Tony sat outside on the deck, thinking. Thinking about his son, the life he must have lived on L2, the skills he must have developed to survive. He felt like he was missing something, like it should be obvious, but what?

A swinging shadow caught Tony's eye.

"FRI—is that—?"

"It appears to be Spider-Man," she confirmed.

He stood and tapped his arc reactor, enjoying the suit as it built around him in a few instants. "Since we can't figure out the older kid, why don't we see why the young one is out this late," he said and took off.

As soon as Peter caught sight of Tony, he swung up onto a building and waited.

"Hi, Mr. Stark," he said, the same usual nervous undertone in his voice. "What a coincidence seeing you out here tonight," he added, and Tony frowned behind the helmet because it wasn't the usual nervousness. This was deeper.

"Peter," he said, making the helmet retract. "Care to tell me what you're doing out at 2 a.m. on a school night? Does your aunt know?"

"No!" he said quickly. "No, of course she doesn't. She doesn't know yet," he said, going over to the ledge and sitting on it. "What are you doing out?"

He couldn't see Peter's face, but his body language didn't lie any better than he did, and Tony could see how intensely nervous Peter was. "You're swinging around my part of town—not a part of town you usually work—at 2 in the morning, and you're trying to tell me you weren't hoping to get my attention?" he asked.

"Er, well…"

"You know you could have just called, right?"

"I didn't know if you'd want to talk to me, you know, since…"

"Since…?" Tony prompted.

"Since you found out about your kid and all, I mean," Peter charged on.

Tony wondered why he was surprised. He knew how Peter looked up to him, but he hadn't considered that Peter might feel… replaced? Abandoned?

"Budge over," he told Peter, then sat next to him. "And take that mask off. I want to see you when I talk to you." He didn't think he was imagining Peter's reluctance as he removed the mask. "So, you heard the rumors?"

"You haven't denied them, so… I kind of assumed it was true." He looked at the mask in his hands instead of at Tony.

"It is," he admitted. "But he's not really a kid. He's twenty-one—well, twenty-two. One of those. Got his own life, been married already. He doesn't really need or want a parent."

Peter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but the way he hunched in on himself made Tony's heart hurt a little.

"You know I've known about him for over a year, right?" Tony asked. "I mean, I only finally tracked him down about a month and a half ago, but I've known he's out there for a year."

Peter glanced up at him, serious but confused. "You knew?"

"Yeah, I knew."

"Why didn't you…"

"Why didn't I tell you?" Tony asked. Peter met his eyes, then nodded. "Because it didn't matter at the time. Doesn't really matter now. I mean, I'm trying to figure out how we fit into each other's lives because he is my son, and I do want…" He hesitated but figured if he owed anyone this truth, it might just be Peter. "My dad was a great man. And a terrible parent. I've been both a terrible man and a terrible parent. I'd like to think I'm making up for being a terrible man as best as I can, but I'd really like not to continue to the Stark legacy of being a shitty dad too."

"I can't believe you'd be a bad parent," Peter said immediately, almost painfully earnest. "And I don't know how anyone wouldn't want to be your kid."

Peter's unvarnished faith warmed him in some old and damaged place in his heart, at the same time it made him afraid. He didn't want to fail this kid. He'd already failed Duo so badly, he may never find a way to make it up, but he couldn't fail Peter.

He ruffled Peter's hair. "Thanks for that, but Duo—that's his name—he's… had a rough hand dealt to him. I don't blame him for being suspicious."

"Is he… is he smart?" Peter asked. Tony could hear what he wasn't saying. Is he smarter than me? Can he replace me that way?

Tony fully retracted the suit and did something he hadn't done with Peter before—he put his hand around his shoulder. "Not sure if he's smart like us. Doesn't have a lot of formal education in his background."

Peter leaned into him. "Does he look like you?" he asked, sounding less nervous, more curious.

