Chapter 1: The Empire
New York city never really slept.
Bright lights illuminated the skyline, giving it an ethereal glow, like a glittering jewel among the shadows.
It was a testament to human tenacity, and nowhere was this more evident than the goliath skyscraper of Stark Tower, a gleaming monument to one man's ambition. A symbol of his achievements.
However, it's shiny exterior was just that, a veneer, masking the labyrinthine network of darkness that truly defined the Stark legacy.
Inside, the place's illustrious penthous, luxury surrounded it's occupants.
Every piece of furniture, every artifact, was a small piece of Tony's victories. But the constant centerpiece was undeniably Emma Frost. Her beauty was unparalleled, and her mutation gave her an uncanny ability to manipulate and delve into the human psyche of everyone around her, an invaluable asset in their line of work.
She was Tony's diamond queen, in every sense of the word, but right now she was pissing him off.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Tony," Emma warned her him, her tone icy. "The Mandarin isn't to be trifled with."
Tony's dark eyes flashed defiantly. "I know what I'm doing, Emma. The deal with him will solidify our reign, trust me."
Emma met his gaze, her own eyes filled with worry. "I sense darkness in him, though. A depth even I cannot fathom."
Tony smirked whilst pouring himself a drink. "Maybe you're losing your touch?" He baited her.
Emma gasped, rearing back, ready to cut him down, but then their terse exchange was interrupted by another hesitant voice.
"Mom? Dad?"
Peter Stark stood awkwardly at the entrance to his father's office. There was an undeniable resemblance to Tony about him, but his gentle eyes, inherited from Emma, and not necessarily portraying her true temperment, betrayed a vulnerability, at least that's what it seemed to his father.
"What is it now, Peter?" Tony snapped, his patience wearing thin with the boy from the events of the day.
He had come home from school early because he was afraid of his own shadow.
Emma sent her husband a glare that promised some kind of pain later if he didn’t stop being an asshole.
Peter swallowed hard, pushing up his glasses.
"The... the visions. They're overwhelming. I can't control them.” He looked down at the floor.
Tony's expression darkened. "You have a gift, Peter. A gift others would kill for. And you're telling me you can't handle it?"
Emma moved swiftly to Peter's side. "Tony, he's just a boy. He's trying."
Tony scoffed. "Trying isn't good enough, not for a Stark. We dominate. We conquer. That's our legacy."
Peter's voice wavered, "I just want to be normal, Dad. I don’t want to see all these things."
Tony stared at his son, anger and disappointment evident on his face.
"Normal is for the weak, Peter. You need to step up. This family doesn’t have room for quitters."
Emma held Peter close, shooting Tony another warning glance. "Enough!"
The room grew quiet and tense.
Stark Tower might have stood strong against the outside world, but within its walls, a storm was brewing—one that would challenge the very foundations of the Stark legacy forever.
Emma's fingers tightened around Peter's arm, her telepathic defenses instinctively flaring up as she felt her son's tumultuous emotions.
"You can't keep coddling him, Emma," Tony growled at her, his jaw set. "The world out there doesn't care about his feelings. It only respects power, and control."
Emma's eyes blazed a glacial blue. "Power without compassion, without understanding, is tyranny, Tony. Our son needs guidance, not your constant disdain."
Peter, trapped between the two titanic forces that were his parents, tried to speak up. "I’m sorry. I don’t want to be a problem."
Tony looked away.
"You're not, kid. This is just another instance of your mother and I disagreeing on how to handle nearly everything."
"Tony," Emma sighed.
Her gaze softened as she looked at her son, sensing his distress. "Why don’t you head to your room, darling? I'll come check on you soon."
Peter nodded, shoulders slumping as he turned and left.
Once he was gone, Emma whipped around to Tony, her voice laced with venom. "He's not you, Tony. He's his own person. He shouldn't have to bear the weight of your expectations every waking moment."
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, his anger slowly being replaced by weariness.
"I know, Emma, but you know as well as I do this world, our world, doesn't have room for what he's becoming. What you are letting him become. I just want him to be ready, to be strong."
Emma nodded, understanding because she wanted this as well, no matter what he thought. But not at the cost of destroying her baby and turning him into a monster.
She took a step closer to Tony, her voice softening because while Tony was actually a monster, he still loved Peter, and wished he didn't have to go through this the way they had.
