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Chapter Text

Peter Parker-Stark was very bemused, really, as to the fact that he was travelling to London to sort out some complications with the energy contract Stark Industries had signed with the British Royal Family. 

Stark Industries, was an American-based company that originally made weapons, of course, but after Tony became Iron Man, they expanded to look at clean energy deals and such. This had put them into the global market, as the Arc Reactor’s power was coveted by industries across the globe. Stark Industries had entered into contacts with several governments to use SI’s clean energy for their buildings and interests. 

One such contract was with the Crown: yes, the literal British monarchy.  

Pepper had decided to put Peter himself in charge of the contract with the Royal Family, because when Tony had met the Queen several years back he’d made a fateful joke which had set the tone of their relationship as firmly not-compatible, and Pepper was allergic to all kinds of hats and refused to drink tea, therefore she hadn’t been the right fit for the London trip Peter was about to embark on. Hence, they’d decided to send Peter over to London as the SI representative to discuss the clean energy contract for the Royal Estates. 

“So, your flight is about seven hours, but it’s mostly at night so you can sleep the hours off.” Tony told him as they tinkered on Mark 88, one of the newer suits which Peter was rather fond of. 

“Right,” Peter nodded. “And you’re sure I can take the jet? Pepper won’t need it?” 

“Kid, you’re doing us a massive favour here,” Tony shook his head. “She won’t need it. Besides, you’ll only be there for a few days, tops.” 

“Yup,” Peter sighed. “Get checked in to the hotel, check out what’s going on at the London branch of SI, talk to some royal advisors, maybe see some of the sights, then leave. Should be fun.” 

Tony frowned, and started to say, “I still think I should—”

FRIDAY’s timer cut him off, and both of them jumped as the buzzing rung out. Tony put down his spanner and patted Peter on the back. “Time for food, let’s go.”

Peter had been halfway through finishing the adaptation he was making to the helmet. “But I’ve just got to tweak this…”

Tony shot him a look. “Pepper will murder us both if we ignore the timer.” 

“Please?” Peter asked. 

“One minute,” Tony held up a finger. “One.” 

Tony counted down the seconds as he worked, and Peter was able to get most of his work done before he ran out of time. He reluctantly left the helmet where it was, staring back at it longingly as they left the lab and went up to the penthouse to get some food. Pepper had made some pasta for them, with a simple but delicate garlic sauce to go alongside it. She was serving up the pasta as they arrived in the kitchen, and Tony dashed next to her to test the sauce with a small spoon before it went on the pasta. 

He grinned and then slunk his arms around Pepper’s waist, pulling her round into a hug as she finished with the pasta. Peter smiled softly, one hand on the kitchen island to stabilise him as he watched the display. It was always nice to see them together, especially when like this. The media thought of Tony as the arrogant playboy who flew around in a metal suit, but Peter could only see the besotted husband. 

“Hi,” Tony whispered to Pepper. “Sorry we’re late.” 

“Just in time,” Pepper smiled back, spinning herself out of the hug. “Productive lab time?” 

“Eh, mostly,” Peter replied, thinking about the karaoke session they’d been engrossed in about half an hour before. 

Tony grabbed a bowl of pasta and handed another one to Peter, “We got some stuff done. Sit down, honey, I’ll do the sauce.” 

Pepper gave Peter a glass of water to go alongside the meal and sipped at her wine. There was a couple seconds of silence before she asked, “Looking forward to your trip tomorrow, Peter?” 

He was due to be leaving tomorrow, but as Tony had said, the plane was scheduled for the night. It would mean he would spend several days there and be back in time for the following school week. 

“Yeah! I’ve never been to London before,” Peter swallowed a sip of water and paused to let Tony pour some sauce into his bowl. “It’ll be awesome to travel, as always, and that way I can tick it off the list.” 

Tony had served the pasta sauce and sat down next to him as Peter continued talking about London and his trip in general. 

“I doubt it will be as awesome as Italy was, though,” Peter said, shooting a grin at Tony. They’d gone on summer vacation to Tony’s villa in Italy, the four of them. Tony, Peter, Pepper and May. It had been the most relaxing week of Peter’s life, even though Pepper had flown back early to deal with the company. She’d been working remotely from the villa but apparently that hadn’t cut it and they needed the might of Pepper Potts in person. 

Travelling to Italy had meant he was able to cross it off his travelling list, which had made Peter extremely excited because it was like the most important place on it. The UK had also been on the list, so that was one benefit of the whole trip to London. 

“Anyways, I was saying to Tony, I’ll just stick to going to the London branch, then the meetings and maybe some sightseeing. I don’t really know too much about the UK.” 

Tony made a small noise at that, and Pepper turned to look at him. “What?” 

Tony’s fork twirled in his pasta as he spoke, “I still think I should go with him. He’s never been there before, he might need a hand.” 

Pepper’s eyes widened in alarm at the thought of Tony going to the UK. 

“You are not going back on UK soil,” Pepper angled her fork at him. “I’m surprised you weren’t banned after that catastrophe of a meeting with the Queen. If anyone’s going with Peter, it would be Happy.”

Pepper looked at him, and Peter stopped eating. “Would you like us to send Happy with you?” 

Peter blinked, “Um. No, I’ll be alright.” 

It wasn’t like the Brits spoke a different language or anything. And he was fairly capable, in any case. Tony was just been a worried dad. It was quite sweet, really. Besotted husband and a worried dad. The media really had gotten it wrong. 

“See, he’ll be fine,” Pepper reassured Tony. “Stop worrying.” 

“But I could just go with him,” Tony suggested, and then turned to look at Peter. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”

Peter laughed. “I’ll be alright.” 

They ate, and chatted about work, school, Aunt May and life in general. Nothing of note really came up, just the casual conversation a family would have over dinner. May would have been there, except she was doing the late shift and wouldn’t be back in the apartment until after the dinner was finished. Peter tended to spend the evenings where May was working over at Stark Tower, and then get back late.

“Do you need a lift home, squirt?” Tony ruffled his hair as they finished dinner. Peter had hoped to finish his project with the helmet, but he glanced down to his watch and his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he saw the time. It was late. They must have been working for longer than he’d initially thought. 

“I’ll swing home,” Peter decided. He’d left his suit in his backpack, so he’d just do a quick patrol of Queens on his way back. Kill two birds with one stone. Besides, it made sense because he wasn’t going to be in town for the next couple of days. 

Because he was going to England. 

They let him get his bag and his suit on, and he walked out to the open platform where Tony took off in his own suits so Peter could swing out of the Tower. 

As Peter was about to pull on his mask, Pepper stopped him. “Oh—Peter! Will you be in tomorrow?”

She was, of course, referring to the Tower. Was he going to be at work tomorrow? 

“Eh, I’ve still got some packing to do,” Peter explained. “I got Happy to bring all of the suits I need over to the apartment last week, but I’ve still got some bits I need. So, we’ll see. I might be. Why?”

Pepper called out to him, “Andrew was asking.” 

Huh. He wondered what the Head of the Stark Industries Legal Department wanted from him, then mentally cast it aside. “I’ll send him an email.”  

“If I don’t see you before you go,” Pepper dipped her head at him, “Have a good time, and say hi to Isabella from me.”

Isabella Taylor-Jones was the person who Pepper had assigned to be in charge of the London branch of Stark Industries. Peter had spoken to her a couple times over the phone but had never met her in person. She kept a tight ship. Most of the business was run from New York, but there was quite a lot of admin, hence the other buildings they had in London, Hong Kong and Tokyo. 

“Of course!” Peter grinned. “See you when I get back from London.” 

Tony raised a hand at him as he put his mask on and got ready to take off from the platform.“Alright, Pete. See you around, kid.” 

“Bye guys!” Peter said, and swung off back to Queens. It was a relatively uneventful journey. He helped a couple people out with their bags but no-one was fighting. The district had quieted down ever since he’d started doing his patrols there, which reassured him a little. He swung for a while before swinging into an alleyway, taking off his suit and running into the apartment unseen by any New Yorkers. 

May must have been back for about five minutes when he walked in through the door, and he waved a hand at her as he did so. She was in the kitchen, busying herself with making a sandwich to have for dinner.

“I’ll do it for you,” Peter offered, rushing over to the kitchen. “You can sit down, relax.” 

She shook her head, and let out a chuckle. “I’m alright, thank you, I can make my own dinner. How was the meal with the others?” 

“It was good,” he said, lingering around the kitchen. “We missed you.” 

“What did you have?” May asked, taking a bite of her sandwich as she did so. 

“Just pasta,” Peter shrugged. “How was your day?” 

May told him in detail about some of the patients she’d had to deal with that day and she finished her sandwich. Peter told her about the karaoke session with Tony and the day he’d had at school before letting her chill by the sofa. 

“Larb you,” she called as he went into his room to finish up some packing. 

“Larb you too!” Peter said back and then got back into packing mode. 

The next day was a Thursday, the day of his trip and also, unfortunately, another school day. They'd decided Peter could skive Friday off, because almost nothing happened on the last day of the school week. Also, it meant he could go into the London branch of SI when it was fully functioning. As a result he spent most of Thursday running around getting catch up work from his teachers, which he figured he could do on the plane back, or if he found any down time. There wasn’t anything too difficult that he had to do. 

