Arrived

"With the nightmares, avoidance tendencies, outbursts, panic attacks… We're probably looking

at a severe case of PTSD."

"I'm just so worried about him. I don't think… I don't think there's anything I can do to help him here. And he needs help."

"He needs to be somewhere where someone can keep an eye on him. Somewhere with less stressors and triggers."

"It won't be for long, okay? I promise, a few weeks at the most. I'll come up and visit you every day that I can."

Peter sat in the back of the black Audi, Happy at the wheel, his aunt riding beside him. He watched the scenery blur by on the way to upstate New York, watched as urban sprawl gradually gave way to greenery.

It wasn't long before the looming sprawl of the Avengers Base came into sight, and Happy pulled into the long driveway. He stopped just outside the main doors and went around back to get Peter's suitcase from the trunk.

Peter grabbed the door handle, but May stopped him. "Are you really okay with this? I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything you don't want to."

Peter didn't meet her eyes. "It's fine. I'll be fine here."

May was silent for a moment, and Peter looked up, reaching over to take her hand. "Really, May, I'll be okay."

May nodded. "Okay, then, let's go."

Happy lead them inside and up a few floors to Peter's room. "Right next to Vision, so, you know, have fun with that," He said, pushing the door open. "He's not big on privacy… or uh, doors. Just another thing you gotta get used to around here…"

Peter stepped into the room, expecting plain sheets, empty walls. He was surprised to see a bunk bed, with the same kind of black and white bedspread that was on his bed at home. There was a desk in the corner, with a top-of-the-line Stark computer waiting to be booted up. A chess board sat on top of a small coffee table between a few easy chairs. There were posters on the wall, a few like he had at home, but also a few new ones, of his favorite bands and movies.

"We all pitched in a little with the decorating," Happy admitted, a small smile on his face. "Pepper, especially, had a field day with all this stuff."

Peter turned to look at May. "Did you know?"

May looked as astounded as he felt. "I mean, Mr. Stark asked me what sort of things you would want in your room, but I never imagined it would be so… uncanny."

She was right. It didn't look exactly like his room back home, but it felt like it. It felt like home. Almost more than his real home did at the moment, because this space didn't come packed with painful memories.

Happy set his suitcase on the bed, and then nodded towards the hall. "Let me show you around a bit."

He lead them down the hall, pointing out each Avenger's room as they went. Peter learned that not many Avengers were actually all at the base at once. Wanda and Vision usually were, having nowhere else to go, and Dr. Banner stayed on site in order to work in his lab. Most of the others came and went. Clint Barton spent most of his time on the farm with his family when he was off assignments, and Natasha Romanoff was almost never off assignment.

"Likes to keep herself busy, that one," Happy commented wryly.

Thor had a room, but had only used it once or twice, as he was usually ruling in Asgard. Steve Rogers came by every few weeks, but spent a lot of time down in DC, talking to politicians. Sam Wilson and James Rhodes were usually around, though Sam left sometimes to accompany Steve to DC.

"And then we have Tony's room." Happy pointed to the one at the end of the hall. "Pepper and I have rooms down that way, along with Dr. Cho, Dr. Selvig, Director Fury… Who else?"

"Nick Fury is here?" Peter asked, the first he'd spoken since leaving the room.

"Well, his room is here. I'd be surprised if you actually see him around. He and Maria Hill are usually away on secret spy missions or whatever SHIELD agents do when they're not here."

He showed them the main floor, with a fully stocked kitchen, living room, and conference area. There was a swimming pool in the main residential building, and a small fitness room, which Happy claimed was nothing compared to the rec center.

"And then, through there, you'll find the Med Bay, and Tony and Banner's labs."

"This is a pretty big place," May commented, slightly uneasy.

"It's not as big as it feels," Happy assured her. "It feels large at first, but once you get used to it, it's a basic layout, not too complicated."

"Right," May wrung her hands around her purse handle nervously. "Is Mr. Stark around? I'd like to speak with him before… I'd just like to have a word."

