O4
Voice hitching as they speak.
This was a bad idea, no doubt about it.
Peter had been nagging Mr. Stark about coming to the workshop to improve Interrogation Mode for weeks, being told again and again to wait until the man had more time. He'd been afraid he'd annoyed Mr. Stark out of doing it completely, but yesterday's call from Happy proved him wrong. They'd agreed on a time to meet today, and that was that.
Until he woke up god-knows-when last night in time to leap out of bed and make a sprint for the toilet. He spent the rest of his night camped out on the bathroom floor, dozing on and off and unable to keep even antacids down.
He told himself the worst of it would be over by the afternoon, but it was dangerously close to four o'clock and he still couldn't completely shake the nausea. Not one to back out of an obligation, he moved a couple textbooks to his desk and tossed his suit into his backpack in their place. He wasn't in any immediate danger of puking again, so waiting for Happy at the curb seemed like the best choice. Either the man was frustrated easily in general, or Peter's existence frustrated him in particular. Whichever it was, Peter wanted to avoid angering him as much as possible.
Happy pulled up in front of his apartment right on time, and Peter mentally cheered at the fact that his expression bordered more on neutral than annoyed today. He settled in for the ride, skipping his seatbelt in favor of laying down along the backseat once they were moving. Napping would at least stop him from feeling the nausea and hopefully keep anything more from coming of it.
He woke up mid-retch, and if that wasn't the most disorienting thing he'd ever experienced, he didn't know what was. Without thinking much about where he was, he rolled in time to vomit with a strangled sound what little he had left into the floor. Miraculously, Happy hadn't noticed him yet.
Less fortunately, he did notice when Peter pushed himself up and gagged fruitlessly. He'd never heard someone use the word "fuck" so copiously and creatively before. He cringed at the knowledge that he'd caused it. There was barely enough room to fit a car on the shoulder, but Happy immediately went for it anyway, and Peter gratefully tumbled out to finish what he'd started somewhere less expensive.
"I'm—" His voice hitched on another near-gag. "—sorry! I'm sorry!"
There wasn't anything to say to fix it. Happy probably didn't even hear him, too busy back at the car checking the damage to the backseat. His stomach slowly settled while he dreaded being enclosed in stony silence with Happy for another half hour.
