Chapter Text
The nurse opened the door quietly, ushering Peter and the now dosing baby held in his arms into the room. The private waiting room that Tony had been left in for the last however many hours was plain but comfortable, filled with plush looking armchairs and a well-used coffee table which was littered with trashy tabloid magazines that Peter could tell were months old. It seemed even the most exclusive hospitals still fell victim to the classic waiting room stereotypes.
Tony, who occupied a particularly comfortable looking chair in the corner, leapt to his feet as Peter and the nurse entered the room. The man looked frazzled; hair dishevelled from running his hands through it too many times and clothes rumpled as a result of being sat for so long. The bags under his eyes were indicative of the lateness of the hour – or earliness, depending on how you looked at it – although, Peter had seen them look far worse over the years.
Peter could only imagine what his own appearance was like if this was how Tony looked.
“Pete,” Tony breathed, his eyes fixed to the sleeping bundle in Peter’s arms.
“I’m going to go and get started on the paperwork, leave you two in peace for a little bit. I’ll be back in half an hour or so to help you with a feed and diaper change, but there’s a call button on the wall over there if you need anything before then,” the nurse said kindly, excusing herself and shutting the door behind her.
Peter walked over to Tony slowly once the nurse had left, the elder man’s eyes not leaving Peter’s arms once.
“Hey, Tony,” Peter whispered, a lump building in his throat as he spoke. The feeling that filled his chest now that he was finally reunited with the man who, now along with his daughter, was the most important person in the world to him was indescribable. Warm and safe and perfect. It felt so good to share this moment with Tony. His family. “Meet your granddaughter.” He heard Tony’s breath catch at his words and could see the tears threatening to spill over the man’s eyes. “Abigail,” Peter continued, looking down at the girl and adjusting the angle of his arms slightly, as if to give the baby a better view of the elder man despite the fact that her eyes were closed, “meet your Grandpa Tony.”
“Hey, Abigail,” Tony breathed, matching Peter’s almost reverent tone as he brought up his left hand to stroke the girl’s head gently. He stared down at the baby for a few moments, using a calloused finger to carefully pull the edge of the blanket down slightly, giving himself a better view of his granddaughter’s face. “She’s beautiful, Pete.”
“Do you want to hold her, grandpa?” Peter smiled, meeting Tony’s startled eyes.
Peter could see the flash of fear that flitted across Tony’s face. He was scared. Scared that he wasn’t gentle or soft enough to hold something so delicate and precious. Peter knew because he had felt the same thing.
“You bet your ass I do, kid,” Tony replied thickly, wiping at his eyes before arranging his arms ready to receive the baby.
“Language,” Peter joked lightly as he transferred Abigail from his arms to Tony’s, sitting down himself in the chair beside them.
The two men sat in silence for a few moments, cherishing the moment together.
“Well, Pete,” Tony said, stroking the cheek of the baby cradled in his arms with his thumb, “I never expected to become a grandparent at the ripe old age of fifty-four,” he chuckled wetly, looking up at Peter through mist-filled eyes, “but I’m really fucking glad I am. She’s perfect”
Peter laughed, his own tears spilling over and leaving fat trails down his cheeks that he swiped away quickly.
“You know, we’re really going to have to work on your potty mouth with a baby in the Tower,” Peter joked back, feeling lighter than he had in years.
Tony laughed; bright and open, the kind of laugh that Peter loved to hear from the man, the kind of laugh that only the people closest to Tony ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Peter’s heart was so full of love he was sure it was close to bursting. So much of his life thus far had been devastating; he had lost so many people and experienced more than his fair share of heartache. But this? The birth of his baby girl and being able to share the moment with one of the most important people ever to grace his life? It didn’t make up for everything that he’d been through but it soothed the sting and dulled the ache. His life had a new meaning and a new purpose, and her name was Abigail.
Peter leant sideways over the arm of the chair he was sitting in, allowing his head to fall to the side until it rested on Tony’s shoulder, giving Peter the perfect view of Abigail cradled in the man’s arms.