"Of course," Happy held up a finger. "FRIDAY, would you let Mr. Stark know that Peter and Mrs. Parker have arrived."

"Of course, sir," A disembodied voice spoke from the ceiling.

"Is she… Irish?" Peter asked.

"Ah, you know, I really have no idea," Happy said. "She's the interface for the entire base, helps with communication, organization, the works."

An elevator at the end of the hallway opened up, and Tony Stark stepped out, wearing jeans and an oil-stained, long sleeved shirt. It was a far cry from the bougie playboy that was always seen in public.

"Peter, May…" Tony greeted them. He clapped Peter on the shoulder, gesturing out the window at the rest of the base. "So, what do you think of it?"

"It's really cool," Peter said honestly.

"You saw your room?" Tony glanced at Happy, and Happy nodded.

"Stuff's already up there, boss."

"Great," Tony paused, enduring the silence for mere moments. "Well, Peter, maybe you can make yourself useful in the lab for a couple hours until some of the others show up. I'm working on a couple projects that I wouldn't mind your input on."

May stopped them as he started to lead Peter toward the elevator. "Mr. Stark, could I please speak to you for a moment?"

Tony looked at her expression and then turned to Happy. "Haps, why don't you take Peter down to the lab and wait for us there. I'll meet you in a moment."

"Sure thing, Boss," Happy agreed, and waved Peter over to the elevator.

Peter was as awed by the lab as anything else in the base, if not more so. Tables were littered with blueprints and rough sketches, along with scraps and bits of prototypes that weren't finished. Larger models were set up around the edges of the room, surrounded by rings of spare pieces and tools left abandoned on the ground.

"Dude, this is so awesome," Peter gushed as he rushed over to the table, picking up one of the blueprints and comparing it to the pieces before him. It looked like some kind of new hand blaster, designed to be more energy efficient while delivering a more powerful blast. Peter couldn't understand all the language, but just trying to pick it apart felt like a puzzle, and he got a little thrill thinking about how this was probably how the original Ironman suit started. As a blueprint and a pile of pieces.

"Glad you like it," Tony said as he strode into the room. "That one needs a lot of work. I can't quite get the capacitor to transmit the energy needed. Not more than once, at least."

"What happens after the first time?"

Over Tony's shoulder, Peter saw Happy pointing discreetly at the multiple automatic fire extinguishers in the corner of the room. He gave Peter a pointed look, and then turned for the door.

"Give me a call if you need something, Boss."

"Yep, sure thing," Tony waved absently, and then leaned in conspiratorially to Peter. "You can't give him too much attention. Starts to give him an ego."

"Right." Peter looked around. "So, uh, what do you want me to do?"

Tony looked at Peter intently for a moment, and Peter could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "Well," He said suddenly, "Pretty much whatever you want. You can look over what I've got or mess with something. Maybe you can get it to work where I haven't. If it's on this table, I've basically given up at this point. So you really can't hurt anything."

Peter nodded, sifting through a few of the abandoned projects.

"But, what I really need you to do is look this over with me…" Tony pulled Peter over to one of the large suits, chest plate split open and internal mechanisms exposed, and Peter learned that what Tony was really looking for wasn't his input or ideas. He was really just looking for someone to talk at, so he'd have an excuse to work through it out loud.

Still, he was happy to stand there and let the words wash over his head as Tony pointed out different sections, rambled on about certain problems and their possible solutions, and poked through the guts of the machine, muttering quietly to himself.

"What if you reroute some of these wires through here?" Peter asked, pointing out a cluster.

Tony shook his head. "That limits the capacitor. Puts too much stress on it."

"Not if you dilute some of the energy with a muffler. Muffler before and then amplifier after the intersection."

Tony paused, seriously considering the suggestion. "That… is not half bad. I can work with that." He dove back into the fray armed with a blowtorch and set of pliers, quietly talking to himself again.

