Author's Note:
Updated April 15th, 2019
Chapter Seven:
If Peter's vision wasn't spinning so much, he probably would have seen the pole before he smacked against it. If his ribs weren't pulsing in an awkward angle, he probably wouldn't have tried to walk into the pole in the first place. And to top it all, if Peter's eye wasn't swelling, he wouldn't have had to lower his head in an attempt to not catch anyone's attention ergo: seeing the pole.
Unfortunately, he did smash against the pole, and when the cold metal from the fire escape met his face, Peter let out a yelp of pain and surprise tumbling backwards from his attempt to scale it solely with his arms. Battling the elevator didn't appeal at the moment and he usually leaves his window unlocked for purposes like this and he's starting to wonder if it's really worth it.
Peter's backpack smashes against the railing for the floor lower than his and he lands in a collapsed heap in the snow, staring upwards trying desperately not to breathe deeply. His eyes are wide as he looks upwards towards the brown metal smiling back down at him maliciously. He scowls at it, but that feels strangely pathetic. He sighs and groans, pushing upwards against the snow. The cold digs into his already freezing fingers, but he ignores it to the best of his ability.
Stupid December with all it's stupid cold, and stupid ability to make everyone freeze to death.
Peter sits up backpack's weight rolls onto his shoulders unevenly and Peter grasps the railing to the escape before pulling himself up. Peter lets out a soft sigh before looking back up at the fire escape's bottom. Glancing at the window to make sure the blinds are covering, Peter leaps upwards and presses his fingers against the roof.
With soft effort and a few more childish nicknames of frustration at the wall and metal, Peter finally pulls himself into his room and releases a sigh of relief. He tosses his backpack onto the bed and turns to collapse on it, but pauses as he sees the computer monitor still whirring. Streams of data are sitting still from multiple tabs. The complexity of the code (beyond the zeros and ones) looks almost comical on the computer that's from the late 1990's.
Peter's eyebrows meet for a moment before he blinks in surprise.
This is familiar.
Why is it so familiar?
It—
Oh.
It's the code for SI. The one that Peter attempted to hack as a joke and failed why is it... Stark's trying to hack into his own systems. That's what he was doing this morning. Right. That makes sense. But where is he now?
Peter flicks his gaze towards the clock. It's about four, so May should be on her way home and he has...about fifteen minutes before she comes home and that means that she'll see the swelling and be prepared to go after Flash with a baseball bat because he…
He—
Actually hit him.
Flash has never hit him before and now it's...painfully visible. It wasn't his fault. He really wasn't trying to motivate Flash into it...okay, so the punch is partially his fault, but still! The stairs were unintentional...probably. All he really wants is ice. For his face, that is. His ribs feel a great deal better than they did a few days ago. Just a little tender. But still. The Ice. It isn't the first time that he's come home with a black eye so maybe May will let it pass...likely not.
Mr. Stark looks like he left the room in a hurry—oh, poof cake.
Mr. Stark.
May he can probably get away with bending the truth a little, Mr. Stark? Nope. The man seems to have a sixth sense for lies. Where is Mr. Stark anyway? Peter uncovers his face, carefully, and listens for a moment. He can hear Mr. Stark's rapidly speaking voice that he's surprised he didn't notice before. Is Mrs. Potts back? Maybe Mr. Stark finally lost it and is talking to himself. Peter purses his lips tightly before making his way across the room towards the hall.
Why does he feel like he's spying? He lives here.
Peter stands at the end of the hall for a moment, sweeping his gaze across the kitchen-living room for either Stark, but all he sees is Mr. Stark pacing back and forth and Friday's voice. He's not trying incredibly hard to pick up on what either one is saying, though, but Mr. Stark looks...stressed. Actually, Peter's sure he's never seen Mr. Stark looking this panicked before. Usually the mask of indifference covers everything, but his expression is making Peter nervous. Did the police call?
Mr. Stark turns his position so he's looking directly at the hallway and Peter has time to think an "ah crap" in his head before Mr. Stark stops and stares at him. The relief on the man's face is extensive and Peter's lower lip gnawing intensifies. "Peter!" Mr. Stark says in relief.
The relief makes him pause.
Something happened.
