Chapter Text
“PETER. BREAKFAST.”
Peter wakes with a jolt, a common occurrence for the past few days since he’s been watching Morgan. She never seems to sleep, and she tries to be reasonable in her timing for waking up Peter, but she’s not exactly subtle. Whether it’s her kneeing him in the kidney when she comes running into his room and jumping on his bed, or her quietly sticking her finger up his nose until he startles, Morgan Stark always makes sure Peter wakes up on the first attempt.
This time, it’s her shriek from the kitchen. His nose immediately catches wind of a...cacophony of smells including over-chocolofied chocolate chip pancakes, as well as the smell of peanut butter, but that’s probably just his spider nose that can pick that up. He scrubs at said nose with the palm of his hand before he glances at his watch.
Oh. They’re running late.
He leaps out of bed, literally, and scrounges for appropriate clothing; jeans from yesterday, thrown carelessly on the floor and a clean t-shirt with one of his science puns that MJ adores so much. He stuffs his laptop and notebook into his bag before he grabs his jacket off the back of his desk and hurries out into kitchen to find Morgan standing on a chair in front of the stove, making pancakes that would give someone diabetes with just one bite.
All while wearing his Spider-Man mask.
A ridiculous sight. She’s six.
“Morgoona,” Peter sing-songs, dropping his things and walking over to the counter to supervise. “What do you think you’re doing? And what’s with the mask?” he asks before he gasps dramatically. “Don’t tell me I’ve been replaced.”
She giggles at his antics as she pours batter into a skillet. “Karen’s reading me the next chapter of the Sorcerer’s Stone.”
Peter deflates. “Hey!” he whines. “I was supposed to read the next chapter to you.”
Morgan squirms. “But I couldn’t wait! I’m almost done! You said we could do the sorting quiz when we’re done!”
He gets that. He remembers flying through the Star Wars films. Especially after finding out Darth Vader was Luke’s father? In the end, God himself couldn’t have pulled him away from that VCR, but Ben sure gave it his best shot. “Fine,” he concedes. “But if you think you’re watching the Force Awakens without me, think again.”
Morgan hums, clearly not worrying about that. The pancakes are much too important. Peter looks around the messy kitchen and sees that it’s not just batter mess sticking to every surface. The island is littered with two open jars of peanut butter and two different jars of jam, four dirty knives tossed in the sink. It’s a lot. She’s been very busy this morning, which begs him to repeat: “Now let’s get back to my other question?”
“About what I’m doing?”
He reaches over and yanks the mask from her head, smoothing the hairs stuck to her cheeks out of her face. He stuffs it in a drawer out of sight and hopes he won’t forget where he put it. “That’s the one.”
She wipes her brow with her arm, narrowly avoiding getting cake-batter on her kiddie-sized AC/DC shirt. “I’m making us breakfast,” she says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Then, she points to two brown paper bags on the edge of the island, one with a giant M on it, the other P. “I also packed our lunches.”
“Ah. Peanut butter and jelly?” He guesses, needlessly.
She still hasn’t looked up from her task, eyes unblinking at the pancake in the skillet, waiting to turn it over. There’s already a small stack of them, which is already more pancakes than he’s ever made in his entire life. Again, has to remind himself: she’s six. “Yep,” she agrees, word popping with a bob of her head. “Crunchy with strawberry for me, smooth with blackberry for you.”
“Our favorites.” he leans down next to her, face hovering next to hers so they’re almost pressing their cheeks together.
“I know what to do,” she smiles, finally turning her head to look at him. It makes them a little cross-eyed. Peter puckers his lips comically and Morgan obliges, giving him a good morning kiss on the cheek.
“If that’s really the case,” Peter says, dropping his own good morning kiss on her forehead, “Then you wouldn’t be using the stove. You know you aren’t allowed to use the stove without supervision.”
She pouts, flipping the pancake when the batter bubbles reach the middle. “But I know what to do. It’s not hard.”
Peter glances at the perfectly round pancakes and struggles for a comeback. The recipe might be horrendous, if the ungodly amount of chocolate chips is anything to go by, but the pancakes are...they’re pancakes. She does know what she’s doing.
So he uses the same fallback: blame Pepper. “That may be, but rules are rules. Gotta do what Mom says.”
