Chapter Text
chapter six: naming
“So this is the great Stark family,” Norman says, every word dripping with distaste as he takes his seat at the head of his crew. “Looks like an outdated diversity ad for Hollywood.”
“Not an ad, Mr. Osborn,” Tony says, shades glinting as he sits lazily on one of the recliners. “Just a group of people who needed a home.”
“So you’re a humanitarian.”
“My honors from around the country would say so.”
“And you take rabble, it seems,” Norman says, eyeing the group. His eyes land on Friday. “Imported, at that.”
Tony nods without turning.
Permission.
Friday grins, eyes darkening. “From your land, Mr. Osborn.”
Norman twitches at her accent.
“I’m only half-Chinese, see,” she continues, leaning an arm on Tony’s chair. “And you’re full…well. As we Irish say, you know.”
Norman scowls, leaning back in his chair. “Hmph.”
Tony smirks. “Looks deceive, Mr. Osborn. Though, you’d know—a mirror a day must be a good reminder.”
(“The man’s a genius, but he really does have a death wish,” Pepper mutters, rubbing her temples.
“The Donna did say…” Karen reminds her quietly, watching as Norman’s scowl deepens. “And Rhodey’s with him. It should be fine.”)
Tony grins again, swirls his finger in their direction. “Any intros for your thug—sorry, henchmen? Cadets?” He twists in his seat, stretches out to look at Friday. “What did I call ‘em last night? There was a good one.”
“Guppies, boss.”
A snap of his fingers and another wide, chuckling smile as he turns back to Norman. “Your guppies! You know, if you pay attention to that kind of thing. Not sure. Maybe you forget to feed them sometimes.”
(“…I take it back,” Karen murmurs.)
“My soldiers’ names are on a need-to-know basis,” Norman says, smooth and craggy all at once. “But.”
Tony quirks a brow. “But?”
“My son,” Norman says, gesturing to the tall, handsome young man with a disarming smile and too much shining to his teeth.
The boy stands slightly off his chair—enough to be recognized, but not enough to show respect.
Norman grins, small but proud. “Harry Osborn.”
“Not a scar on him,” Viz notes with a teasing lilt, his attention squarely on the opposite wall.
“Oh, yes! Good point, Viz,” Tony says with a snap of his fingers, sitting up as if in recognition. He points at Harry. “What’s a fresh brat doing in this business?”
“I’m not fresh, nor a brat, Mr. Stark,” Harry says, an edge to his voice bordering on whining.
(“He’s like an annoying Tony,” Peter frowns.
“…I want you to rethink that sentence,” Pepper says.
“I mean, like, he’s obviously a bully. Tony’s annoying, but he’s never been a Playground Bully type of guy.”
“Ah. Then I agree.”)
“Only the fresh and bratty say that, kid,” Tony smirks, scratching at his chin. “But wow, Mr. Osborn—this is your Second? Never even heard of him.”
(Lie.)
Harry’s face contorts, insulted beyond recognition. “I’ve been around Fo—”
“No, you haven’t,” Norman barks, and his son sits back down in a failure-tinged haste.
“Interesting talk,” Tony says, brows raising in acknowledgment. “Need a cheat sheet there, kid? Maybe a shock collar in case you slip up again?”
“How dare—”
“The one for dogs, Lucky Charms. I’m usually a pacifist.”
(“Did he just call him—” Peter starts, squinting.
“Yes,” Karen and Pepper reply in unison, watching intently.
“—cool, okay.”)
“We both know the pier was an…unfortunate byproduct of our way of life, Don Stark,” Norman says, calculated and slow, with his fingers steepled and smirk rising. “Surely you can overlook my son—and Second—’s infrequent presence in Queens.”
“Sure, I could. But I won’t.”
“I thought you’d be more giving.”
“Oh, are you a charity case?” Tony asks, sitting up. “I have exceptions for those. What is it? Need new clothes? Maybe some haircuts?”
A grunt from the Greenies’ side, and a concerted effort by some at the back at trying not to scowl too hard.
