Chapter 32 - I Thought We Were A Team

After Peter had been stabbed in a random ally way in Manhattan, during those weeks of healing and waiting around to do something productive outside of Mr. Stark's lab, he had often come to ponder the balance of freedom and safety. Before, he had felt invincible, as he had been swinging around the buildings of Queens, answering to no one but himself. Everything that happened, everything he did out on those streets happened because he willed it too. His power, his freedom was untouchable. Sure, the goggles on his head weren't as flashy and the material of his suit sometimes itched in the weirdest places, but nobody could tell him what to do. Nobody could hold him back.

All that was fun and games and he had certainly felt like a big shot superhero. Spider-Man, here to save the day. That illusion had come shattering down when he was attacked. When he thought he was going to die on that rooftop in Manhattan slowly bleeding out just because he hadn't paid attention to where he was going. The fall from his high horse was painful and humiliating. But he had been lucky. Lucky enough that Mr. Stark had taken pity on him. Had decided to help him out that night and even more so over the weeks that had followed, had given Peter guidance and support. Safety. Not just from the people who wanted to harm him, who saw their authority threatened by Peter's motivation to help, but even from his own team, from his friends, because Peter had not been ready to share his biggest secret with anyone else. In the darkest, loneliest nights he could even admit that the man was saving him a little from himself.

In those weeks when Peter had gained first an ally, then a mentor, maybe at some point even something like a friend? In those few weeks, his priorities had shifted dramatically. With every day his commitment to the alliance with Mr. Stark had grown and with that the underlying search for freedom and adventure was somewhat balanced out with a deep yearning for the stability and safety Mr. Stark had to offer. There was a sense of that freedome-spark that had come back to him when Mr. Stark had given the suit to him. The new feel of it, how fast and agile it was. That craving to feel invincible and free had stirred again.

None of that could hold a candle to the overwhelming rush of endorphins and adrenaline Peter felt the first time he took the suit out after he had enabled the new protocol. 576 web shooter combinations. Mr. Stark had gone completely overboard with those features and Peter was living for every second of it. He had spent hours trying out different settings in the woods beyond the Avengers Compound, had trained every day before and sometimes after he visited Mr. Stark. The city was no place to practice, not in the current climate. Not if he was supposed to impress the civilians, gain their trust back like Mr. Stark had asked. He could have done none of it without Karen. She was amazing.

It had been a week since he had hacked the suit. He had started to get with small things. Just to get back into the groove of things. Pulling people back onto the sidewalk when they didn't look before they stepped into the street, a few rescued balloons. On day three he had come across a robber on Greenpoint Avenue, just off 46th street. The temptation to take him out was just too strong and before Peter knew it he had followed the guy into the next building and had gotten himself into the middle of a heist in the Bank of America Financial Center. Seven guys with big guns and a few hostages. It had been the first chance to put the suit's rapid-fire to the test and just in the first couple of minutes, he took out three of them. It was safe to say that he hadn't felt that alive in a long time. That good about what he was doing. There was no question of loyalty, no weighing on who was right and who was wrong, no middle ground to argue about. These were criminals and he was there to stop them. So, he did.

Eleven civilians and five bank employees ran from the building unharmed when he web-wrapped up the last of the bank robbers. His job was done. The heist thwarted. No injuries to speak of. A success all around. Or it had been until Peter turned and stared down the barrel of yet another gun.

"That's it, freak. Hands up and on your knees."

Police. They had been fast. Faster than he had thought. He had heard the sirens, his senses had tingled alright but he thought that he had more time than this. Slowly, his fingers spread apart wide in a non-threatening gesture his arms rose above his head.

"Erm... Hi there, Sir. Captain." Peter's pulse was high but he did his best to focus on his senses, calm his nerves so he could figure out how to get out of there. "I... erm... cleaned up a bit for you. Saving you a bit of trouble."

"That's Chief to you, freak." The man obviously wasn't impressed by Peter's work which did sting a little even though Mr. Stark had warned him about those higher-ups in the NYPD and their ambition to cling to power. A couple more guys were starting to advance into the atrium hall of the bank. "I said, on your knees!"