Hours passed by quickly in the lab, and Peter found himself feeling like he hadn't in months. He felt content. At ease. Comfortable. At some point, he just sat back and watched Tony while he worked, fiddling absently with a few scraps. The work room felt like a safe space, open and breathable. It felt like being in a bubble, and he never wanted to leave.

"Sir, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson have just arrived on site."

"Good," Tony said, surfacing from the guts of the machine. "Has Vision started in the kitchen yet?"

"Yes, sir, and it appears that Wanda is assisting him."

"Oh, good, so dinner might taste like actual food today," Tony commented lightly. He caught Peter's confused expression and explained. "Vision can't actually taste food. He doesn't eat. So sometimes his concoctions can be a little bland. Or disgusting."

"But you still let him cook everything?"

"Not everything," Tony hedged. "He's just the only one that actually has the patience to handle a spoon and a pot of boiling water."

"Right," Peter grinned, imagining any of the other Avengers, bloody and grimy from recent battle, standing in an apron glaring fiercely at a still pot of water, wooden spoon in hand. What he wouldn't give to see that.

"Well," Tony stood, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. "We should get up there."

"For what?"

"What do you think?" Tony spread his arms. "Your welcome party."

It wasn't the crazy party that Peter had been apprehensively expecting. Vision and Wanda made fancy pasta for dinner, and Steve and Sam had brought home a small cake to celebrate Peter coming to stay with them. His stomach was tying itself in knots upon meeting the first Avenger, not in costume, not in battle, but just as a person. Once they got through the awkward introductions, he felt a little more comfortable, if a little out of place.

They ate in the living room. Tony and Peter shared a couch, Steve sat on the fireplace, and Wanda sat with Vision on the opposite chair, curled around him with her head on his shoulder. Sam sat on the floor next to Steve. He was laughing as he told them about picking up the cake.

"So we walk in, right, and the chick behind the counter glances at us for a second, and then she looks back, like, so wigged out. And Cap just goes, he just goes, 'Pickup for Captain America'," Sam threw his head back in laughter, one hand wrapped around his midsection. Steve smiled good-naturedly. "Like she didn't know who the hell we were."

"Hey, now, Wilson, gotta watch that language," Tony grinned, and Steve threw an arm up.

"One time, Stark! One time!"

"Uhhh…" Sam sighed, calming down. "So that was probably the best part of my day. I don't know about you." He chuckled, speaking softly. "Pickup for Captain America."

Steve reached over and shoved Sam jokingly with one hand, and Sam just waved him off, smiling. Steve turned to Peter. "So, Peter, you're still in high school, right?"

"Yeah," Peter confirmed. "Junior this year."

"Shit, kid." Sam looked at him intently. "When the hell did you get all mixed up in this life?"

"Well, uh…" Peter looked around and swallowed. "When I was fourteen, there was this spider… kind of a long story but I got bit and I ended up with these abilities. All the sudden I could do these things that I'd never been able to do before. I guess I just couldn't sit back and do nothing when there were people that needed help."

"When you were fourteen…? How old are you now?"

"Sixteen."

"So, the airport battle." Steve filled in. "You were fifteen?"

Peter hesitated. "Almost fifteen."

"Jesus, Tony." James Rhodes laughed as he entered the room, having caught the tail end of the conversation. "You really meant what you said when you said he was on the young side."

Tony stood. "Well, you know me, Rhodey, I never lie." The two embraced.

"Yeah, right, I'll believe it when I see it." He pointed to Peter. "Nice to see you, kid. Good to have you around."

"Thanks," Peter said, slightly starstruck.

They talked for another hour or so, and then Sam and Steve retreated to one of the conference rooms to talk, taking Rhodey with them. Wanda and Vision went to sit out on one of the balconies, and Tony said he was probably going to head back to the lab for a few hours.

"Um, if it's okay, I think I might just go to bed, Mr. Stark," Peter said when Tony started to make for the elevator, seemingly expecting Peter to follow him.

Tony didn't question him. "Sure, go ahead. Tell FRIDAY if you need anything. She'll call me."

Peter nodded. "Sure."