It was rather weird, really, the fact that he would be in the UK the next day whilst his classmates would be studying calculus. Ned had found it absolutely fascinating when he’d dropped it into conversation about a week ago, and had become ecstatic when he’d found out it was to do with the Royals.

“Will you meet the Queen?” Ned had asked, dead serious. 

“No, Ned, I won’t be meeting the Queen,” Peter shook his head. “I’m just having meetings with royal advisers. She’s much too important to meet with me, in any case.” 

Ned raised his eyebrows. “That’s what you said about the President, and look how that turned out.” 

Touché. He was fairly close with the President of the United States, or as Peter knew him — Matthew. 

But he did sincerely doubt it. Pepper would have prepared him better if he was expected to go and meet the Queen. And it wasn’t exactly like he was just going to bump into her along his trip. 

Principal Morita had thrown a fit when he’d asked for the day off and had cited work as his reason for doing it. Of course, the Principal knew all about him being a part of the Stark Industries team but still got angry about him having to leave school. It made sense, Peter supposed, and he’d have more sympathy for the man if he had valid reasoning. Peter knew all of the stuff he was going to be taught, and far beyond it, there was no necessity in him staying in school other than to socialise with people his age. 

But eventually the man had signed off on it, possibly because Peter had threatened to give Tony a call, and Morita never wanted to handle Tony. Not many people did. 

After the school day, Peter got Happy to pick him up so he could grab his luggage from the apartment before they left for the airfield. He didn’t find the time to go back to the Tower after picking up his luggage so he sent the email to Andrew checking if everything was good and spent the journey to the plane on his phone answering messages from work that he’d had to ignore whilst at school. 

When he got out of the car and saw the familiar private jet that was owned by the Starks, there was a surprise waiting for him there. 

“Tony!” Peter called out, waving the man over. His father figure had been standing next to the pilot (whose name was Jeffords) talking to him. Probably checking the plane was all okay, or some protective shit like that. Ever since their trip to Washington, Tony had become extra protective. 

“I came to wave you off,” Tony explained as he joined Peter and Happy. Tony pulled him into a hug and spoke quietly. “See you later, squirt. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“So…does that mean I should mortally offend the Queen with a joke when I meet her?” Peter joked. 

“Just be safe,” Tony continued. “If you need help, call me. Or use Karen.” 

“I will, dad,” Peter grinned. “See ya later.”

Tony went to stand by Happy and Peter grabbed his bags. Jeffords helped him bring them into the plane and then Peter sat in one of the seats, waving out of the window to his small entourage of people. He and May had said their goodbyes in the morning, and she’d said much the same as Tony. Don’t do anything dumb. 

Peter watched out the window as Jeffords moved them away from the car he’d arrived in. After the flights to Washington and to Italy, he’d mostly gotten over his fear of flying. As the plane lifted off the ground, however, he still shut his eyes, not wanting to watch it. He waited until they were safely in the air before opening them and settling down with the nice folder he’d brought to read on the way — at least until he wanted to sleep. 

He spent about an hour scouring the file for all of the information it had on the energy contract with the Royal Family. It went into significant detail, really, and he got fairly engrossed in it. He had a light meal and then decided to try and sleep. 

By the time he woke up, the majority of the flight had already passed by and they were about thirty minutes from landing. He’d slept well, all things considering. Hardly any nightmares at all, which was fairly rare when he was by himself. There had been some glimpses of the building that had crushed him back when he was just starting out as Spiderman, but Peter had somehow managed to shift his thoughts away from it and directed the dream. Possibly he wasn’t as deep in sleep as normal, so more of his brain was active. 

For the remaining half an hour, Peter dozed, but woke properly when they landed. If it had still been New York time, it would be 4am, but because he was now running on GMT, the time was 9am and he had the whole day ahead of him. Peter had gotten enough sleep during the flight not to feel entirely exhausted, but he knew it would catch up with him at some point. Jeffords escorted him out and showed him to a car. The man stood in front of the car was wearing a suit and shook his hand as he reached him. 

“Mr Parker,” the man nodded at him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I have been instructed to take you to the hotel you are staying in.” 

Wow, he’d forgotten just how British these people were going to be. And the man was on a similar level of posh as Isabella had been back when Peter had first spoken to her over the phone. 

“Call me Peter, please,” Peter smiled and got into the car. The man did so too, settling himself in and then driving away. “So, what’s your name?” 

“My name is Jeremiah Wilkinson,” Jeremiah told him. “I work for the Royal Family, as one of the personal chauffeurs. One of my associates has informed me they have put you in the Ritz, I hope that is to your liking?”

“Um,” Peter paused. “Yeah, of course.” 

He didn’t think it was wise to mention that he’d never been in a posh hotel, let alone one like the Ritz. Flash Thompson probably would have had a better idea than he did, really. He and Jeremiah continued to chat, mostly about his schedule for his time in London. Jeremiah continued to insist he was just a driver, but he seemed to know a lot more than Peter expected him to know, so Peter wasn’t entirely sure. 

The advisers Peter was due to meet with had insisted that he took the morning after his flight off to rest and get used to the time difference — it was weird that they’d skipped five hours. Instead, he’d arranged for himself to spend about an hour chilling in the hotel before walking down to the London branch of SI.

Jeremiah was like the English version of Happy, Peter supposed. Although he seemed very happy to be there carting him around, much unlike the real Happy who was almost permanently grumpy when he had to be Peter’s taxi driver for the afternoons after school. 

“So, yes, this afternoon I will pick you up and take you to the palace,” Jeremiah told him. 

Peter struggled to keep his jaw from dropping. Apparently his sight seeing would be happening sooner than he thought, if Jeremiah meant what Peter thought he did. 

“Buckingham Palace?” Peter checked, letting out a gulp.

“Yes, but the Queen is currently residing in Sandringham, so don’t look so nervous,” Jeremiah glanced at him. 

“Sandringham Estate, right?” Peter had spent some time reading up on the names of the royal residences. He needed to, of course, for the whole business deal. 

“Yes, and you will be going there too,” Jeremiah nodded.  “I believe the advisers wanted you to see it.” 

He had to get a grasp of most of the royal estates, apparently, in order for him to be able to assess the situation as a whole and be able to supply energy for them. It made sense, he supposed. 

Jeremiah drove him from the airfield into central London, and Peter grinned as he saw some of the sites he’d always wanted to see outside the car window. England had always seemed like a distant country, not one he desperately wanted to visit but more of a wistful thought, based on books he’d read and films he’d seen. Videos of people visiting the UK, shots of Big Ben and the London Eye locked in his imagination. People probably felt the same about New York, but Peter couldn’t believe that. NYC was just…home, to Peter. London felt far away, and yet there he was.

So as Peter turned up to the Ritz, he was grinning. Jeremiah dropped him off with the promise to be back and Peter carried his luggage into the fancy hotel. And it was fancy. It had golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the largest bouquet of roses Peter had ever seen on the centre table.

“How can I help you?” A British accent asked, and Peter turned around to face the reception desk. There was a kind woman there, smiling at him. 

“Oh—hi—my name is Peter Parker, I think I have a room here somewhere?” He asked, unsure of what to say. 

“Of course, sir, let me just check the system.” She took a moment to type in his name and then her eyebrows shot up. “Uh—right—”

“Is everything alright?’ Peter asked, worried they might have left him off the system somehow. Maybe he was supposed to give a false name? He really dint know how the royals worked. 

“No, no,” the receptionist assured him. “I’ll take you to your room now.” 

Peter had never been to a hotel where the receptionist took you personally to your own room before, and he found it a little weird, but maybe that was the standard for fancy hotels. As they went into the elevator, the receptionist reached forward to press the button at the top, which had written in little golden letters, “The Penthouse.” 

Peter swallowed. He was beginning to see where this was going. 

Sure enough, the royals seemed to have hired the penthouse suite — the most expensive room in the whole damn place — just for him. The receptionist gave him the key card and she stared at him in the eyes as she said her next words. “If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know.” 

She probably thought he was a celebrity or something. He didn’t dare think about how much this room would have cost for the several nights. Peter went into the room and his jaw dropped. He let his bags fall to the floor, not even caring about their contents. Peter spent a couple of minutes just taking it all in and looking around, and then pulled out his phone to start recording a voice message to Tony. 

“Tony, it’s the penthouse suite. I can see all of London. They’ve given me a mini-bar, all paid for. It’s got so many snacks, it could feed a family of six,” He hissed into the microphone on his phone. “And a whole double bed just for me.” 

It took only a couple minutes for Tony to respond — despite the fact that it was probably about four am in New York time — but by text and not by voice note. 

tony: you’re an esteemed guest, peter, it makes sense. and a double bed is fairly standard for a hotel room.

tony: also, I see they’ve put you in the ritz. have you checked out the spa yet?

peter: THERE’S A SPA????

As it turned out, there was a spa, but Peter didn’t go in it. He simply unpacked his things, laid down on his bed for a bit and scrolled on various social medias, and then got back up again to get dressed in a suit, ready to go out into London. 

Chapter Text

Peter was extremely bewildered by London. He’d googled how long the walk was from the Ritz to the London Branch of SI, his next destination, and had found it was better to take the Tube. He’d wanted to cry as he looked at the map of the London Underground on his phone, but Karen silently assured him that she would do all the work and tracked a journey for him. He thanked the lord for his AI and left his hotel room. The receptionist stared at him weirdly as he walked out, probably because when he’d entered the hotel he’d been wearing like, a hoodie. Donning the suit had turned him from looking like a dishevelled teenager into a businessman, which was probably fairly confusing. 

