Hello lovely people! The Great White North decided to snow me into my house for a couple of days, so I managed to finish this chapter a little quicker than I had previously anticipated. Enjoy!

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His Family

Sometimes, Peter would think about his parents. It wasn't often that he did since the years had worn down his memories of them to vague fragments with little context to make sense of them. But every now and then, he would recall how serious his dad had been. How his mom had been soft spoken and calm when speaking to anyone, not just her young son. How their household – normal to Peter until he had others to compare it to- had been fairly strict about tidiness. His parents had probably loved each other – Aunt May and Uncle Ben had said that they did – but their displays of affection must have been too subtle for Peter's younger self to notice. He felt it's presence, the love, though he couldn't remember ever seeing it. That was the important thing.

Then they were gone, and Peter was whisked off to live with his aunt and uncle. Though he didn't know it at the time, Peter could see now how amid the tears and confusion his life had been paused and reset on a new track. Uncle Ben was goofy. His dad hadn't been. Aunt May was loud and teasing. His mom had been quieter, more reserved. His aunt and uncle expressed affection more openly then his parents had. Ben would casually press a kiss to May's cheek when he set down her plate in front of her at the table, and they had both laughed at Peter's unabashed gawking the first time he had seen them do it. It had been strange and a little frightening to see his parent's roles being filled by people who were so different from them. To be cared for by relatives that he had only ever seen on Christmas and Thanksgiving. He had felt out of place living at his aunt and uncle's apartment, like an outsider looking in on something wonderful but unattainable. He didn't know how to act around them, how to live in their lives, how to be their boy.

Looking back on it, Peter couldn't place his finger on the exact moment when he had stopped expecting his parents to walk through the door and take him home from his very long visit to his aunt and uncle's house. Something had shifted gradually, and soon Peter didn't find it strange to see May loop her arms around Ben's waist in a quick hug. For Ben to hold her hand while they watched tv or to ruffle Peter's hair as he passed by. Somewhere, sprinkled between the days and weeks, something special had been built. Two and one had merged in to a unit of three. Three who belonged together and were needed. Three who understood each other.

It had been so easy back then to feel comfortable in someone else's life. So why was it so hard to do now? Why couldn't he replicate what his five-year-old self had done so effortlessly? His younger self had managed to fit himself seamlessly in to his new life, despite how jarringly different it had been from his old one. But now…

"That's a good looking salad," Mr. Stark said as he peered in to the colander full of washed and pre-cut salad that Ms. Potts was shaking. Drops of water sprinkled like rain in to the basin of the kitchen sink.

"Yeah?"

"Sure is." Mr. Stark turned back to his task of scooping rice on to the plates. "I'd say it's a solid 12% contribution to the meal."

There was something there. Peter felt it from his place at the table; the presence of an old in-joke that went over his head. Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat and straightened the silverware with fidgety fingers.

"Says you," Ms. Potts rallied back with a smirk. She poured the lettuce in to a large bowl and slid in a pair of salad tongs. "Look at how big it is. It's easily 1/4 of the meal. No, I'm demanding 20-25% credit for dinner tonight."

Peter knew that Ms. Potts had been Mr. Stark's personal assistant for years before their professional relationship had become romantic, but he had never seen this dynamic of it before. The way that their old professional roles bled in and tinged the edges of their personal relationship.

"Not a chance." Mr. Stark set down the plates on the table as Ms. Potts set the salad down next to the plate of dinner rolls. "The salad's store bought, and the percentage reflects the quality, not the quantity, of the contribution. Isn't that right, kid?" His eyes lifted to meet Peter's. They were lit up with amusement and his expression held a general openness. Peter saw the invitation to join the conversation. To drop his guard, give in, and play along with the joke.

But he didn't know this joke, so how could he play along? Why was 12% significant? What should he say? Should he agree with Mr. Stark? On the tip of his tongue was the smart-ass, cautionary phrase 'You're playing a dangerous game, Mr. Stark'. Needling his fiancée with pointless bickering seemed dangerous to Peter. It would have annoyed the shit out of May if Ben had pushed her buttons as frequently as Mr. Stark did to Ms. Potts. But Ms. Potts was smiling, so what did he know.

