The first month was not the worst, nor the best, it was just the most difficult one.
The first night was sadly not the only time that Peter cried; also sadly not the only time where Pepper had to swoop in like a heavenly savior. One time being unable to comfort his grieving son was unacceptable, every time after just made Tony want to punch himself in the teeth. No matter how long he spent beating himself up after, though, he never managed to do any better the next time.
Peter returned to Queens for New Year's Day, just a few days after he came to the mansion for the first time. Tony did not return with him, but Peter did seem a little more chipper when he returned. Plus, he called May and the Parkers at least once a day, but usually twice. Tony hardly ever did, but he was infinitely grateful for them. Though Peter was not horribly homesick, having his pseudo-family there at any moment was undoubtedly doing wonders for them. They never ran out of things to talk about.
Peter spent his first night with Richard when he returned, and seemed to fit in just fine. Tony would later give a (very rare) visit to Richard's house—no longer an apartment, in a lovely neighborhood in LA, but at the end of a wooded driveway for some privacy. Peter's room was a nice one, almost identical to the one he had back in Queens. Richard's friends from work sent Peter a remote-controlled toy dog in greeting. The dropoff and pickup from one house to another was a tedious process left up to Happy, but there was never any terseness. This was their agreement, plain and simple.
Peter began his attendance at his new school, and in the first week managed to wrangle a new play pal by the name of Seth. He had no problem telling Tony what he learned that day or showing him the crafts he'd made. Tony oohed and ah'ed over them as if the cotton balls and popsicle sticks were creations that could rival his own.
Tony, of course, had to return to work. That was already a challenge in and of itself, but throw in a new child, and he had a schedule to figure out. Thankfully, he managed to get home around three most days, right when Peter would return home. He just had to slow down on the drinking and partying so he could spend time with Peter; no big deal, no problem. Who cared?
Really, the hardest part was him getting used to Peter, and Peter getting used to him. It wasn't unlike that first day for a good while: they could laugh and have fun and smile, but anything even an inch deeper than that was off the table. Peter hardly ever asked to do anything from the norm. If he talked about anything that happened more than a month ago, his voice would become small and hesitant. Tony had to get used to keeping up with Peter's games of pretend and what did and didn't work for the five-year-old.
That was all understandable, though. Not the frozen inability to talk about the elephant in the room, but everything else. On the bright side, Peter didn't seem to dislike anything about his new home. He talked to J.A.R.V.I.S. about things like movies and science, sometimes asking the AI about his favorite color or movie—and, once, his favorite food, before he remembered that that question couldn't be answered. Pepper being the one to comfort him in those dark moments had warmed him up to her exponentially. He greeted her with enough enthusiasm to make her smile every time. Happy and Obie he never really minded, though he never went out of his way to talk to them.
The only thing Tony hadn't really crossed off the checklist was introducing his son to Rhodey. He hadn't seen his best friend for over two months now, and it wasn't a piece of information to be shared over a brief phone call, so he never really had the chance. He just had to keep his eyes and ears open for when he was going to fly in next.
He did. He checked in with Pepper at least once a day, he had J.A.R.V.I.S. do checks, so on, so forth, he wanted to be ready.
Tony was not ready.
He walked in to the house one day to hear chatter in Peter's room, opened the door to find him and Rhodey playing a video game on the floor, and he was not ready.
There were worse sights to be greeted with, he supposed. Rhodey, rarely out of uniform, now sat cross-legged in simple jeans and a T-shirt on the carpeted floor. Peter sat next to him with his tongue poking out between his lips and his feet barefoot. Both had controllers in their hands and both were mashing buttons and turning sticks with great intensity. Every time one of the little karts on the television screen turned a corner, they tilted their bodies into it. They weren't talking. It was all about the game. Just Mario and Yoshi.
Tony had been standing there for, what, thirty seconds? Then Peter's half of the screen flashed 1st, Rhodey's 4th, and a whoop and a groan sounded off at the same time.
Rhodey noticed him first. He just put his controller down and greeted him, very casually, "Hey, Tony. Could you ground this guy for me? I've been eating his dust for the past hour."
Peter protested. "I didn't cheat!"
"I didn't say you did, little man, you're just too good." Rhodey jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the child. "I'm not being sarcastic, man, he's insane. I'm legitimately hurt over here."
Peter was grinning, of course, and with a lot of pride. He clicked out of the match and back to the menu, already flicking through the different courses. "Want to do Rainbow Road now?"
"I'm not subjecting myself to that evil. Actually, could you do me a favor? I think I left my wallet in the kitchen. Could you go get it for me?"
"Okay!" Peter shot up to his feet and barely gave Tony any time to sidestep out of his way. He did turn his head over his shoulder to call back, "Hi, Tony!" That was what he was upgraded to, now. It took a month, but he'd finally dropped the 'Mister'. That was nice.
The second Peter was gone and out of earshot, Rhodey turned to Tony.
"What the hell."
"Yeah." Tony held up his hands. "Yeah, I know."
"That's a kid."
"Mm-hm."
"That's your kid."
"Yep."
"When did this happen?!"
"About five years ago."
"No, when did THIS happen?"
"About a month ago."
"I can't believe this." Rhodey dragged his fingers down his face, pulling his cheeks down. "I'm somehow not surprised at all, but I can't believe this."
"I wanted to tell you in person. I did, really. I swear it."
"Yeah. Yeah, I can get that. This is a big deal. Just, uh…This used to be the guest bedroom, and now there are Lego boxes and robot drawings everywhere and I just need to know where the segue happened. I know why the kid's here, but why is he here?"
