The Avengers' workshop hummed with the quiet industry of maintenance and innovation. Scattered across multiple workbenches lay various pieces of equipment in various states of disassembly: Sam's Falcon wings stretched across one table, Black Widow's gauntlets dismantled on another, the arc reactor housing from Rhodey's War Machine armor glowing softly near the far wall.
Scott Lang hunched over the left wing assembly, precision tools in hand, applying microscopically thin layers of vibranium weave to the underlying structure. Across from him, Hope van Dyne worked with equal concentration on the right wing, her movements economical and exact.
"I still can't believe Thor brought vibranium," Scott said, his tone somewhere between awe and disbelief. He held up a small sheet of the metal, watching it catch the light. "Like, actual Wakandan vibranium. From Earth. Across the galaxy."
Hope's lips curved in a small smile. "Princess Shuri apparently insisted. She sent it specifically for us, along with a message for T'Challa." Her expression softened slightly. "She said to tell her brother she's an Avenger now too. Ready to contribute her strength to the team—whether on Earth or in space."
Scott set down the vibranium sheet with reverent care. "That kid is going to rule the world someday. In a good way."
They'd already completed initial applications to Steve's uniform and Natasha's tactical gear. The vibranium weave made the materials more flexible, more durable, capable of absorbing impacts that would've been devastating before. Rhodey's War Machine armor would be next—a more complex undertaking given the integration with arc reactor technology—and then the rest of the team in turn.
It was meticulous work. Time-consuming. Requiring absolute precision.
But Scott found his attention wandering.
Hope had been quiet for the past hour. Not unusual—she often preferred focused silence during technical work. But this felt different. Heavier. He'd caught her watching him several times, her gaze thoughtful in a way that made him vaguely nervous.
Finally, she broke the silence.
"Scott." Her voice carried a studied casualness that immediately set off his internal alarm systems. "I've been thinking about something lately."
"Hmm?" He didn't look up, carefully aligning the next vibranium layer. "About what?"
"About us having a baby."
The precision tool slipped from Scott's fingers, clattering against the workbench. He inhaled at exactly the wrong moment and nearly choked on his own spit. His head snapped up, eyes wide.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Hope set down her own tools, crossed her arms, and met his gaze directly. "I said I've been thinking about us having a baby. A child together."
Scott's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "I... what... why..." He couldn't seem to form complete sentences.
"Why am I bringing this up?" Hope's expression suggested she'd anticipated his reaction and found it mildly amusing. "Or why am I considering it at all?"
"Both? Either?" Scott's thoughts tumbled over each other like clothes in a dryer. "I mean—not that I'm against it, necessarily, but this is kind of coming out of nowhere, and we're in space, Hope, and—"
"It's not entirely out of nowhere." She uncrossed her arms, beginning to circle around the workbench toward him. "I've been influenced by Natasha and Wanda."
"Mara, Merlin and Illyana?" Understanding dawned, still tinged with confusion.
"Yes." Hope stopped walking, leaning against the bench beside him. "Since we arrived in this galaxy and I watched Natasha with Mara, Wanda with her girls... I started thinking about it. About you and Cassie." She paused, choosing words carefully. "It never really occurred to me before—the idea of having children. I was always so focused on the work, on the mission, on proving myself worthy of my mother's legacy. But recently..."
Her gaze found his. "Recently, I realized I actually want this. Want us."
Scott stared at her, his brilliant mind temporarily offline. "Are you... I mean, I don't want to ask the wrong question here, but... are you absolutely sure?"
Hope didn't answer immediately. Instead, she closed the remaining distance between them, taking his hands in hers. "It doesn't have to be right now. Not tomorrow or next month. But someday? Yes. I want that."
She squeezed his fingers. "You're wonderful with Cassie. She adores you. You've made mistakes—we both have—but you never stopped trying to be better for her. That tells me everything I need to know about what kind of father you'd be to another child."
Scott felt warmth bloom in his chest, followed immediately by a wave of self-doubt that threatened to drown it. "I could've done so much more for her. Been there for more birthdays, more school events, more of the small moments—"
"Scott." Hope's hand came up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet her eyes. "Cassie still sees you as her hero. That has to mean something."
