Ring. Ring. Ring.

Peter pressed the phone to his ear. His heartbeat in rhythm with the rings that continued. Mr. Stark gestured to the door, indicating he was going to be right outside. Give him privacy to speak to his aunt.

Meanwhile, the phone rang on.

Come on, May! Peter silently pleaded. Pick up! It's not a scam.

The phone rang on and on, but no answer. Peter's throat constricted. Palms sweating. His brows creased deep in the center the longer the phone rang. Did something happen to May? Something bad? Something he could have prevented if he was with her?

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

The phone clicked and a sweet, caring voice spoke in his ear. "You reached May Parker. Leave a message." Then the automatic voice followed with instructions to leave a message.

Her voicemail. He got her voicemail.

Peter sunk into the bed. The automatic voice continued. He had a second to prepare his speech. Only a second to overcome his disappointment before the tone beeped.

"Hey May... it's me. Peter," he said through his constricted throat, trying not to cry. Already, he pictured her pacing in the kitchen, worrying. "... I-I know, I know... god May. I miss you so much. I think about you every day and how much I want to be home. And I am so sorry! Really May—I never wanted to hurt you. And I'm sorry for not calling you sooner, but... but they wouldn't let me and this is my only chance. If they find out... they'll take me away and… I don't even know where…" Peter inhaled sharply, trying to stop his sadness from tuning his voice. "I know I'm at the Compound. The Avengers' Compound. That's where they took me because... because..."

He never told his aunt the truth of his mysterious illness. When she and Uncle Ben stayed up through the night with him, trying to ease whatever flu that overcame him. They wanted to take him to the emergency room, but Peter dissuade them on it. They couldn't afford hospital bills. But, miraculously, the next morning he felt better. Better than ever. Yet, he never said a word to them about his transformation. He kept Aunt May in the dark for her own protection and state of mind.

But now... he had no choice. She had to know.

Peter drew a deep breath, "because I'm Spider-man," he said and pictured Aunt May's gobsmacked face, dropping an F-bomb. "I know. I know. I should have told you, but... I was afraid. Afraid I might get you hurt… or killed. I didn't want to freak you out or anything. I kept it a secret and I… I didn't think anyone knew, but the UN does. And now, they won't let me go because of the Accords or something. Something about not signing my name because all enhanced individuals need to sign their names... I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that I am being kept here because of the Accords.

"I don't know what they have said to you, but Mr. Stark is handling it," Peter said to reassure her. If she knew Iron Man was helping him, it might bring her some comfort. Not much, but enough. "He's working on it. He's fighting against a guy named Ross or something, and the rest of the UN council to get me released back to you. He said it's a slow process, but we are making progress. At least, I think we are. I'm not entirely certain. I think so though.

"May—I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. I really want to be home. I miss you and I lov—"

A click interrupted him and the automatic voice came back on, informing him that he reached his messaging limit. It gave him more instructions, but Peter just hung-up. He had more to say to his aunt. Yet, the phone cut him off and he was left with no more chances.

Peter lowered the phone from his ear, staring straight ahead at the thin carpet underneath him. Mr. Stark warned him he could only call once or else the different signal would alert the UN officials. And if they were alerted, then Peter would be gone. Probably to the hole, despite Mr. Stark's promises.

Was it worth it? Even if he reached her, would he ever see her again? Mr. Stark assured him that Peter would see his aunt again, but the UN never made that promise. They only promised control and secrecy. He would be at their mercy and doubt they would make exceptions for his case like Mr. Stark did.

Still... the itch to hear his aunt grew stronger. His finger already sliding to re-dial.

The door whipped open and Mr. Stark stood in the threshold. He looked at the phone to Peter. "Hadn't heard anything for a bit," he said. "Did you talk to her?"

Peter dropped his head, eyes averted to the floor.

Mr. Stark sighed and sat beside him on the bed. "I'm sorry, squirt."

Peter kept his face down, using the palms to brush away the tears. "Yeah, um, she probably thought it was scam," he said with a nasally tone. "You know… there's been an increase in phone scams and she probably thought it was, um, one of those. Or something."

He breathed, sniffling. "I left a message," he mumbled. "In a way, it got to speak to her. I guess."

"That's good," Mr. Stark said, sounding far more uplifted than Peter felt. "I mean, it's not the same as actual dialogue, but at least she'll get your message. Know you are all right and everything."

"But I don't know about her!" Peter cried out, hands gripping the mattress, squeezing tight. Holding on for his sanity and life. "I don't know if she's okay or... or if she's in trouble or if she's—"

"She's alive, Peter," Mr. Stark assured, in an attempt to cool Peter's rising anxiety. "I would tell you otherwise. At the moment, I know she's alive and all right. Still living in Queens."