Even with the instructions, Peter had to get a very nice British lady — of course she was British, they were all British, he was in England — to help him navigate his way to the London branch. And holy christ, these people were insane! The road system was illogical and even worse, the pedestrians jaywalked like it was absolutely nothing, like it was the norm. Peter was practically quaking with fear as he arrived at the London branch. 

England was no longer wistfully romantic, it was downright terrifying. 

No, okay, England wasn’t that bad. He could handle it. He totally could. 

Peter walked into the ground floor of Stark Industries’ London department, located in a tall building in central London, wearing one of the suits Tony had bought for him to fit comfortably in the role of CEO in training. It was smart and simple, and perfect for the job. 

Someone rushed up to him almost immediately. It was a man wearing a badge that said Oliver (Marketing) — Happy would be thrilled to know his badges system applied even on a different continent — and he wore a bright smile as he reached out a hand to Peter. 

“You’re Peter Parker.” 

Peter hadn't expected that, but shook the hand anyway. He’d assumed that no-one would know who he was — he focused mostly on the New York side of SI, and he didn’t exactly have the most familiar face on the planet, like Tony. People from London would probably know his name from seeing documents, but he’d doubted that he would be recognised. 

Clearly he’d been wrong. 

“So…how do you know me?” Peter asked as they finished their handshake — Oliver had been extremely thorough with his shake, quite firm. It was slightly jarring, but Peter felt a strong wave of like for the employee.

“Mr Parker,” Oliver raised an eyebrow and patted him on the back. “Everyone knows you, mate.” 

“They do?” Peter asked, astonished. 

“You’re a legend, we’ve all heard about the situation with the spy,” Oliver grinned, “And all the work you’ve done for the company over the last several months.” 

“Oh, I haven’t really—” Peter shook his head to protest it, but Oliver interjected. 

“You’ve done loads, I’d take the credit, mate.” Oliver smiled. “Anyways, I’m Ollie, I work up in Marketing, communicating with your buddies over in New York. What can I do for you? Adam here,” he nodded at the reception desk where a man was sat, staring at the pair of them, "Is our receptionist and he can take you up to whatever floor you need.” 

“I need to speak with Mrs Taylor-Jones, first, really,” Peter told him. “Just here for a visit, nothing too important.” 

He didn't want to explain the fact that he was meeting with associates of the Royal Family, unsure if that was public knowledge for someone who worked in Marketing. He guessed it wasn’t. 

Ollie made a face that implied he didn’t believe him. “If you’re here, that means it’s bloody important. Let’s go chat to Adam, anyways. He’ll send you on your way, he practically knows Izzy’s schedule off by heart.” 

Sure enough, Adam told him exactly where to go to find the woman in charge, and Peter was instructed to go through the scanners. He glanced at Adam and Oliver. “Do you think I’ll be on the system, if I walk through? I didn’t bring my badge.” 

Oliver shot him a look like Really? 

“Yeah, you’ll be on the system,” Adam nodded, eyes wide like saucers. He’d been like that ever since Peter had approached and introduced himself, practically treating him like he was a celebrity. He wasn’t casual in the way that Oliver had been, and that made Peter feel slightly self-conscious. 

The scanner registered him in the same way it did in New York, just without FRIDAY there to announce his status. Peter walked pleasantly through to the elevator and then waved at Ollie and Adam before they disappeared from view. 

Isabella Taylor Jones’ office was similar to Pepper’s, in many respects. It was light, open, and offered a view of the London skyline that reminded Peter of his room at the Ritz. The woman herself stood at one of the windows, thick documents in hand. She was like the blonde version of Pepper, exquisitely poised and clearly fully invested in her work. 

“Mrs Taylor-Jones,” Peter greeted quietly, not wanting to scare her. 

She turned without a hint of surprise, smiling slightly as she caught Peter’s eye. “You must call me Isabella, I insist. I know you have your whole respect-with-adults thing, but kid, you’re my boss at the end of the day.”

Peter wanted to protest, but he sensed it wasn’t the best idea. “Well, Isabella, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person.”

“Yes, Pepper told me you’d be coming to visit us on the other side of the pond,” Isabella smiled at him. Ah, Pepper had told her. That made sense.

“No inspection, or anything,” Peter assured her, “Just to come and talk to the advisors.” 

Whilst Oliver hadn’t known about the energy contract with the Royal Family, Isabella was obviously in a senior enough position to be in the know. She nodded. “The royal contract, Pepper said you were in charge of it.” 

“I am, managerially speaking, I suppose, although I did have some thoughts on that. I was wondering if I could discuss it with you?” Peter asked. 

“Of course,” Isabella accepted the request gracefully, “Would you like to see the rest of the building as we chat?"

They toured the building, and talked about the contract, as well as making comments about the various departments they walked into as they wandered. Most of the employees gawked at Peter, which he tried desperately to ignore. 

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re a bit of a legend around here,” Isabella clarified and winced as one of her employees dropped all of the files he’d been holding in his hands when he caught sight of Peter. 

“They haven’t even met me, though?” Peter asked, confused at the attention, which he didn’t deserve at all.

“They’ve heard enough, from their American colleagues,” Isabella glanced at her colleagues who were all out of earshot. "Seen your name and face enough times.”

“My face?” Peter inquired, alarmed. 

“Tony sent out a bulletin when you were made the heir, attached with an image of you,” Isabella clarified. “They all saw it.” 

“He did?” Peter felt his face go red. “That’s…I’m going to have a word with him about that.” 

He and Isabella continued their tour, and when Peter’s stomach grumbled (for breakfast, in American time, probably, but it was lunch time in the UK), they got lunch in the cafeteria at Stark, some sandwich that definitely wasn’t as good as Delmar’s. Peter had a BLT and discussed some things about the Royals’ contract with Isabella. As he was based in America most of the time, he wondered whether she would be okay with signing some contracts that gave her power to work on the project too. Peter would still remain in charge of it at a managerial level but Isabella would be controlling the actual work being done on UK soil. 

It just made the whole thing easier, and would save him flying back to the UK regularly — unless there was something that needed his oversight. It did mean that she’d have to come with him to sign some documents at some point. Isabella told him she was free the following day, so Peter invited her to Sandringham and reminded himself he’d have to bring it up with the advisors he was speaking to later that day.

After lunch and a little bit more touring, Peter checked his watch and realised he had to go and find Jeremiah to take him to his talk with the advisors at Buckingham Palace. He straightened his shirt in a mirror he found in the bathroom and let out a sigh. 

All in all, his time at the London branch freaked him out a bit. It was Stark Industries but without any of the familiarity. He didn’t mind Isabella, or Oliver, or anything really, but the way people looked at him was completely different to how they did in NYC. At the New York branch, enough people had seen Peter be run over by Tony’s bots to distinguish that he wasn’t some ethereal being/celebrity that needed to be treated with respect. They respected him, sure, but they didn’t worship him. Most of them, anyways, he thought, remembering the incident in which the interns had given him a crown. 

Anyways, the NYC squad treated him like an actual person, which he missed desperately. Still, Peter thanked Isabella for her time and let her get back to work, jumping in Jeremiah’s car which had been parked outside of the Stark building, ready to take him to Buckingham Palace. 

Jeremiah and him made light conversation as they travelled, ranging from asking about his experience at the London branch to a discussion about Downtown Abbey. It was Happy’s favourite show, of course, and as the English equivalent of Happy, Peter was interested what Jeremiah’s opinion of the show would be. It turned out he despised it, which Peter thought made perfect sense. 

The chauffeur’s face had paled at the mention of it and he’d actually turned to Peter and stared him directly in the eyes whilst apologising for what he called an ‘abomination’. Jeremiah’s favourite show was in fact Friends, which really surprised Peter, who’d been expecting his answer to be ‘The Crown’ or something related to James Bond because of the fact that Jeremiah was basically a spy. 

After that discussion, they pulled up to the Palace and Jeremiah graciously opened the door to let Peter in, wishing him luck. They’d entered round the back of the Palace because they wanted to avoid the tourists, and Jeremiah passed him off to the butler in charge of the Palace. Peter felt like a tourist himself as he walked around the Palace, eyebrows raised at the ostentatious design choices. Except most tourists went to art museums, not Buckingham Palace. 

Ostentatious as it was, Peter couldn’t deny that it was a beautiful building. He was surprisingly at ease as he walked through it, and examined most of the rooms until they got to the meeting room, where the butler left him to be introduced to the various associates he would be conversing with. 

“Oh, you’ve made it!” one of them welcomed him in. There were four people in the room, and Peter was quickly introduced to them. The blond one who’d greeted him was Curtis, the surveyor, and the ginger one next to him was the energy consultant, whose name was Jamie — never James, only Jamie. Next up was Matilda, the person in charge of all of the admin for Buckingham Palace. And then finally, another woman named Amarantha, who only introduced herself and didn’t clarify her job title. She was extremely intimidating, with eyes that stared into your very soul, and seemed to note down every single word he said as he said it, which made Peter extremely uneasy. 

