"And then, my mom said that instead of us going out to Hawaii next summer to visit my grandparents, you know, like we always do, we're gonna pay for them to fly here," Ned said, groaning in frustration. "Apparently my grandma really wants to see New York City for some reason."

Peter shifted on his squashy couch along the side of the jet, rubbing at his scratchy eyes as he tried to keep from yawning. He'd called Ned so he could help distract him from his father's latest freak-out, and it had worked for a little while. But the last ten minutes or so had turned into nothing but a whine-fest, and Peter was rapidly getting over it.

"Well, I s'pose for someone who's lived all her life in Hawaii, New York sounds kind of exciting," he said. "I bet it's a lot busier than where she lives."

"Yeah, but that's kinda the point, ya know?" said Ned. "We go to Hawaii every summer so we can get out of the busy city. So we can lie around on the beach all day and swim in the ocean and watch the sunsets. But now when they come out here, we're gonna have to show them around and stuff."

"So you go and do all the touristy stuff," Peter said. "Go see the Empire State Building, walk down Fifth Avenue, see a show on Broadway. It's what Papa and I did when he first came to live with us, and then we did all that stuff again with Uncle Bucky. And you've always said you've wanted to see The Lion King, haven't you?"

"Well… yeah," Ned admitted. "But I'm sure I could see it just as easily in Hawaii."

Peter let out a sigh as he shifted again, trying to get comfortable. "Actually, you probably can't. The Broadway musical casts usually stick to just playing on Broadway, so…"

Ned quirked an eyebrow. "Oh. Well, that makes sense." He squinted, leaning closer to his screen. "Where are you guys right now, anyway?"

"Um…" Peter said as his eyebrows knitted together. "We're still over the Atlantic, dude. We won't reach land again for another five hours, depending on the wind speeds."

"Oh," Ned said with a nod. "Yeah, that makes sense. You said you had fun though?"

"Yeah, it was fun. How was New Year's Eve in New York?"

"Oh, you know, same old, same old," said Ned. "My dad and I went downtown so we could see the fireworks better, but other than that it was just crowded, cold, and noisy. You know, typical New York."

"Gotcha," said Peter.

"I did get my essay done for Decathlon though," added Ned.

"Oh, yeah?" Peter said. "What'cha do it on?"

"The differences in the design of missile silos in the United States and the Soviet Union," Ned said. "It was actually kinda interesting. It seemed like however we did stuff, the Soviet Union wanted to do it differently. Like the exact opposite."

"Yeah, I've heard that," said Peter. "Nothing like the two most powerful countries in the world acting like a couple of toddlers fighting over a toy, hmm?" Papa had said something to that effect when he was helping Peter research for his own essay on the Iran Contra Affair.

Ned let out a chuckle. "Yeah, I guess that's one way to look at it. Even though the Soviet Union was made up of a bunch of different countries, and we were just one."

"Yeah, Ned, I know that," Peter said, rather shortly. "But the leader in Moscow was still in control of everyone. Those other countries' leaders were just puppet governments installed by Moscow in rigged elections."

"Yeah, true. And don't forget the guys constantly plotting to kill off the leaders at any given time," stated Ned. He looked back towards his bedroom door as Peter heard Ned's mother's voice in the background, calling for him. "Ah, sorry dude, but I gotta go now."

"Yeah, it's okay."

"You're gonna be at school on Monday, right?" Ned asked.

"Ah, yeah," Peter said after a short pause. He honestly had no idea even what day it was, only that he was due back at school soon. "Yeah, I'll be there."

"Are you gonna have your new car there at the Tower?" Ned asked excitedly. "Are your dads gonna let you drive yourself to school now?"

Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes. "No, they said the car has to stay up at the Compound until I turn eighteen," he grumbled. "So I'll only get to drive it on the weekends."

"Oh, that sucks," Ned said, rather downcast. "I was kinda hoping you could start picking me up."

"Yeah, nope. Sorry."

"Nah, it's okay. But hey, could you send me another one of those videos of your fish when you get home? I like 'em, they're really relaxing."

"Uhh, sure. I can do that." Ned did have a point. Watching Finley swim around in his tank was pretty relaxing, and something that Peter had been doing a lot of ever since Christmas Day. He had even set up a special camera so he could watch him while he was away.

"Thanks," said Ned. "I'll see you on Monday."

"Uh huh. See ya then." As soon as the screen went blank, Peter dropped his head back, scrubbing at his tired and wonky eyes with his knuckles. He'd packed his glasses into his backpack thinking that he'd try and sleep on the plane—that'd been Papa's plan, at least—but with Dad vibrating so hard that he was practically knocking the jet off course, Peter hadn't been able to relax enough to fall asleep. He had tried to call Gwen, thinking she'd be able to help him calm down, but her mom had told him that she was out on a daddy-daughter date, and wouldn't be home until late that night.

He couldn't help but wonder if Gwen being out with her dad meant that she'd heard back from Oxford about her internship. Despite Peter's misgivings about her going, he had helped her prepare for her interview, and she had told him afterwards that she'd thought it had gone well.

Grunting, Peter grabbed onto the back of the couch and pulled himself up, peeking over the top to find Papa and Dad on the pullout bed in the very back of the jet. Papa had a book in one hand, some dog-eared novel from the small library he kept in the jet, and Dad's tablet was lying face down off to the side, with his glasses neatly folded on top. Peter couldn't help but smile at how they were cuddled up together, with Dad's head resting on Papa's chest and Papa's arm tight around him.

And Dad was even sound asleep, something that both shocked Peter and didn't at the same time. Dad had told him multiple times growing up that the only way he'd been able to sleep as a baby was if Dad held him against his chest, with his ear over his heart. There was just something about the rhythmic beat of Dad's heart that always managed to soothe Peter no matter how upset he was, and since Papa had come along, Peter had lost count of how many times Papa had been able to get Dad to relax in the same way when he was super stressed out.

Yet another trait that Peter had apparently inherited from his father.

"Hey, little guy," Papa said softly as he glanced over at Peter. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Peter answered. "Just… tired."

With a quick glance at Dad, Papa set down his book and shifted slightly on the bed, holding open his free arm.

