Welcome to my new Iron Dad story! I usually post new chapters on Monday afternoons, between 12-2 EST. :)

Rated: T for language

Relationships: Tony Stark & Peter Parker, Tony Stark/ Pepper Potts, more to be added later.

This story will (mostly) follow the MCU canon timeline.

Shrugging out of his Armani suit jacket, Tony slid into backseat of the air-conditioned rental car, sinking into the plush leather seat as Rhodey climbed in from the opposite side. Tony let out a sigh as he loosened the pink and purple silk tie around his neck and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt. Leaning his head against the headrest, he closed his eyes and absentmindedly rubbed his palm over his chest, over the spot where Senator Stern had accidentally-on-purpose poked him with his commendation pin during the ceremony.

"You know," he said in Rhodey's direction. "That Stern really is a first-class asshole."

"Eh," replied Rhodes. "I've seen worse. The U.S. Military has more than its fair share of overstuffed egos. Especially in the higher ranks."

Tony glanced down at his shirt, rubbing his thumb over the tiny bloodstain where the pinprick had broken his skin. "Yeah, but look at this." Twisting in his seat, he pointed to the mark. "He drew blood! You know, I should sue his ass. Five billion dollars for bodily injury, and five more for associated pain and suffering. See how his colleagues in the Armed Forces Committee like that. Not to mention this shirt cost about $500, so—"

"So get it dry cleaned," Rhodes stated. "No harm, no foul. It'll be good as new."

"Ah, I hate dry cleaning. So many bad chemicals, and they never smell the same afterwards." Tony shook his head. "I'll ask Pepper, I'm sure she knows—"

"Where to, boss?" Happy interrupted from the driver's seat as he merged onto the traffic-laden freeway.

"Airport please, Happy," Tony groaned, leaning back against the seat. "Pepper and I have reservations for dinner tonight. And I need a drink."

"You can drop me off at the Pentagon first," said Rhodes. "Some of us need to get back to work."

"Aww, come on!" whined Tony. "You don't think you've earned a couple days leave after that whole drone mess?"

"It's not up to me, Tony," said Rhodes firmly. "Unlike you, I have people I need to report to."

Shrugging, Tony closed his eyes. "You could always retire, you know."

Rhodes let out a sarcastic chuckle. "Yeah, sure. And do what? Come and work for you?"

"Eh. It's not a dumb idea."

"Yeah, it's not a smart idea either," Rhodes muttered. "At least in the Air Force I somewhat know what to expect on a day to day basis. No offense, Tony, but you're a complete wild-card. You'd give me a heart attack before the end of my first week."

"Then I'd just build you new heart," Tony countered. "It can't be that hard."

"Uh huh. Why don't you worry about your own heart issues first, then come talk to me."

Tony tapped against the new arc reactor securely nestled inside his chest wall. "Hey, I'm good to go. No more palladium, no more poisoning. I'm a new man."

"And hopefully no more idiotic, self-destructive behavior," added Rhodes. "But we can only hope."

Tony gave another shrug. "You wouldn't know what to do with me otherwise. Besides, you can't deny that I definitely make your life less boring."

"Hmph," came Rhodey's reply. "Boring's not always bad, you know."

As per usual, the D.C. traffic was heavy, and with the sunlight streaming in through the windows both men nearly dozed off as Happy wiggled the Audi sedan through the crowded freeway lanes. They were within sight of the Pentagon exit when Tony's phone rang, causing him to jump.

"Probably another goddamn reporter. I'm gonna need to change my number again," Tony grumbled, digging around in his suit jacket for the phone. Pulling it from the inside pocket, his brow furrowed as he noticed the caller ID listing with a New York City area code.

"Tony Stark," he barked into the phone.

"Mr. Stark?" said the New York-accented voice of a harried-sounding woman. Tony could make out the dull buzz of telephones ringing and other voices in the background.

"Yeah? Last time I checked," answered Tony, wincing as Rhodey elbowed him the ribs.

"Polite, Tony!" he hissed. "Be polite!"

Rolling his eyes, Tony cleared his throat. "This is Tony Stark. Can I help you?"

