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Peter sits in the bouncer chair and jumps. Over and over and over, launching himself as high up as the chair will allow, and the sun and stars and moon all jingle and jangle on the bar above him. Tony sits in front of him cross-legged, holding the video camera, and watches as Peter reaches up and tries to catch the makeshift galaxy, the world he’s rattling all around him.
“You’ve been filming for an hour,” May says, from the couch behind him.
“Your point?” Tony asks, grinning when Peter starts shrieking, looking up he catches one of the stars.
“Just worried about your battery,” May says. “You know I could watch that for a hundred years.”
“We’re good for about another hour,” Tony says. “Right, crazy? Right, nutter butter?”
That particular nickname is one of Peter’s favorites, and he bounces harder, craning his neck back with a wave of laughter. His hair is getting longer, wilder, sticking up in every direction. He’s wearing Tony’s favorite onesie, with the red and white stripes that make him look like a little candy cane. They’ve got him in sneakers right now, and every time he jumps they hit the ground with a tiny thump.
“Soup’s on!” Ben yells, from the kitchen. “And Peter’s very soft pasta.”
Tony hears May groan behind him as she gets up. “When’s Pepper showing up?”
“Said she’d be late,” Tony says, hoping she gets here sooner rather than later. He purposefully put these sneakers on Pete because Pepper likes them.
Peter lets go of the star and it flies up, wrapping around the bar. Peter squeals again, and he keeps bouncing, making ‘s’ sounds and ‘d’ sounds. Tony wonders when the real words are gonna come, and he tries not to worry about it.
“Oh yeah?” Tony asks, crawling closer to him. “Yeah? Is that true? Because that’s scandalous. That’s—that’s absolutely newsworthy.”
Peter gurgles, giggling, and Tony holds the camera away from him to lean in and kiss Peter’s cheek. Peter stops bouncing to hold onto Tony’s neck, and Tony kisses and kisses and kisses him.
“Pasta for Peter, huh?” Tony whispers. “Yeah?”
Peter laughs again. The best sound in the whole world.
~
Peter furniture surfs.
Not in the way in which one would couch surf, like Tony used to do on bad days, with a bottle of whatever the hell sitting beside him. No, Peter wobbles up on his little baby legs, gives Tony a mini-heart attack every goddamn time, and starts scooting along the furniture, taking step after tentative step. The first time it happened Tony was on a conference call, and they all heard the gasping, cursing, celebrating, the rush for the camera and the breaking of the glass of water, which relegated Peter to the playpen until Pepper and Tony cleaned it all up.
But it’s been a week since that, and the furniture surfing has become more of a Thing. Tony stops whatever he’s doing when it happens, tries not to drop what he’s holding, and sometimes he wishes his eyes were goddamn recorders, because he wants to get every single detail of Peter on film. So he can remember forever.
He’s sitting on the floor of an empty conference room, and Peter is crawling around the table like he’s got a race to win. Tony can track his movements because he pants and breathes like he’s panicking, but when Tony asked the doctor about it, she said it only meant that he was excited.
So Peter is almost always excited.
“What are you doing?” Tony asks, still working on the specs for the Nightingale. He glances up, sees two red-socked feet disappearing around the corner of the table again. “Peter.”
Peter squeals, laughing, hitting the ground hard with both hands as he goes.
“Come back,” Tony says. “Come over here, babycakes. I need your approval.” He clears his throat after he says it. He wonders how much Howard shared his weapons work with him when he was younger. He wonders what he thought about it. Tony knows Peter isn’t old enough to understand it, but what’ll happen when he is?
Tony peeks under the closest chair and sees two baby feet on the ground. No hands now. Peter’s legs waver and Tony instantly has a panic attack about one of these chairs falling on him.
“Hey!” he yells, struggling to his feet. “Hey, Pete. Hey. Hey hey.” He rushes around to the other side of the table, weak morning light stronger over here through the ceiling to floor window. It showcases the beauty of New York, but Tony doesn’t even spare it a glance.
Peter is standing there, holding onto the seat of one of the chairs with both hands, and he grins at Tony when Tony skids to a halt in front of him. The first tooth is on the bottom row and almost completely grown in, and Tony sees the other one on the top making its appearance. Peter doesn’t seem bothered by it right now, and he bops up and down twice before reaching for the next chair.
