Hello! So, this story has been on my mind for a while, and after watching iron man 3, I couldn't resist writing it. I know that the Tony Stark's child thing is a tired bit, but I really believe that this story is going to be different. I can't wait to hear all for your responses! Please enjoy and review!

We create our own demons.

J.A.R.V.I.S has some interesting programming features, programming features that would only matter to the multifunctioning home computing system of a man like Tony Stark. One of his many duties is, for lack of better labeling, scandal hunting. He browses international headlines, lawsuits, the Stark Industry Human Resources database and Tony's own personal files for any hint, any whiff, of a story that could evolve into a blight on Tony's already mutilated reputation. But, one kind of story in particular is Jarvis' main focus: children. With all of the women Tony Stark has been with, it is no wonder that women approach Stark Industries regularly, accusing Tony of being the father of their children, hoping for a quick check or settlement to make all of their heartache better. Those complaints are carefully watched by the super-computer, but most of his energy is focused on searching out legitimate claims, children who may actually be Tony Stark's. And why would the billionaire want to know? Simple, really. So he can keep them quiet. The updates of Jarvis' research come regularly, every two weeks or so, but it has been years since Tony actually looked into one. If one hasn't surfaced after all this time, he reasons, surely there isn't one out there. And that is a mistake. Because there is one out there.

Stark Residence. California.

The punk rock blaring through Tony Stark's underground workspace suddenly cuts as a cool, clear voice comes through the loudspeakers.

"Sir, I hate to disturb you, but-"

J.A.R.V.I.S. remembers the last time he didn't alert Mr. Stark to a visitor approaching the door. That day ended with a terror strike and a destroyed house. It is not a mistake the computer will be making again, even if his master is in the middle of handling highly explosive materials in the lab.

"Does now look like a good time?" Stark asks, dryly.

He has been developing defense materials for S.H.I.E.L.D. for weeks now. And he's almost got it. The sweat on his brow and the clench of his jaw only lends to his focus. He cannot afford a distraction, not now, not from an overprogrammed answering machine.

"There's a young woman at the door-"

There always is. Tony simply ignores the computer and calls Dummy over. He spits out a series of commands, forcing the robot to hold something here, to pull something there, to retract and then pour.

"Shall I ask her to wait, sir?"

Again, the genius simply ignores his computerized secretary, opting instead to let the guest take care of herself. If she really needs to speak with him, she can wait. If not, she'll disappear and no longer be Tony's problem. Either way, he can afford to finish the base for Hawkeye's new arrow insert. Minutes tick by. He licks his lips, he furrows his brow, and then, slowly but surely, he pours the first chemical, then the second, before locking them in a rotation chamber. With a self-satisfied nod, he stands up from his hunched working position. His back cracks. A white rag becomes black as he scrubs the dirt of the day from them.

"A Ms. Lee McCarthy to see you, sir."

There is a split moment of annoyed frustration with the device as Tony stands to his full height. J.A.R.V.I.S. must have let the girl at the door in. He'll have to remind the stupid supercomputer of proper safety protocol later. But when he finally looks up, his frustration disappears, dissolves like it was never there to begin with. Because he's face-to-face with himself. And he knows what is happening. She's young. She can't be more than 18. She's got the Stark signature: floppy, dark hair, small, dark eyes, squared shoulders, defined features. All of the pieces add up. J.A.R.V.I.S.' insistence that he sees her. The looks. Her apparent excitement. Tony begins denying it before she's even said a word, before she's even said why she's here. She can't be my daughter, he thinks, she can't be mine.

The kid stands in the doorway to his lab, unsure if she is willing to commit to entering, half certain that he is about to kick her out. There is a ghost of a smile on her face, but it is a cautious one. She has no delusions about this visit. She knows that it will probably end with her being escorted off of the premises.

But this is her father. A certain excitement electrifies her body at the thought. After seventeen years, she finally gets to see her father. She drove for twenty-four straight hours to meet him. She's looked up to him, idolized him, emulated him. And now she finally gets this moment. Her father. She drinks in the sight of this forty-something year old man, covered in lab dirt, t-shirt from The Viper Room, closely barbered facial hair, generally guarded expression on his face. He's everything she expected him to be.

Tony Stark makes no move to say or do anything. For the moment, he is rendered speechless, though he keeps his gaze cool and the slightest bit calculating. He surveys her. The Stark looks are there, sure. But that doesn't mean much of anything. Her eyes are bright and excited, her breath a little irregular. Her hands anxiously move on the straps of her backpack. He can see the hesitation in her expression. She's nervous, but so desperately trying not to be.

"I escorted Miss. McCarthy-"

J.A.R.V.I.S.' words snap Tony back into reality. He slides the retinal screen headband from his temple and lays it on a desk beside him.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., go offline."

"But, sir-"

"Offline."

