They stayed a little longer than that, but even though Romanoff may have exaggerated a little and blizzard wasn't really what the weather conditions were like outside the warm and cozy apartment, the snow was coming down hard enough that Steve wanted to get on the road back to the compound before the roads started freezing and icing over.

Tony packaged up a couple dozen of their fresh-baked cookies and sent them back with Natasha and Steve, who were told that they had to share them with the others.

Peter went to the door with them; he didn't have a choice, since Natasha was carrying him. She hugged him, tightly, before finally setting him down.

"If you need anything, call me," she told him. "JARVIS and Tony both have my number."

"What if you're busy?"

"Then leave a message." She looked at Tony. "Are we doing Christmas morning, or Christmas Eve?"

"Christmas Eve, I think," he said. "Then I can sleep in on Christmas."

Steve raised an eyebrow at that and looked pointedly at the little boy.

"Good luck with that."

A little kid on Christmas morning? Sleeping in wasn't an option. Tony just didn't know that, yet.

Peter smiled, even though he didn't understand the joke. It didn't matter to him. He was excited that Christmas was coming. Not because of the gifts that most kids were looking forward to; he liked presents, of course, but as far as he was concerned, his bedroom was filled with presents. He was excited because it meant that they'd have another fun day with all of the Avengers.

"Are we having turkey?"

Tony picked him up. Just because he wanted to hold him.

"No." He looked at Natasha and Steve. "What's the tradition for Christmas?"

He wanted to make things as traditional and perfect as he could for Peter's first Christmas with him.

"Beats me," Romanoff said with a shrug. "Ham?"

"Roast beef?" Steve suggested.

"We'll figure it out."

"And cookies," Peter said, hopefully.

"Gotta have cookies," Natasha agreed, putting on the light jacket she'd been wearing. "For Santa."

"And me," the boy added.

"And you," she added, reaching out and tapping his nose, which made Tony smile, too.

Pffft. She was so mad about the little kid.

He looked at Peter, who was trying to reach Romanoff's nose to tap her back, and he couldn't help but be pleased at just how happy Peter looked.

"Drive safe," Tony said to Steve as they left. He shifted his hold on the boy so he could shut the door. "Are you hungry?"

"Yeah."

They'd made cookies, yes, but Tony had limited Peter to two. He had to eat his dinner, first – and because he wanted to make sure that he wasn't bouncing off the walls later from all the sugar in his system.

"What do you want for dinner? Don't say fast food."

"Hot dogs."

"Huh…" Tony carried the boy to the kitchen and set him in his chair. "With chili?"

"Yeah!"

"And onions?"

"No."

"Cheese?"

"Yeah."

"Broccoli?"

The boy made a face, but now his eyes were bright with happiness, since he realized that Tony was teasing him. Not the cruel way that some of the kids would occasionally be mean at the foster home, but in the friendly way that Peter had witnessed the billionaire act with some of the others – usually Rhodey. He shook his head, vehemently.

"No."

"Just chili and cheese?"

"And chocolate chips?"

Now it was Tony who made the face.

"You want chocolate chips on your chili dogs?"

Peter nodded.

"Yes."

"That's weird." He shrugged, though, and reached out and tousled Peter's hair. "But, yeah. You can. Not a lot, though."

"Okay."

The man shook his head and turned to open the fridge.

Kids were so weird. Even genius ones, apparently.

OOOOOOOO

When they were done eating – and Tony watched in awe as Peter ate his chilidog, chocolate chips and all – they cleaned up the dishes and wiped down the counters and the island. Then Tony sent Peter into his room to get ready for bed. It was getting late – especially for a little boy who had had a pretty long day – but when he came out of the bedroom, now dressed in pajamas and slippers on his feet, Peter was carrying a boardgame.

"Will you play with me, Tony?" he asked, hopefully.

Stark had planned on watching a movie, because he knew that would put Peter to sleep faster than anything active would, but he nodded, making a show of taking the box from him.

"Sorry, huh?"

"Do you know how to play?"

"I know how to read instructions," Tony pointed out. "Let's play in here, though, and not in the kitchen."

