A/N: to answer the question that has come up a few times – in reviews and directly to me: Peter isn't adopted, yet. He is Tony's foster kid.
OOOOOOOOOO
"That's one word for it," Tony agreed.
"It's not even the most impressive thing about him, though, Nick," Rhodes said. "He's smart. Like Tony, smart." He grinned. "That kid's going to change the world, some day."
"If he gets the support that he needs," Steve said. "And the emotional love and care."
He looked a little concerned, which made Tony frown.
"He's fine, Steve. Don't be such a nervous Nellie."
"Power like that in such a little kid?" Fury asked, also looking a little worried. "There are people out there who'd love to get their hands on him, I imagine, and raise him to be their own super soldier…"
Steve nodded.
"What kind of protection does he have?"
"He has me," Tony pointed out.
"And when he's at school?"
"He's eight, guys. He doesn't have protection at school."
"That needs to change," Fury said.
"It'll draw more attention to him if he suddenly has a bodyguard," Rhodes said.
"Not really," Steve replied. "Not once word gets out that he's living with Tony. Rich kids have bodyguards all the time, right?"
"He's not a rich kid, though."
"If someone grabbed him, Tony would pay to get him back," Fury pointed out – which made Stark nod his agreement, and look worried, too. "That puts him in danger. And would warrant a guard, of some sort."
"I didn't think about that, but you're right."
Of course, that was something Fury would consider, immediately. Tony had never cared about anything – or anyone – enough to worry about losing them. Now he was finding himself in that unenviable position.
"I assume that no one really knows about him, yet," Nick added. "So you're probably in the clear for now. But when school starts, he needs a shadow - and not just because of his abilities."
"I'll find a firm, or something."
"We'll get a couple of SHIELD agents."
"For a little kid?"
Steve smiled.
"For a miniature superhero in training."
Stark rolled his eyes, amused at that description, but he nodded.
"Low key, though. I'm not going to let him be afraid to stick his head outside."
"Fair enough."
OOOOOOO
When no one made an appearance, right away, Tony went to check on Peter and the others. He opened the door and peeked his head inside, smiling when he saw Sam and Natasha sitting at the little table – although Sam was actually on the floor – playing with Legos and the new Avenger ones in particular.
"You guys okay in here?" he asked them.
All three looked at him and nodded.
"How long until we eat?" Romanoff asked.
"JARVIS?"
"The turkey should be safe to consume in another hour. It would be wise to peel the potatoes and start them to boiling."
"I'm helping cook," Peter told the others, handing the Ironman Lego over to Sam. "You guys can play with them, though."
"Thank you."
The boy crossed the room and looked up at Tony, expectantly, and Stark smiled down at him. He'd promised he could help, so if he wanted to cook with him, the man wasn't going to say no, now was he?
"You remember where we put the bag of potatoes?"
"Yes."
"Get them and put them on the island – if you can – and wash your hands. I'll be right there."
"Okay."
"This set up is pretty nice," Romanoff said when Peter left, standing up after she carefully put the Ironman Lego figure back into the box with the others. "He likes it."
"Do you see anything that I might have missed?" Stark asked. "I told him to tell me if there's anything else that he wants, but he probably wouldn't."
"It could use something on the walls," Sam said, also standing.
"A Picasso?"
"A poster."
"Oh." He nodded, and shrugged. "Maybe we'll look for some."
"Steve probably has a few Captain America posters," Natasha pointed out.
"Some interesting ones," Tony responded, drolly. "I'm not going to have Peter traumatized waking up each morning to Rogers' face staring down at him."
They both chuckled at that, knowing he wasn't being a jerk, just having fun in his particular way.
"Then you'd better come up with something you'll like better," Romanoff told him. "And his shower is too high – and what are you going to do about keeping him safe when he's at school?"
Tony shook his head, not at all surprised that she had already considered that. She was like Nick that way.
"It's taken care of. Talk to Nick."
"I will."
"Later, though," he added, as they walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind them. "Today's about having a good time. Not worrying."
"You're going to give an eight year old a knife so he can help peel potatoes," Sam said. "There will be a little worrying involved, I'm sure."
Tony frowned, looking toward the island where Peter was climbing his chair, holding the bag of potatoes, easily, as he did, and looking pleased with himself.
"No. He can wash them, or something. You guys can help peel them."
"I'm the guest," Wilson reminded him. "The guest isn't supposed to have to cook."
"It's help cook, or help do the dishes. You pick."
"Fine. I'll cook."
OOOOOOO
The meal itself was almost anticlimactic considering how long it took to cook it. The turkey was beginning to make the apartment smell amazing and homey by the time the potatoes were boiled and ready to be mashed, and when it came out Peter and Natasha cracked open a few tubes of the roll up croissants, rolled them with enthusiasm if not a lot of skill, and stuffed them into the still warm oven.
While they baked, Nick and Rhodey set the table, which had a leaf to make it larger – although Tony had never used it. No need when you don't have a lot of company over, after all. Tony carved some of the bird onto a couple of platters, food of every sort was served in bowls that were designed to make clean up as easy as possible, and when the rolls came out of the oven everyone sat down to eat.
