Archive of Our Own

Week 1

There was a light breeze the first weekend in September. It was a relief after what had been a blistering hot summer; Manhattan’s glass skyscrapers and concrete streets had seemed on the verge of melting.

It meant everyone’s parents made jokes all throughout the soccer game, remarking that “eighty degrees is downright frigid!” and “Almost feels like I need a jacket!” even though everyone was stiff from the heat. Their eyes wandered, lingering more on the post-game Gatorade and orange slices than their children.

Tony had not only taken off his tie and jacket in the heat, but he’d rolled up his sleeves too. Carly Samson’s dad rolled his eyes at the sight, “Gotta run to the office after the game, Stark? Help a cougar get her alimony checks?”

“Your wife hasn’t been anywhere near my firm, George.” Tony gave the man a wink and ignored the look of outrage on his face. He fixed his attention back on the field, watching their daughters scramble to get ready for a corner kick.

“Okay Ames, remember what we talked about, you keep your eyes right where you want the ball to go!” Tony’s gaze were drawn just off the field, where their exuberant soccer coach was crouching next to the little girl.

The boy’s jersey was the same pale blue as the ones the girls were wearing, and Tony couldn’t help but feel his lips twitch at how bright the kid’s smile was. Everyone watched as Amy Martinez took her kick, sending it vaguely in the direction of the other blue jerseys on the field. As soon as the ball was in play, all the parents around Tony erupted into cheers and claps and shouts for the girls to “hustle!”

Tony clapped too, albeit a little delayed. He looked out over the sea of gangly kids dotting the soccer field — picking out Morgan just as the ball was passed to her and he whistled loudly.

“Run Morgan, go!” Tony looked to his right just before the coach sprinted past him, following his team from the sidelines as they shot up the field.

The young man was new, Tony decided. He couldn’t remember who Morgan’s coach had been last year — of course, he’d only been to a game or two — but he would’ve remembered someone so involved; someone who bounced up and down the field just as much as the girls did, who clapped and whistled and — as the game ended — went out to give every member of the team a high-five as they crowded him.

“Coach, we won!”

“Wait, what was the final score?”

The boy laughed and put a hand on the shoulders of the girls closest to him, “Hang on everyone. Let’s go get a snack and some water and we can chat. I’m so proud of all of you!” He gushed as led them off the sidelines.

Tony strolled around the perimeter of the field while the team sat with their coach under a tree. The other parents made their weekly plans for carpools and playdates and who was bringing orange slices next week. They packed up their lawn chairs and hugged the kids as they peeled off from their coach, promising to see each other Monday at school or Thursday at practice. The other parents each went to thank the coach before leaving.

“You played great, baby,” Tony put his arm around Morgan’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze as she found him on the other side of the field, “Give me a high five!”

“Thanks Dad, I’m so glad you can come this year!” Morgan slapped his hand and leaned into him as they strolled toward the parking lot. Pepper rolled down her car window and waved at them. Morgan turned to look up at Tony, “I’ll see you on Friday?”

“3:15 sharp.” Tony grinned and bent to kiss her forehead, “I love you, baby.”

He hung back as Morgan clambered into the backseat of the Prius, fumbling to unstrap her shinguards and launching into, “Mom, we won! 3-2, Melanie had this amazing goal and Jiya wanted to know if —” And then the door was shut and they were driving away.

Tony turned back around to face the field, now empty except for a tall, lone figure in a blue and white jersey. He watched the girls’ coach head across the field, sitting down on a picnic bench near the park’s tree line. The kid pulled his backpack off his shoulder and started to rummage through it.

And then Morgan’s soccer coach — the boy in a baby blue jersey with dimples in his chin and hints of laughter lines in his cheeks — lit a cigarette.

Tony snorted and walked toward him, heading away from the parking lot and his own quiet plans for the afternoon.

“The girls stress you out that much, Coach?”

The boy jumped and turned, eyes widening when he saw Tony as he tugged the cigarette away from his lips.

“I’m sorry, I thought everyone had left.” He said, but he didn’t move to put his cigarette out. He just held it away from his body, holding his free hand out to Tony, “I’m Coach Parker, by the way. Peter Parker.”

“Tony Stark,” Tony said, taking his hand. Recognition flickered on Peter’s face and Tony assumed it was because of his work but then he just said,

“Right, you’re Morgan’s father. So nice to finally meet you. She’s a real ray of sunshine.” Peter’s smile was wide and when he took a drag on his cigarette he twisted his face politely away from Tony before exhaling.

“Are you even allowed to smoke in a public park?” Tony laughed and sat on the bench next to Peter.

“Probably not,” Peter sighed, “that’s why I wait for everyone to go home.”

Tony hummed his agreement and then reached into the pocket of his suit pants to withdraw a metal flask. “I take it you won’t mind this, then?” He chuckled and uncapped it to take a sip. Peter’s lips twisted into a smirk and he lifted his cigarette again to his lips.

They were facing the parking lot, and Tony fiddled with the cap on his flask. Technically he had no reason to be sitting out here with Coach Peter Parker on Saturday afternoon, but the park was a nicer setting than his apartment.

Or at least the company was.

“You new this year, Coach Parker?” Tony asked, “New to the team, that is?”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, throwing a close-lipped little smile in Tony’s direction, “Yeah, I applied at the beginning of the summer, had to do a couple weeks of training for the gig and got assigned to the Dolphins. It’s been a ton of fun.”

Dolphins was a cute team name, Tony thought. And fitting for the light blue colour the girls wore. 

“Are you a new teacher at Summit?” Calvary Summit Preparatory Academy was Morgan’s private school, down in Greenwich Village. Tony figured that Peter couldn’t be much older than an average college graduate and he laughed, “New hires get stuck coaching peewee soccer?”

Peter didn’t answer for a moment, pursing his lips hard around his cigarette. When he spoke there was an edge to his voice, “MYCS is a private company, Mr. Stark, it’s not affiliated with anyone’s school.” He shrugged then, “I’m no teacher, just a part-time independent contractor with the league.”

“Right, right,” Tony nodded along as if he had known this, like Peter had reminded him of something that had blurred in his memory, and not things that he had never bothered to learn to begin with. “Independent contractor, huh? You know you have fewer rights than an employee in that case, more personal liability.”

