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“Please, Mr. Stark, just one more?” Peter gives Tony his most beseeching expression.
“No, you may not have a third beavertail[1], kid. Do you know how much sugar is in these things? You’re already hyperactive enough right now as it is.”
“But I haven’t had a triple trip one yet! Peanut butter, chocolate and—”
“Yeah yeah, I know about the triple trip, what do you think got me through boarding school up here? It’s the most calorie-laden one there is.” When Peter doesn’t stop looking at him with those pleading eyes, Tony relents a little. He lets out a sigh. “Tell you what: there are beavertail stands on the canal. After we skate a bit to burn off some of—” he waves a hand toward Peter, who’s bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet—“ this , maybe you can have another one.”
“Yes!” shouts Peter triumphantly.
“I said maybe.” Tony points a stern finger toward him.
“Aw.” He deflates a little and slows down his incessant bouncing, trying to show Tony that the sugar and fat from the two deep-fried Canadian pastries he’s already had (one classic flavour, one bananarama) aren’t affecting him.
Snow begins to fall, big, fluffy flakes that land in their hair and on the shoulders of their heavy winter coats. It’s February, and it’s cold in Ottawa. They’re only in town for two days, Tony having invited Peter along at the last minute when he realized his trip coincided with Midtown’s mid-winter break. Peter was thrilled to come; he’s never been to Canada before, but he’s always wanted to go. Especially to Ottawa, the capital city. Yesterday, they spent the morning at an award ceremony at Tony’s old boarding school, where Tony presented the annual Tony Stark Pre-Engineering Scholarship to one promising student in the school’s challenging pre-engineering program. Then they had to spend the rest of the day at a very boring event for donors to the school, but went out in the evening to a performance of The Lion King musical at the National Arts Centre.
Today they have free, so Tony is taking Peter all over Ottawa to show off his old stomping ground. They started with breakfast at Chez Cora[2], followed by a visit to the Aviation and Space Museum. Unfortunately, Peter had to cut short his time in the museum’s interactive flight simulator exhibit when he started to feel motion sick (“Really, kid? You jump off skyscrapers and swing around doing acrobatics every day, but this is too much?”), but they made up for it with a drive through the Gatineau Hills across the border in Quebec. Now they’re visiting the historic Byward Market in downtown Ottawa before they end their day with some ice skating on the Rideau Canal, which runs through downtown and is frozen over at this time of year.
Peter is very excited about the skating. He’s never gone ice skating before, but he has fond memories of watching New Yorkers skating at Rockefeller Center on TV at Christmas time as a kid.
Tony swallows the last bite of his own pastry (Killaloe sunrise flavour) and balls up the paper wrapper, tossing it in the garbage can beside the beavertail stand.
“C’mon. Let’s get to the canal before it gets dark.”
Peter follows Tony and they start walking past the Byward Market square toward Sussex Drive, dodging the large crowd of tourists who are in town for the city’s annual Winterlude festival.
“So you come up here every year?” Peter asks, brushing snowflakes from his eyelashes with one gloved hand. “You always award the scholarship yourself?”
“Yep,” Tony replies. “I don’t have to be the presenter just because I’m the sponsor, but it’s a nice excuse to come back up here for a visit.”
They round the corner to Sussex Drive a moment later and are hit by a cold gust of wind. Peter shivers a little despite the extra warm coat, gloves, boots and scarf Tony outfitted him with before their trip. Two days is one thing, but he wouldn’t want to spend four months a year in this weather.
“Didn’t you hate winters when you were at boarding school here?”
“Nah. Well, I did the first year. But I hated everything that year. I was ten when my dad decided to send me.”
“Why did he decide to send you so far away for school?” Peter hopes his question isn’t too personal. He knows Tony didn’t have the best relationship with his father.