They all seemed to know who he was, so Peter didn’t introduce himself, as weird as it felt to not do that. He quickly settled into the group and they got talking about all of the various royal estates and how the energy would be supplied to them. All of them were worried about Buckingham Palace because of how old it was, and they didn’t want to disturb any of the foundations. Peter had promised to take a look at it personally and assured them it would be fine.

“We have particular concerns about Bee Island, because it’s so remote in comparison to the rest of the Palace,” Matilda clarified, and he made a specific note on his own paper to examine the area in more detail.

As they discussed Bee Island in more detail, someone swanned into the room, someone who Peter vaguely recognised from his files. It was one of the royals, so Peter stood up as the other advisers did. They all nodded at him. He was young, with short blond hair, a tall stature and perfect posture, as Peter would expect from someone in the Royal family. He wore a simple white long-sleeved shirt embroidered with a fleur de lis design on the pocket. 

“Sir,” a chorus of the advisers greeted him, but the man’s attention was on Peter and he ignored the greetings.

“You’re Parker, the guy from Stark Industries. I’m Alexander,” Alexander held out his hand to shake, and his hair bounced as he walked. “Charmed to meet you.”

Of course, it was Prince Alexander. Not the heir to the throne, but third in line. His father had tragically died in a car accident, so his eldest brother was due to inherit the throne of England instead. Alexander was in a comfortable third position, unlikely to ever actually get to the throne but it certainly wasn’t impossible given how young he was. He was actually the same age as Peter — Peter remembered because Alexander’s birthday was on the exact same day as Ned’s, and Ned had mentioned to him before. Ned had always known everything there was to know about the British Royal Family, a bit of a fanatic that way. 

Peter clutched his hand and shook it back. “Hello, it’s a pleasure.”

“I appreciate the work your company is doing for our family greatly,” Alexander continued. “Grandma has been complaining about our inefficient energy system for years now, it really was doing our head in.” 

“It’s no problem at all, really,” Peter smiled back at him. The guy was pompous, sure, but he seemed alright. Not too much of an asshole for a royal. He’d expected worse. 

Alexander seemed to be checking Peter out, and cast a glance around the room at the other advisors briefly before nodding. 

“Well I must get on. Best of luck with this endeavour,” Alexander smiled softly. “If you ever need to have a good night out, please contact me.” 

And then, the actual Prince of England — third in line to the throne, Alexander Christopher Edward Windsor — fucking winked at Peter and left the room in one fell swoop. 

Peter was flabbergasted, and the royal advisors seemed to be too. He didn’t know what to think, and he might have been wrong, but he kind of thought the prince was…flirting with him. 

Alexander had invited him for a night out, in fact. How absolutely insane was that?! Contact me, he’d said, as though Alexander’s number was in Peter’s phone, as if it was that easy to just text a member of the royal family. Curtis coughed in surprise and they spent several moments shooting awkward glances at each other, no-one quite sure what to say, and then Peter launched back into the conversation. “So, Bee Island?”

And from there it went back to how it had been before the Prince had interrupted. 

Three hours later, Peter was thoroughly exhausted. None of them were incompetent, but it had become evident rather quickly that they were all extremely uninformed about Stark Industries’ clean energy strategies. Even the energy expert they’d hired — which didn’t sound like a real job in Peter’s opinion, an energy consultant, but he supposed that was essentially what his job for the Royal Family was, too — didn’t know very much about the work SI had done for many others around the globe, so Peter had to spend some time clarifying that. 

Then, before he could forget, he’d brought up the whole shenanigan with making Isabella one of the leading people on their contract, and they’d had to discuss that as an issue. Everything was an issue, a problem to be resolved, nothing was simple with these people. In the end, the advisors decided they would be perfectly fine with Stark Industries’ London base controlling some of the operations and agreed that Isabella should join them at Sandringham the following day so they could sign a lot of the work over to her. Peter assured the advisers however that this wouldn’t mean he would be paying less attention to it, and he was still only a plane ride away if they ever needed him.

“The Queen herself is very invested in this,” Amarantha told him, her eyes fixed solely on Peter. It felt as though she was reading his thoughts, and sounded like a warning, like there were extremely high stakes and he was in danger in going to the guillotine if he put a step out of line. He was pretty sure the guillotine was banned in the UK, but when he looked in Amarantha’s eyes he started to reassess how sure he was. 

They agreed to reconvene the next day at Sandringham, one of the other royal residences which was more rural, so Peter could get the gist of what the place was like. He wondered what they thought was going to change from him seeing the site itself, because he wasn’t a land surveyor, just dealt with the business side of things, but he didn’t mind. It was part of the whole work trip, even despite the two hour travel time from London to get to Sandringham. Jeremiah offered to take both him and Isabella, but Isabella had specified to Peter that she’d probably travel up there by herself. 

By the end of the day, Peter was extremely tired, ready to go back to his hotel bed in the Ritz. He waved goodbye to his new associates, smiling politely at them as they bode him farewell and wished him a good night. They’d invited him out for the night, to have dinner with them in London, but he felt so drained that he’d had to decline the kind request, especially when Curtis had nudged him gently, and told him they’d buy him a drink if he wanted one. Peter was well aware that the drinking age was 18 in the UK instead of 21 like at home, but he had no interest in drinking when he was in the presence of strangers — and even more importantly, strangers who worked for the Royal Family. 

So he walked into Jeremiah’s car and had the man drive him through the streets of London back to the hotel. When he next checked his phone, Peter saw that the Prince had texted him. He knew this because of the signature on the text. 

Unknown Number: Lovely to meet you, however brief it was. As I said, my offer to show you the best parts of London still stands. - Alexander Christopher Edward Windsor

Of fucking course the Royals signed off their phones with their full names. How Alexander had gotten hold of his personal number, Peter decided he didn’t want to know. 

“Are you okay, sir?” Jeremiah asked, looking in the mirror as Peter put a hand over his face and let out a deep sigh. 

“Yeah, I’m all good, just tired,” Peter breathed. “Thanks man.” 

As they drove closer to the hotel, Peter was hit with the realisation that he hadn’t had any food since his lunch, and he was dying of hunger as well as being tired. 

“I need to grab some food,” Peter murmured. “Do you mind if we stop somewhere?” 

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow at him. “I can certainly recommend some good restaurants close to the Ritz, or they offer some good food in the hotel itself.”

He thought about the idea of sitting down at a table and waiting for food, and involuntarily let out a noise that could have been considered a groan. No, he needed food fast, and that meant he had essentially one option. Time to eat Tony style. “I think I need….a burger. Is there a Wendys anywhere?”

Jeremiah shook his head. “No Wendys, here, sir.”

Right, he was in the UK, they didn’t have Wendys in the UK. If he’d been about 10% more awake Peter could have figured that one out himself. 

“You guys have McDonalds right?” Peter asked, a genuine question since his brain wasn’t fully functioning. 

“We have McDonalds, yes,” Jeremiah confirmed. 

Three cheeseburgers and a whole portion of fries later, Peter was at the Ritz, climbing out of the car. Jeremiah had let him eat in the car, probably sensing just how tired he was after the day he’d had and the early start, given the jet lag he was suffering from.

“Thanks,” he repeated to Jeremiah, patting the passenger seat’s window, which was open. “See you tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow, sir. I will be here. 8:30am sharp,” Jeremiah promised, and then drove off. 

Peter managed to stumble into the elevator and to his room, collapsing onto the double bed with exhaustion despite the fact that he was still dressed in his suit. He didn’t even glimpse at the beautiful sky view out of his window, because he felt like he’d gone ten rounds with Steve, all of his muscles like jelly and his head empty of any coherent thought. Peter meant to speak to Tony, Pepper, May, Ned — anyone — on the phone, to assure them he was okay, but he was so exhausted that as his head hit the pillow, he just fell asleep. 

Chapter Text

Peter Parker had not been in London, England for a very long time. It was only his second day in the country, but he was in business mode. He’d been chauffeured by Jeremiah to Sandringham Estate, the official part-time residence of the Royal Family, most notably the Queen. Jeremiah was becoming one of his favourite British people as he’d let Peter eat his breakfast en route to Sandringham. Peter had gotten a plateful of a full-English delivered to him that morning, but he hadn’t had time to eat it and had instead taken it with him. 

Jeremiah hadn’t seemed to mind, and Peter was exceedingly grateful for it. Peter had spend the rest of the trip on his phone, fixated on emails and responding to texts from his family, asking whether he was still alive, such as the one from Tony. 

tony: how’s it going? -TS

peter: met a prince in passing yesterday. third in line to the throne. 

Tony hadn’t responded to that, but it was enough. Peter didn’t need to say any more to assure him that he was quite alright. Peter decided not to mention that he thought Prince Alexander was flirting with him, just cause he thought it would freak Tony out. 

They pulled up to Sandringham, and he reflected on how bizarre the situation was. Peter had concluded that most first-time tourists to the United Kingdom did not end up at Sandringham Estate, the residence of the actual Queen of England. But then again, Peter never had been most tourists. 

He was dressed in a suit, as he tended to be in work mode. Peter had the blazer jacket tucked under his arm alongside a clipboard which was gripping onto a stack of papers far too thick for the clipboard, boring legal stuff about the energy contract. It had been stuff in his file, as well as some documents he’d accumulated from the Palace.

Jeremiah dropped him off and tipped his head at him. “Best of luck, sir.” 