"Strength comes in many forms, though, darling. It's not just about asserting dominance or control over everything. Peter has a sensitivity, an empathy, that neither of us can truly understand. That's his strength."
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Tony sighed. "I just... I want to protect him from all of this and prepare him at the same time."
Emma nodded and caressed his cheek. "I know, my love, but pushing him away isn't the way. He needs to know we're here for him, not against him."
Tony leaned into her touch, sighing deeply. "I know. I'll try, Em."
Meanwhile, Peter made his way back to his room, the weight of yet another argument with his parents heavy on his shoulders. Because it certainly wasn’t the first time his inability to control the gifts of his mutation sparked controversy.
He entered his room, the one place he truly felt safe and could let his guard down.
It was filled with sophisticated tech from his father's side, and serene, artistic nuances from his mother. On his bed lay a sketchbook, filled with drawings and scribbles that he often used to distract himself, or record what he saw that was at best a storm of psychic noise daily.
He pulled out a pair of headphones and connected them to his old record player that his father gave him. As the soft strains of the original Star Wars filled his ears, Peter tried to drown out the chaotic emotions swirling within him. He laid back and stared at the ceiling, watching the intricate patterns of light and shadow dance across the surface, when suddenly, a surge of images flooded his mind.
Fire, destruction, chaos – and at the center of it all, a dragon emblem, followed by hands with a ring on each finger.
The vividness of the vision made him sit up, rip his headphones back off, and gasp for air.
"That... That was different," he thought, panting.
The vision had an intensity and a clarity to it that Peter had never experienced before. But as quickly as it came, it receded, leaving behind a cold sense of foreboding.
Peter hesitated for a moment, wishing he had someone to confide in about what he’d just seen. He was excited and also scared and curious. He thought of his mother first, but given the earlier confrontation, he decided against it. Instead, he found himself drawn to the idea of contacting a friend. Someone else his mother knew that reached out to him frequently as an experienced telepath, although he'd never been able to respond back to her properly.
Her name was Jean Grey, and Peter had met her once in person, but he had never tried to reach out to her through the mind before, and he wasn't sure he could.
"You have a gift, Peter. A gift others would kill for. And you're telling me you can't handle it?"
His father’s words from earlier sounded in Peter’s mind, and he immediately became angry and determined.
"Normal is for the weak. You need to step up, Peter. This family doesn’t have room for weaklings."
Peter glared.
I'm not weak, he said to himself, then took a deep breath and drew his focus inward.
He used all his might in that moment to call out to Jean Grey telepathically, although not sure what exactly he was doing other than giving himself a headache.
Jean, are you there?!
A few minutes passed without answer, and Peter immediately began to doubt himself, and grow discouraged, feeling stupid for even trying in the first place, but then, his eyes grew wide when therr was an answer back.
"Peter? It's Jean. I felt...a disturbance. Are you alright?" Her words echoed softly within his consciousness.
Peter hesitated, then tried to answer.
"Hi Jean, I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, but I kind of needed someone to talk to, and since I've heard you before I figured you wouldn't mind?"
"Of course not, Peter," Jean answered easily, and he could hear her smile in it. "What would you like to talk about?"
Peter frowned.
"Well, I had this vision, but usually my visions are usually all choppy and fuzzy, and I can't make them out, but this one was intense.Crystal clear. I saw fire, chaos, and some dragon emblem, and then somebody's hands."
Another long pause ensued before Jean responded, her calm demeanor switching to one of concern.
“Peter, what exactly did this emblem look like?” She asked.
Peter thought back to what he saw, looking down at his notebook, cursing himself for not sketching it like he did everything else.
“Uh...it was circular. The dragon's scales shifted from black to deep green. It's eyes were amber colored and almond-shaped…There was some kind of old writing to but I couldn't make it out...” Peter transmitted back, describing it the best he could.
Another pause.
“Peter, what you are describing sounds like something tied to an ancient magic I've only heard whispers of myself,” Jean said.
“Really? Magic?” Peter asked, knowing his father always said magic was just something that couldn't be explained yet.
“Yes, and there’s only one person I can think of who would know enough about it to give you the answers you seek.”
“Who?”
“Stephen Strange. The Sorcerer Supreme.”
Peter blinked.
“I think I've heard my dad talk about him before. They call him Dr. Strange, right?”