The ice in the snap forces all argument from J.A.R.V.I.S. He immediately shuts down. Tony leans back on his hips, resting against a high metal table, and folds his arms across his chest. A vein protrudes, clear blue appearing from the rolled-up sleeve of his t-shirt, as his arms shake. All of his energy goes into keeping those arms securely across his body. His eyes are sharp, focused intensely at the girl across the room from him. He runs his tongue across the bottom of his jaw, keeping his teeth locked. That look knocks the girl's excitement straight to the bottom of her stomach, where it knots until it turns to dread. Lee keeps her gaze on the floor, completely ignoring the tech and the man who built it. Her stomach turns. The waiting is the worst.

But Tony is content to let her wait until he is ready. He continues to eye her, from the shredded jeans to the worn backpack. She's even wearing an MIT sweatshirt. How cute. How planned. This isn't really his kid, he reasons with himself. If it was, J.A.R.V.I.S. would have picked up on it, would have alerted him to it. His confidence begins to return. This Lee McCarthy can't be his kid. It's a scheme. There's always a scheme when it comes to these sideshows. So, he decides to undermine it immediately. He holds his arms out, just bending them at his sides. If he wasn't looking closely, he would have missed Lee flinch for him, as though she thought, for the briefest of moments, that he was reaching to embrace her. But then, his words cut her down.

"How much do you want?"

How much do you want. Those are the first words that Tony Stark ever says to the only daughter he has. It gets her attention. Her smile is gone. Her eyes, the ones she got from her father, zero in. There is genuine, honest-to-God confusion pouring out from her. She really does not understand.

"What?"

Tony decides to take control. His voice is quiet, calm. His words come in smooth, unstoppable sentences that cut the room. There is that lilting, almost biting humor that he can't seem to keep out of even the most serious of conversations. Taking a stroll through the lab, he picks up an opened candy bar and begins nibbling, speaking his words through a mouthful of chocolate.

"I'm sure you're here to claim that you're my kid and that I owe you something. Right? You'll give a sob story about the dad that you wanted and the picture of me that your mother kept on her dresser and then you'll ask for some money. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to skip whatever interesting tale you've got and get straight to the part where you walk out of my door with a check in your hands, okay? Nothing personal, sweetheart, I've just got a busy day."

He punctuates the diatribe by biting off half of the chocolate-coconut bar in his hand. An eyebrow raised in her direction, he knows he has her right where he wants her. She starts to crumble a little, her posture buckling right at the middle. Lee feels like someone just punched her in the gut. She expected harsh. She did not expect cruel. She gulps and tries to force words out. She should have planned for this. She should have prepared for this.

"I'm not here for anything."

She shakes her head, her voice barely loud enough for him to hear in the completely still room. Fighting to keep any signs of betrayal from her expression, she swallows and steels herself. Back straightening, she raises her chin. This is her life. This is her father. She has to convince him. She's not here for his money or his power, she's just here to meet her father. Her short, concise sentences do little to help her case.

"I promise, Mr. Stark. I don't want anything from you. I just wanted to-"

It does take him off guard. Most of these cases write him letters, addressing him as Dad, but she calls him by his last name. Interesting. But not interesting enough to keep entertaining this. He smiles a little, but the rest of his gaze is defensive.

"Great! Then, you can see yourself out, can't you?"

He turns his back on her. It is a sight that Lee has played a million times in her head, a nightmare that has blared on loop in the back of her mind. But seeing it live, in living color. . . suddenly the air is dense and hard to breathe. The man before her dumps himself into a chair, propping his feet on the table before him.

"Wait-"

Tony doesn't turn back toward her. Of all the things he wants to do today, entertaining the fantasies of some deluded kid is not one of them; he does not want to see the hurt in her eyes or the defeated shrug of her shoulders. So, he merely speaks, focusing instead on stripping some wire. She doesn't deserve his attention. His hand stills for the briefest of moments.

"You get a check and the door or you get the door. Those're your choices, kid."

Why does he send her away? It isn't something Tony examines. It is just an instinct, a knee-jerk reaction. Perhaps it is because he expects her to take advantage of him. After all, she survived 17 years without him and she seems to be doing pretty fine. Why would she want to see him now unless she wants something from him? Or perhaps, somewhere in deep, hidden parts of him, he doesn't want another thing to care about. He doesn't want the obligation. But he doesn't examine his reasons for dismissing her. He simply strips wire and stares down at his hands with glossy, unfocused eyes. Moments, long and razor-sharp, drag across the room until, finally and blessedly, the sound of Lee's heavy steps against the concrete stairs leading to the ground level fills the room.

He doesn't move again until he hears the quiet, regretful sound of the upper door closing. The wires and tool fall to the floor, and a tense hand reaches up to rub Tony's eyes. A sigh escapes his chest, and his sharp command brings JARVIS back online.

"You're programmed to tell me of these things before they show up on my doorstep."

Tony is dancing on the edge of losing his cool. His eyes are wide, his breathing is a little labored. Voice tense like a string just before it is cut.

"I have alerted you of Ms. McCarthy before, sir. Several times. You've always told me to, 'just ignore it.' And she has been apart of the bi-monthly emails sent, reporting on any possible scandals on the horizon."

There is a pause. Tony grinds his teeth.

"There has been a file with her name on it waiting on your desktop for the last year and a half."

