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Penny Parker had a complicated relationship with her hair. It wasn’t the least manageable hair in the world, it wasn’t monstrously dense or down-right paper-thin, but it was a pain in the ass. Double-so when she started putting on a suit and swung around Queens.
When she was fifteen, her hair was long. A year later, her hair was cut four inches shorter. Now, with a few hairpins stuck on straggly pieces of hair in a bathroom that smelt like a weird blend of citrusy orange shower gel and a sweet coconut perfume, Penny was closer than she’d ever been to biting the bullet and chopping it all off in one swoop.
The only problem was Penny’s hair was thick. Thick, borderline-curly, and would turn into an absolutely fluffy, Pomeranian-like ball if she cut it short. It still wouldn’t look flat beneath her mask without the intervention of hair gel, or a tight ponytail tucked back into her head, and that was just bad for her hair. The gel was irritating to have in her hair until her next washday, and over time, she’d noticed thin areas on her hairline where the hair had once been full. It wasn’t confidence-crippling or even noticeable to anyone else, but if she kept doing this, her hair would stay dried out by the gel, and her hairline would end up looking like a professional ballerina’s. It just wouldn’t be the elegant Audrey Hepburn-style pixie cut of her dreams or even one of those bobs she’d seen in Karen starter-pack memes.
Her hair was too hard to braid—not from the back of her head and up or down. But out of desperation to look good for dinner with May, both hungry and probably a little dehydrated, Penny decided to try to do a simple French Braid on her hair. She could do this. She could survive building collapses and bullet wounds. This was her hair!
Not even half an hour later after starting the task, Penny stared into the mirror with a slightly twitching eye. Her makeup was neither uselessly thin nor cake-face-y, and her skirt was flattering without being too tight for the almost-guaranteed food coma belly that would come after dinner, but the mangled mess of hair sticking in many directions negated the progress. And the longer Penny looked at her reflection, she wondered if she should dye it, too. Hibiscus pink, auburn red, butter blonde, all three, who knew?
Penny’s scowl only intensified at the newly-arrived snickering in her bathroom doorway. “Help.”
“I don’t know if there’s any helping that bird nest, kiddo.”
She almost dropped her forehead on the bathroom countertop before remembering that a straight line in her foundation and powder would look pretty weird.
“I’m kidding. That can be fixed,” Mr. Stark said, coming up behind her as seen in the mirror. He looked like he was about to help out and tackle the problem at hand, but instead, he looked her up and down from scalp to ends. Mr. Stark was barely any less at loss at what to do than she was.
“I was trying to French braid it,” Penny explained dramatically. “I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end, it doesn’t even matter.”
“Did you seriously just quote Linkin Park?”
“Absolutely.”
“Also, that’s coconut I smell an obnoxious amount of, right?” Mr. Stark plucked a hairpin out of poofy stray hairs.
“Yeah.”
“Are you trying to become a coconut?”
“Maybe I should. A coconut doesn’t have hair like this.”
“Coconuts can’t wear multi-million dollar super-suits and go to school.”
“I could always be the first.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Mr. Stark pulled out the remainder of the hairpins, paused, and began to gently pull apart fluffy sectors of hair bit by bit while Penny stood idly with a few fingers drumming on the countertop. “You know, you can always cut your hair. It’s kind of surprising you haven’t already.”
“It’ll look terrible if I cut it too short,” Penny whined. “Can you imagine this,” she gestured to all of her hair, “really short?”
Mr. Stark inhaled through shut teeth and didn’t think too long about it. “Yeah, no.”
“Even if it chopped it, I don’t have the time to straighten it twice a week. But tying my hair back under my suit all the time is really damaging my hair to the point where I have a lot more breakage, and my hairline’s a little thinner than it used to be. You’re the only one allowed to have a receding hairline!”
“Wow, thanks, kid.”
“No,” Penny said in realization, “Not just you. Steve’s over a hundred years old, it’s about time he starts losing some hair.”