"I've got two arms for a reason, little guy," he said with a gentle smile. "Come on over."

It was almost comical how quickly Peter scrambled up off his couch, diving onto his dads' bed so hard that Papa let out a muffled grunt as he pulled Peter tightly against his side. He felt Papa kiss the top of his head as he laid his head down onto his chest, his eyelids already heavy as the strong, steady pulse of Papa's heartbeat started to work its magic.

"It's gonna be okay, Peter," Papa whispered a few seconds later, his fingertips massaging Peter's scalp. "I'll make sure of it."

"Yeah, I know," Peter mumbled into Papa's chest. He tilted his head up, opening one eye so he could glance over at Dad. Despite Papa's presence, his sleep was not a peaceful one, with his forehead etched in deep worry lines and his lips curled into a frown.

It was a protest sleep, and those were never very restful. Peter would know.

"Shh, little guy," Papa whispered as he patted the back of Peter's neck. "I can hear your mind spinning. Try not to worry, okay?"

"Hmph," grumbled Peter. "Don't think that's gonna happen."

"Okay, then, how about you acknowledge that there's nothing we can do about it right this second, and try and get some rest, all right?" said Papa. "Dad and I have arranged for you to ride back to the Tower with Sam and Bucky once we get back."

Peter scowled, lifting his head. "Why? So I'm not around while you and Dad interrogate the dude who tried to break in?"

"Well, I'm not sure if 'interrogate' is the word I would use, but yes, we do have some questions for him," Papa said firmly. "Mainly, why he felt the need to try and break into our home rather than simply ask us for help."

"Yeah, and probably where he got his tech too, so I guess that makes sense." Peter paused, wondering if he should even mention the proverbial elephant in the room. Mentioning HYDRA around Papa was touchy, and the last thing Peter wanted was for him to get upset.

Which, Peter realised, he probably already was. He just tended to keep it tucked away better than Dad did.

"So… um… do you think he's from HYDRA?" Peter finally asked, his throat tightening when Papa flinched.

"No, I don't, little guy," Papa answered. "According to JARVIS, this Scott Lang fellow was kind of a modern-day Robin Hood, stealing money from wealthy executives who had cheated their customers and returning it to the customers. He was recently released from prison."

"Oh," Peter said, wrinkling his nose. "So… he's like a cyber cat burglar?"

"Yes, something like that, but he has plenty of experience as a regular cat burglar too," said Papa. "And JARVIS also told us that he has a young daughter, one he hasn't been allowed to see since his release from prison."

"Okay, so… then where'd he get such cool tech?" Peter asked.

Papa's jaw tightened, his arm instinctively drawing Dad closer to him. "According to JARVIS, there's only one person who's ever developed any kind of shrinking tech. And apparently, he's no friend of the Stark family."

"Oh, great," Peter said, wincing. "Probably someone else that my grandpa managed to piss off?"

Papa let out a short chuckle. "Something like that. Try and sleep now, okay? It'll help with the jet lag once we get back."

"Mmm, fine." Peter burrowed closer, closing his eyes as he absorbed the warmth that Papa radiated like a heater. "But can I ask you just one more thing first? It doesn't have anything to do with the bug dude."

"All right, little guy," said Papa. "What is it?"

"Well…" Peter started, gulping. His request was a long shot at best, but he supposed it didn't hurt to ask anyway. "You know that Irish Festival in Brooklyn that you and Dad are planning on going to on St Patrick's Day?"

Papa raised an eyebrow, eyeing Peter warily. "Yes? What about it?"

"Well… since it's on a Friday, and we usually head up to the Compound on Fridays after I'm done with school, I was wondering if it'd be okay if I took Gwen up there with me for the weekend? She's been wanting to see my new telescope, and according to the star charts we've been studying there's supposed to be a lot of cool stuff that'll be visible that weekend, and—and we just kinda wanted to see if we could find some of it, and—"

"Peter—"

"We could drive up with Uncle Bucky and Uncle Sam, and with Uncle Clint and Auntie Nat and the twins already there we'd be surrounded by most of the team, and not to mention all of the SHIELD agents and the drones, and—"

"Peter—"

"And there's that huge guest room there that never even gets used, and I really want to show her around everywhere, and introduce her to Pietro and Wanda, and she's told me a few times that she's never been upstate, and in the early spring it's really pretty and stuff with all the leaves that are starting to bud, and—"

"Peter!" Papa hissed, glancing furtively down at Dad when he let out a soft whimper. "Little guy, if you'll let me get a word in here, Dad and I have already talked about this."

Peter's head popped up so fast that he wrenched his neck. "Hang on. You did? When?"

"Well, contrary to what you might sometimes think, we're not completely unaware of the fact that you and Gwen haven't been able to spend much time together recently, so… we've already arranged it. Bucky and Sam said it was fine, and Dad's already spoken to Chief Stacy about it as well."

"You—he did?" Peter swiped at his watery eyes, so flabbergasted he could barely form words. He'd been ramping himself up for an argument, and now he didn't quite know what to do. "Uhh, when did this happen? Wait, you know what? Nevermind. I guess it doesn't really matter when. Um… thanks! I—I really—I mean, thanks, Papa."

"You are welcome," Papa said, with a rather conspiratorial grin. "Now, will you please try and get some sleep?"

"Uhh, yeah," Peter said. He resumed his position, unable to keep his wide smile in check. St Patrick's Day was still over three months away, but the thought of getting to spend an entire weekend with Gwen, even if it was under the watchful eyes of most of his family, made him very, very happy.

"Aren't you gonna try and sleep, Papa?" he asked after a short pause. He knew Dad had been up pacing the hallways again the night before, and that Papa had joined him at some point, so he had to be just as tired.

"Oh, we'll see," Papa whispered. "You don't need to worry about me, little guy. I've got you."

"Uh huh," Peter murmured. "'Night."

It was silly how easily those three little words could relax Peter, almost as much as the steady heartbeat beneath his ear. "I've got you" were the first words that he'd ever heard Papa say to him, after he'd brought him back from the dead in the middle of the desert. Dad had told Peter later on that Papa had been begging Peter to breathe before that, but Peter didn't remember it. Just like he didn't remember most of Dad's panicked freakout before Papa got there.

