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For the last almost two years, Pepper is the one in her relationship that’s done most of the traveling. Prior to that, the reverse was true. With the Avengers gig, Tony was all over the globe at any given point. After the fallout of the team, he’d finally taken a much deserved break from the suit.
That was unless a certain spider found himself getting in over his head, in which case Tony would have a suit encasing him quicker than Pepper could even think. Still, that never took him out of New York. Not really. Not in any way that lingered.
So it’s safe to say the level of unease that clouds the penthouse following Tony’s abrupt departure with the team just over a day ago is fair. Familiar, too. She did not miss that heavy pit that made its home in the center of her chest every time Tony put his life on the line. She does, however, miss when he was semi-retired. There had been a steadiness to that — a rhythm she could rely on.
It seems Peter feels similarly, if his unusually quiet demeanor is anything to go by. The boy never stops talking, even when he has food in his mouth, thoughts spilling out faster than he can keep up with them. So when he’s reduced to one word answers and poking at his plate through dinner the night before and breakfast this morning, it doesn’t go unnoticed. It adds to the unease already sitting in her chest. In fact, it practically doubles it.
It’s been over a day since Tony left. What was supposed to be a routine get the bad guys and get out situation — the bad guys in question being giant mutated reptiles — has turned into something far bigger than any of them anticipated. Pepper doesn’t have all the details. Tony hadn’t been able to stay on the call long the night before, voice clipped and distracted in a way she knows too well. But he’d made it clear enough: he’ll be gone for at least another couple of days, trying to track down the source of whatever is turning wildlife into something out of a nightmare.
Another couple of days with her heart living somewhere closer to her stomach than her chest and unease humming just beneath her skin sounds… exhausting.
What’s worse is when Peter asks if he can go out on patrol for a couple of hours after dinner. She’d hesitated. More than hesitated. Every instinct in her body had told her to say no, to keep him inside where she could see him, to anchor at least one variable when the other was entirely out of her control. But the request had lit something in him — just a little — enough that she could see the shift. So she said yes.
It’s why she’s up now, tucked under a thick knitted blanket, waiting.
Realistically, it’s midnight. He’ll come home, peel off the suit, shower, and go to bed. Routine. Predictable. FRIDAY would alert her if anything was wrong, and Pepper trusts their systems. But something in her refuses to settle, refuses to power down for the night until she sees him with her own eyes.
“Mrs. Boss, KAREN is reporting that Peter is swinging back to the tower now. His ETA is ten minutes,” FRIDAY chimes overhead.
No one is around to see her, but her shoulders visibly drop, tension loosening just enough for her to breathe a little easier. Relief moves through her in a quiet wave. That’s one of them accounted for. One almost home.
Now if her other one could do the same, she might finally sleep.
The ten minutes drag. Her eyes flick to the clock more times than she’d ever admit out loud, even to Tony. Eight minutes. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
When ten turns into fifteen, the tension creeps back in just as quickly as it left, settling sharper this time. FRIDAY and KAREN are rarely wrong. Which means this deviation — however small — matters.
“FRIDAY, can you give me an update on—”
She doesn’t get to finish.
A flash of red and blue lands on the balcony with a solid thunk.
Pepper is off the couch before she’s fully aware she’s moved, blanket slipping to the floor behind her. FRIDAY is saying something — she registers the sound of it — but the words don’t quite make it through the rush of her pulse in her ears.
“Peter? Honey?” she calls, already moving, already there, the worry in her voice impossible to mask as she pushes out onto the balcony.
He’s semi-slumped on the stone floor, mask barely pulled off his head, face flushed and damp. She’s on her knees beside him before she can even fully register the movement, instinct taking over where thought fails. Her hand comes up to his clammy forehead and it’s hot to the touch. Too hot.
“Oh, honey, you’re burning up,” she says softly, worry still threaded thick through her voice.
“Don’ feel so good,” he croaks miserably, looking up at her through glassy eyes. “Gonna be si—”
He doesn’t get the chance to finish. A violent shudder overtakes him and he retches, dinner spilling out onto the balcony floor. Pepper’s hand moves to his back automatically, rubbing slow circles as she lets him ride out the wave of nausea. It’s the only thing she can think to do. Selfishly, she’s grateful he’s too preoccupied to notice the way she winces every time.
