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Tony is only a little tipsy. Okay, maybe a little more than tipsy, but he isn’t trashed. He has been exceedingly more intoxicated than he currently was before, and even then he has never hallucinated a baby.
Maybe he should back up a bit.
It's been a day, okay? A long, shitty, long, boring, did he mention really fucking long day. He started his morning with a 4AM conference call because apparently they have to accommodate other time zones, not the other way around. Then followed six full hours of back to back meetings, a trip to R&D after their colossal, utterly epic failure manufacturing the designs he has sent down, another meeting, a half hour of paperwork that he procrastinated too long on, and a dinner with the CEO of a technology conglomerate that is desperate to collaborate with Stark Industries. Only then, at 10:25PM, did he get home and get to have an old fashioned on the rocks.
His tie has disappeared somewhere on his walk from the door to the kitchen, his shoes then pants soon after, leaving him in just a pair of bright red silk boxers, tight black dress socks, and his dress shirt, haphazardly unbuttoned halfway. He sinks into his couch and tilts his head against the stiff cushion, staring at the high ceilings before taking a slow sip from his drink.
As always, there are a million thoughts swirling through his mind, the cacophony of sound bouncing around the space between his temples.
He takes another sip.
Tony sighs as his glass reaches the state of empty where the ice is falling from the bottom of the glass and embedding the freezing chill onto his goatee. He contemplates peeling himself from the all-encompassing comfort of the couch when there is a small cry beside him.
Tony does not yelp. He does not. He most definitely does not jump from his seat, spilling ice all over himself and his two-hundred thousand dollar couch while letting out a squeaky, high yelp. He didn’t.
Lying on the white cushion is a small baby. It’s very… wrinkly. He isn’t judging! But, like, were babies supposed to be that wrinkly? And this baby didn’t look like any baby he has seen before. It’s tiny. Very tiny. Too tiny. Its limbs looked so extremely fragile that Tony is afraid to touch it.
It’s probably rude to call it an “it” but he has more pressing matters on his mind.
Like, why is there a baby on his couch?
“Hello?” Tony greeted, unsure and confused.
He must have said it too roughly or loudly because the baby began to screech even louder.
“Shit. Uh. I mean, uh.” Tony places a palm over the baby’s mouth in futile attempts to make it stop crying.
It wriggles away from his touch, thrashing around and crying somehow even louder.
“Hey, hey. Stop that. You’re gonna fall off the couch.” Tony slips a hand behind the baby’s back and pulls it to his chest. “Don’t break its neck, don’t break its neck, whatever you do, don’t break its neck.”
The baby’s cries begin to settle as it nuzzles its face into the crook of Tony’s neck. It sighs in content.
“Okay. Okay! That’s good. That’s… great. That’s really good. Just… keep doing… that.” Tony tentatively caresses the baby’s head in his palm, rubbing small circles on its tiny, kind of lumpy head with his thumb.
The baby curls closer to Tony’s chest. It coos softly, a soft, warm breath hitting Tony’s bare chest.
And then it’s gone.
Tony, more than half-convinced he has completely flown off the deep end, stares at the space in his arms where still felt the phantom weight of the baby he had just been holding.
“Alright. That’s… okay. Uh huh. Yup.”
.-~*~-.
It’s a late October night. The air is cool, but not yet crisp. Malibu autumns never quite do.
Tony is speeding around on the empty streets in his bright purple Porsche. It isn’t his favorite car, but it gets the job done.
There is no music blasting from his radio. No, the only sound he needs is the deafening wind whipping past.
It’s so quiet this time of night. Maybe a little too quiet, but then again, nothing is ever truly quiet.
But the blanket of silence makes the sudden cry beside him that much more startling.
Tony, unable to jump since he is behind the wheel driving eighty on road only illuminated by his headlights, glances quickly at the baby who lies on the passenger seat.
“Fuck! What are you—” Tony looks back at the road. As carefully and cautiously as he can, he gradually brings himself to a full stop, afraid that a move too sudden will send the baby through the windshield.
Which is a courtesy he hasn’t expected from himself considering the fact that he isn’t totally convinced that the baby is real.
When he can finally put the car into park, the baby has settled.
“Hey… you,” Tony says awkwardly, unbuckling his seatbelt. He scoops the baby off of the seat, still semi-convinced that it can shoot through the windshield despite the car being completely sedentary.