Which was perfectly fine with him. He would much rather hold onto his papa's "I've got you" than the rest of the pure hell he and Dad had endured inside that cave, the first level of apparently many to come.

The cave. The Malibu house bombing. Project Insight. The streets of Queens. The Miami bunker. The Compound's lake. The movie theatre. The invisible HYDRA bunker.

Seven different levels of hell, all of which almost took Peter's life or the life of one or both of his dads.

And now, Dad was being tormented in his dreams with an eighth, the worst of them all.

Please, Peter thought as sleep started to pull him under. Please, just leave us alone.

Haven't we had enough?

Tony clung tightly to Steve's hand as they headed across the vast yard of the Compound to the main SHIELD building, where Scott Lang was being held in the sub-basement brig. Fury had offered to have Maria Hill conduct Lang's questioning, but Tony had adamantly declined. He wanted to hear directly from the horse's mouth exactly why in the hell Hank Pym, a man Tony had grown up despising thanks to Howard's influence, had felt it necessary to essentially blackmail some no-name cat burglar into trying to steal from the Avengers' Compound.

No one fucking breaks into my house! he practically screamed inside his head. No one!

Hadn't he spent the last two-plus years ensuring that that very thing was impossible? Ever since Obie and his HYDRA goons had managed to override JARVIS and break into the Tower in order to steal Peter from right under his and Steve's noses, Tony had sworn up, down, sideways, and diagonally that he would never, ever, allow anything like that to happen ever again.

Not. Fucking. Ever.

And, as such, Tony was absolutely not in the mood to hear any excuses from Scott whoever-the-hell-he-was. As soon as he'd heard JARVIS mention Hank Pym's name, Tony had been so damn close to calling George Stacy and having him arrest the goddamn son-of-a-bitch that Steve almost hadn't been able to stop him, finally promising Tony that he would agree to press charges against Hank if they still felt they were necessary after they'd had a chance to talk with Scott Lang.

Who, for all intents and purposes, had been perfectly cooperative ever since he got caught, even going so far as to relinquish all of his equipment to Bruce so he could take a look at it. The uniform itself was crude, Bruce had told Tony on the flight home, but still effective for its intended purpose. But it was really the tiny red particles encased in the clear glass vials on Lang's belt that were the key to the whole thing, allowing Lang to shrink and un-shrink as needed.

Pym Particles. Tony had heard Howard whining about them so many times as a teenager that he still occasionally heard him in his sleep. The fact that Howard was never able to replicate the formula that Hank used to create his magic shrinking particles had nearly driven him mad with jealousy and resentment, only adding to the gargantuan pile of shit that Howard had carried around with him like some kind of ratty security blanket. His entire career Howard had surrounded himself with other scientists, anyone who he considered as smart or smarter than he was, in an attempt to keep his enemies closer, so to speak. Anyone who Howard felt he could learn from—or steal from—was fair game, no matter where their true loyalties fell.

As Tony and Steve had realised, when they discovered that Arnim Zola, the man behind the Project Insight algorithm, had been yet another of Howard's questionable SHIELD colleagues, recruited into the organisation by Howard himself.

You always had to be the goddamn best, right? Tony thought bitterly. Could never face the fact that you maybe weren't the smartest person on the planet.

It was why Howard couldn't even bring himself to attend Tony's graduation from MIT. Tony's mother had told him that Howard had gotten called away on urgent business the night before, and Tony had accepted that flimsy-ass excuse for her sake, but he had always known the truth.

Howard simply couldn't accept the fact that Tony had surpassed his level of intelligence, and since Howard knew he couldn't collect Tony like he'd collected so many other brilliant scientists, he simply chose to ignore him instead.

Asshole.

Tony wished he could've been a fly on the wall during the tongue-lashing Howard got from Aunt Peggy once he got home, though. He's pretty sure it would've helped him feel a bit better.

At least for a few minutes.

And, even better, he was now in possession of the very same particles that Howard had tried his damndest to replicate before Hank Pym's dramatic departure from SHIELD. And given the combined brainpower between Bruce, Peter, and himself, Tony had little doubt that they would be able to eventually crack the formula and produce their own.

Not that Tony had a clue what in the hell they'd actually do with them. At the moment it was mainly just a pride thing.

Take that, Howard.

"Tony," Steve murmured as they reached the building. He pulled open the door, stepping back to allow Tony to enter first. "Sweetheart, your mind's been whirring nonstop since we got back here yesterday. Are you sure this is still such a good idea?"

Tony shot him a scowl, one so harsh that Steve pursed his lips, yanking him down the hall towards an empty conference room.

"Okay, I'm going to ask you again," he said in his Captain's voice. "Do you think this is still a good idea?"

"No, I don't think it's a good idea!" Tony snapped. "But I also don't think that we have a choice! That asshole tried to break into our house, Steve, and I wanna know why!"

"Yes, mo grá, I know that," Steve said, way too evenly for Tony's taste. "But there are plenty of other ways we can find out what we want to find out that don't include you having to talk to him."

"No, goddamnit!" Tony shot back. "I'm not getting any information about him that's secondhand!"

"Information from me would not be secondhand, and you know it," Steve said through clenched teeth, his jaw twitching madly. Tony could tell he was trying hard to hold back his temper. "I just don't think it's worth putting you through this when it's not necessary."

"But it is fucking necessary!" Tony yelled, his heart lurching when Steve jumped back. He knew better than to yell at Steve, or at Peter, for that matter, and yet had been doing so far too often lately. His face fell as he reached for Steve's arm, relieved when Steve didn't try and pull away. "Honey, I'm sorry. You know—you know I'm not upset at you. I'm just—I need to get on top of all of this shit that's been going on lately, and you know I don't believe in coincidences, so—"

"Yes, I know you don't," Steve said softly as he curled his arms around Tony's waist. "And I know you're not upset with me personally, but that doesn't mean I'm not still worried about you."

Tony scoffed, tipping his forehead against Steve's collarbone. "You know you don't have to worry about me so much, Steve. I'm not made out of glass, remember?"

