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Chapter Text

The Weight of Second Chances

Margot Bennett's phone buzzed at 5:47 AM, thirteen minutes before her alarm. Lucas, her five-year-old, had crashed into her bed sometime during the night, and now his small body was curled against her side, dark curls wild against the pillow. The text was from her assistant: RDJ arrived early. Already on lot.

She pressed her lips together, suppressing a sigh. Of course he had. She should have known he wouldn't follow the schedule, even on day one. Carefully extracting herself from Lucas's grasp, she pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "Marie?" she called quietly, and her nanny appeared in the doorway, already dressed. "Can you get him ready for school? I need to head in early."

The studio lot was already humming when she arrived, the pre-dawn energy crackling through the air like static. Margot smoothed down her blazer—Armani, a reminder of her past life that she allowed herself to keep—and felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle onto her shoulders. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of coffee and chalk dust from the set builders already at work.

She spotted him immediately.

Robert Downey Jr. was leaning against a trailer, radiating the kind of casual confidence that came from years of being the most interesting person in any room. But Margot knew better. She recognized the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers drummed against his thigh—subtle tells she'd learned to spot during her own recovery. First day nerves, maybe. Or something deeper.

"Mr. Downey," she said, her voice cutting through the morning quiet. "You're early."

He turned, sliding his sunglasses down just enough to study her. His eyes were sharp, intelligent, carrying none of the exhaustion she felt from her pre-dawn wake-up. "Ms. Bennett," he drawled, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd get a head start on disappointing everyone."

The self-deprecating humor didn't land with her. Margot had spent too many years around actors, around addicts, around people who used charm as armor. "The only way you'll disappoint me is by not taking this seriously," she said, her voice level but firm. "I didn't fight for you to be here so you could prove everyone else right."

That caught him off guard. She saw it in the slight shift of his posture, the momentary crack in his carefully constructed facade. "You fought for me?" he asked, and for a moment, the practiced charm fell away, replaced by something more genuine.

"I did." Margot met his gaze steadily. "Because I saw what you could bring to this role. What you could be if given the chance." She paused, then added quietly, "I know something about second chances, Mr. Downey. They're rare enough that wasting them is unforgivable."

Robert studied her for a long moment, and she could almost see him reassessing, trying to figure out where to place her in his understanding of the world. Finally, he pushed off from the trailer, closing the distance between them with deliberate steps. "Robert," he said, extending his hand. "If you're going to be my conscience for the next few months, we might as well be on a first-name basis."

Margot shook his hand, her grip firm. "Margot," she conceded. "Though I'm not here to be anyone's conscience. I'm here to make sure this film succeeds." She checked her watch—her father's Cartier, another relic from her past life. "You're due in makeup in twenty minutes. Try not to start any fires before then."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said, that smile returning, but different now—less practiced, more real. "Though I have to ask... what made you sure? About me, I mean. Plenty of safer choices out there."

Margot paused, considering her words carefully. Her phone buzzed in her pocket—probably Marie, sending a picture of Lucas getting ready for school—and she felt the familiar pull between her worlds. "Because talent without redemption is worthless," she said finally. "And you're ready for both."

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her. "You sound pretty certain about that."

Looking back over her shoulder, Margot allowed herself a small smile. "I am. Don't make me regret it."

As she walked away, heels clicking against the pavement, she could feel his eyes on her. The weight of the decision she'd fought for, the risk she'd taken—it should have felt heavier. But somehow, in that moment, it felt like the surest thing she'd done in years.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time she pulled it out. A photo of Lucas, grinning over his breakfast, wearing his Iron Man pajamas that he'd insisted on keeping on for school. The irony wasn't lost on her. She glanced back at Robert, now talking with one of the PAs, and felt something shift in her chest. This wasn't just about making a successful film anymore. It was about proving that people could change, could rebuild, could become more than their worst mistakes.

She just hoped they were both ready for what that meant.

The production office was already bustling when she arrived. Jon Favreau looked up from his stack of notes, raising an eyebrow at her early arrival. "He showed up already?"

"Of course he did," Margot said, setting her bag down. "Couldn't just follow the schedule like a normal person."

Jon chuckled. "Since when have you known Robert Downey Jr. to do anything like a normal person?"

"Fair point." She poured herself a coffee, the familiar routine grounding her. "But he's here. He's sober. He's ready."

"You sound pretty confident about that."

Margot thought about the way Robert had looked at her when she mentioned fighting for him, the brief glimpse of vulnerability beneath all that charm. "I am," she said simply, and took a sip of her coffee.

The morning light was streaming through the windows now, casting long shadows across the floor. In a few hours, the lot would be full, the chaos of production would take over, and the real work would begin. But for now, in this quiet moment, Margot allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, some risks were worth taking.

Even if those risks came with complicated brown eyes and a smile that carried too many questions.

Morning Light - 8:45 AM

The makeup trailer smelled of powder and coffee, early morning light streaming through the small windows. Robert sat perfectly still as the makeup artist worked, though his eyes followed Margot's reflection in the mirror as she leaned against the doorframe, scanning through the day's schedule on her tablet.

"You know," he said, careful not to move too much, "most producers don't hover quite this much on the first day."

"Most producers," Margot replied without looking up, "didn't bet their reputation on an actor the studio considered uninsurable." She glanced up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "Besides, I'm not hovering. I'm observing."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes." Now she did look at him, a slight smile playing at her lips. "Hovering implies doubt. I don't doubt you, Robert. I just want to see how you work."

He didn't have a clever response for that.

Mid-Morning - 10:30 AM

"Cut!" Jon's voice rang out across the set. "Robert, that was great, but let's try it with a little more—"

"Edge," Robert finished, already nodding. "Yeah, I felt it too. Tony wouldn't be that comfortable here. He's putting on a show, but underneath..."

"Exactly." Jon turned to check something with the cinematographer, and Robert rolled his shoulders, working out the tension.

From her position by the monitors, Margot watched him slip in and out of character—the way his posture shifted, his expression changed, like watching someone try on different suits. He caught her eye and winked. She raised an eyebrow in response, but couldn't quite hide her smile.

"Alright, from the top!" Jon called.

Robert straightened, and just like that, he wasn't Robert anymore. He was Tony Stark, all sharp edges and carefully constructed arrogance. Margot felt something catch in her throat. This—this was what she'd seen in his screen test. This was why she'd fought for him.

Lunch Break - 1:15 PM

Margot had found a quiet corner of the lot during lunch, partly hidden behind some equipment cases. She was smiling at her phone, an expression so soft and unguarded that Robert, who'd been looking for her with two coffees in hand, almost didn't recognize her.

"That must be some email," he said, announcing his presence.

Margot's professional mask slipped back into place, but not quite fast enough to hide the warmth in her eyes. "Just checking in on something," she said, but her thumb unconsciously brushed over the screen in a gesture too tender for business correspondence.

"Here," he offered her one of the coffees. "Peace offering for this morning's chaos."

She accepted it with a nod, and he settled onto an equipment case nearby. The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable, broken only by the distant sounds of the crew setting up for the afternoon shoot.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time she couldn't quite suppress her reaction to whatever she saw. Robert caught a glimpse of her screen—a photo of a small boy with wild dark curls, grinning widely at the camera, wearing what looked like...

"Is that an Iron Man t-shirt?" The words were out before he could stop them.

Margot tensed slightly, then seemed to make a decision. "Pajamas, actually," she said, her voice careful. "He refused to change for school this morning."

Robert blinked, processing this new information. "He?"

"My son," she said simply, though something in her posture suggested she didn't often share this detail at work. "Lucas. He's five."

Robert sat back slightly, reevaluating everything he thought he knew about Margot Bennett. "You have a son," he repeated, and then, because he couldn't help himself, "Who's apparently a fan of a movie we haven't even finished filming yet."

That earned him a small smile. "He loves the comics. Though I haven't had the heart to tell him they got the armor all wrong."

Robert found himself leaning forward, genuinely curious. "May I?" he gestured to the phone.

After a moment's hesitation, she turned it toward him. The boy—Lucas—was beaming at the camera, dark eyes bright with mischief, wearing oversized Iron Man pajamas at what was clearly a breakfast table.

"He has your eyes," Robert said softly, and then, before he could think better of it, "Your husband must get a kick out of the superhero phase."

Something flickered across Margot's face—too quick to catch, but enough to make him wish he could take the words back. She took a careful sip of coffee before answering. "No husband," she said evenly. "His father and I co-parent. Never married."

"Ah." Robert nodded, watching her carefully. "Sorry for assuming—"

"Don't be," she cut him off, but gently. "It works for us. Lucas has two parents who love him. The rest is just details." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a rare show of vulnerability. "Though I'd appreciate if this stays between us. I prefer to keep my personal life separate from work."

"Says the woman who just showed me pictures of her son," he pointed out, but his tone was warm.

"Maybe I'm making an exception." She met his eyes then, and something passed between them—understanding, perhaps, or recognition.

"You know," he said after a moment, his voice uncharacteristically serious, "being someone's hero... that's a hell of a responsibility."

Margot studied him over her coffee cup, and he had the distinct feeling she was seeing right through him. "Good thing you're ready for it."

The weight of her words settled between them, and Robert realized she wasn't just talking about her son's Iron Man pajamas anymore. Something had shifted in their dynamic, a door opened that couldn't quite be closed again.

"Thank you," he said quietly, "for showing me."

Margot nodded, already reaching for her tablet, sliding back into producer mode. But there was something different now, a newfound understanding between them. As she pulled up the afternoon's schedule, Robert caught one last glimpse of her phone's wallpaper—Lucas's grinning face—before she tucked it away.

Afternoon - 3:45 PM

"I need a minute!" Robert's voice cut through the set, sharp and strained. He was already walking off, leaving a trail of confused crew members in his wake.

Margot found him behind the soundstage, pacing tight circles, his hands shaking slightly as he ran them through his hair. She recognized the signs—the tension, the restlessness, the need to escape.

"Robert."

He spun to face her, and for a moment, she saw everything he was trying to hide—the fear, the doubt, the desperate need to prove himself. Then his walls slammed back up, the charming smile sliding into place. "Come to check on your investment?"

"No," she said simply. "Come to remind you to breathe."

His smile faltered. "I can't get it right. The scene, the character, any of it. I'm going to tank this whole thing, prove everyone right—"

"Stop." Her voice was firm but gentle. "You're not going to tank anything. You're having a bad moment, not a bad day. There's a difference."

He laughed, but it was hollow. "Voice of experience?"

"Something like that." She stepped closer, close enough that he had to really look at her. "You know what I see when I watch you work? I see someone who understands Tony Stark better than anyone else could. Because you know what it's like to fall, to fail, to have to rebuild yourself from scratch."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," she said. "It's supposed to remind you why you're here."

He held her gaze for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. Finally, he took a deep breath, shoulders relaxing slightly. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Cut through all the bullshit. Make everything seem... manageable."

Margot smiled, small but genuine. "Years of practice. Now, are you ready to go back?"

He nodded, straightening his jacket. As they walked back to the set, he glanced at her. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she said. "Just get it right this time."

Evening - 7:30 PM

The day was winding down, golden hour painting the lot in warm light. Margot stood by the monitors, watching the playback of the final scene. Robert's performance had shifted after their talk—something deeper, more nuanced, like he'd finally found Tony's core.

"Well?" Jon appeared beside her, his voice low. "Still sure about your gamble?"

On screen, Robert-as-Tony delivered his lines with perfect timing, the vulnerability and arrogance balanced just right. Margot thought about the day—the moments of brilliance, the near-breakdown, the quiet conversation over coffee.

"More than ever," she said.

Across the set, Robert was talking with the crew, his gestures animated, making them laugh. He caught her eye and gave her a small nod—a thank you, an acknowledgment, a promise.

She nodded back.

After Hours

The parking lot was nearly empty, just a few crew vehicles scattered under the harsh fluorescent lights. Margot's heels clicked against the asphalt as she made her way to her car, the sound echoing in the late-night quiet. Her blazer was draped over her arm now, the day's formality finally giving way to exhaustion.

"You know," Robert's voice came from behind her, "if I'd known my producer was going to look this good at midnight, I would've suggested night shoots."

She turned to find him leaning against a concrete pillar, his own façade slightly worn around the edges. The perfectly styled hair from this morning was now slightly disheveled, his collar open, looking more like himself than Tony Stark for the first time all day. There was something different in his gaze now - warmer, more personal than their earlier interactions.

"Most of your producers don't stay until the bitter end of day one?" she countered, deliberately sidestepping his flirtation.

"Most of my producers," he said, pushing off from the pillar with a fluid grace that seemed effortless, "don't fight for me to get the role in the first place." He moved closer, and she caught the faint scent of his cologne. "They also don't talk me down from panic attacks or know exactly what to say to get me back on track."

"I'm not most producers."

"No," he agreed, his voice dropping slightly. "You're definitely not." His eyes traced over her face, lingering just a moment too long to be purely professional. "You're also not what I expected."

"Let me guess," Margot said dryly, though she couldn't quite suppress her smile. "You expected someone older? Male? Less..."

"Intriguing?" He offered with a slight smirk. "No, I think you've got that covered."

She arched an eyebrow. "Careful, Robert. That almost sounded like flirting."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" His tone was light, playful, but there was something genuine in his eyes that made her pause.

"It would be a complicated thing," she corrected, reaching for her car door. "Especially since I have a five-year-old waiting to hear if Iron Man saved the day."

Something softened in his expression at the mention of Lucas, though the warmth in his eyes didn't fade. "Ah. The real reason you stayed late. Important report to deliver?"

"Marie already put him to bed." Margot checked her phone, showing a photo of Lucas fast asleep, still in those Iron Man pajamas. "But he made her promise I'd tell him everything tomorrow at breakfast."

"You know," Robert said, taking another step closer, ostensibly to see the photo better, "I could always come give him the report in person. Tony Stark himself, delivering the day's heroics over pancakes."

The offer caught her off guard - both its sweetness and its implications. She looked up to find him much closer than she'd expected, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes under the harsh lights. "That's..."

"Too much?" he asked softly. "Or just enough to make you nervous?"

"Both," she admitted, surprising herself with her honesty. "Robert..."

"I know," he said, stepping back slightly, giving her space. "Professional boundaries. Studio politics. A thousand reasons why this is complicated."

"And yet you're still testing the waters."

His smile turned rueful. "Can you blame me? It's not every day you meet someone who sees through all your bullshit and still believes in you."

Margot felt something warm unfurl in her chest, but she pushed it aside. "You did good work today, Robert. Let's focus on that."

"Always the producer," he teased, but his eyes were understanding. "At least tell me one thing?"

"What's that?"

"Your story. The one that makes you understand all this so well. Will you tell me someday?"

"Not tonight," she said, opening her car door.

"But maybe someday?" His voice was hopeful, charming, but with an undercurrent of genuine interest that was harder to dismiss.

"Maybe." She slid into the driver's seat but paused before closing the door. "Seven AM call time tomorrow. Try to actually follow the schedule this time?"

"Now where would be the fun in that?" He leaned down slightly, one hand on her car door. "Besides, if I showed up on time, when would I get to see you roll your eyes at me?"

Despite herself, Margot smiled. "Goodnight, Robert."

"Sweet dreams, Margot," he said softly, then added with a hint of his earlier charm, "Give the little Iron Man fan my best."

As she drove away, she could see him in her rearview mirror, still standing there, watching her leave.

---

When she parked and stepped out of the car, her phone buzzed. A text from Robert:Thank you. For today. For believing. For everything.

She stared at it for a long moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Finally, she typed: You did the hard part. I just saw what was already there.

His reply came quickly: I like how you see things.

Margot smiled despite herself, but didn't respond. She had a sleeping son to get home to, a production to run tomorrow, a thousand responsibilities that required her full attention.

But as she entered her house, she couldn't quite shake the memory of his eyes in the parking lot, the warmth in his voice, the way he'd stood just a little too close.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet when Margot slipped inside, her heels dangling from one hand to avoid making noise. She found Marie in the kitchen, drinking tea and working on her crossword puzzle - her usual evening ritual once Lucas was asleep.

"He made you promise to look in on him," Marie said without looking up, a knowing smile on her face. "Something about urgent superhero business."

Margot set her bag down, relaxing into the familiar comfort of home. "Of course he did. How was he really?"

"Excited. Wouldn't stop talking about Iron Man." Marie gestured to the fridge. "He made you something. Insisted I put it up right away."

The drawing was pure Lucas - stick figures with disproportionate features, but undeniably charming. A small figure labeled "ME" stood next to a larger red and gold one labeled "IRON MAN." Between them was what appeared to be a third figure with dark hair, labeled "MOMMY."

"He tried to stay awake," Marie said, watching her study the drawing. "Even pulled out The Little Prince, knowing I can never say no to that one."

"You spoil him," Margot said fondly.

"Someone has to, while you're off managing superheroes." Marie's tone was teasing, but her eyes were shrewd. "Speaking of which, how was your first day with the infamous Mr. Downey?"

Margot's phone felt heavy in her pocket, his last text still unanswered. I like how you see things.

"He did good work," she said simply, moving to start the coffee maker for morning. "Better than expected."

Marie hummed noncommittally, returning to her crossword. After five years, she knew when not to push.

Upstairs, Margot found Lucas sprawled across his bed, one arm clutching his Iron Man plush, the other flung dramatically overhead. Just like his father, always taking up more space than seemed possible. But his face in sleep was all her - the slight furrow between his brows, the way his lips moved occasionally as if still trying to finish a thought.

She sat carefully on the edge of his bed, smoothing back his hair. He stirred slightly.

"Mommy?" His voice was thick with sleep. "Did Iron Man win?"

"He did good work today," she whispered. "Just like you said he would."

Lucas smiled without opening his eyes. "Told you he was a hero."

"Go back to sleep, mon petit."

He was already drifting off again, but managed to mumble, "You're a hero too, Mommy."

Back in her room, Margot pulled out her phone one last time, looking at Robert's text. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard before she finally put the phone away.

Some lines weren't meant to be crossed, no matter how tempting. She had built this life carefully - this stable, predictable sanctuary for Lucas. One charming actor with understanding eyes wasn't worth risking that.

Even if he did see through her carefully constructed walls with unnerving ease.

Even if he did make her want to tell him her story.

Even if he did make her wonder, just for a moment, what it might be like to let someone else in.

The next morning

"And then Iron Man goes whoosh!" Lucas demonstrated with his spoon, sending a few Cheerios flying across the kitchen island. "Right, Mommy?"

"Careful with the cereal acrobatics, mon coeur," Margot said, catching a stray Cheerio before it could hit the floor. She was already dressed for the day, though her hair was still damp from the shower. "And yes, there was some whooshing involved."

"Was he scared? When he had to fly?" Lucas's eyes were serious now, studying her face with that uncanny perception he sometimes showed.

Margot paused in making his lunch, considering how to answer. "Everyone gets scared sometimes. Even superheroes. But being brave means doing what needs to be done anyway."

"Like when I had to get my shots?"

"Exactly like that." She dropped a kiss on his head, breathing in the clean scent of his shampoo. "Now finish your breakfast. Marie's taking you to the museum today, remember?"

"The one with the dinosaurs?"

"That's right." Margot checked her phone - 6:15 AM. She hadn't responded to Robert's text from last night, and that was probably for the best.

"Mommy?" Lucas's voice pulled her attention back. "Can I bring my Iron Man to the museum? To protect the dinosaurs?"

"Ask Marie. But remember what happened to Captain America at the park?"

Lucas's face fell slightly. "He got all muddy."

"And?"

"And we had to put him in the washing machine three times."

"Exactly." Margot packed the last of his lunch - turkey sandwich cut into triangles, apple slices, and the cookies Marie had helped him bake yesterday. "So maybe Iron Man stays home today, keeps your bed safe instead?"

Marie appeared in the kitchen, already dressed for their museum adventure. "Ready for some dinosaurs, Lucas?"

Lucas bounced in his seat. "Can we see the T-Rex first?"

"After you finish those Cheerios," Marie said, then turned to Margot. "Early meeting today?"

"Seven-thirty production check-in." Margot gathered her things, trying not to think about the way Robert had looked at her in the parking lot, or the warmth in his voice when he'd talked about Lucas.

Lucas slid off his stool and ran to hug her legs. "Can you tell Iron Man about the dinosaurs tomorrow?"

"I'll do my best." She crouched down to his level, straightening his slightly crooked collar. "Be good for Marie, okay?"

"I'm always good!"

"Mmhmm." She kissed his cheek. "That's why there are Cheerios on the floor?"

He giggled, then suddenly turned serious. "Mommy? Is Iron Man nice? Like, really nice?"

The question caught her off guard. She thought of Robert's gentle teasing, the unexpected vulnerability during yesterday's panic attack.

"Yes," she said finally. "He's nice. Different than I expected, but... nice."

Lucas nodded, satisfied. "Good. Heroes should be nice."

As she drove to the studio, Margot found herself thinking about Lucas's question. Is Iron Man nice? Such a simple thing to ask, but the answer felt increasingly complicated.

Arrival

The studio lot was already buzzing when Margot pulled in, the early morning sun casting long shadows across the asphalt. Crew members darted between trailers and equipment trucks, their voices carrying on the crisp morning air. She spotted Robert's car in his assigned spot—a sleek black Audi that seemed to perfectly embody both the actor and the character he played—and felt a flutter of... something. Anticipation? Anxiety?

"Focus, Bennett," she muttered to herself, gathering her laptop bag and production binder. The leather of her bag was worn smooth from constant use, a physical reminder of the countless productions she'd managed before this one. She had a movie to make, a schedule to maintain, and a reputation to uphold.

Everything else was just... complications she couldn't afford.

No matter how intriguing those complications might be.

Morning Report - 6:45 AM

The production office hummed with the quiet efficiency of early morning, the overhead fluorescents casting a harsh glow over empty desks when Robert slipped in, two coffees warming his hands. He'd spent longer than he was willing to admit replaying their parking lot conversation in his mind, particularly the way Margot's carefully constructed walls had cracked just slightly when talking about her son. The coffee was a peace offering, or maybe an excuse. He wasn't quite sure which.

He found her at her desk, phone pressed to her ear, her dark hair pulled back in a neat twist that emphasized the tension in her shoulders. Her voice was clipped and professional as she handled what seemed to be a difficult call. "No, that won't work. I need this handled today." She spotted him and held up one finger in the universal "wait" gesture, her other hand moving restlessly over a stack of production reports. "Just take care of it. Please." She hung up, and he watched as she visibly composed herself, squaring her shoulders before meeting his eyes. "You're early. Again."

Robert set the cup on her desk with a casual flourish, careful to place it away from her meticulously organized papers. "Caramel latte. Figured you might need something sweet to balance out all that efficiency."

Margot blinked, her hand pausing over her keyboard. A small crease appeared between her brows as she studied the cup. "Caramel latte?"

"You know, the kind you probably pretend not to like because it's too indulgent for someone so professional." He winked, leaning against her desk and noting how she subtly shifted away to maintain her personal space. "I saw the way your eyes lit up at lunch yesterday. Thought I'd test my theory."

For a moment, she just stared at the cup, something soft flickering across her face—a glimpse of the woman beneath the producer's armor—before she caught herself. "You're very observant."

"I'm an actor. It's part of the job." He settled into the chair across from her desk, taking a sip of his own coffee and watching as she unconsciously mirrored his action. "Besides, you're interesting to observe."

"Robert..." Her tone held a warning, but there was something else there too—amusement, maybe even fondness, warming the edges of her professional facade.

"How's the little Iron Man fan this morning?" Robert asked, changing the subject before she could fully reconstruct her walls. He recognized the subtle shift in her posture whenever Lucas was mentioned—a softening around her eyes, a slight curve to her lips she couldn't quite suppress. "Still excited about his superhero connection?"

A real smile then, small but genuine, transforming her face in a way that made Robert pause mid-sip. "He wanted to know if you were nice. 'Like, really nice,'" she quoted, mimicking Lucas's earnest tone, her voice carrying an echo of maternal warmth that seemed to surprise even her.

"And what did you tell him?"

Margot took a careful sip of her latte, but he caught the way her lips curved slightly at the taste, the tiny gesture of pleasure she couldn't quite hide. "I told him you were... different than I expected."

"Is that a good thing?" He leaned forward slightly, drawn in by this rare glimpse of authenticity.

"The jury's still out." But there was a warmth in her voice that hadn't been there yesterday, a slight lowering of her guard that felt like a victory.

Robert leaned forward slightly, dropping his voice conspiratorially. "You know, the offer still stands. Breakfast report delivery from Iron Man himself." He watched as she tensed slightly, then deliberately relaxed, her fingers drumming once against her coffee cup.

"And how would I explain that to a five-year-old?" she countered, but her tone was lighter than usual. "I don't introduce just anyone to my son. Even if that person plays Iron man."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a proper introduction, somewhere that's neutral grounds. Maybe at that little café down the street. The one with the chocolate chip pancakes that I bet Lucas would love."

Margot set down her coffee, studying him with those sharp dark eyes that seemed to see straight through his casual demeanor. The morning light streaming through her office window caught the amber flecks in her irises, making them almost golden. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"This. The coffee, the breakfast offers, the..." she gestured vaguely, her bracelet catching the light, "charm offensive."

"Maybe I just like seeing you smile." The words came out more honest than he'd intended, hanging in the air between them with unexpected weight.

Something shifted in her expression—surprise, vulnerability, and then a quick return to professional distance, like shutters closing against a storm. "We should focus on work. The first round of dailies came in, and—"

"Margot." He cut her off gently. "The coffee's just coffee. The breakfast offer is just breakfast. I'm not trying to complicate your life." But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't entirely true. There was something about her carefully maintained control that made him want to see what lay beneath.

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and he felt oddly exposed under her gaze. "Aren't you?"

Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. Jon poked his head in, his expression shifting subtly as he read the room. "Morning meeting in five. You two ready?"

"Of course," Margot said smoothly, already reaching for her tablet, the moment dissolving like morning mist. But as she stood, she paused, then picked up the latte with deliberate care. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For the coffee."

Set: Stark Mansion - 8:30 AM

The early morning light flooded through the grand windows of the Stark Mansion set, painting geometric patterns across the polished floors. Margot stood at the periphery, her arms crossed, watching the organized chaos of pre-shoot preparation with the focused attention of someone who found comfort in control. The crew moved around her like a well-choreographed dance, adjusting lights and repositioning set pieces with practiced efficiency.

Robert had followed her onto the set, another coffee in hand—his third of the morning—matching her measured pace with an ease that should have been irritating but somehow wasn't. His presence at her side had become oddly familiar in just a few days.

"Looks like we're on track," Margot remarked, her voice steady though the corners of her mouth quirked as she watched a grip nearly trip over a cable, catch himself, and pretend it never happened.

Robert leaned against a nearby column, sipping his coffee with theatrical nonchalance. "On track, as long as we stay on schedule." His gaze slid to her, lingering with that familiar playful gleam that seemed to dare her to acknowledge it. "And no distractions."

Margot didn't rise to the bait, though she felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing. "We'll see. Jon will make sure of that," she said, her voice neutral as she watched the director approach, his purposeful stride carrying a hint of concern she recognized from years of friendship.

Jon waved them over, his relaxed smile not quite matching the sharpness in his eyes as they glanced between her and Robert. "Everything's good. Margot, I'll update you in a bit. Robert, you ready to start?"

"Always," Robert said with a grin, giving a theatrical glance around the mansion set that was pure Tony Stark. "I mean, who could resist this? It practically screams 'eccentric billionaire with impulse control issues.'"

Jon chuckled, shaking his head. “Let’s just hope it’s as smooth as yesterday. If you two can keep it together, we’ll get out of here on time.”

Margot smirked, her eyes glancing toward Robert. The challenge was there, but the rest of her expression remained controlled. She didn’t respond, but her silence spoke volumes.

As Robert walked off to talk to his assistant, Margot checked her phone, eyes briefly softening as she read the message from Marie.

Marie: Just wanted to let you know Lucas is having a blast. He’s asking about your job helping Iron Man, but I told him you'll update him on your superhero status later. I'll keep you posted if anything changes.

Margot smiled faintly, the thought of Lucas tugging at her for a moment. She read the message twice, but her mind snapped back to reality as she felt the weight of the busy day ahead. Slipping the phone into her pocket, she immediately fell back into her role, her professionalism a clear shield she wore against distractions.

Lunch Break - 1:00 PM

The midday sun had turned the set into an oven, making the air conditioning inside feel like a blessing. Margot had claimed a quiet corner of the set, perched on the edge of a prop sofa with her tablet balanced on her knees. The blue light of the screen reflected in her reading glasses as she flicked through emails and schedules with practiced efficiency. The world around her had faded to white noise—crew members chatting, equipment being moved, phones ringing in distant offices.

She didn't notice Robert's approach until his shadow fell across her screen. He was holding two sandwiches, and the casual way he slid one in front of her suggested this wasn't an impulsive gesture but something he'd planned.

She glanced up, caught off guard not just by his presence but by the thoughtfulness of the action. Robert was already settling himself across from her, unwrapping his own sandwich with deliberate care, his eyes meeting hers with that mix of warmth and mischief she was starting to recognize.

"You know," he said, voice pitched low enough to feel private despite the bustling set around them, "it's called a lunch break for a reason." There was no judgment in his tone, just gentle amusement and something else—concern, maybe?

Margot's lips twitched, caught between her instinctive need to maintain professional distance and genuine appreciation for the gesture. She wasn't used to people making these small, considerate moves—especially not on set, where she was usually the one taking care of everyone else. "You didn't have to," she said softly, but there was a hint of warmth in her voice that she couldn't quite suppress.

Robert took a calculated bite of his sandwich, watching her with that careful attention that made her feel simultaneously seen and exposed. "Well, I figured you could use some actual food," he said, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Just a little reminder that even the great Margot Bennett needs sustenance."

Margot's smile deepened despite herself, and for a moment, she let herself feel the quiet warmth of the gesture. She took a bite of the sandwich—turkey on sourdough, she noted, exactly what she'd ordered yesterday at lunch. Another sign of his attention to detail that both unnerved and touched her. "Thanks," she said, the sincerity in her voice surprising even her.

Robert leaned back, giving her space while somehow maintaining that connection between them. "You're welcome," he said casually, though his eyes never left her face.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that should have felt awkward but didn't. The quiet was broken by the sudden buzz of her phone on the table, the screen lighting up with a new message. Margot glanced down, and her expression transformed—the professional mask slipping to reveal something softer, more vulnerable.

Robert noticed immediately, of course. He noticed everything. "Lucas?" he asked quietly, his voice careful, as if he knew he was treading on precious ground.

Margot hesitated, her fingers hovering over the phone. Robert’s expression—genuine curiosity without a hint of pressure—nudged her decision. Slowly, she slid the device across the table. On the screen was a photo of Lucas standing proudly next to a towering T. rex exhibit, his gap-toothed grin wide and infectious. He wore his favorite Iron Man shirt, the one slightly too big because he insisted he’d “grow into it.”

Robert studied the photo with surprising intensity, his gaze lingering on the small details. When he looked up, his expression had softened in a way that made Margot’s heart skip. “He’s a pretty cool kid,” he said quietly, handing the phone back with care.

Margot took it, her lips curling into a smile she couldn’t quite hide. “He is,” she replied, her voice warm with maternal pride. But the openness felt too exposed, and she quickly busied herself with her sandwich, retreating behind her professional armor.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke the moment. Jon Favreau appeared, his own lunch in hand, his sharp eyes taking in the scene—the shared meal, the lingering intimacy, the photo still faintly glowing on Margot’s phone. His jaw tightened, though his expression stayed friendly.

“Well, well,” Jon said, settling into a nearby chair with calculated ease. “You two are awful quiet today.” His tone was light, but Margot caught the undercurrent of concern beneath it.

She offered a knowing smile, slipping her phone into her bag. “Just taking a break, Jon. Nothing to see here.”

Robert smirked, catching the subtle tension. “Yeah, nothing to see,” he echoed, his voice casual but his eyes sharp as they met Jon’s. The two men exchanged an unspoken assessment—Hollywood veterans sizing each other up without breaking a smile.

Jon leaned back, his casual demeanor carefully masking years of protectiveness toward Margot. He’d been her anchor through the chaos—custody battles, late-night panics, rebuilding her life piece by piece. He wasn’t about to let someone jeopardize that.

“Alright,” Jon said, his tone turning brisk. “Let’s talk work. Daylight’s burning, and the crew’s out there sweating while you two are in here playing nice.”

Robert raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “No slacking here, promise,” he said, finishing his sandwich. He winked at Jon before turning to Margot. “Thanks for the company.”

“Anytime, Robert,” she replied, her voice steady, though her eyes lingered on him for a moment too long.

Jon waited until Robert was out of earshot, his expression hardening slightly as he watched the actor's retreating figure. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken concerns.

Jon waited until Robert was out of earshot, his expression hardening as he turned to Margot. “So,” he began, his voice low and measured. “That wasn’t just lunch.”

Margot folded her napkin with precision, not meeting his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Twenty months,” Jon said quietly, the weight of the words hanging between them. “You remember what twenty months felt like?”

Her hands stilled, her shoulders tensing. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” Jon leaned forward, his tone soft but unyielding. “You’ve worked too hard, M. Five years of stability—for yourself, for Lucas. You don’t need someone else’s recovery complicating yours.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Jon sighed, his expression softening. “I know you’re not. But Downey… he’s a force of nature. And right now, he’s still finding his footing. Just be careful. For both your sakes.”

Jon reached across the table, his hand covering hers briefly. "I'm not trying to be the bad guy here. I just..." He sighed. "I watched you build this life brick by brick. The way you fought for Lucas, the way you earned back everyone's trust... You don't need someone else's recovery journey complicating yours."

Margot pulled her hand back slowly, but her expression had softened. "I know what I'm doing, Jon."

"Do you?" His voice was gentle but firm. "Because from where I'm sitting, I see him bringing you coffee, making you smile, noticing all the little things. And I see you starting to let him in. Just..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Be careful. For both your sakes."

The moment hung between them, weighted with history and concern. Finally, Margot stood, gathering her things with measured movements. "We should get back to work," she said, but she paused before turning away. "Thank you. For caring."

As Margot gathered her things and walked away,Jon watched her retreat, her heels clicking against the floor like an echo of the walls she swore would never come down again.

He just hoped they both were strong enough for whatever came next.

Afternoon Shoot - 2:30 PM

The afternoon heat had turned the mansion set into a pressure cooker, despite the industrial air conditioning working overtime. The faint hum of equipment filled the air, accompanied by the acrid smell of paint and sawdust that clung stubbornly to the space. Margot stood in her usual spot behind the monitors, Jon's words from lunch still echoing in her mind. Twenty months. Long enough to build a foundation, but she remembered that time—the growing confidence mixed with the constant awareness of how much you had to protect.

Robert was in character as Tony Stark, running through a scene in his workshop. Through the monitor, Margot noted the easy confidence in his movements, the natural flow of his performance. Sobriety wasn't a struggle anymore so much as a fact of his life—something he carried with quiet determination rather than obvious effort.

"Cut!" Jon's voice broke through her thoughts. "Perfect energy, Robert. Let's get one more for safety."

Robert nodded, completely in his element now. His eyes flicked to Margot’s across the set, and he gave her that now-familiar half-smile that seemed reserved just for her. She felt Jon tense beside her, barely perceptible but there.

"We good?" Robert asked as he passed them, his tone casual, though his eyes searched her face. He’d picked up on her slight withdrawal after lunch, subtle as it was.

"Very good," Margot replied, keeping her voice professionally warm. "You're really finding Tony's layers."

Robert paused briefly, obviously noting the careful distance in her tone but choosing not to comment on it. Instead, he just gave a small nod. "Good to hear. Though I still think he's got more to show us." He headed back to his mark with easy confidence, focused and professional.

Jon cleared his throat softly. "Should we review tomorrow's schedule?" he suggested, giving her an out she gratefully took.

They bent over her tablet together, discussing shot sequences and timing. The noise of the set faded into the background, but Margot remained acutely aware of Robert. Even while chatting with crew members between takes, he maintained that subtle awareness of her presence that she’d come to recognize.

Her phone buzzed with another text from Marie: Lucas won’t stop talking about the dinosaurs. Says he’s going to be a paleontologist AND Iron Man when he grows up. Thought you’d want to know. 💕

A genuine smile broke through her carefully maintained facade. She could practically hear her son’s excited voice, his tiny fists pumping the air as he declared his new ambitions.

Robert, heading back to the monitors, caught her smile.

"Lucas again?" he asked softly.

"Yeah," she admitted, then caught herself, remembering Jon's concerns.

"You know," Robert said, his tone carefully casual, "that breakfast offer still stands. No pressure, just pancakes and maybe making a kid’s day." He paused, reading her hesitation. "Unless... did Jon say something?"

"No," Margot said gently. "Jon’s just... protective."

Robert nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Look, I get it. My reputation precedes me." His tone was matter-of-fact rather than defensive. "But I’m in a good place now. Have been for a while."

The simple honesty in his voice made something twist in her chest. She understood that too—the quiet pride of rebuilding, of proving yourself day by day.

"I know you are," Margot said quietly, surprising herself with her sincerity. "That’s not—" She stopped, recalibrating. "It’s complicated."

"Because of Lucas?" Robert asked, his perception sharp as ever. When she didn’t immediately respond, he continued, "I understand having to be careful. Being responsible for someone else’s wellbeing... it changes everything."

Margot looked at him then, caught off guard by how closely his words echoed her own experience. Her hand instinctively went to her phone, where Lucas’s photo was still displayed.

"He’s my whole world," she said finally. "Everything I do, every decision I make..."

"Has to be measured against what’s best for him," Robert finished, his voice holding a depth of understanding that made her wonder about his own story. "I get that. More than you might think."

Before she could respond, the set PA called out that they were ready for the next take. Robert straightened, his professional mask sliding back into place, but his eyes lingered on hers.

