66 Weeks of Aftermath

Chapter 4: The Convergence

Peter had traveled across the city in several different ways, and so far trailing behind the Iron Man armor was high on his list of favorites.

It was a challenge, sure. The armor wasn't all that wide, so even with a pair of webs attached to his shoulders Peter didn't have much leverage to control his motion with. As they turned and looped through New York's buildings, faster than Peter would ever be able to go on his own, he had to fight to keep his knees tucked up and his eyes on where they were going. But it was just so cool. Peter didn't stop grinning the entire time.

Tony took them for a few laps up and down the island before zoning in on their destination. Peter made sure his cargo was still webbed tightly to his chest, and when Tony finally began to slow, he cut himself loose and swung gracefully to the rooftop of SHIELD's Manhattan base.

Tony landed behind him a moment later. "Well?" he asked as The Cube's sentries moved in to greet them. "What'd you think?"

"That was awesome," Peter said, but when he tried to take a step his knees wobbled, and he laughed. "Man, though, I thought you might be trying to throw me a few times back there."

"I was," said Tony, and Peter couldn't tell if he was joking. "JARVIS kept complaining about having to adjust for your weight—I was hoping to shut him up."

"Try again on the way back when we're done?"

"You're on, kid."

A group of SHIELD agents was waiting for them. "Mr. Stark, Spider-Man," greeted the agent at the front: a shorter, balding man who was brimming with enthusiasm. "Agent Adsit, Level 6. Welcome to The Cube."

Peter accepted the man's excited handshake while Tony stepped out of the armor and put it in "park" mode. "Spider-Man," he introduced himself, just because it had been a while since he'd had the chance. "Thanks for having us."

Adsit scoffed happily. "It's an honor, really—I'm a huge fan of your work, Spider-Man. Though I was starting to worry you weren't coming."

Peter glanced west and realized the sun had just set. "Yeahhhhh, sorry about that. We got hung up."

"It's my fault," said Tony flippantly. "Wanted it just right before we lugged it over." He rapped on the metal case still webbed to Peter's chest. Peter was silently grateful he didn't say anything about their impromptu joy ride, even if it couldn't have taken them more than fifteen minutes. "Is everything set up for us?"

"Yes, of course! Right this way."

Agent Adsit led them down from the roof, past a helicopter hangar and into the building proper. Inside, The Cube was disappointingly generic after having been aboard the Hellicarrier. Everyone was dressed in plain suits, chatting as they casually traveled the halls with tablets under their arms. Every time a door opened, Peter leaned to catch a glimpse, but nothing extraordinary caught his eye—just a lot of computer desks and conference tables. There wasn't even much in the way of SHIELD logos, making him feel out of place in his brightly colored spandex.

The SHIELD agents didn't seem to mind. In fact, they all seemed overly glad to see him, and he returned a lot of nods and even a few high fives on their way to the lab.

Adsit escorted them to the fourth floor, and as soon as the elevator doors opened Peter felt at home. The lab took up the entire level, and all around scientists in lab coats poured over screens and beakers and strange devices. It smelled like science. He would have liked to visit each station, learning what SHIELD really spent their tech dollars on, and the curious looks from the techs were not unwelcoming. But then he spotted Curt at the other end of the room, and the reminder of why they had come made his hands sweat.

Curt was speaking to a woman in scrubs, but they both turned quickly when realizing their guests had arrived. He looked nervous and even pale, not that Peter could blame him. A smile kept forming and then crumbling off his face. As the two groups gathered, Peter nodded to him in a way he hoped was reassuring. He seemed to appreciate it.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure you know Dr. Helen Cho," Adsit introduced. He seemed to glow a little. "Dr. Cho, this is Spider-Man."

"It's an honor to finally meet you," Peter said as he shook Helen's hand. "Tony's told me a lot about your work. I hope it's okay if I stay to watch...?"

"This wouldn't be happening without you," said Helen with a kind smile. "If it's all right with Curt, it's all right with me." She looked him over. "Though unless that suit of yours can be sterilized, you'll be in the observation room."

Peter chuckled. "Yeah, I figured."

Helen turned to Tony, and as the two of them chatted about the upcoming operation, Peter faced Curt. "Dr. Connors. Sorry we're late, but we really did want to get it just right." He patted the case in his arms. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be." His humor faded quickly in favor of sincerity. "Thank you," he said, his voice already hoarse. "For doing this."

Peter rocked happily on his feet. "Not still angry at me for talking you into this?"

"I was never angry, I was just…." Curt stopped when he realized that Helen and Tony had finished and were watching him. "I'm…apprehensive," he admitted. "And excited, and…frankly, terrified."

"We understand," said Helen, touching his back. "But it's going to be all right, Curt. Mr. Stark and I are going to take good care of you." She eyed Tony. "You are still planning on staying for the operation, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't miss a chance to watch you work," answered Tony. "But if we're really going to spend the next six hours in a small room together, it might as well be 'Tony'. Are we ready?"

"Yes, everything's prepared. The rest of the team is waiting for us." Helen gave Curt a gentle push to help get him moving as they all started toward a far door. "You're right in here, Curt," she said. "I'll give you a few minutes and then come and get you when Mr. Stark and I are ready."

"Tony," he said again, and as they reached the door he tapped Peter's shoulder. "You know, we are going to need that."

"Oh! Yeah." Peter yanked at the metal case still webbed to him, creating just enough slack to let it slip free. Curt was watching very closely as he passed it off to Tony. "Good luck in there."

Tony and Helen veered off, case in tow, while Adsit and his men returned to their duties; that left Curt and Peter to venture inside. The interior looked like any hospital exam room, with a padded table at the center, a computer station, some chairs, and a gown laid out for Curt to change into. Another door led deeper into the lab.

