As We Trim the Tree
It’s the first full week of December, and it’s Thursday—which means lab day. Tony leans against the workbench, letting the hum of machinery fill the silence. He should be focused on the prototype in front of him, but his mind keeps wandering back to the kid. Lab days have always been fine—good, even. But ever since Peter got snowed in at the tower last week, Tony’s found himself looking forward to them more than usual.
Not that he’d ever admit that out loud.
He’s always liked having Peter around. Clearly, or he wouldn’t do it. Tony Stark doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to. But lately, there’s been something about these afternoons in the lab that feels... different. He blames Peter’s relentless enthusiasm. The kid practically radiates it, pulling Tony into whatever chaotic tangent he’s on without even trying.
Take Tuesday, for example. Peter spent the entire lab session giving Tony a detailed play-by-play of how he and May decorated their apartment for Christmas over the weekend. There were stories about stringing lights, debates over ornaments, and even a passionate argument about whether the tree should have a star or an angel on top. Somewhere in the middle of it, Peter paused, looked around the lab, and said, “You know, Mr. Stark, this place could use some serious holiday cheer.”
Tony had waved him off at the time, mumbling something about the lab being fine as it was. But later, while scrolling through his phone, an ad for ornaments popped up. He hadn’t even realized he clicked on it until his cart was filled with some ridiculous variety of decorations: lights, tinsel, garland, and a set of mini Iron Man ornaments that were too absurd not to buy.
He doesn’t know what possessed him to follow through with it. It’s not like Christmas has ever been his thing.
It’s not that he hates it—he’s not Scrooge or the Grinch. He doesn’t go around muttering “bah humbug” or plotting to steal Christmas trees. But the holiday’s never been his favorite. Too many memories of his mom trying to make it magical, only for Howard Stark to ruin it with work or whiskey or some grand monologue about responsibility. And the less said about the Christmas he spent stranded in Tennessee with that Harley kid, the better.
He shakes off the thought, glancing toward the corner of the lab where the boxes of decorations are piled. They were delivered yesterday, and he’s been telling himself it’s just a casual thing—a little surprise for Peter, nothing more. Not that he cares about “holiday cheer” or any of that nonsense. It’s just... the kid clearly loves Christmas. And maybe Tony’s not entirely immune to that enthusiasm.
“FRIDAY,” Tony says, breaking the silence. “Is Peter here yet?”
“Not yet, Boss,” FRIDAY replies. “Mr. Hogan reports that he is en route and should arrive within the next fifteen minutes.”
Tony smirks, imagining Happy grumbling in traffic. “Let me guess—he’s thrilled about playing chauffeur?”
FRIDAY’s tone carries just a hint of amusement. “His exact words were, ‘This is not in my job description.’”
Tony chuckles, shaking his head. “Classic Happy. Alright, let me know when the kid gets here.”
He turns back to the workbench, but his attention keeps flickering to the boxes in the corner. It’s ridiculous, really. He doesn’t even know why he’s doing this. The lab is his space—his sanctuary. It doesn’t need tinsel or garland or mini Iron Man ornaments. And yet, he’s already picturing the look on Peter’s face when he sees it all.
It’s absurd how much that thought amuses him.
Tony picks up the soldering iron and forces himself to focus. The kid will be here soon enough, and knowing Peter, he’ll have more than enough energy to turn this lab into Santa’s workshop by the end of the afternoon. Whether Tony likes it or not.
(Though he already knows he probably will.)
Fifteen minutes should fly by, especially when Tony has work he’s supposed to be doing. Work that Pepper has definitely been on his case about. He flips the soldering iron on, leans over his project, and tries to focus, but his eyes keep darting toward the clock on the far wall.
Stop it, he tells himself. Just work.
But then he glances again, and it hasn’t even been two minutes since the last time. He sighs, setting the soldering iron down with more force than necessary. He doesn’t even realize how bad it’s gotten until he catches himself looking at the clock again and swears under his breath. “Get a grip,” he mutters.
Peter still has several minutes before he even gets to the tower, not to mention getting through security and the elevator ride up. There’s no point standing around waiting. Tony pushes off the workbench and starts pacing, trying to find something—anything—to occupy his mind.
