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Tony has been in meetings. All. Fucking. Day.
He’s very done with the meetings, but he’d promised Pepper he would be there, so he can’t actually be done with the meetings. He can, however, pay as little attention to them as pleases, so he pulls out his phone to text Peter. It’s a Friday, and Peter is almost out of school, which means Happy is not-so-happily sitting in the parking lot of Midtown waiting to pick him up and drive him to the Tower. Tony sends a quick text to Happy first, then pulls up his messages with Peter to let him know he’ll be in meetings for the next couple of hours. He texts Peter to eat a snack when he gets to the Tower, since the kid still feels shy sometimes about helping himself to food, reminding him about the fridge in the lab and the well-stocked penthouse kitchen. Then, he scrolls mindlessly through his phone for the next forty-five minutes until he gets an alert from F.R.I.D.A.Y. that Peter has arrived.
As much as he wants to sneak away and meet Peter down in the lab, he has to settle for another text instead. Peter doesn’t respond, but Tony gets a read receipt on the message, and he can perfectly picture Peter rolling his eyes at the second reminder to eat something before starting his homework.
When it finally reaches 5:00 p.m. Tony can’t get out of the conference room fast enough. He quickly heads to the elevator, pulling off his suit jacket and tie. In the elevator, he starts to roll up the sleeves of his button up shirt to his elbows before deciding to take the whole thing off, leaving him in just a tight-fitting undershirt. The short ride gives him just enough time to start thinking about dinner. Peter is bound to be hungry again already. The kid is a bottomless pit sometimes.
The door to his lab is closed, and Tony opens it, tossing his shirt, jacket and tie onto the couch and slipping his shoes off before he realizes that it’s far too quiet. He’s surprised to see the lab empty. Peter’s stuff isn’t even down there. Tony opens the fridge and sees that nothing is missing, not even caffeine-free soda he’s stocked in there for Peter’s sugar addiction. He hops back on the elevator and takes it up to the penthouse. The kitchen is also empty and spotless, not a thing missing from the pantry or the refrigerator, and no dishes in the sink. There are no signs of Peter having eaten anything today.
“Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” Tony asks, looking around the common room in bewilderment. “Is Peter still here?”
“ Yes, Boss, he is still here. ”
“Did he eat anything yet?”
“ No, he has not eaten since arriving. ”
Shit.
“FRI, where is he? Is he okay?”
“ He is in his bedroom. He is currently sleeping. ”
Tony makes his way to Peter’s bedroom, confusion growing. “Is he hurt?” He asks F.R.I.D.A.Y. on the way. “Is he okay? Anything I should know about? I need a little more info, sweetheart.”
There’s a short moment, and then F.R.I.D.A.Y. answers. “ My scans do not show that Peter has any injuries, Boss. All vitals are in the normal range. ”
Tony pauses outside of Peter’s bedroom. He’s still in just his socks, and his footsteps were quiet, but Peter would be able to hear him approach. He doesn’t hear any sounds coming from inside. He knocks twice, then pushes the door open just in time to see Peter bolt upright in bed, apparently startled by the sound.
“Hey,” Tony says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Peter blinks at him, looking sleepy and confused. “What?”
“How long have you been napping?”
“I don’t…I don’t know,” Peter admits. He rubs his eyes with both fists and then looks around the room, eyebrows knitting together. “I don’t really remember coming in here.”
“Are you sick?” Tony asks, crossing his arms and frowning.
Peter shakes his head and looks down at his arms. He’s wearing just a short-sleeved shirt, and he frowns and rubs his arms with his hands. “I’m a little cold, and I’m a little tired, but that’s it. I feel totally fine otherwise.”
There’s a hoodie hanging over the back of Peter’s desk chair, and Tony grabs it and tosses it into Peter’s lap. Peter pulls it on and scoots back until he’s leaning against the headboard.
“You didn’t even have a snack today,” Tony says. “You have to be hungry. What do you want for dinner? We’ll order takeout.”
“Hmm. I could go for something warm. Maybe pasta? Or soup? Ooh, how about ramen?”
“ Soup? ” Tony narrows his eyes, then reaches down to touch Peter’s forehead. “You sure you’re not sick?”