Peter numbly nodded, but the dreadful fear still quivered his bones. "Yeah… yeah."

A long pause followed, neither of them speaking. Peter hardly cared. His own thoughts were clouded and heavy. All he could focus on was his aunt and his worries for her. Didn't matter if she was alive or okay. Mr. Stark could tell him Aunt May lived in a palace, living in great comfort and he would still be worrying about her.

Because nothing materialistic would ever fill the empty void of losing family.

A hand suddenly dropped on his shoulder. "I may have something to cheer you up," Mr. Stark announced. "Why don't you swing by tomorrow? Say… seven?"

"Seven," Peter repeated in a quiet murmur. "School ends at 6:45 tomorrow. Then I have practice—"

"I'll talk to Jemma and Reynolds."

Peter didn't know why he even bother. Mr. Stark was the highest authority figure. He could clear Peter's whole schedule if he wanted to. And although Peter didn't have the heart to do anything other than curl into a ball onto his bed, he couldn't exactly decline Mr. Stark's attempt to make him happy.

He gave in. "Okay."

Mr. Stark beamed, happy to have his invitation accepted. "Good! Just tell FRIDAY and she'll take you on up."

He stood up, pocketing the phone out of sight. No more chances to contact his aunt. Mr. Stark headed for the door, but paused. His eyes scanned the bedroom with an inquisitive scrutiny.

"Wow! Your room is pathetically sad," Mr. Stark commented as he swiveled his head around to look everywhere. "It reminds me of a cheap, motel room. Worse though because at least the motel has some art décor."

Mr. Stark moved, checking the bland furniture. "You do know you can spruce up the place, right?" he directed the query to Peter. "Everyone else redecorated to fit their personal style. If you want to get posters for the walls or books to fill the shelves, you can ask."

Peter didn't know, but he never bothered to ask. He always figured the room was temporary anyway. "It's not my room," he said, shrugging. "It's technically yours. I'm just staying in it."

Mr. Stark's obnoxiously rolled in his eyes. "You have my full permission to remodel it," he granted. "Make it yours. Fill it with Star Wars memorabilia and the works, if you want. I don't care. I'm not using it."

"Thanks, but it's fine," Peter said, uncaring. "It's temporary anyway."

His words repulsed Mr. Stark. The man crinkled his nose, eyes tight as he looked from the bare walls to Peter. "Doesn't mean you have to live like a Mennonite!" he huffed, swatting the white dresser. "No wonder you run off to the library whenever you get the chance."

He scratched his chin in contemplation. "I'm going to order you a few things," he decided, mostly to himself. "Get this place looking alive and not so… dead."

"That's not necessary, Mr. Stark."

Mr. Stark was ignoring him. He was taken screen shots of the bedroom before sending them somewhere. "FRIDAY? Send those photos to my guy. Tell him it's for a teenager."

"On it, Boss." FRIDAY responded.

Peter got up from his bed. "Mr. Stark—really! I don't want it decorated."

Because if it was decorated then it wouldn't be his jail cell. It would remind him of home. And he was not home.

But, Mr. Stark was listening to him. "Well, as you so pointed out to me, I own the room," he said. "So… I'm going to decorate it as I see fit, considering I own it and all. And I think I would like an original Star Wars poster right there."

Mr. Stark gestured his fingers into a square, acting like he could picture it on the wall over Peter's twin bed. "And then we can get better sheets," he said. "How about Iron Man sheets? I saw them in kid's Pottery Barn catalogue."

Peter saw the teasing glint in the man's eyes, but Peter didn't want to risk guessing the man wrong. "The sheets are fine," he insisted. "I don't need kid sheets."

"Okay—but what about…"

Mr. Stark teased Peter with a few other things until Peter couldn't help but laugh at the obnoxious things Mr. Stark was willing to buy for him. He nearly almost convinced Peter that he truly needed a piano matt to stomp around when he came back to his room from a long day.

After the smile, Mr. Stark ruffled his hair. "There's a smile," he observed. "But, in all seriousness, I am going to order you a few things. You can't live like this. It's uncivilized."

Peter crinkled his nose up as he mockingly frown at the man. He knew it was a waste of energy to keep fighting on about it, so he let Mr. Stark purchase only a few things. Nothing extravagant. He got Mr. Stark to swear that he wouldn't buy anything elaborate or way over expensive. Only the basics.

"You're a bore kid. Gotta live a little," Mr. Stark said after Peter informed him that purchasing an electric drum kit would be considered elaborate and overpriced. "All right, we both have things we need to do. So, I will see you later."

