Chapter 11
Tuesday, December 31, New Years
Tony's cancelled his infamous New Year's party in exchange for a few last hours of work and a quiet, family affair at home.
The quiet family affair at home being Pepper's insistence, of course.
But Tony's not complaining. Not about that, at least.
Bruce has had him back on amiodarone to stop his heart from going into abnormal rhythms for exactly one day and the effects have been less than desirable. He's spent much of the early morning nursing the garbage can in his lab, hiding away from Pepper. He's barely slept as it is, can't keep much beyond bland bologna sandwiches and coffee down. The headache that's been pounding since he took those first few pills has been holding him back from making nearly any progress on any of his projects and he knows the tremor will return once the dosing has settled in his system.
"Neurotoxicity or a heart attack, Tony? Those are your choices if you don't let me yank that reactor," Bruce had explained late last night, glasses off, after FRIDAY had called him down to the lab for palpitations beyond normal parameters. Bruce had called it a cardiac event, but to Tony, it had felt like he was being stabbed in the chest, felt his breath coming in short spurts from the sheer pain. "You need to cut back on the coffee. And the stress."
Tony had huffed.
Coffee. His lifeline. The thing getting him through all of this. No coffee equals...sleep. Or rather, it should. In a normal person, Tony thinks, less coffee means quality sleep, if one's at that perfect place between exhausted and relaxed and not ten steps beyond a potential collapse and functionally manic like he is.
And stress? With Peter fighting a serious case of pneumonia and severe asthma to boot? And his company running full speed ahead with him hanging on for dear life? And Pepper on him about balancing work and home?
"Amiodarone makes me puke. Profusely."
"It keeps your heart beating at a normal rhythm. It's only temporary, Tony."
He'd shaken his head. "You're not taking my reactor."
"Stubborn, as always. Not like I expected anything less. Let me do a full work-up."
"Over my dead body."
"Not funny. And the tremors will go away once we stop the oral meds."
Tony knows that was code for reactor removal.
He doesn't want to admit it, but having his feet up on the couch feels right. Times Square is live on TV, the volume low because there's still three hours until the ball drops. Pepper and May are drinking wine across the room while Peter and MJ play some kind of card game on the floor. He closes his eyes despite the noise, is woken by Pepper sometime later.
"Did I nod off?" he asks, inhaling quickly and stretching to wake himself up.
"Yup. Got about a half hour until the ball drops," she whispers sweetly.
"Why'd you let me sleep for so long?" he asks, voice rough.
"Because you needed it, honey," she says, fixing his hair. "You sure you're okay? Your coloring is off."
He hasn't told Pepper about the amiodarone yet, doesn't want her worrying about him and Peter.
"Don't tell me you're getting sick, too." She sighs.
"Just needed a break."
"Finally listening to me?" she jokes, but Tony can see the concern behind her eyes, can sense the way she's studying his face for any signs of illness.
When the ball drops and everyone is clinking together champagne glasses, Pepper leans over and gives him a long, powerful kiss, reminds him that the new year is about more than just the new. Tony's never been good at new years, was usually blackout drunk by this time of the evening in his younger years, but being at home with people he considers family is more than enough to keep him steady right now, keep him feeling like he deserves these people in his life, and he's thankful.
For the first time in years, Tony is thankful for a new year, for family, for hope.
Thurs, January 2
Peter stands in the doorway of Tony's lab in pajamas at a little past one in the morning, his hair messy from sleep.
Or rather, the tossing and turning associated with not sleeping. He has a burst of energy, and even though it's nearly two in the morning, he can't get his brain to slow down. He's tried his usual strategies: soft music, his Calm app, making his brain go blank, but his anxiety is compounding because he took his steroids later than usual, all at once rather than in short spurts throughout the day. Combined with the medication from his inhalers and breathing treatments, it's created the perfect storm of anxiety and hyperactivity.
"You should be sleeping, Peter," Tony advises without looking up from his worktable, and Peter's sure he hasn't made any noise coming downstairs. In the quiet, though, he realizes he's wheezing slightly.
Stupid lungs.
"Can't. Steroids have me wired," he replies, taking Tony's acknowledgement as an invitation to enter. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants and nears the worktable. "Whatcha working on?"
"None of your business. Where's your oxygen?" He doesn't look up again, just continues working.
