Love, as far as Piper Parker was concerned, was bliss.
Love was five foot ten, with dark brown hair and a winning smile. Love was always full of wisecracking jokes, love was one of the most innovative minds she had ever encountered, love was a smartass, love was a badass, love was a guy with a troubled past and a good heart.
Love was Scott Lang.
"Who's that?" Aunt May queried, peeking over her shoulder.
Piper slammed her laptop shut, sinking into the couch, half-hoping it would swallow her and take her down into some alternate dimension where aunts didn't gawk at whatever, or whomever, their niece was Googling. "What did you need, Aunt May?" she asked, pulling her headphones off.
Her aunt sashayed to the kitchen counter, her arms laden with grocery bags. Piper leapt to her feet, scurrying to her aunt's aid. "Pipes, it's fine, I got it. Why don't you do the dishwasher and I'll –?"
"Did it." Piper effectively shouldered in, swiping the grocery bags from her aunt and beginning to empty them.
"Well, how about laundry?"
"Done."
"Dinner?" May said helplessly as Piper tugged the last grocery bag from her grip.
"Spaghetti and meatballs. You want some tea?"
"Just where is all this spare time coming from?"
"You trying to kick me out?" Piper quipped, cocking a brow in her aunt's direction as she tossed scallions into the fridge. "Am I infringing on your time with a secret boyfriend? Julio from the bakery perhaps?"
May blinked, nonplussed. "Who?"
"The guy who always gives you extra polvorones," Piper said slowly. The one who is obviously in love with you. Although that description probably doesn't narrow it down. Not that her aunt would ever wake up and realise that more than half the neighbourhood was clearly a little too sweet on her.
"Okay, whatever, I'm serious," May insisted, her hands resting resolutely on her hips. "Last week I think I saw you all of, what, five minutes? What's the deal, kid?"
"Nothing," Piper said easily, placing the last tomato on the counter as her stomach rolled into a knot. "No deal whatsoever. Just nothing on the social calendar. Tea?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.
Her aunt sighed, throwing her hands up in an exaggerated "I-give-up" kind of way. Piper filled the kettle, setting her shoulders.
"Aunt May, I swear. Nothing's up."
Although maybe that wasn't the truth. Maybe – just maybe – yesterday, when she'd dropped by the Tower, Mister Stark had told her to – now, how exactly had he phrased it?
"Maybe just, y'know, cool it for now," Mister Stark had said, rather indifferently, not even looking up from his phone.
"Cool it?" Piper had repeated.
"Yeah," he had shrugged, still not even glancing her way. "Take a break. Go on a sabbatical, or something."
She hadn't known what to say. Was he joking? Or had she done something wrong?
Not that she could think of. From a work perspective, she'd been kicking as much bad guy butt as she could. And as for the personal… well, just last week, she had been over at the Tower, helping Mister Stark with broadening F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s capabilities.
Sure, maybe she'd stuck around for a little too long (maybe she had been waiting and hoping, albeit pathetically, to see if Scott would make an appearance), although Mister Stark hadn't seemed to mind all that much…
If anything, he'd seemed pretty pleased at the time. Maybe not so much when she'd eaten the last of the Ben and Jerry's – but he'd said that was just a joke, and while people could say what they wanted to about Tony Stark, Piper doubted that he would freeze someone out purely because they had finished off a carton of Chunky Monkey.
Then again… there had been that other thing…
The kettle had begun to boil. Piper watched it absently, her hands idly hovering near the mugs. Maybe she should call Gwen again? Gwen was only twenty-one, not even six months older than her, but somehow she seemed so together. She lived in her own apartment for crying out loud! She'd be a voice of reason.
Nope, said a small firm voice in her head. That worked out not so great last time. Piper shuddered at the thought.
"'Cool it'?" Gwen's tone had been so chilly that Piper was surprised the phone nestled between her ear and her shoulder didn't immediately drop in temperature. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"He said that he'd keep me in the loop," Piper said as brightly as she could. "But, yeah, he told me to stay away from anything that seemed bigger than – you know, it's not important," Piper had added quickly at the sound of Gwen's positively scandalized swearing. She was ever so slightly afraid of where it would lead. The last thing she needed was for Gwen to barge into the old Avengers Tower and give Iron Man a piece of her mind.
And so, Piper was at home, trying not to think about it. But home was fine. It was fine. She was fine. Totally not restless. Totally fine.
"Hm. 'Scott Lang.' He's kinda cute."
Piper blanched. She turned, horrified when she saw that her aunt had opened up her old and battered laptop. How does she always know my password, no matter how many times I change it? "Oh? I wouldn't know…"
Aunt May smiled thinly. "He'd be cuter if this wasn't a mug shot."
