“Congrats. I’m a boy.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Tony said, he slammed his hand on his desk and thanked god for the Bluetooth earpiece he wore. “Get your shit together, get it figured out. Stark Industries is going live with this product next month, Mark. There just isn’t a lot of room for fuck ups, is there?”
“No, sir,” Mark said promptly. “I’ll just call tomorrow with an update?”
“You do that, Mark,” Tony said. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and waited until Mark disconnected before snatching the tennis ball off his desk and tossing it in the air, over and over, his eyes focused and his mind wandering as he automatically caught it.
The StarkCar (an egotistical name that made him grin every time he said it) was set to release the first prototype next month and it seemed like every day they got closer to it, he got more and more calls with problems.
Honestly, Tony thought that stopping an alien invasion and saving the earth would be his biggest challenge this summer, but Mark kept proving him wrong.
“Why can’t I just get the damn car on the market?” Tony asked aloud.
“Because you rushed the project to beat Musk and are dealing with the fallout from that decision, sir,” Jarvis said promptly, causing Tony to grin.
“Yeah, there’s that,” he agreed. “But if anyone’s going to put out energy efficient cars first, it’s not going to be that smug bastard, it’s going to be—”
“Mister Stark, call on line one, it’s important.”
“If I jump out that window, odds I’d leave behind a handsome corpse and billions to… to… Jarvis! Who gets my money if I die today?” Tony asked curiously, rolling his eyes at his secretary’s voice on the speaker. He hadn’t considered a will since before the Arc Reactor and the birth of Iron Man. The nonstop phone calls about problems with his newest project had him heavily considering it though.
“Miss Potts, sir,” Jarvis answered him.
It was probably sad that the only person Tony had to leave his money to was Pepper, but Tony was sure he had a good reason to make her his beneficiary when he did it. He pushed the thought away though and dropped the tennis ball to the floor before clicking line one on the computer and sending it to his headset.
“Go for Stark,” he said curtly.
It wasn’t Mark or any of the other engineers this time, it was the building manager, a young woman named Elaine or Laney or something similar. She sounded frantic, “Sir? There’s a situation in the lobby… I- I really think you should get down here, quick, like… run, maybe?”
Tony didn’t stop to question it. Whatever her name was, she had always been profession and an excellent building manager. If she sounded that frantic and told him to run, then that’s what Tony would do.
He did call Happy as he went, sending him to the lobby as well. Tony was an egotistical narcissist, not an idiot.
Happy beat him there. Tony no more than stepped off the private elevator that connected his floors to the lobby and began moving with haste to the gran desk in the center of the lobby that he took note of the scene unfolding before him.
Happy had his back to Tony, his hand on the gun he carried on his hip, and was speaking pretty damn forcefully to someone in front of him.
“Last chance before this gets ugly, leave!” Happy barked in the person’s face. “Right now!”
Tony slowed to a more casual stroll. Happy clearly had the situation well-handled.
“Mm, wish I could, but I can’t,” the figure standing in front of Happy said with a lazy drawl that was heavily accented. “And unless you’re Tony Stark, I’d appreciate you getting the fuck out of my face.”
Tony grinned. Whoever it was sounded young, snarky, just the type of guy to piss Happy right off. Tony angled around Happy so he could lean against the desk and watch the show. He did glance toward the two women that worked there, both of them were focused on Happy and this stranger, but neither looked injured or harmed in any way.
The kid, because it was just a kid, staring Happy down was probably around 5’5” and all Tony could really see of his profile was a sharp jaw that was currently clenched tightly. The kid’s hair was a damn mess, as were the sloppy clothes he wore.
Teenagers had the worst taste in clothes.
“And I would appreciate you leaving this building and never coming back before I get the cops involved,” Happy growled at the kid.
“You should try that,” the kid said seriously. Tony noticed the quick roll of his shoulders that told him the kid’s snotty tone and defiant words were for show. “In the meantime, maybe you can call your boss and tell him I’m going to make myself quite a nuisance until I talk to him?”