"Just think about it," he said softly. "No pressure, no complications. Sometimes a breakfast really is just a breakfast." His smile was gentle, lacking its usual edge of charm. "And sometimes it’s nice to let someone else take care of you for a change."

As he walked back to his mark, Margot felt the weight of his words settle over her. Letting someone else take care of her... it was a luxury she rarely allowed herself to consider.

"You okay?" Jon asked quietly, appearing at her side.

"Yeah," she said, watching Robert settle into character. "He’s... not what I expected."

Jon’s expression softened slightly, a reluctant acknowledgment in his eyes. "He never is. That’s part of what makes him dangerous."

"Jon—"

"I know, I know," he held up his hands in surrender. "You’ve got it under control. Just... remember what we talked about."

Margot nodded, but her gaze drifted back to Robert. He had rebuilt himself from the ground up, just like she had. And in that, she saw the familiar blend of confidence and awareness—the quiet pride of someone who understood the cost of getting there.

Her phone buzzed again: He said the dinosaurs and Iron Man should team up to fight bad guys

Margot smiled despite herself, quickly typing back: Absolutely.

When she looked up, Robert was watching her between takes, his expression warm and curious. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking a question, and for the first time, she let herself wonder what it might be like to answer.

Evening - 8:15 PM

The lot had grown quiet as the day wound down, the last of the crew trickling out to their cars. Margot stood in the doorway of her office, her eyes on the California sunset spilling molten gold across the buildings. She cradled her phone, still warm from her call with Marie. Lucas was already asleep, having exhausted himself with his endless recounting of dinosaur facts.

“Hey.”

She turned at the soft sound of Robert’s voice. He was dressed down now, in dark jeans and a black henley that made him look less like a movie star and more like a man trying to blend into the real world.

“Long day,” he said, stepping closer.

Margot nodded. “But productive.”

He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her with that unreadable expression of his. “There’s this little coffee place off Ventura. Quiet, no cameras, no crowds.” He hesitated, his tone uncharacteristically tentative. “I could use someone to help me decompress after all that Tony Stark energy.”

Margot blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of his invitation. There was no charm offensive, no pushy insistence—just a quiet sincerity that felt more real than anything she’d seen from him before.

“I shouldn’t,” she said, but the words lacked conviction.

Robert’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “Probably not,” he agreed. “But sometimes the things we think we shouldn’t do turn out to be exactly what we need.”

For a moment, she said nothing, Jon’s earlier warnings looping through her mind. But then she caught the faint lines of exhaustion around Robert’s eyes, the way he seemed more vulnerable here, away from the set’s constant performance.

“One coffee,” she said finally. “But I’m driving myself.”

His smile widened, soft and genuine. “Fair deal.”

---

Twenty minutes later, they were nestled in the corner booth of a small, dimly lit coffee house. The space felt like an escape from Hollywood’s relentless buzz—a haven of mismatched furniture, warm lamplight, and art that whispered stories rather than shouted them. The hum of quiet conversation and the faint aroma of roasted beans created a cocoon of anonymity.

"How'd you find this place?" Margot asked, cradling her mug of herbal tea. The warmth seeped into her hands, grounding her.

"Sometimes you need a place to just... be," Robert said, his voice low, stirring his coffee as though it held the answers to questions he hadn’t yet voiced. "No expectations. No watching eyes."

She nodded, the weight of his words settling between them. "It must be exhausting," she said softly. "Having everyone waiting for you to fail."

Something flashed across his face—recognition, maybe surprise at her insight. "You speak from experience?"

Margot hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of her mug. "Let's just say I understand the weight of other people's expectations." Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed a quiet vulnerability. "And the cost of disappointing them."

Robert leaned back, studying her with a gentler gaze than she was used to. "Your father?"

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and questioning. "You know?"

"I did my homework when I signed on," he admitted, a faint apology in his tone. "But you’ve done an impressive job of keeping it out of the spotlight."

"I had my reasons," she said, her voice tight but calm. “He had expectations,” she said after a beat, her tone neutral but weighted. “Expectations I could never meet.”

"The choices we make, the bridges we burn... they're rarely as simple as they seem from the outside."

The gentleness of his voice, paired with the intimacy of the moment, loosened something inside her. The quiet hum of the coffee house made it easier to breathe, easier to speak.

"I was twenty-seven," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "When I found out I was pregnant with Lucas." She paused, her fingers tightening around her mug. "And three days into what was supposed to be my last cocaine binge."

Robert inhaled sharply, but there was no judgment in his eyes. He sat utterly still, as if any movement might shatter the fragile thread of her words.

"I thought I was careful," she continued, her laugh brittle. "Functional, at least. Until I wasn’t. And then..." She trailed off, her gaze dropping to her tea. "Seeing those two lines on a pregnancy test can really reframe your life choices."

"What did you do?" he asked, his voice quiet, laced with understanding.

"The only thing I could," she said, lifting her eyes to meet his. "I got clean. I built a new life, brick by brick, day by day." She hesitated before adding, "Some days were harder than others."

"But worth it," he said, finishing her thought with a certainty that made her throat tighten.

"Yeah." Her voice softened, and a small, genuine smile curved her lips. "Worth everything."

They let the silence stretch, not awkward but weighted with a shared understanding. Finally, Robert broke it, his voice hushed but firm. "Thank you. For trusting me with that."

Margot nodded, surprising herself when she reached across the table, her fingers brushing his. "Just... don’t make me regret it."

His hand closed around hers for a moment, warm and steady, before letting go. "I won’t," he promised, and for the first time in years, Margot believed in someone else’s promise as much as her own resolve.

She leaned back, wrapping her hands tighter around her mug, the warmth seeping into her chest. "Jon actually..." she began, her voice thoughtful. "He was there. Back then."

Robert raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Really?"

"Mm." Her lips curved into a faint smile. "I met him and his wife a few years after I moved here. They..." She paused, considering, then decided to share. "They saw through the facade when most people didn’t want to look too closely. Got me the help I needed."

"That explains a lot," Robert murmured, understanding dawning. "His protective streak at lunch."

"Yeah," Margot said, her smile turning wry. "He’s seen me at my worst. Helped me rebuild. It’s the kind of debt you can never really repay."

Robert studied her for a moment, something shifting in his expression. "Now I get why you're so good at your job," he said. "You understand what it means to remake yourself."

Margot met his gaze, struck by the simple truth of his observation. "Sometimes the best producers are the ones who know what it's like to need a second chance."

They shared a look of unspoken understanding, and for a fleeting moment, the carefully constructed walls between them seemed a little less necessary.

Late Night Reflections

The drive home was quiet, Los Angeles traffic thinned to a gentle stream of headlights. Margot's fingers drummed against her steering wheel, her mind replaying the evening's conversation. She hadn't meant to tell him so much—hadn't spoken about those days to anyone in years. But something about the way he'd looked at her, understanding without judgment...

Her phone buzzed as she pulled into her driveway. Robert's name lit up the screen:
Thank you for trusting me. With your story. With everything.

She stared at the message, remembering the way his hand had felt against hers, brief but steadying. Finally, she typed:
Thank you for listening.

Inside, she found Marie asleep on the couch, a worn copy of The Little Prince open on her chest. The sight grounded her, reminding her of all she had to protect. Her carefully built world of routine and stability, the sanctuary she'd created for Lucas.

But as she climbed the stairs to check on her sleeping son, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. That perhaps letting someone see past her walls didn't always mean they would crumble.

Chapter Text

The Next Morning

Margot woke before her alarm, the pre-dawn light barely filtering through her curtains. She lay still for a moment, listening to the quiet of her house, thinking about the way Robert's voice had softened when she'd shared her story. The way he'd looked at her like she was something rare and valuable, not despite her past but because of it.

A small shape appeared in her doorway, clutching an Iron Man plush.

"Mommy?" Lucas's voice was sleep-rough. "Can I come up?"

"Of course, mon coeur." She lifted the covers, and he scrambled in, tucking himself against her side. His hair was wild from sleep, curls sticking up in every direction. "Bad dream?"

"No." He fiddled with Iron Man's armored arm. "Just missed you."

Something in her chest tightened. She pressed a kiss to his head, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo. "I missed you too. Did you have fun with the dinosaurs yesterday?"

"Uh-huh." He sat up, suddenly animated. "The T-Rex was huge! And Marie let me draw pictures of all of them. Can I show Iron Man when he comes to visit?"

Margot froze. "What?"

"You said he was nice," Lucas said, as if this explained everything. "And he fights bad guys, so he probably likes dinosaurs too."

"Lucas..." She sat up, trying to find the right words. "Iron Man is very busy. He has a lot of important work to do."

"But you see him every day," Lucas pointed out with impeccable five-year-old logic. "And you said heroes should be nice."

Margot closed her eyes briefly, remembering Robert's offer to deliver his "heroic report" over pancakes. The warmth in his eyes when he'd seen Lucas's photo. The gentle way he'd listened to her story.

"Sometimes," she said carefully, "being nice isn't enough. Grown-ups have complicated rules about work and friendship."

Lucas considered this, his small face serious. "Like how I can't play with Emma at school anymore because her mommy doesn't like you?"

The innocent observation struck her like a physical blow. "Who told you that?"

"I heard Emma's mommy talking to the teacher." He shrugged, but she could see the hurt in his eyes. "She said you were a bad influence. What does that mean?"

Margot pulled him close, her heart aching. This was exactly what she'd tried to protect him from—the whispers, the judgments, the weight of her past touching his innocent world.

"It means," she said softly, "that some people make decisions based on old information. But you know what?"

"What?"

"Their opinions don't change who we are." She tickled his side gently, drawing out a giggle. "Now, what should we have for breakfast?"

Later, as she watched Lucas demolish a stack of Mickey Mouse pancakes, Margot's phone buzzed with a text from Robert:
Any chance of coffee before the chaos begins?

She stared at the message, thinking about Lucas's questions. About Emma's mother. About all the carefully constructed walls she'd built to protect her son from her past.

Not today, she typed back. Some mornings need to stay simple.

His reply came quickly: I understand. But Margot?

Yes?

Simple doesn't always mean safer. Sometimes it just means lonely.

She set her phone down, watching Lucas create an elaborate story with his syrup-covered pancake pieces. He was happy here, in their morning routine. Protected. Safe.

But Robert's words echoed in her mind.

"Mommy?" Lucas's voice pulled her back. "Can you tell Iron Man about my dinosaur drawings anyway? Even if he's too busy to visit?"

She thought of Robert's gentle understanding, the way he'd listened without judgment. The way he seemed to see past her carefully constructed facades to the person underneath.

"Yes," she said softly. "I can do that."

Because maybe, just maybe, there was a middle ground between keeping her walls up and letting them crumble completely. Maybe there was a way to protect Lucas while still allowing herself to be seen.

---

The studio lot hummed with activity as Margot made her way through the familiar maze of trailers, her heels clicking against the asphalt. The folder of dinosaur drawings felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in her bag. Lucas had pressed them into her hands that morning with such earnest gravity—"For Iron Man, Mommy. You promised."—that she couldn't refuse.

She hesitated outside Robert's trailer, her hand raised to knock. Through the window, she could see his silhouette moving about, already in the iconic black undersuit but not yet fully transformed into Tony Stark. The morning light caught on the arc reactor prop, casting blue shadows on the walls.

Before she could second-guess herself, she knocked.

"It's open!"

Robert was seated at his small table, reading glasses perched on his nose as he studied the day's scenes. The domestic normalcy of the image—so at odds with both Tony Stark's swagger and the tabloid stories she remembered from years ago—made something twist in her chest.

He glanced up, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You're early," he said, his voice still rough with morning. "Must be important."

"My son," she started, then stopped, suddenly uncertain. The memory of last night's text flashed through her mind—simple doesn't always mean safer. She took a breath, squaring her shoulders. "Lucas wanted me to show you something."

The change in his demeanor was subtle but immediate. He set down his script and removed his glasses, giving her his full attention. "Yeah?"

With careful movements, Margot pulled out the drawings, spreading them across his table. Crayon masterpieces filled with bold colors and enthusiastic interpretations of prehistoric life. "He went to the Natural History Museum yesterday. Apparently, the T-Rex reminded him of Iron Man."

Robert leaned forward, and she watched as his expression softened into something genuine and unguarded. "Strong lines," he said, tracing one drawing with a gentle finger. "Good use of color. Though I think he may have made the T-Rex's arms longer than strictly accurate."

The laugh that escaped her was unexpected, almost startling in its authenticity. "He'll be devastated to hear that."

"Hey, artistic license is important." Robert picked up a particular drawing—a stegosaurus rendered in every shade of blue crayon Lucas owned. "You know, I used to draw dinosaurs too. Though mine usually ended up looking more like deformed dogs."

"Hard to imagine Tony Stark drawing deformed dogs."

Something flickered in his eyes—a shadow of old pain, quickly masked. "Tony Stark probably had private art tutors," he said, his voice deliberately light. "Some of us had to make do with library books and imagination."

The vulnerability in his tone made her pause, recognizing the weight of shared understanding. These moments when the mask slipped, revealing the man beneath the armor—both literal and metaphorical.

"Lucas gets that from his father," she said quietly, offering truth for truth. "The art thing. Gabriel's a screenwriter. Very visual thinker."

"Ah." Robert set down the drawing with careful precision, something unreadable crossing his face. "The ex?"

"Yeah." Margot smoothed her skirt, a habit from her early days in LA when she was still learning to mask her nerves. "He's... he's good with Lucas. Better than I expected, honestly. Especially after..."

"After?"

She met his gaze, finding there the same quiet understanding she'd seen last night over coffee, when she'd told him about her own demons. "After he came out. It would have been easier for him to just... start over. New life, new identity. But he stuck around. For Lucas."

Robert was quiet for a long moment, absently running his thumb along the edge of one of Lucas's drawings. The morning light caught the silver at his temples, and Margot found herself noticing how it softened his face, made him look more like the man who'd listened to her story last night than the star who'd make headlines tomorrow.

"That couldn't have been easy," he said finally. "For either of you."

"It wasn't." Margot began gathering the drawings, needing something to do with her hands. The paper felt delicate beneath her fingers, covered in the precious art of her son's imagination. "But sometimes the complicated choice is the right one."

"Speaking of complicated..." Robert stood, and suddenly the trailer felt much smaller. He moved closer, and she could smell his cologne—something expensive but subtle, mixing with the leather and metal of his costume. His eyes, when they met hers, held a warmth that made her breath catch. "About last night—"

A sharp knock at the door made them both jump. "Five minutes to set!"

The spell broke. Margot took a step back, feeling her professional mask slide back into place like armor. "I should go. Jon wanted to discuss the afternoon schedule—"

"Margot." His voice stopped her at the door, and something in its tone made her turn back. Robert stood there, half Tony Stark in his costume but entirely himself in his expression. "Thank Lucas for me. Tell him..." he paused, a soft smile playing at his lips. "Tell him Iron Man thinks his dinosaurs are way cooler than the real ones."

She nodded, something warm unfurling in her chest despite her best efforts. "I will."

"And Margot?"

"Yes?"

"Complicated doesn't always mean wrong."

The words followed her as she left the trailer, echoing in time with her heartbeat. The morning sun was warm on her face, catching on the dew that still clung to the edges of things. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the crew calling out to each other, setting up for the day's first shot.
Her phone buzzed, and Margot glanced down, frowning as Gabriel's name lit up the screen.

I just got off a video chat with Lucas. He told me he wants to show his dinosaur drawings to Iron Man. Should I be worried about this? Twenty months sober isn’t long.

The words hit like a gut punch. Her grip tightened on the phone, her knuckles blanching. Gabriel’s text wasn’t just concern—it was judgment. The kind she’d come to expect from him.

Margot exhaled slowly, trying to temper the sharp sting of his words. She told herself it wasn’t about her. It was about Lucas. It was always about Lucas. And yet, the subtle dig still lingered beneath the surface. She could hear his unspoken subtext as clearly as if he’d said it aloud: You should know better, Margot. You’ve made mistakes before.

Her jaw tightened as memories flared up—his pointed comments when she first got sober, his quiet doubts about her ability to parent, and the way he always seemed to be looking for cracks in her armor. Gabriel loved Lucas, of that she had no doubt. But he still saw her through the lens of her past, as if five and a half years of sobriety hadn’t earned her any trust. And now he was extending that same scrutiny to Robert.

The unfairness of it prickled at her. Robert wasn’t perfect, but neither was Gabriel. No one knew better than her how fragile recovery could be, but she also knew Robert wasn’t the man Gabriel imagined. He wasn’t a risk to Lucas. He wasn’t a risk to her.

Margot forced her hands to steady and began typing her reply.

No,she wrote carefully. He knows I'm working with Iron Man, and you know how much Lucas loves the comics. It's not like that.

The response came almost immediately.

I hope that's true. I'll pick him up on Monday, same time as usual.

Margot locked her phone and slipped it into her bag, her chest tight with residual frustration. She’d been careful, measured, and calm in her reply, but the text still left a sour taste in her mouth. Gabriel’s concern wasn’t entirely unfounded, but it wasn’t fair either—not to her, not to Robert.

And yet, as much as she hated to admit it, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that maybe Gabriel had a point. Lucas was her priority, her everything. If there was even a chance that she was exposing him to something unstable, wasn’t it her responsibility to protect him?

The weight of the folder in her bag—the one full of Lucas’s crayon-drawn dinosaurs—grounded her. She thought of Robert’s quiet focus as he’d studied those drawings earlier, his genuine delight in her son’s creativity. Whatever Gabriel believed, she had seen the care in Robert’s eyes.

Wednesday

Margot was standing near the back of the dimly lit set, thumbing through a stack of well-worn script pages when she heard the familiar staccato of Louboutins on polished concrete. She looked up to see Gwyneth Paltrow gliding toward her, dressed in a tailored Alexander McQueen suit that walked the perfect line between Pepper Potts' boardroom authority and Gwyneth's signature California cool. The outfit was flawless, but there was something in the slight furrow of her brow, the way her shoulders carried just a fraction more tension than usual, that caught Margot's attention.

"Hey," Gwyneth said, offering a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. She cradled an eco-friendly cup of steaming bone broth between her palms like it was liquid gold, taking measured sips as though parsing out sustenance. "Got a minute? I could use another perspective."

Margot set down her papers, recognizing the look of an actor wrestling with a scene. "Of course. What's on your mind?"

"It's this scene today." Gwyneth's voice dropped slightly. "I'm struggling with the balance. Pepper's supposed to be professional but personal with Tony, and I keep second-guessing how to play it. She's been with him forever, knows all his chaos, but she can't just be the stern assistant, you know?"

Margot smiled, leaning against a nearby equipment case. "You know what Pepper reminds me of? Those master sommeliers at high-end restaurants. They know everything about every wine in their cellar – the vintage, the region, the perfect pairing. But more than that, they know their clientele. They understand the difference between what someone asks for and what they actually need."

Gwyneth's eyes lit up, and she took another careful sip of broth. "Oh, I love that analogy. Pepper's like Tony's personal sommelier of life – she knows exactly what he needs, even when he's ordering chaos by the bottle."

They both laughed, the sound carrying over the ambient noise of the set. Margot continued, warming to the metaphor. "Right! And like any good sommelier, she has to maintain this perfect balance of authority and service. She's an expert, but she can't be condescending. She guides without controlling. She suggests without demanding."

"And she always, always knows which vintage of tough love to serve," Gwyneth added, her free hand gesturing expressively. "The scene makes more sense now. It's not about Pepper choosing between being professional or personal – it's about her expertly blending both, like..."

"Like pairing the perfect wine with a difficult meal," Margot finished, grinning.

Gwyneth straightened, her posture shifting subtly as she began to embody Pepper's characteristic poise. "I can work with that. Show her expertise through confidence, her care through precision." She finished the last of her broth, studying the empty cup thoughtfully. "Sometimes all you need is the right metaphor to unlock a character."

"The best performances always feel like a well-paired wine," Margot said with a wink. "Subtle, complementary, enhancing everything around it without overwhelming the scene."

Gwyneth laughed, the sound genuine and warm. "Thank you, Margot. Really." She tucked a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear, her earlier anxiety notably absent. "I should get to makeup. But this helped more than you know."

As Gwyneth's heels clicked away across the concrete, Margot watched her go, noticing how her walk had already shifted to match Pepper's assured stride. There was something fascinating about these moments between scenes, when actors shed and donned their characters like designer suits, searching for that perfect fit.

Thursday

The late afternoon sun spilled through the tall windows of Jon's office, casting the room in a rich, golden glow that softened the edges of scattered scripts and coffee mugs. Margot stepped inside without knocking—a silent testament to the years of friendship that had long outlasted any professional formality.

Jon looked up from his desk, his glasses perched precariously at the tip of his nose, giving him the air of a distracted professor. He didn’t bother hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.

"Let me guess," he said, placing his pen down with theatrical precision, "this is your ‘Please don’t burn the place down while I’m gone’ speech."

Margot leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "It’s not a speech. More of a... gentle reminder."

"Ah, a gentle reminder," Jon teased, leaning back in his chair. "How bad do the emergencies have to be before I call you? Fire? Earthquake? Spontaneous wormhole?"

"The kind involving fire or actual injury," she replied dryly. "Not the kind where Robert decides to improvise an entire scene in Farsi."

Jon chuckled, shaking his head. "That was one time. And admit it, it added depth to the scene."

"Jon." Her tone carried the faintest edge of exasperation.

"Fine," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Message received. Go, spend some time with Lucas. We'll hold the fort. I promise not to rewrite the third act while you’re gone."

"Good," she said, her voice firm but her eyes soft. They both knew he’d earned the right to rib her—Jon had been the one steady presence in her life when everything else had been a storm.

His teasing smile faded, replaced by a quieter, more serious expression. "Margot, I mean it. You've earned this. Take the weekend. Lucas deserves it. You deserve it."

She offered a small nod, grateful for the sincerity in his tone.

Then he hesitated, adjusting his glasses in that way he always did before wading into delicate territory. "Speaking of juggling things..."

Margot’s posture stiffened slightly. "What about it?"

Jon studied her carefully. "Robert’s been... different lately. More grounded. Less..."

"Volatile?" she supplied.

Jon nodded. "I’ve known him a long time. Seen him spiral, seen him bounce back. But this feels... different. Like he’s really trying." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Margot’s face betrayed nothing. "He’s committed to the role," she said evenly. "It’s good for the film."

"Sure," Jon said slowly, the word laden with skepticism. "The role."

"Goodbye, Jon," she said firmly, pushing off the doorframe.

"Or not," he called after her. "If we crash and burn, just stay home. Save yourself the heartache."

She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her laughter echoed down the hall as she walked away, leaving Jon grinning at her retreating form.

--

The walk to Robert’s trailer felt longer than usual, the fading sunlight casting long, fractured shadows across the lot. Each step carried a weight she couldn’t quite name, her thoughts circling in restless loops. When she reached the door, she hesitated, hand raised to knock. Was this necessary? Or was it something else entirely?

Professional courtesy, she told herself. Nothing more.

The sound of Robert’s voice broke her internal debate. “It’s open!”

She stepped inside to find him sprawled on the small couch, script in hand, reading glasses perched low on his nose. The arc reactor was gone, leaving him in the sleek black undersuit—a stripped-down version of Tony Stark that felt oddly vulnerable.

He glanced up, and for a split second, something in his face shifted—softened—before he masked it with a casual grin. “Margot,” he greeted, sitting up slightly. “What brings you to my humble abode?”

Closing the door behind her, she kept her tone even, her posture relaxed. “Just wanted to let you know I’ll be off-set for a few days. Taking some time with Lucas before he goes back to Gabriel.”

Understanding flickered in his expression, his grin fading into something quieter, more sincere. “Good for you,” he said, voice low. “That time’s important—for both of you.”

She nodded, her gaze briefly dropping to the floor before meeting his again. “It is. He’s with Gabriel for two weeks, then I get him for the next two. It’s our usual arrangement.”

Robert’s brows knit, and she caught the faintest tightening in his jaw. He adjusted his position on the couch, leaning forward slightly, the movement carrying a deliberate care.

“Two weeks on, two weeks off,” he echoed softly, his words more to himself than to her. His fingers drummed lightly on the script in his lap, betraying a nervous energy he rarely showed. “That’s... a balance, I guess.”

Her tone grew sharper, though not unkind. “It’s what works.” The weight of years spent navigating compromises with Gabriel hung in the air between them. Shaking off the moment, she added, “If anything comes up, Jon knows how to reach me. Otherwise, my phone’s off-limits.”

He studied her with an intensity that made her shift her stance, his elbows resting on his knees. “Sounds like a solid plan. And Margot...” He hesitated, the edges of his usually smooth demeanor fraying ever so slightly. “Don’t let anyone make you feel guilty for putting your kid first.”

Her lips curved into something resembling a smile. “That’s not usually the problem,” she said, voice tinged with dry humor. “It’s more about making sure the house doesn’t burn down while I’m gone.”

Robert grinned, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If you’re worried about me, I can personally promise to keep the chaos to a minimum. Or at least to a level Jon can manage.”

“Reassuring,” she replied wryly, though her tone carried a hint of warmth.

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her just as she reached the door.

“Hey, Margot.”

She glanced over her shoulder. He was still on the couch, script forgotten in his lap, his expression unguarded in a way that made her chest tighten.

“Enjoy the time with him,” Robert said, his voice quiet and tinged with something heavier. “Kids... they don’t stay small forever.”

Her gaze lingered on him, taking in the unspoken weight behind his words. “Thanks, Robert,” she said softly. “I will.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, Robert exhaled, leaning back against the couch cushions. For a moment, he stared at the door, his thoughts distant, then let his head drop back with a quiet sigh.

He reached for his phone, scrolling absently through his contacts until his thumb hovered over a familiar name: Indio.

For a long moment, he hesitated, his finger poised over the call button. Finally, he set the phone down on the table beside him and picked up his script again, though his focus didn’t quite return.

The edges of the pages blurred as his mind drifted to Lucas’s drawings still taped to the fridge in his trailer—and the quiet, persistent ache of all the missed moments that couldn’t be undone.

Chapter Text

Friday Morning - Margot's House

The sun hadn't quite risen when Lucas burst into Margot's room, already fully dressed in his favorite Iron Man pajamas and dinosaur rain boots. His curls were wild, suggesting he'd attempted to brush them himself.

"Mommy! You promised we could make pancakes!"

Margot blinked awake, checking the time—5:47 AM. She bit back a groan, remembering her promise of "breakfast whenever you wake up." She really needed to be more specific with her negotiations.

"Did you brush your teeth?" she asked, sitting up.

Lucas's guilty shuffle answered that question. "But pancakes first?"

"Teeth first," she countered, "then pancakes. Deal?"

He considered this with all the gravity of an international peace treaty. "Can they be dinosaur shapes?"

"We can try." She swung her legs out of bed, reaching for her robe. "Though they might look more like deformed dogs."

The phrase slipped out before she could catch it, bringing with it an image of Robert's soft smile as he'd studied Lucas's drawings. She pushed the thought away, focusing on her son's excited chatter as he detailed his elaborate pancake plans.

In the kitchen, Lucas perched on his special step-stool, carefully measuring flour into a bowl while Margot handled the eggs. Morning light streamed through the windows, catching dust motes in golden beams.

"Mommy?" Lucas asked, his tongue poking out in concentration as he stirred. "Do you think Iron Man likes pancakes?"

Margot's hand stilled on the whisk. "I'm sure he does, mon coeur. Everyone likes pancakes."

"But what kind?" He looked up at her with such earnest curiosity that her heart clenched. "Does he like chocolate chips like me? Or blueberries like Daddy?"

She thought of Robert in his trailer, glasses perched on his nose, that unguarded moment when he'd talked about library books and imagination. "Probably Chocolate.Maybe both," she said softly. "Sometimes people can like more than one thing."

Lucas nodded sagely. "Like how I love you and Daddy both, even though you don't live together?"

The simple wisdom of children. Margot pressed a kiss to his curls, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo mixed with flour. "Exactly like that, mon coeur."

"Marie says that's okay," he continued, dropping chocolate chips into the batter with more enthusiasm than precision. "She says families come in all shapes, like my dinosaurs."

Margot thought of Robert tracing Lucas's drawings, of the way his voice had softened when he'd said Kids don't stay small forever. Of Jon's knowing look in his office.

"Your dinosaurs are perfect just the way they are," she said, helping him pour the first pancake. "Even with their extra-long arms."

Lucas giggled. "Iron Man said they were cooler than real ones!"

Margot froze. "What?"

"In my dream!" Lucas explained, oblivious to her relief. "He came to visit and we drew dinosaurs together and he said mine were the best ever."

"That sounds like a nice dream," she managed.

"It was! Can we send him a pancake?"

Margot laughed, the tension easing from her shoulders. "I don't think pancakes travel very well. But how about we take a picture of your dinosaur pancake masterpiece?"

"For Iron Man?"

She hesitated, then smiled. "For us. For our memory box. Speaking of which..." She reached into a drawer, pulling out an instant camera she kept for moments like these. "Shall we document your culinary creation?"

Lucas's face lit up. "Can I wear my Iron Man mask for the picture?"

"Go get it," she said, and he scrambled down from his stool, boots clomping on the hardwood.

Alone in the kitchen, Margot looked at the mess of flour and chocolate chips, at the slightly lopsided pancake that might have been a T-Rex if you squinted. Her phone sat on the counter, dark and silent. She thought of Robert's words—complicated doesn't always mean wrong—and of Lucas's simple truth about loving more than one thing.

The sound of Lucas returning pulled her from her thoughts. He wore his Iron Man mask proudly askew, and she could see his gap-toothed grin beneath it.

"Ready?" she asked, raising the camera.

"Ready!" He struck a pose beside his pancake creation. "Mommy? Can we make extra? In case Iron Man gets hungry?"

Margot snapped the picture, capturing her son in all his hopeful, pajama-clad glory. "How about we just make enough for us today?" she said gently. "Sometimes the best memories are just for family."

Lucas nodded, pushing up his mask to better see his pancake. "Okay. But can you tell him I said hi? When you go back to work?"

She thought of Robert's gentle understanding, his careful study of crayon masterpieces, the way he saw past her carefully constructed walls to the mother beneath.

"Yes," she said softly. "I can do that."

Later That Afternoon

The Natural History Museum was quieter on Fridays, the crowds thinner as they wandered through the familiar halls. Lucas's hand was warm in Margot's as he pulled her toward the dinosaur exhibit, his excitement building with each step.

"And this is where we saw the T-Rex!" he announced, stopping before the massive skeleton. "See his tiny arms? Iron Man's are way better."

An elderly couple nearby chuckled at his enthusiasm, and Margot felt herself tense slightly, waiting for the judgment that often followed public declarations about superheroes from five-year-olds. But they just smiled warmly and moved on.

"You know," Margot said, kneeling beside Lucas to see the exhibit at his eye level, "dinosaurs were real superheroes of their time. They protected their families, just like Iron Man protects people."

Lucas considered this, his face scrunched in thought. "But they didn't have lasers."

"No," she laughed, "but they had other powers. Like being really strong, or really fast, or—"

"Like how you're really good at fixing things?" Lucas interrupted.

Margot blinked. "What do you mean, mon coeur?"

"Well," he said, with the logic only children possess, "when Daddy was sad, you fixed it so we could still be a family. And when Emma's mommy was mean, you fixed it by teaching me about how some people just don't understand things yet." He beamed at her. "Those are like superpowers too, right?"

Margot swallowed hard, emotion thick in her throat. She pulled him close, not caring about the other museum visitors. "Those aren't superpowers, mon coeur. That's just love."

"Love is the best superpower," Lucas declared confidently. Then, after a pause: "Can we get ice cream?"

She laughed, standing and taking his hand again. "Ice cream sounds perfect."

They found a small parlor a few blocks from the museum, settling at an outdoor table with their treats. Lucas had chosen superman ice cream, the bright colors already staining his lips blue. Margot watched him, memorizing every detail—the way his legs swung beneath the chair, too short to reach the ground; how his curls caught the afternoon light; the serious concentration he gave each bite.

"Mommy?" he asked suddenly, looking up from his ice cream. "Are you lonely when I'm at Daddy's?"

The question caught her off guard. "What makes you ask that?"

He shrugged, poking at his ice cream with his spoon. "Well daddy has his friend David when I'm not there. But you don't have a friend like that."

Margot set down her spoon, studying her son's earnest face. "Being alone doesn't always mean being lonely," she said carefully. "Sometimes it's good to have quiet time to think."

"But you think a lot," Lucas pointed out. "Maybe too much. That's what Uncle Jon says."

A surprised laugh escaped her. "Oh does he?"

Lucas nodded solemnly. "He says you need to let people be nice to you more. Like Iron Man with my drawings."

Margot's breath caught. "Lucas..."

"I know he's not really Iron Man," Lucas said, surprising her again. "He's just pretending, like when I pretend to be a T-Rex. But Daddy says sometimes pretending helps us be braver about real things."

She reached across the table, wiping a smudge of ice cream from his cheek. "When did you get so wise, mon coeur?"

He grinned, his gap-toothed smile pure sunshine. "I got it from you. And Daddy. And Marie, and Uncle Jon, and—"

"I get it," she laughed. "It takes a village?"

"A what?"

"Never mind." She watched him return to his ice cream, marveling at how children could shift so seamlessly between profound wisdom and simple pleasures. "Hey, Lucas?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Thank you for sharing your drawings with... with Iron Man. That was very brave of you."

He looked up, ice cream forgotten for a moment. "Did he really like them?"

Margot thought of Robert's careful handling of the drawings, the genuine warmth in his voice, the way he'd shared his own childhood memory. "Yes," she said softly. "He really did."

Lucas beamed, then returned to his rapidly melting treat. "Good. Maybe next time I can draw him a picture of us all together. You, me, Daddy, Uncle Jon..." He paused, considering. "And Iron Man too. Since he makes you smile like that."

"Like what?"

"Like right now," Lucas said simply, reaching for a napkin. "Like when you read me stories about magic."

Margot touched her lips, surprised to find she was indeed smiling. She watched her son attack his ice cream with renewed vigor, his face a mess of blue and red, his heart so open to all the possibilities of love and family and magic.

Maybe, she thought, there was something to learn from that.

Friday Evening

Bath time had turned into an impromptu recreation of the Battle of Atlantis, with Lucas's plastic dinosaurs facing off against his Iron Man bath toy. Margot sat on the closed toilet lid, serving as both audience and referee, watching as her son created elaborate storylines for each character.

"And then the T-Rex says, 'You can't beat me, I have tiny arms but a big heart!'" Lucas declared, making the dinosaur dive-bomb Iron Man. "But Iron Man says, 'That's okay, we can be friends instead!'"

"Very diplomatic," Margot commented, reaching for a towel as she noticed the water cooling. "Time to wrap up the peace negotiations."

"Five more minutes?"

"The water's getting cold, and your fingers are turning into raisins."

Lucas examined his wrinkled fingertips with fascination. "Cool! Like dinosaur skin!"

Despite his protests, she managed to get him out of the tub and into his pajamas—Iron Man ones again, though these were wearing thin at the knees. She'd have to remember to buy new ones before he went back to Gabriel's.

"Story time?" Lucas asked hopefully, clutching his dinosaur-and-Iron Man army to his chest.

"One story," Margot agreed, following him to his room. "Then bed."

Lucas's room was a testament to his current obsessions—dinosaur posters shared wall space with carefully preserved movie posters from the Iron Man production. (Jon had smuggled them home for him, earning himself "Best Uncle Ever" status for a solid week) His bookshelf was an eclectic mix of picture books about paleontology and well-worn superhero comics that Gabriel had collected.

"Can you tell me a new story?" Lucas asked, settling into bed. "About Iron Man and the dinosaurs?"

Margot sat on the edge of his bed, smoothing his still-damp curls. "A new one? Let me think..."

She found herself remembering Robert's voice in the trailer: Some of us had to make do with library books and imagination.

"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a very special dinosaur who loved to draw. He would spend hours creating pictures of all the things he dreamed about—spaceships and robots and fantastic machines."

"Like Iron Man!" Lucas interjected.

"Like Iron Man," she agreed. "But the other dinosaurs didn't understand his drawings. They thought he should focus on more traditional dinosaur activities, like... like..."

"Eating leaves and stomping things?"

"Exactly. But the dinosaur knew that his drawings were important, even if no one else could see it yet. Then one day, he met someone else who loved to draw—a man in a suit of armor who had also been told his dreams were too big."

Lucas's eyes widened. "Iron Man?"

"Mm-hmm. And instead of laughing at the dinosaur's drawings, Iron Man saw how special they were. Because sometimes," she said softly, "the people who understand us best are the ones who know what it's like to be misunderstood."

"Did they become friends?"

Margot thought of Robert's gentle handling of the drawings, his understanding smile. "They did. And together, they created amazing things that no one had ever seen before—part dinosaur, part machine, but mostly magic."

"I like that story," Lucas mumbled, his eyes growing heavy. "Mommy?"

"Yes, mon coeur?"

"I think..." he yawned hugely, "I think Iron Man understands you too. Like the dinosaur."

Margot's breath caught, but Lucas was already drifting off, clutching his T-Rex to his chest. She sat there for a long moment, watching his peaceful face in the soft glow of his night light.

Finally, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Bonne nuit, mon petit artiste," she whispered.

In the hallway, she paused to look at the growing collection of artwork on the walls—dinosaurs and superheroes and family portraits, all rendered in crayon and love. Her phone sat in her bedroom, deliberately powered off as promised. The urge to share these moments, to tell Robert about Lucas and his bathtime peace negotiations between T-Rex and Iron Man, caught her by surprise.

She thought about Robert's words again: Complicated doesn't always mean wrong.

But some things were just for family, she reminded herself. Some memories needed to stay pure and simple, untouched by the complications of the adult world. Still, as she headed to her own room, she found herself smiling, thinking of a man in a trailer who understood the magic of crayon drawings and the power of being seen.

