(Again, this first chapter is exactly the same as my one-shot in shorts. I will probably take it out of shorts at some point on this site, since I decided to extend it to a longer fic)

Peter Parker knew this was a bad idea, but what was he supposed to do? He'd gotten off on the wrong train stop, his phone was dead, and he actually wasn't that sure where he was compared to where he needed to be. He definitely had no idea how to get to the Morgan Library & Museum OR back home at the moment, and the extremely cold rain that had just started falling had him wet and nearly frozen in his inadequate winter gear. Why hadn't he checked the weather before he made plans this evening? Why hadn't he listened to Ned, who said he should have done this sometime last week?

As he ducked into the lobby of Stark Tower, he hoped he could fly under the radar and just warm up for a few minutes. Maybe if he took his soaking jacket off he could actually stop shivering. He really had no idea what his next step was, but he was sure he'd be able to think better if he got out of this freak winter storm and warmed up for a few minutes.

His art history teacher was offering a pretty substantial chunk of extra credit if he spent an hour at any kind of art exhibit and wrote an essay on his experience with three pieces. And Peter desperately needed extra credit in that class.

He had also procrastinated though, with all that had been going on with uh, Spiderman , and Homecoming, and all the insanity that had been, and now this extra assignment was due Monday. The Morgan Museum had free Fridays from 5-7, so he had taken the train there after AcaDec today. After several delays he had managed to misread which stop he needed to get off at, and then when he'd thought he could probably walk the last half mile to the museum, he'd gotten hopelessly turned around. Even though he didn't have his Spiderman suit with him (he and Aunt May, and Mr. Stark and Aunt May were still hammering out the details of the circumstances necessary before she would be willing to let him continue that) he was about ready to climb a building so he could figure out where he was compared to where he needed to be. And just hope no one saw him.

That was all before the clouds had decided to let loose. He just happened to be less than a block from Stark Tower (which was impossible to miss) when it started raining, and without even thinking, he instinctively headed straight for what he hoped was a safe place.

So now he stood inside, dripping and shivering, and unfortunately both security and the employees at the reception desk had all noticed him. It was "after hours," so there wasn't a lot going on there. He knew Mr. Stark had said the sale of the building was on hold after all the chaos of the Vulture, but Peter suddenly realized just because he kinda knew the owner of the building didn't mean anyone else knew him, or that he'd be welcomed here.

An intimidating security guard approached him casually. Peter wanted to bolt, but he just couldn't make his feet move to return to the frigid downpour outside.

"Evenin', son. Can I help you?"

"Um, I was just coming in out of the rain for a few minutes?" Peter managed to get out.

"Well, I can understand that, but the problem is we're technically closed, and we especially can't have unaccompanied minors in here. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."

Peter cursed inwardly. He was still actively shivering, and probably making a puddle on the floor. The guard looked sympathetic, but also serious about his directions. Peter had just turned to go take his chances outside again, when a light Irish lilt interrupted them.

"Mr. Parker, you're expected in the penthouse. Hurry along and don't keep them waiting."

The guard startled almost as much as Peter, looking at the ceiling as if he might be able to see FRIDAY. Peter had only "met" her twice before, but he'd been suitably impressed, and had managed to have a short, interesting conversation with her the last time.

"Um, excuse me, uh, FRIDAY? The guard said with a bit of awe, apparently not used to her addressing him. "Are you talking about this kid? He's wanted in the penthouse?"

"Yes, of course. Please direct him to the express elevator."

"Um, I should do a security screening…"

"Mr. Parker has already been cleared. Please escort him."

"Okay, then," the guard mumbled incredulously, jerking his chin for Peter to follow him. Which he did, wet sneakers squeaking embarrassingly as they crossed the expensive (and expansive) floor. Everyone in the lobby seemed to be frozen, watching them. Peter kind of wanted to run back out into the storm under all that scrutiny.

