Chapter Text
“Please, Ezra.”
“No, Peter, I really shouldn't come over.” The teen declines politely for the third time. “I don’t want to bother May. Didn’t you say she was taking this week off?”
Despite the loud chaos of Midtown’s crowded cafeteria and the fact that Peter’s mouth currently has a large spoonful of mashed potatoes in it, Ezra hears his indignant noise of protest loud and clear, and sighs.
“We wouldn’t be at the apartment.” Peter drops unceremoniously, smiling mischievously when Ezra chokes on a bite of paper flavored cafeteria steamed carrots.
“What the fuck, Peter?!” She gasps, dropping the flimsy spork in her hand and tackling him into a hug. “Are you serious?”
Peter had given Tony adoption papers on the man’s forty-sixth birthday last month, hoping to forge a sort of joint custody between Tony and his aunt. Of course Tony had said yes and sent in the papers the very next morning. If all the paperwork went through on time, Peter was supposed to spend all summer with Tony while May went to volunteer with her church over the summer, providing medical care for underprivileged villages all over the world. She took the chance after she opted to transfer hospitals because her hours were becoming too much, deciding to take a perfectly timed summer off between jobs.
“It’s official, we went to court this morning. Man, Ned and MJ are gonna be so annoyed it didn’t happen in time to tell them.” He grins, thinking about how to break the news to the other half of their friend group who are off the grid. Ned’s at his grandmother’s in Peru, and her house has the world’s worst service, and MJ left to be a youth empowerment camp counselor for the summer. “Will you please come celebrate the end of the worst school year yet and the start of the best summer ever?”
“I’ll run it by the fosters.” She capitulates, sending off a brief text to her borderline neglectful but still decent foster parents who would probably rejoice in a night completely alone.
Before the two can keep talking about the prospect of Peter’s new and completely insane life, they are interrupted by the bane of Peter and Ezra’s existence, Flash Thompson.
“What’s up with you two, broke and broken?” He quips, arms folded across his chest above the frankly, annoying salmon button up that makes him look like the pretentious clown he is, in MJ’s words. “Sucks you couldn’t be at the last decathlon competition to see me bring the team to victory, Ezra. While you were off getting a nice massage from your physical therapist I was actually contributing to the team.”
“Flash,” Peter’s sudden boldness is cut off by the end of the lunch bell, Flash stalking away before he can get a comeback in. He looks to his left at Ezra apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. He only has one routine on me and it’s getting tired anyway. I could get a better routine at the improv night at Jack’s.” She jokes, trying to lighten the mood by referencing the seedy bar a block away from her current foster home that Peter joked was most definitely a mafia cover-up if the terrible quality of jokes he’d heard swinging by it once had any weight in the matter.
They had good fries though, so he would sometimes pick a box up to go and swing to Ezra’s fire escape to share a late night snack and regale the highlights of his patrol. Peter had spent a good amount of nights crashed on the plush pillows of the bay window in her foster’s guest bedroom turned Ezra’s room, too exhausted to swing home. He would be in the bed, but the guest bedroom lock worked maybe half the time, so it was better to sleep across the room and have some form of plausible deniability if they got caught.
The pair headed to their last classes of the day separately, Peter’s being advanced chemistry and Ezra’s being psychology, Ezra promising to text him to confirm she was allowed to ride home with Peter and sleep over. Her foster parents, the laissez faire NYC millennials that they were, texted back within two minutes with a simple confirmation, and the plan was set. Peter and Ezra met just inside the gates after the last bell to wait for their ride, and it’s only two minutes before a nondescript black Audi pulls up, Peter excitedly grabbing Ezra’s hand and pulling her towards the car, stopping briefly to be a gentleman and let her in first. Ezra recovers from the whiplash to look up and meet the gaze of a nice looking man with salt and pepper hair and a beard.
“Hey kid, nice to finally meet you.” He greets good naturedly. “I’m Happy.”
“I’m Ezra, nice to meet you too.” She responds politely as the car starts moving.
