"You put him in daycare?"

Tony rolled his eyes at the way Steve said it. Like it was jail, or something.

"Yes. It's right here in the building and this way there are other kids for him to play with after school."

"And he's okay with it?"

"He's been going for a week, now, and he likes it."

"What about his schoolwork?"

"He does it with me, after dinner. At home."

That was working well, too.

Peter would be delivered to Tony's office after school by Maria Hill, who Peter apparently liked. Since it was after the scheduled snack time at the daycare, Tony would be waiting with some kind of treat on his desk. He and Peter would talk about how their respective days were going while they shared cookies, or something else. Then Tony would take him to the daycare, personally, where Peter was always greeted with smiles from the kids – and the staff.

The boy would run off to play, and Tony would remind whoever was watching over the security desk that he was only a call away if he were needed.

So far, though, he hadn't been needed.

He'd pick Peter up when it was time to go home, and they would make dinner, and eat, and then Peter would pull out his backpack, and would work on his homework while Tony was close by working on whatever project he had going on. Which at the moment was a new version of the Ironman suit. Then, he'd check the boy's work to make sure it was right – it usually was – and they'd spend the time until bedtime watching a movie, or playing boardgames, or with Legos and other toys. Tony would remind Peter to brush his teeth – or point out that he was probably due a bath – and when Peter was ready for bed, it was Tony who tucked him into his blankets with a smile.

"And he's doing alright?"

"He's great, Steve. Stop worrying."

That was his job, but so far, so good.

"What are you getting him for Christmas?"

"Stuff."

Tony was still working on that.

"Don't get him a bicycle. I did."

Ugh.

"Fine. I'll take it off my list."

"Or a train set," Steve told him. "Clint found one for his boy and got two so Peter could have one, as well."

Seriously?

Stark forced down the annoyed noise that was sounding off in his head.

"No train. Got it."

"Fury got him a giant Jenga game. It's made out of Nerf material, or something, so no worries about blocks falling on his head."

"Anything else…?" he asked, wondering how he was supposed to give the best gift when the others were already buying them. "What did Sam get him?"

"He's looking for a ballpit, I think."

"I'm not putting a ballpit in Peter's bedroom."

"In the living room?"

"No."

Rogers shrugged.

"I suppose we can put it out here, for when he comes to visit."

"Good choice."

There was plenty more room at the compound.

"Alright. I need to go follow up on a few things."

"Where's Romanoff?" Tony asked. "What did she get Peter?"

"She's working on it," Steve assured him. "But that's all she's telling me."

"Huh. That's about right."

She held things pretty tight to her vest when she could, after all.

"Tell Peter I said hi, and we'll see him next weekend."

"He's looking forward to it."

They were going to take the boy up to a ski lodge and spend the weekend sledding. Christmas vacation began that weekend, and it had been Rhodey who pointed out that a lot of the ski resorts had sledding hills and that it might be fun to do a road trip with the boy and take him on an overnight. Tony hadn't said no, immediately, and Peter had been pretty excited at the idea, turning and looking at Stark with an expression so hopeful that he couldn't say no.

While they were gone, Stark intended for some presents to appear under their tree. There were a few, but nothing big, yet. It kept the thing from looking too bare, though. He just needed to decide what to get a kid that already had a lot more than he'd ever had in his life.

The call ended and he looked at his watch. He had a half an hour before he needed to go get the boy from the daycare.

"Bring up that screen, again, JARVIS," Tony told his AI. "I want to get this figured out."

It wasn't a project, though. At least not a Stark or Avenger related problem. The site that came up was a toy store, and Tony began flipping through the inventory, waiting for something to reach out and grab him.

OOOOOOOO

The man had a number of names, depending on who he was talking to – or who was looking for him. The name he used the most was Martin, because it was the name of a character from one of his favorite movies. He wished that his parents had actually named him that, really, and it was default for him by the time he was twenty-five.

He was lean and tough, and fairly ruthless. He had a veritable network of underlings who worked for him. People who were common enough to look at, but were willing to steal anything from anyone in the hopes that Martin would pay them something for it. If it was worth anything, Martin invariably bought it. For much less than it was worth, though, in order to make the biggest profit that he could when he inevitably sold it to a pawn shop, or a dealer – if the item was expensive enough.

The profit margins were big enough to keep him well fed and clothed, to drive a fancy car and live in a nice place, but small enough that he stayed off the radar of any actual syndicates. People who would view him as competition and want to remove him – permanently.

His home was an actual house. Well guarded with a top of the line security system and with a couple of thugs who were related to him and completely loyal to him. The loot that was brought to him was stored at the house in a secure vault until any police reports or searches for the item might blow over and all alerts were off. Then they were taken out in batches and sold to a number of places in order to keep anything from being able to be traced back to anyone in his group.

It was a slick operation, and he liked the feeling that he got every time he opened his bank's app and saw the profits that were adding up over the years.

Secure in the knowledge that he was safe from the police, and safe from the mob or anyone dangerous like that, Martin slept well at night, and the loaded Smith and Wesson that was in the stand by his bed was mainly just out of habit. No one could get by his guards. No one could get through his security.

He was untouchable and he knew it.

Until someone proved that he wasn't.

The night was the same as it was almost every night. He ate dinner; sometimes alone, sometimes with his cousins, and personally looked over the inventory that he'd received that day in order to check dates, and what the going price for that item was at the time. Another reason to wait to sell something, really. To make sure that you sold it when the price was the highest.

He hadn't graduated, but he knew about supply and demand.

Then, he'd locked the vault and had had a nightcap and had gone to bed.

Sometime in the middle of the night a very soft voice woke him. A voice that definitely didn't belong.

"Wake up, Sunshine, it's time to pay the piper."

His eyes flew open at the obvious threat, but as he started to sit up two things caught his attention, immediately. One was that something sharp was pressed lightly against his neck, just under his right jaw. The other was that the person in his bedroom was slight, and dressed all in non-descript black leather. A woman. One who was dark-skinned and had blue eyes that were cold as they assessed him in the near dark.

He froze, eyes wide with shock more than fear, wondering how she'd managed to get by his safeguards.

"Who are you?"

She smiled, but those cold eyes didn't look amused.

"I'm the piper, of course."