He headed up to his room, feeling lighter than he had since he could remember. He got dressed in a pair of sweats and brushed his teeth and then settled into his bed, pulling out one of the books he'd packed into his backpack.

Maybe this was all he'd needed. Maybe he'd just needed to get away from the house, away from where it all went down. Maybe, with all of the memories out of sight, they'd slip out of mind, too.

Maybe it was all behind him, finally.

He fell asleep with the light on, book steepled on his chest. At one point in the night, he awoke, startled, to someone pulling the book off his chest and the covers out from under him. He protested blearily, confused, until Tony put a hand on his shoulder and quieted him with a whisper.

"Just me, kid," Tony pulled the covers up over him, and Peter relaxed, slumping against the pillow. "You can go back to sleep."

Tony's hand brushed lightly over his hair, just once, and then was gone. The light went out with a blink, and the door was left partially closed. Peter was facing the door, but for once, he didn't check if he could see an exit from where he was. He didn't make sure that his shoes were ready to go, that there was something sharp or heavy closeby in case he needed a weapon. He didn't listen for the sounds of picks in the lock or rubber soles on the floor.

He just slept.

Peter blinked awake the next morning feeling confused. He sat up in bed, looking at the sunlight cheerfully lighting up the floor, and couldn't shake the feeling that something was out of place. Something was different. Off.

He got up and picked out a pair of jeans, throwing on the same shirt from yesterday. He crept down the stairs, mindful of the other sleeping inhabitants, only to realize when he got downstairs that it didn't matter.

Because everyone was already up.

Peter squinted at the clock above the microwave as he maneuvered past Wanda cooking eggs on the stove. A few minutes after seven.

"Does everyone here always get up this early?" Peter groaned, and Wanda smiled.

"Pretty much," Her accent was soft. "Sometimes James sleeps in until eight thirty or so, but Tony likes to joke that it is just his 'old man' genes kicking in." Peter laughed, and Wanda looked pleased. "Would you like some eggs?"

"Sure."

Tony found Peter after breakfast and lured him back into the workroom for more tinkering. Peter spent his time down there alternating between fiddling with Stark's abandoned projects and listening to the genius ramble on about the ones he was still passionate about.

Towards lunch, Dr. Banner came in with a tablet, asking for Tony's opinion on something. The two exchanged crazy complicated science terms that flew way over even Peter's advanced chemistry and physics knowledge until they seemed to reach some sort of resolution. Dr. Banner introduced himself to Peter and offered to show him around his lab.

Peter looked at Tony with wide, pleading eyes.

"Well, go on," Tony shooed him with a wrench. "You're not on a leash."

Peter gleefully followed Bruce (as the scientist asked Peter to call him) to his lab down the hall a ways. He showered the older man with questions about the kind of research he conducted, what areas he was interested in, how he formulated all of his theories and experiments.

As Bruce held the door to the lab open for Peter, he felt a chill race down his spine. It was definitely a far cry from Tony's garage-like set up. The concrete floor was mostly covered with thin plastic sheets, and the metal work tables spread over the floor were littered with beakers and microscopes rather than scraps and blueprints.

There were no tables covered in paper, no cuffs or restraints, but some of the instruments lying on the tables were the same. Tubes. Syringes. Scalpels.

Peter walked over to one table that housed a cage full of rats, and shuddered. He pushed away the sudden urge to rip the door away from the cage and set the animals free, and turned to Bruce. "What are these for?"

"We're working on a formula for new medicine to combat the spread of infectious diseases. We're working on a small scale for the moment, with non-lethal illnesses. Once these trials prove successful, we'll move on to different diseases, more like the ones that affect humans."

Peter nodded, and Bruce continued to show him around. He let Peter assist with a few of his experiments, and Peter felt himself relax the longer he spent in the lab. It really wasn't that different from Tony's lab, just with chemicals and diseases rather than wires and bolts.