He entered the elevator alone, and the guard gave him one more puzzled look before the doors closed.

"Um, Ms. FRIDAY?" Peter asked nervously as the elevator began its ascent. "I wasn't expected at the Tower, much less at the penthouse. I haven't talked to Mr. Stark since I, uh, turned him down at the Compound," he said in confusion.

"Correct. However, I have just explained the situation to Ms. Potts, and told her I am bringing you up, so now you are expected."

"Miss Potts? Are you freaking kidding me? I can't see her right now! I mean, look at me," he said, feeling how wild his eyes were getting as he anticipated arriving at what was sure to be a very upscale penthouse in his current state.

"Nevertheless, she is waiting for you."

Within twenty seconds, the elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Crap. It was fancier than Peter had imagined. And he was still dripping.

"Please exit the elevator," FRIDAY urged after he stood there for a few moments. Peter did, cautiously, as he heard the clicking of heels approaching him. This had been a very bad idea indeed. Then she was there, sweeping into the entryway, looking perfectly put together and smiling politely at him.

"Peter, right?" She didn't seem upset. "Tony didn't mention that you were coming by. You're welcome, of course."

"Um, he didn't know, Ms. Potts, because I'm not really. I mean, I wasn't really. Coming by. Here." Smooth, Parker. "He didn't invite me or anything. I was trying to go to the museum, and I got lost, and then it started raining, and it was really cold. I just ducked in to try to warm up, but I guess the lobby's close and, uh, but then FRIDAY told me to come up here…" He quieted abruptly, aware of how rambly that had been. Then, "I can leave!"

"Nonsense! No matter the reason, you're obviously soaked, and it did get quite cold out there for October, didn't it." It wasn't a question. FRIDAY mentioned you might need a change of clothes while we dry yours. You'll find something in the second guest bedroom on the left, down this hall," she gestured. "Bring me your clothes when you're done and I'll get them dried for you."

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly!" She leveled him with a serious look, eyebrow raised, and suddenly he had more understanding of how she'd managed to handle Mr. Stark all these years. He shut his mouth and headed down the hall, sneakers squishing.

"There you go. FRIDAY will direct you when you're done," she smiled.

The clothes she'd set in there were thankfully warm and comfortable. A pair of sweats that fit his waist but were a little long. The t-shirt and hoodie were too big, but that made them extra cozy. She'd even included a pair of fuzzy pink socks. Okay, then. Peter smiled in amusement, but didn't waste any time putting them on. It felt so wonderful to be warm and dry again. He still had a little water dripping down into his collar from his wet hair, so he hesitantly grabbed one of the hand towels to dry his hair as well as he could. He also used it on the outside of his backpack, hoping its somewhat water-resistant fabric had protected his school stuff. He didn't feel like checking yet. If it was bad news, he wasn't up for it at the moment.

When he was done finger-combing his hair, he folded the used towel up under his clothes so they wouldn't drip on the carpet, and took a deep breath before walking through the guest room and back out into the hall.

"Ms. FRIDAY? Where should I take my clothes?" He addressed the ceiling at large, not knowing where the AI's sensors or speakers were.

"Please bring them into the kitchen. Go right and take the second doorway to the left once you reach the entry hall."

Peter followed her directions, and soon Ms. Potts had relieved him of the pile of clothes while handing him a sandwich, as well as a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a charger for his phone. How did she even know he needed that? She leaned against the counter with a cup of coffee and gently quizzed him on what he'd been doing in Manhattan that evening and just how he'd managed to get lost in his own city while Peter ate his (delicious) sandwich at their dining room table.

Which is where he was when Mr. Stark breezed in, suit jacket slung over his arm, removing his tie as he spoke. "Pep, how is it that you're the CEO of my company, but you got to come home earlier than I did on a Friday evening? It's not right, I tell you," he complained as he walked over and tossed his jacket and tie on the counter so he could pull her in for a kiss.