Stark men are made of iron.

"I never said you were," Steve said. He dropped his shoulders, letting out a heavy sigh as he glided his palms up Tony's back. "I just… want you to remember that you're not alone in this. I'm here, and so is the rest of the team. And none of us like to see you like this, under so much constant stress. Especially Peter."

"Mmm," grumbled Tony. "Pete knows me better than that."

"Yes, he does," agreed Steve. "But he's also a lot more like you than either of you would like to admit, and so he tends to try and carry other people's stress around on his shoulders just like you do."

Tony lifted his head, trying to ignore the deep worry wrinkle between Steve's perfect eyebrows. "Oh, and you don't? Wait, don't—don't answer that."

"You know that I do," Steve said softly. "But I'm an adult, Tony, and Peter isn't. And he shouldn't have to be worrying about his father so much."

"And I've told him multiple times that he doesn't need to be worrying about me," Tony said, cringing at his own petulance. All he was doing was making things worse. "Look, I promise I'll talk to Sam about this stuff sometime soon, okay? But right now all I wanna do is get this questioning over with so we can figure out what the hell Hank Pym was after."

Steve was quiet for several heartbeats, finally giving him a nod. "All right. But I would appreciate it if you'll let me do most of the talking, at least at first."

"Yeah, I guess I can do that," Tony muttered. "You can just elbow me or something whenever you need my input."

"Tony," Steve said with a sigh. "Sweetheart—"

"It was a joke, honey, okay?" Tony said, rolling his eyes. "You know I tend to joke—"

"At inappropriate times," Steve finished. He pressed his lips to Tony's forehead, trailing his fingertip across Tony's cheekbone. "Yes, I do. Now, are you ready?"

"Yep," Tony said firmly. "Let's get this over with."

But despite his attempt at bravado, as they made their way towards the bank of elevators, Tony was far more nervous than he wanted to admit. Out of all of the changes he'd made to the security systems at both the Tower and the Compound, having to deal with a possible threat that was the size of a goddamn bug was the one thing that had not occurred to him.

And now that it had, Tony was at a loss as to how he was going to be able to prevent a similar threat. He could only refine the drone stun beams to a certain point, and he couldn't exactly have them firing at every single ant, fly, or mosquito that happened to wander into their range either.

That would be far too noisy. And not to mention the mess they would cause. Much worse than poor DUM-E would be able to keep up with.

They found Scott Lang lying on the padded bench in his cell, his hands folded behind his head as he contemplated the ceiling. As soon as he noticed Steve he shot to his feet, nearly tipping over in his haste to salute him.

"Cap—Captain America—I mean, Captain Rogers," he stuttered as he glanced up at his hand, frowning like he didn't realise what he'd done. "And Iron Man—Mr Stark. Um… hi, I'm—I'm—"

"You're Scott Lang," Steve stated. "Yes, we're both already well aware of who you are."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure you are," Lang said, immediately cringing as he glanced between Tony and Steve. "Are you—I mean… oh God, you're not gonna kill me, are you?"

Steve shot Tony one of Peter's duh looks. "No, we're not going to kill you, Mr Lang," Steve said. "However, we would appreciate you answering some questions for us."

Lang's jaw opened and closed as he tried to come up with a response, finally muttering a quiet, "Ah, sure. But if you're gonna ask me how the suit works or anything like that, I'm afraid I can't tell you."

"Oh?" Steve said. "And why is that?"

"Probably 'cause he doesn't know," Tony said. He stepped back as one of the SHIELD guards unlocked Lang's cell, leading the three of them into a nearby interrogation room. Once they were settled, Steve leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him.

"Is that why you can't explain to us how your suit works, Mr Lang?" he asked. "Because you don't know how?"

"Ah, yep," said Lang. "That—that's exactly why. Hank didn't really explain all of it to me. Just enough for me to know what to do."

Tony bristled at the mention of Hank, but managed to keep his mouth shut as Steve began peppering Lang with various questions, including why he chose to jump back in to committing crimes shortly after getting out of prison.

"I didn't jump right back in to committing crimes," Lang snapped, immediately clapping his hand over his mouth. "Oh, wait, I—I didn't mean it like that, Cap—Captain. Rogers. I just… look. I went to prison because I got caught trying to do what I believed was the right thing. And I accepted that. I accepted the fact that maybe I could've tried a different way to fix what was broken, a way that wouldn't have kept me away from my daughter. I mean, she was still a toddler when I got locked up, so that really was pretty stupid of me. And it also cost me my marriage, but… that's a whole other story. Anyway, once I got out I tried to get a job so I could pay off my back child support, but… it's not easy for a convicted felon to get a job that pays enough, and especially in San Francisco, and since I'm never gonna be allowed to work in my field again, I—I guess I just got desperate. I mean, my wife's new fiancé is a cop, and God knows he'd like nothing more than to toss me right back into that prison and lock me away forever."

"Ah huh," Tony said. "And so… after Hank Pym put out the word that he was looking for someone to break into his own house, you jumped at the chance?"

Lang scowled, glancing over at Steve as if he was looking for help. "Okay, first of all, Mr Stark, I didn't know it was Hank's house that I was breaking into until a lot later."

"When, later?" asked Steve.

"Uhh, not till after I broke out of jail," Lang answered. "But that only happened because I was trying to break back into Hank's house so I could return what I took."

Steve frowned, and Tony had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing. This whole thing was starting to read like something that Peter and Ned would make up during their Minecraft games.

"So, you were trying to break back into Mr Pym's house to return the suit… that you originally stole from his house?" Steve asked.

"Yes, that's exactly it," said Lang. "And that's when I got caught."

"And then Mr Pym helped you escape from jail?"

"Yep, that's right," Lang said with a nod. "Him and the ants."

"The ants," Steve said, not missing a beat. "Okay, we'll get to those later. What happened next?"

"Well… once Hank explained that it was him who'd been behind the whole thing, he took me into his secret lab inside his house and offered me the chance to see my daughter again."

"And that chance was to steal something from our home? Where we live with our own child?" Steve asked sternly. "Not to mention the other members of our team?"

