"Can you show me?" Peter asked instead.

"Peter…" SUSANNA's tone was warning. "That's an invasion to Dr. Banner's-"

Peter rubbed at his temple. "Just show me, please."

The TV on the wall lit up.

It was an empty, large space encased in shadows. The camera had been placed directly above the room, in the middle, in such a way that Peter had a bird's eye view. A still form lay in the middle, lying on the cold, metal floor.

Peter's spider-sense went wild. He tensed up. There was something extremely wrong about this image. Something-

The form shuddered and shifted.

Bruce's green-tinged face was contorted in an expression of unfathomable pain. His eyes were screwed shut, his teeth were clenched together. Both arms were scrabbling, tearing at his skin, like it hurt. The single clinical white light shone down on his sweat-soaked, glistening features.

The sight was so pathetic, so unlike the Bruce Peter had come to know, that he took a few steps back.

Hot breath dusted the back of Peter's neck.

He pivoted.

Cold, black, intelligent eyes regarded him with a smouldering intensity that burned at Peter's sensitive nerves. Rough, scarred fingers wrapped around a metal gauntlet secured to the other hand. In the darkness of Peter's room, the ghostly, cold light of the arc reactor cast monstrous shadows about Tony Stark's face.

The deadly genius was eerily still. No movement disturbed the air around him. His little puffs of breath were the only sign that he was even alive. His predatory gaze remained fixed on Peter.

If the genius was still, Peter was a statue. His heart beat wildly in his chest, fast enough to be that of a rabbit, or a mouse. Pure terror whirled about his body like an electrical current. It flowed through his blood, into his arms and legs, his fingers and toes. The terror left him lightheaded. Never before had he felt more alive and never before had he felt closer to death.

Stark's lips contorted in a lifeless, humorless smile. Shiny white, camera-worthy teeth gleamed.

The hand encased in the gauntlet carelessly waved in the direction of the TV.

"You get used to it after awhile, you know." His voice was deceivingly even-toned. It felt utterly wrong in the circumstances.

Peter twitched. He didn't dare turn around, but he didn't need to. The image of Bruce shuddering in pain was still as clear as it had been when he'd been looking at it.

How could anyone get used to that?

"Most people don't realize how much of a curse Bruce's gift really is."

Stark took a step closer. He was inches from Peter's nose. Peter could smell coffee on his breath and fabric softener on the billionaire's T-shirt. It took every ounce of self-control not to take a step back.

"They see the precariousness of his situation. I'm sure some are sympathetic that he can't live a normal life, has to watch every move he makes, every step he wants to take."

If Peter listened carefully, he could hear a gentle whir coming from the intricate gadget in Stark's chest. His heartbeat, which was usually audible at that distance, could barely be heard. It beated gentler than hearts should.

"But very few people know how much it hurts to become the Hulk." Stark fingered the gauntlet. Peter tensed and prepared to fight back.

Stark didn't raise the weapon up. He only smiled bitterly.

"Congrats. You're one of the lucky few."

Jealousy. Peter was well acquainted with the feeling. There were nights when he'd watch through some window of some cafe. Teenagers would be clumped around a table, sipping their drinks, nibbling at their food. They'd be more interested in whatever conversation was going on. They would laugh and it would come out naturally. Peter couldn't remember the last time a laugh had come naturally.

It wasn't Peter who was jealous this time. It was Stark. Peter could hear it in his voice, see it in the joyless grin.

Why would Stark be jealous of Peter? The billionaire had everything. Money, brains, popularity, supposedly a supportive girlfriend. He was a superhero. He was world renowned. Peter had nothing Stark could be jealous of.

Did he?

There was a bigger question burning in the back of his mind.

Did Stark know who he was?

It didn't take Sherlock to make the connection between "Dr. Banner gets protective over Spider-Man," to, "The person Dr. Banner now spends most his time with also happens to take really great photos of Spider-Man for the Daily Bugle."

"What do you want?" Peter was surprised his voice remained level. Inside, he felt like he was breaking down into a million shattered pieces of something delicate.

The lifeless smile had dropped off Stark's face. Now, it was eerily dull, mechanically blank. It looked more like the face on Stark's Iron Man suit than that of an actual human being.

"You know who Spider-Man is."

Peter swallowed.

Should he attempt to lie?

"No."

The word had come out a tad bit fast.

Stark's eyebrow twitched.

Cold metal pressed into Peter's chest. The force sent him stumbling back. He hit the wall.

It took every ounce of self-control not to retaliate. Every nerve in his body wanted him to.

And... cut!