Mr. Stark left and Peter sighed and checked his watch. He was supposed to be at practice twenty minutes ago. Peter rolled off the bed and shoved his shoes on, nearly tripping on the loose laces as he raced out.

Peter stood in the center of the elevator as FRIDAY led him up toward the penthouse. The day was long and hard. After failing to reach Aunt May the night before, Peter struggled to really go through the day without feeling depressed. He wondered how his message affected May. He wondered if she was doing anything to get him back or if she was also stuck in a similar situation as him?

All these thoughts clogged up his mind and it dragged him. He almost nearly forgot to shower before coming, which was why his hair was damp. He barely had time to completely dry it.

He sensed the elevator slowing down and Peter pulled himself together, combing his fingers through his hair to make it look less curly. The elevator parted open and Peter stepped out into... into... wait. Peter checked the area around him. This wasn't the office. Where did FRIDAY take him?

He walked into a small foyer that opened to a spacious layout. He was on a platform with steps that led him down to the main area. It was big! The wide-open rooms was minimalistically decorated with ample white or grey furniture and expensive art to decorate the white walls. There was even a nook with a grand piano and miniature bar, stocked with what Peter imagined was the good stuff.

FRIDAY dropped him off at the wrong floor. It didn't look anything like Mr. Stark's office. Peter remembered Mr. Stark's office as being sleek and technically advanced with dark grey coloring. This looked more… homey.

Peter turned to a glass console table where a single picture frame rested between a small lamp and potted plant. He glanced at the picture and instantly recognized Tony Stark in the photo. The person next to him took him a little longer to figure out.

Or, until the person from behind surprised him.

"You must be Peter."

Peter jumped and spun around, tipping into the table. His heart logged right into his throat as his eyes widened in fear for a split second as he took in the new person. A woman with strawberry blonde hair and a kind face stood behind him, dressed in professional slacks and a white blouse. She wore a patient smile, coming over to him.

"I'm Pepper Potts," the woman greeted, and Peter found himself shaking her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

It all clicked together. The woman in the photograph next to Tony was Pepper Potts and this was their home. Their penthouse they shared. Peter's eyes scanned around them, taking in everything and admonishing himself for not seeing it right away.

Then, his eyes drifted further into the penthouse and he spotted the dining room. The table was set with fine dining, napkins and… oh god—

He interrupted date night!

Peter's senses even detected the aroma of chicken, sautéed vegetables and a sweet, delicate smell of what Peter thought might be cake. Peter scolded himself again. He messed up! He got the time wrong and now, he intruded on their home and interrupted a date.

Peter looked back to Pepper. "I'm sorry," he started off. "I didn't realize—"

The sound of hurried footsteps drummed in his ears. Peter looked in the direction of the footsteps and Mr. Stark came whipping around the corner. "Hey Pepper!" he called to her, not noticing Peter. "Where is that Jackson Pollock painting I bought?"

"I sold it," Pepper answered and when seemed to about to protest, she continued. "You kept it in storage with no plans to ever put it up, and I told you already it was ridiculously overpriced, but you wouldn't listen. So, during the move, I sold it to get some of the money back."

"Pepper…"

"Tony, you know Peter," Pepper steered Mr. Stark's attention to him.

Mr. Stark's eyes widened for a bit, surprised at Peter's appearance in his penthouse. Peter shrunk under the man's gaze, embarrassed that he messed up.

"Peter!" he exclaimed as the sudden surprise faded to recognition. "Did you just get here?"

Peter stiffly nodded. "Um… yeah, just a few minutes ago," he said, pointing back to the doors. "But, um, I think I made a mis—"

Mr. Stark turned back to Pepper. "Why did you sell it? I need it."

Pepper dropped her head to the side and looked on with great exasperation. "For what? You had it down in storage for ten years and you completely forgot about it until now."

"I need it to give it away."

"To whom?"

"Rhodey."

Pepper's eyes fell into slits. "Rhodes doesn't like Jackson Pollock," she said, knowingly. "I know what this is… you want to rub it into someone's face. Who?"

"Does it matter?" Mr. Stark countered, a bit frustrated. "I need it and now you sold it."

"You have more paintings," she reminded him. "Use one of those to rub into whoever's face you want to insult. Now—I have to change. Why don't you talk to Peter?" Pepper nudged to Peter before she planted a tiny kiss on Mr. Stark's temple.

She walked away, leaving Peter to receive his lecture from Mr. Stark. But, Peter decided to beat Mr. Stark to the punch. "Okay, I'm so sorry," Peter rapidly started. "Really, Mr. Stark. I didn't mean to interrupt your dinner date with Miss Potts. I… I messed up the times and… I can go right now. Yeah—I'll just go now and—"

"Whoa! Slow down, Pete," Mr. Stark stopped him. "I invited you here, remember?"

