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Tony forgets his own birthday.
He hasn’t counted down the days in a long time now, but usually he remembers, usually he sees it coming, and stocks up on a couple expensive bottles of something and invites a bunch of people he doesn’t really know over for headache-inducing bullshit he doesn’t need. But this year he doesn’t know, he doesn’t realize it, especially now that Peter is mobile. The kid walking is like constant fear in Tony’s blood, because yes, Peter is a little chunky, and yes, he occasionally tips over. He gets going so fast sometimes that he can’t stop, and his own legs can’t keep up with his brain and he’ll be trying to move in two directions at once. Two, sometimes three directions, sometimes eight or nine. He always wants to be doing something. He’s always curious. Months mold together and hours pass without notice, completely unlike anything Tony’s ever experienced before.
Every day is something new, for Peter. And watching him is Tony’s main job, along with Tony’s other job, and all the other shit he’s got on his mind. So when May 29th rolls around, Tony gets through the entire day without realizing he’s officially thirty two years old.
Peter swings his sippy cup as they walk, holding onto one handle and wielding it like a weapon. Thankfully, it’s one of those ones that doesn’t drip, although Peter likes to hold onto it long after it needs to be refilled.
“So what are we gonna say?” Tony asks, carrying Peter against his side. “Dada. Not lamp or taco. Dada.” He narrows his eyes at himself as he heads into the elevator, quickly punching the button for his penthouse and leaning back against the wall.
Peter keeps swinging the cup and listens intently.
“Maybe I should stop saying those other two words if I don’t want you to say them,” Tony says. “Nope. Just Dada. My only request. What d’you think, huh? You gonna do that for me? I mean, I do a lot for you, it’s only fair.”
Peter laughs at him. Tony has never been a big fan of that when it comes to other adults doing it, even with people he likes (especially people he likes) but Peter finding him funny is yet another ‘win’ in a long line of wins. Peter laughs, and looks at him like that. Big eyes with crinkles at the corner. Soft smile. The kid doesn’t understand the concepts of love and trust yet, but despite that, he loves and trusts Tony. And that’s...fucking amazing.
Tony leans in and kisses him on the forehead, and Peter hums happily. “Did we have a good day? Did we like overseeing the new wing? Huh?”
Peter babbles a response, picking at the collar of Tony’s shirt with his free hand.
“What did you think of the California pictures?” Tony asks. His stomach sinks a little whenever he thinks about California. It feels so different now than it did before Mary, before Peter. He was pretty dead set on moving before his life changed, but now, the idea of upending Peter’s life, taking him away from his Aunt and Uncle…
Tony sighs, and continues to not think about it.
Peter makes a little buzzing noise as the elevator opens, and Tony isn’t worrying about words yet. Nope. He’s not worrying about Peter talking. He’ll get there. He’s taking his time. Tony is absolutely not comparing his progress to other babies’ progress. No. He’s not doing that.
“You just like to keep me on my toes,” Tony says, getting out of the elevator, quickly scanning himself into his apartment.
Peter laughs at him again, and Tony smiles, hoisting him up a little higher. The apartment is dark when he steps inside, only the hallway light leading him, and he holds Peter a little closer. “Jarvis,” he says. “Lights on.”
He presses a kiss to Peter’s cheek, and almost has a fucking heart attack as the room comes to life.
“Surprise!”
Pepper. Rhodey. Ben. May. All four of them jump out from behind the goddamn couch yelling, and there are balloons on the ceiling and a whole banner on the wall, a cake and two platters of cupcakes on the table.
Tony scoffs, staring, incredulous, and Peter throws his head back and laughs, dropping the sippy cup on the floor. He claps his hands excitedly like this is exactly what he was hoping for. He shutters and tosses himself around, breathing fast and looking at Tony, patting him on the shoulder and babbling out strings of incomprehensible syllables, like he wants to be in on the celebration too. The others laugh at his antics, and Tony feels crazy.
For a moment, he has no idea what the hell is going on. But then his brain catches up with the balloons and the colors and what the banner actually says, and he laughs too, shaking his head at them.
It’s May. It’s his damn birthday.
He shakes his head as realization hits.
“I think we actually got him,” Rhodey says, knocking Ben in the shoulder. “See, I told you.”
“He’s distracted,” Pepper says, smiling softly.
“Uh, yeah, I’d hope so,” May says. “In the best way.”
“Wow,” Tony laughs, looking at Peter, who is still filled with excitement, shrieking and drumming his hands on Tony’s shoulder. “Wow, uh. I completely—I don’t even think I realized it was May, let alone—this particular day.”
“Of course it’s May,” Ben says. He gazes over at his wife. “My favorite month.”
Tony laughs, and steps forward, dropping the baby bag behind the couch close to where the sippy cup landed. “Thanks guys,” he says, feeling a certain kind of way that he can’t put his finger on. They all walk around the couch and meet him with hugs, with tickles and kisses for Peter, and Tony sort of feels like he’s drifting, floating. Moving through memories of times past, birthdays his mother tried so hard to make perfect even though his father was absent, even though his father was downstairs, even though his father was drinking. Even though his father didn’t care enough.
This is from your father and me, sweetie
Something she’d so clearly picked out herself.
This is his first birthday as a father. He’s the father now.