Kids are usually hungry after school, right? That thought sticks, and Tony glances toward his snack drawer. Yes, his snack drawer, which Peter has free access to. The kid always makes a beeline for it, digging around for chips or granola bars or whatever else catches his eye. Tony opens it now, surveying its contents, and frowns.
He makes a mental note to stock it with some of Peter’s favorites. Not just because the kid keeps stealing his chips (okay, maybe a little because of that), but because it’s probably a decent thing to do. Peter eats like a bird at home, he’s noticed. A handful of snacks the kid actually likes wouldn’t kill him to order.
But he doesn’t have time for that now, so he takes a different route. “FRIDAY,” he says, crossing the lab. “Can you get someone to deliver two pepperoni pizzas up here from the dining hall downstairs? Not the cafeteria pizza—the good stuff from the place on floor 32. Tell them I’ll tip them double if they make it in less than ten minutes.”
“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY replies. “Your request has been placed.”
Tony nods, rubbing his hands together. Food: handled. Next, he glances around the lab, spotting the workbench closest to the window—the one Peter always seems to gravitate toward. Tony strides over and starts clearing it off, stacking tools and scrap pieces in neat piles. The kid likes this bench, and Tony figures it’s as good a spot as any for pizza.
Once it’s cleared, he makes his way to the sink and yanks a few paper towels off the roll, setting one down for himself and one for Peter. He pauses, staring at the two towels for a beat, then rips off two more. No plates. Of course. Why would he have plates in the lab? He grumbles under his breath, realizing he probably should’ve asked FRIDAY to include some with the pizza order, but it’s too late now.
Stepping back, he surveys his work. It’s not elegant, but it’ll do. And the pizzas will be here soon enough. He glances toward the clock again, but this time the minutes seem to have moved a little faster.
It’s ridiculous, really. He doesn’t know why he’s so keyed up. It’s just Peter. Just another Thursday. Just another lab day. Nothing special.
He sighs, stuffing his hands into his pockets and waiting for the telltale ding of the elevator.
-
It’s Thursday, which means two things: lab day and the fact that there are only two more weeks of school before break. And honestly? Peter is so ready for it. Not because he doesn’t love to learn—he does. He just doesn’t love school. There’s nothing wrong with it, really, but it’s just… boring.
Not like the lab. The lab with Mr. Stark is the opposite of boring.
Peter’s pretty sure he learns more in one three-hour session with Mr. Stark than he does in an entire week of school. Which, he guesses, makes sense. You don’t exactly compare your high school chem teacher to the Tony Stark. MIT graduate, world’s number one tech mogul, arguably one of the greatest inventors and innovators of all time. Peter’s sure that if Mr. Stark had been born a couple hundred years ago, he’d be the one inventing electricity and everything else that’s essential to modern life.
Peter says goodbye to Happy at the curb—well, more like Happy grumbles something about not being a personal Uber—and heads into the building. The route is familiar by now. He waves at Vinny the security head who’s taking a phone call, nods at a few familiar faces he’s started recognizing, and takes the elevator up.
The thing about Stark Tower is that it’s busy. The elevator is always stopping, people getting on and off at various floors, and Peter’s learned to tune it out. It’s just part of the ride. But today?
On one of the lower floors—the one that Peter knows belongs to the dining hall and food court—a guy gets on. He’s wearing a Stark Industries Food Hall uniform and a badge clipped to his shirt. He’s also holding two pizza boxes, and suddenly, Peter’s stomach is growling loudly. It smells so good, cheesy and warm, and Peter tries to act like he’s not inhaling the scent like a starving raccoon.
At first, he figures the guy’s going to one of the mid-level floors, maybe research and development or marketing. But the elevator keeps climbing. Higher and higher. Past the usual busy levels and up to the point where Peter’s never seen anyone else go unless it’s Mr. Stark, Miss Potts, or Happy.
Peter glances at the guy, his curiosity kicking in. He must be delivering the pizzas to someone important, right? But who orders pizza this high up?
Finally, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal the 88th floor—Tony Stark’s personal lab. It’s huge, an entire floor of Stark Tower dedicated just to the man himself. And there, standing dead center in front of the doors with a grin that could rival the Cheshire Cat, is Mr. Stark.
Peter blinks.
“Great,” Mr. Stark says, his eyes darting between Peter and the pizza guy. “You guys got here at the same time.”
