Air I Breathe

Chapter 5

Chapter 5
Wednesday, December 25, Christmas Day

Pepper has a spread of coffee, May's infamous cinnamon rolls, and an assortment of cut fruit out on the coffee table in the living room on Christmas morning. Peter's done the physiotherapy Bruce recommended and his morning breathing treatment, is glad he's getting some of what he's termed "cement" out of his lungs, especially since it likes to build up overnight, which makes mornings particularly rough. They're all still in pajamas even though it's nearly eleven and guests are due to arrive around three, but no one seems bothered, the fatigue from the last few days lingering in the air. Tony has a virtual fire going in the fireplace with real crackles and heat that fills the room, the mood joyful and relaxed.

Peter is glad that May stayed the night, is sitting on the couch next to him while they enjoy brunch and presents. He's gotten more than enough punny science t-shirts and socks from Pepper and May to last him a lifetime, and while it's annoying to be tethered to his oxygen tank, he can't deny that he's feeling worlds better than he was. He watches as Tony opens his first gift, a 2019 slang dictionary.

"Really, kid?" Tony asks, laughing.

"I made sure FOMO was in there. You know. Just in case you forgot."

"Cute, Peter. Real cute," he jokes.

"This is the real gift, though," Peter says as he hands over a slender wrapped box. "It isn't much, but I thought you might be able to put it in your lab."

Tony unwraps the paper and unboxes a sleek digital picture frame. When he turns it on, bright, vivid images come to life, fading in and out as a slideshow plays. There's a photo with Natasha, Steve, Clint, and Bruce holding up peace signs on the living room couch, and one of Thor in the kitchen, smiling as he holds up a pan full of flames. There's a picture of Peter scrunching his nose as Pepper wipes schmutz from his face with a tissue in the hallway before this year's homecoming, and one of Peter with bedhead at the kitchen island eating a bowl of cereal and putting his hand up to avoid having his photo taken. And then there's a picture of Tony and Peter working together in the lab, the two deep in thought, foreheads tense and gears turning as they tinker with a small electronic device. It's followed by a tired Tony quizzing Peter for decathlon at the dining room table, and then one of Peter sleeping with his oxygen line, his head against a sleeping Tony's shoulder, the two haphazardly sprawled on the living room couch with the faint glow of Christmas lights illuminating their calm, relaxed features.

Tony isn't sure why he's tearing up all of a sudden. He's not one to cry, especially not during happy occasions like Christmas morning surrounded by family, but having Peter give him such a thoughtful gift feels really special.

"Kiddo," he says, his voice cracking, and Peter's there in an instant, wrapping his arms around Tony's neck and squeezing him tight. Tony squeezes back to keep the tears where they are.

Peter pulls away, smiling. "Pepper took the last few pictures. She saw me trying to wrap your gift and asked if I wanted to add them. You know, you're actually really hard to buy for," Peter jokes.

Tony laughs, wiping a stray tear away before he grabs two boxes from under the tree. "This isn't really a gift, so I didn't wrap it, but you're probably going to need this to enjoy your real gift."

The first box in Peter's hand is the size of a tissue box, and on the front is a picture of a small white and green handheld nebulizer. He crinkles his face in embarrassment because really Tony? But then Tony hands him another box with the biggest grin on his face, and Peter feels the humiliation melt away, because a portable nebulizer probably means that his gift involves traveling, and suddenly, Peter's excited.