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Roger Harrington is, and has always been, a nerd. He was top of his class in middle school and high school, made the dean’s list every semester of university, and could’ve very easily gone on to do something people would call ‘greater’ than teaching high school science.
But he didn’t want to.
He never had.
Both of his parents were educators. His mother taught middle school math, his father high school English, and he was raised in a house where teachers were spoken about with reverence. They were the people who mattered. The ones who shaped the world quietly, one classroom at a time. So when Roger followed in their footsteps and landed a job teaching bright, eager students at a specialized science and technology school, no one who knew him was surprised.
Least of all him.
It also wasn’t surprising that, even in his free time, he gravitated toward science and education anyway. So when the school offered to pay for one of the science teachers to attend the National Science Teachers Association conference in DC, he signed up immediately. A Friday off and a trip that didn’t involve being responsible for a single student’s safety? That was practically a vacation.
None of the other teachers wanted to give up their weekend for work related things. Roger understood that. He really did. But his divorce had finalized a few months ago, and the quiet of his apartment had started to feel less peaceful and more… empty. Besides, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend a couple of days than learning how to be a better teacher, talking science with people who actually wanted to be there, and existing in a space where none of his kids were around to make it awkward.
Science events in the city were always risky. There was a high likelihood of running into students, and while he genuinely loved his kids, that was one boundary he liked to keep firmly inside the school building. DC, on the other hand, felt safe. The odds of running into a Midtown student here were something like 0.0000008 percent.
He liked those odds.
Day one of the conference had been nearly perfect. Neil deGrasse Tyson was the opening keynote, and Roger still couldn’t quite believe he’d been in the same room as him. He’d barely made it past the opening line — curiosity is a renewable resource — before he was scribbling notes furiously in the notebook that came tucked inside the conference tote bag.
By the end of the day, that notebook was crammed full. Workshops, breakout sessions, ideas he couldn’t wait to try in his classroom. His favorite had been low-cost environmental activities for the classrooms, which he immediately had started a shopping list for on his phone.
Still, the most exciting thing he took away from day one wasn’t even on the official schedule. There was a rumor circulating through the conference halls that because Colonel James Rhodes would be the opening keynote speaker on Saturday, Tony Stark might show up.
Roger was, admittedly, a fan. Less Iron Man, more the engineer behind the suit. There was even a Stark Industries panel slated for the next day — Investing in the Future of Science Education — and Roger already planned to be there early, seated front and center.
With any luck, he might even get to talk to someone about arranging a field trip for Midtown.
That Saturday morning, Roger put on his best suit.
Not the one he’d bought off the clearance rack at Macy’s, thank you very much.
He spent longer than usual in the hotel bathroom, shaving his patchy beard into something more intentional and coaxing his hair into the part his mother always said made him look “put together.” If there was even a slim chance he’d meet Tony Stark — or someone who knew Tony Stark well enough to matter — he was going to look like someone worth talking to.
Downstairs, the hotel’s continental breakfast was already buzzing. A handful of teachers from all over the country had gravitated toward the same cluster of tables, balancing plates of eggs and toast while clutching coffee cups.
“Are any of you going to the Stark Industries panel today?” Grace, a teacher all the way from Texas, asks as she’s stirring her coffee.
“I am,” Roger says immediately, not even attempting to hide his excitement.
“I heard Tony Stark’s actually here,” another teacher adds, leaning over the table.
“I heard it was a possibility,” Roger says. “But I didn’t know for sure.”
“No, he’s here. A few of us saw him yesterday. Dressed way down. He was at Booker Jackson’s lecture. The, uh — Failure Is the Only Honest Teacher seminar. Had some kid with him.”
Roger blinks.
“A kid?”
“Yeah. Looked like a high schooler, maybe,” the teacher continues. “Didn’t take questions or autographs. Kept it real low-key. I heard he also popped into the Bill Nye Q&A for a bit.”
“Mhm,” Blaine, a teacher all the way from Montana, says. “No idea who he was. But they seemed pretty close. Stark didn’t talk to anyone else practically.”
Roger tries to picture it. Tony Stark, voluntarily attending lectures, following a schedule, sitting beside a teenager. He imagines a child prodigy — the kind who could build an Iron Man suit from scratch. Or maybe it was a PR thing. A careful effort to soften Stark’s public image. Either way, Roger finds himself stuck on the same thought.