Morgan sighs, but hands over the spatula before she gets to pouring batter for another pancake. “Fine. I already made enough.” Her dejection melts away and she excitedly shoves the stack of four pancakes down the counter. “Try ‘em!”
Peter’s nose is still picking up something off, and it’s not just the sugar. Still, he pulls out a fork from the drawer and takes a bite, sans butter, syrup, anything. Immediately, he realizes what’s not right and he can’t quite mask the disgust on his face.
Morgan’s own face screws up, disappointed. “Aw, man.”
“Salt,” he gets out, willing himself to swallow it. It’s not that hard. May’s had far worse cooking blunders over the year. If he can digest a brick of turkey loaf, he can manage the world’s saltiest chocolate chip pancake. “You put too much salt.”
“Shit,” she swears, but Peter is too busy grabbing a paper towel and scrubbing his tongue with it to reprimand her. “I knew there was too much. I accidentally knocked over the salt into the bowl. That’s why I added all the extra chocolate chips, to balance it out.”
“Hate to break it to you, but that’s not how cooking or chemistry works.”
“Well, I know that now.”
“So it’s not breakfast. It’s a science experiment.” He grabs the plate of pancakes and walks to the trash can, gladly scraping them away. “You made me a lab rat.”
Morgan huffs. “It wasn’t supposed to be a science experiment. I just wanted to make breakfast.”
“Well thank you, but,” Peter glances at his watch again. Very much running late. “We gotta go anyway. You’ll have to settle for donuts on the way to school.”
She lights up, scrambling to grab her school books and the lunches and put on her shoes. Peter follows, double checking that the stove is off, and they hurry down to his car.
Everyone Peter has ever met has begged him to take one of Tony’s Audi’s and throw his ancient Volkswagen Beetle back in the literal junkyard in which he found it. Everyone but Morgan. She loves it’s worn exterior and mismatched paint and windows that go up and down when you crank it by hand. She’s already inside and buckled up by the time Peter even opens his door, but he still does a double check like he always does, unbuckling and buckling her seatbelt again.
Morgan is uncharacteristically quiet on the way to school. Not in a I’m mad or upset kind of way, but more in a I want to say something but don’t know how way. Peter isn’t sure how he’s learned to decipher the subtleties of her behavior, but he’s certain she’s about to burst with some sort of revelation. For someone so young, she is sometimes so careful with her words - usually it’s to ensure she can get what she wants. Food, a toy, that kitten Peter’s neighbor found and was trying to rehome.
When they come to a red light, a box of donut holes untouched in Morgan’s lap, Peter starts to get a little antsy. “Munchkin me, Munchkin.” And he opens his mouth wide.
She laughs a little and stuffs two donut holes in his mouth - both jelly filled. When he chomps down a bit of strawberry jelly dribbles out the corner of his mouth and it makes Morgan laugh a little harder.
“You’re so mean,” Peter whines, and Morgan full out cackles at the sound of him whining with his mouth full. “I hate the jelly ones!”
“Those are the best ones!” She eats one to prove her point.
“Uh, maybe for you. You’re literally the worst.” He tries to wash it down with the coffee he got to go with it. “I want a refund.”
“On the donuts?”
“On you!”
“A refund on me?”
“Absolutely. Take you back to the Morgan Store. Get a new Morgan who only feeds me,” he reaches over and grabs a chocolate one, “The good donuts,” and he pops it into his mouth.
“You can’t take me back!” she laughs. “That’s not how it works.”
“Sure I can. You’ve got a year left on your warranty, everyone knows that.” When he tries to grab another donut, Morgan playfully yanks the box away, and while she doesn’t let him have a chocolate one, she doesn’t hand him the jelly one, she eats that one herself. So he considers it a win.
“Peter?”
He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. “I’m kidding about the warranty. It’s expired. I can’t even get store credit. You’re safe.”
There’s that look. The revelation or the like is coming. “...You don’t have college on Fridays, right?”
“No,” he drawls. “What’s up?”
“Would you come to my school? For lunch?”