>Saturday Morning

The kitchen still smelled like pancakes when Lucas announced his plan for the day.

"Can we build a fort? A really big one?" He was practically vibrating with excitement, syrup dotting his chin. "With all the blankets?"

Margot glanced outside at the rare overcast LA day. Perfect fort weather. "I think that can be arranged. But first—"

"I know, I know. Clean up breakfast." He hopped down from his chair, carefully carrying his plate to the sink. "Can we make it big enough for a T-Rex?"

"Depends on the size of the T-Rex," she smiled, starting the dishes. "And how many blankets we can find."

An hour later, their living room had been transformed. Every blanket and sheet in the house had been requisitioned, creating a sprawling network of tunnels and chambers. Lucas had insisted on incorporating his play tent as the "command center," complete with his tablet for watching dinosaur documentaries.

"This is where Iron Man would park his cars," Lucas declared, designating a particularly large chamber. "And here's where the dinosaurs would sleep..."

Margot crawled through one of the tunnels, marveling at her son's imagination. She was about to suggest adding some pillows to the "dinosaur sleeping quarters" when her emergency phone—the one she kept strictly for production crises—started ringing.

Her stomach dropped. That phone never rang unless something was seriously wrong.

"Lucas, mon coeur? I need to take this call. Keep working on the fort?"

He nodded, already deep in arranging his dinosaur collection.

Margot slipped into the kitchen, answering with dread. "This is Margot."

"Margot." Jon's voice was tight. "I know you're with Lucas, but we have a situation. The backing footage for the missile demonstration scene? The drives are corrupted. All of them. If we don't get this fixed now, we're looking at a million-dollar reshoot and a blown schedule."

She closed her eyes. The missile demonstration was one of their biggest sequences - practical effects mixed with crucial background plates that had taken weeks to set up. "How bad?"

"Bad enough that I'm calling you on your weekend off. Our tech team is here but they need your sign-off on some critical decisions. And honestly? We need your brain on this."

Margot glanced at the living room fort, where she could hear Lucas humming the Iron Man theme song while arranging his toys. "Marie's visiting family this weekend. I can't just—"

"Bring him," Jon said quickly. "My office is kid-proof, and it'll probably only take a few hours to sort out. Please, Margot. You know how critical this sequence is."

She thought of the budget, the schedule, all the moving pieces that could collapse if they lost those plates. "Give me thirty minutes."

Saturday - Studio Lot

The security guard did a double-take when Margot pulled up with Lucas in the back seat, clutching his favorite T-Rex and wearing his dinosaur rain boots despite the clear sky. She flashed her badge, already scanning the lot for signs of press. Thankfully, weekends were usually quiet.

"Remember what we talked about?" she asked Lucas as she helped him out of the car.

He nodded solemnly. "Stay close, use indoor voice, and don't tell anyone about the secret fort at home."

"Exactly." She took his hand, heading toward the production offices. "This shouldn't take too long, mon coeur. Maybe we can get ice cream after—"

"Margot!" Jon was hurrying toward them, tablet in hand, looking harried. "Thank god. The whole system's going down and—" He stopped, noticing Lucas. "Hey, buddy! Looking sharp in those boots."

Lucas beamed. "They're for running from velociraptors."

"Smart thinking." Jon's phone buzzed and his expression tightened. "Margot, they need you in the tech bay now. They're talking about wiping the whole system and—"

"No, absolutely not." Margot squeezed Lucas's hand. "I just need to find someone to—"

"I can take him."

They all turned. Robert was walking toward them, still in his Black Sabbath t-shirt from the morning's character shots but without the arc reactor. He looked relaxed, authentic in a way he rarely did on set.

"You sure?" Margot asked, even as Lucas's eyes widened with recognition.

Robert shrugged, but his eyes were kind. "I'm just running lines until this gets sorted. Besides," he crouched down to Lucas's eye level, "I heard there might be an expert dinosaur consultant on set today. I could use some professional advice."

Lucas looked up at Margot, a mixture of hope and uncertainty on his face. She hesitated, torn between professional crisis and maternal instinct.

"Margot," Jon said quietly, showing her his tablet. The numbers scrolling across it made her stomach drop.

Robert stood, meeting her eyes. "We'll be fine," he said softly. "Promise to return him with only minimal exposure to rock music and questionable humor."

A surprised laugh escaped her. She knelt beside Lucas, smoothing his wild curls. "Would you be okay staying with Robert for a little while? Just until Mommy fixes some broken computers?"

Lucas nodded, then blurted: "Can I show him my T-Rex?"

"I would be honored," Robert said seriously. "I hear he's got excellent artistic license with those arms."

Lucas giggled, then looked back at Margot. "It's okay, Mommy. I'll keep him safe."

Something warm bloomed in her chest at his earnest protectiveness. She kissed his forehead, breathing in his familiar scent one more time. "Je t'aime, mon coeur."

"Je t'aime aussi," he replied, their ritual complete.

As she followed Jon toward the tech bay, she glanced back once. Robert was listening intently as Lucas explained something about his dinosaur, his face showing genuine interest. Just before turning the corner, she heard Robert say, "Hey, you ever wonder if T-Rex would make a good superhero? Because I've got some ideas..."

---

"A T-Rex superhero?" Lucas's eyes widened with possibility. "But how would he put on his costume?"

Robert considered this seriously as they walked toward his trailer. "Well, that's why he'd need a super-smart scientist friend to build him special equipment. Like Tony's robots."

"With really long arms!" Lucas exclaimed, making grabbing motions with his free hand while the other clutched his T-Rex.

"Exactly. And what should we call this dinosaur defender of justice?"

Lucas scrunched his face in concentration. "Rex... Rex... Iron Rex!"

"Iron Rex," Robert repeated, opening his trailer door with a flourish. "Defender of the Prehistoric, Armed with Titanium Arms and a Taste for Evil-Doer Takeout. I like it."

The trailer was organized chaos - script pages and coffee cups sharing space with half-empty water bottles and a collection of vintage band t-shirts. Robert quickly cleared a space on the small sofa, sweeping aside papers and what looked like three different pairs of sunglasses.

"Welcome to my humble fortress of solitude," he said, then caught himself. "Sorry, wrong superhero universe. Make yourself comfortable, kid."

Lucas climbed onto the sofa, settling his T-Rex carefully beside him. His eyes roamed the trailer curiously before landing on a familiar shape in the corner. "Is that the arc reactor?"

"One of them," Robert confirmed, picking up the prop. "Want to see how it works?"

Lucas nodded eagerly, then hesitated. "Mommy says I'm not supposed to touch important movie stuff."

Something warm settled in Robert's chest at the boy's careful consideration of rules. "Well, this one's just for practice. Not the real deal." He sat beside Lucas, holding out the reactor. "See these edges? They're magnetic. That's how it stays on during scenes."

"Cool," Lucas breathed, carefully touching the rim. "Does it hurt? When it's in your chest?"

Robert's expression softened. "Nah, it's like wearing a really fancy watch. Though sometimes it does tickle."

This earned him a giggle. Lucas studied the reactor intently, then looked up with serious eyes. "Is it scary? Being Iron Man?"

Robert paused, sensing a deeper question. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But you know what helps?"

"What?"

"Having good people around you. People who believe in you, who help you be brave." He set the reactor down. "Like your mom helps you be brave, right?"

Lucas nodded. "And my T-Rex. And sometimes Uncle Jon. And..." he hesitated, then added quietly, "Daddy tries too."

Robert recognized the complexity in that simple statement. "Sounds like you've got quite a team there."

"Yeah." Lucas was quiet for a moment, then brightened. "Want to help me draw Iron Rex? I think he needs a special helmet for his big head."

"Absolutely." Robert rummaged through a drawer, producing a pad of paper and some markers. "Should we give him repulsors in his tiny arms?"

As they sketched increasingly elaborate designs for dinosaur armor, Robert found himself relaxing in a way he rarely did anymore. There was something refreshing about Lucas's unguarded enthusiasm, his earnest creativity unburdened by doubt or pretense.

"You know what every superhero needs?" Robert asked after they'd filled several pages with colorful drawings.

"What?"

"Snacks." He stood, checking his mini-fridge. "Let's see... we've got string cheese, apple slices, and... aha! Famous Amos cookies. What's your professional opinion?"

Lucas considered this gravely. "All of them?"

Robert grinned. "I like how you think, kid."

As they shared their impromptu feast, Lucas asked between bites, "Do you have kids?"

"I do," Robert nodded. "A son."

"Does he like Iron Man?"

"He does. Though he's more into Spider-Man."

Lucas nodded sagely. "Spider-Man is cool too. But Iron Man is better because..." he trailed off, suddenly shy.

"Because what?"

"Because he messed up but then he fixed it. And now he helps people." Lucas fidgeted with his cookie. "Mommy says everyone deserves a second chance if they really want to change."

Robert felt something catch in his throat. "Your mom's a pretty smart lady."

"Yeah." Lucas brightened. "And she smiles more now. She used to look sad sometimes, but now she smiles when she talks about work. She says it's because the movie is special."

"Is that what she says?" Robert asked softly, something warm and uncertain flickering in his chest.

"Uh-huh. And—" Lucas was interrupted by a yawn.

Robert checked his watch, surprised to find almost two hours had passed. "Hey, what do you say we build a quick pillow fort? Just until your mom finishes saving the day?"

Lucas's eyes lit up. "Can we make it big enough for Iron Rex?"

"Kid, we can make it big enough for Iron Rex and his whole superhero squad."

By the time Margot found them an hour later, she discovered her son fast asleep in an impressive fort constructed from Robert's spare wardrobe and what appeared to be every pillow in the trailer. Their drawings were scattered around, featuring a highly detailed dinosaur in various iterations of armor. Robert sat near the fort's entrance, quietly running lines, but his script was dotted with small doodles of dinosaurs in the margins.

Robert looked up at Margot's approach, pressing a finger to his lips with a small smile. "Crisis averted?"

"Narrowly," she whispered, taking in the fort's elaborate construction. Her eyes caught on the scattered drawings, lingering on one that showed a T-Rex wearing what appeared to be a modified Iron Man suit. "I see you've been busy."

"Your son's quite the creative consultant. We're currently developing a new franchise. Very hush-hush." He gathered the drawings carefully, stacking them. "Though I should warn you, he drives a hard bargain. We're talking points on merchandising."

A quiet laugh escaped her as she knelt to peer into the fort. Lucas was curled up with his T-Rex, using one of Robert's hoodies as a blanket. Something about the sight – her normally energetic son so peacefully asleep in this makeshift sanctuary – made her throat tight.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For watching him. For..." she gestured at the fort, the drawings, everything.

Robert shrugged, but his eyes were warm. "He's a great kid. Smart. Funny." He paused, then added quietly, "Worried about his mom being lonely."

Margot's breath caught. She met his gaze, finding no judgment there, just gentle understanding.

"He told me Iron Man would make a good second dad," he continued, his tone carefully light. "Though I think that had more to do with the cool cars than my personal merits."

She managed a small smile, even as her heart did something complicated in her chest. "The cars are quite persuasive."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by Lucas's soft breathing.

"Did you manage to save the footage?" Robert asked finally.

"Most of it. We'll need to reshoot some elements, but nothing catastrophic." She ran a hand through her hair, exhaustion finally catching up. "Though I might have promised my firstborn to the effects team."

"Ah, I'm afraid that's a no-go. We've already signed him to a multi-picture deal. Iron Rex is very promising IP."

She laughed again, then sobered, looking at him thoughtfully. "You're good with him. Natural."

"Kids are easier than adults sometimes. No pretense. No..." he gestured vaguely, "complicated history."

"No," she agreed softly. "Just complicated futures."

Their eyes met, and something shifted in the air – an acknowledgment of shared understanding, of parallel fears and hopes.

Lucas stirred slightly, mumbling something about dinosaurs. Margot reached into the fort to smooth his hair, her maternal instinct automatic.

"I should get him home," she said. "We left a rather elaborate fort construction project unfinished."

"Ah, a fellow architect. That explains his excellent structural insights." Robert began gathering the drawings. "He should take these. Can't let our competition get hold of the Iron Rex designs."

As Margot gently woke Lucas, Robert found a folder for the drawings. He slipped something else inside – a small sketch he'd done while Lucas napped, showing the boy himself wearing a lab coat, working on Iron Rex's armor. In the background, a figure that looked suspiciously like Margot was suited up in her own version of the Iron Man armor.

Lucas blinked awake slowly, then brightened seeing Robert. "Did you keep the fort safe?"

"Mission accomplished, kid. No supervillains infiltrated on my watch."

"Good." Lucas yawned, then remembered something important. "Can we show Mommy Iron Rex?"

"Already packed up for secure transport." Robert handed the folder to Lucas, who immediately opened it to show Margot their creations.

As Lucas excitedly explained each design element, Robert watched Margot's face – the way she gave her son her complete attention, asking questions and praising details. When she reached the last drawing, the one he'd added, she paused, her expression softening into something that made his heart skip.

"Ready to head home, mon coeur?" she asked Lucas, carefully closing the folder.

"Can we finish our fort?"

"Of course. Maybe even add some improvements based on your new architectural experience."

Lucas turned to Robert, suddenly shy. "Thank you for helping with Iron Rex."

"Thank you for the creative consultation. Keep working on those designs – never know when we might need a dinosaur superhero."

As they headed toward the door, Lucas clutching his folder and T-Rex, Margot paused. "Robert..."

He met her eyes, seeing all the things she wasn't quite ready to say. "I know," he said simply. "Me too."

She nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. "See you Monday?"

"Monday," he confirmed. "Tell Iron Rex to keep the skies clear until then."

Lucas's giggle followed them out, and Robert found himself standing in his trailer, surrounded by the remnants of their impromptu fort, feeling more centered than he had in years.

Saturday Evening - Margot's Home

The second fort was even more elaborate than the first, incorporating design elements that Lucas insisted were "structurally necessary" based on his consultation experience. Margot couldn't help but smile at his serious use of the word "structural," wondering how much of Robert's vocabulary had rubbed off during their afternoon together.

"And this part," Lucas explained, arranging pillows with careful precision, "is where the backup arc reactors go. For emergencies."

"Very practical," Margot agreed, helping him secure a blanket roof. "Did Robert teach you about backup systems?"

"Uh-huh. He says you always need a Plan B." Lucas paused his construction efforts. "Mommy? Is Robert your friend?"

Margot stilled, considering her answer carefully. "Yes, I think he is. Would that be okay with you?"

Lucas nodded, fiddling with the corner of a blanket. "He makes you smile like Uncle Jon does. And he knows about second chances."

Something caught in her throat. Sometimes her son's perceptiveness still took her by surprise. "He does," she agreed softly.

"And he's funny," Lucas continued, warming to the subject. "He helped me give T-Rex repulsors!" He scrambled out of the fort to retrieve the folder of drawings, pulling out the sketch Robert had added. "Look, that's you being a superhero too!"

Margot studied the drawing again, taking in the details she'd missed earlier – the way Robert had captured Lucas's curls, the determined set of her own stance in the background. The care taken in every line.

"Did you have fun with him today?" she asked, though the answer was clear in her son's animated expression.

"Yeah! And he didn't even mind when I got tired. He just said sometimes superheroes need power naps too." Lucas tilted his head, considering something. "Do you think he gets tired being Iron Man?"

"Everyone gets tired sometimes. Even superheroes."

"That's what he said too. But he said it's okay because Tony has Pepper and Rhodey and Happy." Lucas looked at her seriously. "And Robert has his son, like I have you."

Margot pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his curls. "That's right. Everyone needs people they can count on."

"Can we count on Robert?"

The question was innocent, but it carried weight. Margot thought of Robert's gentle patience today, the way he'd created a safe space for Lucas without hesitation, how he understood the delicate balance of being a parent with a complicated past.

"I think we can," she said finally. "But these things take time, you know? Like when you're making a new friend at school."

Lucas nodded sagely. "Small steps."

"Where did you learn that phrase?"

"Robert said it when we were drawing Iron Rex. He said sometimes you have to take small steps to make big things happen." Lucas brightened. "Like how Iron Rex needed lots of different drawings before we got his armor right!"

Margot laughed softly. "Exactly like that."

They worked on the fort until dinner time, Lucas chattering about his adventures in Robert's trailer, each story revealing small moments that warmed her heart – Robert asking permission before sharing his snacks, the way he'd listened intently to Lucas's dinosaur facts, how he'd turned script reading into a game when Lucas got restless.

After dinner, bath, and bedtime stories, Margot found herself sitting in the living room fort, surrounded by the day's creative output. Her phone buzzed with a text from Robert:

Just found a very professional rendering of Iron Rex's auxiliary power system under my couch. Your son's attention to detail is impressive. Though I question the scientific validity of powered tail thrusters.

She smiled, typing back: Clearly you're not familiar with the latest advances in dinosaur propulsion technology.

His response came quickly: I bow to his expertise. Hope the home fort construction went well. The structural integrity of our trailer version was questionable at best.

More ambitious than the original. Apparently it needed a dedicated arc reactor storage facility.

Smart kid. Always plan for contingencies.There was a pause, then: Thank you for trusting me with him today.

Margot's fingers hovered over the keyboard. Finally, she wrote: Thank you for being trustworthy.

Small steps?

She thought of Lucas's earnest face asking if they could count on Robert, of the care he'd taken with her son's feelings, of the understanding in his eyes when they'd talked about complicated futures.

Small steps, she confirmed.

A moment later, he sent one last message – a quick sketch of Iron Rex giving a thumbs up with his tiny arms, "Structural Integrity Consultant" written beneath in playful letters.

Margot saved the image, then leaned back against the fort's pillows, surrounded by the evidence of a day that had started with one kind of crisis and ended with a different kind of revelation. Outside, the rare overcast day had given way to a clear night, stars visible through the living room window.

Small steps indeed.

Chapter Text

Sunday Morning - Margot's Home

Lucas's "going to Dad's" anxiety always manifested in different ways. Today it showed in how he meticulously packed his Iron Rex drawings, removing them from the folder and repacking them three times to ensure they were in the "right" order.

"Do you think Daddy will want to make Iron Rex drawings too?" he asked, smoothing the corners of his favorite sketch. "He's good at drawing."

Margot looked up from where she was folding his clothes for the next two weeks. "I bet he'd love to draw with you."

Lucas nodded, but his movements remained fidgety. "Can we make sure Iron Rex doesn't get lonely while I'm gone?"

Margot set down the shirt she was folding, giving her son her full attention. These moments before transitions were when his worries surfaced most clearly.

"I have an idea," she said, going to her desk and returning with a small sketchbook and some colored pencils. "Why don't we make a special Iron Rex journal? You can work on designs at Daddy's, and then show me all your new ideas when you come home."

His face lit up. "Can we make two? One for here and one for Daddy's?"

"Of course." She helped him label both notebooks, watching as he carefully copied some of his favorite details from yesterday's drawings. His tongue stuck out slightly in concentration as he worked on getting the arc reactor details just right.

"Maybe Daddy can help me make Iron Rex a friend," he said thoughtfully, adding extra spikes to his current drawing. "A different dinosaur superhero. Like... like... a Velociraptor!"

"That's a great idea," Margot smiled. "What kind of superpowers would a Velociraptor have?"

Lucas launched into an elaborate explanation involving super-speed and "special claw lasers," his earlier anxiety temporarily forgotten in the flow of creativity. They spent the morning working on the notebooks, Lucas developing what he called Iron Rex's "whole entire superhero story."

Around noon, Margot's phone buzzed.

A text from Robert: The effects team found dinosaur stickers on three different computer monitors. Your son's guerrilla marketing campaign for Iron Rex is impressive.

She smiled, showing Lucas, who giggled. "Those are for good luck! Like the ones I put in Uncle Jon's office."

She typed back: Apparently they're good luck charms. Though we might need to discuss proper studio decoration protocols.

Never apologize for good luck tokens. Pretty sure I saw the lead animator making her own Iron Rex sketch this morning.

Lucas was reading over her shoulder. Can I send him a picture of the notebooks?

Margot helped him take a photo of his work in progress. Robert's response came quickly:

Exceptional progress, Junior Consultant. Though I notice a concerning lack of cup holders in the latest design. Even dinosaur superheroes need their coffee. Or, uh, juice boxes.

Lucas dissolved into giggles, immediately adding cup holders to his design.

The rest of the day passed too quickly, as these transition Sundays always did. They had their traditional Sunday night breakfast-for-dinner, Lucas insisting on arranging his blueberries into an arc reactor pattern.

As she tucked him in, he asked, "Will you tell Robert thank you again? For helping with Iron Rex?"

"Of course."

"And..." he fidgeted with his blanket. "Will you make sure the fort stays up? Just a little while?"

"How about we leave the command center portion up? For when you get back?"

He nodded, relief evident. "Two weeks isn't that long, right?"

"Right." She kissed his forehead. "Just enough time to fill your notebook with amazing Iron Rex adventures to share."

After he fell asleep, Margot sent one last text to Robert: Lucas wanted me to thank you again for yesterday. You made quite an impression.

There was a longer pause before his response: Kids have a way of cutting through the BS, don't they? Making you see things clearly.

She thought of Lucas's simple observations about smiles and second chances. That they do.

He's a great kid, Margot. You're doing good.

She stared at the message, throat tight. Finally, she wrote: Small steps.

Small steps, he agreed. Then: Though I still think the tail thrusters could work. With the right engineering.

She fell asleep smiling, trying not to think about tomorrow's handoff with Gabriel, about two weeks without Lucas's morning cuddles and dinosaur facts. Instead, she focused on the image of her son's face lit up with creativity, on the way Robert had understood instinctively what Lucas needed, on the delicate possibility of something new taking root in their complicated lives.

Monday Morning

The text came just as Margot was pulling into the studio lot, barely an hour after Gabriel had picked up Lucas.

Why was our son talking about spending Saturday with Robert Downey Jr.?

Margot stared at her phone, the dread she'd felt during this morning's handoff returning. Lucas had been so excited showing Gabriel his Iron Rex drawings, proudly explaining how he and "Robert" had designed the superhero together.

She typed back carefully: There was an emergency with the footage. Jon needed me on set, and Robert watched Lucas while I handled it.

Her phone rang immediately. She answered, knowing this couldn't wait.

"Robert." Gabriel's emphasis on the name was pointed. "The same Robert Downey Jr. who—"

"Who's been sober for almost two years," Margot cut in firmly, gripping her steering wheel. "Who was nothing but kind and appropriate with Lucas. They drew pictures and built a fort in his trailer."

"A fort in his—" Gabriel took an audible breath. "You know I support your recovery, Margot. But involving Lucas with someone who—"

"Has fought the same battles I have?" Her voice remained steady, though her knuckles were white on the wheel. "Someone who understands exactly why we have to be careful? Who knows what's at stake?"

"That's not—" Gabriel stopped, then tried again. "I'm not questioning your judgment. I just need to know these things when they involve our son."

Margot thought of Lucas this morning, how tightly he'd hugged her, clutching his Iron Rex notebook. How he'd whispered, Two weeks isn't that long, right Mommy?

"You're right," she said finally. "I should have called you. It wasn't planned, but I should have let you know."

The line was quiet for a moment. Then, softer: "He couldn't stop talking about Iron Rex at breakfast. Said something about special cup holders for juice boxes?"

Despite herself, Margot smiled. "Robert's suggestion. Apparently even dinosaur superheroes need refreshments."

"Margot..." Gabriel's tone grew serious again. "Just... be careful. With all of it. Lucas gets attached so easily, and with your history—"

"Our history," she corrected gently. They both knew what she meant – the chaos of their relationship, her addiction, his struggles with his identity. "I am being careful. With everything."

Another pause. "Okay." She could hear voices in the background – probably Lucas showing his new drawings to Gabriel's partner, David. "Just keep me in the loop?"

"I will." She watched Jon crossing the parking lot, waving to her. "I have to go. Give Lucas a hug for me?"

"Always do." Gabriel's voice softened. "He's already planning Iron Rex adventures for when he gets back."

After they hung up, Margot sat in her car for a moment longer, letting the morning's emotions settle. Her phone buzzed with a text from Robert:

Fair warning: the effects team is lobbying to add a dinosaur easter egg to the missile demonstration sequence. Your son's influence knows no bounds.

She smiled, typing back: Just wait until they hear about the cup holders.

Small steps, she reminded herself, heading toward the production office. One day at a time.

Monday Morning Coffee

Robert was already waiting by her office door when she arrived, two cups from their usual coffee spot in hand. The familiar sight of him - dress shirt partially untucked, sunglasses pushed up into disheveled hair - made something in her chest ease slightly after the tense morning.

"Your dealer's here," he announced with a crooked smile, holding out her caramel latte. "Though I'm starting to feel like an enabler. This is what, the sixth one in the past week?"

"Fifth," Margot corrected, accepting the cup. Their fingers brushed briefly in the handoff. "But who's counting?"

"I am, obviously." His expression shifted as he studied her face. "You okay? You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one that says you're carrying the weight of at least three production crises before nine AM." He leaned against her doorframe, blocking her path slightly. "Except this doesn't feel like a production crisis look."

Margot sighed, gesturing him into her office. She closed the door behind them, setting her coffee and bag down. "Gabriel called. About Saturday."

"Ah." Robert's playfulness faded. He settled into what had become his usual chair, the one across from her desk. "I'm guessing Iron Rex didn't go over as well with dad as it did with the kid?"

"It's not..." Margot ran a hand through her hair, choosing her words carefully. "He's worried. Given your history. Given my history."

"Given our history," Robert corrected quietly, echoing her earlier words to Gabriel. "He's not wrong to be concerned."

"No, he's not." She met his eyes. "But he's not entirely right either."

Robert was silent for a moment, turning his coffee cup in his hands. "You know," he said finally, "that night last week, at the café? When you told me about getting clean for Lucas?" He paused, waiting for her small nod. "I went home and called Indio. It was late, probably too late, but... I needed to hear his voice. To tell him I loved him."

"Robert..."

"Let me finish." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "See, I spent years trying to prove to everyone that I was okay. That I could handle it, handle everything. But you... you just lay it all out there. 'This is who I am, this is what I've done, this is what I'm fighting for.' No pretense."

Margot felt her throat tighten. "Pretense is exhausting."

"Yeah, it is." His smile was soft, understanding. "You know what Lucas told me on Saturday? He said his mom is like a superhero because she fights the bad guys in her head every day and wins."

She blinked rapidly, looking away. "He shouldn't have to think about that."

"Hey." Robert's voice was gentle. "Kids are smarter than we give them credit for. They see the fight, whether we want them to or not. What matters is that they also see the victory." He paused, then added with a hint of his usual humor, "Though I still think Iron Rex's juice box holders were my crowning achievement of the day."

A laugh escaped her despite everything. "Listen, if you need me to talk to Gabriel..."

"No," she said quickly. "That would... complicate things."

Robert nodded, understanding passing between them. He stood, straightening his shirt. "Well, in that case, I should probably go make myself useful. Apparently, there's this movie I'm supposed to be starring in?"

"I'd heard rumors." Margot smiled, feeling the morning's tension continue to ease.

At the door, he turned back. "For what it's worth? Lucas isn't the only one who sees the superhero in you."

Before she could respond, he was gone, leaving her with the lingering warmth of her coffee and the ghost of his words in the air.

End of Day

The sun was setting over the studio lot when Margot made her final rounds. Most of the crew had cleared out, leaving behind the comfortable mess of a productive day - empty coffee cups, scattered storyboards, the lingering buzz of creative energy.

She found Robert in his trailer, still in Tony Stark's tank top but with his feet bare, script pages spread across the small table. He looked up when she knocked on the open door, his face brightening.

"If you're here about the dinosaur thing, I maintain my innocence," he said, but moved some papers aside in clear invitation.

"Actually, I'm here about tomorrow's schedule." Margot stepped inside, hyper-aware of the intimacy of the space. The remnants of Lucas's fort were still partially visible in one corner, his drawing of Iron Rex taped proudly to one wall. "We need to move the workshop scene up. There's a lighting issue with the afternoon slot."

"Ah, the joys of movie magic." He stretched, rotating his shoulders. "What time?"

"Eight AM. I know it's early, but—"

"Hey, I'm already reformed and responsible. Might as well add 'punctual' to my list of virtues." His tone was light, but his eyes were warm when they met hers. "Though I might need to bring you an extra caramel latte to make up for the schedule change."

"You don't have to keep bringing me coffee, Robert."

"I know." He picked up Iron Rex's drawing, studying it with a fond smile. "But who else is going to appreciate my sterling coffee delivery service? Besides, your kid's got me thinking about expanding Iron Rex's superpowers. Maybe he needs a built-in coffee dispenser for his human sidekick."

"Because that's exactly what this production needs - more of your caffeine enablement," Margot said, but she was smiling.

A comfortable silence settled between them. Then Robert set the drawing down carefully. "You know, about this morning... Gabriel's protective instincts aren't wrong. Even if his timing could use work."

"Robert—"

He stood, moving closer but maintaining a careful distance. "Every time I show up at your office with coffee, or make you laugh at my terrible jokes, or when you look at me like... like you're looking at me right now..." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "I'm trying really hard to be the reformed, responsible guy everyone needs me to be. But you make me want to be reckless."

Margot's heart hammered. "We can't—"

"I know, I know." He held up his hands. "Professional boundaries. Parental responsibilities. Recovery priorities. All the very good reasons why this is—"

"Complicated," she finished softly.

"Yeah." He laughed, but it wasn't entirely humorous. "You'd think between the two of us we'd have enough experience with complicated."

Margot found herself taking a step forward, then deliberately stopped. "Tomorrow morning. Eight AM."

"Right. Workshop scene." He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'll be there. Bright-eyed and briefed."

At the door, she paused. "The coffee runs aren't just about the coffee, are they?"

He looked up, vulnerability clear in his expression. "No. That's what scares me."

She left before either of them could say more, the evening air cool against her flushed cheeks. Behind her, she could hear him starting to tidy up the remains of Lucas's fort, humming something that sounded suspiciously like the Iron Man theme he'd made up with her son.

Some fires, she thought, were worth the risk of getting burned. The trick was making sure no one else got caught in the flames.

After Hours

It was nearly nine when Margot finally gathered her things to leave. The production office was dark except for her desk lamp, the quiet broken only by the distant sound of the night security guard's rounds.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Robert:

Left a sandwich in your office fridge. Because apparently I'm not content with just being your coffee enabler.

Then, a moment later:

Also because I know you probably haven't eaten since that half bagel at noon.

She smiled despite herself, opening the small office fridge. Sure enough, there was a wrapped sandwich from her favorite deli, the one halfway across town. The sticky note attached read: Responsible adults eat dinner. Or so I'm told.

Her phone buzzed again:

And before you say anything - I was already picking up food for myself. It's called efficiency, not enabling.

Margot unwrapped the sandwich, settling back at her desk. She typed back: Efficiency would have been getting tomorrow's coffee at the same time.

His response came quickly: Please. I have standards. Your caramel latte addiction deserves fresh enabling.

She started to type several responses, deleting each one. Finally: Thank you for dinner.

There was a longer pause before his reply: Thank you for today. The boundaries thing... I get it. I respect it.

She stared at the message, hearing the echo of their conversation in his trailer. After a moment, she wrote: I know you do. That's part of the problem.

This time the pause was even longer. She'd almost finished her sandwich when he responded: Life was easier when I was less responsible.

No, she typed back. It was just simpler.

Ouch. Direct hit, Bennett. Then: I should let you go. Early call tomorrow.

She gathered her things, switching off her desk lamp. The sandwich wrapper went into the trash, the sticky note... she hesitated, then tucked it into her desk drawer, next to Lucas's latest Iron Rex drawing.

Goodnight, Robert, she typed, heading for the parking lot.

Goodnight, Margot. Try not to miss me too much before your morning caffeine fix.

She smiled, pocketing her phone without responding. The night air was cool, carrying the lingering scent of jasmine from the studio's landscaping. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new lines to navigate. But for now, she let herself feel the warmth of knowing someone saw her clearly enough to know when she needed feeding, clearly enough to respect her boundaries, clearly enough to make her wish those boundaries were just a little less necessary.

In her car, one final text lit up her phone:

For what it's worth... you make me want to be responsible. Most days that feels like a gift.

She drove home with the message unread, knowing some responses were better left until morning, when coffee and daylight made everything feel a little less dangerous.

Thursday Afternoon

The problem with the workshop scene wouldn't go away. Three days of reshoots, and something still wasn't clicking. Margot could feel the tension radiating from the set as she approached, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.

Robert was running the scene again, but his movements were mechanical, lacking the easy charm that usually defined Tony Stark. She watched from behind the monitors as he fumbled a line for the third time, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders.

"Cut!" Jon's voice carried across the set. "Let's take fifteen."

Robert yanked off Tony's welding goggles, raking a hand through his hair. His eyes met Margot's across the space, and something shifted in his expression. He headed toward her, deftly avoiding the crew members scrambling to adjust lighting.

"Don't say it," he said as he reached her. "I know I'm bombing."

"I wasn't going to say anything." She handed him a water bottle she'd brought. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, and she pretended not to notice. "Though since you brought it up..."

"Careful," he warned, but there was a hint of a smile now. "I haven't had time to get our afternoon coffee yet. I'm dangerous when uncaffeinated."

"You're dangerous when caffeinated too," she said without thinking, then immediately regretted it when his eyes darkened slightly.

"Fair point." He took a long drink of water, studying her over the bottle. "So, Executive Producer Bennett, what's the verdict? Besides my obvious lack of chemistry with the repulsor gauntlets?"

Margot glanced around, then gestured toward a quieter corner of the set. Once they were relatively private, she turned to face him. "You're thinking too much."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"I'm serious, Robert. You're so focused on getting it perfect, you're losing Tony's... spark." She hesitated, then added softly, "You're losing your spark."

He leaned against the wall, close enough that she could smell his cologne mixing with Tony Stark's engine grease. "Maybe I'm distracted."

"Robert—"

"I know, I know." He held up his hands in surrender. "Professional boundaries. But you started it with the 'dangerous' comment."

Despite everything, she smiled. "What are you, twelve?"

"On my good days." His expression sobered. "You're right though. About the scene. I'm overthinking it. Trying so hard to prove I can handle it that I'm..." He trailed off, shrugging.

"Forgetting to breathe?"

"Something like that." He studied her face. "How do you do it? Stay so controlled all the time?"

"Who says I'm controlled?" The words came out quieter than she intended.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The buzz of the set seemed distant, the air between them heavy with everything they weren't saying.

Finally, Margot straightened. "Try running the scene like you're explaining it to Lucas."

"What?"

"The workshop scene. Pretend you're showing Lucas how everything works. You light up when you talk to him about Iron Man. Use that energy."

Robert stared at her, something soft and dangerous dancing across his face. "You know," he said carefully, "you're making it really hard not to—"

"Places in five!" The AD's voice cut through the tension.

Margot took a deliberate step back. "I should let you get ready."

"Yeah." He pushed off the wall, rolling his shoulders. "Though I believe I still owe you a coffee run."

"The scene first," she said firmly. "Coffee after."

"Yes ma'am." He gave her a mock salute, some of his usual sparkle returning. Then, more seriously: "Thank you. For..."

"I know." She managed a small smile. "Go be Tony Stark. And Robert?"

He turned back.

"Breathe."

The next take was perfect. If Robert's portrayal of Tony seemed particularly gentle when explaining the tech, as if speaking to an unseen child, no one commented on it. And if Margot's hands shook slightly when he brought her coffee later, neither of them mentioned that either.

Thursday Evening

The day's successful reshoot had lifted everyone's spirits, but it had run long. By the time Margot finished her paperwork, the lot was nearly empty, strings of security lights casting long shadows between the sound stages.

She was halfway to her car when she heard familiar footsteps behind her.

"You know," Robert called out, "for someone who lectures me about taking breaks, you're terrible at following your own advice."

She turned to find him jogging to catch up, back in his own clothes now – worn jeans and a black henley. The transformation from Tony Stark was complete, except for the lingering dark smudges of engine grease he'd missed near his temple.

"Some of us have actual work to do," she replied, but stopped walking. "Unlike certain actors who just play with fancy props all day."

"Hey, the next iteration of the suit is very serious business." He reached her side, then gestured at the grease stain on her sleeve. "Though apparently contagious."

"What?" She looked down at her blazer. "When did that—"

"Here." He stepped closer, reaching out before catching himself. "You've got a little..."

Margot touched her temple, then gave him a pointed look. "You're one to talk."

"Am I?" His hand went to his face, finding the missed grease. "Well, that explains the weird looks from the craft services guy." He grinned. "Though I was kind of hoping it was just my natural charisma."

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

Their eyes met in the dim light, and something shifted in the air between them. The playful banter suddenly felt dangerous, like striking matches near gasoline.

Robert took a careful step back. "You did good today," he said, his voice softer. "With the scene. The Lucas suggestion..."

"You did all the work."

"No, I..." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "You saw what I needed. You always..." He trailed off, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It's getting harder, you know?"

"What is?" But she knew.

"Remembering all the reasons why I shouldn't..." He gestured vaguely between them. "Why we shouldn't..."

Margot gripped her keys tighter, the metal biting into her palm. "Robert—"

"I know." He gave a hollow laugh. "Trust me, I know. Gabriel's concerns. The kids. Recovery. The movie. All the very good reasons why this is a spectacularly bad idea." He met her eyes again. "Doesn't stop me from thinking about it though."

The confession hung in the air between them, too honest for either to dismiss.

"I should go," Margot said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah." He didn't move.

"Robert..."

"I miss Lucas," he said suddenly. "Is that weird? That I miss your kid after just a few days?"

The simple honesty of it made her chest ache. "No," she said softly. "It's not weird."

They stood in silence for a moment, the evening breeze carrying the distant sound of traffic beyond the lot.