"I hope so," the woman said. "My name is Rita Wilson, and I'm calling from the Department of Social Services in Queens, New York. I have some important questions to ask you, regarding—"

"Excuse me, Ms Wilson," Tony interrupted. He rubbed his palm over the pinprick on his chest, trying to keep his temper intact. He was so sick and tired of rehashing the Expo drone attack. "But let me stop you right there. I have already spoken with the Queens Chief of Police, and The New York Times, and released an official statement to all the goddamn television news stations. I have no further comments on—"

"Excuse me, sir," Rita said, so loudly that Tony had to pull the phone away. "But I am not calling specifically about the drone attack. If you recall, I said I was from the Department of Social Services."

Hmm, thought Tony. Okay, that is a bit odd.

"So…" Tony prompted.

"As you may or may not be aware, sir, the cleanup of the wreckage from the drone attack remains ongoing. Unfortunately, three days ago first responders found the bodies of one Benjamin Parker and one May Parker. Do you happen to be familiar with those names, Mr. Stark?"

"Ah, no," answered Tony. He shot a weary glance at Rhodes, as if begging for relief. "Should I be?"

"Most likely not," said Rita, not without a twinge of sarcasm. "Benjamin Parker was not someone you'd likely come across in your daily life. But, are you perhaps familiar with Mr. Parker's brother, Richard Parker?"

"Richard Parker, Richard Parker…" Tony muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could vaguely recall seeing a mention of that name recently. But where? And why?

Oh yeah. He'd seen the name and the man's picture when he'd hacked into one of the SHIELD databases, after Nick Fury had given him that box filled with his father's journals. Richard Parker was a scientist—geneticist, to be exact—but Tony couldn't find any reason for him to be in SHIELD's files unless he was also an agent of some kind.

Or, perhaps it was because SHIELD was monitoring him and his work for some reason. Hmm…

"I've seen the name," Tony said noncommittally. "But what does he have to do with me?"

"Richard Parker was killed in a plane crash a few years ago, Mr. Stark, along with his wife, Mary," Rita said. "Following their deaths, their small son, Peter, was left in the care of Benjamin and May."

"Okay," Tony said slowly. "That's quite tragic and all, but I fail to see—"

"Ben and May are now dead, Mr. Stark," said Rita. "If you recall, I mentioned only a few moments ago that they were killed during the drone attack."

"Yes, I heard you," replied Tony, rather tersely. "But I still don't understand—"

"Their seven-year-old nephew, Peter, is sitting next to me right now, Mr. Stark. Here at the office. He's scared and hungry and has nowhere to go."

Tony's eyebrows knitted together, and he shot Rhodey a confused look. "Well, surely there must be somewhere for the boy to go?" he asked. "Another relative? Family friend? A neighbor? Someone?"

"Neither Richard Parker nor Mary Parker had any other siblings, Mr. Stark," Rita said. "And apparently their line of work did not invite the type of friendships that would take in an orphaned child."

Tony's heart started to pound, and he tugged at his shirt collar, trying to take a deep breath. Surely this woman wasn't suggesting that he—?

"What exactly is the purpose of this phone call, Ms Wilson?" he asked.

The woman let out a heavy sigh. "Frankly, Mr. Stark, I can't even believe that I was asked to make this call. But this young boy sitting next to me, holding his Iron Man helmet and his Iron Man glove, has insisted from the moment we brought him here that you saved his life during the drone attack, and that if anything happened to his aunt and uncle, Iron Man would come and rescue him."

Tony's eyes widened in shock, and he turned towards Rhodey just as Happy pulled into the employee parking lot at the Pentagon. "Did you just say that he's holding an Iron Man helmet?"

"And a glove, sir," answered Rita. "At first he wouldn't even take the helmet off. He only finally agreed to do so when he got too hungry to continue refusing."

"We're here, sir," Happy said from the front seat.

"Just a sec, Happy," replied Rhodes. He cocked an eyebrow in Tony's direction.

"Um, I gotta call you back," Tony said breathlessly into the phone. "Give me fifteen minutes."

"Mr. Stark, if you're not able to take him in, I'm afraid the only other option is foster care—"

"I said give me fifteen minutes!" Tony exclaimed. "I'll call you back!" Ending the call, he shoved his phone into his pants pocket and turned to Rhodes, one hand on the door handle. "I need to borrow your office computer for a few minutes."

