"Fri, can you compile all the videos of Tony from the internet, archives and other footages?"
Click. Click. Click.
"Of cinematographic kind, Peter?"
"Exactly, Fri."
It takes just under five minutes before Friday finishes, "I'm sending it all to your computer now, Peter. What shall I do next?"
Peter taps a few keys in his computer before extending the monitor, producing an interactive holographic screen beside it.
"Compile them all into SonyVegas, please."
"You are making a video, Peter?"
"Yes, yes I am."
"But wouldn't it be better if you use the Stark Program? Its features are—"
"—you're right. You're absolutely right. I forgot about that. Let me just…"
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A few wild mutterings.
And then…
"Alright, Fri. We're all set. This'll take a few moments."
What Peter means by 'a few moments' is a few hours.
And by the time he could realize that it is already four in the morning, with Friday supplying him everything he needs and him trying to piece it all together in the way that makes the most sense, he is already well and truly drained.
Peter knows he couldn't pull off a whole day of the festival without getting a few hours of sleep—and he knows that he just has to be precise on the time he wakes up, so as not to disturb his deep sleep—REM phase—which would only prove to make him more tired.
(He's looked it up, learned how to maximize the amount of sleep that he could have with all the work that he had to do in a day and night.)
And so, it is on the prospect of thirty minutes of sleep, and the promise that "Friday, please wake me up at 4:30 am. I have to be awake at that time," FLOP, "because I still have to go back to the compound. And if I don't wake up, please use everything in your power to… get… me out of this bed… thanks… Fri..."
He doesn't even finish his thought before he's snoring. And if Friday could give a fond smile, she would be doing that right now.
Friday did not do everything in her power.
AT. ALL.
And Peter—Peter wants to throw it to fuck all and just crawl under his bed covers until they leave because—
Because it is 6 a.m. in the morning and Peter should have been in the compound—and now I'm gonna get in trouble…!
Knock. Knock. Knock.
No. NO. NO!
Peter is shaking with the adrenaline of a battle, and the disorientation of waking up in so abruptly. He wants to curse Friday out, but then he'd just be sabotaging himself.
He tries not to move. Pretend he's not here at all.
"Peter?"
Ah. Shit.
Just.
Wow.
Fucking hell.
Peter doesn't have a drop of luck in his system.
Because it is Pepper who's calling from across the door and he is not ready to face the woman.
But since this is her domain, her property, he moves to open the door.
Only.
Only things get worse, because that's how life is.
Things get worse, because Peter is still wearing his Spider-Man suit, and when he tries to press it so it could just gracelessly flop out of it like it always did, it doesn't loosen.
And right, right, Karen shut down, this isn't possible anymore.
You have to give him credit though.
Peter tried.
He tried to strip it away like a normal human does with every human clothes.
But these are essentially leotards, leather leotards. Leotards that are designed to stick to him no matter what (a precaution then, a nuisance now). Which means, he has to exert more effort and time in shimmying out of it.
Pepper is knocking though, and her voice is getting louder. As Peter enters the struggle with his left shoulder, Pepper warns him of opening the door herself, in worry, he doesn't know.
That doesn't matter because he's still wearing this goddamn onesie and it won't come off!
So, Peter makes a radical decision.
He won't take it off.
Not yet.
Not until he could. When Pepper leaves him alone, and MJ's inevitable wrath has softened.
He is yelling, "Uh-ahh, Pepper! I'm, um, changing. I'll be out in a minute!"
He hears Pepper's assent of, "Alright Peter, just go to the kitchen after," and listens to her footsteps fade away before Peter tries to move again.
Only, his feet catch on his clothes on the floor, tripping over and falling, landing just beside the mask.
Peter lies on the ground in frustration, trying to calm down for the sake of his own sanity.
When he thinks he's fine and ready, Peter grabs his shirt and pants, wearing it over his bright red suit. His eyes fall on the mask lying on the floor, taunting him, and grabs it in haste, pushing it into his pocket.
(He could fit calculators there. It's safe.)
The shirt does not cover his forearms though, and Peter is looking frantically everywhere for something, anything—and there, his savior—his hoodie.
Peter jumps across the bed, arms reaching out toward the hoodie over the chair. He shrugs it on, taking out a pair of work gloves to cover his hands.
He goes to pick up his shoes by the side, foregoing socks because of how hot it will be with all those layers of clothing.