"He asked about you," Margot found herself saying. "During our phone call last night. Wanted to know if Iron Man was taking good care of me while he's at his dad's."

Something raw shot across Robert's face. "What did you tell him?"

"That Iron Man has very good coffee delivery skills."

He laughed, but it was strained. "Just coffee?"

"Robert..." It was a warning, but a gentle one.

"Right." He took another step back. "I should let you go. Early call tomorrow."

"You're the one with the early call."

"True." He started walking backward toward his own car. "Try not to miss me too much before your morning caffeine fix."

"That line's getting old, Downey."

"But still effective." He grinned, some of his usual spark returning. Then, more seriously: "Drive safe, Margot."

She watched him go, waited until she heard his car start before getting into her own. The grease stain on her sleeve caught her eye again, and she found herself touching it lightly, remembering the way he'd almost reached for her.

Some boundaries, she was learning, were harder to maintain than others.

Friday

Margot's heels clicked against the concrete as she made her way toward catering, her mind on the day's shot list. The sound of raised voices made her pause.

"You can't just wander off—" A harried PA was saying to a lanky teenager who looked approximately done with everything around him. "Mr. Downey specifically asked—"

"I got it covered, Amy," Margot interrupted smoothly, recognizing the impossible-to-miss resemblance to Robert in the kid's profile. The same sharp eyes, the same restless energy. "Why don't you head back to set?"

The PA shot her a grateful look before hurrying away. The teenager—Indio—regarded her warily.

"You're the boss lady," he said. Not quite a question.

"Executive Producer." Margot leaned against the catering table. "But I answer to Margot." Her eyes caught on his t-shirt—faded black cotton with peeling letters. "Dead Kennedys? Original pressing or reprint?"

Something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe interest. "Original. It was my dad's."

"Good taste. I saw them in Paris in '91." She gestured to the food. "Hungry? The chicken's decent, but the mac and cheese is better."

"You don't have to babysit me," Indio said, but he reached for a plate. "I know that's what everyone's trying to do."

"Do I look like I babysit?" Margot grabbed her own plate. "I'm just hungry, and eating alone is boring. But if you'd rather I go..."

"No, it's—" He shrugged, but some of the tension left his shoulders. "The mac and cheese, huh?"

"Trust me on this one."

They settled at a quiet table, and Margot noticed how he kept his back to the wall, watching everyone who passed. Just like Robert did.

"So how much longer are they gonna make you hang around?" she asked.

"Few more hours. Dad's got me for the weekend, but his shoot ran long, so..." Another shrug.

"And you're stuck here instead of literally anywhere else a teenager would rather be."

That got her a hint of a smile. "Pretty much."

"What would you rather be doing?"

"I don't know. There's this record store in Venice..." He trailed off, picking at his food.

"Amoeba? Good selection, but overpriced. You should try Fingerprints in Long Beach. Better vinyl, fair trades." She took a bite of mac and cheese. "Your dad know you collect records?"

"He tries," Indio said after a moment. "But sometimes it's like... he's trying so hard to do everything right that he forgets how to just..." He stabbed at his food.

"Be normal?"

"Yeah."

Margot was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes people who've been through a lot overcompensate. Trying to make up for lost time."

Indio looked up, something careful in his expression. "You sound like you get it."

"Let's just say I understand complicated family dynamics." She kept her tone light. "There are worse things than someone caring too much. Even if it comes out awkward sometimes."

Indio considered this, then gestured to her plate. "You were right about the mac and cheese."

"Told you. Never doubt the EP about food. We know all the good craft services secrets." She glanced at her watch. "They should be setting up the next shot. Want to go watch your dad blow something up?"

"Can we?"

"Please. I'm the boss lady, remember?" She stood, gathering their plates. "Just don't tell anyone I let you have seconds on dessert. I have a reputation to maintain."

The laugh she got in return was quiet but real.

---

Robert was running his lines when movement at the back of the soundstage caught his eye. For a moment, he forgot where he was in the script entirely.

Margot was walking in with Indio, and his son was... laughing. Actually laughing, relaxed in a way Robert hadn't seen him in months. They were deep in conversation about something, Indio gesturing animatedly while Margot nodded, looking genuinely interested in whatever he was saying.

"Robert?" Jon prompted from behind the camera.

"Sorry, yeah, I—" He dragged his attention back to the scene, but his eyes kept drifting to where Margot was now pointing out something about the set design to Indio, who was leaning in to hear her over the noise of construction.

Something twisted in his chest—sharp and warm and terrifying. Because he'd been carefully cataloging all the reasons this thing with Margot couldn't work, all the professional and personal complications, all the ways he wasn't ready, wasn't stable enough, wasn't...

And in one moment, watching her with his son, every single one of those reasons crumbled to dust.

"Robert? You good?"

"Yeah," he said, tearing his eyes away. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's go again."

But he knew, with a certainty that should have scared him more than it did, that he was in exactly the right kind of trouble.

After Hours

The day's shooting had wrapped, but Robert found himself lingering in his trailer, overthinking the simple task of changing out of his Tony Stark clothes. Through the window, he could see the crew breaking down equipment under industrial lights, their shadows long against the pavement.

A knock on his trailer door broke his reverie.

"It's open," he called, expecting Jon or maybe his assistant.

Margot stepped in instead, a production binder tucked under her arm. She paused when she saw him still in character wardrobe.

"Sorry, I thought you'd be done by now. I can come back—"

"No, stay," he said, too quickly. "I'm just..." He gestured vaguely at his outfit, at the organized chaos of the trailer. "Procrastinating, apparently."

"Long day?" She settled into the small seating area, comfortable in the space despite the late hour, despite them being alone.

"Something like that." He studied her for a moment. "Thank you, by the way. For earlier. With Indio."

"No thanks needed. He's a good kid." She smiled slightly. "With excellent taste in music."

"Yeah, he mentioned your conversation. Dead Kennedys and vinyl collecting?" Robert shook his head, but he was grinning. "I didn't have you pegged as a punk rock EP."

"There's a lot you don't have me pegged as." The words could have been flirtatious, but her tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm learning that." He sat across from her, aware of how small the space suddenly felt. "He also said you knew about some record store..."

"Fingerprints. In Long Beach." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a rare nervous gesture. "You should take him. They do special releases on Sundays, good father-son browsing time."

The casual way she offered the suggestion, like she understood exactly what he was trying to rebuild with Indio, made his chest tight.

"Margot—"

"Don't." Her voice was soft but firm. "We're doing good right now. Professional. Careful."

"Is that what we're being? Careful?"

She met his eyes then, and he saw everything he was feeling reflected back—the want, the fear, the weight of all they could lose if they got this wrong.

"We have to be," she said finally. "There's too much at stake. The movie, our kids, our—" She stopped, but he heard the unspoken word. Recovery.

"I know." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But what if being careful is just another way of being scared?"

"Maybe sometimes scared is smart."

"And maybe sometimes it's just scared."

"Margot." He caught her hand as she passed, her skin was warm, and he could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingers. "What if we tried being brave instead?"

For a long moment, she just looked at their joined hands. Then, carefully, she slipped free.

"Goodnight, Robert."

But she lingered in the doorway, just for a moment, and he knew she felt it too—the inevitability of them, drawing closer despite every careful boundary they tried to maintain.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Robert let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Goodnight," he said to the empty trailer, and tried not to think about how her hand had fit perfectly in his.

One week later

The cave sequence had wrapped late, the set finally clearing out after a grueling day of reshoots. Margot was in her office reviewing the daily footage reports, but her mind kept drifting to Lucas. Two days. Just two more days until he was home, full of stories about his time with Gabriel and probably sporting at least one new Iron Man toy that his father pretended to be annoyed about.

She caught herself absently touching the sobriety chip in her pocket—a habit from early recovery that still surfaced when her thoughts were scattered. Five years of choices. Of rebuilding. Of proving herself trustworthy, capable, whole.

A knock pulled her from her thoughts.

Robert stood in the doorway, changed back into his own clothes but still carrying the day's exhaustion in his shoulders. Something else too—an intensity that made her breath catch. "You're still here."

"Budget reports wait for no one." She set down her pen, hoping he couldn't hear how her heart had picked up speed. "I thought you'd left."

"Was about to." He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The click felt oddly final in the quiet office. "Then I saw your light on."

They'd been dancing around this all week, ever since that day with Indio. Little moments—his hand lingering when passing her coffee, her catching his eyes across crowded sets, conversations that stretched longer than they should. Each small point of contact charging the air between them until it felt impossible to breathe.

"Robert..."

"I got a text from Indio today," he said quietly, running a hand through his hair—a gesture she'd come to recognize as uncertainty masked as casual. "Asked if he could come back to set next week. Kid hasn't voluntarily wanted to spend time with me in... I don't know how long." He took a step closer, and she could see the wonder in his eyes. "And I keep thinking about why."

Margot stood slowly, conscious of the space between them, of how easy it would be to close it. "He's a good kid. He just needed someone to see him, not the situation."

"Yeah, that's..." Robert's laugh was soft, almost vulnerable. "That's exactly what you did. You didn't treat him like he was fragile or complicated or—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Do you know how rare that is? People who just... get it?"

"Robert, we can't—" But she couldn't quite remember all the reasons why as he took another step closer. The air felt electric, charged with twenty months of his sobriety meeting her five years, with understanding that went deeper than attraction.

"I know. Trust me, I know all the reasons we shouldn't..." His eyes met hers, and she saw her own fears reflected back. "But is anything more complicated than an actor twenty months sober and a producer with a five-year chip already managed to be?"

The acknowledgment of their different places hung between them—not a barrier, but a recognition. She'd built a life in those five years. A career. A home for Lucas. And here she was, ready to risk it all because of the way he looked at her like he saw every broken piece and wanted them anyway.

"Lucas comes home in two days," she managed.

"I know."

"Everything gets more complicated then."

"I think we passed complicated a while ago." His voice was rough with honesty. "Somewhere around you understanding my son better than I do."

Neither was sure who moved first. Only that suddenly the space between them vanished, his hands in her hair as her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss was electric—weeks of tension igniting all at once. Her back hit the wall and she gasped against his mouth, feeling his grip tighten in response. His body pressed against hers, solid and warm, as one of his hands slid down to her hip.

"God, Margot," he breathed against her neck, and she shivered, tugging him back up to her mouth. She could taste coffee and mint gum and something uniquely him that made her head spin.

The kiss deepened, grew desperate. Her hands slipped under his jacket, feeling the heat of him through his shirt. His thumb traced the strip of skin where her blouse had come untucked, and she bit back a sound that would have embarrassed her if she could think straight. Everything narrowed to points of contact—his hands, his mouth, the solid press of him against her.

It was the distant sound of a door somewhere in the building that brought them back to reality. They broke apart, breathing hard, but didn't let go of each other.

"Jesus," Robert managed, resting his forehead against hers. "That was..."

"Yeah." Her voice was unsteady, and she felt him shiver at the sound.

His thumb brushed her cheek, gentler now but still charged. "We should probably stop."

"We should." But her hands were still under his jacket, feeling his heart race against her palms.

"Because if we don't stop now..."

"I know." She forced herself to take a deep breath, to loosen her grip on him. "We need to be smart about this." The words felt hollow even as she said them, too late for caution when they'd already crossed this line.

He stepped back slightly, but kept one hand on her waist like he couldn't quite let go. "Smart. Right. That's definitely what I'm feeling right now."

Despite everything, she laughed, and the tension shifted into something warmer. "Robert..."

"I know." He kissed her again, softer but still heated. "We need to talk about this. All of it. Especially with Lucas coming home."

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he agreed. At the door, he paused, and the look he gave her made her grip the edge of her desk. "For what it's worth? I've been wanting to do that since I saw you with Indio. Scared the hell out of me."

After he left, Margot leaned against the wall, trying to steady her breathing. Her lips felt bruised, her hair was definitely a mess, and the budget reports sat forgotten on her desk. Her hand found the chip in her pocket again, but this time it didn't feel like a reminder of what she had to lose.

In forty-eight hours, her son would be home. The press would be watching. The studio would be asking questions. Gabriel would be looking for any sign she wasn't holding it all together perfectly.

And for the first time in five years, she was ready to let something be complicated. Because some risks weren't really risks at all—they were just falling into something that had been inevitable since the moment she saw him look at his son the way she looked at Lucas. With fear and hope and endless love.

Some moments were worth being breathless against your office wall at midnight, worth letting perfect plans crack just enough to let something real slip through.

She touched her lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss, and smiled. Tomorrow would bring complications and conversations and reality.

But tonight? Tonight she'd let herself feel the simple truth of it: sometimes the best decisions were the ones that scared you the most.

Chapter Text

Aftershocks

6:15 AM, and Margot was already on her third cup of coffee. She'd barely slept, her mind replaying every moment in her office—the heat of Robert's hands, the way he'd looked at her like she was something precious and dangerous all at once. She touched her lip absently, still feeling the ghost of...

"Earth to Margot?"

She startled, nearly spilling coffee on the morning's schedule revisions. Jon was watching her with a mix of concern and amusement that made her wonder if she was being as subtle as she thought.

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if we're still good for the afternoon reshoot." He leaned against her desk, studying her face with the careful attention that had gotten him through his own recovery. "You okay? You seem..." He paused, choosing his words. "Different."

"I'm fine." She shuffled papers unnecessarily, knowing he'd see through it but unable to stop herself. "Just thinking about Lucas coming home."

It wasn’t entirely a lie. She was thinking about Lucas, about the tension in her chest over how this—whatever it was with Robert—would affect him. About Gabriel and how he’d inevitably find out, and what that would mean. Her pulse quickened at the thought of the conversation they’d have. He'd never really approved of her choices before, and this... this wasn’t going to make it any easier.

Jon’s gaze never left her, but his attention drifted for a moment, catching something out of the corner of his eye.

Robert had just arrived, earlier than his call time, looking like he'd gotten about as much sleep as she had. His hair was still damp from the shower, and she had a sudden vivid flash of how it had felt between her fingers. He was talking to his assistant, but his eyes found hers immediately across the set.

The look lasted half a second too long. Long enough for her to see that he was thinking about last night too.

"Oh." Jon's voice was quiet. "Oh." It carried the weight of years of friendship, of holding her hand through rehab, of watching her rebuild her life piece by careful piece.

"Don't."

"M—"

"Please, Jon." She finally met his concerned gaze, seeing not judgment but worry. "Not now."

Before he could respond, Robert was approaching them, two cups of coffee in hand. He looked perfectly casual, perfectly professional, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands weren't quite steady.

"Morning." He handed one cup to Jon, careful—too careful—not to let his hand brush Margot's as he gave her the other. "I hear we're changing the cave sequence again?"

"Just tweaking the lighting," Jon said, and Margot could feel him watching them both with the attention of someone who'd seen too many people he cared about get hurt. "We can run through it when makeup's done with you."

"Sounds good." Robert's eyes flickered to Margot, and for a moment she saw last night in them—the intensity, the vulnerability, the way he'd whispered her name against her skin. "You'll be there?"

"I have a conference call." Her voice was steadier than she felt, years of practice at keeping chaos contained. "But I'll review the dailies."

He nodded, professional mask firmly in place. But as he turned to head to makeup, he murmured, "Nice hair."

Margot's hand flew to her head automatically. She'd spent twenty minutes trying to smooth it this morning after... Her cheeks warmed at the memory of exactly why it had been such a mess.

When she looked back at Jon, he was pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is going to be interesting," he muttered. Then, lower, "Does he know about your past?"

Margot didn’t hesitate. She had opened up to Robert about her recovery, about the darkness she’d left behind. It hadn’t been easy, but Robert had listened, understood, without judgment. “Yes,” she said quietly. “He knows.”

Jon blinked in surprise. “You told him?” His voice held something between admiration and disbelief.

"I know what I'm doing, Jon."

"Do you?" He touched her shoulder lightly. "Because that's not what your face says when you look at him."

She didn't have an answer for that. Because the truth was, she had no idea what she was doing. Only that for the first time in five years, she was willing to risk finding out.

"M...." But his voice was gentle, lined with the same care that had gotten her through those first terrible months of sobriety. "Just... be careful. Both of you." He hesitated. "You know what happens when the press gets hold of a recovery romance."

Margot’s mind flashed to the potential headlines, the whispers, the fallout. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered the way Robert had looked at her, the intensity of his touch, his voice saying her name like it was a prayer.

---

The day crawled by in a series of near-misses and careful distances. They maintained perfect professionalism, speaking only when necessary, never alone. But Margot felt his presence like a current under her skin, and more than once caught his eyes darkening when she walked past—that same intensity from last night making her pulse race.

It was maddening.

It was thrilling.

It was absolutely going to drive her crazy.

She touched her sobriety chip twice during production meetings, a grounding gesture she hadn't needed in months. Because this feeling—this electric, consuming awareness—was dangerously close to the kind of high she'd spent five years learning to live without.

By evening, she was wound so tight she nearly jumped when her phone buzzed.

Your office. 10 minutes. We need to talk.

She stared at the message, remembering how his hands had felt in her hair, how his voice had broken when he'd said her name. They did need to talk. They needed to figure out what this meant, what they were doing, how to handle everything that was about to get very complicated.

Talking only, she texted back, trying to sound more composed than she felt.

His response was immediate: I'll be on my best behavior. Scout's honor.

Were you ever actually a scout?

Absolutely not. But the sentiment stands.

Despite everything, she smiled. Then another text came through:

Although I should warn you - your hair looks even better today than it did last night. Especially when you keep running your fingers through it during meetings.

Margot bit her lip, checking the time. She had been doing that—a nervous tell she thought she'd trained herself out of years ago.

Nine minutes.

This was either the best or worst decision she'd made in five years.

She was pretty sure she didn't care which.

We're waiting for part 3 aren't we? she texted back, surprising herself with the flirtation.

Absolutely. Meet you there. Try not to look too good walking across set. I'm supposed to be concentrating on these reshoots.

Margot set down her phone, trying and failing to suppress a smile. Eight minutes.

Some conversations were worth being a little reckless for.

Breaking Point

Ten minutes turned into fifteen as Margot finished a call with the studio. By the time she reached her office, Robert was leaning against the wall beside her door, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. The sight made her breath catch—he looked younger somehow, more vulnerable without the Tony Stark armor.

"You're late." His voice was low, with an edge that made her shiver.

"Studio call ran long." She moved to unlock her door, very aware of his presence behind her, of the heat radiating from him. "We should talk about how we're going to handle—"

The door had barely closed before he turned her around, pressing her against it. "We should definitely talk about that," he murmured, but his eyes were on her mouth.

"Robert..." It was meant to be a warning. It came out more like a plea.

"I spent," he said, one hand sliding into her hair while the other gripped her hip, "all day watching you walk around set looking perfectly professional and completely untouchable. Do you know how maddening that was?"

"We're supposed to be talking," she managed, even as her hands curved around his shoulders, feeling the tension coiled in them.

"We are talking." His lips brushed her jaw, and she felt the words more than heard them. "I'm telling you how impossible you are to resist. How watching you run meetings and make decisions and be completely in control made me want to see you fall apart."

"This is a terrible idea." But her head tilted back, giving him better access to her neck.

"Probably." He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, and the vulnerability there made her chest tight. "Tell me to stop."

Instead, she pulled him down to her mouth. The kiss was hungry, desperate, weeks of tension finally snapping. His hands slid down to lift her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he pressed her more firmly against the door.

"God, Margot," he groaned against her neck as her fingers tangled in his hair.

"Less talking," she breathed, and felt him smile against her skin before capturing her mouth again.

He carried her to her desk, setting her on the edge. Papers scattered to the floor but neither of them noticed. Her skirt had ridden up and his hands were on her thighs and—

A phone buzzed. Then another.

"Ignore it," Robert muttered, but Margot was already reaching for hers, reality crashing back.

"It's Marie," she said, breathless. "Checking about Lucas's schedule for—" She closed her eyes. "God, what are we doing?"

Robert rested his forehead against hers, both of them trying to steady their breathing. "Making out like teenagers in your office?"

Despite everything, she laughed. The sound held a edge of hysteria. "This is insane."

"Completely." But he didn't move away, his thumb tracing patterns on her thigh that made it hard to think straight. "We should probably talk about Lucas coming home."

"We should." She shivered at his touch. "And the press."

"And the studio." His lips found her pulse point.

"Robert..."

"I know." He sighed, finally stepping back and running a hand through his thoroughly messed-up hair. "I know. We need to be smart about this."

Margot straightened her skirt, trying to regain some composure. "This can't happen again. Not here."

"Yeah." He picked up his jacket, then paused. "Have dinner with me tonight."

Her head snapped up. "Tonight?"

"Lucas comes home tomorrow." His eyes were intense, serious in a way that made her pulse race for different reasons. "Once he's back... everything gets more complicated. I want one night where it's just us. Figure this out before we have to be careful around everyone else."

She should say no. She should take time to think this through. She should—

"What time?"

"Eight?" His smile was slow, dangerous. "I'll cook."

"You cook?"

"I have hidden depths." He opened the door, then looked back with a grin that made her want to pull him back inside. "Try not to look too thoroughly kissed walking out of here."

After he left, Margot caught her reflection in her phone screen and groaned. Her hair was a mess again, her lips swollen, her carefully applied lipstick completely gone.

She texted Marie about Lucas's schedule for tomorrow, then stared at Robert's address on her phone.

Eight o'clock.

This was either brilliantly timed or spectacularly stupid.

The Point of No Return

7:58 PM.

Margot sat in her car outside Robert's house, gripping her steering wheel. She'd gone home to shower and change, trying to convince herself this was just dinner. Just a talk.

The hickey forming just below her collar suggested otherwise.

Her phone buzzed.

You planning to sit out there all night? Because I can think of better uses of our time.

Behave, she texted back.

Never. But I did actually cook. Even if you're testing my patience out there.

Margot took a deep breath and got out of the car. Every step toward his door felt like crossing a line she couldn't uncross. Like walking willingly into the kind of trouble she'd spent five years avoiding.

Margot’s hands trembled as she rang the doorbell, the cool metal beneath her finger grounding her for one fleeting second before the door swung open. Robert stood there in a simple white T-shirt and jeans, his hair deliciously mussed, like he’d been dragging his fingers through it in frustration.

His gaze swept over her, lingering on the curve of her shoulders in the black dress, the soft waves of her hair, the faint shine of her lips. His throat worked in a swallow. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She suddenly felt foolish standing there, foolish for coming, foolish for thinking she could leave without giving into what she truly wanted.

“You look…” His voice came out rough, his eyes dipping to the delicate hollow of her collarbone.

“So do you,” she murmured, her words carrying a heat she didn’t intend but couldn’t hold back.

The air between them was electric, crackling with unspoken tension. He leaned against the doorframe, his fingers curling around it like he needed something solid to hold onto.

“The food’s going to get cold,” he said finally, though he made no move to step aside.

“We should talk first,” she managed, her voice unsteady.

“We should,” he agreed, though his tone was low, weighted with something that made her pulse skip.

“About Lucas. And the press. And—”

His hand lifted, cradling her cheek with a tenderness that made her chest ache. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, and she froze, her breath catching at the way his touch sent a shiver racing down her spine.

“We definitely should,” he said softly.

“Robert…”

“Just…” His forehead pressed against hers, and she could feel the tremor in his breath, the way he was barely holding himself together. “Give me a minute. Because you’re wearing that dress, and looking at me like that, and I’ve been thinking about you all damn day and—”

She kissed him.

It was all he needed to snap. A guttural sound escaped him as his hands gripped her waist, pulling her inside with an urgency that made her heart race. The door slammed shut behind them, and the cool wood of the wall met her back before she could catch her breath. His mouth was on hers again, rough and insistent, igniting every nerve in her body.

“Margot,” he groaned, his lips moving to her jaw, then down the column of her neck, his hands exploring the curves of her body as though memorizing every inch. His touch was reverent, desperate, and just the right side of dangerous.

“The food,” she gasped as his teeth grazed the sensitive spot just beneath her ear, sending a jolt of heat through her.

“It’ll reheat,” he murmured against her skin, his voice a low growl as his fingers found the zipper of her dress. “Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t. Instead, her hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, the soft fabric parting under her fingers to reveal warm, taut skin.

They barely made it to the bedroom, the journey a blur of heated kisses and desperate touches. His shirt was the first casualty, discarded in the hallway, and her dress followed moments later, pooling on the floor like spilled ink. A trail of clothing—and every ounce of their restraint—was left behind, abandoned to the heat of the moment.

Her nails raked down his back, leaving vivid red streaks that made him hiss against her lips, the sound a mix of pleasure and pain. He pressed her into the mattress, his weight grounding her even as her head spun from the intensity of his kiss. His mouth moved hungrily, devouring hers before trailing a scorching path along her jawline and down the curve of her shoulder.

“Margot,” he groaned, her name a rasp of raw need as his lips found the sensitive dip of her collarbone. His hands roamed lower, their touch both reverent and searing, claiming her with a possessiveness that sent a shiver racing through her. She arched into him, the heat between them building with every deliberate stroke of his fingers, every press of his body against hers.

“You’re driving me insane,” he rasped, his teeth nipping at her neck before soothing the spot with his tongue, leaving a faint mark that sent a thrill through her.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan, his lips parting against her skin. Her hand slipped lower, unbuttoning his jeans with teasing deliberation, and sliding beneath the waistband of his boxers to find him.

The sound he made was raw and guttural, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. “You’re going to ruin me,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

“Good,” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.

Aftermath

Much later, tangled in his sheets, Margot let her fingers trace slow, lazy patterns over the expanse of his chest, her cheek resting against him as his hand sifted through her hair. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, grounding her in the reality of what they’d just done.

"We still haven't talked," she murmured, her voice soft in the dim light.

"Mm." His fingers drifted lower, following the curve of her spine, sending shivers over her skin. "We got a little... distracted."

"A little?"

His laugh rumbled beneath her cheek, warm and unrepentant. "Worth it though."

"Robert." She shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to meet his eyes, needing to anchor them both in the conversation. "Lucas comes home tomorrow."

His hand stilled on her back, his expression sobering. "I know."

"We need to be smart about this. Careful."

"I know that too." He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a tenderness that made her chest ache. "But I'm not letting you go. We'll figure it out."

Her lips parted, the arguments waiting on her tongue, but he cut her off before she could voice them.

"The press will be a nightmare. The studio will lose their minds. Gabriel will probably hate me more than he already does." His eyes searched hers, serious and unwavering. "I don’t care. Unless... do you want to stop this?"

Margot hesitated, letting the weight of his question settle between them. She thought about walking away, about retreating behind walls of professional distance and polite indifference. About pretending she didn’t feel more alive, more seen, than she had in years.

"No," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want to stop."

His kiss was different this time—slow, gentle, a promise wrapped in tenderness that left her breathless.

"Then we’ll figure it out," he said against her lips, his voice firm and certain. "Day by day. Like everything else."

She understood the unspoken meaning. Recovery. The process of rebuilding, one uncertain step at a time.

"Lucas has to come first," she said, her voice steadier now.

"Of course he does." His thumb brushed her cheek, his eyes softening as he spoke. "Just like Indio comes first for me. We’ll be careful with them. Do this right."

"And careful at work," she added, her fingers absently tracing his collarbone. "In public. At least while shooting..."

"Whatever you need," he said easily, though his hand slid down her side with deliberate slowness, making her breath catch. "Although right now..."

"The food’s probably ruined," she managed, her voice faltering as his lips found the curve of her shoulder.

"I’ll order takeout." He grinned against her skin, his voice teasing but thick with intent. "Later."

Much, much later.

As his mouth moved lower, his hands urging her thighs apart, Margot gave in to the moment, her body arching in response to his touch. For now, she let herself forget about the complications waiting for them tomorrow—the careful conversations, the wary glances, the reality that threatened to intrude.

Tonight, there was only this. This fragile, electric connection between two people who understood what it meant to fall apart and piece yourself back together. Who knew that some risks, no matter how terrifying, were worth taking.

Even if they changed everything.

2 AM

By 2 AM, they were sprawled on the living room floor, surrounded by empty Chinese takeout containers and the faint scent of soy sauce lingering in the air. Margot was wrapped in his button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up haphazardly, her legs tangled with his as she unapologetically stole the last spring roll from the carton.

"That," Robert said, watching her with mock indignation, "is theft."

"You owe me after the whole 'burning dinner' situation," she replied, biting into the spring roll with a smirk.

"I was distracted," he shot back, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns on her ankle. "Besides, you started it."

"Did not."

"That dress," he countered, his voice dipping as his gaze swept over her, "was a calculated attack. A weapon of mass distraction."

Margot rolled her eyes, but his soft smile disarmed her.

"You know," he said after a beat, his voice quieting, "Indio asked about you yesterday."

Her hand paused mid-air, the spring roll forgotten. "Yeah?"

"Wanted to know if you'd be around next time he visits." Robert's tone was careful, almost shy. "I think he likes that you talk to him like a real person, not... I don't know, a problem to fix."

She thought back to her conversations with Indio—his thoughtful questions about recovery, the way his eyes mirrored his father’s in both curiosity and guardedness. "He’s a good kid," she said softly.

"Yeah." Robert’s hand found hers, his thumb brushing her knuckles. "Speaking of good kids... Lucas comes home tomorrow."

"Today, technically," she corrected, glancing at the clock. She squeezed his fingers, her voice turning wry. "And he’s been talking about you to Gabriel."

Robert raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Apparently, he told Gabriel that he asked Iron Man to take care of me while he’s gone." Her eyes found his, a glimmer of humor mixed with apprehension. "Which is going to be... interesting when he figures out Iron Man has been kissing his mom."

Robert sat up slowly, the humor fading from his expression as he studied her. "And how do you want to handle that?"

"Carefully." She picked at the spring roll, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "He’s five. He doesn’t need to know everything right away. But he’s also too smart to miss it if you’re around more."

"Do you want me around more?"

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard, pulling her gaze back to his. In the dim light, the confident charm he so often wore like armor was gone, replaced by something raw and uncertain.

"Yes," she said softly, the word carrying more weight than she expected. "But it has to be slow. He’s been through enough."

"I can do slow," Robert said, his voice low, steady. He tugged her closer, brushing his lips against her temple. "I can also do careful. Despite... well, evidence to the contrary tonight."

She smiled faintly, settling against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her. "The studio’s going to be less understanding."

"Let me handle the studio," he murmured, his fingers gently combing through her hair. "I’m already the unstable element in their eyes. They’re more likely to blame me than their star producer."

"Robert—"

"Hey." He tilted her chin up, his gaze locking on hers. "I’m not spiraling. Just stating facts. My sobriety’s newer, my reputation’s shakier. If this gets out, I’ll take the heat."

"That’s not fair."

"Life rarely is." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering. "But this? You? Worth it."

Her mind spiraled briefly—imagining the headlines, the whispers on set, Gabriel’s inevitable concern morphing into threats, Jon’s worried glances, the studio’s veiled ultimatums.

"Hey," Robert said, pulling her back to him with a nudge of his nose against hers. "We don’t have to figure it all out tonight."

"Lucas comes home at noon," she murmured.

"I know." His arms tightened around her, holding her closer. "Stay anyway?"

She knew she should go home. Should get some sleep, prepare for the day ahead, protect the fragile balance she’d worked so hard to maintain.

But instead, her lips brushed his, the promise of tomorrow melting into the heat of now.

"Yes," she whispered against his mouth.

Some risks were worth taking.

The Morning After

The alarm on her phone shattered the stillness, its sharp tone cutting through the haze of sleep. It felt like she’d closed her eyes mere minutes ago. 6 AM. She groaned, stretching against the warmth of the man still wrapped around her.

Robert stirred, his arms tightening instinctively. "Too early," he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

"I have to go home and change," she murmured, already trying to slip out of his hold.

"Mm." His lips found the curve of her shoulder, trailing soft kisses that made her breath hitch. "Could think of better ways to spend the morning."

"Robert..." Her protest was weak, and he knew it.

He smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief as she turned to face him. "Quick shower?" His grin turned wicked. "Save water. Help the environment."

"You're impossible," she muttered, but when he tugged her up, she didn’t resist.

The shower, unsurprisingly, was not quick.

7:25 AM

By the time Margot power-walked across set, she was cutting it dangerously close. A caramel latte in hand and a controlled air of calm masking the chaos of her morning, she strode purposefully.

She wore an Armani blazer over what anyone might assume was a crisp white blouse—if they didn’t look too closely. Underneath, Robert’s dress shirt hugged her frame, the faint "RDJ" embroidered on the cuff peeking out when she sipped her latte.

Her hair was still damp, styled enough to pass muster but a telltale sign of her rush. A strategically placed scarf concealed the faint bruise forming on her collarbone, and expertly applied makeup hid the flush she couldn’t quite shake.

Sliding into her seat at the production meeting, she avoided Jon’s gaze entirely. She could feel his eyes on her, sharp and questioning, but he said nothing.

Two minutes later, Robert walked in. His hair was also wet, and the casual confidence in his stride only added to the picture she was trying desperately not to paint in her mind.

Jon’s gaze flicked between them, his expression unreadable.

Throughout the meeting, they were the picture of professionalism—focused, composed, not a hint of distraction. Except for the occasional lingering glance.

When the meeting ended, Margot gathered her things quickly, hoping to make a clean escape.

"Margot," Jon called, his tone pointed.

Margot froze as Jon’s gaze lingered on her, sharp and all too knowing.

“I thought you were going to be careful,” he said, his voice low but pointed.

“I am,” Margot replied quickly, too quickly. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, trying for nonchalance.

Jon’s eyebrow lifted. “Really? Because you’re literally wearing his shirt.”

Her stomach dropped. “What? No, this is—” She glanced down, realizing too late that the faint "RDJ" embroidered on the cuff was visible.

Jon gestured toward it, his expression deadpan. “His name is on it, M.”

Her mouth opened, then closed, and for a second, she considered doubling down on denial. But the look on Jon’s face made it clear he wouldn’t buy it for a second.

She sighed, running a hand through her damp hair. “It was a... last-minute wardrobe choice.”

Jon snorted. “Sure. And I suppose the damp hair and the scarf are just coincidences too?”

She glared at him, heat rising to her cheeks. “I didn’t think it was that obvious.”

“It’s not, to everyone else,” Jon said, softening slightly. “But I know you. And I know him.” He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “Look, I’m not judging. I just... M, this is messy. And if the studio catches wind—”

“I know,” she cut in, her tone firm but tinged with frustration. “I know what’s at stake, Jon.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. Just... be smart about it. And maybe next time, bring a change of clothes.”

Her lips twitched despite herself. “Noted.”

Custody Exchange - 12 PM

Margot pulls up to Gabriel's modernist house in the Hollywood Hills, unconsciously tugging at the cuff of Robert's white dress shirt where his initials are embroidered. She'd been running late this morning, racing out of Robert's bedroom with barely enough time to grab her blazer and slacks from her car's emergency garment bag. Now, stepping into the crisp morning air, she wishes she'd taken the extra minute to find her own shirt.

Gabriel's waiting by the front door, all six feet of him leaning against the frame with casual grace, dark curls perfectly tousled, wearing that navy hoodie she used to steal during their brief time together. His jawline could still cut glass, but there's silver threading through his temples now that wasn't there when they met.

Lucas spots her first. "Mommy!" He launches himself down the front steps, Iron Man backpack bouncing wildly. "I missed you infinity plus one!"

"Mon petit," she breathes, kneeling to catch him, breathing in the familiar scent of kid shampoo and what smells like paint. "I missed you infinity plus two."

Gabriel approaches with Lucas's overnight bag, his blue eyes sharp behind his thick-framed glasses. She sees the exact moment he notices the shirt cuff – his fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on the bag's strap.

"Did you have fun with Daddy and David?" she asks Lucas, helping him into the car.

"We made pizza! And David taught me how to do cartwheels!" Lucas bounces in his seat as she secures his harness. "Can we build forts with Robert again? He does the best robot voices!"

She feels Gabriel stiffen behind her. Closing the car door, she turns to face him, chin lifting slightly.

"Nice monogram," he says quietly, gaze fixed on her cuff. "You're sleeping with him now?"

Margot takes a deep breath and counts to five in her mind.

One...

The world shifts, dissolves. She's 26 again, perched on the edge of a desk in an empty production office at 2 AM. Her assistant producer badge is somewhere on the floor with her shoes. Everything feels electric, alive – that familiar chemical confidence humming through her veins.

Two...

Gabriel's there, all sharp cheekbones and intensity, no silver at his temples yet. His glasses are off, those blue eyes locked on hers with an almost desperate focus. "You're different, M," he breathes against her neck. "When I'm with you, everything makes sense."

Three...

She remembers the rush of it – not just the cocaine, but him. The brilliant lead screenwriter who looked at her like she held answers to questions he couldn't voice. Her fingers trace his jaw, and she feels the slight tremor there. "We make sense," she tells him, believing it with all her coked-up certainty.

Four...

The script they're supposed to be reviewing is scattered across the floor. His hands are tangled in her hair, and she's thinking about their morning meeting in six hours, about the way he kisses her like he's trying to prove something. Like he's trying to write a different story for himself, with her as his leading lady.

Five...

Reality snaps back. She's 32, sober, successful, standing in Gabriel's driveway with their son in her car and another man's initials on her sleeve. Gabriel's watching her with those same blue eyes, but now they both understand what he was really searching for back then.

"Even if I am," she says, her voice steady, "my personal life is separate from our coparenting arrangement."

“You may think it’s separate,” he countered, his voice low but cutting, “but do you really want someone like that around our son?”

Her jaw tightened. “Someone like what? An addict?” The sharp edge of her French accent slipped through. “Like me?”

Gabriel’s brow furrowed. “M, five years is a lot different than—”

“Don’t ‘M’ me,” she snapped, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I am not perfect, but neither are you. I was already drowning when you waltzed into my life—confused about who you were but stringing me along anyway. You don’t get to tell me who I can have in my life.”