Tony doesn’t seem fazed, and answers easily. “He told my mom it would be good for me, and that I was ‘too spoiled’ at home.” He huffs a laugh. “Whatever that meant. And he kept saying it was important to learn French.” He frowns a little, and his tone suggests that he knows very well that those weren’t the real reasons his father decided to send him away for four years, not just to boarding school, but boarding school in a whole other country.
His face brightens before he continues. “Well. His reasoning was a bit flimsy, but it worked out pretty well. First year was hard being so far away, but then I started to love it here. Even winter. I did a lot better in my classes without dad breathing down my neck, and I managed to charm the staff into giving me more freedom than a kid my age should probably have. Sometimes I spent weekends at my friend’s house in the country. And the pre-engineering program is the reason I got into MIT when I was fifteen.” He pauses a moment, then adds as an afterthought, “And I did learn French.”
They cross the street and reach the railing overlooking the canal. Peter stops and stares in awe at the sprawling expanse of ice, which looks at least a hundred feet wide and stretches away as far as he can see. Hundreds of people are crisscrossing the surface on ice skates, some pushing babies in strollers, some holding hands with a loved one. Some are even carrying briefcases and look like they’re skating home from work.
“Wow!” This is way cooler than he was expecting.
Tony grins in response to Peter’s exclamation. He seems proud to be showing off this part of the city he used to call home.
“C’mon,” he says, making his way to the stairs which lead to the surface of the canal. “This is nothing like skating at Rockefeller.”
“I’ve never actually gone skating at Rockefeller,” Peter says. “Or, well, at all.”
Tony stares at him. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Just never had the chance. We went snowshoeing once in Central Park, but it wasn’t that fun.”
“Well, you’re in for a treat for your first time. The Rideau Canal is only the biggest ice skating rink in the world. Almost five miles long.”
They step off the stairs and onto the canal. It’s slippery, but Peter manages not to fall as they walk the short distance to the ice skate rental stand. Peter sits on a nearby bench as Tony greets the parka-clad, rosy-cheeked woman working there and they start looking at different skate sizes. Almost instantly, they’re chatting like old friends.
“Cold one out, eh?” Tony asks her.
“Sure is,” she agrees. “Canal froze pretty early this year. Gonna get a long skatin’ season out of it.”
“Ah, wish I could stay for it,” Tony replies. “We’re just up from New York for a few days. It’s the kid’s first time in Canada. First time skatin’, too.”
“Aw, is that right?” She looks at Peter and smiles. “Helluva place to start, eh?”
“Yeah, but he’s quite the keener[3]. No doubt he’ll give’er[4].”
Peter stares at his mentor as he and the woman continue chatting. He’s never heard Tony speak like this before. The longer they talk, the more Canadian he sounds. Well, Peter supposes, spending four years abroad as a child is bound to leave a lasting impression, resurfacing when he interacts with locals. It’s pretty endearing, actually. Peter wonders if Tony even notices he’s doing it.
They start talking excitedly about ‘catching the Habs[5],’ whatever that means, but then some more customers arrive, so the lady has to cut short her conversation with Tony to serve them. Tony brings two pairs of skates to the bench, handing one to Peter and sitting down beside him.
“Alright. They’ll hang on to our boots here while we skate. Make sure you tie your laces nice and tight so you don’t wobble. I do not want to have to tell your aunt that you broke your ankle on a trip abroad.”
The Canadianness is gone from his speech again. Peter suppresses a smile as he slips on the ice skates.
“I don’t know, she’d probably be happy that it was from something as normal as ice skating for a change. She’s still not the biggest fan of me being…y’know.” There are customers standing nearby, so he doesn’t want to say Spider-Man aloud.
“How about we don’t find out how comparatively happy she’d be about it,” Tony replies with an unamused quirk of his eyebrow.
They finish donning their skates, and Tony checks Peter’s laces before helping him to his feet. He takes his hand to give him some stability as they move away from the rental stand. Peter’s legs are stiff and jerky as he tries to propel himself forward on the uncomfortable skates. This is not as easy is it looks on TV. Tony stops him as soon as they’re no longer blocking the rental kiosk.
