Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rose

The elevator doors open with their usual polite chime, the kind that tries to pretend everything inside this building runs on harmony instead of catastrophic science. At Stark Tower, even the air hums like it’s waiting for Tony to accidentally cause a small apocalypse. My unofficial job is to keep that apocalypse from becoming permanent.

“Morning, Rosie.” Clint greets me with a lazy salute as he passes, still chewing on something that looks suspiciously like leftover pizza.

“Training in twenty,” I remind him, tapping my tablet. “Tell Nat he’s late.”

He groans but obeys. They always obey. I didn’t ask for authority, but somewhere along the line, I became the Tower’s gravity—everyone falls into orbit eventually.

Normally, I’d feel the familiar thrum of pride at that. Today, my stomach tightens, a twisting ribbon knotted too tight. I barely slept. My ribs burn under my shirt when I breathe too deeply. I shift the strap of my bag so it doesn’t brush against the bruise blooming like spilled ink along my left side.

Baggy sweatshirt. High-waisted loose pants. Hair down. The usual camouflage.

I move through the morning protocol, efficient as ever. Check lab safety status. Review scheduled repairs. Text Bruce about the MRI machine he swears the AI still hates. Triple-confirm Sam’s physical therapy appointment. Pretend I’m fine.

I used to be good at pretending only when I wanted to. Now I perform it like a ritual.

As I’m keying us out of a false-alarm fire alert in one of the sublevels, the overhead lights flicker. Perfect. That means—

“ROSITA!” Tony’s voice booms from the lab, disembodied like an angry, technologically advanced ghost.

I sigh and start heading there. “FRIDAY, tell him I’m coming.”

“He already knows,” FRIDAY answers dryly. “He’s pacing.”

Which means something exploded, or is currently exploding, or is threatening to explode in about thirty-seven imaginative ways.

As I step into the lab, Tony Stark whips around toward me, wild-haired, smudged with soot, looking like a brilliant thundercloud in human form.

“There you are,” he says, and everything in his eyes softens. Just for a moment. Barely a breath. But I feel it like a warm hand pressed between my shoulder blades, steadying me.

“Lab fire?” I ask.

“Contained. Mostly.” He gestures toward a smoking metal panel. “But possibly angry.”

“Panels cannot be angry, Tony.”

“This one can. It’s been judging me all morning.”

I fight the urge to laugh. It feels too close to breaking.

Tony watches me carefully, almost searching my face. I can’t tell what he sees. I hope it’s nothing. I hope it’s everything.

“I’ll call maintenance,” I say, aiming for normal.

“Already did. I wanted you down here because…” He hesitates. Tony Stark never hesitates.

Because he noticed something.

Because he’s been noticing for months.

“Because?” I prompt.

He shakes his head, aborting the question. “Never mind. Just—don’t disappear next time I page you. The lab gets cranky without you.”

My pulse thuds hard. “I didn’t disappear.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“I was working.”

He knows. I know he knows. But he lets it go, because that’s the dance we’ve been doing. One misstep and everything collapses.

“Right,” he murmurs, but there’s a shadow in his expression. He opens his mouth again—don’t ask, please don’t ask—but FRIDAY interrupts:

“Sir, your 9:15 call is waiting.”

Tony sighs. “Saved by the bell, Rose.”

He says my name like it belongs somewhere softer.

I turn to leave. As I do, the hem of my sweatshirt shifts when I reach for the door. Just enough for the bruise along my ribs to stretch.

Tony’s breath catches.

I don’t look back. I can’t.

I keep walking. If I turn around, I’ll crack, and I can’t crack today.

Not until I know what I’m going to do about the test in my bathroom drawer at home.

Not until I know how to escape.

Not until I know if I can.

Tony

She’s lying.

Not in the big, theatrical way I’m used to. People lie to me all the time. It’s practically a sport for the wealthy and masochistic. But Rose… Rose lies like someone carrying a porcelain bowl in shaking hands: carefully, regretfully, praying you don’t look closely enough to see the fractures.

The bruise I glimpsed beneath her shirt—dark, fresh, painful even from here—hits me like an electric current to the sternum.

I sit through the entire 9:15 meeting without hearing a single word. Rhodey calls my name twice. Pepper texts me a string of question marks. I’m frozen in the image of that bruise.

It wasn’t the first.

It wasn’t the second, either.

God, I’ve been pretending not to see because I didn’t want to be wrong. Because if I’m wrong, I’m inserting myself in her marriage. If I’m right… Then someone is hurting her while I do nothing but count the bruises like a coward.

My mind drifts—no, yanks itself violently—back to the first time I saw her.

Flashback – Eight Years Ago

She walked into the conference room like she owned the place, even though she was just an intern and half the execs looked at her like she’d wandered into the wrong kingdom.

“Rose DeLeon,” she said, shaking my hand with a grip that told me she wasn’t intimidated by my rep, my tech, or the rumors. “I’ll be coordinating with R&D today.”

She had confidence without arrogance. Fire without recklessness. I nearly forgot my own name.

I knew, instantly, she was trouble—the kind that builds a home in the back of your mind and refuses to leave.

I spent months trying not to stare. I spent longer trying to make her laugh, and when she did, it felt like someone lit a lantern behind my ribs.

Then one day she mentioned casually that she met a guy at the corner store.

A week later, she was dating him.

A year later, engaged.

I was happy for her. That’s what I told myself. That’s what everyone tells themselves when they lose the one thing they never had but wanted anyway.

But I saw her wedding ring tremble on her finger during her first week back from her honeymoon. Just slightly. Just enough.

I still don’t know what that tremble meant. But today… I think I do.

Rose

By lunchtime, my nerves feel like frayed wires sparking under my skin.

I keep replaying Tony’s expression. That microsecond of worry. Tony Stark might be arrogant, reckless, impulsive, and emotionally allergic at times, but when it comes to the people he cares about, he looks at them like they’re stars he’s memorizing.

He looks at me like that more often than I want to admit.

I reach the quiet supply room two floors below the med bay, close the door, and lean against it. My sweatshirt pulls at the bruise again. I hiss softly.

My phone buzzes.

ERIC: Come straight home. We need to talk.
ERIC: Don’t be late.
ERIC: Don’t make me come find you.

My throat closes.

Last year, when I tried to leave, he held a gun between us—cold metal, colder eyes—and told me that I belonged to him until death.

I believed him.

Or maybe I was too tired not to.

But this time is different. Because this morning, in my tiny bathroom with peeling wallpaper and a medicine cabinet that squeaks, I stared down at two pink lines.

Positive.

There’s a life inside me. A life that deserves more than fear and rage and hands that bruise.

I press a palm to my stomach. It doesn’t feel real yet. Maybe it won’t until I hear a heartbeat. Maybe it won’t be until I see a tiny shape on an ultrasound. But it’s real enough to give me courage.

I whisper into the dim supply room:

“I’m getting out.”

The words taste like the first breath after nearly drowning.

Tony

I find her in the training room later, handing Nat a tablet with updated medical clearance forms. Rose’s face is collected, but her shoulders are stiff, her eyes too bright. She’s fraying. I can see it in the way she holds her own arms, like she’s keeping herself from shattering outward.

Nat clocks it too. Of course she does. She sees through armor even better than I do.

But before either of us can say anything, Rose’s phone buzzes. She reads the message, and every cell in her body seems to fold inward.

She excuses herself with some excuse that fools absolutely no one.

Nat looks at me. “You’re going after her.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“You breathe differently around her.”

I blink. “Do I?”

She arches a brow. “Go. Before Clint bets me twenty bucks, she cries in the stairwell.”

I don’t sprint after Rose.

I walk.

But it feels like running.

Rose

I shouldn’t be crying in a stairwell.

I tell myself that as I wipe at my face with my sleeve. But the tears won’t stop. They come slowly and hot, dropping onto the concrete between my shoes.

I’m tired.

So tired of hiding, of being afraid to breathe too loud, of pretending I’m not terrified he’ll show up at my job one day and drag me home.

I don’t hear footsteps until Tony’s voice arrives behind me—warm, low, and devastatingly gentle.

“Rose?”

I freeze. Of all the people, of all the places, why did he have to find me here?

I swipe at my face again, uselessly. “Hey. Sorry. I just—I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“You’re not.” His voice is soft but leaves no room for argument. “Look at me.”

I do. Slowly.

And the concern on his face nearly undoes me again.

Tony takes one step closer. Then another. He doesn’t touch me—he never pushes my boundaries—but he stands close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him like a shield.

His voice lowers. “Who did that to you?”

“What?”

“The bruise.” His jaw tightens with a fury that could power the Tower for days. “Rose… who hurt you?”

My breath quivers. A trembling thread.

No one ever asks that question. Not like this. Not like they already know the answer.

“I can’t,” I whisper. “Not here.”

He nods once. “Okay. Then come somewhere safer. Anywhere you want. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”

“I can’t leave now.”
More truth spills out.
“I have to go home.”

Tony’s entire expression darkens. Like thunderclouds stacking behind his eyes. “If you’re going back to him—”

“I have to.” My voice is barely audible. “But not for long.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Hope? Fear? Recognition?

I swallow hard. “I’m pregnant.”

Tony inhales sharply, hand tightening around the stair railing like he needs something solid to anchor him.

“Rose…” he says, voice roughened at the edges. “Come with me. Right now. We’ll get security. We’ll get legal. We’ll get the team. You’re not going back there alone.”

I shake my head. “Not yet. I need a plan. If I run too fast, he’ll follow. If he follows, someone will get hurt.”

He closes his eyes briefly, waging war with himself.

When he speaks again, the words come out like a vow carved into stone:

“You don’t have to do this by yourself.”

I look at him, really look, and for a fleeting moment I imagine stepping forward and letting him hold the pieces of me I’ve been gripping too tightly for years.

But I can’t. Not yet.

“Tony,” I whisper. “Please trust me.”

He exhales slowly, then nods—once, with reluctant surrender.

“Okay. But Rose? You call me. Anytime. Even if it’s three in the morning and the only thing you can say is my name. I’ll come get you. I’ll burn the whole world down if it means getting you safe.”

My heart aches in a place I thought had long turned numb.

I touch his hand—barely, briefly. Just enough to steady us both.

“Thank you,” I breathe.

I don’t know how long we stand like that.

But I do know one thing with terrifying clarity:

When I leave Eric, I won’t be running alone.

Tony

After she walks away, I lean back against the stairwell wall, pressing my palms into my eyes.

Pregnant.

Someone is hurting her, and now she’s nurturing a life inside her while trying not to collapse.

The anger that rises in me is volcanic. I’ve never wanted to destroy someone so badly. But anger won’t help her. Strategy will. Patience will. Letting her lead will.

Still… if he ever touches her again…

No. I stop myself.

She needs to be calm. Not fire.

She needs safety. Not war.

I won’t fail her. Not like this. Not ever.

I straighten, inhale slowly, and head upstairs to start forming a plan she doesn’t know she’s allowed to have.

Rose

By the time the workday ends, the Tower is glowing with warm lights, humming with its nighttime heartbeat. I should feel comfort in it—this place that’s been my second home for years—but all I feel now is the ticking clock.

I leave with my sweatshirt wrapped tight around me and Tony’s voice echoing in my head.

You don’t have to do this by yourself.
I’ll come get you.
I’ll burn the world down for you.

I shouldn’t want that. I shouldn’t need that.

But I do.

And as I step into the fading evening light, I rest a hand over my stomach, murmuring:

“We’re getting out.”

The child inside me doesn’t answer, but I imagine a tiny spark listening.

A spark that deserves more than fear.

A spark that deserves a mother who lives.

A spark that might be the reason I finally become brave enough to save myself.

Tony

FRIDAY dims the lab lights as I stare at a set of half-finished schematics. Not armor this time. Not weapons. Not tech meant for battle.

No.

This time it’s escape routes. Security loopholes. Legal options. Emergency plans. Housing alternatives. Things I have no right to make yet, but will need ready the moment she asks.

Because Rose Llanos walked into work today carrying a bruise she was too afraid to explain and a pregnancy she was too overwhelmed to face alone.

Because she looked at me like she wanted to trust me.

Because I’ve loved her for years and tried to bury it, and it’s rising now like something inevitable.

Because I will not lose her to fear.

Not again. Not this time.

I whisper into the empty room, as if she could hear it somewhere across the city:

“You’re not alone, Rose. Not anymore.”

And as the Tower hums quietly around me, I begin to prepare.

For her.

For the child.

For whatever comes next.

For war, if that’s what it takes.

Chapter Text

Rose

The Tower feels different the next morning.

I step out of the elevator, and the usual currents of chaos swirl around me the way they always do, but something subtle has shifted, like the beat of a song I know by heart is suddenly half a breath behind or ahead. Clint is arguing with Sam about leftover lasagna. Natasha is sipping coffee while threatening to beat Steve at sparring. FRIDAY murmurs status reports overhead.

Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place.

Except me.

Except for the secret blooming quietly under my skin, a whisper of life I barely slept thinking about. Except Tony, whose expression yesterday in the stairwell felt like an earthquake I haven’t recovered from.

I smooth my sweatshirt, adjust the sleeves, and head toward the morning briefing with the team. As I turn the corner, Bruce nearly collides with me.

“Oh—sorry,” he says quickly, stepping back with his hands raised. He always moves carefully around people, like he’s trying not to disturb air molecules. I’ve always appreciated that.

“You’re good,” I say. “You’re early.”

He gives a soft little shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

There’s something in his eyes—quiet observation, like he’s cataloging data points no one else sees. Bruce Banner is almost terrifyingly perceptive in the gentlest way possible. A still pond that reflects everything around it without judgment.

His gaze flickers downward. “Your arm… is that a new sweater?”

My stomach drops. He noticed. He always notices.

“Yeah,” I say lightly. “Laundry day.”

He doesn’t buy it. But he also doesn’t push.

Bruce operates with a kind of respect that feels like warm sunlight through shutters—soft, unobtrusive, but impossible to ignore.

“If you ever need a medical check-up,” he murmurs, “I’m around. We haven’t updated your vitals in a while.”

There’s meaning behind the words he chooses not to say.

I swallow. “Thanks, Bruce.”

He nods once, offering a small, genuine smile before walking ahead.

Something inside me settles. Just a little. Bruce knows something is wrong—he doesn’t know what, but he feels the tremor. And unlike Tony’s fire, which threatens to break me open because it’s so intense, Bruce’s quiet warmth feels like a blanket around a shivering heart.

Two geniuses.

Two men who see more than I can hide.

Two reasons I might finally be able to leave.

Tony

The whole Tower feels off today. Not the tech. Not the AI. Not any of the usual catastrophes. It’s Rose.

She’s moving through the halls like someone carrying a priceless artifact wrapped in fabric: carefully, quietly, protectively.

She’s thinking about the baby.

She’s thinking about the bruise.

She’s thinking about not going home one of these nights.

I haven’t slept much either. I was working on a stabilization device last night, something small enough she could keep in her pocket. Something that would alert me if she were in danger. I’m not ready to show it to her—it’s not perfect yet—but the idea of her walking back into that house without something feels like letting her face a warzone with bare hands.

During the briefing, I don’t hear a damn thing Steve says about team rotations. I’m watching Rose—not staring, not hovering, but observing the way I’ve learned to study a piece of delicate machinery that’s starting to overheat.

She winces when she shifts a certain way. She keeps one hand near her ribs. And she hasn’t touched the coffee sitting in front of her.

That last part crushes me.

Rose loves coffee. She treats the Tower coffee system like her personal kingdom. If she isn’t drinking any…

She’s protecting the baby already.

God.

“Tony,” Steve says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Are you with us?”

“Yep,” I say. “Clearly. Fully. Definitely listening to whatever I just agreed to.”

“Which was?” Sam challenges.

I point vaguely upward. “Morally sound hero stuff.”

Clint snorts. Bruce sighs. Nat hides a smile behind her mug.

But Rose… she looks down at her tablet, lips twitching, like she wants to smile but can’t let herself.

Our eyes meet briefly.

Something in her softens.

And something in me cracks wide open.

Rose

The briefing ends, and everyone scatters. I make a beeline for the med bay to drop off updated schedules. Bruce is there, calibrating one of the machines that always complains when Tony goes near it.

“Your readings yesterday were off,” Bruce says, adjusting something. “You okay?”

My heart thuds painfully.

“Just tired,” I manage. “Long week.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

He clears his throat, hesitates, then speaks again. “Rose… I’m not trying to pry, but… if your vitals keep fluctuating, I’m going to need to at least log it. For health reasons.”

Health reasons.

Pregnancy reasons.

Fear reasons.

“I’ll let you know,” I say.

It’s not a lie. I will. Eventually.

He nods. Then, almost too softly to hear: “You deserve to be safe.”

I freeze.

Bruce doesn’t look at me when he says it. He just continues adjusting the MRI settings, his expression calm, thoughtful, almost sad.

He knows. Maybe not everything, but enough.

I manage a whisper. “Thank you.”

He gives a small, gentle nod. “Anytime.”

I leave before I cry again.

Tony

I find her again at noon. She’s in the Tower greenhouse—her secret sanctuary that the team pretends not to know exists, even though I installed half the lights myself.

She’s watering the basil plants, moving with slow, deliberate motions that tell me she’s trying to calm herself the way other people meditate.

She doesn’t hear me come in.

Or maybe she does and doesn’t want to look up.

“Hey,” I say softly.

She turns, startled, but not afraid—not of me.

“Hi,” she murmurs. Her eyes look tired. Her shoulders droop. “Did something explode?”

“For once, no,” I say. “I’m here on… personal business.”

She raises a brow.

I step closer, carefully, giving her space to retreat if she needs it.

“About yesterday.”

Her breath hitches. “Tony…”

“I won’t push,” I say quickly. “I made you a promise. You lead. But I just need to know one thing.”

She waits.

“Are you safe today?”

Her lips part. Her eyes shimmer. She looks at the basil plant like it could answer for her.

“I don’t know,” she whispers.

Something inside me blazes so hot it’s almost blinding.

“Rose,” I say slowly, deliberately, grounding myself. “You don’t have to go home tonight. Not if you don’t want to.”

“I have to,” she says. “If I don’t, he’ll show up here. I need time. I need… a plan.”

I nod. “Then let me help you make one.”

She looks up sharply. “Tony—”

“No pressure. No pushing. No forcing you out before you’re ready. Just… options. And safety nets. And exits you control.”

Her throat works around a swallow.

“Okay,” she whispers.

Relief floods me so fast it’s dizzying.

She trusts me.

She finally trusts me.

“Good,” I breathe. “We’ll take this slow. You won’t be alone.”

The basil leaves tremble where her fingers brush them. Her whole body looks like it wants to collapse into me, but she stays exactly where she is.

She’s balancing. Surviving. Choosing.

I can wait.

Rose

By late afternoon, my nerves are shredded again. Eric has sent two more texts:

ERIC: Don’t forget what I said yesterday.
ERIC: Be home by six.

A shiver crawls up my spine.

Tony passes me in the hallway around five. He’s pretending to be casual, zooming past me on one of those hoverboards he built because walking was “too analog.” But his eyes flicker toward me with lightning-fast intensity.

It’s the look of someone memorizing your face in case it’s the last time he sees it intact.

I should go straight home.

Instead, something makes me turn toward the med bay one last time.

Bruce is sitting at his desk, reading something on his tablet. He looks up when I enter.

“Rose?”

“Can you…” I swallow. “Can you print me a copy of my last medical work clearance? I need it for… something.”

Bruce studies me silently for three seconds. Maybe four.

Then he nods and prints it without asking questions.

He hands me the paper.

Then he quietly says, “Rose… you don’t look okay.”

My breath stutters.

He continues, voice gentle and low. “You don’t have to tell me. But please… if you ever need someone calm around, I’m good at calm. It’s one of the few things I haven’t broken.”

A tiny laugh escapes me. Broken, he says. The man rebuilt himself from ruins.

“I’ll remember that,” I whisper.

He nods. “Good. Because Tony’s going to panic himself into circling the Tower like a hawk, and someone has to keep him from flying into windows.”

“Bruce—”

“He cares about you.” He meets my eyes. “We all do.”

I blink rapidly. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

I leave the med bay with shaking hands.

The Tower doors feel heavier than usual when I pull them open.

Tony

I see her leave.

I don’t follow. I want to. Every instinct in me screams to. But I promised I wouldn’t push.

Bruce steps beside me in the hallway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“You’re going to follow her, aren’t you?” he says.

“Not unless she calls me.”

“That’s… surprisingly restrained.”

I shrug. “I’m learning.”

Bruce gives a small hum. “Good. But Tony… be ready.”

“For what?”

He looks toward the glass where Rose disappeared minutes earlier.

“People like her husband don’t let go easily.”

My heart pounds painfully.

“I know.”

Bruce glances once more at the doors, then back at me.

“And Tony? When this blows up… you’ll need the team. Don’t do this alone.”

I swallow hard. “I won’t.”

But when the elevator closes behind me, when I step into the lab with nothing but the echo of her footsteps lingering in my mind…

I feel utterly, terrifyingly helpless.

Rose

The moment I step inside the apartment, I know Eric is angry.

The lights are off, but he’s sitting on the couch in the shadows, ankle crossed over his knee, hands clasped, posture too still.

“Hi,” I say carefully.

He doesn’t respond.

I walk further in, heart pounding so hard I feel it in my throat. I place my bag on the counter quietly.

His voice slices through the silence.

“You’re late.”

My breath catches. “By ten minutes.”

“You think that matters?”

I swallow. “I had to finish something for Tony.”

“So you’re choosing him over your husband now?”

My stomach twists. “No. I’m choosing my job. Please, Eric—”

“Don’t tell me what I can be upset about.”

He rises slowly.

And I know, instantly, that tonight is dangerous.

For me.

For the baby.

For everything.

My ribs ache beneath my sweatshirt. My palms sweat.

But somewhere inside me is a spark—small but steady.

A spark that whispers:

Not this time.
Not anymore.

I force my voice to stay calm. “I’m pregnant.”

Eric freezes.

The air thickens, heavy as wet cement.

“You’re… what?”

“Pregnant,” I repeat, stronger this time.

He stares at me with something like disbelief twisted with fury.

And then—

He laughs.

Laughs.

A low, cold sound.

“Perfect. Now you’ll never leave.”

A chill slices through me.

But beneath the fear… something sharp forms. A backbone I haven’t felt in years. A spine made of molten steel and fierce love for the tiny life forming inside me.

I breathe in.

And for the first time in months—

I don’t look away.

Tony

At 9:42 PM, I get a text.

From Rose.

Just one word.

Tony?

Everything in me goes still.

Then:

Please.

I’m out the door before she finishes typing.

Chapter Text

Tony

The second I see her name flash across my phone, everything else drops out of existence.

Tony?
Please.

I don’t need more than that.

My keys are in my hand before the breath in my lungs finishes forming. I sprint through the lab, past FRIDAY’s startled sensors, past a table full of half-disassembled arm plating. I’m in the elevator in seconds, punching the lobby button so hard I might crack the panel.

“FRIDAY,” I say, voice low, vibrating with adrenaline. “Trace her location.”

“Already did, boss. She’s at her apartment.”

“Call the team.”

“Message sent.”

I take the stairs two at a time before the elevator reaches the ground floor, because time has suddenly become a currency I refuse to spend.

My car is waiting at the curb—because of course it is—and I’m in the driver’s seat, slamming the door, peeling into traffic with a growl of engine heat and terror.

My hands shake on the wheel.

I don’t shake.

Not in battle. Not in explosions. Not when a world-ending threat is towering overhead.

But this isn’t a world-ending threat.

This is one man.

One man is hurting her. Scaring her. Cornering her.

And that terrifies me more than any alien invasion ever has.

Traffic tries to slow me; I weave through it. Red lights try to stop me; I ignore them. Pedestrians look alarmed; they’ll live.

Rose texted me. Rose Llanos texted me.

Asking for me.

Needing me.

God. I’m going to kill him. I’m going to—

No.

Stop.

She needs me to be calm.

She needs me to be smart.

She needs me steady.

I inhale once. Twice.

When I pull up near her building, I see two things instantly:

Nat and Clint are standing beside Nat’s car, tension in every line of their bodies.

And Bruce—calm, centered, clutching a med kit like a shield.

They came. They all came.

I slam the door hard enough to rattle the windows. Clint whistles.

“Subtle, Stark.”

“She texted,” I say.

That’s all I need to say.

Nat nods, her jaw flexing. “Then let’s go.”

Bruce places a gentle hand on my arm. “Breathe.”

“I’ll breathe when she’s safe.”

He meets my eyes, steady as a dock in a storm. “Then let’s get her safe.”

We move.

Rose

I don’t know what made me send the text.

Fear, maybe.

Instinct.

Hope.

Or the fragile, trembling belief that someone—Tony—might actually come for me.

Eric hasn’t touched me yet tonight. That’s almost worse. He’s pacing the living room, muttering under his breath, rambling about me “thinking I can trap him with a baby” and “trying to walk away from him like I ever could.”

My hands won’t stop shaking.

I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, trying to breathe quietly. Trying to think. Trying not to be sick.

He turns suddenly. His eyes lock onto my phone.

“Who were you texting?”

My blood freezes.

“No one.”

“Rose.” His voice sinks, low and venomous. “Don’t lie to me.”

Panic flares up my spine like a match striking dry tinder. He steps closer. I instinctively cover my stomach with my hands.

His gaze drops, and I see something terrible flicker there—something calculating.

“You’re really pregnant?”

I nod.

He exhales slowly. “Then you understand you can’t leave.”

My heart slams into my ribs.

He takes another step toward me.

And then—

A knock.

A firm, unmistakable knock.

Eric’s entire body goes rigid. He sends me a warning glare. “If you say anything—”

Another knock.

“Rose?”
Tony’s voice.

I choke on a breath.

Eric whispers, “Don’t.”

But my feet are already moving—small steps, trembling steps, but steps.

I reach the door.

And open it.

Tony

She looks… destroyed.

Not physically—although her ribs are clearly hurting her and her eyes are red and she’s clutching her stomach like a shield. But emotionally, she looks like someone standing in the aftermath of a fire, unsure how she survived.

I step inside before her husband can fully process what’s happening.

Behind me, Nat and Clint slip in with lethal smoothness. Bruce remains just inside the doorway, assessing, calculating.

Eric stands there—mid-thirties, angry, flushed, eyes wild with control that’s slipping through his fingers.

He takes a step forward.

Nat steps between them instantly.

“Don’t,” she says softly. It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.

Eric sneers. “You can’t just come into my home—”

Tony Stark is gone.

The man speaking now is something colder. Something older. Something forged out of nights staring at the ceiling, worrying about this very moment.

“Oh, I can,” I say.

My voice doesn’t even sound human. It’s metal and flame and restraint forced through clenched teeth.

“You threatened her.”

Eric scoffs. “She’s my wife.”

“No,” I snap. “She’s not your possession. She’s not your prisoner. And she’s sure as hell not staying here tonight.”

He steps forward. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“She does,” I say.

Rose looks between us—me, Eric, the team, the open door to safety—and her breath trembles.

She swallows.

And whispers:

“I’m leaving.”

Eric goes pale.

Then purple.

Then furious.

“You won’t make it out that door.”

Clint shifts behind me, hand subtly brushing the handle of a taser. Nat’s stance sharpens like a knife.

And Bruce…

Bruce steps forward.

Not aggressive.

Not threatening.

Just… steady.

“Sir,” he says quietly. “This is over. If you escalate, I will intervene medically, and you will not enjoy that outcome.”

Eric looks between all of us.

He sees what I already know: he’s outnumbered. Outmatched. Out of control.

He lunges anyway.

But not at me.

At her.

He reaches for Rose’s arm—

Nat moves first.

She grabs his wrist, twists, and sends him sprawling across the floor with a thud that shakes the coffee table.

He howls.

Rose gasps, stepping back, shaking.

Nat steps over him, stance relaxed but ready to strike again. “Don’t get up.”

Eric groans, clutching his arm.

“Rose,” I say softly, turning toward her.

She looks at me with a mixture of terror and relief so intense it nearly buckles my knees.

“Come on,” I whisper. “We’re going home.”

Home.

The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it.

Her eyes glisten.

She nods.

And she takes my hand.

Not lightly.

Not briefly.

She grips it like a lifeline.

Bruce steps forward. “Rose? Are you hurt?”

“A little,” she whispers. “My ribs.”

He nods once. “Let’s get you to the Tower. I’ll check everything there.”

Eric snarls from the floor. “You can’t take her! You can’t take my wife—”

I turn back, slowly.

My voice is ice.

“She’s not yours.”

And with Rose’s hand still in mine, we walk out the door.

Rose

The hallway feels like a tunnel opening into a different world.

My lungs ache with the weight of everything happening at once. My ribs throb. My legs feel like water. But Tony’s hand is warm, steady, anchoring me to something real.

Behind us, Nat and Clint stay close, guarding our exit. Bruce walks ahead, keeping pace with the elevator like he’s calculating every possible outcome.

When the doors close behind us, I finally exhale.

Just once.

Just enough.

Tony squeezes my hand gently. “You did it.”

I shake my head as tears prick my eyes. “I shouldn’t have needed you to come.”

“Everyone needs someone to come for them sometimes.”

My breath shudders.

The elevator hums softly as it descends to the lobby. The moment feels suspended in amber—fragile, luminous, terrifying.

Bruce speaks gently. “Rose? Any dizziness?”

“A little.”

“Pain?”

I nod.

Tony glances at Bruce sharply, worry crashing over his features. “Is she—?”

“She’s stable,” Bruce says. “But we need to make sure her ribs aren’t fractured and that the pregnancy isn’t compromised.”

A fresh wave of fear sweeps through me. I grip Tony’s hand tighter.

He steps closer instinctively. “Rose, we’re going to take care of you. Both of you.”

Both of you.

The words hit somewhere deep and aching. A place I’ve been trying to protect by pretending it didn’t exist.

The elevator doors open.

Nat and Clint flank us as we walk. Bruce stays close. And Tony… Tony doesn’t let go of my hand the entire way to the car.

Outside, the city air feels strangely crisp, like the sky knows something monumental has shifted.

Clint gets behind the wheel. Nat sits shotgun. Bruce settles beside me. Tony slides into the seat next to me, so close his shoulder brushes mine.

I lean into the seat, drained.

Tony’s voice softens. “We’ll get you safe first. Then we make a plan. One step at a time.”

A tear escapes.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

Tony turns toward me fully, eyes intense and tender all at once.

“You’re allowed to be scared. But you’re not alone anymore.”

Tony

She sits beside me, exhausted, in pain, terrified… but alive. Safe.

Her fingers are still woven with mine, and I don’t dare move them because the second I stop touching her, I know I’ll feel that sickening fear again—that fear that she’s slipping back into a place I can’t reach.

Bruce is watching her vitals subtly, checking her breathing patterns every few minutes, keeping his voice gentle whenever he speaks. Natasha keeps glancing back, her expression softening each time she looks at Rose. Clint drives like he’s carrying nuclear material.

The team is holding her.

But I want to be the one holding her most.

The Tower looms into view, bright and solid against the night sky. A sanctuary. A fortress. A home.

Her new home.

