<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">Over Peter's head, Tony met Bruce's eyes.  He wasn't entirely okay himself -- but he was faking it.  He doubted Peter could see through it, but he knew Bruce would.  Tony needed a time-out, a break from the emotions... but he wouldn't desert Peter.<br/>
<br/>
Natasha followed them into the kitchen and hopped up onto the counter next to where Phil was crimping the crust on an apple pie.  "Get down," he said mildly.<br/>
<br/>
"No."  She snagged a bit of crust scrap and popped it into her mouth.<br/>
<br/>
Phil bit back a sigh and instead brushed a quick kiss to her lips before turning to Peter.  "Welcome home, Mister Parker."  He smiled, a little sadly.  "I'm sure you'd prefer to be here under any other circumstances."  He picked up a small plate and passed it to the boy -- a single cookie, still warm.  "I managed to cull one of the snickerdoodles before they were devoured by a certain archer."<br/>
<br/>
"Didn't know you were Irish, Coulson," Bucky said from the door.  Phil raised a questioning eyebrow.  "S'how Steve's folks -- all the Irish in the neighborhood -- dealt with tragedy.  Food."  He smiled, just barely.  "Nice to see some things haven't changed."  He clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder.  "I'm sure you're tired of hearin' it, kid -- but I'm sorry for your loss."  His eyes darkened briefly with his own grief, quickly pushed aside.  "Leastwise none o' this crew's gonna tell you it's God's will, or for the best, or 'she's in a better place.'  Hated hearin' that when Stevie's ma passed."</span></span>