And then Peter stops.
The frenzy is over, and he can leave his room now without worrying about his suit. And now he has enough space to really think it through and realize.
A somber air falls in his room, the events of last night rushing in his mind.
And he feels weird, oddly ephemeral, like he's won against fate at some point, because whatever that happened last night wasn't supposed to happen, wasn't written in the laws of destiny.
It wasn't supposed to make Peter feel this way, like he's healed. But it did, and he likes it, he thinks. He'll take it.
It's… good.
If he tried before, now he'll try even harder, to be better for everyone. Because that's what they deserve.
From now on, whatever he will do, he will be doing it for them. And for Tony. And if he is feeling brave, he could admit that he is also doing it for himself.
The sting of adrenaline fades and he welcomes the disorienting dizziness of waking up sleep deprived— the dry eyes, parched mouth and muddled thoughts.
And then the loud, intrusive Knock, Knock, Kno—
"Pepper!"
Peter opens the door and is greeted by the surprised, and then promptly calm face of Pepper Stark-Potts.
"Peter," she says, lovingly, motherly, "Friday told me you stayed the night here," Friday you snitch, "Anyway, I thought you might be in trouble because you were taking so long. We're having breakfast in the kitchen right now, and I thought maybe you could join us."
It isn't a question, or an invitation.
Peter knows that when Pepper wants something, she's going to be very polite and lovely about it. Doesn't mean she isn't going to have it.
So, he tries to smile at her as naturally as he can, nodding, and then, "I'll be glad to—I'll, I'll join you when I finish this, ah, thing I'm doing."
Pepper nods, unsure, because when she first came to his door, he already took so long. And now, he might just scamper and leave because of some misplaced guilt.
But if anything, she trusts Peter.
So, Pepper moves to close the door. And on the way out, catches Peter's panicked eyes and smiles, warmth in her eyes, "It's really good to see you, Peter."
Peter is stunned into forgetting his panic, and then eases into a soft smile, finding comfort just in Pepper's presence, reassurance in her confession, "It's really good to see you too, Pepper."
When she leaves, Peter takes to action, heading straight for the computer, and then remembering Friday, saying instead, "Hey Friday, can you save that into a flash-drive?"
"Done, Peter."
"Thanks!"
.
.
.
"Also, I hate you Fri."
She laughs.
"I'm sorry Peter, but Pepper's the boss now."
Peter looks down.
"Yeah, I guess she is now, huh."
He gathers what's left of his courage and braves on out into the kitchen.
He enters to the smell of eggs, and the sound of sizzling bacon just urging him to come to the kitchen. It is almost automatic, the way his feet find the door, because it feels so fresh and homey just by the aura of it all.
The rays of the sun are filtered through the windows, soft wisps shining through the gossamer blinds, lending warmth in delicate caresses.
It is the picture of the happy family scenario and Peter is almost weak to join it all.
Harley sets his cup of coffee, sleeve bunched up until his elbows all casual and playful. He catches sight of Peter who is standing by the door frame, frozen by the scenic moment.
He grins at Peter, waving his hand, "Come on here, Pete—breakfast by none other than Pepper the Great! This doesn't happen often, so please, take advantage of it."
"Very funny Harley," Pepper pipes up from the counter.
Peter takes a few steps in and almost bumps into a small creature huddled on the floor; one going by the name of Morgan.
Harley must have seen where Peter is looking at because then he's explaining over his coffee, (and wow the smell of coffee is just divine), "Oh, just let her be. She's making her 'art', and must be left wherever she finds the most freedom in."
"That's… really great for her."
"Yes, it is. For her. But does anybody think of Harley and the fact that his tall gangly frame might not be suited for navigating through rough terrain? Especially one riddled with kid stuff, and the kid herself? Nooo."
Pepper laughs, setting the perfect cooked egg on the table, offering Peter some milk, orange juice or coffee. "Or water, do you like water?"
"Uh, coffee please."
Peter takes the brewed coffee, relishing in the smooth smell of a freshly poured cup.
"Morgan, come on, time for your next bite—"
"Wait, I'm not done with my next masterpiece yet!"
"My next master—Morgan if you don't come right this second, Pepper can and will take your cheeseburger—she's here, right now!"
Morgan jumps and runs straight to Harley, opening her mouth wide for the spoonful of scrambled eggs.
"Got her priorities straight, this kid."