Peter snorted at that, the sound far more derisive than Tony would’ve expected from someone who — well, someone who looked like him. Who was so jovial with the girls. Who was wearing that silly blue jersey.

Peter asked, “What are you, a lawyer?”

Tony straightened his back and tugged his sleeves where they were rolled up, “Yes,” he said sternly, “I am a lawyer… Family law.”

“You’re a divorce lawyer.”

“You don’t know that!” Tony snapped, not sure why he felt so keen to defend himself. Maybe it was because Peter wasn’t even looking at him, the kid was just scanning the parking lot.

Tony blustered on, “For all you know, I could work on child abuse cases! Or adoption! Or — or marriage equality!”

“Oh yeah?” Peter’s voice had a bit of a drawl to it, almost like he was mocking Tony, “My apologies, Mr. Stark. Do you work on child abuse or adoption or marriage equality cases?”

“… No.” Tony admitted slowly, twisting away from Peter and digging for the flask in his pocket again, “No. I’m a divorce lawyer.”

“Hmm,” Peter rolled the butt of the cigarette in his fingers. Then he stretched and stuck it into his backpack.

“What?” Tony asked, practically biting back the snarl in his voice.

“Nothing,” Peter answered lightly, though his next words were anything but, “I just figure, all that time and effort for a law degree. You’d think the least you could do is actually help people. You know, focus on environmental or immigration law or something.”

“Hey, it’s being a Manhattan divorce lawyer that pays your peewee soccer salary.”

“That’s more of a stipend.” Peter said, “And I doubt you’re really the one who pays it. Do you sign your own checks, Mr. Stark, or is that delegated to your personal assistant?”

Tony opened his mouth to snap back, but he was distracted when a red Honda pulled up in the parking lot. The windows were rolled down and loud hip-hop music poured from the speakers. The driver honked twice and someone shouted, “Pete!”

“Sorry to cut this short, Mr. Stark.” Peter hopped off the picnic bench and his charming, friendly smile was back as he grabbed Tony’s hand to shake it again, “It was nice meeting you. We’ll see you next week.” And then he jogged across the park to catch his ride.

Tony watched him go, taking another sip from his flask.

Week 2

The Dolphins won their second game of the season; but at 1-0 it was due more to their goalie’s saves than anyone performing or scoring exceptionally well. Tony wore slacks and a starched shirt; everyone grumbled and sweltered under the heat again.

The only person who seemed unfazed by the temperature was Peter Parker. He was as happy as he had been last weekend — as happy as he always was during practice, according to the other parents — and he kept up with the girls for every second of the game. He cheered and whooped and laughed alongside his players, keeping up a quick substitute rotation to make sure everyone stayed hydrated.

Tony wasn’t sure why, but he found the coach’s presence… hard to ignore. It was something about his curly hair plastered to his forehead, the way sweat trickled down the back of his neck and matted his uniform to his skin.

After the game, the team met to debrief about how they’d done. They ate their orange slices and drank their Gatorade and thanked Peter and the field emptied. Tony took Morgan to Pepper’s car and then lingered next to his Maserati, watching across the field.

Peter was talking to the teenage referee. They were too far away for Tony to hear what they said, but he got the sense the conversation was amicable and friendly. They split the leftover oranges between them, and the ref waved as he left the park.

Tony watched Peter’s shoulders slump. The young man trudged over to the picnic bench where he withdrew a lighter and a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, toying with the tupperware of oranges

Across the parking lot, Peter’s eyes met Tony’s.

Tony cocked his head at the young coach. Technically, he had work to do at home. Needed to prepare a few briefs and finish a case for trial next week.

You’re burning daylight, his father would have said. He shouldn’t be dawdling at the park when there was work to do.

But there were four mini-bottles of chardonnay in the backseat of the Maserati, and Tony didn’t need all of them. So he pulled out two of the bottles and crossed to the picnic bench.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Stark.” Peter waved his cigarette in greeting, Tony felt like even the smoke coiling off the end looked weighed down by the heat.

“It’s nice to see a coach as invested in the game as the girls,” Tony said, settling in beside Peter without being asked. Peter politely switched the hand holding his cigarette, so it was hanging on the other end of the picnic table. Then he held out his box of oranges and Tony took a slice with a little nod.

He offered one of the mini wine bottles to Peter, “Thought we could celebrate your second win.” He said, then raised an eyebrow, “That is, assuming you’re legal?”

Peter scoffed, “I’m twenty-three, Mr. Stark.” And he took the bottle. The plastic cap squeaked as he unsealed it, Tony opened his own, almost able to convince himself he was sipping lemonade as the tart flavour coated his tongue. He bit into the orange slice, wondering if there was a metaphor here for vodka shots and lime.

“Twenty-three… done with school?” Tony asked. Just like last week, they weren’t quite looking at each other. They were facing the parking lot.

“No, I’m a part-time student.” Peter said, “Over at QCC. I work most days at Target,” He recapped his bottle with a little sigh, “The coaching gig covers my tuition and books and stuff.”

“You live in Queens?”

“Born and raised.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Peter laughed, the sound barking and tinged with defense at the insult.

“No, I just…” Tony drained the small bottle in his hand, “It’s a long commute.”

The park where the girls played was up in the Bronx.

“Right, I heard last year they used a field in Chelsea… but I guess you weren’t around much then.”

Tony twisted to stare at Peter, taking in a hard breath to snap at him, but the kid waved his cigarette vaguely, “Sorry, Mr. Stark. It’s just… parents talk.”

Yeah, of course they did. Pepper might not be running her mouth, but Tony had no doubt that every other parent at Summit let their tongues wag before and after practice on Thursday.

“Pepper and I get along great,” he said, tucking his chin into his hand, “And the rest of it isn’t anyone else’s business.”

“At least part of it is Morgan’s business.” Peter answered, his voice entirely too calm. “She had to agree, right? For you to get her one night a week?”

Tony’s tongue scraped against the roof of his mouth. What the fuck did this kid know? Nothing. He was a working-class community college youth soccer coach who listened to PTA gossip.

When Peter took another drag, Tony snapped, “You know smoking’s a filthy habit.”

Peter didn’t seem the least bit fazed. He just said, “So is using blackmail to undermine the partners at a rival law firm… or did I misread that headline last week?”