“Oh, I know. Peter talks about you a lot.” He laughs, a low and calm noise that’s nice in comparison to the deep embarrassment both parties in the backseat feel.
“Happy, no!” Peter groans, face heated.
“No shame in being a proud boyfriend, bud.” Happy grins.
“Good things then?” Ezra asks, recovering from the initial embarrassment and choosing to ignore the implication that she and Peter are an item.
Happy nods, still grinning in pride at getting Peter flustered, and the car lapses into a semi-comfortable silence, soft rock playing from the speakers until Happy pulls into the garage at the tower and Peter jumps out of the car with a quick “Thanks, Happy!”. Ezra follows Peter to the elevator awkwardly after giving Happy a much less rushed thank you.
“Good afternoon, Peter. What floor?” An automated female voice asks as soon as the doors close.
“AI?” Ezra asks, spotting the speakers. “That’s sick.”
“Yeah, she pretty much runs the tower. Her name’s FRIDAY.” Peter explains. “The penthouse, please.”
The elevator takes them to the top floor promptly, and Peter leads Ezra to his room, momentarily stopping to let her take in the floor to ceiling windows along the far wall, the full view of the skyline looming behind them. Peter had gotten used to it to the point that it was just cool now, not existentially dwarfing like it was the first time he had seen it. Backpacks dumped on the floor of his bedroom, Peter and Ezra sit down on the queen bed and flop backwards, the insanity of a chaotic year rolling off their backs.
“I need food.” Peter groans, flipping off the bed.
“Show off.” Ezra mutters jokingly, still splayed out along the bed and refusing to get up, much to Peter’s chagrin.
“I’m going to web you.” He says.
“Gross, I’m up! I’m up!” She groans indignantly, trailing behind Peter into the kitchen and wincing at the strain and pain in her left arm from using it to push off of the bed.
Peter notices immediately, a mixture of super hearing and being in tune with Ezra after years of knowing each other.
“You okay?” He asks, getting out bread and some kind of spread from the cabinet, waiting for a reply before he reaches for the ibuprofen.
“Yeah, jesus.” She says, breathing through the bout of nerve pain. “I did another evaluation at physical therapy and all the moving around must have set it off.”
“Is it a meds day?” Peter asks, starting to spread what Ezra realizes is Nutella on far too fancy looking bakery bread.
“Yeah, I’m not trying to breathe through it today. I want to have fun.” She nods, catching the bottle and taking the right dose, swallowing it dry.
“You’re a psychopath.” Peter comments, sliding a bottle of water and her plate across the counter to her, leading the way back to his room.
“At least I’m not a spider.” Ezra smirks back, settling against the headboard with Peter as he scrolls through Netflix. “Wait, what episode are you on?” She asks, pointing to Love is Blind.
“Four I think,” He responds, finishing his first sandwich and pausing before starting his second.
“Me too!” She smiles, and so they start watching the cheesy Netflix romance, periodically making dramatic anguished noises and comments at the screen.
That’s what Tony came back to, instead of the tame awkward teens watching a movie in the living room weirdness he was prepared for. It was a pleasant surprise.
“Peter, respectfully, you have no taste. LC and Barnett have no chemistry.” He smiles as he hears the harmless banter accompanied by the grating cadence of a girl’s voice coming from the TV.
Peter’s response is cut off by a knock at the door to his room, which is subsequently swung open by Tony.
“Hey kids, how was genius school?” He greets, confidently leaning against the doorway and consciously both ignoring and filing away the flinch that comes from the girl sitting beside Peter on the bed. “Ezra, right?”
“Yeah,” She nods, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear shyly. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.”
“You too, kid. So Peter tells me you’re a people genius?” He asks curiously, Peter never being able to talk about Ezra long enough before Tony starts teasing him about his ‘girlfriend’.
“I like psychology.” She affirms.
“Ah, gotta love shrinks. Anyway kiddos, dinner’s at six. Have fun!”
