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Tony has lots of alarms on his house, for the dumbest things. An alarm if someone breaks in, but also an alarm in case Pepper walks into the building with an odd level of hormones – meaning she’s on her period, and Tony has to think twice before opening his mouth. He also has an alarm for Rhodey, even though the man already knows how to dissemble them and charm FRIDAY to let him in.
There are alarms for him too, for when he falls asleep on the lab and someone needs him, or when he has a meeting he can’t miss.
But the most efficient alarm is FRIDAY. Always watching, always ready. That’s why he doesn’t program any alarm for Peter, because he trusts the AI enough to let her in charge of the little bundle. Besides, he’s never too far. Baby Peter demands his father at all times, and at his eight months, he knows when he’s away and doesn’t like it one bit.
“Sir, Peter has woken up and seems to be in distress” FRIDAY informs her, and Tony sighs.
“Distress ‘I miss my daddy and I don’t approve him having a coffee break’ or other type of distress?”
“I am unable to distinguish between the different types of distress, I fear, but I would vote for the same type of distress that has been keeping him awake for the night”
“Of course”
Tony is used to not getting much sleep, but he has to confess, Peter is testing his limit this week. It started with a small fever that had Tony panicking, then came the tantrums and now the sadness. The paediatrician has told him multiple times that it’s normal; that babies can’t communicate, so we can’t know what they want. So they cry, until someone gives it to them.
He has tried almost everything, from skin-to-skin contact to buying a balls pool. Yet he doesn’t know what Peter wants or how to help him when he stays awake at night screaming his little lungs out, until he almost gives himself apnea.
That’s mainly the reason why Tony doesn’t like the ‘let him cry it out’ thing. He can’t forget the first time Peter cried and forgot how to breath. So he has stayed the night with him, rocking them both forward and backward and letting Peter drool all over him and scream at his hear. He has managed to put him to sleep a few hours ago, and knowing he wouldn’t stay that way long, he decided to get some coffee and prepare for the next round.
“Here we go” he whispers.
When he gets to Peter’s room, Tony listens carefully for wheezing or coughing; but instead of any of those sounds, he only hears the crying that has accompanied the boy for the last week and that has his heart in pain. He enters the light-blue painted room and looks at the crib, where Peter is. The first light of the day is enough to make the room visible.
Peter has almost his whole fist on his mouth, which isn’t unusual, drooling all over himself and the small cot. His other hand is banging against the side of the crib, curled in a tiny fist, and his eyes were brown pools of tears. The sight was cute and sad, at the same time. Tony reaches down to caress the soft tuff of curls at top of the baby’s head, that has Peter noticing his father’s presence.
When he does, he kicks his chubby legs on the hair and cries harder.
“Good morning to you too” Tony tries to give him a small smile, although he’s close to crying from frustration. “Guess that’s a new record, how long has it been Fri?”
“Two hours and a half, sir.”
“Wow, you hear that Petey Pie? Two hours and a half” Tony mutters to the baby, who is making wet, grabby hands. “Are you sure you don’t want to reach the whole pack? Three hours? Four?”
“Ga!”
“Don’t use that tone on me, mister” Tony jokes, rubbing Peter’s chubby tummy. It won’t stop to marvel him how his son’s middle almost fits in his palm. “What will we do when I’m old and you’re a moody teenager? You can’t start with the attitude right now”
The baby makes more distressed noises, and Tony finally gives in. He reaches inside the crib and lifts Peter, who doesn’t stop crying even when Tony cradles him against his chest. He keeps gumming sadly on his fist, leaning now against Tony’s shoulder. The man presses a kiss against his forehead, feeling for any heat.
Peter pushes himself up against Tony’s chest, something he learned how to do a few months ago. He abandons his cannibalism and presses his wet hands against Tony’s tee, making the man hold a cringe. Despite the saliva, snots and tears, he feels sorry for Peter, and wishes he knew how to help him.
Parental love and utter devotion, maybe. He can’t really explain the feelings his son awakens in him.
“I wish you could talk” Tony says softly, making Peter focus on his face from up close. The baby looks overwhelmed for a second. He lets out a yelp. “Maybe you can point where it hurts? It is your tummy? Your – fuck!”
Tony feels very proud of himself in that moment, because even if he curses and he makes Peter cry harder, he doesn’t throw his son away. He pushes the baby out of his reach when he suddenly latches to his nose. It’s not even the first time that happens, because Peter seems to communicate by latching onto things he can’t eat. But the previous times have been just a small discomfort, even funny if he did it from time to time.
Now, though, Peter has latched to his nose and Tony has felt pain. The baby looks as confused as him, back with one fist in his mouth and reaching for his father. Tony looks at Peter offended, bringing him close so that he can rub his throbbing nose.
