Work Text:
He had fuck up.
“Baby girl, where’s Peter?”
“Peter is in the lab, Boss.”
Yeah, he’d really fucked it this time, hadn’t he.
Tony strides through the gala, still wearing his sunglasses he’d used to talk to Friday earlier. His quick, determined gate had him eating up the distance between himself and the exit with ease, even scaring one or two people out of his way. That was, until -
“Mr. Stark! How lucky I am to have run into you.”
Tony gets roped into more boring and (frankly) snobby conversation for another ten minutes before he can well and truly escape from the ballroom and into the hall. Friday is opening the elevator as he exits and closing the doors the second he makes it inside. Tony lets his back hit the wall, head thunking against it just after.
Fuck .
He’s running through everything he’d done wrong, trying desperately to figure out how to salvage this. He shouldn’t have gone on the Science bender last week, coming out of it three days later with Peter cooking dinner for the two of them while Tony slept in the bed Peter had deposited him in a few hours earlier. Peter had just laughed it off when Tony had tried to apologize, simply saying he knew what he was getting himself into when they started dating. But maybe knowing hadn’t really helped anything after all.
He shouldn’t have gotten in Peter’s way when he’d been out on patrol the other night. Sure, Peter had said he enjoyed the company when Tony could come out and patrol with him but that didn’t mean he wanted or needed to be ‘saved’ from some purse-snatched with a knife that he could’ve easily taken down.
He shouldn’t have taken Peter to the Natural History Museum as a date two weeks ago. The kid had acted like he was ecstatic once Tony had revealed the surprise but maybe that’s all it had been, acting. He was dating Tony Stark after all, he probably expected something way better than that .
For sure, though, Tony shouldn’t have drug Peter to the gala tonight. He’d seemed excited, at first, that they’d be able to hang out and maybe dance together but after Tony had been pulled into conversation after tedious conversation, Peter had bailed and gone to the lab without a word to Tony about it.
Clearly, Peter must be pissed at this point, if he hadn’t told Tony anything.
All of this (and more) has run through Tony’s head in the matter of minutes it takes him to get from the ballroom to the doors of the lab. The doors slide open, silent as ever, to reveal Peter diligently mixing some chemicals together as he mutters away to himself about the reactions it produces. He’s got the glasses Tony helped him make, that house Karen for when Peter isn’t in his suit.
Tony knows better (now) than to interrupt anyone with chemicals in their hands, so he stops in the doorway and waits for an opportunity to interrupt, apologies, grovel, whatever it takes. Taking in Peter’s fully buttoned lab coat, discarded suit jacket and tie on the old couch, and his disheveled but still respectable hair style, Tony has a moment to wonder why Peter didn’t just completely change before he’d started his experiment. The thought is gone, though, once Peter turns fully to his notebook, chemicals a safe distance from potentially flailing limbs.
“Peter?” he asks, the kid’s whirling around to look at Tony, bright smile in place as he gestures vaguely for Tony to wait a minute.
That’s what hits Tony the hardest, more than his previous panicked thoughts had.
Peter must still be faking being happy, even though he’s probably livid or, even worse, disappointed with Tony. It feels like the anxious strings get cut from his shoulders and he sags against the door frame as the depressing reality of what he has to do sets in.
“Ok! Sweet! Now, what’s u- ?” Peter cuts himself off, dazzling smile shifting into worry as easy as breathing and it breaks Tony’s heart when he asks, “Tony, what’s wrong?”
He looks down, unable to look Peter in the eye as he asks, simply, calmly,
“Too much or not enough?”
He’s determined to keep his eyes on the floor until he gets his answer, convinced Peter will put him out of his misery kindly and gently. It’s not that he deserves it, not by far , but that’s just who Peter is . Kind and gentle and too good for this world.
When he hears the shuffling he looks up to find the love of his life kid confused and a little shocked as he asks, “W-what? What are you talking about?”
Tony sighs, something heavy, from deep in his bones, that makes way for the words, “I’ve always been too much or not enough.”
He thinks that, surely, that would be enough for the young genius to elaborate and realize that Tony’s caught on. Can see what Peter was trying to hide from him to spare his feelings and give him an answer to the simple question he was asking.
But Peter just looks at him, confused as ever. Tony sighs again, throat clicking over the words as he tries to swallow back the emotions littered within them. Hoping to make them dispassionate and factual before they ever leave his mouth.
“Too much genius, too much passion, too many ideas, not serious enough, not poised enough, not obedient enough. Too crazy, not humble, overly emotional, never around. Too hot to handle and too cold blooded and never, ever….enough.” He lets his hand drop on the last word where he’d made some half hearted attempt to find a better way to end his tirade.
He looks back at Peter to find him staring intently back and he thinks, I owe him this, at least . So he squares his shoulders a little, not in defiance in so much as preparing for the final blow.
“So,” Tony begins to ask, looking Peter in the eye, face blank as he can manage it, “was I too much or not enough?”
Peter, to Tony's surprise, doesn’t give him an immediate answer.
He looks at Tony for a while with something a little too complicated for Tony’s swirling emotions to decode before Peter’s head leans just slightly to the side and he asks,
“Where is this coming from?”
Tony looks away, jaw locking up so tight it aches as his arms cross over his chest. His jaw creaking, not that he could hear it well over the pounding of his heart. He’s not given the luxury to look away for long, because Peter comes to him, steps careful but steady as he crosses the room.