----
The elevator stalls easily three floors below the penthouse on the common floor where dinner is meant to take place. Against her will, Ezra got dragged down here ten minutes early by Peter so he could introduce her. Ezra won’t tell him, but she absolutely hates introductions. After all, pitching the cliff notes version of herself to potential fosters and adoptive parents for years and having a track record of zero wins by doing so sort of pollutes the whole ‘meeting new people’ thing.
But Peter’s not stupid. He can tell she’s nervous. So he grabs her hand in his, offering a sobering and grounding squeeze, refusing to drop it despite the elevator doors opening, tugging her into the large and open living room space currently occupied by a fairly large group of adults talking and laughing, bordering rambunctious. Peter sees an open space across from the coffee table, leading Ezra to the large bean bag placed below the large TV mounted on the wall.
“Peter, I’m going to kill you.” She murmurs from her spot close to him, knees touching, on the bean bag. “‘Small gathering’, my ass.”
“In my defense, it’s the Avengers.” He responds with a put on coy smile. He’s proud of his accomplishment.
Ezra lets out an insincere “You’re insufferable.” and pushes his shoulder.
Bucky’s the first one of the group to notice Peter and Ezra’s presence, nodding at Peter from where he sits on the nearest short end of the C shaped couch. With a brief tap to Steve’s bicep to get his attention, Bucky gets up and makes his way over to the two teenager’s bean bag, snagging the second one for himself, setting it up in front of them and taking a seat.
“Hi Mr. Barnes!” Peter greets enthusiastically, mindlessly fidgeting with Ezra’s hand, messing with the little fraying edges of the athletic tape helping to support her wrist. He does that a lot. Peter and stillness mix like oil and water. Ezra doesn’t mind, Peter’s contact is a comfort, some of the only comfort she ever gets.
“Hi Peter, congratulations on making it official today.” He greets back, carefully looking towards the withdrawn girl to Peter’s right, not sure how to go about an introduction. Thankfully, Peter swoops in and Steve comes to sit beside him, saving the day.
“Thank you! This is Ezra, I was telling you guys about her while we were training yesterday, remember?” Peter asks, oblivious to the slight mortification Ezra feels at the thought.
“Hi,” They talked about her? How much did they know? Peter wouldn’t tell them everything, would he?
“Hello,” Steve smiles, reaching out his hand for a handshake easily. Ezra takes it instinctually, shaking his hand, intimidated by the way his palm dwarfs hers. Taking the cue, she offers her hand to Bucky, who takes it, smiling kindly at her firm handshake.
“You’ve got a good grip, kid. Peter could learn from you, his handshake is like grabbing a limp noodle.” Steve jokes.
“It is not!” He protests, gripping Ezra’s left hand as if to protest, the jerking pulling on a corner of the tape painfully, the adhesive meant to stay on for a while getting ripped off the skin and sticking to the small hairs, making it sting. Ezra winces, minutely flinching. Before Peter can apologize, Bucky cuts in.
“Are you alright?” He asks, brow furrowing.
Ezra nods emphatically, dislodging her arm from underneath Peter’s and holding it out, showing off the cross shape that covers her forearm and her wrist. “He just tugged on the tape, no big deal. Happens all the time.”
Steve and Bucky nod, calmly sitting back, assured that she’s alright.
“You wear that all the time?” Steve asks curiously, no judgement.
“Not all the time. I have weird joints.” She explains with a put on pleasant smile. It doesn’t necessarily make her sad to talk about it anymore, it’s not as sensitive because after a few years, most of the ambiguous big medical questions are answered. It’s just the way it is now, adjusted to the new normal. With her guarded smile still on her lips, she dismisses their concern. “It’s a whole thing, I won’t bore you with all the medical jargon.”
“As long as you’re fine.” Bucky nods, receiving a nod back from Ezra.
“Physically she’s fine. Mentally, she’s insane.” Peter kids.
“You do a presentation on criminal psychology one time.” She mutters, blushing.
“Ezra, we were ten.” Peter snorts.