"Karen, what's the fastest way to get out of here." The mask was a blessing. Nobody around him was ever able to tell when he was communicating with his suit's AI.

Different escape routes lit up in his head-up display as Karen analyzed the layout of the banks atrium, multiple exits and lighting up human signatures getting into position in different parts of the building. After just about two seconds of calculations one of those routes flashed up in green and the suit lady's calm voice rang in his ears.

"Pull yourself up to the second level, swing over the police officer in front of you and you will find a hallway that leads to an emergency exit where none of the police force is stationed as of yet. Make sure to tuck your legs close to your body when swinging up. I've calculated the man's reaction delay to .95 seconds. His bullet might still hit one of your legs if they are not pulled up high enough."

Great, those were fabulous odds. "Thanks, Karen."

"Listen, Sir, I really..." He got out half the sentence to try and throw the man off when the webs shot up from his shooters and hit one of the ceiling beams above him. With a hard pull, Peter catapulted himself upwards towards the open balcony on the second level. He felt the shock wave of the bullet graze the sole of his foot, heat radiated from the friction on the fabric, before the shot even rang in his ears.

"Fuck, Karen? Status?" He hit the ground running, careful to follow the green track she laid out for him to follow. There was no pain, but that didn't really mean anything with the amounts of adrenaline that were pumping through his veins and he was too busy - and a little too scared - to check if he had left blood-red footprints in his wake.

"The bullet grazed the boot of your right foot. No injury detected. The suit absorbed the impact completely."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Thank god. Or, well, he should thank Mr. Stark. And he would.

Peter made his escape over the rooftops of Queens. He went to the east, then up north until he hit the subway line where he got hold of one of the trains going east that took him further away from the scene as well as from his home, just in case someone had been able to follow. He lay low for a bit until he was sure that nobody was on his heels. That had sure been a lot more excitement than he had expected for 3:30 pm on a Thursday. Less than an hour later he was in the car on his way upstate.

Every day he took the trip to the Compound. It had been weird and eerie the first day he sat with Mr. Stark. All he could do was stop himself from getting emotional when he wondered what happened. Again and again. Things got a little easier with every day. He just sat there and told the man about his day. About stuff, he'd been reading and watching. There had been a part of him that wanted to keep his crime-fighting stories to himself. His mentor would be mad if he found out that Peter had been on patrol without giving the man the chance to check the suit for malfunctions or problems. He did run those checks on the suit, but he wouldn't even pretend to himself that it would have been enough for Mr. Stark. His first impulse was to keep quiet about his secret patrols, but once he was in the room it had only taken about 10 minutes for him to crack and gush about the advanced setting of his suit for over an hour. It was the best, amazingly precise, so clever and helpful.

So what, if there was a chance that Mr. Stark could actually hear him and get mad? Maybe he shouldn't have gone out by himself and gotten hurt like that. Then he would have had all the time in the world to check over Peter's suit. Maybe he was listening and would get so annoyed with Peter that he just had to wake up.

It was a challenge for him, not to stay mad. Not to ponder the would've-could've that had caused this dilemma. It was a challenge to push down the anger and concentrate on the positive vibes, the hope that maybe soon, Mr. Stark would wake up again.

On day nine Peter opened the door to the room and he couldn't contain the surprised gasped as he looked at his mentor. The breathing tube was gone, replaced by a much smaller transparent tube attached to his nose. That... He took a few deep breaths as he stepped closer to the bed. That had to be a good sign. Right? It must be.

"It's a good thing, right FRIDAY?" He had sat down on the ground next to the bed, one hand clasped around his mentor's wrist, his index and middle finger pressed against Mr. Stark's pulse point. "It means that he's breathing on his own. It means that he will wake up soon, right?

"I have no further information on the subject, I'm afraid."

He shot an annoyed glance up to the ceiling, then turned back to his mentor, his eyes not leaving the man's face. FRIDAY was no use when it came to information on Mr. Stark's medical status, but Peter was sure. He could wake up at any moment. He absolutely could.