Tony pursed his lips, “That wasn’t… blackmail. All I did was —”

“Get them to bungle cases by threatening to expose unsavoury personal information?”

“You know, that story leaking to the press wasn’t easy on me either!” Lord knows, Pepper had made a comment about not wanting Morgan influenced by unethical behaviour. And he’d fought so hard already for the one day of custody.

“Well, you’ll bounce back Mr. Stark. You’re pretty rich, after all.” Peter passed him the empty wine bottle as he stood up. Tony looked out at the parking lot and the red Honda that had just pulled up.

“Remember to recycle that,” Peter said. His eyes lingered on the bottle before he hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and turned to walk out to the parking lot.

Week 3

Tony wasn’t at Morgan’s third game. When conspiratorial parents raised questioning eyebrows and sympathetic smiles with Pepper, she waved them off, “he’s just working through the weekend.”

“Yeah,” Someone muttered under their breath, “Working through his third bottle of Jack.”

Pepper pursed her lips.

“Hey, come on, everyone!” Everyone turned as Peter jumped around to face the parents, “Are we here to talk about boring adult stuff or here to cheer on our girls?”

Everyone’s attention returned to the field.

The Dolphins lost this time, mauled 4-0 by the Tigers.

Week 4

“Missed you last week, Mr. Stark.”

Tony was wearing sunglasses, khakis, and a blue polo shirt. He sat down next to Peter with a little sigh, stretching his knees.

“I heard you lost last week,” Tony chuckled, “But won again today. Maybe I’m your good luck charm.”

Peter shook his head, digging in his backpack for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter.

“The more likely scenario is that last week the other team had finer control of the ball and a heavier offensive strategy allowing for more shots.”

Tony muttered under his breath and pulled his flask out of his pocket. After taking a sip he said, “Coach Parker, I don’t think I like you.”

Peter just laughed at that, “Oh come on! What did I do?”

“Every time I see you, you insult me!”

“That’s not true,” Peter lifted his cigarette to his lips, “All I do is tell you the truth.”

“The truth can be insulting.”

Peter didn’t have a quick answer this time, he just thought for a moment. Finally he asked, “Does that mean it shouldn’t be said?”

Peter watched Tony take a long gulp from his flask. Then he opened his backpack and fished out a bag of Funyuns.

“Best not to drink on an empty stomach, right?” Peter’s eyes met Tony’s and they looked insistent, like the snack was mandatory or something.

Tony hesitantly took the chips and peered into the half-full bag, wrinkling his nose. But he reached in and took a bite, grimacing at the grease left behind on his fingers

“Ms. Potts told everyone you were working last weekend.” Peter said, “I was surprised you’d give up your day with Morgan just to help tear a family apart.”

Tony bit his tongue alongside the next Funyun and he turned his whole body to face Peter, “Divorce law does a lot more than just divide families! It protects peoples rights and assets, keeps them safe, it can even” — in the case of his relationship with Pepper — “improve relationships in the long run.”

“Sometimes,” Peter admitted, fishing his hand into the bag in Tony’s hand. “But not the way you do it.”

Tony scowled. Peter opened his backpack again to light a second cigarette, which was a first in the time Tony had known him.

“How much do you smoke a day?”

“About a pack,” Peter answered, “less than I used to. How much do you drink a day?”

Tony felt his lip curl at the question, “I don’t know. Three or four drinks a day, probably.”

Less than he used to.

“And how much did you drink last Friday?”

Tony crushed the bag in his hand and balled it up as he stood, throwing it down on the bench.

“Goodbye, Coach Parker.”

He had taken about three steps when Peter called after him, “Morgan needs better than this from you, Mr. Stark.”

Tony whirled around, clapping his hands hard to emphasise his words, “No, nuh-uh. Don’t you dare talk to me about what my daughter needs from me! You are twenty-three years old, don’t have a degree yet, work at a damn Target! You —” Tony huffed and shook his head, not looking at the young man, “Don’t pretend like you know what’s going on in my family.”

Peter tilted his head to the side. His eyes were brown, dark and rich like the soil under their feet.

“Look Mr. Stark, I don’t want to overstep but clearly I’ve done that already,” Peter paused for a moment to put his cigarette out on the table, it left behind a small black circle on the wood. Peter continued, “But when I met Morgan, you know the first thing she said to me? She said ‘Coach Parker, I’m so excited this year because my dad is finally allowed to come to our games every weekend.’ She said, ‘I get to sleepover at his place on Friday’s and he’s gonna watch me play on Saturday.’ She said, ‘I’m playing for him.’ For you, Mr. Stark. Now I don’t wanna get all sappy on you, but my parents died when I was little, and I sure as hell would’ve liked for them to see me at soccer games growing up. You’ve got the chance to be that for your daughter and you’re wasting it.”

Tony sucked in a sharp breath, the sound landing harshly in the air between them. They were both quiet, both still, but not looking at each other. Tony moved slowly, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself; he folded his arms over his chest and reached to adjust the sunglasses on his nose.

He meant to tell Peter off again, to snap that he should mind his own business. But when he spoke, Tony just heard his own slightly-strained voice, “What do you want me to do, kid? Quit cold turkey? That’s a lot easier said than done.”

“How many second chances do you think Ms. Potts will give you? I bet you’ll be lucky to get more than one.”

Tony scoffed and turned away from Peter, “You don’t get it.” He muttered, “You don’t understand the stress of it all, of work and family and — and everything. What if I was asking you to stop smoking, huh? Bet you wouldn’t do that."

Peter froze, mouth hanging open on his response, eyes flickering with apprehension.

And then he said, “That’s a good idea, Mr. Stark. We’ll do it together, I’ll quit too.” And he unzipped his backpack again to hold his lighter and pack of cigarettes out to Tony.

“What? Right now?” Tony felt his cheeks flush.

“Might as well,” Peter said, jerking his hand to make Tony take the cigarettes and lighter from him. “Here, give me your flask Mr. Stark. You’ll have to get rid of anything you have at home, and I will too. It’ll be good for us.”

Tony kept staring at him, still trying to catch up with how readily Peter had decided to quit smoking — and just to help Tony? No, he must’ve been looking for a reason to quit anyway.