"You, uh, want me to give you a minute?" Peter said, scratching the back of his neck.

"No, it's…fine." Curt draped his jacket over the table, along with his necktie and shoes, but he didn't go further than that. He winced awkwardly. "Please, stay."

Peter smiled back sympathetically, but when he remembered that Curt couldn't see it, he took a quick—unnecessary—glance around and tugged his mask up. "It's going to be fine," he said, injecting all his honest enthusiasm into his voice. "Tony knows what he's doing—I mean, he had Iron Man implants in his body for a while. They're out now, but still, he knows more about integrating robotics than anyone." He wasn't sure he was helping much, so he changed tactics. "Your wife's here, isn't she? She and Billy?"

"Yes, they're already inside." Curt fidgeted a moment longer and then sat down. "It's going to be quite an adjustment for them. Billy's never seen me with…." He hesitated, and Peter waited patiently for him to finish. "It was before he was born, you know. Just a few weeks ago he asked me about it, about why…I never had anything done for it. I didn't know what to tell him."

"Why not?" Peter was afraid he might be overstepping, but boldness had worked well for him more often than not. "You could have had a prosthetic a long time ago. Why didn't you?"

Curt frowned, but he didn't look upset or angry. It was clear he knew the answer; it just took him a while to get it out. "I didn't want one," he said at last. "I couldn't." He touched the stump of his arm through his shirt, something Peter had never seen him do before. "I felt that if I resorted to a fake, that meant I had really given up on having the real thing back. And I couldn't allow myself to do that." He sighed and let his hand fall. "I was selfish and deluded. You're right—I should have done this a long time ago."

"Hey, no, that's not what I meant." Peter pushed a chair in front of Curt and hopped onto it, squatting as if it were a rooftop so he could still see Curt mostly eye to eye. "I mean, you could have. But maybe it's better that you waited until you were ready to not regret it. You know?" He shook his head, and he wasn't sure of what was coming out of his mouth, but it felt honest. "If you had been working with anything else in that lab, I wouldn't be Spider-Man today. I wouldn't have everything I have now." Curt's eyebrow rose. "Which is, wow, really selfish of me. But hey, you've ended up with a really cushy government job, free run of the lab, the best minds in the world—"

"Peter," said Curt, in that exasperated and amused way that sometimes reminded Peter of his father, "I understand what you're trying to say. Thank you."

There was a knock on the inside door, and Peter tugged his mask back down as Curt invited their guests in. When Martha and Billy entered, all nervous smiles, Peter took that as his cue to back off. He greeted Curt's family gladly and then slipped out, leaving them to a more personal moment. "Really smooth," he muttered to himself as he waited in the hall, but he was pretty sure Curt understood.

Billy emerged a few minutes later. He stared up at Peter with the kind of childish scrutiny that could mean just about anything. Peter had plenty of experience with twelve-year-olds as a superhero, but not so much those whose father's he'd battled on the top of a skyscraper. He offered a wave. "Hey, Billy."

Billy continued to stare up at him. "Hey, Spider-Man."

The silence dragged out awkwardly, so Peter cleared his throat and then crouched down to put them at a more even level. "I don't know if your dad told you," he said, "but he used to be pretty good friends with my dad, a long time ago."

"Yeah." Billy scuffed his shoe on the floor. "He told me."

"Oh, cool." Peter was somewhat at a loss, so he shrugged and offered, "Wanna be friends?"

Billy barely needed time to consider. "Can I see your face?"

Peter glanced up and down the hallway; there were some nurses at the far end, maybe a janitor, but they were in the middle of SHIELD, after all. "If you can keep it a secret," he said, lowering his voice seriously.

Billy nodded, so Peter took one more look around—playing it up maybe more than he needed to—and then tugged his mask up. "Name's Peter," he said. "Don't tell anyone, okay?" He winked.

Finally, Billy grinned. "I won't," he promised, and when Peter held up his fist, he got a bump in return.

When Curt emerged with his wife, he was dressed in the hospital gown, and she was holding his hand tight. With his mask back in place, Peter followed the three Connors to the procedure room where Tony, Helen, and the surgical team were waiting. Connors shared a few tender words with his family, and then he was headed inside, the rest of them taking up their vigil in the observation room.

"Are you sure you want to be watching, Billy?" his mother asked as Billy stood close to the glass. They could see Curt being guided to the operating table, a cart topped with gleaming metal instruments being wheeled closer. "It's going to be..."

"I want to watch," Billy said with determination. "I'm okay."

Martha nodded. Her eyes were already raw from tears, and when she looked to Peter, he could see more ready in the wings. "Thank you for being here," she said quietly. "For everything you've done for him."

"I haven't..." Peter started to say, but then she took his hand and gripped so tight that his knuckles ached.

"Thank you," she said again, the words so full of meaning that Peter shook a little beneath the weight of them. "Thank you."

Peter's throat was tight, so he only nodded, and the three of them settled in for a long night.

Like Tony had said, the surgery took nearly six hours.

Billy didn't make it all the way through; somewhere around 12:30 in the morning he fell asleep against his mother's shoulder. Peter watched every minute, though not always from the same place. He watched from his chair in the beginning, as Helen cut away the scar tissue from Curt's arm. He watched up against the glass when Tony removed the prosthesis they had worked on for weeks in the lab, fine-tuning every detail. He watched from the ceiling, buzzing with anxious energy when Helen's miracle science began the grafting process, coating their skeletal model with organic membranes. His fingertips tingled with sympathy nerves.