Love, as far as Tony Stark was concerned, was a major inconvenience and kind of exactly what he really didn't need right now. Especially when it was sitting in the Tower common room, talking to Scott Lang and totally ignoring him.
He didn't know just when it had happened – he wasn't even sure of the exact moment he realized it. Okay, that wasn't true. He'd dimly realized it during a fight out in the middle of Queens, but had pushed it aside, telling himself that there were more important things to do. The thought had reared its ugly head once or twice, or quite possibly more, but he'd chosen not to properly acknowledge it.
He just hadn't fully accepted it until last week.
Why did she always have to be talking to Lang?
"Tony," Bruce said. "You still here?"
He watched the two of them talking animatedly back and forth, their eyes bright, wide smiles on their faces. He watched him pick up a soft pretzel from the box she'd brought in earlier, watched him say something that made her laugh, and her head tipped back, her nose scrunching up ever so slightly.
"Tony?" Bruce repeated.
What were they talking about? He leaned further back in his chair, wishing he could hear them through the glass.
"Tony," Bruce said dryly, "stop staring."
"I'm not staring," Tony said, staring.
"You are. It's kinda weird. It's actually really weird."
"So noted. Hey, you think we should grab a third head for this?" Tony asked, turning back to Bruce.
"No," Bruce said wearily.
"I think we need one," Tony said resolutely, gesturing to the numerous screens. "You know, a third head to help us work through all…" Jesus, what are we doing again? "…this," Tony finished.
"Don't do this to yourself," Bruce warned, taking his glasses off and wiping them on his shirt, but Tony was on a mission, already sliding out of his chair.
He marched straight up to the couch they were sitting on. He could definitely hear them now, vehemently talking, practically lost in each other. Okay, maybe not lost in each other, but they sounded like they were having a nice time. Too late, he realized that he would give anything not to hear them.
"Hey, Lang," Tony said, standing over the pair of them, arms crossed, and Scott looked up, now struggling to swallow a mouthful of soft pretzel. "Bruce and I need a hand with –" crap, uh – "some things," Tony said smoothly. "Care to join?"
"Mm," Scott looked surprised. "Eah, oar –" He finally swallowed. "I mean, yeah, sure! What are you guys working on?"
"Bruce can fill you in," Tony said sleekly, the triumph bubbling gloriously in his stomach. Except now he had to hang out with Lang, whom Tony probably would have liked if Lang didn't make him almost sick with envy.
"My man!" Lang exclaimed, unable to keep the excitement off his face as he climbed to his feet. "See ya later, Piper."
He half expected Lang to kiss her goodbye, but the ex-con had already trotted off to find Bruce.
"Yeah, um, see you later," Piper said, waving a little too enthusiastically. She stopped waving quite quickly, and a pained look came across her face. She caught Tony's eye and he looked away, realizing he'd been staring again.
"Do you ever do something and just instantly question how you even function as a human being?" Piper said, her cheeks now tinged with pink.
Against his will, the corners of his lips tilted upwards, and he heard himself laugh. "Who, me?" he asked, quickly schooling his face into cool indifference. "Not really, no."
Nevertheless, she smiled (maybe she had mistaken apathy for sarcasm) and his stomach did a somersault. Ugh.
She offered the box to him. "Cheesy pretzel?"
He took one. He was jealous, not stupid.
"Can I help with anything?"
"No, we've got it covered," Tony said bluntly, trying to ignore the sudden pang of guilt he felt as he watched her face fall. He almost reconsidered…
But then he thought of her working side by side with Lang, the pair of them probably cozying up in the lab together, and his jaw clenched.
Or worse: what if Bruce and Lang left the pair of them alone, and Piper stayed late, like she had last time? They would be down in his workshop, or maybe in the kitchen grabbing a drink, and she'd look up at him with those big brown eyes of hers, and… He'd do something stupid. He always did something stupid.
"Mister Stark?" Piper was looking at him right now, a little concerned. "You okay?"
He swallowed, trying to quell the fantasies that his very overactive imagination seemed to have no trouble conjuring.
Piper seemed to take that for a yes. "If you're not too busy, I actually wanted to ask you about –"
"Well, I can't really talk right now, I have to get back to… the thing we're working on…" Tony trailed off. "Very time consuming, super important."
"Right," Piper said earnestly.
"And you're probably tired," Tony added pointedly, "so, y'know, if you need anything, just call…"
Me?
"Happy," he said firmly, "call Happy."
"Oh. Okay," Piper said after a moment, not sounding altogether convinced. She slid off the couch, grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulders. "Well, let me know if you need anything."
