Work Text:
The Bloom & Strange doorbell rang with the familiar melody of wind chimes, but Stephen barely registered the sound. His long, precise fingers, which had once held scalpels with the firmness of a god, now delicately handled a bouquet of forget-me-nots . The vibrant blue of the small flowers was a soft contrast to the dark green of the leaves, and Stephen felt the familiar peace that the work brought him.
At the side table, Peter, now thirteen years old and with a stack of physics books beside him, was doodling something in his notebook. The boy's presence at the flower shop after school had become a routine for the past two months. A routine that began with the excuse of a science project and evolved into a quiet and essential part of Stephen's life.
"Mr. Strange, what does 'Miosotis' mean ?" Peter asked, without looking up from his notebook.
Stephen smiled slightly, a movement that still seemed strange on his face, but which became easier in his presence near Peter.
"The scientific name is Myosotis , from the Greek 'mouse ear,' because of the shape of the leaf," he explained, with the precision of a professor. "But the popular meaning is 'Don't forget me.' It's a symbol of true and lasting love, and of remembrance."
"Like... when do you miss someone?" Peter asked, finally looking up.
Exactly. To ensure that the person knows they are always in your thoughts.
Before Peter could answer, the door opened again, and the sound of the doorbell was muffled by a familiar grumble.
" Too much green , still. And it smells like wet earth. It's like I'm in a fancy swamp," Tony entered, wearing a cashmere coat that looked far too expensive. He was carrying two mugs of coffee.
"Hello to you too, Tony," Stephen said, without turning around.
" Hello, Doc. I brought your poison. And mine. Yours has more sugar than mine, don't ask me why."
Tony placed Stephen's mug on the counter and leaned in to kiss his temple, a quick, casual gesture that, to Stephen, still felt like a seismic event. They had been dating for just over two months. A courtship that consisted of dinners on Tony's rooftop, movies with Peter, and Stephen teaching Tony not to kill the succulents he insisted on buying.
Peter, oblivious to the subtle tension, simply nodded. "Hi, Dad."
"Hey, kid. Homework?"
"Yes. Mr. Strange was telling me about forget-me-nots."
Tony picked up his mug and leaned against the counter, watching Stephen.
" Forget-me-not. Don't forget me. Classic. I would have chosen something more dramatic. A Black Orchid. Or perhaps a Rafflesia arnoldii ."
" Rafflesia smells like rotten meat, Tony. It's not exactly a symbol of affection," Stephen retorted, finally turning around, with a glint in his eyes that Tony adored.
" It's a symbol that I'm dramatic, Stephen. You know that."
The interaction was light, familiar. It was what Tony called "family." But for Stephen, it was a minefield of insecurity.
***
That evening, dinner at Tony's penthouse was a spectacle of Italian cuisine and lively conversation. Peter was ecstatic, talking about a new robotics project at school.
"And Professor Harrington said that if I can program the robotic arm to hold an egg without breaking it, I get extra points!" Peter gestured with his fork.
"An egg? Easy peasy. I can give you a force control algorithm that..." Tony began, his eyes glistening.
"No, Dad! I have to do it myself!" Peter interrupted, but affectionately. "But I was thinking of using the three-finger pinch principle."
" Smart, kid. Very smart."
Stephen watched the exchange, a gentle smile on his lips. The way Tony and Peter understood each other, their shared language of science, was fascinating. They were a complete unit, a perfectly balanced binary system.
When Peter got up to go to his room to finish the programming, the table fell silent. Tony took Stephen's hand on the table, tracing circles with his thumb.
" What's wrong, Doc? You're quiet. Thinking about which flower represents 'sarcastic billionaire'?"
Stephen sighed, the lightness fading from his shoulders. He pulled his hand away, not out of rejection, but out of a need to gesture.
"I don't know what I'm doing here, Tony. You have a life, a routine. You're... perfect. I'm the florist. The guy who fixes the broken vase. I'm not a father, and I'm not what Peter needs."
The insecurity was palpable. It was Stephen's old wound, the loss of his identity as a surgeon, now transformed into the fear of not being enough for the family Tony was building.
"I'm not a father, Tony. I'm a former surgeon with trembling hands who sells daisies. What can I offer a boy who has you ?"
Tony stood up and walked around the table, stopping behind Stephen's chair. He placed his hands on the florist's tense shoulders and began to massage them gently.
" You're wrong, Stephen. You're not the guy who fixes the broken vase. You're the guy who taught my son that life isn't just about technology. You're the guy he goes to talk to about pollination and the meaning of flowers. You're the guy who taught him to be patient with growth."
Tony leaned down and kissed the top of Stephen's head.
" And you're my guy. You're not here to replace me or to be the 'perfect stepfather'. You're here because I want you. And Peter... he adores you. He sees you as Stephen. The guy who knows everything about stars and thorns."
Stephen relaxed under Tony's touch. The massage was simple, but the comfort was profound.
" I don't know how to be... that. A co-parent."
"You don't need to know. You just need to be you. And if you want to know, you're the best 'it' I've ever had."
Tony pulled him into a tight hug, the scent of Stephen—earth, lavender, and a hint of sandalwood—calming him.
***
The next morning, the sun streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating the marble countertop. Stephen stood there, making coffee, a habit he had picked up at Tony's house. He was wearing one of Tony's shirts, small but comfortable.
Peter came down the stairs, still half asleep, his hair disheveled. He saw Stephen and Tony, who was leaning against the counter, talking quietly. The scene was surprisingly domestic.
"Good morning, Dad. Good morning, Mr. Strange," Peter said, the greeting simple and natural.
He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl and, before running off to get his backpack, turned to Stephen.
"Mr. Strange, can you help me choose a name for my robot? It has to be something... cool and wise. Like you."
Stephen blinked, caught off guard.
"Wise?"
"Yes! You know everything about the universe and flowers. And you have a cool name. I was thinking something like... Dormammu ?"
"No, kid. Definitely not Dormammu ," Tony interjected, laughing.
Stephen looked at Tony, who merely shrugged, a smile on his lips. Stephen's insecurity lessened, replaced by a new and unexpected sense of belonging. Peter didn't see him as a replacement, but as a valuable addition.
"How about... Agamotto ?" Stephen suggested.
"Agamotto ... I like it! It sounds like the name of a robot that knows everything!" Peter smiled, grabbed his backpack, and ran off.
Tony approached Stephen and kissed him gently.
"See? You're the guy who knows everything about flowers and thorns. And now, about robots."
Stephen smiled; the warmth in his chest was no longer strange, but familiar. He was the florist, the former surgeon, Tony's boyfriend, and the guy Peter asked for advice.
He was, in an unexpected and wonderful way, part of the family.