Tony explained it to him as short as he could—the Parkers and May, the letters Mary had left, the whole process of deciding that Peter should come live with him and how it was all working out. Rhodey nodded along, still shocked but listening well. He didn't seem bothered by Tony having a kid so much as he was the very big change of housing said kid in such a short amount of time. Unlike Obie and Pepper and whoever else, he didn't have nearly so many questions after.
Peter returned empty-handed. "I didn't see it in there."
"Hm. Can you check the bathroom?"
He was already running off again. "Okay!"
Rhodey turned back to Tony, face flat. "How's this working?"
"It's working." Tony gave him a dry thumbs-up. "It's definitely working."
"Who all knows?"
"Eugh…Me, you, Pepper, Happy, Obie, the Parkers, May, about four lawyers, and my jet pilot."
"Your jet pilot?"
"I don't know if he knows, but he flew us over here from Queens, so I think he's put two and two together now."
Peter returned once more, legitimately frustrated that his missions were failing. "I didn't see it in there, either."
"You know what? It's right here in my pocket. I forgot." Rhodey leaned forward to the compartment beneath the TV and pulled out a third controller. He'd already plugged it in before anyone could say anything else. "C'mon, Tones. We're playing Rainbow Road."
Peter whooped in victory and took his seat back down on the floor. Tony—now ensnared in the most cowardly of ways to get someone to do something, the old the child will be upset guilt trip—tucked his sunglasses into his breast pocket and joined them. Just a CEO, his son, and a colonel playing Mario Kart. Nothing out of the usual.
"You having fun here, Peter?" Rhodey asked.
Peter was leading them through the menu to add another player in. His tiny hands had no trouble working the controller. "Mm-hm!"
Tony moved his stick to pick Yoshi as his character. Rhodey intercepted him, the bastard. Didn't even glance his way while he did the Three Clicks of Shame over to Donkey Kong.
"Your dad's pretty busy," the colonel went on, "how much do you guys hang out?"
It was infuriating how Tony just had to sit there and not say anything about it. The Rainbow Stripes of Hell appearing on the screen at least gave them a reason not to look at one another, but if he could, Tony would have been glaring him into a six-foot grave.
Peter was none the wiser. "Uhhhh…When I come over. I stay with Richard sometimes, but I stay here a lot, too."
"What about your friends? Outside of school, I mean."
Peter shook his head. Rhodey hadn't been kidding: Tony was genuinely trying at this game, but Peter-as-Mario was well ahead in first place and was somehow dodging the out-of-nowhere chomping ball-whatevers with ease. "Not really."
Tony brushed his elbow against his. "I thought you were going to talk to Rich about Tee Ball?"
Peter sighed a little, quiet breath. And promptly hit Tony with a green shell while he was already dead in the water. "We play baseball at recess, I'm not—good at it."
"So you like baseball," Rhodey concluded.
"Mm-hm!"
"You ever watch the LA Angels play?"
Peter shook his head. "Nuh-uh, just the Mets."
"Tony!" Just the way he said it, dripping with the fakest spontaneity he'd ever heard, let Tony know the first blow was coming in fast. Peter, the sweet innocent child, turned his head just so. So curious. So oblivious. "You know what you should do?"
Tony didn't even grace him with a dry guess. He just waited in knowing silence.
"You should send Peter and his friends to a ballgame. First of the season, front row seats. He'd love it."
Peter was mature enough to keep his excitement contained, but young enough that he looked up at Tony—glancing back to the screen, but he'd pretty much already won anyway—with so much hope that it really, physically hurt just to meet his gaze. "Can we?"
The kid probably hadn't brushed his hair that morning. Locks were sticking up at odd angles, like cowlicks. Tony brushed one down and told him, "Sure, we'll figure something else."
Peter went back to the game, but just looking by his upright back and open eyes, was already imagining what the Angel Stadium would look, smell, and sound like.
Rhodey, meanwhile, discreetly leaned over to Tony's ear and whispered, "I'm going to ruin your life with this kid."
Tony answered, "I'm going to ruin your life, period."
The next two months are much better.
Finally, they have reached a routine. It was really like moving into a new house, Tony supposed. It took a while to get used to, but they slotted in eventually. Most of the time, Peter would go to school, and if he wasn't going to Richard's for the night, he'd make it back to the mansion a little bit before Tony returned from work. There were exceptions, of course, as Stark Industries sometimes pulled some surprises on him, and hey, maybe, admittedly, Tony liked to spend one or two nights on his own every now and then.
He was careful about what he did now that he was a Responsible Father. He didn't stop drinking, but he stopped drinking outside of his workshop, kept the cabinet and bar under lock and key. The workshop he'd kept off-limits just because the idea of Peter around all the heavy equipment made him nervous, but he always let J.A.R.V.I.S. unlock the door if it was an emergency. He had to mind his language, of course. The first time he left a party with a woman in company—he was a little ashamed to admit he'd never actually gotten her name—they went back to her place instead of his. On the off-chance that Peter saw some left-behind underwear or an unknown woman walking around their home, that was a conversation he didn't want to have.
He saw Richard often enough, talked to him often enough. They weren't friends, per se, but they did have a very important job together and they had to stay connected. They never got into any spats about where Peter would stay and when; Peter never got upset when he had to leave one house or another.
May and Ben he hadn't seen since they'd departed that last time, but they sometimes had phone calls where Ben was more than pleasant and May tried very hard not to sound like an interrogator. When Richard and Peter took visits up to Queens, they did it on the jet, just the two of them. Peter kept calling them at least once a day and updated him on how their lives had changed since he saw them last.
(Valentine's Day was when Ben finally popped the question. Tony sent them a sincere congratulations and they replied with sincere gratitude. Peter thought they were already married and was very confused.)
