Family is More Than Blood

Ruins

Tony woke up and slipped away from Peter quietly, getting ready with as little noise as possible so as not to wake the sleeping child in his bed. He was new to this whole parenting thing, but for some reason he knew instinctively what to do with Peter. Of course, he continuously worried about messing up, but the kid was pretty resilient.

His first thought once he got downstairs was, I have to feed him. What do I normally eat?

He was lost there. He forgot meals so often that he had no use for food in the house. If he was eating with no prompting he usually just ordered food in - or got FRIDAY to do it. Maybe he should put in a little more effort for Peter. Omelettes couldn't be that hard.

"FRIDAY look up a recipe for a basic omelette," Tony ordered. FRIDAY displayed a recipe on the holoscreen to the left of Tony's T.V. He took a deep breath. This was cooking. He could master astrophysics overnight. He could cook a goddamn omelette. Tony found four eggs in the fridge and broke them in a pan. 

"Boss, have you greased the pan?" FRIDAY asked in Irish tones. Tony grimaced.

"Uh, no," he shrugged. "Oh, well. It can't matter that much."

Ten minutes later the floor was covered in egg. Some, Tony was positive, was on him. The fire in the stove was flaming over the spilt oil on the kitchen counter and somehow a few of the chairs had been flipped over. He stared dejectedly at the small amount of unburnt egg on his arm. 

From door of the kitchen, a small voice said, "Um, Mr. Stark?"

"Tony," he corrected absentmindedly, "You're up, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," Peter smiled shyly, "You wanna get take out?"

"I think... I think that's a good idea," Tony said. They stood in awkward silence for a moment, then Tony started to snicker. It triggered a bout of laughter from the two, sitting on the floor of the kitchen, laughing their hearts out.