Mr. Stark quickly closes the distance between them, though Peter doesn't remember him moving and grasps Peter's shoulders, "Are you okay? Why were you late? Did something happen? It's been thirty more minutes than normal and I can't even call the police, and Friday tried to find you, but couldn't and I-I called over a dozen times, where's your phone?" The splatter of questions are spoken too quickly for Peter to really answer and there's a moment of quiet before Mr. Stark really looks at him.
His eyes narrow. "What happened to your face?"
He is so dead.
Peter opens his mouth to answer, but the lie feels dry on his tongue and refuses to leave his throat. "I...uh..." He stutters and Mr. Stark's grip on his shoulders tightens to an almost painful intensity. The grip is almost...possessive. Angry? Protective?
Mr. Stark looks so tense that a good prod in the right area will make him unravel. Why is Mr. Stark so panicked? Is it the police? Shouldn't he have left?
Mr. Stark curses under his breath softly before releasing him, "Couch, now." He points in the general direction of the piece of furniture and Peter moves stiffly across the room as Mr. Stark swiftly moves towards the freezer.
Peter sits on the couch eyeing the folded blankets in confusion. Why are they folded? Unless Mr. Stark did that, no one had time this morning. And beyond that, the coffee table is painfully in the center with a tea cup resting on it. It must be one of May's china, because Peter hasn't seen it around before. Weird.
Mr. Stark returns to his line of site and tosses the phone he was using (Peter's pretty sure it's Mrs. Potts's) onto the ground beside the coffee table as he hands Peter the ice wordlessly.
Peter presses it against his bruising face and bites his lip to withhold the sigh of relief. "Did someone attack you? Were you running?" Mr. Stark asks and Peter shakes his head.
No.
Why is he asking?
Should he have been?
Mr. Stark purses his lips and clasps his hands together, "What happened?"
Peter internally sighs. I'm part of the decathlon again and Flash utterly hates it and is competing me for the place every second of every day I'm at school and instead of ignoring him I sort of snapped and said some stuff and he hit me.
Peter's pretty sure the action startled both himself and Flash which is why instead of catching his balance, Peter tumbled face forward on the stairs. Ned was angry. Peter was a little too surprised to do anything. Yeah, Flash and him haven't been friends since, like, first grade, but Flash has never hit him before.
Not this hard.
"Did the police call?" Peter asks, instead, and Mr. Stark's eyebrows shoot up in surprise; as though the idea hadn't even occurred to him. So, no, then. What has him so panicked? Mr. Stark is usually always indifferent, the worry radiating off of him is...strange. And he won't stop wringing his hands.
It makes Peter vaguely sick.
He wishes Mr. Stark would explain, or stop.
"No," Mr. Stark answers, "Pete, seriously, what happened?"
Peter bites his inner lip until he tastes blood then exhales with defeat. With some reluctance, he admits: "Someone punched me and I fell down a few stairs."
Mr. Stark's face goes utterly blank. For the moment, that's much worse than an angry one. His eyes hold a fury that Peter doesn't think he'd be able to verbally explain and his lips tighten into a line as his fingers curl. "Where?" Mr. Stark says through clenched teeth.
Hit him.
Flash actually—
Peter curls and uncurls the fingers of his free hand. His mouth is a little dry and he considers lying again, but Mr. Stark's hard stare drags it from him, "School."
Mr. Stark rises to his feet and stands still for a moment before he grabs the new teacup and tosses it across the room with an angered scream of frustration. The cup hits the wall and shatters glass sparkling down on the carpet.
Peter flinches.
Hopefully that wasn't May's.
Mr. Stark stands still for a moment, breathing heavily. His back is to Peter the gray and black striped hoodie he's been wearing for the last few days suddenly seeming very threatening. Almost like an Iron Man suit, but it's a hoodie and loose clothing. but still frightening. And—yes. This is pathetic. Peter has never been comfortable around violence.
Spider-Man is.
Peter's not.
"Who?" Tony's voice is thin.
Hit him.
Flash actually—
Peter inwardly squirms. Mr. Stark is going to flipping murder Flash if he mentions anything. Probably with a can of bubbles and a snow globe or something else naturally harmless. Peter pulls the icepack away from his face, fairly uncomfortable. He doesn't want to say anything. He really doesn't want to say anything. Yeah, Flash deserves a good knock over the head, but whatever Mr. Stark has going through his head probably has nothing to do with the word "harmless".
What flipping happened well he was at school?
