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Tony Stark sits in a falling apart armchair that someone shoved in the corner of a rather small hospital room located in the labor and delivery wing. Loki, of course, lays in the hospital bed, medical equipment strapped to every visible inch of her skin so the nurses and medical practitioners can monitor her heart rate along with the baby's oxygen levels and her progression through contractions and a million other things that Tony was only have paying attention to when they rattled off. Her back begins to arch as another wave of contractions rakes through her body. Tony's immediately on his feet and her side, holding her hand and brushing loose strands of hair out of her face. Her face twists in pain and a low groan escapes her lips. Tony peppers a few small kisses all over her forehead and whispers encouraging words in her ear. She falls back against the mountain of pillows one of the nurses brought her, her eyelids drooping from exhaustion. But there's a faint smile on her face that makes Tony's heart race.

"You're doing amazing, sweetie," he whispers, matching her smile. She squeezes his hand. "Almost there." She snorts. They both know that's a lie.

They rushed to the hospital a little after five in the morning when Loki woke up to her water breaking. Tony was so frantic that he didn't even bother changing the sheets or brush his teeth. He'd raced downstairs to grab the hospital bag and then raced back up the stairs to accompany Loki to the car. When they got to the hospital, they were met with the unfortunate news of Loki only being three centimeters dilated. But her contractions were so close together already (and, honestly, sounded like they hurt worse than getting Hulk-smashed (which Loki would know all about)) that they didn't want to send them home in fear of something happening on their way back. At least, that's what the receptionist told them. It probably had a lot more to do with who they were and what last name the baby would get.

And now, three hours later, Loki is still three centimeters dilated and in the worst possible pain she's ever experienced. Even Sleipnir wasn't this bad with all eight of his legs.

"She's stubborn, I'll give her that," Loki says softly, not feeling up to talking any louder. "Just like her father." Tony laughs and hangs his head slightly. "Daddy's little princess, I'm sure." She lifts her hand, all the wires connected to her lifting with it, and rests it on her bump, stroking the crunchy fabric of the hospital gown they gave her. "She already has you wrapped around her finger and she's not even born yet." Tony laughs under his breath.

"Huh, in the past nine months, I don't think we ever sat down and discussed all we want her to be." Loki raises an eyebrow. "You know, the back and forth banter of 'I hope she has your eyes' 'Well I hope she has your smile'?" Loki hums, closing her eyes briefly. Tony slips away briefly to drag the chair over to Loki's bed so he can sit down and talk with her and not have to worry about getting up every time she's having a contraction to be with her. He sits back down and takes her hand in his again."I hope she looks like you," he starts. She shakes her head.

"Children who look like me don't have the best track record, Anthony."

"Then we'll change that." Loki lets out a breath. "Just like we'll change our crappy upbringing by being the best damn parents the nine realms have ever seen." She smiles brightly, her eyes opening again, locking onto Tony's. He stares lovingly into her eyes before kissing her forehead. "So, yes, I hope she looks like you."

Loki shakes her head again. "I want her to have your eyes." Tony snorts. "Yours always look so warm and inviting. So full of love. Mine. . . Mine just look cold most of the time." He shakes his head before kissing her knuckles. "And your smile." Tony smiles. "Exactly. She needs that smile. And your brain."

"But my wit," they say together.

Loki raises an eyebrow. "Have I said that before?"

He shakes his head. "No. But I've known you long enough." She laughs before hunching over in pain. Tony coaches her through the contraction. "You okay?" She glares at him. "Well, besides the obvious." She huffs. "I'm sorry."

Happy (Belated) Birthday, Tony Stark!Where stories live. Discover now