Hi friends!

Originally I was going to take next week off for the 4th of July (and a badly needed break), but since I'll be taking off 2 weeks in a row at the end of July/start of August for my SF/F convention, I figured that would be a little mean. So yes chapter next week.

This week is a small amount of plot and a large amount of fluff. I'm trying as hard as I can to stay to the timeline of the original MCU. Which is NOT ALWAYS EASY (I'm looking at you, COMPLETELY NONSENSICAL Doctor Strange timing). But, generally and where possible, I'm sticking to the timeline at least where outside forces act on it. So this is the occurrence of Thor 2 in mid-November.

Also, we're starting to get into certain cultural celebrations, aka Thanksgiving. While no person can speak for all New Yorkers, I was actually born and raised in Upstate New York. I know the city less well, but I was steeped in the regional culture. Which is my way of saying – trust me on this squash thing, okay?

(If you write MCU fic and want help with regionalisms, language, and/or distance, drop me a line. For my friends across the pond, there's a few things you tend to write that are just…not how it goes in NY. For example, we say "mom," not "mum," and Manhattan and Queens are not even on the same island.)

The song for tonight is "Everyday" by Bon Jovi. There's a rock version of the song, but I really strongly prefer the version on the This Left Feels Right album. It's soft and contemplative.

Okay, long note over. See you in a week! Enjoy!


Chapter 9: Spread These Wings


Peter trudged up to Doctor Kreese-Silver's classroom with mixed feelings on Monday. May had talked to him about the fact that the kids from the club were probably the ones who hurt him, and even though Peter hadn't seen their faces, he knew she wasn't wrong.

Though how she found out, he had no idea. Maybe it was just a mysterious adult parent thing.

So leaving the club did make sense. He knew they had started coming after him in the grocery store because he was an easy target, but after that it had snowballed because of the club. And as much as he hated the idea of backing down, May assured him that he wasn't. That, in fact, now he would be free to show them up completely at the exhibition in the spring without risk of them sabotaging his projects or making him miserable.

That idea was deeply appealing, honestly, and there was relief in not having to see them every week. Even if he still didn't like the feeling of being driven off.

That was why today he had to go tell the teacher he was quitting, which meant one more trip to the club classroom, and he was, if he let himself think about it, terrified. There was nothing good about being up there and possibly seeing them again so soon after Friday. After knowing they'd hurt him and made him cry and left him helpless.

If Mister Carbonell hadn't come, what would have happened to me?

But that line of thought led to bad things so he shoved it down.

How'd he even know I was in trouble?

Another one of those adult mysteries.

"Excuse me."

Peter paused in the hallway to see an unfamiliar woman with longish fiery red hair wearing a sharp business suit. She smiled at him, and Peter felt himself relaxing a little. He wasn't sure why, he just got the feeling that she was nice and was the kind of adult who would not make life harder for him.

"Can I help you?" he asked politely.

"I'm looking for the robotics club," she said. "You wouldn't happen to be heading that direction, would you?"

"Oh, um, yeah. I can take you there." He swallowed. "I'm Peter. Peter Parker."

"Natalie Rushman." She nodded at him. Then her face did something odd. "I'm a friend of Tony's."

"Mister Carbonell?" Peter's comfort grew. "That's neat. What are you doing here?"

"I've got something to talk to your teacher about."

Peter froze. "Is this about...um…?"

Miss Rushman looked around the hallway, but most students were already gone and those who remained were paying them no attention at all. She leaned down with a smile.

"Let's just say I have an incentive to make sure certain people don't come near you again. In their best interest, of course."

Peter blinked at her, uncomprehending.

"Just watch and don't say anything. Oh, and don't worry about anything I tell them. It's not at all what it sounds like."

That made even less sense, but Peter decided he probably wasn't going to get anywhere asking for details and just nodded.

"Okay."

At the door to the classroom, he hesitated, then drew in a deep breath and entered even though it made his stomach turn knots.

Johnny and the others were already here. Dutch's eyes positively lit up seeing him, and he grinned and opened his mouth to say something awful probably.

But suddenly Miss Rushman slid into the room and placed herself between them, although she was probably just heading for Doctor Kreese-Silver's desk.

"Excuse me," she said. "Are you Doctor Jefferson Kreese-Silver?"

"Yes?" He looked up, raising an eyebrow. "Who are you and what are you doing in the school without an escort?"