If JARVIS weren't a computer program, Tony might have thought he was rubbing it in. This is as close as the highly advanced technology will ever get to "I told you so." Tony knows that the next question is foolish. He knows the answer. And he knows that JARVIS knows the answer.

"Is she actually mine?"

There is no fear in his voice, no sorrow for all the time he has missed in the girl's life, no…anything, really. So, Jarvis gives the immediate, most easy answer.

"According to all of the numbers I have run, there is a 96.478 percent chance that she is yours."

Tony doesn't have to ask what it's all based on. He programmed the criteria himself. JARVIS combines all available knowledge of the candidate and compiles it, from looks to test scores to age to place of birth. Then, the numbers are run. The numbers are generally low. Stark's never done a paternity test in his life. None of the others have even come close to fifty. A girl scoring in the high 90's is terrifying. He jumps to his feet with characteristic style and slides his retinal scanning headband back across his eyes. With a twitch of both wrists, he calls JARVIS' holographic screens to life.

"Gimme the files. I want 'em all."

JARVIS happily obliges. The file that has been ignored by Tony for almost two years explodes, completely encircling the billionaire. It's all there. Impressive report cards from a myriad of prep schools. Teacher reviews that glow with pride. Blurry photographs from society pages- her mother was something of a nomadic socialite, it seems. A police report filed from when she nearly blew up half the neighborhood at age twelve. (She was trying to improve the engine of her mother's car. It overheated and startled the neighbors. She was let off with a warning.) A link to her mother's highly active social media accounts. Drafts of a government contract she should have signed at age sixteen for an improved drone operating system she designed. Headlines from local newspapers, school bulletins that announced early graduation, an offer to study at MIT. "I want to go where my dad went," she said, fully aware that no one knew who her father was.

Tony doesn't stop his clinical study of this kid until he hears a voice at the door.

"Where is she?"

His hands immediately motion for the holograms to go dark as he spins around toward Pepper's excited form. A beaming smile spreads across her face and Tony can feel his world spiral a little farther out of control.

"Who?" He asks, casually, walking forward to wrap his arms about her waist.

But Pepper is having none of it. Instead, she pushes him away and steps back, arms firmly locked around her day planner. Her chin tilts down and she casts Tony a disapproving look from under her eyelids.

"JARVIS told me everything. I had a feeling, Tony-"

She shakes her head out a little, as if dispelling an image from her mind that she didn't want to see there. After sucking in a breath a little deeper than she intended, she smiles once more. She could be angry, but it was long before her time. Now, there is only a bubbling joy brimming the pit of her stomach. A daughter. Tony Stark has a daughter.

"That's funny, because I told JARVIS to go offline."

Tony raises his voice a little at the last word, his tone pointed and rough. Harsher than Pepper expected. She softens a little in his direction. There is a secret that Pepper knows about Tony, a secret that generally solves these kinds of temper tantrums. The more sickeningly sweet she is, the more he comes down to reality. So, she puts her planner to the side and slides her arms around his shoulders. She tells the truth, a truth Tony is surprised to hear.

"I'm glad he told me-"

He shakes his head and deadpans, leveling his gaze at her.

"She isn't my kid.

Pepper cocks her head to the side and allows a shred of annoyance to creep into her voice. The avoid and denial game is a classic Tony Stark move, but this is hardly the appropriate time for it.

"She had a 96% compatibility rate, Tony. She is your daughter."

Tony shrugs, as if meeting your child for the first time is no big deal. There is a hard, unreadable edge to his words.

"Well, she left."

Pepper pulls away, but only enough to get a clearer look at his face. Her arms remain locked at the wrists around his neck. Her eyes darken, and she prays that this doesn't mean what she thinks it means.

"What?"

Tony desperately wishes that Pepper would drop it.

"I told her to go."

It is then that Pepper completely pulls away from Tony's arms. It almost burns her to be near him right now. Arrogant and selfish are two things she signed up for when she fell in love with him, but this is something completely different.

"You sent her away?"

"She said she didn't want anything from me, so I told her she could leave. What's the point in having her around if she doesn't want something?"

It is logic that only makes sense to a man like Stark. Pepper tries to make him see reason, though the little voice in the back of her head screams that it is useless.

"That's your daughter, Tony."

He points a finger toward her and allows that characteristic causticity to bite out. Falling back into a chair, he raises his eyebrows.

"Allegedly."

It takes Pepper a moment before she can even utter a word. When she gets up the ability to speak once more, she throws her hands in the air and storms away.

"I can't believe this. I'm going upstairs."

Tony Stark watches Pepper Potts walk away, leaving him behind. Every few steps she huffs, or pushes her hair away from her face, or allows a look of indignant dismay to pass across her. It is only when he is sure she is gone that he pulls up the files again. He isn't sure why he does it. He isn't sure why he can't stop reading them. All he knows is that he can't stop reading, and the file doesn't go away until the sun comes up the next morning.

How was it? I hope you all enjoyed it! Just to clarify, this will evolve into a Peter Parker/Lee McCarthy romance, but the overarching story here is Tony and his daughter coming to terms with their relationship. The plot really starts moving next chapter, so I cannot wait for you all to read it! Please review!