a/n: happy late holidays ✨🎁🎄

"Peter!" Pepper smiled softly and folded a bookmark into the pages of her book. "I didn't know you were coming over today."

Peter shifted on his feet and smiled back at her. "Hey, Pepper. Sorry for coming unannounced, then—Mr. Stark said that he needed my help with something. Uh... Do you know where he is?"

Pepper hummed. "My guess is that he's in the kitchen. He said something this morning about making cookies." She gave a wary look. "Not entirely sure how well that will go, but... If he has his heart set on something..."

"Right," Peter huffed with an easy grin. He set his backpack down next to the couch. "I'll go and check, then."

Baking cookies is... not what Peter expected. It started with a text message early in the morning, he had seen it right before he got on the subway to Midtown. Just a simple request, asking if he wanted to come over after school to help him with: "Important intern business. You know, as a rookie."

So clearly, Peter thought he was signing up for another "retreat." He was expecting to show up and to talk Avengers business, hero stuff, the kind of thing that Tony usually talks to him about—and cookies were not on that list.

Maybe it was a Certified Avengers CodeTM, something that he wasn't clued into yet because Tony was right; he was just a rookie. (But this rookie was eager to learn, so Peter was here and ready for whatever came his way.)

The hallway of the compound that Peter trailed down was decorated corner to corner, the lights wrapped delicately with pine garlands and plastic snowflakes hung from the ceiling. Holidays were readily approaching, it seemed to breathe in every corner and blossom into poinsettias and holly, and—

Peter came to the end and tilted his head around the corner.

In the kitchen, the illustrious Anthony Edward Stark was hunched over a red and gold mixer, slowly tipping a huge bowl into it. All at once, the content fell heavily into the mixer and up came the flour in a huge white cloud.

"Shit—" Tony coughed and turned his face away from the mess. He dropped the bowl and quickly rummaged for the lever to turn the mixer off. "Geez, that's bad. Haven't snorted this much white powder since my college days."

Peter blinked.

"...Boss. Peter is in the doorway."

Tony's head shot up and he grinned. "Pete! Come on in. Don't think about the thing—the joke that I just said a couple seconds ago."

"Right..." Peter walked in. "Uh. What are you doing, Mr. Stark?"

"Cookies. I texted you about it, remember?" Tony grabbed a towel and wiped the flour of his face. "Thought it'd be a fun little bonding opportunity or something. A get-to-know-each-other opportunity."

"Oh."

Closer inspection of the counter was less impressive. A perfectly opened box of baking powder was dichotomously covered and surrounded in the same material. There were cloth towels saturated in water and some brown liquid that Peter guessed was vanilla extract by the smell, all piled up in a disgusting and dangerous mountain near the electrical outlet that the mixer was plugged into.

Peter dubiously looked up at his mentor. "Have you ever... made something before?"

"Excuse me?"

"No no no!" Peter quickly shook his head. "Not like that—I mean like—Have you ever baked something before?"

Tony looked up and pursed his lips. (If Peter didn't know any better, he'd think it was Tony trying to remember the last time in his entire long life that he had actually baked. Peter did know better. He was right.) Then he nodded. "Yeah, I made Pepper an omelette a few years ago."

Peter squinted. "That's cooking."

"It all goes in the oven," Tony shrugged. "You know, you turn the heat to 400, plop the thing in there, then just check in on it every few minutes."

"Please say you're joking."

"Whatever. That's not the point." Tony took a breath and turned. "Do you know how to make cookies? Because I am royally screwing this up."

Peter laughed quietly. "Um... Yeah. I can help. Do you have a recipe?"

"Yes!" Tony clapped his hands and walked to the other side of the kitchen. He brought back a piece of paper, which Peter took and looked over.

"Rum cookies?"

"Wait. Crap, can you even help me make these? It's got alcohol in it. You're not twenty-one." Tony took the paper back and looked over it again. "I ate them as a kid, but that's not saying much."

Peter snorted. "The alcohol gets cooked out. It's fine, I promise. We just won't add a lot if you're so worried about it."

"Worried," Tony scoffed. "More like responsible."

Peter moved forward to clean up the towels, putting them to the side. Then he sweeps the various baking ingredients off the counter and into his hand to throw away. He quickly washed his hands in the sink before walking back over to Tony.

"So what's in this already?" Peter peered into the very full mixer.

Tony scratched the back of his head. "Uh... Two cups of something or other and... You know what? Let's just scrap it. Start fresh."

Tony took the bowl out from the mixer and tossed the contents into the trash. He blew away the flour that came up and shut the garbage can quickly, then returned the bowl to its proper place. "Alright, Chef Ramsay. Tell me what to do."

"First we put in butter and sugar," Peter explained. "So just—You gotta measure out the sugar perfectly. It's like science, you know? Everything has to be at the right amount for the thing to taste the best at the end."

"Eh." Tony put the butter into the mixing bowl and then measured out the sugar. "I think it's fine. It's just a few centimeters below the line, it'll turn out like normal probably."

"Mr. Stark, you know how May's walnut date loaf went?"