The pizza guy steps out, and for a split second, Peter wonders if this random dude is some kind of secret lab guest or new recruit. But then Mr. Stark reaches into his pocket and pulls out two crisp $100 bills, handing them over without missing a beat.
The pizza guy stares for a moment, his eyes wide, before muttering, “Uh… thanks, sir,” and stepping back onto the elevator.
Tony shoots the man a grin as the doors close. Then he turns to Peter, gesturing grandly toward the pizza. “Thought we could have some pizza. What do you think?”
Peter blinks again, the scent of pepperoni and melted cheese wafting in his direction. “Uh, yeah. Sounds great, Mr. Stark,” he says, trying not to look too excited.
But inside? He’s grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.
Peter follows Mr. Stark into the lab, his backpack still slung over his shoulder, feeling the familiar buzz of excitement that always comes with being here. The high tech equipment, the view, the insatiable desire to learn—they all come with the lab territory and Peter loves it.
He heads toward his usual workbench, ready to toss his backpack onto the counter, but stops short when he notices something… off. The bench isn’t cluttered with the usual tools, random gadgets, or half-finished projects. Instead, it’s set up. Like actually set up. Two sodas are sitting there, condensation beading on the cans, along with a stack of paper towels. And now Mr. Stark is placing the two pizza boxes right in the center, overlooking the insane view of New York from the 88th floor.
Peter blinks, shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder. “So, uh… what are we working on today?”
Mr. Stark doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he sits on one of the stools at the bench, popping open the top pizza box. He grabs a slice, hands it to Peter on a paper towel, and then pulls one out for himself. Taking a bite, he chews thoughtfully before glancing at Peter with a bright look on his face. “Funny you ask, because I was thinking… we could take a break from the whole sciencething today.”
Peter freezes mid-step, his mind grinding to a halt. “What?” he blurts, his voice coming out a little higher than intended.
What does that mean? A break? From science? From the lab? Is Mr. Stark—no, that’s ridiculous—does Mr. Stark not want him here anymore? Is this pizza some kind of consolation prize? Like, hey kid, thanks for showing up, but this is your last hurrah?
Peter’s chest tightens. Things had been great after last week—getting snowed in, spending the night at the penthouse, and then working together all day. He’d been worried that maybe it was too much, that Mr. Stark might get tired of him after spending so much time together, but everything seemed fine. Better than fine. At least, Peter thought so… until now.
“Did you hear me?” Mr. Stark asks, his voice cutting through Peter’s spiraling thoughts. He’s looking at Peter with his usual blend of exasperation and amusement, but there’s something sharper in his expression now—like he’s offended Peter isn’t keeping up.
Peter snaps himself out of it, blinking rapidly. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he says quickly, his eyes flicking to the box Mr. Stark is now reaching for on the counter.
It takes him a second to process what he’s looking at because, well, he’s not expecting that. But the more he stares, the more it starts to make sense. The box is filled with what looks like Christmas decorations. Tinsel, ornaments, lights—all the festive trimmings. Peter glances over Mr. Stark’s shoulder and notices three more boxes stacked on the counter, each one overflowing with more holiday stuff.
“Uh… Mr. Stark,” Peter starts, frowning slightly. “This is great and all, but me and May already decorated for Christmas.”
Mr. Stark sighs, waving a hand. “No, kid. Not your place. The lab. I bought all this for the lab. Thought we could decorate it today. What do you think?”
Peter blinks again, his mind catching up with what Mr. Stark just said. He’s… serious? Mr. Stark wants to decorate the lab? The lab. Peter doesn’t even know what to say at first, because the idea is so… unexpected. But then again, so is Mr. Stark.
A grin starts to creep onto Peter’s face, despite himself. “You bought all this? For the lab?”
“Yeah,” Mr. Stark says, gesturing at the boxes. “Not like I had anything else to do. Besides, you said this place was lacking holiday cheer. So, what do you say, Parker? You in, or what?”
Peter’s grin widens, and he sets his backpack down at his feet, grabbing the slice of pizza Mr. Stark handed him and moving towards the boxes. “I mean… yeah. Let’s do it!”
“Pizza first, Parker. Slow it,” Mr. Stark says, pointing a finger at him from behind his own slice.
