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February 4, 2001
"Jarvis?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Open a new file, start voice recording for Sunday February 4, 2001." Tony paused. "Actually, start a, kind of, audio journal."
"Yes, sir. What would you like me to title this file?"
Tony hummed as he thought about a file name. "I'll get back to you on that. Are you already recording?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Could you start recording now? Please."
"Yes, sir."
"Okay." Tony let out a great sigh, which sounded as though it had been trapped in his lungs for eternity.
"It's Sunday, February 4, 2001. It is currently," He let out a huff of breath as he checked his watch. "It's currently three in the morning. Roughly... nine hours ago, Sarah told me that she's... expecting."
"Congratulations, Mr. Stark. To you and Ms. Davis."
"Thanks, Jarvis. But, I gotta admit, I'm a bit skeptical. She just said that she's pregnant, not that it's mine. Maybe it's someone else's." Tony rambled.
"I find the chances of that to be highly improbable, sir."
"Yeah, well what do you know?" Tony mumbled.
"Everything, sir."
"That wasn't a legitimate question." Tony sighed. "I know it's mine, but I don't wanna believe it. Maybe after the baby's born I'll book us a spot on Maury and pay him to say I'm not it's father."
"I never even thought I'd be with Sarah, let alone be the father of her child."
. . .
Two Months Earlier
In a sea of white sheets strewn about a California king bed, a young brunette woke up alone with a view of the warm, west coast sun rising. She wrapped whatever covers she could grab around her small, bare body before taking in her surroundings. A room with nothing but a bed, a few glass screens on the walls, a bedside table, and an impressive view of the early morning waves kissing the rocky cliff side underneath the mansion. She veered her head towards the opposite side of the bed to find it empty. Shaking her head in disapproval and disbelief of the events that transpired the night before.
Her clothes were nowhere to be seen. "So this is how he treats his guests, huh? Wines 'em, dines 'em, leaves them alone and takes their clothes. Interesting tactics." She clutched the sheet against her bare body and began her search for her clothes and the man who stole them.
Descending a flight of stairs with nothing but a cotton sheet around your body is a treacherous, skillful act. Although Sarah managed quite gracefully, the sheet ended up looking more like a dress than a sheet which worked favorably for Sarah. The only thing giving her away was the hand she had holding the sheet dress together.