"Tony—" Rhodes protested as Tony scrambled from the car and towards the side entrance. He just wanted, no, needed to see it for himself. Hopefully Rhodey's computer would be good enough to—

"Hey, wait up!" Rhodes called as Tony ran on ahead. "What's going on?"

"Just get me into your goddamn office!" Tony yelled, startling the broad-shouldered Marine guarding the entrance. Rhodes threw him a fierce scowl as he fished his ID from his pocket, swiping it through the card reader to unlock the door and grabbing the Visitor ID badge from the Marine's outstretched hand.

I just gotta see it for myself, Tony thought frantically. There was so much going on that night, I just gotta see it again for myself.

"Dammit, Tony, will you tell me what the hell's going on?" Rhodes asked, panting for breath as they rounded the corner.

"I just need to see something from that night," Tony explained, tapping his foot impatiently as Rhodey unlocked his office door. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he rushed into the small, cluttered room and plunked himself down on Rhodey's wildly uncomfortable desk chair.

"JARVIS, talk to me," Tony stated.

"I'm here, sir," replied the mechanical British voice.

"Interface with Rhodey's computer and pull up the Mark VI data from the night of the drone attack."

"Right away, sir," answered JARVIS. There was a loud burst of static, followed by a few seconds of snow on the computer screen before the image of Tony flying through the air took over, the sound of shattering glass from the Expo dome nearly deafening in the small, windowless room.

"Go forward a bit, JARVIS," Tony said impatiently.

"What footage in particular are you looking for, sir?" asked JARVIS.

"Keep going, keep going," Tony muttered, swiping his hand uselessly across the air in front of the monitor. What he wouldn't give to be in his own lab right now. "Fast forward to the boy wearing my helmet, JARVIS!"

"What?!" asked Rhodes.

"There!" Tony stated, pointing to the monitor. He watched, his mouth dropping open in horror, as the little boy bravely—or stupidly—stood his ground against the giant drone, raising his hand as if to try and blast the drone away with his costume Iron Man glove.

"Nice work, kid," Tony heard himself say after he'd dropped down and repulsed the drone away, knocking the boy backwards with the force of the blast. He tapped his fingertip against the desk, his heart thrumming in his chest.

But why… ?

"Tony—" Rhodes started, but Tony held up his hand to silence him.

"JARVIS, can you pull up the computer file from this specific drone?"

"Yes, sir," came the mechanical reply. "Just give me a moment."

"Tony," Rhodes said again. "That drone thought—"

"Here we are, sir," JARVIS interrupted as the screen changed to show the point of view of the approaching drone. Tony swallowed hard as he watched the drone scanning the panicked crowd as it approached, before locking on to the boy's helmet and lowering its weapon.

"Holy shit," whispered Tony.

"If you'd've let me finish, I could've told you that drone was locking on to the boy's helmet," Rhodes said sharply. "I guess they weren't very smart after all if they thought Iron Man was only four feet tall."

"Must be a damn good replica of my helmet," muttered Tony, shaking his head.

"Can you tell me what this is all about now?" asked Rhodes.

Giving his head a brief shake, Tony drew in a shaky breath, pointing to the child on the screen. "This kid lost his aunt and uncle in the attack, and the parents died a few years ago. The woman on the phone—"

"No," said Rhodes, his eyes wide. "Don't even think about it, Tony. There has to be—"

"The woman said there was no one else!" Tony snapped. "She said the only option he had left was foster care."

"So? Not all foster care is—"

Tony cut him off with a raised hand. "New York City foster care? In Queens? Come on Rhodey, even you can't be that thick."

"Good God Tony, think about what you're saying!" exclaimed Rhodes. "I mean, do you even know anything about raising a kid? You can barely take care of your own self!"

"Pepper will help—"

"Pepper's got enough to worry about! She's trying to salvage what's left of your company, in case you've forgotten!"

"Then I'll hire a nanny!" yelled Tony. "I'll hire three of them if I have to!" He drew in a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm down. "I mean, really. How much trouble can one little boy be? It's not like he's still in diapers or anything. I was pretty much self-sufficient when I was seven."

Rhodes opened his mouth again to protest, but was cut off by the ringing of Tony's phone.

