"I don't like this," Mary said.
"We've stalled long enough. We had to go back at some point. It's only temporary, Princess."
"I know. I just..."
"I get it. But if it makes you feel better, I can handle him during class time, no one even has to know he's yours, and-"
"I'm not ashamed of him, Tony."
"I didn't say that."
"You implied it."
"I literally didn't - y'know what, it doesn't matter. Let's just get through today."
"Right," Mary said. "Right. Just gotta get through today."
"That's right," Tony said. "And we only have to stay in school for a few weeks, until the papers get through. Everything will be fine."
"Right," Mary said. She sighed. "We should make up a schedule. Y'know, for who gets Petey when." She pointed to said boy, who was strapped to his father's chest via a baby carrier. His fluffy brown curls were in disarray, and he was drooling on the fabric of the carrier, big brown eyes fluttering slightly in sleep.
"Uh, I get him Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays? You can get him on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And then we'll switch the next week. And we can both watch him on weekends."
"Sounds great," Mary said. "So..." She stared at the gates leading into MIT's campus. "Who gets him three days a week this time?"
"I'll take him," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "I know you have a lot of classes today. I got it."
"Right," Mary said, clapping her hands together. "Let's get to the dorm, then-"
"Oh my God, hurry up," Rhodey said behind them, holding two suitcases and looking like he was done with their bullshit. "We've got places to be and classes to attend, people!" He pushed past them, heading toward the dorms. Mary and Tony followed him, looking sheepish.
They reached the dorm, Rhodey heading to his room and Tony to his. Shoved to the side, on Tony's opposite wall that once harbored a bookcase he never used, was a twin bed with plain sheets and a quilt for a blanket. On the third wall, next to the door where his desk used to be, was a new crib. It was plain white with little yellow polka dots painted on, and there was a soft yellow blanket embroidered with duckies in it, as well as a rattle and a small stuffed duck. They had learned pretty quickly, after Peter's first month, that the boy likes anything soft or vaguely duck shaped. They'd set the crib and twin bed up the previous weekend.
His little boy was four months old now and it absolutely blew Tony's mind. He wasn't much bigger than when he was first born, but his hair was longer, and he was growing more and more aware of his surroundings. He could sit up with no difficulty now, his eyes were constantly darting around whatever room he was in, trying to take in a million things at once. Whenever he sat on the floor for tummy time, he was always flailing his chubby little legs and arms around, trying to move forward. Tony was always worried about that, worried that once he did learn to crawl he would over exert himself - his son's lungs were, and always would be a concern - but Momma Rhodes had waved his concerns off and told him to let Peter develop at his own pace.
"Just so you know," Mary said, "if you bring anyone back to the dorm, I better not be in the room."
"Pssh," Tony said. "I think I know better than that. I'd probably go back to their place. But..." He shrugged. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that. I'm trying to leave my 'fuck-anything-that-moves' ways behind me. No more drinking, no more drugs… Gotta fix myself up for Pete, y'know?"
Mary smiled at him, making her bright blue eyes seem brighter, crinkling the skin around them. Tony knew that when she was older, her skin would be lined with wrinkles - crows feet and smile lines. Not like his mother, who hadn't shown enough emotion in her life to have any wrinkles of the sort. Her blemishes were brought on by bottles of pills, acid to melt life away, xanax to make her float above everything, antidepressants and anxiety medication to numb everything else. Her skin was sallow and yellow, hanging off her face, her eyes dull and lifeless and glazed.
Maria had always been on drugs, he knew, ever since she married Howard. He wasn't even sure if she had stopped when she was pregnant with him. He has a distant memory, more sound than picture, in the back of his mind. His father talked to Obie about how he'd had to pay off the hospital not to call CPS when Tony had tested positive for drugs.
But Tony had never blamed his mother for that. Never, not even when she couldn't talk for days, or when she was screaming and sobbing and writhing on her bed because her prescription bottles had ran out, not even when she had overdosed on antidepressants and had to have her stomach pumped. He forgave her, even though he wasn't sure whether the overdose was an accident or not.
He'd forgiven her.
He hadn't forgiven Howard, who'd been the one to keep supplying her with the pills in the first place.
He shook himself out of the memory as Mary walked up to him, taking a sleeping Peter from the holder and laying him gently in his crib. Tony couldn't help but smile.
Mary looked at the watch on her wrist.
"Fuck," she said, quietly but vehemently. "I'm gonna be late for class. You got him?"