“Thank you,” Peter said, and meant it. He’d gotten some decent sleep, but the thought of spending a whole day talking to the people he’d been conversing with all afternoon made him feel weak at the knees. At least there was no Alexander here to flirt with him again. Peter had ignored the text message from the man, feeling slightly bewildered as to what to do vis-a-vis that whole situation. 

One of the people in charge — possibly a housekeeper, Peter wasn’t quite sure — directed him to the meeting room he was supposed to be in. The squad welcomed him back, and introduced him to Mark, the person who controlled the admin of Sandringham, essentially Matilda’s counterpart. 

Isabella had gotten there before him, and it seemed they had all become acquainted with each other, which saved Peter the trouble of having to introduce everyone to Isabella. 

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” He asked, wanting to get the show moving as quickly as possible. Peter had some sights to see and he wanted the day to be over so Jeremiah could drive him back to London. As committed to his job as he was, Peter was bored of talking about energy contracts. 

“First, a brief tour,” Mark instructed, “Then, back to the documents like you were all doing yesterday.”

Peter wanted to grind his teeth in agony, because he didn’t need a tour. It was, again, a beautiful building, but it would make no difference to him seeing the building in real life. He was more and more starting to think that this whole thing could have been arranged from New York itself. The jet was set to leave the following day, and his chance to see Big Ben up close and personal was slowly disintegrating before his very eyes as Peter had to stroll down get another corridor that looked identical to the one before it. 

They returned to Meeting Room 2C after the tour and Curtis quickly sat Isabella down in front of a file of documents, similar to the one Peter had been reading on the plane. Peter had already signed all of these pieces of paper, but now it was Isabella’s turn. He quickly realised he wasn’t needed and chose that moment to make a brief escape to get a breather. 

“I’m just going to go to the toilet,” Peter said, excusing himself from the room and letting Isabella continue to sign the papers. Amarantha eyed him suspiciously, and Peter felt like he was committing a serious crime worthy of jail time as he made a move toward the door.

“Of course,” Mark nodded, “The lavatory is just down the corridor, then to the left, then you take a sharp right turn and you should find it.” 

The lavatory. Jesus Christ, he really was with the poshest of the posh. 

After his unnecessary trip to the lavatory, Peter was supposed to be on the way back to Meeting Room 2C, but he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to the toilets in the first place. It was a maze, really, and all of the corridors looked the same. He should have been listening to the guy who’d told him where to go a little closer — what had Mark even said? It was all such a blur. 

Even so, Peter thought it would be fine. He was generally a good navigator.

That skill, apparently did not apply to royal residences, because christ this place was huge and he’d been wrong. It was not fine. Everywhere he went, every corridor and hall he passed through (and there were a lot of them), he just got more lost than he had been before. Peter thought about retracing his steps, but he wasn’t confident in his ability to relocate the toilets, either, so instead he pushed open several doors, finding empty rooms with nothing inside other than ancient but beautiful furniture. 

Peter grabbed onto another door handle and pulled it open to find—

Oh my god. 

It was the Queen. 

She was sat on a white couch, elegantly sipping from a cup of tea, and seeing her perfect posture made him stand up taut. That might have been from the shock of seeing the monarch of England, though. The Queen wore a blue dress and had a matching blue hat resting on the seat. She seemed to be alone, in the room, and Peter was frozen, unable to move. 

He wanted to back out, to leave, but she turned to glance at him and his tongue dropped into his stomach from the nerves. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, astounded. Peter tried to keep his voice steady but assumed he failed. He paused for a moment, blinking and then kicked back into action as he realised what he’d just done. Peter had disturbed the actual Queen of England in her own private home by running into a random room because he was lost. “I am so sorry—”

“Hello,” she said, cutting him off with a curious expression. “Can I help you, at all? You seem…stressed.” 

Peter was stressed. He’d been sweating prior to seeing her, but ever since he burst into the room he’d started sweating profusely, convinced some security man was going to boot him out of Sandringham before his meeting was even over. Peter wished he could back away, run out of the room, but that really would be rude. So instead he gulped and started speaking. 

“I was lost—I went to the bathroom—” Peter tried to spin his story, but anyway he phrased it made it sound pathetic.

“Let’s start with who you are, exactly?” The Queen inquired, looking him up and down with a semblance of amusement. 

How entitled of him, assuming she would know who he was?! To her, he was just a teenager who’d somehow managed to infiltrate into one of the places with the best security in the whole damn United Kingdom. 

He felt like he wanted to melt into the floor. 

“Oh my—I didn’t even introduce myself, I’m so sorry ma’am. My name is Peter Parker, the heir to Stark Industries, I’m working here because I’m—”

But she was nodding in recognition, and cut him off. 

“In charge of the energy contract,” she interrupted, “Yes, I do remember seeing your name somewhere on a document of some kind. I didn’t expect you to be so…”

She was chasing for the word, but clearly didn’t want to be rude, even though Peter didn’t mind. He was used to it. He wasn’t exactly the normal picture of a businessman. Enough military personnel had tried to undermine his position in the past due to his age that it had become slightly normal, really. 

“Young?” Peter suggested. 

“Yes,” the Queen seemed relieved that she hadn’t offended him somehow. “Young.” 

Peter stood there in silence, and then decided to address her. “Miss Queen—uhh,” He fumbled for the correct word and then it hit him, “Your Majesty!”

How had he forgotten that?! Was he really that much of an idiot, now, in the presence of a monarch?

“Yes, dear?” 

Peter bowed his head slightly. “I’m so sorry for disturbing you, I’ll leave you be now, I should get back to my meeting, in any case.” 

She looked almost offended as he made a move to shut the door and let her go back to her tea in peace. “No,” she said quietly. “I think you should stay. Come, child, sit next to me.” 

Peter got the idea that it wasn’t a suggestion, it was a summons. And he wasn’t going to say no to the Queen of England. It felt rude, to encroach into her room, and he tiptoed in as though that would stop a security guard from gunning him down. But she didn’t seem to have any security in the room with her. 

She moved to the side of the couch so he could sit down, and Peter tried to stop himself sweating in fear. He was sat next to the actual Queen. Ned had been right after all, he should have known he was going to meet the Queen, it was just his luck. 

As he sat, pin straight, trying to keep his posture intact just like hers, she launched into a speech of her own. “I won’t pretend I’m a fan of your father—”

“He’s not my dad,” Peter corrected without thinking, a natural impulse after all of the times someone had assumed Tony was his biological father, then slapped a hand over his mouth as he realised that he’d just interrupted the Queen. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry.” 

“Oh, stop apologising, you,” The Queen tapped him gently on his hand. “I shouldn’t have assumed he was your father, that’s my fault. I’m not much of an advocate for Tony Stark, I won’t lie, but I do like the work that Ms Potts has been doing, especially recently. Although I suppose you must be involved in that.” 

“Only a little,” Peter said bashfully, ducking his head down. 

“If you’re intelligent enough to be put in charge of our contract, I’ll bet you play a major role in that company, and you’re being modest,” She glanced at him like she was reading his mind, reminding him of Amarantha in the other room. 

The Queen sort of reminded him of what he thought a Grandma would be like, only a little bit more intimidating and, you know, regal. But she hadn’t tried to guillotine him, or anything, so that was a good sign. He knew how the British often felt about Americans, and…well, British monarchs in particular. Peter had seen Hamilton, after all. 

Calling her the Queen made her seem less human, and that made him uneasy, because he liked people to be people, so Peter decided to call her Lizzie in his mind. It was an entirely inappropriate nickname, but hey, that was kind of Peter’s style. He’d been calling the President by his first name for months.

“I do like the look of the things your company has suggested for my properties,” Lizzie told him. “I was looking them over, the other day, you see.” 

“Thank you very much,” Peter nodded. “My team and I have put a great amount of effort into it. I really thank you for entrusting us with the job.” 

Lizzie made a small movement. “Well, there were few promising offers from domestic companies, but I often find it’s better to outsource something like this. There is no shame in joining together, sharing forces and accepting help from others. We can seize this moment, so long as we seize it together.”

The words from Lizzie sparked a sense of familiarity in Peter. He’d heard them before, but from a different voice. 

“Matthew said that, didn’t he?” Peter commented without even giving it a second thought. “I remember. It was in his Presidential Address at Christmas.” 

Lizzie seemed to take a second to stare at him, probably reeling from the fact that Peter had used the man’s first name to refer to the President. “You know Matthew? Matthew Ellis? The President?”

“Yes,” Peter nodded. “We see each other all the time. He’s kind of like my uncle of sorts, actually, it’s weird.” 

“Wait,” the Queen said, and visibly paused as she blinked, seemingly having a realisation. “You’re the Peter he's always talking about?” 

Matthew talked about him? She’d said always, as well? Matthew talked about him often?

“He talks about me?” Peter said, astounded. 

“All the time. The genius teenager…I didn’t realise,” Lizzie seemed to look at him in a whole different light. “How on earth do you know the President of the United States?” 

Peter thought it wise not to mention Tony too much given his history with Lizzie, but he was a major part of the story and it was kind of impossible not to mention him. “Tony—um, knows him. Matthew owed him a favour, so I stayed with him in Washington for a bit.” 

“It is a pleasure to meet you properly, then,” Lizzie said graciously. “Matthew was gesticulating madly about you at our annual world leaders meal in November, I must admit I was curious.” 