He started to interrupt, raking a hand through his curls. “I’m sure the judge won’t see it—”

“You think I don’t know about David’s DUI?” she cut in, her tone sharp and measured. “Or that you were already sleeping with him when I was pregnant? It’s not the same, but don’t be a hypocrite.”

Gabriel’s carefully curated composure cracked for a moment. His mouth opened, then closed. “You never said anything,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

“Because our son comes first.” Margot softened, glancing at Lucas through the car window. He was making Iron Man fly in slow circles, blissfully unaware. “You love that boy. And I may not personally like David, but he’s great with him. I don’t judge him for his past—or for falling in love with an asshole.”

For a moment, Gabriel stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he laughed softly, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. “You always could put me in my place,” he admitted. “It’s why I thought... if anyone could make me normal—”

“Gabe.” Her tone gentled, though her words held a wry smile. “Even if you were straight, you’d never be normal.”

He chuckled faintly, shaking his head. But when he looked at her again, his gaze was serious. “Margot, just... be careful. You’re a good mom. You’ve worked hard for this life. Don’t throw it away for a few nights with Hollywood’s bad boy.”

Through the window, Lucas made swooshing noises, utterly absorbed in his play. Margot saw him as Gabriel must: their son, the best part of them both, fragile and innocent in ways neither of them had ever been.

“Goodbye, Gabe.” She turned toward the car, the embroidered cuff brushing against her wrist. “I’ll keep you updated on Lucas.”

As she slid into the driver’s seat, Lucas waved enthusiastically through the window, blowing kisses. Gabriel stood by the curb, watching them pull away, a shadow of concern etched into his features.

Chapter Text

Gabriel and David’s Kitchen

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Gabriel and David's minimalist kitchen, illuminating the gleaming marble countertops and chrome fixtures. Gabriel paced back and forth, his movements sharp and agitated, a stark contrast to David, who sat perched on a sleek barstool, sipping espresso from a demitasse cup.

"She's getting involved with him," Gabriel snapped, gesturing vaguely toward the air, as though Robert Downey Jr. were an omnipresent specter haunting their lives. "Of all people. It's reckless. It's...irresponsible."

David raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow, setting his cup down with deliberate calm. "Honey, he's sober, she's sober. What exactly is the problem?"

Gabriel spun on his heel to face him, his expression taut. "I don't need a man like that around my son."

There was a pause as David regarded him with a knowing look, the kind of look that unnerved Gabriel more than he'd ever admit. David folded his hands neatly on the counter, tilting his head slightly.

"Is it really about that?" David said, his voice laced with an undercurrent of amusement. "Or is it that you're worried Lucas likes him more than you? Because, let's face it, he's literally Iron Man."

Gabriel opened his mouth, but no words came out immediately. He closed it again, his jaw tightening as he folded his arms.

"It's not..." he started, but David didn't let him finish.

"Or," David continued, his tone turning sharper, "is it that you can't control Margot anymore? Like you did for those few months back when you first met her?"

Gabriel flinched at the accusation, but David pressed on, rising gracefully from the stool and crossing the kitchen to stand in front of him.

"When I met you," David said, his voice quieter now but no less cutting, "you had that poor soul falling at your feet, even though you knew you were playing for the other team. You used her, Gabriel. And now that she's finally moving on, you can't stand it. Admit it."

"I didn't—" Gabriel began, his voice rising defensively.

"Didn't what?" David cut in smoothly, his piercing gaze locking onto Gabriel's. "Didn't know you were gay? Please. Spare me. You knew exactly what you were doing, and now you're just mad that she's no longer dancing to your tune."

Gabriel turned away sharply, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. "It's not about control," he said through gritted teeth. "It's about what's best for Lucas."

David let out a soft laugh, not unkind but clearly disbelieving. "If that were true, you'd be happy she's found someone stable, someone who clearly cares about her and isn't, oh, I don't know, using her as a beard while spiraling out of control."

Gabriel's shoulders tensed, but he said nothing.

David sighed, stepping closer and placing a gentle but firm hand on Gabriel's arm. "Look, I know you feel guilty," he said, his voice softer now. "You should. But trying to sabotage Margot and Robert because you're insecure or bitter? That's not going to fix anything. And it's certainly not going to help Lucas."

Gabriel pulled away, his expression unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes.

"Think about it," David said, returning to his stool and picking up his espresso cup as though the conversation had never happened. "Because from where I'm sitting, the only person standing in the way of Lucas having a happy, stable family is you."

Gabriel didn't respond. Instead, he turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving David to sip his coffee in peace. The sound of the front door closing echoed through the house, and David sighed, shaking his head.

"Drama queen," he muttered under his breath, but there was no malice in the words.

Tuesday Night - After Wrap (10:30 PM)

The house is quiet when Robert arrives with Vietnamese food from that little place on Sunset. Margot meets him at the door, barefoot in yoga pants and an oversized sweater, her makeup long since washed away.

"Lucas go down okay?" He keeps his voice low, following her to the kitchen.

"Finally. Though apparently I've ruined his life by saying no to a gecko." She starts pulling plates from the cabinet. "Thirty minutes of negotiations, and he still thinks he's wearing me down."

"Kid's got producer genes." Robert sets down the food bags. "Persistence is key."

"Don't encourage him." But she's smiling as she unpacks the containers. "How was the night shoot?"

"Brutal. Though..." He pauses, watching her arrange the food. "Not as brutal as some of those industry events growing up. You know the type - everyone pretending they're having the time of their lives while sizing each other up?"

Something shifts in the air between them. Margot's hands still over the containers. She remembers her first industry party - fifteen, terrified, and trying desperately to live up to her father's expectations. The bathroom where she'd first tried cocaine, encouraged by one of her father's starlets. The way Henri had found her later, eyes blazing with disappointment as he lectured her about discretion and image, all while the distinctive smell of marijuana clung to his designer suit.

"Yeah," she says carefully. "I know exactly the type."

They settle onto the kitchen stools, food spread between them. Robert notices how she positions herself - perfect posture despite the hour, an unconscious elegance that speaks of years of training.

"Your dad..." he starts, then hesitates.

"Was a dictator in designer clothes?" Her smile is sharp. "The great Henri Delacroix, genius french director, treating every social interaction like a scene that needed blocking." She catches herself using her french accent on his name before she forces it back to neutral. "God forbid I embarrass him by being imperfect."

"How old were you? When it started?"

"The expectations? From birth, probably. But the real pressure..." She pushes rice around her plate. "I was seven when he decided I needed to be the perfect director's daughter. Charm school, posture lessons, endless lectures about proper behavior. Fifteen when he caught me using Coke and told me how much of a disappointment I was. Then he'd show up to events high as a kite and throw champagne at waiters."

Robert's quiet for a moment. "My dad thought it was hilarious to get me high at parties. Called it 'social lubrication.' I was six the first time."

"Six?" Her fork clatters against the plate.

"Yeah. Wanted me to be the life of the party, his entertaining kid who could make all the adults laugh. Until I couldn't stop laughing, or crying, or whatever the drugs decided I should do that night." He takes a sip of his sparkling cider. "But hey, at least I was funny, right?"

"At least you were allowed to be something," Margot says softly. "I just had to be perfect. Silent unless spoken to. Charming when required. The proud daughter of French cinema's great auteur." Her voice drips with sarcasm on the last word. "I changed my name the day I left Paris. Dropped it from my credits. He still hasn't forgiven me."

"But you got out."

"We both did." She meets his eyes. "Though some exits were more spectacular than others."

"You've read the headlines?"

"Hard to miss." She doesn't look away. "You've heard the whispers about Henri Delacroix's cocaine-addicted daughter?"

"Caught a few."

They sit with that for a moment, the weight of their shared understanding filling the kitchen.

"Lucas asked for a bedtime story about Iron Man tonight," Margot says finally, her voice lighter. "Wanted to know if the suit could fight dinosaurs."

Robert lets her change the subject, recognizing the gesture for what it is - not an end to the conversation, but a pause. A breath between revelations.

"And what was your professional opinion on Iron Man versus T-Rex?"

"Oh, I told him to ask the expert next time." She stands, gathering their empty plates. "You're the one with the suit, after all."

The kitchen is clean now, dishes humming in the washer. They've migrated to the living room couch, the space between them smaller than when the evening began. Robert's hand rests on Margot's knee, thumb tracing absent patterns that send warmth through her yoga pants.

"Can I stay?" His voice is soft, intimate. His other hand brushes her cheek, and she leans into the touch. "I'll make you both breakfast. My eggs benedict are legendary."

Margot's laugh is quiet, careful not to carry up the stairs. "That's what you're leading with? Your breakfast skills?"

"Among other talents." He kisses her neck, just below her ear, and feels her shiver. "I could demonstrate those first, if you prefer."

She turns to capture his lips with hers, a kiss that holds promise and heat and something deeper neither of them is ready to name. When they break apart, her fingers are twisted in his shirt.

"I want you to," she whispers against his mouth. "God, Robert, I want..." She pulls back slightly, reality reasserting itself. "But Lucas doesn't know yet. About us. About any of this."

"He likes me," Robert says, though he's already sitting up straighter, giving her space.

"He likes Iron Man," Margot corrects, but her smile is fond. "And yes, he likes you too. But this is different. Going from 'Mom's friend from work' to..." She gestures between them.

"To the guy at breakfast?" His tone is light, but his eyes are serious. "I get it. He needs to hear it from you first."

"I have Thursday off. I'm taking him to that dinosaur exhibit he's been begging to go back to again. Going to make a whole day of it." She runs a hand through her hair. "I thought... maybe that would be a good time?"

Robert stands reluctantly, and Margot rises with him. They both know what it's like to have parents who put their own desires first. The damage that does.

"Thursday," he says, pulling her close for one last embrace. "That's good. Smart."

They walk to her front door together, hands linked until the last moment. Robert gathers his keys from the entry table while Margot leans against the wall, watching him.

"I really do want you to stay," she says quietly.

"I know." He kisses her once more, gentle now. "But we're doing this right. For the kids."

"Yeah," she agrees.

She watches from the doorway until he reaches his car, then closes and locks up for the night. Upstairs, she peeks into Lucas's room. He's sprawled across his bed, one arm wrapped around the stuffed T-Rex.

They're doing this right. Even if right means an empty bed tonight, even if it means waiting a little longer. Some things are worth doing properly.

Still, as she climbs into her own bed, she can't help but smile, thinking of eggs benedict and other promised talents.

Wednesday

Robert's trailer is cluttered with the usual filming detritus - half-empty coffee cups, scattered sides, a garment rack of Tony Stark's impeccable suits. Indio sprawls on the small couch, demolishing his third slice of pizza while Robert picks at a salad, still in full costume minus the jacket.

"You're getting sauce everywhere," Robert observes.

"You're eating leaves," Indio shoots back with typical teenage disdain, then smirks. "Margot said you actually turned down donuts yesterday. That's weird, even for you."

Robert pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. "You and Margot talk about my eating habits?"

"Well I mean just a little. You already know she was showing me around set a few weeks ago when you were doing that explosion scene like fifty times." He wipes his hands on a napkin. "I told you she knows Dead Kennedys, Dad. Like, actually knows them, not fake knows them. And she told me about these French punk bands that sound sick."

"Yeah, about Margot..." Robert sets down his fork. "We've been spending time together. Outside of work."

"You mean like dating?" Indio straightens up, suddenly interested. "For real?"

"Getting there. Wanted to talk to you about it first."

"Is that why you're being all weird and serious?" Indio rolls his eyes, pure teenager. "She's way cooler than most of the people you work with. At least she doesn't do that thing where they talk to me like I'm five or try to pretend they care about my music just because of who you are."

"That's... surprisingly insightful."

"I'm fifteen, not stupid." He reaches for another slice of pizza. "She was telling me about her kid too. Lucas, right? Said he's super into Iron Man, which is pretty funny."

Robert blinks. "She mentioned Lucas?"

"Yeah, she showed me some pictures on her phone." He grins. "She said he's learning about real music early, not like the Disney stuff you tortured me with forever."

"Hey, you loved those Disney songs."

"I was five!" But he's laughing. "So like... are you gonna tell people? About you and Margot?"

"We're taking it slow. Margot is telling Lucas tomorrow, and you... we wanted to talk to you kids first."

Indio absorbs this, chewing thoughtfully. "That's... that's pretty cool actually. That you guys thought about us first." He tries to sound casual, but Robert catches the note of appreciation in his voice.

There's a knock at the door. "Mr. Downey? They're ready for you on set."

"Be right there!" He stands, shrugging back into his jacket. "You heading out?"

"Yeah, Mom's picking me up. We've got that thing at school." He stuffs one last piece of pizza in his mouth. "But uh... Margot's cool, Dad. Like, actually cool. Don't mess it up by being... you know. You."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence."

"I mean it in a good way!" Indio grabs his backpack. "Just... she's different. Not all Hollywood fake, you know?"

Robert watches his son head for the door, struck by these glimpses of maturity between the typical teenage moments. "Since when did you get so observant?"

"Since always. You just never notice because you're too busy being weird about your coffee orders." He grins. "Margot's right about those too, by the way. Nobody needs that many specifications for coffee."

"Get out of my trailer."

Indio's laugh echoes behind him as he leaves. Robert straightens his tie in the mirror, unable to keep from smiling. Two important conversations down, both better than he could have hoped. Even if his son still thinks he's weird.

Thursday Evening

"Can we go back to set tomorrow?" Lucas asked from the backseat, his dinosaur backpack clutched in his lap. "Robert said he'd show me how the Iron Man suit works and it's been forever since I was there last time."

Margot glanced at him in the rearview mirror. The sunset painted everything golden, including Lucas's hopeful expression. "Not tomorrow, baby. Tomorrow's a location shoot." She hesitated, then added, "You really like Robert, don't you?"

"He's the coolest!" Lucas bounced in his seat. "Did you know he can build a fort using just chairs and blankets? And he does all the voices when he reads stories, even the scary ones. And he knows about velociraptors!"

She pulled into their driveway, killing the engine but not moving to get out. "Hey, Lucas? Can Mommy ask you something important?"

"Okay." He hugged his backpack closer, suddenly serious in that way only five-year-olds could be.

"You know how Robert is my friend from work?"

Lucas nodded. "Yeah! It's pretty cool that you can be friends with Iron Man!"

"Well... what would you think if Robert was my special friend?"

Lucas went quiet for a moment, his little face scrunched in thought. Then, with the startling directness of a child: "Like how David is Daddy's special friend? Will you kiss and sleep in the same bed?"

Margot nearly choked on air. Trust her son to cut right to the heart of it. "Um, well... maybe. Would that be okay with you?"

Lucas considered this very seriously. "Does this mean Robert will come to our house to build forts?"

"If you want him to, yes."

"And he'll have breakfast with us like David does at Daddy's house?"

"Sometimes, probably."

A huge grin spread across his face. "Can he make special pancakes? Like ones with faces?"

Margot laughed, relief flooding through her. "I'm sure he'd love to."

"Then yes!" Lucas was bouncing again. "Can we tell him now? Can we call him? Please?"

"It's dinner time, mon coeur. But maybe we can text him after—"

"Can you tell him about my new T-Rex? He said T-Rex is his favorite too, which is crazy because most grown-ups like the boring dinosaurs."

Her phone buzzed with perfect timing: On my way home. Miss my favorite producer. And my favorite dinosaur expert.

She read the text to Lucas, who beamed with pride.

"He's the best," Lucas declared with absolute certainty. Then, with that same disarming directness: "Does this mean he can be my friend too?"

Margot's heart did a funny little flip. "Yeah, mon ceur. I think he'd like that very much."

First Saturday Together

The morning sun streams through Margot's kitchen windows as she measures coffee grounds, trying not to watch the clock. Lucas sits at the counter, legs swinging, thoroughly engrossed in his dinosaur encyclopedia.

"Mom," he says without looking up, "did you know that some dinosaurs had feathers? Like birds?"

"Mm-hmm." She starts the coffee maker, grateful for the familiar ritual to steady her hands.

Lucas turns a page, then looks up suddenly. "Is Robert still coming over?"

"Yes, he'll be here soon."

"Good." Lucas nods seriously. "Because I need to ask him about the T-Rex sounds. He promised he knew the real ones."

The doorbell rings, and Lucas nearly falls off his stool in excitement. "He's here! Can I open it? Please?"

"Together," Margot says firmly, though her own heart is racing for entirely different reasons. This isn't Robert the colleague or even Robert her lover – this is Robert stepping into their Saturday routine, into their carefully built world.

Lucas bounces beside her as she opens the door. Robert stands there in casual clothes – jeans and a soft henley – holding a paper bag from their favorite bakery and what looks suspiciously like a new Lego set.

"Good morning," he starts, but Lucas cuts him off.

"Did you really bring croissants? Mom says the ones from Pierre's are the only good ones in LA because everywhere else doesn't make them right and—" He spots the Lego box. "Is that the Quinjet? The one we talked about? Really?"

Robert catches Margot's eye over Lucas's head, his smile both amused and slightly nervous. "Really. Though maybe we should let your mom have her coffee first?"

Lucas grabs Robert's free hand, pulling him inside with five-year-old determination. "Mom already started the coffee! And I've been reading about dinosaurs and I have questions about the sounds and—"

"Breathe, mon cœur," Margot interrupts gently. "Let Robert at least get inside."

Robert sets the bakery bag on the counter, then presents the Lego set to Lucas with appropriate ceremony. "I thought maybe we could build this together? If your mom doesn't mind us taking over her living room?"

Lucas looks at Margot with pleading eyes. "Please? I'll clean up all the pieces after and everything!"

"As long as you eat breakfast first," she agrees, already pulling plates from the cabinet. "Real breakfast, not just croissants."

"But Mom..."

"Your mom's right, buddy," Robert cuts in smoothly. "Can't build a Quinjet on an empty stomach. Besides," he stage-whispers, "she gets scary when she hasn't had her coffee yet."

"I heard that." But Margot's smiling as she pours two cups of coffee, adding a splash of oat milk to Robert's – she's learned his preferences over the past weeks.

Lucas accepts the compromise with minimal grumbling, especially once Robert produces chocolate-filled croissants from Pierre's ("The only acceptable ones in LA," he quotes with a wink at Margot). They settle into a surprisingly comfortable breakfast routine, Lucas alternating between huge bites of scrambled eggs and rapid-fire questions about dinosaurs, the Quinjet, and whether Iron Man could beat a Velociraptor in a fight.

"Well," Robert says thoughtfully, "the suit's pretty tough, but Raptors were smart hunters. They worked in packs..."

Margot watches them, something warm unfurling in her chest. Robert handles Lucas's enthusiasm with easy grace, never talking down to him, treating each question with the same serious consideration whether it's about aerospace engineering or dinosaur noises.

After breakfast, Lucas helps clear the dishes – a minor miracle Margot attributes entirely to his eagerness to start the Lego project. As she loads the dishwasher, she hears them in the living room, Robert helping Lucas sort pieces into piles.

"Okay, so first we need to build the base structure," Robert's saying. "See how these pieces connect? It's like a puzzle, but we're building it up instead of flat."

"Can we make the wings move like in the movie?"

"That's what these special pieces are for. But we have to be patient, build it step by step..."

Margot joins them, curling up in her favorite armchair with her second coffee. Lucas is sprawled on his stomach on the floor, tongue poking out in concentration as he follows Robert's guidance. Robert sits cross-legged beside him, occasionally reaching over to help with a particularly tricky piece.

"Mom!" Lucas calls after a while. "Look! We did the cockpit!"

"It's looking great, mon cœur."

"Robert says we can paint it later if we want. Can we? Please?"

She catches Robert's eye. "We'll see. Maybe next weekend?"

Lucas beams at the implication of more weekends like this. "Yes! And maybe we can watch a movie after?"

"Only if you help clean up all these pieces first," Margot says firmly.

"I will! I promise!" He turns back to Robert. "What's this piece for?"

The morning melts into afternoon. They order pizza for lunch, eating it picnic-style on the floor while Lucas explains the intricate plot of his latest dinosaur story. Robert listens with genuine interest, asking questions that send Lucas into new spirals of imagination.

It's so natural, so easy, that Margot almost forgets to be nervous until she catches Lucas watching them during a quiet moment. She's settled on the floor now too, leaning slightly against Robert's shoulder as they help Lucas attach the final pieces.

"Mom?" Lucas says suddenly.

"Yes, mon cœur?"

"Is Robert going to be here for movie night too?"

Margot feels Robert tense slightly beside her. "Would you like him to be?"

Lucas nods, then adds with five-year-old logic, "And maybe he can sleep over sometimes? Because Daddy has sleepovers with David, and you are happier when Robert is around."

The innocence of the question hangs in the air for a moment. Robert's hand finds Margot's, squeezing gently.

"Well," Margot starts carefully, "we're taking things slow, mon cœur. But yes, sometimes Robert might stay for movie night. And maybe, eventually, for breakfast too."

"Like today!" Lucas beams. "And he can help me build more Legos? And tell me about dinosaurs?"

"As long as your mom is okay with it," Robert says, his voice warm. "And as long as you keep helping clean up all these pieces like you promised."

Lucas scrambles to his feet, suddenly energized. "I'll clean up right now! And then we can watch a movie? Please?"

Margot laughs, the tension breaking. "Yes, we can watch a movie. But first..." She pulls Lucas into a hug, pressing a kiss to his curls. "Thank you for being such a wonderful boy today."

As Lucas begins carefully sorting Lego pieces into piles, chattering about which movie scenes they need to pay special attention to, Robert leans close to Margot.

"That went better than expected," he murmurs.

"He makes it easy," she whispers back. "He's got a good heart."

"Like his mom." Robert's thumb traces patterns on her palm where their hands are still joined. "Though I have to say, I'm a little concerned about my reputation. First Indio thinks I'm weird about coffee, now Lucas is critiquing my dinosaur knowledge..."

"Welcome to the family," Margot says softly, then catches herself, heart racing at the implication.

But Robert just smiles, bringing their joined hands to his lips. "Wouldn't want to be anywhere else."

Late Night, Robert's Kitchen

"Shh," Margot pressed a finger to his lips, laughing as he backed her against the fridge. "You'll wake Indio."

"He sleeps like the dead," Robert murmured against her neck. "And has headphones." His hands slid under her—his—borrowed t-shirt, fingers tracing patterns on her skin. "Besides, you started it."

"I did not. All I did was reach for the water—"

"Looking like that."

"I'm wearing your old Steely Dan T-shirt and sweatpants."

"Exactly." His eyes darkened as he took her in, the way the worn fabric draped over her curves, how she'd rolled the waistband of his sweats to make them fit. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him down to show him exactly what he did to her too.

Afternoon, Margot's Office

"This is incredibly unprofessional," she gasped as Robert locked her office door, the click echoing in the suddenly charged air.

"Completely." He pulled her into his lap on her couch, one hand sliding up her spine. "Terribly inappropriate for a producer to have a closed-door meeting with her star."

"We have actual work to discuss—" Her protest dissolved into a soft moan as his lips found her pulse point.

His mouth found that spot behind her ear that made her shiver. "We can multitask."

Her fingers fumbled with his tie. "The budget meeting—"

"Can wait." He captured her mouth with his, swallowing her next protest.

The budget spreadsheets remained untouched on her desk.

Morning, Robert's Bedroom

Margot traced lazy patterns on his chest, watching the sunrise paint shadows across his skin. The sheets pooled around their waists, and she couldn't resist pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "I should go. Early production meeting."

"Stay." His voice was rough with sleep as he caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. "Five more minutes."

"That's what you said an hour ago." But she was already melting into him as his other hand drew circles on her hip.

He pulled her closer, nuzzling into her hair. "Time is relative."

"That doesn't even make sense." She laughed against his skin.

"You make me nonsensical." His hands wandered lower, making her gasp. "It's very inconvenient."

The production meeting started without her.

Midnight, Robert's Pool

"This is insane," Margot whispered, but she was already slipping into the water, the hem of his borrowed shirt floating around her thighs.

Robert pulled her close, the water cool around them as starlight danced on the surface. "Spontaneous midnight swim? This is positively tame for me."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?" But she was smiling as she wound her arms around his neck.

His laugh echoed across the water, low and intimate. "Live a little, Bennett."

Under the stars, with his hands on her waist and his smile against her lips, she let herself be just a little bit reckless. The water lapped at their skin as he pressed her against the pool wall, her legs wrapping around his waist.

"Someone could see," she murmured, but her fingers were already threading through his wet hair.

"Let them." He kissed her deeply, tasting of chlorine and desire. "You're worth the risk."

Evening, Margot's Living Room

"The kids are back tomorrow," Robert said quietly, playing with her fingers as they lay tangled on her couch. The TV murmured in the background, some old movie neither of them was watching.

"Mm." She was half-asleep on his chest, content in the warmth of him. "Lucas hasn't stopped talking about the fort you promised to build."

"Think we can keep this up? The sneaking around?" His thumb traced circles on her palm.

She tilted her head to look at him, caught by the vulnerability in his eyes. "Having second thoughts?"

"About you? Never." He kissed her temple, lingering there. "About my ability to keep my hands to myself when you're being all producer-ly and competent on set? That might be a problem."

"Your self-control is terrible." But she pressed closer, fitting herself more snugly against him.

"You love it." His smile was soft, almost wondering.

She did. The realization should have scared her more than it did.

Dawn, Margot's Kitchen

"We need rules," she said, watching him make coffee in nothing but low-slung sweatpants. The morning light caught the muscles in his back, and she had to force herself to focus.

"Absolutely." He handed her a mug, stepping close enough that she could feel his warmth. "Rule one: no rules before coffee."

"I'm serious." But she leaned into him anyway. "No obvious flirting on set. No lingering touches. No meaningful looks—"

He kissed her, tasting of coffee and possibility, his hands spanning her waist. "No promises."

Any Time, Every Time

Stolen kisses between takes, hidden behind equipment trucks and in shadowy corners. Fingers brushing as they passed coffee cups, electricity sparking at each touch. Secret smiles across crowded rooms, a language only they understood. Text messages that made them both blush, phones quickly tucked away when others got too close. Late night phone calls that turned into early morning conversations, neither wanting to be the first to hang up.

Her hand on his arm in production meetings, professional but lingering just a second too long. His eyes following her across the set, dark with promises for later. Notes left in unexpected places - her script, his trailer, folded into coffee cups. The way he said her name when they were alone, like it was something precious. The way she touched his face in quiet moments, memorizing him with her fingers.

Moments carved out of busy lives, precious and private. Their own little world, safe from prying eyes and wagging tongues. A bubble of just them, where his past and her fears couldn't touch them.

For now.

But the real world was waiting. It always was.

---

"Cut! Reset for another take." Jon's voice boomed across the soundstage.

Margot stood at the edge of the set, ostensibly reviewing production notes but actually watching Robert run through his marks. He caught her eye between setups, that private half-smile making her stomach flip despite her best efforts to maintain professional distance.

"Ms. Bennett?" A PA appeared at her elbow. "They need you in the production office."

"I'll be right there." She gathered her papers, very deliberately not looking at Robert as he shrugged back into his Tony Stark persona, all swagger and sharp wit.

"Actually," his voice carried across the set, casual enough to seem incidental, "I had a question about that scene revision for tomorrow. Mind if I steal a minute of your time first?"

Several crew members glanced up—it wasn't unusual for the star to consult with a producer, but something in his tone made Margot's pulse quicken.

"Five minutes," she told the PA, then followed Robert toward the maze of trailers, maintaining a careful professional distance.

The moment they rounded the corner, hidden from view, his hand caught her wrist, pulling her into the narrow space between two trailers. Her back hit the metal wall as his mouth found hers, hot and urgent.

"This is—" she gasped between kisses, "—incredibly unprofessional."

"Completely," he agreed, hands sliding under her blazer. "Terribly inappropriate."

"Anyone could—" His teeth grazed her neck and she lost her train of thought.

"Could what?" His voice was rough against her skin. "See the dedicated producer discussing important script changes with her very focused lead actor?"

"Is that what we're calling this now?"

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, that familiar intensity making her breath catch. "We can call it whatever you want, as long as you don't stop looking at me like that when you think no one's watching."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to eat me alive."

She yanked him back down to her, swallowing his low chuckle with another kiss. His hands tangled in her hair, carefully mussed to look precisely unmussed.

A door slammed somewhere nearby and they froze, suddenly remembering where they were. Margot pressed her forehead to his chest, trying to catch her breath.

"We need to be more careful," she murmured.

"Probably." But he didn't move away, just kept running his fingers through her hair. "Though I gotta say, sneaking around is kind of hot."

She pinched his side. "You're impossible."

"You like it." He pressed one more quick kiss to her lips before stepping back, helping her straighten her clothes. "Dinner tonight?"

"Can't. Lucas is back from Gabriel's."

"Bring him. Indio is going to be around. We'll order pizza, play some board games."

The casual way he included their kids made something warm unfurl in her chest. "You sure?"

"About spending time with my three favorite people? Always." He gave her that crooked smile that never failed to make her heart skip. "Now go be professional and producer-ly. I'll be here, definitely not thinking about that thing you did with your tongue last night."

She swatted his arm, fighting a smile as she stepped back into the sunlight. "Scene revision for tomorrow?"

"Oh right." His eyes danced with mischief. "I lied about that. Totally made it up."

"Impossible," she repeated, but she was grinning as she walked away.

Behind her, she heard him laughing as he headed back to set, both of them unaware that in a few short weeks, their carefully maintained secret would explode across every tabloid in town.

For now, though, they had this—stolen moments between takes, shared smiles across crowded sets, and the delicious thrill of a secret worth keeping.

---

"Hey buddy," Robert caught Indio in the hallway after school. "Got plans tonight?"

Indio shrugged, that trademark teenage nonchalance in full effect. "Maybe. Why?"

"Margot and Lucas are coming over. Pizza night. Thought you might want to join instead of hiding in your room with your PlayStation."

"Lucas is coming?" Something shifted in Indio's expression.

"Yeah." Robert kept his tone casual, though his heart did a funny little flip at his son's interest. "He's pretty torn up about missing your high score on Mario Kart."

"He's not bad. For a little kid." Indio adjusted his backpack, trying and failing to hide a smile. "Did he tell you he knows all the dinosaur names? Like, the scientific ones?"

"He might have mentioned it. Once or twice. Or fifty times."

"And he's bringing Jenga?"

"Obviously. Can't have pizza night without Jenga."

Indio pretended to consider it, though Robert could tell he'd already decided. "I guess I could hang out. For a bit. If you're ordering from Giovanni's."

"Extra cheese, light sauce, exactly three pepperoni per slice?" Robert quoted his son's usual order from memory.

"Maybe put some on the side too. Lucas likes to arrange his own toppings." Indio said it casually, but Robert noted how he'd remembered the younger boy's preference. "He's weird about food touching, like—" He stopped abruptly.

"Like you used to be?" Robert finished softly.

"Yeah." Indio shifted uncomfortably, then brightened. "Hey, can we do Monopoly after? Lucas said he's never played with the proper rules."

"Sure, but fair warning—Margot's ruthless with real estate."

"Good." Indio grinned. "Maybe she can finally give you some real competition."

---

"Pizza and Jenga night was definitely your best idea yet," Robert said, carefully sliding a block from the middle of the tower. The warm kitchen smelled of garlic and melted cheese, their empty plates pushed aside to make room for the game.

Margot topped off her sparkling water, watching Lucas study the tower with almost comical intensity. "I'd take credit, but this one's all Lucas. He's very specific about his game nights."

"Very specific about everything," Indio chimed in, but his tone was affectionate. He'd warmed up to the younger boy quickly, something that surprised and delighted both Robert and Margot.

Lucas ignored them all, circling the table like a tiny engineer examining a structural problem. He stopped, tilted his head slightly, then reached for a block on the third row up.

Robert felt something stir in his memory—a flash of recognition so brief he almost missed it. The head tilt, the way Lucas's fingers drummed once, twice against the table before committing to his move...

"Dad?" Indio's voice broke through his thoughts. "Your turn. Unless you're surrendering?"

"In your dreams, kid." Robert turned his attention back to the game, the moment of déjà vu slipping away like water through his fingers.

But later, after Lucas had successfully toppled the tower ("It's not losing if you make it fall with style!") and they'd moved on to setting up Monopoly, Robert caught Indio watching Lucas with an odd expression.

"What?" he asked quietly.

Indio shook his head. "Nothing. Just... reminded me of something." But he didn't elaborate, and soon the moment was lost in the chaos of property trading and playful accusations of cheating.

Family Day

The October sun cast long shadows across Margot's well-manicured lawn as Robert's car pulled into the driveway. She watched through the kitchen window, her body instantly humming with awareness. After several weeks of stolen moments and heated nights, including last night's particularly memorable encounter in his trailer, maintaining appropriate distance today would be... challenging.

Marie's Sunday afternoon off meant the house felt unusually quiet, making Margot even more conscious of Robert's imminent presence. She'd spent the morning helping Lucas "organize" his room – which mostly meant ensuring his dinosaur collection wouldn't completely overwhelm Indio's first visit to their home.

"Iron Man is here!" Lucas's excited voice snapped her firmly back to mom-mode as he pressed his face against the window beside her. He caught himself, "I mean Robert. And Indio!" The five-year-old had been practicing using their real names all morning, determined to be as "grown up" as Indio, who he'd been talking about non-stop since their last movie night at Robert's.

"Remember what we talked about, mon petit?" She ran a hand through his dark curls, grateful for the distraction from memories of last night.

"Be cool," Lucas recited. "Don't jump on them like a dinosaur. Even though Indio said last time that my T-Rex impression was really good."

The doorbell rang, and Lucas was off like a shot. "I'll get it!"

"Lucas, wait—" Margot caught up just as he flung open the door.

"Hey," Robert said, voice pitched low enough that only she could hear the roughness in it. He was wearing the grey henley she loved, and the sight of him so casually dressed in her doorway made something warm unfurl in her chest.

"Hi," she managed, forcing herself to maintain appropriate distance. The knowing glint in his eyes told her he was remembering exactly why she was having trouble meeting his gaze.

Lucas broke the charged moment. "Indio! Want to see my dinosaur collection? I organized them by era and everything! It's even better than the ones at your dad's house!"

Indio glanced at his father, who gave an imperceptible nod. The teenager shrugged, but Margot caught the slight upturn of his mouth – the same expression he'd worn when Lucas had insisted on showing him every single Iron Man action figure last weekend. "Sure, kid. Lead the way."

Before anyone could say another word, Lucas had grabbed Indio's hand and was pulling him toward the stairs, chattering about Velociraptors. Indio allowed himself to be led, his initial teenage coolness softening into the genuine affection he seemed to be developing for his father's girlfriend's enthusiastic son.

As soon as the boys disappeared upstairs, Robert stepped into the doorway, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Hi," he said again, softer. The house seemed to shrink around them, the air charging with the same electricity that had filled his trailer last night.

"We need to behave," she murmured, even as her body swayed toward his automatically. "The kids—"

"Are upstairs," he finished, hand finding her waist in that way that made her breath catch. His thumb traced the strip of bare skin where her shirt had ridden up. "I can behave."

His kiss proved that was a lie – what was meant to be a quick hello carried all the electricity of their recent nights together. Her fingers curled into his shirt automatically as his other hand slid into her hair, and for a dangerous moment she forgot where they were, lost in the addictive taste of him. He tasted like coffee and possibility, and she could feel him smiling against her lips.

A crash from upstairs followed by Lucas's "It's okay! That was supposed to happen!" broke them apart. They stepped back quickly, both breathing harder than a simple hello kiss warranted. From upstairs came Indio's voice, "Maybe we should put the fossils on the lower shelf, buddy."

Neither of them noticed the glint of a camera lens in the bushes across the street, capturing their decidedly not-behaving moment. Tomorrow's tabloids would force them to confront exactly what was building between them – this thing that had started as attraction and was rapidly becoming something neither of them had planned for.

Inside, the sound of Lucas's excited chatter echoed from upstairs, punctuated by what sounded like Indio's patient "uh-huhs." Margot stepped back from Robert, smoothing her hair with slightly shaky hands. The house still smelled like the cookies she and Lucas had baked that morning – a domestic detail that made this moment feel both perfectly normal and absolutely terrifying in its intimacy.

"We should..." She gestured vaguely upstairs, trying to ignore how his eyes had darkened at her unconscious lip bite.

"Probably." But his eyes lingered on her mouth, and she could see him fighting the urge to kiss her again. "Though I should warn you—you have some of my stubble burn right here." His thumb brushed her jaw, the touch far too intimate for their current situation.

"Robert," she warned, though she couldn't help leaning into his touch. The sound of the boys laughing upstairs made her heart twist with an emotion she wasn't ready to name.

Chapter Text

The next morning 6:30 am

She was already awake, had been since 5:15 when her publicist's first call came through. The headline splashed across her TV screen made her stomach clench: "IRON MAN'S NEW LEADING LADY?" Below it, a series of photos showed yesterday's doorway kiss in excruciating detail, along with shots of Robert and Indio leaving her house at dusk.

Her phone buzzed again. Robert this time: You okay?

Before she could respond, another message: Also, you should know my doorstep looks like a paparazzi convention.

"Mommy?" Lucas's sleepy voice made her jump. He stood in the doorway of her bedroom, dinosaur pajamas rumpled, curls wild. "Why are you up? Is it time for school?"

"No, mon petit." She quickly muted the TV. "It's still early. Come here."

He climbed into bed with her, snuggling close. "I had fun yesterday. Indio knows lots about taking pictures. He says maybe next time he can bring his real camera and teach me more about... photography and documentation."

Next time. Her heart squeezed. She pressed a kiss to his curls, buying time before having to burst his bubble about the likelihood of a peaceful next time anytime soon.

Her phone buzzed again. Jon: Don't read the comments. I mean it. Also, coming over with coffee and damage control. ETA 20 min.

