drainednerves: Godspeed!

Konoewpl: I honestly side a little more with May than Tony, even though I'm the one writing this lol. She loves Peter to death and letting him live with a stranger all the way across the country isn't easy. Thanks

sillysammijo: AO3 is short for "Archive of our own" - another fanfiction website just like fanfiction . net, but like...*whispering* better. At least in my opinion. You can list way more characters and ships, and can list all kind of things that are in your story, like "Enemies to Lovers Romance," "Alternate Universe," etc. You can also list things like warnings! I prefer it over FFN. But thanks so much for the review!

"I'm going to update a chapter every day, and then I didn't."

Anyway, sincerest apologies.

The process of taking in Peter wasn't a happy one. Pretty tedious, actually.

First there was just the talking, a lot of it, mostly in the visit Tony made the day after he got the news the first time. The conversation was much slower, a lot cooler. Civil. Everyone kept their voice even, but there was unhappiness weighing down on the room. Ben and May both contributed what needed to be said—for example, that Peter had reading glasses, or how long it had been since his last checkup. Ben was clearly trying to just move with time, get everything going, but May was biting her tongue the whole talk. She was angry, bordering on furious, but there was nothing else she could do. She'd talked with Peter, she had no more say.

There were two additions to the talk this time around, one of which was Richard. And…

God, Richard…

Not two days ago, Tony had seen him bright and ready for their dinner at the Italian joint. Even with his walking stick, he'd had energy. He was alert, eyes open. He talked when he was spoken to. He was fine. He was alive.

Now, though…Richard was almost a dead man walking. His pale was as pale as a sheet of paper, the slight hint of stubble on his jaw had become a full shadow. The bags under his eyes were so thick, they could have been drawn on in Sharpie. He blinked slow, talked slow, moved slow.

The day before, he had attended Mary's funeral—Fitz's funeral. The woman he loved but never got around to saying so. Best friend for almost his entire life. One of his constants. Tony could almost feel the grief wafting off of him. The poor guy was just…hollow.

What was there even to say to him? He was the guy who fathered Mary's son, he wouldn't be surprised if Richard hated him, even just a little bit.

Speaking of "son", Peter had joined them, too.

He wasn't excited. He didn't bounce off the walls or ask Tony what his new house was going to be like, nothing like that. But he was certainly more chipper. He didn't turn his head down at the first hint of eye contact, nor did he go out of his way to distract himself with something. He stayed where he was seated beside Richard, calm but fidgeting.

The first thing Tony had said to him after a greeting was, plain and simple, "You sure about this, kiddo?"

Peter nodded. "Mm-hm."

Why? "You sure you're sure?"

"Mm-hm."

WHY? "Alright." Tony gave the kid's shoulder a squeeze. "Let's figure this out."

Since he was there, they all tried to be mindful of what they said, not wanting him to feel ignored or left out. He could understand everything they said.

They talked about all the big things that needed to be said, like setting Peter up at his new school. May only got grumpier with each word that was said, and judging by the way Peter's eyes always went to the floor after he looked at her, Tony guessed that their talk about it had been a long one. He doubted May had tried to spin Peter's mind a certain way—she was adamant, but kind, and he couldn't imagine her doing a "It's your choice, Peter, but also I'm going to be very upset if you don't make the decision I want" shtick.

Tony noticed tenderness between Peter and Richard he hadn't seen before. Peter half-sat-beside, half-lied-on Richard on the sofa. Richard had a cup of coffee on the little nightstand by Peter, and gently asked him to pass it over when he wanted it. He ran his fingers over the boy's curls without looking, making Tony think that he didn't even know he was doing it.

He also noticed—and was pleased by—Peter's decidedly more open nature to him. He had yet to ask or say anything to Tony himself, but he answered when Tony talked to him and didn't shy away. In fact, whenever Tony smiled at him, he returned it. Maybe not happily, but warmly enough. When Ben brought up his glasses, he rushed to get them from his room just to show him. His almond-and-hazelnut allergy came up again, and he made it clear that he was still totally okay to eat peanut butter. Sweet kid was trying.