"Yeah, well, when you put it like that, I'll admit that it does sound pretty bad," Lang muttered. He dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, as soon as Hank told me about the Pym Particle, or whatever the hell it is, I told him that I thought we should just call you guys. You know, the Avengers?"

"Yes, I'm pretty sure we know, Mr Lang," Steve said, somehow still managing to keep a straight face. "Seeing as we are the Avengers."

"Well, yeah, of course you are," Lang said with a laugh, one that dropped from his face as soon as he glanced in Tony's direction. "Okay, I'll admit that was a pretty dumb thing to say. Anyway, after I mentioned that to Hank, he told me that he'd spent half his life trying to keep his stuff out of the hands of a Stark, and that—"

"And he wasn't gonna give it to one now, hmm?" Tony cut in. "Yeah, that sounds exactly like Pym, that old son of a bitch."

"Tony," Steve said, giving Tony's hand a quick squeeze. "Okay, Mr Lang, so you do understand that Tony here is not his father, right? And I'm sure I don't have to list for you all of the ways that Tony and his company have helped not only the people of New York, but all over the world."

"Oh, no! No, of course you don't have to explain it!" Lang exclaimed. "I mean, I don't even know who your father was, Mr Stark, let alone—but you're—well… you're Iron Man! My daughter even has one of your action figures! And personally, I don't think your suit is cute at all. I think it's totally badass."

"Cute?" snapped Tony. "Who in the hell said that my suit was—!"

"Tony," Steve said again, a bit more forcefully this time. He drew in a deep breath, eyeing Lang warily. "Okay, Mr Lang. Then why don't you tell us what you were trying to steal, and why."

Lang audibly gulped, tapping his fingertips together. "Um… Hank said it was some kind of a signal decoy, something that he built during his SHIELD days. He said he needed it to counteract some—"

"To counteract transmission blockers," Tony said. "Yeah, I know what you're talking about. That thing's ancient."

"Well, like I said, I don't really know what it is or what it's for," Lang said with a shrug. "Just that Hank said that he needed it."

"And why does he need this particular device?" Steve asked.

"'Cause Hank told me that some guy was trying to steal something from his company, some old apprentice of his," said Lang. He huffed out a sharp breath, chewing nervously on his lip. "Look, I'm really, really sorry that I tried to break into your house. Hank told me that it was just some old warehouse that Howard Stark used to own, so—"

"Well, at least he got that right," Tony said.

"So it should've been a piece of cake," Lang continued. "And as soon as I flew overhead and realised that it wasn't just some old warehouse, I should've turned around right then and there. But I didn't. I thought all you guys lived in the Avengers' Tower full-time, so I thought I could still do it."

"Until you got caught," said Steve. "Unfortunately, I think that's the case for most thieves, isn't it? You think you've gotten away with something right up until you get caught?"

"Yeah, I guess," Lang muttered, wringing his hands. "So… are you guys gonna turn me over to the FBI now or something?"

Steve looked over at Tony, who responded with a quick shake of his head. Turning Lang over to the authorities would accomplish a whole bunch of nothing, and besides, it was Hank Pym he was really after. Not this stuttering, bumbling, Captain America fanboy.

"I don't think that'll be necessary, Mr Lang," said Steve. "But we will be asking some things of you before we allow you to leave."

"Oh, thank God!" Lang rushed out. Then he froze, eyeing Steve nervously. "Um… what kind of things?"

"Well, first of all, we're gonna need to keep the suit," Tony said. "At least for awhile."

"Yeah, okay, but I don't think that's gonna work," Lang said. "You see, if Hank doesn't stop this Darren Cross guy, then—"

"We'll be happy to put Mr Pym in touch with Maria Hill, one of our deputy directors here at SHIELD," said Steve. "I'm sure she'll be able to figure out a way to keep this Cross person from trying to do… whatever it is he's trying to do."

"Ohh, Hank's not gonna like that," warned Lang. "No offence, but I don't think he likes SHIELD very much."

"Well, that's just too damn bad," said Tony, rather triumphantly. "'Cause at the moment I don't see that he has a choice."

"That's right. He does not," Steve said, and damn if his deep, sexy-as-hell Captain's voice wasn't making it nearly impossible for Tony to maintain some semblance of cool. "The Avengers do not take kindly to being attacked, Mr Lang, which is exactly what Mr Pym coerced you into doing. It is only by our good graces that we're not pressing formal charges against you both."

"And I know Hank will be extremely grateful for your good graces, Cap—Captain Ameri—Steve—I mean, Captain Rogers, but—"

"But, nothing," Tony said. He was rapidly approaching the end of his patience with the whole thing. "And secondly, we're also gonna hold on to the particles."

"Oh," said Lang, sounding like he'd just been punched in the gut. "Um…"

"And again, Pym doesn't get a choice in the matter," Tony said. "I'm sure he's got plenty more of 'em at that house of his."

"Not sure that they're much good for anything without the suit," muttered Lang. "But yeah, I think he does."

"Well, then he probably won't miss these too much," said Tony. He looked over at his husband, attempting to bat his eyelashes without being too obvious. "Are we done here?"

Steve's blue eyes crinkled at the corners, his lips curling into the slightest of smiles. "Yes, I think so. We'll arrange for transportation back to California for you, Mr Lang."

"Yeah," Lang said softly. "Um… thanks." He got to his feet, looking so downtrodden and defeated that Tony felt a sharp pang of remorse. While he was still pretty pissed that Lang—and Pym as well—had been arrogant enough to believe that they could break into a Stark home, he could understand Lang's desperation in wanting to see his child that had led to him agreeing to perform yet another criminal act. If Tony had ever found himself in a similar situation with Peter's mother—if she'd ever even bothered to show her face again after he was born—there would've been no lengths that he wouldn't have gone to in order to see Peter again. Even if it had meant having to beg, borrow, or steal, Tony would've done it.

Standing to his feet, Tony pulled out his phone. "JARVIS, exactly how much does Mr Lang here owe in back child support?"

"Mr Lang owes twenty thousand, three hundred and forty-four dollars and thirty-eight cents, sir," answered JARVIS. "As of today."

Tony glanced over at Steve, raising an eyebrow in question. Should we?