Tony smirks. “Did I hit a ner—”
Knock, knock-knock.
“—ah,” he finishes, brows raising briefly. He switches to a smile as he leans back, endeared by whomever waits outside the door. “Enter!”
Norman leans forward in his seat, red rising up his neck and spreading quickly across his face. “What’s the meaning of this? This is a closed meet—”
“She’s with me, Mr. Osborn,” Tony says, raising a hand. “Shush for a sec.”
There’s a jangle of the doorknob, metal against metal making heavy sounds as the door swings open slowly. MJ strolls in with one hand in her pants pocket and the other holding an iced tea, cubes obviously freshly placed. She exchanges nods with Ned and the rest of the family and walks on over to a free sofa chair behind Tony, high-fiving her boss as she passes him.
“Who is that?” Harry breathes from the other side of the room, sitting up.
(If Peter didn’t want to deck him before, he sure as hell does now.)
MJ snorts, her lanky form casually draped over the seat’s armrests.
As if she weren’t in a meeting.
With a proven, blood-spilling mob boss mere feet away.
Sluuurp. “Don’t bother, I already have a White Guy Love Interest.”
(Nevermind.)
(Peter just wants to get confirmation that he’s who MJ’s talking about.)
Harry frowns, insulted. “Better than a Second?”
“By far,” MJ says coolly, folding an arm behind her head and closing her eyes as she swirls her iced tea in Tony’s direction. “Go on, Tones. I’m listenin’.”
“You let your foot soldiers talk to you with no respect? And lounge as if they’re at home?” Norman says, grimacing. “You’re worse off than I’d thought.”
“Oh? Haven’t you heard?” Tony says, tilting his head dramatically. “Pepper’s stepping down—or up, technically, but I know you have trouble with that kind mental know-how.”
(There’s a low growl from the Greenies’ side of the room, from Harry or Norman or the poor chump stuck holding the Osborns’ computer in his hands, as if the table in front of them didn’t exist.)
Tony grins. “Anyway, the point: that lady’s no foot soldier, Mr. Osborn. She’s my new consigliere.”
Norman’s back to scowling.
Harry’s falling between shock and dismay.
Tony’s looking around the room. “Oh, and the rest of them aren’t foot soldiers either. I take great pride in the family my grandparents started, Mr. Osborn. As far as I’m concerned, these people are all blood.”
“Disgusting,” Norman says, enunciating every syllable.
“What’s your name, consigliere?” Harry asks with a horrid accent, brows furrowed and leaning forward in his seat.
“Michelle,” MJ says without peeking. Sluuuuuuurp. She raises her cup, inspecting it with blatant boredom. Yawn. “Michelle Stark.”
They get nothing done that day.
…Well, Tony got to insult Norman, and Norman got to try to insult Tony.
They got that done.
And MJ causing that fuss in the middle of it.
That, too.
“Was it a safe idea to like…tell them about MJ?” Ned asks sheepishly when the trio (and Karen) hop into Tony and Pepper’s van for the ride home.
“If they touch her, they’re a new kind of stupid,” Tony says, leaning back in his seat. “It used to be unsafe for consiglieres, when my grandparents ran this, but not anymore. You intentionally go for an adviser, and the entire community denounces you.”
“Keyword: intentionally,” MJ says from her seat between her boys, leaning her head on Peter’s shoulder. “If I jump a gun for someone, that’s on me.”
“It’s a roundabout way, but it keeps her safe,” Karen says. “I’ll try to make sure they won’t have your photo or anything close, but even if they do, you’ll be fine. It’s a don’t shoot the messenger type of thing.”
MJ tilts her head enough to look at her friends. “Don’t worry, I like to stay away from bullets as a personal rule.”
“You riled them up a little too well,” Pepper sighs heavily, reclining her seat. “I advise we wait for an open retaliation before another meeting. Norman seemed calm enough, but Harry’s jumpy.”
“I could take him,” Peter mutters, and MJ sits back up.