Tony made a face. He nodded.

"Yeah, that's because she guesses all her measurements and then says it'll be fine. It isn't fine, Mr. Stark. It isn't fine."

Tony laughed. "Alright! Alright. Fine. Or—Not fine. I got it. What's the next step?"

Peter turned the mixer on and let the sugar and butter mix. He looked back at the paper. "Uh... This recipe says wet ingredients. I'll measure the flour and baking powder in a different bowl. You preheat the oven to... convection three-fifty."

"Convection?" Tony walked over to the oven and pressed a button. Then he put in the temperature. "Alright, done."

Peter took the measuring cup and dipped it into the flour bag. He measured one. Then two. Then he turned to Tony. "Where's your one half measuring cup?"

Tony shrugged. "Eyeball it. You've got the one cup right there, just half it."

"You can't—" Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. "Mr. Stark, if you guess the measurements it's gonna be all goofy. We just—We just talked about that."

"So demanding!" Tony turned and fished through a drawer. He pulled out the half cup. "Got it. Okay. Do we put in the dry stuff now?"

"No, we gotta put in the milk, rum, and vanilla extract first."

"It all gets mixed together anyways, right?"

Peter gave him a look. "You can if you want, but it'll mess up the consistency. Mr. Stark, are you sure you want my help with this? You kinda seem like you know what you mean want to do. I can stop talking if you want—"

Tony paused and looked up. He looked almost regretful, as if he had pressed past some invisible line and he hadn't meant to. Seeing it on Tony Stark was rare altogether, but this time it was directed toward Peter in particular, and he had no idea how to translate it.

Tony then shook his head easily. "I'm just messing with you, Pete. Don't actually change because I'm giving you flack about something. Besides, this would be boring if we didn't have some sort of contention bickering going on. You're a good kid, Charlie Brown."

When the words settled in, Peter grinned. There was such a warmth with that—The patronly acknowledgement of endearment. It was nice to be cared for, and it was nice to know he cared.

"Thanks, dad," Peter joked.

Tony rolled his eyes. "You're obnoxious."

"I'm fantastic." Peter dipped the half a cup into the flour bag and poured it in the separate bowl.

Tony gave a fond smirk and began to measure out the rest of the sugar and spiced ingredients properly.

Peter turned the mixer on and slowly combined the contents. "Can you get the eggnog?"

Tony nodded and came back with a new gallon of the stuff. He opened it up, Peter heard the crunch of the cap as he did so, and then measured out the amount they needed.

"Now we need the rum," Peter turned around. "I don't know where to find that, so..."

Tony snorted. He reached into a cabinet and brought down a fancy looking glass bottle. "Yeah. I bought this special one, it says it has like, coffee in it or something. I thought it would be good for it."

He cracked open the bottle and immediately Peter scrunched up his nose with disgust.

"What the hell?" Peter turned his face away and coughed. "Bleagh. Why are we putting liquid cleaner in the cookie dough? That's so gross."

Tony laughed. "Yeah, yeah. It's just strong. Plug your nose, thespian. I'll pour it in."

Peter stepped back and made a face as Tony poured in the tablespoons.

After Tony had put the alcohol back into the cabinet, the two of them worked on slowly adding in the dry ingredients from the separate bowl.

"Alright. All done," Tony grinned. "Now what? Sheet time?"

"Sheet time. If you put parchment on the sheet then it'll make the cookies come off easier after."

"Noted," Tony pulled a sheet out from underneath the oven and then pulled parchment from the pantry. "Cookie time. Get some spoons, Parker. Most cookies on the sheet wins."

"You're on," Peter pulled two spoons from a drawer and took the mixing bowl off from the stand.

They managed to get half of the sheet each, proving no winner, and the cookies went into the oven.

Peter hopped up and sat on the counter. "Where'd you get this recipe, anyways?"

Tony leaned against the counter opposite to him and crossed his arms. "It's my Mom's recipe."

Peter grew quiet.

"She made it every Christmas," Tony continued softly. "She left all her cookbooks after she died, and I... I never had the strength to make any of them, but I kept every single one."

"What changed?" Peter asked. "If you want to answer. You don't have to."

"I made cookies with her when I was a kid," Tony shrugged. "I guess I figured it would be nice to make some memories."

Peter fidgeted with his sweater sleeve and smiled back lightly. "Thanks for trusting me with her recipe, then. I know it must mean a lot, Mr. Stark."

"She would have loved you," Tony's haunted softness became a proud beam on his face. "I can imagine her in the kitchen right now. She would say you did a great job on her cookies."

Peter folded his hands in his lap quietly.

"You did a great job on her cookies," Tony said.

The oven beeped. Tony got up and took the tray out of the oven, and the smell of coffee and eggnog wafted through the compound. When they cooled down, even Pepper had wandered in to try one.

The cookies were delightful, the best ones Peter had ever had, probably. He took a small bag of them to bring home to May, and while he had thanked Tony before he left the door, he also silently thanked Maria.

It was a nice evening. Not bad for some rookie Avenger business.

Not bad at all.