"Not really. But if you've ever heard that old curse, 'may you have kids just like you'? Pretty sure I'm getting every bit of attitude and sass I ever gave my folks back in spades."

"Really?" Peter asked, looking amused.

"Eh, mostly he avoids me if he can. Which reminds me—Hydra's already targeted him, so keep an eye out yourself."

What? No. Is he okay?"

It was nice that Peter took the threat seriously, far more seriously than Duo did.

"He was shot, but he's okay. Just a graze, and he's a Preventer, so apparently he's used to that."

"He's… used to getting shot?" Peter asked like he hadn't heard Tony correctly, and it was nice to have someone else think Duo had downplayed the significance of being shot.

"If you ever get shot, please treat it seriously? The suit's tough, but I can't guarantee it'll hold up against everything, and—"

"I'll be careful, and I promise, if that happens, I'll treat it seriously," Peter reassured.

"I'm developing a new suit for you. I just need to balance the flexibility with the strength, because I know how much you need to—"

"Thank you," Peter interrupted. "And I'll be careful. I promise. Worry about your son. I can take care of myself."

It echoed Duo's own certainty so closely, Tony had to chuckle. He didn't deserve this kid, but he was glad to have him in his life.

"Um, maybe this isn't the best time to ask, but, uh, am I going to, you know, get to meet the other Avengers, like, formally? I mean, I've only fought half of them."

"Next time we've got something," Tony said, and it was harder now, to make himself ask Peter for anything, to rely on him, knowing he was almost six years younger than Duo. He didn't want Duo out there doing his dangerous job, but Peter was a superhero. He'd be in the fight no matter what Tony did. The best thing Tony could do was try to set him up for success. "And I'd like you to meet Duo—you know, if he doesn't just decide to totally blow me off, that is."

"You'd want me to meet him?"

"Once I'm sure he's not just going to kiss off and vanish, yeah." He didn't know when Peter had become so important, but he was. He needed to know that regardless if Duo stayed or went, Tony was going to be there for him.

"I think I'd like to meet him," Peter said, because Peter was innately good, and before Tony had ever laid eyes on Duo Reyes-Maxwell, Peter had become the touchstone that reminded Tony there was genuine good in the world, that there were people worth saving.

Tony ruffled Peter's hair and gave a squeeze, which made the arm around Peter's shoulder into something of a half-hug. "I'll see what I can do, champ."

When Tony got back inside, he knew he should head to bed, but instead, he headed down to the workshop. For some reason, talking to Peter had shaken something loose, and he wanted to take a second look while it was top of mind.

"Hey, FRI?"

"Yes, Boss."

"Pull up that list of Maxwells from L2. I want to take another look at it."

"Coming right up, Boss."

Dreams of bright sun, clean salt air, and soft ocean sounds were replaced bit by bit. The feel of the sun on his skin became the warmth of a body; the ocean's rhythmic rumble, the steady bass beat of a resting heart; the scent of the sea became the recycled scent unique to recent space travel with a layer of something deeper and richer that made him think of wild places. A hand ran down his braid, easing him slowly into the waking world. He was so comfortable and content, it took him a minute or two to remember where he was and who he was with.

He must have tensed because Trowa soothed him with shush, the hand on his braid moving to his back, encouraging him to stay relaxed. "Take your time," he suggested, voice sleep roughened. "We don't have anywhere we have to be today."

Which meant Quatre had blacked out his calendar for this trip. Part of Duo hated inconveniencing his friends, but a small part of him—a part he had done his best to bury since finding the bombed-out shell of the Maxwell Church—cuddled up in pleasure at the acknowledgment that he was important. He closed his eyes and breathed Trowa's scent in, focused on his heartbeat, its pounding soothing rather than Shinigami's more familiar primal pulse. Duo tried to remember the last time he had slept so well and so deeply, then gave it up to snuggle in closer to Trowa and steal his warmth. He wasn't a furnace like Heero or Jesus tended to be, but the heat of another person was welcome all the same. Trowa continued to trace lazy, thoughtless shapes across his back with just enough pressure for Duo to feel, the wandering but constant touch was as reassuring in its own way as the sound of Trowa's heart.