Steve smiled so widely that his dimple decided to make an appearance. Yes, sweetheart. We definitely should.

"Uhh… can I—can I ask you—um… do you two do that a lot?" Lang asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Do what?" asked Steve.

"Uh… that," Lang said as he gestured between Tony and Steve. "That whole thing where you have a complete conversation with just your eyebrows? 'Cause let me just say that that is really, really cool, and I am way jealous."

"Yeah, okay," Tony said quickly. "JARVIS, go ahead and cut a check for the full amount to… what's your ex-wife's name again?"

"Ahh, M-Maggie?" Lang said. "Maggie Lang? Uhh, you're—you're not—are you—?"

"Maggie Lang, J," Tony cut in. "L A N G, in San Francisco. You got her?"

"I do indeed, sir. The check will arrive in approximately one hour via courier."

"Thanks." Tony turned back to Lang, narrowing his eyes. "Now, am I correct in assuming that since you were able to hack into the bank records of those idiots that you stole from, that you're pretty good with cyber security?"

Lang's jaw dropped to his knees. "Uhh, yeah? I—I guess… yeah. I'm pretty good. Why?"

"JARVIS, also add Mr Scott Lang to the SI payroll as a consultant in cyber security. Monthly salary of… what, ten thousand should be enough to live on in San Fran, shouldn't it?"

"Uhh, yeah!" exclaimed Lang. "But—are you seriously—?"

"The consultant period will last for a total of nine months, or until you're able to find other employment, whichever is earlier," Tony stated. "Now, do you have any leads on how you might translate some of your legitimate skills into a possible career, Mr Lang?"

Lang shook his head, looking like he'd been knocked in the face by the Hulk. "Uhh, yeah! I do, actually. I've been talking with a few buddies of mine about opening up a home security company. I figured no one knows better how to secure a home than a bunch of people who're used to breaking in to 'em, so—"

"All right, all right, I don't need to hear the entire pitch." Tony stepped forward, entering Lang's personal space. "Mr Lang, I shouldn't have to tell you that all of this is contingent upon the fact that you will swear, for the record right here and now, to not ever attempt to enter any Avengers facility without the express, face-to-face verbal permission of either Steve or myself. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mr Stark," Lang said rapidly. "It is very, very clear. Like, crystal clear. I swear it. For the record."

"Good," said Steve. "Now, as soon as JARVIS has completed your travel arrangements, you can be on your way."

"I only require Mr Lang's signature for his employment paperwork," replied JARVIS. "Once that is complete, there is a car waiting at the building's entrance to transport him to the airport."

"Sounds good, J." Tony held out his phone, indicating for Lang to sign his electronic W-2, stepping back once he was done. "Someone from our cyber security department will contact you tomorrow with your first assignment, understood?"

"Yes, I understand," Lang said, nodding like a bobble-head doll. He held out his hand, awkwardly glancing between Tony and Steve. Steve took it first, squeezing it just hard enough for Lang to gulp. "Ah, I can't tell you both how grateful I am. I mean it. This… you have no idea what this means to me."

"I think we do, Mr Lang," Steve said as Tony shook Lang's hand. "There's nothing wrong with giving someone a second chance, as I'm sure Mr Pym tried to explain to you. But those second chances should never lead you right back into what got you into trouble in the first place, as I'm sure you'll now agree."

"Yes, C-Captain Rogers," said Lang. "Ah, very much so."

"Good," said Tony. "The guard outside will accompany you out to the waiting car. Have a safe flight home."

"And you as well, Mr Stark." With a final nod, Lang turned towards the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "Um… are you guys gonna call Hank, or should I? 'Cause I'm sure he's wondering what—"

"Mr Pym will be hearing from Maria Hill within the hour, Mr Lang," said Steve. "We'll take it from here."

Lang practically collapsed in relief. "Oh, thank you. Um… after what happened, I'm not sure if he'd even wanna talk to me again, and—"

"Have a nice day, Mr Lang," Tony said, effectively ending the conversation. As soon as Lang disappeared with the guard, Tony slumped against Steve's side, closing his eyes as Steve's arm wrapped around his shoulders.

"Let's not do this again anytime soon, yeah?" he said as Steve kissed the top of his head. "In fact, I'd really prefer to never have to do it again. Like, ever."

"Never again sounds fine to me, mo grá," Steve replied. He twisted around so he was facing Tony, smiling widely as he drew Tony close. "I am so proud of how you handled that, though. That could've gone down pretty ugly, but you handled it with a lot of grace."

"Mmm. A bit more than you were expecting?" Tony said, with a rather conspiratorial grin.

"Well… yeah," Steve admitted. "Especially with how stressed you were about it."

Tony shrugged, running his tongue across his bottom lip. "Eh, I can understand the guy wanting to be with his kid. And that feeling of being trapped into something that you're damn good at even if you know it's not quite right… you know, I've been there, done that."

"Is that how you felt running your company for all those years?" Steve asked gently. "Like you were trapped?"

"Well, yeah," answered Tony. "I mean, Obie had been drilling it into my head pretty much from the very second I found out that my parents had been killed that I had to keep on doing what Howard had been doing, or I'd end up being an even bigger disappointment to him than I already was."

"Tony," Steve said with a frown. "I know you and Howard didn't get along that well, but I doubt that he was disappointed in you."

"Oh, you'd better believe he was," Tony said. "Not only did I hear that he was almost every single day, but I could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at me. The guy pretty much hated me because I wasn't you."

Steve made a sort of choked off noise in his throat, and Tony cringed as his mind finally caught up with his mouth. "Oh, geez, honey, I didn't—I didn't mean—"

"Yes, you did," Steve said softly. "And you know that I don't blame you for it. I just really wish that it wasn't true."

"Well, it is. And that's not your fault. It's just… how it is. But yeah, there were plenty of times when I'd look over at Pete while I was working, sitting there in his little cordoned-off play area in my office, and wonder what the hell I was doing to him. You know, one of the first words that he ever said was 'rocket'? His very first one was 'Dada', which, you know, made me pretty damn proud, but 'rocket' wasn't too long after that. And, I don't know, it just didn't sit right with me. But at the time, the company was all that I knew, and I was hell-bent on making sure that if by some chance something happened to me, Pete would be taken care of. And that meant I had to make sure that Obie stayed in his lane."

