Inheritance of ash

Under the floarboard

The lab was loud.

AC/DC blasted from the speakers — so loud the floor vibrated.
Tony didn't care. He needed it that way. The noise helped drown out his mind.

He'd called Pepper his wife. Just like that.
Didn't even realize until the others pointed it out.
And now the word was echoing through his head, bouncing off the walls with every beat of Back in Black.

"Wife."

God, he didn't even hate the sound of it.

He tried to shove it away by working — or pretending to. He was surrounded by holograms, sketches, half-built armor, and the faint smell of coffee that had long gone cold. He scrolled through design ideas like he was looking for oxygen.

"Maybe... gauntlets that shoot boiling water," he muttered. "Could be handy. Burns skin instantly."

He frowned. "Or makes... tea. Great. I've officially hit grandma mode."

He swiped the idea away, scanning for another spark.
"Arrows?" he mused. "Oh, Barton would love that."

He smirked, but it didn't last.
No inspiration. No drive. Just static in his head.

"Trying to find new ways to make everyone's lives harder?" a voice asked from behind.

Tony didn't even turn. "What do you want, Rogers?"

No sarcasm. No bite. Just words.
And that was enough to make Steve frown.

He walked in, turned the music down a notch. Tony didn't look up, pretending to focus on a sketch that wasn't even a real idea.

Steve leaned against the wall, waiting. Watching.

Tony could feel it — that soldier stare drilling into the back of his neck. He sighed, spun halfway on his stool.

"What do you want, Steve?"

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Tony said too quickly, turning back to his table.

Steve crossed his arms. "Vicky?"

Tony stopped. Turned slowly. "Why would you think that?"

"The last time you were like this was when she said you weren't her father."

Tony's jaw flexed. "That's ancient history," he muttered. "And no. Not Vicky."

He crossed the room, grabbed a new pencil from the drawer even though the one in his hand worked fine. He hesitated a moment — then said it, voice quieter.

"I, uh... called Pepper my wife."

Steve blinked. "Oh."

Tony raised a hand quickly. "Not to her face. Relax. Just... in front of Vicky. And Thor. And Barton. And... oh, great. Romanoff." He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Perfect audience."

"Does that have to be a bad thing?" Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. "It's not. It's just—"

"New. Unknown. Scary," Steve finished.

Tony gave him a look. "You should really trademark your clichés, Rogers."

Steve ignored it, waiting him out.

Tony sighed. "Fine. You're right. Happy now?"

"Never happier," Steve said dryly. Then, gentler: "You and Pepper are having a daughter, Tony. That's more commitment than any piece of paper."

Tony gave a humorless chuckle. "Secretly still freaking out about that, too."

"That's allowed," Steve said. "But for what it's worth, you're already a great dad."