Chapter Text
Peter can’t help but tilt his head in amusement at the sight in front of him. After all, it isn’t every day you have the opportunity to see The Great Tony Stark adorning a light pink “Kiss the Cook” apron in order to protect a charcoal gray suit that most likely had cost thousands of dollars. Careful concentration is etched on his face as he carefully measures out a portion of cooking wine to be added to the simmering pot next to him. The precision is rewarded though, as the mouth-watering smell of homemade marinara sauce wafts through the air and envelops the room in a pleasant aroma.
“And just what are you looking at, young man?” Tony demands playfully, pointing the end of his knife towards the other side of the counter. The teen attempts to hide the grin growing on his face but has little luck when a small giggle escapes his mouth. The chef simply raises an eyebrow at the kid’s behavior for a quick moment before placing his focus on finishing the task at hand.
“Nothing,” Peter assures quickly as he leans forward to grab an apple from the bowl of fruit that sits between the two of them. However, a sharp sting to the back of his hand causes him to retract the limb quickly, wide eyes snapping up to stare at the older man in disbelief.
“What the hell was that for?” Peter asks, cradling his hand close to his chest with feigned pain.
“None of that,” Tony reprimands lightly, sliding freshly chopped tomatoes into the sizzling pan on the stove, “You’ll spoil your dinner. Besides, I need you hungry.”
Peter lets out a dramatic sigh, upper body falling forward to allow himself to rest his head on his now folded arms. “But I’m hungry now,” he whines, looking up at the older man with his saddest expression. It’s a pitiful sight, with a pronounced pout and the largest possible puppy dog eyes possible, but it has little effect. In return, Tony just rolls his own eyes and flicks a piece of basil at the kid’s face.
“What’s the big deal anyways? It’s just some company dinner, you guys have them all the time,” Peter continues to complain, sitting back up before wiping the offending piece of food off his forehead with mock disgust.
“The big deal,” Pepper answers as she walks in, fidgeting with the back of her left earring, “Is that this guy could be just what Stark Industries needs to revamp its image, especially after this whole ordeal with the accords.”
It was no secret that in the debate of whether the accords should or should not be signed, the majority of the younger population clearly sided with Captain America, due to his strong influence and presence within the schools. Although a sound conclusion had eventually been reached and all issues, superhero and personal, within the Avengers had been resolved, the damage to Stark Industries had been done. It simply had lost all appeal with Captain America supporters.
After making a quick pit stop to give Tony a peck on the cheek, Pepper reaches into the cabinets besides him to pull down a set of plates needed to start setting the table. The clear clicks of her heels make every step known.
“Besides, Steven’s a very well-accomplished man,” she adds with excitement, a hint of adoration seeping into her words, “He graduated early from Princeton, and managed to make a name for himself at only 23! Isn’t that spectacular?”
“Why not go out? Isn’t that what you guys, like, normally do?” Peter asks, swiftly twirling the bar stool around to face the woman. To be honest, he was still a little confused why his attendance to this specific dinner was needed in the first place. It definitely seems to be a big deal, if the way Pepper was having them dress in their nicest suits was any indication, but Peter didn’t have anything to do with company matters.
“He’s a family guy,” Pepper explains as she holds wine glasses against the light to check for possible scratches. Satisfied with their quality, she places them at each spot on the table before going to fold the cloth napkins, “He thinks that every company should have a strong family behind it.”
“And a nice, home cooked meal with the Stark family is exactly what is needed to demonstrate I have moved on from my wild partying days,” Tony chimes in from his place at the stove, with a monotone voice that indicates he was merely quoting another person, most likely Pepper. The said woman sends the man a glare from her place, causing the teen to smile from his spot between the adults. It made Peter feel warm inside that they believed he was important enough to be included. Even though he has lived with them for a few months now, the ache of the death of his aunt now only background noise in his day to day life, he doesn’t believe he can ever quite get over the fact that the couple loves him as much as he admires them.
“Peter, honey,” Pepper’s voice rings throughout the room, pulling Peter out of his thoughts. “Can you go grab a bottle of pinot noir from downstairs? I forgot to grab one.”
“Yes ma’am,” Peter replies, giving a flimsy salute as he slides off his seat before heading to the elevator.
Despite the fact that Tony has been sober for years now, Pepper still liked to have a drink or two with company. However, to keep temptation to a limit, the alcohol cabinet was located in the communal kitchen, which was two floors down. After exchanging a quick hello with Steve and Bucky, Peter grabs the red glass bottle and heads back up.
In the elevator car, the faint sound of Pepper’s laugh bounces around the metallic surface. This sound wasn’t her genuine laugh, but rather the more restrained one that she saves specifically for company matters. Like everything Pepper does, it was still charming, nonetheless. He must be here. Peter thinks to himself. Using the shiny reflective surface of the elevator wall, Peter inspects his own tie one last time before the doors slide open.
“Peter!” Tony greets loudly, arm wrapped around the shoulders of another man. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
Peter just stares in shock, making a conscious effort to grip his now sweaty palms around the wine bottle in hopes that it doesn’t slip out. It feels as if time has rewound itself, causing Peter to revert back to the nine-year-old little boy who always so scared, so afraid. It seems like the man in front of him somehow has not changed. His blond hair was still perfect, his sharp blue eyes still shining. Peter knows what lies beneath that picture-perfect surface, though. He knows what that man was capable of.