He wasn't happy, but he was the happiest Tony had seen him since they met. He liked it. He liked seeing Peter smile. He liked how he handed Tony his glasses like they were some marvel. He liked that he was almost excited to come live with him; it gave him a glimpse into what the future would be like.

It was a little tempting to give him a hug. He didn't, of course.

Eventually they got on the topic of how Tony was going to deal with the whole sudden-five-year-old-child situation to the public. Tony assured them that he was already brainstorming how to keep it under wraps—which was almost completely a lie—but before he could plan on the spot, Peter's brow furrowed on his forehead.

"Doesn't 'keep it under wraps' mean 'secret'?"

Well, if that didn't just give them another bout of awkwardness. Just about everyone did some kind of fidget. Cheek rub, nose scratch, sniff.

Someone had to explain, and it should be him, Tony decided. So, putting on the "Dad stance" of leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he tried.

"You know how I'm on TV and magazines a lot? Not because I did anything, but just because I got a cheeseburger, or something?" Peter nodded. "Yeah, that's not always…fun, and if everyone finds out that I'm your dad, that's going to happen to you."

Peter frowned. That, too, made Tony think that he looked more like him than was obvious. "I thought being on TV and stuff was good?"

"Well…It is when you did something good. Imagine you go to school one day, and your shoelaces are untied, so you trip. Then someone takes a picture of you tripping, and everyone in the world is talking about that. How would you feel?"

Peter scratched the end of his nose, unhappy. "Embarrassed."

"Yep. So since I'm really famous, that would make you really famous. And you'd be embarrassed all the time."

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw May give him a quick, angry look. It wasn't his intention to scare Peter, but hey, Peter didn't seem all that scared. There was some pent-up curiosity in his face, because he was a kid and kids were curious, but he seemed to understand. Or at least, he understood enough and didn't want to pop off his ten thousand questions at that moment.

He did pop off one, though. "So I can't tell anyone?"

"Well—" Ben paused to see if Tony was okay with his chiming in. "It'd be a secret."

"But what if someone asks? Do I lie?"

Tony didn't know the answer to that. his first instinct was to say no, because you weren't supposed to tell your kid it was okay to lie, right? But also…He'd probably have to. Except—

Alright, hold on.

What was the plan, again?

He'd keep his son a secret. How was he supposed to keep an entire human being a secret?

Ben didn't say anything; May didn't say anything.

Richard said something, in a soft voice. "I may have an idea."

On paper, the plan sounded simple. Like, figurative paper. The papers they had to sign and file and whatnot were neither simple nor thrilling.

This was the cover story: after the death of his mother, Peter Fitzpatrick was adopted by Mary's close friend, Richard Parker. Though her other friends May and Ben dearly wanted to do so, they simply didn't have the time or money to care for Peter properly. Richard, now well on his way to becoming a physical therapist, also did not have countless time on his hands. However, he did have time, and enough money to keep him and Peter comfortable. Peter Fitzpatrick was now Peter Parker.

This was the real story: Tony had—in every legal sense—adopted Peter. It was up to him to care for him physically and financially, up until he was at least eighteen. Richard's "adoption" was just a show. To keep that show going, Peter would spend one or two days a week at Richard's new totally-bought-with-his-own-money house specially secluded from curious neighbors. PTA meeting? Doctor's appointment? Kid's birthday party? Richard was Peter's father. Otherwise, he'd be with Tony in the mansion. Any time of day, any day a week, Peter could call his Aunt May or Uncle Ben if he wanted to talk.

He could also call him if he changed his mind and wanted to come home. Tony could only hope it wouldn't come to that.

It wouldn't be easy, of course not. There were a lot of factors they had to deal with. The only people outside of them who knew were less than five lawyers and CPS agents who all signed black-and-white NDAs, but who was to say they wouldn't spill to the press anyway? Peter finally got on board with the lie—no, not lie, pretend—that Richard was his new father, but what if he just couldn't help it and let it slip one day? Not being seen in public with Peter wouldn't be too hard, but he could be seen with literally anyone else and the media might try to put two and two together.

All through the process, they watched Peter like a hawk, minding how he felt and what he thought. His excitement for his new home became more evident at times when he was Tony, evident enough to let the somewhat gap-toothed smile peek through.