Tony reached for the flask in his pocket and passed it to Peter, managing to bluster out, “Can’t help but wonder if you’re just trying to get some free alcohol from me, Coach.” But if Peter found this funny, he didn’t laugh. In fact, Peter took the flask and uncapped it, emptying the contents onto the grass. Then he stuck it into his backpack and zipped up the pocket again before jumping to his feet.

“I gotta run, Mr. Stark, but I’ll see you next week. No drinks until then, promise!” Peter left the field at a jog. Tony turned to watch him, and wondered how long the Honda had been idling in the parking lot.

Week 5

Peter’s normally-weary expression stretched into a smile as he jogged across the field.

“Coach, it’s almost time to start! Where were you?” The girls giggled as they flocked to him.

“I had something this morning and had to come straight here.” Peter laughed, high-fiving each girl and rotating them to face the field, “Did everyone go say hi to the ref already?”

Tony tuned out the players’ high-pitched voices and Peter’s elementary strategy. Peter was wearing pressed khakis and a collared shirt. His top few buttons and the collar were popped hastily, like he’d ripped a tie off not moments before sprinting to join them across the field.

Their team lost this week. But the temperature had dropped considerably now that it was October. And there was far more cheering and giggling on the field than usual. So Tony figured the score didn’t matter much as long as the girls had fun.

After the game, Tony watched Peter sit at the picnic table and he scoffed when the kid reached to unzip his backpack. Of course he hadn’t made it a week.

But Tony’s barb never made it past his lips. As he approached the table, Peter pulled a pack of gum from his backpack and unwrapped a piece.

Tony passed the stainless steel water bottle he was holding between his hands. He took a sip right before sitting at the table.

“Whatcha got there, Coach. Nicorette?”

Peter snorted, “Just good ol’ Orbit, Mr. Stark. I can’t afford Nicorette. What’s in the water bottle?”

“Soda and lime,” Tony answered, passing him the bottle in an offer to check. Peter waved him off. After a moment, Tony asked, “Is nicotine gum more expensive than what you were already spending on cigarettes?”

Peter’s brow furrowed and he made a little “hmm” sound. But he didn’t actually answer, making Tony think he was on to something.

Peter’s eyes flickered down to Tony’s hands and the little tremble there. Tony cleared his throat and clenched his fists to try and stave off the shaking. His gaze lingered on the edge of Peter’s collarbone under his shirt and Tony asked, “So what were you looking so spiffy for this morning? Job interview?”

Peter reached a hand up toward his throat, lingering on the top button of his shirt. He seemed to consider the question, like he was wondering whether or not to tell Tony the truth.

“I have synagogue on Saturday mornings,” Peter said, his fingers twitching like he didn’t know what to do with them when not holding a cigarette. He ended up crumpling and then smoothing out his foil gum wrapper over and over again.

Tony tracked the anxious movement and snorted, “That make you nervous to tell me?” Or the girls for that matter, he hadn’t quite answered when they’d asked before the game.

Peter’s eyes flickered to Tony and then back to the parking lot. He cleared his throat, “No, I just… it’s my business. And I don’t wanna… risk anything with your parochial school crowd.”

“You’re the one who said club soccer isn’t affiliated with the school,” Tony reminded him.

“Well I’m sure if I got fired or transferred to another team, it wouldn’t be the first time a parent over there flexed their antisemitism.”

Tony barked out a laugh, more from nervousness than anything else. What was he supposed to say to that? Peter wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Saturday morning synagogue,” Tony mused, “Is that why our games are never in the morning slots?”

“Yeah, special request with the league,” Peter said, “If our games are in the afternoon it gives me time to change and get up here… usually.”

“Part of the reason I don’t get Morgan the whole weekend is because she likes going to church with her mom. She’s real involved with her, uhh, sunday school or youth group or whatever it is.”

“You ever thought about taking her yourself?”

Tony laughed harder than the question warranted. He squeezed both hands hard where they were clasped around the water bottle, “I don’t know if I could really step foot inside a church, Coach. I’d burst into flames or something,” he flicked his hand idly in the air.

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark. I think a little faith, a little community… it’s good for everyone… especially people like us.”

People like us. What did Tony have in common with Peter Parker? Maybe that they were trying to break habits.

Tony took a drink from his bottle, letting the soda fizz and pop inside his mouth as he thought over what Peter had said.

Finally he replied, “Maybe.”

Then the Honda pulled up and Peter climbed to his feet. He passed a little slip of paper to Tony and said, “Congrats on getting through your first week, Mr. Stark. They say that’s the hardest.” And then he walked away.

Tony looked down at the golden star sticker Peter had passed him. 

He rolled his eyes and decided to throw it out once he got home. But in his efforts to occupy the irritable trembling of his hands, he ended up peeling the sticker and putting it on his water bottle instead.

Week 6

“Come on girls, you’re doing so great!” Peter gathered the players in close for a huddle. There were just 30 seconds left in the game and the Dolphins and the Scorpions were tied 2-2. Tony smiled fondly at the sight of Peter — wearing his matching blue jersey this time — crouching down so he was eye-level with the girls.

“Okay, I don’t want you girls getting all in your heads about this, alright? But you’ve got each other to rely on, we wanna pass the ball to Amy or Morgan to take it straight up the side of the field. You know Manhattan during the Second Titan War? This is just —”

Someone giggled, “Manhattan during the what?”

Peter faltered for a moment, “Y’know,” he said anxiously, “At the end of Percy Jackson with the — never mind, forget it. You know at the end of The Ruins of Gorlan when —”

“Ruins of what?”

“Coach, what do you mean?”

“Oh god,” Peter hung his head in mock exhaustion, “I don’t know what kids like anymore. Help me out, what are you all into right now?”

This invited a clamour of input from the young players:

“Coach have you heard Jojo Siwa’s music?”

“You should watch Teenage Bounty Hunters!”

“Have you guys read Six of Crows?”

“Ooh, what about Bridgerton!”

“Wait, hang on, Bridgerton?” Peter repeated, “My god, you girls should not be watching that.” This prompted a current of laughter through the team. Across the field, the ref whistled for their timeout to end and Peter waved to show he had heard, “Okay we can continue our pop culture lesson later. Right now someone get the ball to a striker and just try your best and have fun!”