"Quat still out?" he asked, his own voice rough but low.

Trowa's whole chest rumbled softly as he hummed his affirmative. His fingertips tapped jetlag against Duo's back in Morse code. Quatre and Wufei, the two who had traveled the least prior to joining the Rebellion, were always hit the worst by the jetlag. As long as they felt safe, Duo and Trowa could sleep pretty much anywhere at any time, which helped them adjust to new time zones in about a day, sometimes less. Heero had never been bothered by anything less than a twelve-hour difference. Falling asleep had never been something he struggled with. Staying asleep or sleeping well were different things altogether, but falling asleep was not usually a problem.

Bathroom? tapped across his back, almost tickling. Duo sighed, but yeah, it was necessary. He slid out of bed as soundlessly as possible. He turned when he heard Trowa slip out behind him, and raised an eyebrow, seeing Quat cuddled into a ball on the other side of the bed, more than half of the blankets around him like it was the middle of winter instead of April. Trowa rolled his eyes, but his lips smiled in affection, and they made their way to the bathroom. They took turns in the water closet, then Trowa made him sit on the counter so he could get a look at his wound.

Quatre usually got the most flack for being a mother hen, but the truth was they could all be a little overbearing when they were worried. Duo pulled his shirt off so he wasn't awkwardly holding it up. Trowa's eyes found and lingered on the Jesus on his neck, then moved to the rings on Duo's hands. Duo told them bits and pieces last night, just enough for them to know what he'd done.

"Was he worth it?" Trowa asked softly, brushing a finger over Duo's wedding band.

"Yes," he said simply.

Trowa took his answer at face value, carefully peeling the bandage off his stitches. The bruise took up almost half his side and ached dully with pretty much every movement, but the edges of it were already turning green and yellow. A solid, very good night's sleep speeding along his already impressive immune system. More annoying were the stitches limiting his movement unless he wanted to tear them out.

He had torn out a lot of stitches over the years. It was why Sally didn't bother with the fine or the subcutaneous ones meant to minimize scarring. The big, ugly black stitches were stronger, so he had more warning before he tore them. Usually by the time he was aware he'd gone too far with the subcutaneous ones, it was already too late.

Trowa ran a clean washcloth under warm water and carefully cleaned around the edges, pressing with care to test them and the wound. As he prodded, some clear drainage spilled out, and Trowa caught it automatically on the washcloth. The wound was tender, but the tenderness of healing, not something more serious.

Once he was satisfied, Trowa straightened. "You were lucky."

"I'm always lucky," Duo retorted with an exaggerated grin he hadn't worn in long enough that it felt odd on his face.

Trowa went to the medicine cabinet and found a small, but complete, first aid kit, pulling out the gauze and medical tape to cover Duo's stitches again. While they were draining like that, it was best to have them covered instead of getting it all over his clothing or having his clothing stick to them. Duo helped hold the gauze in place while Trowa taped it. Wound safe, he gave Duo's braid a gentle tug. "We'd rather you be careful than lucky."

"What's wrong with being both?" he asked. The flat look Trowa gave him made him shrink back a bit until the slouch pulled at his side. "Got it. Be more careful."

"Please."

Duo jumped down from the counter, landing on silent feet, though the end of his braid stayed on it. He turned and looked at it, remembered exactly how long it was, then turned back to Trowa. "Do you think you could help me with something?"

Trowa raised an eyebrow, and okay, Duo probably deserved that look.

He picked up the end of the braid and held it up. "I think it's time to get a haircut."

Under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed catching Trowa so off guard. The significance of the request, however, stole a little bit of the fun from it. "I'm not going to, you know, lop it all off or anything, but I'm well past 'long' at this point, and heading quickly into Rapunzel territory. I think it's also starting to give me headaches."