“Alright, it’s your first time, so don’t expect to come out of it skating like Elvis Stojko.”
Peter frowns. “Who?”
Tony frowns back. “Kid, you’ve never heard of—never mind. I just mean, if you can move in a straight line and figure out how not to fall by the time we’re done, that’s a pretty good start.”
Peter looks around at the other skaters, some of whom are small children. Surely he has a little more agility than them . After all, he did teach himself how to swing around between skyscrapers without too much trouble.
“So let’s start slow,” Tony continues. He takes Peter’s hand again and stands beside him. “To get moving, just bend one knee and use your blade to push off from the ice.”
Peter tries it, and Tony pushes off at the same time so they’ll move together. But as soon as Peter’s left foot leaves the ice, his right one starts to teeter on the thin blade. Tony firmly grasps his upper arm to keep him from falling, but it’s too late. Peter loses his balance and starts to fall, but at least Tony’s grip on his arm controls his descent so he lands softly on his knees.
To Tony’s credit, he doesn’t smirk or make any jokes to make Peter feel inept. “It’s alright. Here.” He faces Peter and holds out both hands for him to take, pulling him to his feet. How is it possible that Tony can pull him up while standing on those razor-thin blades without losing his balance at all?
Peter tries again, with the same result, then again twice more. He hasn’t even managed to take one proper step yet. Tony must see that he’s getting frustrated, because the fourth time he pulls him to his feet, he stays standing in front of him.
“Let’s try this.” He takes each of Peter’s hands in his own and starts slowly skating backward, pulling Peter along with him. This is much easier. Finally, he’s actually moving forward.
“Hey, this is kind of fun.” Now he can push with his feet without worrying about balance as he’s led along. He could get used to this.
But when he looks to his left and notices a mother nearby doing the exact same thing with her five-year-old child, he immediately drops Tony’s hands.
“It’s OK, I got it.”
“You sure?”
Peter nods.
“Alright, but just take it slow.” Tony stays in front of him, skating backward, ready to reach out and catch Peter just in case.
Motivated by how effortless Tony is making it look (and yeah, by the five-year-old kid too), Peter pushes off with one foot and concentrates hard on maintaining his balance. He doesn’t fall this time, and even manages to push off once with his other foot as well.
“Whoa, I did it!”
“That’s it,” Tony encourages him. “Had a feeling you’d catch on quick. If you can swing around Manhattan without cracking your skull open, this shouldn’t be too hard.”
Peter laughs. “Well, there was my concussion I got back in November, so technically—”
Tony looks at him sharply. “Your what?”
Shit. Peter conveniently ‘forgot’ to mention that to Tony after it happened. “Nothing!” he says quickly.
“Now hold on a damn minute. You—”
“Whoa, Mr. Stark, I’m slipping!” Peter deliberately wobbles on his skates and falls forward so Tony will catch him.
Tony rolls his eyes as he pulls Peter back to his feet. He looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Nice try, kid, but you’re on thin fucking ice—” he quickly stops himself. “Alright, bad choice of metaphor here.” He points a finger at Peter. “Point is, don’t you get into the habit of hiding your injuries from me. I will not hesitate to turn the tattletale protocol back on.” He looks back toward the skate rental stand contemplatively. “As a matter of fact, they rent helmets here for beginners, maybe I should get you one for that fragile skull of yours—”
“No!” Peter can’t tell for sure if Tony is joking, but he does not want to skate around with a helmet on. If Ned and MJ saw any pictures… “You’ve made your point, Mr. Stark. I promise I’ll tell you when I get hurt from now on, OK?”
“Damn right you will.”
They turn their focus back to skating, Peter continuing to inch forward at a snail’s pace, but is at least managing not to fall. He’s slowly getting the hang of this.
Tony moves beside him and they skate side by side a short while, their progress slow and halting as Peter figures out how to move his feet. It can’t be very fun for Tony, having to go at such a slow speed.