Rhodey, as busy as ever, did not see Peter too often. That didn't stop him from becoming the honorary "Cool Uncle", though. He always brought gifts when he returned—nothing too big, but still supreme to a five-year-old, like service caps and detailed models of military aircrafts. On his second visit—his second visit!—he scooped Peter up by his underarms and carried him on his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Peter let him because, uh, hello? Colonel in full uniform carrying him around? Yes, please.
Tony couldn't even be envious; he got it. It was somehow easier to get along with a friendly and unknown stranger than a stranger that also just so happened to be your father. It was the same thing for Pepper—albeit her comforting him in those dark moments definitely still had her in good standing in the kid's eyes.
There was a light in Peter's eyes when he saw Pepper, and a softness in hers in turn. They saw each other on a near-daily basis. Sometimes he gave her pictures and she clipped them underneath her very important documents on her board. Other times she'd bring him these very specific grape lollipops that a nearby 7/11 sold. They did have some boundaries, though. Pepper was hesitant to touch him at all, and she couldn't always keep up with his energy or endless time. She turned down his offers of Mario Kart and sometimes had to excuse herself from his excited rambles to answer a phone call. She liked him and he liked her, that was true enough.
Tony had also finally decided that yes, he loved Peter.
There wasn't any particular moment where he realized it, it wasn't like one more hug from the kid had officially upgraded him into "love" territory. It was really just over breakfast one morning, watching Peter meticulously pick up the Cheerios that had fallen from his spoon, when he thought I love this kid.
(Rhodey also told him point-blank when they were out to dinner one night. Richard had sent him a confirmation message that Peter was tucked away and sleeping, and watching Tony tuck his phone away, Rhodey had chuckled, "You love him." Tony didn't deny it.)
Parental love was…new. It was familiar, but unique in its own way. He took joy in seeing Peter happy, and took joy in making him happy. He noticed his little quirks and habits—like whispering aloud when he read, or how carefully he used yellow markers so the felt tips wouldn't stain—as well as his flaws and shortcomings—like how he always wanted five more minutes at bedtime, or refused to drink orange juice if it had even a hint of pulp in it.
You've Got This said that those were things you were supposed to work on, but for now, Tony took them as the things that let Peter be Peter. His situation was a very unique one. Also, You've Got This had earned a lot of criticisms from him, starting from that children-are-trees chapter.
He and Peter were now acquainted enough to make living together a breeze. Peter knew to keep his Legos toys in his room, for example, and Tony knew not to use the blender when Peter was in the kitchen because he hated the sound it made. More than that, though, they were just casual with each other. They weren't walking on eggshells anymore, and though it wasn't as if they'd known each other for Peter's whole life, it was amazingly peaceful between them.
Not that there weren't some hurdles.
Like Mary's birthday, for example.
Peter had come into the kitchen with uncharacteristic sluggishness. Instead of bouncing up into his seat at the island, he just took his seat and took his grilled cheese sandwich with a murmured "thanks". He wasn't talkative, either, but he shook his head when Tony asked if he was feeling bad. J.A.R.V.I.S. scanned him when he was out of the room and confirmed that he was healthy.
It took going to his room, getting his backpack packed and zipped, and sitting down on the bed while they waited for Happy to come for Peter to finally spill.
"Really?" Tony hummed, unsure of what else to say. "I didn't know that."
Peter shrugged one shoulder. "I got really mad when I forgot last time, so she said 'Mary-born-in-February, date-of-birth-the-twenty-first.'"
Damn. That was good. "She would be thirty-two today, right?"
"I think so." Peter paused. "Last time we went to a Chinese rest-'raunt. She got this—it was like chicken soup, but it wasn't chicken—there were these things like—like pizza pockets, but they had like—meat in them…"
J.A.R.V.I.S.' voice slipped in. "Mister Hogan has arrived, sirs."
Peter hopped up and grabbed his backpack, but Tony was worried. That first birthday after Maria had been killed, he hadn't wanted to do anything. He just wanted to stay home and stare at the TV without watching it. But he had to be out and about, had to take care of business, all culminated in a fancy dinner held in her memory. He thanked absolute strangers for their condolences and ate food and wore a suit and he hated every second of it.
Maybe that would make it easier for Peter, though, being around his school friends. Even just sitting in class and having something to do.
"Maybe we'll do something later," Tony had told him, and then Peter was running out to meet Happy at last.
They did, eventually. Tony brainstormed the whole time he was at work that day, and very nearly zoned out in the middle of a meeting just planning. Obie—who never spoke to Peter very much at all but was friendly enough when he did—had to give him a rattle of the shoulders to snap him out of it.
It wasn't much, in the end. But when Peter returned home at the end of the day, his eyes lit up at the sight of the bowl on the kitchen island.
"It's called wonton soup," Tony explained as Peter scrambled up into his seat so quickly his foot slid off the rung and Tony just about dove forward to keep him from falling. But he was alright, and picked up his spoon at once. Tony just kind of regretted not taking it out of the Styrofoam bowl first. "For future reference."
"Won-ton," Peter tested.
"Mm-hm. Eat up, sport." Tony picked up his takeout box and stabbed a chopstick through a piece of pork. "Richard'll be here soon."
Peter slurped up a spoonful of broth. "Why's Richard coming?"
"So you guys can hang out. Do whatever you want. Go to the movies. Rob a bank." Though Peter nodded, he was still very confused, and Tony went on. "Richard probably wants to do something today, too, and I think you'd both be a lot happier if you went together."
There was a restrained kind of sadness in Peter's eyes, like he was happy to be with a familiar face on such a dark day, but also reminded of just why this was a dark day.
"Don't you want to come with us?" he asked.
Tony wasn't a mind-reader, contrary to popular belief, so he didn't know just what that question meant. Maybe Peter was offering because being left out was a universally hurtful thing and he was just a polite kid, or maybe he really, truly wanted Tony to come along with him on this day. Or maybe he didn't want Tony to come at all and he just knew it was the nice thing to offer.
