Chapter Text
It took Peter a while to focus enough to get started on his essay. He went from mentally scolding himself for fanboying in front of the Avengers, to mentally scolding himself for overthinking it, to fanboying again.
After all, it was the Avengers. No, Peter wasn’t freaking out. Not at all.
Okay, maybe a little bit. So that’s why it took two hours to finish his rough draft. Partly because he was wasting time, and partly because he was procrastinating so he didn’t go back down there and make a fool of himself in front of them again. He hoped Mr. Stark came up with a good cover story for him besides ‘just an intern,’ because most of them didn’t seem to buy it. Now that Peter really thought about it, he and Tony were kind of close. Although why Clint thought Peter was Tony’s child, he couldn’t begin to fathom.
He decided that the rough draft would be enough progress for today because the work was grating on his hyperactive nerves and they were screaming at him to get up and MOVE already. So, he did. He crawled up the wall and sat on the ceiling to do the few math problems he hadn’t finished in study hall.
Considering who was in the building, he probably should have locked the door, but Peter being Peter, decided that he wasn’t important enough for any of the Avengers besides Tony to come into his room, and they’d probably knock if they did pay him a visit, right?
But Natasha Romanoff knocks about as often as Tony does. Read as: never knocks.
The meeting went on for two hours after Peter had left, and Natasha was tired of playing mediator. Although the events of Infinity War had caused most of the issues to smooth over, there still was one problem: the case of Bucky Barnes.
Of course, Steve wanted his best friend to be able to live in the compound with them.
And of course, Tony didn’t want his mother’s murderer living under his roof.
Two very valid points in Natasha’s opinion, but she couldn’t argue for both, letting them hash it out for a while to get out their steam.
Finally, it got too much. Natasha stood. The room silenced, and she relished in the fact that she still had the ability to do that.
“Tony, you know it’s not Bucky’s fault. Steve, show a bit of sympathy, his mother was murdered. Both of you need to chill out and see it from the other’s perspective. Now can the rest of us leave because it has pretty much nothing to do with the rest of us and we’re all bored of you two bickering like you didn’t miss each other so much you would cry yourselves to sleep. Now can you come to an agreement, or will the rest of us have to go because you’re going to keep on for a couple more days?”
Silence.
No one answered. Natasha raised an eyebrow at Tony.
He too stood, sighing deeply, before shaking his head. “Steve, if he so much as looks at Peter the wrong way, he’s out, you hear me?”
Steve blinked at Tony, then Natasha, then Tony again, as if he wasn’t quite comprehending all that had just happened.
Tony sighed again and started walking out. “One of you take Peter’s suitcase up to his room. It’s the first door on the left next to Vision’s old room. The rest of you can go do... whatever it is you do. Imma go tinker.”
And he was gone.
“Wait... was that a yes?” Steve asked, still lost.
Natasha rolled her eyes. “Consider yourself lucky that Tony missed you, otherwise he’d probably say no. I’ll take the suitcase up to the kid. As sad as it is, I might be the only one he won’t freak out over.”
For once, Natasha was very wrong.
“OhmygoshIt’stheBlackWidowohmywordit’sNatashaRomanoffIcan’tbelievethisishappeningrightnowohmygosh-!” Peter fell off the ceiling. “Ow.”
Natasha squinted at him. “Tony wanted me to bring you your suitcase.”
Peter blinked from his crumpled position on the floor. “What?”
Ever since the ceremony in the red room, Natasha had just assumed that all maternal instincts had vanished from her brain. Then he looked up at her with those huge adoring brown eyes and she began to realize that she’d assumed entirely incorrectly. She began to understand what had made Tony go so soft.
She smirked a bit at his predicament but let him get up on his own. He brushed himself off as an excuse to do something with the energy he always seemed to have pent up underneath his skin.
“Tony wanted someone to bring your suitcase upstairs. Figured you might find me a bit less... fantastical than any of the others.”
Peter met her eyes, looking supremely confused. “But... you’re the Black Widow.”
Natasha’s heart warmed, but before she could respond he seemed to realize how she’d found him and his face paled. “Oh my gosh, about the hanging on the ceiling... um... I really-”
“Relax little Spider,” she said, setting down the suitcase by the door. “I already knew.”
He seemed to calm a bit at that, but he tugged at his sleeve and wouldn’t look her in the eyes. “Oh. Um, if you would... not tell the others that would be...” he huffed a nervous laugh, “fantastic. Not that you would lie to them, or anything, I couldn’t ask you to do that, but-”
Natasha laughed a bit through her nose. “It’s alright. I lie to them all the time. Besides, we arachnids must stick together.”
Peter grinned. “Arachnids. Right. Uh, thanks for... bringing up my stuff.”
Natasha nodded, turning to leave. “Keep Stark in line for me, little Spider.”
Even as she walked away she could practically feel his star-struck grin. No wonder Tony had become all parental. That mini spider had him wrapped around his finger. He might have them all wrapped around his little finger pretty soon. And Natasha realized that she didn’t think she would mind if he did.