Peter grins and nods, sliding onto the stool across from Mr. Stark. He chews thoughtfully, taking in the whole setup—the pizza, the sodas, the paper towels neatly laid out. It’s not every day that Mr. Stark goes full-on host mode, and honestly? It’s pretty awesome.
By the time Peter’s on his eighth slice, he starts to feel a little full, though Mr. Stark is still only halfway through his second. He sets the crust down on the paper towel and glances over at the stack of Christmas decorations on the counter. It’s a lot. Like, more than Peter expected.
It’s weird, in a good way. Just two days ago, Mr. Stark brushed off Peter’s comment about the lab being “lacking holiday cheer,” but now there’s tinsel, ornaments, lights—everything Peter talked about on Tuesday. He hadn’t really thought Mr. Stark was paying attention, but clearly, he was.
Peter doesn’t know how to bring it up without making it awkward, so he doesn’t. Instead, he tries to focus on how cool it is that they’re about to decorate the lab. Mr. Stark doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who gets excited about Christmas, but he’s doing this anyway. And for some reason, that makes the moment feel even more special.
Peter wipes his hands on a paper towel and glances toward the robots in the corner—DUM-E and U, loyal as ever. He grins as an idea pops into his head. “Do you think we can get Santa hats on DUM-E and U?”
At the sound of his name, DUM-E chirps loudly and rolls toward them, his little arm spinning as if to say, Hey, I’m here. What’s up?
Peter laughs, leaning over to pat DUM-E on his arm—well, whatever part of a robot counts as an arm. “What do you think, buddy? Santa hat?”
DUM-E chirps again, and Peter glances at Mr. Stark, who’s sitting back on his stool with an eyebrow raised. “He totally said yes,” Peter insists.
“You sure about that?” Mr. Stark asks, finishing off his slice of pizza. “That could’ve been a ‘no.’ Or a ‘get your hands off me.’ DUM-E’s got an attitude, you know.”
Peter shakes his head, grinning. “Nah, that was definitely a yes. Right, DUM-E?”
DUM-E bobs his arm enthusiastically, letting out another cheerful sound. Peter beams and turns back to Mr. Stark.
“Well,” Mr. Stark says, gesturing toward the boxes of decorations, “if you’re putting Santa hats on my robots, you better do it right. Those guys have been with me longer than you’ve been alive, Parker. Show some respect.”
Peter laughs as he hops off the stool and heads for the boxes. DUM-E follows, chirping happily, and Peter can already picture the lab decked out with garlands and lights—and yes, Santa hats on the robots.
Best lab day ever? Yeah, probably.
-
For a split second, Tony worries he’s completely missed the mark. It’s not like Peter’s an enigma—he’s probably one of the least mysterious teenagers on the planet. The kid wears his heart on his sleeve, which, while admirable, is also kind of unnerving for someone like Tony, who’s spent his whole life perfecting the art of keeping everything close to the vest.
Still, when Peter went quiet as Tony pulled out the decorations, it was hard not to feel… what was it? A pang? A twinge? He doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know. It’s not like it matters. It’s just some stupid Christmas decorations.
But there was something about the thought of Peter not liking the surprise—disappointment, maybe? No, not that. Definitely not that. Tony Stark doesn’t do disappointed over Christmas tinsel. That would be ridiculous.
Whatever the feeling was, though, it didn’t stick around long. The second Peter really looked at the box, his whole face lit up like the very Christmas tree they were about to assemble. And just like that, the world felt right again.
Now that the pizza’s been devoured—Peter inhaling almost an entire box on his own—Tony busies himself pulling the rest of the decorations out of the boxes. He’s halfway through unraveling a particularly stubborn string of lights when Peter’s voice pipes up, filled with something between awe and disbelief.
“You got Iron Man ornaments?”
Tony glances up to see Peter holding one of the mini Iron Man ornaments, his expression like he’s just been handed a rare artifact from some long-lost civilization.
“They’re ornaments, kid, not the Holy Grail,” Tony says, but his tone lacks its usual bite. Because, yeah, he might’ve grinned a little when he ordered those. “Cool, though, right?”
Peter nods enthusiastically, turning the ornament over in his hands like he’s afraid to smudge it. Then, almost hesitantly, he glances up. “Do you… do you think I could take one of these home? For my tree?”