“You still decided to be my friend.” She bumps his shoulder with hers, turning towards Steve and Bucky. “He did his on Mr. Stark.”
“I should pretend to be surprised.” Steve huffs a laugh.
“Well I am a lovely person, Cap.” Tony defends lightly, coming out of the kitchen. “Pizza’s here.”
Ezra stays seated for an extra second, her and Peter waiting for the adults to get up first, then following the group into the big open kitchen to find boxes of pizza stacked presumably by topping types, a stack of paper plates on the island. Still keeping a comforting hold on Ezra's hand, Peter leads them to the one open box of cheese pizza. Peter sets down his plate onto the counter, using his left hand to place three slices onto his plate and set two on Ezra’s for her. Neither teen senses the amused and curious watchful eyes of the rest of the group on them.
Natasha smirks at Steve when Peter wordlessly grabs a can of coke and a can of pepsi, handing Ezra the pepsi on the way back to the living room. Peter sets his plate down on the coffee table to drag their bean bag closer to the group, flopping down on it while Ezra chooses to gingerly sit instead. Steve and Bucky return to their spots on the short end of the couch, the long end and other short piece occupied by Natasha, Tony, Rhodes, and Bruce. The conversation is easy, Ezra sits back and listens, taking in the group dynamic around her. Peter must love it here, getting to stay with so many fiercely devoted people who all possess the same internal spark of momentous passion that Ezra sees in Peter. It’s community. It’s family, and now it’s Peter’s home.
Peter’s lucky to have two.
“Where are you from, kid?” Steve asks suddenly, easy smile on his face.
How do you answer that? Born in Brooklyn, raised in Brooklyn, then Manhattan, then Queens, then the Bronx for three concerning days when she was ten in a foster home that had a floor more clutter than carpet, and back to Queens. She would say the city but that’s not what he’s asking and she knows it.
“Huh? Oh, Brooklyn, I’m from Brooklyn.” Ezra decides after a moment of contemplation, nose twitching.
“I knew you were from the city when you folded your slice.” He grins. “You go to school with Peter?”
“Unfortunately.” She jests.
“I thought you wanted to be roommates at MIT?” Peter throws a hand up to his chest, fake scandalized. “Are you filing for roommate divorce before we even graduate high school?”
“I’ll see when you draft the roommate prenup, Parker.” Ezra responds, fiddling with the crust of her pizza, only using her right hand, the left clenching in a fist, resting on the bean bag between Peter and her. Peter feels the movement and offhandedly glances between them, noticing.
“Excuse us Mr. Steve, Mr. Barnes. Be right back!” Peter excuses, tugging Ezra into the kitchen and leaving the two men on the couch, confused.
“That was weird.” Bucky comments. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know. She just seems shy.” Steve speculates, arms crossing and leaning into the couch, opposing Bucky’s leaned over stance with his elbows on his knees.
“Hold on,” Bucky says, taking Steve’s and his trash and heading to the kitchen before Steve can stop him from ‘accidentally’ seeing what’s going on.
Two seconds later, Bucky leaves the kitchen followed momentarily by Peter and Ezra, Peter holding a new can of coke. Ezra fixes her hair twice on the way back to the bean bag, using her right hand, the left firmly kept in the pocket of the burnt orange harem pants. Bucky shoots Steve an ‘I’ll tell you later’ look and shrugs as if to say whatever it was was no big deal. Conversation stays casual after that, ice cream is served for dessert, all the adults grinning knowingly at Peter when he makes Ezra’s bowl for her without questions, adding the toppings easily, receiving a bashful thank you from Ezra, though they can’t make out what he says to her after that.
“Thank you! Someone has taste!” Tony announces as he walks past the bean bag holding Peter and Ezra, on the way back to his seat, ruffling Ezra’s hair. Ezra sends him a confused look, and he holds up his bowl, near identical to hers: Stark Raving Hazelnut topped with caramel and gummy bears. Ezra’s bowl, thanks to Peter, is heavy handed on the gummy bears, but that’s hardly something to complain about. Ezra, after recovering from the initial shock of the hair ruffling, smiles, holding her bowl up in solidarity.