"I also think," he said, "that on days like these, it's nice to have people you really, really know around. I like to be with Rhodey and Obie because I've known them a long time, so I think you'd like to be with Richard. What do you think?"
Peter nodded, but Tony still wasn't totally convinced. So, leaning down just so, he asked very simply, "Do you want me to come with you guys?"
Peter had to think about it, which he guessed was better than a scared, immediate 'yes'. Or maybe a yes was supposed to be ideal. And maybe when Peter confirmed "I want to go with Richard" and went back to his soup, he still didn't mean it. But that was that, because Tony couldn't grab him by the shoulders and shake an honest answer out of him. They ate their food and talked about how Freddie Maxwell was totally cheating at kickball at recess until Richard came at last.
He looked a lot better, about as awake as a physical therapist in full-time training could look. He gave his sort-of son a hug around the shoulders when he came in. Tony sometimes couldn't even tell that one of his legs was a prosthetic.
He said "Hey, Tony," and Tony said "Hey, Rich" and other than vague talk about the hospital and SI, that was it. Watching Peter pull on his shoes and run a brush through his hair to get ready for whatever they decided to do, Tony thought about maybe joining them after all. Or rather, he thought about if he should have wanted to join them after all. When had he stopped understanding his own brain?
Tony ended up staying home and still unsure of just what he wanted. But Peter squeezed him around the shoulders and told him "See ya, bye, love ya," before he left, so…Not a horrible day.
The next three months were the best.
Peter was perfectly at home in Malibu, at the mansion, and at Summerset Kindergarten. He looked forward to visiting Queens just as much as he looked forward to returning home. Tony got into the habit of swinging by his bedroom to say goodnight and waking him up in the morning when he could. Tony was the first person he bragged about his drawings and crafts to, followed by Richard, then Pepper, then Happy.
May and Ben wanted the exact opposite of a big wedding, so within two months after "yes, I'll marry you" came "yes, I do". Richard and Peter flew out to Queens to join them, and Tony went on what was a business trip with several board members but was really just an excuse for them all to go to the Bahamas. Richard sent him a picture of Ben holding Peter on his arm, both of them in blazer-less tuxedos, with May walking towards them in a white summer dress. Tony responded with a picture of the sun setting on the ocean horizon, hoping that was even enough.
May and Ben flew over once or twice for visits. They always ate dinner together and made a point to keep their talks about how Peter was doing purely nice and not passive-aggressive at all. Tony actually liked May a lot now. Not just how adamantly she defended Peter, but everything else she cared about. Ben was also just—a ridiculously good guy sometimes. He cleaned the kitchen for no reason than just "wanting to".
They had private movie screenings at home, they go on incognito trips to the museum and the beach, and they sometimes spent hours on Lego sets (the Apollo one was finished quickly and put on display on the shelf). Peter one day hit the bed corner pretty hard with his foot, and having to reassure him that he's fine while he sniffles and cries just about broke Tony's heart in half.
It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, though. Peter was a good kid, but he was a kid. He had the capacity to whine and be sassy and push limits. No, Tony didn't love those moments, but he loved Peter, so he just had to pinch the bridge of his nose and work through it. Disciplining—which was for some reason the shortest chapter of You've Got This, what the hell?—was not so hard as he thought it would be. He only thought as much because, well, he never imagined having to be in a discipline-your-kid position. It was a learning process, not perfect, sometimes maybe a bit much. He thought he was doing alright. For an unprepared parent. Again, Peter was a good kid.
Said good kid had finally gotten around to calling him 'Dad' at some point or another. Whenever it was, it wasn't like some great, momentous occasion imprinted into Tony's memory. More like "Morning, Dad" or "See you later, Dad". Just like how Tony had fallen into the habit of calling him "Pete". It was good. It was great. It felt very natural.
Similarly, Tony didn't know when Peter, or even himself, had dropped the first "I love you". If he thought about it, he'd say that it was probably after Tony was shutting his bedroom door one night. He'd said "Night, Pete. Love you," and Peter's soft and drowsy voice had answered, "Love you, too."
After that, it was just an everyday interaction. Eat breakfast together, pass the TV remote, ruffle the kid's hair, give Tony a hug around the leg, say "I love you". Tony didn't really think that much of it, but seeing Pepper's lips quirk up just so when she overhears them one day, he thought that maybe he should. He didn't know—should he quietly accept it as routine, or should he be celebrating it as a milestone?
Either way, Dad, Pete, and "I love you" slot into life without problem. They'd reached a state of serenity now. Yeah, Tony still had to work long nights and take sudden business trips, and Peter still had to spend so long with Richard a week to keep up the ruse, but even though they didn't have a fixed schedule, nothing was wrong. Every now and then there were things to celebrate.
Like birthdays, for instance. Pepper's had come just nine days before Mary's, and whether it was on that day or before or after, Tony hadn't been in the best place at the exact moment. He was work-stressed and going minute-to-minute, so he just deposited her a quick $750. Peter, though, he painted over an animal cracker box and gave it to her "since she said she was losing her jewelry". Maybe she used it, and maybe she didn't, but the warmth in her eyes told Tony that she loved Peter dearly.
Tony's came in May, and it wasn't too much different from the usual. Peter was not at all bothered to hear the plan: that Tony would be having an adults-only party at his house, with all of his "friends" from work and wherever else. Obie and Rhodey would be there, too. Peter likened it to having birthday parties at school, where your family wasn't there and not all of your classmates were your friends, but it was fun anyway. Clever kid. Even if he wasn't aware of why it was an "adults-only" party.