"Peter!" Mr. Stark whirls around fists clenched tightly at his sides. Peter can't help his rear backwards.
The action cause Mr. Stark to still.
Peter bites on his lower lip before the words start pouring out rapidly. "Mr. Stark, really, I—it's fine, I-I'm sure that he didn't really mean to do it and—" Peter starts to defend, but Mr. Stark slams a hand down on the armrest of the couch a few feet from where Peter's sitting.
"It's not fine. How dare he! What gives him a right? What makes him so special!?" Mr. Stark seems to say the last part more to himself than Peter, "I'm going to kill him." Mr. Stark mutters under his breath. "I'm going to flipping kill him!"
Peter squeezes his eyes shut and resists the urge to curl into fetal position. Alarm bells are ringing dully in his head at how serious Mr. Stark sounds. "Please stop," Peter whispers.
Mr. Stark is quiet.
Peter doesn't chance a look at him.
He keeps his eyes firmly pinched shut.
Somewhere close to seventeen seconds passes in complete stillness, and then Mr. Stark sits on the other side of the couch. His hand is gentle when it touches his shoulder, but Peter still draws back from it a little.
"Hey," Mr. Stark's voice has calmed considerably, "hey, bud, I'm sorry. I didn't—I'm sorry. Peter, will you look at me?"
Peter slowly lifts his head up toward Mr. Stark. The multi-billionaires expression is flicked with guilt, but the most prominent expression is concern. And worry. So much worry. Mr. Stark's grip tightens an infinitesimal amount before he reaches a hand out and gently tips Peter's face up towards the light.
His lips are thinned.
Peter does his best to keep his body from tensing.
He really does try his best to keep the bullying a secret because he hates it when people...it's hard to explain, he just hates it when they do it.
Mr. Stark releases his face and gathers the ice pack off the ground from where Peter dropped it. (He can't remember dropping it, though). "Are you hurt anywhere else?" Mr. Stark asks.
Peter nods slightly, "I landed on my hands, mostly, but I hit my chest against one of the edges."
Mr. Stark's face hardens some again and he releases Peter before running a hand through his hair and starts to pace back and forth. He mutters something darkly under his breath that Peter doesn't catch before turning to look at him again. "Did you see a blonde lady in all black when you were going home?"
Um…?
Peter thinks back.
No? He hadn't really been paying attention, just trying to keep his head down so people wouldn't see his forming bruises. He ran into a stoplight so...that wasn't fun. But that's all he was really focusing on. He could have passed a whole street of people like that and missed it.
"No." Peter says and Mr. Stark visibly sighs in relief. This perks Peter's interest, "...Why?"
Mr. Stark tenses again, "I-uh, I-I met the-the person behind the hacking."
Stutter. Tony Stark just stuttered.
Peter's eyes widen, "What? Here? Who are they? Did you catch them? You called the police, right?"
"Yes, no and no." Mr. Stark says and turns back to look at him, "Her name is Claree Tren. She was a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. She's bent on revenge to me. I called Pepper, she's on her way, ETA of two minutes now, I think."
"Less than a minute, actually, Boss. According to the tracking in her phone." Friday calls out from the phone next to the couch. Mr. Stark stills and the remaining color drains from his face before he turns to look at Peter.
"She doesn't have a phone." Mr. Stark breathes.
Peter's eyebrows meet in his confusion, "But, then, why can Friday track her?"
Mr. Stark turns to Peter and grasps his shoulders, "No you don't understand, I have her phone. She was using the one at the office today, she shouldn't have a signal."
Realization dawns on him as Mr. Stark lets out a soft curse under his breath. "Tracking beacon. That's how Claree found me. She didn't track me through you, it was Pepper." Mr. Stark thinks aloud swiftly and releases Peter before turning to pace again. The man looks like he's been tasked with sanding the carpet off with solely his shoes. Peter can only watch him with his eyes, struggling to keep up with the new information.
The answers they were looking for days for are suddenly dumped on their laps and Peter honestly doesn't know what to do with it.
"Mrs. Potts? But wasn't she with you the whole time?" Peter asks and Mr. Stark shakes his head running a hand through his messy hair before he gnaws his right hand pointer finger as he thinks. Mrs. Potts. Is she okay? Peter still doesn't know her as well as he'd like to but over the last little less than a week, he's grown attached to her. She has to be okay. He can't lose anyone else. Oh, gosh, May.