Peter hedged around the desks towards his own in-progress project, keeping his eyes on them.

Miss Rushman gestured to the visitor's badge she wore. "I've already spoken to the assistant principal, and she assured me you were the person of most interest to my employer. I only need a few minutes."

"Hmm. Well, do make it quick. I have a club to supervise."

Miss Rushman's smile never faltered.

"I represent a corporation with an interest in robotics technology," she said, sliding a business card across his desk. "We have recently launched an enrichment program wherein we bring one outstanding teacher and their student or students to one of our facilities for a week-long event to help support interest in the field of robotics."

Peter watched Doctor Kreese-Silver's eyes get wide.

"And you're interested in my robotics club?"

"Potentially. However, the rules for participation in the competition are very strict. They may pose a slight imposition to your club as it stands."

"How so?"

"We only want the best, Doctor Kreese-Silver. Any students being considered cannot have any amount of outside help, even from other students." There was a lightning-quick glance in Peter's direction. "Also, the offer is only for students currently in eighth grade."

"I see. What about students who work in teams?"

"Oh, collaboration is to be encouraged, as long as the team solicits absolutely no outside assistance or even the appearance of assistance. So, for example, if you had a few eighth graders you would like us to consider, they cannot work in the same area as anyone not competing for the program, and, ideally, we'd like them to minimize social contact as well."

"I don't see that being a problem," Doctor Kreese-Silver said. "The students currently enrolled in this club are, all but one, eighth graders on the same team."

"Splendid." Miss Rushman's smile grew. "Then you and your students might be interested in competing to participate in our program?" She leaned forward. "I don't mind telling you, your qualifications are far beyond the average middle school teacher. There would even be a chance for you to make some professional connections through the program. I'm certain there are some of our roboticists who would enjoy your perspective."

"I would be very eager to give my students the opportunity to speak to leaders in the field of robotics, and I am certain I would enjoy the chance to spend some time with my peers as well." Doctor Kreese-Silver looked over at Peter. "There is just the matter of one student."

Peter saw Miss Rushman's eyes on him and got the sense that this was his cue. "Oh, um. Doctor Kreese-Silver? My aunt says she wants me to leave the club anyway. I'll still probably enter the exhibition on my own, but she wants me home on Mondays now."

"Perfect!" The teacher was grinning now, Peter already forgotten. "Now, let us discuss the particulars of this competition. Mister Lawrence, bring your team up and meet Miss Rushman."

Peter listened as they discussed the robotics enrichment program with half an ear while he packed up his project, only paying full attention when Bobby spoke up.

"What did you mean about that social contact thing?"

"Ah." Miss Rushman's smile to Bobby was cold somehow. "We need to ensure that there is no possible collaboration between you four and any other student, especially that boy over there who is not on your team." She gestured to Peter in an off-handed way.

"That's fine. We don't even like him," Dutch said. Fred elbowed him.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand." Miss Rushman turned to the four of them. "Because you are in different grades, this is easier. But for you to qualify for consideration in our program, you must have absolutely no contact with him. At all. Ever. Under any circumstances. You must not speak to him, or be seen with him. Even a student who saw you walking down the same hallway at the same time could be enough to suggest that he gave you a hint on your project."

"As if he could help us," Jonny said.

"I'm sure," she said, "but rules are rules. Therefore, you must all agree here and now that you will not so much as walk by that boy until we have rendered our decision. The application process will take several months, as we must see the best you can develop before the end of the school year. Ideally, whatever robotics project you submit should already have some accolades attached to it."

"We have a school exhibition in March," Fred put in. "We were already planning to win."

"Excellent. Then I suggest you four work your hardest on it. When you win the school exhibition, Doctor Kreese-Silver can enter your project in our competition. After that, hopefully we will see you at our finest facility this summer."

"I look forward to it," Doctor Kreese-Silver said.

"I will email the school all the specifics about the competition and its deadlines for your application." She looked back at the boys. "I cannot stress enough how important the rules about potential cheating are. Even one post on social media with that boy in the background could ruin your chances forever."

Peter suddenly shivered as if the room had dropped a million degrees.

Miss Rushman was still smiling, but it didn't feel or look that way anymore. "Stay away from him. Or else."

And then everything was normal again. "I'd hate for you to miss out on our competition."