“Okay,” Tony says, moving closer, towering over him as he holds onto both chairs so neither one is a threat. Peter’s legs shake as he moves, still getting used to holding him up, but the smile stays on his face, like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing. He latches onto the next chair, shrieking in happiness, and he looks up to see Tony’s reaction.
Tony’s heart nearly plummets into his gut with that look, and he snorts. “You proud? Are you proud?”
Peter laughs, and whenever he laughs real big he throws his head back, but this time he’s standing and the movement makes him sway backwards. Tony drops to his knees to brace a hand against Peter’s back so he doesn’t fall, and Peter opens his eyes again, surprised.
Tony snorts. “You’re a nut,” he says, as Peter takes in the fact that Tony is now directly in front of him as opposed to above him. “A crazy—crazy baby. Who can walk. Sorta.”
Peter smiles again then, smacking his hand against the chair where he’s still holding onto it. Tony can’t help it and wraps his arms around him, holding him against his chest.
“When you gonna talk, huh?” Tony asks. “Do I have to learn your baby language to understand you? Is that what you want? Because I’m willing. I’ll do it. You just gotta ask me. We’ll make a whole dictionary, I’ll market it, I’ll get fluent.”
Peter giggles and babbles something in the aforementioned language, narrowing his eyes at Tony.
“Oh, what?” Tony asks, reeling back a bit so he can really look at him. “Are you saying you’re a baby that can fly? Is that what you’re saying? Okay. Let’s see. Let’s see.”
Tony picks him up, holds him like an airplane, and starts wheeling him around the room. Tony runs on tip-toes, stepping on his own papers and notebooks as he passes by that way, but Peter squeals and giggles and holds his arms out, so it doesn’t matter.
“Oh no, oh no, it’s an asteroid!” Tony yells, bending, making Peter dive and come up again, starting a whole new round of raucous laughter. “It’s a baby asteroid! Every man for himself! He’s coming in hot! Save the women and children!”
He starts rushing around, launching Peter at the window and rolling him back again. Peter’s fingers contract in and out, and he starts making those ‘d’ sounds in between bouts of laughter. Tony tugs him in and props him against his hip, bouncing him a little bit.
“Are you trying to say daddy?” Tony asks, tracing his thumb back and forth across Peter’s cheek. “Huh? Dada? Yeah? You gotta say that. Nothing else is allowed to be your first word. You better not start saying taco or lamp or something, Rhodey would never let me forget it.”
Peter babbles something at him, looking very matter of fact, but he doesn’t try to make any real words yet.
“Yep,” Tony says, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Baby language idea is very much still in play.” He kisses him a couple more times, relishing his laughter and his tiny hands. His heart dips and goes gooey warm. “I love you, monkey. I love you.”
He hears someone clear their throat behind him. He turns fast, and is relieved to see May standing there. She gives him a small smile that seems unfamiliar on her face, and she looks a little red in the cheeks. He wonders what that’s about. He cranes his neck to see if Ben is coming in after her, maybe they were sharing a moment in the hallway or some shit, but she’s here alone.
“Hey,” he says, hoisting Peter up a little bit. “What’s going on? Didn’t expect to see you til tomorrow.”
“Ah, wanted to stop by before my shift to see you guys,” she says. “Maybe...grab some lunch. Pepper told me where to find you.”
“Oh,” Tony says, absentmindedly swaying Peter back and forth. He’s giggling, happy at May’s arrival. Tony cocks his head at her. “Why do you look like that? Were you watching me? How long were you watching me? Was I doing something wrong?” His heart is beating a little too fast.
She laughs, a little louder than normal, a little higher pitched. She shakes her head and avoids his eyes. “No—well, I mean, I was watching, I didn’t mean to be watching, but I watched—I opened the door and I saw—the whole airplane thing—”
Heart beating. “I'm always really careful when I do that, don’t worry, I’ve got that—like one hundred percent no issues.”
Peter sighs happily, leaning into him and picking at a button on his jacket.
May shakes her head again, differently this time, and she meets his eyes. “There was nothing wrong, Tony. It’s just—sweet. So sweet. Tooth rotting. And you’re alone and you weren’t expecting anybody and you’re still acting like that all by yourself and it was just so sweet. So sweet. That’s all.”