Tony freezes for half a second, trying to figure out why the kid sounds nervous about something so… simple. He’s Tony Stark, not some mall Santa. The answer is obviously yes. But there’s something about the way Peter looks at the ornament—like it’s the greatest thing in the world—that makes Tony pause.
It’s not like he hasn’t known Peter’s had the whole hero worship thing going on. The kid’s a self-proclaimed “huge fan,” after all. At first, Tony figured it was just politeness—saying the right thing to keep the billionaire genius happy. But the more time he spends with Peter, the more he notices little things. The way Peter lights up when he talks about Iron Man. The way he brings up Stark tech like it’s a gospel.
It’s… weird.
But also? It fills Tony’s chest with a warmth he can’t quite name. Something he’s definitely not going to dwell on right now.
“Yeah, sure,” Tony says casually, nodding at the ornament. “Take it. Hell, take two if you want.”
Peter beams, clutching the ornament like it’s suddenly priceless. Tony turns back to the box he’s rummaging through, and—bingo! Near the bottom, tucked away in bubble wrap, is another set of ornaments. He pulls them out and holds them up for Peter to see.
“Check these out,” Tony says, and Peter freezes mid-step, his eyes going comically wide.
“They make Spider-Man ornaments?!” Peter exclaims, his voice cracking just slightly as he races over. He’s still holding the Iron Man ornament to his chest, but now he’s staring at the Spider-Man ones like they might actually be alive.
Tony smirks, shaking his head as he hands Peter the box. “Yeah, kid. Believe it or not, they make more than just Iron Man merch. Don’t get too excited—it’s just you on a string.”
Peter laughs, inspecting the Spider-Man ornaments with the same reverence he’d shown for the Iron Man one. Tony crosses his arms, leaning against the counter. “Speaking of which, I need to track down every single one of these places selling your face without permission. Half the city’s making money off Spider-Man, and you’re not seeing a dime of it.”
Peter frowns, glancing up at Tony with confusion. “What do you mean? Spider-Man doesn’t need money.”
Tony sighs, shaking his head. “No, but Peter Parker might someday. And it’s not just about the cash—it’s about control. People shouldn’t be slapping Spider-Man on ornaments or T-shirts or bobbleheads without your permission. That’s your likeness .”
Peter blinks, still not fully getting it, and Tony waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. I’ve got lawyers for this sort of thing. Just keep being the friendly neighborhood web-slinger and let me handle the boring stuff.”
Peter looks back down at the ornament, then back up at Tony. “You’re gonna trademark Spider-Man? Like, officially?”
“Yep,” Tony says, smirking. “Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”
Peter grins, and Tony can tell he doesn’t entirely understand the significance. But that’s fine. Tony does, and that’s enough.
“All right, come on, kid. Let’s get this tree assembled so we can slap these bad boys front and center. What do you think?” Tony says, moving toward the box holding the artificial Christmas tree.
He’d thought about getting a real tree. For about five seconds. Then he remembered real trees came with real problems—like pine needles everywhere and the hassle of cleanup. Sure, he could’ve coded DUM-E or U to handle it, or maybe tinkered with that Roomba from hell to make it work overtime, but it wasn’t worth it. Artificial it was.
Peter doesn’t seem to mind, bouncing a little as Tony pulls the tree from the box. They get it upright and locked into place in record time, but Peter quickly declares that the job’s not done yet.
“You have to fluff the branches,” Peter says, already diving in with way more focus than Tony thought possible. “If you don’t fluff them, it looks sad. And no one wants a sad Christmas tree.”
Tony raises an eyebrow, watching the kid bend, tug, and adjust every branch like he’s preparing for a magazine shoot. “Pretty sure no one cares about fluffy branches, Parker.”
“I care,” Peter shoots back without missing a beat.
Tony rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. If the kid wants to fluff branches until next Christmas, fine by him. He leans against the workbench and grabs a soda, waiting for the go-ahead to start decorating.
Finally, Peter steps back, examining his work like a professional critic. “Okay, now we’re good.”
Decorating the tree is where things start to go sideways.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tony says, holding up a hand as Peter reaches for the box of Spider-Man ornaments. “You’re putting those on this side?”
Peter pauses, confused. “Yeah? Why not?”
“Balance, Parker,” Tony says, gesturing dramatically. “You’ve already got Iron Man over here. You’re gonna Spider-Man it up on the same side? What is this, amateur hour?”