Tony wasn’t sure what caused him to stand up and step over to them, preventing Happy’s doubtless rant that was about to come spewing from his incredibly red face. He figured it was just the pure nerve of the kid, sassing up to a man Happy’s size seemingly without a fear in the world. Or, maybe it was more impressive because Tony could see the small signs of stress, but this kid ran his mouth anyway.
Endless smartassery was something Tony could respect.
“I can take over here,” Tony said smoothly, stepping up to the duo. He offered a hand to the kid, “Tony Stark.”
The kid ducked his head, looking quickly from Happy’s gun to Tony’s hand before flicking upward and finally letting Tony get a look at his face.
“Fuck,” Tony breathed. He let out a low whistle at the dark blue and purple bruise covering half the kid’s face. “Who beat the hell out of you?”
“Someone who got sick of hearing his mouth, probably,” Happy muttered quietly.
The kid- because he was a kid, young, tinier than he seemed when he was running his mouth, perhaps twelve -scoffed and narrowed his eyes at Tony in a distrustful expression. “You’re Tony Stark?” he asked, ignoring Tony’s question entirely.
“Sir—”
Tony shushed Happy with a small wave of the hand that the kid refused to shake. “I am,” he told him. “And you, my foul-mouthed friend, are…?”
The kid lifted his chin, a familiar gesture, and assessed Tony silently from the top of his thick black hair clear down to the high top sneakers he wore. Tony didn’t think he looked too impressed, but he was in the minority if so.
“Doesn’t matter,” the kid said brusquely. He pulled a thick sheet of paper from inside the ratty and baggy hoody he wore, and who the hell wore hoodies in New York in mid-June? It was hotter than hell outside. He waved the paper in front of Tony and Happy both, then unfolded it and read from it.
“‘I only remember his name because… well, because James was laughing like an idiot when he said it and it’s the kind of thing that sticks with you. Tony Stark, that’s the guy you need.’”
Apparently satisfied with the quote he read, the kid tucked the paper back in his pocket and fixed his eyes on Tony. “Fifteen years ago, give or take a few months, you were in London.”
It didn’t sound like a question and Tony didn’t know the answer anyway.
“Maybe?” he said. He sent a bewildered look toward Happy, but Happy’s lips were thin and he kept looking at the kid’s face, raising his brows, then looking at Tony.
Yeah, the kid looked pretty messed up. His face was bruised and there was a scar on his forehead, but Tony couldn’t do anything about some kid getting into a fight.
“Brilliant,” the kid said. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and nodded at Tony. “You knocked up my mum. Congrats, I’m a boy.”
Tony’s first thought was illogical. The first thing he thought was, there was no way this kid was fourteen. This kid was… he was tiny, fragile looking.
And then Tony stared at the kid. Stared hard, until…
That’s what Happy was making his little ‘subtle’ Happy faces about.
Tony Stark was a rich playboy, and the media made sure the whole world knew it. Thanks to that, it wasn’t uncommon for half a dozen women or children to show up at Stark Tower every year claiming that Tony Stark knocked them up or fathered their child.
None of them were ever true, but…
But beneath the distracting bruise, this kid looked a hell of a lot like Tony did at his age. Good looking as hell, obviously, if a bit too skinny and pale. His hair was dark and messy, like Tony’s if he didn’t style it every morning. He had a similar shaped jaw, nose, even his fucking eyebrows were shaped like Tony’s.
He must have his mom’s eyes though, because those round green eyes staring so distrustfully at Tony certainly didn’t come from him.
“Was this the emergency?” Tony asked the two women standing behind the desk, jaws slack as they looked between Tony and the kid. They’d never called it an emergency before when some kid showed up claiming Tony was his dad. Hell, they had his DNA on store to test the kids and send them on their way even.
“Oh, no,” the kid shifted from side to side and grinned teasingly at Tony’s office manager. “Bit of a friendly disagreement there.”
“He was threatening to burn down the building when I got here,” Happy said. Well, growled really.
