“Mr. Stark”, the nurse gently prompts, “would you like to hold your daughter?”
Daughter. The word doesn’t compute.Tony stares in awe at the squirming bundle in the nurses arms. He manages a semblance of a nod, and the nurse guides his hands, placing one hand under the infants head, while the other supports the body. The infant’s tiny, fitting in just two hands, except for two small dangling feet. The baby continues to cry, a shrill but strangely beautiful sound that turns her skin a rosy pink.
Daughter. He had a daughter. This was his daughter. He was her father. At that moment Tony’s life seemed to click into place.
The reason why he had made it out of that cave in Afghanistan, the reason why he been kept alive for this long, was because all along he was meant to create this tiny, beautiful, human being. Being Iron Man, and everything else he had ever done in his lifetime had been insignificant in comparison to this moment.
“Hey”, Tony cooed, a fresh stream of tears rolling down his cheeks. In Tony’s arms her crying gradually begins to cease, and two unfocused, but curious brown eyes move about towards him.
Only a few minutes of life and Tony found himself instantly overwhelmed by the love he felt for this tiny being. Never before had he loved someone so willingly, so selflessly, so completely, and just for the mere act of existing.
“I’m your daddy”, he murmurs to her, a sense of awe in his tone. “I’m your daddy”, he repeats, allowing the gravity of that sentence to slowly sink in. He releases a puff of air in loose resemble to a laugh, and he’s madly grinning amid the downpour of tears.
Tony silently vowed to spend the remainder of his life ensuring his daughter’s safety and happiness. The world, the galaxy, his whole life be damned! At last Tony Stark had found his purpose.
He was meant to be her father.