Don't hold your breath.
She handed him the box of soft pretzels. "I'll leave these with you. Bruce might want some."
He tried not to watch as she tugged her hair out from under the straps and swept it over one shoulder, displaying her neck and a part of her right clavicle that was just visible over the collar of her t-shirt. There was a small smattering of freckles there, and he wanted to trace them with his fingertips. And maybe his tongue.
Love was the worst.
So Scott liked mozzarella stuffed pretzels, Piper mused as she dodged a bullet and whipped the gun out of an oncoming carjacker's hand. She would definitely bring more pretzels next time she went back to Stark Tower.
She wasn't kidding herself, though. Scott Lang was not a free agent, romantically speaking; and even if he was, Piper doubted she'd really ever try anything.
Maybe that was part of the allure, knowing that there was no way she could actually have him. It was safe; no one could get hurt.
But something else nagged at her brain as she rolled underneath the now unarmed carjacker, knocking his legs out from under him. Something else – she thought as the carjacker promptly rolled down to a lower level of the parking lot, swearing quite loudly – that wasn't as nice as, say, imagining what Scott would look like without his shirt.
It was starting to seem like Mr. Stark no longer thought she had what it took to be an Avenger.
Piper pondered on this as she launched herself into the air and webbed Angry Carjacker Number Two's hand to a concrete pillar. Just when had Mr. Stark decided such a thing? Wasn't she doing a good job? Surely she'd proved more than once that she could hold her own –
Angry Carjacker Número Tres swore as she scrambled along the ceiling – the unlucky guy had only been carrying a knife, and he obviously wasn't very used to using it. He threw it – it clattered hilt first against the concrete ceiling, five feet from where Piper was, and fell to the ground.
"That's kinda embarrassing," Piper remarked, dropping to the ground in front of the crook. "You're so lucky none of your friends saw that." She glanced at the still conscious man stuck to the wall. "Oh, well. He did. Awkward."
Number Three swung a punch at her, but his heart wasn't in it. She grabbed his arm and flung him to the ground, securing him there with more webbing.
Piper surveyed her handiwork, now aware of the sirens in the distance.
"Okay, I gotta run now, but I'd just like to take this moment to remind you all that you just got your butts kicked by a girl," she said hurriedly, grabbing her camera. "Don't steal cars –" The sirens were getting louder – "don't carry knives and guns –" She could see the red and blue lights through the parking lot levels – "and always eat your vegetables okay gotta go!"
As she was swinging through the city, she couldn't help but puzzle over just what she'd done to make Mr. Stark think she might not be cut out for the Avengers. For a moment, an awful, stomach churning moment, a nasty little voice in the back of her head suggested that she obviously wasn't, and that Mr. Stark was right…
But then the exhilaration of clambering over rooftops caught up with her, and she steeled herself. Well, she thought determinedly, I guess I'll just have to show him that I've got what it takes.
Later, curled up in her bed, Piper's mind slipped off into imagining just how Scott would react after she'd finally proved herself worthy of being an Avenger.
Wow, Scott would say, you took down forty guys with your hands tied behind your back? And saved the universe from imminent destruction? Wow, Piper, that's… that's amazing!
I do what I can, she would say, and when she'd take off her mask, her hair wouldn't be all plastered to her head, and she wouldn't be all sweaty, and she wouldn't have to worry about blushing because cool people didn't blush.
Well, I can't believe that some people thought you weren't cut out for this, Scott would murmur, cupping her face with his hands. He would be close, too close, his lips hovering just an inch away from hers. I always thought you could do it.
Piper grinned into her pillow.
He was getting a headache.
He was meant to be reading over a contract that Pepper had sent him, one that was meant to determine whether or not Stark Industries would do business with Altman Enterprises, but right now he was finding it hard to focus. More than once, he had found himself just sitting on the couch with his eyes closed rather than actually doing any reading.
Tony massaged his temples, letting his eyes slide traitorously shut. The rain was a constant drum against the penthouse windows, soothing, hypnotizing. He needed coffee. Coffee would make him wake up. Coffee would take away the headache. Coffee good. Contract bad.
He was alone in the Tower – Lang had left to go see his daughter hours ago, and Bruce, stating that he'd needed a walk, had gone hunting for good takeaway. All of the others were either upstate in the new facility, or at their homes… probably with their families… Tony frowned, his eyes still shut…
"Sir?" F.R.I.D.A.Y. queried. "Perhaps now would be a good time to let you know that Miss Parker has broken through the restricted access you've enabled on the penthouse floor and she's on her way up."
His eyes snapped open. "That's a joke, right?"
"Unfortunately not."