He felt Tony turn his own head, planting a firm kiss atop Peter’s unruly curls.
“I’m so so proud of you, Pete,” Tony whispered into his hair.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the absolutely perfect moment.
“Thanks, Tony.”
The elder man kissed his head again before turning so that his cheek was resting against Peter’s crown.
“I love you so much, kid”
“I love you, too.”
This was it. This was the happiest moment of Peter’s life. He wished his parents and May and Ben could see him now, to bask in this moment alongside them. But he knew they would be looking down on him. He had Tony and he had Abigail. His forever family. And that was enough.
Hours passed, and before Peter knew it was just after nine in the morning. After managing a few hours of fitful sleep in between bottle feeds and nappy changes – supervised, of course, by a pair of very patient nurses – he found himself at the nurse’s station, filling out his daughter’s birth certificate and signing paperwork that would allow him to take her home.
Abigail May Parker-Stark.
Just writing the name of his daughter on the seemingly endless stack of forms made Peter’s heart swell with so much love, the emotion was almost overwhelming.
He was a father. A dad. Daddy to the most gorgeous and perfect little human he’d ever had the opportunity to lay eyes on. It had only been a few hours, but he was so in love with his daughter already. He couldn’t wait to get her home and settled and start living his forever.
But first, he wanted to check on MJ. He had felt terrible leaving her the night before, despite her insistence. He wanted her to know that just because she didn’t want to be involved in Abigail’s life didn’t mean that he wouldn’t always be there for her.
Was it naïve of him to think they could remain friends after everything? Maybe. But if Peter Parker-Stark was anything, it was a trier.
Peter made the short trip down the linoleum clad hallway until he found MJ’s room. Knocking on the closed-door he waited for affirmation that he could enter.
There was no reply.
He knocked again, a little louder, but not obnoxiously so. For all he knew, MJ was still asleep, and as much as he wanted to see her, he would feel awful to know that he’d woken her after such a long and exhausting night.
When the second attempt at knocking garnered no more results than the first, Peter made his way back towards the nurse’s station.
Now that he’d been given confirmation he could take Abigail home he was keen to do so, but not without making sure that MJ was okay first.
“Excuse me,” he said to the elderly nurse sat behind the station. He didn’t recognise her; she hadn’t been part of MJ and Abigail’s private team. “Do you know where the girl in N102 is? I’ve just knocked but there was no answer, has she been moved or something?”
She smiled kindly, acknowledging his question with a hum as she clicked a couple of things on her tablet.
“N102, N102… ah! Here we go,” she said, pressing a few more buttons. “Michelle Jones, is it?” Peter nodded. “Hmm, she hasn’t been moved. I’m afraid it looks like she’s already been discharged. Says here she left a couple of hours ago.”
“What? She…she can’t have been discharged already, she gave birth, like, a few hours ago!”
The nurse scanned her tablet’s display for a few more seconds before replying. “It appears that she discharged herself,” she said, casting Peter a sympathetic look, “I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Peter stood in disbelief for a moment. The nurse looked like she was about to go back to her work when a bright pink sticky note on a stack of papers caught her eye. “Oh, it looks like she left these for you though,” she smiled, passing Peter the documents.
The paperwork. The paperwork that MJ and her mother had agreed to sign to relinquish all custody over the baby. Flicking through the stack quickly, Peter noted that every dotted line had been initialled and signed perfectly.
Peter stuttered out a brief thank you to the nurse before striding quickly down the corridor, coming to a halt just outside the room he’d been occupying for the last few hours with Tony and Abigail.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket quickly, sending a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that it still had some charge left, and selected MJ’s name from his list of contacts.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Nothing.
Peter let out an exasperated sigh before trying again.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Nothing.
Peter bit back a groan of frustration. Why would MJ leave without saying anything? Was she really so determined to exile herself from their daughter’s life that she felt the need to sneak away?
He decided to change tact, tapping out a quick text instead.
