MoonLightSkies16: Thank you! I wanted Tony and May's argument to be even on both sides, instead of one side being 100% wrong and the other 100% right.

When he can't see Peter, Tony is writhing.

If he is not spending every single second with Peter, talking to him, making memories with him, then they are wasted seconds. Even when he lies down to sleep (which isn't often), he feels guilty for it. He isn't going to tell Peter the truth, so he has to make up for it by giving him every last heartbeat.

He's heard that when some animals die, they wander off to do it away from home. He almost wants to do that: abandon everything and run to Queens. While the world is trying to figure out where Tony Stark vanished to, Tony will be sitting on the couch with Peter, watching Animal Planet and eating pizza. That would be a fine time to go, he thinks.

This guilt, this skin-crawling guilt, was already unbearable when he was with Peter—at the amusement park, the museum, the movie theater.

Having not seen Peter in person for a week, he is in agony.

Not even the lab can distract him from his pain anymore. He finally figured out his new delivery system for the suit, a project that had taken him months. It was supposed to be a breakthrough, it was supposed to be a milestone, he was supposed to have a celebratory drink and toast to his success. Not that he doesn't drink, but it's quick and meaningless and he spills rum on the counter. A little more than a week to live now, and he's still just doing his hobbies.

Just after Maria died, it was never the good memories that Tony could think about, just the memories that did not exist. He could only focus on how that Christmas was the first time he'd seen her in months. Before that, the last time they'd seen each other was him slamming the door behind him, his and Howard's yells still ringing off the walls.

Tony's going to die soon and he's going to leave his young son behind. But yay! He made something cool!

Natalie almost going into Peter's room—well, not almost, it was locked—tips him over the edge. That night, he sits staring up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do next. At first, he's a little reasonable. Anything to do with the beach seems too easy. They'd have to travel a ways just to get to a planetarium or aquarium or any other -iums he hasn't been to yet. There has to be things that Peter would like to do that are unique and special and can't be done just any day. He thinks a Mets game would be nice, but he doesn't want to ruin one of Peter's favorite things for him.

Reason fades quickly. Tony is a balloon with too much air, a soda can that's been shaken too much.

Thus, he sees no problem in inviting Peter to go to Monaco at the last possible minute.

Alright, he does see a problem with it, in a passing way. A "eh, that's just a little kink to be ironed out, let's go!" kind of way. Dying or not, he can't just sweep Peter across the ocean on a whim.

He asks Ben and May, emphasizing how aware he is that this is insanely short-notice and very unreasonable and likely unlikely. They keep hush-hush about it to Peter while they talk it out. They don't want to get him too excited for something that will almost surely not be able to work out.

Even as Tony's on the phone with them about it, he knows how off-the-wall he's being, but he's out of control at this point. Honestly, if and when they decline, Tony ponders if he'll just cancel going altogether. He doesn't think he can sip wine and watch the cars blaze past and keep his sanity intact.

So he's very grateful when Ben and May give the a-okay.

Not without discussion, not without hesitation. May says, "this is coming out of left field" more than once. Ultimately, it comes down to nothing but sheer luck. May and Ben both manage to get some vacation days, and there were no other plans to cancel. Peter is out for summer vacation now.

Of course, Tony would have paid for every last penny, including their lost pay. But money has become a sore subject between them. Peter is the line in the sand. Monthly payments for his care, school trips, doctor appointments—those are fine. But Ben and May both sounded a bit sour about going on the trip to one of the most expensive countries in the world. Tony convinced them that they had to come because they and Peter are a package deal, but he imagines that the look on their faces when they see the suite he bought for them will be miffed, not amazed.

Is it pride? Maybe. That's what May said it was. It took some time to convince her that this was completely fair—as Peter's father, it only makes sense for Tony to contribute to expenses, and that wasn't "charity." Besides that, Tony thinks they're afraid of a slippery slope to reliance on him. Tony wonders, once he's gone, how they'll handle the news of the titanic fund he'd set aside for them. Relieved? Outraged?