God, please let it be her new home.

We pull into the private garage. Bruce opens his door first.

“Rose,” he murmurs, “come with me to the med bay. Slowly, okay?”

She moves to get out, but when she shifts her weight, pain flares across her expression.

I’m beside her instantly. “I’ve got you.”

She nods weakly.

I slide an arm around her waist, bracing her carefully, mindful of her ribs. She leans into me—fully, trustingly—and it nearly steals my breath.

She’s shaking.

I guide her out of the car with all the gentleness I can muster.

Nat and Clint follow close behind.

The elevator ride is quiet. Heavy. Sacred.

When we reach the med bay, Bruce dims the lights automatically to keep the environment calm.

“Rose,” he says, “I’m going to do a full exam, okay? I’ll talk through everything.”

She nods, voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

I start to step back—to give her space, to let Bruce work—but her hand shoots out and grabs my wrist.

“Don’t go.”

The words hit me like a blow.

I step closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Rose

Bruce helps me onto the medical exam table. The room smells like antiseptic and quiet compassion. Tony stays at my side, one hand wrapped around mine, as Bruce gently lifts the hem of my sweatshirt.

The bruise sprawls across my ribs like a storm cloud.

Tony inhales sharply. I feel the tremble in his grip.

Bruce doesn’t react outwardly—just studies it with clinical precision. “Point to where it hurts most.”

I do. I wince.

He nods, scanning with a small handheld device. “Good news: not fractured. Just badly bruised.”

Relief softens my muscles.

Bruce continues, voice calm. “Now, Rose… we need to talk about the pregnancy. I can run a basic viability scan tonight. It’s early, so we won’t see much, but we can check for immediate concerns.”

My heart hammers painfully.

Tony’s thumb strokes over the back of my hand—slow, grounding, everything I didn’t know I needed.

“Okay,” I whisper.

Bruce prepares the equipment quietly. Respectfully. As if he knows the weight of the moment.

I lift my shirt enough for him to place the gel and scanner. The screen flickers.

A small, dim shape appears.

Barely visible. Barely formed.

But there.

Alive.

My breath breaks.

Tony watches the monitor like it contains the secrets of the universe. His other hand lifts, hovering near my stomach but not touching—not without permission.

“Rose,” he whispers, “that’s—”

“Our baby,” I murmur before I can stop myself.

His breath catches.

Bruce clears his throat gently, giving us space without making it obvious. “Heartbeat is faint but present. Everything looks stable. You need rest. Hydration. And zero stress.”

Zero stress.

I almost laugh.

Tony’s jaw ticks. “I’ll make sure she has what she needs.”

Bruce nods once. “Good. She’ll stay on the residential floors tonight. With security.”

My heart stutters. “Security?”

Tony answers before Bruce can.

“Eric is going to come looking for you.”

The fear hits like a punch.

Tony’s eyes soften with something fierce and luminous.

“And he won’t get near you,” he says. “Not with the entire Avengers team between you and him.”

My throat tightens.

“Tony…”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He shakes his head, eyes shining.

“No. Thank you for trusting me.”

Tony

It’s well past midnight when her breathing finally steadies into sleep. She’s in one of the Tower’s residential suites—my floor, because I wasn’t letting her disappear into some corner she could hide in pain.

Nat sits guard outside the door. Bruce left an hour ago after triple-checking her vitals and promising to return in the morning.

I sit beside her bed, watching her sleep.

She looks peaceful in a way I haven’t seen in years.

Safe.

Exhausted.

Brave.

My hand rests near hers on the mattress. Not touching. Not imposing. Just… there.

Ready.

God, she’s strong. Stronger than she knows. Stronger than I deserve to witness.

And the baby…

Our baby. No. Her baby. But the thought still glows warm and dangerous in my chest.

I whisper into the dim room:

“You’re home now, Rose.”

She doesn’t stir.

But her fingers twitch closer to mine.

Chapter Text

Rose

Sleep is a strange, fogged thing—too light to rest in, too heavy to climb out of. Every time I drift under, something yanks me back: Eric’s voice, the memory of hands pinning me down, the echo of the gun he once pointed at me. And beneath all of it, a heartbeat.

Small. Faint.

Not just mine.

By morning, I feel like a ruin wearing my own skin.

Tony knocks softly before easing into the room, like he’s approaching a wounded animal he doesn’t want to startle. He’s carrying a tray with toast, fruit, and a mug of ginger tea.

“Morning,” he says gently. His voice feels warm against the cold corners of my mind. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

The lie jumps out too fast, too practiced.

He sets the tray down on the bedside table, eyes narrowing slightly. “Try again.”

I stare at my hands. They’re trembling.

“I’m… holding on,” I whisper.

He sits on the edge of the bed—not crowding, just existing nearby like a lighthouse.

“That’s enough for today,” he murmurs.

But the words don’t reach me. Not fully. Because the moment the room falls quiet again, the memories roar back louder.

Eric’s laugh.
The bruise on my ribs.
“You’ll never leave.”

My breathing stutters.

“Rose?” Tony’s voice sharpens with concern. “Hey. Look at me.”

I do.

And something inside me—that fragile, exhausted wall I’ve spent years patching with fear and denial—cracks straight down the center.

Before I can stop it, the sob breaks out of me.

Ugly. Loud. Violent.

My whole body folds, hands flying to my face as if I can stuff the crying back in, but it’s already too late. My breath breaks into shards, my shoulders shaking so hard the mattress trembles with me.

“I’m s-sorry,” I choke out. “I don’t— I can’t— I’m sorry—”

Tony moves before the apology even finishes leaving my mouth.

“Rose…” His voice cracks, rough with something I’ve never heard from him. “Come here.”

He opens his arms, slow and certain and steady.

And I fall into them.

Not gracefully. Not carefully. I collapse, gasping, trembling, pushing my forehead into his chest as the sobs tear through me with no mercy left.

Tony wraps his arms around me instantly—firm, protective, grounding. One hand cups the back of my head; the other circles my waist with careful, reverent strength, as if he’s afraid I’ll break apart completely if he lets go.

“You’re safe,” he whispers. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The words unravel me more. My tears soak into his shirt, my breathing uneven and ragged. I try to pull away—some old instinct screaming that I shouldn’t need this, shouldn’t burden anyone—but Tony tightens his hold.

“No,” he murmurs. “Don’t do that. Don’t pull away. Not from me.”

His voice vibrates against my cheek, steady and certain.

“It’s okay to fall,” he whispers. “I’ll catch you every time.”

My knees buckle.

Hard.

He feels it before I do.

“Rose,” he breathes, shifting, scooping.

And then—

My feet leave the ground.

Tony gathers me into his arms, lifting me bridal style with strength that feels like gravity redirecting just for me. My arms instinctively loop around his neck. My forehead presses to his shoulder.

He holds me as if carrying something precious out of a burning building.

The sobs don’t stop. They intensify. My body shakes uncontrollably. My breath hitches in painful waves.

Tony just holds me.

Steps out of the room.

Turns toward the hallway.

Nat watches from her post outside the door, her expression softening with a mix of fury and tenderness. She says nothing as Tony passes—just steps aside and nods once in acknowledgment.

He carries me through the quiet corridor, every step sure and careful, until we reach a familiar door.

His room.

He nudges it open with his foot, moves inside, and lowers me to his bed with a care that makes something inside me ache.

Then he climbs in beside me—not lying down, not crowding—just sitting against the headboard and pulling me into his chest again. One arm wraps around me. The other strokes my back in slow, soothing arcs.

“I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.”

I bury my face into him, shaking. My tears slow only when exhaustion finally drags me under.

My last awareness before sleep:

His heartbeat beneath my cheek.

His breath in my hair.

And the way his arms never once loosen.

Tony

She falls asleep pressed against me—completely, utterly spent. Her fingers clutch my shirt unconsciously, like her body hasn’t yet realized she’s safe enough to let go.

I stay still.

Completely still.

If my back aches or my arm tingles, I welcome it. If my shirt is soaked with her tears, I don’t care. If my heart is breaking and rebuilding itself around this moment, let it.

She trusted me.

She let herself fall apart in my arms.

And I’ve never loved anyone more.

Once her breathing shifts into the slow rhythm of deep sleep, I gently ease her down onto the pillow, tucking the blanket around her. She doesn’t stir.

Her face—peaceful now, soft in its vulnerability—makes something ancient stir in me.

Rage.

Protection.

Tenderness so fierce it feels like it might burn a hole straight through my ribs.

I brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re not going back there,” I whisper. “Ever.”

Outside the door, the hallway is silent. The Tower night lights cast soft gold across the floor.

Nat is still seated in the chair beside the door. Her eyes flick up when I emerge.

“Is she asleep?” she asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“She needed that.”

“So did I.”

Nat studies my face for a moment, then nods once. “Go do what you need to do.”

And I know exactly what that is.

I head to the Tower gym. My footsteps echo like drumbeats.

Steve and Rhodey are already there—because FRIDAY told them. God bless that AI.

Steve looks at me with that calm, steady, annoyingly perceptive gaze of his. Rhodey pulls off his jacket, already stretching.

“You sure about this, Tones?” Rhodey asks.

“Yes,” I say.

Steve crosses his arms. “You need to blow off steam, or you need to break something?”

“Both,” I say. “Preferably me.”

Rhodey’s brows shoot up. “That’s not happening.”

“It has to.” My voice shakes, then steadies. “Because I’m about to burn myself alive if I don’t get this out. And if I start yelling, ignore me. If I fall, ignore me. If I lash out—”

“We know the drill,” Steve says gently. “We’ve all been here.”

I swallow.

He’s right. Trauma changes people.

Tonight, it’s changing me.

Rhodey cracks his knuckles. “No holding back, right?”

“No holding back.”

Steve meets Rhodey’s eyes. They nod.

And then—

It begins.

Rose

A soft hum pulls me from sleep.

Warmth.

Safety.

The weight of blankets.

For the first time in years, my body isn't tensed like an alarm wire.

I blink slowly, recognizing the room before my mind fully catches up.

Tony’s room.

A flush of heat fills my chest.

The pillow smells faintly like him—warm metal, cologne, something uniquely Tony that feels like comfort braided with electricity.

I try to sit up, but the dull ache in my ribs reminds me why I shouldn’t. When I shift, the blankets pull slightly, revealing a folded note on the nightstand.

My name.

Written in Tony’s handwriting.

I pick it up, hands unsteady.

I'm in the gym.
Don’t come down unless you need me.
If you wake up scared, I’ll come back immediately.
Just call my name.

My throat tightens.

I lie back again, staring at the ceiling, and something in my chest—something bruised and buried—begins to unfold.

I’m safe.

For the first time in so long, I’m safe.

The tears come again, but they’re quieter this time. Warmer. Like thawing instead of breaking.

And some part of me—tiny, trembling, stubbornly alive—knows:

I’m not going back.

Tony

My knuckles are bleeding.

Steve’s breathing hard.

Rhodey is sweating through his shirt.

And I feel…

Alive.

Burned out.

Scraped raw.

Human.

Every punch to my ribs.
Every slam to the mat.
Every shouted curse.
Every moment they forced me to stay present—

It pulls the poison out of me drop by drop.

Steve grips my shoulder. “You good?”

“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m better.”

Rhodey hands me a towel. “Is she okay?”

“She’s sleeping.”

Steve’s voice softens. “And you?”

I exhale.

“She cried in my arms,” I whisper. “Completely broke. She’s never done that before.”

Steve nods. “She trusts you.”

The words rock me.

I look up toward the residential floors—toward her.

“I’m not letting her down,” I say. “Not this time.”

Rhodey smirks. “You’ve never sounded more like yourself.”

I smile—weakly, tiredly, but genuinely.

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

But before I leave, I glance once more toward the elevator.

Toward her.

And I know:

This is only the beginning.

Chapter Text

Rose

I wake slowly, like rising through warm water instead of the razor-wire panic that has been my morning ritual for years.

For a precious few moments, I lie in Tony Stark’s bed, wrapped in blankets that smell like cedar and electricity and something I can’t name. I trace the sheets with my fingertips, grounding myself in the truth:

I am not home.
I am not with him.
I am safe.

The realization hits with the disorienting sweetness of stepping into sunlight after months underground.

I check my phone on instinct.

67 missed calls.
41 texts.

All from Eric.

The first few are furious. The next are pleading. Then apologetic. Then enraged again. Then threatening. Then saccharine.

A cycle I know too well.

My stomach curls, but there’s a new sensation beneath the fear—strength. A low ember inside me that wasn’t there before.

A knock sounds gently on the door. “Rose? It’s Bruce.”

Relief loosens my shoulders. “Come in.”

He enters with a medical kit tucked under his arm and a soft, steady expression that makes me want to cry all over again.

“How’re the ribs today?” he asks.

“Sore,” I admit. “Better than last night.”

He nods. “Good. That means you were able to rest.”

I almost laugh. “I slept as someone unplugged me.”

Bruce checks my ribs with careful, respectful hands, asking permission for every touch. Then he glances at my phone, buzzing again.

“I’m guessing that’s him.”

I nod.

He meets my eyes with the gravity of a man who’s seen too much suffering to pretend about it. “You don’t have to answer. You don’t have to open the door. You don’t have to defend yourself to him.”

My throat tightens. “I know.”

But knowing doesn’t silence the fear.

“Let Tony handle the chaos outside,” Bruce says quietly. “You focus on healing the inside.”

It’s the most profound prescription I’ve ever been given.

Tony

I didn’t sleep.

Not after the sparring. Not after the shower. Not after staring at the ceiling, wondering how someone can hate so violently the person I… care about so much.

I spent the morning pacing the common floor like a restless animal until I heard the med bay door open.

Rose steps out wearing borrowed Tower sweats—soft grey, sleeves too long, pants cinched at the waist. She looks small and fragile and powerful all at once.

She also looks scared.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers before I can even greet her. “He’s calling nonstop.”

Before she can spiral, I’m beside her.

“Rose,” I say gently. “Look at me.”

Her eyes meet mine, raw and exhausted.

“You don’t have to do anything,” I say. “Not respond. Not explain. Not justify. The Tower is secure. He can’t get to you.”

Her lip trembles. “But he’ll try.”

“Let him try,” I say, voice cooling into steel. “He’ll end up with a trespassing charge and a broken ego.”

She huffs a weak laugh that cracks my entire chest open.

Nat appears from the hallway like a shadow that’s learned how to smirk. “Already working on those charges, by the way. Did you know New York’s harassment laws are surprisingly robust? I do.”

Clint pokes his head in behind her. “We’re also betting on how long before he tries something stupid.”

Nat kicks him lightly. “We are not betting.”

Clint raises his brows. “But we are preparing.”

Rose looks overwhelmed, unsure if she’s allowed to lean into all this support.

She is.

More than she knows.

I step closer—not touching her yet, letting her choose.

“I’m here, okay? Whatever he does, whatever comes next—you’re not facing it alone.”

She inhales shakily.

Then nods.

Rose

I spend the morning in a haze of paperwork—Bruce’s medical notes, Nat’s legal suggestions, FRIDAY’s security details. Now and then, someone checks on me: Bruce offering water, Nat bringing me a muffin, Steve giving a gentle nod from a distance.

And Tony…

He circles quietly.

Not hovering.

Just… present.

Like gravity.

By noon, Eric’s messages shift again.

You don’t get to walk out on me, Rose.
We’re meant to be together.
Do you think he’s going to love you?
You’re coming home.

My chest tightens violently. The room blurs.

Tony notices instantly.

“Hey—hey.” He steps closer, slow and steady. “Talk to me.”

“He won’t stop,” I whisper. “He’s not going to stop.”

Something in Tony’s face hardens into a terrifying, beautiful resolve.

“Then we go to Plan B.”

I blink. “Plan B?”

Nat answers for him: “Restraining order, harassment charges, Tower-level security, and a Hulk-adjacent medical evaluation if he gets within fifty feet.”

Bruce winces. “Let’s… try everything else before that last one.”

I laugh weakly.

Then a shrill alarm cuts through the room.

FRIDAY’s voice fills the air.

“Boss, we have a situation at the main entrance.”

My blood runs cold.

Tony

I sprint to the security feed and absolutely lose the fragile hold I have on my temper.

Eric is outside the Tower.

Not just outside.

Slamming his fists against the glass. Screaming Rose’s name. Drawing attention from pedestrians. Filming himself on his phone while yelling about how I “stole” his wife.

I inhale through my teeth.

Nat murmurs, “This idiot’s giving us exactly what we need for the judge.”

Clint whistles. “Bold move, my guy. Stark Tower has more cameras than a Vegas casino.”

Steve joins us, eyes narrowing. “Tony. What do you want to do?”

What do I want?

I want to punch him through the sidewalk.

But I answer with restraint, I absolutely do not feel.

“Security will keep him outside,” I say. “We’ll record everything. Then we call the police.”

FRIDAY chimes in.
“Police already on their way. He attempted to force the door.”

Rose staggers backward, hand over her stomach.

That’s all it takes.

I’m at her side instantly.

“Rose,” I breathe, voice softer than I knew I had. “He can’t get in. Not today. Not ever.”

Her knees wobble.

I catch her before she falls, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her gently into me.

She folds.

Fully. Completely.

Her forehead presses into my chest. Her breath shakes. Her fingers clutch my shirt.

And she whispers the smallest, most devastating sound:

“I can’t do this.”

I wrap my arms around her, anchoring her to my heartbeat.

“Yes, you can,” I murmur into her hair. “Because you’re already doing it. You’re surviving. You’re choosing yourself. And I’m right here.”

Her breath breaks into a sob—quiet, trembling.

Steve turns away to give us privacy. Nat softens. Bruce watches with the kind of empathy that comes from knowing what it’s like to lose control of your own life.

I hold her until the sob fades into shivering breaths.

Only then does FRIDAY speak again:

“Police have detained Eric Llanos.”

Rose flinches at the name.

I tighten my hold.

“You’re safe,” I say again. “I’ve got you.”

Rose

Hours later, after the police report and the paperwork and Bruce confirming the baby is still fine, I find myself sitting on the Tower balcony wrapped in a soft Stark Industries blanket.

The city glitters below me like a living thing. I breathe it in. For the first time in so long, the air doesn’t feel like something I have to earn.

Footsteps approach behind me, soft, hesitant.

“Can I sit with you?” Tony asks.

I nod.

He settles beside me—close, but not touching, letting me choose.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me,” he says. “I walked in. Happily. Fully aware. And I’m not going anywhere.”

I meet his eyes.

They’re warm. Fierce. Patient.

“What if he doesn’t stop?” I ask.

“He won’t,” Tony says honestly. “Not for a while.”

My chest tightens.

“But,” he continues softly, “you will get stronger. And you won’t be facing him alone. Not ever again.”

The wind shifts, brushing hair across my face. Tony reaches out—slow as starlight—and tucks it gently behind my ear.

My breath stutters.

“Rose,” he murmurs, “you’re not going back. Not now. Not ever.”

I swallow hard. “I’m scared.”

“I know.” He leans the tiniest bit closer. “But being scared doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re human. And you’re still fighting.”

My eyes burn.

He adds, voice barely above a whisper:

“And I’ll fight with you until my last breath.”

Something inside me—hurt, scared, fractured—softly rearranges itself at those words.

Maybe into trust.
Maybe into hope.
Maybe into something that feels dangerously like love.

I rest my head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t breathe for a few seconds.

Then—slowly—he relaxes against me.

And for the first time, I let myself think:

Maybe I can rebuild.

Maybe not alone.

Tony

When Rose finally drifts to sleep on the balcony, her head warm and heavy against my shoulder, something in me locks into place:

I’m not letting her go.

Not back into fear.
Not in danger.
Not into loneliness.

I stand carefully, lifting her again—cradling her the way I did the night she shattered in my arms. She curls instinctively against me, trusting me even in sleep.

It’s a trust I will never take lightly.

I carry her back inside, past the team, past the silent admiration in their eyes, and into her room. I lay her gently onto the bed and pull the blanket over her shoulders.

She sighs in her sleep.

And I whisper, barely audible:

“I’ve got you. Always.”

Then I step out into the hall, where Steve and Rhodey wait, both wearing the same expression:

Are we going back to the gym?

Yes.

Yes, we are.

Because while Rose is rebuilding…

I need to burn off the version of me that wants to unmake the world for hurting her.

Chapter Text

Rose

I don’t know what it feels like to have control over my own life.

I’m learning in slow, trembling increments—breakfast brought without obligation, sleep without fear, conversations without apology. Every kindness feels like a bruise I can’t help but poke. My body hasn’t figured out how to relax yet. My mind still flinches at shadows.

Healing is loud inside me. Loud and uneven.

I’m in the Tower kitchen when Tony finds me staring into a cup of tea like it’s a compass.

He approaches quietly, like someone stepping into a sacred place.

“How’s the tea?” he asks.

“Overwhelming,” I say honestly.

He smiles softly. “Tea shouldn’t be overwhelming.”

“Everything is overwhelming,” I admit.

His smile fades into something gentler. “Then we need to fix that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re going to fix overwhelming?”

“In this building?” He shrugs. “Probably.”

A laugh sputters out of me—small, surprised. He brightens like I just handed him a sunrise.

But my phone buzzes on the counter.

ERIC: Answer me.
ERIC: You think you're safe there?
ERIC: I’m not done, Rose. You’ll regret this.

My hand shakes.

The anxiety floods back instantly, a tide swallowing the shoreline of my ribs. I place the phone face down, but the damage is done.

Tony sees the tremor travel through me like an aftershock.

He leans against the counter beside me, voice low but firm. “We’re going to redirect this.”

“Redirect?” I echo weakly.

He nods.

“Rose, how long have you been holding everything in?”

I swallow. “Years.”

“And when something scares you, threatens you, hurts you… What do you do?”

“I… push it down.”

He nods in understanding—deep, intimate understanding. “Same.”

He taps his arc reactor lightly. “That’s how you get explosions.”

A shaky laugh escapes me.

“I don’t want you exploding,” he continues. “You’ve got too much worth keeping intact.”

My breath catches.

Tony straightens, a glint in his eyes.

“So,” he says, voice warming. “I built you something.”

My brow furrows. “Tony, you don’t need to—”

“I didn’t need to. I wanted to.” His voice softens. “Let me show you.”

He holds out his hand.

For a long moment, I don’t move.

Then I slide my hand into his.

His fingers curl around mine automatically, protective and warm.

“Okay,” I whisper.

And he leads me down the hall.

Tony

The Rage Room took me seven hours, two broken wrenches, and one lecture from Bruce about “maybe not storing old lab prototypes in a room designed for destruction,” but it’s perfect.

It’s not large—maybe the size of a guest room—but the walls are reinforced polymer, thick enough to withstand even Thor’s temper tantrums. Shelves line the perimeter, filled with breakables: cheap plates, ceramic figurines, old Stark tech that never passed safety tests, empty glass bottles, and synthetic targets that dent and crack in satisfying ways.

And in the center: a padded floor, a bucket of safety gloves, and a soft light overhead.

A place to break things… safely.

A place where she can be loud.

A place where nothing hurts her back.

I step aside so she can see.

Rose’s eyes widen.

“I…” She covers her mouth. “Tony, what is this?”

“Stress relief,” I say casually. “Avengers edition.”

She turns to look at me, eyes shimmering with uncertainty and something fragile.

“This is for me?”

“All for you.”

Her breath trembles.

“You’ve been holding in years of fear,” I say gently. “You need somewhere to put it that won’t hurt you. Or the baby. Or anyone else.”

I gesture to the shelves. “So—break stuff.”

She shakes her head immediately. “Tony, I can’t. This is too much. You don’t have to—”

“Rose.” I step closer. “This is not about deserving. It’s about needing.”

She looks away. “I don’t get angry.”

I give her a look that says Really?

“Okay,” she amends, “I don’t get angry out loud.”

“Which is exactly why you need this room.”

She huffs. “I feel ridiculous.”

“Good,” I say. “Ridiculous is safe.”

There’s a moment—long, trembling, uncertain—where she just stands there, frozen between wanting and fearing.

I lower my voice.

“You don’t have to be gentle here. Not with this. Not anymore.”

Her throat works.

She looks at the shelves again.

At her hands.

At me.

Then she whispers:

“…what if I can’t stop?”

A quiet truth for a quiet fear.

I meet her gaze.

“Then I’ll be here when you’re done.”

She inhales shakily.

And walks into the room.

Rose

The gloves feel odd on my hands—thick, protective, almost too solid. My fingers twitch inside them as I stare at the mountain of breakable things before me.

Fear pulses.

Then anger.

Then fear again.

I pick up a ceramic mug from an old Stark Industries employee gift set. It’s ugly. Hideous, even. It says “World’s Okayest Engineer.”

“What did this mug ever do to you?” Tony teases gently from the doorway.

I swallow.

Everything inside me tightens.

Eric screaming.
Eric grabbing.
Eric was shaking me until my vision blurred.
Eric hitting.
Eric is saying I’d never leave.
Eric says the baby means I belong to him forever.

And over all of it—

Tony’s arms are around me.
You’re safe.
I’ve got you.
You’re not alone anymore.

The mug cracks in my grip.

I throw it.

Hard.

It explodes against the wall, shards flying, scattering like confetti made of rage.

My chest heaves.

Something hot surges up my spine.

I grab another object—an old, broken tablet Tony probably meant to recycle.

I throw it.

It shatters.

Then another.

And another.

I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

My body moves like a dam bursting, every suppressed scream, every swallowed terror, every apology I ever forced myself to say pouring out through my arms, my breath, my broken sobs.

Glass breaks.
Ceramic cracks.
Plastic snaps.
Metal dents.

Every impact echoes years of pain, leaving my body in violent, necessary waves.

My vision blurs. My breathing tears out of me. My shoulders shake as if I’ve been holding up the world and finally set it down.

I smashed a vase.
A plate.
A figurine of a cat, Tony claims he didn’t buy.

Each destruction is a release.
Each smash is a liberation.
Each crack is a piece of fear leaving me.

Tony stays at the door.
Silent.
Steady.
Witnessing.
Guarding.

Not afraid of me.
Not stopping me.
Just holding the space open for as long as I need.

I don’t know how long I’ve been breaking things when I reach for the last item.

My phone.

The screen lights.

ERIC: Answer me.
ERIC: You can’t hide.
ERIC: You’re my wife.
ERIC: You belong—

A sound tears out of my throat—raw, guttural, primal.

I hurl the phone with everything in me.

It hits the wall and explodes into sparks and glass.

The room goes silent.

I stand there panting, sweat dripping down my spine, tears streaking my cheeks, chest heaving with relief and grief tangled together.

I feel lighter.

I feel wrung out.

I feel like myself again, for the first time in years.

I stagger.

Tony is there before I fall.

Tony

She collapses forward—not fainting, not stumbling, but releasing the last of her strength like a warrior laying down her sword.

I catch her instantly, arms around her waist, guiding her gently toward me.

“You okay?” I whisper into her hair.

She sobs once—tired, empty, relieved.

“Yes,” she breathes. “I… yes.”

I pull her fully into my arms. She presses her forehead to my shoulder. Her breath trembles. Her hands curl into my shirt.

I hold her like she is the most fragile, powerful creature I’ve ever encountered.

“You did well,” I murmur. “So, so good.”

A small laugh escapes her. “I think I broke everything.”

“Everything that needed breaking,” I say.

Her knees buckle again.

I scoop her up bridal-style—her favorite position, though she hasn’t admitted it yet.

She melts against me, head against my chest, fingers gripping weakly at my collar.

Her voice is barely audible.

“Don’t let go.”

A vow settles in my bones.

“Never,” I whisper.

I carry her out of the Rage Room, her arms around my neck, her heart beating against mine.

And for the first time, I feel something new in the rhythm of her breathing—

Freedom.

Rose

Tony lays me gently on the couch in the common floor lounge. The lights are low, the Tower quiet, as if everyone is giving me space without making it obvious.

He kneels in front of me, brushing hair from my face with careful fingertips.

“How do you feel?” he asks softly.

I think.

I breathe.

I answer:

“Alive.”

His face softens. Something bright and fragile flickers across his features—relief mixed with awe.

“Good,” he murmurs. “You deserve that.”

I look at him—really look. His hair is mussed. His shirt is smudged with dust from carrying me. His eyes are warm enough to melt metal.

My heart stutters in my chest.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Rose.”

I lean forward.

“No,” I whisper. “But I… want you here.”

He inhales sharply.

And for a second—just a second—I see the world shift behind his eyes.

Into something unbearably tender.

But before I can say more, FRIDAY’s voice interrupts, gentle yet urgent:

“Boss? Police called again. Eric Llanos is demanding to speak with Rose. They’ve denied him. He’s escalating.”

My stomach twists—but not with fear this time.

With certainty.

Tony stands slowly, eyes darkening.

“We’ll handle it,” he tells me. “You focus on healing.”

I nod.

Because for the first time, I believe him.

Chapter Text

Rose

Morning slips in quietly through the Tower windows.

I sit at the edge of the suite Tony gave me, wrapped in a soft blanket the color of calm ocean water. My ribs ache, but not as sharply. My head is clearer today. My emotions… still a mess, but a kinder mess.

The Rage Room worked.

I feel wrung out, hollowed in the best way. I feel like something inside me finally got to scream after years of forced silence.

My phone—what remains of it—is a sad collection of parts someone put in a neat box outside my door. Tony must’ve done that. It makes my chest warm in a way that scares me.

In the kitchen, I find Bruce sipping herbal tea and flipping through an article on neurological trauma.

“Morning,” he says gently.

“Hi.” I slide onto a stool. “Tea?”

“It’s chamomile with lavender. Calming blend.”

“I’ll take a gallon.”

He smiles softly, then pours me a mug.

“Did you sleep?” he asks.

“Better than I thought.”

He nods. “You look… lighter.”

“I feel lighter.”

He studies me, not as a scientist, but as someone who understands overwhelm at a cellular level.

“Rose,” he says quietly, “you’re doing the hardest part.”

“Which is?”

“Letting yourself believe you deserve safety.”

I swallow.

That truth lands exactly where it should.

Before I can respond, FRIDAY chimes in:

“Dr. Banner, Captain Rogers is asking for a briefing on the legal progression. Also, Mr. Stark is—”

“Right here,” Tony calls from the hallway.

He enters wearing sweats and a hoodie like a man pretending he didn’t spend the night running on adrenaline and worry. His hair is a disaster. His eyes are warm.

“Morning, Rosita.”

No one else calls me that.

My heart does something embarrassing.

Tony

She looks better today.

Still fragile, still shaken, still carrying wounds no med kit can fix—but better.

She even smiles when she sees me. A small one. Fleeting. But enough to kickstart every reactor in my chest.

I slide onto the stool next to her.

“How’re the ribs?” I ask.

“Achy.”

“How’s the head?”

“Full.”

“How’s the…” I gesture vaguely at her heart.

She laughs softly. “Overflowing.”

I grin. “Good. Overflowing is progress.”

Bruce clears his throat. “Tony, we need to talk about something.”

“Let me guess. Eric?”

Bruce nods grimly.

My jaw clenches.

Rose tenses beside me.

“What now?” she asks.

Bruce places a tablet on the counter, screen turned toward us.