Peter choked.

"Mhmm," Peter mumbled and tried to remain physically unmoved. To not give in to his desire to shy away in to his seat as disappointment snuffed out the light in Mr. Stark's eyes. For a moment, always for just a moment, then a playful façade replaced the genuine happiness. As always, when Peter found himself unintentionally being a kill-joy, his gaze dropped and his shoulders tightened. It was fairly frequent these days.

"See, Pete made the rolls from scratch, so he deserves more credit," Mr. Stark said to Ms. Potts, carrying the light conversation with ease. "I say that the final break down is 12% to Miss Potts for the salad, 40% to the kid for the rolls, and 48% to me for this delicious and savory chicken and rice."

"It's burnt," Ms. Potts said flatly.

A small smile tugged at Peter's face as he hooked a fork tine under the blackened chicken skin and rolled it off. He pushed it to the edge of his plate and cleared a small space for the salad.

"Anyone with any grievances can take it up with management." Mr. Stark stated in a slightly louder voice, as if to settle things.

"Did you forget that I'm the management?"

An unexpected laugh burst from Peter's throat and caused his grip to loosen on the salad tongs. The lettuce fell back to the heap in the bowl and Peter pressed his unoccupied hand to his mouth to stifle himself. Across the table, Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts looked at him, smiling and silently inviting. Twinkling eyes, blue and brown, encouraged him to stay here, on the inside where there were three. It was tempting.

"Yes, I temporarily got carried away with my own joke," Mr. Stark admitted sheepishly. He sent a wink Peter's way from the eye that Ms. Potts couldn't see, as if to say 'You and me, we know who's really the boss'. Peter was pretty sure that the answer was still Ms. Potts, and though Mr. Stark wouldn't admit it, Peter knew that he thought so too. Who knows why he continued with this charade of pretending that she wasn't running the show. Smiling to himself, Peter grabbed a roll off of the plate and began buttering it.

"So, Peter, you like to bake?" Ms. Potts asked and skewered a patch of unburnt chicken with her fork. Peter hummed in confirmation around a mouth full of bread.

"Yeah, sometimes," Peter said once his mouth was clear. "When I get bored, it's a good time filler," he added without thinking. It came out light and without fear of consequences, as if he were talking to May. But he wasn't talking to May. The significance of his own words hit him and he froze. He remembered who he was talking to; the people who took care of him, but didn't have to. The people who were trying so hard to make life good for him, and who didn't need to hear his pathetic whining about being bored. Not when Mr. Stark had already invested so much of his time and money into Peter's well-being. "Not that I am bored!" he blurted out, eyes wide and panicked. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that-"

"It's okay, kid," Mr. Stark waved his hand in a pacifying gesture, as if that would tamp down Peter's nerves. "I know being cooped up and working your nose to the grind stone over physics equations and chemistry formulas isn't exactly fun. No need to explain."

Mr. Stark smiled wearily at him, and Peter gave his own weak smile in return. He felt it then, the barricade drawn across the table separating Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts from himself. He was on his own again, on the outside looking in. Peter poked at his dinner, mumbling his one word replies whenever Mr. Stark or Ms. Potts would try to draw him in to the conversation again. Eventually, they gave up and talked between the two of them.

'Altruism can't create a family. The pity makes it weird.' Peter caught himself thinking. He could feel Mr. Stark's worrying gaze washing over him like a heat lamp, but he didn't dare to look up from his dinner. He just continued to eat in silence, all the while berating himself for entertaining an impossible idea.

Living with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, the unspoken rule of the household was 'agree to disagree'. Clashing ideas were hardly ever deemed important enough to waste energy fighting over. The two of them had been of one mind when it came to most things, but in the rare moments when May would say 'potato' and Ben would counter with 'tomato', they would both shrug and agree that the other was a perfectly good vegetable. And that was that.

Living with Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts was almost the complete opposite in that aspect. They disagreed a lot, and bantering seemed to be their preferred method of communication. At first, the quips and sharp retorts left Peter feeling uneasy. But then he saw the small smiles and teasing sparks shot from loving glances, and he realized that there was no real cause for worry. Their snarking wasn't serious… it's just how they were. In time, Peter grew comfortable around it, just as he had with Ben and May's open affection. It was just their way of expressing themselves.