The game ended in a tie. True to his word, Peter pulled out a pen and paper and jotted down dozens of recommendations after the game for shows to watch and music to listen to and books to read.

Tony took Morgan out to Pepper’s car and then fumbled in his trunk for a while. He could feel Peter’s eyes on him from the picnic bench, knew the kid was wondering whether Tony would join him today.

Tony approached the bench with a tupperware in each hand, he lifted them up as he approached Peter, “I figure if we’re not drinking we could at least enjoy a little something at these picnics.”

Peter took his tupperware with a laugh and opened it, raising an eyebrow as he peered inside. He sounded doubtful as he lifted up one of the toothpicks, “And, uhh, what exactly is this, Mr. Stark?” Peter speared one of the appetisers but didn’t pick it up, he just fixed his eyes on Tony.

“Prosciutto-wrapped shrimp stuffed with goat cheese,” Tony announced, trying not to sound as smug as he felt. He reached over and nudged Peter’s leg, the action felt a little unnatural, “Figured you could use a break from ramen or mac and cheese or whatever students are eating these days.”

“Prosciutto-wrapped shrimp stuffed with goat cheese,” Peter repeated. He sounded stunned, but not out of reverence. It was more like he’d just gotten really bad, unexpected news. Peter knocked the toothpick over onto its side and shut the tupperware before passing it back to Tony, “I can’t eat this, Mr. Stark. I appreciate the thought, though.”

“Allergy?” Tony asked mildly, trying not to let his own irritation or disappointment leak into his voice.

“Nope.” Peter answered, and he smirked a little bit.

Tony stared at him for a long time, but Peter didn’t offer an explanation.

Which meant Tony probably knew why Peter couldn’t eat it. So what did he know about the kid? He worked at Target, he had the coaching gig, he was from Queens, on Saturday mornings he went to —

“It’s not kosher.” Tony said suddenly.

“It might actually be the least kosher thing you could’ve offered me,” Peter said, clearly struggling to contain his own laughter.

“God, I’m sorry Coach.” Tony knew he was blushing hard and he turned away. Even he could admit that was a pretty messed up thing to get wrong.

“It’s, uhh, it’s alright Mr. Stark. You didn’t —” But Peter had to stop to lift a hand over his mouth, still stifling his laughter.

When Peter finally recovered, his face was flushed and his eyes were bright.

Then he said, “You can call me Peter.”

“Well, you can call me Tony.”

Peter nodded and looked down at the grass. One of his hands fidgeted with the zipper of his backpack. Tony set the tupperwares down on the opposite end of the bench, hoping to put them out of sight and out of mind.

“How’s quitting been?” Peter asked.

“It’s uhh… it’s been okay.” Tony said, “I think maybe it helped that I’d already cut down a lot to begin with…Mondays are probably the worst.”

“That’s the beginning of the week, a lotta work ahead, and you don’t see Morgan until Friday, right?”

“Right, right…”

They were both quiet for a little while.

Tony asked, “What about you?”

“Umm, it’s been weird because the folks I was friends with at work were the people I took smoke breaks with. But now I don’t see my friends as often and they’re always inviting me for breaks…it’s become kind of a thing.” Peter said. Then he added, “But I haven’t — I mean, I haven’t smoked.” One of his hands traveled up to rub the back of his neck. After a moment he said, “My aunt’s proud of me, and my roommate’s helping so… that’s good.”

“Is your roommate the one who picks you up?”

“Yeah, she comes up here for a ceramics class on Saturday. Drops me off at the field and picks me up afterward. She’s great.”

Tony wondered at use of the word roommate instead of girlfriend for a young woman Peter was living with. Maybe they weren’t dating. 

But before Tony could figure out how to ask, the roommate’s familiar red Honda was pulling up.

“I’ll see you next week, Mr. St — Tony.” Peter smiled at him and clapped Tony on the shoulder as he stood up to leave. The touch felt stilted and peculiar and at the same time not close enough.

Halfway across the field, Peter turned back around and shouted, “Oh! And if Morgan hasn’t watched Bridgerton yet, don’t let her!”

Tony waved to show he had heard.

Week 7

Everyone wore light jackets to a chilly game. Tony lingered with Morgan and Pepper afterward, discussing the possibility of a friend sleeping over with Morgan at Tony’s apartment next weekend.

Once he’d gotten food from the cooler in his trunk and was headed over to the picnic table, Peter was busy with his phone pressed to his ear.

Tony stopped a few feet away. Close enough to hear, far enough to politely pretend he couldn’t.

“No, yeah, I completely understand…” — Peter shot a strained smile in Tony’s direction — “It’s fine… yeah, yeah definitely… okay… yep, sure thing. Yeah… Okay, bye.”

Peter hung up biting his bottom lip. He reached to wipe underneath his eyes as Tony approached the table.

“Everything okay?” Tony asked, remembering their conversation a few weeks ago about Peter getting fired or transferred.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Peter said, his voice a little bit thick and rasping in his throat, “I uhh… just a date that got canceled.” Peter chuckled and wiped his eyes again, “Apparently I was looking forward to it more than I thought I was.”

“Oh,” Tony sat down and slid a tupperware to Peter again, “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling peculiar because he thought he might be lying. Of course, he was sad that Peter was sad. But a cancelled date didn’t trouble Tony much.

In fact it almost —

“If it’s any consolation, she’s missing out.” Tony declared.

“Uhh… he.” Peter said, clearing his throat and rubbing slow circles over his chest. He wouldn’t meet Tony’s eyes when he clarified, “he’s missing out.”

Oh.

“Right then. He’s missing out.” Tony repeated, feeling something strange — a flicker of excitement, maybe? Or just interest — in his chest.

Peter opened the container Tony had given him and his eyes got apprehensive again.

Tony jumped in, “This is something you can eat,” he reassured Peter immediately, “It’s sliced sirloin steak with mint chutney.”

“Sirloin steak,” Peter repeated.

“Yes, which is beef. Not pork or shellfish. So you can eat it.” Tony said, shooting him a smile.

Peter lifted his eyes to meet Tony’s, a smile twitching on his lips.

“Oh god,” Tony groaned, already reaching for the tupperware, “Please don’t tell me —”

“Sirloin isn’t kosher.”

“You’re joking,”

Peter shook his head, giggling again, “Come on Tony you’ve lived in New York your whole life, I’m sure you help host cocktail parties all the time. How do you not know this?”