"You really think I'm gonna drag that all the way down here? Plus,I'm not sleeping." He lifts his arms up, mimicking Tony's penchant for talking with animation.
"His oxygen level is 95 and steady, boss," FRIDAY chimes.
"Is it a new suit?" Peter asks, ignoring FRIDAY.
"Nope." Tony uses a stationary magnifying device to get a closer look at the intricate metal in the new nano arc he's holding. His hand wobbles and he stretches it to get it to stop, but the moment he goes back to tighten his grip on the arc, it goes back into the tremor.
"A new algorithm for FRIDAY?"
Tony sighs and turns toward Peter, pausing his work. He holds the solder gun in his hand up. "Does this look like coding to you?" He knows there's an edge to his voice, that his fatigue is wearing him thin and making him snappy, but if Peter's aware, he doesn't make it obvious.
"No," he shrugs, putting his hands in the pockets of his pajamas. "But I figured I'd ask because you've been spending so much time on the Boomerang Protocol and it sounded interesting."
Tony's eyebrows knit beneath his safety glasses. "How do you know about the Boomerang Protocol?"
"FRIDAY told me about it," he explains nonchalantly as he takes the stool beside Tony. "Why's it called Boomerang, anyway?"
"FRIDAY, why does Peter know about Boomerang?"
"You didn't fully classify it, sir. Would you like me to classify all files associated with Boomerang according to your security standards? Shall I place it on your private server?"
"No," he says, sighing. "Would you prefer I call it the Leash Kid Protocol?" he asks Peter.
"Wait...the protocol involves me? Please tell me that this isn't another Baby Monitor thing." He groans in annoyance.
"Remember Peak Weak?" Peter nods. "Well, I needed an algorithm that could keep cycling through new and old data, such as your heart rate, oxygen levels, breaths per minute, body temperature, local allergen levels, weather conditions, etc. etc., even as new data was presented, rather than be a one-and-done kind of system, thus, the name Boomerang. There have been a few snags, but I'm already getting some consistent trends. I'm hoping it helps us get ahead of things. Planning to roll it out fully soon."
"When?"
"Soon."
"Soon as in next week, or like-"
"Peter, I love you but you're testing my patience right now with your endless questions." Tony has to stretch his neck and take a deep breath to slow the pounding of his heart and the nausea building from his medication.
"S-sorry," Peter offers, pulling back. "A-And I love you, too."
Tony smiles, his stress level decreasing for a moment before it returns.
"But this isn't Boomerang," Peter comments, pointing at the arc.
Tony shakes his head. "Nope."
"Can I watch?" Peter asks as Tony grips the solder gun and turns it on.
"Nope."
"Then can you tell me when we'll get back to the mentoring?"
"What is this, 20 questions?" Tony asks, sighing again as he turns the soldering gun off and places it on the cradle. He wants to say when you're feeling better, but he knows Peter's already there for some of the small stuff, that it's Tony who has kept the mentoring paused.
Tony and his much too human and broken body.
"I think I've already asked more than 20 questions," Peter says, smiling sheepishly when he realizes he's making it worse. "Sorry, I...get like this sometimes? May says it's called hyperfocusing? The meds make it worse, a-and I took my steroids really late because I napped through my lunch and afternoon doses, which pushed my inhalers and treatment later, and-"
"Kid."
"S-Sorry, Tony. I'm...I can't get my brain to slow down when it's like this, and-wait, that's an arc reactor?!" he asks, focusing intently on the device in Tony's hand. He leans in closer. "With little robots? Nanotech? That's so freaking cool!"
Tony blinks in fascination. "Wow, that was...unlike anything I think I've ever seen before. Hyperfocused and distracted all at once. You sure you're okay kid? Between the rambling and the anxiety, I'm not sure if I need to physically put you back to bed or-"
"I need to be busy right now," Peter's practically begging as his hands fidget in his lap. "Please let me help, or at least let me do something productive."
"Alright. Pop quiz," Tony says, carefully placing the arc down and turning the light on the magnifier off. "Get the answers right and you can stay."
"Answers? There's more than one question?!"
"I could send you back to bed-"
"Okay, okay, multi-question pop quiz. Go for it."
Tony takes his gloves off. "Define ion."
"An atom or group of atoms that has a charge."