Mr. Stark snorted. “I’d kill to see that.” He finally got to the point where he could brush out the ends, so he grabbed the hairbrush sitting on the counter and did so gently so he wouldn't hurt her. The last thing Penny needed was yelping from the pain of hair being yanked from her scalp, but weirdly enough, Mr. Stark was actually pretty good at this. Even May elicited a few ‘ow!’s here and there if she ever tried to help Penny detangle her hair. It was just much better that she did it herself, even if it took a while.
But here she was, no doubt running late for dinner with May at their favorite restaurant, and her literal idol-turned-mentor-slash-kind-of-slash-kind-of-not-father-figure was untangling her hair. What a world.
Mr. Stark finally detangled her hair, so Penny moved simultaneously to grab a hair tie and leave, but he brushed her hair from root to ends. “So, French braid, right?”
“Huh?”
“You said you were trying to French braid your hair?”
“Yeah, but it’s okay, Mr. Stark, I was just going to put it a ponytail and go, I’m late as it is,” Penny explained in a hurry.
“Good for you, kid, I can braid in a hurry.” Mr. Stark started to split her hair into three sections when he paused. “A Dutch rope twist kinda deal would be faster, though, since you’re so late.” The buzzing of texts on Penny’s phone made it worse. “Braid or twist?”
Her hair wouldn’t have matched the effort put into her appearance put into a scrunchy at the nape of her neck last second. “Uh…twist, please?” She might as well take his offer.
Mr. Stark separated her hair and began a rope braid from the back of her head and downwards. It wasn’t restrictive and tight like even a looser braid would’ve been but would still stay together while she dashed downstairs. Again, running late, which she seemed to be pretty good at when she least needed to be.
“Um,” Penny started, blinking confusedly. “How do you know how to do hair?”
Mr. Stark was quiet for a few seconds before replying. “I learned when I was a kid. Can't do anything complicated, just braids.” Penny nodded understandingly, but not without pinched brows remaining. “It was relaxing, especially if Howard was yelling, or something.” She regretted even asking once she heard Howard Stark’s name. “So, I’d play with my mom’s hair, or if she’d come over one day, maybe Peggy’s. It wasn’t often, but he really hated it, so it stayed that way.” A hint of a smile crept onto his face before continuing. “I kind of picked it up again a while after Pepper and I started dating, so in the rare occasion that her hair isn’t down or in a ponytail, that’s from yours truly.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t run in fear of you destroying it like you do labs,” Penny teased.
“After all I’ve done for you,” Mr. Stark returned with fake offense, and it just made her giggle. He grabbed a lilac satin scrunchie off the countertop and tied it around the ends of her hair. “Done.”
Penny refocused her vision in the mirror while Mr. Stark backed away. She turned one way and the other, eyes lighting up in glee. “Mr. Stark, thank you, that’s perfect.”
“Like all my hands’ work.” Penny was too relieved even to grace him with a response to that. “Glad you like it, kid.”
Penny picked up her phone to respond to May’s couple of texts and was about to rush out the door—
“Uh-uh, wait.”
Penny stopped and turned around, completely baffled, and eager to get going. “What, what’d I do?”
Mr. Stark had grabbed one of her hairpins, the decorative one with the jeweled sunflower on it. He smoothed back the right side of her hair by her ear and slid it into place, his hand lingering after. Eventually, he realized it, and it left soon after. “There you go.”
Penny took one last look in the mirror and backed away. “Do I look okay?” she checked. “My makeup doesn’t look that dry, right?”
“You look great, honey.”
Penny, in the past, probably would’ve blushed at the affection, especially when she figured out just how genuine it was. Now, she couldn't help simply smiling. She wouldn’t deny it was nice.
Like food. Food she was late for. “I’ve gotta go, Mr. Stark—thank you!”
“You know, if you want, you can always repay my efforts by getting me dessert while you're there.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Stark!”