Peter Parker (![]() ![]() @ 2014-07-30 23:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | !type: log, character: peter parker, character: tony stark |
Who: Tony Stark & Peter Parker
When: Stark Expo 2010
Where: Flushing Meadows, NY
What: Tiny Peter runs into a drunk Tony and the two manage to bond over science and sass.
Warnings: Excessive amounts of feels and cuteness. Some depressing thoughts from Tony considering this is Iron Man 2 territory.
Status: Completed Log
***
Blood Toxicity: 19% hanging ominously somewhere in the back of his mind like the proverbial Doomsday Clock, Tony decided that a celebratory beverage was not unwarranted now. The keynote had been sewn up, the Iron Babes were hot, and the relaunch of Stark Expo was an outstanding success. Good job, Tony. People would look back on this moment a year from now and maybe (if they were feeling generous) they would think that while he didn’t get to change the world, he at least put on a good show before he kicked the bucket.
“Double scotch rocks -- go light on the rocks. Actually screw the rocks,” he said to the bartender at the main pavillion. In return, he traded in his two empties along with a $100 tip before turning back to the merry crowds. Most hadn’t yet noticed him in his much more casual ensemble post-speech and he meant to keep it that way as he slipped along the wall and out into the much cooler and much less populated areas outside.
He liked people, he really did. He used to skip through rooms shaking every hand in them, carry on intimate conversations with people he didn’t know or care for in the least, and come out smelling like roses (or a target for seething resentment, there was admittedly quite a lot of that too). These days, being around people made him tetchy, as if when they were surrounding him, they were also stealing all his air. Maybe three months unwillingly hiding under a rock could do that to a person.
Peter was sure something was going to start leaking out his ears any moment now. Most likely his brain. The commercials really didn’t do the Expo justice, although just actually being there and walking around was enough to blow his mind. He hadn’t wanted to get his hopes up, the Expo was money that could go elsewhere, plus a lot of time indulging his nerdy interests when they could just drop him off at a museum for a day and run errands downtown. So just getting the ticket as a very early birthday present was enough to keep him grinning for months.
If only there weren’t quite so many people to add to the overwhelmingness of everything. All the pavilions and exhibits of new technology and science plus the crowds and- how did everyone else get to be so tall? The crowd wouldn’t be so bad if he could see over it instead of having to wade through it and hope he wouldn’t be jostled too much. Getting his glasses bumped off and needing to be repaired again would be just his luck. So, he weaved through the people to a more open area, hoping to get a better idea of where he was and which direction he needed to point himself in and maybe have a better chance at catching sight of Uncle Ben.
Looking in the direction he was walking instead of at the map would’ve been a good idea though. For just a second, he twisted around to see if he could match his surroundings with his map and then his bony shoulder bumped into someone and had him nearly tripping over his own feet to correct his balance. “Sorry, sorry.”
"Woah--hey there! Check yourself before you wreck yourself." With the grace and coordination that only the truly inebriated could possess, Tony managed to not spill a single drop of his scotch as he was suddenly jostled out of his solitude. Beverage rescued, his second instinct was, at least, to reach out and steady the shoulder that had sideswiped him, which appeared to be connected to a boy who looked no older than 10. Dark hair, olive complexion. Practically vibrating out of his skin with energy.
And, much to Tony's horror, unaccompanied by an adult.
"Oh god. Hey kid. Are you lost? Please don't tell me you're lost."
“I’ve got the bigger picture of Stark Expo all set, so not going to use the l-word. Especially if you know what that building-” Peter jabbed his finger towards the structure behind them. “-is called.”
And then he actually looked up to get his first solid picture of who he’d bumped into. His eyes went wide behind his glasses. Oh no. The man might not have been in either of his fancy suits, but recognizing him wasn’t hard considering how many places his image was plastered. Even just around the Expo. His Expo. He couldn’t help the groan as he pushed his glasses up to get them more secure on his face.
“Which you probably know. Because it’s some variation with your name attached. Probably. And you built it. Or you contracted someone to build it, so I guess maybe you might not know considering I don’t know whatever official names whoever built our house gave all the rooms. If you are actually him and not an impersonator. That’s a thing, right? Decoys and switcheroos? I said I was sorry, right? I’m sorry. Again. For the bump and not checking myself. Sorry. Really sorry. How many sorrys do I need to not get tossed out of here or sued?”