There aren’t many moments where Pepper would admit she’s out of her depth. Sitting here with a vomiting Spider-Child is quickly making the shortlist. She’s never been good with sickness — not her own, and certainly not other people’s. The only exception had been Tony during his worst years, back when she was still his assistant and cleaning up after him had been written somewhere between “other duties as assigned” and survival. Even then, she’d powered through it more out of necessity than comfort.
God, she wishes Tony were here.
Not because he’d handle this any better — he absolutely wouldn’t — but because he handles Peter better. Because Peter would look at him and feel steadier. Because Pepper wouldn’t be doing this alone.
“Let’s get you inside, sweetheart. Think you can stand?” she asks once the worst of it seems to pass.
He nods weakly, and something in her chest tightens at the sight. She can’t remember ever seeing him like this. Not once. No colds, no allergies, nothing. For someone who throws himself off buildings on a regular basis, he’s always been… fine.
Until now.
It takes them a moment to get him upright, Pepper keeping a firm hold on him as she carefully guides them around the mess on the balcony. She makes a mental note to come back and clean it — her stomach rolls slightly at the thought, but she pushes it aside. One thing at a time. He comes first.
They make it slowly to his bedroom, Pepper steering him straight into the attached bathroom. The front of his suit is stained, his hair plastered to his forehead, his skin flushed in a way that makes her uneasy all over again. He barely makes it to the toilet before another wave hits, dropping forward as he retches again.
Pepper hesitates for half a second — just long enough to feel the unfamiliarity of it — before stepping in closer. Her brain, usually so efficient, stalls briefly as it tries to organize itself into something useful.
This is ridiculous.
It’s just a sick kid.
She can handle this.
Rubbing his back is as good a place to start as any. It grounds her, gives her something to do while the rest of her thoughts catch up. So she kneels beside him again, hand steady against his back, and forces herself to think.
Assess. Act. Adjust.
“FRIDAY, what’s his temperature?” she asks, moving to the next step.
“104.5. It’s advised you call Dr. Cho,” FRIDAY responds, almost gently.
“Right. Right,” Pepper says, nodding to herself as much as the AI, drawing in a steady breath. “Go ahead and call Cho for me, please.”
There’s a slight pause, the only sounds in the bathroom Peter’s uneven, hiccuping breaths. She frowns, willing Cho to pick up sooner rather than later.
“Hello?” The woman’s voice filters quietly into the large bathroom.
“Hi, Helen. I’m so sorry for the late call,” Pepper says, grimacing as she remembers the time. “I have Pete here… he’s running a 104.5 fever. I — what am I supposed to do?”
She hates the way her voice comes out — uncertain, unsure. Over the last decade, she’s worked hard to make sure no one ever sees her at anything less than her best. This is a far cry from that. But Peter’s wellbeing matters more than her pride. It always will.
“Is it just the fever?” Helen asks, already sounding more alert.
Pepper smooths Peter’s hair back as he leans his head against the porcelain, eyes squeezed shut.
“No. He’s thrown up several times in the last twenty minutes,” she says, keeping her tone as even as she can manage.
“Hmm. He likely picked up some sort of stomach bug that’s working through his system. Get him into a cool shower, keep him hydrated… I believe Stark has some fever reducers I synthesized for him. If he’s not improving by morning, or if his temperature goes over 106, call me back. Okay?”
“Okay. I can do that. Thank you, Helen,” Pepper exhales, relief threading through her as soon as there’s a plan. Steps. Something concrete to follow.
The line disconnects, leaving her and Peter alone again. For now, he seems to be done getting sick, eyes closed as he rests his head against the edge of the toilet. A shower will help. She’ll need to call Tony later — about how to wash the suit, about Peter, about everything. He’ll want to know. He deserves to know.
“Alright, honey. Let’s get this suit off and get you into the shower, okay?” she says softly, her fingers gently combing the damp hair from his forehead.
He nods, hand pressing against the spider emblem on his chest. The suit loosens and sags off his frame. Pepper rises from where she’s kneeling and moves to turn the shower on, testing the water carefully. Not too hot. Not too cold. Just enough to help bring his temperature down without shocking his system.