But she was already opening the tabloid page to read. Of course she was. The comments section was a cesspool of old ghosts and newer demons:

"Isn't this the French director's daughter who OD'd at Chateau Marmont?"
"Like father like son - RDJ always goes for the party girls"
"Wait, is this the same chick from that photo outside Viper Room in '02?"
"Wow, he was still married to Deborah then... guess some things never change"
"Timeline adds up perfectly with her kid's birth... just saying..."

That last comment made her freeze. There was a link, and against her better judgment, she clicked it. The photo hit her like a physical blow – her and Robert outside the Viper Room, both clearly high, locked in a heated embrace against a wall. 2002. The height of both their addictions. She had no memory of this night, of him, of any of it. And he had been married. The thought made her stomach turn.

Then came the sickening realization – she'd started dating Gabriel right after that. Those few weeks were a blur of parties and blackouts. Lucas was born nine months later. She'd always assumed... but with so much of that time lost to substances...

Her phone buzzed again. Gabriel. Just saw the Viper Room photo. What the FUCK, Margot? You never told me you knew him before Iron Man. The timing... I need answers about Lucas. NOW.

The room spun. She'd started seeing Gabriel right after that photo was taken. Lucas was born nine months later. She'd always been certain Gabriel was the father – they'd been together when she found out she was pregnant. But now, staring at photographic evidence of a night she couldn't remember with a man she thought she had met during his audition...she wasn't so sure.

"Mommy?" Lucas's voice made her jump. "You look scared. Are you okay?"

She thought of her son – Gabriel's son, she'd never questioned it – taking in his features with new, terrified eyes. Had she just never let herself see...?

Her phone rang. Robert. She answered with shaking hands.

"Did you know?" she asked before he could speak. "About the Viper Room? That we'd..."

"I just saw it. I... I had no idea. That whole year is pretty much a blur. I was still married then. Jesus." He paused. "Margot, the timing with Lucas—"

"Don't." Her voice cracked. She glanced at Lucas, who was watching her with worried eyes. "Baby, go pick out your clothes, okay? I need to talk to Robert."

Once Lucas left, she continued in a whisper: "I started seeing Gabriel less than a month after that photo. I always assumed... I was so certain... but I don't remember that night. I don't remember you. I don't remember anything from those weeks.."

"Margot—"

"I don't know what's worse," she cut in, voice shaking. "That I most likely slept with a married man and don't remember it, or that I don't know my son's father with absolute certainty anymore."

"We need to handle this carefully," Robert said, his voice tight with tension. "For Lucas's sake. For everyone involved."

"Gabriel's furious. Indio is going to hate me. Everyone's going to think—"

"Let me come over. We need to talk about this face to face."

"No." She closed her eyes against tears. "That would just make it worse. I need to... I need to talk to Gabriel. Figure out what we're going to do."

"Okay." A pause. "For what it's worth? Whatever happened that night, whatever the truth is – it doesn't change anything for me."

Her throat tightened with unshed tears. "How can you say that when we might have—"

"Mom!" Lucas called. "Uncle Jon's here! He says we need chocolate chips in the pancakes!"

"Go," Robert said softly. "Take care of him. We'll figure this out."

After they hung up, she stared at the Viper Room photo again. Two lost souls, seeking oblivion in chemicals and each other, consequences be damned. One married, one barely conscious enough to know her own name, let alone his marital status. The universe had a sick sense of humor sometimes – bringing them together at their lowest, then again now when they were finally strong enough to build something real.

Only to have their past possibly rewrite everything they thought they knew.

Taking a deep breath, she headed downstairs to face Jon's damage control, Gabriel's justified rage, and the media circus. But first: chocolate chip pancakes for her son – and maybe, if she was lucky, a moment to center herself before the storm truly hit.

The Café Confrontation

The café felt too bright, too normal for the conversation they were about to have. Margot's head still pounded from the morning's revelations, the taste of Jon's damage-control chocolate chip pancakes sitting like lead in her stomach. She'd left Lucas with Marie, his worried eyes following her to the door, too perceptive for his own good.

Gabriel was already there when she arrived, sitting rigidly at a corner table, the Viper Room photo pulled up on his tablet. The sight of it made her nauseous all over again – her younger self wrapped around a married Robert Downey Jr. A moment she couldn't remember that might have changed everything.

"You want to explain this?" Gabriel's voice was controlled, precise as he turned the tablet toward her. "Because I thought you met him during Iron Man casting."

She stared at the photo, her hands clasped tightly together to keep them from trembling. The clatter of plates and hum of conversation around them felt distant, like background noise in a nightmare she couldn't wake from.

"I don't remember that night," she said quietly. "I didn't even know Robert back then. At least, I didn't think I did. That photo blindsided me, Gabriel, the same way it did you."

His laugh was sharp, bitter. "You told me you were sure. Sure Lucas was mine." He leaned forward, voice dropping. "So what am I supposed to think now? Finding out you were with him right when—"

"I wasn't lying," she cut in, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady. "I believed he was yours because we were together when I found out. I had no reason to think—"

"Until now," Gabriel said coldly. "Two months, Margot. We were together for two months when you told me you were pregnant. And now there's a photo of you with him from that exact time period." He sat back, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. "You're sleeping with him now – how do I know this isn't some elaborate—"

"Stop." Her voice cracked. "I know this looks awful. But Lucas is five, Gabriel. He's your son. He loves you, and no matter what a test might say—"

"Don't." The word cracked like a whip. "Don't you dare tell me how I should feel or what I should do." His eyes narrowed. "You know what keeps nagging at me? Lucas was almost four weeks early. But what if he wasn't early at all? What if he was right on time?"

The implication made her stomach lurch. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that two-month timeline suddenly looks very different," he said, each word precise and cutting. "A photo surfaces of you with Robert Downey Jr. from exactly that period, and we're supposed to believe it was just one forgotten night? That the timing is just a coincidence?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came. The carefully constructed narrative she'd built her understanding around suddenly felt fragile, ready to shatter at the slightest touch.

Gabriel stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "Let's just do a test. We'll go from there."

"And if it's not what we expect?" Her voice cracked. "Are you just going to walk away from him? After five years?"

He paused, adjusting his jacket with deliberate care. When he spoke, his voice was distant, clinical. "I don't know, Margot. Let's get the test done first."

She watched him walk away, the café's cheerful atmosphere suddenly oppressive. Her phone buzzed, Marie's message pulling her back to reality: You okay? Lucas is asking for you.

Forcing her hands to stop shaking, she typed back: On my way.>

As she gathered her things, Gabriel's words echoed in her mind, sharp and unforgiving. The compressed timeline of their relationship now felt like evidence against her, another crack in the foundation of what she'd believed to be true. She couldn't afford to fall apart. Not with Lucas waiting. Not with everything hanging by such a delicate thread.

Whatever the test revealed, whatever came after, she'd face it. She'd rebuilt her life once. She could do it again if she had to.

The Clinic

The clinic's waiting room was deliberately neutral – all soft beiges and abstract art, designed to be forgettable. Margot sat beside Lucas, one hand resting protectively on his shoulder as he flipped through a worn copy of Highlights magazine. She could feel Gabriel's presence across from them, his carefully maintained distance a stark contrast to their usually comfortable co-parenting dynamic.

"Look, Mom," Lucas said, pointing to a hidden picture puzzle. "I found the pencil and the rainbow and the... what's that word?"

"Umbrella," she said softly, grateful for his innocent distraction from the weight of why they were here.

Gabriel's phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his jaw tightening, and Margot knew without asking – more press coverage. The story was everywhere now: their past collision with their present, that damning photo forcing them all to question what they thought they knew.

"When's the doctor coming?" Lucas asked, swinging his legs. His Iron Man sneakers lit up with each kick, a detail that now felt like a cruel joke.

"Soon, baby," Margot managed, catching Gabriel's flickering glance at their son's shoes. She knew what he was thinking – how many little signs had they missed? How many coincidences weren't coincidences at all?

The nurse appeared, clipboard in hand. "Stevens-Bennett?" Her smile was professional, practiced. "We're ready for you."

Lucas looked up, curiosity replacing boredom. "What kind of test is this again?"

Margot felt Gabriel tense across the room. They'd agreed to keep this simple for Lucas's sake, but every explanation felt like a potential landmine.

"Remember what I told you?" Margot said, smoothing back his curls. "It's just a quick check, like when the doctor looks in your ears. Super easy."

"With the cotton swab thing?" Lucas asked, following the nurse into the exam room.

"That's right," the nurse confirmed, her warmth genuine despite the tension radiating from both parents. "You're going to be my special helper today."

The exam room was small, forcing them into closer proximity than they'd maintained since the photo surfaced. Gabriel stood by the window, arms crossed, while Margot sat with Lucas on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath them.

"Okay, young man," the nurse said, opening a sealed package. "Open wide for me?"

Lucas complied easily, treating it like a game. The nurse worked quickly, professional and efficient. "Perfect! You're such a good helper."

When it was Gabriel's turn, he stepped forward mechanically, his movements stiff. Margot watched him avoid eye contact with everyone, especially Lucas, who was now proudly showing off his "brave patient" sticker to anyone who would look.

"All done!" The nurse's cheerfulness felt almost jarring against their shared tension. "We'll have the results as soon as possible."

"Do I get another sticker?" Lucas asked hopefully.

The nurse laughed, pulling out her collection. "Which color would you like?"

As Lucas deliberated over his choice, Gabriel finally spoke, his voice low enough for only Margot to hear. "I've asked David to handle pickup next week. I don't think... I can't pretend everything's normal right now."

Margot's heart clenched, but she nodded. They'd always been good at putting Lucas first, at maintaining stability even when things were difficult. But this – this was testing limits she hadn't known existed.

"Look, Mom!" Lucas bounded over, proudly displaying a holographic dinosaur sticker. "It changes colors in the light!"

"That's amazing, mon petit," she managed, pulling him close.

Gabriel watched them, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and walked out, leaving Margot to gather their things and guide Lucas toward the exit.

"Daddy didn't want a sticker?" Lucas asked, frowning slightly.

"He had to get back to work," Margot said automatically, the familiar lie tasting bitter on her tongue. "But hey, what do you say we stop for ice cream on the way home?"

As they left the clinic, she caught sight of Gabriel in his car, sitting there with his head in his hands. For a moment, she wanted to go to him, to try to fix this somehow. But Lucas tugged her hand, pointing excitedly at a dog across the street, and she let herself be pulled away.

The test results would come soon enough. For now, she had to focus on keeping Lucas's world stable, even as everything else threatened to crumble around them.

---

Robert drummed his fingers against his thigh, a nervous habit he thought he'd kicked years ago. The baseball cap and tinted glasses felt like a poor disguise—the kind that screamed "celebrity trying to be inconspicuous." But here he was, slipping through the clinic's side entrance like a character in one of his old movies.

The nurse's professional warmth didn't quite mask her recognition. "Sir, please follow me."

He matched her brisk pace down the corridor, his mind racing. The possibility of having another son—of having missed five years of Lucas's life—felt like a weight pressing against his chest. He'd already missed so much with Indio during his darker days.

"Have a seat," the nurse said, holding up the DNA swab. "This'll just take a minute."

Robert leaned back, forcing his signature crooked grin. "You know, usually when someone wants my DNA, they at least buy me dinner first." The joke fell flat even to his own ears, betraying his anxiety.

The nurse's movements were efficient but gentle as she swabbed his cheek. He noticed her wedding ring catch the fluorescent light—a simple gold band that reminded him of promises, of responsibility.

"All set," she said, sealing the sample. "Results should be ready in—"

"A few days, yeah." He stood, adjusting his cap. "Thanks for the... discretion."

Outside, the LA sun felt too bright, too exposing. He pulled out his phone, reading Margot's text again:
We're done. Gabriel was tense, but Lucas did fine. Thank you for giving us space.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. What do you say to someone whose life you might be about to upend? Someone who's already fighting battles on multiple fronts because of you?

Finally, he typed: Thinking of you both. Here if you need anything. And Margot? You're stronger than you know.

In his car, Robert gripped the steering wheel, remembering Lucas's enthusiastic description of Iron Man at their last meeting. The irony wasn't lost on him—playing a hero on screen while his past threatened to complicate the lives of people he cared about.

"Get it together, junior," he muttered to himself, using his father's old nickname with bitter humor. "You can't fix the past. But maybe you can do better this time."

---

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting warm patterns across Lucas's workspace. His tablet displayed a simple reading exercise, but his attention kept drifting to the Iron Man action figure propped against his water bottle.

"Eyes on the screen, superhero," Marie said gently, tapping the tablet. Her kind face showed the same patience she'd maintained through countless learning sessions.

Lucas sighed dramatically—a gesture so reminiscent of Robert that it would have given Margot pause. "But Marie, I already know these words! Tony Stark wouldn't have to practice easy words."

"Ah, but how do you think Tony Stark got so smart?" Marie countered, her eyes twinkling. "Even genius superheroes have to start somewhere."

Lucas considered this seriously, his small face scrunching in thought. "Do you think Robert had to practice reading when he was little?"

Marie's expression softened, careful with her response. "I'm sure he did. Everyone starts with the basics."

Lucas brightened at this, attacking his reading with renewed vigor. "Can we show Mom later? And maybe Robert too?"

Marie glanced toward the patio where Margot had retreated for a phone call, her posture tense even from a distance. "Let's focus on finishing first, okay?? Then we'll see about showing everyone your progress."

The Studio Confrontation

The studio lot felt like a minefield as Margot made her way to the conference room, dodging paparazzi and worried glances from crew members. The tabloid headlines had been relentless:
"IRON MAN'S SECRET LOVE CHILD?"
"STUDIO EXECS QUESTION DOWNEY'S STABILITY" "MARGOT DELACROIX OR BENNETT?: FROM PARTY GIRL TO PRODUCER – BUT HAS SHE REALLY CHANGED?"

She squared her shoulders, channeling the composure that had become her armor.

The conference room felt charged with unspoken tension as she entered. Jon Favreau's worried glance and Kevin Feige's carefully composed expression told her everything she needed to know before a word was spoken.

"Let's skip the small talk," she said, her voice carrying the quiet authority that had become her trademark. "What's the damage?"

Kevin's sigh carried the weight of board meetings and market projections. "The press isn't letting up, Margot. Every day it's something new—your history, Robert's sobriety, the 'recovery romance' angle. Now they're dragging Lucas into it."

"My son stays out of this," Margot's voice carried a steel edge that made both men straighten slightly.

"That's the problem," Kevin continued. "We can't control the narrative anymore. The board is getting nervous. Robert's great, but—"

"But what?" Margot's interruption was soft but sharp. "He's a liability? A risk? That's rich, considering the chances you've taken on far less talented actors."

Jon leaned forward, his protective instincts visible in his tense shoulders. "M, we're trying to protect both of you here."

"By suggesting he's replaceable?" Margot's laugh held no humor. "You know better than that, Jon. He is Tony Stark. The audience will see it the moment the film releases. But if you need to protect the studio's interests..." She paused, her decision crystallizing. "I'll step down as Executive Producer."

The silence that followed felt heavy enough to touch.

"Margot, no," Jon's protest was immediate. "You've been the backbone of this project from day one."

"And I'll continue as a consultant through the first film," she countered smoothly. "Remove my name from the credits if you need to. But Robert stays as Tony Stark. Non-negotiable."

Kevin's expression shifted between disbelief and calculation. "You'd give up your position? For him?"

"For the project," Margot corrected, though her eyes held a different truth. "Because I know what this film can be with him in it. Because sometimes the right choice isn't the easy one." Her voice carried the weight of personal experience.

After a moment of tense silence, Kevin nodded slowly. "Alright. But if he slips up—"

"He won't," Margot's certainty left no room for argument. "And if he does, that's between him and his recovery. Not you, not me, not the studio."

Standing, she smoothed her blazer with steady hands that belied her inner turmoil. "Have legal draw up the paperwork. I'll review it this afternoon."

Jon caught her arm as she turned to leave. "You sure about this?"

Margot's smile held a mixture of resignation and resolve. "Some things are worth fighting for, Jon. Even if it means taking a step back."

Robert's Meeting

Robert entered the conference room with the careful control of a man who'd learned to manage his anxiety in the spotlight. His casual stance betrayed none of the tension coursing through him, but his eyes—sharp and observant—missed nothing about Jon and Kevin's expressions.

"So," he said, dropping into a chair with calculated ease, "this is the part where we have the difficult conversation, right?" His trademark wit couldn't quite mask the underlying edge in his voice.

Kevin's diplomatic pause spoke volumes. "The situation has become... complicated."

"When isn't it?" Robert's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Look, whatever you need me to do—publicity control, interviews, keeping my distance—just say it."

Jon's expression tightened. "It's not that simple, Robert. The board is worried about the optics. The relationship, the past connections coming to light..."

"Margot's stepping down," Kevin cut in, watching Robert carefully. "She's volunteered to remove herself as Executive Producer."

The words hit Robert like a physical blow, though only a slight tightening around his eyes betrayed his shock. Years of acting couldn't completely mask his reaction to this news.

"No." His voice was quiet but intense. "She can't do that. This project is her baby—she's the reason it's happening at all." His mind raced through implications, possibilities, consequences. "This was your play, wasn't it? Pressure her to choose?"

"It was her decision," Kevin stated firmly. "She's protecting the project. And you."

Robert's laugh held no humor. "Protecting me? By sacrificing everything she's built?" His hands clenched briefly before he forced them to relax. "You were going to cut me loose, weren't you? From the sequels at least?"

The silence that followed was answer enough.

"Jesus," Robert muttered, running a hand over his face. The weight of Margot's sacrifice settled over him like a physical presence. All his years of mistakes, of battles with addiction, of burning bridges—and here was someone else paying the price for his past.

As Kevin excused himself, Jon remained, his expression grave. The tension between them—friend, mentor, protector—crackled with unspoken words.

"You screw this up," Jon finally said, his voice low and intense, "if you hurt her, if you slip..." He left the threat unfinished.

Robert met his gaze steadily, all pretense of casual charm gone. "I won't." His voice carried the weight of every promise he'd made and broken, every second chance he'd been given. "Not this time. Not with her."

Jon studied him for a long moment before nodding once, sharply. "Good. Because she deserves better than another disappointment."

Left alone in the conference room, Robert felt the full weight of everything at stake. His career, his sobriety, his chance at redemption—and now Margot's career, her reputation, possibly even his connection to Lucas. The pressure would have once sent him searching for an escape, for something to numb the edges of responsibility.

Instead, he pulled out his phone and opened his sobriety app. Six hundred and ninety-eight days. Each one a choice, a battle won. Each one leading him here, to this moment, to these consequences.

"One day at a time," he murmured to himself, a mantra that had carried him through darker moments than this. But now it wasn't just about him anymore. It was about Margot, about Lucas, about proving that some people are worth fighting for—even if that fight means facing your demons head-on.

That night

The rain hammered against the windows with the intensity of a thousand tiny fists, casting wavering shadows across Margot's living room. She lay sprawled on her leather couch, one arm draped over her eyes, trying to shut out the flickering blue light of the muted television. The house felt too empty, too quiet—the kind of quiet that made her thoughts sound like screams.

Her phone buzzed against the coffee table's glass surface, the vibration unnaturally loud in the stillness. Her hand reached for it automatically, muscle memory from years of late-night production emergencies. Gabriel's name on the screen made her pause.

I will not be picking up Lucas on Monday.

The words hit her like ice water. She sat up, suddenly alert, her bare feet finding the cold hardwood floor. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed.

Do you need me to drop him off?

His response came with brutal swiftness: No. I'm terminating custody.

The room tilted sideways. Margot tried to breathe, but her lungs seemed to have forgotten how. Her fingers flew across the screen, typing "What?" but the message bounced back instantly. Another attempt. Another error. She knew what it meant—Gabriel had blocked her, cutting off not just their communication, but his connection to Lucas. Their son. No, her son, she corrected herself, the thought hitting her with startling clarity.

The laptop felt heavier than usual as she pulled it onto her legs. The healthcare portal's login page swam before her eyes, but muscle memory guided her fingers across the keyboard. Each click felt like an eternity as she navigated to the test results section.

The page loaded with excruciating slowness, the spinning wheel mocking her racing heart. When it finally appeared, the clinical format of the results seemed at odds with the magnitude of what they revealed.

---

Across town, Robert stood at his floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the same rain transform Los Angeles into a city of blurred lights and hidden secrets. His reflection stared back at him, a man caught between who he was and who he needed to be. The steady tap of raindrops matched the rhythm of his pacing—three steps, turn, three steps, turn—a physical manifestation of his restless thoughts.

The buzz of his phone cut through his meditation. An email notification. He pulled the phone from his pocket, his hand surprisingly steady despite the storm in his mind. The subject line stopped him mid-stride: Paternity test results.

Time seemed to slow as he opened the email. The clinical language dissolved into a single number: 99.99% match.

"Jesus," he whispered, his legs suddenly unable to hold him. He slid down the wall until he hit the floor, the cold marble seeping through his jeans. Lucas was his son. His son. The words echoed in his mind, each repetition carrying the weight of missed birthdays, first steps, first words—moments he could never reclaim.

His phone buzzed again with a meeting reminder, the mundane intrusion almost laughable against the seismic shift in his world. Robert let his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes. In the darkness behind his eyelids, faces swirled: Lucas, with his familiar dark eyes—how had he not seen it before?

The rain continued its relentless rhythm, but Robert barely heard it now. His mind was already racing ahead, plotting, planning, terrified of making a mistake. He had almost two years of sobriety under his belt, a career finally back on track, and now this—the most important role he'd ever have to play.

Father.

He couldn't fail. Not this time. Not with these stakes.

But first, he had to talk to Margot. They had to figure out how to navigate this new reality—together.

Chapter Text

2002 :The lost days

The bass thrummed through the walls of the Viper Room like a heartbeat, steady and insistent, vibrating in Margot’s chest as if it could replace her own. She leaned against the bar, her fingers wrapped around a glass of something amber and burning, letting the chemical haze soften the jagged edges of her mind. Her father’s words still clung to her, heavy and sharp—"You’re wasting your talent, ma fille. All that potential... squandered." But here, in the dim light and relentless music, none of it mattered. Here, she was invisible.

She didn't recognize him at first. He was just another beautiful disaster in leather pants, his razor-sharp cheekbones caught in the strobing lights. Their eyes met across the crowded room, and something electric passed between them – that peculiar recognition of one lost soul finding another.

"You look like you could use this," he said, sliding onto the barstool next to her. His voice was honey and gravel, and he pushed a drink toward her with elegant fingers. The ice clinked against the glass like wind chimes.

"And you look like trouble," she replied, her French accent thicker through the chemical fog. But she took the drink anyway.

"Sweetheart, I'm the dictionary definition of trouble." His grin was wicked, knowing. "Robert."

"Margot."

Names exchanged, nothing more. No last names, no histories, no baggage. That was the unspoken rule of nights like this. They didn’t talk about his ring, conspicuously absent from his hand, or her father’s looming shadow. They didn’t talk about the reasons they were here, in this place, numbing themselves with strangers and substances. Instead, they let the music do the talking. They danced like they’d done this a thousand times before, their bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, and when he kissed her against the back wall, it was all whiskey and promises neither of them would keep.

"Let's get out of here," he murmured against her neck. "I know a place."

---

The hotel suite was high above Sunset Boulevard, a glittering cage of glass and opulence. It became their world for three days, a sanctuary where time unraveled and reality ceased to exist. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a postcard, but neither of them looked. They were too busy losing themselves in each other, in the haze of drugs and desire and the fragile illusion that nothing outside this room mattered.

Hours blurred into days. Margot watched him pace the suite, shirtless and wild-eyed, spouting half-mad philosophies about life and art. "Do you ever think," he mused, waving a cigarette in the air like a conductor’s baton, "that we’re just characters in someone else’s script?"

"Whose script?" she asked, her voice drowsy, her limbs heavy against the pillows.

He didn’t answer, just crawled back onto the bed, pressing his face against her stomach like he was trying to anchor himself. "You smell like... home," he murmured, his voice breaking on the word. Margot didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing, just tangled her fingers in his hair.

They wrote stories in the dark, drawing fantastical storyboards on hotel stationery, their laughter echoing off the walls. They ordered room service they never touched – sustaining themselves only on white lines traced across bare skin, on crystal dreams and borrowed euphoria. Their kisses tasted of chemical heaven and wine-stained promises, and they fucked like it was the only thing keeping them alive. But in the rare, sober moments, cracks began to show. The haunted look in his eyes when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. The way her hands trembled when she thought he wasn’t looking.

---

On the second night, as they lay tangled in the sheets, he confessed in a voice barely above a whisper. "I have a son. He’s… perfect. And I’m fucking it all up."

Her chest tightened, but she didn’t push him away. "We’re both fucking something up," she said, her fingers tracing the constellation of freckles on his shoulder. "It’s what we do."

---

"We should run away," he said once, during hour fifty-something. "Just keep driving until we hit somewhere no one knows our names."

"We'd still know them." She replied, before pulling him into another kiss.

In rare moments of clarity, they'd catch glimpses of who they really were. She'd see the haunted look in his eyes when his phone rang (his wife? his agent? his dealer?). He'd notice how her hands shook when the high began to fade. But they'd push it away, dive back into the beautiful oblivion they'd created.

By the fourth day, the spell began to break. The room reeked of stale smoke and sweat, the remnants of their escape scattered across every surface. His phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Her publicist had left seventeen messages, each more frantic than the last. The world was creeping back in, and they couldn’t stop it.

"I should go," Margot said, sitting on the edge of the bed, her voice heavy with regret.

"Yeah," he replied, staring up at the ceiling like it held the answers to questions he couldn’t ask. "This was..."

"I know." She reached for her dress, the fabric wrinkled and torn in places.

They didn’t exchange numbers. Didn’t make promises they knew they couldn’t keep. He helped her with the zipper of her dress, his fingers lingering a moment too long. She straightened his collar, her hand brushing against his cheek one last time.

At the door, they shared a final kiss, slow and aching, tasting of endings and everything left unsaid.

"Take care of yourself," he said, his voice barely audible.

"You too."

She walked away, the sound of her heels fading down the hallway. He didn’t watch her go.

The Lost Days: One Last Time

The charity gala shimmered like a mirage, all crystal chandeliers and champagne flutes held in hands that never stopped moving. Margot floated through it, the borrowed Dior clinging to her like smoke, her mind thrumming with the warm buzz of something illicit. She’d been clean for four days—a fragile achievement—but sobriety had shattered the moment someone slipped a pill into her hand on the red carpet. She’d swallowed it without hesitation. Now, everything was too sharp and too soft all at once, faces bleeding into each other, the laughter ringing hollow in her ears.

And then she saw him.

He was leaning against a marble pillar, devastating in a black suit, his tie loose like he’d only just remembered to wear it. That brand of lazy elegance—the kind that felt both timeless and dangerous—stamped him as Old Hollywood reincarnated. His smirk carved its way across the room, cutting through the haze, and Margot froze. She didn’t know where she’d seen him before, but she knew. A hotel room, maybe? A whispered night that slipped through her fingers like sand.

Their eyes met, and the air between them charged like a live wire. He straightened, his gaze narrowing as if he felt the pull too.

“Do I know you?” he asked when they collided at the bar, his voice as rough and smoky as the bourbon he ordered. His pupils were blown wide, betraying the same lost, chemical high she rode.

“Maybe,” she said, her French accent curling around the word like a secret. “Does it matter?”

His laugh came low and dangerous, a sound that scraped against something deep in her chest. “Not tonight.”

They didn’t need names this time. His hand found the small of her back as they wove through the glittering crowd, and her body recognized his touch even as her mind scrambled for answers. By the time they found the bedroom, a private suite draped in old-money decadence, none of it mattered.

The door clicked shut behind them, and the rest of the world fell away.

“I know you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her neck as his hands slid beneath the silk straps of her dress. His voice cracked on the words, equal parts plea and confession. “I know you.”

“Shh.” Her fingers worked the knot of his tie, her lips ghosting over his jaw. “Don’t think.”

And they didn’t.

It was all teeth and desperation, a collision of bodies too far gone to be careful. His wedding ring caught the light as his fingers tangled in her hair, and for a split second, the guilt stabbed sharp. But she drowned it in his mouth, in the heat of his hands gripping her hips, leaving bruises she wouldn’t see until morning. They left marks on each other—scratches, bites, the ghost of a slap across the face that turned into a kiss. It was messy and raw, two people clinging to the chaos of the moment like it was the only thing keeping them from drowning.

Afterward, they lay tangled in borrowed sheets, their breathing uneven, the faint bass of the party below threading through the silence. He traced lazy patterns on her shoulder, his brow furrowed like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

“The Viper Room,” he said suddenly, the words dropping like a stone. “Two weeks ago?”

Margot froze, the question slicing through her haze. The memory tried to surface, flashes of dark corners and cheap whiskey, but she pushed it down. Her head was spinning now, the chemicals in her system tilting the world unpleasantly.

“Maybe,” she said, standing and pulling her dress back over her shoulders. She avoided his gaze as she adjusted the straps, her hands trembling. “Or maybe I just have one of those faces.”

He sat up, his frown deepening as if he wanted to stop her, to say something that would anchor her here. But she didn’t wait.

By the time the door clicked shut behind her, he was still sprawled across the bed, half-dressed and trying to grasp a moment already slipping away.

---

Neither of them remembered much the next morning. Just fragments—his laugh, her scent, the way the city lights bled through the curtains. It became another blurred night in a city built on them, a moment neither could hold onto.

But the universe remembers what people forget. And nine months later, a baby boy with dark, familiar eyes would someday remind them both that some nights leave marks you can’t escape.

Chapter Text

The words on Margot's screen blurred, then sharpened with brutal clarity: 99.99% probability of paternity.

Her first thought, oddly enough, was of Lucas's obsession with Iron Man. All those times he'd begged to watch "Robert" rehearse, declaring that Iron Man would make the perfect second dad... She pressed her hands against her eyes until she saw stars.

The rain's steady drumming against the windows matched her pulse—too fast, too loud. Her fingers moved on autopilot, finding Jon's number in her contacts. He answered on the first ring.

"You okay?"

"The results came back." Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, hollow and far away. "It's him. And Gabriel... he's terminating custody. Just like that. Blocked my number, everything."

A sharp intake of breath on the other end. "Jesus, Margot."

"I need—" She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. "Can you and Joya take Lucas tonight? The paparazzi are already camping outside, and once this gets out..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Give me twenty minutes." No hesitation. "We'll make it an adventure. Tell him we're doing a surprise sleepover movie marathon."

Margot's legs felt unsteady as she climbed the stairs to Lucas's room. The soft glow of his Iron Man nightlight spilled into the hallway, and she had to pause, hand pressed against the wall, struck by the weight of what she was about to do.

He was curled up in his favorite position, one arm wrapped around his Captain America plush, dark curls wild against the pillow. The hair, the bone structure...all Robert. How had she not seen it before?

"Mon petit," she whispered, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Wake up, sweetheart."

His eyes fluttered open, so like Robert's it made her chest ache. "Mommy? Is it morning?"

"No, baby. But Uncle Jon and Aunt Joya have a surprise for you. They want you to come have a special sleepover at their house. Would you like that?"

He sat up, suddenly alert. "Can we watch movies? And make cookies?"

"Of course." She managed a smile. "Let's pack your bag, okay? Don't forget Iron Man."

Jon arrived exactly twenty minutes later, using the private garage entrance to avoid the photographers. Lucas, still sleepy but excited, didn't question the late-night adventure. He just hugged Margot tight, whispered "Love you, Mommy," and took Jon's hand.

"He'll be fine," Jon assured her quietly. "Take the time you need. Maybe talk to Robert. Figure things out."

After they left, Margot stood in Lucas's doorway, staring at his rumpled bed and the scattered toys he'd left behind. The Iron Man poster on his wall seemed to watch her, its blank mask offering no answers.

---

When Margot opened the door, Robert was soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping from his leather jacket. Their eyes met, and the world seemed to stop—everything distilling down to this moment, this threshold, this truth that had been waiting years to be discovered.

Neither spoke. They didn't need to. He stepped inside, and they collided like storms meeting, desperate and inevitable. His hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing away tears she hadn't realized were falling. Their kiss tasted of rain and revelation and something like destiny.

They didn't make it past the foyer.

---

Later, tangled in the throw blanket from her couch, Robert traced patterns on her bare shoulder. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows, but inside, a different kind of quiet had settled over them—heavy with words that needed saying.

"All this time," he murmured, his voice rough. "He's been begging for Iron Man to be his second dad, and the whole time..." His laugh was shaky, caught between wonder and heartbreak. "The universe really has a twisted sense of humor."

Margot shifted to look at him, her head resting on his chest. "We were different people then. Lost people." She swallowed hard. "Gabriel is terminating all parental rights."

"He what?" His hand stilled on her shoulder.

"Blocked my number, everything." She tried to keep her voice steady, but failed. "He helped raise Lucas for five years, Robert. And now..."

"And now it turns out I've been auditioning for the role of my own son's father without knowing it." His voice cracked. "Christ, Margot. Every time he looked at me with those eyes—my eyes—and I didn't..."

"Hey," she pressed her palm against his cheek, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You're here now. We both are. Finally clear-headed enough to do this right."

"I'm terrified," he admitted, the words barely audible over the rain. "Of failing him. Of being everything my father was. Of not being enough."

"You already are enough." Margot's voice was fierce. "You've been loving him, protecting him, making him laugh—all without knowing. That's not nothing, Robert."

They lay in silence for a moment, listening to the rain. Finally, Robert spoke: "You know what's killing me? Last week, when he fell asleep watching me rehearse... I caught myself thinking 'God, I wish he was mine.'" His laugh was watery. "Should've been more specific with that wish."

Margot propped herself up on an elbow, studying his face. "We'll figure it out. How to tell him. How to be what he needs."

"Together?" He asked, and there was something so vulnerable in his voice that it made her chest ache.

"Together." She kissed him then, soft and sure, a promise sealed in the rain-dark quiet of her living room. "Though we might want to consider using actual furniture next time. I'm getting too old for floor-based activities."

Robert's laugh was real this time, rumbling through his chest. "Speak for yourself, Bennett. Some of us have superhero training to maintain."

The levity faded as quickly as it came. "What are we going to tell him?" Margot whispered.

"The truth. Eventually. But carefully." Robert pulled her closer. "For now, we just... keep being us. Keep loving him. The rest will follow."

Outside, the rain began to ease, but neither of them moved. They had decisions to make, plans to form, a child to protect and guide. But for now, they held each other in the quiet, letting the weight of their new reality settle around them like a familiar blanket.

They were home.

---

Margot woke to the distinct feeling of being watched. The golden morning light filtered through the rain-streaked windows, painting the room in soft, dappled hues. She turned her head, and there he was— propped up on one elbow beside her, his dark eyes full of something so tender it made her chest tighten.

“Creepy much?” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.

“Can’t help it.” His fingers brushed her cheekbone, warm and steady. “I keep trying to piece it all together. The Viper Room... I think I remember parts of it. But after that?” He shook his head, frustration mingling with awe. “It’s like trying to catch smoke.”

She turned her face into his hand, the faintest flicker of memories teasing the edges of her mind. “I keep seeing you pacing. You wouldn’t stop talking—about philosophy, art, God knows what else.”

“That tracks.” He smiled faintly. “It felt like days. Just... days, lost in some hotel room above the world.”

“There was a red carpet too,” she added, her brows knitting as she tried to grab hold of the memory. “Later. A charity thing. Everything’s so... hazy.”

"Different lifetimes." His hand found hers under the sheets. "Tell me about him. Before I knew him. Please?"

She sat up, pulling the sheet around her, and reached for her phone on the nightstand. “I have videos. Photos. So many...”

She scrolled through her gallery, finding a video from when Lucas was three. His first attempt at a somersault, ending in giggles. Another of him at four, seriously explaining to his stuffed animals why dinosaurs would make excellent superheroes.

Robert watched each one with hungry eyes, drinking in every detail of the son he hadn't known was his. His hand tightened on hers when they reached a clip of Lucas's first day of preschool, his dark curls wild, eyes bright with excitement.

"God, those eyes," he whispered. "How did I not see it?"

"Because you weren't looking for it." She squeezed his hand. "Neither of us were."

They went through more photos and videos: Lucas covered in finger paint, Lucas snoozing with an Iron Man action figure tucked under his arm, Lucas ‘cooking’ by stirring cereal into a mug of orange juice. Robert’s laughter came in bursts, mixing with murmured exclamations of disbelief and adoration.

“Where…” His voice faltered as a question hung between them. He cleared his throat. “Where did his name come from?”

Margot stilled, her fingers tightening around the phone. The question she’d dreaded had finally surfaced.

“Margot?”

"Gabriel's father," she said finally, her voice small. "He... he died just before Lucas was born. Gabriel insisted, and I was..." She swallowed hard. "I was trying so hard to prove I could be stable, be what they all wanted me to be. It seemed like such a small thing to give him."

Robert sat back, his thumb absently tracing circles on her palm. “Does it bother you?” she asked, bracing herself for the answer.

“That my son is named after another man’s father?” He let out a quiet laugh, devoid of bitterness. “Maybe it should. But no. It’s his name. It’s part of who he is. And besides…” He leaned in, brushing his lips against her temple. “He makes it his own. Like everything else.”

"He does that," Margot agreed, relief washing through her. "Last week he told Marie that Lucas was actually a superhero name because it has the word 'Luc' in it, which means light."

"Smart kid."

"Too smart sometimes." She turned to face him fully. "Robert... what are we going to do?"

"Right now?" He reached for her phone, scrolling back to the videos. "Right now, I want to see more. Tell me everything. His first word. His favorite foods. That time he apparently tried to make cereal soup. I want..." His voice caught. "I want to know all the pieces I missed."

Margot settled back against his chest, pressing play on another video. Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the morning fresh and clean. They had hard conversations ahead, impossible decisions to make. But for now, they lost themselves in glimpses of their son's past, piecing together the story of how they'd all found their way to each other.