"So he wouldn't try to take it from you," Steve murmured. "That's understandable, sweetheart."

"Yeah, but I'm sure if I'd really wanted to, I could've figured something out. Some way to stop making weapons long before Pete and I nearly got blown to kingdom come," said Tony. "I just didn't try hard enough."

"No, you were doing what you thought was best for your son," Steve said firmly. He slid his hand underneath Tony's chin, tipping his head up to meet his eyes. "No parent should ever feel guilty for that, sweetheart. And especially not such an excellent father as yourself."

Tony scoffed, scowling as he remembered the look of pure horror on Obie's face during that fateful press conference when he announced that he was shutting down his weapons manufacturing, and the contrasting look of awe and pride in Peter's innocent brown eyes.

That was all Tony had ever wanted. For his sweet, beloved boy to look at him like he loved him, and was proud of him.

That he was proud to be the son of Tony Stark.

Tony had never been able to look at Howard that way. Not that Howard ever seemed to have given a rat's ass, but Peter… Tony was absolutely certain that he would shrivel up and die right there on the spot if he ever saw even a glimmer of the abject disdain in Peter's eyes that he'd regularly thrown Howard's way.

"That's never going to happen, mo grá," Steve murmured. "I promise."

A knot rose in Tony's throat as he nodded, eyeing Steve through his lashes. "How in the hell do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"That," Tony said, waving his hand at the air. "That thing you do where you read my mind. Make me feel like I'm walking around with a cartoon bubble above my head or something. I've seen you do with it Pete a bunch of times too, and I don't remember ever reading anything about telepathy being one of the side effects of the Project Rebirth serum, so, Captain, how do you do it?"

Steve tipped his head, a soft smile playing on his lips as he trailed the pad of his thumb across Tony's cheekbone, sending a shiver of heat down his spine. It was incredible how worked up Tony could get from such a simple affectionate touch.

"It's your eyes, mo grá," he finally said. "No matter what you say, your eyes can never lie. At least, not to me. And since Peter's eyes are the same as yours, his can't lie either."

"No, he can't, can he?" said Tony. "That kid couldn't tell a convincing lie if his life depended on it."

"Your eyes are one of the first things I ever noticed about you, when I first saw your picture in your SHIELD file," added Steve. "You and Peter both. I remember thinking, how could such a handsome, wealthy, and successful man have such sad, troubled eyes?"

"Really?" Tony asked. "You thought I was handsome way back then?"

"Actually, I thought you were beautiful, " Steve said as an adorable pink blush crept up his neck to his cheeks. "And as soon as I thought it, I felt ashamed." He shrugged, shaking his head. "I didn't know at the time that it was okay for me to think that about another man. It'd been taboo my entire life, and—"

"Well, thank goodness for our modern views on sexuality, hmm?" said Tony. He rose up onto his tiptoes, pressing a soft but lingering kiss to Steve's lips, one that had both of their hearts thudding by the time they broke apart. "And thank goodness that Pete took it upon himself to inform you of those modern views."

"Yes, thank goodness for Peter," Steve agreed, sneaking a quick glance at the wall clock. "And if we get going right now, we should be able to get back into the city in time to pick him up from school."

Tony grinned, pecking Steve's lips one final time. "Well, then, Captain, let's get out of here."

"Sounds good." Steve held out his arm, which Tony eagerly took as they headed out of the room and back up to the main floor, nearly running headlong into Nick Fury as they stepped off the elevator.

"Ah, just the two gentlemen I was hoping to find," Fury said, with that dumb, shit-eating grin on his face that Tony had despised for years. "Do you guys have a minute?"

"We have exactly one," Tony said shortly. "Otherwise we'll be late getting back to the city to pick up Pete."

"Well, I promise this'll only take a minute, and then you can both be on your way." Leading them into the same conference room that they'd stopped off in earlier, Fury closed the door, crossing his arms. "I've just received word from King T'Challa that the Wakandan government has decided to formally open a diplomatic dialogue with SHIELD, one that also includes your team."

"Just with us, sir?" asked Steve. "Not with the United States as a whole?"

"That's right, Captain. Just with us," said Fury. "King T'Challa was quite impressed with your team when you spoke down in Namibia, but given the incursion that followed and the people who were behind that incursion, he's at the moment reluctant to extend that diplomatic relationship to the entire country until the United States can assure him without hesitation that all of HYDRA's agents and interests have been completely purged."

Tony's eyebrows immediately shot up. "Now wait just a goddamn minute, Nick. You promised me after Steve got attacked that all of HYDRA was finally accounted for, and now—"

"And they are, Tony," Fury stated. "But pardon me if I'm trying to be just a bit more cautious with the king of a formerly very reclusive country."

"Oh, so Steve doesn't deserve that same caution?" snapped Tony. "And why is—?"

He was cut off by his husband's fingers curling around his arm. "Tony, this isn't getting us anywhere," Steve said. He sucked in a deep breath, turning to Fury. "What exactly does this mean, Director?"

"At the moment, not too much," Fury said with a shrug. "However, if something were to happen—"

"Like another attack from space?" Tony said.

Fury shot him a deep scowl. "Yes, Tony, something like that. And if that were to happen, then SHIELD and the Avengers would be able to coordinate with the Wakandan government to ascertain the best type of response."

"Well," Steve said after a short pause. "Then that's good. Thank you, Director."

"I agree," said Fury. "And you're welcome. Now, I'm sure I don't have to remind you that this information is only on a need-to-know basis. You have permission to share it with your team, Captain, but no one else."

"Copy that," Steve said softly.

"And that includes Pete, right?" Tony asked. "I know he's not technically part of the team, but—"

"Are you sure you can promise the boy's confidence?" Fury asked. "No offence, but Peter doesn't exactly have the best track record when it comes to secrets."

"Tony and I will discuss it and let you know, Director," Steve said. "Is there anything else?"