At some point he got a text from Bruce asking about their progress, and he typed out a quick Still at it, before gluing his eyes to the scene again.

And then, finally, they were finished. Curt, who had spent the entire operation conscious and staring into the ceiling, was urged to look. Martha shook her son awake, and together with Peter they stood at the window, speechless as they watched Curt sit up and regard his doctors' work: a functioning, human-looking right arm.

Curt drew the limb in close. His face was blank with shock at first as he curled and stretched his fingers, carefully rotated his wrist and bent his elbow. Their voices didn't carry through the glass, but Peter could see Helen asking him questions, and him hesitating through his responses. Eventually Tony got impatient and reached out to give the back of Curt's palm a hard pinch. He flinched and jerked his hand back; Martha burst into tears.

It worked. Peter grew misty-eyed himself as Curt's face was overwhelmed with awe. Martha and Billy hugged each other, and Tony gave a thumbs up. It really worked.

"That was incredible," Peter said as he and Tony ascended to the roof an hour later. "Truly incredible. I was freaking out there for a while, you know? It looked like you were having some trouble getting the frame to mount. And then that elbow."

"The elbow was fine," said Tony. "Your elbow is why I hired you, remember?"

"Do you think it's gonna stick?" The elevator opened, and they followed Agent Adsit to the access door. "I mean, it's not real skin, but it's kind of close. Dr. Cho said that if there was any trouble with the vitamin supply, the arm could just…die. That won't happen, right?"

Tony shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "Hard to say at this point. No one's ever done anything like this before. But I'm sure Helen will be keeping a close eye on it. If this works, she's gonna blow her whole field wide open."

"I thought she did that already when she fixed you?"

"This put her on the map," said Tony, tapping his chest. "That is going to win her the Nobel. It'll take a few years' development before cost lowers enough for widespread use, but if it works, we'll have an army of cyborgs in no time. Fully functioning and touch-sensitive replacement limbs without the danger of exploding. That's something the world needs."

Still trying to make up for The Mandarin, isn't he? Peter thought. "You're a real humanitarian, Tony," he teased, though he did mean it.

"Yeah," said Tony, "assuming it doesn't rot off."

"We'll take good care of Dr. Connors," Adsit assured as they reached Tony's armor. "This new technology could be a huge benefit to SHIELD, as well. Director Fury couldn't be happier that you brought this to us."

"Oh yeah, Fury's always looking to add a few more mad scientists to his ranks," said Tony as he stepped backwards into his suit. "I owe her one for getting her mixed up with you people."

"Maybe Fury's hoping she'll regrow him an eyeball next," Peter joked, and Tony pointed at him as if to say nice one just as the armor's arm snapped over his.

Adsit didn't look amused, but when he realized that they were really getting ready to leave, he straightened up. "You're welcome back any time," he said cheerfully. "Especially you, Spider-Man. SHIELD is here to support you, whenever you need it."

"Thanks, I'm glad to hear it." Peter shook his hand again, and was somehow reminded of Billy. "Take good care of Dr. Connors for me."

"Yes, sir!"

Tony and Peter moved to the edge of the roof. "I'm starving," Tony declared. "Aren't you starving? What is even open this time of night?"

"You mean, this time of morning?" Peter let his toes wiggle off the edge as he considered. "I know just the place, if you'll give me a lift."

The mask clanged shut. "You asked for it."

Tony took him for another ride, whipping back and forth among the skyscrapers. Despite the hour, Peter was bursting with energy and enjoyed Tony's challenge even more than the first time. After another few passes over Manhattan and one trip across the river and back, Peter jumped free so he could lead Tony to a small Ukrainian restaurant in the East Village. Tony parked the armor out on the sidewalk, and as they stepped inside, Peter waved to the pair of men behind the counter.

"Hey, Bela!" Peter greeted. The restaurant's other patrons turned to gape. "We need some pierogi over here!"

Bela grinned and waved back. "Are you in the mood for cheese or sauerkraut?" he asked. His fellow cook looked between them in astonishment.

"I want everything," Tony said immediately. "Everything you've got." As they took a seat at the counter, he reached across and shook Bela's hand. "Tony Stark."

"Bela Csaby," he introduced back. He didn't seem at all fazed by one of the richest men in the world settling in on a stool in his restaurant. He slapped his friend's shoulder. "Kevin David. He's a little new here."

Kevin stuttered out a greeting, shaking Tony's hand and then Peter's. Seeing his success, a couple of the café's less sober patrons ventured closer to try their luck, and were rewarded with handshakes and selfie opportunities. By the time Tony and Peter got their food, Twitter had gotten the word out, and people were walking in off the street in the hopes of catching a glimpse of two famous heroes eating pierogi.

"Twenty-four hour restaurants are a street hero's best friend," Peter said between bites, mask pulled up only just enough for him to eat. "These pierogi have saved my life at 3:00am when I was running on empty."

"I believe it," said Tony. "You're going to have to show me all your secret late-night spots."

Peter's phone rang, and he answered it while Tony turned to take a picture with a group of women. He was so convinced that it was Bruce, he didn't realize the ringtone was wrong until he had the phone at his ear.

"Peter," said Gwen, quick and serious. "Are you watching this? Have you seen what's happening?"

"Huh?" Peter glanced around the restaurant and then remembered that she was several thousand miles away. "Hey, slow down. What's going on? Are you all right?"

"For now I'm fine, but you need to find a news station right now."

"Okay—hold on." Peter smacked Tony on the shoulder and then waved to get Bela's attention. "Hey, Bela! Find us the news—something's going down."

There was a television on the far wall, and Bela changed the channel from late night comedy to local news. With everyone in the restaurant still clucking over their famous guests, it was too hard to hear the anchorman, but then the headline flashed across the bottom of the screen: ALIENS ATTACK LONDON.