He thought he remembered correctly, but seeing the dining table set and smelling the delicious food made him question it. "But… you're having dinner with Miss Potts."

"We are having dinner," Mr. Stark corrected, gesturing between them and then jerking his head in the direction Miss Potts disappeared to. "Thought you may enjoy a family dinner. Cheer you up a bit."

Peter blinked, turning to the dining room then back to Mr. Stark. The man was relaxed, a wry grin on his face as he watched Peter grasp the meaning of it.

"So… I didn't mess up the times?" Peter asked to reconfirm.

Mr. Stark nodded. "Honestly, I thought you would show up a little later," he confessed, "but Pepper has told me that not everyone likes to roll in two hours later, so…

"You're exactly where you are supposed to be," Mr. Stark reassured him. "Also, I wanted you to meet Pepper. She's been wanting to meet you for some time and I figured why not over dinner?"

"That's very kind of you, sir," Peter thanked him, the knotted feelings untangling themselves. "Are you sure though? I mean… if you want to—"

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes as he backed away, heading over to the miniature bar. "Enough kid," he said. "You leave, you'll break Pepper's heart. She's actually been looking forward to meeting you."

"Really?"

"Of course," Mr. Stark fixed himself a drink. "Want soda? Pepper purchased Coke for you."

Peter nodded. It's been a while since he had a soft drink. Mr. Stark poured the Coke and passed it to Peter. The man took a sip of his drink, sighing in satisfaction. "All right," he announced. "Why don't I give you a quick tour of the place? Come on—unglue yourself from the console and follow."

Peter didn't even realize he stuck himself to the glass table. He relaxed and let himself slide off, joining Mr. Stark as he gave the tour.

Mr. Stark eyed Peter's appearance. "Are you wearing gym clothes?"

Peter crossed his arms over his shirt, pathetically hiding it from Mr. Stark's critical eye. He hated the sound of judgment. Especially over something he had little influence over the matter. It reminded Peter of Flash Thompson bullying him over his worn-down sneakers with the soles coming super-glued together to avoid having his aunt and uncle purchase him an expensive pair when they were already tight on money. Or when Flash Thompson mocked him for his dowdy brown jumper. Or when Flash Thompson snickered when his book bag kept unzipping or ripping or when Peter had to use duct tape to seal it after the zipper gave up. Basically any time Flash belittled him for his poverty-status.

He knew, deep down, that wasn't what Mr. Stark was trying to do. Yet, it was all Peter heard. "They're clean."

"I'm not doubting they're clean," Mr. Stark said. "I'm wondering why you are wearing them."

"It's all I have."

"That are clean?"

Peter shook his head, face heating in embarrassment. "I don't own anything else," he explained, grumbling. "I only have three outfits and all of them are basically gym clothes."

Mr. Stark spun right in front of Peter, coming to a halt. "Wait—you're telling me you don't have a pair of jeans here?"

"Was I supposed to?" Peter wondered if he missed a part of his orientation at the Compound.

Mr. Stark looked aghast as he pulled out his phone, typing rapidly. "That's ridiculous! First the bedroom and now this?" he muttered from the corner of his mouth. "Why didn't you say something at the beginning?" He tapped and finished. "FRIDAY? Order Peter an entire wardrobe."

"Will that be all, boss?" FRIDAY voice replied.

"No—that's not," Peter jumped in, trying to stop Mr. Stark. "It's okay, Mr. Stark. Really! I'm fine with the clothes. I don't need—"

Mr. Stark looked sharply at him. "They're gym clothes, Peter," he said. "Not day clothes or pajamas. Definitely not dinner attire either, but…" He wrinkled his nose at the grey sweatpants and long sleeve shirt. "… they'll have to do until FRIDAY orders you new clothes."

"But—"

"Stop arguing. Deal is done," Mr. Stark declared, turning his back. "Now—this is the living room…"

Mr. Stark gave Peter the grand tour. The penthouse had three floors. The main floor contained the basic rooms of a house: living room, kitchen, dining room, two full bathrooms and the nook with the grand piano. Each room dressed with the same elegant, but minimalistic furnishings. The upper level was the master bedroom and Mr. Stark had no intentions of showing upstairs. They detoured to the lower level which contained a private gym with a boxing ring in the center, a wine cellar and a library with a private collection of rare books. Every room he walked in was worth twenty-five times more than the apartment he and Aunt May shared. Even the glass he drank his coke out of appeared to be crystal glass.

They climbed up the stairs to the main level and then Mr. Stark dragged Peter over to the elevator again. "Onto the best part of the tour," he announced, ordering FRIDAY to take them to the garage. "Yeah, kid. It's a secret entrance."