Peter shook his head “Me? I’m—I mean—it’s an absolute honour, to meet you, Your Majesty. I never expected, when I came over to the UK that I’d encounter you. And I’m so sorry, I must be interrupting your private time, I should really go.” 

“No, no, I wish for you to be here,” Lizzie clarified, “You are not interrupting anything, only my tea, nothing of great importance.” 

She chuckled, looking at him. “I have to say, you are without a doubt my favourite of all of the Americans I have met over the years. Definitely the most polite, in any case.”

 “Thank you,” Peter nodded, although he was sure it was entirely untrue. He wasn’t that polite, he was just being respectful of her. Most people would certainly act the same, in front of such a prestigious individual. More polite, even. 

“I must get Joseph in here,” Lizzie turned, facing the door. “Do you drink tea, darling?” 

“Um,” Peter paused for a fraction of a second. He never drank tea, really, but he didn’t mind it. It wasn’t something he was frequently exposed to. He liked iced tea well enough, but he tended to be wary of hot drinks. “Yes, I’d love some.” 

Hopefully it didn’t have the same effect on him as that one time he’d had coffee. Never again. 

The Queen then picked up a little bell and, without a shred of dignity, yelled, “JOSEPH!” so loud Peter thought his eardrums would burst.

He didn’t have any idea who Joseph was, but it soon became evident as the man entered. He was tall, and dressed in a waistcoat, with a white cloth draped over his arm. His moustache was comically twirled and he bowed as he entered the room. Joseph did not seem confused to see Peter there, or even that alarmed by it.

Joseph was the butler. He had to be. His whole attire just screamed butler. 

“May we have some more tea, Joseph?” Lizzie asked, passing him her cup. Actually, passing was more of a relative word, because the correct word to choose would be chucked. She lobbed her cup at Joseph, whose face paled as he flailed to catch it. He must have done it before though, thousands of times, because he caught it with some ease and nodded.  

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Joseph said breathily, recovering from his great catch. “One moment, please?” 

Hot tea was quite pleasant, Peter found when Joseph returned from the kitchen and served them both tea. He’d had it with sugar and also a dash of milk, and it wasn’t as strong as coffee, which Peter assumed meant he would be able to avoid the whole hyperactive energy that came alongside drinking a lot of caffeine in one go. 

Peter had entirely abandoned his meeting, but he was secretly quite pleased about it. He just hoped Isabella wasn’t suffering too much, being forced to deal with the company of Curtis, Mark, Matilda and Amarantha. It wasn’t exactly the best circle of people to be left with. He also wondered absentmindedly if anyone had been sent to go and find him. 

It had to have been about twenty minutes that he’d been sat with the actual Queen of England after all. No-one took toilet breaks that long, surely someone was looking for him. He hoped they didn’t find him. 

“So, where did they put you, my people? Where are you staying?” Lizzie asked politely to Peter as she sipped on her tea. 

“At the Ritz,” Peter explained as he put down his tea cup.

“What do you mean you’re staying at the Ritz?” Lizzie said, horrified. “I meant what room?” 

Peter was about to say the Penthouse Suite but he didn’t get time to, because the Queen continued, and he sensed he was wrong with that answer in any case. 

She turned to her butler. “Joseph, is this true? He’s at the Ritz? Who chose that?!”

“We believed that would be best,” Joseph replied nervously. 

“It’s unacceptable! He’s an esteemed guest — this is Matthew’s Peter,” she said it reverently, as though he was some celebrity, something fragile, not to be dropped. The way you would treat a special artefact, perhaps. Then she nodded firmly. “He must stay at the Palace.” 

If Peter had been drinking his tea, he would have spluttered. Instead, he just felt all of the blood drain from his face. He couldn’t possibly have heard her right. 

“Oh?” Joseph let out a small cough of surprise, so Peter figured he had heard her correctly. She meant…she wanted him to sleep in Buckingham Palace. 

“Oh—Your Majesty you really don’t have to,” Peter rushed to assure her it was okay. He didn’t need to stay in the Palace, he was only a kid. He was perfectly happy — more than happy — with his hotel room. 

“No, I insist,” Lizzie said firmly. “You are doing me such a favour, after all, and I’ve taken quite a liking to you.” 

What was he supposed to say to that?!

“The Ritz,” she muttered again, and made it sound like his penthouse suite with a view of London was an absolute travesty. Her face was frowning, and she continued to shake her head. “Joseph, please may you ring Jones-Hill?”

Joseph left the room, presumably to find a phone.

“He’s the butler from Buckingham palace,” Lizzie explained. “Joseph is just for Sandringham. As you are to stay at the Palace, I will also be there with you. We can dine together, tonight.” 

Peter’s head was spinning. One moment he’d been geared up to be spending the day with a bunch of business associates, now he was moving into Buckingham Palace and having dinner with the Queen of England? 

Joseph returned with the phone and passed it to the Queen. 

“Jones-Hill?” Lizzie asked. 

There was a murmur over the other side of the phone that Peter guessed was Jones-Hill. 

“I will be coming down to the Palace this evening, and we will have a guest. Tell the family to all be prepared for a meal.” 

There was another murmur, this one more insistent and alarmed, although Peter couldn’t quite make out the words he was saying. Presumably he hadn’t expected the Queen to be appearing back in London so soon. 

“I sincerely hope you will acquiesce to my request, Jones-Hill,” Lizzie replied sternly. 

Peter stared on in a state of constant confusion, simply bemused about the fact it was happening at all. The conversation continued for another several minutes before Lizzie hung up out of nowhere, likely leaving Jones-Hill in a very stressed state indeed. 

“Perfect,” Lizzie said, and sipped at her tea. “That’s all sorted.”

They sat, and drank their tea, and Peter didn’t know quite what to say. Was he supposed to thank her, to bow down for her making him an esteemed guest? He was, quite frankly, terrified. 

As he pondered it, he heard shouting from outside the room, and both he, Lizzie and also Joseph looked up in astonishment, wondering what such ruckus could be about. Joseph’s face looked downright horrified at the prospect of there being people shouting, so clearly it wasn’t a regular occurrence. The voices came closer and he was able to hear what they were saying. 

“Peter?” One female voice called out. 

“Peter!” Another, this one male, cried out. 

“Ah,” Peter winced. “They’re looking for me.” 

It had been long enough, clearly, that they’d gotten worried. Isabella swung open the door to the room and Peter simply brought his tea cup up to his mouth again, not sure what he was going to do. Instead of using words, he just let the situation explain itself by the very image the advisors would be seeing in front of them.

Isabella’s mouth fell open in shock, but she said nothing. 

“Your Majesty,” Mark mumbled, seemingly stunned. They all stopped, quite unsure of what to do. Peter wondered whether they’d ever met Lizzie prior to this — he assumed that Jamie hadn’t, by the state of his mouth, open-wide in alarm. 

Or maybe that was because they’d found Peter, clutching his cup of tea and sat perfectly content to be sat next to the Queen of England. 

“Hello,” she said, quite calmly, much the way she had greeted Peter initially. “If you wouldn’t mind, we were just having a spot of tea. Peter will be able to rejoin you once he is finished.” 

Marcus made a spluttering noise, but said nothing else. 

Lizzie looked away from the advisors as thought they were not at all interesting and turned back to her tea. “Goodbye now.” 

Lizzie waved at Joseph, and as Peter made eye contact with Isabella (who just blinked in disbelief at him at the scene in front of her), the butler reached out towards the open door and closed it in front of the rest of the advisors faces.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker had never been more confused in his life. Somehow, he had ended up in the United Kingdom and was sat arranging his evening with the actual Queen of England, and she was treating it like a perfectly normal experience. He had explained that he wanted to do some sightseeing, but that he tragically had some more things to discuss with the advisors who had just been shut outside the room, and she shook her head and said it didn’t matter and that his sightseeing was more important than any work for the contract. 

Still, Peter managed to wrangle thirty more minutes with the people from the meeting, although it wasn’t as productive as he wanted it to be. Curtis seemed to have gone into shock as he stared at Peter the entire time and didn’t say a word. Amarantha just smirked at him, which was frankly terrifying. He ensured that Isabella had managed to sign all of the documents necessary (she had) and then assured the others that 1. He’d be in touch and 2. They’d get the work started as soon as possible. 

Then he got whisked back into the room with the Queen, who seemed to have been making even more arrangements in his absence. She was surrounded by bags and when she spoke it was lightning-quick. Lizzie was talking about their transport back to Buckingham Palace. “We’ll be in convoy, behind you. I have my own personal driver.”

Of course she did, she was the Queen, that wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I heard they assigned you Jeremiah, is he treating you alright?” She asked in the same breath, and he took a moment to breathe before answering. 

“He’s been amazing, thank you so much,” Peter nodded. “And for…everything.” 

“As I said, it’s nothing,” she waved at him. “You don’t have to thank me all the time.” 

“Thank you,” Peter continued, and then bit his lip. 

They prepared to leave, so that Peter could get back in time to do a couple hours of sightseeing before having dinner at the Palace. That collection of words was so insane he had to take a second to process it. Lizzie was in a whirlwind of movement, staff around her every single second getting ready for her to leave, so Peter stayed out of it and tried not to get involved. He simply found Jeremiah who smiled at him. 

Isabella caught him as they were all leaving, reached out to his arm and smiled slightly. “Pepper told me that whenever you were around things turned a little bit crazy, but I have to admit, I wasn’t quite expecting…”

Wasn’t expecting to find Peter sat next to the Queen of England in her private lounge, right.  