What he wasn't comfortable around was the arguing. The heated kind that was saved for when Peter was out of ear shot. Or rather, when they thought he was out of ear shot. Every now and then, Peter would hear snippets of conversations delivered in exasperated and irritated tones. To make matters worse, they were always arguing about him.

The first time he had overheard them talking, it really was an accident. He hadn't meant to listen in on them, but once he had realized that they were talking about him, Peter couldn't make his feet move from outside the front door of the penthouse like he knew he should.

"It might help, if he could do something normal again," Ms. Potts' muffled voice said from the depths of the apartment. To others, barely audible noise but to Peter, clear and crisp words.

"Crime fighting's not a normal pastime," Mr. Stark shot back.

"It is for him. He's been doing it for years."

Peter's ears perked up as he held his house keys in his hand. They were talking about Peter being Spider-Man again, and for some reason Ms. Potts was on Peter's side. Not that Peter was going to question why she was. He was just glad that someone that Mr. Stark respected the opinion of was advocating for him. He tried really hard not to dwell on the guilt churning inside him for being the cause of their argument in the first place.

"Yeah, that's on me. I shouldn't have been a selfish ass by recruiting a fourteen-year-old, I know."

"That's not where I was going with that and you know it. You can't change the subject with self-deprecation."

"Can't I?"

Peter's eyes widened as his lips pressed themselves in to a tense line. Oh, that was ballsy… and most defiantly not worth Ms. Potts' wrath.

"I'm just saying that he's bored-" Ms. Potts continued without missing a beat. She didn't sound angry, much to Peter's surprise. Just vaguely annoyed and done with everything.

"I'll get him into a new hobby!" Mr. Stark cut her off, sounding both tired and irritated at the same time. "Stamp collecting could be just as fun as vigilantism."

"Stamp collecting?" Ms. Potts' disbelief mirrored Peter's own, and he felt his nose crinkle in annoyance.

"Yeah, if I pitch the idea as old school Pokémon Go, do you think he'd go for it? It's not a total lie. He would have to go places to collect them, cause who the hell send letters anymore."

"You're ridiculous."

Peter decided to leave it at that. Clearly, their argument wasn't going to reveal anything meaningful, and honestly, the guilt he felt for eavesdropping was starting to get to him. So, he turned and walked quietly down the hall to the elevator, deciding that he should find somewhere else to be for a couple hours.

The second time Peter heard Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts argue, he had been on the couch in that fuzzy state of semi-consciousness. A blanket that Peter hadn't put on himself was draped over his body and the tv was rolling the credits for… some movie. In the transition between asleep and awake, Peter couldn't remember what they had been watching. Hushed voices, muffled by barriers - doors? Walls?- permeated the fog of his brain and prodded him awake.

"I am going to give him his suit back, just not now." Mr. Stark ground out in a deliberately quiet and controlled tone. Like a stage whisper, but more aggravated. The sound of it put Peter on edge and left his brain fighting to escape the dredges of sleep. "It's too dangerous out there, Pep."

"It's going to be dangerous for a long time. How long are you going to make him wait?"

"Until Rhodey, Cap, and Natasha put all those jail break convicts back in the clink. I don't want that mess anywhere near Peter."

With a numb hand – he had fallen asleep lying on top of it- Peter rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Convicts? What convicts? His mind ran, or rather stumbled, along on a hamster wheel. Oh, that's right. They had heard about it on the news that day. A mass jail break caused by a lack of staff to adequately guard the prison.

"Aren't you worried that he's going to run off and do it anyway? This is Peter we're talking about."

Though he was barely conscious, Peter felt the flush of shame creep up his cheeks. Disobedience wasn't what he wanted to be known for, but a plane crash and a stowaway mission to space later, and it was apparently his claim to fame. Nice.