He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. His expression grew distant, memories flickering across his features. "I just... after the divorce, after everything fell apart with Maggie, Cassie was all I had. Then you and Hank came into my life. Then the Avengers. Now we're in another galaxy, fighting wars we never imagined, and I..."
He swallowed hard. "I don't know if I'm worthy of this. Of you wanting to build a family with me. Are you really, truly sure this is what you want?"
Hope's eyes softened. Her hand moved from his cheek to thread through his hair. "You are so much better than you give yourself credit for, Scott Lang. You've exceeded every expectation I had, shattered every preconception." She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You've shown me possibilities I never let myself imagine."
Scott smiled, genuine warmth breaking through the uncertainty. "I appreciate that, I do. But I can't fail at this. Can't fail at marriage again. Can't fail at being a father to another child."
"Who said anything about marriage being a prerequisite?" Hope's tone turned playful. "We can be partners. Co-parents. It doesn't require a legal ceremony."
He pulled back slightly, eyebrows raised. "Okay, but I'm traditional about some things. If we're bringing a kid into the world, I want to be all-in. Committed. There for every moment, through whatever challenges come." A smile tugged at his lips. "Even if our baby turns out like that weird doll Cassie used to carry everywhere."
Hope laughed—a genuine, delighted sound. "What doll?"
"You know, that creepy one with the big eyes? She named it something like 'Munchkin' or 'Momo' or—honestly, I've blocked out most of the details because it was terrifying. But she loved it, so I loved it."
The image made Hope laugh harder. She leaned in, kissing him softly. "That was perfect."
Scott returned the smile, then winced. "Hank is going to kill me. Like, actually murder me. There will be headlines: 'Man Shrunk to Subatomic Size, Never Seen Again.'"
Hope tilted her head, considering. "Maybe initially."
"Maybe?" Scott's eyebrows shot up. "Maybe he'll want to murder me?"
"He'll be angry at first," Hope conceded, fighting a smile. "All that protective father rage. But the moment he holds his grandchild?" Her expression softened. "I think he'll forget why he was angry in the first place."
Scott nodded slowly, the image taking shape in his mind. "Hank Pym, softened by a baby. The universe really is full of surprises."
They stood together for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the workshop's ambient sounds fading to background noise. This quiet bubble of shared understanding felt like its own kind of sanctuary.
"Are you sure?" Scott asked again, softer this time, the question carrying different weight. Not doubt about her feelings, but wonder that this was actually happening.
Hope shrugged, the gesture both casual and confident. "Unless you do something spectacularly stupid to destroy what we have. Which, knowing you, is always a possibility."
"Hey!" Scott's protest lacked heat.
"But," Hope continued, her smile widening, "I don't think you will. You're not Sam or Peter, fumbling through relationships without a plan. You've been through this before. You know what it takes."
Scott shook his head, but he was grinning now. "Having a baby in a galaxy far from Earth. That's... that's actually kind of amazing when you think about it. Our kid's origin story would be insane."
Hope laughed, pulling him into a tight embrace. The world narrowed to this: the warmth of her against him, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the certainty growing in his chest that this was right. Terrifying, yes. But right.
"We should probably finish Sam's wings first though," she murmured against his shoulder.
"Probably," Scott agreed.
Neither moved.
Then Hope tilted her head up, capturing his lips in a kiss that started gentle and deepened into something that made vibranium integration seem far less important than it had moments before.
When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Scott's smile had transformed into something approaching awe.
"So we're really doing this?"
"Eventually," Hope confirmed. "When the time's right."
"When the time's right," Scott echoed. Then, because he couldn't help himself: "But seriously, we should tell Hank together. Safety in numbers. Maybe bring Thor as backup. Asgardian gods are harder to shrink."
Hope's laughter filled the workshop, bright and unrestrained. She pulled him into another kiss, and for a while, the vibranium, the armor, and the war beyond their walls ceased to matter.
There was only this moment, this choice, and the future they were deciding to build together.