"Yep," Tony said. "I'll be back from my lessons at three."
"I'll be back at two thirty. I'll see you then." She hugged Tony, blew a kiss in Peter's direction, and grabbed her bag, running out the door. Tony checked his watch.
Long enough for Peter to have a good nap and for him to relax a bit.
He pre-made two bottles and stuffed them into Peter's go-bag, along with some mashed apricots. They'd just gotten Peter on solids. Then, he grabbed a dozen diapers and wet wipes, as well as another onesie and a beanie and mittens, and a tiny pair of sunglasses, and shoved those in the go bag too. He also grabbed a box of Cheez-Its, because he got hungry too, dammit.
Then he collapsed on his bed and stared at his ceilings, stretching out against the pillows and counting down the seconds of peace he would get before Peter woke up and needed attention.
That didn't last long.
Tony tried not to sigh, standing up from his bed and heading over to his son's crib. He was rubbing at his big brown eyes sleepily, whimpering as he wiggled around in the crib. Tony picked up the stuffed duck from the crib and waved it in front of the boy's face. His son smiled at him gummily. Tony couldn't help but smiled back.
"Hmm? You like that, Duckie?" Peter's grin widened, and he started wiggling, reaching for the stuffed animal.
"Eh? You like that name, huh? Duckie?" The baby squealed. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, honey." He handed the baby the stuffed toy, leaning against the crib and watching fondly as the baby roughly petted the duck's fabric.
I think he's at least trying to be gentle, Tony thought idly. Still, never getting a pet for this one.
He picked the baby up, setting him down on the floor and sitting in front of him.
"You just don't want your daddy to have a moment of peace, huh, Pete?" he said as he changed the baby's diaper. He tosses it, and it lands straight in the bin.
"Oh! And he makes the shot!" Tony said, cheering quietly. "Thank you, thank you everybody, I'd like to thank my son, Duckie, who provided the diaper-"
And then pissed everywhere.
"Well," Tony said. "That's a first." The boy giggled. Honest to God giggled.
"Oh, you think that's funny, do you?" Tony asked. "I bet you were holding that in, saving your ammo, huh, Duckie?" The baby made a movement that Tony could call a shrug, if he didn't know better.
"Hilarious," Tony said, grabbing clean jeans and a shirt from his suitcase. "You should be a comedian." He changed quickly, grabbing a clean diaper and a red and blue onesie, and got Peter ready. He checked his watch.
"Time to go, little buddy," Tony said, strapping his son's carrier to his chest before grabbing said child. Then he grabbed his school bag and slung it over one shoulder.
"Ready for your first day of college, Duckie?" Peter blew a raspberry. "I'll take that as a yes. Let's go!"
His first class of the day was chemistry. They didn't usually mess with chemicals on the first day, so Tony didn't have to worry about his son's safety. He stepped into the classroom, which was empty save for the teacher, and took a seat at the back of the room.
"Mr. Stark," the teacher said. "I heard you'd be in my class."
Tony winced. His reputation seemed to have preceded him.
"Look, sir-"
"I don't mind if you bring your child into my class," the teacher said. "All I ask is that you leave him with a trusted adult on lab days." Tony blinked.
"O-of course, sir," Tony said.
"I also expect you to take my class seriously. You might have a child now, and you might be young, but I'll hold you to the same standard as all of my other students." Tired college students began filtering into the classroom. The teacher turned away from Tony, watching the watch strapped to his wrist as the minutes ticked down.
The other kids stared at him.
Tony tried to ignore them. He ran fingers through his son's thick hair, who seemed to be gnawing on his stuffed duck.
Yep, Tony thought. This kid's not getting any pets.
The teacher stood up from his desk to introduce himself.
"My name," the man said, "is Malcolm Vardaan." He wrote his name on the chalkboard in blue chalk.
Malcolm Vardaan was a black man who appeared to be in his mid thirties. He dressed smartly in black slacks and a white collared shirt with no tie. His hair was cut short to his scalp.
"Now, I'm not about to call a bunch of college students 'Mr' and 'Miss'," the professor said, "so it is completely understandable that you do not offer me the same titles. Malcolm, or just Vardaan is fine.
"There are things you need to know about my classroom," the man said. "I will not tolerate harassment or bullying of any kind, to my students or myself. If I hear anything of the sort, you will be out of my class immediately. No exceptions.
