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“That’s my spot,” Peter croaks as he pads into the kitchen. “I know you know that’s my spot.”
Tony gives an unimpressed sniff from where he’s ensconced himself in the cozy patch of sunlight that pools in the breakfast nook every sunrise, and the baby cradled in the crook of his arms burbles in an adorable echo that makes Peter’s heart swell no matter how many times he hears it.
“Yes, but it’s Little Miss May’s favorite, too, and what the ladybug wants…” Tony gives the helpless, unrepentant sort of one-shouldered shrug that’s come with all the many grandfatherly indulgences Peter has watched him heap on his first grandbaby (and by extension, Peter and MJ) in the three months since her arrival. Peter snorts and drops into the booth that runs along the window at the end of the kitchen. He’d known Tony was going to be incorrigible as a grandparent—he’d been incorrigible as a parent, for that matter—but seeing just how thoroughly his kid had wrapped him around her cute little finger never ceased to be delightful.
“Scooch. If you’re gonna steal my spot, you’re gonna have to share.” Peter nudges Tony’s shoulder with his until he shuffles over to make room, draping his prosthetic arm loosely over Peter’s shoulders as they settle and keeping the other snug around May.
“You can have it back if you want it,” Tony murmurs, craning his head forward to nibble at May’s tiny fingers until she giggles. “Just thought you and MJ might want a little extra shut-eye while you’ve got a live-in babysitter.”
“I’m not complainin’.” Peter yawned. He’d woken up a solid hour later than he usually did, blinking awake at the uncharacteristic peace and quiet that blanketed the penthouse. May Michelle Parker was good—brilliant, even—as far as babies went, but sleep wasn’t her strong suit. Peter spent nearly every morning snuggled up with her in that little breakfast nook as the sun came up, soothing her out of the fussy unease she so often woke with and listening to her sweet chatter when her mood finally turned. Since MJ handled most of the colicky nights while he was out patrolling the streets, he handled most of the fussy mornings. Not that he was complaining about that, either. There was no place he’d rather be, especially on the days when the night leading up to that bright, languid dawn hadn’t been good. Listening to baby giggles and stroking May’s wild curls was more calming—even in the ungodly hours of the morning—than anything else ever could be. It wasn’t a shock that Tony—whose own baby was now fourteen and navigating a stage where she was far too cool for snuggles—couldn’t resist, either. It was, however, a bit of a surprise that he’d managed to be up before Peter to take over baby-wrangling duty when she started her daily routine of whimpering from the nursery at the end of the hall.
“Technically speaking, you’re a guest, not a babysitter—you don’t have to get up at the buttcrack of dawn just because Her Majesty insists that the rest of us do,” Peter says, reaching across to let May catch one of his fingers to gum it enthusiastically. Tony and Pepper were just in the city for the weekend, a quick jaunt in and a cozy couple of days’ worth of sleepovers at Peter and MJ’s for the birthday bash they were throwing for May the First. It was meant to be a vacation. A reprieve from the limited responsibilities they still had as they eased into retirement rather than a weekend-nanny gig.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tony levels him with an affronted look that melts into a gooey smile when one of May’s palms flails up to pat him on the chin. “No place else I’d rather be.”
Peter grinned. He couldn’t argue that sentiment. With the warm glow of the morning settling over his spot and illuminating two of his favorite people with the sort of soft, comfortable light that made anything and everything seem brighter…he didn’t mind sharing.