He blows out a breath, and laughs when Rhodey claps him on the back, bringing him out of his reverie. “We didn’t get you anything,” he says, glancing at the others. “The dinner’s your gift, the cake—no, you know what, this—” He tickles under Peter’s arm, making Peter squeal and pitch forward, clinging to Tony’s neck, “—this is your gift. The best gift there is. The best one. Doesn’t even need to be wrapped.”
“He’s right, there’s no topping that,” May says.
“But the dinner is good,” Ben says, pointing over at them, as Rhodey moves over to start setting the table. “I left work early to make it. Chicken Bianca with artichokes and mushrooms. Ziti for Petey. Yes, that was purposeful.”
For some reason all that makes tears spring to Tony’s eyes, and he cracks his jaw to try and stifle them. He shares a quick look with Pepper, and she gives him that smile she’s been giving him a lot lately. One that she catches herself wearing. One that she immediately swallows back down.
Chills run up and down Tony’s spine.
“Alright, monkey,” he says, rubbing Peter’s back. “This is a better dinner than Daddy had planned. Off your schedule. No potatoes for my little potato.”
Peter hums happily, reaching up to pick at Tony’s goatee again.
~
Tony hasn’t really felt like part of a family...ever. But they sit around the table and tell stories and share jokes and pass plates and it’s the closest to his mother he’s felt in a long time. It’s like he gets energy with all of them here, with him. Nobody else. Maybe Happy, because he’s liking him more and more every day. Maybe Obie, even though they’ve felt strangely distant lately. But not the legions of people that think they know him. Not the press that tears him up, or the people at SI. No, this right here—he feels calm. And at peace.
He finds himself on the balcony with Pepper and Peter after cake, while Ben, May and Rhodey put the leftovers away and argue about the goddamn Mets. Tony always holds Peter closer when he’s out here, for fear of some kind of disaster. But he’s always worried about that, whether they’re on solid ground or not.
“I’m proud of you,” Pepper says, gently, sitting across from him in the second lounge chair. “You know, just...well, I remember your birthday last year.”
Tony laughs, feeling Peter rest back against him, a surefire sign he’s close to sleeping.
Last year, Tony was shitfaced. Last year he almost got alcohol poisoning. He was sweating out tequila for about a week afterwards, and there was so much broken shit in his house that he had to hire someone to come and clean it all up.
He still thinks about drinking. A lot. He’s still struggling not drinking. A lot. He got rid of everything that was here after the temptation almost became too much, a month or so into his new life, but he thinks about it all the time.
But he can’t. He can’t go back. He just fucking can’t. That’s it, bottom line, no cheating.
No cheating no cheating no cheating
Peter twists in his lap, curling up against his chest. Tony runs his hands through Peter’s hair, reminding himself what the most important thing is. He’s gotta be good for him. He has to.
“I’m sorry,” Pepper starts. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, don’t apologize,” Tony says, shaking his head and wrapping his other arm around Peter. “I mean, shit.” He looks down, and then back up at her. “He’s sleeping so I can say that.”
Pepper laughs, looking away.
“I’m proud of me too,” Tony says. “I know how I was. But now there’s Peter, and he’s—he’s...you know.”
How can he even put it into words? There aren’t words for it. It’s embarrassing, because he never understood it before, and he hated when people would say shit like that about babies but now he’s one of those people that says shit like that about his baby. Because his baby has carved out a whole new life for him, full stop. And Tony loves it, and him.
“I do know,” Pepper says, and she’s smiling over at Peter now. She clears her throat, and reaches back behind her chair, pulling out a small gift bag. “I actually...did...get you a gift. Technically it’s from Rhodey and me, since he contributed to it, but he doesn’t know. Maybe I’ll tell him. If you like it. We’ll see.”
Tony’s brows furrow, and he doesn’t like the idea of her spending money on him. She already spends so much time.
“Don’t worry, it wasn’t expensive,” she says. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Tony huffs, but takes the bag anyway, holding it on the edge of the chair. He fishes around through the red tissue paper, and finds the edge of something. He pulls it out, letting the bag fall down to the ground.
“I had the pictures printed,” she says. “All the ones you’d been taking before you used up the film. And that one, of you two...well, Rhodey did a good job. As he sometimes does. I chose black and white because...I don’t know, it looked nice like that. And in the frame. He said he wanted to get it framed but he wasn’t jumping on the opportunity, so I did.”
Tony had forgotten about the still camera when he ran out of film. He’d been meaning to get more, but then he got caught up and it fell to the wayside. The frame is deep red, with a shine when the light hits it the right way, and the photo is the one Rhodey took of Tony, with Peter in the papoose. They’re both staring at each other and Tony hadn’t been expecting to get his photo taken, and he guesses that’s what he really looks like when he’s looking at Peter. He feels that kind of love on his face, but it’s shocking to actually see it.
He smiles to himself.
“Happy Birthday, Tony,” Pepper says. “This is the beginning of a lot of good things. I know it.”
He’s starting to cry again, like a huge, huge loser, and he nods, tucking the frame against his hip as Peter shifts against him, cuddling closer. Tony clears his throat and reaches out, taking Pepper’s hand in his own. He doesn’t say anything, because his voice will break and it’ll be embarrassing as hell and he really doesn’t need that right now.
But he tracks his thumb across her knuckles and nods again, feeling strangely complete, right now, right here, with both of them.
Yeah. It is a happy birthday.