"How big is the mansion?" "Imagine the biggest house you can think of and multiply it by pi." ("Pie?")

"Will we be close to the beach?" "If you walk too far out the back door, you'll fall into the ocean. Let's just put it like that."

"Is it close to Disneyland?" "Not exactly, but just tell me when you want to go and we'll get it arranged."

Sometimes, though, the wariness came through, as it should have. At times they caught him looking around the little apartment with some sad fear, the knowledge that oh, I'm not going to live here soon. He asked to see just where Malibu was on the U.S. map and was very surprised to see several inches between it and Queens. When he finally returned to his last days at his school, one of his friends—Wendy? Willy?—gave him a sloppy fifteen-second Ill miss you Peter! card that he carried heavily.

They had different ways of dealing with this. Tony's way was to try and cheer the kid up through some cheap but well-meaning distractions. Ben's way was reassurance that there was nothing to be scared of. May's way was encouraging Peter to say what upset him. Richard somehow managed to do all three at whatever times they were necessary. He read his soon-to-be-psuedo son well. In the end, Peter would always reassure that he was still okay with it.

It was curious, at some point, how well he and Peter got along. Peter didn't call him "Uncle Richard", for some reason or another. Just "Richard." If some passing comments were to be believed, then Richard's busy job meant that the five years of Peter's life had him visiting often, but still just visiting. Some months, he never saw Peter at all. But still Peter relaxed around him, opened up to him, laughed himself red in the face when Richard did funny voices.

(Some part of Tony asked, "Hey, if Richard and Peter have such a good relationship just visiting, why can't you do the same?" He shut that part up.)

It was a mission that took all five of them. Every detail, every plan. The specifics of each step. They made it work, though, through some elbow grease and strong wills. Grief stull hung over them all. There was always an empty spot whenever they talked; there were times where they could all sit in the living room and feel as if they should have left a seat vacant.

Mary was gone. They loved her, they missed her, but they had to keep going. May and Ben knew this, Richard knew this. Peter knew this, too, even if he did at times have his lip quivering and go suddenly quiet for no clear reason.

Maybe Peter had known that Richard and his mother had some kind of special connection? There was a difference when Richard comforted him. He was too sweet to pick favorites, but there was no reluctance when it came to hugging Richard or taking his hand.

Richard watched him a lot in the days they were together, in a way that almost kind-of, sort-of creeped Tony out. He didn't even seem angry, he was just always watching. Mostly it was just glances, but when Tony talked to Peter, that gaze was pinned on them both.

Tony almost thought that maybe a talk was order when, lo and behold, Richard took it upon himself to instigate it. It was after dinner, everyone was in the other room, Tony was taking a look at how much Peter had packed up. (It wasn't much, but Peter didn't really have much.)

It was not a talk so much as a lesson, really. There was no back-and-forth as Richard talked to him in a firm, even voice that almost bordered on but never crossed into anger.

"Keep him safe," he said. "Keep him safe, keep him happy, and don't ever, ever make him feel like he's not wanted. Okay?"

"Okay," Tony had promised, to him, and Richard, and Peter, and Mary.

Tony couldn't keep away from Malibu forever, and he wasn't always needed. He bounced to and from Queens on an irregular basis over the weeks. If anyone was curious about where the Man of the Century was going, Pepper shut them down with an explanation that was just ambiguous enough.

Speaking of which, Tony realized as he walked into his home after his extra four days in Queens and saw her standing in the middle of the room that oh, yeah, that was what he forgot. He thought maybe he left something in the hotel.

"Hiya," he greeted.

"Hey," she answered. If he didn't know any better, he would have said she was relieved to see him. That wasn't an ego-stroke, by the way, he just knew he was asking her to hold down the fort maybe a little too longer. "Everything go alright?"

"Alright enough. Everything looks like it's still in one piece." He made a joking look around while he said it. "You didn't find my secret wine cellar, did you?"

"No; I promise I've just been making sure the cleaners came."

"Wonderful. By the way, I totally do not have a secret wine cellar I don't want anyone to know about."