The couch would be more comfortable for him, and Peter was young and flexible enough that he could sit on the floor on the other side of coffee table with a cushion and be fine. The boy nodded his agreement and was silent while he set up the game, and Tony read the instructions.

Peter had obviously played, before.

"Want to be red?" he asked, holding the red pieces out to Tony.

"Of course."

The game wasn't too complicated, and Tony had fun – although he was pretty ruthless when it came to trying to win. Luckily for Peter, most of it was the luck of the draw of the cards, so the boy had a better than even chance of coming out ahead when all was said and done. He managed to win the first game, but proved he was a good loser when Tony won quickly in the next.

"I think it's bedtime," Stark said.

Peter looked up from the cards he was gathering up.

"I'm not tired, yet."

"It was a long day," Tony reminded him, picking up their pieces. "And I want to talk to you. But not until you're in bed."

The boy's expression grew uncertain.

"Is it bad?"

"Not at all." He hated that uncertainty, but knew that it wasn't going to magically vanish overnight. "I want to know how you feel about living here. To see if there's anything that I should be doing. I'm new at the foster dad thing, you know."

"Oh."

"Don't answer, immediately," Tony told him, putting the game aside and then standing and moving so he could pick Peter up. "I want you to think about it. Okay?"

"All right."

Peter put his head on Tony's shoulder as the man carried him into his bedroom, and did what he was told, considering his answer with all the care that he gave his usual school assignments. When Tony tucked him into his bed, he smiled, because he definitely was going to add that to the list of things that he liked.

"Comfortable?" Tony asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Peter nodded.

"I like living with you, Tony. So far there isn't anything I don't like about it."

"You have enough toys?"

"Yes."

"You're okay with the food?"

A smile and another nod.

"Yes."

"It doesn't annoy you that I like picking you up and carrying you, sometimes? You're not too old for that, are you? You can tell me if you are, though."

"I like it. It makes me feel special."

"Because you are special."

"Because I'm smart?"

"No. Lots of kids are smart. I don't like all of them. Only you."

"Because I can stick to walls?"

Tony smiled at that.

"I like you. Not your abilities. You're a great guy, Peter."

The boy wrapped his arms around himself in happiness, and Tony saw the movement, even though Peter was covered with blankets.

"I like you, too, Tony."

"Good." He felt the sting of tears trying to burst out, and wiped his nose, impatiently. "So, if the others are coming Christmas eve, you should probably starting thinking about what you want to get them for Christmas."

Lord knew they were almost certainly going to bury Peter in presents.

"I don't have any money." He hesitated. "I could figure out some odds for you, though," Peter added. "Like I used to do for May. She would make a lot of money, sometimes, because of what I told her."

Tony shook his head, forced to not smile.

"Or… we could not do that. I'm pretty sure the state would frown on me using you like that. Besides, you're not going to need to resort to illegal gambling to have money."

"I'm not?"

"Nope. You'll get an allowance. That's a thing, right?"

"I've never got an allowance, before."

"But that was when you were seven. Eight-year-olds have a lot of responsibilities. So they should get an allowance."

"What kind of responsibilities?"

"You have to make your own bed. And keep your bathroom clean, right?"

"Yes."

Tony had already told him that there was a cleaning person who came out – but when Peter's hands had clutched his backpack, a little, he'd been quick to assure the child that the woman who came was someone that had been working in the building for years, and was very honest.

"See? Those are responsibilities. And I'd say an allowance was in order – in case you want some spending money to buy something you want."

He'd checked with JARVIS on what the average eight-year old should be getting and the AI had informed him that the norm was a dollar for each year of age. Which would set Peter up with $8 a week. Which would be fine if it was someone else's kid. Tony wasn't going to limit himself like that.

"Oh. Wow. I can get Natasha a present, then. And Steve. And Clint. And Sam. And-"

"And everyone. Right." Tony smiled to soften the interruption. "We won't go this weekend," he told the boy. "Because you need a chance to earn money. And I have no desire to fight the crowds that will be out this weekend. We'll shoot for next weekend, though. Unless something comes up."

"Okay."

He smiled down at Peter.

"Anything else we need to discuss?"

"No."

"Good. Go to sleep."

"Okay."

"Good night, buddy."

"Night, Tony."