"It's the social worker," Tony said, glancing at the caller ID.

"Tony, don't!" begged Rhodes. "This is madness!"

"Too late," Tony mouthed back as he answered the call. "This is Tony Stark."

"Mr. Stark," came the voice of Rita Wilson. "It's been longer than fifteen minutes—"

"I'll take the kid," Tony said firmly. He looked over at Rhodes, frowning as his friend threw up his hands in frustration. "Where can we pick him up?"

"He's here at the Department of Social Services in Queens, Mr. Stark. When can you get here?"

Checking his watch, Tony walked out of the office and down the hall, heading for the exit with Rhodey hot on his heels. "We can be there in about six hours, give or take."

"Very well, sir," replied Rita. "We'll be waiting."

"Tony, please listen to me!" Rhodes pleaded as they approached the exit. "This is the most crazy idea you've ever had! And that's saying something!"

"I need to do this, Rhodey," said Tony as he tossed his Visitor ID badge at the Marine by the door. "I don't expect you to understand."

"How the hell am I supposed to understand something this mad?"

Tony turned on his best friend, shaking in frustration as he wagged his finger in Rhodey's face. "Look. Either you come with me and help me out, or you turn back around, march yourself back into your office and never speak to me about this again. But I am going to do this. I need to do this. I don't really know how or why I know that, I just do. And that's all I'm gonna say about it."

Clenching his jaw, Rhodes huffed out a sharp breath. "Fine. I'll go with you. But I still think this is crazy."

Tony's shoulders sagged in relief. He knew he couldn't properly articulate why he felt so strongly about this completely-out-of-character action. And Tony had always prided himself on being articulate, if nothing else.

"Thank you."

Happy blinked in surprise as Rhodes slid into the backseat of the car next to Tony. "Um, where to?"

"Queens, New York, Happy," Rhodes replied grimly. "Department of Social Services."

Happy peered quizzically into the rearview mirror, eyeing Tony with confusion. "Boss?"

"You heard him, Hap. Let's move." Tony pulled his phone from his pocket. "JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Send a message to the contractor about the Midtown site. Tell him to go ahead with the latest design layout. We're gonna need the place in New York a little sooner than I thought."

"Right away, sir," answered JARVIS.

Tony's stomach was churning violently as Happy maneuvered the luxury Audi through the busy Queens traffic, trying to find the DSS building. It was already after 8pm and dusk was falling all across the city, throwing long shadows across the streets from the surrounding skyscrapers.

"We should've stopped at a toy store or something," he muttered, nervously tapping his bearded chin.

"There'll be plenty of time for that later," Rhodes said. "Let's just find the poor kid first."

Finally locating the correct building, Tony instructed Happy to keep circling the block as he exited the car, rushing inside the old, musty-smelling building with Rhodey behind him.

"I'm looking for Rita Wilson," he told the guard at the information desk. "Please let her know that Tony Stark is here."

"We've been waiting, Mr. Stark," said a woman's voice from off to the side. Tony turned to see a tall, slender woman with shoulder-length, dark blonde hair and glasses. A little boy with pale cheeks and wavy brown hair clung to her hand, looking far smaller than Tony remembered being at seven years old. He was dressed in a plain white t-shirt that hung off his bony shoulders, a pair of bulky navy blue sweatpants, and a pair of worn Iron Man sneakers. He was holding his Iron Man helmet in his other, still-gloved hand.

Tony hadn't ever been around small kids enough to have an opinion about them one way or the other, but there was something about this little boy that immediately captured and held his attention. The boy's eyes were sad, but also held a wiseness that seemed far beyond their years. It's almost as if Tony was looking into a kindred spirit of some kind. The unfamiliar feeling was unnerving, and caused a violent shiver to race down his spine.

Rita crouched down to face the boy. "Peter, sweetheart, this is Mr. Stark. He's going to take you home with him now. How does that sound?"

The little boy nodded, his chin quivering as his huge brown eyes flicked up at Tony and then flitted away. "O—, okay."

"Peter?" Tony forced past the lump in his throat, offering his hand to the boy. "It's nice to meet you."

"Mmm-hmm," Peter squeaked in reply as he briefly touched Tony's hand with his own, squeezing his helmet to his chest.