Email notifications. Legal filings. Police reports. All fresh.

“He filed a missing persons report,” Bruce says. “Claimed you were kidnapped. Accused Tony of holding you against your will.”

My vision goes white around the edges.

Rose gasps. “He what?”

“There’s more,” Natasha adds as she steps into the kitchen. She’s holding a folder and the kind of expression that means bad news with backup plans.

“He went on social media,” she continues. “Posted videos claiming Tony is ‘brainwashing’ his wife. He’s putting himself out as a victim.”

Rose’s hands tremble. She pulls the blanket tighter around herself.

“I don’t understand,” she whispers. “Why is he doing this?”

Natasha answers honestly. “Because abusers don’t give up control. They escalate when they lose it.”

I reach across the counter slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away.

She doesn’t.

Her fingers slip into mine.

Soft. Needing.

Trusting.

Something inside me cracks open.

Natasha places a printed document on the counter gently, as if handling a weapon.

“He also filed an emergency petition requesting you return home immediately. He’s claiming you’re mentally unstable.”

A small, broken sound escapes Rose.

I’m on my feet instantly.

“No,” I snap. “Absolutely not.”

Bruce puts a steadying hand on my arm. “There’s good news, too.”

Nat nods. “Everything he’s doing helps us. He’s showing a clear pattern of harassment, obsession, and control.”

Bruce adds, “We have medical documentation of your injuries. Police reports. Video of his behavior outside the Tower.”

“And witnesses,” Steve says as he enters. “He’s not taking you back, Rose. Not in this lifetime.”

Her breath trembles.

I sit beside her again.

“Rose.”

She looks at me, eyes shimmering with fear and exhaustion.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I say softly. “Not because he demands it. Not because he lies. Not because he’s scared of losing control.”

Her chin quivers.

“You are choosing your life now. You. Not him.”

Her breath breaks.

And she leans into me—slow, uncertain, then fully, head on my shoulder, hand fisting gently in my hoodie.

The entire team goes quiet.

As if witnessing something sacred.

Rose

The world feels like it’s pressing in on me from every direction—lawyers, police, threats, fear, the past clawing at my heels.

But Tony’s shoulder under my cheek is steady.

Bruce’s calm presence is grounding.

Natasha’s fierce determination is protective.

Steve’s moral certainty is reassuring.

For the first time in my life…

I’m not facing this alone.

And that truth is overwhelming in a different way than fear.

A good overwhelm.

A healing overwhelm.

A tear slips down my cheek.

“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper.

“You’re not,” Tony says instantly, with a conviction that shakes something loose inside me.

I breathe out—and it feels like the first real exhale of my adult life.

Tony

Later, after the team disperses into legal maneuvers and strategy meetings, I take Rose to the rooftop garden.

A place I know calms her.

A place that feels like her.

The air is cool, the sky pale blue, and the herbs she planted months ago fill the space with earth and memory.

She sits on a stone bench, hands in her lap.

“I feel like I’m falling apart,” she admits softly.

“You’re not falling,” I say. “You’re unfolding.”

She huffs a tiny laugh. “That’s a very poetic way to describe emotional catastrophe.”

“You are talking to a man who once described his trauma as ‘an Ikea manual missing half the pages.’”

She snorts.

And I swear my heart does a backflip.

Her smile fades slowly.

“You’ve been… so good to me,” she says quietly. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

She shakes her head. “Tony—”

I sit beside her, turning so we’re face to face.

“Rose. You don’t reap safety. You don’t repay care. You don’t repay being seen.”

Her breath catches.

“You just let yourself heal,” I finish softly. “That’s enough for me.”

A tear slips down her cheek.

I reach up—slowly—giving her every chance to stop me.

She doesn’t.

I brush the tear away with my thumb.

She closes her eyes.

Her breath shivers.

The moment stretches warm and trembling between us.

Rose

I open my eyes and find Tony looking at me like I’m the most important piece of technology he’s ever held.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me.”

He swallows hard.

“I couldn’t,” he says simply.

A soft wind rustles the basil leaves beside us.

I rest my hand over my stomach, instinctively protective.

Tony notices immediately.

“How’s the little one?” he asks.

I smile weakly. “Quiet today.”

He nods. “Let’s hope they stay that way until you’ve had lunch.”

Just then, FRIDAY interrupts with perfect timing:

“Boss, you have a legal meeting in ten minutes. Rose, your Tower therapist is waiting in Conference Room 4B.”

My stomach flips.

“Therapist?” I echo.

Tony stands slowly, offering his hand.

“She’s good,” he says gently. “Really good. And she specializes in trauma and pregnancy.”

I hesitate.

Then slip my hand into his.

His fingers close around mine—warm, steady.

“You ready?” he asks.

“No,” I answer truthfully.

He smiles. “Perfect. That means you’re exactly where you need to be.”

Tony

As FRIDAY guides her toward the therapist, I stay behind for a moment, watching her go.

Her silhouette was small against the hallway lights.

Her steps were shaky but determined.

And I feel something ancient and enormous inside me shift into place.

Responsibility.
Devotion.
Something dangerously close to love.

If I ever get my hands on Eric—
No.
Focus.

I exhale slowly.

“FRIDAY?"

“Yes, boss?”

“Make sure she’s not disturbed during therapy. No calls, no alerts, nothing unless it's life-or-death.”

“Understood.”

“And FRIDAY?”

“Yes?”

“Record everything Eric posts or sends. Build a case file.”

“Already done.”

Good.

Because I’m not letting that man destroy her ever again.

This is her beginning.

And I’m going to guard it with everything I have.

Rose

The therapist—Dr. Elara Vance is a warm, composed woman with calm brown eyes and the voice of someone who knows how to guide storms through narrow passages.

She sits across from me, hands folded in her lap.

“Rose,” she begins softly, “I want you to tell me what safety feels like to you.”

I blink.

Safety?

I’ve never been asked that question before.

My voice shakes. “I… don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” she says gently. “Then tell me what unsafety feels like.”

The dam shivers.

My ribs ache.

My throat tightens.

And slowly—painfully—I begin to speak.

By the end of the session, my voice is raw, and my chest is aching, but something inside me feels clearer than it has in years.

I am beginning.

Healing is beginning.

And when I step out of the room, I find Tony waiting at the end of the hallway.

Not hovering.

Not imposing.

Just there.

Like gravity.

Like home.

Chapter Text

Rose

Therapy leaves me wrung out but clearer. Like someone opened a window in a smoke-filled room.

By afternoon, the Tower feels different under my feet—less like a refuge I stumbled into and more like a home I’m allowed to occupy. The rhythm of safety hasn’t settled completely in my bones yet, but it’s beginning to hum there, quiet and steady.

I’m on the balcony again, hugging my knees, looking out at the endless sprawl of New York. Tony steps out quietly and hands me a bottle of water.

“Hydration,” he says, sitting beside me. “Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“Bruce is rubbing off on me.”

I laugh faintly.

But then—my phone buzzes.

Even though it’s destroyed physically, the Tower synced in a backup temporarily while my replacement gets delivered.

ERIC (Voicemail Transcript):
You think you’re safe? Answer the phone. Answer me. If you don’t, the world will hear the truth. You’re mentally unwell, Rose. They’re using you.

My throat tightens.

I look at Tony.

He’s watching me with that same expression he wore when he found me crying in the stairwell—concern layered with fury he’s trying to swallow for my sake.

“Give it here,” he says softly.

I hand him the temporary device, and he silences the alert.

“He’s desperate,” Tony murmurs. “That means he’s losing.”

“I hate that he can still reach me like this,” I whisper.

Tony’s jaw clenches. “We can block him. Change numbers. Filter everything through FRIDAY. You don’t have to see any of this.”

“But everyone else will,” I say. “He’s posting about me. About you. About the Tower.”

Tony waves that off. “People post about me all the time. Half the internet thinks I’m secretly a reptile.”

I laugh despite myself.

But the weight inside me remains.

“He’s painting me as unstable,” I say quietly. “Dangerous. Manipulated. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

Slowly—hesitantly—I turn toward Tony.

“I want people to hear my side.”

His brows lift. “You mean… an interview?”

“No,” I say. “TikTok.”

He blinks. “TikTok.”

My lips curve slightly. “Yes. TikTok.”

Of all the reactions I expected, his is not one of them.

He grins.

“Honestly? Probably the smartest PR choice. You’d break the algorithm.”

I roll my eyes. “This isn’t PR. This is survival.”

His grin fades into something thoughtful, then protective.

“You’re sure?” he asks gently. “Because once you speak, you can’t take it back.”

I inhale slowly.

“I want to speak,” I whisper. “Because silence almost killed me.”

Tony nods once—softly, respectfully.

“Then let’s help you speak loud enough that he can’t drown you out again.”

I swallow hard.

“Will you be there?”

He looks almost offended by the question.

“Rose… I’m not going anywhere.”

My chest flutters with something dangerous and warm.

Tony

She decides to make a TikTok.

A TikTok.

I’ve faced alien invasions, killer robots, government hearings, social media mobs—but this? This feels bigger in a way I can’t fully articulate. Because this isn’t about the world. It’s about her reclaiming herself.

The team gathers in the common room as Rose sets up a camera on a ring light. Nat positions herself nearby, quiet but ready. Bruce sits beside her calmly. Steve stands with his arms folded, watching with that quiet, steady encouragement he radiates.

I sit on the couch behind her.

Close enough, she can feel my presence.

Far enough that the focus stays on her.

Rose adjusts the camera.

Her hands shake.

I lean forward. “You don’t have to do this today.”

“I do,” she says. “I feel it. I need to.”

I nod. “Then breathe. I’ll be right here.”

She inhales slowly.

Then…

She hits record.

Rose — TikTok Recording

The little red light blinks on.

For a moment, I freeze.

Then I remember the Rage Room.
The therapy.
The phone shattered against the wall.
Tony’s arms are around me.
The baby’s heartbeat.
Every moment, I almost didn’t survive.

My voice trembles, but I speak anyway.

“Hi. My name is Rose Llanos. Some of you may have seen things being posted about me—things that aren’t true.”

I pause. Tears threaten. I keep going.

“I left my husband a few days ago. After years of emotional and physical abuse. After years of being told I wasn’t enough. After years of being told I wasn’t allowed to leave.”

My hands shake, but I don’t hide them.

“He’s been posting lies about me. Calling me unstable. Saying Tony Stark kidnapped me. Saying the Avengers brainwashed me.”

I look into the camera, into the eyes of every stranger who will hear me.

“No one kidnapped me. No one brainwashed me. I ran for my life.”

My voice cracks. I push through.

“And I’m alive today because of the Avengers. Because they opened their doors and refused to let me go back to someone who convinced me my life didn’t matter.”

Behind me, Tony shifts—a quiet, protective presence.

“I won’t give details that aren’t safe to share,” I continue. “But I want people who are in situations like mine to know something.”

I swallow, tears forming.

“You’re not crazy. You’re not imagining it. You’re not overreacting. Abuse is real. Fear is real. And you deserve to leave.”

A tear falls.

I don’t hide it.

“And you deserve people who help you breathe again. People who show up when you whisper ‘please.’ People who make you feel safe without asking anything in return.”

My voice softens.

“The Avengers saved me. Tony saved me. My friends saved me. And if you have the chance… let someone save you, too.”

I inhale shakily.

“You’re not alone.”

I end the recording.

Silence swells around me, thick and gentle.

Then—

A warm hand touches my shoulder.

I turn.

Tony’s eyes are soft, wet at the edges, glowing with something he doesn’t dare name yet.

“That was…” His voice cracks. “God, Rose. That was brave.”

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Do you think it’ll help?” I whisper.

He nods. “Yes. And not just you.”

Nat touches my arm. “Millions of people are going to hear that, Rose. You just gave a lot of them their first moment of courage.”

My chest tightens.

Bruce adds, “You gave them permission to survive.”

I burst into tears.

But they’re not the kind that drain me.

They fill me.

Tony pulls me into his arms—slowly, carefully.

I melt into him, face buried in his chest.

He holds me like a vow.

Tony

As she cries against me, I whisper into her hair:

“You did it. You took back your life.”

She shakes with quiet sobs. I rub slow circles on her back, anchoring her.

Steve steps forward. “That video… It’s going to change things. For her case. For people watching.”

Nat nods. “He lost the narrative the moment she spoke.”

Clint peeks in from the hallway. “It’s already blowing up. FRIDAY says it’s trending.”

Rose pulls back just enough to look up at me.

And something in her eyes…

Something soft.
Something blooming.
Something that looks like trust braided with possibility.

She whispers:

“Thank you for letting me borrow your strength.”

I shake my head, brushing a tear from her cheek.

“I didn’t give you anything,” I say softly. “I just held your hand while you found your own.”

Her breath hitches.

And for one dangerous, fragile second, she leans toward me—

Close.

Too close.

Not close enough.

But before anything can happen, FRIDAY interrupts:

“Boss, legal counsel is requesting your presence. They believe Mr. Llanos may attempt to file an injunction against the video.”

Rose tenses.

I cup her cheek gently.

“Let him try,” I whisper. “We’ll bury him in truth.”

Her hand lifts—hesitant, trembling—and rests on mine.

“Don’t go far,” she whispers.

My chest pulls tight.

“Never,” I promise.

Rose

Later that night, I scroll through the TikTok comments—thousands of them.

“You’re so strong.”
“I left because someone like you told me it was possible.”
“Thank you for speaking. I’m still scared, but I feel less alone.”
“We believe you.”

I cry again.

Different tears.

Healing tears.

And when Tony slips quietly into the room and sits beside me on the bed, I lean into him.

Exhausted.
Relieved.
Safe.

He lifts my hand and presses it gently to his chest, right over his heartbeat.

“You’re not alone anymore, Rose,” he murmurs.

“I know,” I whisper.

And this time…

I believe it.

Chapter Text

Rose

I wake to a soft hum—FRIDAY humming, specifically. She does that sometimes when she knows I’m waking up. Tony calls it “comfort mode.” I call it oddly soothing AI maternal instincts.

When I sit up, I see a tray beside my bed: toast, fruit, ginger tea, and a Post-It stuck to the cup.

Drink this, or Bruce will scold me. —T

It makes me smile before I’m fully conscious.

The world feels strange today. Lighter. Like something shifted inside me overnight. Not all the way. Not clean. But shifting all the same.

I sip the tea, rub sleep from my eyes, and check the temporary device FRIDAY synced for me.

And then I freeze.

My TikTok is at:

6.8 million views
3.2 million likes
400k comments
250k stitched videos

My heart gallops.

Thousands of people are speaking. Thousands more are listening.

I scroll to the stitched section—and the screen fills with faces, voices, and stories. Real people. Real pain. Real strength.

The first one is a college student with dyed pink hair, speaking softly:

“Rose… I left because of you. My mom didn’t believe me. My friends didn’t believe me. But watching you talk about fear like you weren’t ashamed… it made me finally pack a bag. I’m at a friend’s place now. Safe. Thank you.”

My chest tightens.

The next is a middle-aged man in a small apartment, eyes red but determined.

“My father abused my mother for years. She never got out. But because of your video, my daughter and I left last night. We’re safe now. Thank you for teaching me that men can be victims too.”

Then—

A young mother holding her toddler.

“Rose, I didn’t know how to leave. I didn’t think anyone would help me. But when you said ‘You’re not imagining it,’ something broke inside me. I called a hotline. I’m in a shelter now. Thank you for helping me breathe again.”

My hand covers my mouth.

Tears blur the screen.

Another stitch shows a domestic violence advocate saying:

“This is why survivor voices matter. Rose, thank you for using yours.”

Another:

“You’re not alone. None of us is alone.”

Another:

“This video saved my life today.”

I can’t breathe.

My heart is breaking and healing at the same time.

Someone stitched my clip with a montage of supportive comments, calming music, and the words:

“Rose Llanos — The woman who broke the silence.”

I shake.

Tears stream down my cheeks.

I keep scrolling.

A group of women at a shelter hold up signs:

“WE BELIEVE YOU.”
“THANK YOU, ROSE.”
“YOU SAVED US.”

My entire body warms and trembles at once.

And then—

A video stitched from someone I did not expect.

Pepper Potts.

She’s sitting in her office, composed, gentle, powerful.

“If you’re watching this, please know that Stark Industries stands firmly behind Rose,” she says. “We support survivors. We support healing. And we will always protect the vulnerable. Rose, if you see this—I’m proud of you. Truly.”

Another stitch:

Peter Parker, awkward and sincere, whispering:

“Miss Rose, uh… you're amazing. Like… hero amazing. Tony thinks so, too.”

I laugh through tears.

Then:

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes, sitting on the Tower couch.

Sam: “Rose? You’re a badass.”

Bucky: “If your ex shows up again, let me handle it.”

Sam: “NO.”

Bucky: “Please.”

Sam: “NO.”

They both hold up signs that say,
“WE’VE GOT YOUR BACK.”

My heart melts.

Then one more stitch—this one quiet, soft, fragile.

A teenage girl is sitting in a dim bedroom with a suitcase behind her.

“Rose… I just packed my things. I wasn’t brave enough until I saw you. Thank you.”

My breath breaks into a sob.

Not a painful one.

A healing one.

Tony

When I find her, she’s sitting on the couch in the common room with tears streaming down her face.

For a split second, panic slices through me—but then I see her expression.

Soft. Overwhelmed. Glowing.

She looks up at me, trembling.

“Tony…” she whispers, voice breaking. “Look.”

She hands me the device.

I watch maybe five stitched videos before my throat closes.

People she helped by speaking.
People she saved.
People who heard her voice and recognized their own.

I sit beside her, pulling her gently into my side.

She melts into me without hesitation, leaning her head against my shoulder.

“You changed lives,” I murmur.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispers.

“Doesn’t matter. You did.”

A tear slips down her cheek and lands on my shirt.

She wipes at her face with the sleeve of her borrowed hoodie. “It feels… warm. I’ve never felt anything like this.”

“That’s hope,” I say softly.

She turns her face into my shoulder.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I thought I was alone for so long.”

I tighten my arm around her.

“You never were,” I whisper. “You just didn’t know we were here yet.”

Her breath shudders.

She whispers, “Thank you for not letting go of me.”

My heart absolutely trips over itself.

“Never,” I breathe.

Rose

Hours pass. I watch stitch after stitch—voices blending into a tapestry of survival.

I am not alone.
They are not alone.
And that truth fills the hollow spaces inside me with light.

Tony sits beside me the entire time.

Sometimes talking.
Sometimes silent.
Always near.

At one point, he gently takes the device from my shaking hands.

“Rose,” he murmurs. “You’re overwhelmed.”

“I’m okay,” I say. And for once, it’s not a lie.

He searches my face.

“You’re glowing,” he whispers.

My cheeks flush. “That’s not fair.”

“Completely fair. Scientifically observable. Documented.”

“Tony!”

He grins.

But beneath the teasing, his eyes are warm and soft and carrying something deeper.

Somewhere in the building, Natasha and Steve are discussing legal strategy. Bruce is humming in the lab. Clint is probably trying to shoot grapes into a cup from across the room.

Life moves around me.

But right here—

It feels like stillness.

It feels like safety.

It feels like something new is sprouting inside me, slow and shy but undeniably alive.

Tony

The stitches keep coming.

Celebrities. Advocates. Survivors. Teenagers. Men. Women. Nonbinary folks. Grandmothers. Teachers. Nurses. People from every walk of life.

Her story—her voice—is echoing through millions of lives.

And watching her face soften and brighten and glow with warmth?

I could bottle that moment and live off it.

When she finally leans back against the couch and exhales, her whole body relaxing, I ask:

“How’s your heart?”

She looks at me.

Really looks.

And something inside her opens.

“Warm,” she says softly. “It feels warm.”

I nod, unable to speak around the emotion in my throat.

I brush a bit of hair from her cheek—slowly, gently, giving her every chance to pull away.

She doesn’t.

She leans into my hand.

I stop breathing.

Her eyes flutter shut for a moment.

Then open.

And the world shifts.

Warmth pools in my chest—dangerous, unavoidable, beautiful.

She whispers:

“Thank you for helping me find my voice.”

I swallow hard.

“No,” I say softly. “You always had it. I just passed you the mic.”

Her laugh is quiet and cracked and perfect.

She leans her forehead against mine.

Just for a second.
Just long enough to feel like gravity has new rules.
Just long enough for electricity to spark between us.

Then she pulls back, cheeks flushed.

“I should rest,” she whispers.

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to sound breathless. “You should.”

I walk her to her room.

She stops in the doorway.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you’re my safe place.”

My chest breaks open.

“You’re mine too,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

She blushes.

I blush.

We don’t talk about it.

Not yet.

But someday?

We will.

Chapter Text

Rose

Morning begins with nausea.

Not gentle, delicate morning sickness—the crash-wave, gut-twisting kind that knocks me out of sleep and slams me into the bathroom tile. I grip the sink with shaky hands as the room tilts.

“I hate this,” I whisper to my reflection.

My skin is pale, my hair wild, my eyes red-rimmed. This version of pregnancy isn’t glowing or magical—it’s raw, vulnerable, terrifying.

A soft knock taps at the door.

“Rose?” Tony’s voice. Gentle. Concerned. Close.

I swallow down the last wave of nausea. “I’m okay.”

“You do not sound okay.”

I sigh. “I’m okay-ish.”

The door opens slowly—giving me every chance to object.

I don’t.

He steps inside, hair messy, wearing pajama pants and a soft t-shirt, eyes heavy with sleep and worry.

The moment he sees me on the floor, he kneels instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “Hey, Rosita. Easy.”

His hand presses lightly against the back of my head to keep me from bending forward again. The warmth of his palm steadies me more than anything else could.

“Is it the baby?” he asks softly.

I nod weakly. “Bruce said it might start happening more.”

Tony frowns like he’s ready to personally fistfight morning sickness.

“Can’t believe I can’t build tech to fix this.”

A tiny laugh slips out of me.

He sits beside me, back against the cabinet, letting me rest my head on his shoulder.

We stay like that until the nausea fades—his shoulder warm, steady, solid beneath me.

He whispers, “You okay to stand?”

“Maybe.”

“Then I’ve got you.”

He stands and lifts me with arms that feel like home. I wrap my arms gently around his neck, trying not to think about how natural this feels.

When he sets me on the bed, he brushes hair from my face with a tenderness that makes my throat tighten.

“You scared me,” he whispers.

“I scare myself.”

His jaw clenches.

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Or the baby.”

My breath catches.

The baby.

Our baby.

No—not his. But the way he says it…

It sounds like a promise.

Tony

I don’t leave her side until Bruce arrives for a full checkup.

Bruce scans her with the portable monitor, nodding to himself.

“Heartbeat strong,” he says. “Baby is fine. Rose is fine. Just—early pregnancy fun.”

“Fun,” I mutter. “Sure.”

Rose gives a sleepy chuckle.

“You need rest,” Bruce continues. “Lots of fluids. And Tony—”

“Yeah?”

“Do not let her skip breakfast again.”

I put a hand over my heart. “On my honor.”

Bruce gives me a look like he knows exactly how much trouble I’m capable of. Then he packs up and leaves.

I sit on the edge of the bed.

Rose pulls the blanket up to her chin.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” she murmurs.

“I’m not babysitting,” I say. “I’m supervising.”

She snorts. “That’s worse.”

“Too bad. Your safety is my full-time occupation now.”

Her cheeks flush. “That’s not practical.”

“I didn’t say practical. I said true.”

Her breath hitches.

Before either of us can get swept away in the moment, FRIDAY’s gentle voice interrupts.

“Boss? You have a legal conference in thirty minutes. Court hearing preparation.”

Court.

Right.

Eric’s attempt to drag her back through legal lies and manipulation.

My jaw tightens.

Rose sees it—and fear flickers across her eyes.

I take her hand.

“Rose,” I say quietly, “you don’t face him today. Not directly. This is procedural. Paperwork. Lawyers. You don’t even have to enter the courtroom unless you choose to.”

Her voice shakes. “I don’t want to see him.”

“You won’t,” I assure her. “I’ve coordinated everything with Pepper, Nat, and the legal team. You’ll be in a separate, secured room. No contact whatsoever.”

She exhales shakily. “Okay.”

“You sure?”

“No,” she whispers. “But I trust you.”

The words hit me like sunlight cracking open winter.

“Then we go slow,” I say gently. “Together.”

Rose

Pepper meets us in the Tower’s legal conference room, looking regal, composed, and sharper than steel.

“Rose,” she says warmly. “Come sit. We’ll walk through everything.”

Tony hovers beside me like a human shield.

Pepper spreads out files and court documents with precise movements.

“Eric is filing an injunction claiming you’re mentally unstable and unable to make decisions,” she explains. “He wants you returned home. Immediately.”

My stomach turns.

Tony’s hand tightens around mine.

Pepper continues, unfazed. “Our counterarguments are strong. We have evidence of harassment, documented injuries, recorded threats, video footage outside the Tower, your TikTok statement, and witness testimony.”

I blink. “Witness testimony?”

Pepper smiles. “Natasha, Steve, Clint, Bruce, and Tony are all willing to testify on your behalf.”

Emotion tightens my chest.

Tony nudges my shoulder gently. “We’re in this.”

Pepper softens. “You don’t have to fight alone, Rose. This is what support looks like.”

Tears burn at the back of my eyes.

“Okay,” I whisper.

Pepper nods approvingly. “Good. Now, let’s win.”

Tony

Court sucks.

I’ve done congressional hearings, legal depositions, high-stakes negotiations—but nothing hits like watching Rose tremble as the judge reviews the injunction Eric filed.

She sits beside me in the secured conference room, the screen showing a live feed of the courtroom. Her hands are fragile in her lap. Her breathing is shallow.

“Just breathe,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”

She leans slightly into my side—a feather’s weight, but enough to shatter me.

The judge enters.

Eric stands at his table, looking polished, rehearsed, and smug.

My fists clench.

But then—

The judge speaks.

Firm. Clear. Commanding.

“After reviewing the evidence, including video documentation of harassment and threatening behavior…”

Rose stiffens.

“…and the statements provided by Stark Industries and associated witnesses…”

I hold her hand gently.

“…the court denies Mr. Llanos’ request for emergency injunction.”

Rose gasps.

I exhale sharply.

Pepper smiles triumphantly.

Nat smirks.

The judge continues:

“Furthermore, due to the credible evidence of harassment, the court grants Ms. Llanos a temporary restraining order, effective immediately.”

Rose covers her mouth.

Tears fall silently down her cheeks.

She leans into me fully, sobbing with relief.

I wrap an arm around her, pulling her against me.

“You’re safe,” I whisper into her hair. “You’re safe. You did it.”

Her voice breaks. “We did it.”

But no.

She did.

She survived.

Rose

After the ruling, my breath feels different in my chest—lighter, fuller, almost like the oxygen is finally reaching places fear had blocked off for years.

When we return to the Tower, the team surprises me.

Balloons.
A banner that reads “YOU’RE SAFE NOW.”
A warm meal is waiting.
Smiles everywhere.

My heart swells with a heat that feels brand new.

Nat steps forward. “You okay?”

I nod. “I think… I am.”

“Good,” she says. “Because we’re proud of you.”

Steve places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “You stood up for yourself today.”

Bruce gives his trademark soft half-smile. “And the baby is going to be just fine.”

Clint smirks. “Can we get cake?”

Tony swats him away. “This is not a cake event.”

“Every event is a cake event.”

I laugh—an actual, real laugh.

My heart warms again.

Then—

A notification appears on the wall screen.

TIKTOK — ROSE LLANOS UPDATE TRENDING #1

FRIDAY expands it automatically.

It’s stitches.

More stitches.

Thousands more.

Survivors crying.
People cheering.
Advocates are praising the ruling.
A therapist explaining why my case matters.
Shelters thanking me by name.

One video shows a group of women in a safehouse clapping when the restraining order announcement hits the news.

Another shows a little girl holding a sign:

“My mom says you’re brave.”

My hand flies to my heart.

Tears fill my eyes—not from pain this time, but from something warm and glowing and whole.

Tony watches my expression carefully.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

I nod. “It feels… good. Really good.”

“It should,” he says. “You deserve every bit of this.”

A particularly emotional stitch plays—a survivor whispering, “Thank you for giving us hope.”

I press a hand over my mouth.

My heart is glowing so warmly it feels like it could light the entire Tower.

Tony touches my back gently. “You’re changing lives, Rose.”

I turn to him—eyes wet, heart trembling.

“So are you,” I whisper.

Our eyes lock.

Everything in me shifts.

Slowly. Quietly. Inevitably.

Tony

She’s glowing.

She doesn’t realize it, but she’s glowing.

Every stitch, every cheer, every message of gratitude warms her from the inside out. I’ve seen Iron Man reactors that shine less brightly.

When she smiles at me—really smiles—I feel something in my chest detonate.

Not painful.
Not dangerous.
But huge.

She whispers, “Thank you for everything.”

And I almost kissed her.

Almost.

But she’s fragile. Healing. Becoming. And I refuse to take advantage of a moment where her emotions are raw.

Still…

Her hand lingers on my chest longer than necessary.

Her breath brushes my jaw.

Her eyes drop to my lips for a second too long.

I swallow hard.

“Let’s get you resting,” I say softly.

She nods.

We walk toward her suite, slow, close, humming with a tension neither of us touches yet.

At her door, she hesitates.

“Tony?”

My heart trips. “Yeah?”

She steps closer.

Not touching.
Just close enough for the air to shift.

“Today was the first day I felt… free.”

My throat tightens.

“That’s because you’re brave,” I whisper.

She smiles faintly. “Or maybe it’s because of you.”

I don’t breathe.

She places her hand on my cheek for one impossible second.

Then let's go.

“Goodnight,” she whispers.

“Goodnight, Rose.”

She slips inside.

The door closes.

And I lean my forehead against it, exhaling a breath that feels like surrender.

Chapter Text

Rose

The nausea becomes my unwelcome morning companion.

Not every day, but often enough that I greet the sunrise with a groan instead of hope. I keep saltines in my nightstand now, a water bottle by the bed, and Tony Stark… well.

Tony Stark is the human equivalent of a heated blanket, a forcefield, and a personal medic rolled into one.

“Morning sickness round three?” he asks, kneeling beside me as I sit curled on the bathroom floor.

“Round six,” I mumble.

He grimaces like he wants to punch hormones in the face.

Bruce checks on me daily now, adjusting my diet, recommending rest, and reminding Tony not to hover too intensely.

He ignores that part.

Natasha swings by my room with ginger candies, old pregnancy hacks from her “deep undercover days,” and gentle kicks of encouragement.

“You’re stronger than your stomach,” she tells me.

“Debatable,” I whisper before another wave hits.

Nat pats my back. “You’ll win eventually.”

Despite the misery, something else is starting to blossom inside me.

Connection.

With the Tower.
With the team.
With my baby.
With Tony.

Especially Tony.

He appears in doorways like a quiet shadow. Sits with me during meals, I’m too nauseous to eat. Puts warm blankets around my shoulders without asking. And every time he looks at me, I feel… seen.

Not pitied.
Not fragile.
Seen.

I’m trying to get used to that. It’s harder than escaping my marriage ever was.

Tony

She’s pale again.