Peter glares, clearly unimpressed. “You’re the Christmas tree police now?”
“Yes,” Tony replies immediately, crossing his arms. “And you’re under arrest for reckless ornament placement.”
Peter groans, moving one of the Spider-Man ornaments to the opposite side of the tree. “Happy now?”
“Not until you spread out the garland better,” Tony says, smirking.
“Oh my gosh,” Peter mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re welcome,” Tony quips, stepping in to rearrange the lights. “And for the record, I’ve been doing this way longer than you. I’m the Christmas tree expert.”
Peter snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, sure. Says the guy who probably has someone else set up your tree for you anyway.”
Tony freezes for a beat, then puts a hand over his heart in mock offense. “How dare you insult my beautiful tree like that!”
Peter narrows his eyes. “Did you set it up yourself?”
“Mind your business, Parker,” Tony fires back, quickly changing the subject.
Peter laughs, and for a second, Tony can’t help but smile. It’s weird how easy it is, the back-and-forth between them. No pressure, no real heat—just two idiots arguing over garland and Spider-Man ornaments.
As they step back to admire their handiwork, Peter tilts his head, grinning. “It’s perfect.”
Tony glances at the tree. It’s definitely not perfect—there’s still an unfluffed branch near the top, and the garland’s uneven—but the kid’s right. It feels perfect.
“All right,” Tony says, breaking the moment. “You’re taking those Iron Man and Spider-Man ornaments home, right?”
Peter nods, clutching one of each to his chest. “Yeah. May’s gonna love these.”
Tony pauses, something warm flickering in his chest at Peter’s words. He doesn’t dwell on it, though—he’s got garland to fix. “Well, good. Make sure you space them out really nice or you’ll ruin the feng shui.”
Peter groans, grabbing another ornament from the box. “Here we go again…”
They set off to bring the rest of the lab into what Peter calls “peak holiday spirit.” Tony’s not entirely sure what that means, but judging by the sheer amount of tinsel, lights, and questionable snowflake decals, it seems to involve as much sparkle and chaos as possible.
Peter strings the lights with the efficiency only Spider-Man could manage, crawling along the ceiling and sticking them up with perfect precision. Tony, meanwhile, is stuck decorating the windows with the aforementioned snowflake decals. They’re tacky on a good day, downright terrible on most, but Peter had pulled them from the box with such enthusiasm that Tony couldn’t bring himself to veto them.
“You know,” Tony says, glancing up from his work, “you could make a real killing hanging Christmas lights for people as Spider-Man. It’s efficient, practical, and festive. Triple threat.”
Peter laughs from the ceiling. “Yeah, no thanks. May would flip if I started charging people to do their Christmas lights.”
Tony smirks, turning back to the window. The decals are as ugly as expected, but Peter’s right—they make the space feel… festive.
The elevator dings behind him, and Tony doesn’t look up, too focused on getting the snowflakes perfectly straight. He hears the familiar click of Pepper’s heels against the tile as she steps into the lab.
“Tony,” she says, her tone somewhere between confusion and disbelief. “Are you… decorating the lab for Christmas?”
Tony shrugs, pressing another decal onto the glass. “We decided to take a break from science and get into the holiday spirit, Miss Potts.”
Pepper stops, and he can feel her staring at him even though his back is turned. “We?” she asks.
Tony’s about to answer when Peter flips down from the ceiling, landing lightly on his feet and grinning. “Hi, Miss Potts!”
Pepper gasps, clutching the nearest table as if she’s just witnessed a ghost materialize. “Oh my goodness, Peter! What were you doing up there?”
“Hanging lights,” Peter says, his grin faltering slightly under her wide-eyed stare.
“On the ceiling?!” she exclaims, her voice hitting a pitch Tony didn’t know she could reach.
Tony smirks, stepping in to calm the situation. “Relax, Pep. The kid’s Spider-Man. Pretty sure he’s safer on a ceiling than you are on the ground.”
Pepper shoots him a glare that could melt the decals right off the window. “Tony, he could’ve fallen!”
“Fallen?” Tony repeats, raising an eyebrow. “This is Parker we’re talking about. He doesn’t fall—he swings, climbs, and occasionally flips. Gravity loves him.”