The trip itself is not easy to plan out, but it gets done. The first day will be all about the race, but the next day Tony will sneak from the public eye to enjoy the Monacan streets with them all. He's not looking forward to melting beneath a hat and a mask, but it's such a non-issue. Eating bouillabaisse, hearing the music, seeing the sapphire ocean and the rolling cliffs…It saddens him to know that he'll have to come home after that.

That would also be a good time to die.

And Peter is, of course, over the moon. He's not very knowledgeable about Monaco, but the second Ben and May tell him of their impromptu trip, he starts cramming his brain full of information. In the span of a single day he has a near-encyclopedic knowledge of the country. The population (~35,600), the language ("Bonjour! Mon nom est Peter!") and too many cultural facts to number ("Did you know 32% of the people there are millionaires? That's like 11,400 millionaires!") He calls Tony all of five minutes after the news to ask what they'll be doing specifically, and even when Tony can only say that they'll "figure something out," he's bouncing off the walls. When Tony goes to bed that night, sleep comes to him easily.

The next morning throws him a curveball, though.

Tony has been quite the hermit for the past few months. He only ventures out into the world when there are cameras waiting for him—whether that "him" is Iron Man or Tony Stark. Waking up to the sun sparkling on the water, he realizes it's been…Hell, too long for him to even remember since he's actually gone out just to go out. Too long since he's been to a bar, or a club, or even just a Burger King, since he would just ask Pepper or Happy to bring some if it was on their way. (Maybe he should include that in Natalie's job description. Responsibilities will include irregularly delivering lunch from the fast-food chain restaurant, Burger King.)

This is why he decides to put on his big boy pants and go out into public for the first time in forever. Partially because he thinks it'll be good for him, physically and mentally, but also because Pepper isn't his assistant anymore, Happy's sick, and his cooking is somewhere between inedible and lethal.

It's not that it wouldn't be nice to just go into a restaurant, sit down, eat, and have that be that. He just doesn't bother to expect it. It starts as soon as he picks out a healthy-looking little place covered in green leaves and yellow bamboo with pictures in the windows advertising salads and wraps and salads and protein bowls and a few salads. It doesn't look too busy, even for a Malibu restaurant with a decent view of the shore, but the second Tony opens his car door he hears an exclamation from some stranger or another.

There are a few shouts of, "Look!" A few of, "It's Tony Stark!" He gives a quick pageant-girl wave before ducking inside, and even then there's no safe haven. The employee behind the counter was taking a drink, and when he looks at Tony (first an acknowledging look, then a holy shit it's Iron Man look), his hand left his cup but his teeth death-gripped the straw. So the cashier and Tony just kind of looked at each other while the cashier's straw stuck out of his mouth and dripped into the pile of ice on the floor.

Tony sits at a booth to eat his spinach-and-turkey wrap that's probably very healthy but also infuriatingly bland. He won't be able to sit here for long, probably. Within two minutes of sitting, two teenage girls appear from utter nowhere to trill and sing and beg for a photograph. The other patrons are far and few between, and either ignore him after initial wonder (great) or stare at him while he wipes turkey off his lip (digestible). There's no telling how long it'll be until word spreads that he's here, and everyone comes to see—like when he and Peter go to the zoo, and one of the lions finally gets up from lounging, to a shrill chorus of "Mommy! Daddy! Look, look, look!"

By all means, just sitting in a small, too-healthy restaurant eating lunch and looking out the window shouldn't be so aggravating. Being stared at the whole time, that should be aggravating—and it is. But mostly, it's the things that shouldn't be of any issue at all. The uncomfortable vinyl seats, the food that has as much flavor as the plastic straw in his cup. The fact that he's alone.

Tony hates that he wants to be bothered. Being hounded for photographs would be a little less pathetic than just not looking at the seat across from him.

Then, as if the universe is answering his call (for once), he hears a familiar voice say, "Tony?"

Richard is standing with one hand frozen on the sling of his satchel and the other holding onto a paper bag. He blinks at Tony, and Tony blinks at him. He honestly cannot recall the last time they've laid eyes on each other.