Tony could only blink at the torrent of words pouring out of the kid. And people said that he liked to ramble. “Take it easy, kid. I’m not gonna bust your balls.” Which were probably still undescended. Jesus, way to talk to kids, Tony. “Besides, didn’t spill a drop, see?” He demonstrated by holding up his glass and shaking it, savoring the sound of the few pieces of clinking ice.
“And shh, keep your voice down!” because Tony could sense a growing hysteria in the kid’s rising pitch and the last thing he needed was a scene, which would result in mobs of people and then what would have been the point? He studied the kid before him, and in an effort to stave off possible hyperventilation, asked, “What’s your name?”
Peter clamped a hand over his mouth. Habit. Someone says keep your voice down, you cover your mouth to help with the matter. Especially when he could feel the next string of apologies wanting to come up. Nerves. Just nerves. And not really being able to just shrink back into the shadows. Not that he should because when would a chance like this happen again. He mumbled a few sorrys behind his hand. His hand dropped, he cleared his throat, and his head ducked shyly.
“Peter,” he mumbled. “It’s nice to meet you. Although you really shouldn’t-” He started to gesture at the glass before he halted mid-point, pressed his lips together, and shook his head. “Nevermind, it’s none of my business.”
Tony raised his brows expectantly, glanced at his glass, then back at Peter. He was getting schooled by kids now. How was this his life? "Damn right it's not, Peter. If you've seen what I've seen," done what he'd done, "trust me, you'd want a drink too. So how old are you? Too young to be by yourself. Where are your parents, huh?"
“You shouldn’t swear either,” Peter pointed out, even if it wasn’t even that bad a curse. He was on a roll anyways, might as well dig himself a deeper hole. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t though. The ethanol completely messes with your neurotransmitters. Enhancing GABA and weakening glutamine and even if you get a higher dose of dopamine from it all, one chemical stage of the oxidation in the liver is closely related to formaldehyde…”
He glanced over his shoulder and pointed back towards the crowd. “Uncle Ben’s in that direction, last I saw. And I’m thirteen. How old are you?”
"Also none of your business, you teetotaler." Tony scowled at the little punk, but admittedly couldn't help but be impressed. Peter was sharp, he'd give him that.
And it didn't go amiss, even on his third (fourth?) scotch, that the presence of an uncle in lieu of parents often meant the latter were no longer in the picture. Well then. "Where'd you learn all that? I thought No Child Left Behind was supposed to make everyone dumber."
“You asked first. It’s only fair.” Peter shoved his hands into his pocket, his shoulders lifting in a half-hearted shrug. “I read. I heard someone say that alcohol messed up your brain, so I looked it up.” The simple answer to play down the matter. Bragging about how chemical reactions just made sense, that he loved reading about science, and that he might’ve gone a little overboard in reading up on exactly what might be displayed at the Expo were the sort of things that got him in trouble. Usually the variety with shoves and fists. Or the patronizing. That was always fun too. “What’s a teetotaler?”
"My worst nightmare," Tony replied, emphasizing this point with a swallow of scotch. "And, hey, look at me. I'm a genius and I drink like a fish." No. No wait, Tony. This wasn't the lesson he was supposed to be giving to a kid. Shit. "Forget I said that. You're right: I am a total fuck up, but it isn't all because of the booze. That's not the point. The point is that...is that...you should stay in school."
Jesus, he should just shut up now. Running a hand over his face, he continued, "Because it sounds like you're pretty good at it. What are your favorite subjects? You like math? Science? I like math and science."
“Well, there go my dreams of running away and joining the circus.” The words left his mouth before he fully thought them over. Ok, so he’d already talked back a little and ragged on the man for his vices, but maybe that was getting a bit too much into sassing his elders. Maybe. It’d probably be a split reception at the dinner table, but that was the dinner table. Alright, stop overthinking and just barge on ahead. Maybe just focusing on the ground would help. The ground wasn’t intimidating or full of reactions or complimenting him. That was kinda sorta a compliment, right?
“Chemistry. I mean, math and science in general is great, but chemistry is the best,” he said quietly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I’ve got a set at home. It’s not that big or as fancy as anything here, but it works well.” He hesitated a moment, taking the moment to push his glasses up. “And I don’t think you’re a… what you said. I didn’t say that.”