“Usually it’s someone else’s job to worry about these things!”

“I’m not letting you choose what we eat anymore. I’ll bring something next Saturday.”

Tony smiled, neither of them pointing out that they’d never made a formal agreement for these picnics or these meetings. That there were plenty of other opportunities to eat throughout the day, that this could all stop or fall apart just as easily and arbitrarily as it had started.

“I’m so sorry, Peter.” Tony took the tupperware again, reflecting that it was a damn good thing Morgan didn’t have any dietary restrictions.

“It’s okay,” Peter shrugged, “Maybe I should be less picky about it. I’m not exactly stellar at following all the commandments — hell, I work every sabbath.”

Tony sighed, “If America starts worrying about keeping sabbaths, the whole country’s gonna be in trouble.”

“Might actually be good for us,” Peter mused.

Tony thought about the paperwork and phone calls and work functions waiting for his attention at home, and the respite a few words with Peter provided on Saturday afternoons.

Burning daylight, his dad’s words echoed.

But he hadn’t had a drink in three weeks.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed softly, “Maybe a break now and then would be good for everyone.”

Week 8

Dear Families,

The health and safety of our players and coaches is our number one priority here at MYCS. Therefore, due to wet field conditions and inclement weather, we have cancelled today’s games. To maintain the season schedule and team match-ups, games scheduled at our indoor clinic sites are also cancelled. 

We look forward to seeing you on the field next week!

Manhattan Youth Club Soccer

Week 9

Peter was smoking when Tony approached him after the game.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Tony tried to keep his voice light and teasing, wanting to smother his indignation and frustration at the sight of the pale grey smoke drifting into the sky.

“I’m sorry, okay!” Peter didn’t sound very sorry. He held his cigarette up helplessly, “But midterms really got to me and tonight’s Halloween so it’s more like social smoking anyway! I promise no more cigarettes after tonight!”

“Social smoking?” Tony scoffed, and he swiped the cigarette straight out of Peter’s hand, making the kid jump a little at how close he got. “I’ve got as much of a social calendar as anyone, kid, and I haven’t had so much as an after-work beer in over a month. You can even ask around my firm because people have noticed,” Tony raised an eyebrow at him, “When did you start again?”

“Just a few days ago.” Peter grimaced and wiggled where he was seated, “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, you said you were gonna quit smoking.” Tony said, “And you need to keep your word.”

Especially if Tony was expected to keep his.

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek and his fingers twitched but he didn’t argue with Tony.

“Come on, kid, promise me you won’t smoke when you go out tonight.” Tony sat down next to him and put an arm around Peter’s shoulder, pulling him close and playfully nudging at his arm. The boy laughed and leaned into the touch. Then for a moment they were both still, perhaps realising how close they were.

Tony pulled his arm away and Peter leaned back in the other direction, “I promise I won’t smoke tonight,” He sighed, and he even reached into his backpack to hand Tony his pack.

“I thought smoking wasn’t cool with young people anymore,” Tony huffed.

Peter shrugged and dug around in the bottom of his backpack for something. He finally unearthed what he was looking for and passed Tony a cupcake, “My roommate MJ made them.”

Peter unwrapped the paper around his own cupcake and licked at the icing spilling over the edge.

When Peter spoke, he sounded almost helpless, “It’s… I don’t know, it’s a work-hard play-hard mentality, you know? Like, drinking’s cool until you can’t control it, smoking’s fun until you can’t make it up two flights of stairs, eating junk food is something to be championed as long as your weight’s healthy, it’s okay not to sleep as long as you keep your grades up. But all those things… they have that line. And it’s really easy to stumble across it and then… and then hide the fact that you couldn’t control yourself.”

Tony broke off a piece of the cupcake and took a bite, the icing immediately stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed, thinking over what Peter had said, then prompted, “So what? All of your friends smoke at clubs or on weekends, and it’s okay so long as that’s the only time they do it?”

“Right,” Peter said, “It’s like… treat yourself but don’t wreck yourself. But once we crash we don’t… we don’t admit it, we don’t show that side to each other.”

“It sounds like you need better friends.”

“…That’s not it, exactly. Cause they’d be there for me if I told them — like, I told you MJ was happy to help me quit smoking. Or- or if I were to end up with an alcohol or eating disorder then they’d be there for me but…”

“You just don’t want to admit it to yourself?” Tony suggested, a familiar feeling settling in his chest. He looked down and continued, “Cause if you admit it to someone else and they promise to help, then suddenly that means you need to improve. Means you need to stop —”

“And maybe I don’t want to stop yet.” Peter finished for him. They looked at one another, their eyes meeting for the briefest moment before tearing away like they’d cut into one another.

“Because no matter how bad you know it is for you, you like the way it feels.” Tony added.

Peter looked down at Tony’s pocket, where he’d stuck the pack of cigarettes. Tony ate the last of his cupcake; Peter turned his over in his hands.

“I am gonna stop,” Peter said, but he sounded uncertain, “Starting today. I’m gonna stop.”

Tony didn’t answer. He couldn’t decide if he believed Peter. This was a battle people had been fighting for millennia. And people stronger and weaker than Peter had all tried; some of them succeeded, most of them failed.

“What are your plans for Halloween?” Peter asked, his voice trembled and Tony told himself it was because of the damp chill in the air.

“Well, the father of a nine-year-old has slightly-less exciting Halloween plans than a college student,” Tony chuckled, “But Pepper invited me to her parent’s house in Long Island. We’re gonna take Morgan trick-or-treating out there together.”

“That’s fantastic, Tony! Congratulations!” Peter turned to him with a grin so bright that Tony could’ve sworn the grey clouds above them started to scuttle away at the sight.

“Thank you,” Tony shifted and straightened his jacket, all but preening at the young man’s excitement. “But the only reason I’m allowed to go is because my drinking is under control these days.” He didn’t know why he was being so obstinate about Peter smoking again or the importance of quitting. After all, he hadn’t even been that inclined to quit drinking entirely. But now that he was doing so well and Peter — his accountability partner, in some respects — was struggling, he wanted to insist that the boy could do better.

It wouldn’t be hard to do better than Tony. It usually wasn’t.