“Neither was I,” Peter whispered back. “I have no idea….”

Isabella grinned at him, got into her taxi and rolled down the window. “Enjoy it.”

Then she drove off, and that was the last time he saw Isabella Taylor-Jones on his trip to London. Jeremiah left next with Peter in the passenger seat, and then the Queen’s car followed. Jeremiah asked for details, asked how this had happened, how he’d managed to get the Queen to leave Sandringham, but Peter had just blinked at him, unsure of how to answer. 

Because he hadn’t done anything. He'd just been himself. 

They got back to London after a long trip — most of which Peter spent rapping Hamilton lyrics and trying to teach Jeremiah to sing the first song with him. He kind of forgot it was an anti-British musical until he got to the parts where Hamilton was just shitting on British people, and quickly skipped the songs to the bits after the war. Jeremiah actually tolerated it a lot better than Happy did, so Peter counted it as a win. 

Peter also tried to type out a text to Ned explaining the fact that he’d met the Queen. He drafted it, and then redrafted it, and got rid of it about six times before he gave up entirely and decided to keep it a secret until he got back to the US. He kind of wanted to see Ned’s reaction in person. 

Jeremiah dropped him off in central London and let him wander the streets by himself. Lizzie had given him a card that had the royal insignia on it, and it meant that he got to skip the queue of any sights he wanted to see. When he’d tried to refuse it, she had told him it would be considered an act of treason if he didn't take it, so Peter had reluctantly accepted. 

He hadn’t planned to actually use it, but as he saw the size of the queue for the London Eye he quickly changed his mind. Peter had two hours to see the sights of London, he was going to use the damn card. 

It worked well in the end. He looked up the top ten tourist attractions in London and quickly mapped a path to go and see them all. He managed to go on the London Eye as the sun was setting, enabling him to take some awesome pictures that he could send to May, and then made his way across Westminster Bridge to take some selfies next to Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, as well as Westminster Abbey. He was even able to take a quick tour around Madame Tussaud’s (thanks to the Queen’s card) and took a picture with the wax model of Tony that was there, which was just downright creepy. He sent that one to Tony as soon as he’d taken it. 

All of this sightseeing, of course, required more use of his ticket for the Underground, which made Peter want to cry a little bit inside, but he powered through it and was able to get to Oxford Circus and then visit Carnaby Street (with the help of Karen, of course) to do some shopping for souvenirs. He bought a little something for each of his friends as well as two obnoxiously touristic London t-shirts for both Tony and May, because he thought they deserved it.

Peter wisely decided not to go and visit Buckingham Palace, despite it being one of the most highly rated tourist attractions for visitors to London. He thought that would just be a little on the nose given that it was actually his hotel for the night. 

A whistle stop tour of London, executed perfectly by Peter Parker. He hadn’t seen any of the museums, of course, but he decided he’d seen enough museums in Washington. And there was plenty more of London that he hadn’t seen, but Peter had done well enough for two hours he’d assigned for sightseeing. 

He walked back to Buckingham Palace, enjoying his stroll through St James’ Park and then entered around the back, hidden by Jeremiah and protected from the public seeing him. Lizzie had clearly made herself at home in the Palace, because she quickly found him in order to show him his room. 

“We’ll dine at seven, sharp, but I’ll let you into your room first. Jones-Hill has already made it up for you,” she explained, and delivered him down a corridor of many rooms. His room was apparently next to rooms that had been stayed in by the likes of President Ellis as well as several other world leaders, which was alarming.

They arrived at his door and Peter blinked at it. There was a small gold plaque with Peter Parker embossed into it on the door. 

“My name…” Peter stared at it. “But I’m only here for one night?” 

Lizzie looked at him for a long moment and then seemed to realise the problem. “Oh, no, child, we don’t do guest rooms here. Once you are assigned a room, it is yours for life.” 

Excuse me sorry what now huh? 

“For—for life?” Peter thought he might collapse.

The Queen nodded as though it was nothing. “Yes, naturally. Of course, if you’re ever in the country again, and I’m sure you will return at some point, you will be staying here.” 

He just…had a room now, in Buckingham Palace. A permanent room. That was…a normal thing to have…for an American teenager. Wow. 

Lizzie left him be, standing in front of his plaque, to settle in. As Peter opened the door, he understood why the Queen had winced at the idea of him staying in the Ritz. 

It was much, much nicer than the Ritz. Someone, somehow, at some point, had brought his bags from the Ritz over to his room in Buckingham Palace. Peter couldn’t explain the differences, really, but the room just had an indescribable aura. It was similar to the room Peter had stayed in in Washington, except it had a British vibe to it which he couldn’t assign words to. He took pictures, because he knew no-one would ever believe him otherwise, and then collapsed onto the bed. 

It was the most comfortable bed he’d ever laid on in his whole life, no contest. Peter thought his bed in the penthouse at Stark Tower was the peak of comfort, but he’d been wrong. He’d been so, so wrong. 

What had happened in his life to get him to end up staying in his own room — his room for-life — at Buckingham Palace on his first ever trip to the United Kingdom? 

He dwelled on this idea for several moments before checking his watch and deciding to freshen up. Peter put on one of the suits he’d kept in his bag, specially reserved for if he was invited for a meal out. He’d expected to be dining with Isabella, to celebrate the success of the deal, as most business people did, but the whole British monarchy was another matter entirely. Whilst dressing, he clicked onto YouTube and watched a ten minute video on “How to Eat like you’re with the Royal Family — A Guide to Fine Dining Etiquette”. 

Peter didn’t think the creator of the video knew the irony of that title. He finished tying his tie as he watched the man show him how to correctly hold a teacup, and glanced at himself in the mirror knowing he was about to be exposed as a terrible fraud solely based on his lack of table etiquette. 

Then he took a deep breath and exited the room, nerves jittery and adrenaline racing through his body. As he arrived into the dining hall, Peter made direct eye contact with the person he was going to be sat opposite to all night, and a cold feeling went through his bones as it happened. 

Peter had completely forgotten, in all of his shock of meeting the Queen, about Alexander.

He was a Royal, of course he was going to be there. Lizzie had said the whole family was coming to dine with them and Alexander was part of that. How had he forgotten that?!

“Mr Parker!” Alexander grinned, his hair fluffy and smile wide as he walked around the table to pull Peter’s chair out. He then returned to his own chair and tucked a napkin back across his lap. Peter mimicked the action, trying to remember the steps from the YouTube video desperately. 

“Peter, darling,” Lizzie said as he sat next to her — as an esteemed guest, he was to sit next to the Queen as he dined. “This is my family. I believe you have already been acquainted with Alexander?” 

“Yes,” Peter replied, nodding his head slightly at him and mentally winced at the fact he’d left the Prince of England’s text to him on delivered. Alexander, however, did not seem too bothered, and continued to smile at Peter with teeth that were whiter than the plates on the table. 

Peter was quickly introduced to the rest of the family, and it turned out scary Amarantha from the meeting was actually Alexander’s younger sister, which made her even more terrifying and extremely mysterious. She stared at him exactly the way she had in the meeting with the advisors even whilst eating her food. 

When the first course was served, Peter had a realisation. There were so many damn forks! And spoons! His dining etiquette video hadn’t instructed him on what to do when there were four forks and three spoons in front of him! Panicking a little, Peter watched and waited for Alexander to pick up his utensils before doing the same. Alexander had become his lifeline — first with the napkin, then the forks and spoons, he was really getting him through the meal without embarrassing himself. 

Then they settled into dinner—which, for the record, had to be in the top ten meals Peter had ever had based on food alone. Peter continued to copy whatever Alexander was doing. 

By the third course, Alexander had definitely noticed that he was mimicking his actions, and shot a cheeky smile at Peter after he copied the exact order in which Alexander ate his plate of food. He felt a bit guilty about it, but hey, he didn’t want to look bad in front of the Royals.

Lizzie directed the tone of conversation, and they talked about everything from politics in the UK to Stark Industries and Pepper herself. It seemed Amarantha was a particular fan of Pepper, which surprised Peter. It was a rather pleasant meal, ending with a variety of small desserts that people could pick and choose from. Peter was thoroughly stuffed by the end of it. 

Lizzie retired to bed early after the meal, and bid him a good night with a pat on the shoulder and an instruction that they would talk the following day. Peter wished to also run away to collapse in sleep, but he thought it would be rude to leave his hosts, and Alexander quickly approached him as the Queen left the room. 

“Alexander,” Peter greeted, “Thank you.” Then he realised he’d just addressed the Royal by his first name and his eyes widened in shock. “I mean—sir.” 

“Please,” Alexander smiled softly, “Call me Alex.” 

“Then, thank you, Alex, for getting me through that meal without embarrassing myself,” Peter grimaced at the thought of what he would have been like if Alexander hadn’t been there. 

“Nonsense, I am sure you would have done perfectly adequately without assistance,” Alexander commented, but there was a slight movement of his mouth that suggested he thought otherwise.

“That is too kind,” Peter shook his head. “Do you think anyone will find it entirely rude if I sneak off to bed?” 

Alexander glanced around the room with a ghost of a smile. Peter didn’t imagine the crowd of Royals were the most fun group of people to be around, especially when most of them were so far from Alexander’s age. “I think you should be safe. But—I must ask—Peter, before you leave. Are you…attached to anyone?”