Shaky. Exhausted. Curled on the couch in one of my old hoodies, sleeves covering her hands like she’s shrinking inside the world.

Every instinct I have screams to pick her up and put her somewhere safe. But I’ve learned something over the years: safety isn’t always about forcefields or armor.

Sometimes it’s about being someone’s soft place to fall.

I sit beside her, close enough that our arms brush. She doesn’t pull away.

“Ready?” I ask.

“For what?”

“For the warm blanket,” I say, lifting one. “The peppermint tea. The toast triangle offering. The entire Stark Comfort Package, patented and pending.”

She laughs weakly. “I think you’re overqualified.”

“I’m also overinvested.”

Her eyes soften.

I adjust the blanket around her shoulders, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. When my fingertips graze her skin, she inhales sharply.

I freeze.

She looks at me—not startled, not uncomfortable.

More like…

Like she felt something too.

Her cheeks flush, and she quickly looks away.

I don’t push it.

Not yet.

Rose

By midday, I’m functional enough to join the team in the lounge.

Steve is trying desperately to teach Thor how to use a Keurig machine. Thor is failing spectacularly.

“It makes a terrible hissing noise!” he declares, brandishing the cup like a weapon.

“That’s steam,” Steve says gently.

“Then the machine is angry!”

“You’re angry, big guy,” Clint mutters from the couch.

Natasha elbows him.

Bruce sits beside me with a soft smile. “You feeling better?”

“A little.”

“You look better,” he says. “Your color’s coming back.”

Tony sits across the table from me, pretending to read something on his tablet but glancing up every few seconds as if making sure I’m actually breathing.

The warmth inside me spreads.

It feels like peace.

Temporary, fragile peace—but peace nonetheless.

But peace never lasts long in my world.

Not yet.

FRIDAY’s Voice Cuts Through the Room

“Alert: Mr. Llanos has attempted to contact Ms. Llanos through a third-party family member.”

My stomach drops.

I look at the screen for FRIDAY projects.

It’s a voicemail.

From Eric’s mother.

My chest tightens with dread.

Tony stands instantly, jaw tightening. “FRIDAY. Playback.”

Message begins:
“Rose… honey… Eric’s beside himself. He says you’re confused. That you’re being manipulated. Please come home. You know he loves you.”

My breath stops.

“…and if you keep this up, the family court judge will see you as unstable. This can all go away if you just come back. Don’t destroy your marriage like this.”

The message ends.

Silence fills the Tower.

A cold, heavy silence.

Natasha breaks it first.

“That counts as third-party harassment.”

Bruce nods grimly. “Judges do not tolerate that.”

Clint mutters, “Idiot move.”

Steve crosses his arms. “We call the lawyer.”

I stare down at my hands.

Shaking.
Sweaty.
Cold.

“Rose,” Tony says softly.

I look up.

His eyes are molten fire and tenderness.

“You don’t believe any of that, right?”

My voice wavers. “Part of me does.”

Nat steps forward, voice firm. “No. That’s trauma talking.”

Bruce’s voice follows, gentle and steady. “Your brain was conditioned to believe lies. It can be unlearned.”

Steve kneels beside me. “We believe you. We trust you. You are not unstable. You are surviving.”

I swallow a sob.

Tony moves to sit at my side.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

I do.

“You left because you had courage long before we stepped in,” he says. “Don’t let him twist the narrative back. Don’t give him that power.”

My breath trembles.

“I’m trying,” I whisper.

He places his hand over mine, warm and steady.

“I know.”

His thumb rubs slow circles into my skin.

And suddenly—

The panic in my chest begins to unravel.

Tony

Later, when the legal team confirms the voicemail is another major strike against Eric, I find Rose sitting in the Tower greenhouse.

She’s running her hand over the basil leaves the way some people pet cats. Gentle. Thoughtful. Searching.

She looks up when I enter.

Her eyes… god. There’s something open in them now. Something unguarded.

I sit beside her in the warm, green-scented air.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says after a moment. “I think so.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

She exhales slowly. “Every time something like today happens, I feel myself falling backward into old fears.”

I nod. “That’s normal.”

“And then you show up,” she whispers, cheeks warming, “and I feel… grounded.”

My heart stops.

I swallow.

“Good,” I murmur. “That’s the goal.”

We sit in silence for a moment.

Then she asks the question I’ve been dreading and craving at the same time.

“Tony… why are you doing so much for me?”

I meet her gaze.

Slow. Careful. Honest.

“Because I care about you.”

Her breath catches.

“And,” I continue quietly, “because I wish someone had cared about me when I was falling apart.”

Emotion rushes across her face—surprise, softness, empathy.

She whispers, “Tony…”

Before she can say more, she suddenly grips her stomach.

I jump up instantly. “Rose? You okay?”

She nods. “Just… stretching? Or gas? Or baby turbulence? I’m not sure.”

But she laughs—a warm, melodic laugh that lights up the room.

I breathe again.

Rose

By evening, the Tower feels like a heartbeat—alive, warm, pulsing around me with safety.

But darkness always has a way of creeping in.

I’m in my suite preparing for bed when it happens—a sharp, overwhelming wave of panic.

No trigger. No warning.

Just fear.

Sudden. Violent.

My breath clutches. My fingers tremble. My chest tightens as if invisible hands wrap around it.

I stumble into the wall, gripping it.

No. No. Not now. Please not now.

The room spins.

I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t—

I hear a voice.

“Rose?”

Tony.

I don’t know how he knew.
Maybe he heard me fall.
Maybe he felt something.
Maybe he just knows me too well already.

The door opens.

He sees me.

Frozen. Terrified. Falling apart.

He doesn’t hesitate.

He crosses the room in two strides and catches me as my knees give out. He pulls me against him, lowering both of us to the floor.

“Hey,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Breathe with me.”

His hand cups the back of my head. His chest rises slowly against my cheek.

“In,” he whispers.
“Out.”
“Good. Again.”
“I’m right here.”

His voice becomes the rope I cling to in a dark well.

Slowly—painfully—my breathing syncs with his.

I tremble violently, tears streaming.

“Tony,” I choke. “I’m scared.”

His arms wrap tighter around me, protective and warm.

“I know,” he breathes. “Let it out.”

So I do.

I bury my face in his throat and sob, shaking until exhaustion steals the tremors from my muscles.

When I finally quiet, his hand strokes my back in long, steady motions.

“You’re safe,” he whispers. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Not while I’m here.”

I pull back just a little—just enough to see his face.

His eyes are soft. Brighter than I’ve ever seen them. Full of something that scares me and saves me at once.

“Tony?” I whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

He swallows.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

I reach up—hesitant, trembling—and touch his cheek.

He leans into my hand as if he’s been waiting for it.

Slowly, carefully, he lifts his own hand and places it over mine.

Our fingers interlace on his cheek.

And just like that—

We’re close.

Too close.

His breath fans across my lips.

My heart thunders.

His eyes flick to my mouth—just for a moment—but enough to steal the ground from under my feet.

He whispers, “Rose…”

But then he stops.

Because he’s Tony.

And he won’t rush me.

“Let’s get you into bed,” he murmurs instead.

He lifts me gently, lays me down with the kind of reverence that makes my chest ache, and stays until my breathing softens and my eyes drift closed.

Before I fall asleep, I hear him whisper:

“You’re not alone anymore. I won’t let you fall.”

Tony

I stay until she’s sleeping deeply.

Her hand was resting lightly near mine.

Her breathing is even.

Her fear finally quieted.

I brush a strand of hair from her forehead—soft, slow, barely daring to touch her.

I whisper into the dim room:

“You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

She doesn’t hear me.

Thank god.

Because someday she will.

But not yet.

Not until she’s ready.

Not until she’s healed enough to choose me without fear in her shadow.

I leave the room quietly.

And lean against the door outside—

Heart pounding.

Hands shaking.

Something inside me is burning with a tenderness so fierce it might consume me.

Chapter Text

Rose

I’ve never been so aware of my heartbeat.

Every time I blink, every time my breath catches, every time I place a hand over my stomach, the world feels heavier and lighter all at once.

Today is my first official OB appointment since everything began.

Bruce will accompany me.
Tony will accompany Bruce.
And Natasha will accompany Tony "in case he forgets she doesn’t need witnesses to murder.”

Clint’s words.

The team tries to make it sound casual: “support system,” “safety precaution,” “standard Stark operating procedure.”

I know better.

They’re coming because they care.
Because they’re worried.
Because leaving the Tower makes all of us uneasy.

Because the world is watching now.

I put on a soft blue dress that drapes gently over my growing stomach—only a slight curve, but noticeable to me. I brush my hair carefully, add a touch of lip balm, and breathe deeply in the mirror.

I don’t look like the Rose I was with Eric.

There’s still fear in my eyes, yes—but also light. Also strength. Also, a sprouting sense of self I thought I’d buried years ago.

I look… almost like a beginning.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.

“Rosita?” Tony’s voice.

I open the door.

His breath catches.

He masks it badly, clearing his throat and offering the smallest, shyest smile.

“You look beautiful.”

My cheeks heat. “Thank you.”

Bruce steps up behind him, holding his tablet. “Ready when you are.”

Natasha leans in the doorway, smiling knowingly. “Let’s bring this little Starklet to their first appointment.”

Bruce groans. “Nat…”

“What? Just planting the seed.”

Tony sputters. “NAT—”

I laugh, feeling warmth bloom in my chest.

We go.

Tony

I don’t know why I’m nervous.

Well, okay, I do.

Because today is the first time we’ll hear the baby’s heartbeat outside the chaos of emergency scans. Because today is real. Because she looks radiant. Because I’m a few emotional inches away from falling hopelessly over a cliff I’ve been teetering on for years.

We take the elevator down to the private garage.

Rose holds the railing, breathing steadily.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods. “Just nerves.”

I offer my hand.

She takes it.

That alone is enough to light every nerve in my arm.

At the medical wing, Bruce walks her through what to expect—ultrasound, bloodwork, and early screenings. I watch Rose’s shoulders ease when he speaks. She trusts him completely.

It hits me like a punch:
She trusts us now.
She trusts me now.

God help me, I’m already gone.

The waiting room is empty—Stark-level privacy means no prying eyes except the ones we allow.

Natasha sits beside Rose, subtly running interference on her spiraling thoughts.

“Remember,” Nat says, “we’re here. All of us. You breathe, we breathe.”

Rose exhales shakily. “Okay.”

Bruce calls us in.

I walk beside Rose, hand hovering near her back—not touching, but ready if she needs me.

She climbs onto the exam table.

Bruce smiles warmly. “Let’s meet your little one.”

My heart stops.

Rose

Gel is cold.

Very cold.

But Tony is at my side instantly, holding my hand like it’s the only thing grounding him to earth.

Bruce moves the probe across my stomach. Natalie stands near the monitor, arms crossed, as she’d personally fistfight the screen if it showed something concerning.

Then—

A sound.

A steady, rapid thumping.

My breath catches.

Tony’s hand squeezes mine.

Bruce’s voice softens. “There they are.”

The heartbeat.

My baby’s heartbeat.

A sound I never expected to hear.
A sound that feels like tomorrow.
A sound that feels like hope made audible.

Tears slip down my cheeks.

I turn to Tony—whose expression is… indescribable.

Soft.
Awestruck.
Shaken.
Trembling with tenderness.

“Rose…” he whispers. “That’s—”

“Our baby,” I say.

He freezes.

I freeze.

His eyes widen.

I scramble. “I—I mean—not ours ours. I just… words. Wrong words. Heat-of-the-moment words—”

He lifts a hand gently, stopping me.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “It’s a beautiful sound. And I’m honored you let me hear it.”

Something melts inside me.

Completely.

The rest of the appointment passes in warm haze—measurements, soft updates, Bruce’s proud explanations. When we leave the building, my heart feels full.

Too full.

Full enough to frighten me.

But then we step outside—

And the world punches back.

FRIDAY’s Voice in the Car

“Boss, you should be aware: Mr. Llanos released a public video.”

Tony stiffens. “What kind of video?”

“A staged apology, sir.”

Rose goes cold beside me.

FRIDAY plays it automatically.

ERIC’S VIDEO (public TikTok)

He sits in a dim room with tearful eyes and a Bible behind him.

Manipulative as ever.

“I want everyone to know,” he begins, voice cracking on cue, “that I’m not perfect. I made mistakes. But Rose is confused. She’s being influenced by powerful people. They’re turning my wife against me.”

Tony growls.

Nat “accidentally” snaps a pen.

Eric continues:

“I love my wife. I never hurt her. She knows this. These accusations are destroying my life, my reputation, my mental health.”

Then—

He shows an old photo of us together.

My stomach twists.

Finally:

“Rose, if you see this… come home. You belong with your husband. We can make this right.”

Back in the Car

I can’t breathe.

Nausea rises again—but this time, not from pregnancy.

From fear.
From rage.
From the twisting guilt abusers carve into bone.

Tony’s hand is instantly on mine.

“Rose,” he says firmly. “Look at me.”

I do.

His eyes burn.

“You’re not going back. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not confused. You’re not alone.”

Natasha leans forward from the front seat. “We’ll publicly shut this down.”

Bruce nods. “This only strengthens your case.”

“But people will believe him,” I whisper.

Tony cups my cheek with a trembling, gentle hand.

“Then we believe you louder.”

My breath shudders.

His thumb brushes away a tear.

And suddenly—without warning—my panic cracks open like a thundercloud.

Thunder. Lightning. Heart racing. Hands trembling. Breath too tight to take in.

But Tony is already there.

Tony

She collapses into a panic attack so fast it knocks the air out of me.

Her breath stutters. Tears stream. Her fingers claw at the seat like she’s drowning.

I unbuckle instantly and pull her into my arms right there in the backseat of the car.

“Hey, hey,” I whisper against her hair. “I’ve got you. It’s okay. Breathe with me.”

She shakes violently.

“I’m scared,” she chokes out.

“I know. I know. You’re okay.”

I guide her breath with mine, the way I’ve learned over the past weeks.

Nat lowers the partition. “Need anything?”

“Just keep the car steady,” I say softly.

Her trembling eases slowly. Her head rests against my chest. Her fist grips my shirt like a lifeline.

“We’re almost home,” I whisper. “You’re safe.”

She whispers something into my shirt, and I barely catch it.

“You feel like home.”

My heart stops.

I hold her tighter.

“I won’t ever let anyone take your home away again.”

Rose

The Tower greets me with quiet warmth.

Lights dimmed. Airsoft. A faint lavender scent drifts through the halls.

I’m exhausted.

Drained.

Emotionally raw.

Tony walks me to my room slowly, carefully, as I might break.

But when we reach the door…

I don’t let go of his hand.

He freezes.

“Rose?” he asks softly.

I swallow.

My voice trembles.

“Will you… stay?

Just for a little bit?”

His eyes soften—melting into something warm and dangerously tender.

“Of course.”

He follows me inside.

I sit on the bed.

When I lean against him—shoulder to shoulder—he slips an arm around me.

Carefully. Slowly. With consent in every movement.

I rest my head on his chest.

He breathes in sharply, as if the weight of me is a gift he doesn’t dare unwrap too quickly.

We sit like that for a long time.

Warm.
Quiet.
Wrapped in something new.
Something tender.
Something blooming.

My voice breaks the silence.

“Tony?”

He hums softly. “Yeah?”

“When I’m with you… I don’t feel afraid.”

He swallows audibly.

“Good,” he whispers. “You never have to be afraid with me.”

I tilt my face up.

His eyes meet mine.

Warm.
Soft.
Shining.

The moment pulls us closer—

Closer—

Breath mingling—

He whispers, “Rose…”

Just as our lips hover close enough to feel the heat—

My baby kicks.

Hard.

I gasp.

Tony jerks back, eyes wide. “Was that—?!”

I take his hand and place it on my stomach.

The baby kicks again.

His face breaks into a stunned, beautiful smile.

“Hi, little one,” he whispers. “It’s me.”

My heart melts.

Completely.

Utterly.

Irrevocably.

For both of them.

Tony

The baby kicked.

I felt it.

I felt life.
I felt hope.
I felt something inside me crack open like dawn breaking over the darkest night.

And when Rose looked at me…

Everything shifted.

Everything.

I don’t kiss her.

I don’t rush her.

I just pull her into my arms again, holding her and the small life between us with reverence.

“Get some rest,” I whisper, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Her eyes soften.

“Don’t go,” she whispers.

“I won’t.”

She falls asleep against my chest.

I hold her until her breath deepens.

I stay until the fear leaves her face.

And even after she sleeps, I whisper into her hair:

“I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

Rose

Morning comes gently.

For once, no nausea. No panic. Just the soft hum of the Tower and the warmth of sunlight pooling over my sheets. I stretch carefully, hand resting on my stomach.

“Good morning, little one,” I whisper.

A soft flutter answers me.

I freeze.

Then smile.

I’ve been feeling tiny movements here and there, but today… the flutter is clear. Real. Like tiny knuckles knocking lightly against the inside of my skin.

A small gasp escapes me.

The baby is saying hello.

I let myself savor the moment—but then FRIDAY speaks, gentle but concerned:

“Ms. Llanos, you should see this.”

The wall screen lights up.

And I feel my stomach drop.

NEWS FEED — HEADLINES

“Eric Llanos’ Apology Video Backfires Online”
“New Evidence Shows Manipulation, Coercion Behind Eric’s Statements”
“#WeStandWithRose Trending Worldwide”
“Domestic Violence Experts Call Out Eric’s Tactics”

TikTok comments scroll:

“He’s lying.”
“Classic DARVO behavior.”
“We believe Rose.”
“Stay safe, girl. You’re doing amazing.”

My heart warms—but fear still stirs beneath it.

Everything is so public now. So loud.

I breathe in.
I breathe out.

And I whisper to the baby again:

“We’re okay. We’re safe.”

A soft knock at the door.

Tony.

He enters wearing a soft grey sweater and sleep-tousled hair—adorable in a way he will absolutely deny.

But his expression shifts instantly when he sees the news feed.

He rushes to my side, brows drawn.

“You alright?”

I nod. “I… I think so.”

He gently cups my face. “We’re handling it today. Pepper and I have a plan. You won’t have to lift a finger.”

Something nervous flutters in my chest.

“What kind of plan?”

He grins. “A press conference.”

My stomach flips. “Tony—”

He shakes his head, thumb brushing my cheek the way he does when he wants me to breathe.

“No. Not you. Us.”

“Us?”

“Pepper and I,” he clarifies. “We’re correcting the narrative. You’re staying out of it.”

Warmth floods me.

He’s shielding me. Again.

And… I like it.

God help me, I like it.

Tony’s POV — Later That Morning

The press conference is already a circus by the time Pepper and I step backstage.

Cameras. Microphones. Reporters like sharks.

I glance at Pepper.

“You ready to wage war?”

She smirks. “I always am.”

We step out.

Silence ripples through the room.

Pepper begins, voice steady, elegant, lethal in its calm.

“Good morning. Stark Industries and the Avengers support survivors of abuse. We do not tolerate harassment, manipulation, or weaponized misinformation.”

I continue:

“The video released yesterday was a staged, manipulative performance. Evidence has already been submitted to the court showing systematic abuse toward Ms. Llanos.”

Reporters murmur.

Good.

Pepper adds, “Ms. Llanos is safe, supported, and receiving care. Any statement claiming she is mentally unwell or being influenced is categorically false.”

I finish it with fire:

“And anyone attempting to harm her—physically or psychologically—will face legal consequences. No exceptions.”

Cameras explode with flashes.

No apology.
No defense.
No softness.

A line in concrete.

Rose will not be touched.

Rose

When Tony and Pepper return to the Tower, the team rushes them like a victorious army.

Clint throws popcorn. “You roasted him LIVE! Beautiful performance!”

Nat smirks. “10/10 delivery. Excellent threat-to-smile ratio.”

Bruce adjusts his glasses. “Concise. Effective. Intimidating. Very Stark.”

Steve claps Tony on the back. “Proud of you, man.”

Tony glances at me.

His expression softens.

Warrior mode dissolves into something warm. Tender.

“For you,” he murmurs.

Heat floods my cheeks.

“I know,” I whisper.

And suddenly—

I feel the baby flutter again.

I gasp.

Tony’s eyes widen. “Was that—?”

I grab his hand and place it gently on my stomach.

Another flutter.

His face transforms.

If love had a physical expression…
If awe could be sculpted…
If tenderness were made flesh…

It would be the look on Tony’s face right now.

“Hi again,” he whispers to my belly. “I’m here.”

Bruce clears his throat loudly. “We’re all here, actually.”

Nat elbows him. “Shush. This is adorable. Let me enjoy it.”

Steve chuckles. Clint audibly sniffles.

And then Tony whispers something he doesn’t realize slips out loud:

“I can’t wait to meet you.”

My heart slams against my ribs.

Clint whispers to Sam, “He’s GONE.”

Sam whispers back, “He fell harder than Thor fell for coffee.”

Team Teasing — After Lunch

I sit on the couch sipping ginger tea while the team circles like playful vultures.

Nat: “So. You and Tony.”

Me: chokes on tea “What?”

Clint: “The longing stares.”

Sam: “The soft touches.”

Bucky: “The emotionally intimate monologues.”

Steve: “The protective instincts.”

Bruce: “The oxytocin.”

Thor: “The courtship rituals.”

Tony: “HEY—WE CAN HEAR YOU.”

Nat smirks. “Not talking to you. Talking to Rose.”

They all stare at me with mischievous knowingness.

“Guys—” I start.

Clint interrupts, pointing. “There! That blush. She likes him.”

Tony turns beet red.

Steve pats his shoulder. “It’s okay, Tony. You’re not subtle either.”

The Tower erupts with laughter.

I hide my face in my hands.

But…

My heart is warm.

So warm.

Because they’re right.

I am falling for him.

Slowly.
Quietly.
Completely.

Security Breach — Evening

We’re gathered in the lounge when FRIDAY’s voice slices through the air.

“Security alert. Unauthorized access attempt detected on the south side perimeter.”

Tony stiffens.

Nat grabs weapons.
Steve moves to the monitors.
Bruce tenses.
Thor summons Stormbreaker.

My heart seizes.

“Who is it?” Tony demands.

“Identity masked. Attempting breach through the external maintenance door.”

My hands shake.

Tony is already moving toward me.

“Rose, stay behind me.”

I do. Instinctively.

Because fear is familiar.
Because Tony feels safe.

The cameras flicker.

A figure in dark clothing tries the keypad—unsuccessfully, thanks to FRIDAY’s lockdown protocols.

Clint readies his bow. “Say the word.”

But then—

The intruder steps into the light.

Eric.

My blood runs cold.

He tries the door again. Shoves it. Yells something. Kicks the lock. Pulls something from his pocket—maybe a crowbar.

My stomach twists violently.

TONY SEES RED.

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” Sam mutters.

Nat’s voice lowers into pure lethal calm. “Trespassing at Stark Tower? That’s a death wish.”

Eric pounds on the door again.

“ROSE! COME OUT!”

I flinch.

Tony snaps.

“Turn on the speakers,” he growls.

FRIDAY complies.

Tony strides to the console.

His voice booms outward through the exterior speakers.

“THIS IS YOUR ONLY WARNING. STEP AWAY FROM THE DOOR.”

Eric freezes. Looks around wildly.

He pounds again.

“ROSE!”

I tremble.

Tony’s voice turns cold as ice.

“You come near her again, and you will regret it. Permanently.”

Eric leaves only when security drones begin to move.

The moment he’s gone, my knees buckle.

Tony catches me instantly.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shaking. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs fiercely. “You did nothing wrong.”

I clutch his shirt and try to breathe.

He presses a kiss—soft, trembling—to the top of my head.

I freeze.

So does he.

But neither of us pulls away.

Tony — That Night

I barely sleep.

When I do, a dream rises—so vivid, so real, it steals my breath.

THE DREAM

Sunlight.
Soft grass.
Laughter.

I turn—

And there she is.

Rose.

Radiant.

Hair glowing in the sun.
Eyes warm.
A small, beautiful curve of a belly beneath her dress.

And on her left hand—

A ring.

A breathtaking, delicate diamond ring I’ve never seen but somehow know I designed myself.

She places a hand over her stomach and smiles at me with love so pure it shatters me.

Then—

From behind her—

A toddler bursts forward, running full speed on tiny legs.

Dark curls.
Emerald green eyes.
Freckles.

“DADDY! CATCH ME!”

He leaps.

I catch him, laughing, spinning him in the air.

My son.
Our son.

Rose watches us with a soft, glowing smile.

She steps forward, placing a hand on my cheek.

“I love you,” she whispers. “My hero.”

The world glows around us.

Perfect.
Whole.
Ours.

THE WAKING

I jerk awake.

Gasping.

Heart pounding.

Bed empty.

Room dark.

And tears on my face.

Because I want that dream.
I want it so badly it aches.

A family.
A future.
Her.

I press my palms against my eyes and exhale a shuddering breath.

“I’m already in love with her,” I whisper to the empty room. “God help me.”

Chapter Text

Tony

The dream ruins me.

Not in a tragic way—no, worse.
In the way that makes a man want.
In the way that makes him yearn.
In the way that wakes him breathless and aching for a future he has no right to imagine.

A future where Rose looks at me like I’m hers.
A future where a child calls me Daddy.
A future where I finally get it right.

I can’t shake it.

I go through the motions of the morning like a malfunctioning robot—coffee, shower, avoiding mirrors, avoiding Nat’s knowing eyes.

In the elevator, FRIDAY pipes up with traitorous sweetness.

“Your REM cycles spiked sharply, Boss. Elevated heart rate. Emotional responses noted.”

“Stop tracking my dreams,” I mutter.

“You were crying.”

I mash the emergency-stop button.

The elevator halts.

I lean against the wall, burying my face in my hands.

“FRIDAY,” I whisper. “Please don’t… announce that.”

“Noted. Would you like emotional support protocols activated?”

“No.”

But yes.

But absolutely not.

I take a deep breath, start the elevator again, and head toward the lounge.

I expect to see Rose on the couch.

Instead, I see…

Rose in my sweatshirt.

My oversized, soft, faded MIT sweatshirt, drowning her in cotton and comfort.

And she’s glowing.

Her hand is on her stomach.
Her hair is loose.
She’s smiling softly as the baby flutters.

My heart stops.

Completely.

Then restarts too hard.

She looks up at me and—God help me—she beams.

“Tony.”

Just my name.

But it feels like sunlight breaking on water.

I swallow hard. “Morning, Rosita.”

She tilts her head, studying me with quiet confusion.

“You okay? You seem… off.”

Off?

I’m one heartbeat away from falling at her feet, confessing that I dreamed of our wedding.

I sit across from her, keeping distance like a coward.

“Yeah. Just didn’t sleep great.”

She frowns—worried. Too worried.

“Nightmare?”

Not even close.

“Something like that.”

But she keeps staring at me with those emerald eyes—penetrating, soft, impossibly kind.

And I feel myself unravel.

Rose

Tony is acting strange.

Not dangerous-strange.
Not spiraling-strange.

More like…
softened, shaken, and trying very hard to hide its strangeness.

His eyes linger on me longer today.
His voice is quieter.
His shoulders are tense.

But the real giveaway is this:

He keeps glancing at my stomach.

Like he’s remembering something.

“Tony,” I say gently. “Come sit by me.”

He hesitates.

That’s new.

Then he obeys—slowly—as if approaching something holy.

When he sits beside me, his knee brushes mine, and he inhales sharply.

Everything in me warms.

“Talk to me,” I whisper. “What’s wrong?”

His jaw flexes.

“Just… thinking.”

“About?”

“You.”

I blink.

He blinks.

We both sit there, stunned by his accidental honesty.

He clears his throat violently. “Not—you. I mean yes, you, but—not like—well, like that but—”

I laugh softly. “Tony. Breathe.”

He exhales shakily.

But something warm rises in my chest—something that almost feels like courage.

Baby Movement

The flutter happens again.

Then stronger.

Then again—like tiny hands trying to push through walls.

I gasp and grab Tony’s hand.

“Here,” I whisper, placing it on my stomach.

The baby kicks the moment his palm touches me.

Tony’s eyes go wide—glassy, bright, trembling.

“She’s saying good morning,” I whisper without thinking.

“She?” he breathes.

“I… don’t know. Just a feeling.”

He runs his thumb gently across the fabric of my sweatshirt.

His voice is reverent.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

My breath catches.

The baby kicks again.

Tony smiles—a smile so full of awe it nearly breaks me.

Team Scene — Teasing Intensifies

Clint walks in.

Sees us.

Sees Tony’s hand on my stomach.

And screams:

“H A! CALLED IT!”

Tony jerks away like he touched a live wire.

“SHUT UP, CLINT,” Nat says, hurling an apple at his head.

Steve smiles knowingly. “You two look happy.”

Tony sputters. “We—we were just—there was a—baby kick—”

Bruce nods, amused. “Science checks out.”

Thor beams. “The child favors Tony’s voice! A sign of destiny!”

Tony covers his face with both hands.

Clint records on his phone.

“Delete that!” Tony snaps.

Clint cackles. “Never. My grandchildren will see this.”

Rose (internal)

They tease.

They laugh.

They nudge us toward each other like the world’s most chaotic Greek chorus.

But what no one realizes—

Is that what I want?

I want every moment Tony looks at me with soft eyes.
I want the safety of his touch.
I want the way he anchors me during panic.
I want the way he lights up when the baby moves.

I want him.

God help me, I am falling in love with him.

Slow.
Gentle.
Inevitable.

Escalation — Legal & Dangerous

Pepper storms into the lounge holding her tablet like a weapon.

“Okay. Everyone, sit.”

We sit.

Tony sits closer to me than necessary.

Pepper drops the bomb.

“Eric hired a new attorney. Aggressive. High-profile. He’s trying to push a narrative that Rose is mentally compromised and that the baby needs both parents.”

My stomach plummets.

Tony growls, low and dangerous. “Absolutely not.”

Pepper nods. “We’re blocking everything legally. But he also submitted a request to have Rose psychologically evaluated.”

My blood runs cold.

Tony stands sharply.

“No. No way. She’s not going anywhere near that.”

Nat crosses her arms. “We’ll handle it.”

Pepper continues: “There’s more. His attorney filed a request for visitation rights for when the baby is born.”

Tears fill my eyes.

“No,” I whisper. “No. Please, no.”

Tony kneels in front of me instantly, taking both my hands in his.

“Rose,” he whispers fiercely. “He is not getting near you or the baby. I swear on everything I have.”

I tremble.

Nat places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We won’t let him win.”

Steve nods. “You have us.”

Thor lifts Stormbreaker. “No man shall approach you unless deemed worthy!”

Clint: “Thor, not helping.”

But the team’s presence surrounds me like armor.

And I breathe again.

The Moment Everything Shifts — Late Night

The Tower quiets after the chaos.

Lights dim.
Voices fade.
My thoughts swirl.

I find Tony in the workshop staring blankly at an unfinished project.

He jumps when he sees me.

“Oh—hey. I thought you were asleep.”

“I couldn’t,” I admit. “Too much on my mind.”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Today was… a lot.”

I step closer.

“Tony?”

He looks up.

Tired.
Haunted.
Soft.