"No, Underoos and I have already gone down that road. He wouldn't do that to me again." Mr. Stark's voice sounded certain, but pained. Peter stomach sunk as a barrage of past chastising lectures broke free from his memory. He sat soaking wet on a dome shaped jungle gym, trembling from stress on top of a building near the ocean, encased in a shiny new suit on a ship shooting away from Earth. Each time, he disappointed Mr. Stark a little more, but he hadn't realized how much worry he had caused him. The full extent of it shined through Mr. Stark's cracked voice, and a lump formed in Peter's throat. He swallowed thickly around it in an impossible effort to dislodge it. "Look, I promised you, no more surprises." Mr. Stark sounded tired and for some reason it scared Peter. "And, yeah, I've failed spectacularly on that front more times than you should have to tolerate. But I really mean it this time, Pep. No more surprises. That means I'm putting Iron Man in the closet, permanently, and the kid knows that. He knows I'm quitting the hero life, cold turkey. We had a talk about… recklessness and personal responsibility. And about how it would be unfair for him to dive into trouble too deep and then expect me to be there to help out. I can't do it anymore. I won't."

As silently as possible, Peter climbed to his feet, still clutching the blanket around his shoulders like a cape. His shoulders sagged under the weight of it, as if it were made of lead instead of fleece and cotton. It dragged silently on the hardwood floor, as Peter's socked feet shuffled to his room.

"It's not fair to you, and to be honest I'm getting too old for this shit."

"Tony-"

Peter closed the door, and gently released the turned handle. The latch slid soundlessly in to the door frame.

"Don't tell the kid I said that. I'll never hear the end of the old man jokes."

"Peter wouldn't-"

But Peter never found out what he wouldn't do. Music from his headphones drowned out the rest of Ms. Potts' words. Still inside his blanket, Peter quietly curled up on his bed. He took a moment to take inventory of himself. There was hope there. Hope from the confirmation that he could be Spider-Man again… eventually. But also, a lingering and inexplicable sadness that pressed on his chest. Whenever he did get Spider-Man back, Peter would be working solo. It was strange… how many times had Peter wished that Mr. Stark wouldn't treat him like a kid. Well, now it was here. Iron Man was cutting the apron strings from Spider-Man, but all Peter could feel was a sort of indecipherable ache. Mr. Stark was right, of course. It was unfair for Peter to rely on him as much as he did. He wanted a life with his wife, and he was getting older.

They all were. Peter included. It was time that he acted like it.

The third time Peter eavesdropped on Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts he was doing it deliberately. In his defense, he had strong reason to believe that, since the last two arguments had been about him starting up his patrols again, the next argument would pick up where they had left off. He just wanted to know what was happening. When he would be allowed to get his life back on track. When action could give him peace of mind again.

When he would be able to sleep at night.

He could sense the tension simmering in the apartment since Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts had started arguing about Peter's future in hero work. So, that night, Peter decided to give them the opportunity to hash it out. Maybe Ms. Potts could finally convince Mr. Stark that things would be fine. Peter had been with them long enough to know that Ms. Potts was very good at getting her way. Worst case scenario, they would run in circles again.

It couldn't be obvious that he was trying to listen in. He didn't want them to think that Peter would invade their privacy whenever he felt like it. It's just… this was a one-time thing. His future was being discussed after all… he had a right to know. He needed to be discreet and slip it in among his daily routine. So, after dinner Peter went take his usual shower. He would take that opportunity to listen and to see if they would discuss him more freely if they thought that their words were masked by the running water. Standing in the bathroom with the shower running, fully clothed and pressing his ear to the crack in the barely open door, Peter wasn't disappointed.

"-should tell him soon. You're already at eight weeks. It'll be obvious before long," Mr. Stark said, his words suppressed by their closed bedroom door.

"Tread lightly," Ms. Potts cautioned.

"I mean, you'll be as beautiful and radiant as always," Mr. Stark backtracked quickly, "but the kid's no slouch in the mystery solving department. He should hear it from us before his senses piece the puzzle together. That would be awkward."

Radiant? Peter cringed at Mr. Stark's poor choice of words. Who calls someone 'radiant'? That was one of those uncomfortable and awkward descriptors that Peter only ever heard, in relation to women, to describe their pregnancy.

Oh.