He fits his soft hand to Tony’s jaw, tilting his face until their eyes meet before, “Who told you that stuff, huh?”
“Loads of people.” Tony mumbles out, eyes flickering around until they land on the wall just over Peter’s shoulder. It doesn’t prevent him from seeing Peter raise an eyebrow and set his jaw in that incredibly adorable intimidating stubborn way of his.
Tony’s determined not to say anything until his own question gets answered but he should really know better at this point.
Peter is stubborn, sure, and so is he, but Peter is unshakeable when he’s being stubborn on behalf of someone else. Tony knows if he looks into Peter’s eyes he’d see himself reflected back, the blank look full of cracks, pain and anguish and that trembling feeling in each and every one of them.
“Just….people. The press, well, media in general, I guess. Steve. Pepper. Rodney. Loads, you just need - ”
“ No .”
Tony chokes back whatever it was he was trying to say next.
He may be stubborn, but, Science knows, he’s not an idiot .
Peter threads his fingers through his hair, both hands, and directs Tony’s gaze until all he can see is Peter .
“You are more than I ever let myself hope to have and I will never, ever get enough of you. You have to understand that, alright? Please tell me you get that.”
It takes Tony too long to really, truly, compute what Pete had just said to him. It just….doesn’t make any sense. He didn’t think he’d be rejected out right, of course, that wasn’t how Peter worked. But Tony did figure, after explaining everything, spelling everything out, that Peter would give up the faking and tell him what he wanted to know.
This was definitely….not what he was expecting.
“What?” he asks, because, really, he doesn’t know what else to ask at this point.
Peter smiles, somehow combining confusion and sensairty, as he asks, “I just want you to know that I care about you, no matter what. Ok? You know that, right?” Tony nods, partly because he sort of agrees with Peter, on some level, however small.
But it’s not quite -
“So...you’re not breaking up with me?”
“Wha- no, I- I’m not breaking up -” Peter starts, sounding almost insulted before something sad and dark creeps into his gaze. “U-unless that’s what you-u want?”
This simple, horrible suggestion is enough to jump start Tony into some sort of action because he’s saying, “No! Nononon- ” before he’s cutting himself off and whatever Peter may have been about to say with a desperate kiss, teeth clicking and lips a little clumsy. There are tears, someone’s crying, and Tony honestly isn't sure if it’s himself, Peter, or maybe both of them. Pulling back, he doesn’t go far, leaning his forehead onto Peter’s, keeping his hand cupping the back of Peter’s neck so he doesn’t go anywhere too soon. Peter sniffles a little and Tony thinks, yeah, ok that’s not too surprising , before pulling Peter in and hugging him close.
The sniffles die down eventually and Tony realizes he’s been petting Peter on instinct alone before, “So...are we ok?” It’s said in this small voice he’s come to recognize as Peter’s I’ve-lost-all-confidence-in-what-my-brain-is-saying voice that he’s come to know too well in the lab. It hadn’t made too many appearances in recent months, but it was there in full force paired with watery puppy dog eyes and a proverbial knife to Tony’s heart.
“Yeah, sweetheart, we’re ok. We’re fine , I just, uh - ” Tony starts but, beyond blind reassurance he’s really got nothing.
What was he even supposed to say?! I’m sorry I read everything wrong, it’s just the trauma?
He smiles faintly at the thought, he’s been hanging out around Peter with his dark, nonsensical, Gen Z humor too much.
Peter pulls back a little, enough to look Tony in the eye, when it becomes glaringly apparent that Tony’s word supply has dried up entirely or fallen off a cliff.
He looks over Tony’s face, searching for something before, “Got a little lost in your head?”
Tony’s mouth hangs open a little, closes, opens again, then makes a noise, half confirmation half confusion and all how-the-hell-did-you-know-that?! Peter smiles at him then. It’s a good look on him any day but it’s especially nice now, as the tears dry and the twinkle comes back to his eyes.
“Sorry. About all of. That.” Tony manages to get out, stilted and halting, but an apology all the same. Peter manages to keep his amusement to a snort and a couple of shoulder wiggles, which Tony is forever grateful for. Once he’s got a handle on himself, Peter blinds him with a bright smile and a tight squeeze around Tony’s middle.
“S’ok.” Peter tells him, “We all get a little lost sometimes.” He’s not sure if it’s the gentle acceptance or the small reassurance but he’s immediately a little tearful, bundling Peter back into his chest for a tight hug to avoid the younger seeing him cry (again). Peter goes willingly, nuzzling into him and breathing deep.
They stay like that for a bit, weepy and gripping tight. No telling how long but enough that the tears run out and dry, that Tony’s feet begin to ache slightly and Peter starts to twitch a little, this way and that. It’s a passing thought at best, more likely just a dumb emotion taking shape, but Tony still says it, all snap decision and mixing brain chemistry,
“D-did you still wanna dance?”
He’s so happy that he said it, though, because it just takes a moment for Peter’s blinding smile to tip up to meet his anxieties and dispel them in all of a breath.
They dance that night, to songs that Peter calls out to Friday and that Tony wouldn't know to save his life. But he does make a mental note to tell Friday to save all these songs to a playlist for later use.
“Think you’ll keep me?” Peter asks, a little out of the blue and completely in line with how this evening has been going.
“Yeah- ” Tony replies, threading his fingers through Peter’s hair as he smiles sappily, laying Peter’s head to his chest as they sway back and forth, “yeah, baby, I think I will.”