Pepper gave him the pursed-mouth look she usually gave him, like she kind of wanted to smile but also didn't want to indulge in his humor, so she reached a halfway expression. Even that soon faded, though. "Can you tell me what's going on now?"

"Yes, I can. As a matter of fact, hold on there just a second."

He took all of thirty seconds to hop over to the fridge and pull out two ice-cold Coke cans. Not the best for a toast, but he was suffering from jet lag already, so champagne actually didn't sound so great at the moment. Pepper just raised a brow at him as he approached and took hers with a pen still in hand.

Tony cracked his open. She tucked her clipboard under her arm so she could do the same.

"To life and good fortune and whatever the hell else," he declared, and tapped his can against hers.

She nodded. "Whatever the hell else. I'm guessing we have good news?"

"We certainly do. Emphasis on the 'good', and emphasis on the 'news', because you're not going to see this coming." Pepper's brow started to furrow at once. "Emphasis on the 'good', I said! This is just going to be a big surprise that you shouldn't be worried about."

Pepper took a breath. "Alright."

"M'kay?"

"Yes."

"Are you ready?"

"Just tell me."

"Alright. My son is coming to live here."

"Okay."

Tony took a deep, nose-tingling drink.

Seven, eight, nine…Ten seconds, and Pepper finally rewound to what he just said. He saw her thought process in the way her eyes widened and brows knitted.

Her reaction was not unlike Obie's. "What?"

"I'm going to wrap this up nice and quick. Five years ago, I met a woman at a party, she had a kid, I didn't know, she passed away just recently, that's why I left, and now my son's going to come live here with me."

"I—we—Tony, oh my god, how could you not tell me that?!"

"We only made the decision a few days ago; figured you wouldn't want to hear this over the phone."

"Well—is he here now? Is he coming?"

Pepper craned her head around him, as if expecting the little boy to just be there with his bags in hand. Tony shook his head.

"He won't be here for a while. Since you are one of the four people given full access here, though, you need to know."

Pepper was still unable to wrap her mind around everything. "Are we going to have a press announcement, or something? How are we going to let people know?"

"We aren't going to let people know."

"…How?"

"Take a seat, Miss Potts. Let me break down Operation: It's a Boy for you."

He did, over the course of about an hour, with another can of Coke and a bag of popcorn between them. Though she didn't relax entirely, Pepper listened well, and (as was her personality) only asked questions where she needed. They spent more time on the how's and why's, she also listened well to what he had to say about the Parkers and May, the letters, and Mary herself. She didn't pry too much on that last one.

When her back had finally touched the sofa instead of sitting needle-straight, Pepper asked, "When is this happening?"

"In a month, maybe? There's a lot of stuff we need to take care of."

"Right. What do I need to do?"

"Nothing. Well—no, I could definitely use your help. He's going to be going to school, so we need to figure which one would be the best option—you know, distance, security, whatever. Getting his room set up is going to a hassle. We're going to have to get truckloads of toys and furniture here without anyone asking questions."

Tony could see in her eyes that she was already making her list. God bless Pepper Potts, honestly. One hour and she was abundantly more supportive than Obie had been for more than a week.

"You ever hear from Obie?"

Pepper shook her head. "Just to talk about business. He never told me anything."

Tony sniffed. "Yeah, I figured."

"Something wrong with him?"

"Let's just say he's not happy about this and leave it at that. I know it's only around nine right now, but Queens feels like one in the morning, so I think we're going to have to talk about this later. You good? Not mad? Should I novelize everything?"

"No, I'm good. I understand." Pepper stood up to her feet and straightened out her blazer. She opened her mouth for a goodbye, it seemed, but then she paused. "You sure you have everything figured out?"

"Oh, no, I'm still floundering in the water. It's a work in progress. I'll make it work, though, don't sweat about it."

"Alright."

"Alright. See you tomorrow. Or today. Whatever."

Tony went ahead and took off his watch. He was content to hop into bed and drift off while Pepper let herself out. It maybe wasn't the greatest thing a host could do, but he was tired, and she was understanding.

"Just, uh…"

Pepper's hesitant voice had him turning around again. The blonde tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, already looking regretful.