Steam was starting to spilling over the top of the shower curtain, filling the small room with its heat. It didn't reach Peter, or at least, he didn't feel it.

"His senses…?" Ms. Potts trailed off. "No way! His senses can't be that sharp! Do you think he can hear his heartbeat already?"

Peter's eyes widened and his thoughts fired off like a shot in to a torrential race to reach the forefront of his mind. One after the other, questions ran over each other and Peter desperately struggled to grasp one in its entirety. What was happening? How long had Mr. Stark known about this? Why had Peter not noticed anything before? But then all thoughts went quiet as Peter realized… yesterday Ms. Potts had brought Mr. Stark with her to a board meeting. They had left Peter alone at the apartment, just for a couple hours. Mr. Stark had looked way too nervous for it to actually have been a board meeting.

"Who knows," Mr. Stark sighed. "All I got to work with is the vague description of 'dialed to eleven' senses – the kid's words, not mine. It's not like I've ever put his spidey-ness under the microscope to quantified how much more heightened his senses are than an average person's."

"Of course not. That would be unethical, creepy and illegal."

Last week, Ms. Potts had been sick with food poisoning… or so she had told Peter. If he were less self-absorbed with his own life, he would've noticed that her bout of 'food poisoning' lasted longer than it should've.

"Spot on, Miss Potts. Finally, something we agree on," Mr. Stark's voice took on a more familiar tone, and Peter sensed him closing in on a direct point. "Now maybe we can agree on dinner this Saturday for the three of us? Or is pregnancy not a subject that people normally talk about over dinner? That's probably too formal, huh? I mean, we'll order take-out, so no one has to cook. Dinner at home, that'll help to make it less serious, right? I don't wanna make him feel weird…"

Mr. Stark was worried about him and how he would take the news? Despite the warmth in Peter's chest, he couldn't help the confused frown forming on his face. What Peter thought of Ms. Potts' pregnancy was inconsequential to their lives as a couple. So why…?

"I just…" Ms. Potts began and then faltered. Her uncertainty set off warning bells in Peter's mind since he had never heard her anything less than absolutely confident. "I don't want to shake up Peter's life even more than it already is. He looks so lost all the time."

Peter was sinking while standing perfectly still. Steam was clinging to his skin, making it damp, and its accumulation in to small beads was the only thing that he could feel. The mirror across from him was filled with fog, hiding his expression from himself.

"I know," Mr. Stark said so quietly that Peter barely heard him. The tired weight of his voice dragged it down to almost inaudible depths. "This is horrible timing, but Morgan's running on his own schedule. It's not like we can tell him to wait. We'll make this work, I promise."

Peter shut the door and it made a soft but resounding snap. He flinched from the sound, having forgotten to close it quietly. He hoped that Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts didn't hear it, or if they did, that they didn't pay it any mind. With both hands, Peter scrubbed the heels of his palms in to his eyes. Little stars burst behind his eye lids, and the sting of the pressure helped to clear his mind.

Mr. Stark worried about Peter a lot. His worry wasn't what caused Peter to feel like he was reeling. It was Ms. Potts' worry that felt like a wake-up call. Ms. Potts was the boss. She talked the talk and walked the walk of one. That wasn't to say that she was insensitive, but she didn't shy away from tough decision or breaking news when it had to be done. But she was wary of Peter and how her pregnancy would affect him… and that stung worse than Peter could've imagined. Had he really been so sullen and unpleasant lately that she and Mr. Stark didn't think he would be happy for them?

Was Peter really that broken? he had survived space and returned to the safety of his planet only to find his life fractured in to pieces. Since then, it was like Peter was of two minds; the one that struggled to wade through lethargy everyday inside of his numb body, and the one that observed himself from outside. The one outside knew he was being unnecessarily difficult and that he was hurting Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts. The one inside lacked the ability to change despite knowing that he should. But this… this was a slash of icy water; cold, unexpected, but reviving.

Peter didn't want Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts walking on egg shells around him. It made his stomach hurt to realize the extent of their tip-toeing around his feelings. They should be comfortable in their own home. They should feel free to enjoy their lives and celebrate their baby without fearing whether or not their charge could handle it.