“It takes a sophisticated palate to understand the flavor complexities.” She simpers.
“Exactly, kid.” Tony huffs a laugh. “You’re welcome here any time, it’ll be refreshing to have a reprieve from all these squares.”
----
It’s midnight when the movie the pair chose after returning to his room for the night, the animated Lorax, finishes. Sitting up from her hunched position suddenly, Ezra groans.
“Damn it.” She sighs. “I forgot I needed my physical therapy stuff.”
“Oh.” Peter thinks for a second. “Wait, we probably have the stuff in the gym.”
“I could just skip a day.” Ezra says, already laying back into the mass of pillows.
“Nobody’s in there right now, we should go. I can show you around!” Peter offers, jumping off the bed. “You don’t want to disappoint Margaret!”
“My physical therapist’s name is Mark.” She deadpans, exaggeratedly groaning and getting back up.
“I got the M,” He grins.
The gym is surprisingly open, a large room with painted cinder block walls and a concrete floor, open and full of all kinds of gear. Peter leads them past the weights and towards a rack in the back corner, plucking a resistance band off of it. Peter talks, filling up the silence and telling her about last night’s patrol that he hadn’t had the chance to mention yet. Ezra’s on her last rep of an arm stretch, listening to Peter badly sing ‘Let it Grow’, bringing her arms back to her chest from where they were stretched straight out beside her when a door opening echoes throughout the room and makes both teens jump.
It’s Steve, hair damp from a post workout shower, dressed in sweats and an Under Armor shirt, coming out of the bathroom looking perplexed.
“Hi!” Peter calls casually across the room, ears pink in embarrassment.
“Hi,” Steve responds quizzically. “What are you kids doing here at midnight?”
“Arm yoga.” Peter blurts out.
“Oh?” Steve questions amusedly.
Peter makes an affirmative noise and Ezra softly scoffs, huffing a giggle.
“Peter, you don’t need to lie about it.” She smiles, turning to Steve. “I have to do physical therapy every night, doctor’s orders and all.”
Steve looks a little perplexed but drops it, offering the two a pleasant smile and heading to the elevator.
“Oh, alright. Goodnight, you two make sure to go to sleep before the sun’s up.” He waves, stepping into the elevator.
“Yes sir!” Peter answers, turning to Ezra as soon as the doors close and smiling mischievously. “Now we have to stay up until the sun rises.”
“I’m down as long as you give me something for the reflux I got from taking a second ibuprofen at dinner.” She says, walking to the elevator. “That was so embarrassing.”
“I’m not good at making up excuses on the fly!” Peter defends. “Besides, it’s not like we were doing anything particularly nefarious. Also, I don’t know if mixing ibuprofen and antacid would kill you and I don’t feel like testing it.”
“Well we definitely seem sketchy now.” Ezra laughs, flopping onto Peter’s bed and curling into a ball. “I hate this body, I want a new one.”
Peter acknowledges her with a huffy laugh, diving onto the duvet beside her. Ezra’s head shifts to sit on his shoulder and he tries to hide the way his breath hitches.
“The next update isn’t due until August twentieth.” He jokes. “Version sixteen comes out at midnight.”
“That’s gross, don’t remind me that I’m old.” She mumbles into the worn material of his thin Midtown pullover.
“If you’re old then I’m ancient.” He says, inching his right arm to sit around Ezra’s hunched shoulders. “What does version sixteen of Ezra want for her birthday?”
“You’re only ten days older than me, you clown.” She responds, using her right hand to jokingly hit his arm. “Just like the last six times you’ve asked, the answer is nothing.”
“And just like the last six times you’ve answered, you will not be receiving nothing.” Peter insists.
“I despise you.” Ezra smiles.
“Ditto, buddy.” Peter smiles back. “Now let’s finish this season and see who Jessica picks.”