“I’ll be alright on my own if you want to skate around a bit,” Peter offers.
“Are you sure?” Tony asks. He looks ahead of them, down the endless stretch of ice, and Peter thinks he sees a glimmer of nostalgia in his eyes. He wonders if this is the first time Tony has gotten to skate here since he was a kid.
“Definitely,” he insists.
Tony smiles. “Well, I won’t go far. Don’t go chasing after any criminals on your skates while I’m gone.” He moves away from Peter and pushes off hard a few times with his feet to gain some speed. With a level of grace Peter has only seen from him in his Iron Man suit, he effortlessly traverses a wide, smooth arc, hands clasped casually behind his back and scarf blowing behind him in the wind, skillfully avoiding the other skaters as he glides from one side of the canal to the other and back again. Then he starts weaving a figure eight, backward.
Man. Peter would love to be able to skate like that.
He’s not doing too badly himself, though, considering he’s only been on the ice for about twenty minutes. He’s already mastered Tony’s low bar of ‘moving in a straight line and figuring out how not to fall’. They’ve put aside an hour and a half for skating, so he’ll probably be able to at least figure out turning and stopping by the time they’re done.
Eventually, Tony glides back to Peter to see how he’s doing, and compliments him on his improvement.
“How did you learn to skate so well?” Peter asks in awe as Tony falls in beside him to continue their slow (but slightly faster than before) progress down the canal. He has trouble believing that Howard would have sent him to figure skating lessons as a child.
“Hockey. I was in my boarding school’s competitive league.”
“Seriously?” How is this the first time Peter is hearing about this? “What position?”
“Defence, two years,” Tony replies proudly. “Dad made me quit when I lost my fourth tooth. But he was overreacting, I mean, two of them were baby teeth. And it’s not like he couldn’t afford the implants for the other two. Anyway, it was fun while it lasted. I was the smallest kid on the team but I won the award for best grinder[6] both years.”
Peter looks at him in amazement. It feels like there are two Tonys, the regular one from back home, and this slightly different, Canadian one he never knew about before.
They continue skating up and down the canal for the next hour or so, Tony showing him some simple manoeuvres like moving on a curve and doing a basic T-stop. Occasionally, Tony takes out his phone to record some videos of Peter progressing. Peter is having more and more fun the better he gets at this.
Evening is approaching by the time they finally decide to call it a day.
“You did pretty well,” Tony says on their way back to the skate rental stand. “Definitely better than I did my first few times.”
“Really?” Peter doesn’t think there are too many things he would be better than Tony at.
“Oh yeah,” Tony confirms. “I was pretty pathetic. I only had a chance to practice skating once before hockey tryouts. I had to borrow my bunkmate’s skates, which were way too big. Pretty sure the only reason I made the team was my willingness to throw myself into harm’s way on the ice to stop the puck. Even though I could barely stand up at first.”
“That doesn’t sound pathetic,” Peter says honestly. “It sounds pretty badass, actually.”
Tony shrugs noncommittally, but seems inwardly pleased at Peter’s assessment.
They’re still slowly making their way back to the rental stand to drop off their skates and get their boots, when Peter suddenly has what he’ll soon realize is an incredibly dumb idea.
Maybe it was Tony’s compliments of his skating skills, or just the adrenaline from how much fun he’s having. Or possibly it’s the sugar high he’s still riding from all the Canadian junk food he had earlier. In any case, Peter decides that he doesn’t want to finish their outing without at least one attempt at one of those awesome-looking figure eights that Tony has been doing all over the canal the past hour and a half. He won’t attempt a backward one, though. That would be dangerous.
They’re only a few minutes away from the rental stand now, so Peter decides to go for it. Tony takes out his phone to check the time. Peter waits until the space in front of them is relatively clear of people, then skates ahead of Tony to pick up speed.
“Kid, what are you doing?” Tony calls, looking up from his phone.
“I just want to try something!” Peter shouts back.