"And I'm James," Rhodes said, crouching down next to Peter. "I'm Mr. Stark's friend." He tapped the boy's Iron Man helmet with his finger. "Can I take a quick look at your helmet? I promise I won't hurt it."

Gulping, Peter nodded again, relinquishing the helmet reluctantly as Rita led them into her office and tried to hand Tony a clipboard and pen.

"I need to you sign these forms, Mr. Stark," she said as he instinctively backed away.

"Just put it down on the desk, please," Tony insisted. "I don't like being handed things."

Rita quirked an eyebrow, but placed the clipboard on the edge of her grey metal desk, watching Tony closely as he donned his glasses and picked it up.

"These forms are for temporary guardianship only, and can be terminated at any time if I deem it necessary." She paused as she took a step back, eyeing him up and down. "There is also still the question of what to do with the remains of his aunt and uncle."

"I'll of course cover the funeral expenses," Tony said distractedly as he flipped through the repetitive forms. "What about the kid's schooling?"

"There were only a few days left of the school year, so I don't believe we need to be concerned with it, given the circumstances," replied Rita. "I've already contacted his elementary school and received his grades for the year."

"Is he smart?" asked Tony, pausing mid-signature to look up from the clipboard.

"Very," said Rita. "He's definitely in the gifted range, and some of his teachers have even labeled him as a genius."

"Hmm," Tony said admirably. He glanced over at the boy, who was watching Rhodey intently as he examined the inside of his Iron Man helmet. "Good to know."

"Where will you be taking him tonight, Mr. Stark?" asked Rita.

"Um…" Tony said, biting his lip. He knew he'd been forgetting something. "The Four Seasons in Midtown. I've, ah, stayed there before." He decided against mentioning that he'd had to pay for severe damages on two separate rooms there in the past, both a result from parties that had gotten just a bit out of hand.

Rita pursed her lips. "Peter comes from a working-class family, Mr. Stark. Your rather posh lifestyle is going to be quite a shock to him, on top of everything else."

"Hey, you're the one who called me," Tony protested, signing the last of the papers with a flourish.

"Just something to keep in mind, Mr. Stark," said Rita. She leaned in closer to Tony. "He's got to be hungry, but all I've been able to get him to eat since he was brought here are some dry Lucky Charms and a few sips of water. Before he was found he was surviving on food dropped by bystanders during the attack."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," Tony assured her. Handing Rita the clipboard, he took out his phone. "Happy, we're coming out. Get us a couple suites at the Four Seasons, yeah? You don't mind sharing a room with Rhodey tonight, do ya, Hap?"

"No, boss," came the drowsy reply.

"And call up that huge FAO Schwartz and get a few toys sent over. Legos, stuffed animals, anything appropriate for a seven-year-old boy."

"Anything else?"

"Oh, and order some food. Something that a small kid would like to eat."

"I don't know what small kids like to eat, sir."

"Well, then ask the people at the hotel. There's gotta be someone there who has small kids."

Happy sighed into the phone. "Sure, boss."

"Oh, and Happy?"

"Yeah?"

"Contact Pepper and let her know that I'll be staying in New York for… awhile. She'll, um, need to cancel our reservations for tonight."

"Should I tell her why?"

"No, no," said Tony, scrubbing at his tired eyes with his fist. "I'll, um, do that myself. I just don't want her to worry."

"Fine, boss," answered Happy resignedly. "I'm waiting out front."

"I'll be contacting you on a daily basis for the first few weeks, Mr. Stark," said Rita. "And then biweekly after that for the first year." She placed a business card with her telephone number circled in red on top of the desk. "I must be kept apprised of Peter's whereabouts at all times. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," answered Tony. Pocketing the business card, he nodded in Rhodey's direction. "We gotta head out. Happy's waiting out there, and he's probably double-parked."

"Right," replied Rhodes. He handed the helmet back to Peter and smiled. "Ready to go, little guy?"

"Mmm-hmm," Peter said softly, sliding the helmet onto his head. "I'm ready."

"Great," said Tony. He turned to Rita, cocking his head. "Now, I don't have to be concerned about any reporters knocking on my door in the middle of the night, looking for the scoop on any of this. Do I, Ms Wilson?"