"Correct. Next question," he says, taking his safety glasses off. "A neutral atom loses an electron. What would we call this ion?"
Peter tries to think back to his chemistry class, because they've definitely covered this. He's picturing Mrs. Benninger's notes on the SmartBoard, but for some reason, all he can think about is cats.
"Tick-tock," Tony prods.
"I know this! We...we must have covered this when I..." Peter says, looking down at the floor, his heel lifting and falling on the foot rail of the stool as he thinks. "Okay, um, an atom loses an electron, so now it's positive." Paw-sitive, he thinks, and suddenly, he has the answer. CAT-ion. "Cation!"
"Bingo! One more, for good measure. What do we measure ionization energy in?"
"Kilojoules per mole!"
"And to think that a week ago you believed I could measure your fever through magic."
"Hey! I was really sick! Not a fair comparison," Peter argues.
"True.
"I may not have earned the Stark Internship by competing against my peers, but I promise I'm smart, Tony. I promise I can keep up."
Tony narrows his focus on the kid. "That's about the fifth time this week you felt the need to tell me that you're smart. Care to elaborate?"
"I don't know," Peter says, shrugging. "I guess I just don't feel smart most of the time. The meds make my brain fuzzy sometimes."
"Bruce just switched a bunch of your meds up. I'm sure that will help."
"And all of my friends are...smarter."
"Not possible, kiddo. Except maybe MJ," he jokes.
Peter shrugs and scratches his head. "I don't know, I guess this past two weeks just made me feel really stupid."
"Stupid?"
"Like I made some bad choices and needed to make it up to you?"
"You don't have to make anything up to me, Peter."
He looks down at the floor. "Just feels like it is all, especially after my appointment."
"Hey, we've gone over this," Tony says, placing a hand on Peter's forearm and squeezing it. "You did make some poor choices, but we know your asthma would have done what it wanted anyway. Even Bruce said so at your appointment. What did he call it again?"
"A ticking time-bomb."
"Exactly. And now that your healing factor has kicked in, you should be back to patrols in no time."
"I'm kind of scared to go back to school," Peter says, his voice small.
"After everything you've been through, you're worried about school?" Tony asks, trying to lighten the mood.
"It's one thing if my lungs lose it here and a completely different thing if they do it at school."
Tony's confused. "It already happened at school."
"No, Tony. I mean..."
"Ah," Tony says. "You mean the epi-pen."
Peter nods.
"You're worried about what MJ thinks?"
"No," Peter says, shaking his head. "MJ's been...great. About everything."
"And she's been coming over nearly every day to see you."
"She has."
"And Ted?"
"It's Ned. And he's been okay about it, too. For the most part. He hasn't actually seen me yet. But it's also the rest of school that has me worried. Like stairs and gym and keeping up with the work. My brain still feels like it's been abducted by aliens."
"We'll, you've got a few days until you're back at school, if all goes according to plan, and you just aced my pop quiz, so I'd say you're right where you need to be, Underoos. And you've been signed off of gym and Bruce said he'd write you a note for an elevator pass."
"I'm not taking the elevator."
"Says the kid who's supposed to be on oxygen right now."
"I'm awake, though! Bruce said I only need it when I'm sleeping!"
"Do you know why you need it at night?"
"Because...your breathing slows when you're asleep?" he tries.
"Because your body releases cortisol, a stress hormone, at night, which can worsen the inflammation in your airways. The hormones that protect against an attack during the day are at their lowest points at night."
"My night attacks during Peak Week?"
"Exactly."
"But the steroids lower my cortisol levels, right?"
"Even so, your lungs are working hard to breathe, kiddo. I can hear it."
"M'always wheezy," Peter says, shrugging. "Stop worrying so much."
"I'll always about you," Tony admits, ruffling his hair. "And there's nothing you can do about it," he jokes. Peter smiles, pulls his head away.
"So, you're working on a new arc reactor?" Peter asks.
"Key word is working."
"Does that mean you're going to have Bruce take yours out?"
Tony pauses, breathes to stop the swelling of nausea overtaking him. "At some point, yeah, but I have to have this ready long before that happens."
"But you said you don't need it to run your suit."
"Don't need the reactor, but I do need something to run it. That's where the nanotech comes in."
"What's the problem, then?"