“You’ve been taking care of me nonstop,” I whisper. “Let me… take care of you tonight.”

His breath stutters.

He shakes his head. “Rose, I don’t want to put anything on you—”

“You’re not.”

I step closer.

He stands frozen as I gently, tenderly cup his face in my hands.

His eyes flutter closed as he exhales shakily.

“Talk to me,” I whisper. “What’s hurting?”

His voice breaks.

“I had a dream,” he confesses, voice raw. “A future dream. With you. And the baby. And a life I… want more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

My heart cracks open.

He continues, voice trembling.

“You wore a ring I designed. You were glowing. A little boy ran into my arms, calling me Daddy. You told me you loved me. And I woke up alone.”

A tear falls down his cheek.

I wipe it away.

Soft.
Slow.
Loving.

“Tony,” I whisper. “That dream… didn’t scare me.”

His eyes open—shocked, vulnerable, hopeful.

“You—It didn’t?”

I shake my head.

“It made my heart warm.”

Another tear falls.

He whispers, “Rose… I’m falling in love with you.”

My breath catches—

Not in fear.

In recognition.

Because I have been falling too.

Slowly.
Quietly.
Hopelessly.

I place my forehead against his.

“I’m falling too,” I whisper back.

His breath breaks.

His hands rise—hesitant—to my waist.

But before anything else can happen—

FRIDAY interrupts:

“Apologies, but we have an urgent legal update.”

Tony groans. “FRIDAY, you need to learn timing.”

“Working on that, boss.”

We step apart, breathless, shaken, glowing.

Not lovers yet.

But no longer just friends.

Something real is blooming.

Something inevitable.

Chapter Text

Rose

I wake up with a feeling I haven’t had in years.

Excitement.

A quiet, fluttering excitement that hums under my skin like a secret.
It has nothing to do with the Tower.
Nothing to do with Eric or court cases or the media.
Not even the baby.

It’s Tony.

Last night…
Last night felt like the moment before sunrise.
Soft.
Warm.
A quiet promise tucked into darkness.

He told me his dream.
He told me he’s falling in love with me.
And I told him the truth I’ve been swallowing like a fragile stone:

I’m falling too.

My cheeks heat.

I press a hand over my stomach and whisper to the baby:

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

A flutter answers me.

Little traitor already has opinions.

I smile.

Before I can fully sit up, there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Rose?” Tony’s voice. A little groggy. A little shy.

My heart jumps like it knows its favorite song.

“Come in.”

The door opens slowly.

Tony stands there in a soft Stark-branded t-shirt and jeans, hair tousled, eyes warm and unsure. The kind of unsure that only comes from a man who had feelings pour out of him last night and woke up wondering if he imagined all of it.

“Morning,” he says softly.

“Morning.”

We stay there, just looking at each other, long enough for FRIDAY to cough politely over the speakers.

“Boss, Ms. Llanos’ OB appointment is in forty-five minutes.”

Tony flushes.

“We should, uh… get going.”

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Let me get dressed.”

He nods, starts to leave, then—

Stops.

Turns back.

“Rose?”

“Yes?”

His eyes soften. “Last night wasn’t a mistake.”

My breath catches. “I know.”

He nods once, slow and grateful, as if those two words steadied something inside him.

Baby Appointment — A New Heartbeat, A New Truth

Bruce awaits us with a warm smile.

“This should be exciting,” he says. “You might hear more than one heartbeat this time.”

Tony grabs my hand before I even sit down.

Not accidentally.
Not hesitantly.
With intention.

My heart warms.

I lie back as Bruce prepares the ultrasound gel.

“It’ll be cold,” Bruce warns.

Tony winces sympathetically on my behalf and squeezes my hand tighter.

The gel touches my skin.

I gasp.

Tony whispers, “You okay?”

“Just cold,” I laugh.

Then—

A sound fills the room.

Strong.
Clear.
Steady.

The baby’s heartbeat.

Not a faint whisper like last time.
A loud, confident rhythm.

Thump-thump-thump-thump.

Tony’s eyes widen. “That’s—wow. Wow.”

He has tears in his eyes again.

Every time he hears the baby, he looks like a man witnessing a miracle.

And something deep in my soul whispers:

This is the man who should be here.
Here for me.
Here for my child.
Here for the future.

Bruce narrates measurements and development, but Tony is transfixed.

When the baby kicks during the scan, Tony lets out a soft, incredulous laugh—pure joy, pure wonder.

“She’s strong,” he murmurs.

“She?”

He shrugs shyly. “Feels right.”

I melt.

Media Escalation — Eric’s Attorney Goes Public

As soon as we return to the Tower, FRIDAY alerts us.

“You should see this immediately.”

The wall screen lights up to a live news broadcast.

Eric’s new attorney—a sharp, smirking woman in an expensive suit—faces reporters.

Her voice is silky poison.

“We believe Ms. Llanos is being held under undue influence,” she says. “Her partner—Mr. Tony Stark is a billionaire with immense resources. He has a pattern of unstable relationships. We are concerned for Ms. Llanos’ mental state and the well-being of her unborn child.”

I freeze.

Tony explodes.

“What—excuse—pattern of unstable—SHE’S LUCKY I’M NOT SUING HER!”

Natasha: “You still can.”

Steve: “You probably should.”

Clint: “She basically called you emotionally unstable on national TV.”

Sam: “I mean… she’s not wrong.”

Tony: “SAM!”

But then—

The reporter asks:

“Is it true Ms. Llanos is suffering delusions?”

The attorney smiles like she’s waiting for applause.

“We believe Ms. Llanos may be confused and manipulated. We are requesting a psychiatric evaluation.”

I feel the floor drop beneath me.

My breath stutters—too fast, too shallow.

Tony’s voice cuts through the panic.

“Rose? Hey—hey, look at me. Don’t listen to her. I’m here.”

His hands cradle my face.

Soft.
Steady.
Anchoring.

“I won’t let them do anything to you. I swear.”

My breath slows.

The team forms a protective circle around us.

Pepper: “We’ll counter-file immediately.”

Nat: “She dug her own grave with that statement.”

Bruce: “No judge will force an evaluation without credible evidence.”

Thor: “If they try, I shall smite them.”

Clint: “We’ll call that Option Z.”

Sam: “Option Z is usually unnecessary.”

Tony’s voice softens. “Not ruling it out.”

I manage a small laugh.

Tony beams—like he’s grateful for every sound I make.

A Viral Moment — Tony the Protector

FRIDAY chimes again.

“Tony, there’s a video trending. You should review it.”

My stomach knots.

But when the screen plays—

My heart trips.

It’s footage from the press conference.

Tony is answering a question about Eric’s accusations when a reporter yells:

“Is Ms. Llanos mentally unstable?”

Tony’s jaw clenches.

His voice goes cold as winter.

“If you say anything else about her like that, I will personally make sure you never get another press badge in this city.”

The crowd goes silent.

The caption on the viral video reads:

“TONY STARK DEFENDS ROSE LIKE A LION.”

Comments flood in:

“He LOVES her.”
“This man is READY to fight GOD for her.”
“Find someone who looks at you like Tony looks at Rose.”
“Did you see how fast he snapped?”
“Protective king.”

I cover my face, blushing.

Tony runs a hand through his hair. “Oh, good, the internet thinks I’m in love with you.”

The room goes dead silent.

He freezes.

I freeze.

Then—

Clint: “You ARE.”

Nat: “Obviously.”

Bruce: “Scientifically observable.”

Thor: “May the Nine Realms celebrate your union!”

Sam: “SOMEONE GET THEM MARRIED.”

Tony grabs a throw pillow and hurls it at Sam.

I hide my face in embarrassment and warmth.

Tony’s Spiral — And Rose’s Comfort

That night, I find Tony in the workshop again.

He’s pacing.

Fast.
Erratic.
Restless.

“Tony?”

He stops.

Turns.

His face is raw.

“Rose…” he whispers. “I’m scared.”

This floors me.

“Of what?”

He swallows hard.

“I want things I’m not allowed to want.”

I step closer.

“Like what?”

He meets my eyes, and the truth pours out of him without restraint.

“You. The baby. A future. A family. I want it so much it hurts.”

My breath catches.

His voice breaks.

“But I’m terrified. Terrified I’ll mess it up. Terrified you’ll realize you deserve better. Terrified—God, Rose—terrified you’ll walk away.”

I reach for him instinctively.

He flinches—not away from me, but from his own vulnerability.

I wrap my arms around him gently.

“Tony,” I whisper into his chest. “You don’t have to be afraid with me.”

His breath shudders.

Slowly, slowly, he melts into the embrace.

He holds me like he’s been waiting years to be held.

“You’re safe,” I murmur, echoing his words back to him. “I’ve got you.”

He trembles in my arms.

And for the first time, I am the one anchoring him.

The Near-Kiss

We pull apart.

But only slightly.

His fingers brush my cheek.
My hand rests over his heart.
Our breaths mingle.
Everything feels suspended—like the universe is holding its breath with us.

“Rose…” he whispers, leaning closer.

“Tony…” I breathe.

Our lips hover—

Half an inch apart—

The air charged—
Warm—
Pulling—

I tilt my chin up.

He leans in—

He’s going to kiss me—
He’s going to—

FRIDAY:
“Emergency alert! Unauthorized legal document submitted on behalf of Ms. Llanos!”

Tony’s forehead COLLAPSES against my shoulder.

“FRIDAY,” he groans. “I swear to God—”

I laugh breathlessly.

He lifts his head slowly.

“We’ll finish that later,” he murmurs—promise in his voice.

My heart explodes into fireworks.

Tower Family Bonding

Once the legal chaos is handled (Eric attempting to file that I voluntarily want to return—absolutely false and easily disproven), the team drags me to the common room.

Thor ordered dinner.
Clint put on a movie.
Nat made me sit between her and Tony.
Steve insisted on “family time.”

At one point, Thor lifts me gently onto his lap to feel the baby kick.

“THE CHILD HAS WARRIOR SPIRIT!” he booms.

Nat elbows him. “Shut up, you’re scaring her.”

Tony glares at Thor from across the room like a jealous pet cat.

Clint whispers, “Damn, Dad Mode activated.”

Tony: “CLINT—”

I laugh so hard I snort.

The team cheers.

Tony looks at me like I hung the moon.

Rose — Ending Reflection

Later that night, as I crawl into bed, my heart feels like a constellation—bright, alive, expanding.

Tony is falling.

I am falling.

And it feels like falling into warmth, into safety, into something I’ve been searching for all my life and didn’t know existed.

Family.
Love.
A safe home.

The baby flutters again.

I place a hand on my stomach and whisper:

“We’re safe here. We’re loved here.”

And for the first time in years—

I believe it.

Chapter Text

Rose

Sleep doesn’t come easily anymore.

Not because of fear.
Not because of nightmares.

Because of Tony.

Because everything between us is changing—like ice thawing from the inside out.
Melting into something warm.
Something alive.

And I can’t stop replaying the way he looked at me last night—raw, vulnerable, like he placed his entire soul in my hands and hoped I wouldn’t crush it.

I didn’t.
I never would.

So when I see him the next morning in the lounge, hair messy, eyes soft, smile shy, my heart lurches.

“Hi,” he says, like the greeting itself is precious.

“Hi,” I whisper back.

He walks toward me. Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s approaching something delicate.

When he gets close, he reaches out—hesitant, gentle—and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.

“You slept?” he asks.

“Mostly.”

He nods, eyes warm. “Good.”

There’s silence—the charged kind.

Then:

“Tony… we need to talk.”

His breath stutters.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, we do.”

He leads me to the private sitting area overlooking the city. We sit close. Too close.

My heart beats fast.

“Last night,” I begin softly, “when you told me you were falling in love with me…”

He goes still.

I continue.

“It didn’t scare me. Not the way it should have.”

His eyes lift to mine, wide, hopeful.

I swallow.

“I’m scared of a lot of things. But not of you.”

A soft breath escapes him.

“And not of this.”

“Rose,” he whispers, voice breaking.

“My feelings for you…” I pause because my courage feels thin and trembling. “They’re real. They’re growing. And I don’t know what we’re becoming yet, but I want to figure it out with you.”

His expression—God.
If love had a face, it would be this moment.

Slowly, gently, he takes my hand.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he murmurs. “At your pace. At your comfort. With no pressure at all.”

Emotion clogs my throat.

“And if—if someday—you want something more… I’ll be here. Waiting. Hoping.”

I lean closer—drawn to him like a tide—

Our lips hover—

Closer—

Closer—

He whispers my name—

And then FRIDAY ruins everything:

“Urgent legal update, Ms. Llanos.”

Tony drops his forehead onto my shoulder.

“For the love of—FRIDAY.”

“Apologies, Boss.”

I laugh breathlessly.

Tony grins, defeated and smitten.

“Later,” he murmurs.

“Later,” I promise.

Eric’s Attorney Escalates

Pepper storms into the lounge twenty minutes later.

The tablet raised like a battle standard.

“Okay, brace yourselves.”

We all look.

On the news:

Eric’s attorney stands outside a courthouse with cameras swarming.

She speaks like a venom-laced lullaby.

Ms. Llanos’ pregnancy is high-risk due to emotional instability and stress. We are filing for an emergency medical review to ensure the welfare of the unborn child.”

My heart stops.

Tony stands so fast his chair topples.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

Natasha swears in Russian.
Steve mutters, “This is low. Even for them.”
Thor grips Stormbreaker. “Shall I strike them from Midgard?”
Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s exploiting loopholes.”

I shake.

I shake so hard my teeth chatter.

“Tony,” I whisper. “What if they—what if they take—”

He is kneeling in front of me instantly, hands warm and firm on my arms.

“No one is taking our baby.”

Our.

He said our.

I melt and break at the same time.

Pepper places a reassuring hand on my back.

“It’s all bark,” she says. “Legally, they have nothing. They’re bluffing to scare you.”

Tony cups my face.

“Rose, look at me,” he says softly.

I look.

“You and this baby are safe. You have us. You have me.”

A tear escapes.

He wipes it gently with his thumb.

Pregnancy Craving Chaos

The Tower tries to get back to normal after the legal mess.

But my stomach has other plans.

At noon, I suddenly want—

No, need—

A very specific combination of food.

I find Tony in the workshop and blurt:

“I want strawberries dipped in peanut butter with hot sauce.”

He freezes.

“Rose,” he says slowly, “what did you just say?”

“Strawberries. Peanut butter. Hot sauce.”

He blinks once. Twice.

Then:

“ON IT.”

Within seven minutes, the entire Tower kitchen becomes an assembly line of Avengers fulfilling Rose’s Weird Craving Quest.

Thor chops strawberries with enthusiastic battle cries.
Natasha heats the hot sauce with surgical precision.
Bruce checks acidity levels “for fetal safety.”
Clint tries to steal berries and gets smacked by Steve.
Sam films the chaos.
Tony hovers anxiously, asking, “Is it too spicy? Not spicy enough? Do you need a different peanut butter? Almond butter? Cashew? Hazelnut? Should I get FRIDAY to analyze the flavor profile of—”

“Tony,” I laugh, glowing. “It’s perfect.”

He beamed as I handed him a Nobel Prize.

Tony’s Sweet Gesture

Later that afternoon, Tony knocks on my door, holding something behind his back.

“I made you something,” he says shyly.

“Tony, you didn’t have to—”

He reveals a small device.

It looks like a compact, sleek pocket speaker.

“It lets you hear the baby’s heartbeat anytime,” he says quietly. “Bruce helped calibrate it. You can keep it beside your bed.”

Emotion hits me so hard I nearly sit.

“Tony… this is… beautiful.”

He rubs the back of his neck, flustered.

“I just wanted you to feel close to the baby whenever you needed to. Especially if you’re scared or alone at night.”

“I won’t be alone,” I whisper.

He freezes.

His eyes soften.

“No,” he says quietly. “You won’t.”

Therapy Breakthrough

Bruce holds a session with me later.

We talk about fear.
About shame.
About leaving.
About Tony.

“You’re building new neural connections,” Bruce says. “Associating safety with people who don’t hurt you.”

“I didn’t know it was possible,” I whisper.

“It is. You’re doing the work.”

And then:

“Rose… you’re starting to believe you deserve love.”

Tears spill.

Because he is right.

The Team Is Needed — A Mission Drops

That night, everything erupts.

The world cracks open as FRIDAY’s voice booms:

“Avengers, report to the briefing room immediately. Threat level: severe.”

Every head lifts.

Tony stands instantly.

He presses a fast kiss to my forehead—a soft one, instinctual, terrified—and whispers:

“I’ll come back. I promise.”

My heart seizes.

“Be careful,” I breathe.

He hesitates.

Then touches my cheek.

“I will.”

But something feels off.

He’s not focused.
Not centered.
His mind is half here with me.

And it terrifies me.

Tony’s POV — The Mission

I try.

I swear I try.

But all I can think about is Rose—her smile, her tremble, her laugh, her fear, her baby.

Our baby.

Our future.

I’m not in my body.
Not in the fight.
And that’s why—

It happens.

A blast I didn’t see coming.

Steve shouts.
Nat screams my name.
The world flips.
Pain sears through my ribs.
Metal crunches.
I hit the ground hard.

And the lights go out.

Rose — The Med Bay

I know before they tell me.

I know from the panic in FRIDAY’s voice.
From the way the lights dim in emergency patterns.
From the way the elevator shakes as it brings them down.

When Steve and Bruce wheel him in—bloody, unconscious, limp—

My soul leaves my body.

“TONY!” I scream.

Bruce grabs me gently. “Rose, you need to let us work—”

“IS HE ALIVE?!”

“Yes—but he needs immediate medical treatment.”

I can’t breathe.

They lift him onto the surgical gurney.

Nat places a hand on my shoulder, but it feels like cotton.

I watch them work—
Bruce is stitching a deep wound,
Steve is stabilizing the respirator mask,
Nat checking his vitals—

And all I can think is:

This is my fault.
He wasn’t in the fight because of me.
He was distracted because of me.
He almost—
He almost—

I collapse against the wall, choking on sobs.

Bruce calls out, “We’re almost done. He’s stable. He’s going to be okay.”

But my legs won’t move.

It’s Steve who lifts me gently, guiding me forward.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “He needs you now.”

When they finally step back, Tony is alive.

Alive.

Breathing.

Still.

Silent.

Unconscious.

I break.

I climb onto the gurney—ignoring the wires, ignoring the monitors—and lie next to him, curling into his uninjured side.

My head rests on his shoulder.
My hand over his heart.
My tears were soaking his shirt.

Steve and Nat approach.

“Rose,” Steve says softly, “you should rest—”

I glare at him with a fire that surprises even me.

Nat raises her hands in surrender. “Yep. She’s not moving.”

Steve sighs. “Okay. Okay.”

Nat leaves and returns with a soft blanket.

She drapes it over us gently.

Bruce dims the lights.

The room hums softly.

I whisper into Tony’s chest:

“I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.”

His heart monitor beeps a little faster.

And I swear—

His fingers move the tiniest bit toward mine.

Chapter Text

Tony

Pain drags me back to consciousness.
Pain—and warmth.

Warmth pressed along my side.
Warmth breathing softly against my shoulder.
Warmth with a heartbeat.

I blink open my eyes.

The lights are dim.
Machines beep quietly.
Bandages tug at my ribs.

And Rose—
Rose is curled beside me on the narrow gurney, tucked under a blanket, one hand resting lightly over my heart.

Her eyelashes glisten from dried tears.
Her breath brushes my skin.
Her body is curved protectively into mine, as if she were the one shielding me.

I blink again because this is a dream.

It has to be.

But then her finger twitches against my chest.

Real.
Real.
Real.

Memories trickle back:

The mission.
My distraction.
The blow I didn’t dodge.
Darkness.

And then—

Rose’s voice is screaming my name.

Something inside me cracks.

“Rosita…” I whisper, voice raw.

Her eyes flutter open instantly.

The transformation is instantaneous—fear, relief, fury, tenderness all crashing into her at once.

“Tony,” she breathes, sitting up on her elbow. “Tony—don’t move—are you—does it hurt—Bruce said—oh god—”

“Hey,” I whisper, catching the back of her hand with mine, “slow down. I’m okay.”

She glares at me with tears in her eyes.

“No,” she snaps softly, “you are not okay. You almost died.”

I blink.

Rose rarely snaps.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I wasn’t focused.”

“No,” she says again, shaking her head fiercely. “Don’t apologize. Don’t you dare. Just—don’t do it again.”

My heart stutters.

Her voice cracks.

“I can’t lose you.”

She said it.

She actually said it.

I reach up—slow, careful—to cup her cheek.

Her breath catches.

“Rose,” I whisper, “you won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispers. “Not with what you do. Not with how you throw yourself into danger. Not when your head is half with me and half out there—”

I wince. “Yeah. That’s… that’s on me.”

She leans her forehead against mine, shaking gently.

“I was so scared.”

My thumb strokes her cheek, lighter than breath.

“I know,” I say softly. “I’m sorry. I never meant to make you afraid.”

Her voice softens to something fragile.

“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of losing you.”

Everything inside me melts.

“Rosita,” I whisper, “I’m right here.”

Her breath trembles across my lips.
Her fingers curl into my shirt.

We are too close.
Too raw.
Too open.

I think—

I think she’s going to kiss me.

And then—

She does something that destroys me completely.

She climbs back onto the gurney and cups my face with both hands.

Her voice breaks.

“I love you.”

My heart explodes.

My breath leaves me.

She said it.
She said it.
She said it.

I lift my hand to the back of her head and pull her gently—so gently—closer.

“I love you too,” I whisper. “I’ve loved you longer than I should admit.”

Her breath catches.

Her lips hover over mine.

And then—

She closes the distance.

THE KISS

It’s soft at first.

Barely there.

A trembling brush of lips.

A confession sealed with breath.

Then deeper—slow, warm, melting—Rose pressing closer, her hand sliding into my hair as if she’s wanted this forever.

I exhale into her mouth, a shaky, desperate sound I can’t hold back.

Her lips part.

Mine follows.

We kiss again—longer, slower, full of everything we’ve both been holding in.

Years of longing.
Weeks of fear.
Days of falling.
A lifetime of “finally.”

My hand curls around the back of her waist, careful of my injuries, pulling her gently onto my uninjured side.

She breaks the kiss for breath, but her forehead stays pressed to mine.

Her voice is a whisper of a miracle.

“Tony…”

“Yeah?”

“I need you.”

My eyes close, overwhelmed.

“You have me,” I whisper. “You’ve always had me.”

She kisses me again—this one firmer, clearer, claiming.

A promise.

A beginning.

When we finally break apart, she rests her head on my chest, breath trembling with relief.

I hold her—careful, protective, adoring.

And for the first time in years, I feel whole.

The Team Sees All

Of course, they walk in.

Because the universe hates private moments.

Steve freezes mid-step. “Oh. Uh. Sorry.”

Nat smirks so hard she might break her face.

Clint whispers, “PAY UP—I TOLD YOU THEY’D KISS BEFORE THE WEEK WAS OVER.”

Sam: “I’m not paying you, you gremlin.”

Thor booms: “THE KISS OF DESTINY HAS HAPPENED! LET MIDGARD CELEBRATE!”

Bruce quietly records the vitals monitor because Tony’s heart rate spiked “impossibly high.”

Tony groans softly into my shoulder.

I hide my face in his chest.

Nat pats my leg. “Congrats. About time.”

Eric Escalates Publicly

Of course, the world can’t let us have joy.

Pepper rushes into the med bay holding her tablet, fury etched sharply across her face.

“We have a problem.”

Tony tenses.

I sit up slightly.

Pepper turns the screen toward us.

Eric is live-streaming.

LIVE-STREAMING.

His face streaked with fake tears, his voice cracking on command.

“Rose has been brainwashed by Tony Stark,” he cries. “He’s keeping her isolated. He’s manipulating the pregnancy. He’s controlling her every move. She’s in danger.”

Tony’s jaw clenches so hard his teeth might crack.

Pepper adds quietly:

“He’s filed an emergency petition for custody.”

My blood turns to ice.

Tony reaches for my hand immediately, gripping tightly.

“He’s not getting anywhere near you,” he growls. “Or the baby.”

Nat: “Pepper, what’s our next move?”

Pepper: “I unleash legal hell.”

Clint: “As God intended.”

Tony’s voice is low and lethal.

“He wants a war? He just got one.”

Rose Makes Her Choice

When the others leave to strategize, I stay curled beside Tony.

Safe.
Warm.
Loved.

I lift my head and meet his eyes.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I want you with me. Through everything. Court. Pregnancy. After the baby’s born. I want… us.”

His breath catches, deep and trembling.

“Are you sure?” he whispers. “I don’t want you choosing me out of fear or convenience or—”

I cut him off with a kiss—soft, certain.

When I pull back, I rest my hand on his cheek.

“I’m choosing you because I love you. Because you’re safe. Because you’re good. Because you make me feel like I can breathe. And because you look at my baby like they’re already yours.”

His eyes fill.

He covers my hand with his.

“Rosita,” he whispers, voice breaking, “I want to build a life with you. A family. I want everything.”

My heart swells.

“Then you have everything.”

He pulls me in—carefully, gently—and I curl against him again.

His lips brush the top of my head.

His fingers lace with mine.

We breathe together.

And for the first time since my world shattered—

I see a future.

A real one.

A safe one.

A loving one.

With him.

Chapter Text

Tony

Waking up hurts.
Breathing hurts.
Laughing hurts.

But Rose—
Rose makes everything gentle.

She’s still curled beside me on the med bay gurney when consciousness drags me back again. Her head rests on my shoulder, her hand over my heart, her leg draped lightly over mine. A warm blanket cloaks us both, courtesy of Nat and Steve, who surrendered after failing to move Rose last night.

Her breathing is soft.
Her lashes flutter with dreams.
Her fingers twitch every so often, like she’s reassuring herself, I’m still here.

I lie there for several minutes, unmoving, because waking up with her in my arms feels like a gift I am absolutely not about to disturb.

Eventually, I whisper:

“Rosita.”

She stirs.
Her hand tightens on my shirt.
Her cheek nuzzles into my chest.

Then her eyes open—and the relief in them nearly buckles my ribs more than the injury.

“You’re awake,” she whispers, voice cracking with leftover fear.

“Yeah.”

“You scared me.”

“I scare me sometimes,” I say softly.

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t joke.”

I stop.

Because she’s scared.
Because she means it.
Because almost losing me etched something deep into her expression.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I wasn’t focused. But I am now.”

Her breath trembles as she leans her forehead against mine.

“You can’t do that,” she whispers. “You can’t leave me.”

I gently brush my thumb over her cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere.”

Rose — Tending to Him

Bruce clears us once Tony’s vitals stabilize, but insists Tony can’t leave the med bay until the evening.

Which means I don’t leave either.

I help Bruce unwrap the bandages so we can check the bruising.
I help adjust his pillows.
I help him drink water.
I help him get comfortable.

By the third hour, the Avengers have entered full “Look at Our Domesticated Parents” mode.

Clint: “She’s fluffing his pillows, guys. THEY’RE MARRIED.”

Nat: “I give it three days before they start finishing each other’s—”

Tony and I in unison: “Sentences.”

The entire room erupts.

Sam: “See? Told y’all.”

Thor: “THE BOND OF SOULMATES IS STRONG AND UNDENIABLE!”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Please stop yelling in my medical ward.”

Tony reaches for my hand when the team gets too chaotic. He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore.

His thumb strokes mine in slow circles.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Now that you are.”

His expression softens to something that makes my chest warm.

Pepper Declares War

Pepper arrives mid-afternoon, heels clicking like divine judgment as she strides into the med bay.

“Good news,” she says, smiling with corporate venom. “We buried Eric’s emergency petition this morning. Destroyed it.”

Nat smirks. “Define destroyed.”

Pepper pulls up a hologram of the court docket.

“Denied. Dismissed. Expunged. And the judge added a warning that his attorney may face sanctions for falsifying medical claims. By tomorrow, she’ll be doing damage control while her career burns.”

Clint applauds.

Thor: “WELL STRUCK, LADY PEPPER.”

Pepper bows slightly. “Happy to serve.”

I exhale shakily, feeling a weight lift from my ribs.

Tony squeezes my hand. “Told you—nobody’s taking our family.”

Our family.

I melt.

Eric’s Attorney Scrambles

FRIDAY pulls up a trending news clip:

Eric’s attorney, disheveled, stumbling through reporters:

“There was a misunderstanding—update—court filings retracted—our camp is considering next steps—no further comment—”

She gets booed.

Actual booed.

Tony laughs so hard he winces and grabs his ribs.

“Worth it,” he groans.

I take his hand again, scolding gently:

“Don’t make yourself laugh!”

He gives me a smirk that should not be legal.

“I can’t help it. You’re adorable when you worry.”

My face goes red instantly.

The entire team erupts:

Clint: “HE SAID IT OUT LOUD!”

Sam: “Bold of him.”

Thor: “TRULY THEY ARE BELOVED.”

Nat smirks. “And the award for Worst Kept Secret of the Decade goes to…”

Tony groans into my shoulder.

I hide my face in him.

The Baby’s Strongest Kick Yet

The team eventually disperses, leaving us alone.

I rest carefully beside Tony, head on his shoulder, hand over my stomach.

The baby moves—

Then kicks.

Hard.

Not a flutter.
Not a gentle wave.

A full-on, powerful kick.

I gasp.

Tony tenses. “What? What is it? Are you okay?”

I grab his hand and place it over my belly.

The baby kicks again.

Tony’s eyes go wide.

“WHOA.”

I laugh—actually laugh—and the sound startles both of us.

“See? You made her excited.”

He stares at my belly like it’s a star he’s meeting for the first time.

“She’s strong,” he murmurs. “Just like her mom.”

My cheeks warm.

He kisses my forehead without thinking.

My heart stumbles.

Celebration in the Tower

By evening, the med bay discharge allows Tony to move back to his room with assistance.

Steve carries Tony’s IV pole like a proud butler.
Thor insists on guarding the hallway “in case of villainy.”
Clint leaves a congratulatory “You Didn’t Die” balloon.
Nat places a small bottle of lotion on the side table.
Sam brings soup.
Bruce brings updated pain meds.
Pepper hugs me and whispers, “I’m glad he finally has someone.”

Then, as Tony settles on his bed, the entire team shoves into the room.

Clint raises a paper cup.

“To the official couple!”

Tony sputters. “WOAH—"

Nat: “You kissed.”

Sam: “Twice.”

Bruce: “And your HR file auto-updated to ‘domestic partnership.’”

Tony: “IT WHAT—”

FRIDAY:
“It’s an internal designation. Not government filed. But statistically accurate.”

Tony glares at the ceiling.

“Traitor.”

I giggle.

The team cheers.

Later That Night — Just Us

The Tower quiets after celebrations.

Tony shifts in bed, wincing slightly.

I adjust the blanket around him, fussing more than necessary.

He watches me with soft eyes.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he says quietly.

I sit on the edge of the bed. “I want to.”

His breath catches.

“Rose…”

He reaches for my hand.

I give it.

He pulls it to his chest, holding it over his heart.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asks, voice soft with hope and fear. “Just—stay. Not for anything else. Just… sleep beside me.”