And then, Morgan catches Peter's eyes, smiling wide at that second and almost spilling out everything in her mouth. Her hands go straight for Peter, pointing, excitedly, "BIG SPIDEY!"
If a child could get any more animated, Morgan would become a full-on episode of Mickey Mouse, because she's jumping up and down and then squealing. She reaches Peter, standing just by his navel and then going up to hug him. Peter shifts a little so that her head rests on the side of his waists, uncomfortable of the position, but welcoming of the affection.
She squeals again and then looks up, with her big doe eyes and cute baby voice, "You came back for me! We're going to fly, right, Big Spidey?"
Peter freezes up at that moment, guilt dripping down his body because he knows he can't give her what she wants. Disappointing people is something he really hates. But sometimes, you have to do that in order to continue living.
Plus, they can always fly one day, not just as Spider-Man and Morgan.
But as Peter and Morgan.
He thinks that's better. And safer, anyway.
Morgan calls Peter, uncertainty in her voice, doe eyes getting wet and mouth becoming pouty, irresistible, manipulative, "Big Spidey?"
Peter puts his hands on her head, mussing her bed head fondly. A hint of sadness flashes on his face but he is quick to cover it up with something a little more sober, "Just Peter, Morgan. Just Peter now. I can't swing you up the trees anymore. But one day, maybe we can fly a plane together!"
Morgan's eyebrows furrow deep and she's pulling out of the hug, taking a little bit of the warmth from the morning, "What do you mean—?"
But before she could finish, and show her complete devastation at Peter, Harley is finishing his coffee and then standing up to usher her somewhere else, "I think that means you have to take a bath now, Morganana. Let's go to Judy now, alright?"
Peter watches as Harley and Morgan go, the latter distracting her from her questions. They look like the perfect older brother and younger sister dynamic and Peter is afraid to disrupt it.
And then, and as always: Silence.
The coffee maker beeps.
More silence
Chair scraping.
"So."
Pepper.
Right.
"So…"
"Not spidey anymore?"
Peter knew she was gonna ask.
Trying to change the subject won't work either. Tony's tried it multiple times before. He was an expert, but he always did fail.
So, Peter takes the plunge.
"Yeah. I, I couldn't do it," he rubs his nape nervously and looks down, where he wouldn't catch Pepper's looks of, I don't know—disappointment? "Couldn't… couldn't move on with Spider-Man on my back."
Peter knows exactly when the gears in Pepper's head clicks into place. Like, full-on mother mode. He loves that Pepper does that, but in this particular moment, he doesn't really like it.
"Peter—"
"Pepper."
Beat.
Sigh.
Relenting.
"Okay. I won't tell you not to do it, because it's your choice. It will always be your choice. And choosing to out will not make you weak, or a quitter. Because I know you, and if anything, you're not a quitter. You'll do things as Peter Parker, and that's great. I understand. But."
There it goes. That inevitable but.
"Did you think it through?"
Peter is met with the full force of Pepper's eyes, those blue eyes, with concerned filled in them magnifying the guilt and spreading it all over his conscience because he's causing her so much strife.
But he can't lie.
Pepper deserves only the truth.
He says it calm and steady, but even that is enough to translate the amount of tumultuous fire that rages in his mind. Because a calm and steady Peter is one who tried to make it sound that way.
And he never found it harder to do that than when Pepper is looking at him with the most troubled expression.
He confesses, betraying a bit of what he feels, a wet whisper into the ears of someone who could only understand, "It was all I could ever think of Pepper."
His admission feels like it should never be heard by anyone else because it feels like its exposing him and the nights where he never did sleep. And it brings him back to those troubled times, when thinking of giving Spider-Man up gave him the most beautiful relief.
(Right now, he doesn't quite know if its relief or loss or joy or regret, but he has time to figure it out.)
They hold eye contact for more than a few seconds, and Peter feels the weight of her emotions on top of his own.
As great as Pepper is persuading through her words, doing so without speaking clutches onto Peter more. And he wants to surrender, wants to believe what she does of him, but he knows better than anyone that this is what he needs.
(Does he—does he really, though?
I… don't know.
But it's done, already, what else can I do—)
Pepper lets out a breath, and her shoulder sags in defeat, before she turns to drink from her coffee again, staring at him over the rim of her cup.
"Well. I don't think you're really going to give up Spider-Man," she starts, "Wasn't it you who said that with great power—"
"…comes great responsibility. Yeah. I know. And it was Ben who said that."
