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Tony is having a horrible day. Scratch that, a horrible week.
Ross hasn’t left him alone with negotiations for The Accords. It takes at least a few hours of arguing, every single day, for even the smallest revisions to be made. If Tony is threatened with being sent to The Raft one more fucking time, he’ll really give Ross a reason to send him there.
Add that on top of Pepper picking a fight with him last night over his empty side of the bed, the same argument they have had a million times in the last seven years, he’s just about done with the universe as a whole, thank you very much.
Unfortunately, it’s a Wednesday afternoon. Peter Parker should be arriving for their designated Lab Day any minute, and it’s too late to cancel. In any other circumstance, any other day, Tony unashamedly looks forward to spending time with his mentee. Peter is a bright kid and he’s nice to be around with or without Spider-Man being involved. Peter Parker is a lot more important, in Tony’s mind.
It’s just that the billionaire doesn’t want to see anyone after the day he’s had. If it weren't for Lab Day, he’d have every intention of locking himself in the lab for the foreseeable future; just him and the older Iron Man suit he’s repairing.
But FRIDAY is already informing him that the kid has arrived and is on his way down. Tony takes a deep breath and forces his hand to relax around the screwdriver he’s been holding in a death grip. This is fine; everything is fine. He just has to get through a couple hours with the kid, and Happy will drive him home tonight. If he plays his cards right, Peter won’t even notice that he’s in a bad mood.
The doors slide open. Tony glances over to see Peter, dressed in a thick sweater and jeans to combat the late-November chill in the air. His hair is significantly messier than usual (coming from the kid whose head is always a wild mess of curls) and there are dark bags under his eyes.
“Hey, Mr. Stark.” Peter greets, voice sounding... off. All signs are pointing to sleep deprivation, which Tony is pretty sure is fairly common in kids these days, so he doesn’t dwell on it.
“Hey.” Tony quickly turns back to his own project, reminding himself to breathe. God, he wishes he was alone right now. He wishes he could blare AC/DC until he forgets about Ross and Pepper and the goddamn mess of papers strewn about the coffee table upstairs. “You can work on whatever today, I don’t really have any new suit upgrades planned.”
Peter takes a few, long seconds to respond with a simple, “Okay.”
The billionaire busies himself with his work, twisting and screwing and hammering against the damaged areas of the suit. He’ll glance back at the kid every few minutes to find him filling out his homework on the couch, blinking slowly and looking mildly dazed.
After a solid twenty minutes of this, Tony realizes that he should at least talk to Peter, despite his bad mood still brewing under the surface. “How was school, by the way?” He calls over his shoulder, not looking back.
“Uh, fine.” The fifteen-year-old's voice is barely louder than a mumble, like he’s bored. Tony feels a slight twinge of annoyance at the reception, but he pushes it down; aren't all teenagers supposed to act like this every once in a while? He just didn’t expect this from Peter, of all people. The kid is usually a ray of sunshine.
“What about the other guy? Anything interesting on patrol?” Tony doesn’t like having to carry the conversation. Usually, he’ll just listen while the kid babbles. Peter is the only person in the world that Tony could hear talk for twelve hours straight and never get bored or annoyed.
There’s a long pause. It’s been well over ten seconds, long enough to have Tony slowly turning to face him in his chair, that Peter responds, “Sorry, could you- can you say that again?”
There’s that twinge of unwelcome annoyance again. So, what, now Peter isn't even listening to what he says? God, teenage angst must be hitting the kid hard. Tony’s jaw twitches and he sighs, not even bothering to hide his irritation.
“I asked how patrol was.” He says plainly, turning back to the suit.
“Oh. Fine.”
Tony doesn’t bother asking him anything else. Why would he, when it’s clear that the teenager’s mind is elsewhere? In the silence, the self-deprecating thoughts start swirling. Is he bored of Tony already? Has Peter realized that his childhood hero isn’t all he’s cracked up to be? Is he finding out about all the horrible, awful things Tony did before becoming Iron Man and now he wants nothing to do with him?