Richard goes on, sputtering, "T-Tony Stark! Wow! It's you."

Tony flicks his gaze to the other patrons. None are giving their undivided attention, but they can see, and they are listening.

"It's me," he says as casually as he can. "What can I help you with?"

"Uh…I was wondering…" Richard digs into his pants pocket and pulls out his phone. "I was wondering if I could get a picture? But maybe not in here, m-maybe outside? With better light?"

Someone snorts, but neither Richard nor Tony pay them any mind. Tony makes a show of wiping his mouth with his napkin and swinging up to his feet. He slaps a ten dollar bill onto the table. "Sure thing. Just make sure you get my good side. Not that I have a bad side."

As he's standing, Richard asks, "What about your food?"

"That's not food, it's cardboard."

He and Richard duck out of the door to the back deck of the restaurant. There are some tables shadowed by their umbrellas—and Tony thinks that's quite distressing, that a place like this can be so busy that that it has outdoor dining.

Beyond the deck it's a stretch of blank space, a road, and the last line of buildings and cars before the shore. If anyone saw them from out here, they'd be too far away to tell it was really them. Still, they step behind the building to get away from the eyes no doubt peeking through the window.

"So." Tony leans back against the wall. He hopes it looks casual, and that Richard can't tell how easy it is for him to get out of breath now. "What brings you to a place like this?"

Richard wrinkles his nose, and looks almost like he's going to protest that it's just a health-nut restaurant and not a seedy downtown bar. Instead he holds up the paper bag. "Lunch."

"All the Panera Bread knockoffs in Malibu, and you chose this one? I mean, props to you for supporting local businesses, but I think this is the one restaurant in the world where the vegetables are bad for you."

Richard doesn't crack a smile in the slightest, and doesn't even protest. He looks uncomfortable. Like he really doesn't want to be here, but he's making himself stay. The paper bag crinkles in his fingers as they clench and unclench, and he sways a bit as he shifts his weight from leg-to-prosthetic-leg.

"Anyway…If you really want a picture, go for it, but I have a feeling you wanted to talk about something."

"Yes," Richard says, with a little bite, a little impatience. Yet he still buffers like an old computer. "You're taking Peter to Monaco? For the Prix?"

"Technically, Ben and May are taking Peter to Monaco. I'm covering the expenses, and we'll meet up at some point. Eat some barbajuan, do some sight-seeing. I think Pete would love the Musée Océanographique. It'll be like all the other museums he's been to, but French." Tony scratches at his face. He's forgotten his razor for a few days; stubble prickles under his fingertips. "I don't know if something was lost in translation, but I thought I'd made it clear that you were welcome to come, too. Ben said you were free."

"Y-Yeah, I'm free." Richard's shoulder brushed against the brick wall. He seemed to consider leaning against it like Tony, but chose not, seemingly to avoid doing anything 'like Tony'. "I was just…just—You don't th…You don't think that maybe it's a little…Much? A-a little too much? For Peter, I mean. I-It just seems like it'd be a little overwem—overwhelming. On such short notice."

Though he stumbles and fumbles over his words, Tony nods along. He's listening and he's understanding. He's made his peace with it, but Richard is certainly echoing is past thoughts.

"It crossed my mind. I did think I was jumping the gun—I thought it'd be a given that it wouldn't be able to happen. Wouldn't have been surprised or offended if Ben called me a dumbass for thinking it'd happen. Or May. Ben wouldn't call me a dumbass. Does Ben curse? I don't think he curses."

"Not really."

"Anyway, the second it was even hinted that there was going to be a problem, I was going to call it off. Not that I could make them fly across the Atlantic by force."

"That's not…That isn't what I…" Tony doesn't urge him, but he still feels guilty when Richard takes a deep breath and unscrambles his syllables. "That's not what I said, though. I was talking about Peter."