"I'm here to help, so just tell me when you need anything."

Tony nodded. "Will do."

Pepper left after that. Tony went to bed feeling significantly better.

The whole process took a good couple of weeks, all the way past Christmas. Tony went to Queens, talked to everyone, caught up with Peter, signed the papers, and returned to Malibu. Repeat. It took a toll on his sleep schedule, but that was a small price to pay.

Happy and Pepper were so supportive during the whole thing, they might as well have been cheerleaders. Happy just did as he was told without problem. Pepper did the same on top of her other duties and never complained about her full plate. She figured out how to get Peter's room taken care of: it was a system of ordering everything through a card that couldn't be linked back to them, then specifically—specifically!—asking that the contents of the boxes not be told to the deliverers. When said delivery trucks came down the driveway, they dropped off huge boxes and crates, never the wiser of what they contained.

Obie, in contrast, was content to ignore everything. Tony saw him again, of course. It took more than a month to do everything, and Tony still had to do his job as Stark Industries CEO. They didn't talk about Peter at all. They were all business day in and day out, only discussing SI and the board and the Jericho Project. Obie didn't show up to his mansion again.

Tony was thankful. Caused him a lot less stress.

Between all the work and the planning, Tony found that the best thing about it was spending time with his son.

Whenever he returned, Peter greeted him very casually, having accepted that he was part of everyday life now. He let Tony look at the things he'd done in class and talked about whatever he wanted.

He smiled when Tony smiled at him, and the first time Tony got him to laugh—Peter was drawing an android that he called 'KA-1O', and Tony purposefully mispronounced it as Kay-yo—Tony felt happy. Pleased, in a warm way.

Tony was excited. He really was. He was looking forward to showing Peter his new room and everything there was to do in Malibu.

Now, the question occurred to him once or twice when he was falling asleep: Did he love Peter?

He guessed the answer was 'no', if only because he didn't have the right or reason to. But! At the same time, perhaps there was some innate fatherly tenderness in him. He'd read that in You've Got This. (He wasn't totally planning on reading the book cover-to-cover, but he got curious.) One of the opening paragraphs said that every parent, even ones that weren't expecting children, would feel some near-instinctual connection to their kids. Tony stopped reading after that because, ahem, Howard, but now he thought there was some truth to that. Like, yeah, maybe every parent did have at least a little undeniable love for their kid. Didn't mean they couldn't also be shitty, uncaring, or even abusive.

Peter's class had thrown him an impromptu farewell party, complete with a GOODBYE, PETER! banner and cupcakes and whatnot. Peter was in a bittersweet mood about the whole thing.

"You going to miss them?" Tony asked while they were packing away Peter's drawings. Peter wanted to be very, very sure that they wouldn't be wrinkled or torn in the flight to Malibu.

Peter shrugged. "I've only been going for a couple months. Wendy was—we were friends since we started—like, she started after we did, but we were friends."

Peter did this sometimes, fumbling over his words. Not out of nervousness, though. He was five. He wasn't always articulate.

With the final drawing tucked away in the box, Peter folded the box closed, in that two-over-two way that wouldn't actually keep it shut. No matter—Tony had the packing tape ready to go.

"Maybe you can call her sometimes, huh?"

Peter shook his head. "It's okay. Uncle Ben said I'll make new friends at my new school."

"That you will."

Did it occur to Tony to have Richard check in with the school to ensure that Peter was making friends? Maybe. Sort of. Kind of.

December 28th, almost six weeks since Tony first learned that he had a son, Peter finally returned home with him. Finally, finally.

They all drove in one car, and sitting in the backseat with Richard and Peter was only moderately awkward. The last of Peter's things are in a backpack at their feet. Every two minutes May craned her head from the passenger seat to ask if he forgot something. He assured her until he got tired and started groaning, "No."

It was a shame Peter couldn't sit by the window, because when the car pulled up closer and closer to the jet, Peter began to almost vibrate in excitement.

"We're riding in that?" he exclaimed.

"Mm-hm." Tony tried to stifle the swell of pride by readjusting his sunglasses. The sun was pretty bright, for a cold December day in Queens. "I couldn't get the rocket today, sorry."