After another twenty minutes of silent suffering as he gets lost in his own thoughts, Tony starts working on the suit again, trying to distract himself from the disappointment/anger brewing within him, right where the Arc Reactor used to be.
“Mind passing me the monkey wrench?” Tony asks, not looking behind him. There’s no reply for at least fifteen seconds. “Kid?”
Tony looks back. There’s Peter is, chin resting on his open palm, sleeping. He’s sleeping in the middle of Tony’s private workshop after giving him non-answers and not listening to a word his mentor says. The billionaire has just spent the entire week getting into argument after argument and now, the one person he can trust to not fight with him every second of the day is dozing off.
That’s it.
“Peter!” Tony shouts, probably with a lot more force than necessary. The kid blinks awake and wipes away the drool over his mouth, looking dazed and exhausted. “You know, if you’re so uninterested in the work we do here you don’t have to show up.”
The kid blinks once. Twice. “Wha’?”
Tony shakes his head. “How do you think it makes me feel when I invite you into my private lab, give you access to anything you could ever want, and you respond by falling asleep in the middle of our lab session after ignoring me for the last forty-five minutes?”
“Mr. Stark-” Peter starts, but the older man doesn’t let him finish.
“If my time isn’t valuable to you, kid, you can leave. I’d rather not waste it on someone who doesn’t care.” Tony says, jaw clenched, and arms crossed.
The kid doesn’t say anything. After a few seconds, he swipes a hand over his eyes and sniffles, getting up off the couch. He quickly packs away his textbook and grabs his backpack from the floor, walking towards the door.
He’s about two steps away from the door when he falls to the ground.
Tony’s heart drops into his stomach. He’s up on his feet in an instant, rushing towards the crumpled body on the dirty floor. He drops to his knees in front of Peter, hands hovering uselessly over his unconscious body. He presses his fingers into Peter’s pulse-point, praying. There’s a steady beat beneath his skin, thank God.
“What’s wrong with him, FRIDAY?” Tony bites out, leaning closer. The kid’s cheek is pressed to the ground, face completely lax in unconsciousness.
“Mr. Parker appears to have a fever of one-hundred and four-”
“Shit.” Tony feels his stomach flip. Oh, God, Peter wasn’t being a dick, he was delirious with a fucking fever. He was sick and in pain and clearly not thinking right and Tony responded by insulting him and kicking him out of the lab. So much for being a good mentor to the kid. He’s only been making an effort to get close to Peter for two months, and he’s already fucked it up.
Suddenly, The Accords and Ross and the fight with Pepper seem so, incredibly insignificant compared to Peter Parker.
“FRIDAY, call Helen Cho and tell her the situation.” After a few seconds of hesitation, he scoops the kid up in a bridal carry and starts to walk out of the lab. “Tell her I’ll pay double if she’s here within the next twenty minutes.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Tony climbs into the elevator, arms still full of an unconscious teenager. He chews on his lip and asks, “I really fucked up, didn’t I?”
“I am unable to offer my opinion on a subjective matter, but if your goal was to avoid upsetting Mr. Parker, you failed.” FRIDAY replies, voice swift and robotic, just like he made her to be. For the first time since he created her, he wishes he programmed her to offer some comfort.
-
Peter only wakes up an hour later.
Cho arrived in the MedBay in less than fifteen minutes, helping Peter get situated before sticking an IV in his arm and telling Tony there’s not much they can do besides let the fever run it’s course. When she leaves, the billionaire calls May to let her know the situation (minus the kicking-the-sick-kid-out stuff, because he’s not in the headspace to deal with an angry mother tearing him to pieces), then settles in the chair next to Peter’s bed for the long-haul.
Tony has been drowning in a self-made pit of self-deprecation for the last sixty-four minutes, unable to focus on anything except for how much of an asshole he was to Peter, who might be the only person left who accepts Tony with all of his many, deal-breaking flaws.