"Holy shit…." Peter sat rigid on his stool as the chatter around him dwindled and everyone turned their attention to the screen. "Gwen. Tell me you're nowhere near there."

"I'm not," said Gwen; her voice had never sounded further away. "I'm okay, I'm still at school."

By then the other patrons had finally quieted down enough that they could hear the television. "We are getting reports that figures are exiting the craft," the anchorman was saying. "They are not the same alien beings that landed in New York City just eighteen months ago. These are different creatures, new creatures—" He put his hand to his ear. "Okay—we're taking you to live footage from Greenwich. Ladies and gentlemen, this footage is live, and it is real."

The screen changed to a camera view from a helicopter, and everyone in the restaurant gasped at the sight of a huge, black alien craft embedded in in the grounds of the Old Royal Naval College.

"Your friends are going to handle this, right?" said Gwen. "This is what they do?"

Peter watched the people on the screen fleeing across the college grounds, much like his scattering wits. He shook himself and forced his jaw back up. "Yeah," he said, mostly breathless as he clambered off his stool. "Yeah, of course. Just—stay safe, you know, as much as you—I'm sure they've got somewhere you can go. Keep your head down."

"Be careful," she said, and they both hung up.

The restaurant was was quickly becoming its own mini war zone; everyone started shouting, calling their friends and family, some outright panicking. Bela and his cooks tried to keep order and turned the television volume as high as it would go so they could continuing following the broadcast. Peter almost expected an alien laser to blast through the window and had to remind himself that everything they were seeing was happening across the ocean. He grabbed Tony's shoulder. "Tony, we've got to—"

Tony startled beneath his hand, and it wasn't until then that Peter noticed how pale he looked, how wide his eyes were. He rallied himself and pushed back from the counter. "I know, I know," he said. "Let's get to the tower."

By the time they arrived, Bruce and Pepper were waiting. Everyone started talking at once until Pepper managed to draw them into order. "We just finished speaking to Director Fury," she said, staying close to Tony's side as they gathered in front of the television. "He's sending Steve in a Quinjet. It looks like Thor is already there, but they haven't been able to make contact with him."

"But it's not the same aliens as before, right?" Peter asked, tugging his mask off. He glanced to the television and saw red flashing across the screen. "The Chitauri?"

"How did they get here without the Tesseract?" asked Tony. "Why didn't we get the call sooner?"

"We don't know," said Bruce. "No one seems to know anything at this point. We'll just have to figure it out once we get there."

He took Peter's hand and squeezed; Peter squeezed back just as hard. This is it, he thought, his toes clenching against the floor. Fighting off an alien invasion with the Avengers? This is totally it.

"It'll take us hours to get there," said Tony. "Even if I leave now in the armor, by the time I get there—"

"You don't have to go by yourself," Pepper interrupted quickly. "The rest of the team is on the way."

Bruce nodded along. "There's only the one ship, and their soldiers aren't very mobile. They're being contained."

"But..." Peter glanced between them; he felt as if there was a conversation taking place he wasn't party to. "But if Tony can get there even a little faster, shouldn't he go?" he suggested. "I mean, I'd tag along if I could, but I don't think I can drag behind him across an ocean."

Bruce tugged his hand, and Pepper was definitely giving him a look, but Peter was at a loss to interpret either. Tony, meanwhile, was bobbing his head in a nod, and he scraped his wrist across his mouth. "Kid's right," he said. "I gotta go."

"Tony, wait," Pepper said immediately, taking his arm. "Just wait for Steve to get here. You'll have a better chance if you all go in together."

"If Thor is already out there, we—"

"Mr. Stark," JARVIS interrupted. "I think you should be watching this."

Everyone turned back to the television. A view from a helicopter showed the college, pillars blackened and toppled during the battle, civilians crowding together in astonishment...but no aliens. The immense black ship was nowhere in sight no matter how the camera panned, and there was no sign of ongoing fighting. Even the anchorman was struggling to explain, lending no clues as to what had become of the craft or its owners. "They seem to have...vanished," he said helplessly. "No one is quite sure what's happened, but the aliens seem to have disappeared just as abruptly as they appeared. We're going now to our field unit..."

"What just happened?" Peter blurted out. "Are they gone?"

Bruce shook his head in confusion. "Thor must have done something...?"

They all continued to watch, breathless, expecting the broadcast to erupt in new chaos at any moment, but nothing happened. As the news continued to speculate as to the abrupt fate of the alien invaders, Peter looked to Tony.

He really doesn't look so hot, Peter realized. Do they all know something I don't?

After a torturous wait, Director Fury called, the news coverage shifting to allow for his video window. "All right everyone, calm down," he said immediately, and Peter couldn't help but wonder what state Bruce and Pepper had been in for his last call. "We've got agents on the scene now. They're telling us that the immediate threat has passed; the aliens are gone."

"You're sure that they're gone?" asked Bruce. "They didn't just perform some kind of teleportation; there isn't another ship coming?"

"Right now it doesn't look that way," Fury assured. "We're trying to get answers, but to be honest, I don't have any for you yet. Captain Rogers is still on his way to you. Dr. Banner, I'd like you to accompany him overseas. We need the brains, not the big guy, on this."

It was Peter's turn to deliver a meaningful hand squeeze, and Bruce offered a slight nod of acknowledgement. "I understand," said Bruce. "I'll be ready for him."

"Stark, you're on standby," Fury went on; Tony and Pepper both relaxed. "We're going to have plenty of firepower focused on Great Britain starting now, but if there's a chance of these things showing up anywhere else, you've got the best mobility. I trust you'll have your eyes peeled."