My heart expands—warm, full, aching.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I want that.”

“But,” he adds nervously, “only if you feel safe. Only if it doesn’t—”

I place a finger gently on his lips.

“Tony. I feel safest with you.”

He closes his eyes like he’s praying.

I climb into the bed beside him, careful of his injuries.
He shifts closer, wrapping an arm gently around my waist.
I curl into him, fitting perfectly.

His lips brush the top of my head.

My hand rests on his chest.

We breathe together.

It feels like a beginning.

Security Threat — Rising Tension

Just as sleep begins to pull me under, FRIDAY interrupts softly:

“For your awareness, an unknown vehicle circled the Tower perimeter three times today before fleeing upon drone approach.”

Tony’s grip tightens around me.

My heart spikes.

“Eric?” Tony asks quietly.

“Possibly. Security protocols have been elevated.”

Tony presses a steadying kiss against my hair.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispers.

“I know,” I breathe.

Because for the first time in my life—

I do.

Chapter Text

Rose — Morning After

I wake up wrapped in warmth.

A real, living warmth.

Tony’s chest rises and falls beneath my cheek. His arm is loose around my waist, hand resting protectively on my stomach. His breathing is soft. His body is relaxed. His face—peaceful in a way I’ve never seen.

He looks… young.

Not the genius billionaire.
Not Iron Man.
Not the man carrying whole worlds on his shoulders.

Just Tony.
Real and warm and mine.

My heart blooms.

I shift slightly, and Tony’s arms tighten instinctively.

“Mmm… don’t go,” he murmurs, voice sleep-rough and soft.

My breath catches.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.

His eyes open slowly, warm and molten in the morning light.

He smiles.

A small, sleepy, heart-shattering smile.

“Morning, Rosita.”

My cheeks warm. “Morning.”

He brushes a stray curl from my forehead, fingers soft.

“You slept,” he murmurs.

“So did you.”

“And you stayed.”

“So did you.”

His smile deepens. “Good.”

Then—

He leans forward and kisses me softly.

A gentle, morning-soft kiss that melts every part of me.

Warm.
Slow.
Unhurried.
Home.

When we pull apart, he breathes:

“Stay with me. Not just last night. All nights.”

My breath trembles.
“Tony…”

“Move in,” he whispers. “Make this our room.”

My stomach flutters—not fear.
Something sweeter.

“I… I want that,” I whisper. “I want to stay with you.”

His eyes shine.

He kisses my forehead and holds me tighter.

The Team Teases (Aggressively)

We finally venture out of Tony’s room hours later.

Nat sees us first.

She smirks.

“Look who finally joined the living.”

Clint whistles. “Walk of pride!”

Steve: “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Definitely Together Now.”

Thor: “THE COUPLE EMERGES FROM THEIR LOVE CHAMBER!”

Bruce almost chokes on his coffee.
Pepper just beams like she knew before we did.

My cheeks burn.

Tony wraps an arm around my waist. “Laugh it up.”

Nat tilts her head. “So. Did you ask her to stay?”

Tony freezes. “How—”

“Please,” Clint says. “We all heard you practicing the speech yesterday.”

Tony turns red. Actually red.

I hide my face in his chest while Thor booms:

“A HOME SHARED IS A BOND SEALED BY THE COSMOS!”

Baby Responds to Tony’s Voice

While the teasing continues, my stomach flutters.

Then kicks.

Hard.

I gasp.

Tony instantly kneels in front of me as if summoned by instinct.

“Hey… sweetheart,” he murmurs to my belly. “Your dad is here.”

The baby kicks so hard that it lifts my shirt.

Nat: “Oh. She KNOWS.”

Steve: “Bonding in action.”

Clint whispers dramatically, “She has chosen her favorite parent.”

Tony looks up at me, eyes shining, and kisses my belly gently.

My breath catches.

My heart expands.

The baby kicks again.

This time, the moment isn’t just sweet—it’s turning into something sacred.

Threat Escalation — SHIELD Steps In

Just as the laughter settles, FRIDAY’s voice cuts through the air.

“Director Fury requests immediate access to the Tower.”

Tony stands instantly.
Steve straightens.
Nat’s eyes sharpen.

Minutes later, Fury steps off the elevator, trench coat swirling like a gathering storm.

“Stark,” he says. “We have a problem.”

Tony steps in front of me slightly—protective, automatic.

“What kind of problem?” he asks.

“Your ex-husband’s been busy,” Fury says. “He’s contacted several groups. Some legal. Some… not.”

My blood freezes.

“What does that mean?” I whisper.

Fury looks right at me.

“It means he’s getting desperate. And desperate men make dangerous choices.”

Tony’s hand slides into mine under the table.

Fury continues:

“We’re increasing Tower security. Setting up surveillance around the perimeter. And Stark—don’t leave her alone. Not even for a minute.”

Tony’s jaw locks.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Fury nods once and leaves as abruptly as he arrived.

The room is silent.

Then Tony squeezes my hand.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you,” he promises.

And I believe him.

Tony — A Future in His Voice

That night, after Fury’s warning, we stay in Tony’s room—together.

I brush my fingers over the blankets, trying to calm my heartbeat.

“Tony,” I whisper, “what did you mean when you said you wanted everything?”

He sits beside me on the bed, expression softening.

“I meant…” He inhales. “I want a life with you. A home. A family. A future I didn’t think I deserved.”

My throat tightens.

He takes my hands gently.

“I want a place where you feel safe. Where the baby grows up laughing. Where you never have to wonder if you’re loved. Where I wake up with you every morning.”

His voice cracks.

“And I want to make you happy. Because you… You make me want to be better.”

My heart physically aches.

“Tony,” I whisper, “don’t promise me things because you feel obligated—”

“I’m not obligated,” he interrupts gently. “I’m in love with you.”

Tears fill my eyes.

My voice shakes.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

He kisses me deeply—soft, slow, certain—his hands cupping my face as if I might break into light.

I melt into him.

And for a moment, the world is nothing but warmth.

The Fight (Born of Fear, Not Anger)

It happens a few hours later.

We’re lying in his bed—my new bed—when FRIDAY announces:

“Request for media interview regarding Ms. Llanos.”

My chest tightens.
Old fear rises.
Too fast.

Tony sits up immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Tony—”

“No. You are not subjecting yourself to that.”

“I’m not a child,” I snap softly. “I can speak for myself.”

His face softens—but his fear sharpens.

“I know you can,” he says gently. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“And I know you want to protect me,” I whisper, “but you can’t shield me from everything. I need to be part of my own story.”

His eyes flicker with pain.

“Rose… I almost lost you yesterday.”

I reach for his hand.

He doesn’t pull away.

“Tony, I’m scared too,” I whisper. “But I can’t hide behind you forever.”

He exhales shakily.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he confesses. “Not to him. Not to the world. Not to anything.”

“You won’t,” I promise.

He looks at me—soft, uncertain.

I cup his cheek.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He leans into my touch, tension melting.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m trying.”

“I know.”

And we pull each other close again, forehead to forehead, the fight dissolving into understanding.

It isn’t anger.

It’s fear.

Because when you love someone this deeply, every danger feels like a threat to the world you’re trying to build.

SHIELD Alert — The Cliffhanger

Just as we settle back into each other—

FRIDAY’s voice pierces the room.

“Emergency. Tower perimeter breached.”

Tony bolts upright despite the pain.

“FRIDAY—who?!”

“Identity match: Eric Llanos.”

My stomach drops.

"No,” I whisper.

Tony grabs my hand.

“Don’t move,” he orders. “Stay behind me.”

Natasha’s voice comes over the comms:

“We have him on camera. He’s armed.”

SHIELD alarms blare.

Thor roars in the hallway.
Clint loads an arrow.
Steve shouts orders.
Bruce transforms.

Tony stands between me and the door, jaw set.

Then—

Eric’s voice booms through the corridor.

“ROSE! COME OUT! YOU BELONG WITH ME!”

I flinch violently.

Tony’s entire body goes rigid with fury.

“FRIDAY,” he growls, “lock down the room.”

“Done.”

I shake, breathing ragged.

Tony turns to me—soft, fierce, overflowing with love and rage.

“I’m right here,” he whispers, cupping my face. “He’s not touching you. Not ever again.”

The door pounds violently.

I scream.

Tony steps in front of me—my shield, my protector, my heart.

Then—

FRIDAY’s voice:

“Eric Llanos has breached Level Four. Avengers converging.”

And the chapter ends with Tony whispering:

“Stay behind me, Rosita. It’s over for him.”

Chapter Text

Tony

The alarms blare like a heartbeat gone frantic.

Red lights flash along the ceiling.
FRIDAY is shouting alerts.
The Tower vibrates with running feet, shouts, and weapons readied.

And through it all—

Eric is screaming.
Screaming her name.

“ROSE! COME OUT! YOU’RE MINE!”

I move through the hallway with one mission.

One thought.

One truth:

He’s not touching her. Not ever again.

Steve and Nat flank me.
Thor is ahead, weapon crackling.
Bruce roars down a parallel corridor.
Clint’s arrows line up like death.

Eric is pounding against the reinforced hallway door outside my room.

He never gets through.

Steve tackles him.
Nat cuffs him.
Thor knocks him unconscious with the flat of Stormbreaker.

It’s over in seconds.

Breathing hard, I reach for the comm.

“FRIDAY—status on Rose?”

A pause.

“Ms. Llanos left your room moments ago.”

My heart stops.

“WHAT?!”

Did she panic?
Run?
Try to find me?

A different alert flashes across the HUD.

Four floors down. Unidentified heat signature with Rose. Moving fast.

My blood freezes.

“There’s someone else,” I whisper.

Steve’s eyes widen. “Where?”

I sprint.

Rose

Everything happened too fast.

When Eric started screaming on the other side of the hall, panic seized me. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t stay still.

I left the room—only for a second—just to get air.

Just to breathe.

And that’s when a hand clamped over my mouth from behind.

A voice in my ear.

Male. Low. Calm.

“Time to go, sweetheart.”

He drags me down the hallway.
I fight.
I twist.
I bite his hand hard enough to taste blood.

He growls. “Feisty.”

He yanks my arms behind my back and shoves me toward the elevator.

I scream.

He slams my head into the wall.

Black spots burst behind my eyes.

“Don’t make this harder,” he mutters. “Eric wants you home.”

“I’m not—” I choke, “I’m not going with you!”

The elevator is blocked—not working due to lockdown.

He curses and drags me toward the stairs instead.

The cold metal door slams open.

My stomach churns.

My baby kicks hard—like she knows something is wrong.

“Please,” I gasp. “Stop. I’m pregnant.”

He laughs.

“Well… not my problem.”

No.

No no no no—

My heart pumps terror through every limb.

I thrash again, wild, desperate, clawing at anything.

My foot catches the railing.

He stumbles.

I twist—finally wrenching my arm free.

For a second—

One glorious second—

I’m free.

I run.

But the stairwell echoes too loudly, and he grabs my wrist again.

“ENOUGH—”

And then—

Everything snaps.

He shoves me.

Hard.

Too hard.

My foot slips.

My hand misses the railing.

My stomach lurches.

The world tilts.

And I fall.

Tony

FRIDAY directs me toward the stairwell.

Four floors down.

A heat signature.

Moving.

Fast.

Falling.

No.

I sprint.

I don’t wait for the elevator, don’t wait for Steve, don’t wait for anything.

When I reach the stairwell door, I slam it open—

Just in time to hear a sickening, body-shattering thud.

My blood turns to ice.

“ROSE!”

My voice cracks.

I race downward, skipping steps, barely touching the railing.

And then—

I see her.

Crumbled at the bottom of the stairwell.

Not moving.

Not breathing.

Blood on the concrete.

Blood.

So much blood.

I drop to my knees so hard pain shoots up my legs.

“ROSE!”

My scream tears from my chest like something primal and dying.

The whole Tower hears it.

The walls shake with it.

It is the kind of scream a man only makes once—

When the universe is ripping the person he loves most from his hands.

I gather her into my arms. Carefully. Too carefully. She’s limp. Her head falls against my chest.

There’s blood smeared across her dress.
On her thigh.
Down the stairs.
Pooling beneath her.

“Rose—no—no, baby, come on—open your eyes—I’m here—it’s me—it’s Tony—PLEASE—”

Her eyelids flutter weakly.

“T-Ton…y…”

My breath breaks.

“I’m here. I’m here. Stay with me. Please.”

She gasps a breath, then winces—sharp, agonized.

“T-Tony… the baby…”

And then she screams.

A sound I will never recover from.

Blood rushes faster.

Too fast.

Too much.

My stomach drops into an endless void.

“No,” I whisper. “No no no no no—”

Steve bursts in.
Nat follows.
Thor roars in anguish.
Bruce yells for a med kit.

But I can’t hear anything.

Just her.

Just the faint, fading sound of her breathing.

“Stay with me, Rose,” I beg. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave our baby.”

More blood spreads onto the floor.

Steve sees it.

His face shifts into sorrow.

Jaw tense.

Eyes full of pity.

I can’t breathe.

I scream again.

Louder.

Ragged.

Broken.

The Tower goes silent.

Rose

Pain hits like lightning through my entire body.

I can’t lift my arms.

I can’t breathe without agony.

I can’t—

My stomach cramps again.

Hard.

Wrong.

Wrong in a way that tears something essential inside me.

My vision blurs.

I feel hands on my face. My arms. My hair.

Tony’s voice.

Frantic. Beautiful. Terrified.

“Stay with me—stay with me—stay with me—”

I try to speak.

“Tony… the baby…”

I don’t feel her moving anymore.

I don’t feel anything but pain and cold.

“T-Tony,” I whisper. “I’m scared.”

His voice breaks into a sob.

“I know. I know. I’m here. Don’t close your eyes. Please.”

I try to keep them open.

I can’t.

Darkness pulls me under.

Tony

She stops responding.

Her eyes close.

Her body goes slack.

“NO! ROSE!”

The scream rips something out of me I will never get back.

I press my forehead to hers, shaking, sobbing into her hair.

“PLEASE—please—come back—come back—I can’t lose you—I can’t—”

Bruce grabs her from my arms to start CPR. I fight him instinctively, and Steve has to restrain me.

Tony Stark—Iron Man—falls apart completely.

“LET ME GO—LET ME GO—THAT’S MY FAMILY—”

But Rose doesn’t move.

Doesn’t breathe on her own.

Doesn’t make a sound.

Blood stains my hands.

My shirt.

My skin.

Thor hurls his hammer across the entire stairwell in grief.
Nat turns away, hands shaking.
Clint whispers a prayer.
Steve bows his head.
Bruce works desperately.

And I—

I kneel in blood and heartbreak.

Feeling the world end.

Cliffhanger Ending

Bruce shouts:

“I HAVE A PULSE—WE NEED THE OPERATING ROOM NOW!”

Steve and Thor lift her onto a stretcher.

Nat clears the hallway at gunpoint.

The Tower becomes a blur of shouting, running, and alarms.

But I don’t hear anything except the truth:

Our baby is gone.
And I might lose her, too.

I stagger after them, gripping the railings, seeing nothing but red.

When we reach the med bay doors, they slam shut in my face.

I hit the glass.

Hard.

Once.

Twice.

Blood smears across it.

“PLEASE—DON’T TAKE HER FROM ME—”

Inside, Bruce shouts orders through a muffled haze.

I slide down the glass.

Collapse to the floor.

Hands shaking.

Heart unraveling.

And the last line of the chapter is Tony whispering through the crack in the door:

“Rose… please come back to me. I’ll give you everything. Just come back.”

Fade to black.

Chapter Text

Tony

The doors slam shut in my face.

Rose disappears behind metal and glass and too many hands and machines.

I fall against the closed doors before Steve catches my arm.

“No,” I choke out, throat raw. “Let me in—I need to be—please—”

Bruce shouts something inside.
Monitors blare.
FRIDAY dims the hallway lights to emergency mode.

I can’t breathe.

I press my palms against the glass.

“ROSITA!”

My voice ricochets down the hallway, cracking apart piece by piece.

Natasha swallows hard. “Tony… come sit.”

“No.”
The word tears out of me.
“If she wakes up and I’m not here—she’ll be scared—she’ll think I left her—”

Thor kneels beside me, his huge hand shaking as he places it on my back. “Brother… she is strong. Stronger than most I’ve ever seen.”

I want to believe him.

I can’t.

Clint is crying silently. Actual tears.
Sam grips the railing until his knuckles turn white.
Steve leans his forehead against the wall.

The Tower feels like it’s holding its breath.

I slide down until I’m sitting on the cold floor, my back against the sealed med bay doors.

Blood dries on my hands.

Her blood.

Her blood—

My stomach lurches, and I almost vomit.

“I should’ve found her sooner,” I whisper. “I should’ve been there—I should’ve—”

Nat grabs my face with both hands.

“Stop,” she says firmly. “Eric did this. Not you.”

But I shake my head violently.

“She left the room because I scared her. Because she was worried about me. Because I wasn’t focused—because I—”

My voice collapses.

And for the first time in years—not even after Afghanistan, not after New York—I break.

Full, body-shaking sobs tear out of me.

Steve grabs my shoulders to keep me upright.
Thor wipes at his own eyes with a trembling hand.
Clint bows his head.

When Tony Stark cries, the whole Tower cries with him.

Inside the Operating Room — Rose

Everything is pain.

Searing, electric, drowning pain.

Hands are on me.
Voices.
Light so bright it cuts through my skin.

I try to move.

I try to speak.

Nothing comes out.

A mask goes over my face.

Bruce’s voice shakes—actually shakes.

“Rose, stay with us. Please.”

Then darkness again.

Tony — Waiting

I don’t know how long I sit there.

Minutes.
Hours.
Lifetimes.

The team stays. They don’t leave either.

Sam brings water, untouched.
Nat sits beside me on the floor, silent.
Thor paces like a raging storm.
Bruce slips in and out, covered in blood and sweat.

Every time he reappears, my heart stops.

Every time he disappears again, my soul frays.

At one point, Pepper arrives, her face crumpling when she sees the blood on me.

“Oh my god… Tony…”

I collapse into her arms, gripping her like a lifeline.

“She’s dying,” I whisper, voice so small I barely recognize it. “Pep… she’s dying.”

Pepper holds the back of my head, tears streaming. “No. No. She’s fighting. Let her fight.”

The door to the OR opens—

And Bruce steps out.

His surgical gown is red.

Not pink.
Not smeared.
Red.

I stagger to my feet.

“Bruce?”

The look on his face destroys me.

He approaches slowly.

“Tony…”

My vision blurs.

“The baby?” I whisper, barely audible.

Bruce’s eyes fill.

“I’m so sorry.”

My knees buckle.

I collapse.

Nat and Pepper catch me before I hit the ground, but even then, I feel like I’m falling forever.

Bruce kneels in front of me.

“The fall was too severe,” he says softly. “There was nothing we could do.”

The world tilts.

Sound ceases.

Light dims.

And then a single, animalistic scream rips out of my chest—so loud, so broken, so agonized the entire Tower shakes with it.

Pepper sobs.
Nat sobs.
Clint rubs his face with shaking hands.
Thor slams his fist into the wall and roars.
Steve’s eyes shine with grief.

My voice breaks again and again.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

I wipe nothing, not the tears, not the grief.

“She wanted that baby,” I whisper. “She wanted her—she loved her already—already-this will kill her—how do I tell her—how do I—”

Bruce pulls me into a tight, unshakable embrace.

“You don’t tell her alone,” he says softly. “We tell her together.”

I shake violently.

Bruce tightens his hold.

“She’s still in surgery,” he says through tears. “We’re fighting to stabilize her. She’s not gone.”

Not gone.

But hurting.

Broken.

Shattered.

Just like me.

Hours Later — She Wakes

They finally move her to recovery.

Steve and Pepper drag me toward her room even though I can barely walk.

Bruce opens the door quietly.

Rose lies in the bed hooked to IVs, monitors, a chest bandage, and oxygen. Her face is bruised, her hair tangled with dried blood.

She looks so small.

So fragile.

So wrong.

I collapse into the chair beside her.

Her fingers twitch.

“Rose?” I whisper.

Slowly—

Painfully—

Her eyes open.

Emerald, dulled with exhaustion.

But alive.

My breath catches.

“Oh, thank god—oh god, thank god—Rosita—”

Her lips part.

“Tony…”

I lean forward, taking her hand carefully.

“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m right here.”

She swallows painfully, eyes searching mine.

“Is… the baby… okay?”

My heart caves in on itself.

My throat burns.

Tears pour down my face before I can stop them.

I shake my head once.

Just once.

And Rose’s face breaks.

Not loud.
Not explosive.

A quiet breaking.

A silent shatter.

Her breath comes in small, wounded gasps.

“No… no… no…”

“Rosita—baby—I’m so sorry—I’m so sorry—”

She tries to curl into herself, but the pain forces her back.

I lean over her, cupping her face gently.

Her tears soak my fingers.

Her voice cracks apart.

“She was… she was mine…”

“I know,” I choke. “I’m so sorry.”

“Did she—did she suffer?”

“No. No, sweetheart. It was instant. She didn’t feel pain. I swear.”

Her sob turns into a broken wail.

It slices through me.

Kills me.

I climb carefully onto the bed beside her, mindful of her injuries, and gather her into my arms.

We cling to each other like people drowning in the same ocean.

Her tears soak my chest.

Mine fall into her hair.

The machines beep softly behind us.

The Tower stands in silence.

And we cry.

Not for what could’ve been.

But for what was ours for a moment.

A heartbeat.

A hope.

A future.

Gone.

Tony — The Vow

When her sobs finally quiet into hiccups, I brush her hair from her forehead.

She looks up at me, eyes swollen, face pale.

“Tony… I’m broken.”

My voice rasped raw.

“No. You’re hurt. You’re grieving. But you are not broken.”

She shakes her head weakly. “I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t—”

“STOP.”

She flinches.

I soften immediately, pulling her close again.

“Rose… listen to me. Please.”

She meets my eyes through tears.

“This was not your fault,” I whisper fiercely. “This was done to you. You survived something unspeakable. You didn’t fail her. You loved her. You gave her everything you had.”

Her lip trembles.

“And I failed you both,” I whisper. “Because I wasn’t fast enough.”

She reaches up with a trembling hand and touches my face.

“No,” she whispers. “Don’t carry that. Please don’t.”

I break again—quietly.

She wipes my tears with her thumb.

“Tony… stay with me.”

I gently kiss her forehead.

“I’m not leaving this room.”

She closes her eyes, breathing unevenly.

I tuck the blanket around her, holding her against me as gently as humanly possible.

“I’ll protect you,” I whisper. “With everything I am. With everything I have left.”

My voice cracks.

“I swear on our baby’s memory—I won’t let anything happen to you ever again.”

She buries her face in my chest.

“Please don’t leave,” she murmurs.

“Never,” I breathe into her hair. “Never.”

The chapter ends with us in each other’s arms.

Two souls shattered.
Two hearts clinging to what remains.

And a vow forged in the ashes of grief.

Chapter Text

Rose

Time stops moving after the fall.

Days blur into something shapeless.
Gray.
Heavy.
Silent.

I stay in Tony’s bed because I can’t be anywhere else.
Not physically.
Not mentally.
Not emotionally.

The sheets feel like stone on my skin.
The air feels too thick to breathe.
My body hurts—but my heart hurts worse.

I barely sleep.
I barely drink.
I barely whisper.

I am empty in a way I didn’t know a person could be empty.

The Tower tries to function around me.

The lights dim when I cry.
FRIDAY speaks in whispers.
The team walks more softly.

But mostly—

Tony stays.

He stays through all of it.

He sits beside me in the dim room, legs drawn up, back against the headboard, never letting my hand go. He strokes my hair when I shake. He brings water cups I don’t drink from. He encourages me to try a few bites of fruit I can’t swallow.

He whispers, “Just one sip, honey,” in a voice full of heartbreak.

Sometimes I take it.

Most of the time, I don’t.

He doesn’t push.

He just stays.

Tony — Watching Her Fade

I’ve fought gods.
Machines.
My own mind.

Nothing has ever terrified me like watching Rose disappear into grief.

She lies beside me, but her spirit feels miles away.
Sometimes she stares at the wall for hours.
Sometimes she cries so quietly I almost don’t notice until her tears reach my hand.

I wipe them away every time.

I hold her while she trembles.
I rub circles on her back when she curls into herself.
I lift water to her lips when she can’t lift her own hands.

Every morning, I whisper her name softly, hoping it will anchor her.

“Rosita. I’m here.”

Sometimes she blinks.

Sometimes she doesn’t.

The team grieves too—each in their own way.

Nat leaves food at the door, afraid to crowd her.
Bruce monitors her vitals with gentle precision, never forcing.
Thor prays loudly in the hallways for her spirit to heal.
Steve checks on me every night, asking quietly, “Have you slept?”
Clint sits outside our room for hours, providing silent companionship.
Pepper files legal paperwork with a sharpness I’ve never seen.

But they all know the truth:

Rose is drowning.
And I’m the only one who can hold her above water.

Night Terrors

The first night, terror arrives three days after the surgery.

She wakes screaming.

Not a startled cry.
A scream ripped from somewhere ancient and wounded.

“No—NO—DON’T—my baby—my baby—”

She thrashes violently, almost ripping out her IV.

I grab her wrists gently.

“Rose! Sweetheart—it's Tony—it's me—look at me—please—”

Her eyes are wild, unfocused, seeing things that are no longer here.

I pull her into my chest, holding her through the panic.

She sobs into my shirt until she collapses from exhaustion.

I don’t sleep.

I just hold her.

Adding the Assault to the Court Case

Pepper brings Bruce’s medical report to my room the next morning.

It lists everything.

The fall.
The trauma.
The internal injuries.
The miscarriage.

All of it was caused by assault.

Rose is asleep when Pepper hands it to me.

“I’m filing this today,” she whispers.

My voice is gravelly.

“Make sure he never sees sunlight again.”

Pepper nods, eyes full of fire. “He won’t.”

That report becomes the cornerstone of our legal case.

The DA calls.
Detectives call.
Judge approvals come fast.

It becomes clear:

This wasn’t domestic violence alone.
It was attempted murder.

Eric’s accomplice is caught and confesses.

But none of it makes Rose eat.
None of it makes her drink.
None of it brings back the light she lost.

Private Memorial

Five days after the fall, the team gathers in the Tower garden.

It wasn’t my idea.
It wasn’t even Pepper’s or Steve’s.

It was Thor’s.

He said in a quiet, reverent voice:

“Loss unspoken becomes a wound that festers. We honor the little one, and we honor her mother.”

Bruce creates a tiny, glowing orb of light—gentle and pink—and sets it in a small bowl of water. Natasha finds delicate purple flowers. Clint brings candles. Pepper brings a soft white blanket. Steve writes a letter to “the little warrior.”

They wait for Rose.

But she can’t walk.

So I carry her.

Her fingers clutch at my shirt, fragile and trembling.

When we reach the garden, she sees the soft altar the team made—and her knees give out.

She collapses into me and sobs in a way that rips my insides apart.

I hold her through every moment of the memorial.

She doesn’t speak.

But she stays pressed against me the whole time.

The Court Date Arrives

Pepper tries to suggest that Rose stay home.

Bruce gently says she needs more time.

Nat says she doesn’t have to prove anything today.

But Rose—

Rose whispers, “No. I have to go.”

Her voice is faint.
Thin.
Barely there.

But determined.

She dresses slowly, movements stiff and painful.
Tony helps her into soft leggings and a cardigan.
She sways once—Tony catches her.
She hasn’t eaten enough to stand without trembling.

He holds her hand the entire way to the courthouse.

He never lets go.

Not for a second.

Rose — Facing Him

The courtroom hums quietly.
The air tastes metallic.
My stomach twists with pain and emptiness.

Tony helps me into my seat in the front row.
He sits beside me, one hand gently covering mine, thumb tracing circles that keep me breathing.

Eric is brought in wearing cuffs.

He looks smaller than I remember.

I don’t.

I feel hollow, not small.

He tries to meet my eyes.

Tony shifts, blocking his line of sight.

Eric opens his mouth, smirking.

But when the charges are read—

Attempted murder.
Aggravated assault.
Kidnapping intent.
The death of a fetus due to physical violence.

His face drains of all color.

His attorney stammers.

Reporters write faster.

The detective reads from the report Bruce wrote.

The words hit like glass.

“Massive abdominal trauma.”
“Internal damage consistent with a fall down stairs.”
“Resulting miscarriage.”
“Critical condition.”

Each word is a blade.

I shake.

Tony tightens his grip until our fingers lock.

I lean into him, barely staying upright.

My voice cracks as I whisper:

“He killed her.”

Tony presses a kiss into my hair.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

Tears slip from his eyes onto my temple.

He doesn’t wipe them.

Eric Tries to Speak

He stands.

“Rose—baby—you know I didn’t—”

Tony stands so fast his chair screeches across the floor.

Steve grabs his arm.

“Don’t,” Steve whispers.

Tony’s voice is low. Deadly. Shattering.

“You killed my daughter.”

The entire courtroom freezes.

Eric’s smirk disappears.

Tony continues, voice trembling with rage and grief.

“She had a name.”

Eric flinches.

“She was loved,” Tony says, louder now, his heart cracking through every word. “She was wanted. She had a family waiting for her. And you—YOU—took her away.”

Rose’s chest seizes with sobs. I bury my face in Tony’s shoulder.

Tony wraps both arms around me, holding me close as the bailiff restrains Eric.

The judge slams the gavel.

After the Hearing — Collapse

When we leave the courtroom, cameras flash.

Questions shout.

But Tony shields me with his body, one arm around my back, one arm around my shoulders, guiding me gently but firmly toward the car.

I can barely walk.

Once inside, I collapse into him fully, sobbing so hard my ribs ache.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper. “Tony—I can’t—”

He gathers me into his lap, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other around my waist.

“You’re not alone,” he whispers into my hair. “You hear me? You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

I shake violently.

He rocks me gently.

“We’ll get through this,” Tony whispers, voice breaking. “One day at a time. One breath at a time. I swear it.”

I clutch his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

The grief comes in waves.

The loss is a storm chewing through my chest.

But Tony’s arms are the only refuge left.

That Night — Another Terror

Back in his room, I lie in bed staring at the space where my future once lived.

Tony sits beside me, stroking my hair gently.

At 3:17 a.m., I wake screaming again.

“THE BABY—NO—NO—NO—PLEASE—”

I thrash blindly.

Tony grabs me, holding my wrists gently against his chest.

“Rose! It’s me! I’m here—you're safe—shh—shh—deep breath—”

I sob until I choke.

He rocks me, tears falling into my hair.

“I’m here,” he repeats. “I’m here. I’m here.”

When it finally passes, I collapse against him.

I whisper into his chest:

“I don’t know how to live with this.”

He swallows hard.

“Let me help you,” he whispers. “Let me carry the weight with you.”

I look up at him, vision blurred.

“Why?”

He cups my face gently.

“Because I love you,” he says softly. “Because I loved her. Because you’re my family. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

And then—

He kisses my forehead.

A promise.
A vow.
A tether keeps me from falling.

I close my eyes.

And for the first time since the loss—

I fall asleep in his arms instead of grief swallowing me alone.