Robert's breath caught as they reached the earliest photos—Lucas as a newborn, tiny and perfect, his dark eyes already alert and searching.

"He was so small," Robert whispered, his finger hovering over the screen.

"Seven pounds, two ounces." Margot's voice was soft with memory. "He barely cried. Just... looked at everything."

They moved through the months: Lucas's first smile, his first tentative steps, birthday parties where he beamed at the camera with chocolate-smeared cheeks. Robert noticed a pattern emerging—in nearly every photo, it was just Margot and Lucas. At birthday parties, she was the one behind the camera or kneeling beside him as he blew out candles. Holiday photos showed them building snowmen together, decorating Christmas trees, Lucas on her shoulders at Disneyland.

Jon appeared in some photos, his wife too, playing with Lucas or sharing holiday meals. Gabriel showed up occasionally at celebrations, more frequently in the early years, then sporadically. But as they scrolled through hundreds of moments spanning five years, something became painfully clear.

"You were alone," Robert said quietly, pausing on a photo of Margot and Lucas at the beach, her smile bright but tired as she helped him build a sandcastle. "I mean, really alone. There was no one for you."

Margot went still beside him. "I had Lucas."

"That's not what I mean." He turned to look at her, really look at her, seeing the years of solitude written in the slight tension around her eyes. "In all these photos, all these moments... You're either taking care of him or you're with Jon's family. But there's no... There's no one taking care of you."

She didn't meet his eyes, focusing instead on a photo of Lucas's third birthday. "I didn't want to risk it. Dating, bringing someone new into his life... It seemed selfish. And honestly?" She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Most men aren't exactly excited about dating a single mom in recovery."

“Their loss,” Robert murmured, his voice thick. He swiped to another photo, this one of Margot and Lucas in what appeared to be a hospital waiting room. Lucas, barely two, was curled against her chest, fast asleep.

“When was this?” he asked, his throat tight.

"He was two, running a pretty high fever. We were there all night."

"Alone?"

"Marie was there for a little while. She took this picture just before she left for the night. Jon was filming in Canada. Gabriel was..." She shrugged, her voice quiet. "He was just weekends back then... I think it was a Tuesday or Wednesday..." Her words trailed off, but the weight of what she didn’t say hung heavily between them.

Robert felt a surge of anger spark deep in his chest, unexpected and sharp. Just weekends? His jaw tightened as he glanced at the photo again—Margot, exhausted cradling their feverish son in the harsh fluorescent light of a hospital room. The man she’d once trusted to help raise Lucas had apparently deemed a midweek emergency not his problem.

He forced himself to take a slow, steady breath. Anger wouldn’t help now. It wasn’t about Gabriel anymore—it was about Margot and Lucas. Still, the thought lodged in his mind, cold and immovable: I should have been there.

He pulled her closer, pressing his lips to her temple as they continued scrolling. Each photo told a story of a mother's fierce, solitary dedication—school plays where she must have asked strangers to take pictures, holidays where the table was set just for two, countless ordinary moments where she was simultaneously the photographer and the only adult in frame.

"You did good," he whispered against her hair. "So damn good. But Margot?" He tilted her chin up, making sure she met his eyes. "You don't have to do it alone anymore. Not any of it."

A single tear slipped down her cheek. Robert caught it with his thumb, then reached for the phone again. "Now," he said, his voice deliberately lighter, "tell me about this Christmas where he apparently decided the tree needed a makeover with finger paint..."

Margot laughed softly, curling into his side as they dove back into the memories, both understanding that something fundamental had shifted. The solitary path she'd walked for so long was finally wide enough for three.

---

"When were you going to tell me about stepping down?" Robert's voice cut through the comfortable silence they'd been sharing. There was no accusation in his tone, just a quiet intensity.

Margot didn't feign surprise. She'd known this conversation was coming since she'd walked out of that conference room. "After you'd processed whatever Kevin and Jon told you," she said simply, setting her coffee cup down. "I figured they didn't sugarcoat it."

"No," Robert's laugh was hollow. "They didn't." He sat up, studying her with those perceptive eyes that missed nothing. "Also, Jon practically threatened to end me if I screwed this up."

"That sounds like Jon." Her lips curved slightly. "He's protective."

"You knew exactly what you were doing in that meeting, didn't you?" Robert's voice was soft. "Playing the long game. Consulting producer keeps you involved enough to protect the project, but removes the target from both our backs."

"The industry has a short memory when it comes to behind-the-scenes players," Margot agreed. "But leading men? They don't forget. One hint of instability, one suggestion that you're not worth the risk..." She met his gaze steadily. "I wasn't about to let them use our relationship as an excuse to replace you."

"Even if it meant giving up your position?"

"I'm still doing the work, Robert. The only thing that's changed is my credit placement." She reached for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. "Besides, I've spent enough time in Hollywood to know when to step back strategically."

Robert was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing patterns on her palm. "You know what kills me?" he finally said. "You made this chess move to protect me, and I didn't even get a chance to fight for you."

"That was the point." Margot's voice was gentle but firm. "The second you tried to fight it, you would have proved their concerns about stability right. This way, the story dies down. You focus on being Tony Stark. I focus on making sure this film is everything it needs to be." She squeezed his hand. "Sometimes the best fights are the ones you choose not to have."

He leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re terrifying, you know that? In the best possible way.”

She smiled, her breath mingling with his. “I learned early on that the real power in this industry isn’t always in the spotlight.” Her smile turned wistful. “My father taught me that much, at least.”

Robert closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself. “Still. No one’s ever—” He stopped, the words catching in his throat before he tried again. “The fact that you would…”

“Hey.” Margot tilted his chin up so their eyes met. “You’re worth it. The project is worth it. And frankly?” Her smile turned wry. “I’ve spent the last five years being Lucas’s mother first and everything else second. Prioritizing what matters? That’s second nature to me now.”

For a moment, Robert said nothing, his emotions too tangled to untangle in the space of a few breaths. Then he pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if sheer proximity could convey everything he couldn’t quite articulate.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured into her hair.

“And you’re dramatic,” she teased, her voice soft but warm. “Now, lets make some coffee. We’ve got a press junket to survive.”

For the first time in years, Robert felt not only seen but protected—and he silently vowed to be worthy of it.

Later that morning

The garage door hummed open as Jon's Tesla pulled in. Lucas was already unbuckling his car seat, practically vibrating with five-year-old energy. Robert hung back near the door to the house, hands in his pockets, while Margot stepped forward to greet her son.

"Mama!" Lucas launched himself into her arms, his Iron Man backpack swinging wildly. "Uncle Jon let me have *two* juice boxes!"

"Did he now?" Margot shot Jon a look over Lucas's curls, but she was smiling.

Jon shrugged, helping Marie unload Lucas's overnight bag. "Kid drives a hard bargain." His eyes flickered to Robert, then back to Margot, a silent question in them.

"Robert!" Lucas wiggled free from Margot's embrace to wave enthusiastically. "Did you bring your Iron Man suit?"

"Left it at the dry cleaners, buddy." Robert's smile was easy, natural, though Margot could see the emotion he was holding back. "Those repulsors make a mess."

Jon hesitated by his car door. "You sure you don't want me to—"

"We've got this," Margot said softly. "Thank you, Jon. For everything."

After they'd said their goodbyes and the Tesla had disappeared down the driveway, Lucas turned to Margot with sudden uncertainty in his dark eyes. "Mama? When do I go to Daddy's? We were supposed to go to the science museum this time..."

Margot felt her heart crack. She knelt down to Lucas's level, aware of Robert's steady presence behind her. "Baby, we need to talk about something important. Can we sit on the steps?"

Lucas nodded, his expression turning serious in that way children do when they sense adult gravity. He settled between them on the garage steps, his small shoulders tense.

"Sometimes," Margot began carefully, "grown-ups make mistakes. Big mistakes that they didn't mean to make."

Lucas played with the hem of his t-shirt. "Like when I broke your perfume bottle?"

"Sort of." Margot took a deep breath. "I... made a mistake. We just found out that he's not actually your daddy."

Lucas's brow furrowed. "But he always said he was."

"He thought he was, mon ceur. We all did. But we were wrong, and..." Margot's voice caught. "And he's having a hard time with that right now."

"Oh." Lucas was quiet for a moment, processing. Then, in a small voice that shattered something in both adults: "But he said he would always love me. Doesn't he want to be my friend anymore? Even if he's not my daddy?"

Margot opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

Robert moved then, sliding down to sit on the step in front of Lucas. "Hey, buddy." His voice was gentle but firm. "Can I tell you something important?"

Lucas nodded, his lower lip trembling slightly.

"Sometimes grown-ups... we mess up. We let our own hurt feelings make us do things that aren't fair to the amazing kids in our lives." Robert's eyes were intense, focused entirely on Lucas. "But I want you to know something: I'm your friend. And I'm not going anywhere. Ever."

"Promise?" Lucas whispered.

"Super-promise." Robert held out his pinky. "With a side of cheeseburgers and all the juice boxes your mom will allow."

Lucas wrapped his tiny pinky around Robert's, a wobbly smile appearing. "Mama only lets me have one juice box."

"Well, that's why you've got Uncle Jon and Aunt Joya wrapped around your finger, isn't it?" Robert winked, and Lucas giggled.

Margot watched them, her heart simultaneously breaking and healing. Robert hadn't told Lucas the truth—they'd agreed it wasn't the right time—but he'd given their son something just as valuable: certainty. Promise. Presence.

"Hey," Robert said suddenly, "I've got a couple of tickets to the science museum burning a hole in my pocket. Think you might know someone who'd want to check out the exhibits with me this weekend?"

Lucas's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"Really really. If it's okay with your mom?"

They both looked at Margot, Lucas with hope, Robert with a depth of understanding that made her throat tight. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"Yes!" Lucas jumped up, his earlier sadness temporarily forgotten in the way only children can manage. "Can we see the space rockets too? And the butterflies? And—"

"All of it," Robert promised, standing and scooping Lucas up in one smooth motion. "Every single exhibit. Twice if you want."

Lucas’s eyes lit up as he bounced in Robert’s arms. “Do you think Indio can come too? I think he would like coming too!"

Robert paused, a surprised smile spreading across his face. “You know what? That’s a great idea, buddy. Let me check with him and see if he’s free this weekend.”

Lucas beamed, his earlier worries now entirely replaced with excitement. “Yes! Then it can be like a real superhero team! Me, you, and Indio!”

“Sounds like the dream team,” Robert said, chuckling. “But just so you know, Indio doesn’t have a superhero suit, either.”

Lucas’s brow furrowed for a moment before his grin returned. “That’s okay. I have extra capes!”

As they headed inside, Lucas chattering about planetary rotations and T-Rex facts, Margot remained on the steps for a moment longer. Through the garage door, she could hear Robert's animated responses, his genuine enthusiasm matching Lucas's excitement beat for beat.

Sometimes the best fathers weren't the ones you planned for, but the ones who chose to stay when staying wasn't required. Who built bridges across broken places. Who knew exactly what to promise, and when.

That afternoon

Robert paces his trailer, phone pressed to his ear. Voicemail. Again.

"Hey, kid. Just checking in. Again. Miss you. Call me back when you can, okay?"

He lowers the phone, sighing as he scrolls through old photos of him and Indio. His thumb hovers over the call button when a sharp knock interrupts him.

"Mr. Downey? Security. There's someone here to see you."

Robert opens the door to find a stern-faced security guard and, beside him, Indio—backpack slung over one shoulder, a practiced air of indifference masking the tension in his posture.

"Jesus, Indio—" Robert pulls him inside, heart hammering. "Did you—did you take a bus here?"

"Two, actually." Indio drops onto the couch, shrugging off his backpack. "Mom knows I’m here. Well, she will when she checks her voicemail."

Robert runs a hand through his hair. "Kid..."

"I saw the pictures. Online." Indio’s voice is even, but his fingers fidget with a loose thread on his jeans. "At least it’s Margot. She’s cool now, right? I mean, if it had to be someone, at least it’s someone with a brain and good taste in music." He pauses, looking up. "But you and Mom..."

Robert sinks into the chair across from him, leaning forward. "Listen, your mom and I... we weren’t living together back then. We were still married, and I’m not saying it was okay—"

"Did you know?" Indio interrupts, his tone curious rather than accusatory.

Robert hesitates, meeting his son’s gaze. "About Lucas? No. Margot and I... we were both in a bad place. We didn’t even remember..."

Indio nods, taking it in. "How long has she been clean?"

"Almost six years."

Indio’s fingers still on the thread, and he looks thoughtful. "Makes sense it's been that long. I couldn’t picture her like that, even after..." His eyes flick to Robert.

Robert exhales sharply. "Even after you saw your dad at his worst?"

Silence stretches between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Indio reaches for a script on the coffee table, flipping through it absentmindedly.

"He’s my brother, isn’t he?" Indio finally says, his voice quieter now. "Lucas. He acts just like I did when I was little. It’s cute... but super annoying." A small smile tugs at his lips.

Robert feels a tight knot in his chest loosen. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. He’s so particular about everything. And he does this thing with his hands when he’s excited, like he can’t hold it in." Indio demonstrates, fluttering his fingers. "Mom has videos of me doing the same thing at his age."

Robert chuckles softly. "I used to do that too. Still do, if I’m not paying attention."

"I know." Indio rolls his eyes, but the smile lingers. "It’s genetic, apparently. Poor kid."

After a pause, Indio adds, "By the way, you owe me lunch. I spent all my money on bus tickets."

Robert laughs, pulling him into a hug. "Deal. But we’re calling your mom first. And you’re grounded."

"You can’t ground me. I don’t even live with you."

"Watch me try."

They leave the trailer together, Robert’s arm slung over Indio’s shoulders. For the first time in a while, both are smiling—grateful for a moment of clarity in the messiness of it all.

---

Margot checked her phone before entering the production office, scanning a message from Marie about Lucas asking why he couldn't go to "real school" anymore like Tommy from the park. She tucked the phone away - she'd handle that later.

The production office had become her unofficial sanctuary these days, tucked away from the main shooting area. Distance had become both strategy and shield.

Alice, her assistant, entered with an armful of contracts and a tight expression. "Three more photographers showed up at the south gate. Security's moving them back, but they're getting aggressive with the crew coming in."

"Reshoot approvals for scenes 47 through 52, budget revisions for post-production, and..." Alice hesitated. "Three more interview requests. They're getting creative with the angles."

"Trash them." Margot held out her hand for the contracts. "Any word from legal about the photo rights?"

"They've contained most of the newer images from your house, but that Viper Room shot is still circulating...and atleast two others from an afterparty two weeks after that. They're working on it."

"The test scene for the showdown with Warmonger starts in an hour on Stage 3," Alice mentioned carefully. "The press is especially interested in—"

"Then I'm especially staying right here," Margot said. "What we need is the updated VFX breakdowns and whatever Kevin sent over about the press schedule. And can you check if that marketing meeting can move to tomorrow? I want to review the international strategy before it goes to the board."

She settled into work, doing what she did best—managing crises, solving problems, keeping the machine running smoothly. Two weeks of shooting left. The questions about Lucas's schooling would wait until she got home. Right now, she had a film to finish.

"Alice?" she called. "Get me those VFX breakdowns. We've got work to do."

---

David stares at Gabriel methodically emptying Lucas's bedroom, tossing dinosaur figures and well-loved Iron Man toys into a cardboard box. His perfectly manicured nails dig into his palms.

"Honey, what are you doing? Taking all his stuff to Margot's? Real mature."

"No. Donating it." Gabriel doesn't look up, dropping a carefully constructed Lego set into the box with unnecessary force.

David watches pieces scatter. Those had taken hours with Lucas, weekends of patient building and wild storytelling. "Gabriel, this is getting ridiculous. You're the one who tipped off the paparazzi after talking to Lucas. This mess is your fault, not his."

"Margot is the one that—"

"What? Wasn't as obsessed with you back then as you thought? Come on. Lucas is still your son, he's practically mine too. I've been here his whole life."

Gabriel's movements stop, his voice flat. "Lucas is a mistake."

David freezes, thinking of that sweet, funny, smart boy who'd crawled into his lap just two weeks ago, chattering about dinosaurs and space—even if he does have Robert Downey Jr.'s eyes, that same smile, that effortless way of charming everyone around him.

Without another word, David grabs the box and leaves. Outside, he leans against his car, pulls out his phone.

Can we meet? It's about Lucas. Nothing bad, I promise.

---

An hour later, at a quiet café, David's eyes are rimmed red as he faces Margot across a small table.

"I'm so sorry," he starts, voice rough. "For everything. All the petty nonsense over the years, the snippy comments, the—" He breaks off, shaking his head.

Margot studies him, noting the usual perfect appearance slightly disheveled. "David..."

"I just... can I still see him? Once things settle? I know I'm not..." He trails off, twisting his napkin.

"Just because Gabriel's cutting us out doesn't mean I'll cut you out," Margot says softly. "Maybe we can be friends. Bond over your terrible taste in men and my apparent inability to spot a gay man."

David lets out a watery laugh. "God, we're quite the pair, aren't we?"

"The best kind of mess." Margot reaches across the table, squeezing his hand. "Lucas would never forgive me if I kept him from his favorite shopping buddy anyway."

Chapter Text

Sunday, The Science Museum

"Mom! Mom! Indio says if you mix baking soda and vinegar it makes a volcano!" Lucas tugged at Margot's sleeve, bouncing on his toes.

"That's just the beginning of our mad scientist journey," Robert spun around, walking backwards to face them while gesturing expansively. "We're talking kitchen chemistry, garage physics - strictly supervised, obviously, because I once tried to make rocket fuel and singed off my eyebrows. True story. I was twelve. Still worked though!"

"Inside voice," Margot laughed, as Robert grabbed her hand and twirled her unexpectedly.

"Inside voice, she says, while we're about to witness the miracle of science!" He stage-whispered, making Lucas giggle. "Speaking of which - hey Indio, remember that thing we were practicing?"

Indio rolled his eyes but grinned, lifting Lucas onto his shoulders in one smooth move they'd clearly rehearsed. "The view's better up here, squirt."

"Quick, what's the biggest dinosaur?" Robert called out, doing a little hop-skip beside them.

"Patagotitan mayorum!" Lucas shouted. "It was as long as three school buses!"

"Ladies and gentlemen," Robert announced to their nonexistent audience, "my son, the walking encyclopedia!" He caught himself a second too late, glancing at Margot, but Lucas was already distracted by the Mars exhibit.

"Look! That's where Iron Man's gonna go next!"

"Hold up, hold up," Robert moved into Lucas's eye line, walking backwards again. "Who's leaking my secrets? This is highly classified information. I'm going to need to see some security clearance, young man."

A camera flashed nearby. Robert didn't miss a beat, just pulled Margot closer and whispered, "Bet they're jealous of my sweet backward-walking skills."

"Nobody told me," Lucas was explaining earnestly. "But space is the next logical step after saving Earth."

"Can't argue with that logic," Robert nodded seriously, then spun around to face forward, nearly crashing into a display. "Meant to do that. Very smooth. Part of my process."

"Robert," Margot warned, but she was fighting a smile.

"Mom! Indio says there's a show about black holes!"

"Ooh, space-time!" Robert bounced on his toes. "Did you know I once tried to build a time machine? Another eyebrow incident. But this time-" he turned to Margot with an exaggerated wink, "I have actual supervision."

As they headed to the planetarium, Robert doing an impromptu moonwalk that made Lucas dissolve into giggles, Margot caught him watching the boys with that soft expression he couldn't quite hide. For all his playful energy, his hand in hers was steady, grounding them both in this unexpected happiness they'd found.

"Best day ever," Lucas whispered to Indio.

Robert squeezed her hand, and this time his smile was pure joy, no performance needed.

-

After dropping Indio off at Deborahs Robert's hand found hers across the console. Her mind drifted to a few nights ago, curled on his couch after Lucas was asleep:

"Maybe we could start merging our lives," he'd said softly. "You and Lucas... there's room here. More than room."

Lucas was still chattering about the museum as they pulled into the driveway. Robert caught Margot's eye, a silent question. She nodded—tonight was the night they'd planned. Her heart was racing.

"Hey buddy," Margot interrupted gently, sharing a look with Robert as he chopped vegetables. "Remember a couple weeks ago, when we went to Dr. Chen's office?"

"Yeah! I got a brave patient sticker for the cheek swab!" Lucas beamed. "It tickled!"

Robert's shoulders tensed, setting down the knife he'd been using to chop vegetables. He wiped his hands slowly on a dish towel, buying time.

"Well," Margot continued, moving closer to Lucas. Her voice was steady despite her trembling hands. "That test was to find out something very important. Something about you, and Robert."

Lucas's brow furrowed. "Like what?"

Margot took a deep breath. "It was to find out who your real daddy is."

"But Gabriel—" Lucas started, then stopped, his small face scrunching in confusion.

"Gabriel helped raise you," Margot explained carefully. "But..." She glanced at Robert, who had moved closer, his eyes never leaving Lucas. "Robert is actually your real daddy."

The kitchen fell silent. Lucas stared at Robert, his expression unreadable. Robert looked terrified, hopeful, and completely vulnerable all at once.

One second passed. Then another. And another.

Robert and Margot exchanged panicked glances. Maybe they should have waited, maybe—

Suddenly, Lucas launched himself off the stool with such force he knocked over the bowl of vegetables, sending carrots flying across the counter.

"MY REAL DAD IS IRON MAN!" He collided with Robert's legs, nearly knocking him over.

Robert caught him, lifting him up, relief washing over his face.

Lucas's eyes went even wider. "Wait... INDIO IS MY BROTHER?! I HAVE A BIG BROTHER!"

"Inside voice, remember?" Margot laughed, wiping unexpected tears.

"But Mom!" Lucas squirmed in Robert's arms. "This is the most amazing thing ever! Can I call Indio? Can I tell him I know? Can we have a sleepover? Can we—"

"Buddy," Robert's voice was rough with emotion. "Indio already knows. He figured it out himself, actually."

"Because we look alike?" Lucas asked proudly.

"Because you're both too smart for your own good," Robert replied, hugging him close.

"Does this mean..." Lucas suddenly got serious, looking between them. "Does this mean we're gonna live with Robert?"

"If it's okay with you," Robert said softly. "We were thinking maybe someday, you and Mom could move in with me, but we don't want to rush it."

Lucas nodded vigorously. "Good. 'Cause you make the best pancakes."

Margot moved closer, wrapping her arms around both of them. Lucas wiggled to make room for her.

"Plus," he added thoughtfully, "now when people ask what my dad does, I can say he saves the world."

Robert laughed, the last of his tension melting away. "Only in movies, buddy."

"That's okay," Lucas said, laying his head on Robert's shoulder. "You're pretty good at being just Robert too."

They stood there in the kitchen, carrots scattered across the counter, dinner forgotten, holding onto each other and this new version of their family—messy and unexpected and perfectly them.

Later, after they'd cleaned up the scattered vegetables and ordered pizza (cooking forgotten), Lucas sat between them on the couch, looking thoughtful.

"Can I ask something?" he said quietly.

"Anything," Robert answered immediately.

"Did you know? Before? That you were my dad?"

Robert and Margot exchanged looks over his head. They'd prepared for this question.

"No, buddy," Robert said softly. "I didn't know. But the minute I found out..." His voice caught. "The minute I found out, it made so much sense. Because I already loved you so much."

Lucas nodded, processing this. Then he yawned, snuggling deeper between them. "I'm glad you're my dad," he mumbled sleepily. "Even if you do the T-Rex voice wrong."

Robert laughed quietly, tears in his eyes. "I'll work on that."

The Morning After the Museum - On Set

The early morning sun hadn't yet hit its full desert intensity as Margot scrolled through headlines on her phone, purposefully positioned near the second unit setup. After last week's vicious speculation about the Viper Room days and pointed comments about Lucas's age, today's coverage felt almost surreal:

'EXCLUSIVE: Iron Man's Family Day Out'
'RDJ and Bennett: Moving Forward Together'
'New Chapter: Downey Shows Different Side with Bennett's Son'

The photos were everywhere - Robert walking backwards, making Lucas laugh. Indio carrying Lucas on his shoulders. Such a contrast to the grainy archive shots from their darker days. The articles were still speculative, but the tone had shifted. No more thinly-veiled implications about their past, just simple observations about museum visits and family bonds.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Marie: Lucas just told his entire cyber class that his dad is Iron Man. Should I...?

Before she could respond, another message: Never mind, he's now giving a very detailed presentation about dinosaurs and how his dad does the T-Rex voice wrong.

The irony wasn't lost on her - Less than two weeks ago, she'd pulled Lucas from regular kindergarten when the first wave of articles hit, wanting to protect him from playground whispers about his mother's past. Now here he was, proudly announcing the very truth those articles had almost exposed.

"Ms. Bennett?" A PA approached cautiously. "Mr. Favreau needs the updated schedule..."

"I'll bring it over," Margot said, already reaching for the paperwork. She'd learned to maintain this careful distance on set since stepping down as EP, protecting both Robert and the film from any hint of scandal.

Across the set, Robert was running lines with Terrence Howard, every inch the professional. If he was still processing last night's emotional revelation or this morning's dramatically different press coverage, it didn't show. But she caught the way he checked his phone between takes, probably getting his own updates from Marie about Lucas's enthusiastic class participation.

Their eyes met briefly during a lighting adjustment. His slight smile held volumes - about how far they'd come from those Viper Room days, about Lucas's excitement, about how surreal it felt to see their museum photos splashed across entertainment sites when none of the photographers had known they were capturing the last few hours before their son learned the truth.

"Alright, let's reset!" Favreau called out. "Robert, we'll take it from the top."

Margot tucked her phone away, watching as Robert slipped back into character. They had two more days of filming, then the wrap party where they'd make their first official appearance together. The headlines would change again then, but for now, they had this strange moment of knowing something the whole world was still trying to piece together.

Another text from Marie: He's now explaining to his teacher why Iron Man needs a dinosaur suit. Should I intervene?

Margot smiled, typing back: Let him have this one.

The desert sun climbed higher as filming continued. Just another day on set - except nothing would ever be quite the same again.

And after everything they'd survived to get here, that felt exactly right.
Two weeks Later

They were sprawled across Robert's living room floor, Lucas's dinosaur collection creating an elaborate battle scene around them. Robert was doing the voices—each dinosaur had its own distinct personality by now—while Margot watched from the couch, pretending to read her script but mostly just taking in the sight of them together.

"No, Daddy, the T-Rex has to be more growly," Lucas corrected absently, moving his favorite figure into position. Then he froze, his small hand still gripping the dinosaur.

Robert had frozen too, his own dinosaur suspended mid-air.

Lucas looked up at him, suddenly uncertain. "Is... is that okay?"

Robert's voice was rough when he answered. "Yeah, buddy. That's more than okay."

Lucas studied his face carefully—he had Robert's eyes, Margot noticed for the hundredth time—then nodded, seemingly satisfied with what he saw there.

"Good. Because you do the T-Rex voice all wrong and I have to fix it." He paused. "Daddy."

Robert pulled Lucas into a fierce hug, dinosaurs scattering. Over their son's head, his eyes met Margot's, and she saw they were bright with tears.

"Show me how it's done then," Robert managed, his voice still thick with emotion.

Lucas pulled back, beaming. "Like this..." He let out a roar that was probably too loud for indoors, but neither Robert nor Margot moved to quiet him.

Some moments were worth a little extra noise.

Two months later

The house stood like a dream in front of them, a Spanish Colonial masterpiece gleaming white against the Pacific Palisades sky. Beyond its sprawling lawn and towering sycamores, the Santa Monica mountains rolled against the horizon, and somewhere below, the Pacific stretched endlessly blue. They'd passed Gelson's on their way up, Jon texting that he was "conveniently" shopping there and did they need anything? The neighborhood was everything they'd hoped - quiet streets lined with jacaranda trees, just four blocks from the Favreaus, and close enough to the ocean that you could smell the salt air.

The security gate closed silently behind their car as Lucas, practically vibrating with energy, clutched Margot's hand. "Mommy, look! There's a big tree right there! Can we put a swing on it? Pleeease?"

Margot smiled, brushing his dark hair back - so like Robert's it made her heart catch sometimes. "We'll see, sweetheart. Let's take a look inside first, okay?"

Robert walked beside them, hands in his pockets, his usual swagger softened by the situation. The privacy hedges and state-of-the-art security system had already caught his attention - a necessity given their public life. He glanced down at Lucas. "What do you think, kid? Big enough for you?"

Lucas let go of Margot's hand and threw his arms wide, spinning in a circle. "It's huuuge! Can we live here, Daddy? Can we? Please?"

Margot chuckled softly, shooting Robert a look. The word 'Daddy' still made her throat tight sometimes, remembering how far they'd come from those early days of uncertainty. "We haven't even seen the inside yet."

"Well," Robert said, leaning down to Lucas's level and lowering his sunglasses. "If it doesn't have a good kitchen for pancake-making, it's a no-go. You've got standards, right?"

Lucas nodded solemnly. "Right. Pancakes are the most important thing. And Indio says the kitchen has to be big enough for when he visits!"

"Exactly."

The realtor, a sharp-looking woman named Penny, opened the heavy wooden door with a bright smile. "Welcome! This place is a gem, let me tell you. Five bedrooms, a pool, and a backyard made for little adventurers. Plus," she added, nodding to Robert, "a top-of-the-line security system and complete privacy from the street."

Lucas's eyes went wide. "Adventurers? Like superheroes?"

Penny nodded, playing along. "Exactly. Maybe even a secret headquarters."

"Whoa," Lucas breathed, gripping Margot's hand again. "Can we go inside, Mommy? Please?"

Margot gave him a small nod. "Alright, let's take a look."

Inside, the house was every bit as grand as the exterior promised. The entryway boasted soaring ceilings with exposed wooden beams, gleaming hardwood floors, and a curved staircase that looked like it had been pulled straight out of a movie. Through the windows, glimpses of ocean caught the late afternoon light. Lucas's footsteps echoed as he darted ahead, exploring.

"Lucas, stay where we can see you!" Margot called, her voice firm but kind.

"Yes, Mommy!" he yelled back, his voice bouncing off the walls.

Robert chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist. "Five minutes in, and he's already claimed the place."

"He's five," Margot murmured, her eyes sweeping the space, remembering the tiny apartment they'd shared during her early recovery. "He'd be just as thrilled with a cardboard box if you told him it was a castle."

"Yeah," Robert said softly. "But don't you think he deserves a real castle? One where he can grow up and feel safe? Where Indio can have his own room when he visits, where we can build something real?"

Margot's expression softened, her hand brushing against his at her waist. "I just... I don't want to rush this, Robert. It's all so new for him."

"For him," Robert said, tilting his head, "or for you?"

Her lips twitched into a small smile. "Both, maybe. Sometimes I still wake up wondering if this is real. If we really made it here."

Before Robert could respond, Lucas came barreling back into the room. "Mommy! Daddy! There's a fireplace in the living room! Can we hang Christmas stockings on it? And have hot cocoa? And—" He stopped, eyes growing wide. "Look! You can see Uncle Jon's house from here!"

Sure enough, through the front windows, the distinctive red tile roof of the Favreau home was visible just blocks away.

Margot crouched down to his level, smoothing his hair again. "One thing at a time, sweetheart. We haven't even seen the kitchen yet."

"The kitchen's the best part," Penny said, leading them through archways that perfectly framed each new space.

The kitchen was breathtaking. White marble countertops caught the California sunlight, professional-grade stainless steel appliances gleamed, and a massive island with space for six stood center stage. Lucas immediately climbed onto one of the barstools, legs swinging.

"This is perfect!" he announced, holding his arms out like he was measuring the space. "Daddy, you can make pancakes and waffles at the same time! And Indio can sit here with me when he visits!"

Robert leaned against the counter, a smirk playing on his lips. "High praise. The kitchen gets the Lucas seal of approval."

"And look," Penny pointed to a cozy breakfast nook surrounded by windows, "perfect spot for family breakfasts. The view of the mountains is spectacular at sunrise."

"Mommy," Lucas said, turning to her with wide eyes - Robert's eyes, through and through. "Can we live here? Please? It's the best house ever!"

Margot looked from Lucas to Robert, her gaze lingering on him. He was watching her, not the house, his expression calm but full of everything they'd been through to get here.

"And the elementary school is one of the best in Los Angeles," Penny added as they moved through to the family room. "Just down the street, actually. The Favreaus' kids go there. You could walk together."

Lucas perked up even more. "Really?"

They both knew having Jon and Joya nearby would help make this transition easier - would give Lucas another piece of stable family to count on. "They are close enough for impromptu movie nights and those famous Sunday barbecues."

She hesitated, taking in the gleaming countertops, the airy windows, the way Lucas's face lit up in the sunlight. Then she sighed, her shoulders relaxing. "I think we should see the backyard before we make any decisions."

"Backyard!" Lucas shouted, hopping off the stool. "Come on, Daddy! Let's go!"

As Lucas dragged Robert toward the sliding glass doors, Margot hung back for a moment, letting her hand rest on the cool marble of the counter. She could see it all so clearly - breakfast rushes and homework sessions, family dinners and holiday gatherings. A real home, not just a house.

Penny leaned in slightly. "You know," she said softly, "you can always make a house a home. But it helps when the people inside it already feel like one."

Margot smiled faintly, her eyes drifting toward Robert and Lucas, who were now standing by the pool, Robert pointing out where they could put a basketball hoop. "Yeah," she murmured. "I'm starting to figure that out."

The backyard was a wonderland of possibilities - ancient oak trees perfect for climbing (with supervision), a gleaming pool with a safety fence already installed, and enough grass for any adventure a five-year-old could dream up. A covered patio offered shade and space for outdoor dining, and somewhere in the distance, church bells chimed softly.

As they stood watching Lucas explore, Margot leaned into Robert's side. "Jon will be insufferable about us moving this close to him."

Robert chuckled. "He's already texting me about weekly barbecues. Says it's 'meant to be' - his words."

"Perfect location for a growing family," Penny noted, gesturing to the neighborhood around them. "Lots of privacy, great security, wonderful community..." She paused, smiling. "And room for more little ones, should that be in the plans."

Robert's arm tightened slightly around Margot's waist, but before either could respond, Lucas came running back.

"Can we get it? Please? I promise I'll keep my room clean and everything!"

Margot looked up at Robert, who just smiled that smile that still made her heart skip. "What do you say, Mommy? Ready to build a castle?"

Looking at her boys - both of them watching her with those identical hopeful expressions - Margot felt the last of her hesitation melt away. "Yeah," she said softly. "I think we are."

Lucas's whoop of joy echoed off the mountains, and somewhere in the distance, a car horn honked in response. Robert pulled them both close, pressing a kiss to her temple, and Margot thought that maybe sometimes the best things in life weren't the ones you planned for, but the ones that found you anyway.

Chapter Text

One month later

Margot stood in front of the mirror, fingers trailing over the deep blue Valentino. Her reflection showed someone she was still getting used to - someone whole, happy, unafraid. The diamonds at her throat (a "just because" gift from Robert that had made her roll her eyes even as her heart fluttered) caught the light, but her eyes were drawn to her phone screen: a photo Lucas had insisted Deborah take of him and Indio, both boys grinning over a bowl of cookie dough.

A knock at her door. "You decent?"

"Mostly," she called back, smiling as Robert slipped in, already in his tux. He stopped short at the sight of her, and something in his expression made her cheeks warm.

"You're staring," she murmured, turning back to the mirror to hide her flush.

"Can you blame me?" He moved behind her, hands settling on her waist. Their eyes met in the reflection. "You're beautiful."

"You clean up pretty well yourself," she deflected, but her hand covered his at her waist.

"Nervous?" he asked softly.

"About walking the red carpet with theTony Stark?" She tried for lightness. "Please."

"About being there as my girlfriend. As Lucas's mom." His eyes were serious now. "It's a lot of spotlight."

She turned in his arms. "Robert..." Her hand came up to straighten his bow tie. "I've been in this industry my whole life. I know how to handle spotlight."

"Yeah, but this is different." His fingers traced patterns on her back. "This is us. Our family. The whole world watching..."

"Hey." She caught his face between her hands. "Are you trying to talk me out of this?"

"God no," he laughed, pressing his forehead to hers. "I'm trying to talk myself into believing I deserve it."

The vulnerability in his voice made her throat tight. Before she could respond, her phone buzzed - their car was waiting.

"Ready to face the circus?" he asked, offering his arm.

She took it, squeezing gently. "With you? Always."

The limo ride was quiet, filled with the kind of comfortable silence they'd grown into. Robert's thumb traced circles on her palm, a gesture so familiar now it felt like a language of its own.

"Jon's already inside," he mentioned, checking his phone. "Says the energy's insane."

"It should be. This movie's going to change everything for you."

He glanced at her, that vulnerable edge returning. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She squeezed his hand. "I knew it the first day on set."

The first flashes of cameras appeared through the tinted windows as they approached Grauman's. Robert straightened his jacket, then turned to her with that grin that still made her stomach flip.

"Last chance to run," he teased.

"What are you planning?" she asked, smoothing her Valentino.

"Just following my instincts," he grinned, then stepped out of the limo with his characteristic confidence. Not over-the-top, just that natural RDJ swagger that made everyone watch. He turned back, offering his hand with a genuine smile, then couldn't resist a little shimmy that made her laugh.

The cameras exploded as Margot emerged. Robert's hand found the small of her back, comfortable, familiar. He moved with that easy energy of his - stopping for just the right photos, dropping his sunglasses slightly to make eye contact with reporters, acknowledging fans with quick points and waves.

"Robert! Over here!"
"Margot! This way!"

He was a master at this, Margot realized - not performing exactly, just being himself but brighter. He'd pause mid-interview to acknowledge a kid's Iron Man sign, do his signature sunglasses move, then smoothly return to the question. His hand never left her waist, keeping her in his orbit naturally.