The day before Tony gave him a hug and a shared "love ya" before Peter went over to Richard's. He was neither happy nor sad to see him go. Peter wasn't going to be there every day of his life, and that was fine for both of them. Peter kept asking him what he wanted as a present, but considering he was, you know, five, Tony told him to just draw the coolest picture he'd ever drawn and they'd leave it at that.
He's presented with that, except it's on a square of cloth instead of paper.
"So you can wear it in your suit," Peter explained.
The pocket square is covered in what might have originally been a tie-dye pattern, with ink spreading from the center in squiggly circles, but it seemed Peter got frustrated with that pretty soon and decided to just do the rest in haphazard crosshatch. There are places where the yellow and purple have become brown and plenty of unchecked white spots.
"It's perfect," Tony told him, and meant it. Though he'd come up with the lie that a "young fan" had sent it to him, he wore it to the next meeting.
(Before he could say that lie, though, one of the members actually asked him where he got it from. Tony had to choke himself to stop from laughing then and there.)
The three months after that are…worse. Not terrible, just worse.
When summer was coming, Tony had thought it'd be a good thing. That meant going on a yacht and trips to the beach and lounging on the sand. It also meant summer vacation for school, though. So between Stark Industries and Richard's work, that meant it was officially time for a babysitter. Or babysitters, rather. They were infrequent, men and women, boys and girls, the youngest sixteen and the oldest twenty-five. They were short and tall, fat and thin, every color of the rainbow. Peter liked them (except Sally, who he just said was 'rude') and they liked Peter.
But they weren't Richard or Tony, or even Pepper or Rhodey, and having the new faces walk in and out every day just seemed to remind Peter of how different Malibu was from Queens. Sometimes his school friends, or rather their parents, would have Peter over for playdates, but that wasn't much. It would have been nice to get him into a sport or a club or something, but that meant making their complicated schedule even more complicated.
The first time Peter asked to go visit May and Ben, it made Tony sad. He knew Peter didn't mean it as an insult or anything—"I'm unhappy, take me home!"—but it did sort of feel like that. Neither Richard nor Tony could join him, not that Ben and May couldn't handle it. Peter was happy when he came home. Refreshed.
There are…other problems, though, not just Peter's homesickness and the scheduling. Tony had problems—caused them.
Old habits die hard. That was a stone fact. Tony hadn't gone sober in the past six months—HA!—but he'd definitely gone lighter on things. His bar visits had slowed to maybe twice a month, everything else being occasional glasses at home. He'd had a grand total of four parties, and that was including his birthday. Anything outside of that were on business trips and business dinners.
Tony didn't fall back into the habits so much as he'd willingly walked back to them. Sometimes he could have Peter home so they could spend time together, but he wanted to spend the night sipping Daiquiris with the first female companion he could find. He hired a babysitter or two when he could have just cancelled a late-night workshop session. Between taking Peter to Hollywood Studios and taking an excursion on his yacht, he'd chosen the yacht. He'd really regretted that one.
He didn't think that was horrible, though. He didn't even need to read You've Got This (which he'd officially chucked in the trash when he got to theshit-you-not threequel to the "children are trees" chapter) to know that there was nothing wrong with taking "me time" as a parent. That wasn't even limited to written guides, either, that was just a common understanding. Every second of the day, there were dozens of babysitters watching over little Billy and Sarah while Mommy and Daddy went out for dinner.
He had to admit, though, that it felt a little different for him. Tony spent a lot of time at work, sure, but was it possible he was being disproportionate to his work-to-relaxation time? There wasn't a formula to go by. Especially considering how he'd missed the first five years to figure it out.
They don't seem to drift apart at all, but it couldn't be denied that they didn't see each other nearly so often anymore. The days where Tony returned home to an empty house had returned with discomfiting frequency. Tony was searching for a way to push himself to make it work without driving far and beyond his stress limit.
In the several months now that Peter had been living with him, they'd had plenty celebrations together. They spent the Fourth of July at Disneyland and he'd put time aside for a week-long summer vacation to Rio de Janeiro, which was a pleasant time of sunshine and samba music even in spite of his disguise. Peter took immense joy in the lush jungles and colorful streets; but still, Tony had been planning his birthday, the big s-i-x, for a long time coming.
He'd given speeches to hundreds of people, he'd stayed up three days straight to get projects done by deadlines, he'd been playing part in the Iraq War for more than four years now, and Tony was still horribly nervous the whole day.
Like—this was his son's birthday, the first one he'd ever been able to share with him. He had so many bars to raise. It had to be perfect.
When Peter wiped sleep from his eyes over their English-style breakfast buffet, Tony thought, Oh, no, what if he's too tired to keep going the whole day and we have to cut it off short?
When he saw the size of the line for the Bionicle Blaster at Legoland, Tony thought, Oh, no, should I slip a hundred to the operator so we don't spend too much time out of the day waiting?
When they were in the limo on the way to the Grove for the shopping spree of a lifetime, Tony thought, Oh, no, what if we pass by a building right when the plane flies by and he doesn't see it?
(Peter did see the distant banner of Happy Birthday, Peter! being dragged across the sky. He proceeded to lose his mind.)
Tony fretted and fussed much more than he'd like to admit, but he forced himself to smile and laugh and go along with everything. He'd never before felt such a consuming need to make someone happy. All of Howard's expectations that he'd tried to meet were stupid and painful and worthless, and he knew that even as he tried so very hard for his father's approval. Peter, though, Tony just needs him to know that he's loved. Peter needed to know that Tony wanted him around now and forever.
The day was culminated in a little mini-party back at the mansion. Pepper, Happy, and Richard are all there and waiting, but so are May and Ben, shifting between gawking at the wonders of the place and none too subtly flashing their rings with pride.