Tony couldn’t help but smile, even though it in and of itself wasn’t entirely without a trace of regret. “You may be the only one,” he said softly. “That’s pretty cool though, chemistry. I had a set too.” He’d been six years old. “I liked blowing stuff up or dissolving it. You know what my favorite element was? You think I’m going to say iron, right? I’m not. I’m not that cliche. I like boron. Highly underestimated, in my opinion. Very humble. Laundry soap, but cooler.” Six months ago he would have laid worship down at the altar of palladium, but, well, look where that’s gotten him.
“It’d have to be an alloy anyways. The suit couldn’t just be pure iron. It’s too soft on its own. Especially with all those intricate moving parts, you couldn’t risk one piece bending a bit and throwing off the entire movement just from the shock of a landing.” Peter relaxed. Science talk he could do. And was more open to do when the adult he was talking to obviously knew what he was talking about and wasn’t just patting him on the head about awww how cute look at the little scientist. “Boron’s rarer too. At least in its pure form. But it’s got just as many uses as iron. Glassware-” He nodded towards Tony as he counted off on his fingers. “-soap, insecticide, semiconductors, magnets… nuclear reactor shielding. They used a boron compound to ignite the engines in one of the NASA rockets.”
When Tony’s smile grew, it lost all traces of its mixed feeling and transformed into one of pure amusement. Damn it, but he was starting to like this Peter. The kid was precocious and too earnest--in many ways, Peter reminded him of himself when he had been younger. He wondered how many times adults waved Peter off too. “The suit’s a gold-titanium alloy,” he acknowledged with an approving nod. “I use boron all the time too. See? Useful and underacknowledged. Sounds to me like you should be presenting here. Maybe you will, one day, with a brain like that. I’d hire you in a second, Peter. You’re already smarter than half my engineering team. When can you start?”
“Gold-titanium Alloy Man doesn’t have as nice a ring though, does it?” A mouthful and about as pompous as you could get. Definitely not a superhero name. More like something that’d end up bedazzled with diamonds in a music video. “And GTA Man just gives you a bad image in the other direction.”
Peter felt his cheeks heat up and ducked his head to try and hide the reaction. The other man was joking. He had to be joking… ...but it was a nice dream. A very nice dream. Uncle Ben and Aunt May definitely wouldn’t have to worry about money ever if he got a job there. Well… a science job… With his luck, he’d just be getting people coffees. “Maybe after you hire a new recruiting office if that’s the truth,” he mumbled. “Because they need some reworking if I’m smarter than half your engineers.”
“You know, there’s going to be a lot of changes around the company pretty soon. I’m going to add that one to the suggestion box. It’s a good idea.” Tony had only a few months to make those last changes after all. He looked down at Peter, or rather, the top of Peter’s head since the kid was doing his own scuffling foot routine.
“Tell you what,” he began, setting his drink down on top of a nearby trash can. “Us Starks, we have a tradition.” A tradition that only started with his father, but okay, whatever. Tony stretched out his left wrist to reveal an old watch, easily worth five figures, but that had hardly been the point. He took it off and held it out to show Peter. “This was my father’s watch.” He turned it over to reveal the inscription: To H.S., Now you have no excuse. P.C.
“A good friend of his gave it to him. Dad was never very sentimental, though, so he took it apart. Gave it a little upgrade so that it became a stopwatch and could tell you the time from anywhere in the world.” With the press of a few subtle buttons on the watch face’s side, holographs appeared -- a digital face of the time, a floating globe with the Eastern Standard Time zone highlighted. “When he gave it to me, I broke it apart and added my own improvements.” A few more presses, and the holographic display changed to various environmental sensory readouts. “A tricorder, if you will. My own design. Nerdy, yeah. But fun.”
He shut down the displays and held it out to Peter. “Now, I’m giving it to you to put your own touch on it. It’s gotta be cool, though. It can’t be something lame. We don’t do lame. Go on, take it. I want you to have it.”
Peter took the watch before the words registered, his fingers itching to carefully touch and test out the watch himself. He’d gotten through two displays when his hearing finally overpowered his curiosity. Wait… what? His head snapped up, his eyes wide and fixed on Tony’s face for once. Ok, no, this had to be another joke. The watch on its own could probably pay for their food for a year, probably more, and that was without the extra technology. Top of the line. Personally made by not one but two Starks…
Swallowing hard, he shook his head as he held the watch back out towards Tony. “I can’t- Thank you, but I can’t possibly… I mean, you barely know me and your dad gave this to you and it’s got to be worth a lot, like it being yours and the tech and the watch itself has to be worth more than our house. That’s a lot to give some kid that ran into you and could’ve made you spill your drink….”