"Oh yes, of course."
Silence.
He chews on the scrambled eggs and takes a large chug out of his glass of orange juice, right beside his coffee.
He couldn't really see the moment when Pepper surrenders to her own curiosity, or perhaps overwhelming concern, Peter couldn't discern which. But then again, he could hear it. And it comes with the small frustrated sigh, and the way she's tapping her foot on the floor.
"But what if something bad happens, and you know you could do something—what then, Pete?"
("Yeah, what then, Pete?")
"I guess…" something catches in Peter's throat and he goes to drink from the juice, his coffee already empty, "I guess," he exhales, "It's my responsibility to do everything I can as the person that I truly am? I don't know Pepper. I've thought about it, I have, but you know how thoughts run wild in the night. And every day that comes after that I feel so much shame for thinking it. But when the night comes, the yearning comes again. And it was just… too much for me. I needed… I needed to breathe a little. And I couldn't do it. Not with him. And its—" Peter grips his fork, eyes finding comfort in the swirls on the marble tabletop, he breathes out, hoping to get out of this thing, "It's so early in the morning to be thinking about all this, and the whole preparations—"
Right then and there, Peter's eyes widen in realization—SHIT—
"—which is starting right now—MJ's gonna kill me!—GOTTA GO NOW PEP, THANKS FOR THE BREAKFAST!"
Peter runs to the door before skidding to a stop just outside, looking back at Pepper with his body hidden behind the frame, ready to leave but desperate to make her understand, "I might not be 'him' anymore, but I'm still Peter, Pep. I can help in the company. And I will still help the people." He shakes his head, a sincere smile on his face, a promise that he doesn't intend to break, "I won't give up on the world Tony died saving."
And Pepper agrees. She understands—more than anybody. But she's quite afraid that it's him who doesn't understand. It's him who doesn't realize that he was a big part of that world that Tony died for.
Pepper watches him leave, and sees the hint of the suit under his sleeve.
She smiles.
Peter will realize too, one day, who he truly is.
When Peter arrives at the busy floor of the Avenger's Compound turned Midtown High Festival grounds, a chill goes up his spine. He thinks he doesn't have to look to know that MJ is glaring at him from across the floor, and knowing her, she probably got Ned to track him or something, I don't know, MJ is extreme.
He approaches the group reluctantly, sweating a lot under the MJ's glare and the heat of the extra layers on his skin.
He reaches them, apologetic and nervous, "He-hey guys!"
Ned cringes from behind MJ who is tapping her foot impatiently, "You were supposed to be there to open the motherfucking booth, and I had to run around the whole two floors of this big-ass compound just to look for your replacement—and just when I had them all, having heard of my impossible task from good friends, you finally decide to show up! Where have you been Peter?!"
Peter can't really explain it. And he can't really lie through it, not really.
He doesn't want to. And he's pretty sure MJ and the others would see through his bullshit.
So, he does the second-best thing—
"Hey, wow, the stall's looking great!"
One: He did not stutter.
Two: He almost had it.
But then
Three: Abe had to talk.
"Yeah bro, we also had to finish that without you."
"What?! I thought we had it done yesterday!"
"We had, for the most part," Cindy pipes in.
Sally nods, "The water was hard to put in there. And you happened to be our strongest, most useful guy in the group—"
"HEY!"
As Charles and Abe protest the girls' comment, MJ continues glaring at Peter. But as time passes, her eyes soften into a little less of a glare and more of an exasperated frown, "I don't know what to do with you Peter. But you're definitely doing the two-hour shift with Charles."
"Okay, that's fair," he concedes, "But I have to go out in time for the tribute. I… uh… prepared one last minute."
"So that's why you were gone," MJ muses.
"Yeah…"
"Bro—" He doesn't have time to react, because just as he's screaming, Ned lurches into Peter and crushes him into a hug.
"UGK—Ned—"
He taps Ned's arm, trying to get away from the chokehold, and hearing his best friend gush right by his ear, "Oh my gosh, Peter—you're—I'm—I'm so proud of you…!"
Peter tries to ignore the sniffling and pats his back, laughing unsurely, "Thanks, Ned…"
He relaxes into the hug, allowing himself to meld into his trembling friend's body before Ned pulls away, wiping his nose.
"You better give it to them Peter, the submission was announced to be closing thirty minutes ago."