“Have FRIDAY call me when you’re done, alright? I’ll grab you some clean pajamas,” she says, lingering in the doorway just a moment longer as Peter starts to peel the suit from his shoulders.
She forces herself to step away.
There’s a list forming in her head — there always is. Clothes. Water. Medication. Clean the balcony. Check his temperature again. Call Tony once Peter’s asleep. Monitor symptoms. Stay calm.
She starts to move through it quickly.
Even the balcony turns out to be easier than she expects. Less… difficult than her brain had built it up to be. She works efficiently, methodically, wiping everything down and collecting the gross paper towels into a plastic bag.
It’s only when she’s kneeling there, pressing the last paper towel into the plastic bag, that the thought really settles.
Peter is her kid.
Not just Tony’s.
Hers.
The realization lands quietly but firmly, something warm threading through her chest even in the middle of cleaning his sick up. A month ago, she signed legal guardianship papers. But this — this feeling — had been there long before that.
She pauses for half a second, just letting it exist.
“Miss Boss, Peter is finishing up now,” FRIDAY supplies.
It doesn’t take her long to throw away the trash, grab a bottle of water, and find Peter’s enhanced fever reducers in Tony’s side of the medicine cabinet in the master bathroom.
“Peter?” she calls softly, knocking tentatively on his bathroom door.
He mumbles something unintelligible, but it sounds enough like permission that she pushes the door open. She finds him slumped on the floor, fresh pajamas on and hair still damp. His skin is somehow both pale and flushed, a faint green tinge settling around the edges. His brown eyes lift slowly to meet hers, glassy and rimmed with tears that don’t quite hold.
“Hurts,” he croaks, and the tears spill over.
Her heart cracks clean in two.
“I know, honey,” she murmurs, already dropping to her knees beside him. She unscrews the cap on the water bottle, setting it within reach before moving to the medication.
“You’re gonna drink some of this,” she says gently, twisting open the yellow bottle, “and take two of these, okay?”
Peter nods, lifting a shaky hand toward the pills and water, but Pepper gently nudges it away before he can make a mess of it.
“Open up, honey,” she instructs, placing the pills onto his tongue. She brings the bottle to his lips, carefully tipping it so he can take small sips, watching closely to make sure he swallows them down.
“Wanna try and get to your bed?” she asks softly.
He shakes his head, the motion sending him sliding further down the cabinet behind him. Pepper frowns, her instinct immediately pushing back against that — his bed would be better, more comfortable — but she reins it in. He’s already overwhelmed. Pushing him won’t help.
“Okay, honey. That’s alright. We can stay right here,” she assures him.
Pepper shifts on the floor, repositioning herself until she can gently guide him down, his upper body settling into her lap. Her fingers move through his damp hair without thought, nails lightly dragging across his scalp, the other hand brushing slow, soothing strokes along his cheek. He’s still burning up under her touch, but the tension in his body eases little by little.
They stay like that for a while.
Minutes. Maybe hours.
Time feels strange when she’s focused like this — stretched thin between watching his breathing, feeling his temperature, and keeping everything else in the back of her mind where it belongs.
It’s long enough for Peter to fall asleep.
“Hey, FRI… what’s his temperature now?” Pepper whispers, voice barely above a breath.
“He is now at 103.2. The fever reducers appear to be effective,” FRIDAY responds quietly.
Pepper nods to herself, eyes lingering on his face. She hates the idea of waking him — he looks peaceful for the first time since he got home — but she knows this isn’t where he should stay.
It takes her another minute before she finally moves.
“Peter, honey?” she murmurs, gently shaking his shoulder.
His face twists as he wakes, discomfort replacing the brief calm.
“Wha’ happ’nd?” he slurs, still half asleep.
“You’re not feeling too good,” she says softly. “I’m gonna get you into bed now. Sit up for me, okay?”
She carefully lifts him off her lap, propping him against the cabinet as she pushes herself to stand.
“Give me your hands.”
He reaches for her without hesitation, and she pulls him to his feet. He stumbles forward immediately, weight dropping into her as she steadies him. For a moment, it catches her off guard — the awkwardness of it — but then she adjusts, tightening her hold.