"Got a dozen more like it at home," Tony lied, purposely picking back up his drink and stuffing his other hand in his pocket. "And I have more money than I know what to do with. Won't even miss it. And I choose you to have it. I can't think of anyone else who would appreciate it better. Look at my engineering team, right? You can thank me by doing something amazing with it, okay? That's all I want." God knows the thing'll be worth even more after his passing. “So, shut up and take it.”
A dozen more watches. That a friend gave his dad. That his dad modified. And then gave to Tony. Who modified them as well. Yeaaaaaaah, right. The look on Peter’s face showed full well that he didn’t believe Tony, but he kept his mouth shut all the same. His gaze went back down to the watch and he worried his lower lip as his thumb ran gently over the watch.
“But your dad gave it to you,” he tried again, his voice tentative. “Even if he wasn’t sentimental, that means something…” He glanced back up, brow furrowed. “You really sure?”
"My dad gave me a company. That one's worth a lot more." Tony shrugged, draining the rest of his scotch. "One more protest out of you and I'm gonna ban you from the Expo. Understood?"
Peter scowled. The threat might be empty. There was a possibility of that considering the guy just gave him an expensive watch and kept going on about how smart he was and what would be the point of doing all that and then kicking him out of an awesome place where he could learn and see more. But challenging the older man just to find he was 100% behind the threat would put a serious damper on the entire night. And who knew, maybe this was one of the quirky things Tony Stark did and he really did have tons of these watches at home that he just handed out to kids as inspirational pep talks.
Even so, he couldn’t just take something for nothing. He dug in his pockets a moment, frowning before he pulled out his keys. Jinging, jostling, and fidgeting happened close to his face before his keys were finally free. His hand jutted out towards the older man, holding out the keyring with a lemon-wedge-shaped brass fish dangling from it. Nothing much, he knew, just a good luck charm that he’d modified to have some general tools flipped inside (screwdrivers, bottle opener, file), but it was something. “Only if you take this,” he said firmly, his jaw clenched with a stubborn set.
Befuddled, Tony squinted at the object held out to him, but from his viewpoint and level of alcohol intake, the edges were a bit blurry. "I don't like to be handed things. It's -- pet peeve. Here, put it on the trash can here."
Peter’s eyebrows arced up above his glasses. “Seriously?” That had to be one hindering pet peeve. He glanced at the trash can before he focused back on Tony warily. “You’re not just going to leave it there, are you?”
This kid. "You - you really questioning this? Don't question me on this. Come on. Put it down. You can watch me every step of the way." Tony waved his hand, only slightly off-kilter it was.
“It’s a trash can and it’s not your drink,” Peter pointed out before pressing his lips together and reaching forward to carefully put the keychain on top of the trash can close to Tony. “Which isn’t a protest. Not a protest. No protesting. At all. That’s gotta be hard, not getting handed anything.”
"It's surprisingly easy when you're a billionaire." Tony swept the key chain up briskly (as if to prove a point) and held it up for inspection. At first, unremarkable. Tacky, even. But then, he flicked out the file and ran the pad of his finger down its coarse side. Something very close to a smile threatened to break out across his face. He glanced back down at Peter. "You made this?"
“I’ll have to take your word on that.” Peter blew out a breath of relief when Tony scooped up the keychain. Yeah, he might throw it out later, billionaire and all just handing out watches like it’s no big deal, but at least he had the presence of mind to humor him while he was watching. Ok, maybe humoring a bit too much… He ducked his head and kicked his toe against the ground, his shoulders lifting in a quick shrug. “Modified. It’s a thing. The fish. Carp, actually, which is still a fish, but specific type of fish. It’s good luck, especially for kids, and my aunt likes the idea and is happier when I’m carrying one around, even if it’s really silly superstition, and…” He took a deep breath and offered a slower shrug this time. “Things break. It’s easier to fix ‘em when you’ve got some tools, even if they’re basic ones.”
Things break. Story of his life. "I could use some good luck right about now. Thanks, kid," Tony said softly.