“C’mere,” Tony murmurs.
Tony Stark is a genius. This is a fact. It’s basically common knowledge. But that genius intellect didn’t exactly translate to baby-handling. Holding? Baby-holding?
The baby wiggles in his grasp before meeting Tony’s gaze.
It’s only then that Tony really took in the baby’s features. It’s less wrinkly than the last time he saw it, assuming this is the same baby from before. It has big, warm brown eyes that stares at him widely. Its little lips were parted as it tilts its head in Tony’s palm, blinking curiously at him.
“Hi,” Tony says stiffly.
And then it’s gone. Again.
.-~*~-.
Once can be brushed off due to his inebriated state.
Twice? Well, stress does things to a person.
Three times is the point that he is considering he may be having a psychotic break.
Is he? Is that what this is? A psychotic break?
It’s Halloween, and he is in a silk red suit and red shases in his attempts (and success) to pull off an Elton John circa 1973.
However, his white button-up has been completely soaked in a blue moon, extra emphasis on the blue. He hasn’t even had a sip of a drink of his own, and he now is reeking of vodka, blue curacao, and orange liqueur.
He’s dabbing his shirt with impossibly soft paper towels in the lavish powder room of the mansion that belonged to the host, Marius Quailion, an acquaintance he has met and maybe slept with. Maybe twice. Most likely more than twice.
He has barely made a dent in the soaking stain when a baby, no, the baby appears on the sink in front of him.
“What are you doing here?!” he hisses at it silently.
The baby just looks at him with big, innocent doe eyes.
Because the universe loves to hate him, there’s a knock on the door.
Tony cringes, fists balling up as he begins to panic. “You have to go.”
The baby continues to stare at him.
“C’mon. Just go poof. Poof away.”
And then the baby has the audacity to laugh.
“Oh yeah, ha ha. Very funny. This is just so fucking hilarious, huh?” Tony lets out a long sigh and shimmies his jacket off and bundles the baby in the fabric.
“We’re staging a prison break, kid. Except it seems the only prison that I’m trapped in is the one that somehow keeps bringing us together.”
Tony shoves the door open with his elbow and pushes past a woman that he usually would never push past and dashes to the back door.
“Tony Stark,” a woman even more attractive than the one outside the bathroom purrs as he passes by.
“Sorry, can’t talk,” Tony says, sliding by, cursing his sudden lack of smooth talking and also cursing the stupid baby for making him miss out on the potential hot piece of ass.
By the time Tony has gotten into his sports car of the night, the baby is still there.
“Not going back any time soon, huh? Because the world just isn’t that kind.”
The baby babbles at him, bubbles forming at his mouth that dribbles down its chin.
“Not on the jacket!” Tony exclaims, unwrapping the baby quickly.
Its lip began to wobble.
“No. No. Do not start…”
It starts to wail.
“Ah, fuck. Okay. I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” He is about to hold the baby when he realizes his chest is still soaked with the potent alcohol. “Just give me a minute , okay?” He unbuttons his shirt with quick ease (a skill he has perfected for very different reasons) and pulls the baby to his chest, supporting its back as he always did.
The baby’s nose wrinkles in disgust and tilts its head back, away from his chest.
“Smell’s that bad?” Tony asks softly. “You must’ve not liked being in my jacket then, I bet.” Tony snorts. “Serves you right for ruining my night.”
Its lip wobbles again.
“I didn’t mean that! Your presence is a gift!”
It smiles brightly at Tony.
“You’re a menace. You know that, right?”
It giggles a bubbly laugh that definitely did not warm Tony’s heart.
“So, what’s your name kid? You’ve gotta have one.” Tony’s eyes drops down to the onesie that read “Peter” in swirly blue letters. “Peter. Well, that answers a few of my questions and gives me about a million more.”
He gurgles, body wiggling again.
“Got more hair than last time,” Tony says. He ran his thumb over Peter’s tiny head. “Less lumpy too.”
Peter cackles.
“No. You’re not allowed to do that. You can’t be cute and shit and make me actually not not like you.”
Peter cackles harder.
And then he is gone and Tony could feel the empty air a little more than he has before.
.-~*~-.
Tony may look erratic and reckless due to his reputation and track record, but he is organized and likes to be prepared.
He is also a man with a lot of money.
So, hidden throughout his house, office, and labs were baby supplies. It is the essentials, or at least, what JARVIS has told him were the essentials.