Peter: hey mj, the nurse told me that youd discharged yourself??? we’re just getting ready to head back to the tower but I just wanted to check you were okay, call me when you can
He hit send but didn’t even have a chance to slip the device back into his pocket before he heard the familiar ping. He unlocked the screen and…
Message failed to send.
Peter wasn’t an idiot. He knew what unanswered calls and undelivered messages meant.
MJ had blocked his number.
But why?
The realisation that this must have been MJ’s plan all along hit Peter all at once, knocking the breath out of him. It all made sense. She didn’t want anything to do with Abigail – MJ had made that crystal clear from the start, despite Peter’s continued protests. And now, by association, she didn’t want anything to do with him.
The overwhelming confusion and worry that had swallowed Peter whole was quickly replaced by hot frustration and anger. He had never agreed with MJ’s decision, but he had tried his best to understand it, to accept it. It was her body and it was her choice and that was fine. But to just leave the hospital without saying goodbye? To block Peter’s number when all he wanted to do was make sure the mother of his child was okay?
That hurt.
Peter blinked back tears, the stark reality of being a single father finally, after so many months, sinking in. Until now, it had all been theory; planning and speculation, but now it was real. The tether of pregnancy that had bound the two of them together for months had finally been severed.
So, MJ didn’t want to be involved.
Fine.
Peter and Abigail would be fine on their own.
They had Tony, who Peter knew would never leave him. They had Pepper and Rhodey and Happy. Even Bruce, who had been living on his own private floor of the Tower since The Blip. They would be fine.
They would be fine.
Peter tried to push thoughts of MJ away, taking a deep breath, and shouldering open the door that would lead him to Tony and his daughter.
The aforementioned man was sat with Abigail in his arms, rocking and shushing the little girl in low tones, totally absorbed in his granddaughter’s presence, when Peter stepped into the room.
“Hey, kid,” Tony said softly, looking up, his expression becoming concerned as he took in Peter’s flustered appearance, “everything okay?”
“MJ’s gone,” Peter sighed, flopping down into the chair beside Tony. “She discharged herself this morning and she’s blocked my number. She’s gone.”
“I’m sorry, Pete,” Tony sighed sincerely.
“It’s fine, it’s… it’s fine. It’s not like I didn’t know I’d be doing this alone it’s just… I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t expect her to leave like this.”
“I know, buddy.” Tony, balancing Abigail in his left arm reached out his Iron Arm to give Peter’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, meeting the kid’s eyes. “But you know you’re not doing this alone.”
Peter nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat.
Of course, rationally, he knew that. In the months leading up to the birth of his daughter, his little found family of Pepper, Rhodey and Happy had been nothing but supportive, but none more so than Tony. Peter wasn’t ashamed to admit that he honestly didn’t know what he would do without the man. He knew he would have Tony – and the man’s unwavering support – by his side forever, but that didn’t make the reality of MJ actually leaving hurt any less.
Tony’s hand stayed on his shoulder until Peter managed to get the tightness of his throat and the heat behind his eyes under control.
Abigail had been alive for barely a few hours; this was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. This was the happiest day of his life. He wasn’t about to let MJ’s disappearing act ruin that. He would check in with F.R.I.D.A.Y. when they got back to the Tower to make sure the girl had made it home okay (thanks to Tony’s very-illegal-and-certainly-extremely-immoral protocol that allowed him to hack into the city-wide surveillance camera footage), but that was it.
MJ was gone. And he had to accept that.
The car ride back to the Tower was most the most exciting and terrifying hour of Peter’s life.
Exciting because he was taking his perfect baby girl home, and what could get more exciting than that? He couldn’t wait to introduce Abigail to everyone and see his family become just as besotted with his daughter as he already was. He couldn’t wait to sit on the sofa in the living room, with his daughter in his arms, watching the sunset over the New York skyline through the floor to ceiling windows of the penthouse. He was even excited for the typically mundane; the two-hourly feeds, the diaper changes, the spit-up and the crying. He couldn’t wait for it all.