Heart slowing. Maybe the oncoming feeling is pride, he isn’t sure. He’s definitely glad, though. He wants—needs her on his side. To know this shit is real, not an act, not an obligation. May feels strangely like an authority figure. Maybe it’s the eyes. That glare she keeps on standby.
“Don’t tell anybody,” he says, tickling Peter’s side and making him laugh again. “Don’t tell your favorite paparazzo Mr. Evans. I know you two are close.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes, out of the shocked spell they’d put her in. “Mr. Evans can count himself lucky if I don’t knock his lights out the next time I see him.”
Tony snorts, grinning. “Soon enough I’ll have enough footage of Pete to do their jobs for them,” he says. He walks around the back of the table and starts gathering up his shit, and she moves over to help. Peter hangs over Tony’s shoulder as he kneels, trying to look at her. He swings his arms back and forth, rattling his head.
“I don’t doubt that,” she says, taking some of the papers and putting them in their folders, not looking at the content. Tony grabs up the array of toys, thankful Peter kept most of them in one spot before he started his marathon around the room.
“He was just walking around this table,” Tony says, the two of them getting back to their feet. “Walking.”
“Walking?” May nearly shrieks, her eyes bugging behind her glasses.
Peter makes a little buzzing sound and chuckles to himself. May holds the baby bag on one shoulder, gaping over at him.
“Furniture surfing,” Tony says, trying not to laugh, too. “Any day now. We’re almost there.”
~
Tony knows he’s not the best at everything he’s got to do. He tries to play like it, in front of the others, and he’s had far too many conversations with Happy about how good he is at changing diapers. World renowned, Haps. No kidding. But he thinks his bottle making is pretty legitimate, and he draws even more pride from the fact that Peter nearly always drains the thing in one go. He’d asked the doctor and about seventeen baby books if that was normal, but he’s deciding that his son is extraordinary in most things, as he’d always figured he would be. But Tony tries to get better every time he makes one. Which means Tony is a bottle master.
Perfectly normal conclusion. Pure facts.
He watches the boiling water, the timer clicking down on his watch. “Pep, did Rhodey call yet?”
“He’ll be here,” Pepper says, clearly done with both of them and their game of telephone. “Ben isn’t even here yet and he’s the one cooking. We’re fine.”
Tony smiles to himself. “Fine, fine, fine, don’t mind me. You know. Just slaving over an open flame in here. That’s all.”
Both May and Pepper scoff in time with each other.
“I’m telling your son,” Pepper says.
“Don’t,” Tony says, fast, and his timer starts chiming. He quickly turns the burner off. “I’d take on open flames for him any day.” Tony likes to exaggerate whenever he gets an opportunity, but that sentence is completely and utterly true. He’d do that and more. “Jesus,” he whispers to himself, too low to hear. A sap.
“Did you hear that?” Tony hears Pepper say. “Did you hear what Daddy said?”
Peter babbles back at her and Tony’s heart does flips for a number of different reasons. A few he doesn’t want to think about. Or does he? What the hell is going on?
He’s getting distracted from bottle making. The water needs to cool to room temperature and he usually times that too and he’s not paying attention. He sighs, trying to remember what the hell Ben said he was gonna cook tonight. Was it chicken? Had to be. Tony feels like shit knowing the man worked all day and has to come over here and make them a meal, but last time Tony tried to cook nobody was happy. Including Peter, for other reasons, but Tony still remembers all the crying and the smell of burned pork chops. And May is tired of Tony’s fast food suggestions, and Ben is always willing. Because he’s ten times the man Tony will ever be.
He checks on the water and nearly burns his finger. And he hasn’t washed his hands for the third time so he might as well start the whole thing over.
“Shit,” Tony says, a sigh building in his chest like a balloon.
He hears Pepper and May talking, one of Peter’s toys jingling, over and over and over. Then that stops, and he hears a gasp and everything goes quiet. Tony washes his hands again, narrowing his eyes, and when he turns off the water there’s still silence. Dead silence.
It’s...unnerving. Especially with a baby in the house.
“Hello?” Tony calls, turning from the sink. “Did you all just up and leave? I promise we’ll have dinner at some point tonight. I’ll make attempts at the chicken breast to help Ben out but I can’t make any promises about how good it’ll be.”
No answer. Worrying. Then—
“Tony,” May’s voice says. “Come out of the kitchen. Very. Slowly.”
Tony scoffs, heart beating a little faster. “You two are the roach killers here, not me. No sir.”