What must it be like to be the kid Tony Stark brings to science conferences?
The main conference hall is just as packed for Colonel James Rhodes’s keynote as it had been for yesterday’s opener. Responsibility, Innovation, and the Next Generation blazes across the massive screen behind the stage. Roger and the group from breakfast had arrived early enough to snag fourth-row seats, a far cry from the twentieth row purgatory he’d been stuck in the day before.
It feels like a small victory.
“As you all probably know, I work with the U.S. military and I went to MIT for engineering,” Rhodes begins, voice steady and practiced. “But more famously, I might be known for another group I’m a part of. Anyone want to guess?”
“The Avengers!” the crowd shouts back in near unison.
Rhodes smiles, nodding once. “Right. And I’m not here to talk about them. This isn’t AvengersCon.” A ripple of laughter moves through the room. “I’m here to talk about how innovation without responsibility is more damaging than we realize.”
Roger stills, pen hovering over his notebook.
“The Avengers and the Accords just happen to be a very public example of that,” Rhodes continues, pacing the stage. “Without accountability, without responsibility, all the innovation we brought into the world also brought unintended harm.”
Roger shifts in his seat. He teaches teenagers, not would-be superheroes. Not engineers designing weapons or scientists pushing the limits of power.
“I know what some of you are thinking,” Rhodes says, scanning the room. “What does this have to do with me?”
Roger almost laughs. Exactly, he thinks.
“You could be teaching the next Tony Stark. Or me. Or Bruce Banner — minus the big green guy, hopefully.” Rhodes smiles faintly. “A hero’s greatest strength isn’t their suit or their powers. It’s their mind. And when we teach science and technology, we’re not just teaching how to build things. We’re teaching how to decide what should be built.”
He tries to imagine which one of his students could be the next Tony Stark.
“Tony can back me up on this,” Rhodes says suddenly, gesturing toward the front row.
Roger leans forward instinctively trying to see where the man was gesturing to.
A familiar voice carries easily through the room, microphone or not. “That I can. If we’re giving the next generation tools to change the world, we need to equip their brains, too.”
Tony Stark.
There he is. No hiding today. Perfectly styled hair, expensive suit, unmistakable presence. Two rows ahead of Roger, seated like he belongs anywhere he chooses to be.
And beside him — the kid.
Definitely the same one Blaine had mentioned at breakfast. Roger can’t see his face from this angle, but the dark curls are unmistakable, neatly kept. He’s dressed well, too — button-down, tie. A suit jacket is draped over the back of Stark’s chair, and Roger finds himself believing it belongs to the teenager.
Roger’s attention keeps drifting — from Rhodes onstage to Stark in the front row, to the kid beside him. There’s something about the boy that nags at him, something almost recognizable, but Roger chalks it up to occupational hazard. He teaches hundreds of high school students. Of course some things blur together.
By the time Rhodes wraps up, Roger realizes he’s taken almost no notes. As the crowd begins to disperse, Roger closes his notebook and feels a swell of opportunity.
The Stark Industries panel starts in an hour. And this time, he plans on getting a chance to talk to them. .
He splits off from the group he’s been with since breakfast, promising to hold them decent seats once they finish wandering through one of the nearby exhibits. He settles on a bench outside the conference room, notebook balanced on his knee, rereading the notes he’d taken the day before. The flyer for the panel is folded neatly between the pages. Investing in the Future of Science Education. Hosted by Valeria Ramirez, Director of Marketing at Stark Industries, alongside Dr. Lincoln Chen from R&D, and Amara Brooks, who runs SI’s sustainability initiatives.
None of the names are familiar to him. That’s fine. Titles matter less than intent, and if Stark Industries is willing to talk about education instead of products, that’s already a good sign.
Still… he hopes Tony Stark shows.
He isn’t sure how long he sits there. Time slips when he’s reading, annotating, circling phrases he wants to steal for lesson plans. Eventually, voices drift down the hallway, casual and confident, until —
“Mr. Harrington?!”
The voice cracks just enough to be unmistakable.
Roger looks up.
For a second, his brain refuses to assemble the image properly. Tony Stark, unmistakable even out of context. Colonel James Rhodes at his side. Another man Roger vaguely recognizes from the program. And there — close enough that Stark’s arm is slung around his shoulders without thought — is Peter Parker.
