Tony woke up. Dark and quiet. Too quiet. He jerked upright, arms feeling way too empty after weeks of holding onto something, and couldn't breathe until he spotted the baby. She was sleeping in a small bassinet right beside the bed. There was a new yellow blanket tucked around her. Her wispy blonde hair had been brushed, and she was holding onto a small, stuffed black panther toy.
She was okay.
The tension drained out of him in a rush. "Jesus, you scared me," he said to her, setting a trembling hand on the side of the bassinet. He'd intended to leave as soon as he found Steve, but apparently he'd been more tired than he realized.
Rita slept on, oblivious to his shaking, and Tony put his free hand to his face and sighed. Christ but he was a mess. He dropped his hand into his lap and looked around. The room was way too nice to be anything but a room in T'Challa's palace. It made sense, he supposed. They wouldn't want him here, of course, but they wouldn't turn out an unconscious man either. Even if it was Tony Stark. Now that he was awake, he should slip out quietly before anyone realized he was up.
As though sensing his intent, Rita stirred and began to whimper. It was a tell-tale sound that meant she was hungry, and something in Tony's chest ached. He'd never run out of money before; the cash Pepper had given him was long ago, spent on travel and bribes, and he was positive that all of his accounts were being monitored. He hadn't dared reach out to Pepper or Rhodey for fear of being found or getting them in trouble.
He'd never had someone depending on him that he couldn't feed. He knew what that was like now. In terms of fear, it ranked up there with being paralyzed while Obadiah Stane removed the arc reactor from his chest.
"I don't have any food. I'm sorry, baby girl," he whispered.
All of his millions and he couldn't even feed his daughter.
He set his feet on the ground just as she started to cry and pushed himself up. The room spun and a sense of nausea threatened to crawl up his throat. Tony swallowed the feeling down and, once he felt steady enough, gingerly picked Rita up. She was a tiny little thing, delicate, and even now he had the feeling that he could break her so easily if he wasn't careful.
It wasn't hard to find the kitchens. The castle was enormous, but Tony just had to follow his nose. It was late enough that the chef was gone, but the delicious smells remained. He held Rita in the crook of one arm and rummaged through the cupboards with his free hand, looking for anything that might resemble formula. Or baby food. What were the chances that the King of Wakanda kept baby food stocked?
The floor creaked behind him. Tony whirled around, seizing a knife, putting Rita between him and the counter and lifting the weapon threateningly. Across the kitchen, Steve stopped short and held his hands up in the universal pose of the non-threatening. Tony stared at him for a long time, heart pounding, before the realization that there was no threat (not yet, anyway, he didn't think Steve would attack while he was holding the baby) sank in.
"Sorry," Steve said after a long, awkward pause. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just - Natasha saw you leave your room."
Tony hadn't even noticed her. Jesus, he was slipping. He slowly set the knife back down. The light clatter startled Rita; she opened her mouth and let out the healthy cry of a hungry babe. It cut him to the core. Steve flinched, looking very much like he wanted to cover his ears.
"What's wrong with her?" he asked, way too loud.
"She's hungry," Tony said quietly. He'd imagined a situation not unlike this once. Their daughter crying because she was hungry, and Tony would climb out of bed to tend to her. Steve would follow because he was a dork like that, and they'd stand in the dark together, Steve's arms around his waist, Tony holding their child, swaying together while she ate. His throat ached at the space between them, notably because he didn't even know if he wanted Steve to come closer.
Steve looked at him like he was stupid. "Then feed her."
Fuck. Tony's hands trembled. He hid it by adjusting Rita, said stiffly, "I don't have any food."
"Why didn't you buy some?"
He'd never said the words out loud. His face grew hot with shame, and he couldn't look at Steve. "I don't have any money."
"You don't -" Steve cut himself off. There was a long silence. Then Steve swore, low and violent, like Tony had never heard from him before. His head jerked up, startled, but Steve was already moving, stalking over to one of the cupboards at the other end of the kitchen. He jerked it open and grabbed a box, swinging around to shove it at Tony -
Tony flinched.
Steve froze. There was another pause. Then, with what seemed like a lot of restraint, he said slowly and carefully, "T'Challa had someone buy this. Clint's been showing me how to feed her. She seems to like it. Do you need me to get it ready?"
"I - please." Tony had no more words left in him than that. He had no more pride. He sank into a chair at the table, watching numbly as Steve moved around the kitchen, prepping the formula and pouring it into a sterilized bottle. This wasn't a practiced thing for Steve; he was awkward and had to read each instruction multiple times. When the bottle was ready, he handed it to Tony from such a distance that they both had to stretch.
It didn't matter. Tony got to take the bottle, and he got to slid the nipple into the mouth of his wailing daughter, and he got to see the way her eyes closed in contentment as she sucked noisily. These precious few moments were worth it, worth anything, because it was all he'd have to remember after he left.