“Yeah, I get it,” Peter heaved out a sigh, “I’m quitting, I promise. No cigs tonight, no more.”

“Not even if we get rained out next week,” Tony added and Peter scowled but shifted to cross his heart.

“Yep, I promise.”

Then they both were still for a moment, staring at each other. Both wanting to ask the same thing and not knowing how to go about it.

“We should… I can give you my number, in case we do get rained out.” Peter finally said, almost breathlessly, “That way —“

“Yeah,” Tony nodded and hurried to pull out his phone, “Yeah, that way we can still check in.”

“Right,” Peter agreed, “To check in about everything and — and it’s probably good to have my number as Morgan’s coach anyway.”

“Yes!” Tony jumped on the suggestion, “Yes, you’re exactly right. So if anything happens —”

“—We can stay in touch.” Peter finished for him.

Week 10

“Another win, well done.” Tony grinned at Peter as he sat down. Peter had a beanie on today along with his coat and gloves.

“Thanks, Tony. They’re an impressive group of young women,” Peter smiled and unzipped his backpack. Today he dug out a plastic Target bag and revealed water crackers and thin slices of smoked salmon.

“Was that sitting in your backpack all morning?” Tony asked doubtfully when Peter assembled a cracker and passed it to him.

“It’s forty-five degrees out, it’ll be fine.”

Tony took a bite, holding his hand up to catch the crumbs that spilled down his shirt. Peter ate his whole and then reached to put together another one.

It was pretty chilly today. And Tony didn’t like that because it meant, of course, that the season was wrapping up. The days were getting shorter, and usually that meant there was less daylight as winter approached. But this year felt different, like he was in the sunlight more. Or maybe just noticing it for the first time in years.

“You’ve won a lot of games, are there play-offs or anything?” He asked. Maybe there would be a few more weeks then, if the Dolphins played well.

“Not at this division,” Peter said, wiping his hands on his pants, “Morgan’s pretty good, though. I bet she could join the classic team next year, they’ve got a division for ages ten to twelve. Then she could move up with the league or just focus on her school team.”

“The classic team?” Tony repeated.

“Yeah, it’s competitive youth soccer. They travel sometimes, play overtime, have a little tournament, that sort of thing. I can send you the try-out information if you want.”

“Hmm… I don’t know if I want Morgan getting so competitive so early,”

“Sure,” Peter said, “We wouldn’t want her getting any outlandish ideas like going to MIT at age 14 or anything.”

Tony felt a grin slide onto his cheeks and he turned to look at Peter, “Now where did you dig up that?”

“It’s in your bio on your firm’s website.”

“You read my lawyer bio?”

“Summa Cum Laude from Harvard Law School, contributor to the Journal and the Times, specialisations in prenuptial contracts, and spousal maintenance.” Peter recited, “Admitted to practice in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. Your were listed in Forbes’ 30 Under 30 list, you were the youngest to become partner at your firm, and of course we can’t forget your impressive number of over two hundred and fifty successful high-net-worth divorce cases.” Anger and accusation crept into Peter’s voice now, “Tony I’m dying to know, what qualifies as a successful divorce case? Does that mean your client succeeded in leaving their spouse destitute for the rest of their lives? That you successfully helped them betray the promises they made when they got married?”

Tony wanted to shout. He wanted to have a smooth, suave reply — probably the same one he’d used with Pepper fifteen years ago when she’d confronted him with something similar. He did believe in his work, at least sometimes. And he knew divorce helped a lot of families.

But at the same time he felt an unpleasant sensation of shame creeping through his stomach at the bite in Peter’s words, at his disgust with the clinical term spousal maintenance.

“It’s just my job, Peter. I’m just doing my job.”

“You ended up a divorced alcoholic, I think you might’ve let your work and home life blur too much.”

The red Honda pulled up. Peter climbed to his feet but he hesitated before crossing the grass.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, “I didn’t mean to… I got ahead of myself, I guess. I don’t want you to —”

“You should go,” Tony’s voice caught in his throat and he waved vaguely in the direction of the parking lot, “Go, it’s fine. I understand.” He managed a thin smile, “Believe me, I’ve heard worse at work.”

“I’ll… I’ll see you next week, then?”

“Yeah,” Tony cleared his throat and couldn’t meet Peter’s eyes, “Yeah, next week.”

Week 11

“Hi Peter.”

“Hi Tony.”

The picnic table was divided today, half of it in the sun and half of it covered by shade. With the cold temperature outside, they both stared at the seat in the sun until Tony gestured to it and said, “go ahead, sit down.”

Peter hesitated, but eventually he sat.

Tony stayed standing, hoping it meant his shivering was less visible.

Peter rifled through his backpack and unwrapped a small loaf of bread. He haphazardly broke off a chunk to hand to Tony.

“Did MJ make this?” Tony asked, taking a bite and smiling at flavours of pumpkin and cinnamon.

“My aunt,” Peter said, “You can sit down,” he scooched over slightly, so he was just on the verge of falling off the bench. But when Tony didn’t move, Peter went on, “I’m sorry about what I said last week. I shouldn’t have insulted your career so much. Sometimes my words just get ahead of me and… I don’t know. Like we talked about before… hurtful things don’t always need to be said. Not even if they’re true.”

Tony took another bite of the pumpkin bread. He chewed and swallowed, letting the silence stretch between them. Finally he said, “It’s okay. You gave me a lot to think about.”

“Is that why you made a big donation to UNICEF last week?”

Tony looked at the crumbs clinging to his fingers, he rubbed them together, his skin cracked and dry under the cold air.

“I’m gonna start thinking you have a Google Alert set up for me or something.” He said it too late, after too long of a pause, so the joke didn’t quite land, but Peter put a soft smile on sweet lips.

“It was a nice thing to do.”

“I just…” Tony stuck his hands into the pockets of his pants and looked out toward the parking lot, “I was thinking about what you said. About why I do what I do. And I kept telling myself it’s so I can provide for Morgan, get her the private school education, soccer team, put her through college, all that but… I’ve done that. I could do it ten times over. So… why not give to help other children too.”

It had made his week feel brighter too.

Peter offered him another piece of bread and Tony took it.

They both ate quietly for a few minutes.

“You’re still not smoking, right?”

“I’m not smoking,” Peter’s head bobbed, “And you’re not drinking?”