“That’s right. He would be the one to ask, but I also wanted to know of this person's hands. Was there anything on them? Rings, perhaps? Also, I want to congratulate you on using your powers to call on me. You must be practicing and gaining better control over them.”
Peter frowned.
I wish.
“Not really," he told Jean. "Yes, there was a ring on each finger, how did you know?"
“...Peter, you can contact me anytime, but I have to ask, why not your mother? She’s a very powerful telepath too, and I’m sure she would be happy to help you,” Jean said.
“Yeah she would…it’s just complicated,” Peter replied, not wanting to get into how whenever he talks about his visions his parents fight.
“Thank you, Jean. Maybe I will try to find Dr. Strange and figure this out."
“I would let it sit first before doing that, Peter," Jean cautioned. "And please tell your Mom about what you've seen. What you are speaking of is something very dangerous."
"Really? Why?" Peter asked, even more intrigued now.
"I have to go now, Peter," Jean replied. "But please, heed my warning."
"Okay." Peter was slightly disappointed she was leaving him on a cliffhanger.
“Goodnight, Peter.”
"Goodnight, Jean."
Peter rubbed his forehead.
With the weight of the vision, combined with the willpower it took to contact Jean, he had a massive headache now.
He sat there for awhile before deciding to go for a walk to try to clear his head and get some fresh air, grabbing a hoodie to blend into the night. He proceeded to make his stealthy exit from the tower.
Or at least he thought it was stealthy...
Usually, he could get away with no problems, but this time, his dad's advanced security system had just gotten an upgrade, and his departure had been detected.
A silent notification appeared on Tony's phone in response, and Emma, sensing the change in her husband's mood, looked up. Their eyes met, filled with mutual worry.
In Central Park, Peter sighed in relief as he approached the shimmering pond reflecting the muted city lights and sat down on the bench next to it
He liked to come there and just be at peace with himself sometimes, which didn’t always work, but it still gave him a chance to get out of the house since there was never a moment, especially when he left the tower, that he was allowed to be alone.
He sunk into the bench and thought back to the argument again.
He desperately wished his father didn’t see him as a failure, because he didn’t think of himself as one, or as weak. Far from it, actually.
Peter just didn’t have the same desire to be aggressive and domineering like Tony, which Peter was aware that his father's line of work required him to be that way, and was probably a lasting influence from his grandfather, Howard, but they were completely different in that sense.
His mother could be like that as well, but she knew how to turn it off and enjoy things. Peter wasn't sure his father knew how to do that.
The last time they'd done anything fun together was ages ago because now his dad was all about how Peter needed to grow up.
But Peter didn't want to grow up. At least not in the way his dad wanted him to. To be a ruthless killer devoid of emotion.
Peter was still struggling to accept thats who his father was. Both of his parents were, really.. They ran their respective businesses with iron fists, and they didn’t hesitate to do whatever was necessary to get what they wanted, or to crush anyone in their way that had it.
Power was everything to them, but that was exactly the problem, because Peter didn’t care about power.
He just wanted to help people, and to understand his visions, and to have fun, and study science.
His favorite times were when he and his dad could just tinker around in the labs and work on the Ironman armors, or build battle bots.
Did that really make him so soft?
It seemed so.
Back in Stark Tower, Tony was surrounded by various holographic displays, each screen projecting camera feeds as he sent out drones looking for their son across the city.
Emma’s usual calm demeanor began to falter when it came to Peter being missing.
"I'll find him, darling, put your toys away," Emma said.
"Toys?" Tony glanced over at her, offended.
"He's at the park, Anthony," Emma replied, within seconds.
"Central Park!?" Tony yelled, livid.
Emma rolled her eyes.
"Yes, dear."
"Well what the hell is he doing there?!" Tony asked, getting irritated by her subduedness when she knew how dangerous it was for Peter to be out alone.
"He's just sitting on a bench, Tony. He's entitled to have time to himself, especially with you breathing down his neck."
"That's because he needs to toughen up!" Tony raged on. "We've coddled him for too long. It's time he learns what it means to be a real Stark."
"Tony, he's our son. We can't just throw him into the fire,” Emma said, her voice filled with both concern and sadness reading Peter's thoughts.
Tony’s face contorted in rage. "If there is fire then he better learn to withstand it."
Emma shook her head at him.