Then he noticed Peter. Mr. Stark pulled back in surprise, not quite releasing Ms. Potts, and looked at the teenager as if he was a complicated math problem. "Um, intruder alert." His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, " and he's wearing my clothes." He turned to Ms. Potts, head cocked to the side and eyebrows raised, obviously requiring an explanation.

Crap, these were Mr. Stark's clothes? Well, probably the t-shirt and hoodie. He was pretty sure the sweats wouldn't fit him, so they must belong to Ms. Potts if these weren't just extras they had. Peter bit his lip and reluctantly raised his fingers in greeting.

"Tony, be nice. Peter got caught in the storm, and stepped into the Tower to try to get out of the rain. Of course FRIDAY brought him up to dry off."

"Heya, kid," he said softly, a bemused smile stealing across his face. Peter hastily opened his mouth to respond, but Ms. Potts held a finger up to stop him.

"You eat." Then she succinctly explained the whole story of the extra credit assignment and the museum he'd managed to lose, coupled with the freak rainstorm.

"Huh. You've got some pretty rotten luck there, kid."

"You have no idea," Peter mumbled softly into his sandwich.

"Well," Mr. Stark said, leaning back against the counter and bringing a hand up to his chin in thought, we've got that whole wing of artwork downstairs somewhere, don't we, Pep?" She nodded, a corner of her mouth twitching upwards. "What say we take a tour after your clothes are dry, and you can write your essay on some of those?"

Peter was floored. "Are you serious? That would be kind of amazing…" Then he remembered how the evening had gone earlier. "But are you sure they'll let me walk around and look at them? The guards didn't seem very happy about me being in the building after hours, especially by myself."

"Ah, that's why FRI felt like she should rescue you," Mr. Stark mused. "Well, I'm pretty sure no one will say anything if you're with us. I would hope not, at least," he said with a smirk. "You'll come, right?" He asked Ms. Potts, looking worried for a split second. "Because she'll be the first to tell you that I know absolutely nothing about any of the pieces we have," he said, addressing Peter again. "She seems to feel that I have no appreciation for fine art, actually."

Pepper was back in the main part of the kitchen getting a glass of water, and Peter's enhanced hearing clearly picked up her muttered, "ten years of work donated… " Then louder, with a smile: "I'd love to. I'm always trying to get Mr. Stark to appreciate our new art collection."

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. "Then, maybe if your scary aunt doesn't mind - make sure you check with her - you can come down to my workshop with me for a while, huh?"

Was he kidding? He was going to let Peter come see his workshop and his ongoing projects? Would he maybe get to check out the Iron Man armor? Peter had to work hard to keep the incredulity off his face. He'd honestly kinda thought he might never see Mr. Stark again after Peter had turned down his offer to join the Avengers. He nodded numbly as Mr. Stark walked over next to him.

"Then Happy can drive you home afterwards," Mr. Stark said as if it was settled. "How long before his clothes are done, Pep?"

She glanced at her watch. "Probably thirty minutes or so? His jacket was soaking."

Mr. Stark frowned at that, glancing back at Peter. "You getting warmed up okay, kid?" he asked, swiping a hand gently across his damp hair, then pulling his chin up with two fingers to get a better look at his face. He seemed concerned. Peter nodded, trying not to obviously choke on the food in his mouth as he did. What was happening?

"His name is Peter, Tony," Ms. Potts chastised pointedly.

"Well, I guess I have time to grab a sandwich with Peter , then, if there's one left for me?"

"There should be," Ms. Potts said, shaking her head at her fiancé. Mr. Stark grinned and went to open the refrigerator.

And that's how Peter Parker spent one of the most enjoyable, interesting, and surprising evenings of his life so far, eating sandwiches in the Stark's penthouse, touring their private art collection, and getting a hands-on introduction to Tony Stark's workshop. Ned was never going to believe him. He barely believed himself. Maybe his Parker luck wasn't so bad after all.