“Nope,” Tony swung a little bit, moving anxiously to keep warm. His eyes shot out to the parking lot again. “And I should say thank you for that. It’s… it’s made things a lot better with Morgan, and at work, even with Pepper. And we were getting along pretty well to begin with.”

Pepper had always seen too much good in him. It was the very thing that got them together and then split them up.

“I’m glad,” Peter sounded strained, “If you keep on with it — with not drinking. Do you think the two of you might be able to reconcile? Or work things out?”

“No,” Tony said immediately, “No, that wasn’t really… our marriage was broken before the alcohol.”

Peter smiled, and he almost seemed pleased by Tony’s words. But he just said, “I guess it’s a good thing you know that. Or — that you acknowledge it, I guess.”

Tony clasped and unclasped his hands.

“Peter, you…” Tony trailed off. Peter wrapped the pumpkin bread back into its tinfoil, looking up at him expectantly. “In September, you — you really jumped at the opportunity to quit smoking. Why was that?”

Tony had to assume it hadn’t just been to help him.

Peter didn’t answer, and all of a sudden Tony remembered that they didn’t know each other very well. That Peter was just Morgan’s soccer coach who he talked with for twenty minutes once a week. That Peter didn’t owe him anything, and certainly not the answer to a rather personal question.

But before Tony could say never mind, Peter spoke. His voice was steady, “My uncle smoked. He died of lung cancer about eight months ago. And I don’t… he was a really great man, and he could’ve had a lotta years left in the world with his family. I don’t want my aunt to have to go through that again.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,”

Peter’s lips curved into a smile, and Tony remembered when he’d said the exact same thing a few weeks ago. When Peter had told him he was born and raised in Queens. Now the same words spoken in the same place were somehow much more genuine.

“Thanks,” Peter said, “What about you? You didn’t have to stop drinking, not really. And you certainly didn’t have to take up sitting here with me after games. What’s that been about?”

Tony thought about his two-story apartment on the upper east side with floor-to-ceiling windows and a glass fireplace and open floor plan and marble kitchen and mahogany desk.

And no one there.

“I… getting to have Morgan once a week is really great,” Tony said, “And after she leaves on Saturday it just feels…” His throat closed up and he couldn’t finish. Couldn’t bring himself to utter the word lonely.

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “I understand.”

Before he left, Peter gave Tony the rest of the pumpkin bread.

Week 12

The Dolphins’ last game was on a sunny afternoon and everyone lingered afterward to take photos together and congratulate each other and discuss the best route to the restaurant where they were having their end-of-season dinner. Morgan asked to drive with Tony and the restaurant staff welcomed players and parents to a back room that someone’s mom had the foresight to reserve.

Once they were settled, a card was passed hurriedly between hands for all of the girls to sign before Peter showed up. When he stepped into the back room, tugging off his hat and gloves and scarf, it was to a round of applause and cheering and exclamations of gratitude.

They ordered burgers and chicken tenders and french fries and wings and sodas. Salt crystals and crumbs crunched under their feet on the floor. Tony didn’t know when the other parents had coordinated a gift for Peter, but he smiled and nodded when someone’s dad passed it to the young man and said it was “from everyone”.

“Oh, thank you. You didn’t have to do this,” Peter grinned, opening the card to look at all of the players’ signatures. Then he turned over the gift card and his grin got impossibly wider.

“This is perfect!” He laughed, and when he looked up his gaze was fixed right on Tony, “I go to Target all the time!”

Tony choked on his Pepsi.

Peter gave each girl a small handmade award and thanked them for their hard work and talked about his favourite moments during the season.

“Coach, are you gonna do the spring season too?”

“Nothing would make me happier,” Peter smiled, giving the players closest to him a high-five.

Then the energy of the party settled a little bit. Almost everyone focused on their food and their own conversations. Pepper invited Tony to Thanksgiving at her parent’s, Morgan talked about the winter concert coming up for their elementary band program.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony knew that he was too aware of every move Peter made. Of every laugh from his end of the table and every time his arms shifted under the yellow light inside the restaurant. He let Morgan chatter with her friends and pretended to pay attention to Pepper’s conversation with a couple other parents, but mostly he was just focused on Peter.

So when platters of brownies were brought out and Peter pushed his chair back with a polite promise to “be right back,” Tony found himself standing up too.

Tony followed him out, thinking that Peter was probably just going to the bathroom.

But instead Peter ducked out through the front door of the restaurant. Tony went after him, moving too fast, thinking about how hard it was to quit and how difficult it was to admit to a problem  and —

Peter was standing outside on the curb, watching the street, no cigarette in sight.

Tony walked up behind him and said, “I thought maybe you stepped out for a smoke.”

Peter turned to look over his shoulder, “No,” he said, his smile gentle. It was different from the public, exaggerated smile he used with the girls and the other parents. “I’m not smoking anymore, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Tony said, stepping closer to him. Their elbows were almost touching, and Peter turned to face Tony more fully.

“I’m gonna miss chatting with you,” Peter said, and his cheeks were rosy. Tony thought it must be from the cold air around them.

“I have your number,” Tony reminded him, “So… just because it’s the end of the season, that doesn’t mean we need to stop… seeing each other.”

Seeing each other. He could put that forward, and let Peter be the one to decide what it meant.

Peter smiled again, and moved half a step closer. His hand lingered on Tony’s forearm, his fingers cold.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Peter whispered, squeezing gently. Tony felt his own hand moving, finding Peter’s waist, they were so close like this. And anyone looking at them would see it too, would know.

The sun was setting around them, casting the street in cool purple light. But even with the days so short and the nights so cold, even with neither of them doing anything, Tony didn’t feel like he was wasting time out here. He was just being, just living, just soaking up each ray of sun multiplying in Peter’s eyes.

“We should… go back inside,” Peter said, voice a little choked off at the end, his breath ghosting across Tony’s skin.

“Yeah,” Tony swallowed hard, “Yeah, we wouldn’t — wouldn’t want to be missed.”

But neither of them moved.

Peter closed what little space remained between them.

Tony’s lips were sweet and sticky from the sodas they’d been drinking; Peter’s tasted like the salt and grease of french fries and chicken tenders. But there wasn’t a trace of whiskey or smoke between them.