He’s lighter than she expects.
That thought hits her unexpectedly, but she pushes it aside as she focuses on getting him moving. Supporting most of his weight, she guides him out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, easing him down onto the bed.
Tucking him in comes more naturally than she expects. She skips the comforter, opting instead for the lighter navy blanket — the one with the Iron Man helmet that always makes him smile — pulling it carefully over him.
She presses a soft kiss to his temple without thinking.
The sweat coating his skin doesn’t bother her. Not even a little.
“FRIDAY, let me know the second he wakes up, if he shows any signs of discomfort, or if his temperature spikes,” she says as she steps toward the door, leaving it slightly open.
“Of course, Miss Boss.”
With that, she plops back onto the sofa. Not her own bed — she can’t even fathom trying to sleep right now. While she’s certain FRIDAY would wake her, she isn’t willing to risk missing it, not even for a second. Not when something could happen to Peter.
She glances at the time on her phone and decides trying Tony isn’t a bad idea. It’s late — they’re probably busy — but if he can answer, she knows he will.
The line rings a couple of times. She’s almost certain it’s going to voicemail before—
“Hey, Pep,” he says, and she can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “It’s three in the morning, what’s going on?”
She feels almost guilty telling him. He’s already dealing with an Avengers situation, and working alongside the team is still… delicate. Complicated in ways that haven’t quite settled yet. But she also knows he’d be upset if she didn’t tell him.
“Peter’s sick,” she exhales, the weight of the last few hours finally catching up to her as she sinks further into the couch.
“Sick how?” Tony asks immediately, sounding far more alert than he had six seconds ago.
“Cho thinks it’s a stomach bug. He came home from patrol all sweaty and sick and spent the better part of an hour throwing up everything in his stomach,” she explains, dragging a hand through her hair.
Is it selfish to wish he were here?
Probably.
The world needs him. In theory, that matters more than anything happening in this penthouse. More than her. More than Peter.
But that doesn’t make the want go away.
“Do you need me to come home?”
Of course, that’s the first thing he asks.
Her chest tightens at it. This version of Tony — this man — is so far removed from the one she met all those years ago. This is the man she always knew was there, buried under everything else. Trauma. Loss. Defense mechanisms built so high no one could reach him. And now he’s here. Present. Soft where it matters.
It makes her emotional in a way she doesn’t quite have the energy to contain.
She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she sniffles.
She’s exhausted. Worried about Peter. Worried about Tony. She wants him home. She wants Peter to be okay. She hasn’t slept since he left, and his voice — steady and gentle — pokes straight through what little composure she has left.
Tony hears it immediately.
“Pepper…” he says, so softly it makes her close her eyes tighter, more tears slipping free.
“No — don’t,” she sniffles, swiping at her cheeks. “Your work — I… your team needs you. The world needs you.”
“Honey, there’s—”
He’s cut off by FRIDAY.
“It appears that Peter is in distress, Miss Boss.”
Pepper is already moving.
“I gotta go. Be safe. We’ll be here when you’re done,” she says quickly, ending the call as she heads down the hallway.
Peter is sitting upright in bed, tears streaming down his face. His pajama top and blankets are coated in grossness, the evidence of another wave of sickness coating everything. There’s barely anything left in his system at this point — mostly water, maybe bile — but it doesn’t make it any easier to see.
“S-Sorry. I-I’m s-sorry, m-mom. I tr-tried to get up but I — I couldn’t make it,” he sobs.
Pepper freezes.
Not because she doesn’t know what to do.
But because —
She isn’t sure if she heard him right.
“M-mom,” he cries again, panic sharpening the word.
That answers that.
Something in her chest shifts — settles — all at once.
She reaches for the trash bin without hesitation this time, pulling it into place just as he leans forward again. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t wince. The smell, the mess — none of it matters.
“You’re okay, baby. I’m here. I’m here. I’ve got you,” she murmurs, one hand steady on his back, the other holding the bin in place.
And she means it.
Every word.
Never, in all her carefully planned versions of the future, had Pepper Potts imagined this. She’d built a life around success, independence, control. A career. A partnership. A life she could manage.
Motherhood had never been part of that equation.
