Chapter Text
September 2002
The first time he met Peter, the boy was only a month old, wrapped in a spotted blanket in his mother's arms. Tony sat across from them, trying to focus his eyes on anything but the infant. He couldn't count the amount of times women had claimed that he was the father of their child, usually seeking money or fame.
This was different.
Firstly, the woman sitting opposite him had made it clear that she didn't want any money, she simply thought that Tony had a right to meet his son.
Secondly, this was the only time the DNA test had come back positive.
He'd thought long and hard about what decision to make regarding the child - his child - after receiving the test results. And despite desperately wanting to hold his son close to him and watch him grow up, he knew there was no way that could happen.
"Tony, if you want to be a part of his life then I'm sure we can work something out," the soft voice of Mary Parker infiltrates his thoughts, "Obviously there are a few things that will need to change but I'm not going to stop you from seeing him." The young woman speaks quietly, so not to wake the sleeping baby, she’s already adjusted to motherhood after only four weeks.
Mary had been so very different to his usual flings. She'd looked out of place in the hotel bar's environment - the way she held herself expressed a sense of reservation and respect that most women there didn't have. She didn't throw herself at Tony - the opposite actually. As he slid into the seat next to her, enthralled in the way the ends of her dark hair curled around her ears, she leant away from him.
"How is somebody so beautiful sat here by herself?" He'd asked, fingers dancing their way across her knee. She'd tensed.
"My friend bought me here to cheer me up, but she's left with one of your billionaire friends I suppose, she never has had much self control." Her voice was sweet and sophisticated, she pulled his hand away from her leg, "I know what you're doing Tony Stark, and I won't fall for it. I'm not the kind of woman to throw herself at any man who comes along flashing a couple hundred dollars."
"What about a couple thousand?" The pointed stare he received in response put a genuine smile on his face. "Well okay then, ma'am, how about I buy you a drink and you tell me all the reasons you need cheering up, since my friend apparently stole your friend?"
"And why would you want to hear about my problems?"
"To make me feel better about my own."
The side of her lips lifted into a half smile, she nodded. "Well I suppose I have to then. I'm Mary by the way, Mary Parker."
He shook her hand, "I'm Tony, although you seem to know that already, Miss Parker."
After one drink, Mary was telling Tony all about the messy breakup she'd had recently with her long-term boyfriend Richard, and how her parents had disagreed with how she had handled the situation, causing an argument between her family and now they were ignoring each other despite Thanksgiving being only a week away. After a few more drinks, both Mary and Tony had been drunk enough to think that getting a hotel room was a good idea, and drunk enough to forget about protection.
10 months later and here they were, with a baby the result of their drunken escapades.
"Tony? Did you hear me?"
He looks up. Mary's bright eyes are looking right at him.
"Mary, you have to believe me when I say that I'm not making excuses, but I really don't think I'm suitable to be a father. I mean, look at me. Look at my life! I can't... I can't just throw everything away, and as much as I'd love to say that you and him could slot in perfectly, you just wouldn't. The press would be obsessed, everyone would have an opinion and I... I just can't do that to you." He finishes, finally meeting Mary's eyes, which he refuses to believe hold a hint of disappointment.
As if sensing the awkward atmosphere, the baby begins fussing, reaching his tiny hand up towards his mother, Tony feels his heart skip a beat.
Mary calms him quickly and naturally, smiling down as her son stares up at her. She looks to Tony again, "Do you want to hold him?”
"I... Mary I just told you-"
"I know. I know what you said and I respect that, but I think that you'll regret it if you don't hold him." She stands, stepping towards him and adjusting the baby in her arms.
Holding his arms out in a reserved manner, Tony stiffens as Mary places the baby in his arms, his tiny head cradled in the crook of Tony’s left elbow.
Mary sits back in her seat, talking to Tony about… something. The billionaire is too busy staring at the infant to comprehend what Mary is telling him.
The boy’s eyes are open wide, blinking as he looks up at Tony, mouth opening and closing softly, tongue pushing the pacifier out of his mouth.
His resemblance to Mary is clear, one glance at the baby and you can see her in his soft brown curls and chubby cheeks. But looking closer at the him, Tony sees someone else - his mother. People had always said that he looked more like Maria than Howard, clearly his son had inherited that. There are whispers of her - the complexion of his skin, shape of his eyes - and Tony can feel his heart going back on everything he’s just said to Mary.