“Are you…” she starts, squinting at him, the slightest of curls to the end of her lips.
“He is,” Ned snorts.
“Am not,” Peter balks.
“Are too,” Karen smirks.
“Endearing,” MJ snickers, kissing his cheek.
An afterthought, at this point.
A subconscious habit that she usually reins in, but not today.
Tony snorts, badly hiding it with a whistle.
“Uh,” MJ says belatedly.
“Uh-huh,” Peter blinks, red all over.
She shifts, turns away and leans on the window.
Says nothing, looks nowhere.
Silence, save for the rolling wheels on pavement outside, and Happy’s attempt at stoicism from the driver’s seat.
Ahem, then, once the bridge is in sight. “And…was that an acceptance of our offer?” Tony asks.
Exhale, slow and loud even amongst the wailing sirens. “…I think it’s time,” MJ says.
Ned moves, puts a tight grip on her shoulders.
“Thanks,” she whispers. She turns back to Tony. “I don’t want the plug pulled. But legally…yes. I accept your offer.”
“Pepper and I fully assume parental responsibility,” Tony says carefully. “Emotionally or otherwise.”
“I get it, Tones. But I’m still calling you by your names.”
“Wouldn’t want to make it weird,” he grins, giving her a thumbs up. He raises a water bottle. “To Phil and Maddie!”
(An empty house.
A light noise, and two grown ups returning, dressed slick and smart.
A hug and a kiss, or two, or three.
A hug and a kiss, to a sleeping child on her bed.)
They each grab a water bottle off the built-in cooler, exchanging encouraging glances and nudges as the van trudges along back over the Queensboro Bridge.
Raised hands and crinkling plastic resounds as they cheer as one:
“To Phil and Maddie!”
(An empty house.
A soft voice and a comforting hand from two grown ups, dressed dour and dark.
A blur, or two, or three.
A blur, as the fifteen-year-old dives off the deep end.)
“How did it go?” May asks after the group arrives home.
They sit spread out in the dining hall, half the family relaxing and dressed back down to homey sweats and old shirts.
May sits with Helen and Bruce by her, ever watchful as the others take their seats. The trio of new blood sits across May, sandwiched between Karen and Tony. Pepper finishes the circle, sits by Bruce and greets him with a pat on the shoulder.
(Happy excuses himself, goes to sit with Scott and Viz—and in turn Hope, the twins, and Friday.)
“I expect retribution within the coming days, and so does MJ,” she says, all business as she mostly ignores the plate of food Tony slides down in front of her. “Messy retribution, at least. I doubt Norman himself would be in on it, but Harry’s always been prone to showboating.”
“Permission to have Ned as my permanent bodyguard?” MJ asks from across the table, slight annoyance at the tail-end of her sentence evident even as she stabs into a piece of cauliflower with her fork.
“Granted,” Tony says before turning to his wife. “Pep. Eat.”
“I will. I’m not you.”
“My heart, honey.”
“It’s two minutes, Tony, I’ll survive.”
A pout and a hmph, as the Godfather retreats to his own plate of steak and asparagus.
May’s brow quirks up in fond amusement. “Someone’s hungry.”
“Someone insulted and threatened a new mob boss for nearly two hours straight,” Pepper says, lips a thin, forceful line.
“Come now, Pepper, I did say—”
“Didn’t have to call him a glorified piece of broccoli, though,” Karen mutters from beside her nephew.
May blinks.
“I liked the Lucky Charms one,” Peter offers unhelpfully.
“Really, Tony?” May asks, half-frowning. “Cereal jokes?”
He chews and swallows before he answers, proud of himself. “The man was head-to-toe in green, so I took my shot.”
“A real shot would’ve been better,” Pepper says, finally digging into her food.
“For you or for him?” MJ asks blankly, sipping from her glass of water.
“For me.”
MJ hums.
“This is why people think up conspiracy theories about you two,” Helen says, cutting into her salmon.