Tony, who wasn't like most people, didn't actually carry a set of keys on his person most of the time (not when one paid people to do pesky things like that). But he closed his fingers around the keychain and slipped it into his pocket where, unwittingly, it would travel with him across the country and end up on his dresser in Malibu, its origins long since forgotten. And from there, on a random whim, it would be idly picked up and stuffed into his wallet. It would travel once more across the country back to New York. It would rest on the bar top on the party deck of Stark Tower next to the bracelets he had created to remotely call the Iron Man armor to him. It would be rediscovered with much bemusement during renovations of said Stark Tower, and it would once again find its way into his pockets, all without quite knowing why.
Peter peeked up, a wide smile slowly stretching across his face. “You’re welcome, Mr. Stark. And thank you.” He held the watch up, just in case the other man had forgotten already. “Thanks a lot.” He felt better now about keeping the watch, even if the trade was hardly even or fair, but a trade had happened regardless. He was relaxed enough to start poking at the watch again, check out everything little thing it did and how it worked…
…but his head whipped around when he heard his name, spotting the older man looking around for him at the edge of the crowd. Oh, right, man, he hoped Uncle Ben hadn’t gotten too worried… His hand shot into his pocket, stuffing the watch as far down as it’d go into the depths. There would be no way that Uncle Ben’d let him keep the watch, even with the ‘trade’. His other hand reached up to wave at his uncle. “Coming!” he called out before turning back to Tony. “Thanks again and it was nice to meet you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you do hand shakes or is that too much like being handed a hand?”
"Cute. Real Cute. I can do a fist bump. It's way cooler anyway. God, you're already like a grandpa," Tony said, holding out a fist to Peter. "Hit me, bro."
Peter eyed the offered fist. Him and cool went together about as well as oil and water. At least if you could trust the opinion of about almost everyone at his school. He’d seen them do it, seen it on a few of the TV shows he was allowed to read. He moved uncertainly. A slow lift of his arm, bumping his knuckles lightly against Tony’s and pulling back, only to hesitate and belatedly splay his fingers out in a ‘boom’.
“We cool?” He wished his voice didn’t sound so small. The tone was definitely missing whatever timbre it needed to be suave and nonchalant. Great, good job, Parker. At this rate, Mr. Stark would backpedal like crazy and take back the watch when he realized he’d actually given it to a loser.
"Yes, Peter. We are very cool," Tony confirmed, and managed not to flinch at the echo of haunting words from nearly a year ago. It was made easier when he looked down into the uncertainty of Peter's face, which warred with the kind of stubborn determination and true mettle he was always a little fond of.
A distant voice called out for the kid again, and it made Tony feel surprisingly bittersweet. He'd never see Peter again, would never know how the kid would turn out, if he'd find that something that would be the necessary push. Shame, that. Such a fucking shame.
"Time to go, kid. Get out of here. I hope you like the Expo, though. Yeah, I say I built it for everybody, but in reality, I built it for people like you."
The uncertainty melted away and a bright grin lit up Peter’s face. The words could still just be more of a humoring act, but they felt genuine. Genuine enough that the impulse to ask the older man to hang out and show him and Uncle Ben around shot through Peter’s head. Tony did know the Expo the best and, even if he was a bit weird sometimes, Peter liked hanging out with him. His mouth opened…
...and then quickly snapped shut. What was he thinking? This was Tony Stark. Iron Man. The businessman-superhero had to have a ton of stuff to do. He’d already interrupted his drink and wherever he was heading off to. He really shouldn’t bother him more. Plus, that’d count as protesting, right? He nodded, three quick head jerks as he stumbled back a step. “It’s the best, Mr. Stark. I haven’t even seen a tenth of it and it’s the best thing ever. I’m never going to forget it.” He ducked his head a second and then offered one last brilliant grin. “And thanks. Again. And good luck.”
Another nod and then he turned, doing a combo jog-bounce that kept nearly tangling his thin legs over to Uncle Ben, teetering on bursting to tell his uncle about what had just happened. Or well, some of it.
Tony watched as Peter ...what was that...loping?...loped away. Kept watching until he couldn't see him anymore, and then found himself lingering anyways.
-- until Happy clapped him on the shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts.
"You ready to go, Boss man?" Happy asked.
Tony blinked, shook himself out of his melancholy stupor by draining the rest of his scotch in one long pull and leaving the glass on top of the trash. "Sure am. Onwards and upwards."