Terrifying because, even though he trusted Tony’s driving skills implicitly, and even though he had checked, double-checked, and triple-checked the car seat, and even though he was sat in the backseat so that he could keep an eye on Abigail, travelling with a new-born felt incredibly fraught with danger. Were the straps on the car seat tight enough? Was the blanket wrapped around her correctly, not too loose, not too tight? Were her cheeks flushed because she was too warm or because she had just been crying or was it something else entirely that Peter hadn’t even thought of yet?
As it happened, Peter’s worries were unfounded. The drive went as smoothly as could be expected, featuring only one meltdown from the new-born and only three partial meltdowns from Peter and Tony, who as it turned out, was just as nervous about driving with a baby in the car as Peter.
The press waiting for them outside the Tower was an altogether different hurdle they had to overcome – only marginally less frightening than bringing your newborn home for the first time.
It wasn’t like the pair hadn’t been expecting it – the press had been camped outside the Tower for weeks, hoping to catch a whiff of any news or gossip relating to Baby Stark. There were more than usual this morning though. Peter could tell. What was ordinarily a smattering of a few different news stations on the sidewalk, their reporters and camera people killing time with cheap coffee and idle chatter, had turned into a dense crowd alive with activity.
Peter guessed that Tony Stark racing out of the Tower in a people carrier with blacked-out windows late the previous night had probably been a giveaway to the press that something was afoot.
Praise Jesus, Thor and anyone else willing to listen for the Tower’s private underground garage, Peter thought. They just had to get there.
Tony manoeuvred the car as quickly but as carefully as he could through the crowd. Peter could see his hand twitching to press on the horn, but a quick glance in the rear-view mirror told him that Abigail was managing to sleep peacefully through all the ruckus, so he very sensibly refrained.
Happy and his team of security were in the thick of the hoard, herding people away from the car as best they could, allowing Tony to creep forward inch by inch. But even with security, the car was practically surrounded.
Peter leant over the car seat his daughter was situated in, using his body as a shield against the flash of cameras that pressed up against the tinted windows, hoping to catch the first picture of Tony Stark’s elusive adopted son and his baby. Tony had designed the tinting himself, ensuring it was impenetrable to any cameras or recording devices for this exact scenario, but Peter still thought it was better to be safe rather than sorry.
He could hear the reporters shouting question after question, all directed at Tony.
“Mr Stark, are your son and grandchild in there with you?”
“Where have you been all night, Mr Stark? Was your grandchild born last night?”
“Is that a Baby on Board bumper sticker? Does that mean that the baby is in there with you, Mr Stark?”
“Mr Stark, do you have any comment?”
“Bunch of vultures, I swear to God,” Tony muttered as they finally reached the ramp that would take them to the Tower’s underground garage.
Leaning back in his seat, Peter let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. “Yeah, it’s really making me look forward to my birthday next month,” he sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes for a second.
He knew Tony would be throwing him a sympathetic look from the front seat, he could practically feel it burning into him even with his eyes closed.
It was common knowledge between the pair that Tony felt immense guilt over the fact that, thanks to him, Peter would be press fodder by this time next month. It sucked really, there was no refuting it. And Peter couldn’t deny that he wasn’t looking forward to it, especially now he had Abigail to think about. But as he often pointed out to Tony, it was also thanks to him that Peter was alive. That he was loved and supported and cared for. Being in the public eye as a person of immense interest was a small price to pay, in reality.
Peter opened his eyes, meeting Tony’s in the rear-view mirror, and flashing the elder man a warm smile that Peter hoped would alleviate at least some of the man’s perpetual guilt.
They looked to each other, sharing a moment in a silent language they had been developing and perfecting since even before May had gotten ill. Peter loved this about Tony; the connection he felt to the man. How one look could say so much, could communicate the endless love and support that Tony offered up willingly to Peter every minute of every day. It was what Peter looked for in the audience during Decathalon competitions to reassure him when their team was behind and he was having a crisis of confidence. It was what he looked for in a crowded room when he needed reassurance and comfort that everything was okay before his sensitive Spidey-Senses had the chance to dial up past eleven. Tony had the power to pull Peter back from the edge or give him the confidence to jump, and Peter loved him for it.