Chapter Text

Rose

Grief feels like waking underwater.

Every morning I open my eyes and wonder how the world is still here, still turning, still asking anything of me.

Most days I don’t move.

Tony coaxes me.

Not with force.
Not with pressure.

But with tenderness so soft it nearly breaks me all over again.

“Rose… a sip of water?”
“Sweetheart, let’s try sitting up a little.”
“Just breathe with me, okay? One… two… three…”

Every night, he sleeps beside me, fully clothed, holding me through night terrors, whispering reassurance every time I cry myself awake.

Every morning, he looks at me like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held.

Sometimes that makes me cry harder.

Sometimes I just crumble into his chest and let the tears happen.

Bruce and Therapy

Bruce knocks gently every other day.

Never pushes.
Never intrudes.

He sits in the armchair with his notebook.

“How are you feeling today, Rose?”

I shrug.

“How’s sleep?”

Another shrug.

“Any appetite?”

My throat closes.

Tony answers for me, softly: “She had half a yogurt.”

Bruce nods as though this is a monumental victory.

Sometimes we talk about the baby.
Sometimes we don’t.

One afternoon, Bruce suggests a grief counselor—someone gentle, specialized, safe.

I nod.

Later, I curl into Tony’s chest and whisper:

“I don’t know if talking will help.”

He kisses my hair and murmurs:

“Talking isn’t for fixing. It’s for not carrying it alone.”

I cry again.

He holds me tighter.

The Tower Softens Around Her

Everyone tries to help.

Nat brings tea, she swears smells like calm.
Clint leaves quiet notes that say things like You’re brave even when you’re hurting.
Steve brings blank sketchpads.
Thor offers stories of warrior mothers lost in battle.
Pepper handles every call I can’t face.
Sam sits by the window and just breathes with me.
FRIDAY dims lights, plays soft music, shields me from news.

But no one tries to pull me out before I’m ready.

That might be the greatest act of love of all.

Tony Breaks (Finally)

It happens on a night I wake from sleep and find the bed empty beside me.

For a moment, panic claws at my ribcage.

Then I hear it:

A sob.

A man’s sob.

Raw.
Unrestrained.
Painful.

I follow the sound to the balcony.

Tony is sitting on the cold floor, head in his hands, shoulders shaking violently.

My breath catches.

He didn’t break for the press.
Not for the team.
Not even for the hearing.

He waited until I was asleep.

“Tony…” I whisper.

He jumps slightly, wiping his face quickly, but the tears keep coming.

“S-sorry—” he stammers. “I didn’t mean to wake you—I’m fine—just—ignore—”

I kneel in front of him, cupping his face with both hands.

His eyes are red.
Wet.
Haunted.

“You don’t have to be strong for me,” I whisper. “I’m still here.”

That breaks him even more.

He collapses forward, arms wrapping around my waist, face pressed into my stomach.

“I couldn’t save her,” he chokes. “And I almost lost you—and it’s my fault—I should’ve protected you—I should’ve—”

I stroke his hair.

Slow. Soft. Loving.

“Tony,” I whisper, “we lost her because of him. Not you. Never you.”

His hands grip my shirt.

His breath shakes like his entire soul is unraveling.

I kiss the top of his head.

“We carry this together,” I whisper. “We survive this together.”

He looks up at me.

There’s so much devastation in his expression—but also a flicker of something fragile.

Hope.

A Flicker of Strength

The next morning, for the first time since the fall, I stand on my own.

Just for a moment.

Tony almost cries.

Later that afternoon, I ate an entire bowl of soup.

Nat high-fives me.
Thor announces that the gods are celebrating.
Clint brings confetti.
Tony kisses my forehead like I just performed a miracle.

I smile.

A real one.

Small.
Cracked.
But real.

It feels like something inside me, long frozen, shifts slightly.

Not healed.

But moving.

The Message That Changes Everything

Pepper storms into the room with a tablet in hand.

“This came from the DA’s office,” she says sharply. “Eric’s accomplice cut a deal.”

Tony stiffens.

I sit up straighter.

Pepper continues:

“He admitted Eric had hired him months ago. Tracked your movements. Watched you. Threatened you.”

My stomach twists violently.

Tony grips my hand.

Pepper's voice softens.

“And he confessed Eric planned to take you out of the country after the stairwell.”

Tony’s growl isn’t human.

Pepper hands the tablet to me.

“Rose… this seals the case. He doesn’t get parole. He doesn’t get deals. He doesn’t get leverage.”

I stare at the screen.

“He’s never getting out,” Pepper finishes quietly.

I breathe.

A shaky, trembling breath.

Not relief.

Not safety.

But something in between.

Tony squeezes my hand gently.

“You’re safe,” he whispers.

For the first time, I almost believe it.

That Night — A Mind That Won’t Rest

I can’t sleep.

My thoughts spiral:

The baby.
The stairs.
The scream.
Tony’s face.
Eric’s words.
The courtroom.
The blood.

I lie next to Tony, heart pounding, body buzzing with pain and leftover terror.

At 2:14 a.m., I slip out of bed, careful not to wake him.

“FRIDAY?” I whisper.

“Yes, Miss Rose?”

“I need… somewhere to let this out.”

“The gym is empty. I will lock the doors. No one enters unless you say.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like music?”

I swallow.

“Yes.”

“What song?”

My voice cracks.

“See You Again.”

“Playing now.”

The Gym — Breaking Point

I stand barefoot on the mat, the punching bag looming in the center of the room.

The opening notes of See You Again fill the space—soft piano, gentle ache.

My chest collapses inward.

I step forward and hit the bag.

Weak.
Soft.
Not enough.

I hit again.

Harder.

Then again.

And again.

Until something inside me rips open.

I scream.

Loud.
Raw.
Pain tearing through my throat, echoing off the walls.

I punch until my knuckles throb.
I yell until my lungs burn.
I sob until I’m shaking.

“WHY—WHY DID YOU TAKE HER—WHY—WHY—WHY—”

Every strike lands with grief so heavy it feels like breaking bone.

The song swells:

It’s been a long day without you, my friend…

I collapse to my knees, forehead against the bag, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Please come back… please… I’m so sorry…”

All the pain.
All the guilt.
All the anger.
All the love.

It pours out of me like blood.

When my arms shake too much to hold me up, I whisper:

“FRIDAY?”

“I am here, Rose.”

“Can you… Get Tony? I don’t think I can walk back.”

Her voice softens, almost human.

“Already done.”

Tony Finds Her

The gym doors slide open.

Tony steps in, barefoot, wearing only sweats, hair a mess, worry etched deep in his face.

His eyes lock onto me instantly.

And he breaks.

“Rose…”

I’m trembling, exhausted, tear-soaked.

He drops to his knees in front of me, pulling me into his arms without hesitation.

I collapse against him, sobbing into his chest.

“I couldn’t sleep—my head wouldn’t stop—I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—”

He holds me tighter.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers against my hair. “Never apologize for grieving. Never.”

I clutch his shirt.

His hand rubs circles into my back.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Let me take you home.”

Home.

He says it like a promise.

He lifts me easily, cradling me against his chest, carrying me out of the gym as the last lines of the song fade behind us:

And when I see you again…

Back in Bed

He lays me down gently, sliding beside me, pulling the blankets around us both.

His fingers brush tears from my cheeks.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers.

My breath catches.

“Why?”

“Because you fought tonight,” he says softly. “You let it out. That takes strength.”

I bury my face in his chest.

“Stay? Please?”

He kisses the top of my head.

“Always.”

And for the first time in a long time—

I fall asleep with steady arms around me
instead of shadows.

Chapter Text

Rose

I wake to sunlight instead of nightmares.

Soft, warm sunlight spilling through Tony’s balcony windows.
My head is in his lap, his hand in my hair, his fingers gently stroking, as though he’s been sitting there for hours.

He probably has.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he whispers.

My chest pulls tight—not the crushing grief from before, but something gentler.
A tug instead of a choke.

I shift slightly, curling into the warmth of his body.

“How did you sleep?” he asks softly.

I don’t lie. “Better.”

His hand pauses for a moment—surprise, relief, hope—and then continues combing through my hair.

“That’s good,” he murmurs.

My stomach growls softly.

For the first time in weeks, I feel a flicker of hunger.

It’s small.
Barely there.
But real.

Tony hears it and nearly bursts into tears.

“Oh my god—FRIDAY! Code Gold!”

I blink. “What’s Code Gold?”

“A breakfast alert,” FRIDAY says calmly. “Mr. Stark has been waiting to use it.”

Tony flushes a little. “I—uh—may have set up an emergency food protocol for when you were ready.”

My lips twitch. “That’s… really sweet.”

He blushes harder.

I sit up slowly, and his hands follow—steadying my back, supporting my waist, gentle and careful.

I take a breath.

Then another.

“I want to try,” I whisper. “To eat.”

The look on Tony’s face is indescribable.

Relief.
Love.
Pride.
A grief-softened joy that makes my throat ache.

Breakfast — The First Real Meal

Tony doesn’t let me walk to the kitchen.

He carries me.

I don’t protest.

He sets me down on the couch and slides beside me, close, protective. Pepper, Nat, and Steve appear within moments—trying and failing not to look like they sprinted down the hall the moment FRIDAY announced “Code Gold.”

Pepper brings oatmeal.
Nat brings toast.
Steve brings fruit.
Thor brings pancakes “FOR THE MENDING OF THE SPIRIT.”

Clint just brings a juice box and a thumbs up.

I laugh.

Very small.
Very soft.
But real.

The entire room freezes.

Nat’s eyes widen.
Steve’s smile softens.
Clint fist-pumps silently.
Thor looks like he might cry.

Tony stares at me like he’s watching the sunrise for the first time.

I take a spoonful of oatmeal.
Then take another.

Then three whole bites of fruit.

Tony looks like he wants to applaud, but holds it in.

Instead, he leans close and whispers:

“I’m really proud of you.”

My throat tightens.

But not painfully.

Not today.

A Moment of Laughter

Clint, trying to “lighten the vibe,” attempts to balance a pancake on Thor’s hammer.

He fails.

Spectacularly.

The pancake detonates on impact, splattering the entire table.

Thor booms, “THE PANCAKE WAS NOT WORTHY!”

Nat nearly spits her tea.
Steve’s shoulders shake.
Pepper covers her face, laughing.
Bruce genuinely snorts.

I laugh.

Full.
Warm.
Unrestricted.

It hurts—my ribs still ache—but the sound feels like the first breath after almost drowning.

Tony watches me with awe.

He doesn’t laugh.
He just looks… grateful.

Like this moment is a miracle.

Maybe it is.

Routine Rebuilding

The next few days become a pattern.

Morning:
Tony sits with me while I eat small meals.

Afternoon:
Bruce or the grief counselor visits. Some days I talk. Some days I don’t. Both are acceptable.

Evening:
Short walks down the hallway with Tony’s arm around my waist. Sometimes I get dizzy. Sometimes I need to stop. But we move. Together.

Night:
Tony holds me until sleep finds me.

Slowly—very slowly—my hollow spaces begin filling with something new.

Not happiness.
Not yet.

But strength.

Fragile, flickering strength.

Court Trial Date Set

Pepper arrives one morning with paperwork.

“It’s official. The trial date is in three weeks.”

My chest tightens—but this time, it doesn’t crush me.

Tony squeezes my hand, grounding me.

Pepper’s voice lowers.

“Rose… we can delay if you need more time.”

I shake my head.

“No. I want this over. I want him gone.”

Tony’s jaw clenches, his protective instincts flaring.

“I’ll be with you,” he whispers. “Every second.”

I nod.

Because I know he will be.

Eric Loses Control in Court

Three weeks pass.

The morning of the trial, I dress slowly—black cardigan, soft shirt, comfortable shoes. Nothing tight against my stomach.

Tony buttons my sweater for me.

His fingers linger at the last button.

“You sure you’re ready?” he murmurs.

“No,” I whisper. “But I’m going anyway.”

He kisses my forehead.

At the courthouse, the team forms a protective barrier around me.

Thor is in front.
Steve is at my left.
Nat is at my right.
Clint and Sam are behind.
Tony is holding me to his side.

Eric is brought in.

The moment he sees me—frail, healing, pale—his face twists.

He stands.

Shouts.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE? YOU’RE LYING—YOU MADE THIS HAPPEN—YOU TOOK MY CHILD FROM ME!”

Tony growls, stepping forward so sharply that Steve grabs him.

“You hurt her,” Tony whispers, voice lethal. “You killed our baby.”

Eric lunges.

The bailiff slams him against the wall as the courtroom erupts.

Thor moves faster than anyone should and grabs Tony by the shoulders.

“NOT HERE, FRIEND. SAVE YOUR STRENGTH FOR THE VERDICT.”

Tony’s breath shudders.

He backs away—but his eyes never leave Eric.

And Eric sees something in Tony’s face that terrifies him.

Good.

He should be terrified.

After Court — Breaking, Together

The moment we exit the courthouse, my legs buckle.

The grief rushes up again.

Sharp.
Raw.
Unavoidable.

Tony catches me before I hit the ground.

He pulls me into his chest, holding me tightly, shielding me from reporters with his body.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Let it out.”

I sob into his shoulder.

“I miss her.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I’m scared.”

“I’m here.”

“I don’t know how to live without her.”

His voice cracks.

“We’ll figure it out together. Day by day. Breath by breath.”

His forehead rests against mine.

Tears slip down both our faces.

And for the first time, we cry together.

Home — A Deeper Intimacy

That night, back in bed, we lie facing each other.

Not touching.
Just looking.

Tony’s eyes soften with something more fragile than love—
something deeper and quieter—

Devotion.

“Rose?” he whispers.

“Yes?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I reach out slowly and brush my fingers over his cheek.

He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch as it saves him.

“Tony…” I whisper, tears forming, “You’re the only reason I’m still here.”

His eyes open—bright, glassy, full of emotion he can’t hide.

He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips.

“Then I’ll stay,” he whispers, voice breaking. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

My throat closes.

I slide closer.

He opens his arms without a word.

I rest my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

He wraps both arms around me.

Slow.
Gentle.
Protective.
Home.

I close my eyes.

For the first time since the fall—

I sleep without nightmares.

Chapter Text

Rose

The courthouse feels colder today.

Not physically—emotionally.
It hums with tension, with the weight of everything I’ve carried for months. My fingers tremble as I button my cardigan. My breath comes fast and shallow.

Tony stands behind me in the mirror, adjusting the collar gently.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “look at me.”

I lift my eyes to his reflection.

“You don’t have to be brave today,” he whispers. “You just have to be here.”

I nod, even though my chest feels tight enough to crack.

Tony takes my hand and presses it to his lips.

“I’m right beside you,” he promises. “Every second.”

And somehow—just barely—that keeps me standing.

Arriving at the Courthouse

The Avengers form a shield around me.

Thor walks in front with a protective thunder in his eyes.
Steve flanks my left.
Natasha flanks my right.
Clint, Bruce, and Sam follow behind.
Pepper leads us, sharp and composed.

Tony never lets go of my hand.

Reporters shout.

Cameras flash.

Questions bite like teeth:

“Rose, do you forgive him?”
“Rose, how do you feel today?”
“Rose, are you seeking restitution?”
“Tony, are you the father figure—”

Tony growls low enough for only me to hear:

“Disgusting.”

Thor throws them a glare that silences half the sidewalk.

When we finally reach the courtroom doors, my knees almost buckle.

Tony senses it, looping an arm around my waist.

“You’re not walking in there alone,” he whispers.

And he means it.

Inside the Courtroom

Eric sits shackled.

His face is pale, jaw tight, eyes either empty or full of rage—something unstable, something rotted.

He looks at me.

My breath hitches.

Tony immediately steps between us, blocking Eric’s view.

The judge enters.

Everyone rises.

Sentencing begins.

Victim Impact Statements
Tony Goes First

Pepper squeezes his shoulder as he stands.

Tony’s voice, when he begins, is nothing like Iron Man.

It is soft.
Steady.
Overflowing with grief and love.

“Your Honor,” he begins, “I’m not speaking today as a superhero. Or a public figure. I’m speaking as a man who watched the woman he loves break apart in front of him.”

My breath catches.

Tony continues.

“Rose lost more than her innocence. More than her safety. More than her health. She lost a child. Our child.”

The courtroom stills.

Tony’s voice shakes.

“I saw her bleed on concrete stairs because of him.”

He points at Eric without looking at him.

“I heard her scream in pain that no one should ever feel. I watched her hold her stomach and beg for her baby. And I will live with the sound of that scream for the rest of my life.”

His voice cracks.

“But Rose survived. And she deserves peace. She deserves safety. She deserves to live the rest of her life without looking over her shoulder.”

He turns toward me.

His eyes soften, break, shine.

“And she deserves a future—one that he should never be able to touch again.”

When he sits, I’m already crying.

He squeezes my hand.

My Turn

Standing feels like walking underwater.

But Tony is there.

His hand on my back.
His warmth is steady.
His eyes permitted me to breathe.

I walk to the podium.

My voice trembles.

“My name is Rose Llanos,” I begin. “And the man sitting behind me stole everything from me.”

I swallow hard.

“He took my safety. My freedom. My confidence. My smile.”

My grip tightens on the podium.

“And then he took my daughter.”

Gasps flutter through the room.

I breathe through the burning in my lungs.

“She was mine. She was loved. She existed. And because of him, she never got to be born.”

My throat collapses.

Tony’s hand reaches my lower back, steadying me.

“He hurt me. He broke me. But I am still here. I’m still breathing. And I’m choosing to keep living, even when every part of me wants to collapse.”

I look directly at Eric.

He flinches.

“I’m done being afraid of you.”

A hush falls over the room.

I turn back to the judge, voice steadier:

“I deserve to heal. And he deserves to face what he did.”

When I return to my seat, Tony pulls me into his arms.

“Proud of you,” he whispers into my hair. “So proud.”

The Sentencing

The judge’s words cut the air cleanly:

“For the brutality of the assault…
For the documented trauma…
For the undeniable link to the fetal demise…
For the attempt to abduct Ms. Llanos…
For the pattern of abuse…”

Her voice lowers.

“…this court sentences the defendant, Eric Llanos, to life in prison without the possibility of parole.”

A sound escapes me—part sob, part relief, part disbelief.

Tony’s arms wrap around me instantly.

“It's over,” he whispers. “Rose… It’s over.”

Eric shouts something incoherent as officers drag him out.

But I don’t hear him anymore.

His voice doesn’t matter.

His words don’t matter.

His existence doesn’t matter.

He can never reach me again.

I lean into Tony and cry.
Not with despair.
Not with fear.

With release.

After the Trial — Something Returns

When we step out of the courthouse, sunlight hits my face.

Warm. Bright. Real.

And something small shifts inside me.

A piece I lost.
A piece I thought was gone forever.
A piece that finally comes home.

I take a deep breath.

And the air actually fills my lungs.

Tony watches me closely.
Protectively.
Lovingly.

“How do you feel?” he whispers.

I think.

I really think.

“Tired,” I say. “Hurting. But… lighter.”

Tony smiles softly.

Like I just told him, the world will keep spinning after all.

The Tower — A New Intimacy

Back home, Tony leads me to his room and sits beside me on the bed.

We don’t talk.

We don’t have to.

I rest my head against his chest, and he wraps his arms around me.

For a while, we just breathe together.

Slow.
Gentle.
Healing.

After a long silence, I speak.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to live again.”

He exhales—a shaky, emotional breath.

He presses a kiss to my forehead.

“We’ll do it together,” he whispers. “At your pace. Any pace. I’m not going anywhere.”

I close my eyes, letting his warmth surround me.

For the first time in a long time, the darkness inside me doesn’t swallow everything.

Somewhere deep, small lights flicker.

Not joy.
Not yet.

But hope.

And hope is enough.

Chapter Text

Rose

Grief changes shape.

That’s what my therapist told me months ago, when I still felt like every day was a battlefield and every breath a victory.

“You won’t stop missing her,” she said gently. “But the pain won’t always feel like drowning.”

She was right.

It’s been a year.

Twelve months since the fall.
Twelve months since blood and terror and darkness swallowed my world.
Twelve months since Tony held me through the kind of devastation that changes a person’s soul.

I am not the same woman I was before that day.

Neither is he.

And yet, somehow—we’re stronger.

The morning light spills across our bedroom as I wake with my cheek on Tony’s chest, his arm curled protectively around me. His heart beats steady beneath my ear, grounding me, even on a day like today.

Especially on a day like today.

He’s awake already, fingers lightly brushing through my hair in slow, calming strokes. He does that when my breathing gets uneven in my sleep.

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You with me?”

I nod, though my throat is already tight.

“I’m here.”

His thumb wipes a tear I didn’t feel fall.

Of course, he notices.

“Today doesn’t have to be anything other than what you need it to be,” Tony says. “We go slow. We breathe. We remember. And we do it together.”

My chest aches—but not the jagged kind of pain from a year ago.

A dull, lingering ache.
An echo of something loved and lost.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “Just… heavy.”

“Me too.” His voice cracks just slightly. “But heavy isn’t hopeless.”

No.
Not anymore.

Because I’m not carrying it alone.

The Memorial Garden

The Tower garden looks different from what it did a year ago.

Not because the plants changed—but because I did.

I walk slowly along the path, hand laced with Tony’s, feeling the warm press of his fingers anchoring me. The team gave us the morning alone—Clint promised to keep Thor from giving us “mournful feasting traditions” until later.

Tony guides me to the small alcove where we placed the memorial last year.

A small stone marker sits beneath a cherry blossom sapling.

We planted it together six months ago.
It’s taller now.
Stronger.
Reaching.

I kneel beside it and trace a finger over the inscription:

“Loved before we met.
Remembered always.”

My throat tightens.

“I wish…” I whisper.

Tony kneels beside me, his hand covering mine.

“I know.”

Silence sits with us—not empty, but gentle.

I close my eyes.

I picture tiny fingers.
A heartbeat I never heard.
A future that existed only in dreams.

And I let myself miss her.

Tony’s arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me against him.

“She brought us together,” he says quietly.

I let out a trembling breath. “Do you really believe that?”

He nods, eyes soft, shining.

“Losing her nearly broke us,” he admits. “But healing… healing made us stronger. Closer. Braver.”

I lean my head against his shoulder.

“I think about who I was before,” I whisper. “I didn’t think I deserved real love.”

Tony presses a kiss into my hair.

“You deserve everything,” he murmurs. “Always.”

My eyes burn.

A Year of Us

In the last twelve months, Tony and I built a life—slowly, carefully, piece by piece.

He never pushed.
Never rushed.
Never expected more than I could give.

But love… love grew anyway.

In shared breakfasts.
In therapy sessions.
In holding each other through nightmares and celebrating small victories.
In discovering that joy could exist again, even after devastation.

Tony started waking up with soft kisses on my forehead.
I started resting my head on his chest without hesitation.
We started laughing again—really laughing.

And somehow, somewhere along the way—

We became a family.
Even without meaning to.

Even without our child here to see it.

Tony’s Private Moment

He doesn’t know I notice, but I do.

When we stand from the memorial, his hand drifts to his pocket.
Not searching—checking.
As if making sure something is still there.

My heart flips.

I don’t say anything.

Not today.

But the warmth in my chest spreads slowly, like sunrise creeping across a quiet horizon.

He’s been thinking about the future.

About our future.

Not today.
Not this anniversary.
This day belongs to grief and memory.

But soon.

And the thought doesn’t scare me.

It lights something hopeful inside me.

At the Balcony — Evening

We end the day on the balcony, wrapped in a blanket, sitting close enough that our breaths mingle in the cool air.

The sky glows pink and gold.

“You did amazing today,” Tony whispers.

I smile faintly. “I didn’t fall apart.”

“You’re allowed to fall apart,” he says. “I’ll always help you pick up the pieces.”

I lay my head on his shoulder.

He presses his cheek to the top of my head.

“We’ve come a long way,” I murmur.

He huffs a soft, emotional laugh.

“A year ago, I didn’t know if you’d ever smile again.”

I lace my fingers through his.

“And now?”

He tilts my chin up gently with his hand.

His eyes are warm, steady, filled with love so deep it softens every scar inside me.

“Now,” he whispers, “I wake up next to the woman I love. And I get to watch her heal more every day. That’s everything.”

My breath catches.

“Tony…”

He leans down, kissing me softly—warm, slow, reverent.

A kiss that says grief didn’t break us.

A kiss that says love grew in the cracks.

A kiss that feels like a promise.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead on mine.

“We’ll keep healing,” he whispers. “We’ll keep building. We’ll keep loving.”
A small pause.
“And someday… when you’re ready… We’ll talk about adding to our family again. If that’s something you want.”

My heart stutters.

Not from fear.

From hope.

“I think… someday… yes,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes, relief washing across his face.

I tuck myself against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

We sit like that until the stars appear—
grief and love sitting side by side,
pain and hope intertwined,
a future quietly waiting for us to claim it.

Chapter Text

Tony

I am not a man easily intimidated.

I’ve faced aliens, gods, killer robots, my own brain trying to eat itself—
But planning a proposal?

That’s what has me pacing the lab like a caffeinated cheetah.

The ring is done.
Finished two days ago.
Resting in a velvet box tucked into a drawer, only FRIDAY and I know exists.

White gold.
A curve of emeralds shaped like a crescent.
A single brilliant diamond in the center.
A design that feels like her—soft, strong, luminous.

It’s perfect.

But I’m not proposing yet.
Not on any old day.
Not on a day heavy with memories or pain.

I want the moment to be gentle.
To be warm.
To feel like healing.

To feel like her.

“Sir,” FRIDAY says in my ear, “your heart rate suggests you are working yourself into a spiral.”

“I am NOT spiraling,” I lie.

Beep.
Heart rate spikes.

“…Fine. Spiraling adjacent.”

FRIDAY hums a sound that can only be described as “smug AI patience.”

Meanwhile… The Team Knows Something

I walk into the common room, trying to act normal.

This is my first mistake.

Nat immediately narrows her eyes. “Why are you moving like you swallowed a diamond?”

“I didn’t swallow anything,” I snap too quickly.

Clint squints. “He’s hiding something.”

Thor gasps. “A SECRET QUEST?”

Bruce pushes his glasses up. “His pupils are dilated. Increased perspiration. Elevated adrenaline. He’s either proposing or having a midlife crisis.”

Pepper just raises an eyebrow. “Where’s the ring, Tony?”

I choke on absolutely nothing.

“I—WHAT—YOU—HOW—”

Nat smirks. “Your auditory tells are louder when you lie now. It’s adorable.”

Steve pats my shoulder. “We’re proud of you, buddy.”

“STOP BEING SUPPORTIVE, ALL OF YOU.”

They do not stop.

Rose — Therapy Breakthrough

My therapist’s office feels warm today.

Not intimidating.
Not heavy.

Just… steady.

She asks gentle questions about the anniversary.
About the garden.
About Tony.

“How did you feel walking through that day?” she asks.

I think for a long moment, tracing soft circles on my knee.

“Hurt,” I say honestly. “But not destroyed.”

Her smile is small, warm. “That’s growth.”

I swallow.

“And I… I think I’m ready to build something again. Something new.
Not to replace what I lost—nothing could.
But to honor it.”

The words spill out before I can take them back.

I freeze.

My therapist doesn’t.

“That sounds like hope,” she says softly.

Hope.

The word sits in my chest, glowing faintly.

I leave the session lighter than I arrived.

Dinner — The Almost-Proposal

Tony insists on cooking tonight, which should’ve been my first clue he was up to something.

He hums the entire time he’s at the stove.
Tony Stark.
Humming.

He sets dinner in front of me—pasta, soft bread, a glass of sparkling water—and sits across the table, staring at me like my face is the sun.

I flush. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says, but his voice is too full. Too warm. Too much.

He reaches across the table and takes my hand.

“Rose,” he says softly.

My heart flips.

“I love you,” he continues, thumb brushing my knuckles. “More than I ever thought I could love anything. And it’s not just because of what we’ve survived. It’s because of you. Because you’re strong and gentle and stubborn and brave, and—”

He pauses, swallowing.

His eyes flicker down.

To his pocket.

Oh.

My breath stutters.

His hand twitches.

For a terrifying moment, I think he’s going to actually propose right here between the pasta and the parmesan.

He opens his mouth—

Then closes it.

He looks away, flustered.

I blink. “Tony…?”

He clears his throat.

“Not tonight,” he murmurs. “Soon. But not tonight.”

Warmth floods me.

Relief.
Tenderness.
Love so fierce it shakes me.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He corrects me gently.

“When you’re ready.”

My breath catches.

I stand and walk around the table, settling into his lap, curling into him like home.

He wraps both arms around me instantly.

I rest my forehead against his.

“I’m ready for us,” I whisper. “For whatever we’re building. For whatever comes next.”

His breath shudders.

He cups my cheek, eyes shining.

“You don’t know what that does to me,” he whispers.

“Yes,” I murmur, “I think I do.”

We stay like that—breathing each other in, the world quiet around us, the future stretching wide and warm ahead.

Night — Emotional Intimacy

We end the night in bed, wrapped in blankets, facing each other.

Tony traces gentle patterns on my arm.

I run my fingers through his hair.

It isn’t physical tonight.
It isn’t about desire.
It’s about closeness.
Trust.
A bond built from ashes and love.

“Tony?” I whisper in the dark.

“Yes, honey?”

“I used to think grief stole my future.”

His hand slips to my cheek, thumb brushing lightly.

“But?” he prompts softly.

“But now…”
I swallow.
“Now I think I might have one again.”

He breathes out—a soft, shaky, relieved sound.

“You do,” he says. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you feel that.”

I lean forward and kiss him.

Slow.
Deep.
Heartfelt.

A kiss that feels like a vow neither of us has spoken aloud yet.

When we part, Tony whispers:

“Soon.”

And I whisper back:

“I’ll say yes.”

He pulls me into his arms, holding me like something sacred.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

I fall asleep dreaming of the future instead of the past.

Chapter Text

Tony — Operation “Do Not Panic”

I have defeated intergalactic warlords.

But planning a proposal?

Yeah. No. That’s apparently my final boss.

I pace the lab while FRIDAY tries her best impression of a zen meditation app.

“Sir,” she says, “you have recited the speech twelve times.”

“I know,” I hiss. “I’m practicing.”

“You have also changed locations for the proposal five times.”

“That’s called adaptability.”

She hums. “If you adapt any further, you will propose at a Costco.”

I freeze.

“…Not the worst idea.”

“Sir.”

“Fine.”

I resume pacing.

The ring feels heavy in my pocket.
Not physically—emotionally.
It’s the weight of everything Rose and I survived, everything we rebuilt, everything we are about to choose.

I wipe my hands on my jeans.

“FRIDAY, status update?”

“Natasha has infiltrated your romantic planning folder.”

“Nat WHAT—”

“Clint has placed bets on how soon you will cry.”

“What—no—”

“Thor has requested permission to summon lightning at the moment of proposal.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT—”

“Steve wishes to rehearse his supportive smile.”

“Oh my god—”

“Pepper says, ‘Don’t ruin it.’”

I groan.

This is fine.
Everything is fine.
Totally fine.