"Yeah, sure," Tony said. He was starting to sound a bit more like himself. "I've got your back. JARVIS is already analyzing their energy signature; if they surface again, we'll pick them up."

"Good, keep me posted. You, too, Dr. Banner." With a nod to them all, he disconnected.

"You were analyzing their energy signature while they were still around, weren't you, JARVIS?" Tony said.

"Of course, Mr. Stark." JARVIS's readouts took the place where Fury's face had been. "The energy given off by the ship itself was not strong enough to compile a complete profile, but there were several spikes given off within the vicinity which strongly resemble readings taken from the Tesseract. None of our satellites were in an optimal position to analyze the event, but there is still usable data coming in."

"Find out if anyone did better and borrow what you can. We need everything, JARVIS."

"Understood, sir."

Peter let out a long breath. The aliens might be gone but he still felt charged, muscles tight as if he could spring into action at any moment. He looked to Bruce and forced himself to laugh to dispel some of the tension. "Well, that...happened. I guess."

Everyone looked at him, clearly still too tense to laugh. Peter rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and tried again. "We don't have any idea yet who these guys are, right? Other than they're not Chitauri? Is there even a picture of one?"

"There doesn't seem to be," said Bruce. He glanced at Tony and Pepper, who had moved close together, and drew Peter gently toward the monitor at the bar. "Just a few blurry shots caught by the helicopter. It happened so fast, people were more interested in getting out than taking pictures, for once."

He called up the small handful that had been recorded, none of which were particularly detailed; Peter could only make out dark bodies and white heads, uniform in appearance like soldiers. It gave him the creeps. As they finished cycling through, he lowered his voice. "Hey, is there something I should know? What's up with Tony?"

Bruce looked like he was trying very hard not to look at the man in question. "Pepper's shared some things with me," he admitted quietly. "We can talk about it later, but basically, she's worried about letting Tony go up against things like this on his own."

"She's worried about losing him, huh?" said Peter, knowing the feeling.

"Not…exactly." Bruce frowned as he put his thoughts into words. "Last time we fought off an alien invasion, it all came down to Tony," he said. "And he knows that a little too well. He gets it in his head sometimes that he needs to take care of everything himself. It's a bigger strain on him than he'll let on."

"Oh." Peter grimaced, mentally kicking himself for having not thought of it sooner. "Yeah, I get that feeling sometimes, too. Sorry—I shouldn't have told him—"

"It's not your fault," Bruce said quickly. "He'll be all right." He offered a smile. "It just means we have to look out for each other."

Peter nodded. He would have said more, but just then an alert popped up on the monitor, advising them to return to live news coverage. "Sir," said JARVIS, "I'm afraid there seems to be a mob approaching the building."

Everyone turned toward the main screen, where the local news had finally found a way to join in on the excitement; they were filming a large group of people—forty or so and growing fast—advancing on Stark Tower. They were agitated and shouting, nothing coming out clearly over the commotion, but IS NEW YORK NEXT? was scrolling across the bottom of the news feed.

"Do they really have to do that?" Pepper said angrily. "They're going to start a panic!"

Peter shook his head, but he already knew what he had to do, and he straightened up. "I've got this," he said as he pulled his mask down. "They're just scared—they want to know you guys are on it."

"What are you going to do?" Tony asked skeptically. "Just calmly ask them to disperse?"

"Hey, these are my people. I'll work it out." Even before Bruce took a breath Peter knew what he was going to say, and he clapped him on the shoulders. "Don't worry; I'll be careful."

Bruce managed to relax, but only barely. "Okay. We'll be watching."

At least the mob was conveniently located. Peter swung down from the Tower's helipad and lowered himself several stories at a time until he was just above the gathering. Some looked like late night workers that had come out of their shops, or early openers, or weary patrons like he and Tony had been not too long ago. Some looked like they had come directly out of their sleep and others might have been homeless. But they were all frightened and angry, yelling things like "What if they come here?" and "Why aren't you protecting us?" Tower security was safely behind the entrance doors, talking into their radios as they gathered backup from the rest of the building. Peter seriously doubted that any civilians, no matter how many, could force their way into Tony Stark's home base, but if things escalated any further someone was going to get hurt. He cast one more line and then swung down, sticking to the thick glass windows over the doorways, just out of reach.

"Hey, hey!" he called. The great thing about the costume was, it sure got people's attention fast. "Everyone, calm down!"

"Spider-Man!" They all crowded closer, which didn't seem to help the nerves of the security guards inside. There were too many people talking and shouting for Peter to make out much more than their blatant alarm and insecurity, so he stuck his heels to the window and leaned back so he could hold his hands up.

"Everyone, please, calm down!" he tried again. "It's all right—there's no reason to panic. Just listen, okay? I know you're scared, but there is no invasion any more, all right? There is nothing here in New York for you to worry about."

"But there was an invasion, right?" said a man near the front, flushed with anger and probably also alcohol. "The aliens came back—they came back to kill us all, right?"

"No, no, no, it's not like that. These weren't those aliens."

"Well, how the hell many are there?" spoke up a woman next to him. "Are there really dozens of different aliens out there that want us dead?"

"They want to exterminate us!" said another. "They want to take over this planet!"

Everyone started pushing and shouting again, and it took several tries for Peter to get their attention back enough for him to be heard. "No one is taking over the planet!" he insisted. "The Avengers are on it. We've got one over there now, and…and it's handled, okay? You were probably too busy, uh, mobbing to see on the news, but the ship is already gone. The aliens are gone. You all need to, you know, take a deep breath." He mimed it for them, even if he felt ridiculous doing so. "And calm down, and go back home to your families, because it's already over."