The elevator dropped them off and opened. It was a good thing he stuck to surfaces or else the crystal glass containing his drink would have shattered and spilled all over.

"W—Wha… what?" Peter gasped, eyes enlarged as he staggered into the room. "What?"

The entire floor stretched out before him with a single, lit up path that went between two rows of both vintage and modern cars. At the end of the room was a ramp, leading up out of the room to what Peter figured was outside. But, he didn't even cared about that. His eyes were on all the lavished and exquisite vehicles.

"It's my collections of cars," Mr. Stark said, walking passed Peter as he leaned up against the orange Audi R8. "Take great pride in these puppies. Work on them a lot, fixing them here and there... do you drive? How old do you have to be to get a licenses?"

"Just in parking lots," Peter said, softly as his legs carried him to the cars. "And I'm not old enough for a licenses. Gotta be sixteen."

Peter walked down the florescent lit path, envious of the Shelby Cobra, Saleen S7 and Tesla Roadster that were parked before him. He and Ned, when they were little, pretended they would grow up rich and driving all the fanciest cars rich people were supposed to drive. Obviously, it was only a fantasy. Peter never expected to own even a car let alone an expensive sports car. Nor did he ever anticipated to be next to a 1932 Ford Flathead Roadster.

He stopped, admiring the car's flaming colors on the sides and the exposed engine. Like any roadster back in that era, the car was not weather protected—no coverings, exposed red, leather seats and a small, added windshield that would not hold up much protection on a windy day. Still, Peter couldn't stop staring it. It was the coolest car. The bright red and gold colors, clashing with the black reminded Peter of a hotrod.

Mr. Stark came up to him. "Got your eye on the big prize, huh?" he said with a sly smile. "It was my old man's Roadster. He used to have me work on it with him. Our only father-son bonding time. Never finished it though. Still fine-tuning it. Here and there. Whenever I get the chance."

Peter tilted his head, examining the engine. "Have you driven it yet?"

"No. I haven't taken it anywhere. Still needs work," Mr. Stark said. "A few more upgrades and tweaks need to be made."

Peter squatted by the engine. "Is that a five-speed Tremec transmission?"

Mr. Stark looked surprised. "Yeah, it is," he said, impressed. "Put it in myself. It can go as fast as 6,200 rpm."

"6,200 rpm?" Peter wowed, mouth dropping in awe. "70 mph. That's fast for a Roadster. You upgraded the brakes?"

"Naturally," Mr. Stark said, still holding that impressed smile. "Original, but readjusted to work with the new speed."

"What about…"

And they went on, discussing the car and all the upgrades Mr. Stark made to the vehicle. Most of the parts were the original parts, only upgraded to be better. Mr. Stark explained all the upgrades and Peter was able to follow along, even questioning some of the decisions Mr. Stark made for the car.

Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Stark and Peter stood over the car, tools in hand as they dug deep into the workings of Ford Roadster. Dinner forgotten until FRIDAY called over their heads.

"Boss? Miss Potts says dinner is starting and that you better not have any oil or grease stains," FRIDAY said, to which Mr. Stark immediately did a quick inspection.

"I think we narrowly dodged that kid," Mr. Stark said as he put the tools away and led Peter back to the elevator. "Probably best we wash our hands once we get back to the main floor."

Miss Potts was waiting for them. She only took one look at them before directing them to the bathroom to wash their hands. Already, she knew they were tinkering with the cars. FRIDAY probably told her.

Once cleaned, Peter sat in the directed seat. Miss Potts sat at the head of the table with Mr. Stark opposite of Peter. The spread of food looked delicious. The main course was a garlic and rosemary balsamic roast with baked red potatoes, mixed fruit and they each had individual bowls of salad—with dressing of their choosing.

It was the fanciest meal Peter ever saw, and that included Thanksgiving at Ned's house where Ned's mother slaved away in the kitchen for days in preparation.

"Wow," Peter ogled at all the food. "This looks wonderful, Miss Potts."

Pepper flashed a smile at him. "Wish I could take credit, but that belongs to Chef Laurent," she answered. "But I did pick out the food choices. If I let Tony decide, it would be coffee."

"I would give the kid sustenance," Mr. Stark defended himself. "Like… pizza? Or Chinese?"

Pepper arched a knowingly brow at him. "Take-out?"

"Well, I don't know how to make dumplings," Mr. Stark said. "Besides, the point of Chinese is ordering it in. Back me up on this, Underoos."

Peter, not wishing to be in the middle, slightly favored both sides. "Take-out is great, but I imagine home-cooked food is healthier."

Mr. Stark narrowed his gaze at him, shaking his head. "Don't go sucking up to Pepper," he playfully warned. "She hates it."