When Peter wakes, it starts with twitching in his hands, then barely audible groans, then the kid’s eyes finally peeling open. He blinks blearily a few times, slowly moving his head and looking around through slit eyes.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, kid.” Tony greets, his usual quips and jokes feeling wooden and flat. How is he supposed to act like anything is normal, after what he did? “You’re in the MedBay, by the way. I don’t know what you remember, but you passed out in the lab. Cho checked you for a concussion and said you have a pretty wicked fever, so you’ll be off school for at least a day or two.”
Peter nods slowly, pushing himself up to rub his eyes. Tony hands him a pre-prepared glass of water off of the bedside table, which he greedily gulps down. He hands the cup back to the older man, and the two of them are basked in a heavy, deeply uncomfortable silence. For a long moment, even longer than a minute, the only sound is the white noise of the AC above them.
Finally, Tony bites the bullet. “Listen, kid-”
“I’m sorry.” Peter cuts him off, head snapping up to look the older man right in the eyes. Peter’s own eyes are wide and frantic, but still glossed with sickness. “Mr. Stark, I’m sorry. I’ve just been- I haven't been feeling good and I can’t even- can't even pay attention to anything but that’s not an excuse and I’m sorry.”
Tony has never felt like a worse person, especially when he sees the kid’s lips quivering. “No, Peter-”
“And I’m so sorry for being rude but I swear I didn’t mean to. I- I love the lab and spending time with you and I’m- I’m so grateful for all of it.” Peter continues, eyes filling with tears. “I know I was- I know I was disrespectful today but please- please don’t kick me out, I’ll do-”
“Peter, stop.” Tony finally manages to get out, feeling like his heart is physically caving in on itself with each word coming from the kid’s mouth. Peter complies, sniffling and wiping away the tears that haven't quite fallen.
It takes the billionaire a few seconds to find the words, and a few more to work up the courage to say them. “I’m the one who owes you an apology, kid. I was in a bad mood, and I was frustrated with the world, but that’s not an excuse for what I said to you. Whether you were sick or not, I never should have talked to you like that.”
Peter is chewing on his fingernails, eyes wide. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Tony sighs. Guilt has made it’s home in his chest, growing under his ribs and wrapping around him in a suffocating grip. When he blinks, all he can see behind his eyelids is the tears in Peter’s eyes when Tony yelled at him. He takes a deep breath and continues, “I’m sorry, Peter.”
The kid opens his mouth, probably to respond with it’s okay again, but he closes it before anything gets out. After a heavy silence, Peter finally says, “I forgive you.”
Tony doesn’t deserve Peter Parker’s forgiveness, but he’s selfish enough to accept it anyway.
“Thanks, kid.” He manages, voice strangely tight and choked. “I talked to your aunt, by the way. She told me that she’s working all weekend, so you’re more than welcome to stay here, even though I completely put my foot in my mouth.”
“That’s okay, I don’t want to bother you, Mr. Stark. You’re so busy-” Peter tries to deny the offer, but Tony will be damned if he lets the kid spend another day suffering alone, especially after what he did today. Silently, he makes it his mission to do anything and everything for Peter, for the foreseeable future.
“Not really an option, kid. With our luck, I’ll send you home and you’ll take a nosedive in the middle of your kitchen.” Tony says. “I’ll drop everything, and we can watch those Star Trek movies you like.”
“Star Wars.”
“Oh, Pete, you’re delirious with fever.”
Peter laughs a little, but it’s weak with sickness. He seems to suddenly remember how tired he is, because he settles back into the pillows and blinks at the older man sleepily. “Thanks for staying, Mr. Stark.”
Christ, how is Tony supposed to reply to that? The guilt brewing within him still hasn’t fully soothed, but with Peter looking at him like he’s hung the moon, he knows that one day, it will be. He ruffles Peter’s wild curls, already having an inkling that he’ll be crawling into Peter's cot to comfort the kid in no time.
“Anytime, kid. Anytime.”