Inheritance of ash

hypothetically

She stopped in front of him and took his hand—his twitching, restless hand—and laced her fingers through his.

"You're not mad?" she asked gently.

Tony shook his head, eyes glassy. "I'm scared."

Pepper squeezed his hand. "Me too."

He looked down, then back up at her, eyes searching hers like they were the only solid thing in the room. "When were you gonna tell me?"

"I was trying to find the right time. I didn't want to make it... bigger than it already felt." She smiled faintly, bittersweet. "And then I realized with you? There's never a right time. You'd just short-circuit no matter when I told you."

Tony blinked. "...That's fair."

There was a long pause. His thumb brushed gently over her knuckles.

Finally, he asked, voice barely above a whisper: "So, we're doing this? A kid?"

Pepper looked at him, her smile blooming slow and full now, hand warm in his. "Looks like we are."

Tony didn't say anything. He just stepped forward, closed the distance between them, and buried his face in the side of her neck.

Pepper let him stay there. One hand moving up to his hair. The other still gripping his fingers tight.

Then there was a knock on the door.

A soft, quick little rhythm. Almost musical.

Tony pulled back from Pepper slowly, reluctant to let go of the quiet.

Pepper raised an eyebrow. "You expecting someone?"

Tony blinked. "Not unless Clint's started bringing cookies as apologies."

The door creaked open.

And in peeked Vicky.

Her expression was unlike anything either of them had seen on her. There was something about her smile — open, wide, so genuinely joyful — it lit up the room in a way even the arc reactor couldn't.

"Hey," she said, voice light. "Sorry—wasn't sure if I could come up yet. I, uh... figured I might've accidentally ruined your moment."

Tony blinked. "You didn't—how did you even—?"

"There's also the option of taking the elevator," she said, grinning, stepping in. "But, everyone saw you sprint like a roadrunner with tax fraud, and it did make it more entertaining."

Pepper laughed softly, hand covering her mouth. Tony looked vaguely betrayed.

Vicky barely paused. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Pepper before either adult could react.

It wasn't a quick, polite hug.

It was full-body. Firm. Heartfelt.

Pepper blinked, stunned for a second—then melted. She wrapped her arms around Vicky in return, her cheek pressing gently to the girl's hair.

"Congratulations," Vicky murmured, her voice muffled against Pepper's shoulder. "I'm so happy for you. Both of you."

Tony stared at them, something tight tugging at his chest. He didn't speak.

When Vicky pulled back, she was still smiling. That bright, rare smile that only showed up when the weight in her chest wasn't winning.

"How many weeks?" she asked.

Pepper hesitated, then said softly, "Six."

"I knew it," Vicky beamed. "I knew it. I mean, I was the first one to figure it out in the panic room."