"They'll take it seriously," Doctor Kreese-Silver said, glaring at them. The boys all looked a little uncomfortable and nodded frantically. "Or they'll be out of my club for good."

"Glad to hear it. Now, let me escort this boy out so you can begin. Of course," she said over her shoulder, "you cannot use anything built while he was in the club. I'm afraid you'll have to start anything you were working on over."

Peter snickered and hid it behind his backpack at the look of abject horror on their faces. Two months of work scrapped because he happened to be breathing the same air as them.

"Thank you for this opportunity, Miss Rushman," Doctor Kreese-Silver said. "We'll be in touch as soon as we win the March exhibition."

Miss Rushman gestured for Peter to leave the room ahead of her, and he did so, absolutely and utterly confused about what he'd just witnessed.

By now, the halls were virtually deserted. Peter walked beside Miss Rushman for a few moments before he finally looked up. "Um?"

"Yes?"

"Did that really just happen?"

"Of course it did." She smiled, and this was a warmer one than any he'd seen in the classroom.

"Is there really a company sponsoring a big thing for robotics students?"

"There certainly is."

"Is it really in the rules that they can't come near me?"

She eyed him. "What do you think?"

"I think you said you were Mister Carbonell's friend. So, probably not."

She gave a tiny laugh. "You're sharp, kid." They began descending the stairs together. "Now, I need you to do something for me, Peter Parker."

"Oh?" He was jostling his backpack in his arms because he wanted to carry it more gently with the bits he'd packed inside it. "What's that?"

"I want to make sure I can come watch you trounce them in March. I know Tony's helping you, but even so — beat the pants off all of them for me, will you?"

Peter grinned. "That's my plan!"

"Good." She winked. "They deserve it."

"Um."

"Yes?"

"Can I apply for the enrichment thing too?" Peter wanted to know.

Miss Rushman grinned at him. "You already did, Peter. Courtesy of Tony, of course."

"Oh. Do I have to start over from scratch, too?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Tell me, did those kids ever help you in any way?"

He didn't even need time to think about it. "Uh, no. They mostly stole my tools and parts when the teacher wasn't looking."

"Right. So no." At the bottom of the stairs, she turned to head for the office. "I'll see you again, Peter Parker. I expect victory."

Peter nodded. "Thank you, Miss Rushman. I'm not sure why you helped me, but...I appreciate it."

"Tell Tony when you see him that he was right for once."

Peter blinked. "About what?"

"I'd do this one for free."

And that didn't make much more sense than anything else had in the last half-hour, but at this point Peter was too happy to be bothered. So he just waved and set off for home with a cheerful heart.

And if he gloated to both Aunt May and Mister Carbonell, well, they looked pretty happy about it, too.

-==OOO==-

To be fair, there was really no way for Tony to know about the weird stuff that was happening this time until it was nearly over. Even if he'd been in his Tower, he might not have paid much attention to slightly chaotic rumblings in the world of astrophysicists, since half of what they did sounded like cosmic gravity wells of doom normally.

He found out later that even Bruce wasn't really paying that much attention, so neither of them had any warning about portals opening over Greenwich as a possibility until it happened.

It was a Thursday, the fifteenth. Two weeks before Thanksgiving, and Tony had other stuff to worry about besides one scientist — okay, Jane Foster was pretty great for an astrophysicist actually, but it wasn't like they knew each other beyond having a big blond lightning god in common — and predictions about gravity wells. Or whatever it was. Honestly, the briefing he received after the fact made less sense than whatever vague alert SHIELD sent him two days before.

To be honest, part of the reason Tony wasn't paying any attention leading up to the world-endangering stuff was because he had no idea how to explain to Peter Parker that he wasn't going to join him and May for Thanksgiving. Peter had asked Tony almost every time they saw one another for the last week, and Tony knew it wasn't going to let up just because he tried to brush it off.

"He just wants you to feel included," May said on Tuesday when she dropped by while Peter was visiting Ned as usual. "And...I think he doesn't want it to be just him and me. It's...our first without Ben. I think Peter is hoping you'll make it less difficult for us."

"May," Tony said, not unsympathetically, "I get that. And if things were different, I'd be tossing you two in the car to come with me instead. But unless we want to make the big reveal to Peter right now, there's no good way for me to tell him that I'm apparently eating turkey with Captain America and some SHIELD agents that day."