Peter rolls his eyes and ducks away from Tony’s hand. “Yes, I’m sure.” Even as he says it, he shivers a little, looking unsure of his own answer.
“Are you still cold? Do you want another sweater? And you’re just tired? No headache or anything? You’re not hiding any injuries, are you?”
There’s a few seconds of silence, and then Peter laughs. “That was a lot of questions,” he chuckles. “Your worry is showing.” He sighs a little. “But to answer those…a little, no thanks, yes, no, and nope.”
Tony watches Peter rub tiredly at his eyes again and reaches out to feel his forehead again, using his other hand to cup the side of Peter’s head so he can’t escape this time. His skin feels a normal temperature, and Peter grumbles at him until he moves his hand up to his hair, running his fingers gently through Peter’s curls until his face softens and he closes his eyes with a little hum. Tony keeps up the motion for a few minutes, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed, and Peter leans into his hand with a smile on his face.
“Okay, okay,” Tony says after a while, laughing at the grumpy noise Peter makes when he pulls his hand back. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. can put in an order for ramen. Do you want to rest here a bit before it gets here, or do you want to move this party out to the living room?”
Peter squints at him, looking tired and still a little grumpy at losing the head rubs. “Mm. Couch?”
He doesn’t move until Tony pauses in the doorway, looking back at him with a raised eyebrow, and then he slowly slides out of bed and shuffles across the room. He’s quiet as they make their way into the living room. He makes a beeline for the couch, where he gathers up several blankets and a couple of pillows and makes himself a nest, curling up with a sleepy yawn. Tony pretends to check emails while watching Peter out of the corner of his eye, trying to figure out how he got so tired that he went straight for a nap instead of a snack earlier.
When the food arrives, Tony carries it to the coffee table. Peter looks like he’s almost asleep, and when he sits up to eat, there’s a small crease on his cheek from one of the blankets. He cradles his first container of ramen to his chest, eating quickly before moving to his second, and he’s nearly done by the time Tony has turned on the TV and started in on his own food. As soon as he’s done eating, Peter stacks his empty takeout containers and utensils neatly on the coffee table, then immediately goes back to his blanket nest. He shuffles around for a bit, adjusting blankets and making himself comfortable, lying sideways on the couch and pushing his feet against Tony’s thigh.
“Hey! Your feet are cold.” There’s no answer from Peter, and Tony smiles fondly when he looks over and sees that Peter’s eyes are closed, his head resting against the arm of the couch.
After a few moments, when Peter’s breathing evens out, Tony stands and clears their mess from dinner. It feels a little silly, but Tony can’t help but reach out and touch Peter’s forehead again when he returns. He’s surprised to feel that the skin is warm now, too warm, and he quickly flips his hand over, using the back of his hand, then switching over to the inside of his wrist. Definitely too warm, no matter which part of him is in contact with Peter’s face.
“FRI?” He whispers. “Peter’s temperature?”
“Peter’s temperature is elevated at 99.1 degrees, which is several degrees higher than his baseline temperature.”
“He– what? Okay, I need to know this kind of thing! Do I need to wake him up, FRI?”
“No, Boss, sleep is the best thing for Peter right now. Would you like me to send you hourly updates for his temperature and other vitals?”
Tony nods, walking around the end of the couch to where he’s been sitting. He grabs the remote and mutes the TV, then sits back down next to Peter’s feet. Suddenly, Peter stirs with a small moan, shifting around under his blankets and not quite fully awake. Whatever he’s trying to do, he’s not successful, because he moans again and then forces his eyes open, blinking heavily in Tony’s direction for a few seconds before he huffs out a breath and tries to sit up.
“What do you need, bud?” Tony asks, but Peter just grunts and struggles to maneuver himself into a sitting position. When he gets there, he sighs, then leans in Tony’s direction until he’s lying down again, this time in the complete opposite direction as before, with his feet propped up on the armrest and his head resting on Tony’s thigh. Tony chuckles. “Oh. Hi.” Peter doesn’t reply, already dozing again, and Tony reaches his hand down to card his fingers through Peter’s hair. Peter practically melts into the couch, his mouth falling open as he falls deeper into sleep.
“Don’t drool on me,” Tony whispers, picking up the remote to turn the subtitles on and settling in for a long night of keeping his kid comfortable and monitoring his fever.