Peter looks between them, clearly unsure whether to defend himself or stay quiet. “I’m fine, Miss Potts. I promise. I do this all the time.”
Pepper pinches the bridge of her nose, muttering something Tony doesn’t quite catch, though he’s pretty sure reckless boys is in there somewhere.
Before she can spiral any further, she straightens up and changes the subject. “Anyway, I came here for a reason. Did you look at the invitation options for the holiday lol gala? They need to go out today, Tony.”
Tony groans. “Oh, come on. I’m elbows-deep in Christmas cheer right now. Can’t this wait?”
“No, it can’t,” Pepper says, crossing her arms. “Pick one now, or I’m picking for you.”
Tony sighs, turning away from the window and leaning against the workbench. “Honestly, you probably could’ve saved yourself a lot of trouble and just picked in the first place.”
Pepper raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, probably. But the last time I picked, you spent a week complaining about how much you hated it. So now it’s your turn.”
Tony groans, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. Let’s see them.”
Pepper pulls a slim tablet from her bag, swiping it open and scrolling for a moment before turning it toward him. “Here are your options.”
Tony eyes the screen skeptically. There are four different invitation designs displayed in neat rows, each one glaringly festive. The first one features an elegant gold and white snowflake pattern. Simple. Classic. Boring. The second is a bold red with swirling gold script and tiny Iron Man helmets scattered throughout. On brand, sure, but a little too on the nose. The third has a modern, minimalistic design with clean lines and a sleek, metallic silver background—very Stark Industries. The last one is more playful, with cartoonish holiday icons and a cheeky tagline at the bottom: ’Tis the season to innovate.
Tony tilts his head, staring at the options like they’ve personally offended him. “These are… something.”
“Something good or something bad?” Pepper asks, her tone dry.
“Not sure yet,” Tony mutters. He glances toward Peter, who’s perched on the ceiling again, fiddling with the last strand of lights. “Hey, Parker! Get down here. We need a third opinion.”
Peter flips down again, landing with practiced ease. He’s grinning as he joins them, wiping his hands on his jeans. “What’s up?”
“Holiday gala invites,” Tony says, gesturing at the tablet Pepper’s holding. “We’ve got four options, and apparently, this is a life-or-death decision. Help us out.”
Peter leans in, his eyes scanning the screen. “Whoa. Fancy.”
Pepper hands him the tablet, watching as he scrolls through the options. “We need to send these out today, so no pressure, Peter. Just pick the one you think looks the best.”
Peter hums thoughtfully, his brows furrowed in concentration. “Okay, so this one’s pretty classy,” he says, pointing to the snowflake design. “But it’s kind of… boring? Like, it doesn’t really scream ‘Stark Industries.’”
“Exactly!” Tony exclaims, pointing at Peter like he’s just proven a point. “See, this kid gets it.”
Peter grins, moving on to the red and gold design. “This one’s cool. Definitely Iron Man vibes, but… maybe a little too much Iron Man?”
“Agreed,” Pepper says, shooting Tony a pointed look.
Tony waves her off, gesturing for Peter to keep going.
The third design catches Peter’s attention, and he nods approvingly. “This one’s sleek. Like, really sleek. It feels high-tech, which is very Stark.”
“High praise,” Tony mutters, folding his arms.
Finally, Peter gets to the last option, and his grin widens. “Okay, but this one’s fun. It’s, like, lighthearted but still cool. And the tagline’s awesome.”
Pepper leans forward, her lips twitching into a smile. “’Tis the season to innovate. Cute, right?”
Tony raises an eyebrow. “Cute isn’t exactly what I’m going for here.”
“Yeah, but it’s memorable,” Peter says, holding up the tablet. “And isn’t that the point? You want people to remember the invite.”
Tony narrows his eyes, looking at the playful design again. It’s not what he would’ve picked, but… the kid has a point.
Pepper takes the tablet, glancing between the design and Peter before her lips twitch into a small smile. “You know, I think he’s right. It’s perfect.”
“Of course he’s right,” Tony says, gesturing to Peter. “Kid’s practically a genius. Comes with the territory of hanging out with me.”
Peter rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “Uh, thanks, Mr. Stark. I think.”
Tony ruffles Peter’s hair lightly, a quick gesture that’s so natural he doesn’t even think about it. “Good work, Parker. You saved us from having to send out some boring snowflake nonsense. Stark Industries owes you one.”