"If I knew what the problem was, I'd be able to fix it, kid," Tony says, laughing. "Do you know how my current reactor works?"
"Something about hydrogen atoms and plasma?"
"Close, but no. What kind of education are they giving you at Midtown, anyway?"
"I'm only a couple months into chemistry, Tony. We haven't exactly covered...Iron Man yet."
Tony laughs. "Think you're up to helping me figure this nanotech out?"
Peter's face lights up. "Really?!"
"Yes, but first, a science experiment. You need to understand fusion before I can let you anywhere near my reactor or my worktable."
x
"Grapes?" Peter asks, confused, as Tony sets a bag of them down on the kitchen island. "We're microwaving grapes?"
"We're causing a fusion reaction. But also, yes, we're microwaving grapes."
Tony slides the glass tray in the microwave slightly off of the plastic turners, places two grapes side-by-side on top. He sets the timer and pulls Peter back across the kitchen.
"What am I looking for, exactly?" Peter asks, curious.
"Plasma."
"Plasma?" he asks, confused. "Wouldn't that be dangerous? And what's with the oven mitts?"
Flashes of light emanate from inside the microwave for a few seconds before there's a ball of fire that shorts the device.
"Woah! That was awesome!" Peter yells, covering his mouth immediately when he realizes how loud he's been.
"So, that, the flash you saw, was plasma, and it happens because the microwave has to concentrate energy into a small space. The waves get trapped in the skin of the grapes and form a hotspot. My current reactor utilizes ionization, which also creates a plasma that..." Tony gives an elaborate explanation and Peter's doing his best to keep up, but sleep is pressing. The hyperactivity from the steroids is finally wearing off and Peter tries to come up with a question to prove he's been paying attention, but he can't get his brain to think.
"We tell Pepper it was Thor," Tony finally whispers, but Peter can see the wide smile on his face as he pops the door open, removes the glass tray, and sprays the evidence into the disposal with the sprayer.
"But Thor isn't here right now."
"Okay, so we tell Pepper Thor came over and tried to microwave grapes." He wipes the glass tray down, places it back in the busted microwave, and puts the oven mitts back in the drawer.
Peter thinks about it, feels fatigue wash over him. He yawns again. "Deal."
"Ice cream?" Tony asks, opening the fridge.
"Um," Peter answers, suddenly on edge. "No, thank you, I'll...pass."
"Bed?"
"Y-yeah, but I don't need to be tucked in, Tony. I can get myself to bed."
"May will kill me if she knows I had you up until three in the morning, and I want to make sure you don't forget your oxygen."
"You mean May and Pepper will kill you."
Tony considers it, tilts his head. "I'm about 75% sure Pepper has already plotted my potential murder with all of the shit I've pulled over the years, but I could see May getting involved if she found out I kept you up so late."
"May would totally get involved. Probably for the fun alone."
"They're a force to be reckoned with together, that's for sure."
"Pepper's still mad about the bologna, by the way."
"Oh, trust me, I know. It's been days and I still haven't heard the end of it."
x
Peter grabs his cannula, adjusts it beneath his nose and around his ears before Tony turns the oxygen on. "Thanks for letting me help. Made me feel useful. I don't feel really useful right now, as you could imagine."
"Well, gotta prepare the next Tony Stark somehow," he jokes.
Peter pulls his duvet up and sighs. "I could never be you, Tony."
"What makes you say that?" Tony asks, sitting on the end of Peter's bed.
"What makes you think I could be you?"
"Well, let's see. Tenacity. A willingness to do good. Charmingly good looks." He holds a finger up for each quality.
"Maybe not the last one," Peter says with a laugh.
"MJ seems to think so."
Peter blushes.
"You wanted to be me, kid, and-"
"Everyone wants to be you, Tony. And you wanted me to be better than you, I know. I'm trying. I promise that I'm trying. I just tend to make everything worse when I'm actually doing everything in my power to do the exact opposite. It's like MJ says-"
"Ah, so now we're quoting the girlfriend. Thought we'd give it at least a few more weeks..."
He blushes again.
"Get some sleep, kiddo," he says, patting the bed as he goes to leave. "You look like you need it."
"Love you too," Peter quips as Tony turns the light off.
"Love you, Underoos," he hears him say softly with a smile as he closes the door.