Suddenly he can imagine a life with his son in it. He can picture this boy’s first words and steps, his first day of school - and the kid will obviously be a genius. He can imagine sitting and helping him build projects for science fairs, how proud he would be seeing his son with a medal hanging around his neck because he'd won first place.
He wants to be in his life. He wants to be there to watch this boy grow up. He wants to be his dad.
“What, um, what's his name?” Tony asks.
“Peter Benjamin.” Mary replies, smiling gently as Tony nods, glancing up for half a second before looking back down at his son. “I’ve always loved the name Peter, I knew from a young age that if I ever had a son I’d call him Peter. Benjamin, that’s my brother’s name. He’s amazing, he helped me pay for all of my medical bills. He and his fiancé stay with me to help with Peter sometimes.”
Peter. Tony has a son and his name is Peter. The man smiles involuntarily, he can imagine calling that name through the house, writing that name on cards and gifts.
But he can also picture that name being written across headlines. He can imagine newspapers documenting everything that his son does. He can imagine Peter crying because the paparazzi followed him home from school, just as he did when he was younger. He can imagine arguments with Mary because of the vulnerable position he’s putting their son in, just as he remembers his own parents doing. He can imagine himself blowing Peter off because he has a party or a meeting. He can imagine Peter watching with innocent eyes as Tony loses himself in a bottle.
He can imagine himself becoming his father.
He doesn't want that. Tony knows that if he lets Mary and Peter into his life, history will repeat itself and he’ll turn into Howard, and Peter will turn into Tony. Tony can't do that. He can't inflict the horrible upbringing that he had on his son. On the innocent baby that is staring up at him so sweetly.
Peter reaches up, untangling his tiny arm from the blanket and wrapping his delicate fingers around Tony’s finger.
“Hey Buddy.” Tony whispers, running his thumb against the soft skin of Peter’s hand.
The baby wriggles in Tony’s hold and makes adorable little noises, he pushes the pacifier out of his mouth with his tongue, then opens his mouth wide and flicks his eyes about looking for where it went. Tony laughs softly and picks it up from where it's fell to Peter’s chest.
“There you go Kiddo.” He says, pushing it back into Peter’s mouth. The baby gives a hint of a smile around the pacifier and closes his eyes, sucking greedily on the pacifier whilst falling back to sleep.
And Tony knows.
He knows that he can't be in this boy’s life, because he will ruin him.
He looks up at Mary, a look of helplessness in his eyes.
“I-I’m sorry… I want- I just… I can't.” He whispers, as if saying the words louder is a crime. Mary smiles at him, sympathy written across her delicate features.
“If you change your mind let me know, this is my email and my phone number,” the woman quickly scribbles on a piece of paper and places it on the coffee table, “I can send you pictures and tell you about him if you’d like?”
Tony nods, looking back down at Peter who had fallen asleep.
“I’ll set up a savings account.”
“Tony I don't want money-”
“Listen, he's my son, it doesn't matter what happens now, he's still my son, so I'm going to set up an account which he can access when he's older, and I'll pay for his schooling, college, and if you ever need money for school trips or clothes or food or anything, just tell me.”
“Tony-”
“Mary please, let me do this.” He looks desperate and he knows it, but he has to do this. He won't be deadbeat. He's not going to be in Peter’s life because that is truly what’s best for Peter, but he will do everything he can to protect and care for his son without ruining him in the process.
Before Mary leaves, Tony holds Peter a little tighter, taking every little detail - the weight of him in his arms, the sounds he makes, the way he smells, how soft his skin is.
As he watches Mary leave, pushing the pram down the hallway, he realises that he's waving goodbye to the best thing that's ever happened to him. Nothing will ever be as important or beautiful as his son, and that thought alone almost makes him open a bottle.
Instead he goes to his computer. First he sets up a private folder that is as protected as it can possibly be, for him to store all emails from Mary and pictures of Peter in. Then he sets up a bank account in Peter’s name, that Mary has access to and sets up a decent amount to be transferred every month.
Hours later, the sun has set and Tony’s just about to pour himself a drink, but then his computer pings and he sees an email from Mary.
I took this photo earlier, I did warn you that I was taking it but I don't think you heard me. Remember if you ever change your mind about seeing him you can tell me.
Attached is a picture of Tony holding Peter, smiling down at the baby who is looking up at his father.
Tony saves the photo, making sure nobody else can access it, before taking a sip of his drink as the first of many tears fall.