All the shouting was replaced with nervous, discontented murmurs, and the man at the head of them was clearly not ready to back down. "Why should we believe you?" he demanded. "You're just telling us what we want to hear because you think we're idiots! You and the rest of your kind!"

Peter made a face behind his mask. "My kind?"

"Yeah!" added the woman who was quickly becoming his cohort. "Why should we believe you?"

"Because…I'm Spider-Man?" He shrugged. "Seriously, everyone, I'm not trying to trick you. I just want you to, um, disperse. Peacefully."

Someone in the back spoke up. Peter couldn't make out what he said, but then a murmur spread among the people closest, gaining momentum. I've got a bad feeling about this, Peter thought, but before he could figure it out, a scream arose, and people within the mob darted out of the way of a man drawing a handgun.

Peter reacted without thinking: he snagged the weapon with a shot of webbing and yanked it out of the man's hands with ease long before he realized it had been aimed at him. With the gun safely affixed to the side of the building he jumped into the middle of the crowd, quickly gagging and then restraining his wild-eyed attacker. "Okay, calm down!" he said again, already regretting having joined the fray. "There's no need for—"

"He could be one of them," someone said nearby, and that time Peter had no problem hearing. "We've all seen what he can do. He's not human."

Peter turned toward the voice, but then someone else behind him said, "Half the Avengers are aliens, aren't they? What if they're making us rely on them so they can take us over themselves?"

"Hey—hold on a minute!" Peter began to sweat as he turned in a circle, but everyone was watching him with distrust, and he couldn't tell which people had spoken. "We're not all aliens!" he insisted. "I'm not an alien. Look!" He yanked part of his suit open. "I've got a belly button and everything!"

A hand latched onto his arm; Peter swatted it off, but then another grabbed him from behind, and then another, reaching for his mask. Fingers snuck under the spandex and Peter jolted, casting everyone away from him so he could jump free. A shot of web helped him swing back to the tower entrance. Even that wasn't safe, however, as the crowd only resumed their hysteric assault on the doors.

Sirens announced the arrival of several police cars, but with the crowd becoming ever more agitated, Peter doubted the emerging officers were prepared handle things without force. He didn't like the idea of Bruce and Tony watching from the tower, either; if they decided he couldn't handle things himself and decided to join in, things could escalate even faster. So he did the only thing he could think to do.

He started webbing people. It didn't take much to incapacitate someone, after all; it was easy to catch two wrists together when people were banging against the Tower doorway, and when he managed to gag some, they immediately stopped what they were doing to try and pull the webbing off. One by one he secured each member of the rowdy mob, keeping a close eye out for anyone who stumbled or was in danger of being trampled. Once everyone realized what was happening several made a run for it, and Peter let them go. That counted as "dispersing" as far as he was concerned, and within minutes, all that remained were two dozen unhappy people slumped in the courtyard, struggling weakly against their sticky bondages.

Peter leapt down and took a quick survey of his work. "I really didn't want to have to do that," he said as he turned in a circle. "But you guys didn't leave me any choice! So just...take five, and cool your heads."

Their replies came in the form of a lot of grunting and some swearing, but at least the incident had passed, and the officers sure looked relieved. Peter breathed a sigh and headed across the street to where the news crew was still stationed. As soon as the reporter noticed him approaching, she started slinging questions at him, but Peter zeroed in only on the camera.

"This is Spider-Man," he said. "I want New York to know that the situation is under control, and that there's no need to panic. We will all get answers very soon, I'm sure, so in the meantime, just...stay calm, and stay in your homes. Everyone's going to be fine."

"Can we consider this an official statement from the Avengers?" the reporter asked, forcing herself back into frame with him. "Are you their spokesperson now? What can you tell us about these new alien invaders? What did they want, and where have they gone?"

"No, I just, uh...you'll get answers soon," Peter said lamely. "Very soon, you can bet on it." The sound of engines caught his attention, and everyone looked up as a Quinjet roared over the city and landed at the tower. "So soon that that might be them now," said Peter. "Listen, just relax, okay? We are on it." With that, he swung back up the tower.

By the time he reached the penthouse, everyone was out on the helipad waiting for him. Steve, Natasha, and Clint were in full combat gear, and even Bruce looked like he had put on his Hulk "uniform" beneath his pants. Peter stomach did a little jump as he approached them all. "Captain," he greeted first, grin hidden beneath his mask. "It's been a while."

Steve nodded, and though his expression was stern, he did seem glad to see him. "Are you ready to go?"

"Ready to 'assemble' you mean?" Peter rocked on his toes, itching for it, but then he heard sirens somewhere in the city below. He thought about the people he had just webbed into submission and the thousands more like them all throughout Manhattan, anxious for news. He shifted his weight. "I am," he said carefully. He looked to Bruce and was a little relieved that understanding was already in Bruce's face. "But I'm thinking...maybe I should stay here for this one."

"What's the matter, kid?" Clint taunted. "You don't have something against aliens, do you?"

"No, I just..." Peter hemmed beneath all the eyes on him. "People here are freaking out. If there's more trouble like we just had downstairs, the police are going to have their hands full, and I might be able to help. You know?"

Steve's face softened with a look of pride that convinced Peter even more that he was making the right call. "I understand," he said. "We'll leave you on standby with Stark."

"The way things look right now, there isn't any combat going on over there anyway," added Natasha. "You'll probably see more action than we will."

"Still, we'd better get over there," said Clint. "We'll get an earful from Fury if we're off schedule."

He and Natasha headed onto the Quinjet. Steve offered Peter a firm handshake and a "good luck" before joining them. Bruce went last, lingering to give Peter an approving but sympathetic smile.