Lunch was a more muted affair. He ate sandwiches with Pepper and Tony out on the balcony, enjoying the view of the forest beyond the hanger. Then it was back to work in the lab with Tony, fiddling with pieces and trying his best to be helpful when Tony needed a listening ear.

Peter was staring down at a few wires, connecting them to the initial power source. The goal was to increase the speed of the charge through the wires without damaging the capacitor, therefore increasing the power of the circuit without affecting run time. Tony had given up on a mechanical solution, claiming that it was a problem that could be solved through other means, but Peter still thought it would be cool if he could figure it out.

He was crossing a few of the wires when it happened. There must have been a break in the insulation, a weakness or chink in the protection that had been overlooked. When Peter connected the wires, instead of lighting up the charge sensor, like it should have, there was an audible SNAP and a feeling like a hundred bees stinging his hand up to his forearm all at once.

Peter shouted in shock, dropping the circuit and backing away, cradling his hand. Tony dropped what he was doing and came over, asking if Peter was okay, but he couldn't hear him, couldn't see him, couldn't move.

"Don't let him move."

"Peter, what's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?"

Lying on the table, watching the needle move closer and closer, struggling not to move, not to scream.

"What's going on, Peter?"

He couldn't take it, cried out and flinched away, tried to thrash off the table, despite the metal and leather restraints that were fixing him to the surface.

"Dammit, Elliot, I need him still."

"What do you want me to do? Why don't you just give him something if it's so important?"

"C'mon, kid, just breathe. I'm right here, okay? Just focus on me."

"It's just as important that he not have anything in his system for this experiment."

A leathery hand grabbed his chin, forced him to look right into deadened eyes. "Do you want to go blind? Is that what you want?"

He pulled away, crying, unable to stop, so scared, so scared, couldn't they see-

"How about this?" Elliot cranked the dial up and pressed the button, making Peter jerk on top of the table. He gasped at the shock that coursed through his system, right down to the pins and needles in his fingers and toes.

"It isn't real, Peter, wherever you are. Just breathe, kid, just-"

"How exactly does that solve the problem?"

"You'll see." Elliot grinned, leaning close. He hit the dial again, holding it until Peter's screams went hoarse, and then he released it. "Now, Doc, I think you'll find him a lot more cooperative."

"All the same, get over here and hold his head."

Large hands gripped his temples, pressing his skull into the unyielding metal. The needle crept closer and closer to his eye and he tried to scream but all that came out was a whimper and he wanted to close his eyes but couldn't because they were taped open and he couldn't move couldn't stop couldn't get away-

Peter gasped, surging away from the hands on his shoulders. Tony let him go, holding his hands high as Peter reached for the closest weapon he could, seizing a wrench off the ground. He was ready to throw it when Tony suddenly shouted.

"Hey, hey, Peter, easy! It's me, it's Tony. C'mon, kid, I know you know me."

Peter hesitated, panting, Elliot dancing in front of his eyes and fear and panic clouding his judgement. All the same, the insane urge to attack and run was gone, drained from him like sand slipping through fingers. His hand went numb and the wrench slipped from it, clanging to the floor.

Tony crept closer, first carefully sliding the wrench away, and then putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. He didn't say anything, just waited for Peter to talk. Peter looked up at his mentor, eyes filling with tears.

"I thought it was done," He admitted in a broken voice. "I thought, coming here… It was all over."

He broke down, and Tony pulled him close. Peter held onto Tony like a lifeline while he shook with the aftershocks of panic. "I just want it to be over."

"I know, Peter," Tony said gently. "Believe me, I know."

They sat for another few minutes, until Peter's breathing evened out, and he felt the numbness he always felt after these attacks returning, which only scared him more. Nothing was different here; nothing had changed. If staying at the base wasn't going to fix him, what was the point?

What was the point of anything?

"Peter?" Tony said quietly, after minutes of silence. "Where's your head at?"

Peter shook his head. "I think… I think I want to go lie down."

He started to stand, but Tony stopped him, holding onto his wrist and pulling him back down. "Wait. Not yet." Peter sat and Tony shifted so that they were both sitting against one of his enormous toolbox chests.