Looking aghast at the suggestion, Rita shook her head. "Absolutely not, Mr. Stark," she stated. "In fact, I'm quite insulted that you would even think I was capable of such a thing. As far as I'm concerned, this is just another tragic case in a long line of tragic cases that I've been witness to during my career."

"Hey, I meant no insult," Tony said, raising his hands. "Just trying to keep this under the radar for awhile, while we figure things out."

While I figure things out.

"Good luck, Mr. Stark," Rita called as they walked down the steps to the door, with Tony's hand resting lightly on the top of Peter's helmet.

"Thanks! I'm gonna need it," he added under his breath. Rhodey looked over at him and grimaced.

"You absolutely sure about this?" he whispered, climbing into the front passenger seat.

Tony shrugged. "Too late to back out now." He turned to Peter, pulling the seatbelt across his skinny body and clicking it into place. "There ya go, kiddo."

"I booked us in the two Presidential suites at the Four Seasons," said Happy as he merged into the traffic line. "The toys and food should be waiting for us when we get there. Manager on duty said we can go in through the side entrance. There'll be someone waiting for us by the elevator to take us upstairs."

"Sounds good," Tony said. Glancing over at Peter, Tony nudged him gently with his elbow. "Does that sound okay to you, kid?"

Peter didn't respond, only placed his hands neatly in his lap. Tony wished he would remove the helmet so he could at least see the boy's face, but he wasn't about to ask him that here in the car.

Thankfully the traffic had thinned out a bit, and the ride to the hotel passed in a somewhat easy silence, broken only by Rhodey calling his commanding officer to let him know he'd be gone for the next couple of days.

A bellhop was waiting for them when they arrived, and to Tony's relief they were brought directly to the private elevator that led to their rooms on the 51st floor of the grand hotel. Stepping inside the huge luxury suite, Tony draped his suit jacket over a chair, watching as Peter removed his shoes and padded directly over to the carved marble chess set resting on the coffee table.

"Hmm," he said. "You like chess, do ya, kid?"

"Mmm-hmm," he replied, his soft voice muffled by the helmet as he picked up one of the black rooks. "M—, my uncle taught me."

"Well, maybe we can play a game or two after we eat," said Tony. The smell of French fries filled the room, causing Tony's stomach to rumble. He hadn't eaten since that morning prior to the commendation ceremony. "Are ya hungry?"

Peter shrugged, still holding the rook in his small hand. "I guess."

"All right, then. Let's eat first, then we'll see what'cha got. Sound good?"

"We'll, um, leave you two alone then," said Rhodes, nodding towards Happy. He clapped his hand on Tony's shoulder. "Don't keep him up too late, Tony. Kid's gotta be exhausted."

"Hey, it's just gonna be a quick game of chess," Tony protested in his best wounded voice. "Besides, what better way to get to know someone than over a game?"

Rhodes shrugged, stifling a yawn as he and Happy headed for their own section of the private floor. While Peter continued to study the chess board, Tony busied himself with dishing out chicken tenders and French fries onto the room service plates, covering his fries with a large helping of ketchup.

"Here, kid, come and eat something," Tony said, holding out the plate. He popped a couple fries into his mouth. "It's good."

Reluctantly, Peter replaced the rook on the chessboard and shuffled over to the table, nestled next to the huge picture window looking out over the Upper East Side, the bright lights from the buildings shining like stars against the darkened sky. Tony watched the boy closely as he removed his helmet, setting it carefully down next to him on the chair. Then he gingerly picked up one of the large, wedge-shaped fries, inspecting it with a wary eye before taking a tentative bite.

"If you don't like it, we can order something else," said Tony around a mouthful of chicken, trying to break the awkward silence. Looking around the room, his eyes fell on the pair of huge FAO Schwartz shopping bags tucked in next to one of the plush couches. "And if you're not in the mood for chess, I'm sure we can find something else to—"

"I'm tired," interrupted Peter in his high, little boy voice. "I think I'll go to sleep now."

"Ah, okay," Tony stammered. He looked frantically around the room, just now realizing that he hadn't thought to ask about a toothbrush, or pajamas, or even a change of clothes for the kid. He thought he still had a clean change of clothes in his overnight bag, maybe, but all the kid had was what he was wearing.

