A/N: Hello! Welcome to Legacy, my newest fanfic. Well, I wouldn't call it "newest"; I've been working on it for months now. I decided I would submit it here, as I haven't had an ongoing fic in quite some time. As you read, keep two things in mine: one, it is Iron Man 1 movie-verse, and I'm not considering IM2 as my personal canon because, uh, it hasn't come out yet. Two, it is a tie-in to Jax Solo's Iron Bonds. Other than that, enjoy! And do be gentle when you comment; I once had a jerk chew me completely out for a fic, and that was just uncalled for and unfair. Hurtful, too! --T92

Prologue: His Girl

Staring at the webpage centered on the bright liquid-crystal screen of the personal computer sequestered in a corner of his bedroom, Tony Stark found it difficult to believe what he was seeing. Then again, it was not implausible in any way. The little girl in the picture on the screen was almost a walking, breathing neon sign that broadcasted her identity to the world. And it was not as if he totally failed to remember her; after all, there were some parts of his life before Afghanistan, before everything snowballed, that were a little livelier than others. This was not impossible at all. Besides, he remembered the e-mail he had received about six years ago.

Sighing thinly, he clicked on a tab beside the picture, watching as the page switched to another part of the adoption agency’s website: to information about that dark-haired, dark-eyed girl in the picture. On that information page, the first thing he saw was her date of birth: June 12, 2001. All right, so he had gotten that e-mail seven years ago. That had been an e-mail he’d never as much as glanced at, perhaps out of fear, perhaps just out of apathy, because it had arrived almost nine months to the day after a telephone call that had started with “Hey, guess what...” He could not have cared less at the time. Then again, he had changed since then.

Tony backtracked to the introductory page that contained the little girl’s picture. It was a lovely photo, and she herself was quite adorable; he had to admit that. Big brown eyes gazed hopefully outward from the photo in a silent plea to be loved and cherished. Things could be fixed now, Tony mused. If she had failed to be adopted in the seven years that she had been in the state’s custody, then it was evident that he was meant to do things right for a change. It was as good a time as any to grant the wish that those warm, dark eyes—so very much like his own—clearly demonstrated.

He clicked on the tab again, jumping back to the information page. All of the little girl’s most important information was right there and readily available to casual, at-a-glance viewers. In addition to her birthday, there were her age, hair and eye colors, height, weight, and, most importantly, her name. That was the one thing on the page that caused Tony’s eyebrows to rise. Antonia Caroline was her name, so said the information chart. He knew perfectly well that that was the feminine Italian form of Anthony—his name. As hard as he tried, he could not remember who this girl’s mother had been, but she had obviously had a well-honed sense of irony—if not a horrible sense of humor. At least the Caroline part had a nice ring to it, though. It had a relatively soft opening consonant: a faint “kuh” sound that balanced out the flowing vowels in Antonia.

Antonia Caroline. He really had no problem accepting the fact that she was his, and he thought there was nothing wrong with him because he loved her already. It did not bother him that a little girl he had never met and had only recently remembered was dearer to him than any of his material possessions. Then there was the fact that, if he failed to bring her home as his daughter, his newfound conscience would more than likely bother him for the rest of his days. Determined to make things right for little Antonia, Tony flicked open his cell phone and speed-dialed his assistant. She answered on the second ring.

“How good are you at translating adoption papers?” was all he asked.

Dead silence followed. Tony could not help but chuckle. He knew perfectly well that he had never been a paternal sort, but this was special. He probably would not want to adopt the girl if she were not his to begin with. After explaining to Pepper what was going on—with several stunned silences from her in between sentences—and what he wanted to happen, he was assured that everything would be taken care of. She called back in another handful of long minutes to tell him that he had an appointment that afternoon at the courthouse to meet with the social workers and lawyers to hammer something out. From the explanation passed along to him, Tony garnered the impression that he would leave his home as a bachelor and return as a father-to-be. Naturally, the adoption process itself would take a long time, perhaps even months, but he clung to the hope that maybe this case would hurry through the legal system because of its nature. Perhaps this time things would progress quickly when it was revealed that he was that little girl’s true father. But he was not in any rush; after all, there hardly seemed to be a queue forming of families ready and willing to adopt that charming Antonia.

After getting Pepper to work everything out, Tony turned back to the computer screen as he dialed another number on his cell phone. Eyes still latched firmly to the picture of the bright-eyed, smiling little girl, he was ready to reply when his sister answered with a simple “What?”

“Andy, how much do you like kids?” he asked, a smile creeping into his tone. There were a few seconds of silence; he could envision Andy shrugging as if she really didn’t care.

“I dunno. Why?” was her response.

“Because,” he grinned, “congratulations; you’re an aunt-to-be.”

Then there was quiet. There was no reply on the other end for several minutes, and Tony chuckled under his breath as he envisioned his younger sister’s surprised and shocked expression. He could imagine the countless thoughts running through her mind. He just shook his head as she finally came back with “Say what?” and he took the time to explain. Even as he talked, he kept studying the picture of the little girl—his daughter, and no one else’s. Already he had plans, dreams, of what she would become. He began wondering if this were what his father had felt upon having a son. He started to think that maybe this daughter would continue the family tradition of geniuses and uphold the family name. As far as he was concerned, that sounded fantastic. But, for the time being, she was still just a seven-year-old girl, still waiting for a home and family. But she wouldn’t have to wait for long.

And he still liked the Caroline part.