"Well…He seems pretty okay with it. More than pretty okay, he's been talking to me about it nonstop. He found out that Monaco is smaller than Central Park, and I had to spend about an hour explaining to him how that could be possible. And then I had to explain to him what a city-state was. He wanted me to teach him some French, but I told him that it was a really tricky language, and he asked how, and I told him that 'avocado' and 'lawyer' sound exactly the same, and he laughed so hard Coke came spewing out of his nose—"

"Okay. Tony. That—Hm." Richard's lips purse into a tight line. He presses a finger over them for a moment. "Of course he's excited. He gets to go on vacation to a—to a cool country and do cool things with his cool dad. But…Still. I don't think that really makes it okay."

Now it's Tony's turn to buffer. He feels like he has a spinning circle in front of his forehead. "If you're worried about jetlag, we've got a day set aside for all of you to get caught up to time. And if it's safety you're worried about, the entirety of Monaco is safer than any one city block in New York. No offense."

Richard blinks at him, slow and pointed, and Tony hasn't the slightest idea of what to make of it.

Finally Richard rubs at his brow with such force it's like he's trying to scrape it off of his head. Tony stands there and waits because he has no idea of what else to do.

"I thought you said you were going to back off for a while. After everything that happened with Ob—Stane, I thought we agreed you'd back off."

Tony suddenly feels cold.

While Richard stares him down—has he always been so much taller than him?—Tony tries to retrace his steps to six months ago. That was when Peter had returned to Queens, and Tony talked to him maybe…five? six? Times over the phone. He'd almost solely relied on Ben and May to keep him up-to-date. His greatest effect on Peter's life, aside from the money he sent, had been the memories he'd inflicted upon him.

But that was months and months ago, and then he just more or less matched Peter's energy. Before, phone call conversations began with "Peter, Dad's on the phone, do you want to say hi?" Then it was Peter himself who hit the call button. If Peter didn't want to talk about something, Tony didn't make him. If he did, Tony would ramble until his voice was raw. It was maybe three months until they saw each other in person again, and another month after that until they got back to their regular ventures. Tony can't recall the exact pace at which Peter fell for Iron Man. It seemed like all the red and gold just appeared in his bedroom in one instant.

"I…did," Tony says at last. He taps a finger on the brick wall behind him. "I did back off. I'm not—Well, I didn't think I was plowing my way back into his life. I thought things have been…fine."

"I thought it would be a little while longer," says Richard. "I just don't think that all the stuff that's happened to Peter can be really dealt with in such a short time. And I know he's in therapy, and I know he's getting better, but when we said you'd be stepping back, I thought we meant for a while, not just a couple of weeks."

"Okay. Okay." Tony scratches his stubble again. He feels very strange all of the sudden—uncomfortable in his own skin. This conversation has made the world tighten in on him. "I get that. It's just that I thought I was doing what he wanted?" Richard's eyes squint at him. "I talked to him when he wanted to talk, I met him when he wanted to meet."

"Have you ever—" Richard presses his palms together and then to his lips, looking like he's praying. "Do you remember being a kid, and your mom was on a phone call with someone, and she said, 'Oh, here's Tony. Tony, do you want to talk to so-and-so?' And you had to say 'yes,' because the number-one thing you were taught as a kid was to never hurt anyone's feelings?"

"Even if I said 'yes,' which would be a lie…I still don't quite get what you're trying to say." Richard huffs, and Tony continues, "Rich, I'm not trying to be obtuse. I honestly don't understand what you're getting at. So please be point-blank with me."

Even then Richard's lips twist and purse. Tony thinks he and his brother share a philosophy: that to be blunt is to be rude, so you have to hint and imply and nudge to be polite.

"I don't like how you've been with Peter lately." Richard's shoulders relax after he says it, but he sure doesn't look relaxed anywhere else. "You're going to see him basically every day, sending him all these amazing presents…"

Again, not to be obtuse, but…erm…that doesn't…sound bad? To Tony?

And he doesn't say it out loud because he doesn't want to interrupt, but his confusion must be on his face, because Richard huffs again.

"I'm not trying to say you're bribing him, but it kind of feels like you're smothering him."