After a moment of no response, the man steps out of Tony’s embrace to offer a welcoming hand that the boy gingerly shakes, effectively snapping him out of his stupor. “Ah, Peter,” he smiles, the corners of his smile twisting to form an unsettling curl, “Steven Westcott. Nice to meet you. You can call me Skip.”
* * *
Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat next to Pepper for probably the billionth time that evening. Thankfully, the adults seem to be too busy talking amongst themselves to really notice the teen’s discomfort. He can’t help but cast cautionary glances at their guest across from him, who is flashing a bright smile and laughing along with all of Tony’s jokes. It’s unclear if Skip even remembers who he is, and, if so, the man gives no indication. Peter debates with himself if that’s for better or for worse. He tries to not think too hard on the subject, but rather indulge himself on the food in front of him and push unwanted memories away. After all, it’s a rare occasion for Tony to make his mother’s famous spaghetti by scratch. The three adults continue to chatter, not paying attention to Peter, which he doesn’t necessarily mind.
The peace doesn’t last for long.
“So, Peter,” Skip starts innocently, leaning in towards him, “I hear you like science, what kind of experiments do you do?”
“Uh,” Peter starts dumbly. Despite the unassuming nature of the question, it brings chills to his bones. “Science is okay,” Peter mutters, deciding to ignore the second part of the inquiry altogether.
The response doesn’t contribute anything to the conversation, and there’s silence as the other table members clearly expect him to elaborate. However, he doesn’t feel like it, especially not when his anxiety has spiked to an all-time high. He knows this behavior is rude, and a part of him feels bad for being a brat on such an important night, but the bigger part of him can’t bring himself to care. Rather, he chooses to pick up his fork and twirl another spool of noodles to stuff in his mouth.
A few moments later, Tony decides to jump to the rescue and snorts, “Just okay? Bud, you just won like four awards last week for your biology project.” A light chuckle follows the comment, causing Peter’s ears to turn dark with the praise. He’s surprised Tony even remembers, despite the fact that the man himself insisted on sitting front and center at all the ceremonies, holding up his cell phone embarrassingly high to snap photos.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter interjects, high pitched due to embarrassment, “It was only three, don’t oversell it.”
“Three?” Skip chimes in incredulously, “Tony, you’ve got a real Einstein on your hands.”
Briefly, Peter shuts his eyes, shivering at the memories that accompany the nickname. Thankfully, when they open again, the adults are facing away from him, carrying on the conversation as if nothing happened. The boy wonders if the intention of all these comments are as innocent as they appear.
“Right you are,” Tony laughs fondly, looking towards Peter with admiration. “Found him scavenging a grimy high school science fair. Who knew there would be such a gem in the dust?”
“I’d hold on real tight to him if I were you,” Skip agrees with a laugh, a dark twinkle in his eye. Just as quickly as it arrives, it disappears, leaving Peter to almost feel as if he had imagined it.
“Of course, have to keep me away from the vultures,” Peter agrees, pausing a second for dramatic effect, “Like Oscorp.” The room is filled with laughter at the joke, and soon a hot discussion about Oscorp practices is launched, diverting the attention away from the boy.
Soon, after everyone has had more than enough to eat, Pepper sends Peter away on dish duty – something he cannot be more grateful for. By the time he seats himself back at the table, the three adults have switched topics entirely to business talk, allowing Peter to effectively tune them out for the rest of the night as he subtly checks his phone underneath the table.
Around ten, Skip rises from his seat, pausing for a moment to brush some stray crumbs off his pants. “Tony, Ms. Potts,” he addresses, shaking each person’s hand, “It’s been a pleasure. We should really schedule a meeting for further discussion.”
“That sounds amazing!” Pepper beams, her face clearly ecstatic. Peter inwardly scolds himself for the wave of sadness that washes over himself. He knows what a younger man would do to the board of Stark Industries. Skip could connect to the younger population in way that the current sixty-year-old white men just could not. The man was something new, something fresh; if Stark Industries didn’t get their hands on him, somebody else probably would. Peter hated himself for not being more excited for the opportunity.
“Alright, I will be in touch,” Skip grins, pulling his phone out, “And I will just call a car-”
“Nonsense! Pete can drive you,” Tony interjects hastily, also clearly happy with the outcome of the evening. The offer causes Peter’s head to shoot up in surprise from his spot at the dining room table. Considering everything, giving Skip a ride home is probably at the very bottom of the list of things he would like to be doing tonight.
“Uhh,” Peter stammers, trying his best to find an excuse to not without raising suspicion. Unfortunately, his mind is pulling a blank, “It’s a school night.”
Tony stares at him for a moment, eyes knit in confusion. “It’s Saturday,” he says slowly. “Besides, what newly licensed sixteen-year-old isn’t dying to take a car out for a spin. I’ll even let you drive the red Audi,” he continues, finishing with a wink.
The man was right. At any other time, Peter would have loved to drive, possibly even beg to do so. With the New York City traffic, Tony still preferred that Happy was Peter’s primary mode of transportation. The older man just had more experience and Tony felt more at ease during rush hours. As a result, Peter didn’t get many opportunities to drive, especially one of the nicer cars. But now, the painful feeling in Peter’s gut had him wishing otherwise. However, the teen couldn’t find a good enough excuse to counteract Tony’s statements. Maybe he was just overreacting. Maybe Skip wasn’t as bad as Peter remembered.
“I guess I can’t resist a deal like that,” Peter laughs, accepting his fate with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.