"No, I love it," Pepper intervened on her behalf, pleased. "Here, Peter. Hand me your plate."

Peter found his plate overloaded with the slices of roast and an army of red potatoes. His mixed berries mingled on the outskirts of the plate, huddled away from the sauce that dripped over the meat. The sweet aroma of the door surged Peter to pick up the fork and chow down.

He remembered his manners though. He waited until everyone had something on his plate and that Pepper had the first bite. His aunt and uncle always told him politeness would take him far.

They started to eat and the meat was so tender it melted in Peter's mouth. He nearly groaned in delight, but withheld it to avoid embarrassment. He scarfed up the meat in seconds before helping himself another slab.

Pepper took a bite of her potatoes. "So, Peter?" she addressed him. "Tony tells me you are quite a genius. Says you are a particularly skilled engineer."

Peter flushed and glanced across the table at Mr. Stark. The man kept a wry smile as he chewed. "Oh, um, I'm… I'm okay—"

"Kid's a prodigy," Mr. Stark spoke up, dabbing his mouth with a cloth napkin. "Understood quantum physics without me dumbing it down. Created his own web fluid with just a few chemicals from his school—the one with the extremely high tensile score that I showed you. And he corrected the drone design in a matter of minutes. Our senior engineers couldn't even do that! It's why I swept him up as an intern so quickly." Mr. Stark stabbed a fork in his direction. "This one shows great promises."

Peter sunk a little further into his seat, rolling in his lips as he averted his gaze elsewhere. "A lot of people my age can do all that stuff," he tried to humbly brush away the compliments. "I know a few kids that could find the issue with the drone and fix it."

"But in three minutes?" Mr. Stark challenged, "Seriously Pepper, the kid could blow your mind. He's just as smart as I was at that age. That's telling you something."

"And he's far more humble than you—now that's telling me something," Pepper joked, looking back at Peter. "Tony told me you're from New York. Where?"

"Um… Queens," he answered. "Forest Hills."

"And you attended school there?"

"Midtown," Peter said, but the brief pause afterward made him remember that she may not know the school. "It's a STEM school out in Queens."

"I know Midtown," Pepper said, looking more impressed. "It's a prestigious school. Their graduates are highly recognized for their aptitude in science and technology. They've asked Stark Industries to sponsor one of their technology fairs."

"Did we?" Mr. Stark asked.

"We sent money and a few engineers to represent," Pepper answered. "You were more focused on the Stark Expo to be bothered."

"That we also host in Queens," Mr. Stark chipped in, dashing a quick look at Peter. "Gotta lot of history out there."

Peter remembered that Expo. The drones going out of control, firing on civilians as they stampeded out for survival. Peter lost his grip on his aunt's hand, engulfed and spat out by the crowd. He remembered the feeling of confusion and worry, but when the drone came for him, it evaporated. He knew what to do. He saw Iron Man do it. He had Iron Man's blaster too.

He remembered raising his hand and the drone blasting apart.

"Nice work, kid."

"Are you on scholarship?"

Pepper was talking. To him.

"Sorry?" he said, sitting up straighter and pulling himself out of his memories to focus on the present.

"Midtown is quite pricey," Pepper repeated for him. "Are you on a scholarship? Are they giving you financial aid?"

"Um… yeah," he answered, curious as to how she knew money was tight for his family. "I mean, my aunt and uncle were prepared to take on extra jobs if I didn't get the financial aid. But… I got it and so I was able to go without being a burden."

Pepper's kind and intrigued expression melted into a morose sympathy. "I doubt they ever thought that," she said. "I'm sure they're extremely proud of you and your accomplishments."

Peter liked to think so. He wouldn't know as his aunt didn't pick up the phone.

Mr. Stark coughed a bit, gathering attention to him. "Do you watch the Knicks, kid?"

And they dove into typical dinner formation. They ate and talked, much like Peter did at home. Miss Potts was quick in her rebuttals as Mr. Stark was in his repartee. Peter tagged along when appropriate, but he far more enjoyed their banters than participating. Peter helped Ms. Potts clear the plates and offered to do the dishes, but Pepper informed him that it wasn't necessary. After all, they had a smart-dishwasher that could do it without much assistance from a human. Peter was amazed! He never lived in an apartment with a dishwasher, let alone a smart one!

They moved to the living room and Pepper asked if he played piano after catching him staring at grand piano tucked away into the nook. Peter shook his head. "I played the trumpet in school," he responded to Pepper's inquiry, "… and not very well."

He took a seat on one of the couches. "Erm… do you play?"

Pepper laughed. "No… I don't play."

Then that left… "Mr. Stark?" Peter somewhat yelped. "You play piano?"