Tony shouts something in return, but the wind in Peter’s ears makes it hard to hear. No matter, he’ll be done in a second. Remembering what Tony taught him about skating around a curve, he leans to his right to do a clockwise turn, executing a pretty decent top loop of a large figure eight without much trouble.
“Check it out, Mr. Stark! Figure eight!”
But when he gets to the middle of the 8-shape, he needs to quickly switch the direction of the curve in order to begin the bottom loop. Which is something Tony hasn’t taught him yet. He starts to lean in the opposite direction to begin the curve, but for some reason, crosses one foot in front of the other to do it. The blade of his front skate clips the blade of his back one, and he loses control and slips. With his legs still at an odd angle under him, he collapses onto the ice, landing hard on his right knee and twisting it quite a bit further than it should be able to move. He slides about ten more feet before coming to a stop.
He cries out in pain and clutches his knee, as Tony rushes over and crouches beside him.
“Shit. Peter, are you alright?”
“I…uh…” Crap. His knee really fucking hurts. He’s not sure he can even move it. “I don’t think it’s too bad…” That’s definitely a lie, but he can’t just sit here on the ice. He has to try to get up.
“Think you can stand?” Tony stands up and offers Peter his hands to help pull him to his feet. Peter takes his hands but as soon as he tries to put weight on his knee to push himself up, a sharp pain jolts through it, making him yelp. He tries to power through the pain but Tony eases him back down onto the ice. “OK, no, let’s not make it worse than it is.”
Peter sinks back down to sit on the ice, his feet splayed out in front of him, feeling like a complete idiot. What the fuck was he thinking?
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Tony asks, seeming torn between amusement and annoyance as he kneels back down beside Peter.
“I just wanted to try a figure eight once before we finished. It just looked so…” he pauses, realizing there isn’t really a sufficient adjective to justify his stupid spur-of-the-moment decision. “Cool,” he finishes lamely.
Tony rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah, super cool. You looked like a real ice princess for about five seconds there.”
Peter allows himself a small chuckle at that, realizing that Tony isn’t too furious with him for his antics.
“Stay still a minute, let me think,” Tony says. He stands up and looks around, then notices a first aid hut on the ice about 150 feet away.
He looks back at Peter. “Your arms don’t hurt, do they?”
“No…” Peter isn’t sure what Tony is getting at.
“Good. Put your hands up.”
“I…OK.” Peter is confused, but puts his hands up above his head.
Tony moves to stand behind him and takes his hands. He starts slowly skating backward, pulling Peter, who’s still seated on the ice, along with him. His knee hurts a lot as he slides across the ice, but it’s not intolerable. This whole stupid predicament, however, is.
God, this is so humiliating. He closes his eyes, willing it to be over.
Tony chuckles. Peter tilts his head back to look up at him and frowns.
“What’s so funny?”
Tony snorts. “Are you kidding? Look at you. Look at us. Tell me the ridiculousness of this whole situation isn’t hilarious.”
Peter looks back at his feet, at the blades of his skates dragging uselessly along the ice, and at all the snow accumulating on his jeans as he’s pulled along. With his arms above his head, his thick winter coat is riding up over his chin. He lets out a laugh. This is ridiculous. Above him, Tony joins in, and now they’re both laughing like idiots as they near the first aid hut.
“Ah, shit,” Tony says suddenly, his laughter dying away. “Dammit, Pete.”
“What is it?” asks Peter.
“I just remembered I’m gonna have to call your Aunt May and tell her you got hurt. Didn’t I say that was the one thing I did not want to do on this trip?”
Peter sobers a little at that. But then he giggles again when another thought occurs to him.
“What’s so funny?” Now it’s Tony’s turn to ask.
“Well, you said you didn’t want to tell her I broke my ankle. I didn’t break my ankle …”
Tony groans at the stupid distinction.
“Thin ice, kid,” he warns, but with no real heat behind it.
They pass a beavertail stand. The smell of deep-fried dough wafts over, and it’s intoxicating enough to make Peter speak up against his better judgement.