There wasn't much conversation, at first, while they made their way through a considerable portion of the fare that was offered, but once the initial gorging was through, Nick took the opportunity to get to know Peter better by asking him a lot of questions.
The little boy had clearly already decided that Nick was a good guy – despite his intimidating appearance – and answered everything he answered, willingly. By the time they were all debating if there was room for dessert, Fury knew pretty much everything there was to know about Peter's history – even though he'd already read up on him.
It was better to hear it from the source, after all, and it was a good way to bond, a little.
They decided to hold off on dessert, and despite his dire threats, earlier, Tony told the others to go relax, while he cleared the table and handled the dishes. They didn't, of course – which he'd silently counted on. He and Peter took care of loading the dishwasher, but the others cleared the table, putting leftovers in clear plastic containers and into the fridge for later, while the pies and other desserts were set on the island for later, when they weren't so full.
The leaf was taken out of the table, and it was wiped clean, and then they went into the living room to laze around and watch TV.
Natasha gave Tony a smug smile when Peter chose to climb into her lap once she'd settled, and the billionaire rolled his eyes, amused. He didn't mind, though. Peter wouldn't get to see the Avengers every day, after all, so he should take the chance and get his time with them when he could.
They were watching the Christmas Story, and about halfway in, Romanoff brushed her fingers through Peter's curls, not surprised that the boy was almost asleep. A full belly and a warm embrace? Who could resist?
"When are you going to get your Christmas tree?" She asked Tony.
Peter opened his eyes, proving that he wasn't completely asleep, yet, and he looked over at Stark, his expression uncertain, but definitely hopeful.
"Tradition says the day after Thanksgiving, right?" Tony asked them, smiling at the boy. "However, that is also traditionally an insane day to go out, because of all the people shopping. We could give it a go on Saturday, though, if you're interested?"
"Really?"
"Gotta have a tree," Sam said. "Otherwise where will you put all your presents?"
"I don't need any presents," Peter told him. "I have a lot of things, already, now. I can only fit so much in my backpack."
The boy looked excited, though, about doing something so traditional, and he didn't notice that those of them who understand the reference to carrying around everything that mattered to him in that single backpack were a little teary-eyed at the reminder.
"We'll go looking Saturday," Tony promised.
"A real one? Or one from a box?"
"Do you have a preference?"
Peter shook his head.
"Whatever you want." He hesitated, though. "I like the lights that blink, though."
"Then we'll have to look for some of those, too."
Peter smiled, but with Natasha's arms around him, he couldn't hug himself.
"Wow."
Nick smiled.
"When you take him to see Santa, make sure you get a picture with you in it, too, Tony," the director of SHIELD ordered. "I'll put it up on my wall."
"Santa isn't real," Peter said.
Nick's single eye widened.
"What? Who told you that?"
"My aunt May."
"She's wrong," Nick replied. "I met the guy, once."
"You did?" Peter asked. "Not the fake ones who pretend to be him on the corners and in the mall, but the real one?"
"I did. We were flying over the North Pole one winter, and a dozen of us saw him out training those reindeer of his, teaching the up and comers how to fly in a line." He smirked. "You should have seen them; they were all over the place and Santa almost fell out of that sleigh a dozen times, just while we were watching."
"Really?"
"Yup. He must be magical, too, because we were using our mirror technology to hide from him, but he still saw us. He invited us to his little cottage to have hot chocolate and cookies."
"Wow."
Peter couldn't help but believe what he was being told, despite everything telling him otherwise. Nick was so gruff, and so certain. He couldn't be wrong, could he?
"The one you visit won't be the real Santa," Natasha added. "He can't be hanging out in the mall all day asking kids what they want. Those are the ones you've seen, but they all work for the real Santa, helping him get his list together."
"Are you sure?"
"Did you ever get taken to see one?"
"My mom and dad took me, once."
"What did you ask for?"
"A bike."
"Did you get a bike?"
It was a risk, but the way the boy's eyes lit up the few times he'd mentioned his parents told them all that they had been good people who had loved him very much. Surely they would have wanted him happy, and would have done what they could to perpetuate the myth that was Santa. Even for a boy who was so much smarter than the norm.
Peter's eyes widened, and he nodded.
"Yes."
"There you go, then. Sometimes mistakes happen and the word doesn't get through, but it's usually because of down power lines, or really bad snowstorms."
"I didn't think of that…" Peter admitted.
"Well," Natasha said, matter of fact, hugging him. "Now you know. So you should probably start thinking about what you might want."
Peter nodded, again.
"Yeah…"
He shifted, tucking his head back against her neck, and Romanoff looked over at Tony, who had a slight smile on his face.
Smooth.
She winked at him, and ran her fingers through those fine curls, again, ready to go back to watching the movie, and the others fell silent, too. All of them were full, and feeling lazy, and Steve's eyes were the first to close – although Peter was right behind him. By the time the protagonist of the movie was unwrapping his Christmas presents under his parents' watchful eyes, all of them but Nick and Tony had dozed off.
Which was fine.
That was the whole point of having comfortable furniture, after all.