Peter waited uncertainly, not sure what to expect from Tony. He felt like his mentor was building up to ask him to talk about it, when that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Instead, Tony sighed. "Peter, do you know how the first alien invasion on Earth went down?"

Peter looked at Tony. "Yeah. I mean, the basics. The Chitauri invaded New York, lead by Loki, trying to take over Earth and enslave the human race. Nick Fury assembled a team of the most powerful people on the planet, putting them together in order to defeat him. Which worked."

He'd been around ten at the time, and he remembered hunkering down in the basement of their apartment building with all the other families in their building, the screams and whimpers that split the air every time the building shook under the assault. He remembered the tension in Ben's face and the way May didn't let go of him once, even hours after the attack was over.

"Yep," Tony agreed. "Only it's nearly impossible to realize how it really felt to be there unless, you know, you were there. Imagine a city full of innocent people, all screaming for help, all terrified, in danger. Dying. Imagine knowing that it would only get worse, spread to the rest of the globe unless you stopped it in that city. You and a few other special people, super strong or super fast or super good at kickin' ass."

Peter was silent, soaking in Tony's words.

"That kind of pressure… It was astronomical. During the battle, I didn't feel it that much, adrenaline and all that, I guess. But after… After, it hit me like a brick wall."

Peter turned to look at his mentor, who was staring at the far wall, with a dark look in his eyes.

"I couldn't go anywhere without hearing the screams of those people we couldn't save that night, wondering, if I'd just been a little faster, a little smarter… It ate me up. The expectation from all of those people, that I was somehow the answer to everything. The person who was going to save all of them. It… broke me."

"How?" Peter asked, and Tony turned to look at him.

"I started drinking. Heavily, which I don't recommend no matter how old you are. I lost myself in projects and pretended that I didn't notice the panic attacks and anxiety. I ignored the problems, I ignored their causes, until I felt like there was no way it could get any worse. Those were some dark days, Peter. Dark days."

"So…" Peter swallowed. "How did you, you know… Move past it all?"

"It wasn't quite that simple," Tony said. "Pepper helped. A lot. Having someone to talk to, someone with no expectations for me other than to be me. I talked to Dr. Cho eventually, figured out what was going on."

Peter looked away, sensing this was starting to turn around on him.

"PTSD," Tony said. "What a kick in the pants." He tossed a scrap of metal across the room, listening as it crashed against the far wall. "There's no quick solution, no magic fix. No way out but through." He looked at the young teen next to him. "Peter, has anyone actually talked to you about… all this?"

Peter shrugged. "May said I could talk to her whenever I needed to, but it always just seemed to make her sad to hear about everything. And it never actually seemed to help."

Tony nodded. "Makes sense. Hearing about the stuff you went through was probably shocking to her. Scary. But I mean, has anyone explained to you what PTSD is? What it means?"

"Uh, no? I mean, I know, like, soldiers get it a lot. I know it has to do with anxiety and stuff. Depression."

"Yeah, but obviously it doesn't only affect soldiers." He reached over, poking Peter in the chest. "You, sir, have PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder. It's the name for a condition of continuing fear and trauma after the actual danger has passed. It's a medical thing, a real problem, and it is not an indication of strength or weakness. It can happen to anyone."

Peter looked away, looping his arms around his knees. "I guess."

"It's a normal reaction to a completely horrific, abnormal situation, and it isn't your fault." Tony put a hand on Peter's arm, waiting until he made eye contact. "You hear me, kid? None of this is your fault."

Peter nodded, feeling a little knot loosen in his chest.

Tony let his head fall back against the metal cabinet, looking up at the high ceiling. "I just don't want you to get to that point, where you feel like there's no one you can talk to. You can talk to me, okay? I mean it. Anything. 'Cause I've been there, and I know what it feels like… and I know how much it sucks."

He looked over at Peter, assessing him as he sat there quietly. "Okay, so now it's your turn. You want to tell me what you were feeling when you had the panic attack?"