The genuine elation in Peter's eyes almost made him regret the joke.

The car pulled up to a stop, and everyone finally stepped out to stretch their legs. This was the most opportune day they'd gotten for a while—Peter might've gone to Malibu sooner had the threat of snowstorms hadn't kept them at bay. Not that he wouldn't have spent Christmas with May and the Parkers either way.

Richard pulled his two bags from the trunk and slung Peter's bag over one shoulder, never affected by his leg. He'd taken Tony up on his offer to fly back with them, because why wouldn't Tony offer? It saved the man around $400 dollars someone studying physical therapy couldn't afford to toss around.

(Even the pilot had signed an NDA; no doubt he would be curious about why Tony's back and forth trips had culminated in a child and a grown man returning home with them.)

The door was already open, extending the steps down to the ground of the runway, and Peter couldn't stop himself from shooting inside the jet like Speedy Gonzalez. Maybe it was rude; May sighed. Still, Tony couldn't help but smile hearing Peter's muffled cries of awe inside.

Ben was kind of in the middle. Almost smiling, but also trying to stay 'professional'. "He's never been on a plane before, so if he starts bouncing all the walls, you know why."

"Fingers crossed he doesn't find a way to open a window. Rich, hey—stop showing off."

Tony took the man's bags and strode up into the jet without stopping. He dropped them into the nearest seat for the moment, but took a look at Peter while he was inside. The kid really was bouncing off the walls. He looked at the seats, the windows, the tiny little compartments that housed absolutely nothing. Pure amazement.

"C'mon, Pete. You can look this place up and down on the way over, kay?"

Peter followed without protest. Back outside, in the icy cold air, the others were waiting. Richard and Ben were talking about something or another and May was holding a forced smile on her face. It became a little less forced when Peter ran forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. She bent down to push her cheek against the top of his curls.

"You need anything at all, you just ask."

"I will."

"Call me as soon as you can."

"I will!"

May kissed his forehead twice before she let him go to Ben. He made a big show of picking Peter up off his feet—the police academy workout routine meant it was as easy as turning a sheet of paper for him—with a big roar that had Peter giggling and May rolling her eyes and mouthing showoff to Richard. But then he stopped joking to hold Peter against him, the boy's head on his shoulder. Another reminder of just how small the kid was.

"Don't have too much fun without me," Ben muffled into Peter's shirt.

"Promise I won't."

"'Kay. If you get thrown in jail, we'll bail you out."

Peter giggled again, and Ben set him back down with a forehead kiss of his own. Peter went back to May for one last hug, then let Richard have his turn of goodbyes.

May turned to Tony while he stood a little to the side with his hands in his pockets. "Everything good?"

"Everything magnificent."

She narrowed her eyes at him, but it was refreshingly joking. She still wasn't making friendship bracelets for him, and Tony had settled that she maybe never would. That was okay. Tony could have done everything she ever wanted of him, and she would still be upset, even just a little bit. She loved Peter, and him being so far away from her would hurt no matter what.

But she'd finally accepted it. She was wary and bitter and quiet, but the excitement Peter had to live with his dad was undeniable.

Then they left. They stepped up and into the jet, peered out the windows to wave goodbye, watched the car shrink behind them. Peter kept his face pressed to the glass for what felt like hours and hours, just watching the land give way to clouds and the clouds give way to wide, open sky.

"You hungry, sport?" Tony nodded to the sleek black box tucked away on the other side of the cabin. "Go on, help yourself."

Peter shot right for it like he just wanted to open the fridge itself. Usually, the fridge would be keeping a variety of alcoholic beverages and fruit. Now it's fruit, juice boxes, little ice cream cups, and Creamsicles. The little compartment above that had chips, pretzels, M&Ms, so on, so forth.

"Whoa-ho-hoa," Peter whooped.

"You want something, Rich?"

Richard had taken to a book in-between his sparse talk with Tony, and was caught off-guard when spoken to. A Feast for Crows almost fluttered shut. "Ah, no, I'm good."

Head stuffed in the icebox, Peter called, "There are Creamsicles."