"Looking good, Downey!" Jon called out as he passed.

Robert pulled him in for a quick photo, striking an exaggerated superhero pose that made both Jon and Margot roll their eyes fondly.

"How's fatherhood treating you, Robert?"

"Well," he grinned, dropping the pose and pulling Margot closer. "I've got two incredible kids who somehow make me look good by association." His voice softened genuinely. "I'm the luckiest guy in the world, really."

"Margot! What about your move from Executive Producer to consultant?"

"Some things are more important than titles," she answered smoothly, feeling Robert's subtle squeeze of approval at her waist. "I'm still part of the Marvel family, just in a different capacity now."

"Any hints about the sequel?"

Robert's eyes sparkled behind his sunglasses. "Only that if they don't bring me back, my five-year-old will lead a revolt. He's got quite the following at kindergarten." He paused, then added more seriously, "This role... it's more than just another part. It's a second chance. And those don't come around often."

"Speaking of following," another reporter called out, "your relationship has become quite the Hollywood story—"

"Sometimes the best stories," Robert interrupted, turning to look at Margot with unveiled adoration, "are the ones you never saw coming."

Then he pulled her into a kiss, one hand cupping her face. The crowd erupted, but Margot barely noticed. Even on this crazy carpet, his kisses still made her forget where they were.

When they broke apart, his eyes were dancing behind those tinted lenses. He couldn't resist a little victorious shoulder wiggle that made her laugh.

"Think the kids are driving Deborah crazy yet?" he asked, guiding her further down the carpet.

"Please," Margot laughed. "She texted an hour ago. They're making cookies and watching Indiana Jones. I think she's in heaven."

They stopped for more photos, Robert alternating between his signature poses and genuine smiles, always keeping her close. A young reporter caught their attention.

"Mr. Downey! How does it feel knowing you're Iron Man?"

"Well," he started, then spotted the kid's nervous excitement. He lowered his sunglasses, giving her his full attention. "Tell you what - you tell me if I did Tony justice after you see it, deal?"

Jon appeared beside them, wearing the proud smile Margot remembered from her first day as a production assistant years ago. "There's my favorite troublemakers."

"Jon!" Margot hugged him tight, the familiar scent of his aftershave bringing back memories of late nights planning shoots, of him and his wife picking her up from rehab, of quiet dinners when she was newly sober and terrified of everything.

"You good?" he asked softly, the question loaded with years of history.

She nodded against his shoulder. "Better than good."

"Hey, stop hogging my girl, Favreau," Robert teased, but his eyes were warm watching them.

Jon released Margot but kept an arm around her shoulders. "I knew her first, Downey. And I've got the blackmail photos to prove it."

Margot groaned. "You promised to burn those."

"Never." Jon grinned. "They're my insurance policy." He turned to Robert. "You ready for this?"

"With you two in my corner?" Robert's voice was light but his eyes were serious. "How could I not be?"

Jon squeezed Margot's shoulder once more before letting go. "Come on, we've got a movie to watch."

Inside, as they took their seats, Robert leaned over and whispered, "Think we should tell them about the house?"

Margot smiled, thinking of the sprawling home they'd just closed on—plenty of room for two growing boys, with a screening room where Lucas already planned to make Indio watch every dinosaur movie ever made.

"Let's keep that one to ourselves for a bit," she whispered back. "Some stories are just for family."

He caught her hand as the lights dimmed, thumb tracing circles on her palm. On screen, the Marvel logo began to play, and she felt him take a deep breath. She squeezed his hand - here was Robert without the sunglasses, without the swagger. Just the man she'd fallen for, on the edge of everything changing.

"Hey," she whispered. He turned to her, vulnerable in the darkness. "You're incredible in this. I knew it from day one."

His smile then was pure Robert - no performance, no masks. Just them, in the dark, about to watch their lives change forever.

"Together?" he whispered.

"Together."

The movie began to play, and Margot watched his profile in the flickering light, thinking how sometimes the biggest moments in life weren't the ones with cameras and red carpets, but the quiet ones in between, when you realized you'd found your home.

That Night

Robert found her in his kitchen at 2 AM, barefoot in one of his old band t-shirts, humming quietly while making hot chocolate. Not the instant kind - she was actually melting chocolate into warm milk, stirring with focused precision.

"Can't sleep?" he asked softly, not wanting to startle her.

Margot turned, giving him a small smile. "Premiere adrenaline. Still processing everything." She gestured to the pot. "Want some? It's the good stuff from that shop in Paris."

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her stir. The kitchen was dim, just the light above the stove casting a warm glow over her face. Her hair was pulled up messily, exposing the curve of her neck, and something about the whole scene - her comfortable presence in his space, the domestic intimacy of late-night chocolate - made his chest tight.

"You know," he said, moving to get mugs from the cabinet, "most people would be calling their agents right now, capitalizing on all the buzz."

"Mm," she agreed, testing the temperature with a spoon. "Some things are more important."

He watched her, this woman who'd walked into his life and made everything make sense. The way she moved through his kitchen like she belonged there, how she'd carved out space in his world without ever demanding it.

She must have felt his gaze because she turned, brow furrowed. "Robert? You okay?"

He took the spoon from her hand, setting it aside. "I love you."

The words came out without planning, without his usual careful consideration. Just simple truth, hanging in the quiet kitchen.

Margot went very still. Her eyes searched his face, and he could see her processing, the way she did when something mattered too much to risk misunderstanding.

"I love how you make hot chocolate from scratch at 2 AM," he continued softly. "I love how you fit into my life like you were always meant to be here. I am completely, ridiculously in love with you, Margot Bennett."

She leaned into his touch, eyes bright. "The chocolate's going to burn," she whispered.

"Let it."

Her laugh was watery as she reached behind her to turn off the stove. When she looked back at him, her smile was radiant.

"I love you too," she said simply. "Even when you let perfectly good chocolate burn."

He pulled her close then, foreheads touching. "Say it again?"

"I love you." Her fingers traced his jaw. "I love you, and the way you make everything feel possible."

The kiss that followed was soft, unhurried. They had time now - time for all the words they'd been holding back.

"We should probably rescue that chocolate," Margot murmured against his lips.

"Probably," he agreed, not moving. "Or we could just stay here."

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, her expression tender. "I'm not going anywhere."

And there in his kitchen, with burnt chocolate and whispered promises, Robert felt the last piece of his world slot perfectly into place.

January 2008, Moving Day

"Dad! Indio won't let me put my dinosaurs in his room!"

"Because it's *my* room for when I stay here, squirt!"

Robert looked over at Margot, both of them surrounded by boxes in their new kitchen. The morning light streamed through the windows they'd specifically chosen for how they'd illuminate this space. "Still sure about this?"

She laughed, carefully unpacking another coffee mug from her collection. "Too late now. The lease is signed on my place."

"DAAAAAD!" Lucas's voice echoed down the stairs. "Indio says I can't paint the bathroom with glow-in-the-dark stars!"

"It's the shared bathroom!" Indio called back. "And that's a terrible idea!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

Robert pressed a kiss to Margot's temple before heading upstairs. "Duty calls."

Margot watched him go, smiling at the sound of his footsteps taking the stairs two at a time. Through the window, she could see the moving truck still being unloaded - their lives merging box by box into this Spanish Revival house that had captured their hearts the moment they'd seen it. It felt surreal sometimes, how far she'd come from that studio apartment she'd rented when she first got clean.

The sound of laughing and running feet overhead made her pause in her unpacking. Robert's voice drifted down, playfully stern: "Okay, new house rule - no dinosaurs in Indio's room, no glow-in-the-dark anything in shared spaces, and absolutely no running with bubble wrap!"

More laughter, then the unmistakable sound of bubble wrap being jumped on.

So much for that rule.

Late February 2008

The backyard was quiet except for the distant sound of crickets. Lucas had finally crashed after Robert and Indio's epic Mario Kart tournament - featuring impromptu victory dances that had their son giggling until he couldn't breathe. Now, with Indio picked up by Deborah, Robert couldn't stop moving - adjusting the patio cushions, fiddling with his phone, bouncing on his toes.

"You're making me dizzy," Margot teased from her spot on their outdoor couch, wine glass filled with sparkling water.

"Can't help it. Excess energy. Maybe we should build something. A treehouse! Lucas needs a treehouse. I could-"

"Robert."

He stopped his pacing, looking at her with that expression that still made her breath catch - like she was the only thing in his chaotic universe that made complete sense.

"Marry me?"

The words tumbled out in a rush, none of his usual performance swagger. Just raw hope and nervous energy as he pulled out a ring.

"I had speeches prepared. Several. There was going to be music, and possibly a flash mob, though that felt a bit 2007, and-" He ran a hand through his hair, that vulnerable edge showing through. "But then I watched you with the boys today, and I realized I don't need the production. I just need you. Us. This."

Margot stood slowly, heart racing as she moved toward him.

"I mean, the boys are already planning joint holidays," he continued, words spilling out faster. "And Lucas asked if we could build a lab in the garage, which technically we already started but don't tell him that's his birthday surprise, and Indio actually smiled at me yesterday - like a real smile, not the teenage courtesy one - and I just thought... why wait? Why not just-"

"Yes," she interrupted, catching his wildly gesturing hands.

"I had backup speeches," he protested weakly, but his eyes were bright. "Really good ones. With metaphors and everything."

"Yes anyway."

His kiss tasted like joy and possibility and home.

The Arrival

"They're here!" Lucas's shout from his window patrol was pure Robert-level enthusiasm. "Can I go outside? Please? I have to show them the thing!"

"Inside voice, monkey," Margot laughed. "And what thing?"

"The THING!" He bounced on his toes, another mannerism pure Robert. "With the sprinklers! Indio helped me plan it!"

Robert appeared behind her, sliding an arm around her waist as they stepped onto the porch. The Favreaus' SUV was barely in park before their kids were racing toward the backyard, Lucas's patience evaporating as he darted after them.

"No running in the- and they're gone," Jon called, shaking his head as he helped Joya juggle what looked like enough food to feed a small army.

Robert bounded down to help, that perpetual energy radiating off him. "Here, let me - I've got it - though maybe not that one, last time I dropped a casserole dish Margot banned me from dish-carrying duties for a month."

"Just take these," Joya laughed, handing over some covered dishes. "The rest is- Margot."

Margot had reached for one of the bags when Joya's eyes locked onto her left hand. Her jaw dropped, words failing.

"What?" Jon asked, arms full of cooler. "Babe, you okay?"

Joya smacked his arm, not taking her eyes off Margot's hand.

"Ow! What was that-" Then he saw it too. The vintage ring catching the afternoon sun. "Holy shit."

"Surprise?" Robert grinned, practically bouncing on his toes. "Though technically this is stealing our thunder, Joya. We had a whole reveal planned. There were going to be streamers. Possibly a musical number."

"There were not," Margot laughed.

"There could have been! I know people. I have connections."

"When?" Joya demanded, grabbing Margot's hand. "How? Details. Now."

"Last night," Robert said, his manic energy softening as he looked at Margot. "In the backyard. No production value whatsoever. I'm actually ashamed of myself."

"Nothing fancy?" Jon repeated incredulously. "After all those speeches you practiced on me?"

"Speeches?" Margot turned to Robert, eyebrows raised.

"Thanks, man," Robert groaned. "Way to maintain the mystery."

"You practiced proposal speeches on Jon?" Joya was delighted.

"There may have been some... rehearsal," Robert admitted, running a hand through his hair - his tell when he was truly nervous rather than performing. "But when the moment came..." He caught Margot's eye, that vulnerability showing through. "Sometimes you just know."

"I cannot believe you didn't call me immediately," Joya accused Margot, but she was beaming.

"We wanted to tell you in person," Margot explained. "And we haven't told the boys yet."

"Lucas is going to lose his mind," Jon chuckled.

A crash from the backyard, followed by several distinct voices yelling "Not me!" made them all wince.

"Speaking of losing minds," Joya sighed. "We should probably..."

"Yeah," Jon agreed. "But first-" He pulled Margot into a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you, M."

Margot squeezed back, remembering all the times his hugs had steadied her through the years. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

When she pulled back, Joya was wiping her eyes. "Oh stop," she sniffed. "It's just allergies."

"Sure it is," Jon teased, earning another smack.

"Alright!" Robert clapped his hands, practically vibrating with renewed energy. "Who's ready to witness my mastery of the culinary arts? I've been practicing. I watched YouTube videos. I have theories about optimal heat distribution."

"Oh god," Jon groaned, heading toward the backyard. "You're not experimenting on our dinner."

"Twenty bucks says they burn the first batch arguing about technique," Joya murmured to Margot as they followed.

Margot caught Robert's eye as he held the gate open for them. His wink made her heart flutter, just like it had last night when he'd stripped away all the performance and just asked the question that mattered most.

Soon, the smell of grilling filled the air as Robert and Jon stood at the grill, Robert gesturing enthusiastically as he explained his latest fixation.

"So I fell into this grilling video spiral at 3 AM - you know, one of those nights - and apparently there's this whole thing about heat zones that I definitely don't fully understand but am completely convinced I've mastered," he grinned, accidentally knocking over the sauce bottles he'd meticulously arranged earlier.

"Did you alphabetize the spices again?" Margot asked knowingly.

"They were asking to be organized!" Robert defended, then caught himself. "Okay, maybe I got a little intense about it at 4 AM. But in my defense, have you seen how beautiful labeled containers are? Also, I may have ordered a label maker."

Near the back fence, Indio was coordinating what looked like a complex sprinkler setup, with Lucas hovering nearby clutching parts.

"I can help! I'm big too!" Lucas insisted, bouncing on his toes.

"Okay, squirt," Indio replied with teenage patience. "Hold this part steady - careful, it's important."

Lucas's face lit up with pride as he gripped the sprinkler piece with exaggerated care.

Margot watched them from the patio, sharing knowing smiles with Joya over their cucumber-mint mocktails. "I still can't believe how good Indio is with him."

"Teenagers," Joya shook her head fondly, watching her own kids debate optimal sprinkler-running strategy. "They surprise you."

The gate creaked, and Margot turned to see David hovering uncertainly at the entrance. She'd been hoping he'd come - his text responses had been noncommittal at best. Setting down her drink, she crossed to him.

"You made it," she smiled, pulling him into a hug that seemed to surprise them both.

"I wasn't sure..." he started, then fell silent as Lucas's head snapped up at the sound of his voice.

"DAVID!" The shriek of joy was deafening. Lucas abandoned his sprinkler duties, launching himself across the yard. "David David David! You came!"

David caught him, lifting him up in a tight hug as Lucas began talking at warp speed: "My Iron Man daddy made the movie and everyone clapped and I have a big brother now and he's teaching me cool stuff and we have a theater room and Mommy smiles all the time and-"

"Breathe, kiddo," David laughed, but his eyes were suspiciously bright as they met Margot's over Lucas's head. He mouthed 'thank you,' holding her gaze.

She nodded, understanding everything he wasn't saying. Some bonds weren't meant to be broken, even when families shifted and changed.

"David!" Robert called from the grill, waving his spatula. "Jon's trying to tell me I don't know how to grill a proper burger. Come settle this."

"Don't drag him into this," Jon protested. "He's a professional chef, he'll only make it worse."

Lucas tugged on David's hand. "Come see the sprinkler first! Indio's letting me help!"

"Lead the way, buddy," David smiled, letting himself be pulled into the controlled chaos of the backyard.

Margot felt Robert's arms slip around her waist as she watched them go. "You okay?" he murmured.

She leaned back against him, taking in the scene - Indio showing David and Lucas the sprinkler setup, Jon's kids plotting their running pattern, Joya documenting it all on her phone, Jon pretending the burgers weren't burning.

"Perfect," she said softly. "Everything's perfect."

Chapter Text

All of my fics except for:

Close enough (soon to be rewritten version)
Strangers at the edge
&
Operation Overwatch

Are going on extended hiatus.

I am having mental health issues, and I hope you all understand. I am not abandoning anything, just focusing on what helps me cope.

Thank you to any comments and Kudos, and I will get back to this fic as soon as I am able.

Chapter Text

Lucas's 6th Birthday - March 2008

"Is he still asleep?" Robert whispered, practically vibrating with excitement as he balanced precariously on a ladder, hanging yet another Iron Man decoration in the transformed backyard. He'd been up since 5 AM, unable to contain himself.

"Somehow," Margot smiled, steadying the ladder. "Though I'm not sure how with all your clanking around."

"I'm being stealthy!" He gestured at the elaborate setup - the custom-built obstacle course he'd insisted on constructing himself, the mini science lab station for 'experiments' (carefully supervised), and what appeared to be enough superhero-themed decorations to fill a small party store. "Think he'll like it?"

"No, Robert, I'm sure he'll hate having his own Stark Industries R&D department in the backyard," she teased. "Complete with that ridiculously expensive robot arm you definitely didn't need to buy."

"It's educational!" He climbed down, pulling her close. "Besides, you try saying no to those puppy eyes at the tech store."

"You didn't even bring him to the-"

"WHOA!" Lucas's voice cut through their conversation. They turned to find him standing in the doorway, still in Iron Man pajamas, mouth hanging open. "Is this all real?"

Robert bounded over, scooping him up. "Happy birthday, buddy! Want to see how everything works before everyone gets here? I may have convinced Uncle Jon to let me borrow some movie props..."

"Can I touch everything? Even the robot?"

"Especially the robot. But first-" He set Lucas down and pulled out two matching lab coats with 'Stark Industries R&D' embroidered on them. "Every scientist needs proper equipment."

Lucas's squeal of delight could probably be heard in Malibu.

--

By noon, the backyard was controlled chaos. Kids ran through the obstacle course while Robert demonstrated each station with the enthusiasm of a game show host. Jon manned the grill ("You're not burning my godson's birthday burgers, Downey"), and Joya documented everything, particularly the moment Indio showed up wearing his own matching lab coat.

"Did Dad make you?" Lucas asked his big brother suspiciously.

"Nah, can't let my lab partner work alone, can I?" Indio ruffled Lucas's hair. "Now, want to show me this robot everyone's talking about?"

David arrived with an elaborate cake shaped like the Arc Reactor ("Professional secret - it glows"), and somehow the sugar high made Robert even more energetic. He'd just finished leading the kids through their third "official scientific experiment" when Margot caught him for a quiet moment.

"Having fun?" she asked, straightening his crooked lab coat.

"Are you kidding? This is the best-" He stopped, noticing her expression. "What?"

"Nothing." She smiled, watching Lucas demonstrate something to Indio with exaggerated hand gestures identical to Robert's. "Just thinking how lucky we are."

"DADDY!" Lucas called. "We need another scientist! It's important!"

"Duty calls," Robert grinned, already moving. "Can't keep my lab partner waiting. Very serious business, you understand."

Margot watched him go, their son's laughter mixing with his as they hunched over whatever new experiment awaited. Sometimes the best gifts weren't wrapped at all.

June 2008

The small vineyard estate glowed in winter sunshine, transformed by Robert's particular brand of chaos. He'd spent hours with their sons creating what he called "mood lighting" - a mixture of elegant fairy lights and paper lanterns covered in their handwritten messages. The simple wooden arch was wrapped in winter roses, with a tiny Iron Man figure hidden among the flowers - a nod to how they'd found each other again, to the role she'd fought so hard to get him.

Through the window of the stone guest house, Margot watched him pacing the grounds, unable to stand still even now. It reminded her of that day in the studio, when she'd gone to war with the insurance companies, the studio heads, everyone who said he was too big a risk. "I believe in him," she'd told them, not yet knowing how deeply their lives were already intertwined, that the man she was fighting for was her son's father.

Robert kept stopping to adjust things - straightening chairs, rearranging flowers, pulling Lucas into random hugs and exchanging complicated handshakes with Indio that made the teenager grin despite himself. Watching them together - their biological son and the stepson who'd welcomed them both so graciously into his life - made her heart swell.

"I'm thinking interpretive dance might really elevate the vows," his voice drifted through the window. "No, hear me out - we could incorporate some Fosse-inspired-"

"Dad." Indio's tone was pure teenage exasperation. "You promised Margot no choreography."

"That's technically true, but what if-"

"Robert!" Jon's laugh. "Man, breathe."

There was a pause, then Robert's voice again, softer: "I just... I want it to be perfect for them, you know? After everything... finding out about Lucas, Margot fighting for me when she didn't even know... I want to give them the world."

The ceremony itself was pure Robert - a perfect blend of his theatrical soul and raw emotional honesty. He couldn't help adding his own flair to the processional, dropping into an elaborate bow as Jon walked Margot down the aisle, Lucas practically bouncing beside them with excitement. But when their eyes met, his signature smirk softened into something vulnerable and real.

His vows started with characteristic humor: "So there I was, pretending to be a superhero, when this French firecracker of a producer walks in and completely rewrites my story - which, by the way, she still won't admit was basically just her saying 'I bet my career on you' to a room full of suits..." But then his voice cracked, and the performance fell away: "Margot, you and I both know what it's like to lose yourself. To fight your way back. To wonder if you'll ever be worthy of the good things. But loving you, being loved by you - it makes me want to be worthy. You saw something in me when even I couldn't see it anymore. You gave me a second chance at life, at love... and miracle of miracles, you gave me Lucas, even if we didn't know it then."

He had to stop several times, overcome with emotion, his hands trembling as he held hers. "I promise to love you without reservation or condition. To be your partner in all things - the grand adventures and the quiet moments. To make you laugh even when you're trying to be serious, because that's kind of my thing and you knew what you were getting into." A watery laugh from the guests. "To be the father our boys deserve - to keep being the dad Indio helped me become, and to be the father Lucas should have had from the start."

When it was time for rings, he naturally dropped hers - "See? Infinite possibilities!" - but his hands were steady as he finally slipped it on her finger, his eyes never leaving hers.

During the reception, Robert's joy was incandescent. He worked the room like a carnival ringmaster, making sure every guest felt special, but his eyes always found their way back to his family. When "Going to California" began playing, he led her to the dance floor with uncharacteristic grace.

"Remember that one night in my kitchen?" he murmured, recreating their first dance with more style but the same heart. "When you didn't run away screaming after seeing my 3 AM dance moves?"

"As I recall, you said dancing was just organized falling with style."

"Best fall of my life," he whispered, pulling her closer. "Though not as good as the fall you took on me at that first screen test. Still can't believe you risked everything on a wild card like me. Twice, really, even if we didn't know it the first time."

Later, while the party wound down, he sprawled in the grass with Lucas tucked against his side, one arm around Margot. Indio sat nearby, adding perfectly timed eye-rolls to his dad's increasingly elaborate story about a penguin, a unicycle, and what may or may not have been quantum physics. Looking at them - her new stepson who'd welcomed both her and Lucas with such warmth, and the son she and Robert had created during their lost years - Margot felt overwhelmed with love for their unconventional family.

"And that's why," Robert concluded, pulling Lucas closer as the boy yawned, "you should never challenge a penguin to a dance-off. Right, Mrs. Downey?"

"That story gets longer every time you tell it," Indio commented, sharing an amused look with his new stepmom.

"That's because I keep remembering important penguin-related details!" Robert protested, eyes bright with joy as he looked between his sons - the teenager who'd helped him stay strong through recovery, and the little boy who'd been an unexpected miracle. "Besides, your brother needs to learn proper storytelling technique."

Under the stars and paper lanterns, Margot watched Robert with his boys - Indio, who'd grown into such a thoughtful young man despite the chaos of his early years, and Lucas, their surprise gift from the universe. This was their happiness - unscripted, unexpected, and absolutely right. Their lost time had led them here, to this perfect moment with both their sons.

"You know," Robert mused, his fingers tracing patterns on her shoulder as Lucas dozed against him, "I think the penguin might need a sequel."

"Dad, no," Indio groaned, but he was smiling that smile that always reminded Margot of Robert.

"Dad, yes!" Robert grinned, then softened, looking at his sons - the one who'd been his anchor through the darkest times, and the one who'd been an unexpected blessing from his past. His voice went quiet, serious in a way he rarely allowed himself to be: "Best family I never knew I could have. Best family I never dared dream of deserving."

He pulled Lucas closer, reached out to ruffle Indio's hair despite his protests. Then he looked at Margot, his eyes bright with tears and joy: "Thank you for believing in me. Both times. For loving me even before we knew our whole story. For giving me Lucas, and for loving Indio like your own. For making us whole in ways we never even knew we could be."

Irish Film & Television Awards - March 2009

The Mansion House in Dublin glowed warmly against the drizzly evening. Inside, Margot adjusted Robert's bowtie, though they both knew he'd deliberately mess with it again in five minutes - a nervous habit he'd never quite kicked.

"You know the kids are probably destroying our hotel room right now," he murmured, that slightly manic energy he always got at awards shows showing through. He'd been pacing their suite earlier, organizing their toiletries by size until Margot had distracted him.

"Please. Indio's probably got Lucas completely engaged in some elaborate Lego creation." She smoothed his lapel, grounding him like she always did. "He's got this."

"Yeah?" His fingers drummed against his leg. "Because last time we left them alone, they recreated the entire Iron Man final battle using every pillow in the hotel."

"And it was a cinematic masterpiece," she smiled, catching his restless hand.

The category was announced, cameras sweeping across the nominees. When they landed on their table, Robert gave that characteristic half-smirk while Margot maintained her producer's composure - though her fingers tightened on his under the table.

"And the IFTA for Best International Actor goes to... Robert Downey Jr. for Iron Man!"

He turned to her first - always to her first - with that genuine smile that still made her heart skip, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before heading up. His walk was pure Downey - that mix of swagger and slightly scattered energy that was entirely his own.

He adjusted his pink-tinted glasses (his newest obsession, he'd bought twelve pairs last week), that gleam in his eye that meant he was about to go completely off-script.

"So," he started, in that uniquely Robert cadence that meandered but somehow always found its point, "fun fact - my wife is probably already texting our teenager to make sure our seven-year-old hasn't convinced him to turn the hotel suite into a science lab." Warm laughter rippled through the crowd. "Though honestly, the cleanup from that would still be better than some of my old hotel stays."

The audience laughed again, appreciating his characteristic self-deprecating honesty about his past. His eyes found Margot's in the crowd, softening.

"But that's the thing about second chances - sometimes they come with bonus structural engineering projects and kids who definitely aren't staging a pillow revolution in a five-star hotel as we speak." He paused, that smile turning intimate. "And sometimes they come with someone who sees past all your chaos to who you could be, even when you can't quite see it yourself."

He lifted the award slightly. "This is lovely, really. But my real win? That's back at the hotel, probably building what my son assures me is a architecturally sound blanket fort, supervised by a teenager who's definitely pretending to be too cool for it but is secretly having fun." His grin widened. "Thank you Ireland, you've been amazing. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a fort to inspect. For safety reasons. Obviously."

As he made his way back to their table, Margot shook her head fondly. He dropped another kiss on her lips before sitting, unable to stay still.

"Fort inspection?" she whispered.

"You know me," he whispered back, already loosening his bowtie. "Any excuse for creative chaos."

"You just want to build a fort."

"Maybe." He squeezed her hand, eyes dancing behind those rose-tinted glasses. "Coming with me?"

"Always," she smiled. "But you're explaining to Indio why we're encouraging architectural experiments past bedtime."

"Please," he grinned, that boyish light she'd fallen in love with bright in his eyes. "That kid's already texted me three structural improvement suggestions."

His thumb traced circles on her palm - a gesture that had started as a way to ground himself during industry events and had become their own private language of home.

The Viper Room Saga - SNL Cold Open, 2010

The screen flickers to life with whit text: The Beginning of true romance. 2002. Based on a true story. Mostly. Kind of. We think.

The Viper Room materializes through a haze of atmospheric fog and questionable lighting decisions. The year is 2002, and every single fashion choice in the room screams it. The DJ booth pumps out Nelly's "Hot in Herre" while someone in the background attempts to breakdance in cargo pants.

Robert Downey Jr. plays his younger self with devastating accuracy, lounging against the bar in leather pants that might have been painted on, snakeskin shirt unbuttoned dangerously low,and enough layered necklaces to make Mr. T jealous. His sunglasses keep sliding down his nose despite his best efforts to look effortlessly cool. He's nursing a Red Bull with the intensity of someone pretending it's something stronger.

Bill Hader tends bar, the only person in the room somehow immune to the early 2000s fashion crisis, methodically documenting everything in a leather-bound notebook labeled "Things Hollywood Wants to Forget."

Enter Margot, a vision in what appears to be every trending outfit of 2002 combined into one glittering ensemble. She moves through the crowd with the kind of confidence that only comes from being young in Hollywood and completely unaware that photographs of this night will survive. She's there to forget a terrible date with a guy who wouldn't stop quoting Garden State.

Margot's entrance catches his eye. The DJ, reading the room perfectly wrong, switches to "Careless Whisper." A wind machine appears from nowhere, giving Margot the full Beyoncé treatment as a random crew member holds up a Best Buy fan with surprising dedication.

Robert (voiceover): "There she was, looking like she'd mugged a Limited Too mannequin. Glitter everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

Margot (voiceover): "There he was, dressed like a rejected member of Aerosmith. The kind of guy your mother warns you about. The kind of guy who definitely has opinions about The Strokes."

Robert attempts to lower his sunglasses seductively, but they fall off completely and skid across the floor, disappearing under Maya Rudolph's Christina Aguilera, who's tangled in her own "Dirrty" chaps.

Margot struts to the bar, channeling every bad decision she's about to make.

"Robert Downey Jr.," she drawls. "You look like you raided Mick Jagger's garage sale."

"Margot Bennett," he returns, somehow slouching more intentionally. "You look like a disco ball had a baby with Claire's Accessories." He reaches for his drink and knocks over an entire row of glasses, creating a domino effect that somehow ends with Andy Samberg's Justin Timberlake wig getting wet.

Bill Hader as the bartender leans in: "Are you two about to have a meet-cute? Because I just cleaned this bar."

The scene dissolves into a montage of their "lost days," each memory more questionable than the last. Robert's voiceover carries us through:

"We spent Four days creating art..." (Cut to them drawing conspiracy theories about boy bands on hotel stationery)

"Having deep philosophical discussions..." (They're actually debating whether dolphins secretly run Hollywood while attempting the Dirty Dancing lift)

"And really connecting on an intellectual level." (Margot's teaching him French, but it's just menu items from Le Pain Quotidien while he tries to breakdance)

The memories blur and shift, reality bending like a fever dream through the lens of 2002. They crash what they think is Jack Nicholson's party but is actually just a Bar Mitzvah. Robert performs an interpretive dance about existentialism that looks suspiciously like the Macarena. Margot keeps speaking French, but it's actually just the lyrics to "Lady Marmalade."

Nine Months Later...

Just Kidding, Five Years of Denial Later...

Split screen: On one side, Robert screen tests for Iron Man while still wearing his 2002 lucky scarf ("It's a security blanket, don't judge"). On the other, Margot climbs the Hollywood ladder, occasionally finding mysterious glitter in important contracts.

Robert (to camera): "I was becoming a superhero..."

[Cut to him tripping in the Iron Man suit because he refused to take off his lucky necklaces]

Margot (to camera): "I was becoming a studio executive..."

[Cut to her trying to explain to accounting why there's glitter in the budget reports]

Bill Hader walks through both scenes, still taking notes: "Day 1,825 - They still haven't done the math."

---

Margot's office at Marvel Studios. She's the picture of professional composure - tailored blazer, sleek ponytail, reading glasses that actually serve a purpose. She's focused on budget reports when-

BANG. The door flies open.

"PLOT TWIST!" Robert announces, sliding in like he's auditioning for Risky Business.

He slams a manila envelope on her desk with unnecessary drama. Papers scatter everywhere.

"Did you just say 'plot twist' out loud?"

"I've been practicing that entrance for twenty minutes," he admits, then drops a manila envelope on her desk with unnecessary dramatic flair. "Read it and weep. Literally, probably."

The paternity test results flutter to the floor as Bill Hader walks past the office window, still taking notes.

She picks up the paternity test, eyebrows climbing.

"You're..."

"Lucas's father? Yes. Explains the dramatic entrances, doesn't it?"

Two Days Later, because why not.

The scene shifts to their backyard wedding, where every attempt at sophistication is undermined by pure chaos. The string lights spell "FINALLY DID THE MATH" when they're not shorting out. A mariachi band keeps trying to play Radiohead songs. Their five-year-old son Lucas (played by a child actor) performs periodic cartwheels in his tiny Iron Man suit while Indio films everything with the weary acceptance of someone who's seen it all.

Jon Favreau as officiant: "We are gathered here today because these two finally realized what a DNA test and basic math could have told them years ago..."

"We get it," they say in unison.

Back in the present, Robert and Margot sit in director's chairs, watching the footage.

"For the record," Robert tells the camera, "that's not how it happened at all."

"No?" Margot raises an eyebrow.

"My outfit was way worse."

"And I had more glitter," Margot adds.

"Way more glitter," Robert confirms. "Haunted us both for years."

Bill Hader appears one last time, notebook in hand: "Actually-"

"Live from New York, it's Saturday Night!" they shout over him, as somewhere in the background, Andy Samberg's Justin Timberlake wig finally gives up and accepts its fate.

June 2011

The bathroom tile was blissfully cool against Margot's cheek. She'd been here for twenty minutes, alternating between throwing up and trying to convince herself this was just a stomach bug. But after three mornings of this...

She reached into the drawer, pulling out the test she'd bought yesterday. "Here goes nothing," she muttered, going through the motions before setting it on the counter.

Three minutes. She could handle three minutes.

She couldn't handle three minutes.

Another wave of nausea hit, and she barely made it back to the toilet.

"Hey, so I went down this WebMD rabbit hole at 4 AM - couldn't sleep, you know how it gets - and apparently ginger tea isn't actually the best for nausea, it's this weird Chinese herb I can't pronounce but I ordered six varieties because the reviews were fascinating and-"

Robert's rambling cut off abruptly. She looked up from her position on the floor to find him frozen in the doorway, eyes locked on the counter.

"Is that..." His voice went up an octave.

Margot glanced at the test. Two lines.

"Oh," Robert said softly. Then: "Oh. OH." He slid down to sit on the floor beside her, energy shifting from scattered to absolutely still. "Are you... I mean, we're..."

She nodded, watching his face carefully.

"A baby," he whispered, like he was testing out the word. Then suddenly he was moving again, hands fluttering between her face and her still-flat stomach. "Morning sickness - that's what this is? How long? Are you okay? Do you need anything? Everything? I can get everything. I know a guy who knows a guy who makes these amazing organic saltines-"

"Robert," she caught his wildly gesturing hands, recognizing the start of one of his research spirals.

He stilled again, and that's when she saw it - the tears in his eyes, the wonder there.

"I get to be there," he said quietly. "For everything. The whole thing. All the appointments and weird cravings and..." His voice cracked. "I get to do it right this time."

Margot felt her own eyes well up. "Yeah," she managed. "You do."

He pulled her into his arms, careful even in his excitement. "Thank you," he whispered into her hair. Then he pulled back suddenly. "Wait - do you need the toilet again? Because I've got at least six different types of crackers downstairs, and I read this thing about pressure points that might help, though full disclosure I may have ordered some questionable acupuncture supplies at 5 AM..."

Margot laughed despite the lingering nausea. "Maybe just hold me for a minute?"

He settled back against the wall, gathering her close. His fingers drummed lightly against her arm - not from anxiety this time, but pure joy he couldn't quite contain.

"Hey," he said softly after a moment, that rare completely serious tone. "I love you. Both of you."

"We love you too," she smiled. "Even if you did order questionable acupuncture supplies."

"They had five-star reviews!" He protested, but his hand had settled protectively over her stomach, and his smile... she'd never seen quite that smile before.

It was perfect.

Even with her head half in the toilet.

February 2012

The delivery room was quiet except for the steady beep of monitors and Robert's soft footsteps as he moved between the window and Margot's bed. His nervous energy showed in the way he kept adjusting her pillows, checking his watch, and occasionally muttering facts he'd clearly memorized at 3 AM.

"You know," he said, perching on the edge of her bed, "I thought I'd be better at the waiting part by now." His fingers drummed lightly against her hand. "Though I did read about twelve books on labor in the past week. Most of them completely contradicted each other, which was helpful."

Margot squeezed his hand as another contraction built. He stayed quiet, steady, letting her grip his hand as tightly as she needed.

"Tell me something," she said when it passed, needing the distraction of his voice.

"Did I tell you about Lucas's plans for being a big brother? He's got this whole superhero protection program worked out." His eyes crinkled with genuine warmth. "Complete with a cape he's been hiding in his closet. Though I may have helped with the design specs. And possibly ordered matching ones at midnight last week."

Another contraction hit harder. Robert's humor fell away instantly, replaced by focused attention. He helped her breathe through it, his presence grounding despite the way his free hand kept fidgeting with her blanket.

"Almost there," he murmured, brushing her hair back. "You're doing amazing. And I only checked WebMD twice in the last hour, which I think shows remarkable restraint."

When Dr. Chen announced it was time to push, Robert went still for just a moment, emotion flickering across his face. Then he was there, solid and present, holding her hand and watching with wonder as their daughter entered the world.

"She's perfect," he whispered, voice rough with tears as they placed her on Margot's chest. His hand trembled slightly as he touched their daughter's cheek. "Hey little miss. I've been practicing that line for weeks but now it doesn't seem like enough."

"Wren," Margot said softly, watching them.

The smile that spread across his face was pure joy. "Wren," he repeated, testing the weight of it. "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl." He pressed a kiss to Margot's forehead. "Thank you. For her. For everything."

"Should we tell Lucas he's officially a big brother?"

"Probably before he shows up in his secret cape," Robert grinned, but his eyes never left Wren. "I love you both so much. Even if I did just realize I left a 'Welcome Baby' PowerPoint running in the waiting room. On loop."

But for once, his usual scattered energy was quieter, replaced by something softer - just a father watching his daughter with absolute wonder, his hand warm and steady against Margot's shoulder as their new family of four began.