Peter waved him on. "I'll be fine," he assured. "Just, uh, tell Thor I still want to meet him, okay? Seriously."

Bruce chuckled and nodded. "You'll get your chance, I promise," he said. "Be careful out there."

"You, too."

Bruce boarded the Quinjet, and Peter sighed as he watched the it off and turn east. "Man," he muttered. "I'm kind of regretting it already."

The door opened behind him, and Tony and Pepper emerged. Pepper hurried up to him while Tony stepped into his armor. "Peter," she said urgently, "there's trouble in Brooklyn," she said. "Some nut with a bull horn is riling people up. There's looting going on."

"Damn." Peter tugged his mask up so he could give his face a rub. "You'd think it was the end of the world all over again."

"I'll come with you," said Tony. "JARVIS will keep me updated if there are any more outbreaks." The armor whirred when he shrugged. "And at least I can give you a ride."

Looking out for each other, Peter thought, and suddenly he felt better about his choice as they moved to the edge of the helipad together. He took a deep breath. "Gonna be a long night," he said, and then they were off.

"This going to take us the entire bloody afternoon."

Jemma winced sympathetically as she followed Fitz into the southeast corner of The Royal Naval College's famous Painted Hall. "It's not all bad," she said. "At least this is a much calmer field operation than your last one, behind enemy lines."

"It's not that I'm complaining, I'm just stating the facts," said Fitz. "Given the size of the site and how much of it we've managed to clear in the last three hours, unless we get reinforcements it's going to take us at least another six hours to finish." He began marking out the areas they would use to organize and sanitize each piece of debris. "And at the end of those six hours, we still won't have learned a single thing more about what they were or where they came from."

"That's the job," Ward reminded him, not for the first time. "We tag it, we bag it. Any information about who the aliens are, where they came from,m or what they wanted is—"

"Classified," Fitz and Jemma finished together. "We know."

Ward shook his head at them. "Finish setting up, all right? I'm going to check in with Coulson, let him know where we are. I'll be back."

He left, and Jemma allowed herself a moment to relax. The work itself was not taxing—just methodically separating alien technology from rubble, containing and labeling it, nothing difficult about that—but she found her nerves to be in short supply anyway, and listening to Ward and Fitz's banter lacked its usual charm. She ketp her head down, ignoring the weight of her phone in her pocket as she worked. Fitz fiddled with the settings for his scanner as dozens of agents bustled about in their own small squares. He had been right: they were going to be at it all day.

"What do you suppose they intend to do with it all?" Fitz asked as he finished adjusting the scanner to his liking. "The director must have a secret bunker lab back at the Triskelion where all his teacher's pets will be analyzing it, maybe. Or do you think they'll just shoot it back into space where it came from? Into the sun?"

"Who knows?" said Jemma distractedly. She made sure her gloves were securely in place before nudging a suspicious looking piece of metal into a better position to be photographed. "Most of it is just scrap from the ship. Not much to be learned from it, I'm afraid."

When Fitz noticed her snapping the picture, he came over with his scanner. The metal checked out; just a piece of blackened copper piping that had been twisted into a strange shape. Jemma breathed a sigh and tossed it into the area Fitz had marked for normal debris.

He watched her closely, and she did an admirable job of not looking up. "It's a shame, though, isn't it?" he said quietly.

"A shame that we were able to learn so little about them before they disappeared?" Jemma replied, picking her way through more rubble. "Or that they came with hostile intentions in the first place?"

Fitz scratched the back of his neck. "Actually, I was thinking more that...it's a shame we finally had a chance to meet another alien race, and you can't even enjoy it."

Jemma frowned at him. "They were here to undo the universe," she reminded him. "At least, that's what Dr. Selvig says."

"Well, yes, but besides all that." Fitz ran his scanner sullenly over another collection of rocks and wood splinters. "It's what we used to talk about back in school," he said. "All the top secret government conspiracies hiding the truth about little green men from an unsuspecting public. How we could be that conspiracy someday, making first contact and trading secret alien tech." He shook his head sadly. "Who would have thought that Independence Day would get it more right than Star Trek."

"Fitz," Jemma said, shoulders falling. "This is all a bit too close to home for you to be making jokes."

"I'm not! Honestly." Fitz began shuffling the remarkable bits into their proper spaces. "I was just looking forward to, you know, pioneering a new field of xenopology together."

Jemma couldn't help but smile. She did remember those days very well, and even some of the excitement she'd been able to indulge in only a few weeks ago in joining Coulson's team. After all, even though the encounters had come with serious consequences, the appearances of Asgardians and Chitauri had answered age old and personally resonant questions about humanity's place in the universe. The idea of studying any alien race's technology, even just bits of scrap metal, should have held her in awe. And yet, she still found herself tightening and retightening her gloves every time she reached for a new piece of the puzzle left behind, fearful of what bizarre infections they may hold. She kept ignoring the weight of the phone in her pocket as it buzzed with her parents trying again and again to call her, wanting answers she didn't know how to say.

"Exopology," she said, and Fitz brightened even as he rose to the bait of an old argument being rekindled.

"Now Simmons," he said with exaggerated patience, "we've been over this before, and—"

Just as Jemma was rallying herself for another round of Latin prefix debate, they were interrupted by a shrill scream from somewhere outside. It was piercing and guttural at the same time, and it sent goose bumps hurtling up and down Jemma's arms. It was not human.

Shouts followed that definitely were, soon joined by a rattle of gunfire, more fiendish screaming, and sounds of debris being flung around. Fitz turned toward the windows, but by then Jemma was already running for the exit. She hopped over piles of garbage, dodged other agents and their equipment, and ignored Fitz behind her as she raced to the nearest doorway. She wasn't even sure why she was running, but something was out there, something alien was out there, and she had to see it. She had to know.