I’m sweating.

Rose — A Good Day

I wake up feeling light.

Not weightless—grief doesn’t disappear—but lighter than I used to.
Tony notices instantly.

His smile is soft. Warm. A little… sparkly?

“You look happy,” he says.

“I feel… good.”

His whole body relaxes like those words untie something inside him.

We go through our morning routine:

Breakfast.
Tea.
A walk through the Tower garden.

I stop beside the cherry blossom tree and run my fingers over the bark.

“I don’t cry every time I look at it anymore,” I say quietly. “I still miss her. I always will. But… I think she’d want me to live.”

Tony’s eyes soften—and shine.

“She would,” he whispers. “And she’d be proud of you.”

Warmth blooms in my chest.

I slip my hand into his, and he holds it like a promise.

Midday Chaos — The Avengers Nearly Sabotage Everything

Tony wants to take me out for lunch.
Just lunch.
Simple, right?

Wrong.

Very wrong.

The moment we enter the common area—

Nat: “So, Tony, big day?” wiggles eyebrows
Clint: “Don’t kneel too fast; your knees are getting old.”
Bruce: “Do you have the speech memorized?”
Sam: “He wrote a speech?”
Thor: “SHALL I SUMMON THE LIGHTNING? FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT?”
Steve: holds up a thumbs-up sign he’s been practicing in the mirror.

I stare.

Tony looks like he wants to die.

“Okay!” he snaps. “Everyone shut up! Shut all the way up!”

Clint grins. “We’re rooting for you, buddy.”

Tony drags me toward the elevator.

“Are you okay?” I ask, amused.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

I kiss his cheek.

He stops walking.

Just stops.

Face flushed.
Eyes wide.
Breath… gone.

“You can’t just—kiss me when I’m—planning—things,” he stammers.

“Planning what?” I tease gently.

He chokes.

“Lunch. Obviously.”

Smooth.

Very smooth.

He holds my hand the entire elevator ride, palm warm and slightly sweaty.

Rose — A Moment of Joy

Lunch is peaceful.

Tony watches me like I might vanish.
Not in fear—
in awe.

When I laugh at something stupid, he says, he looks like he could bottle the sound and live off it for the rest of his life.

We walk by the river afterward, and I take a picture of the view.

A year ago, I couldn’t lift my head without feeling like the world was collapsing.

Now?

Now the sun feels warm again.
Now the world feels possible again.

And Tony…

Tony feels at home.

He gently brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.

“You’re glowing today,” he murmurs.

“You always say that.”

“No,” he says softly. “Today it’s different. You’re… brighter.”

My heart flutters.

Tony Nearly Proposes at the WRONG TIME

We’re standing by the river when the light hits her perfectly.

Hair glowing.
Eyes soft.
A little smile tugged at her lips.

She’s beautiful.

And alive.
And strong.
And mine.

The ring burns in my pocket.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I blurt:

“Rose…”

She turns toward me, eyes curious.

My breath catches.

I reach for her hand.

She steps closer.

The words flood my throat—

But then someone nearby drops a hot dog, a dog starts barking, a kid screams, and the entire moment implodes.

I choke violently.

“N-Never mind!”

She bites her lip, amused.
Suspicious.
Beautiful.

But she lets it go.

For now.

Evening — Tony’s Plan

Back at the Tower, FRIDAY lights the private rooftop with soft golden lanterns.
A warm breeze drifts through the air, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms.

The sky glows pink and violet above the city skyline.

Tony leads me to the center of the rooftop, his hand trembling slightly.

“Tony?” I whisper.

He turns toward me.

He’s shaking.

Really shaking.

My heart stutters.

His eyes meet mine—and everything in him pours out at once.

Love.
Fear.
Hope.
Devotion.

“Rose…” he begins softly.

My breath stops.

He takes both of my hands in his.

“When I met you, you were this force of nature—quiet but unstoppable. You kept this tower alive. You kept me alive.”

My throat tightens.

“And when everything fell apart… when we lost her… I didn’t know how to keep breathing. But you did. And you let me hold you through the worst thing we’ve ever faced.”

Tears fill my eyes.

“And somewhere in the middle of grief and healing and rebuilding… I realized I never want to live a life without you in it.”

His voice breaks.

“You’re my family, Rose. My heart. My safe place. My future.”

He steps back slightly.

My breath catches.

He reaches into his pocket—

Drops to one knee.

The world spins.

His voice is steady, emotional, overflowing.

“Rose Llanos… will you marry me?”

Tears spill over my cheeks.
Warm.
Relieved.
Overwhelmed.

I cover my mouth with shaking hands.

“Tony…”

He looks up at me with so much love it hurts.

“Say yes,” he whispers. “Please say yes.”

I fall to my knees in front of him and cup his face.

“Yes,” I whisper, voice trembling. “Yes, Tony. A thousand times, yes.”

The relief in his eyes breaks every remaining piece of me—in the best way.

He pulls me into his arms, kissing me deeply, tenderly, like the world just came back into focus.

The ring slides onto my finger, sparkling under the lantern light.

We breathe each other in.

Alive.
In love.
Healing.
Whole.

Together.

Chapter Text

Tony — She Said Yes

I am still on my knees.

Still holding her.

Still kissing her like I'm discovering oxygen for the first time.

Rose laughs through tears, the sound shaky and beautiful.

Her voice trembles against my lips.
“Yes, Tony. Yes.”

I lean my forehead against hers, my breath shuddering out.

“Good,” I whisper, “because you’re stuck with me.”

She laughs again—soft, real, hopeful.

And I finally let myself breathe.

Team Chaos: The Engagement Reveal

We step off the rooftop into the common room.

We are holding hands.

Rose is glowing.

The ring is shimmering.

And the team…
The team is WAITING.

Nat immediately smirks.
Clint gasps dramatically.
Thor booms, “VICTORY! THE BONDS OF LOVE HAVE BEEN FORGED!”
Steve beams like a proud teacher.
Bruce wipes an actual tear.
Pepper sighs in relief.
Sam whistles.
Bucky: “Took you long enough, Stark.”

Clint jumps onto the couch.

“PAY UP! I SAID HE’D PROPOSE BEFORE THE YEAR WAS OVER!”

Nat tosses him a twenty. Thor gives him gold coins (where did he even get those?). Steve hands him homemade cookies. Bucky refuses—he voted that Tony would choke on the ring mid-proposal.

Tony groans.

“Guys—”

Before he can finish, he’s tackled into a hug pile.

Rose is swept up next—Nat hugging her tightly, Pepper kissing her cheek, Thor lifting her off the ground in celebration.

When Rose is finally released, she clings to Tony’s hand, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

My fiancée.

The word nearly floors me.

Engagement Celebration

Pepper throws the celebration within an hour.

There are fairy lights across the rooftop.
Champagne (and sparkling cider for Rose).
Music, soft and warm.
A small cake decorated with tiny metallic hearts.

Rose is overwhelmed in the best way—smiling, laughing, leaning into Tony’s side.

When we slow-dance under the lanterns, her head resting against my chest, she whispers:

“Tony… this already feels like home.”

I kiss her forehead.

“It is.”

Wedding Planning Begins… Chaotically

The next morning, I wake up with Rose curled on my chest and a wild, beautiful idea:

Wedding.
Soon.
Now.
Immediately.

I try to sneak out to plan.

I fail.

“Tony?” Rose murmurs sleepily. “Where are you going?”

“NOWHERE,” I lie badly.

She gives me a soft smile. “You can plan with me, you know.”

That’s when Pepper intervenes.

“Tony,” she says, “you are NOT hiring Cirque du Soleil for your wedding.”

“I COULD HAVE,” I protest.

“No,” Rose says gently, “something small. Something soft. Something that feels like us.”

Us.

She has no idea what that word does to me.

We plan together:

A small ceremony on the Tower rooftop.
Cherry blossoms.
Fairy lights.
Our closest people.
A short aisle.
A handwritten vow.

The date?

This week.
Neither of us wants to wait anymore.

Life is fragile.
Precious.
We’ve learned that in ways most people never do.

We don’t need months.

We just need each other.

Night Before the Wedding — Heart to Heart

Rose sits on my lap on the couch, legs curled around my waist, her arms around my neck.

I stroke her hair, letting silence fall between us like something sacred.

“Tony?” she murmurs.

“Hmm?”

“Are you scared?”

I think.

Then I’m honest.

“Yes,” I whisper.

She pulls back slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah. Not of marrying you,” I laugh softly. “You’re the one thing I’ve never been unsure about. I’m scared of… messing up. Not being enough. Not giving you the life you deserve.”

Her fingertips trace my jaw, tender.

“Tony… you already give me everything I need. Love. Safety. A place to breathe. A future. That’s more than enough.”

My throat tightens.

“And you?” I whisper. “Are you scared?”

She leans her forehead against mine.

“Not anymore,” she says softly. “Because I’m not walking into this alone.”

I kiss her—slow and deep and meaningful.

And we fall asleep intertwined, hearts beating in unison.

THE WEDDING
Rose — Becoming His Wife

The Tower rooftop is transformed.

Soft white drapes.
Petals scattered in a delicate path.
Candles in protective glass globes.
The cherry blossom tree is glowing under string lights.

The Avengers stand in small clusters, smiling, emotional.
FRIDAY plays a piano melody Tony wrote for me.

Pepper adjusts the veil in my hair.
Nat steadies my hand.
Thor gives me a quiet nod of respect.
Bruce smiles warmly.
Clint wipes a tear when he thinks no one sees.
Steve offers his arm to walk me down the aisle.

“Ready?” he asks softly.

I am.

More than I ever imagined I could be.

“Yes.”

Down the Aisle

When I step into the aisle, everything else disappears.

Tony stands at the altar, suit perfectly tailored, eyes overflowing with love and emotion.

And when he sees me—

He breaks.

Tears slip down his cheeks, unashamed.

I feel my breath catch.

This man.
This wounded, healing, brilliant man.
My safe place.
My partner.
My love.

He whispers, not bothering to hide his awe:

“My god… you’re beautiful.”

I take his hands when I reach him.

He squeezes them like they’re his lifeline.

Maybe they are.

Vows
Tony’s Vow

He swallows, voice thick.

“Rose… before you, I didn’t know what it meant to truly love someone. Not with depth. Not with honesty. Not with devotion.”

His thumb strokes my hand.

“You taught me how to be gentle. How to be steady. How to be a man worthy of the life we’re building.”

My eyes fill with tears.

“I can’t promise perfection. But I can promise this: I will love you fiercely. Protect you endlessly. Choose you every day. And build with you a life full of joy, even in the shadow of loss.”

My tears fall.

He brushes one away.

“With you, I am whole. With you, I am home.”

My Vow

I take a shaky breath.

“Tony… you found me when I was broken. When I didn’t believe in a future. When the world felt too heavy to hold.”

His eyes glisten.

“And you didn’t fix me. You didn’t rush me. You held me. You stayed. You loved me without conditions or expectations.”

His thumb trembles over my knuckles.

“You taught me how to breathe again. How to stand again. How to hope again.”

A tear falls down his cheek. I wipe it gently.

“I vow to love you with a heart that’s healing and strong. I vow to face every joy and every hardship with you. And I vow to choose you—every day, in every way.”

The Kiss

The officiant barely finishes—

“I now pronounce you husband and wife—”

Before Tony pulls me into his arms, kissing me like the universe just opened its doors.

The world dissolves.

It’s just us.

Alive.
Whole.
Married.

A future shining bright before us.

The team cheers wildly.
Thor cries loudly.
Clint whistles.
Pepper dabs tears.
Nat smirks knowingly.
Steve nods in approval.
Bruce smiles softly.

Tony lifts me slightly off the ground, holding me like something precious.

“My wife,” he whispers against my lips.

I smile through tears.

“My husband.”

A New Beginning

As the stars blink above us and the city lights glow below, Tony wraps me in his arms and kisses my forehead.

“Rose Stark,” he murmurs.

Warmth floods me.

Love.
Peace.
Possibility.

“We made it,” I whisper.

He shakes his head gently.

“No,” he murmurs, cupping my face tenderly. “We’re just getting started.”

And under the twinkling lights and soft blossoms,
with the man I love and the people who carried us through darkness—

I finally believe him.

Chapter Text

Greece — Honeymoon of Sunlit Healing

Greece feels like a dream.

The ocean’s turquoise shimmer.
The warm stroke of the Mediterranean breeze.
Whitewashed buildings gleaming under sunsets that paint the sky in gold and rose.

For the first time in years, my heart doesn’t hurt.

Tony holds my hand as we walk through narrow Santorini streets, stopping to buy fresh figs and honeyed pastries from street vendors. He feeds me a bite; I laugh, and he looks at me like he wants to memorize the sound forever.

We swim in private coves.
We nap on sun-warmed terraces.
We share long dinners of grilled seafood and soft bread, sipping chilled white wine as the sun dips below the Aegean.

At night, wrapped in sheets and warm skin, Tony touches me like I’m something sacred.

“You’re happy,” he whispers one evening, brushing a curl from my cheek.

“I’m healing,” I whisper back.

He kisses my forehead.

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

We make love gently the first night, joyfully the second, hungrily the third, reverently the fourth.

Greece becomes a place where we relearn each other’s bodies with tenderness instead of fear.
A place where my laughter returns fully.
A place where Tony looks at me like I’ve reinvented the sun.

And when we leave, we take the warmth with us.

Back Home — A New Normal

The Tower feels different now.

Not physically—emotionally.

There’s a quiet brightness in every corner.
Sunlight seems warmer.
Coffee tastes sweeter.
The team stops arguing as much (except Clint and Bucky; they will never stop).
FRIDAY hums romantic melodies when she thinks no one is listening.

Tony and I fall into a soft, loving rhythm.

Morning coffee.
Shared showers.
He kisses my shoulder as he leaves for the lab.
I bring him lunch and steal kisses between equations.

At night, we curl into each other, whispering small domestic things:

“How was your day?”
“I missed you.”
“Come here, honey.”

Four months pass in this gentle cadence.

Love expands quietly, steadily.

Healing is settling deeper.

Life is becoming beautiful again.

Four Months Later — Something Feels Different

It starts small.

A wave of dizziness.
A strange flutter in my stomach.
A sudden aversion to my usual tea.

I brush it off.

Until—

One morning, Tony kisses the top of my head and hands me a mug of coffee.

And the smell hits me like a punch.

I barely make it to the sink before gagging.

Tony panics instantly.

“Rose? Sweetheart? Are you okay—do I need to call Bruce—FRIDAY, medical alert!”

I shake my head quickly, waving him off.

I’m fine.
I’m fine.

But inside?

My breath stutters.

No…

No, it can’t be…

Not yet…

Not so soon…

But—
But the possibility flares in my chest like a spark igniting a lantern.

I wait until Tony leaves for a meeting before walking—shaking—into the med bay.

Bruce Confirms Everything

Bruce looks up from his clipboard, soft concern in his eyes.

“Rose? What’s wrong?”

I swallow.

“My… symptoms. I think I might be—just—can you check?”

He nods immediately and leads me to the exam room with gentle hands.

The test is quick.
Too quick.
Seconds stretch into eternities.

Bruce watches the monitor.

His eyes soften.

Then shine.

“Rose…” he murmurs, voice warm enough to break me. “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.”

My breath catches.

My vision blurs.

My hand covers my mouth as tears spill silently down my cheeks.

“Really?” I whisper. “Bruce… really?”

He nods, emotional himself.

“Yes. You’re expecting again.”

I sit down hard, overwhelmed.

Scared.
Relieved.
Terrified.
Overjoyed.

Alive.

Bruce kneels in front of me.

“You deserve this happiness.”

I grab his hand.

“You cannot tell Tony. Not yet. Or the team. Please.”

Bruce squeezes my hand gently.

“You have my word.”

I turn to FRIDAY.

“And you?”

“My silence is absolute, Mrs. Stark.”

My heart flutters at the title.

I place both hands over my barely-there stomach.

A new life.

A new beginning.

A hope I thought I’d lost forever.

Dinner — A Secret Waiting to Be Spoken

That night, I cook dinner.

Tony peeks into the kitchen every five minutes like an overgrown puppy.

“You don’t have to cook,” he insists.

“I want to,” I say softly.

That alone makes him melt.

We eat together—candles lit, soft music playing, Tony leaning so close our knees touch under the table.

He barely pays attention to the food, too busy watching me with soft eyes.

“One of these days,” he murmurs, “I’m going to convince you to let me cook.”

I smirk. “Not likely.”

He grins.

After dinner, we walk to the garden, fingers intertwined.

The cherry blossom tree sways gently in the breeze.

We sit beneath it, looking up at the stars.

Tony kisses my temple.

“You’ve been glowing again,” he says softly. “Did Greece do that much good, or is it me?”

My heart thuds.

Now.

It has to be now.

I turn toward him, reaching for his hands.

“Tony?”

He stills instantly.

“Yeah, honey?”

My voice shakes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Tony’s Reaction — Pure, Overwhelming Joy

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

His breath catches so sharply he gasps.

“Rose—are you—are you serious?”

I nod, tears spilling.

His face breaks open.

Utter joy.
Disbelief.
Hope.
Love.
Something like redemption.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Oh my god—Rose—”

He grabs my face in both hands and kisses me desperately—soft at first, then deeply, reverently, tenderly.

Then he laughs—a breathless, overwhelmed sound—and pulls back just enough to look at me.

“We’re having a baby,” he whispers, like he’s saying the most sacred truth in the universe.

Then—

Before I can react—

He leans me back onto the soft grass, kissing my still-flat stomach with shaking lips.

“Hi,” he breathes, voice full of awe. “Hi there, little one.”

My tears fall freely.

He kisses my stomach again.
And again.

“I love you already,” he whispers to our baby. “Both of you. So much.”

He crawls back up and cups my cheeks, pressing his forehead to mine.

“You have no idea what this means to me,” he breathes.

“I think I do,” I whisper.

He kisses me again—slow, deep, full of everything we are and everything we survived.

We hold each other under the stars, wrapped in warmth, hope, and new beginnings.

Falling in love all over again.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker — An Unexpected Addition

Peter Parker arrives with nothing but a backpack, a shy smile, and the brightest eyes I’ve ever seen.

Tony has already adopted him emotionally within five minutes.

Rose takes exactly fifteen.

It starts with Tony showing Peter the lab and Peter blurting out:

“Mr. Stark, you’re like—my hero. I mean, THE hero. I mean—not that you’re old or anything—I just—sir—I—your work is—please shut me up.”

Tony bursts out laughing.
Rose covers her mouth, trying not to smile too widely.

“Kid,” Tony says, ruffling Peter’s curls, “welcome to the Tower.”

Peter turns to Rose.

“Mrs. Stark,” he says nervously, “I uh—I hope you don’t mind that I’m here.”

Rose kneels in front of him.

Her eyes are gentle, warm.
The kind of gentleness that breaks walls down.

“Peter,” she says softly, “anyone Tony brings into his heart is already in mine. You’re family now.”

Peter’s eyes go glossy.

He launches himself at her, hugging her with all the desperation of a kid who hasn’t been hugged enough.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Rose hugs him back instantly.

Tony watches with a look that could melt the world.

From that moment on, Peter follows them everywhere.

When does he find out Rose is pregnant?

He nearly passes out.

“Are you—like—having a baby baby?”

Rose nods, laughing.

Peter’s eyes fill with tears.

“I’m gonna be the best big brother ANY kid has ever had,” he declares, chest puffed out. “No one will mess with him. EVER.”

Tony slings an arm around Peter.

“That’s my boy.”

Rose presses a hand to her belly, emotional.

Their family has already grown.

The Reveal — Tony Tells the Team

Rose lasted two days before Tony figured it out.

The baby books are hidden under the bed.
The way she kept touching her stomach.
The fact that she was glowing like a lantern again.

“Rose, honey,” he whispered one night, “if you want to tell me now, I promise not to faint.”

She laughed, kissed him, and whispered the truth in his ear.

He cried.

Actually cried.

Happy tears.
Soft tears.
The kind of tears he saved just for her.

Then he ran out of breath, wiped his face, and declared:

“I HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE.”

Rose grabbed his arm. “Not like—”

Too late.

Tony ran into the common room shouting:

“WE’RE HAVING A BABY!”

The entire team exploded.

Thor: “AN HEIR TO THE STARK THRONE!”
Nat: already knitting something
Pepper: “Oh, thank GOD. I thought you were just extra emotional lately.”
Clint: sobbing in the corner
Steve: hugs everyone
Bruce: breaks into the softest smile
Sam: “Uncle Sam reporting for duty.”
Peter: “I’M A BIG BROTHER—MOVE, EVERYONE, I’M IMPORTANT.”

Rose watches the chaos, hand over her heart.

Tony wraps both arms around her from behind.

“This is our family,” he whispers.

She leans into him.

“And it’s perfect.”

The Pregnancy — Month by Month
Month 1 — Fear and Hope

Rose is cautious.
Tony is a nervous wreck.

Every headache?
He panics.

Every nap?
He panics worse.

Bruce assures them everything is normal.

Still, Tony sleeps with one hand on Rose’s belly every night.

Peter follows her around with snacks and blankets.

Month 3 — The Ultrasound

The room is quiet.

The monitor crackles.

And then—

A heartbeat.

Small. Steady. Strong.

Rose bursts into tears.

Tony grabs her hand, tears falling freely.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers.

Peter sniffles loudly from the corner.

“I’m fine,” he says, clearly not fine at all.

They leave the hospital with ultrasound pictures and hearts full of hope.

Month 5 — Baby Kicks

They’re watching a movie when it happens.

A flutter.
A shift.
A kick.

Rose gasps.

Tony freezes.

“Was that—”

She grabs his hand and presses it to her belly.

And there it is.

A little push.

Tony sobs.
Not a sniffle.
A full-body, shoulders-shaking sob.

“Castiel,” he whispers without thinking. “That’s my boy.”

Rose smiles softly.

“Castiel,” she repeats. “I love that.”

“And Orion,” Tony adds. “A middle name. Strong. Celestial. Like his mom.”

She kisses him deeply.

Peter, watching from the doorway, whispers:

“I love this family.”

Month 8 — Nesting and Chaos

The nursery becomes Tony’s new obsession.

He builds:

A crib made of reinforced vibranium.
A mobile of miniature planets that glow softly.
Temperature-regulated baby blankets.
A rocking chair with built-in massage settings.
A baby monitor with full AI capability.

Bruce: “Tony, this is too much.”

Tony: “Bruce. It is NOT enough.”

Peter: “Can we put a swing in the ceiling????”

Rose: “No.”

Peter: “Okay.” (Already designing one in his notebook)

The Tower vibrates with excitement.

Rose starts waddling.

Tony starts panicking again.

Month 9 — The Birth of Castiel Orion Stark

It happens at 3:47 AM.

Rose wakes with a sharp contraction.

“Tony,” she whispers.

He shoots upright like he’s been electrocuted.

“Is it—are you—IT’S TIME—”

“Yes,” she groans.

Tony runs in circles for a moment until Peter grips his shoulders.

“Mr. Stark. Calm DOWN.”

That does not work.

But they eventually get her to the med bay.

The labor is long.
Intense.
Painful.

Rose squeezes Tony’s hand so hard he thinks she broke it.

He doesn’t care.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he whispers over and over, kissing her forehead between contractions.

When Rose screams, Tony holds her tighter.

When she cries, he wipes her tears.

When she says she can’t do it—

“Yes, you can,” he says, voice cracking. “I believe in you. I love you. You can do this.”

And then—

A cry.

Small.
Fierce.
Perfect.

Their son enters the world.

Bruce places the baby in Rose’s arms.

Tony’s knees nearly buckle.

“Hi,” Rose whispers, sobbing. “Hi, my baby.”

Tony presses his forehead to theirs.

“My son,” he chokes out. “My beautiful boy.”

Peter cries openly.

Castiel grips Tony’s finger.

Tony bursts into tears again.

“He’s perfect,” Tony whispers. “So perfect.”

Rose kisses the top of Castiel’s head.

Love floods the room like sunlight.

Healing.
Warm.
Complete.

Their family—broken once, rebuilt slowly, painfully—
It is now whole.

After — Falling in Love Again

That night, after the team leaves and Castiel is asleep on Rose’s chest, Tony crawls into bed beside them.

He kisses Rose softly.

Then kisses Castiel’s head.

Then kisses Rose again, deeper this time.

“We did it,” he whispers.

“We did,” she murmurs.

“I’m proud of you,” he adds, voice thick. “More than anything.”

She cups his face.

“I love you,” she says.

He kisses her hand.

“I’ll love you until the stars go dark.”

They fall asleep as a family of three—

hearts tangled,
souls eased,
future bright.

Castiel Orion Stark, sleeping between them, breathes softly.

A new life.
A new beginning.
A new chapter.

Written in love.
Written in healing.
Written in the stars.

Chapter Text

The Stark household is never quiet.

Not with four kids, two parents with hero complexes, three dogs, rotating Avengers, and Peter Parker constantly dropping in with snacks and questionable science experiments.

But today is louder than usual.

Because Castiel Orion Stark is sixteen.

And he is a menace in the most Stark-coded way possible.

A Family of Six (Plus Peter)

Rose stands in the kitchen, watching the chaos unfold with the warm sort of exasperation that only comes from sixteen years of motherhood.

Tony slides behind her, arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder.

“Think we made enough?” he murmurs, staring at the mountains of food.

“No,” Rose says dryly, right as their second son, Leonel James Stark (Leo), age fourteen and hungry enough to eat a car, steals an entire pan of lasagna.

“HEY!” Rose calls.

Leo freezes like a startled deer, holding the pan inches from his mouth.

“I wasn’t doing anything!”

Tony snorts. “At least lie better, champ.”

At the table, Orion Mateo Stark, eleven years old and angel-faced but not actually an angel, is dismantling one of Tony’s old repulsors under the guise of “just looking.”

Tony groans.

“Kid, I swear on my arc reactor—”

“You don’t have one anymore,” Orion interrupts.

Tony glares. Orion grins. Rose laughs into Tony’s shoulder.

Then the youngest, Aurelia Hope Stark, eight years old, princess of chaos with curls like Rose and wit like Tony, bursts into the room wearing one of Tony’s old helmets.

She spreads her arms.

“I AM IRON GIRL!”

The helmet slides down over her face.

She walks into the wall.

Leo howls, laughing. Orion records it for blackmail. Peter, who just arrived carrying cookies, nearly drops the tray.

Tony mutters, “My legacy is doomed.”

Rose kisses his cheek. “You love it.”

“…Yeah, I really do.”

Their Oldest Daughter — Remembered Always

On the far wall, above a shelf of family photos, is a hand-painted cherry blossom tree.

Underneath it, in delicate script, a name:

Luna Rose Stark
Forever loved.

All four children know her story.

Rose and Tony chose to make her memory a part of their family, not a shadow of it.

Castiel still touches the painting every morning.

Today is no different.

He stands before it quietly, tall and broad-shouldered, curls tied back, green-flecked brown eyes solemn in a way that reminds Rose so intensely of Tony it makes her heart ache.

“Happy birthday to your little sister,” he murmurs.

Rose joins him.

“She’d be proud of you, Castiel.”

He smiles softly.

“I hope so.”

The Day Cas Wanted Blood

Castiel was ten the first time he learned the full truth about Luna.

He went very, very still.

Then he said, in the calmest voice imaginable:

“Where does he live?”

Tony froze. “Who?”

“The man who hurt Mom. And Luna.” Castiel’s little fists clenched. “I want to fight him.”

Rose had to kneel and take his face gently in her hands.

“No, my love. That’s not your job. You honor your sister by living.”

Tony didn’t speak for a long time afterward.

That night, Rose found him crying quietly in the workshop.

She held him until the shaking stopped.

The Problem with Raising a Genius

Now at sixteen, Castiel has outgrown the rage.

But not the fire.

Not the brilliance.

Not the desire to protect the world.

He towers over Rose now—six foot one and still growing. Muscular, whip-smart, and annoyingly charismatic. A perfect blend of Rose’s heart and Tony’s stubbornness.

Tony leans against the doorframe as Cas works at his desk in the workshop.

The kid has blueprints spread everywhere.

Tony squints.

“Cas,” he says slowly, “that better not be what I think it is.”

Castiel doesn’t look up.

“Depends. What do you think it is?”

“A toaster.”

Cas snorts. “Dad.”

“A blender?”

“Dad.”

Tony crosses his arms.

“A suit?”

Silence.

Cas clears his throat.

“Not a suit suit.”

Tony steps closer.

Blueprints don’t lie.

It is VERY MUCH a suit suit.

“Castiel Orion Stark,” Tony groans, rubbing his forehead. “We talked about this. You are NOT becoming the next Iron Man.”

Cas finally looks up.

And his expression is heartbreakingly earnest.

“I don’t want to replace you,” he says softly. “I want to carry on what you taught me. Not the weapons. Not the fame. The helping people part.”

Tony’s breath catches.

Cas continues, voice steady:

“I want to protect people the way you protected Mom. The way you protect all of us. I just… want to do it my way.”

Tony swallows hard.

Rose appears in the doorway, watching both of them with soft, knowing eyes.

“You raised him well,” she murmurs to Tony.

“No,” Tony whispers. “We raised him well.”

Castiel stands tall and sure of himself.

He looks so much like Tony in that moment that it hurts.

But he walks to Rose first.

“Mom?” he asks gently. “You okay with it?”

Rose cups his face in both hands, like she did when he was little.

“My love,” she whispers, “you were born with a heart built for protecting others. Just promise me you’ll follow your father’s greatest lesson.”

Cas blinks. “Which one?”

Rose smiles.

“Be better.”

Tony’s chest squeezes.

Castiel nods, eyes shining.

“I will.”

He turns to Tony.

“Dad?”

“…Yeah, kid?”

Castiel offers his hand.

Not the eager, reckless shake of a child seeking permission.

The solid, intentional gesture of a young man seeking partnership.

“It won’t be Iron Man,” he says quietly. “It’ll be something new.”

Tony looks at the hand.

Looks at his son.

Looks at Rose.

Then he grips Castiel’s hand tight.

“Then let’s build it together.”

Cas grins.

Rose presses a hand to her heart.

Peter bursts into the room holding a camera.

“OH MY GOD, THIS IS BEAUTIFUL—EVERYONE CRYING? I’M CRYING.”

Tony throws a rag at him.

Peter dodges.

Orion pokes his head in. “Mom said dinner’s ready.”

Leo yells from down the hall, “SHE DID NOT—YOU JUST WANT TO EAT FIRST!”

Aurelia, wearing Tony’s helmet again, shuffles past shouting, “FOR ASGARD!”

And Rose laughs.

A soft, sun-warm sound that has filled Stark Tower for nearly two decades.

Tony slips an arm around her waist.

“Think we did okay?” he murmurs.

Rose leans her head on his shoulder.

“I think,” she says softly, “we built something beautiful.”

Tony kisses her forehead.

“I think we built a legacy.”

They watch as Castiel turns back to his blueprints—
a boy born from pain, healed by love,
ready to become something new.

Not Iron Man.

But something Stark.
Something Llanos.
Something uniquely, brilliantly Castiel.

A future written not in tragedy—

But in stars.