His explanation had eased the tension from Trowa, and he asked, "Only starting to?"

Duo shrugged. "It's been long pretty much my whole life, but even for me, it's heavy."

"How short are you talking?"

"Not, by most people's definition. Like, waist-length?" He moved his hand somewhere between his waist and hip to demonstrate the general length.

"Is that how long you want the braid or want it when it's down?"

Duo ran the length of the braid over his hands, trying to guestimate the length of hair that Sister Helen had first braided when he'd been a wild ball of hair and attitude. "Down," he decided, pulling the two ties from the end of the braid. He always used two. He rewound the first one at the end of the braid, then ran his hand down the length again, feeling for about where he thought the first cut should be. He put the second tie right at the swell of his ass, then reached behind him, trying to imagine how it would feel for it to be that short. He really couldn't—it had just been too long—pun not intended—since it had been that short.

Trowa frowned. "I'm not sure that I should be doing this," he said. "At least, not without proper scissors."

Right. Duo had been so focused on just getting it done, he'd forgotten that detail. Easy solve though. He dropped his hand to his side, took a moment to remember how to move the muscles consciously, and found them. A squeeze, and the sleek, abyss-black blade slid from his forearm to drop neatly into his palm.

"That will never not be unnerving," Trowa told him. "And also is not a pair of scissors."

"I know," Duo said, grabbing his braid before he could think about it too much, and pressed it to the blade just above the hair tie. The gundanium blade sliced through the thick strands with barely any pressure, and between one breath and the next, he had nearly two feet of hair in his hands that was no longer attached to his head. He thought he heard Trowa gasp, but it was secondary to the literal weight that had been lifted. He could feel his remaining braid beginning to unravel, but it felt… good. Right. He still had the hair Sister Helen's hands had braided, and could keep it, but he still had his trademark length as well.

"Was it really necessary to do it that way?" Trowa asked, sounding a little exasperated.

Duo shrugged and gave him a small, sheepish grin. "You wouldn't have done it if I didn't."

"No more shocks before I have my coffee, please?"

"I'll try," Duo assured, which Trowa knew wasn't a guarantee. He sighed again, but Duo had flipped the knife in his palm to the hilt was facing Trowa. "Mind evening it up for me?"

"Put that damn thing away. I'm getting proper scissors for this," he said, then turned on his heel and left, presumably to find the proper scissors.

Duo set the braid on the counter with care before he found the small wound the blade had made as it came out. He fed the blade back into its sheath of his arm, using the plate in his palm to push it back in by the tip. Putting the blades back always hurt more than taking them out, but Duo thought it was worth it if it meant he couldn't be disarmed against his will. The weight resettled, the muscles twitching as they locked around the blade again. He wiped away a bead of blood. The cut from the razor-sharp blade was nearly invisible and would seal on its own within a few hours. He shook out his arm, making sure it was settled correctly—his first attempts to house the supersharp blades had been very painful before G had done something to make his muscles grip them instead of being shredded by them.

They were always meant to be a last resort, but it seemed appropriate to use a weapon loaded with memory and meaning to similarly sentimental hair. He did go ahead and put a Band-Aid over the tiny wound. It would appease Trowa if nothing else. Then he washed his hands, checking the pinpoint wound in his palm from the tip, but it had already disappeared into the scars.

He dried his hands on a second towel then began to unravel what was left of his braid. The longest ends reached the top of his thigh, the shortest ones brushed the small of his back, but though it felt weird, it felt right too.

Trowa slipped back in, a pair of scissors from somewhere in his hands. He gave Duo a onceover, assessing, then said, "Let's see if I can do something with that. Turn around."

Duo did, but paused to look over his shoulder. "Thanks, Tro."

Trowa snorted. "Don't thank me yet. You get to explain this to Quatre."