If asked, the only good part about the plan was spending Thanksgiving with Pepper and Bruce and Rhodey. He could do without the Capsicle and company. But Thanksgiving planning had been taken out of his hands because he wasn't there to object, and so apparently the Avengers were having a holiday meal together.

Now it was Thursday morning, and as soon as Peter finished school and homework, he'd be down in the workshop coming up with new and creative unsubtle ways to ask Tony to join them again.

But late that morning, JARVIS interrupted Tony's distraction.

"Sir, there is an event occurring in Greenwich that I believe may require your attention."

Tony was down in the proper lab, so he only had to gesture for JARVIS to pull up a live feed from some kind of shaky news footage showing portals in the air and a guy that wouldn't be amiss on the set of Lord of the Rings going at it with Thor in the middle of the portal version of a Scooby-Doo chase farce.

"What the…" He shook himself. "Okay. How long will it take me to get there?"

"At the best speed of the fastest available suit and considering weather conditions, between two and three hours."

"Damn." Tony watched the fight. "There's no way they'll still be going by then. Thor'll mop this up before I get to Bermuda."

"Are you so certain, sir?"

"No." Tony shrugged. "But if I'm wrong, then I'm still going to get there too late to do anything about it."

Still the sense of guilt was annoying. He sighed. "Fine. I'll deploy just in case. But I'm going out the back way. Get the tube moving."

After the issue of not being able to take the suit from the Tower back to Queens without some eagle-eyed New Yorker spotting the repulsors from his hands and feet, Tony had decided to get creative. 'Creative' meant he'd developed what was, essentially, a retractable launching chute. It was layered in the same reflective panels that made the armor and the SHIELD helicarriers invisible, and could stretch to almost fifteen stories tall — much taller than the nearest buildings. It was basically a chain-mail tunnel like a slide for kids, but the chain-mail made it invisible and he could control it with JARVIS.

Tony also built a launch for himself that could give him a huge boost through the chute, pushing him upward faster than he could normally ascend with the suit alone. It allowed him to build up enough speed that, by the time he exited the launch tunnel, momentum would carry him an additional ten or twenty stories in the air (depending on the weather) before he needed to deploy the repulsors at all. It wasn't a foolproof way to launch from here, but it was better than taking off from the ground and crossing his fingers.

Of course, leaving from Queens was a lot easier than trying to sneak back down the chute, and his one attempt at dropping from up high into it had failed spectacularly and he wasn't doing it again any time soon, but that wasn't today's problem yet.

Suited up in the Mark 46, Tony headed for his chute.

"JARVIS? Update from Thor?"

"The battle appears to continue raging."

"Great. Guess we're doing this." Tony watched JARVIS calculate the force needed and activated the thrusters as he stepped onto the launching pad. "Just in case, get going on the return plan. I don't want to get stuck in a holding pattern trying to figure out how to get back down here."

"Very good, sir. Launch is prepared on your mark."

The exact second I get airborne, Thor's gonna finish that fight and this is going to be for nothing. I'd bet literally a million dollars. I'm gonna regret bothering with this.

"Okay. Three...two...one...mark!"

The rush of the launch was amazing, much faster than his normal takeoffs, and because the reflective panels were slightly prismatic on the non-invisible side, it was a bit like ascending through a rainbow. Tony grinned as the force beneath him built and built until it threw him into the sky like a rocket.

"Yeah baby!"

At the arc of his ascent, he activated the repulsors and immediately shot straight up for the nearest cloud. Hopefully this far off the ground and away from the taller buildings, nobody would spot a few jets of flame from the repulsors; but he'd feel a lot better in concealment anyway.

"JARVIS, plot course for Greenwich."

"Course plotted, sir."

"Engage auto-pilot. I'm going to work on those specs Fury asked me about. I've kind of had it with his recurring temperamental phone calls."

"To be fair, sir, I believe Director Fury has 'had it' as well."

Less than half an hour later, Tony's prediction came true.

"Sir, it appears that all interdimensional activity over Greenwich has ceased and Thor as well as his opponent have disappeared."

Tony groaned. "Told you."

"Shall I cancel the flight?"

"Not yet. Let's see what Old One-Eye says first." Not that Tony really wanted to talk to the man, but even worse than going this far and turning back would be turning back and then getting badgered by SHIELD to head out all over again. That was just ridiculously inefficient.