It was a stark contrast from the man that had flown a fifteen-year-old kid Germany years ago, who kept Peter at arm's length and hid his emotions behind the tinted lenses of his signature glasses. And, like so many times before, Peter felt an overwhelming sense of privilege that he was one of the few people in the world that ever got to see this side of the infamous Tony Stark. And now, a new feeling bloomed; strong and unrelenting gratitude that his daughter would grow up with such a man in her life.
Peter helped Tony unpack the car, draping the bags over the man’s Iron Arm, before unhooking Abigail’s car seat and carrying her towards the elevator, which accended automatically once both men had entered, thanks to F.R.I.D.A.Y.
Peter made his way to the living room after the elevator doors opened, placing the car seat on the floor before unbuckling the now dosing Abigail and cradling the baby against his chest.
His baby.
It still felt weird to even think about.
He was a dad.
He still couldn’t believe it.
There was a tiny little human in his arms, perfect and as yet unmarred by the cruelties of the universe. And it was his job now, his purpose, to keep her safe and make her laugh and help her learn and grow. In all honestly, he wasn’t sure he had the qualifications for such a job, but he would do his damndest not to let his baby girl down.
Tony, having put the hospital bags away in the nursery, found Peter stood in the living room, Abigail in his arms as he gently rocked her, swaying slightly from side to side.
“Hey, kid,” Tony greeted, moving to stand next to Peter, “how’s she doing? The assholes out there didn’t scare her did they?”
“Nah, she’s okay. She’s just having a little snooze, aren’t you baby?” Peter replied, looking down at Abigail with adoration in his eyes. “It’s been a couple of hours since her last feed so I’m sure she’ll be screaming the place down in no time, ready for more,” Peter chucked.
Tony smiled. Fatherhood suited his kid. “Must take after her dad in the appetite department,” he winked.
“I wonder if that’s the only thing she inherited from me,” Peter commented darkly.
Tony frowned. The subject of Peter mutated DNA and, more specifically, it’s ability to be inherited genetically, had been a hot topic in the months leading up to Abigail’s birth. Tony, Peter, Bruce, and even Dr Cho had spent hours discussing the possibility of Peter’s child inheriting some of his spider abilities. The group’s leading theory was that thanks to the spider bite altering Peter’s DNA completely, it was likely that Abigail would inherit at least some kind of abilities, but knowing which and to what degree was basically impossible thanks to the uniqueness of the situation.
The team, reluctant to subject a newborn to invasive tests, had agreed that their plan of action once she was born would be to keep a close eye on her and to look out for any signs of abilities that might manifest as she grew. Without testing, it was the best they could do for now, although they all felt uneasy about being in the dark.
“Well, she definitely inherited your mop,” Tony joked, a halfhearted attempt to bring Peter back from the precipice of panic he could see brewing within the boy. He stroked his left hand across the mess of chestnut curls that adorned Abigail’s head to prove his point. The baby squirmed at his touch. She was awake now, and blinking up at the two men with unfocused eyes, although not crying out for her bottle as Peter predicted just yet.
“Poor kid,” Peter teased, accepting Tony’s poorly-disguised lifeline, “it’ll take her years to learn how to style it.”
“Yeah, I see that’s a skill you’re still working on,” Tony laughed, ruffling Peter’s hair and making the strands stand up haphazardly.
“Excuse you! I am a style icon!”
“Whoever told you that is a dirty liar and needs to be brought to justice immediately, I’ll go get my suit…”
“Tony!” Peter laughed, nudging the elder man with his shoulder lightly.
Tony held his hands up in surrender just as Abigail let out a pitiful grizzle.
“I think that’s baby talk for ‘my dinner reservation was at noon and it’s now five minute’s past, where the hell is my bottle?’” Tony said, watching as the baby in Peter’s arms scrunched her face.
Peter rolled his eyes, bouncing his daughter. “Please don’t insinuate my daughter is a Karen.” Tony laughed. “Although, I think you’re probably right. Do you mind holding her for a sec while I make one?”