"What's with the surprise?" Mr. Stark questioned with that same wry grin peeking out as he refilled his glass. He offered Peter another refresher, but Peter shook his head. Too full for more soda.

"I just… can't see you playing piano," Peter confessed and he really didn't. Couldn't picture either Tony Stark or Iron Man at a piano.

Mr. Stark settled beside Pepper on the couch opposite of Peter. "Yeah, well, your instincts are correct. I don't play."

"Oh."

"That piano belonged to my mother," Mr. Stark continued. His wicked, sharp eyes softened to a fondness of longing. Peter knew those eyes. He's seen those same eyes on himself. "She used to play. All the time. Loved it. There's a lot of fond memories of my mother playing songs. Music everywhere in the house."

Mr. Stark tipped the glass, but didn't drink the full contents. "That is until my father told her to stop playing. Needed to concentrate on something or… whatever."

Peter heard rumors of the Howard Stark being a cold and difficult man. A titan, who had no problem screwing people over to get what he wanted. Yet, sometimes, Peter had a hard time picturing it. Howard Stark was good friends with Captain America. History captured pictures of them together and Peter didn't believe a man like Captain America would be good friends with a man like that.

Then again, Peter never met the man and knew nothing. To be safe, best to not bring up Mr. Stark's dad at all.

"Wish I was musically talented," Peter offered as a way to redirect it away from that sore topic. "But, it's just not in the genes."

Mr. Stark snorted. "Were you hoping that spider-bite would grant you musical powers too?"

Peter half-shrugged, his lips tugging up. "Would be a nice addition, though," he said. "Maybe get on Broadway?"

Pepper laughed and Mr. Stark ridiculously rolled his eyes. And the rest of the night

They conversed, talking about a range of subjects. Pepper asked of his friends, to which Peter proudly bragged about Ned and MJ to her. He rambled on forever about how talented Ned was with computers and how he could hack and debug anything in front of him in seconds. He spoke of MJ, his recent friend, and her determination for social justice.

Pepper sounded impressed, noting they must be good friends for Peter to speak highly of them. They were good friends. The best.

Mr. Stark was far more interested in Peter's brain, diving right into quantum physics and the potential possibilities. They discussed and debated of the prospective technology quantum physics could bring, to which Mr. Stark was surprised by Peter's reciting of a quote from Dr. Reed Richards' academic essay on the matter.

"My dad knew of a guy—Hank or Han or something," Mr. Stark said, the center of his eyebrow creased in deep concentration. "Thought it was possible to actually enter the quantum realm through the use of cross particles. And, of course, some kind of technology that would assist, but… he disappeared. Took all the information and fled."

Peter paused. "… you mean Dr. Henry Pym?"

Mr. Stark snapped his fingers. "That's the one. Him! Yeah… he hated my dad's guts," he said, a whimsical smile growing with delighted specks of light in his eyes. "Would have liked to have met. Formed a club. Would have irritated the hell out of my dad."

They went back to talking, eagerly swapping out theories and inventions. Pepper attempted to interrupt their geek-out session, but Mr. Stark whined. "What? There are very few people—if any, come to think of it—that actually speaks English."

Pepper only looked at him with accepted exasperation. "Fine. I'll let you two boys fawn over your mutual love," she joked, rising up from her couch. She took away Mr. Stark's glass. "Anyway, I have paperwork I need to review before the meeting tomorrow, so I best finish that first."

Peter got up to thank her for the meal and conversation. Pepper tilted her chin down, examining him with quiet, but warm attention. "I'm glad to have met you, Peter," she said. "If you ever need anything, let me know. Or tell FRIDAY to inform me. You're always welcomed here."

Peter won't lie. Pepper's warm embrace caused Peter's insides to flutter and a giddy smile to brighten his face. To be accepted—wanted—had been almost became foreign to him since his residence at the Compound. To have Pepper say those words and then hug him goodnight, was something unexpected, but welcomed.

Pepper warned Mr. Stark to not stay up too late. And to not take Peter back down to the garage. No need to overwork the boy, as she said.

Mr. Stark promised and they went back to their previous discussion on the creation of using quantum physics as a way to travel through space and time. Peter found the possibility a bit ludicrous as it would be difficult to even get to the quantum realm, let along navigate it. There was a high risk of getting stuck in there forever. A version of Purgatory.

"That's why we need to upgrade the tech," Mr. Stark argued. "If we can replicate Harry's—"

"Dr. Pym's," Peter automatically corrected.

"Don't interrupt me," Mr. Stark waved his hand in dismissal. "Once we replicate it, we can easily use it to travel into the realm. And, if we can do it to a person, we can do it with an object."