Morgan’s elementary school does a lot of activities that involve parents and community members, her class in particular taking a stance of togetherness since the decimation and subsequent revival. He himself has been to her school before as a chaperone for a field trip to the planetarium. He liked playing a part every once in awhile, no matter how small. So he’s surprised that Morgan seemed...apprehensive to ask him.
“You got it,” he promises. “What’s the big event this week? Is it artsy and craftsy? Are the fireman visiting with their truck again? Ooh!” he slaps the wheel in excitement, “Is someone bringing shelter dogs? Please tell me someone’s bringing shelter dogs.”
“No,” she shakes her head. “It’s...ah,” she twiddles her thumbs. “...Dad’s Day.”
Peter’s foot presses a little too harshly on the brake.
Luckily it’s New York and traffic is slow moving. The car just jerks a bit. They’ve made it to another red light, so Peter has a few seconds to have his mental breakdown and then get it together again. “Dad’s Day,” he repeats dumbly because... yeah. Okay. A red light isn’t enough time for a breakdown. Morgan Stark just asked him to her first grade lunch for Dad’s Day.
“Yeah,” Morgan says, popping a donut into her mouth. “But like, everyone doesn’t have a dad. Susie has two moms so she’s bringing her uncle, and Jack is bringing his grandpa, since he lives with him. I asked Miss Sadie if I could bring you, and she told me it was okay, so don’t worry! We aren’t breaking any rules.”
Oh, Peter thinks, we kinda are.
“Peter?”
“Yeah.”
“The light’s green.”
He blinks, looking up. Green indeed. “Oh! Uh, yeah. Sorry.”
The air in the car feels downright suffocating as Peter concentrates on making it the last two blocks to Morgan’s school. His grip on the wheel borders on his Herculean, Spider-Man strength, but he manages to reel it in enough, knuckles bleeding white. Morgan feels the shift as well, but as perceptive as she is, can’t quite tell what’s bothering him. She tries a few shots in the dark.
“It’s supposed to be like a field day?” she goes on to say. Like she feels the need to sweeten the deal. “Games and stuff. We’ll eat outside. Like picnics. You like picnics.”
Peter manages a nod. “Yes,” he agrees softly. “Yes, I like picnics.”
Morgan relaxes just a bit, happy with her progress. “Everyone’s bringing lots of food, so you won’t get hungry. You always eat a lot.” She reaches into the box and grabs two chocolate donut holes, and passes them over.
With one last shuddering breath he pushes his worries to the back of his mind and grabs the food, offering Morgan a small but albeit genuine smile. “Hmm. True.” She returns the sentiment tenfold, especially when he stuffs both of them in his cheeks to make them puff out like a squirrel and acorns, making her laugh. “Did you sign us up to bring anything?”
She nods as Peter finally pulls into the school lot and parks the car. “Pop-Tarts.”
“Pop-Tarts?”
“You can’t cook.”
He desperately wants to point out that he’s not the one that fed her salty pancakes, but he practices some restraint, grabbing her backpack and lunch from the back of the car. “I can buy like, cookies. Put them on a fancy plate. And pretend I made them.”
As she takes his hand to walk up the school steps, she gives him a patented Morgan Stark disapproving look. “That’s basically lying. You shouldn’t lie, Pete.”
He smiles to himself. What a good kid. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. I’ll bring Pop-Tarts.”
“Cinnamon sugar, please.”
“As if there’s any other worthy flavor?”
When they get inside he has to sign her in, as they’re five minutes late, but the faculty is all smiles, not finding it in their hearts to give them any grief over it. Morgan Stark has that effect. He holds on to her lunch as they walk to their classroom, and it’s only when they’re a few feet away does he tap her shoulder to stop, crouching down to meet her face to face.
“Here,” he smiles, passing over her lunch. “Mom doesn’t get in from Tokyo until tonight so I’ll be here to pick you up, okay? Then we’ll all go out for dinner, how’s that sound?”
“Good,” Morgan grins. “Cheeseburgers?”
He sticks out his tongue. “Ewwwww.”
“Pleeeeease?”
He feigns a suffering sigh before his grin breaks through. “Sure thing, bug. Now, go on, have a good day. Learn something.” He leans forward and kisses her forehead. “Three thousand.”
I love you.
“Three thousand,” Morgan agrees. “....and one! Gotcha!”
He gives her another kiss for that.