"No, she was in the office by herself for a few days," Mr. Stark says and lets out a shaky laugh, it sounds more like he's struggling not to cry, though. "I knew I shouldn't have ran, I should have just stayed there in the Tower and—"
"How would that have helped, Mr. Stark?" Peter interrupts. If he'd stayed he'd be in custody and that wouldn't have solved any of their problems. Peter bites his tongue. He needs to stay calm because of they both start freaking out (which Peter is nigh close to hyperventilating) it won't solve anything.
"I would make me feel better." Mr. Stark snaps back quickly before exhaling again. The distress radiating off of him has Peter slightly worried that he's going to spontaneously combust into a sparkling shower of stress, panic, and anger.
"Did you get a hold of my aunt?" Peter asks, trying to down his hysteria. Everything happened so fast. Why can't they have a moment to catch their breath?
Mr. Stark pauses, his back to Peter and turns to look at him opening his mouth to answer before a key to the apartment is shoved into the lock. Peter whirls his fingers curling over the edge of his web shooters as Mr. Stark takes several steps forward stepping in front of Peter partially. If Peter wasn't trying to figure out why his stupid spider sense (courtesy of Ned, he honesty could not think of a better name) wasn't ringing in the back of his head he probably would have commented on it. The door swings open and shuts just as swiftly, "Tony!" Mrs. Potts's voice rings into the area slightly high-pitched in panic. Or something along that.
Mr. Stark exhales in relief as Mrs. Potts steps into his line of sight and she walks swiftly towards them. Mrs. Potts walks into the living room area, hair pulled back into a high-ponytail with her bangs swept to the left of her face. After locating both of them she moves and grabs Mr. Stark's shoulder. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Mr. Stark assures."You?" She nods before Mrs. Potts turns to look at Peter and her eyes widen with a slight intake of breath. Peter suddenly wishes for a paper bag. It's really not that bad...okay, yeah, it hurts but it's not as bad as it could've been. Mrs. Potts releases Mr. Stark's shoulder in her shock.
"Peter, what happened?" Mrs. Potts asks and moves towards him.
"Apparently one of his classmates thought it would be a great idea to shove him down the entrance stairs." Mr. Stark offers, helpfully, if nothing else.
Mrs. Potts whips her head towards her husband, her eyebrows in danger of launching of her face. "What?"
Mr. Stark gives a slight hysterical laugh with a tight smile, "Yeah, my thoughts exactly."
"With a little more death," Peter mumbles halfheartedly. Mrs. Potts shushes him gently, before softly grabbing his chin and tilting his head side to side. It looks exactly the same in all lighting! Why are they so insistent on angling it differently?
Mrs. Potts bites her lip and her stance looks calm, tense, but calm.
Peter raises his gaze to meet her eyes and brushes all his previous thoughts to the side. There's a rising fury in Mrs. Potts's eyes that makes him want to shrink and start running swiftly to raise his chances of survival. Whether it's at Flash or something else, Peter isn't sure, but after a moment her jaw clicks in such a way that makes him say adiós to Flash mentally.
If Mr. Stark hadn't already been high-strung on emotion, Peter's pretty sure his reaction would have been even worse. Whatever happened between him and Claree must have really put him on edge. Mrs. Potts releases Peter's jaw and turns back to Mr. Stark, resting a hand on his shoulder her fingers curling around them in the same tight, possessive grip Mr. Stark had earlier.
Mr. Stark lowers Mrs. Potts's phone (that Peter has no memory of him grabbing from off the floor) biting his lower lip and instead of meeting Mrs. Potts's gaze he quickly shifts through something on it. Some of the fury in Mrs. Potts's eyes dies a little, "Tony? What is it?"
Mr. Stark gives a weak smile, not looking up at her, "I—uh, Pep, you don't have a phone on you, right?" The way he asks the question sound so much like a plea for her to deny it that it causes Peter's stomach to sink.
Mrs. Potts glances left in confusion, "No. I don't, you have it. Why?"
Mr. Stark's teeth sink lower into his lip before he moves forward, "Can you take off your coat for a sec?"
Mrs. Potts's grip dies on his shoulder going a pathetic lax. "What? Why? Is something wrong?"