A light drizzle had begun to fall in Central Park as Peter emerged from his secluded hiding spot some thirty minutes later.
The night had grown colder, and the rain's patter was heavy around him as he headed back to the tower.
Once he got back to the penthouse, he tried to slide by into his room but stopped seeing his parents were there waiting for him when he got off the elevator.
"Where have you been?" Tony's eyes narrowed at the boy.
Peter hesitated, noticing his mother standing a few steps behind his father, her face etched with anger to, but also understanding.
"Just needed some air," Peter replied, lightly.
Tony's gaze bore into him. "At this hour? In Central Park? Do you know how dangerous that is?"
Peter swallowed hard, trying to steady himself under the weight of his father's scrutiny. "I can take care of myself, Dad."
Tony's voice rose, each word punctuated with frustration. "This isn't about you being able to handle yourself, Peter. It's about responsibility, about understanding the stakes, about not sneaking around!"
Tony's jaw tightened. "You think you know better, don't you? Sneaking out, putting yourself at risk!"
Peter, overwhelmed by the intensity of the confrontation, finally bit back, "Maybe if you treated me like I was part of this family and not some liability, I wouldn’t feel the need to sneak out!”
Tony's gaze became piercing as Peter raised his voice to him. "You have no idea what's at stake, Peter. No idea about the world we're truly in."
"And whose fault is that?" Peter trembled with frustration and hurt. "You keep everything from me, and then get mad when I try to find answers on my own."
Emma, sensing the argument reaching a boiling point, interjected, "Enough! This isn't helping anyone."
Peter turned, storming towards his room. As he moved, Emma softly called out to him.
"Peter."
Peter paused momentarily, but didn't turn around.
After a tense moment, he kept going. Emma glanced at Tony annoyed. "You need to cool down, Tony. I don’t know what has you so riled tonight, but you’re not going to keep taking it out on us."
Tony looked at her in suprise, and then away guiltily, walking to the bar to get another drink.
Emma took it as her cue to follow Peter.
Emma walked down the hall and gently knocked on her son's door, pushing it open to find him with his face buried in his hands, clearly distraught. She walked over and sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
"I know it's hard, sweetheart." She hugged him. "Your father…he loves you, but he has his way of showing it, trying to protect you. Even if it seems harsh."
Peter sniffled, looking up at her. "He thinks I’m a failure, Mom."
Emma sighed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "He doen’t baby. I promise. You know how your father is. And you are a part of this family. You are my son and that makes you the most important person in the world to me.” She smiled, hugging him closer.
Peter couldn’t help but to smile back when she said that. She always knew what to say to make him feel loved.
“What about dad?” He asked.
Emma smirked at his cheekiness.
“He’s a close second.”
Peter grinned and scooted closer to her.
Emma curled her arms around him and held him tightly, kissing his soft brown hair.
“... maybe we have been too protective of you, but everything we've done has been out of love,” she said. “Please understand.”
“I know, I understand.” Peter mumbled, closing his eyes.
They sat there for a few minutes, drawing comfort from each other's presence until Emma pulled back.
“Are you okay?” She asked, cupping his cheek.
Peter nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Good. Now get ready for bed and don’t stay up to late. I will talk to your father again about all of this, don’t worry.”
“Okay, Mom," Peter said as she got up. “I love you.”
“I love you to, sweet boy,” Emma smiled at him. “Never forget that.”
“I won’t,” Peter said, smiling softly.
The penthouse's lighting seemed to dim as Emma re-entered the living room, each step she took purposeful and echoing in the vast expanse of the room.
Tony, momentarily distracted by pouring his third drink, felt a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, signaling a storm was about to be unleashed.
His eyes met Emma’s as she walked towards him, a vivid shade of crystalline blue that iced him to his core.
"Anthony," she began, her voice dripping with controlled anger, "what was that display all about?"
Tony squared his shoulders, trying to maintain an air of authority. "I'm teaching him the realities of our world, honey. A lesson he desperately needs. I wish you'd join me in that."
Emma's nostrils flared slightly, lips thinning into a taut line. "By demeaning him? By undermining his confidence? Is that your idea of parenting?"
Tony took an assertive step towards her, the amber liquid in his glass quivering as they stood toe to toe. "The world won't baby him, Emma, not like you do. He has to be ready."