"If I had even the hint that Peter didn't want to do something, then I wouldn't make him do it. If he'd paused for half a second when I told him about the trip, then I would have put a hard stop on it. But I'm just telling you, I haven't picked up on it. I don't think you need me to tell you he's an open book."

"He's not—he's just—kids don't—" Richard swipes a hand through his hair, rough and quick and painful. Tony hadn't realized how long it had gotten since he'd last seen him—it's almost brushing his shoulders now. "Kids don't always know when things aren't okay. That's why they want to eat fifteen chocolate bars at once, that's why they want to pick up sharp things just because they 'look cool'. Just—what happens if your workload surges and you don't get to go on your trips for a while? Or what if you don't call for just one day too long? I just don't want him getting hurt because you stopped doing stuff 'like normal,' and I…I'm sure you don't want him thinking you're mad at him or something just because you went one week without going to an amusement park."

The more Richard talks, the more Tony's stomach twists and knots, until he thinks bile is about to come up his throat. He knows Richard is right. Of course Richard is right, absolutely, air-tight, logically right. Tony's gone too far too fast, and now he's established what's 'normal'. He's basically told Peter that his love language is huge gifts and oversea trips twenty-four-seven. So if time kept going, he'd inevitably hurt Peter.

Except that time isn't going to keep going.

Except that Tony is going to be dead soon, and he won't be with Peter much longer at all. Except that because he's now established this 'normalcy', he cannot change it back just before he dies, because that's already going to scar Peter for the rest of his life.

Only now does Tony realize that he may spend his last few days on this earth too weak to draw his breath, let alone go to Legoland. Meaning Peter may ask, 'Why hasn't Dad called me today? Is he starting to not love me again?' and then he'll be answered with the news of his passing.

Well.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

He's really screwed the pooch on this one.

Richard is just standing there staring at him, but he seems comforted by Tony's silence, probably thinking that Tony's taking his words to heart. Which he is, but not in the Hallmark-movie way.

When Tony decided not to tell Peter of the poisoning, he'd come to bitter peace with it, knowing that there was no good decision. And once again there's no good decision, but it's only his fault. Every trip and gift was just another shovelful of dirt out of his own grave. So Tony is going to have to come to another bitter, angry peace.

"I hear you," he tells Richard. "You make a solid point. So after this trip I will try to…take it down a notch."

Richard nods. "Good."

"You are coming, aren't you? I know Pete wants you to be there."

"Yeah, I'm coming."

It's the horrifyingly awkward silence of a dying conversation, but there's something else to it. Tony thinks Richard isn't being completely candid with him. The way he stands so stiffly and the tiny twitches in his face, Tony thinks that there's something more he wants to say.

He doesn't. Richard moves his bag to his other hand and stands straight again. For a split second he wobbles on his leg, and Tony's whole body seizes to help him, but Richard finds his balance just as quickly.

"So," says Richard, "I guess I'll see you in Monaco. I guess."

"See you then." Tony nods to him, and Richard goes, walking down the deck that curves to the front of the restaurant. "Enjoy the salad."

"It's kale."

"Only kale?"

"It's—No, it's a kale salad."

"So…A salad. I wasn't wrong."

"No, I was just—it's not a salad-salad, it's a—"

"—a kale salad. This is horrifying. Have a nice day, Doctor Parker."

Tony gives Richard a wave over his shoulder and ducks back inside, feeling so awkward he wants to peel his skin off. Someone has already cleared his table, and once he's back inside all eyes are on him, so finally he flees. He just barely makes it into his car before the cameras flash, and Tony smiles and waves his apologies.

He hates the idea of coming into the city for nothing more than a plastic turkey wrap, but he drives home anyway. Besides, he has two things to think about. Firstly, how should this trip to Monaco go? Should he go all-out like he planned, or dial it back? It could be the last trip he and Peter take, and Tony doesn't know if it should end with a bang or a whimper.

Secondly, what was it that Richard wanted to say, but didn't? Maybe nothing at all, but Tony thinks otherwise.