"Oh no, I better—" he looks at MJ with wide eyes, asking for her permission to leave, and upon receiving her affirming nod, he dashes away to the second floor.
"Wait. Was he wearing gloves?"
"In this economy?"
"Ned."
"Yeah, I dunno MJ. Let's let Peter be his quirky, weird self for now."
Peter arrives there just at the right moment. They are announcing the last entries and he just barely calls for the student who's in charge of the tributes.
There is a smattering of inventions, art works, name plates for performances, and stacks of paper lying around in organized chaos. He doesn't have time to fret over them losing his flash drive though, because there's just no time.
"Hey—miss!"
It helps that he can still run really fast, holding out for a long time despite not using said skill or endurance that much.
It usually helps in his sleep deprived antics, but now that he's run again, he can feel the old energy coursing through him.
He stops right in front of the girl, smiling nervously at her, hoping she might be a bit more considerate.
"Hi, can I still submit for the tribute?" he asks, looking at the stunned girl.
He waves his hand over her face, finally reeling her from the dazed look, "Oh, yes! I'm sorry—yes, it's still open, um, fill these up with the necessary information and please put a short description of your tribute for the emcees to read—"
She hands over a piece of paper where he completes filling out the information, fine blocked letters on each blank space.
"And, sign there—"
He affixes his signature timidly, unsure of the old signature he designed after Tony's.
As he stares at it in nostalgia, Peter feels the burn of a too-long stare and he mentally curses at himself for looking up and catching the eye of the same girl, but now more excitable than nervous, "You're… you're really Peter Parker?"
Peter doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what this means. Why is she looking at him like that?
"I've heard so much about you from everyone across the trip—" she leans in, "Tell me, please, were you really an intern her at SI? My best friend Katie said you were an agent or something, but I think that's too far-fetched—is it? But see, my other best friend Jane said she saw you on the woods with Hawkeye—"
"Um, miss—"
"Just Alaiza!"
"Alaiza, yeah, I'm sorry but I don't really know what you're talking about—?"
"Okay, you don't have to tell me," she concedes, and Peter breathes a sigh of relief, "But from everything I've actually already heard about you that I could say for certain is true, I think you're pretty cool."
She grins at him like sunshine and he doesn't know how to take that. Why is this happening?
"Just… whatever it is you're going through, you're Peter Parker man, and even though I know you don't quite remember me, I was the girl you saved from that bully Flash two years before the, you know, the Shadow Period."
Oh.
"And I just wanna say thank you."
Peter stands there quietly, taking all the information and processing it as much as he still can.
"By accepting your super late submission, I think we're fair now. So, you save me, I save you I guess," she giggles.
He laughs along, shrugging off the slight discomfort at being interrogated, and then having to recover from the whiplash he got from their conversation.
If he could think about one reason this happened, it's probably because nowhe knows that he can still help and save people without putting on the mask.
And he's happy that he can still change things as plain old Peter Parker.
"Fucking Peter Parker taking so long—"
"Shut up Flash and just do your job."
"But why do I have to take his—"
"Because you did the things you did and you promised to be better, now shut it."
The hustling of busy students fills in the silence.
Flash watches as media from outside enters the building and begins interviewing preparing students.
MJ stands by their booth, a few meters in front of him.
Charles is playing with his phone in a water-proof case inside the glass.
Fidgeting.
"…I really am trying, Michelle," he offers.
Raised brow.
"I know," she side-eyes him with her hands crossed, and offers a little nod.
Flash takes it as affirmation.
Right then, Flash jumps a foot in the air, because here he is—Peter fucking Parker tapping his motherfucking shoulders like they're anything as close as 'friends'—
"Hey," he grimaces, (a smile, Flash thinks, one that fails so horribly it does not join the category that is at least related to smiling), "It's alright Flash, I can take this now."
Flash frowns because that's what he does when Peter is looking at him all kind and forgiving, because he doesn't quite feel like he deserves anything yet, so he just brushes him off and walks away, muttering "Whatever," before disappearing off into the crowd.
MJ watches it all happen and muses, "He's not gonna improve in a day, Peter. Give him some time."
"Yeah, I know," Peter says, "We're the same."
Thirty minutes after that, MJ pats Peter's shoulder, gives him a dead look and says, "I've already stayed long enough to begin putrefaction, I'm leaving you with Charles."
"Wait—wait, where's Ned?"