Emma glared and then slowly smirked at Tony.
The air became cold and heavy, almost electric around them. Tony felt a subtle pressure building inside his head, a mere hint of the vast telepathic might Emma wielded
"Listen closely, darling," she said, her voice a lethal caress as she circled him. "If you ever, ever, make our son feel like an outsider again, I will delve into the deepest recesses of your mind and make you feel every ounce of the pain you've inflicted over the years, do you understand?"
Tony's breath caught in his throat as his mind felt as if it was being squeezed from the inside out, but even then, he still glared at her, not one to be threatened.
Emma's gaze burned through Tony, her eyes shimmering pools of resolve and motherly fury.
"He is our son, our legacy. And if you can't be the pillar he leans on, maybe it's time I make you remember what truly matters,” she said.
Tony continued glaring at her, readying himself for a real fight, but when he saw a split second of hurt flash in her eyes, he couldn't.
He realized then she was just reacting with her protective instinct. The same as him, and he couldn't be mad about that. If anything, it warmed his cold heart.
"I'll talk to him. I'll make it right,” Tony said, because of that, but mainly because she could turn his mind into swiss cheese if she wanted, and she'd done it before.
He didn't want to fight with her. He only enjoyed their bickering and the pleasant results it brought.
Emma's gaze didn't waver as he backed down.
"You better. Because I won't let anyone harm our son, Tony. Not even you."
With that chilling promise, Emma turned away, leaving Tony to straighten himself up and finish his drink to calm his nerves. He huffed and headed to Peter’s room glaring and mumbling to himself.
The corridors of the penthouse seemed longer than usual as Tony walked, each step heavy with remorse, the confrontation with Emma not sitting well, her words a stark reminder of his shortcomings as a father.
He wanted to build Peter up to be confident and viscious, not tear him down.
He thought telling the boy he was preforming mediocre would push him to try harder, but it seemed it was having the opposite effect.
He paused briefly outside Peter's door, collecting his thoughts before taking a deep breath and rapping on the hard wood. After a moment's silence, he heard a faint, "Come in."
Pushing the door open, Tony found Peter sitting on his bed, headphones around his neck, a sketchbook lying open beside him. The room was bathed in the soft glow of television light and seemed to amplify the tension between the two of them.
Tony cleared his throat, attempting to make himself as non confrontational as possible, but it was difficult considering that was his default mode.
"Peter... can we talk?" He asked, and what he hoped was gently.
Peter looked up, his brown eyes searching Tony's face for any sign of the earlier anger. Seeing none, he nodded slowly, setting his sketchbook aside.
Tony took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. "I... I'm sorry...for earlier, for how I reacted. I shouldn't have taken my frustrations out on you," he forced out.
Peter looked away, biting his lip. "Sometimes it feels like nothing I do is ever good enough for you, Dad."
Tony's didn't physically react, but his heart ached all the same at his son's confession. For a split second, he remembered the time he’d said the same thing to his own father and gotten slapped across the face for it, but he'd never do that to Peter.
He moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"That’s not true, Pete. You’re smart, and very talented,” Tony said, glancing at Peter’s drawings. “But I’m not going to lie to you. That’s not enough. If we were a ‘normal’ family, as you said earlier, it’d be fine, but we are far from that. We have responsibilities, and there are things that are expected from everyone that’s apart of this family, not just you, but also your mother and I, Uncle Happy and Uncle Rhodey...For our lives to work and for us to stay safe, you have to be counted on to be able to carry your weight. It’s my job to make sure you can. That’s why I’m hard on you, not because I think you’re not good enough, but because I know how capable you are, if you would just harness your potential. I know you could be the greatest.”
“But I don’t care about being the greatest,” Peter said, quietly.
Tony stared at him and nodded, once again reminded of himself when he was Peter's age.
“I know. Neither did I, Pete. I just wanted to work on my inventions, but we can’t always do and be what we want all the time. There’s things we want to do, and things we have to do. This is something you have to do. You have to run this family one day, and I have to prepare you, just like my father prepared me. And it’s going to be hard, so you have to build up the mental toughness to get through it each and every day, and I'm here to help you do that. Trust me, you’ll thank me one day and be glad for it"
Peter looked down into his lap, not knowing what he was supposed to say to make his father understand when he was, albeit calmly, leaving no room for discussion.