Only he didn't. No twitching, no signs of consciousness at all. Peter stayed longer than he should have to make his curfew in hopes that something would happen, that the man would just show one sign, any sign of waking up. It was 10 pm when Peter finally checked the time. Not that anyone was home to check up on him anyway. His aunt had left for a double shift that afternoon. She wouldn't be home by midday the next day. A Sunday night shift directly followed by the morning shift on a public holiday so she would be home in time for the fireworks. Yeah, tomorrow was the 4th of July.

Peter kind of hated that he had been enough of a fanboy to know that it would be Steve Rogers' 98th birthday. Well, it wasn't a difficult date to remember. America's birthday and Captain America's birthday. He wondered what the 4th of July had been like in the 20s and 30s when Steve Rogers had just been a boy in Brooklyn. They probably didn't have all that many fireworks back in the day. The city went crazy with them now. Or that's what Uncle Ben used to say. They would always watch them blow up all around the city from their rooftop in Queens. This year would be their first 4th of July without him. So, yeah, there was that, too.

Peter's chin came to rest on his outstretched arm, fingers still curled around Mr. Stark's wrist. He had never had this with Uncle Ben. The waiting. The hoping. His uncle had just been gone. From one moment to the next, just like that. If Peter had gotten his shit together a little sooner, maybe he could have done something about it. Maybe Uncle Ben could have been one of those people he would have saved if he had just stepped up in time. Beyond all the lies and all the deceit, all the danger Peter had put himself in without his aunt knowing, would that be the worst thing of them all? When she would find out eventually. When she would ask for the details about his bite, about his abilities, would that question be on her mind? Why Peter hadn't done something? If he wanted to risk himself and save people, why hadn't he saved Ben?

A shiver shook Peter from head to toe and he rearranged his position, scooted closed to the bed, knees pulled tightly to his chest. They had never really talked about what had happened to Uncle Ben. Peter and his aunt. He knew of course. He had seen the shooter. He had heard the shots. Then he had run. Not to stop the guy, just... away. Scared and craven.

They never really talked about his parents either. Sometimes Peter couldn't help but wonder what they would say. Would his mom be scared for him? Would his dad be proud? His aunt and uncle had never really spoken of them. That one day a year when they would put down flowers at the shore of the sea. He'd never been to their graves even, the drive up there had just never worked out. That one day a year. It was healthy, right? To move on. Not to be trapped by the past. It was nobody else's business anyway so why should they go out of their way to explain their personal stuff to other people? Just a few months ago that little old lady from the second floor had given him a pair of eggs she had borrowed from May and asked him to thank his mother. Well, so what... He knew who she meant. Peter had only ever told Ned one night when he had stayed over. And then Mr. Stark. He knew as well. A bit at least. Not that there was much to know. There weren't even really a lot of pictures of them around the house, just an old family photo from when Peter was maybe 5 or 6 that he kept in his desk drawer. There wasn't much to say about it, they were dead. Just like Ben. He couldn't change that.

His eyes wandered up to his mentor's face. Mr. Stark was still here. And if he— when he would wake up, Peter could definitely be of help to keep it like that.

It was way past 11 pm when FRIDAY pulled him out of his thoughts as she announced Miss Potts' arrival at the Compound. He groaned when he saw the time. It would be close to 1 am by the time he would make it back to the city. And then he'd just leave again the next morning to come back out here so he could make it back to Queens by the time May got off work.

"Hey, FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Do you think... you think it'd be okay if I stayed in the room for the night? You know, the one I sometimes stayed in? I mean, like... will you let me in there?"

"Your room is ready for you to use whenever you need it, Peter."

He bit his lip, his eyes on Mr. Stark. "Thank you, Sir," he whispered.

The night at the Compound was quiet and comfortable. He did sleep in until after 10 am. The Compound was still basically empty and while Peter still moved around with caution and avoided going near the lab or Mr. Stark's rooms just to lessen the chances that he would run into Miss Potts, he did dare to make a quick detour to the kitchen for breakfast. The fridge wasn't stocked to the brim like it usually was, but he still found a couple of sandwiches that he took with him to Mr. Stark's room in the medical wing. FRIDAY had confirmed that nobody was in the room and Peter tiptoed through the hallways as quietly and quickly as he could.