Pepper huffs, stabbing her fork into her steak with light tension. “How dare they assume I’d want my husband dead. He’s only mildly annoying.”
Tony smiles wide at her with closed lips, chewing proudly.
May shakes her head, hiding a smile.
The sounds of voices slow and dribble away, making room for the muted sloshes of drinks pouring and food being cut and moved around on ceramic and metal. Intermittent sliding of chairs echo around the hall as more and more of the family stand to go for seconds or return their plates and return to their tables.
More drinks are poured and the soft, elegant music rises in volume as members take their leave to the lounge or wherever else, greeting the heads of family cheerfully as they do so.
Their table continues on, and just when conversation attempts a revival…
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
“‘scuse me,” MJ says with a polite nod, taking her phone with her as she stands.
(Peter watches her go, unsurprisingly.
Ned shakes his head at him, predictably.)
“Any other news?” May asks then, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin.
“A big one, but the one it concerns just walked out,” Pepper says, smiling immediately.
“Mm,” May hums, nodding approvingly and setting the napkin down. She turns to Bruce and Helen. “I knew it felt like a cake night.”
Bruce smiles, bows his head slightly as he stands. “I’ll have them bring it out.”
“I got your text.”
“Good. Where are you?”
“West back house, changing.”
“You weren’t at dinner.”
“I’m not done yet.”
“When’s your initiation over?”
“Next week, probably. I’ll be with next month’s batch if I make it.”
“Cool. I’ll see you then, okay? And let me know if Friday’s going too hard.”
“Yeah, I will, M. Thanks.”
“No problem. I gotta get back to the hall, but seriously—mi casa es su casa.”
Laugh. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. I’m—” Yawn. “—I’m outtie. Night.”
“Later.”
Click.
“What was that about?” Ned asks in a whisper when MJ returns.
She shrugs, face blank. “You’ll see.”
“I thought the surprise was your entrance at the meeting?” Peter joins in, leaning over.
“It was,” MJ says.
“…I’m confused.”
“You should be.”
He frowns at her and she sticks her tongue out at him and for a second it’s back to a trio of tweens playing around and above the dining tables while a family meeting chugs along in the floors above.
It’s Ned jumping and falling and Peter sucking at advice and MJ knowing first aid.
It’s bright golds in the afternoon light streaming in, airy dust soft as it falls around them, visible only in the beams of incoming evening.
It’s a pack of adults hearing about it, descending the staircase with dancers’ agility, fleet of foot and graceful in power.
It’s them.
It’s all of them.
Until it’s back to the now.
Until it’s not.
(MJ tells them nothing even with the bribery of cake, to which Pepper comments: “Your asking her repeatedly isn’t helping your case.”
And MJ says, with a puff of laughter and a glint in her eye: “Thanks, mom.”)
“I’m stuffed,” Ned says after the cake, lolling his head back on his cushioned chair. He pats his tummy, yawns and stretches his shoulders as he leans over MJ to call to a slowly blinking Peter. “Dude, Lego?”
Peter straightens, shakes his head to remove the sleep from his body. “Ye—”
“Sorry, Ned,” Karen cuts in, collecting their plates. “I need to borrow Peter for an hour.”
“This late?” May asks, furrowing her brows.
“Prep, cousin,” Karen says, smiling kindly. “And it’s only eight—enough time to be back for a date, even.”
“Just—just going there, huh?” Peter mutters, shoving his open hand to his face.
“Gee, that’s a thought,” MJ says, monotone as she sips her tea, steam rising in front of her eyes.
“I love dinner time,” Ned says, grinning from ear to ear, chin resting on his upturned hand. “Like, a lot.”
Tony smirks. “Like how some people like other people?”
“Like isn’t a strong enough word, honey,” Pepper says, touching his arm and tilting her head exaggeratedly in thought. “Hmm. I’d say—”
“Save the Death Star for me,” Peter says with a point to Ned, standing abruptly. He catches MJ’s glance up at him, and he responds with a very awkward, very Red Light-Green Light type of shoulder pat, because…
Well.