That Peter Parker.
His fourth-period AP Chemistry student. Academic Decathlon ringer. The kid who apologizes when other people bump into him in the hallway.
“Peter?” Roger blinks, saying it before he can stop himself.
“This is Mr. Harrington?” Stark asks, looking him over with an intensity that makes Roger suddenly wish he’d spent another ten minutes in front of the mirror that morning.
“Uh – yeah,” Peter says, turning to Stark. “I didn’t know he was coming this weekend.”
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet the kid’s favorite teacher,” Stark grins, already holding out his hand. “Tony Stark.”
Roger takes it immediately, grateful his instincts kick in before his nerves sabotage him. “Roger Harrington. Nice to meet you. Peter’s one of my favorite students, so I guess the feeling’s mutual.”
Stark’s smile widens just a touch at that.
“This is Rhodey,” Stark continues, gesturing, “and Dr. Booker. My favorite teacher.”
“At the risk of embarrassing myself,” he says, because honesty has always served him better than posturing, “I’m a big fan.”
“He is,” Peter confirms immediately. “He’s got posters of your work all over his classroom.”
“Iron Man?” Rhodes asks, deadpan.
“No,” Roger says quickly, flushing. “Mostly Tony Stark. Less… suit, more science.”
Stark looks genuinely pleased by that.
“You coming to the panel?” Stark asks, glancing toward the conference room doors.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Roger says. “I got here early to grab good seats for my friends.”
Stark and Peter exchange a look — quick and wordless.
Stark nudges Peter, who turns back to Roger, suddenly shy. “Do you and your friends want to sit with us? Front row.”
He looks to Stark, who nods once, easy and certain. Almost like he’s encouraging him.
“If it’s not an inconvenience,” Roger says carefully, “we’d love that.”
“Perfect,” Stark claps his hands together. “Let’s go.”
And just like that, they’re moving. Roger jogs a half-step to keep up while his brain spirals through the quiet realization that whatever Peter Parker’s life looks like outside Midtown Tech… it is far bigger than he ever imagined.
When they enter the conference room, the panelists are already setting up. Roger recognizes the woman at the center immediately — Valeria Ramirez, Director of Marketing at Stark Industries. He remembers her from the photo on the program flyer. He expects her to greet Tony first. Or Rhodes. Or Booker.
Instead, she smiles and walks straight to Peter. Peter barely has time to react before she’s pulling him into a hug.
“If it isn’t my favorite Stark,” Valeria says easily. “I tried to get Tony to let you up on stage, but he said no,” she adds, shooting Tony a look. “Ruined my whole plan.”
Peter’s eyes widen. “You didn’t tell me that part.”
Roger’s brain stutters on favorite Stark.
Favorite. Stark.
He’s met May Parker, Peter’s aunt. But suddenly that word feels… flexible. Convenient. He’s seen enough lifetime tv to know when a title doesn’t cover the truth of a thing.
“Putting you up on stage at something this national would be inviting a whole lot of attention,” Tony says, reasonable and steady. “I don’t think we’re ready for that yet.”
Peter thinks about it, then visibly relaxes, leaning back into Tony’s side without hesitation.
Roger looks away before he stares.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t put you to work right now,” Valeria says briskly. “Come on. You too, Tony.”
She steers them both toward the stage, leaving Roger behind with Rhodes and Booker, who exchange a look that says this is somewhat bizarre to them too.
Roger hesitates, then gives in to curiosity. “Is Peter his—”
“Yes,” Booker says.
“Not exactly,” Rhodes says at the same time.
Roger blinks.
Rhodes clears his throat. “He’s not Peter’s father. But he’s becoming it.”
Booker nods. “A version of Tony Stark I never thought I’d see.”
Roger watches Tony and Peter lean over a laptop together, heads close, Peter gesturing animatedly while Tony listens and smiles.
“It’s good,” Roger says quietly. “Peter’s got a couple close friends at school, but some of the kids give him a hard time. I’m glad he’s got someone like… that.”
Both men’s expressions shift at once. Subtle, but unmistakable.
Roger immediately wonders if he’s said too much.