Mr. Stark looked peaceful and content. Peter could totally talk himself into how the man's face had a little more color in it already - though that was probably just because the cuts and bruises were healing and his face looked healthier in contrast. His blood pressure was up though, so was the count of his heartbeats per minute. He didn't need FRIDAY to tell him that. He could feel the rhythm underneath the man's skin. As glum as Peter's general mood was, that did pick up his spirits. While he had just been sitting there and brooded the night before, he felt a lot more like chatting in the morning.

So he told Mr. Stark about the fireworks display, what he expected to see. How Uncle Ben had always made a game of guessing the color of the next firework or the spot in the sky where the next one would explode. It was almost easier to talk to Mr. Stark now. Peter could actually finish a sentence and didn't have to worry about saying something dumb. No. He shook the thought from his head. That wasn't fair. Mr. Stark had let him talk. He'd just sit and listen when they would work on one of the projects. Would just listen to Peter's stories about patrolling in Queens, weird commercials or funny memes he had seen somewhere, sometimes even some of the stuff that had happened at school, good or bad. It had always been easy to talk to Mr. Stark.

The man would even chime in with his weird jokes, the no-bullshit comments when he was in a good mood.

Peter sighed when he realized that he had gotten lost in his thoughts once again. He didn't want to spiral down like he had the night before, dispelled the thoughts of what he would do if he would lose Mr. Stark. It couldn't happen. He was doing better and when things were back to normal, Peter would make sure that this didn't happen again. That Mr. Stark wouldn't just go out on his own and risk his neck for everyone else.

"You do have to wake up because... because if you don't then who would keep tally of all the cats I saved and measure them against the people I prevented from walking face-first into things. I'd have to tell May and then maybe we'd both be dead."

That was a little crude. Peter smirked. Mr. Stark would have probably liked that one. He wasn't dead. It was just a coma. Just. He'd wake up. He simply had to.

Peter had his arms folded on the bed, his head resting on top of them. His right hand loosely held a couple of his mentor's fingers, his thumb and index finger took turns rubbing soft circles on the back of the man's hand, along his fingers. It had felt a little weird at first but Mr. Stark had done the same thing for him whenever he'd been hurt or freaked. It was only right to give that comfort back now. Not that there was any way to know if he'd even feel it. If he even felt anything anymore.

"Peter, Miss Potts has just left Dr. Cho's office and is on the way to this room."

He jumped up at once. "Shit." The sandwich wrappers of his breakfast were still on the ground and he quickly picked them up to get rid of the evidence, leaving breadcrumbs on the floor in the process. "Damn it." He kicked them underneath the bed.

She was way too close. He had gone about this warning system of his all wrong. Should not have just asked if someone was in the room, but also who was close by. For fuck's sake. He quietly pulled open the door but heard her steps echo down from the hallway around the corner right away. Cursing under his breath, he closed the door again and quickly retreated to the back of the room. One jump was enough to get him to the top of the wardrobe and Peter was once more folded into that tiny space where he had hidden on the first day he had found his mentor. He could only hope that this would be a quick visit.

The moment the door opened he shrunk back as far as he could. His mouth was slightly open, keeping his breath controlled and quiet. It was only Miss Potts who entered, but he wasn't all that sure if that was likely to make her stay last longer or not.

"Tony?" Her voice was soft, the words were spoken before she had even reached the bed. There was a chair on the left side of the room, that Peter usually ignored. To him, it felt too official, too formal, but Miss Potts pulled it closer, as close to the bed as it would go before she sat down and took Mr. Stark's hand in one of hers, the other softly stroked up and down on his cheek. "Tony? Honey, do you hear me?"

The breath in Peter's throat got stuck, deep enough to choke him when Mr. Stark's hand seemed to actually close around hers and his head slowly tilted from left to right. His eyebrows moved, were pulled together then up almost all the way to his hairline and with them, his eyelids slid open.

Peter had to clasp both of his hands over his mouth to stifle the gasp of air his lungs had been determined to draw. He closed his eyes in the same motion, absolutely sure that they must have heard him but when he looked back up, Miss Potts had just leaned forward and was soothing Mr. Stark whose face was screwed up in agony as she helped him through a few deep coughs. Her right hand carefully swept the hair from his forehead then ran all the way through the man's hair.