They have a point.
He gulps.
Turns to May.
Bow. “Donna.”
“My beautiful boy,” she says, smiling at him then gesturing to Tony and Pepper. “You forget?”
Peter bows again, reading through his aunt’s tone. It’s lower and more reverent—a thank you and a promise of loyalty all at once. “Don, Donna. Good night.”
“Nothing for our children?” Tony says, feigning aloofness. “Really, kid?”
(MJ chokes a little, coughs loudly as Ned pats her back.
She’s disappointed in herself for thinking drinking hot tea during a family gathering was a manageable idea.)
“Don’t push it, Tony,” May says with a roll of her eyes. She smiles at Peter and Karen, nodding once. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“In one piece, I promise,” Karen says, bowing her head slightly. “Don, Donnas.”
(Ned doesn’t tell Peter that MJ watches them go.)
(But hell, Friday’s Snapchat video was way better, anyway.)
Tony wheels May up himself.
The mansion’s old, glory-filled staircases split down the middle, half flattening into a ramp before they make their ascent.
“I told you this would come in handy,” May says as they pass the second floor, marble and tile and rugs in a permanent state of clean. The ramp reverts to it’s stair setting after they reach the top of each staircase, quiet and quick.
“Ben would annoy Pepper about it every time he had to deliver something,” Tony says, chuckling. “You know how he is. Was.”
They roll to a stop at the front of her and Ben’s room on the third floor, claimed decades ago by Kind Al for his children’s use when in town. Notches on the edges of the doorframe slide by May’s sleeve—notches from a growing girl to a youth roughhousing with friends and cousins alike.
Notches from two newly-minted guardian-parents, trying to make a nephew’s stay as comfortable as possible.
Tony helps her up, guides her gently onto the bed. He tucks the sheets around her, fluffs up her extra pillows in uncharacteristic silence.
“I’m proud of how you’ve grown up,” May says, leaning back and closing her eyes. “Really. Really proud, mio fratello.”
Tony clears his throat. “If you want a new room, May—”
“This is my home,” she says gently, eyes still shut. “And I promised Ben.”
“That you wouldn’t switch rooms?”
“That I would always stay where I’m happy.”
Tony hums. “Then…there’s one last thing to take care of.”
May nods, eyes opening and darting to a photo of her and Ben on vacation, there, on top of her closet.
“Can you walk?”
“Schedule it, Tony,” she says, voice quaking slightly. She’s nearing her full health once more, strength reaching new heights each day and color back from it’s deathly, pale grey.
The Donna’s eyes close.
A shaky breath, a clenched jaw.
A promise to pay a debt.
“It’s time.”
Fall, Freshman Year
Peter,
The sunflowers look lit. Steal me one.
(Don’t actually, you suck at gardening and you’ll just kill it accidentally.)
It’s quiet over here. I like it. Tony’s getting another award next week, and he’s taking a bunch of us over for the ceremony.
I know we FaceTimed, but how was your birthday? Like, real talk.
I went to Delmar’s and did that, and I definitely still have allergies.
Thanks for nothin’.
Ned knows, but I don’t show him. Kinda ruins the whole point of it, I guess. Fun to have a semi-secret correspondence.
The papers…Ned’s taking them. I don’t know. My parents are still alive, so it feels kind of…wrong.
Even if they’re in stasis.
I still don’t know if I’ll pull the plug. It’s been three years, but…
You know, this is the best they’ve ever been at parenting. The most present. I should be able to just…give the order.
But, like. They’re still my parents? And they were trying, I could tell.
Sorry if this brings up anything bad on your end. Call me if it does, Pete.
This got long. Maybe I can compensate for your letters since college is kicking your ass and you JUST started.
(Pepper’s got me on private tutors instead of going to actual school, but they’re all accredited and I’ll be on a strict, fully-booked class schedule for a couple years.
It’s probably gonna be like MIT but on steroids.)
Don’t replace us,
MJ