When the panel begins, he finds himself seated beside Peter, his new teacher friends filling the row on his other side. It’s surreal — sitting in a reserved section next to Tony Stark, beside a kid he usually needs to remind to label his beakers properly. Peter takes notes the entire time, focused and thoughtful, occasionally nudging Tony to whisper a comment or point something out on the slides.
Roger gets to ask a question during the Q&A. Tony answers it — not from the stage, but from the seat beside Peter — and addresses Roger directly, thoughtful and precise. Roger writes every word down.
By the time the session wraps, his friends are starstruck and buzzing, saying their goodbyes before peeling off for lunch. They promise to meet him later, clearly delighted by the excuse to brag to the other teachers.
Roger lingers. “Well,” he starts, turning toward Tony and Peter, “it was very nice to—”
“You wanna join us for lunch?” Tony interrupts easily. “We’ve got a reservation across the street.”
“I’d love to.”
Dinner ends up being at an Italian restaurant so far outside Roger’s usual price range that he has to actively stop himself from calculating how many weeks of groceries one entrée could cover. The kind of place where the lighting is low, the menus are heavy, and the wine list is longer than the syllabus he hands out at the beginning of the year.
They’re tucked into a corner booth at the back, away from most of the foot traffic. Tony and Peter slide in on one side together, close enough that their shoulders brush without either of them seeming to notice. Rhodes and Booker take the opposite side, leaving Roger to round out the corner, which feels fitting somehow — close enough to observe, far enough not to intrude.
He can’t help watching them.
“Peter, for the last time,” Tony says, leaning over his menu, “potatoes do not count as a vegetable.”
“But I don’t like any of these,” Peter argues, eyes darting between the menu and Tony’s face, clearly hoping for leniency.
“You ate the broccoli I made on Thursday,” Tony points out, brow lifting.
“That’s because you make it good.”
Tony blinks. “Peter. This is a five-star restaurant.”
“Exactly,” Peter says, lowering his voice as if this explains everything. “Fancy stuff is always gross.” He hesitates, then adds, quieter, “And it’s twenty-one dollars for a side of broccoli.”
Roger snorts before he can stop himself. He really can’t blame the kid. Queens prices had not prepared him for this either. And somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought nags: Tony Stark makes this kid dinner. Regularly, it sounds like. He’s not sure how many people on earth could say that.
“You know he’s going to order five sides of broccoli now just because you said that, right?” Rhodes says, grinning.
“No, he’s not,” Booker cuts in mildly. “Because that would be wasteful.”
His tone isn’t parental, exactly. Not like Tony’s had just been to Peters. But it still holds some authority to it.
Tony and Rhodes exchange a look — quick, loaded — but before Roger can figure out what it means, the waitress appears and derails the moment entirely.
Orders go around the table. Roger keeps his simple, still half-aware of the prices. Rhodes and Booker follow. Peter orders, grudgingly adding the broccoli after Tony clears his throat in warning.
Then it’s Tony’s turn. He orders his entrée.
And then several more. Each one comes with broccoli on the side. Roger’s eyebrows climb higher with every item.
“And have the extra boxed,” Tony tells the waitress easily. “We’ll have them delivered to the homeless nearby.”
He glances at Booker, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. Wasteful, that his look says.
When the waitress leaves, conversation resumes, easy and meandering. Roger answers questions about Peter — about class, about the academic decathlon team, about what he’s like at school. It’s the strangest parent–teacher conference he’s ever attended, informal and sincere and somehow not awkward at all.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter says after a while, poking at the edge of the tablecloth, “do we have time to do tourist stuff tomorrow? I didn’t really get to see D.C. after—”
He stops short, glancing at Roger, suddenly sheepish.
“Oh,” Tony says, turning fully toward Roger now. “Don’t tell me this is the teacher you were with when that happened.”
Roger exhales slowly. That field trip feels like another lifetime. To think Peter had been close enough to Tony even then, close enough for him to know — even if Peter himself hadn’t been trapped in that elevator.
“He was,” Peter says, grimacing. “Yeah.”
Tony shakes his head. “That’s a shit field trip to be responsible for.”
He glances at Rhodes, then back at Roger, something thoughtful settling into his expression.
“You know... how would your academic decathlon team feel about a make-up field trip?” he asks.
And all Roger can do is smile and nod. Thanking his lucky stars that Peter Parker had said nothing but good things about him to his dad.