"It's alright, Tony. Just breath. You're okay."

The man's eyes were closed but after a few raspy breaths he looked back up at her.

"Hey." Peter could hear the smile on her face just from the softness of her voice.

"Hi." Mr. Stark croaked back.

He was... Peter's lungs were urging him to hyperventilate but he couldn't let it happen. He pressed his eyes shut again, tried to think of something calming, anything. Mr. Stark's voice when he explained something about electronics. A quiet practice session of the on the decathlon team. May's apple pie. He couldn't freak out. Now was the absolute worst time for a panic attack. This... this was good. It didn't matter that his eyes stung, it was from relief, happiness. He was safely hidden as long as he stayed quiet and from what he could tell, from what his eyes had told him and he did open them up again just to be sure. Yes, if he could trust his eyes that meant... that meant that he was back. Mr. Stark was awake, eyes open even if still heavy-lidded, but open and responsive.

"H'w... how's Rhodey?"

She shook her head and sniffed with a low chuckle. "Good morning to you too, dear."

"Pep."

"He wants to come and see you today."

"Hm, 's not..." Mr. Stark closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Not wha' I asked."

"I haven't seen him today, Tony. I assume he's obsessing over how you are. You two are like two pea in a pot."

Painfully slow Mr. Stark's eyes opened up again. "When... when's he gonna... gonna come by?"

Miss Potts sighed. "I'm not sure if he has any procedures or physical therapy on his schedule today. I'll check with him."

"Now?" Mr. Stark's eyebrows were pulled up and he almost... he almost looked like himself.

He was really awake. There was euphoria streaming through Peter's body. He was happy and relieved and so so glad, but it wasn't just the tears that burned in his eyes. There was also a snug firm knot in his stomach. Something that lay underneath all that. With the relief rushing through his veins and evaporating on his skin, it lay bare what was underneath all that worry. The pain. The anger. The frustration. Peter shook the thoughts from his head. This wasn't the time. There would be time for it later when Mr. Stark was doing better. He could ask all the questions about everything that happened later. Could tell him what an idiot he'd been to go out there all alone. Peter bit his lip and blinked away the moisture in his eyes. Well, maybe he wouldn't say that. Not... not in so many words.

"I'll put it on the top of my to-do list, alright?" Miss Potts leaned back a bit, both hands now clasping his. "Do you need anything? Water?"

Mr. Stark gave a tiny shake to the side, eyes falling shut and staying closed for longer and longer intervals.

"How are you feeling? Do you hurt? Should I... should I get someone?"

"No, jus'..." he took a couple of deep breaths. "Just need s'me rest."

"I can still stay for a bit. Keep you some company."

"Hm..." The man's eyes were still closed. "Can you... the frame... frame in my office."

"The frame?"

"Drawer... third one."

"You want me to get a frame out of a drawer in your office?"

Mr. Stark's eyes slowly opened again. "Please."

"Of course. I can... yes, of course. I'll have a look." He had his eyes still on her, waiting. "Oh, you... you mean now?"

"Please, Pep," he whispered.

"Alright, I..." she stood up at once, the chair sliding back as she did. "Is it... will I just know it when I see it or..?"

His eyes hadn't really followed her, they were turned down to where her hand was still holding his. "Yeah... 's Addy," he said, almost inaudible.

She nodded quickly. "Of course, honey. I'll... I'll stop by Rhodey's room and then I'll get it right away." She bowed down and pressed a light kiss on the man's cheek, then put down his hand next to his body. "I'll be fast."

She was gone as quickly as she had entered the room. Right away as the door fell shut, Peter's mind was racing. Now what? He couldn't just pop up. He might give Mr. Stark a shock to the core and put him back in the coma. Or worse even, a heart attack or stroke or—

"I mus' be... be havin'... a fever dream." Peter twitched in surprise. His mentor's voice was not much more than a croak, his eyes still heavy-lidded, his gaze, however, was squarely on Peter. "My intern can't... can't seri'sly be hangin' from... from the f'kin' ceiling of my hospital room."