"Maybe." Mr. Stark answers. Mrs. Potts pulls her coat back and tosses towards the couch, revealing the same red shirt she was wearing before Peter left for school. Did neither of them pack extra clothing? Peter thinks back to that night nearly a week ago. Yeah, no, all they had in their hands was the other's hand.
Peter suddenly feels awkwardly out of place and in the way of this. He wants to help but...he's just useless right now.
Mr. Stark takes Mrs. Potts's left arm, the one that was resting on his shoulder, gently, before rolling up the sleeve to above the elbow and her upper arm. Streams of green data sparkle through her skin and Mrs. Potts intakes such a sharp breath it sounds physically painful. Peter feels his eyes widening at the computer chip and his desire to kick Claree to kingdom come rises with a sudden fiery intensity.
"Tony—" Mrs. Potts chokes and raises her head to look at her husband, blue eyes wide her chest starting to rise and fall at an erratic rate. Peter can feel a strangled breath trying to escape his own throat, but it's not coming. Mrs. Potts was…oh, gosh, Mrs. Potts was injected with a tracking device. From the expression on her face, she has no idea how to got there, or noticed it. Her eyes are wild and frantic and she slowly raises her right hand to run it over the glowing green strips. Her breath catches and she pales.
Mr. Stark grabs Mrs. Potts's shoulders to reassure her, or steady her, Peter can't really tell and looks her directly in the eyes as Mrs. Potts starts sputtering in panic and he offers reassurances:
"Oh, gosh, Tony, there's the—I don't understand! I don't have any memory of this happening and—"
"Breathe, Pep, it's going to be okay. It's easy to disable."
"And I led her to you—"
"You didn't. Breathe."
"I did! I-If I had just known it was there—oh gosh, this-this is all my fault, you'd still be safe and May and our son—"
"Pep—"
Mrs. Potts turns to look at Peter, her eyes starting to grow red-rimmed, "I don't remember this happening, I'm so sorry, Peter, i-if I had never come here your aunt would be alright and then—"
"What?" Peter demands halting the panicked shouting to silence in the rising panic in his chest. Something happened to his aunt? Is she okay? Why didn't Mr. Stark tell him? Did Classie-whatever-it-was get her? Oh man, not May, oh, please no, no, no.
"You didn't tell him?" Mrs. Potts asks, raising her head to look at Mr. Stark, breathing if possible, picking up pace even more rapidly. Peter spares a quick glance towards the oven behind them the digital clock happily blinking four thirty seven. She should have been home over twenty minutes ago. Unless traffic was bad but it's not at this time.
"I—" Mr. Stark starts and Peter turns to look at him.
"What happened?"
Mr. Stark pauses, "I couldn't get a hold of May's phone. Friday tracked it to the hospital, she hasn't left yet. Friday has confirmation from the police that a hostage situation started about ten minutes ago."
"And you didn't tell me!?" Peter vociferates.
"I was going to, but then this came up!" Mr. Stark counters.
"She's my aunt!" Peter can feel his voice rising steadily in his anger.
"I wasn't going to keep it from you!" Mr. Stark snaps.
"I-I have to go after her, she needs my help. I—" Peter starts to turn to race to his room to grab his Spider-Man suit, but Mr. Stark grabs his arm, somehow without moving, or jerking Mrs. Potts, who his other hand is still resting on in the process.
"No."
"What!? Why? I can't let her stay there! She could die!"
"You don't know that." Mr. Stark says and Peter rips his arm away from Mr. Stark's grasp.
"You don't understand! I can't sit by and do nothing!" Peter protests. This can't be Ben again. It can't be Ben again.
"You won't be!"
"I—what?" Peter stops mid rant in confusion and surprise. Didn't Mr. Stark just refuse to let him go? Why is he doing something now? They can't do anything in the apartment, but Mr. Stark literally just said...Mr. Stark glances at Mrs. Potts again before exhaling.
"I'm coming with you."
"What?" Peter and Mrs. Potts say the question in sync and Mr. Stark meets eyes with his wife again his panicked hazel meeting her wide blue.
"I got them into this mess, I can't sit by and do nothing."
"But Tony, I—" Mrs. Potts starts then glances at Peter again. Her mouth hangs open for a moment and her eyes soften, whatever resolve she had dies and she exhales softly before looking at Mr. Stark. "Go."
Mr. Stark nods before looking at Peter, "Go get your suit, Webs, and we'll go."