However, this does not go unnoticed by the most observant person in his life.
Pepper Potts.
“Tony, why is there a box of diapers in your filing cabinet?”
Tony’s head did not snap up. It glances over with feigned nonchalance. “Did you know that a Pampers diaper absorbs an average of one liter of liquid whereas a single sheet of paper towel only absorbs approximately forty milliliters? You would need twenty five sheets of paper towel to accomplish what one diaper can achieve.”
Pepper stares at him incredulously. “Right… okay. Well, you have a meeting with the board in twenty minutes. You can’t skip out on this one.”
“Because it determines my involvement in all future endeavors, yada yada, yes I know. I’ll be there. I just have to finish—”
“No. You are going to get your notes together and head to the boardroom in a timely manner.”
“But—”
“Uh uh!”
“But I—”
“Notes. Boardroom. Twenty minutes. You will be there.”
“Alright! I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
.-~*~-.
Tony is nose deep in circuit boards, zoned into hyper focused concentration, when he got a whiff of the scent.
“Jesus fuck that reeks.”
Tony slips off his magnifying goggles and looks around to find the culprit of the stench when he meets the familiar watery eyes of Peter the Mysterious Baby.
“Really?”
Peter’s lip wobbles.
“Alright. Right. I’m sure you’re uncomfortable.” Tony opens his drawer of discarded blueprints and lifts them from the top, pulling out the baby bag from beneath it.
“Dum-E. Bring me a trash can, please. Preferably the empty one with the bag.”
The bot rolls over with the trash can, though not the right one. Luckily, it only has an empty bottle of tequila and dirty tissues (because he has a cold, get your head out of the gutter).
“Thanks.” Tony rummages through the bag for a fresh diaper and a wet wipe.
“Okay, talk me through this one, J.”
“I would suggest you clear and clean your changing surface so that it is well-suited for the young sir’s delicate back.”
“Right.” Tony looks at the mess on his workbench. “Right.”
He pushes all of the dangerous, semi-dangerous, potentially dangerous, and probably harmless (but what does he know) items to the side and wipes at the workbench with a wipe.
Peter nearly gives Tony a heart attack when he almost wiggles off of the tabletop.
“Fuck! Don’t do that.”
Peter’s eyes flood with tears.
“No. No no, not again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Don’t cry!”
Peter cries.
Tony sighs and scoops the baby into his arms. He shushes and coos him to the best of his ability. Peter’s bawling simmers to tiny hiccups and finally even out to a steady stream of silent breathing.
“Well, now that I’ve gotten the horrible experience of holding you with your loaded diaper, how about we change you, huh?”
Peter looks up at him and blew out spit bubbles.
“I’ll take that as a ‘sure, Tony!’”
He laid Peter onto the workbench and carefully tugs his onesie off. He grimaces when the putrid scent grew stronger.
“Okay, J. What do I do now?”
“First, you need to unfasten the diaper tabs.”
It took Tony a moment before he located them. “Alright. Done. Next?”
“Then, you need to slide the diaper down.”
“This doesn’t feel right. Maybe I should just leave it. Right? This has gotta be… I mean, this feels pretty invasive.”
Peter squawks in discomfort.
“He seems to be becoming distressed.”
“I can see that!” He ran his fingers through his hair before tugging the diaper away. “Okay. Fine. What’s next?”
“Now, you must wipe the baby clean.”
“But he’s…”
“Sir, he cannot clean himself, so you must.”
Tony let the words stew until he grumbles a silent sarcastic, expletive filles affirmation.
“Ew, ew, gross, disgusting, I can’t believe I’m doing this right now.”
Peter giggles at Tony’s misery.
He goes through seven wipes because he wouldn’t dare to even get close to accidentally touching it with his bare hand.
“Okay. How do I put the diaper back on?” Tony asks.
“Slide the clean diaper under the baby’s bottom. Make sure the tbas are on the side located under the baby’s bottom. Most diapers have colorful markings to indicate the front of the diaper.”
Tony, with a delicate precision, slides it on. “And how do I close this thing?”
“Pull the front up over his belly and pull the tabs open and around the fastening surface.”
“That’s simple enough.” He adheres the tabs. “Aha! And I’m done!” He wriggles Peter back into his onesie, and the moment the final button is buttoned, Peter pops away.