JARVIS pulled up the call menu in his HUD. "Calling Director Fury."

The Director answered on the second ring. "Stark. Was wondering if you were gonna stick your head up out of the sand."

"Hey, I could have just ignored the whole thing and waited for someone to get mad enough about it to actually contact me. So, what's the thing?"

"Honestly, we're not quite sure. I have a team heading out that way now to investigate. Unfortunately, Thor isn't as good about keeping the locals informed when he makes a visit."

"Have you tried email?" Tony snarked.

Fury ignored that. "It's your call if you want to join the team on the ground."

Tony considered. On the one hand, clearly something big had gone down, something with world-stability implications, and not in the political sense — probably. Generally, he found himself taking an interest in such things, given the whole 'privatizing world peace' shtick.

On the other hand, he was not an astrophysicist, Jane Foster was more than capable of handling the science, and without any sinister bad guys to repulsor in the face, there might not really be that much for him to do. Other than liaise with Fury and SHIELD, and maybe Thor if he turned up again, and whichever part of the British government decided to get involved. That sounded like a job better left to somebody who hadn't chucked a crumpet at the head of an annoying British royal the last time he was invited to tea.

In his defense, Harry was a good sport about it and laughed. But nobody else did.

"Think I'll pass," he decided.

"Fine. Now, about those specs you said you'd have to me last month…"

"Yeah, I know."

"How about we meet in DC and you give them to me in person?" Fury said, and Tony could feel that it was only barely not an order, and then only because Fury didn't technically have any authority over Tony that Tony actually recognized.

"JARVIS, mute."

"Director Fury has been muted, sir."

"How long do you think it would take to fly to DC, do the specs, and get home?"

"If you correct your course now and avoid more than one pointless argument with Director Fury, you should be finished in time to return to Queens before Mister Parker arrives for his usual Thursday session in the workshop."

Tony grinned at JARVIS's ability to anticipate him. "Unmute. All right, Nick, I'm on the way. Make sure the door on the roof of the Triskelion isn't locked this time, or I really will come in through your window."

"Understood. Oh, and Stark?"

Tony felt a sinking feeling at the smirk he could hear in the man's voice.

"Feeling pretty left out that you didn't invite me to your super secret Thanksgiving party."

"Yeah, no," Tony said at once. "I'm already hosting enough people I barely tolerate. Adding you exceeds my quota of tolerance."

"You're missing out on my grandma's sweet potato casserole recipe."

"I have no idea what any of those words mean. Literally never heard them in a sentence before. JARVIS, end call."

In the end, he had two-and-a-half pointless arguments with Fury (half because he up and flew off in the middle of Fury's counterpoint) and had to get JARVIS to text May to stall Peter so he could get back to Queens in time. And his return trip through the chute went slightly better than the last attempt — at least this time he deflected off the rim and fell in at full speed instead of splatting on top of the thing at an angle like some kind of fish on a pike.

But still, all in all, not a bad afternoon.

Peter was ranting about the news and the pictures he'd seen from Greenwich, and Thor, and Tony was content to let him talk. By the time they got deep into the day's science, Peter had forgotten all about asking him to come for Thanksgiving.

Which was really good, because Tony was actually not sure Nick Fury wasn't coming after all and he did not want to think about it any more just in case.

-==OOO==-

"I really wish we could have convinced Mister Carbonell to be here," Peter said as he set the table. May had piled the nice dishes on the kitchen counter, and he hated that there were only two plates, two sets of forks.

"I know, sweetie, but Tony has his own friends and family, too," she said. "And it would be selfish of us to make him miss his time with them just for us."

Peter sighed, knowing she was right.

He looked towards the windows anyway, the day's thin sunlight already gone. Ned said it was weird that Peter and May and Ben had always eaten Thanksgiving dinner as, well, dinner instead of some kind of mutant lunch; Peter always replied that Ned's family ate ham at Thanksgiving, so they were far weirder.

The tradition for as long as Peter could remember had been getting up to watch the complete Macy's parade with May and Ben in their pajamas, then the full dog show, and at least one game of football. Not that May or Peter liked football, and even Ben had been indifferent, but it was tradition. Only then did May and Ben attempt to assemble the meal of turkey, mashed potatoes, squash, stuffing, green beans, and rolls.