Before he could say another word, however, there was a knock at the door. Stuffing another fry into his mouth, Tony walked over to the door, looking through the peephole to find another bellhop, a loaded shopping bag from Petit NY held in one hand and a toiletry kit in the other.

"Thank you for saving my ass yet again, Happy," Tony muttered, breathing out a sigh of relief as he opened the door.

"Clothing and pajamas for the young master," the bellhop said politely, crossing the threshold to place the bag down just inside the room. "And a toothbrush and comb as well, sir."

"Thank you," Tony said, slipping a fifty dollar bill into the man's hand. "Very much."

"It is my pleasure, sir. Will you be requiring anything else this evening?"

Tony shook his head, even though he had half a mind to ask the man if he had any experience dealing with grieving seven-year-old boys. "No, I don't think so, thank you."

"Then I bid you goodnight, sir," the bellhop said, bowing slightly before exiting down the hall. Tony picked up the bag, digging through the t-shirts, jeans, and socks before finding a set of navy blue striped pajamas.

"Hey, kid," he said to Peter, who'd gone back to studying the chessboard, his barely touched plate of food still sitting on the table. He held up the striped pajamas. "Let's, um, get you ready for bed then, if you're tired."

"I can do it myself," Peter said quietly, taking the pajamas and toothbrush from Tony's hand. "I don't need any help."

Tony winced at the cold, detached tone of the kid's voice. "Are ya sure?"

Nodding his curly head, Peter turned and padded down the hall towards the oversized bathroom. Huffing in frustration, Tony busied himself with digging through his bag for his own toiletry kit. He rubbed his fingers across his chin, deciding he could wait another day before trimming his beard.

Peter emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later with toothpaste smeared across one round cheek and headed directly for the FAO Schwartz bags. He rummaged around inside each one for a moment before finally pulling out a stuffed polar bear. Giving the plushy bear a quick squeeze, Tony watched with trepidation as he climbed up onto one of the couches, covered himself with a throw blanket, and turned so he was facing the back, so Tony could no longer see his face.

Tony cleared his throat. "Right," he mumbled. "Well, um, sleep well, kid."

He didn't really expect an answer, so he wasn't surprised when Peter didn't offer one. Tony stared at him for a few more seconds, then grabbed his phone and bag and headed down the hall to the bedroom, stopping to swipe one of the tiny bottles of Scotch as he passed the minibar.

"JARVIS," he said quietly into his phone.

"I'm here, sir."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tony sank down onto the luxurious bed, his shoulders sagging with fatigue. "Open new file: Peter Parker, likes and dislikes. Dislikes: chicken tenders and French fries. Likes: polar bears, Lucky Charms, and chess."

"Done, sir," replied JARVIS. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah. What in the hell have I gotten myself into?"

"I'm afraid I'm not sufficiently programmed to answer that question, sir," JARVIS said after a moment's pause.

"That figures," muttered Tony as he dropped the phone onto the bed. Twisting the cap off the Scotch bottle, he downed its contents in two large gulps, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve as he picked his phone back up. Fighting the urge to grab another bottle of liquor, Tony pressed the button for Pepper's private office line, squeezing his eyes shut at the expected tirade that was sure to follow the unexpected—and shocking—news he had for her.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, Pep, it's me."

"What's going on, Tony? Are you all right?" she asked frantically. "Happy said you were going to be staying in New York for awhile, but he wouldn't give me any details, and then I've been so busy today with coordinating the relief efforts from the Expo, I haven't had time to call, and—"

"Yeah… um… about that," Tony stammered. "I, uh, need your help, Pep. I've gotten myself into something, and I'm not sure exactly how I'm gonna handle it, and—"

"What's going on now, Tony? More stuff about the Expo?"

Tony hung his head, waves of shame washing over him as he recalled the ice cold tone of little Peter's voice. It seemed pretty clear to Tony that the kid already hated him. Or worse, that he was disappointed in him.

What the hell was I thinking? The kid doesn't want me to help him. He only wants a superhero. He only wants Iron Man.

"Ah, honey," Tony mumbled into the phone. "Today I may have made one of the stupidest decisions of my life."

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