"Rough housing, too, will not be tolerated. We may be dealing with dangerous substances during the lab time of this classroom, and if you put yourself or your classmates in danger, or I feel you are not responsible enough to handle lab time, you'll be watching and taking notes as everyone else works with the fun stuff for the rest of the year. No. Exceptions."
"My office hours are from three to eight, if you need help with your assignments, or if you just need to talk to someone. Please, feel free to drop by." Malcolm clapped his hands together.
"So. Now that that is done - a little test, to check where everyone's progress is," Malcolm said. "I'd like you to take out a piece of notebook paper. On one side of the paper, I'd like you to list every element you can call to your mind by name and, if you want, their atomic numbers and masses. Then, on the other side, I want you to list every chemical you know of and the compounds that make up that substance. Don't worry, this isn't for a grade. Even if you leave the paper blank, I'll understand. This class is for learning about chemistry, and I can teach it to you even if you don't have prior knowledge. Understand?"
There were scattered nods throughout the classroom.
"Great," Malcolm said. "You have ten minutes. You may begin… Now."
Tony leaned forward determinately, bracing a hand on Peter's back so he wasn't jostled, and began writing, not particularly caring about the state of his hand writing as he wrote. He managed to write down every element in the periodic table and two sheets of compounds before the teacher called time.
"I'll collect your papers at the end of class," Malcolm said. "Please make sure you've left your name on them."
Tony thought Malcolm was a pretty good teacher. He was always interacting with his students, helping them when they needed it and offering encouragement the rest of the time, and even though he was fair, he didn't take anybody's bullshit.
The rest of the class passed with Malcol going over the first chapter in their textbooks, voice carrying over the rows and rows of desks. Peter grew bored quickly, and had fallen asleep in his carrier, leaning forward and drooling on his desk. Tony sighed, and hoped no one noticed.
The class ended just as Peter began getting fussy with hunger. Tony shushed him, grabbing his backpack and Peter's gobag before running out the door to his mechanics class. Once he reached the classroom, he dropped his stuff by a random desk and got Peter's bottle out, lifting him out of the carrier and cradling him as he ate.
"There you go, Duckie," he murmured, watching with faint amusement as Peter tried holding the bottle on his own. After a while, the teacher cleared his throat, and Tony looked up. The teacher, a balding man with round spectacles, raised an eyebrow.
"Is it going to cause a disturbance?" the balding man asked. Tony's head cocked to the side.
"'It'?" he asked, voice edging on dangerous.
"The child. Is the child going to cause a disturbance?"
"He is well-behaved, sir," Tony said. "Don't you worry about him causing a disturbance."
"Good," the man said, nodding. "The first time he starts crying, you'll have to leave the classroom. I can't have him disrupting others' learning time."
Tony smiled, though it felt - and probably looked - forced.
"Of course, sir."
The man's name was Mr. Burns and Tony absolutely despised him. He had a droning voice that managed to make even his favorite subject boring, and Tony almost wanted to switch majors so he could get out of his class, despite the fact that he would get his degree in mechanical engineering in just a year. That was the effect the man had.
Peter fell asleep within five minutes of finishing off his bottle and Tony looked at him with envy.
The class couldn't end soon enough.
Whispers followed him as he walked down the hallway. Glances in his direction, elbows digging into sides as people pointed him out to their friends, snickers hidden behind textbooks or hands. His son was oblivious to it all, perfectly comfortable with sitting in his carrier quietly and trying to get a good look at everything, at all the people. He thought he heard a few cheerleaders say that his baby was cute. They were damned right.
He had a free hour for lunch, and then another for study hall, both of which he would probably spend talking with Mary and Rhodey. When he stepped into the cafe, he spotted them immediately, at the same table they had frequented over the last two years and would probably sit at for the next two.
He sat across from Mary, next to Rhodey, and the man clapped him on the back. His fingers were rough with callouses. His hair was cut short. There were now muscles lining his arms, stomach and legs. He grinned. Basic training for the air force had certainly changed his appearance, but it hadn't changed who Rhodey was.
Tony took Peter out of his carrier and handed him to Mary. The baby fussed, having been woken up.
"Come on, Duckie, it's just your mommy," Tony murmured, handing him to his friend.
"Duckie?" Mary asked quizzically.
"Found a nickname," Tony said with a grin, standing to get his food. The whispers still followed him.
Tony tried not to let it bother him.
Pretty soon, some cheerleader would get a drunk tattoo, or one of the frat boys would get expelled, or some sex rumor would go around, and all of this would blow over. It had to.
Jarvis was right. He just had to be hopeful.