“Welp. I’m gonna go ish my hands until my skin is raw.” He turns to his bot. “Dum-E? Can you go take that to the trash bin outside.”
The bot nods his claw.
“Good boy.”
.-~*~-.
It is Christmas morning, or, well, Christmas mid-morning edging on afternoon. Tony snorts silently to himself as he adds a dash of peppermint creamer into his morning mug of coffee.
“Merry Christmas to me,” he mutters. He sips the piping hot drink and hums “It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year” quietly.
He is in yesterday’s pair of silk boxers that he is left in after he manages to peel his suit off and collapse into bed and a cashmere robe.
The Christmas Eve party he attends is a rager, and he got home at four AM without any… company. Partying around the holiday time is never for a good time. It is to forget.
So, if he splashed some Irish whiskey into his coffee, then no one is there to point it out.
He is eating cold risotto and scallops (which clashes with his coffee, but he is way too hungover to care) on his couch, still socked feet propped up on his coffee table as he watches the Christmas morning animations.
He is broken away from his haze when he heard a little giggle beside him.
“Now, what are you doing here?” Tony pulls Peter into his arms, feeling too much comfort from his weight against his chest and the distinct baby scent that overwhelmed any nausea he may have been feeling. “It’s Christmas. You should be with your family on Christmas. What are you doin’ here with me?”
Peter drools on his robe, taking a mouthful of the fabric.
“Don’t think that’s very yummy, but to each their own.”
Peter babbles, headbutting Tony in the chest.
“Oof! That’s a new one.” Tony cups his hand around Peter’s tiny head, rubbing his palm on his impossibly soft hair. “Oh, that’s nice.”
Tony must have been completely mesmerized by Peter because he didn’t notice the door beeping as it opens.
“Tony, Mr. Stane has been calling you all morning, and it’s gone so far that he’s calling me. It is Christmas Day. I should not be working right now.”
“Sorry, Pep. Haven’t checked my phone all morning. Not even sure where it is, if I’m being honest,” Tony murmurs, careful not to raise his voice.
“Well, please do, because apparently you were extra publicly indecent last night. The tabloids are going to be all over this and you cannot afford to have a stock drop when you’re so close to the new fiscal year and weapons line release.”
“Mhm,” Tony says absentmindedly.
“And you’re not even listening. Of course you aren’t.” She rounds around the couch to further reprimand him but froze. “Tony. Why do you have a baby?”
“Not really sure,” Tony says with a light shrug.
Peter gurgles at the movement and nuzzles his head closer.
“Did you steal a baby last night? How drunk were you?”
Tony looks up and scoffs. “I did not steal a baby. I’m not that reckless.”
“Considering the things you did last night, I wouldn’t be surprised,” Pepper says, trying to play off her bewilderment with snark. “Is that… are they yours?”
“No.”
“Then whose…”
“Not sure.”
“Tony. Why do you have it?”
“I really don’t know, Pepper! If I has answers, I’d give them to you, but I don’t have answers!” Tony says, voice raising in frustration.
Peter, disturbed by the commotion, began to cry.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Tony exclaims. He began to bounce Peter gently, humming lightly to no particular song, just so he could feel the vibrations.
Pepper stares at them incredulously.
Peter settles down quickly and his head became a heavy weight against Tony’s chest once more.
Pepper gawks at them for a long pause before covering her face with her palms. However, when she looks up, Tony is reclining on the couch with his mug in his hand, sipping casually.
“Uh, Tony?”
“Uh huh?” he replies, taking another sip.
“Where’s the baby?”
“What baby?” Tony replies.
“The baby. The baby that is just here .”
Tony furrows his brows. “What are you talking about? Why would I have a baby?”
“Tony. C’mon, you…”
Tony raises an eyebrow. “Really, Ms. Potts. Do I really seem like the baby type of man?” He finishes his mug. “Besides, I have a hangover so raging that I can barely think. I think a baby would make my head implode.”
Pepper opens her mouth and then closes it and then opens it again. It remains hung open as she stammers some sort of response.
“I’ll call Obie ASAP, alright?”
Pepper nods, unsure if she could trust herself to respond.
“Go have a good Christmas. You deserve a break.”
Pepper nods again. “Uh, thank you. You too.”
He grins. “I’ll try.”
Pepper nods one more time before slipping on her coat and heading out.
Tony let out a long breath of relief. “Too close.”