Obie was there, too, which really surprised both of them. Even if he'd accepted Peter into life just as much as the rest of them, he still talked to him very rarely. Peter didn't mind him, though—especially when he set down a Lego-printed ballcap down on his curls that Tony really needed to schedule a trim for. "So you and your old man can match now."
May and Pepper fell into easy conversation about their jobs and the people they have to put up with, but also suggestions for what May should do while she was there (she never got around to doing everything the past few visits). Rich showed Peter his new "upgrade" that made his prosthetic look a lot sleeker and not as clunky. Ben, Obie, and Happy got into a very intense conversation that Tony thought was worrisome before realizing that they were talking about the ending of No Country for Old Men. They did all this over slices of birthday cake and pizza.
It felt like home.
Happy gifted Peter a jacket, Pepper a new backpack with his name sewn on the back, and the three Parkers had all gifted him the entire Harry Potter book series and audio recordings since he'd expressed interest a while ago.
Tony was a relentless sort of bastard, though, so even though they'd done, you know, everything that day, he had one more gift up his sleeve. Months in the making, not as hard as he thought it would be, but a source of infinite pride regardless.
"I'll be back with it in a minute. I don't want to see that unasked-for Hawaiian box even touched when I come back." After the workshop door had swung open for him, Tony paused to narrow his eyes at his son across the way. "Do you eat pineapple on pizza?"
Peter shrugged. "I'll eat it but I don't ask for it."
"You're on thin ice. Stay here."
The reactions are about what he expected: gasps of wonder, gapes of awe, a whispered "He didn't", all laced with a bit of exasperation because he really didn't need to go that far but he did anyway. Tony didn't plan on apologizing anytime soon. Especially not when Peter was jumping and dancing and screaming with such jubilee that he could have been crying with joy.
Obie leaned over his shoulder to whisper, "I was joking, you know."
"Yeah, but it was a good idea," Tony answered while R2-D2 answered Peter's greeting with a Beep-ba-bo-bwip!
The next four months were the absolute worst and it started when he awoke to a tiny finger poking his cheek and steam wafting past his nose.
"Dad…? Are you awake…?"
Peter's voice was hardly more than a breath, even past the fog that seemed to be drowning him. His limbs were as heavy as lead, his head thick. Every breath he took felt slow and wet. He tried to push himself up from whatever it was he was lying down on, but then a hammer slammed into the side of his head and he fell back down with a gurgling groan.
The only saving grace was that it was fairly dim wherever he was, no blinding light stabbing through his eyelids. Oh, and he had clothes on. Two saving graces.
So dim was it, though, that he had to be sure of who he thought it was. "Pete?"
"Yeah. I brought you some tea."
Tony wasn't a huge tea drinker, but he recognized the ginger aroma. It was a slow and dragging process, but he made himself take everything in one-by-one. Peter was there and holding a mug of tea out to him. He was on the bed in his room, except his feet were on the pillows and his head was at the foot. There was no mess except for tousled sheets and rumpled clothes. Where there should have been a crystalline view of the ocean beyond the mansion, he instead saw black panels.
"Wh' time s'it?" he asked as clearly as he could while trying to rub away the pain in his temples.
"I think it's—I think it's eight-thirty."
"Should'un you be at school? You should be at school. Go tuh school."
"It's Saturday."
"No s'not."
"Yes it is."
"Why're you whispering?"
"Richard said to be quiet."
Tony narrowed his eyes at him. It barely made him look a little less squiggly. "Why's Richard here?"
Peter explained almost in one breath, still whispering like it was a secret. "I came to wake you up this morning but J.A.R.V.I.S. said you had this thing called a hangover and that if you didn't wake up in thirty minutes he was going to call Pepper but I know Pepper gets mad at you about stuff so I asked if Richard could come over instead and J.A.R.V.I.S. said okay."
Speak of the devil: the voice of the AI came from the walls, low in volume and almost disappointed in tone. "With help on the way, the first step of the Katzenjammer Protocol was aborted. My apologies, sir."
"You did good, Jar." Tony doubted even the supercomputer could hear him; he said it muffled into the comforter.
"Do you want the tea?"
"No, but I'll take it."
The ginger tea was a little too spicy for his taste and way to hot to gulp down, but he did it anyway. Tony managed to pull himself up to his feet and only then saw that he was not in his pajamas, but in slacks and a T-shirt. Plus a baby's bib that said Mommy's Little Heartbreaker, the origin of which he could only vaguely recall as a waitress with a nose ring and knuckle tattoos, and he tore it off and stuffed it under the mattress before Peter could see.
Peter led him out of the bedroom almost by hand. The rest of the house was sunlit, but he just dealt with it. The sound of someone moving around the kitchen was enough of a distraction.
R2D2 was in the living room. Tony stared, remembered, and kept walking. The little robot beeped and strolled after Peter.
Richard hadn't arranged a five-course meal for him, but he'd concocted a hangover-worthy breakfast of scrambled eggs and banana slices with a glass of apple juice. Tony counted himself only somewhat fortunate that he wasn't having an upset-stomach hangover. He wasn't exactly drooling, but neither did his belly roil at the sight of food.
Richard was pulling the coffeepot out of the maker when Peter and Tony came walking in. Whatever look Richard leveled his way, Tony didn't see it, because he was still rubbing his eyes even as he walked to his seat.
"Hey, Rich."
"Hey, Tone." Yeah, he was definitely not happy. He never called Tony a nickname.
Peter carried Tony's mug of coffee over to him, and still whispering, reminded Richard to "save some for him!" Richard had to rear the pot back before he filled another mug full and poured the rest into a third mug. It was only a third full, but the rest would be filled with milk and sugar, the only way Peter took it.
With his pretend-father getting his coffee together for him, Peter turned to his actual-father and asked, "Are you okay?"
"Will be," Tony answered through a long yawn. "You don't have to whisper, you know. Just don't yell."