Peter hesitates, "Do you have a weapon or…?"
"Yes." Mr. Stark grits through his teeth before waving him off. Peter nods slightly, doing his best to ignore the lie and turns to the hallway before breaking into a sprint to find his backpack.
000o000
Pepper prides herself on her patience and ability to remain calm in situations that would have most people driven to the edge of insanity. This? This is a little more than her frazzled and panicked brain can take at the moment.
Peter disappears down the hall and Pepper raises her left arm and runs her right hand along the wire again wincing, though she can't feel anything and bites her lip. She wants to tug out all her hair then kick something aggressively while screaming, "it's not fair" at the top of her lungs. She was just trying to help and she made it worse.
As much as she struggles to bring up any memories of when the strip could have been planted, nothing is coming up. It's not really helping with her rising desire to throw up.
"Tony—" She starts in a hushed panic tone, but as soon as the word leaves her mouth he turns from the hall and grabs her upper arms again. Pepper struggles to take in normal breathes, but all she can feel is the anxiety in her stomach because this is just like Extremis with the waiting for days as her body slowly collapsed in on itself with the fire rushing through her veins and then the gasp of air before she tumbled and fell and fell—
"Breathe, Pep, please." Pepper snaps back to the present and still can't get the breath. She inhales deeply, forcing her breathing to steady as Tony gently runs a hand through her hair. "It's going to be okay." He assures quietly. Pepper bites back the tears and the panic that's been building since they stepped foot in the Parker's apartment.
She squishes it as best she can, or buries it to think about at a later date.
Peter and Tony will get Mrs. Parker and they'll find a way to solve everything from there.
It's going to be okay.
Pepper raises her head, determination rushing through her. This will not be the end. She's going to find a way to fix this, to help them, because Ms. Tren can't take Tony from her. She meets Tony's gaze, "We'll find a way to fix this. Everything will be fine, Tony." She assures and he gives a tight smile. "You better come back, Mr. Stark, or I'm going job hunting." She threatens.
Tony laughs his face lighting up in a way she hasn't seen for days now, "Ha! Yeah, what threat." He snickers. He takes Pepper's left hand and holds it to her sight-line the wedding ring shimmering in the pale lighting.
"I'm yours forever, Ms. Potts, I'll be back." Tony promises. Pepper nods giving a small smile. The two of them turn as Peter comes down the hall, slightly breathless, holding his mask with one hand and tosses a broken phone on the couch with his other. Tony raises an eyebrow at the sight.
"And that would be?"
"My phone," Peter answers, "It got smashed when I fell."
Pepper's fists curl tightly a slight mother-rising fury resounding within her brightly like a burning sun. The feeling is weird, but not unwelcome, but she wants to kick something because how dare the stupid kid touch hers?
"That is garbage." Tony says pointedly and Peter nods slightly in agreement.
"Are you ready?" He asks and Tony nods his fist curling around something in his right hand. Pepper isn't sure what it is and doesn't ask because the two of them need to leave to go get Mrs. Parker before something worse happens to the woman. A hostage situation.
Is it related to Ms. Tren—
Pepper nearly laughs out loud.
Of course it is. She wouldn't settle for anything else. Pepper spoke with her briefly, after S.H.I.E.L.D. fired her, Ms. Tren came looking for a job at SI. Pepper didn't hire her, and Ms. Tren was none to happy and terrorized the company until the Avengers intervened personally.
Peter moves forward and Tony walks beside him grabbing the door to the apartment. Pepper bites her lip, "Be safe." She commands and Tony gives a half smirk.
"Aren't I always? Actually, don't answer that."
Peter rolls his eyes slightly before meeting Pepper's gaze, "We will." Peter says firmly.
Pepper runs a hand along her upper arm shoving down the flare of panic because she has a tracking beacon in her skin. She gives a small tight smile, but can't quell the sinking feeling in her stomach. A memory flares in her head and after Peter walks out the door she calls to Tony: "Go get 'em, boss!"
Mr. Stark laughs softly, "You complete me!" He shuts the door with a swing and the silence surrounds her like a blanket. Pepper leans back against the couch slightly resting a hand over where her erratically beating heart is. He'll be fine, they'll both be fine.
Nothing is going to happen.
Pepper releases a shaky and closes her eyes.
She hopes.