“Tony,” Pepper’s voice says. And she’s got a certain tone that makes it impossible not to follow her, so he walks out of the kitchen without another word.
And sees.
May is sitting on the floor where he left her. Pepper is in the easy chair with the tray set up in front of her, still littered with papers. And Peter. Peter is walking.
He’s taking step after wavering step, arms out at his sides, and when Tony rounds the corner Peter looks up, standing in place. He isn’t holding on to anything and he starts yelping, smiling and clenching his hands into fists.
Tony stares, his heart in his throat.
Peter keeps trudging towards him, even faster now, and he lets out little tiny shrieks that are partly fear, partly excitement, all impatience. He’s wavering all over the place but always returns to a middle stretch, Tony his north star on the horizon line. Peter’s eyes dart back and forth from his own feet back up to Tony, and he starts laughing when he gets close enough, happiness and achievement in his gaze.
Tony kneels when Peter is about a foot away, and Peter’s smile only gets wider. He starts moving at max speed when he realizes Tony is within reach, laughing and chattering excitedly, and he makes one misstep at the finish line and collapses right into Tony’s arms.
But he’s still giggling, and Tony scoops him up, shuddering in pure shock. Peter burrows into Tony’s neck and Tony stares at the two women, both staring back at him like a modern day oil painting.
“Uh, am I dreaming?” Tony asks, clutching at a very cuddly Peter. “I’ve had this dream before. When did I fall asleep?”
“He heard your voice,” May says, grinning. “And he just took off. Without—without even thinking, he just pushed off the chair and he was just—trucking along, like he makes a living out of it.”
“Did anyone get it on tape?” Tony asks, looking back and forth between them. They both grit their teeth and he sighs, rubbing Peter’s back. “We need to be more prepared. This is a serious situation.”
“Rhodey and Ben are gonna be jealous that they missed it,” Pepper says.
Peter pulls back, trying to climb up higher in Tony’s lap. He nudges into his cheek and starts babbling again, little feet using Tony’s stomach as his own set of stairs.
“Oh yeah,” Tony says, holding onto him. “Yeah, monkey, you’re going places. You’re going places.”
Peter settles, half on top of Tony’s shoulder, and he’s still prattling on about God knows what close to Tony’s ear. Tony partially panics, because for a moment it feels like everything is moving so fast—his baby is walking, close to talking, and it feels like just yesterday that he first saw him, cradled in Mary’s arms. But then he lets out the breath he was holding and shares a look with Pepper.
She’s never looked at him that way.
Peter squeals, rocking back and forth, and he pulls back, hands on Tony’s cheeks again.
“Yeah, you’re a genius,” Tony says, pretending to turn and bite Peter’s wrist. Peter laughs, so high that he squeaks, and he readjusts his grip a little further back. He kicks his feet, full of energy. “You are,” Tony says. “The smartest. The smartest and best baby. Yes. Now I’ll never be able to leave the room. Never never. You’ll be right on my heels, isn’t that right?”
Peter breathes through his mouth, smiling wide.
There’s a beep, and then the door opens, Rhodey and Ben’s conversation flooding into the room.
“And I’m a pretty patient guy—”
“Peter just walked across the room!” May screams, really loud, enough to make Peter whip his head around to look at her. “He walked from there to there to get to Tony!” she yells, pointing at the spot by the desk to where they are now.
Both Rhodey and Ben go silent, looking from May, to Pepper, to Peter and Tony. Tony snorts, dipping his head down against Peter’s shoulder.
Then, he hears Ben exclaim.
“Shit!”
All four of the rest of them burst into laughter, and Peter laughs too, slipping down Tony’s chest and holding onto his lapels.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” Ben says. “God, I—Tony, I apologize—”
“He apologizes, Tony,” May says, nearly hysterical.
“I’ve never heard this man curse, not once,” Rhodey says. “Not one time.”
Tony laughs, catching his breath and looking up at them. “Don’t worry, Ben,” Tony says, tugging Peter closer. “We’ll get him to walk again in a few seconds here. I’ll hide in the kitchen and we’ll start him in the hallway.”
Tony feels like he’s never had anyone who wanted to find him just to find him. Not to find him to give him something to do, tell him something he’s forgotten, remind him of an obligation.
No, Peter wants to find him because he wants him. And he figured out how to walk to get to him.
That’s...that’s something.