“Thank God,” Tony sighed dramatically, “I thought you’d never ask. Stop hogging the baby and pass her on over to her favourite grandpa,” Tony continued, making dramatic grabbing motions with his hands.
Peter chuckled but did as he was told. “Look after your grandpa, Abby. Make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble,” Peter whispered conspiratorially to the child, loud enough so that Tony would hear, before making his way to the kitchen.
“Your daddy’s setting you up for a failure there, kiddo,” Tony directed to the fussing baby now cradled in his arms, knowing Peter would be able to hear him. “Your Aunt Pepper and your uncles have been trying to keep me out of trouble for years and look at me. I’m missing an arm. I’m not sure I’d call that a particular success on their part, would you?” Tony smiled down at his granddaughter, who let out a whine. “I knew you’d agree.”
He cradled Abigail in his Iron Arm, using his left hand to pat at the baby’s back gently in an attempt to soothe her until Peter had finished making the bottle. He’d upgraded all his arms months ago so that they maintained a constant temperature that matched his own body temperature at the time. It had been something the genius had been planning for a while, but having a grandbaby on the way had spurred him on. He could hardly subject his grandchild to being held by a cold metal arm now, could he?
“They wanted to come over to see you, you know?” Tony continued, hoping his mindless chatter was helping to distract Abigail from her empty stomach. Could newborns even be distracted? “Pepper, Rhodey and Happy, I mean. Even Brucie, and you know how he hates to be away from his lab. I told them to come tomorrow. I wanted today to be just us. We want to keep you all to ourselves, don’t we? Yes, we do. Yes, we do.”
“Is that true?” Peter asked, reentering the room with a bottle and a muslin cloth in hand.
His timing couldn’t have been better. Abigail began wailing, her chubby cheeks flushing as her tears began to fall freely. Tony passed her back to Peter, who sat down on the leather sofa, shushing the crying baby as he tried to juggle her, the bottle and the cloth in his inexperienced hands. With some assistance from Tony, their ears were spared from further damage as Peter managed to get Abigail to take her bottle.
Tony sat himself down beside Peter, stretching his arm out over the back of the sofa behind the teen, and watched Abigail feed. She wasn’t even twenty-four hours old yet and he was totally enamoured with his beautiful granddaughter.
“Yeah, it is true,” Tony said quietly, not taking his eyes off Abigail. “They can't wait to meet her, obviously. But I thought it would be nice for it to just be the three of us today. An extra day of waiting won't kill them.”
“Thanks, Tony. That… that's actually perfect.”
Tony had this incredible ability to seem to know what Peter wanted and needed before he even knew it himself. Of course, Peter was excited to introduce his daughter to the rest of his family. But after everything; after the birth and MJ and the press… He couldn’t deny that it had all pretty overwhelming. It would be perfect to be able to spend a day getting used to being a dad, just concentrating on Abigail with Tony by his side, with no interference or distractions.
They sat in companionable until Abigail had been fed and winded, just as the nurses at the hospital had shown Peter. As with almost everything in life, the kid was a quick learner. Tony couldn’t help the pride that swelled within him as he watched his kid care for the girl. He was a natural.
With her belly now full, it wasn’t long until Abigail drifted off again, safe in the embrace of Peter’s arms.
The sun was shining brightly over the New York skyline as Tony directed his gaze out of the Tower windows, casting its brilliance over the city and its people. It was a brightness that was reflected in his own mood.
The months leading up to this moment had been difficult, and the last few hours, with MJ leaving, even harder. Peter had been through so much, and Tony knew without a doubt that there was more to come. There always was. But, looking down at the sleeping baby in his kid’s arms, Tony knew, with no uncertainty, that it was all worth it.
Peter was a parent now, and Tony understood from experience what a rollercoaster that particular job could be. But, he knew that his kid would excel. He was Peter Parker-Stark after all; there was nothing his kid couldn’t do. And Tony would be by his side every step of the way.