Tony grinned over at his long-time friend and security guard. “And you thought that made it an emergency?”
People threatened that all the time.
“Sir?”
Tony looked from the receptionist to the chair she pointed at and raised his eyebrows in surprise at the kid. “Did you burn my chair?”
One of the plush chairs in the lavish waiting room was smoldering, scorched, and ruined. Tony assumed he only didn’t notice it before because the kid himself had taken up his complete attention.
“It’s called a warning,” the kid said coolly. “I needed to talk to you and they were being bloody unhelpful, weren’t they?”
If the looks didn’t give him away as a Stark, his vocabulary certainly did.
Also, catching a chair on fire as a warning sounded a hell of a lot like something Tony would have done at this kid’s age.
“Why don’t we go talk while we do a quick, nearly painless, blood test then, huh?” Tony offered. He went to put his arm on the kid’s shoulder, but the kid flinched away and then quickly straightened himself up, as if to make it look like an intentional movement.
Happy looked at Tony, Tony looked at the kid, the kid stared boldly back at him, daring him to comment.
“After you, Kid-Who-Won’t-Tell-Me-His-Name,” Tony said evenly, forcing a grin as he waved out with his arm, gesturing toward the elevators that would take them to his private floors.
The kid snorted quietly and moved in a wide circle toward the elevators, swinging as far from Tony and Happy as he could even while his chin was thrust upward and his shoulders were squared.
“Hey, want me to go with?” Happy murmured, pulling on Tony’s shirt sleeve and watching the kid warily.
Tony watched the kid too, and damn if he didn’t think this might be the first kid to step foot in Stark Industries that was born to him. “Nah,” he waved Happy off and grinned when the kid propped his skinny body against the elevator and stared impassively at the two of them.
His son or not, the kid was funny. A sarcastic little bastard for sure, but funny as hell.
“Tony… this might be the real deal,” Happy said, his voice dropped to a whisper while he kept his eyes stubbornly trained on the kid. “He- he looks a hell of a lot like you.”
“Happy, did you just call a fourteen year old incredibly handsome and supremely good looking? That’s weird. Seriously, you should seek therapy, I’m not employing a pedophile.” Tony clapped Happy on the shoulder with a grin and then stuck his hands in his pockets and went to go test this kid’s blood.
Which was problem number one, apparently.
The kid rode in a sullen silence from the lobby up to the lab. He glared at Tony’s cheery face and his whistling tune though, causing Tony to grin all the harder when he thought of his own teenage mood swings.
Then they reached the lab and Tony finally saw a spark of interest in the kid’s eyes when he looked around the room.
“You’re a scientist, or something?” The kid picked up a beaker at random and squinted at the clear fluid filling it.
Tony chuckled as he grabbed a pair of gloves and a needle to draw the blood. “You never heard of me before coming here?” he asked skeptically.
“Have you heard of me?” The kid sat in a high-backed swivel chair and stretched his legs out in front of himself.
Tony grinned, “Hard telling, since you won’t tell me your name.“
“Confirm that you’re my biological father and maybe I will,” the kid countered with.
Tony laughed and moved to take the chair next to him, easily sliding along the table. “Keep the attitude up and the rest is about to be moot,” he joked.
Emphasis on joked. The kid suddenly ducking his head didn’t make a damn bit of sense, but not much about him did so far.
“Gonna have to pop that jacket off, champ,” Tony said to the kid as he pulled his gloves on.
The kid blanched at the needle Tony held up and rolled his chair further away. “Siri— someone told me you can test hair,” he said, a tremor in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “Do that.”
“It isn’t as accurate,” Tony said. He watched the kid curiously. “Do you not want to take the hoodie off or do you not want me to take your blood?”
“Both,” the kid said with an obviously forced sneer. “Maybe you missed it, but we look alike. Can you not just test the hair and be done with it?”