So speaking, he asked, "What's a hangover? I asked J.A.R.V.I.S. but he told me to ask you."
Despite surely listening in, the AI said nothing in explanation. He hadn't done anything wrong. Tony should definitely be the one to answer the question. As Peter stared up at him in curiosity, though, Tony came up short.
Richard, who also took some of his older brother's gift-to-earthness, answered for him. "It's like a bellyache adults get sometimes. He's not sick; he just feels bad."
"Oh." Peter set his hands on the side of the bar and propped his chin atop them. It was adorable, and Tony would have ruffled up his curls at any other day. Today, though, Tony keeps his hands to himself and puts way too much pepper over his scrambled eggs. "When I got bellyaches, Mom used to make me pillow forts. So I could hibernate. Like a bear."
The first bite of eggs slid down more than got swallowed, but Tony nodded to him. "That sounds absolutely incredible. Please do that and make sure it has five bedrooms and an indoor pool."
Peter shot off like a bullet, coffee forgotten, and R2D2 followed when Tony shooed him on. The robot—which technically had an artificial intelligence on par with J.A.R.V.I.S., but was limited to beeps-and-boops for communication—was basically their pet dog at this point. An infinitely adorable playmate for Peter, a sometimes-nuisance for Tony. At least they didn't have to worry about Peter growing out of it anytime soon.
Tony just got it out of the way. "Thanks."
Richard blinked.
"Yeah, that doesn't cut it. I know."
"In complete and utter fairness, in the nine months this has been going on, this is actually the first time the cavalry had to be called in." Richard took a gulp of coffee and smacked his lips. He'd probably never had imported-from-overseas coffee before. "'Mean, this isn't good, but it's been fine up until now."
"Yeeeah. Actually, hold on…Was Peter here last night or not? I'm confused."
"Happy brought him over and made sure you were here before he left. Peter said you were sleeping on the sofa, then a little after Happy left, you just got up and went to your bedroom." He gestured to the bar, where Tony only just noticed the giant stuffed teddy bear that didn't belong to his six-year-old. "He also said you were snuggling that thing, but you know him. No judgement."
Last night must have been freaky, Tony thought. "Okay. Uh…Eugh. Let me explain."
"You went partying and got blackout drunk. I get it. My mom did that, like, sixteen times when I was a kid. Wouldn't even care that much if it weren't for Peter, you know?"
"Yeah. Shit." Tony ran a hand over his brow. "You have my word, not going to happen again."
From the living room, Peter called, "Can I get the pillows from your room?"
"Go ahead." After a blur sped past them, he turned back to Richard. "Never."
Richard visibly chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Maybe just—I know you have a lot of protocols and stuff with J.A.R.V.I.S., so maybe you can just…Make another one? Just in case Peter's around. You don't have to—just thought—you know. Precaution."
As stiff and stammered his words were, Tony got the underlying message: Richard didn't quite believe him. He was right, this was his first huge screw-up so far (you know, outside of not knowing Peter existed for 83% of the kid's life), but that didn't mean it was okay, or something not to be worried about. Richard was as aware as anyone that Tony's main endeavors were time in the workshop, bars, parties, and pretty much anywhere where alcohol flowed and inhibitions were loose. He'd never judged him for it before since he'd always kept it in bounds, but now he'd taken the first step over the line.
Peter passed by again with an armful of pillows that almost consumed him. Guilt panged hard in Tony's chest. He didn't even want to imagine what could have happened while he was out like a light.
Richard nudged his coffee toward him like an olive branch. Tony took it, already planning on implementing the Dad's Fallen and He Can't Get Up Protocol by the end of the day.
A third time, for good measure, he repeated, "Never again."
It happened six more times. Five times it was a gravely disappointed, border-lining furious Richard who came to the rescue. Only once was it Pepper Potts, with the rage of it being the hundredth time. To her knowledge, though, it only happened once.
Peter, again, did not have full access to the workshop, purely for safety reasons. There were sharp tools and heavy machinery everywhere; not a place for a six-year-old to wander about. Tony knew that just made the place the Forbidden Fruit in the Garden of Eden that was the mansion. In all of Peter's few and brief visits inside, he always looked around with wonder and want.
To be honest, the workshop was also Tony's personal place. In there, it was just him, his work, and the rock music that played over the speakers. He didn't have to worry about Stark Industries or the Jericho Project or the War. While others might beat punching bags or shoot at a range to vent, he dismantled engines and snipped wires.
He was a parent now, though, and that meant making exceptions and sacrifices. Even if he didn't want to, and even if it annoyed him.
Originally he'd had it so Peter would be let in automatically case of an emergency, like an injury. Otherwise Peter would beep him on the intercom before he let him in. Sometimes he just needed to know where something was, and he'd walk off without problem after. Other times he needed help getting something from a high shelf and whatnot, and Tony would come and meet him.
In this case, when Peter's voice cut Led Zeppelin off cold, it was to ask, "I need help on my math stuff."
So Tony heaved a great sigh, cut off his blowtorch, and said, "Alright, c'mon. Careful."
He'd had to lay off three people that morning. He and Obie had gotten into a spat about the progress of the Jericho Project. He had a migraine that he kept taking Ibuprofen after Ibuprofen for. But Peter just needed some two-second help. He could do that.
Peter came tiptoeing in and made the most of the short walk over to admire the scenery. Tony was surprised, since Peter had never had an issue with schoolwork, but then he saw what the problem was. The paper (he questioned even giving six-year-olds homework, but whatever) had run out of ink about halfway, so the final row of addition equations were hardly shadows. The ones up top were filled in and correct.
"I can't see what they say," Peter told him.
"Gotcha. Alright, give me a second." Tony looked over his desk to find his pen. "I've got it. Hey, do not touch that, alright? It'll fall."