They were both worried for him, but they shouldn't be. Peter was a temporary fixture in their lives. Ms. Potts was eight weeks pregnant. He did some quick math in his head and estimated that she would be due in late January. His time with Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts would overlap in to their son's time for six months and then Peter would be eighteen and an adult. Living on his own… possibly in university if he could scrounge up the money. His opinion about their major life decision didn't matter, so why was Mr. Stark constantly seeking it?

"What do you think, Pete? Should we get the apartment on East 79th or the one on Madison?"

"I don't know…"

"East 79th is a little closer to your school, so there's that."

"Mhmm."

"I mean, we don't have to get a place in the Upper East Side at all. We can move to Queens if you want-"

"No. I don't want to live there again. Anywhere else."

Why had Mr. Stark bothered to sit Peter down and scroll through pictures of classy apartments? Swanky penthouses, that probably cost more than all of May and Ben's rent payments combined, was befitting of CEOs and Billionaires, but not Peter. Not to mention that no matter where Mr. Stark decided to live, it would only be Peter's home for a little while. A year at most. It would be Morgan's home for much longer. It was evident that Mr. Stark wanted to move out of this temporary settlement in the hotel and have a real home. To settle down with his wife and raise his family…

Oh. So that's what he had meant. The wording of his public statement had been deliberate after all. A pang struck Peter's stomach and he tried not to dwell on its sudden appearance. Nor the shortness of breath that it was causing. All at once, Peter realized that his shower was starting to run a bit too long, and Mr. Stark would grow suspicious soon. He stumbled on his pant legs in his haste to get out of them, but caught himself before he could fall. The water was very warm, so maybe it had only felt like a lot of time had passed? Regardless, Peter hurriedly scrubbed shampoo in to his hair as he proceeded to take his quickest shower ever. Despite his urgent haste, his mind started to wander again.

The upcoming year might be an uncomfortable one. Peter would be crashing Mr. Stark's and Ms. Potts' newlywed and new parent life, but that couldn't be helped. They had chosen to take him in and surely, Ms. Potts at least, would have known that she was pregnant before making that decision. Peter let that knowledge reassured him as he willed the wisps of panic to dissipate. Things were changing… but it wasn't bad. Soon Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts, and their son would be 'the Starks'. A different name, but the same people. They were the only ones left who knew Peter and Spider-Man, and understood both. They weren't going anywhere. Even after Peter left and they really began their lives together, they would be nearby, living somewhere in the Upper East Side. And Peter… he would come by every now and then. Check in on things. Maybe, if Mr. Stark wasn't too busy, they could even do some lab work again. The thought of working side by side again made Peter smile, even as shampoo fell in to his eyes.

Everything would be alright.

When Saturday arrived, Ms. Potts returned from the office with take-out, and a lot of it. So much, in fact, that Peter was surprised that she managed to carry it all on her own. He didn't need to see the logo on the plastic bags to know that it was Thai food. He'd know that smell anywhere. And it wasn't just any Thai food, but Thai food from his favorite Thai place. Its delicious scent washed over the kitchen, and made his stomach start to rumble. It was an instantaneous cause and effect. He hadn't even realized that he was hungry until the smell of pun sip neung hit his nose. Eagerly, Peter grabbed the plates from the cupboard and ignored Mr. Stark's teasing smirk in response to his stomach growls.

"Hungry?"

"Always, Mr. Stark. Is that a serious question?"

Dinner was tense, but not in a bad way. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts exchange secretive glances while they ate and Peter pretended to not notice. He kept his head down and didn't even bother to ask why Ms. Potts had gotten herself a separate meal from a different restaurant. She picked nervously at her kale and grilled chicken while Peter devoured his greasy plate of happiness. Savoring the flavor, he waited. It's not every day that Thai take-out was the harbinger of life altering news.

Turns out, Mr. Stark had absolutely no chill about the situation. Oh, he tried to be cool. Peter could tell how he was trying to be his usual nonchalant, fazed by nothing, self. But his words came out a bit too rushed. The gaps between sentences were too short, his beats between jokes were off. At times, it sounded like he had prepared a speech, other times Peter was certain that he was just winging it. Honestly, how Mr. Stark had managed to keep this a secret for so long was a mystery. Peter was kind of disappointed with himself that he hadn't noticed how off his mentor had been lately. Ms. Potts let Mr. Stark talk, her expression growing increasingly pitying as his rambling became more and more chaotic.