"Oh, he's out there with the robotics team checking out his robot. Gotta give him that, he deserves to be a kid too, just like the rest of us."
Peter smiles the most genuine he has done since this morning, "You out there being a kid too?"
It is out of humor when she replies, childlike lilt in her voice, not quite fitting MJ's 'aesthetic' at all, which makes it more ridiculous.
"Actually, I'm going out there to do big adult talks with the other adults. You won't understand it yet; I'll give you ten to forty years to mature."
She turns her back, waving a hand in the air one time and then melding with the sea of crowd.
Peter feels the smile stretch in his face.
There is a certain ease to the way they speak to each other now. There is no wariness, or fear of anything. Just freedom and maybe even fun.
"So freaky."
Turn—
"Huh-?"
"See, I've been her classmate since kindergarten and she never smiled at me whatever I tried to do. Used to have a teenie bit o' crush on her—" Peter squints, Charles propped on the glass cage, "Alright I had an obsession with her because she was always so mysterious. But whatever I did, she never opened up."
"What are you onto, Charles?"
"I dunno bro, maybe it's just the fact that she opened up to people only twice in her social life—and that's for Ned and you. Ned's got Betty, and you—"
Peter puts a hand out, "See, that's where I stop you Charles."
"Alright man, but don't tell me it's not there."
"Whatever, dude."
Hum.
Video games beating each other.
The sound of victory.
"How long till your shift finishes?"
"An hour and a half—and, we've got our first customers! Hi, we're the Academic Decathlon, here to know everything and anything about Tony Stark and Stark Industries—please, ask a question that I hopefully can answer so I won't fall down on this unforgiving water contraption—"
Charles falls down the water an estimate of twelve times.
And it's an estimate because he was trying to wipe his glasses when it fell down and it was easier to get wet again when you're already soaked than doing so blind.
"This suck! I hate this so much, I'm so glad I'm over and done with this. Peter, man, I want to wish you good luck but I also want you to fall down that waterhole more than I did. You're a nice guy, you'll do that right?"
Peter shrugs it off, laughing along with Sally who takes it as a joke.
(He takes it as a challenge)
He moves to settle himself instead on the platform as Charles leaves for the men's bathroom to dry himself, Sally settling on the table.
"So many big-name media here. Betty must be combusting."
"Yeah," Peter agrees. But before he could wonder about Ned out loud, a small girl peaks from below the glass cage and his feet.
Curiously, she asks, "I can ask anything, and you'll know the answer?"
There is awe, and a bit of disbelief at the promise, that Peter thinks is very cute. She looks like she's a seventh grader.
He nods from his spot, "That's the goal."
"Cool—you're like a human Google or something!"
"I guess," he laughs, "Why don't you ask me stuff then?"
A devilish glint crosses her face right then and Peter 100% regrets asking. These cute creatures that exude innocence are the most fearsome demons out there—he should have known—
Because now she bares her teeth and grills, sweetly, by deadly, "Who founded the Stark industries?"
Hm, Peter thinks, this is pretty simple.
"Howard Stark."
"When?"
"1940."
"When did Tony inherit the company?"
"When he turned 21."
"Why did it take so long?"
"He was orphaned at a young age, and had to finish his studies first and reach the legal age, so Obadiah Stane held the company for him. He turns out to be a big as— astute businessman, but also a big liar."
"How long do you become in line for heirship?"
"Uh—"
"HAH! You're gonna fall in!"
"NO WAIT—You have to be of legal age—part of the family, fastest depending on who's the closest to the current CEO, or if the children don't want it, or aren't 'qualified', you have to be in the higher positions to be considered!"
"WHO ARE THE FIVE A.I'S THAT TONY STARK BUILT—"
"JARVIS, FRIDAY, JOCASTA, HOMER AND TADASHI!"
They probably shouldn't be screaming at each other, Peter thinks belatedly, because now there are more people heading their way to watch the spectacle.
Peter isn't even allowed to be red because of how fast she's asking questions.
"What are all the celebrations celebrated by the all the company employees?"
"Uh, they have Christmas and New Year, the company's founding anniversary, Pepper's birthday, even though she doesn't like taking attention from the company to her—"
"—how many employees are there in the company?"
"From this tower or from all the branches?"
"All."
"About 15, 000—from all around the world, with its associate companies, etcetera."
"What was the size of Tony Stark's foot?"