Tony could. He didn’t even really need to run a test. If he asked Jarvis, Jarvis would probably confirm that Tony had been in London about nine months before this little Tony Stark Junior came to life. So, yeah, he could just yank a few hairs, test them, confirm what already seemed obvious…
But this seemed more fun.
“How do I know that’s not a wig?” Tony asked the kid gravely.
The kid didn’t look amused. “Why the hell would I be wearing a bloody wig?”
“A wig made of my stolen hair to trick me into believing you’re my son,” Tony said, grinning now to show the defensive kid that he was just joking around.
The kid didn’t laugh, but the rigidity of his shoulders relaxed the slightest amount. “Why would I go through that much effort to pretend we’re related?”
Tony shrugged. “Money? Fame? To irritate the Avengers?”
All valid, but probably none in this scenario.
The kid scoffed again. “I don’t need money, I don’t want to be famous, and I don’t know what an avenger is, but if you try and steal my blood then I’ll do a hell of a lot worse than irritate you.”
Tony grinned as he looked the kid over. He was prickly and defensive, but looked like hell with the huge bruise, the bags under his eyes, and the way he held himself so stiffly.
Actually, the fact he looked like hell wiped the smile off Tony’s face.
“You tired?” he asked him. “Hungry? Want a snack or a drink or something?”
For whatever reason, the kid looked even more suspicious of the innocent questions. “Why?”
“Because you look like shit and even if you’re fourteen, which I’m pretty sure is a load of crap, then you’re still a kid and I can have food here in an instant.”
“I don’t want your food, I just want you to run the test and confirm the results,” the kid said tightly, his jaw clenched as tightly as his fists were on his lap. “Please, can you just do it with my hair?”
“Since you said please,” Tony said lightly. The kid was an asshole, but Tony liked him. He reminded him of… well… him. Tony got to his feet and moved over to the kid. “Should I yank out your hair or do you want to do it?”
The kid kept his eyes on Tony’s hands while he reached up to his own head and yanked out a handful of hair. He dropped them in Tony’s outstretched hands, crossed his arms, and glared defiantly at him while Tony moved over to his equipment.
Tony didn’t particularly like kids, never really considered having kids, but he liked this kid. He was a witty kid, and Tony suspected there was quite a bit more to him beneath the harsh exterior he seemed to be forcing.
This kid though… probably just because Tony instinctually knew that he wasn’t lying about their connection, but Tony liked this kid.
And by god were the others who lived in Stark Tower going to like him.
Tony was smiling to himself, imagining having this crass kid meet the prudish Captain America, when the machine beeped and the results popped up on the computer screen.
“Fuck me,” Tony whispered. He stared down at the results and almost ran them again. He didn’t though, there was really no need to do it the first time. The results were correct. And of course they were, the damn kid looked just like him.
Tony looked from the screen in front of him into the bruised green eyes of his son.
“It’s a match,” Tony said. He cleared his throat and straightened up at the same time as the kid got to his feet and stepped a little closer. Tony looked the kid over from top to bottom and held back a grimace at the skinniness, the bruises, the wary look in his eyes and the tightness in his muscles.
This didn’t look like the best news the kid ever heard, and suddenly it felt a lot like something Tony liked to avoid at all costs:
Responsibility.
“You’re… you’re my son,” Tony told him. He wasn’t really sure what the situation called for, but he stuck his hand out once more and catalogued the minor flinch in the kid’s arms as he did. “I’m going to introduce myself again,” he grinned crookedly, sheepish now about the way he’d handled the whole interaction so far. “Tony Stark, I’m your dad.”
It sounded so foreign, but… but something in Tony lit up with saying it.
He was going to be a terrible parent, he just knew it, but damn if he wasn’t a little excited to give it a go.
At least he got to skip the diaper stage and get straight to sullen silences, anyway.
The kid twisted his lips and very quickly, blink and you’d miss it, grabbed his hand and immediately dropped it. “Harry… Harry Evans,” he said, his eyes flicking away as he said his name. He stuck his chin out and then narrowed those green eyes directly at Tony, “And I don’t need a dad, I need a favor.”