"Because I don't like salmonella," Ben had said years ago, they bought turkey cutlets and made them in May's slow-cooker; it was almost impossible even for her to screw up. And the pies were store-bought as well because apparently another Ben-ism was, "Parkers don't bake."

Peter was determined to try his hand at it sometime, though. Baking was just chemistry that you could eat. He should be able to do that, right?

There was always too much food, but half the fun of Thanksgiving was the leftovers. Most years, after eating the small feast, May and Ben and Peter had settled on the couch and watched their way through the pile of Thanksgiving-relevant movies, always ending with Miracle on 34th Street sometime around midnight.

This year, May was trying her best to be cheerful, and Peter was too, but there was no denying the hole at the table where Ben should have sat. His way of plating the turkey that made it look more beautiful than it should for sitting in the slow-cooker all day. His yearly attempt to shove green beans into the roll he handed Peter to see if Peter would bite into it without noticing. His and Peter's annual debate about which was the best float in the Macy's parade that went on for at least two days afterwards.

The way he always looked at May and Peter during movie time as if they were his Christmas miracle.

Peter didn't realize he'd been staring at the half-set table until he felt May put her arms around him.

"It's okay to be sad, kiddo. It's okay to miss him. I do, too, every day."

Peter felt tears prick at his eyes. "But…"

"Ben would look like that, too, on Thanksgiving and Christmas when he thought about Richard."

That surprised Peter into looking up. "I don't remember him ever being sad about my parents."

"He never wanted you to see it," May said. "Not because he didn't want you to know it was okay to express your emotions, but because you'd already lost them, too. He missed his brother at every holiday they used to spend together, but he wanted you to see the holidays as times of hope, not grief."

Peter turned in her arms and held onto her.

"Does it ever get better?"

"Oh, Peter." She kissed his head. "Yes. It won't ever be the same, but...yes. Don't you remember that line from the dragon book when the boy had to send his dragon away?"

Peter gulped. "Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher. Um...something about 'nothing you love is lost,' I think?"

May nodded. "Go grab it. I think it'll help you."

Peter had a feeling she was asking him for the book partly to give herself a moment as well. So he went and found the book on his shelf, paging through it on his way back to the table. The scene he needed was near the end.

When he found it, he read it in a whisper.

"Nothing you love is lost. Not really. Things, people — they always go away, sooner or later. You can't hold them, any more than you can hold moonlight. But if they've touched you, if they're inside you, then they're still yours. The only things you ever really have are the ones you hold inside your heart."

May nodded, wiping at her eyes before she put her hands on Peter's shoulders.

"Ben is inside your heart. And mine. There's an empty space in the world, but not in your heart. He'll always be there, Peter. For both of us."

Peter swallowed a thick lump and nodded, and for a moment they just held onto each other and tried to breathe. Finally May tossed her hair back and started to bustle in the kitchen again. And if she needed an extra pair of hands for everything, even things she could clearly do on her own, Peter didn't mind helping out.

And by the time they settled down to watch the Peanuts Thanksgiving movie, Peter felt almost okay again.

Around ten o'clock and between movies, Peter got up to grab something to drink, and so didn't notice May checking her phone and smiling.

Then there was a knock on the door.

Peter blinked. Looked back at May. Read the smile on her face and knew.

Peter dashed for the door and threw it open. "Mister Carbonell!"

"Hey kid."

Mister Carbonell was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, looking just like he always did.

"I didn't think you were coming!"

"I snuck out," he said. "Probably have to head back in a couple of hours or they'll send out, well, somebody to come find me." He winked. "Long enough to catch at least one movie, though."

"Won't you be in trouble?" Peter wanted to know.

"Nah. When I left, they were playing round six of the 'what are you thankful for' game and everybody had to say something, and it was getting pretty mushy and awkward, so I said I was thankful for being the only one interested in taking a late night stroll, and made my escape. They won't realize I actually left for a bit."

"Is that really all you were thankful for?" Peter asked.

"It's all I was going to say in front of that band of troublemakers, that's for sure."

Peter wasn't sure how to respond, but May jumped in.

"If you're hungry, we have a pile of leftovers," May said without moving from her spot. "Probably can't compare with your feast, but…"

"No, this is great." Mister Carbonell moved straight to the table and immediately loaded up a plate with a couple scoops of squash and an absolute pile of stuffing. "My friends have no idea what you're supposed to eat at Thanksgiving, so we had stuff that does not belong. Like hummus. I mean, who eats hummus on Thanksgiving?"