Peter frowned in confusion, and then blushed slightly as he realised what the prince was asking. “I—ah—have a girlfriend.”

“It is a great shame,” Alexander tipped his head. “You beguile me, Peter Parker. You are wholly fascinating and it has been a pleasure,” Alex nodded, “getting to be in your company, even for such a small amount of time. Goodnight.” 

Peter would have stood there, staring at the Prince for an extremely long time, except something kicked him into action and he jolted into movement, sending one last wave to Alex and the rest of the Royal Family before retiring to bed. He felt Amarantha’s eyes on him as he left the room. 

What was he supposed to say to that kind of declaration? 

He wasn’t interested—hell, the guy was attractive, you couldn’t deny that, but Peter had MJ and there was no way he’d ever need anything more than MJ. She was perfect, the light of his world, the thing that kept him sane when days got tough. Jesus, though. A prince. Saying that he beguiled him, what in the world? 

He was just Peter. Just Peter Parker, simply a teenager who’d uttered a couple of words and sent some small smiles to the Prince of England throughout the meal as he watched him pick up his fork. Alexander could have had anyone. It was bizarre. 

In fact, it was likely just because of the lack of people his own age that Alexander interacted with. He was a Royal, had grown up in isolation from normal people, children. There was a high chance that he’d never had a true friend his own age. It made Peter sad just thinking about it. He would be happy to have Alexander as a friend, if the Prince would be cool with that. Maybe he'd send him a message from New York at some point. 

He slept well, of course, in a bed that nice. Then in the morning, Peter packed his bags — not that there had been much to unpack, in the first place — and left the room (his room, Jesus Christ it was his room) immaculate. He carried his bags downstairs, and then went back into the lounge where the Queen was sat, reading some documents. Lizzie’s outfit was matching with her hat again. This time it was purple. She looked up and said nothing as he entered, waiting for him to speak. 

His trip to London had been short-lived, but pleasant all the same.

“Well, my plane takes off in about an hour,” Peter told her. “So I suppose this is goodbye.” 

The Queen of England stared at him and shook her head. Peter wondered for a moment whether she was about to order him to stay, and as a follow-up thought wondered whether he would even be allowed to return to US soil if he’d been requested to stay in the UK by her Majesty.

“Absolutely not, I will be waving your plane off personally,” Lizzie informed him, putting down the documents. 

“You really don’t have to—”

“It was not a question, Peter darling.” She paused. “Have you had any breakfast?”

Peter shook his head, and Lizzie frowned at him. “I must insist you have some.” 

So Peter dined, yet again, in Buckingham Palace. Amarantha was there, the only other person in the room, and as much as he didn’t want to sit next to her, it would have been rude not to, so he grabbed his bowl of cereal and smiled at her. 

They sat in silence, but after Peter’s second bowl of cereal — she was eating fruit — he made a move to get up and leave, at which point she grabbed his arm. Peter thought his heart rate went up by about thirty beats per minute in that split second. 

“Say hello,” Amarantha said slowly. “To Pepper. From me.” 

Peter nodded, and swallowed a gulp. “I will.” 

And that was the extent of his interaction with Princess Amarantha Windsor. 

He didn’t see another glimpse of Alexander, which he thought might have been on purpose, so he wasn’t able to say goodbye, but he did briefly give his goodbyes to the other Royals that were still at the Palace, just to be polite. Then he returned to the Queen’s lounge. 

“We’ll take my car, with my driver,” she informed him. “Not Jeremiah.”

“Oh,” Peter glanced at Jeremiah across the room, who was busying himself with some other odd job. Peter was slightly sad that he and Jeremiah wouldn’t get to have their last drive. He’d been planning on playing the man the song ‘First Burn’ and showing him exactly how pivotal it was.  “Can I say goodbye?” 

Lizzie nodded. “Of course.” 

Peter walked up to Jeremiah with a grin and held a hand out to him. “Thank you for all the driving. I’m sorry I kept eating food in your car.” 

Jeremiah just smiled at him, shaking the hand. “Goodbye, Mr Parker. I’ll try and get a Wendys built here, for next time.” 

And that was that. He piled into Lizzie’s car with his bags in the trunk of the car — or the ‘boot’, as British people called it — and she sat next to him, murmuring things that just bewildered him further. 

“We’ll have to talk about getting you into the line of succession,” Lizzie muttered. “I’m not sure the wider family would be very happy with me if I made you next in line to be King.” 

Peter took a second to consider that, his heart skipping a beat, and a blink going by before he nodded and decided to just accept it. “Well. I am American, I suppose.” 

Sometimes the way to cope with things he couldn’t even imagine was to just roll with it and bring equally chaotic energy. 

“They might consider it treason,” he continued. “We’ll have to be careful about doing things like that.”  

She said something about it being difficult, a quiet mumble, and Peter settled happily back into his seat knowing he would be kept safely out of the line of succession for the British crown.(He was, of course, wrong, but it wasn’t for several months that he would find out about somehow being made the 17th in line to the throne, so he was content at the time). 

Finally they reached the airfield where the Stark private jet was due to be taking off, and he grinned and got out of the car, lifting his bags onto the plane and then leaving to say his final goodbyes to the Queen. 

“Thank you for all of this,” he told her sincerely. “We’ll get cracking on the energy deal when I’m back, get it all moving now the right documents have all been signed. It’s helpful we have Isabella on the case, too.” 

He felt slightly guilty that it had been a work trip and he’d spent the last day pretty much sight-seeing and messing around. 

“No rush,” Lizzie smiled at him. “You’re welcome back whenever you wish, darling.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, and then let her hug him. When he was released, Peter climbed onto the plane and waved at Lizzie as he did so. The Queen stayed until he was taking off, and he continued to wave at her small figure out of the plane as he left the land of the United Kingdom.

Jeffords took the plane up to the sky quite calmly, and Peter busied himself with work—and then watching Tangled for the seventieth time, the only movie he kept downloaded on the plane. It was the kind of movie you could just put on at any time, a feel-good film. It kept him awake, and he steadied himself to get back to US time. He was still heavily jet-lagged from his first flight, really. It was Sunday, and he had school the next day. His plane left at 10:30 UK time, and would arrive at Midday in New York, but it would already feel like evening to Peter.

When he got back to the US and back to the Tower, all he wanted to do was to sleep from exhaustion. He had school the next day, and he couldn’t be bothered to go back to the apartment in Queens when he knew that Tony or Happy could drive him directly to Midtown in the morning. But as much as he wanted to collapse into bed (despite it being midday and certainly not time to sleep), there was a conversation he needed to have first. 

“I have my own room,” Peter announced as he arrived in the lab, where he’d found Tony. There was no greeting, no “Hi, I’m back”, simply Peter dropping the bombshell on Tony. He let his bags fall to the floor and his face was blank of any emotion.

His father figure was leaning on the edge of the work-table, hand lazily spinning around a hologram of one of the latest Iron Man suits. His eyes were fixed solely on Peter as he turned around to face him. “At the Ritz? I know you did, bud, you voice-noted me at four in the morning, very excited about it.” 

Tony didn't seem to realise what he meant.

“No, Tony.” Peter shook his head slowly, and stared at his father figure. “No. I have my own room….at Buckingham Palace.”

Tony’s mouth dropped open and he made an incomprehensible sound which was promptly followed with, “Excuse me?” 

“I have my own room,” Peter repeated. “At the Palace where the Queen spends half of her time.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tony blinked, and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “I think I heard you wrong.” 

“I accidentally met the Queen of England because I barged into a room she was in and then she started talking to me and liked me so much that she made me stay in the palace and when they give you a room and it’s apparently for life so now I have my own room in Buckingham Palace.” Peter explained, talking at the speed of light. 

He thought, for a blinding moment, that Tony was going to faint on the spot. Or go into cardiac arrest. It looked dicey, for a second, as Tony just stared and blinked at him. He supposed he hadn’t given the man very much time to take it all in. He felt bizarrely like their roles had reversed, back from the Fainting Incident in which Tony had told him that he was the heir and Peter had fainted. 

But Tony recovered without a heart attack or even fainting, and Peter was so proud. 

“That’s…good, Pete,” Tony slowly replied, pale in the face. “Good. I’m glad you had a…good… time. Good.”

Good seemed to be the only adjective left in Tony’s arsenal of words, but Peter didn’t mind. He sat on one of the lab stools and started babbling at Tony about his trip and the energy deal. His mentor figure made no motion to suggest he was properly taking in all of the information. Peter was talking about meeting Isabella and how cool she’d been when he remembered something fairly interesting to add to the one-sided conversation.

“Also, I think that Prince Alexander was flirting with me?” Peter added, and that seemed to be the nail in the coffin for Tony, because with that declaration, Tony did faint. But hey. He’d lasted fairly well, and Peter caught him so he didn’t hit the floor. Besides, it wasn’t a proper fainting experience, really. The man had probably just passed out from lack of sleep. Probably. 

Peter Parker had flown transatlantic by himself to negotiate a deal with the Royal Family, had ended up being idolised in his own company, subject to flirtation by one of the princes and had become a new esteemed guest for the Queen herself. Perhaps it was wise for him to not be trusted to go anywhere by himself ever again, but Peter had personally had quite a lot of fun on his trip to London.