"No, I—oh, wait, get me one!"

"Snag me some M&Ms and get back over here," Tony called. "Got something for you."

Peter returned with his hands full and the fridge maybe not totally shut all the way, but whatever. Tony reached into the pocket lining of his jacket, Peter's eyes watching every movement. He did that a lot, lately, always amazed not by how much money Tony had but rather the fact that he seemed to be able to just procure whatever, whenever.

This 'whatever' is a pair of dark violet shades in gold frames, sized just enough for the eyes of a child.

"Specially made. Now we match."

Peter made another delighted sound and put them on at once. Yeah, he probably looked a little funny, but Tony thought he was looking pretty good.

Richard readjusted where the glasses went over his right ear. "What do you think?"

"It feels cool!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. But it's dark."

"Hence why they're called 'sunglasses'." Tony also drew out the little leathery box for them. "Here. Keep 'em safe."

Despite the darkness, Peter wore the glasses all through the rest of the flight until he finally turned to the book in his backpack, Matilda. Then he swapped the sunglasses for his reading glasses, and man if he didn't look like the smartest five-year-old in the world wearing them. He read the words under his breath, nodding along to the more difficult words to pronounce them.

Most of the flight after that is quiet, but not tense. Richard and Peter read. Tony considered joining them, remembered that his only option was a how-to-be-a-good-dad book, and decided to pick up the crossword book tucked under the table. It was fine and casual. Plus, he was still excited. That was another plus.

Peter fell asleep for good around a half-hour before they landed. Six forty-five for Malibu meant the poor guy was feeling closer to ten on Queens' time. So despite the fact that the sun hadn't even fully set yet, Tony let the boy sleep on.

The jet touched down, the coast was clear, they all stepped off. Tony almost woke Peter up, then…reconsidered. Maybe it was a little too parental for a one-month father, but he decided to just carry Peter to the Audi Happy had left for him. Didn't even break a sweat, and Peter barely stirred as Tony held him. The weight of his head against Tony's shoulder was relaxing, somehow.

"You sure you don't want me to do anything else?" Richard whispered when they were back out in the night air. He stood back while Tony delicately placed Peter in the backseat, and wrapped the seatbelt around him.

"Go catch some Z's, Rich. I'm sure your coworkers are going to have a baby shower ready for you tomorrow."

Richard nodded, reluctantly. He'd wanted to spend Peter's first night with him, thinking it would help, but his DPT program just couldn't stretch out his across-the-continent visits any longer. He needed to be in first thing in the morning tomorrow.

So, with one last goodbye and a kiss to Peter's brow, he went on his way to flag down a taxi cab. Tony hopped in the driver's seat to take him and Peter home.

The sky was violet when they returned home, and Peter wasn't just asleep, he was uh-SLEEP.

Which was a problem, kind of.

Just past the front door of the mansion, Pepper and Happy would be waiting with party poppers in hand and a mountain of gifts on the table. Streamers and balloons would be hanging from the ceiling, and a banner stretching behind them would read WELCOME, PETER! in vibrant red and gold. There'd be a stack of pizza boxes waiting on the table, and paper arrows on the floor would lead Peter to his new room.

When the door opened, Pepper and Happy were supposed to pop out the confetti (however reluctantly or embarrassing it was). Peter would meet Pepper, finally get a proper introduction to Happy, and get to know who they were and what they did. As soon as they saw the little boy, the party would be in motion.

Instead, the first thing they saw when the door just barely opened was Tony's hand holding a sheet of newspaper Sharpie'd with BE QUIET!

So they stayed quiet and went even quieter when Tony came in with the still-sleeping Peter draped against him. Nothing is popped, no greetings are given. Happy took the backpack and a silent confirmation from Pepper had her moving ahead to the bedroom, where she turned out all the lights and pulled back the blankets.

There wouldn't be any party that night. Happy and Pepper would take the pizza home and promise to return the next morning to catch up. The paper arrows were picked up.

It wasn't too disappointing; they'd get to it tomorrow. Peter would wake up in his new room with the North Pacific Ocean stretching out beyond his windows. Then, Tony guessed, the new life began.