Tony placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "We're in this together, Peter, you’re my son – my only son, and I love you. I’ll work on making my criticism more constructive so it doesn’t feel like I’m getting down on you from now on, but I refuse to sugarcoat things. Nobody is going to sugarcoat things to you in the real world, so you best get used to that to. Does that sound fair?”
Peter chewed his lip.
“Sure, dad,” he said, smiling weakly.
Tony smiled and ruffled his hair, pulling him forward by his head so he could kiss it.
“Good,” he said, standing, glancing at Peter’s drawings a little closer.
“Like I said, you’re a good artist.”
“Thanks,” Peter grinned a little more, but the compliment was dulled by feeling that he had no choice in his own life.
Tony moved to leave, but when he reached the door Peter stopped him.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
Tony turned around.
Peter frowned, wondering if he should even ask and chance wrecking what was still shitty but still a decent moment where his father was concerned, and risk looking like a fool again, and a disappointment.
“Do you think…do you think we could work in the lab together sometime soon?” Peter asked anyway, desperate to spend time with Tony since they never did, and when they did, it was always Tony pointing out things he could improve on.
Tony tilted his head slightly at his son's request.
“Hmm. I guess it has been awhile, hasn’t it?”
Tony couldn't even remember the last time he and Peter had spent any time together besides at the dinner table or in the car.
“Yeah.” Peter nodded, praying he would say yes.
Tony looked off into the distance, thinking of his schedule.
“I can’t say for sure when, but I’ll check with Pepper. I probably have time this week but like I said I can't say for certain.”
“Okay,” Peter lit up regardless because it wasn't a no.
Tony chuckled a little peculiarly at him and then turned to leave, closing his door.
“Fine. Now go to sleep," he said.
In the master bedroom, the open windows cast shadows along the hallway leading to the ensuite bathroom.
Tony entered his and Emma’s room, dread sitting in his stomach.
The muted sound of water, paired with the calming scent of lavender drew Tony towards the source. He found Emma ensconced in a sea of bubbles, her blonde hair piled atop her head, the soft candlelight illuminating the serene expression on her face.
Tony paused, struggling to find the right words because he was hit with a wave of arousal seeing her stretched out naked in the tub. He cleared his throat.
"Emma," he began, stepping inside, his usual bravado toned down by the intimacy of the moment as he sat on the edge of the tub.
Emma opened one eye, glancing at him with irritation and curiosity. "Is there a reason you're disturbing my relaxation, Anthony?"
“Yes.”
Tony took a hesitant breath, choosing his words carefully. "I spoke with Peter. It made me... think."
Emma arched an eyebrow, her tone dripping with skepticism. "Did it now?"
Tony rolled his eyes and grimaced, aware he was on shaky ground with her. "Look, I'm not good at this, but I think we’re okay now."
Emma took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "Well, I’ll be the judge of that when I speak with him next," she said.
Tony ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling, not quite sure what to do when she was actually mad at him. It didn’t happen often. Frustrated and annoyed, yes, but genuinely angry? They worked too closely for that to become a habit.
"Emma, look, I may not wear my heart on my sleeve, but losing you and Peter...it's not something I ever want to happen..."
Emma narrowed her eyes at him, searching his, surprised by his admission of weakness when he was so adamant their son not show any. Besides, she already knew this.
"Actions, Tony. Your words have lost their weight with me right now.” Emma replied.
Tony nodded slowly, massaging the back of his neck.
He moved to get up and leave her to her bath, but she cleared her throat.
“Anthony.”
Tony sat back down and looked at her curiously. Emma stared at him, waiting for him to get the hint. When he didn’t, she sighed and raised her leg from the water, stretching it out slowly.
Tony blinked, still puzzled while being mesmerized by it.
Emma remained silent for a long moment, the only sound being the gentle lapping of water from her moving around.
Tony continued to stare at her when she set it back down under the bubbles.
"For god's sake, Tony." Emma sighed. "You can be very dense. What I'm saying is It's going to take more than a heartfelt confession to make this up. And you have a lot of making up to do."
She threw him a heated look just for good measure to make it sink in.
A grin spread over Tony's lips and he finally realized what she meant.
"Yes dear," he said, smiling and unbuttoning his dress shirt.
Emma gave a closed-mouthed chuckle watching him.
“I look forward to watching you sweat, darling.”