"So… miniaturize everything into a quantum realm?" Peter summarized. "We don't even know how stable it is. Could possibly reject any interference. What if a radio wave or something interferes?"

"Well, if you keep looking at it from a negative viewpoint, kid, you are never going to do it," Mr. Stark snipped. "Stop thinking over everything that can go wrong and think of everything that could happen if done? It's why we do any of this right? See how far we can test the limits? Make things better, right?"

Peter bobbed his head in thought. "Yeah… true," he murmured his agreement. Science was all about understanding the world around them and finding ways to make it better. "But… if we don't take responsibilities—"

Mr. Stark's phone rang out. "Hold that thought," he said, sliding his phone out to view the screen. The deep crevice between the man's eyebrows meant it was someone of importance. "I got to take this call. Just… hold on. We'll finish this when I come back."

Mr. Stark disappeared down the stairs, leaving Peter alone in the main floor. Peter sat for a few minutes before deciding to stretch his legs. He walked around the room, checking the art, the few framed photographs of Mr. Stark and Pepper through the years. He stood by the piano for a bit, trying again to picture Mr. Stark running his fingers down the keys. Then again, maybe Mr. Stark hadn't ever touched the piano since his mother's passing. Mr. Stark seemed to love her very much. As much as Peter loved his aunt.

Peter wondered if he would have loved his own mother the same way if she never died.

Feeling all angsty and depressed, Peter went back to the couch. He laid on his side, trying his best to not think of his dead family. He wondered if Mr. Stark ever got cramps from thinking about his family. Did he miss them as much as Peter missed his? At least Mr. Stark had fond memories of his mother. Peter's memories… they were streaked with tragedy and blood.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke to whispers around him and he noticed the lights on the main floor were dimmed to a respectable darkness.

"—send him back to his room?" whispered a voice behind him. Peter recognized that as being Mr. Stark. He must have finished his phone call.

"He's asleep already," came a new voice. Female. Pepper. "I told you not to keep him up late."

"I had a phone call to take," Mr. Stark defended. "Besides, I was gone for thirty minutes. Tops! Came back and he was already asleep."

"So… you dragged me out of bed to do what?" Pepper sounded irritated. "To wake him up only to send him back down to his own bed?"

"Well… yeah. I mean… it can't be all that comfortable to sleep on the couch."

"You've slept in worse places."

"But a bed is far better," Tony argued. "I mean, his room is just downstairs."

"How many floors?"

"I don't know."

A long sigh was released. Pattering footsteps could be heard moving around behind him. Cabinets were being opened. Then something was thrown over his body. Something warm and fuzzy.

"There," Pepper's voice returned. "At least he won't get cold."

"So that's it?" Mr. Stark questioned. "We're just going to let him sleep? On the couch?"

"Unless you want to carry him to one of the guest bedrooms on the other floors?"

There was a short pause. "Nah—Underoos can stay here for the night."

"Good answer," Pepper replied, still in soft tones that reminded Peter of his aunt. "Come on. Let's not disturb him."

There was a brief commotion of feet moving across the wood floors. Peter snapped his eyes closed, relying on his other senses to paint the picture for him.

"He looks so innocent," came Pepper's voice, somewhere from above. She must be on the staircase.

"Yeah," Mr. Stark agreed, his voice in the same direction. "I don't know how he does it. I don't know how he isn't screwed up."

"He was loved," Pepper simply whispered in response. "It must be hard for him to be alone. To have no one—"

"He has us."

Peter almost jerked, but kept his body still. He tried to keep his breathing normal. Steady and slow. Deep and slumber. Mr. Stark considered him—Peter Parker—as someone important. He was included to their weird, mash-up of an Avengers family.

"It's still not the same," Pepper solemnly whispered in return, "but it is better than being alone."

"Exactly," Mr. Stark said, "now… let's stop staring at the baby. Don't want him to wake up and see us staring right at him. That'll give him nightmares."

Peter heard a small pat that was probably a light slap on Mr. Stark's arm. "Oh—FRIDAY? Let us know when Mr. Parker wakes up?"

FRIDAY confirmed the request. Peter heard move shuffling movement. "Good night, Peter," said Mr. Stark and based off the sound, Peter suspected Mr. Stark ascended up the stairs with Pepper. He heard the sound of a door opening and closing. He waited a few more minutes before he opened his eyes again, adjusting to the pitch darkness.

The blanket fully covered him and Peter tugged it closer to his chin, clutching it. How strange it was for him to start the day with no family to answer and then to end in a billionaire's home, overhearing Iron Man tell his fiancé that Peter was one of them. That Peter was a member of their misfit family.

It gave Peter some happier thoughts before he drifted back to sleep.