"Override it."
"She says it's an emergency."
His stomach very promptly twisted itself into a knot as he bolted to his feet. Emergency? He knew it. He fucking knew that something would happen to her – why couldn't he keep anyone he cared about from getting hurt –?
He'd barely turned his gaze to the elevator when the doors opened. Piper stood there, soaked to the bone and shivering quite visibly.
Tony didn't bother to argue; all that mattered was that something was wrong with Piper, and he had to fix it. "What's wrong?" he demanded, as she wandered in, looking surprised at his demeanor. He could hear her teeth chattering. Torn between getting her a heap of blankets or just wrapping her in his arms to absorb his body heat, Tony settled for simply standing there in frustration.
Piper looked bemused. Water was running down her face, dripping off the ends of her hair. "Huh?"
"You…" Tony cocked his head, just as confused. "The emergency – are you hurt?"
Piper shook her head.
"Are you dying?" Tony demanded. "Are you in trouble? Do you maybe want to tell me what the hell is going on?"
"Nothing," Piper blurted, staring at him in shock. "Nothing's wrong." She shrugged her backpack from her shoulders, unzipping it and pulling out a miraculously dry tub of Ben and Jerry's. "I owe you one – by the way," she added, wrapping her arms around herself, "I think F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s malfunctioning, she wouldn't let me in downstairs. Yeah," she nodded, misinterpreting Tony's look of disbelief, "she kept telling me that, like, you said I wasn't allowed to come up or something?" She cleared her throat, her eyes flickering over the apartment as she whistled. "Nice place. Where's your bathroom? I'm soaked," she said unnecessarily, striding past him in search of a towel, setting the ice cream down on the kitchen counter.
Tony felt his teeth grit together. "So, you're fine?" he croaked.
"Sure, why wouldn't I be?" Piper called and he groaned, putting his head in his hands.
"I think you just took ten years off my life."
"Yikes. Sorry."
What the hell was going on? What was Piper doing here? The anxiety that was rolling around in the pit of his stomach had died down but not by much. This was exactly what he couldn't be doing – he couldn't be alone with her –
"Have you ever heard of calling ahead?" he asked coolly.
"I did call," she replied. "Happy."
Tony rolled his eyes, seething. "Okay, I get it. You've made your point."
Piper strolled back into his living room, and his mouth went dry. She was no longer shivering, rubbing at her hair with a fluffy white towel, and the only thing she appeared to be wearing was one of his AC/DC t-shirts. It wasn't really hanging very low.
"That was quick," was all he could say.
"Are we okay?" Piper asked concernedly, draping the towel over a chair. "You kinda seem like you're mad at me."
He really had to stop looking at her. It was a bad idea – looking at her only made him want to do stupid things. Incredibly stupid things. Jesus, she was standing less than five feet away from him, wearing what he had now decided was his favorite t-shirt, and giving him Bambi eyes – he was only human, for crying out loud –
He shut his eyes. His headache was starting to develop into something evil and he pressed his palms into the side of his head, wondering if his head would explode if he tried hard enough.
"You got a headache, Mister Stark?" Piper said, sounding much closer.
"Please stop calling me that," Tony muttered, squeezing his eyes all the more tightly shut. Maybe if he tried hard enough, he'd wake up. Then he wouldn't have to endure the absolute torture that was Piper Parker.
He felt small soft hands close over his, pull them away from his temples. He immediately felt warmth rush through his arms and wished she'd let go. "What do you want me to call you?" he heard her ask softly.
Even though he knew it was a bad idea, he opened his eyes. His heart skipped a beat; Piper was right in front of him, her dark eyes focused on him and only him. They were so close that he could count the freckles on her nose.
Her fingers lightly traced a path over his wrists and up his arms, over his shoulders… until they came to rest in his hair again. She gently rubbed the tension away and he felt himself unraveling as he watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips.
"Well, 'Tony' tends to do the trick," he said, or at least he wanted to say that, but his voice had disappeared. One of Piper's hands travelled to the back of his neck, gently tugging him towards her, and he was only too happy to comply…
The elevator ding!ed and Tony's eyes jerked open; Bruce walked in, holding two white plastic bags crammed full of takeaway.
"Okay, so I know you wanted Chinese, but I found this great little Thai place on –" Bruce broke off. Tony was staring at him a little too innocently. That and he had just chucked a cushion across his lap for no apparent reason.
"Huh…" Bruce said slowly. "Sorry."
"About what?" Tony said nonchalantly. "Nothing's happening."
"Okay," Bruce said amiably. "Well. When you've finished with nothing," he held up the takeaway bags, "we have Crying Tiger."