“Um, Mr. Stark?”
“Hm?”
“D’you…d’you think we could stop for a beavertail? The triple trip…”
Tony gives him a long, flat look. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”
Damn. Well, it was worth a shot.
The first aid volunteer notices them as they approach and walks over to help. Together, she and Tony manage to lift Peter to his feet so he can put an arm around each of their shoulders and be led to the hut.
“What ’appened?” she asks with a strong quebecois lilt to her speech.
Tony obviously picks up on her accent, because without hesitation, he answers in French. They begin a rapid conversation over Peter’s head, Tony gesturing to his injured knee as he speaks. Peter has never really studied French before, but he picked up a few words and phrases during the foreign film class he took last year, and he’s pretty sure he hears Tony utter the words princesse de glace somewhere in there . He shoots him a scowl, which he ignores.
Once inside the heated first aid hut, Peter is able to sit down in a chair, extending his injured leg out in front of him. The volunteer offers him a pain pill, which he gratefully accepts, then turns and chats with Tony a bit more in French.
When they finish talking, Tony turns back to Peter and switches to English. “Great news!” he says, his fake-excited tone telling Peter it is definitively not great news. “Our grand tour of Ottawa will now include an unscheduled introduction to the wonders of the Canadian health care system.”
Peter groans. “Really?”
“’Fraid so. They’re not equipped here to treat injuries like this. You’ll need an X-ray to tell if it’s broken or not.”
“Great,” he mumbles, burying his face in his hands. He just had to try that damn figure eight, didn’t he?
“Hey hey, don’t worry about it, kiddo,” Tony soothes, sitting beside him and nudging his shoulder so he looks up. “There’s an urgent care clinic not far from here. I just gotta get our boots back first. Then Hélène here will help me get you up to street level, and I’ll call us an Uber. No biggie.”
Hélène skillfully slides off Peter’s skates with minimal movement of his injured leg, and gives them to Tony, who gets up to leave.
He returns ten minutes later, holding Peter’s boots in one hand, and in the other…a half-eaten triple trip beavertail, which he takes one final bite of before passing the remainder to Peter.
“I needed some fuel,” he explains. “It was quite a workout dragging your ass around.”
He kneels down to carefully put Peter’s boots on without jarring his knee, while Peter takes a bite out of the delicious pastry and instantly feels a million times better.
“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”
“Don’t mention it.” Tony sits on the chair beside Peter as he finishes his treat.
“You sure are in a good mood even after all… this,” Peter observes, gesturing to his injury. “Not that I’m complaining or anything,” he adds quickly.
Inexplicably, Tony’s lips quirk into a rather mischievous grin. “Well, there’s a reason for that.”
Peter is suddenly suspicious. “What do you mean?” he asks cautiously.
Tony pulls out his phone. “You probably didn’t notice it during all the excitement. But I had my phone out when you skated off to play Disney on Ice.”
Peter’s face falls as understanding sinks in. “Oh no…”
“Oh yeah.” Tony unlocks his phone. “Got it all on video. Sending it to the Avengers group chat as we speak.”
As the tiny cabin is filled with the sound of “Check it out, Mr. Stark! Figure eight!” Peter groans and pulls his scarf up to cover his entire face, wishing a hole would open up in the canal beneath him and swallow him whole.
1A beavertail is a popular Canadian treat consisting of flat, deep-fried dough, topped with a variety of sweet ingredients.[return to text]
2Chez Cora is a Quebec-based chain of restaurants that only serve breakfast and brunch.[return to text]
3A keener is an eager, high-achieving person.[return to text]
4“To give’er” means to put forth a great effort.[return to text]
5“Catching the Habs” means to watch the Montreal Canadiens hockey team play a game.[return to text]
6A grinder in hockey is a defensive player whose main tactic is to use his body to stop the opposing team. He'll tackle other players into the board, or get between them and the puck even if it means getting tackled himself.[return to text]