"So, I built Dum-E and U, and back in those days, they were enough y'know? But things change and people change, sometimes slowly, sometimes really quick-"

It was getting hard for Peter not to cringe. On a scale of one to ten, he wondered how pissed Ms. Potts was that Mr. Stark was equating her baby to a machine. Something in her expression shifted, but she didn't look mad, so that was something.

"What Tony means is that I'm pregnant," She interjected calmly. Rather than looking annoyed at being interrupted Mr. Stark seemed relieved that she had put him out of his misery. Their eyes met across the table briefly and Peter could practically feel the gratitude emanating from Mr. Stark's being. Both of them turned their focus back to Peter and he knew… this was it. A moment that he might've ruined with his awkwardness if he hadn't had a few days to turn it over in his head.

"Oh." Peter looked between their anxious faces, pushing aside his guilt for being the cause of it, and dropped his eyes to Ms. Potts' sadness salad. "So, you're gonna have kale all day every day?"

Ms. Potts blinked in surprise before regaining her smooth composure and smiled tentatively.

"Among other healthy foods, yes. You should try it sometime."

Peter shook his head emphatically and skewered some noodles with his fork.

"No, I'm good over here with my carbs and grease."

Maybe he was taking it too well and playing it a little too cool. Mr. Stark's eyes narrowed as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand. Their eyes locked for a second, and Peter didn't dare look away. He was pinned down and his heart pounded faster, but then Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and smiled. Peter smiled then too, out of earnest relief. He gave his congratulations. The formal sentiment rolled off his tongue in a stilted manner. He offered it because it was expected of him, not because it was a very Peter-like thing to say. Mr. Stark smirked at his awkwardness but Ms. Potts thanked him graciously. Unlike himself and Mr. Stark she knew how to play the game.

Later that night, they sat together in front of the tv. Mr. Stark had insisted on regular Saturday night time together, and Ms. Potts had whole-heartedly agreed. It was her night to pick the show, and that's how Peter found himself stuffed full of Thai food and watching a cake baking competition. The excitement of the day was catching up to him and his eyes felt heavy. Or maybe it was just too many sleepless nights making their presence known. The last thing he saw was a contestant trying and failing to fix her failed fondant that was draped over her cake in a bubbly, wrinkled mess.

"Pete?" Peter barely had the energy to acknowledge Mr. Stark. He hoped he would just give up. "Hey, kid?" No such luck. "You tapping out?"

"No…" Peter murmured. "M'awake. Just resting my eyes."

"Routine inspection? Checking the old peepers for light leaks?"

Oh, that was awful. All Mr. Stark needed to do now was laugh at his own lame joke and the dad transformation would be complete. Well, that and the baby needed to be born. That too.

"That's a quality dad joke," Peter muttered. "Add it to the stockpile."

Mr. Stark did laugh then, but to his credit he was laughing at Peter's reaction not his joke. He'd give him a pass on that. Behind closed eyes, Peter could see a preview of Morgan Stark's life. A life where the poor boy wouldn't be able to sleep on the couch, in the car, or anywhere else out in the open without being subjected to Mr. Stark's stupid 'light leaks' joke. Peter wasn't sure why he felt a small sense of accomplishment at ensuring that this minor act of harassment would eventually come to pass. It probably shouldn't have felt so heart-warming, but when Peter finally did drop off in to sleep, a ghost of a smile lingered on his face.

Not sure if anyone is wondering or cares, but my rationale for the difference between Ms. Potts and Miss Potts is that Tony calls Pepper 'Miss' because he met her when she was still young enough to be called that. For Peter, Pepper has always been significantly older and a respected figure of authority, thus he calls her 'Ms.'. Jumping between the two voices make's Pepper's name a bit inconsistent, but it is intentional.

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Mary: Thanks! I'm glad that you're still liking my work! All the best to you too in this new decade!