Tony would never brush his child aside, would make sure he never felt unloved. He remembered too many disappointments in his own childhood, too many times trying to reach out to his mother or father and being brushed aside or yelled at. He didnвЂ™t mind involving Peter in his activities. The kid could have a temper too, a big one at that, and sometimes screamed and screamed and screamed, but was usually in good spirits. It was hard to stay mad at him, when he was sweet like this. PeterвЂ™s little hands looped around his neck, and Tony smiled, pressed a kiss to his chubby cheek. Peter adored Steve too, loved his daddy with all his heart, but was unabashedly a mommaвЂ™s boy.

They relied on each other, on the sure and steady connection. Peter had always been pretty attached to his momma, just as Tony was loathe to leave him for more than a day. His familiar scent gave Tony a surge of contentment, and it was mutual. Right now though, Tony just thanked his stars that the kid didnвЂ™t get hurt, and swept him into his arms. Had he been practicing while they werenвЂ™t looking? Baby jail was apparently no match for Peter. But fuck, heвЂ™d climbed out of the crib, and by the confidence he displayed, it probably wasnвЂ™t the first time. It seemed SteveвЂ™s penchant for helpfulness had sunk in to Peter quickly.

His little boy wanted to help him look through boxes. That was pretty adorable, Tony could admit. вЂњClean,вЂќ Peter replied, as if it were obvious. вЂњPeter!вЂќ he said, partly in admonishment, partly impressed. He scrambled to his feet, crossed the room. The toddler swayed a little, but was otherwise completely fine, a self-satisfied, maybe even smug, grin on his face. Peter, the little rascal, was in fact, in the process of climbing out of his crib.Д«efore Tony had time to have a heart attack, he had swung himself up and over the edge of the crib with surprising grace, dangled for just a second, and then his feet landed on the floor. вЂњWhat are you up to, Petey-pie?вЂќ He turned around. His son was suspiciously quiet though, and there was a distinct lack of ear-rattling toy jingles, and Tony knew immediately something was up. вЂњLooks like this box isnвЂ™t a total loss, Pete.вЂќ There was an old Air Force sweater beneath it though, one Tony had stolen from Rhodey. вЂњDefinitely getting rid of that,вЂќ the brunet muttered. That was one fashion trend he wished would stay in the past. He grimaced, catching sight of a fanny pack in this particular box. вЂњIвЂ™m looking through everything, seeing what IвЂ™m gonna keep, and what IвЂ™m gonna give away.вЂќ вЂњYeah, IвЂ™m cleaning,вЂќ Tony said, pulling open another box. He shook the crib, asked again, вЂњMommy cleaning?вЂќ The pile of unfamiliar boxes littered around the master bedroom, each revealing untold treasures (old notebooks, out of fashion clothes, and knickknacks and awards earned over the years) was much more interesting than PeterвЂ™s regular toys, and he eagerly wanted to investigate. His baby seemed entertained by TonyвЂ™s sorting efforts at least. That was why Tony had stuck him safely in his crib, where he couldnвЂ™t get into any mischief, and Tony could get his work done in peace while Steve was out shopping. He could get bored quite easily, which left him needing almost constant supervision, and learning material, or else the rambunctious two year old (well, a year and 10 months) would make his own entertainment. He didnвЂ™t take well to stagnation either, which was a blessing and a curse. Pete had started walking and talking pretty early on, of course. And sure, all first time parents said that about their kids, but for them, it was true. Not to brag, but their little boy was really smart. Tony swore up and down that he would be a scientist one day, and Steve agreed. His curls were precious, honey brown, and the curiosity in his big dark eyes, eyes like Tony, told Tony he was being thoroughly watched. He was standing in his crib, a fist wrapped around the toy and the other at the edge of it. The little noise-making toy he held in his hands jingled, and Tony turned to look at him. вЂњClean?вЂќ he heard PeterвЂ™s little voice pipe up behind him, across the room. He wasnвЂ™t even sure what was in most of them. But, it was time for holiday cleaning, and Tony had been putting off looking through these boxes for years. (Funny how he never got those aches fooling around in bed though). His back kind of ached from dragging the boxes out of the closet and into the bedroom, and being bent over so long. вЂњGod, I forgot how much work cleaning is,вЂќ Tony muttered, sitting back on his haunches.

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