Tony was already eyeball-deep in bureaucracy BS somewhere Upstate when the DODC showed up at the Tower. He'd left Happy to coordinate the moving, because his attention was better paid elsewhere. Like here, tinkering with the half-done shield. It was one of the first things he'd grabbed and stowed in the back of his Audi, wrapped up almost lovingly with an old, oversized trench coat. Blame it on adrenaline or blatant idiocy, he decided to take refuge in audacity. He strapped the shield over his forearm and draped the trench coat over it, and heaved Clint's quiver and Nat's utility belt – all bundled up in a back pack – over his shoulder, smiled at security, and walked through the sensors.

He carried every single piece from the car to his private workshop. Like hell he'd let some random DODC personnel lay their grubby paws on his stuff. Try, and he'd break their wrists.

That evening though, as he was smuggling in the last of his arc reactors, something went down over Flushing. Funny how nobody alerted the Avengers about a giant cargo plane crashing into a carnival downtown. DODC told him after the fact that the plane was in camouflage mode, so that would explain them losing track of it – oh, come on, really?

The cargo was all plasterwork anyway, so he had no reason to lose his mind over the "mishap". Still no reason to let this golden opportunity pass by. He launched into a hearty tirade of "millions of dollars of investment" and "ultra-dangerous tools" and "global catastrophe scale" – and get this, he was entirely justified. As far as the DODC was concerned, those were real. Tony had to pretend they were, too.

Turned out, so did Toomes and Peter – oh God. When Happy realised the plane had veered off course and sent the DODC to track it down, the battle was already joined. By the time they got there, Peter was already gone, and Toomes was webbed to the crates.

Tony didn't know what to make of that.

He thought, taking the suit away would stop Peter. It didn't, and something inside him blaze with fierce pride. Kid had heart. Throw anything down his way, he'd fight for what's right, simply because that was the right thing to do. If that didn't scream of Steve Rogers…

Tony pulled at the strap behind the shield, just to give it a nice tension where he knew Steve fingers would usually grip. "I don't know how you do it," he grumbled, as he fastened one end of it with a screw. "Always so sure of yourself."

When the next phone call came in from Ross, he was ready for it. He didn't feel that much guilty about roping in Peter Parker into the Avengers – at the tender age of fifteen – now that he knew Peter would never stop. The only sane conclusion here – and there was no debate about it – was to make it legit. Have Peter sign the Accord, gain his rightful place with the Avengers, and receive full compensation, training and support for this high-flying career.

Either that, or Peter couldn't come home anymore. So, coming out really was for the best. Not the happy ending he imagined, but this whole crash course on why-the-Accord-wouldn't-work-as-is was pretty much a lost cause to begin with. As if he could pull Ross' head and ego out of his butt that easily. He should've known. He could relate.

The earpiece he'd fitted on crackled with static. Happy's voice came on loud and clear, "Boss, we're walking up from the parking lot. I'm bringing the kid straight to the foyer."

"You do that. And uh," he glanced upward, and frowned at the CCTV training on him. "You remember how to activate that jammer in your watch?"

"Yes."

"Turn it on when you open the door. I'll take the kid, and you stay close to us."

"… Understood."

He had the glitter and pom-pom ready. He had finger food, the red carpet rolled out, an auditorium full of reporters – all he needed was Peter's "Yes".

"Mr Stark!"

He wanted to give Peter something else, though. He felt like, after all that'd been said and done, he owed this to him.

"You screwed the pooch hard, big time." He grinned the widest he ever had in the last month. "But then you did the right thing. You took the dog to the free clinic, you raised the hybrid puppies… all right, not my best analogy."

He called up the platform where Iron Spider was displayed. He could see the admiration so plainly on his face – hey, could anyone blame him? State of the art piece of equipment right there, as expensive as BARF, just that much more useful. He played it cool, waited patiently for Peter to think about his offer. A room beside Vision? Couldn't top that. He told Peter if he were cool with this, they could make it official immediately. Just step through that door into an auditorium where the press was waiting.

And Peter said, "I think I'm good, Mr Stark. Thank you."

"… Are you turning me down?"

He owed it to Peter to give him a choice. So, maybe it was a test of character after all, who knew?

For Peter, or for the Invincible Iron Man?

At least this time, watching Peter leave him – jog down the steps and disappear into the crowd – felt right. He'd lost people during the mad chase of doing what was right. Making people do what was right. Maybe it didn't have to always end that way.

"Hap, you still got that ring?"

And sweet, sweet Pepper.

"Are you kidding? I've been carrying this since 2008!"

He could do this. Fix things. One step at a time, because right now, he believed that their ideals were worth saving, too.