Peter looked over to the tool rack and nodded. The thing was pretty delicately held against the back of the desk. Tony did not miss the irony in something so small as it going unfixed in his workshop. He just dealt with it.
Writing over the shadowy numbers with pen took longer than he should have, especially at the very bottom. Tony seriously doubted he got any of them wrong, but if he did, Peter would have a note about how the paper was misprinted.
Then it happened.
CLANG
CRACK
BANG
The crash of sound hit him like someone smacking him upside the head. He set his pen down, took a not-very-deep breath, and already knew what he was turning to see. The tool rack was now facedown on the desk, wrenches and pliers scattered this way and that, all while Peter clutched his once-extended hand to his chest.
Instinctively, Peter cried, "Sorry!"
"I told you not to touch that."
"I'm sorry—"
"Get out." Tony handed him the paper and picked up the rack. The few tools that had kept their hold went clattering down. "Just go."
"But—"
"I said get out, Peter!"
Peter ran.
It took getting the rack propped up, the tools piled together, and the music playing again for regret to sink in. He'd broken the number-one rule of parenting, Do not take out your anger on your kid. Yeah, Tony, he'd done something you told him not to do. So reprimand him, don't bite his head off his shoulders.
He was too annoyed, frustrated, and tired to immediately pull himself up the stairs and apologize. If tears were falling from Peter's eyes, J.A.R.V.I.S. decided Tony didn't need to be told that. Even worse, the parental guilt pretty much ruined his venting. Now he just felt sluggish.
When he decided enough was enough, he forced himself to Peter's door and knocked.
"Hey, Pete?" No response. "Hey, can we talk?"
Still nothing. Tony tried to twist the knob, but it kept hard in place.
"Pete, unlock the door."
Nope.
"Unlock the door, Peter."
Nada.
J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice drifted down. "Would you like me to open the door for you, sir?"
Tony thought about it.
"No," he decided. "It's alright."
Peter did eventually emerge, decidedly not teary-eyed and with the homework done. Tony apologized for snapping at him. Peter apologized for knocking down the tools. That was that. Not a big deal at all. Still, Tony promised himself that it wasn't going to happen again.
It happened again. And again. And maybe three more times after that.
"Can I spend Christmas with Aunt May and Uncle Ben?"
It wasn't the question itself so much as the timing of it that made Tony's heart squeeze. In the past two weeks, he'd only been able to see Peter a total of three hours altogether. The Jericho Project had reached its critical state; everyone was in overdrive. Meetings, crunch time, emergency intervention after emergency intervention—everyone was at the end of their wits. It wasn't just that Tony didn't have the time for Peter, he didn't have time for anything.
Except for the occasional party and bar hop, though. It didn't matter how much he kicked himself in the pants for it later, he always made time for it.
But he really had been making Christmas plans for him and Peter. Nothing huge, but something like a cabin somewhere snowy. Peter could enjoy making snowmen and going sledding and Tony could enjoy sitting in front of a fireplace and drinking eggnog. They could even watch those old Rankin/Bass stop motion Christmas movies for extra nostalgic value.
Of course, he'd been planning on allowing Peter time to spend with the Parkers, but those visits lasted a few days at least, and he was holding out on a certain time frame. The days before and after Christmas was "vacation time" for Stark Industries, an eye in a storm that couldn't be rescheduled.
Tony pulled up Peter's blanket a little more, trying to be casual. "Yeah, why's that?"
"Just wanna." Peter rubbed at his eye. "I haven't seen them in a while."
You saw them two weeks ago, and you talked to them this morning. "How long do you want to stay?"
Peter thought about it like he always did. Tony didn't remember waiting so tensely for the answer, though.
"How 'bout a week?" he finally decided.
So much for that trip, then.
"Sure. Now go to sleep." Tony flicked off the lamp on the nightstand. The stars in the ceiling lit up one-by-one, casting them in a light glow. In the corner, R2-D2 stood dormant. "I've to go call Santa."
Peter left for Queens almost a week before Christmas, just in time to say goodbye to a visiting Rhodey and make Tony realize he didn't like how happy Peter was about leaving and feel childish. He'd sent most of the gifts over already just so he could have that Christmas-morning opening spree, but he kept his own gift home until he returned. It wasn't an R2-D2, but it was a near-authentic astronaut helmet, a puzzle made from one of his drawings, and other cool little things put together.
Instead of a comfy cabin with a burning fire and his son just in the other room, Tony spent Christmas largely alone in his mansion save for one dinner between him, Rhodey, Obie, several board members, and a somewhat incredulous-as-to-why-she-was-there Pepper. After this, he'd return home and do a lot of nothing for a lot of time. Peter would return days later, but work would hit him so hard that Tony wouldn't be around to actually see him open the gift. Nor would he be around to even welcome Peter back to Malibu.
That Christmas night, while they were all standing from their chairs and shaking hands in goodbye, Rhodey tapped him on the shoulder. "You know he's fine, right? He's spending Christmas with his family, not rotting in a trench."
He wasn't fine, though, but only Tony knew that. Rhodey didn't know that Peter had been pulling away for weeks now, slowly but surely not saying as many jokes or talking about school as often. When he'd left for Queens, he'd been so happy for the first time in a long time, so happy to be leaving.
Rhodey also didn't know that for as much as he hated watching Peter go, Tony was doing little to get him back. He would mope and pout about not seeing Peter so often, only to turn away an opportunity when it was handed to him on a silver platter. He'd been so sure he wouldn't let this happen.
Don't ever, ever make him feel like he's not wanted, he heard Richard warn.
This is a terrible idea, he heard May cry.
The worst kind of person, he heard Mary sigh.
"Yeah, he's fine," he heard himself lie.