He waggled his eyebrows at Peter, who laughed.

"People who like hummus?" he offered.

Mister Carbonell scoffed at him. "Well, I do like hummus, but it does not go with turkey and cranberries. And nobody thought to bring squash. I mean, this is New York. Squash is, like, a holiday fixture." He managed to herd Peter to the couch without dropping his plate. "So, what's the next movie? Anything good?"

"Miracle on 34th Street," May said.

"Huh. Never seen it."

May was surprised. "Really? Even the original?"

"Uh, no?"

"Well, settle in," May said, pulling her feet out of the way so they could all fit on the couch. "This is the remake, but it's still really good."

"Yeah, and it's in color," Peter added. "Black and white is, like, for artsy stuff."

Mister Carbonell laughed. "Hate to break it to you, but the world was black and white for a long time, Underoos."

"Yeah, I know. I just pretend it wasn't because, I mean, how could you watch all your TV and movies without color?"

May started the film. But it was not a peaceful watch, which was very much how Peter preferred it.

"Wait, isn't that the guy who built Jurassic Park?" Mister Carbonell asked almost at once. "Seriously, he's Santa? He took the giving dinosaurs as presents to kids thing a little far then."

"Either he's really Santa or he should go to Vegas with all those coincidences. He'd clean up and not even get busted for counting cards."

"Well, they're clearly villains."

"Okay, no. He was protecting...that's it, those guys are going down."

"I have honestly lost track of the number of breaches of basic courtroom etiquette in this movie, but the reindeer are definitely the worst."

"Um...that's quite a...legal leap. I wish real judges made wholesome rulings because cute kids smiled at them. Life would have been a lot easier for...some people."

But as the end of the movie came and miracles happened all throughout the night, Mister Carbonell fell silent. Finally, he looked over at May while the credits rolled.

"Just so we're clear…" he began.

"Yeah, not happening," she said quickly. "There are no hidden messages here, I promise."

Peter looked between them and suddenly realized the odd parallel, and immediately stuck his tongue out. "Yeah, no, please. Ew."

"Oh, good." Mister Carbonell made an exaggerated sigh. "No offense, May, but you're not my type."

"It's fine," she said, and Peter caught the sly look on her face. "Families form all kinds of ways. Not just that one."

"Hmph."

Peter wanted to say something, but yawned hugely instead.

"That's our cue to clean up," May said. "Before we both end up asleep and the food goes bad overnight."

Mister Carbonell got up with them and helped them wrap plates and bowls of food with plastic wrap — with a precision that fascinated Peter.

"How come you can wrap food like that but you can't wrap presents?" he asked pointedly, remembering his birthday.

"Because one is just fashion and the other is a critical component of function. And as a man who has had to live off of leftovers more times than I want to admit, I can attest to the importance of preserving food correctly if you don't want to have a bad week later."

They had almost gotten everything in the fridge when Mister Carbonell's phone started to ring. It was the Teddy Bear ringtone.

"Busted," he said. "Looks like my friends figured out that I've been gone an awfully long time for a walk. I need to get back."

"Thanks for coming, Tony," May said and there were too many things in her eyes for Peter to name. "It meant a lot to us both."

Mister Carbonell, clearly uncomfortable, nodded. "Someday maybe we'll get to spend it together."

"Maybe," May agreed.

"And Peter?"

"Yes?" He was yawning again, but he didn't miss the look of excitement in the man's face.

"You're off school tomorrow, right?"

"Yep!"

"Good. We're supposed to get snow this weekend, which means we only have tomorrow afternoon to build the best possible snowball-throwing trebuchet. I'll see you after lunch. Got it?"

Peter bounced. "Yeah!"

Mister Carbonell gave a little wave and headed for the door. Just before he opened it, however, and without turning around, he spoke directly to the doorframe. "This."

"This what?" May asked, and Peter heard how gentle her voice had become.

"This is what I'm thankful for. Besides...everything else, including some of the idiots back there, I'm thankful for this. And for you." He looked over his shoulder so he could meet Peter's eyes. "Especially for you."

Peter felt a lump in his throat again, but not one that hurt. "I'm thankful for you, too, Mister Carbonell."

Mister Carbonell nodded and left without another word, but Peter knew he'd said far more without them anyway.