"Scared. I guess the wires shocked me and all of the sudden, it was like I… I was back there and I could see it and hear them talking…"

Tony nodded. "It's called a flashback. Have you had those before?"

"A couple times, I guess."

"And what do you feel now?"

Peter hesitated. "Nothing," He admitted in a whispery voice, his eyes going misty.

"Nothing," Tony repeated. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," Peter swiped a hand over his eyes, sniffing hard. "Sometimes I just don't feel anything. It feels like I'm not even in my own body, if that makes sense. Like I'm seeing everything happen to someone else."

"It could be disassociation," Tony filled in. "That happened to me a lot. Still does, sometimes."

"So what do you do?"

"Well, I usually call my therapist and sign up for a few sessions ASAP. But beyond that, there are a few tricks that my doctor taught me. Slow breathing and focusing techniques that help."

"Do you think… you could show me?"

"Sure," Tony agreed. "First, close your eyes." Peter complied. "Now, I want you to take a slow breath in, through your nose. Hold for three seconds, and then pretend you have a little straw in your mouth and blow all that air out through the straw. Take as long as you want."

Tony lead Peter through a few more breaths and when he opened his eyes again, he looked more grounded. "Thanks."

"A therapist could give you a lot more tools. Ways to focus when the panic hits, things you can do to ride it out."

"Could they help me get rid of them?"

"Eventually. Peter, what you have to understand is that this, trauma, it isn't like a broken bone or a bruise. Especially not for you. It doesn't heal linearly, and there's no set treatment or quick fix that works for everyone. You might be able smash a few ribs and be up and walking the next day, but this is a whole different monster. It'll knock the feet out from anyone." He glanced over at Peter. "Okay, I've said what I need to say. Now it's up to you. We can stay, talk as long as you need. Or we can just stay and work. Or you can go sleep or set something on fire or whatever it is you kids do nowadays for fun."

Peter let out a small laugh and stood up. He glanced at the clock. "I think I'll just head up for a bit before dinner."

Tony reached out a hand and Peter hauled him up. Tony groaned as he straightened and put a hand on his back. "Damn, these floors wreak hell on my spine." He clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Sure, thing, kid. You need anything…" He trailed off and Peter nodded.

"I know. I'll call."

Tony nodded. "Good. Now get outta here so I can get some work done." His words were scolding but his tone was light, and Peter smiled before ducking away to the elevator.

His plan was to hide in his room for a few hours until dinner was served, but as he was walking down the hallway to his room, he caught sight of Wanda on the balcony off her room, and he heard the sound of light music dancing over the breeze through the open door.

Before he was really conscious of it, his feet were turning him away from the hallway and through the open door. He paused just before the threshold of the deck, knocking lightly on the doorframe.

The music stilled and Wanda glanced over, smiling when she saw it was him.

"Mind if I join you?" Peter asked, and Wanda shook her head.

"Of course not." She waved him over to a chair. He took a seat and she started again, her fingers strumming lightly over the strings of the guitar. It was a simple melody, only a few alternating patterns, but it was sweet and gentle.

Peter looked out at the sun, just beginning to dip towards the treeline.

Wanda's fingers stopped again and she rested her hands atop the guitar, letting the last note die softly in the quiet afternoon air.

"How do you like it here, so far?"

Peter shrugged. "It's different. Definitely not Queens. I don't know, I guess… It already kinda feels like home."

Wanda smiled and nodded. "I felt the same way, when I came here. The place where my brother and I lived before this… it was not kind. I thought of it as home, I suppose, because it's where we lived, and it was the first stable place we'd been after years of living on the streets. And yet, after being here for only a few days… I understood what home should feel like."

Peter nodded. Wanda gazed at him for another moment before looking back down at her guitar, placing her fingers over the strings. She started playing again, that same melody, this time playing with a few chords here and there to enrich the sound.

They stayed on the balcony as the air cooled and the light slowly faded, until FRIDAY informed them that dinner was ready.

To Be Continued...