Chapter Text
Peter groaned as the room suddenly brightened around him. He tuned out F.R.I.D.A.Y. listing stuff such as the weather and pulled his pillow over his head.
He was not ready to get up yet.
Ten minutes later, he'd stumbled through his morning routine. He almost put his t-shirt on backwards (and inside-out) in his still half-asleep state.
He grabbed his backpack from the floor and shoved his homework in it, then clipped his SI pass to the front of his shirt. Happy would get upset if he saw that it wasn't there, even though Peter didn't strictly need the pass for F.R.I.D.A.Y. to recognize him. Happy got upset even if Mr. Stark wasn't wearing his badge.
(Mr. Stark never wore it, anyway. That was probably the reason why he never wore it, if Peter was being honest).
He walked out of his room (well, the room that he slept in when he stayed at the tower) and headed towards the kitchen.
Nobody was in there other than F.R.I.D.A.Y., if she counted. Peter didn't count her, since she was in every single room in the tower (and, at the same time, in none of them).
Mr. Stark typically took longer than Peter to wake up (if he even slept, that is). Ms. Pepper was out of town (and that meant that she couldn't force him to sleep like she normally did).
He poured himself a bowl of cereal, then sat down at the kitchen counter. It was sleek and looked expensive, just like everything else in the tower. He was still eating when Mr. Stark walked into the room, blinking sleep out of his eyes. He looked like a member of the Walking Dead.
“Morning, Mr. Stark!” Peter managed around a spoonful of his breakfast. He almost knocked over his glass of orange juice when he went to wave.
“Morning, kid.” Mr. Stark replied. “Did you get all of your—” he yawned, then continued. “—All of your homework done yet?”
“Yeah! Well, except for my Spanish homework, but that's due tomorrow, so I should be fine. There isn't too much, and I'm going to try to finish it at lunch.”
“Okay, kid, just make sure that you finish it or your aunt will be upset with me.”
“I will, Mr. Stark!” Peter promised, putting his dishes in the sink and walking over to the elevator. He felt bad for not having time to clean them. Aunt May would kill him if she saw him being such a poor guest.
"And make sure that you have time to actually eat at lunch," Mr. Stark added, swinging around a spoon that he'd grabbed for emphasis.
"I will, don't worry!" Peter called behind him. "See you on Wednesday!” He pressed the button that sent the elevator to the first floor, then disappeared.
“See you, kid.” Tony replied to closed doors, then grabbed a less sugary cereal from the cupboard. As he poured it into a bowl, he heard a voice behind him.
He almost spilled the cereal all over the counter.
“Who's that?”
“Who's who?” He asked Natasha. “I didn't see anybody.”
“Tony, I'm not stupid. That kid that just left, after eating…” She squinted at the box that was left on the counter. “Corn flakes.”
“Oh!” Tony replied, as if he'd just forgotten something. “You mean Peter.”
“Yes, who is he?”
“My intern,” Tony replied. “He’s a sweet kid.”
“You have an intern." Natasha didn't sound convinced.
"Yes; several, in fact."
"An intern who's a kid."
"Well, he's technically a teenager, since he's 15, and in a school for science and technology."
"An intern who eats breakfast here, in your personal suite , before going to school. Did I mention that he's a kid?”
“Yes. What's your point?”
“The amount of interns that Stark Industries has is less than 50, and they're all college graduates. This is a child, not a genius.”
“First of all, you're wrong. Second of all, those two aren't mutually exclusive, especially in his case.”
“Who is he? Do you have a son that we didn't know about?”
“No!" Tony dropped his spoon. "He's just a super smart, super sweet kid.”
“...Fine,” Natasha relented. “How'd you meet him?”
“I saw a video of something that he made on YouTube and was curious. So I tracked him down and offered him an internship. He accepted.”
“Okay, but why was he up here? You barely allowed me up here, and you've known me for years.”
“Natasha, you're an assassin. He's just a kid.”
“...Touché.”
“Not everybody was as lethal as you were at that age. He wouldn't hurt a fly.” Tony paused. "And I didn't let you up here, you broke in."
"...True."