"Not about that." Fury let out a sigh, rubbing at his temples. "I'm not sure if I should berate you or thank you for lobbing that Hank Pym issue our way. We've been trying to get our hands on that tech of his for years, but I'm not sure anyone's up for the headaches that are sure to come with trying to deal with him."

"Well, that's what you get for letting Pym walk away in the first place," Tony said, rather smugly. "Just blame it on Howard and you'll be fine."

Fury rolled his eye. "Yeah, thanks."

"I'll let you know what Bruce and I come up with once we have a chance to take a look at his stuff, okay?" said Tony as he headed for the door. His patience with Nick Fury usually bordered on nonexistent, and he and Steve really did need to get going.

"I'll be waiting!" Fury called as they exited the room. Tony wrinkled his nose, tightening his grip on Steve's arm. Yeah, I'm sure you will.

"Do you really think you and Bruce will be able to crack Pym's formula?" Steve asked after they had gathered up his shield and the particles and piled into his truck, heading down I-81 towards the city.

"Oh, hell yeah," answered Tony. "Hank Pym may think of himself as the same kind of genius that Howard or Arnim Zola were, but he's really more lucky than intelligent. That's the main reason why he kept that formula so secret. It was pretty much all he had, and he was afraid that if it ever got out, he'd be left in the dark."

"Well, I know I don't know him very well, or even at all," said Steve. "But even the fact that he tried to coerce Scott Lang into trying to steal from us doesn't sit well with me. From what you've told me, Pym's pretty wealthy, so why couldn't he have done for Scott what you did for him?"

"'Cause he's an asshole, honey," Tony said plainly. "Just like Howard was an asshole. And they didn't like each other because they were both the same kind of asshole."

Steve grinned, sliding his hand across the console to cover Tony's knee. "Well, like I said. I was really proud of what you did for Scott today. You gave him a job and made it possible for him to see his daughter in the span of only a couple of minutes. Tony, he's going to get his entire life back on track now, and it's all thanks to you."

Tony scoffed. "Ah. You're making it sound like I raised him from the dead or something."

"I'm sure he thinks that you did, mo grá," Steve said. "And I'm just glad I was there to witness it."

Tony smiled softly as he glanced over at his husband, his breath hitching as he took him in. Steve's thick blond hair was tucked under a bright blue New York Mets baseball hat, and he was wearing the wire-rimmed, aviator sunglasses that Tony adored. That combined with the way his left hand was resting right at twelve o'clock on the steering wheel and the way the dimple in his right cheek was staring so boldly in Tony's direction that it may as well have been a flashing neon sign… it was taking entirely too much of Tony's willpower to keep his hands to himself so Steve could drive.

He was just so. Goddamn. Hot!

"Holy shit," Tony whispered as he brought his hand to cover Steve's, interlacing their fingers. "Captain Rogers, pardon me for being so forward, but I do have to say that you are just fucking gorgeous."

Steve's dimple grew even deeper. "Oh, yeah?" he said, rather cheekily. "Well, then, Mr Stark, what would you say to becoming my fella? Is that a prospect that you might consider?"

"Hmm," Tony said with a smirk. "I'm sure you could entice me, a hot, sweet guy like yourself. And I'm also sure that something like a blowjob would only add to that enticement."

Steve barked out a laugh, his fingers tightening around Tony's. "I'm sure I could arrange for something like that," he said as he shot Tony a look that was pure smouldering intensity. "As soon as Peter goes to bed tonight, okay?"

"Mmm," Tony murmured as he brushed his thumb across Steve's knuckles. "You think we could convince him to go to bed at say… seven or so?"

"Ahh, probably not without revealing our sinister plan, sweetheart," said Steve.

"No, probably not," agreed Tony. "Ah well, who knows. Maybe he'll be extra tired tonight. It was the first day back at school."

"Yeah, maybe. We can hope."

As it turned out, Peter was a bit tired from school, but unfortunately perked up considerably when Tony informed him that he was going to be working with him and Bruce to crack the formula for the Pym Particles.

"You mean, these could make me as small as a real spider?" Peter asked once they were home, his pure, boyish delight warming Tony's heart like a heater as he studied the vial of reddish-pink dots. "Dad, that's so cool!"

"Yeah, but we're not trying it out on anyone until we're a hundred and ten percent sure that we're right, bud," said Tony. "And that's not gonna be for awhile. Okay?"

"Oh, yeah, I know that," Peter said. "But when can we start?"

"Well… Uncle Bruce said he's free tomorrow, so—"

"Yes!" exclaimed Peter. "As soon as I get home from school!"

"You got it, buddy," Tony said as he ruffled Peter's already unruly curls. "Go on and start your homework now, yeah? Papa should be home soon with dinner."

"Uh huh," Peter said, obediently heading over to his workstation and pulling out his trigonometry textbook. Steve had gone out with Bucky and Sam to run some errands, promising to bring Peter's favourite pizza home for dinner afterwards, so Tony headed over to his own workstation, slipping the vial of particles under his holographic projector.

"Okay, JARVIS, let's see if we can get a basic backbone here, yeah?"

"Yes, sir." A couple seconds later a blue hologram appeared in front of Tony, one that appeared to be an organic structure.

"All right, that's kinda weird," Tony said as he ran his fingers down his goatee. "Aren't these things supposed to be subatomic?"

"That is the theory, sir," JARVIS said. "However, without a copy of the structure for reference, I cannot be certain."

"Well…" Tony slowly walked around the hologram, muttering to himself as he took it in. The particle was definitely complex, but didn't appear to be any more so than the calculations for building his miniature arc reactor inside the Afghanistan cave had been.

And if he could build an arc reactor in a cave with nothing but a box of scraps, then he and Peter could certainly figure out the formula that produced this silly little particle. And while he still had no idea what he was actually going to use them for, if anything, Tony had always enjoyed a challenge. Especially one that allowed him to wipe the smirk off the face of a man he'd always despised.

If nothing else, it would serve as a decent distraction, something both he and Peter could use at the moment. Hearing that his girlfriend was going to be spending the entire summer on another continent had stung him badly, and anything Tony could do to help Peter cheer up he figured would be more than welcome.

"All right, J," he said, squaring his shoulders as he leaned closer to the hologram.

"Let's do this."