Peter's heart jumped but he couldn't help the small smile on his lips, maybe it was the euphoria that was pushing his brain to the edge of delirium. "Technically, you're not in a hospital, Sir."

"Ge' down fr'm there a' once!" Mr. Stark blurted out in a cheap imitation of his usually commanding voice. "Wha' if someb'dy had seen 'ou up there?"

Peter crawled a bit further into the room and then dropped off the ceiling. He landed on his feet, facing Mr. Stark. For a moment Peter wasn't sure what to do next. He played with his fingers, snipping them back and forth before he stepped closer to the bed.

"You wouldn't believe how little people look up to the ceiling of a room. They're less likely to find me up there. Did you actually see me?"

"Was lookin' righ' at 'ou, kid." He blinked a couple of times, fighting to keep his glance leveled. "You gasped."

Peter gnawed on the inside of his cheek. He had.

"Was jus'... matter of time... then she'd see 'ou."

He pulled the chair Miss Potts had vacated closer to the bed and slowly sat down. Mr. Stark's eyes followed him.

"I was always careful."

"A'ways?"

Peter looked away from him, dropped his eyes down to his hands, fingers picking at each other. All this time even with all the danger of being discovered he had known for sure that he was doing the right thing. Keeping Mr. Stark company, making sure that someone was by his side, had felt like the right thing to do. But now, now that his mentor was awake, had just sent out his friend-girlfriend-CEO-well what did he know what they were to each other. He had sent her on an errand to cover for Peter. And all of a sudden, he wasn't all that sure anymore if this had been the right thing to do. If he had any right or excuse to even be in that room.

"You a'ight, kid?"

"Me?" His voice was pitched high, way too childlike. "You gotta be fucking kidding me, Sir."

"Hm..." Mr. Stark frowned up at him. "Tha' was a dollar fo' the swear jar."

Peter's eyes stung. "That's not funny."

The corners of the man's mouth twitched. "Bit funny."

It wasn't and he knew it. It was not funny at all. This all of this—

"You mad, kid?"

He couldn't meet the man's eyes.

"Huh." Mr. Stark's breaths were slow but shallow. "You are..."

Peter shook his head, not that denial would help him. Of course, he was mad. But that didn't matter now.

"What happened?"

His voice was rough. He just couldn't manage to keep the emotion out of it. Mr. Stark was just watching him, heavy lids closing every so often.

Peter tried again, tried to put more force into his words. "Sir, what happened?"

There was another moment of silence where the man just looked at him. "There 's a fight." He lost the focus of his gaze for a moment before he blinked again, his eyes glued to Peter's face. "I lost."

"What fight?"

Mr. Stark's head just gave a little shake, lips tight. "It 'oesn't matter."

"It matters to me. Why didn't you say something? You didn't have to go on your own. You should have just—"

"No."

Peter's breathing was heavy. He couldn't quite control the anger that was rushing through him. Anger not just at whoever had done this to his mentor, but that the man hadn't thought to ask for help.

"I could have helped you..."

"Stop..."

"...I mean," He did try to put on a sarcastic tone but he just couldn't help the temper that slipped into his voice. "I really thought we had this team thing going..."

"Pete..."

"...I thought that you'd trust me enough to—"

"Stop!" The man's voice was still low, but there was an edge to it that had made Peter stop mid-sentence. Mr. Stark swallowed and judging by the look on his face it wasn't a very pleasant motion. "No, Pete. 'm glad, you weren't there."

"But, Sir..." Peter couldn't stay in the chair any longer. This wasn't fair. How was he supposed to help if he didn't even know what was going on? Mr. Stark's eyes followed him as he paced back and forth.

The man's breathing turned heavier, faster. "You'd not be 'n this room, in this buildin' if I didn' trust you, kid."

Peter kept his distance. It had been different when Mr. Stark had been unconscious. He had still looked hurt and vulnerable, but also like he was just sleeping, resting to recover. This... The state of the man, how weak and beaten his movements were, hardly enough energy to keep his eyes open, it made Peter's stomach turn. It scared him to even be in his presence. To see him this vulnerable.