And yet —
She can’t think of anything she’s ever been called that feels more right.
“Alright, baby, we’re gonna get you into fresh pajamas and out of this bed,” she says gently once the worst of it passes, helping him shift toward the edge.
His pajama pants are spared, thankfully, but the shirt needs to go. She carefully works it off him, guiding his arms through the sleeves of a softer one, movements slow and patient so she doesn’t overwhelm him further.
“Up we get,” she murmurs, steadying him as she helps him stand and then leads him across the hall.
“Your room?” Peter asks weakly, confusion heavy in his voice.
“Yes, baby. Your sheets are dirty,” she explains simply.
There’s no part of her that wants to deal with that right now. The other bedrooms aren’t set up, and —
If she’s being honest —
She doesn’t want him far from her.
Not tonight.
Peter must feel awful, because he doesn’t argue. No protest, no insistence that he’s fine or doesn’t need help. She can almost hear the version of him that would have pushed back under normal circumstances — I’m not a baby, I can handle it — but it never comes.
She settles him on Tony’s side of the bed, the garbage can much closer this time — just in case. Though she hopes that was the last of it, at least for the night. She grabs a washcloth from the bathroom once he’s tucked beneath another light blanket, running it under cold water before draping the cool rag across his forehead.
With everything else she can possibly do right now done, she finally allows herself to sink into the bed beside him. His body heat radiates into her, but she doesn’t mind. If anything, she pulls him closer, tucking him against her chest and holding him there protectively.
The next time she wakes — hours later, if the faint light creeping over the horizon is anything to go by — it’s to the sound of running water in the bathroom.
Her heart immediately jumps.
Until she looks down.
Peter is still there, warm and solid in her arms.
If Peter’s here, then —
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” Tony says quietly as he steps out of the bathroom, already changed into pajamas.
For a second, she genuinely isn’t sure if she’s dreaming.
“Tony?” she asks, voice still thick with sleep.
“In the flesh,” he says, offering a small grin — softer than his usual, something edged with concern as he moves to sit on her side of the bed.
“You’re home?”
He nods, reaching out to brush his thumb gently along her cheek.
“I am.”
His eyes flick down to Peter, who at some point during the night had turned himself completely into Pepper, curled into her like it was instinct. Tony’s expression softens even further.
“But — the mission?” she asks, still trying to piece it together.
Tony looks back at her, something complicated passing over his face.
“You told me my team needed me,” he says, voice quieter now. “That the world needed me.”
He pauses, glancing between her and Peter.
“Well, from where I’m standing, my team’s right here. And so is my world.”
…oh.
Her eyes sting again, tears gathering faster than she can blink them away. He catches them anyway, thumb brushing beneath her eye to wipe them away.
God, she loves this man.
“I love you, Tony Stark.”
“I love you, Pepper Potts,” he murmurs, a small smile pulling at his lips. Then, lighter, just enough to ease the moment without breaking it — “Or should I upgrade that to ‘Mom’ now?”
Her cheeks warm at that. Not forgotten — just… momentarily lost in everything else.
“FRIDAY told you?” she asks.
“She did,” he nods. “Figured I needed some in-flight entertainment on the way back.”
He reaches out, threading his fingers gently through Peter’s messy curls, careful not to wake him.
“We’re parents,” she says softly, her gaze drifting between them.
“That we are,” Tony hums. Then, glancing between them, “So — do you want the middle of this cuddle situation, or am I being assigned a position here?”
Pepper looks down at Peter, still tucked securely into her, and already knows she’s not moving him unless absolutely necessary. And there’s no universe where they’re putting him in the middle tonight — not with the risk of him getting sick again.
So instead, she shifts them both toward Tony’s usual side of the bed.
Tony slides in behind them easily, one arm wrapping around both of them, pulling them close against his chest. Solid. Steady. There.
Pepper exhales, something deep and tired finally loosening in her chest. She can’t remember the last time she felt like this.
Safe. Still. Peaceful.
Peter is still sick and the night isn’t over, but they’re here. All three of them. And right now, that’s more than enough for her.
“I love you both,” Tony murmurs quietly into the quiet room.
Pepper presses her hand over his where it rests against Peter.
“We love you too.”