It’s then, as Pepper’s sliding the tablet back into her bag, that Tony catches it: the look.
He pauses, squinting at her. She’s not even trying to hide it—her lips are curved in that barely-there smile, her eyes soft in a way that makes Tony feel vaguely like a bug under a magnifying glass.
“What?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Pepper shakes her head, her smile widening just a fraction. “Nothing.”
“No, no. Don’t give me that. You’re doing the thing again,” Tony says, pointing at her. “The look. You did this last week when Peter was here. What does it mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Pepper says, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
Tony narrows his eyes. “It’s not nothing. It’s something. You’re looking at me like… I don’t know, like you know something I don’t. And I don’t like that.”
Pepper’s smile grows a little more amused, and she glances at Peter—who’s now halfway across the lab, oblivious, humming a Christmas tune under his breath as he pulls another string of lights from the box.
“Don’t worry about it, Tony,” she says, her tone light. “It’s nothing bad.”
“That’s not comforting,” Tony mutters, crossing his arms. “If it’s not bad, then what is it?”
Pepper doesn’t answer. She just pats him lightly on the arm, like she’s reassuring a particularly stubborn child, before turning toward the elevator.
Tony watches her go, frowning as the doors slide shut. Whatever the look means, it’s probably not as dramatic as he’s making it out to be. Probably. But Pepper isn’t going to crack anytime soon, so he files it away under “figure out later” and turns back to the lab.
The place is unrecognizable. What used to be a sleek, industrial workspace now looks like a department store display after hours—lights strung across the ceiling, reflecting off the polished surfaces; garlands wrapped around anything stationary; and the tree by the window, fully loaded with ornaments and tinsel. Even DUM-E and U are in on it—DUM-E sporting a slightly crooked Santa hat and U wrapped in festive garland like a robot-themed holiday card.
It’s excessive. Borderline ridiculous. And yet, somehow, it works.
Peter steps back from the tree, his hands on his hips and a satisfied smile on his face. “What do you think, Mr. Stark? Not bad, right?”
Tony crosses his arms, tilting his head as he surveys the scene. “I’ll give it to you, Parker—it’s not bad. Over the top, sure. But not bad.”
Peter grins, looking up at the lights with a sparkle in his eyes that Tony doesn’t quite understand but doesn’t mind seeing. “Way better than I thought it’d be. I mean, no offense, but I didn’t really think you were the Christmas-decorating type.”
Tony snorts, raising an eyebrow. “And yet, here we are. Full holiday cheer, courtesy of yours truly.”
Peter laughs, a genuine, easy laugh that seems to bounce around the room, making it feel warmer somehow.
Tony glances at the clock. There’s still about an hour before Peter needs to head home. Normally, he’d call Happy for a pick-up, but for some reason, that doesn’t sit right today.
“Hey, kid,” Tony says, leaning against the workbench. “What do you say we grab some hot chocolate on the way to your place? I’ll drive you home.”
Peter blinks, surprised. “Really? You’re driving me home?”
Tony shrugs like it’s no big deal. “What, you don’t trust me behind the wheel?”
“No, I trust you,” Peter says quickly, then grins. “I just… I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drive.”
Tony smirks, pushing off the bench. “Well, first time for everything. So, hot chocolate? Yes or no?”
Peter doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes. Definitely yes.”
“Good answer,” Tony says, grabbing his jacket. As Peter slings on his backpack, Tony glances back at the lab.
The lights twinkle faintly in the reflection of the window, the tree standing proud against the backdrop of the city skyline. It’s gaudy and chaotic—two things Tony generally avoids when it comes to his living spaces. But this? This he doesn’t mind.
He doesn’t know what it is about having Peter here, but the lab feels different. Livelier. Better. And yeah, maybe the decorations help, but it’s more than that. He’s not going to analyze it right now—he’s not exactly the introspective type, despite what Pepper seems to think.
“Come on, Parker,” Tony says, already heading for the elevator. “We’ve got an overpriced cup of mediocre cocoa with our names on it.”
Peter laughs, jogging to catch up. “Can we get marshmallows?”
“Kid, I’ll buy you the whole bag.”
As the elevator doors close behind them, Tony lets himself enjoy the quiet satisfaction of a job—however ridiculous—well done.