"Pete..." Mr. Stark's voice was so quiet it was difficult to follow despite Peter's enhanced hearing. "It's alright." He took a couple of deep breaths, eyes still on Peter. "It'll be alright."

"How... how can you even say that?" Peter whispered. He rubbed a hand across his face to forestall his tears from falling. He hated this, hated not having a better grip on his emotions. "You were in a coma. 10 days I... nobody knew if you were even gonna wake up. It's not alright. It's not!" He couldn't stop his voice from rising.

"10 days, huh?" Mr. Stark closed his eyes, only opened them again a few deep breaths later. "Well... 'ou... you should see... the other guy."

"Don't. Don't do that." Peter swallowed hard, his eyes more so on the bedframe than the man himself. "Don't try to brush this off like—"

"Peter, Miss Potts is preparing to return to Mr. Stark's room."

Peter swung around towards the door as if she was going to walk in there any moment.

"Made 'ourself feel... quite at home, hm?"

Heat shot into Peter's face. "It's... it's not like that, I just—"

"Don't wanna run... into Pepper." Mr. Stark took a couple of heavy breathy. "That's... sensible."

Peter shrugged. "Just tried to keep my head low."

"An' FRIDAY helped 'ou out?"

He nodded and send a quick shot up to one of FRIDAY's cameras. "Yeah... yeah, she's been a great help."

"Hm... goo' girl." His lids fell shut and for a moment it seemed like he had fallen asleep, but then he blinked them open again. "Better go, kid, unless..." Mr. Stark frowned at him. "No, 'ou should go." He gave a couple of small nod to himself "Come back... come back tomorrow an' we'll... we'll sort... sort the suit. I know... I know... said... we would. 'ou wanna get... back out."

Cold rushed through Peter's body. He almost twitched in response to the shiver that went down his spine. If Mr. Stark found out that Peter had been out there... had been in his files, snooped around on his private server... urgh, he didn't even want to imagine that. Plus, the next day would be a workday at the store for him.

Peter looked up at the men and all that went right out of his mind. His anger, maybe not gone but certainly back on the backburner. His mentor was lying there, struggling to stay conscious. How was the suit the first thing he thought of?

"Sir, I think you may still need a few days till you can get back to the lab."

Mr. Stark pursed his lips, defiance radiating from him like he had just stepped into the lab with a new plan. "Can talk 'ou through wha' te do."

Peter bit his lip. The way the man just stubbornly clung to his ability to just do as he pleased filled Peter's heart with an equal amount of respect and worry. Anger from how careless he sometimes was with himself.

"It's fine, Mr. Stark. I... I can't tomorrow. I mean... I guess maybe later that day but you... you should rest anyway. We can... it's fine."

Mr. Stark narrowed his eyes on him "Didn't go out there... without the check-up, right? Pete, tell me 'ou—"

"No, Sir. I... I didn't." He wasn't lying. He wasn't. He had not gone out there before the suit wasn't checked properly. He could even meet the man's eyes without blushing. "I know you didn't want me to use it before it had been checked for defects."

The man's eyebrows narrowed even more at that. "What's t'morrow then?"

"I just... I gotta work tomorrow."

Mr. Stark just stared at him, his mouth opened a couple of times without any sound coming out of it. Then he cleared his throat, his voice still filled with confusion. "But... I'm... I'm here."

Peter shook his head. "No, not you, I... I have another job."

The man blinked at him, then his eyebrow shot up all the way. "You... you go' a job? Bu'—"

"Ms. Potts just left the lab and is on the way down here now."

"Shit. I... Sir, I gotta go. I'll tell FRIDAY when I'm on my way. Tomorrow evening. I can make it back by then." He was almost at the door.

"Pete—"

"Depends on my aunt's schedule." He reached for the door handle then turned back to look at his mentor. "I'm really glad you're back, Sir."

The man opened his mouth but before he could say anything, Peter was already out in the hallway.

###

[author's note: Thank you all for the great feedback, the favorites, subscriptions, and overall love.

The last chapter, this one and the next used to be one chapter, but somehow I had more to write than I originally thought ;) At least that's three updates for you, so another one will be up in the next few days ;) Hope you enjoyed the read.]