“What the he – heck was that? Did you seriously think I’m a boob?” Tony chuckles, staring at now Peter’s offended face. “You’re a little menace, a carnivorous baby. What’s gotten into – god!”
“Da!”
Tony just wanted to kiss Peter’s cheek, but now that the baby has tasted his father’s nose, he lunges again for it. This second time it’s only a small bite, and Peter babbles at him angrily when he tears him away. It’s not the first time his son says ‘da’, but after getting excited the first time and then witnessing how Peter referred to Pepper, Rhodey, bananas and a dog as ‘da’, he doesn’t get excited anymore.
He brings Peter close to his chest once more, ignoring how he keeps trying to claw at Tony’s chest so he can reach his nose. He also ignores the frustration tears on his cheeks; because now, Peter doesn’t have his fist on his mouth, and is babbling at him with his mouth open.
Which lets Tony see the irritated and pale bump on Peter’s lower gum. He lets an incredulous chuckle at the situation; for a genius, he hadn’t even thought about teething. He keeps laughing and Peter keeps crying and screaming at him.
“Look at you, carnivorous baby” Tony says, holding Peter close and walking towards the kitchen. Thankfully, Pepper is his savour and guardian angel and makes him keep a teething toy at the fridge. “See? If you could talk we would have avoided this painful encounter. I don’t want to think about your poor fingers, hm? They must hurt”
“Da!” Peter agrees with him, slapping his face with his closed fist.
Tony uses that opportunity to inspect Peter’s fingers. Indeed, they’re read and raw. The tiny, chubby fingers close around his pinkie as Peter finds the next object to latch onto; Tony’s middle finger. It’s more of a bother than a pain, and even though the munching of his nose has been painful and surprising, he lets Peter munch on his fingers.
At least, he isn’t crying anymore.
Peter babbles sleepily around Tony’s finger, still gripping his pinkie. Now that he has found another thing to chew on and gives a rest to his fingers, the baby looks tired. The affection and love through him seem almost overwhelming at the cannibalism of his son. He leans down to kiss Peter’s head, the soft curls ticking his chin.
He reaches the kitchen, where his untouched now cold coffee waits for him, and opens the fridge. Then, he lets himself waste a few seconds staring at Peter. The baby isn’t crying anymore, which means he’s once more curious. Since he was a little baby just brought home from the unexpected pregnancy and death of his mother, he loves the fridge lights. Tony just has to open the fridge and watch as Peter marvellous at the sight.
The tomato looks particularly interesting today, it seems. Peter babbles around Tony’s finger and points at random things with his free hand. His sleepy eyes don’t really focus on anything, he’s just curious about the lights and colours.
“I’ve something more interesting than that” Tony says, bending down to pick the blue circle on the last shelf. “It’s – wow, that’s – that’s cold. Fri? Isn’t that too cold for Peter?”
“Teething babies enjoy the cold and the toy will provide a big comfort for the young sir” the AI replies, always present. “The temperature seems adequate”
“Maybe we could wait a few seconds” Tony says, contemplating his options. However, as soon as Peter notices the blue toy with the latching part, he dives for it and attaches his mouth to the end. “Or maybe not. That’s good”
Peter quickly gets both of his hands on the task, bringing the toy closer until he’s drooling over it, clearly content with himself. For the first time in a week, he lets Tony close the fridge and walk calmy to the couch, where he lays with his son on his chest. Peter looks like the calm baby Tony know he is, brown baby eyes now falling shut. Part of him feels terrible for not noticing sooner, for prolonging Peter’s pain for a week.
The fever, the pain. The constant hand to his mouth. The more his mouth hurt, the more he bit his hand. The more he bit his hand, the more the distress grew. So, in exchange, he lets Peter cuddle him and rest his freezing toy on his chest.
Tony takes the precaution of freezing some other toys and items Peter can comfort himself with, so when the teething toy isn’t cold anymore, he doesn’t have to suffer.
“If I hadn’t seen you munching over my nose like a demonic baby a minute ago, I would think you’re an angel” Tony comments, staring at Peter as if he were the most beautiful thing in the planet. And maybe, he is. “Would the small cannibal like to move the bed, to take a small nap?”
“Da! Do! Da!”
Peter frowns his tiny eyebrows on Tony bangs his free hand against his cheek. Then, he makes a spit bubble and everything is gone but the bubble, which makes Peter go cross-eyed. It’s enough answer; Tony gets comfortable on the couch, adapts Peter between his side and the back of the couch so he doesn’t fall and runs a lazy hand over the tuff of hair.
Staring at the tiny white, now not irritated, blob on his son’s gum, he smiles and accepts the new member of the family. What a tooth.