She burst out onto the lawn. A large group of SHIELD agents was nearby, encircling something as they shouted orders and leveled weapons. "Don't let it run!" someone was yelling. "Drive it back!"

"Simmons!" Fitz grabbed her elbow, wheezing. "What're you doing?"

"Something's over there," said Jemma breathlessly. "Something's still alive. Come on!" She shook free of him so she could grab his hand instead. "Come on, Fitz!"

"Sim—wait—" Fitz struggled to keep up with her as she dragged him toward the circle of agents. "This isn't a good idea! You and aliens haven't mixed all that well—"

"Go!" a familiar voice hollered from within the circle. "Go, go—close the door!"

Simmons reached the gathering, pushing between the shoulders of two agents just in time to see a large metal containment unit slam shut. It clanged for several seconds afterwards as something inside fought against its imprisonment, its unearthly howls muffled. Finally, it went quiet, and only then did the surrounding agents lower their weapons.

Jemma kept her eyes on the tall metal box at the center of their circle long after everyone else started to disband. She felt as if she could barely breathe. Then the agent next to her called for everyone to go back to work, and she realized who it was. "Ward!" She let go of Fitz only to latch onto Ward's arm instead. "Did you see it?" she asked urgently. "What was it?"

Ward holstered his pistol and scraped his arm across his forehead. "I didn't see anything," he lied badly.

"Oh come on, you had to have seen it!" said Fitz, throwing his hands up. "You were right here!"

"It's classified," he insisted, and as more agents gathered to investigate, Jemma could hear everyone passing on the same ridiculously frustrating answers. "You're really better off not knowing, trust me."

Coulson, May, and Skye joined them. If anyone was going to get something out of Ward it would be Skye, so Jemma left her to it while Fitz tried his luck with the surrounding agents. Jemma crept a little closer to the box. A transport truck was already rumbling across the lawn to come whisk it away, and there was nothing to see anyway, but something pulled her forward regardless. A creature from another world was alive and inside that box, from the sound of it angry and possibly afraid. Curiosity filled her with the reckless hope that whatever it was could still be reasoned with, maybe even learned from or delivered safely home before SHIELD shuffled it into one of its narrow hallways buried in the earth.

"Agent Simmons." A man took her elbow. "Stand back, please."

Jemma started, and then again when she realized it was Agent Sitwell tugging her back. The transport vehicle had arrived and was preparing to hoist the containment unit aboard. "A-Agent Sitwell," she chirped, blushing. "Sorry, sir, I was just...hoping for a peek."

"It's really better for you that you don't get one," replied Sitwell, positioning himself between her and the box. "It's dangerous."

"It wasn't one of the alien soldiers, was it?" Jemma asked. She knew she was pushing her luck but couldn't help herself. "I'm not sure that it even sounded sentient, but if The Convergence was active for long enough across enough worlds, well, there's no telling where it came from."

"We'll take care of it, I assure you." He motioned to someone behind her, and Jemma just knew that Coulson was being called over to collect her. "Please go back to your unit."

Someone stopped behind her, and Jemma turned, wincing when she saw it was worse than she'd thought: May was there. She smiled sheepishly and allowed herself to be drawn back to her team.

"It's just us, Ward," Skye was saying. "Technically I'm not even a full agent, so if you can't reveal your secrets to the Level 5's, at least tell me."

"It doesn't work that way," Ward retorted. "That doesn't even make sense."

"Okay, enough." Coulson gestured for them to gather around, and they did. "Ward may have seen an alien. So what? I've seen, like, six aliens. They're really not that special." When that failed to satisfy his team, he changed tactics. "You want to see something extraterrestrial? Go look at the rubble some more. That's from outer space, too."

Fitz and Skye both groaned; fortunately, May had a more effective plan for motivation. "The Avengers are due to touch down within the hour," she told them. "They're going to be looking for a status update, which means checking out the site."

Skye immediately perked up. "Does that mean Captain Rogers is coming?"

"Yes, along with Dr. Banner."

Fitz snapped to attention as well. "Dr. Banner will be here?"

"Don't do that to them, May," said Ward. "You know they don't have the clearance to meet The Avengers."

"Where they go will depend on what we've found," said Coulson, having caught on to May's tactic. "And who's found it. So get back to work, hm?" He made a shooing motion. "You don't want to disappoint them, right?"

With a shared sigh, the team split up back to their sections. "You two are really terrible," Skye was saying as she left with Coulson and May. "You know that, right?"

Fitz, meanwhile, was struggling between excitement and cynicism. "Dr. Banner," he repeated. "Here, investigating the site with us. That'd really be something, wouldn't it?"

"Don't get your hopes up," Ward admonished him. "Like I said, you're not nearly high enough clearance-wise to be in the same room with him."

"Well, neither are you!"

The two of them continued to argue over it on the way back inside. Jemma, meanwhile, snuck glances over her shoulder. She thought she heard thrashing inside the containment box as it was lifted into the transport, but she couldn't be sure. She did, however, see Agent Sitwell leaning in close to the ear of the transport's driver, and several of the agents turning away anyone new trying to arrive at the scene. She was very used to SHIELD protocol and paranoia, but something about Sitwell's furtive looks toward their retreating team gave her pause.

She didn't have time to dwell on it, as it was then that Coulson called them back together for an urgent mission in Norway. There was no time to wait for The Avengers after all.

"You'll have your chance to meet them eventually," Coulson assured his team as they returned to The Bus. "I promise."