The week after Christmas leading up to New Years was a much busier one for Tony than he could have possibly anticipated. It was a lot busier for the Avengers at the compound, too.

Peter was sick. And they all watched as their sweet little ray of sunshine that was Peter Parker (soon to be Peter Stark) turned into a morose, miserable, snot producing machine right before their eyes. He had trouble sleeping because he didn't feel good, and he didn't want to eat, because he didn't feel good. He didn't want to blow his nose, because his nose didn't feel good, either.

All he really wanted to do was sit in someone's lap and be held.

They took it in stride, all things considered. Clint was the only one that had any experience with a sick child, but they were all intelligent adults, and there were enough of them that when one needed a break to go wash their neck of the drool or mucus that would run from Peter's nose (and mouth, on the rare occasions that he slept just right) there was another to step up and offer the boy a lap to sit in and arms to hold him.

Tony was the preferred comforter, but at any time of the day, Peter could be found sitting in pretty much anyone's lap, covered warmly with a blanket, his cheek pressed against their shirt, listening to their heartbeat – or listening to them tell stories or read to him. Even Nick had taken a turn or two, pointing out to all of them that there was absolutely nothing wrong with his lap and he had a million stories to tell.

Some were even tame enough to tell an eight year old.

Tony had finished Charlotte's Web, and they'd started on Black Beauty. The billionaire would sit on the couch with the little boy, one arm around Peter and the other holding the book, reading in his steady, soothing voice, and every now and then stopping to press a tender kiss against Peter's temple, or cheek. The boy would smile, reacting to the touch in any number of ways – usually wiping his nose on Tony's shirt for good measure – and then would close his eyes and listen, again.

When it came to convincing him to eat, though, it was Natasha who was the best at that. Sam tried a spoon and choo choo noises, but Peter had shaken his head. Tony tried a simpler method; he bribed Peter. It didn't work, but even Steve would roll his eyes when he'd hear Tony offer Peter a hundred dollars for every bite of oatmeal that he swallowed.

It didn't work, but it was amusing to watch.

Despite the reassurance of the two compound surgeons, Pepper arrived on Thursday with a pediatrician in tow. Not that they didn't believe the other doctors, but they were a long time from the pediatric rotation that they'd undoubtedly done after medical school, and Peter wasn't sleeping. Wasn't eating. And didn't feel good.

"It's a cold," the specialist had pronounced after a very short examination of the boy. "There's no shot to give, and no pill to take to cure it. He needs rest, quiet, and fluids."

The two surgeons had rolled their eyes, looking smug, of course, and Tony had immediately asked about the fact that Peter wouldn't eat and didn't sleep, much, despite being lethargic.

"Just hold him when he needs it," had been the suggestion. "He'll start feeling better in a few days, I imagine."

So they held him. And they cuddled him. And they talked to him when he was awake and restless. They kept him warm. Kept holding straws to his lips to get him to drink water, juices, and anything else that they could get him to swallow, and soothed him to help him sleep, as well as he could.

Nick decided that it was a good thing some evil super villain didn't choose that week to invade the earth, because the Avengers were just too tired to deal with it, just then.

OOOOOOO

By New Years Eve, the fever had broken and he wasn't quite as miserable.

Plenty tired; he was wiped out from being sick, but his appetite was starting to return, as was his cheerful disposition. He still wanted (needed) the comfort of a lap more often than not, but Nick had brought in a little table, similar to the one in his bedroom in Tony's apartment, and installed it in the corner of the lounge. There were Legos, coloring books and color crayons – although not a Sharpie in the bunch – and Peter spent a lot of time there, as well, playing, or drawing under the watchful eye of whoever was with him at the time.

"Not where I'd ever have expected to be on New Years Eve," Pepper said a few minutes before the ball dropped in the city.

She wasn't there to see it. Instead, she had been invited by Tony and the others to the compound. They weren't really having a party, exactly, but it was a new year, and it should be celebrated. They were gathered in the lounge, where a large display had been showing the celebrations from around the world as they happened, and Peter was dozing in Nick's lap.

The SHIELD director was wearing a party hat made of brightly colored plastic with a string holding it in place on his head. The others were all wearing one, as well – but only because Peter had pointed out that he saw a movie one time where they wore party hats and popped string poppers and blew on noisemakers when the clock struck midnight. The boy had one, too, but his was a bit askew at the moment, since his cheek was resting against Nick's chest.

Tony smiled, checking on Peter, automatically, before nodding.

"Not exactly our typical party, is it?"

"No."

"Not enough glamour for you, Tony?" Steve asked, also smiling.

And looking far too good-looking considering he was wearing a goofy-looking hat.

"Not even close to the norm." He looked over at Natasha, who was dressed in the sexy dress that Peter had bought her for Christmas. The one Tony had picked, knowing she'd look amazing in it. Not surprisingly, he'd been right. "Romanoff being the exception, of course."

The assassin smirked.

"Pepper looks pretty good, too," she pointed out.

"I'm not allowed to point that out, though," Tony said. He shrugged. "Something about HR and harassment, that kind of thing."

Pepper smiled.

"Exceptions can be made." She looked at Peter. "Are you going to wake him up to watch?"

"Yup." Tony handed Rhodey his drink and walked over to the sofa. "Hand him here, Nick."

Fury pulled the blanket from Peter, and handed the little boy over. Peter was wearing pajamas and ready for bed, but he'd begged Tony to make sure that he was awake when it was the new year, and Tony wasn't going to disappoint.

"Hey, buddy," Tony murmured, waking him, gently, with a hand pressed against the cheek. "Wake up and watch the new year come."

Peter opened his eyes, sleepily, but he woke a little at the words, and they widened as he looked around.

"It's time?" he asked.

"Yeah."

They all gathered around the display, watching as the giant ball that dominated the screen began glowing brightly, and Peter shivered with excitement as he watched all the people in the crowd yelling the countdown along with the announcers.

"Three… two… one…!"

"Happy New Year!"

Sam tousled Peter's hair, cheerfully, and Tony kissed the boy's cheek, then leaned over and kissed Pepper, too, for good measure, while the others pulled the strings on their poppers, ribbons and sparks flying and noise giving the room a chaotic element for a short moment.

"Happy New Year, son," Tony whispered to Peter, his face right against the boy's ear to make himself heard.

"Happy New Year… dad…?" He replied, the last word obviously uncertain, but so hopeful.

Tony felt his eyes sting, but his smile was so big it hurt his cheeks and he hugged the boy, fiercely.

"Did I hear what I think I heard?" Sam asked Steve.

Rogers smiled, and pulled the hat from his head, straightening his hair, automatically.

"I think you did. Yes."