Here, he stutters, but ends up answering it correctly still, "A- a perfect TEN."
And at about a few hundred more questions after that, the little girl lets out a frustrated groan that almost nears bratty.
"I just want him to fall into the water! Why is it so hard—"
At this time, a scary amount of people has formed around the glass, cheering on the girl with her questions or are interested in watching Peter answer the impossible questions that she sometimes would throw.
If Peter cranes his head, he could see Charles, Abe and Cindy from across the crowd. He could mostly hear them.
The little girl stares defiantly at him, pout getting worse, and then narrow eyebrows going even further down, "Hey! How do I know this isn't rigged?"
"You check on google for all the answers—"
"HOW DARE YOUUUU!"
Ned comes bursting in from the crowd, raging on his design, which gets even more people listening in. "—design was cross coded to Friday and that took a long time, and that involves talent and hard work and MJ's cold threats—so, how dare—" And by the time he pauses long enough to notice it, a reporter is already beside him, ready to ask questions.
Someone else, the little devil girl in particular, also took the opportune moment to ask her very last, and possibly the deadliest question yet—
She smirks, like in those tv shows when they think they have their winning shot, and then bares her teeth in a smile that is not unlike a malicious, scheming hyena, "When did you become SI's intern and why were you on an executive level?"
There are many reasons as to why Peter stumbles, even almost falls in with how hard he physically recoils because of the question.
See, there are three things.
One, he knows the official one was much later than what he had claimed in school. And Ned's program, true to his works, is really very efficient—so much more than is demanded on a school tour. He can't lie to it. And then comes number two.
He doesn't know what Friday will consider—the Germany tour, the Avenger stint or the real one, since the word 'intern' has really been dabbling in the grey areas very much in the times they referred to it.
And three, that was just plain nasty.
Word travels fast, and it produces mischief and chaos, and Peter usually knows how to handle that. But right now, with the news on his tail, he just can't tell the truth to avoid the water—fuck, this is not going as well as he hoped for at all.
He hadn't wanted to fall on the water with how much he would have to dry. But. There are more pressing matters.
And so, his fate is sealed.
"April 27, 2016."
He falls.
Water splashing.
Cameras flashing.
And everyone and more is there to see it.
The lot of them laugh, but he just catches Ned's regretful look and Charles' understanding ones, despite how much he claims he wants to see him fall.
The little girl cheers in front of him, sends him a sweet look, and then turning around like nothing happened at all.
It takes him a few more minutes before he can safely be hauled over the glass panes, everyone taking their time dissipating away.
Peter gladly receives the towel Ned has for him, "That was amazing dude, the way you fire off one answer after the other. That little girl was just cruel."
"Yeah, better not let them hear you say that. I think I might just be expecting some press attention for that executive access thing that girl put out."
"I think Pepper can handle that."
Peter cringes, "I don't really want to burden her any more, but… I think she can do that…"
"Well, I think you should dry off first. Don't worry, Sally's got the underwater handled."
Peter nods in agreement, tightening his hold on the towel, feeling vulnerable for being wet in a very dry place.
He finds the bathroom easy enough, which is fortunately not being occupied by anyone at all. Peter heads straight to the fifth stall where the 'tech stuff' is kept and submits the codes and the security questions to access what he needs.
Which is just a big dryer thing for his whole body.
Agents have had to dry more than just water at a moment's notice.
Clint would know.
Just before clicking on it, he removes his pants, jacket and shirt, leaving him on his suit which he doesn't really have the time to remove, if they're expecting him to be there within twenty minutes. A wet suit in a small bathroom stall is harder to remove than dry. And dry was already difficult enough.
It leaves him feeling hot. The suit thankfully not clinging too much anymore, leaving spaces and crevices that didn't used to be there.
He puts on his now-dried set of clothes, taking care of covering his suit underneath the layers. Right as Peter walks out, another enters the bathroom in a frantic sort of daze.
He hears the same words uttered again and again, can feel the strong and erratic beat of his heart and can smell the emanating fear that just oozes out of the person.
Peter takes to ask him if he needs help, reaching his hand out to gently pat on his shoulder. When he did though, the man, no, the intern flinched so hard and recoiled against the other end of the wall.
He can see the moment the intern, the one who Shuri yelled at yesterday, forced a mask on, no matter how hastily done.
His smile is a grimace and hands an incessant shaking thing, the sweat on his body showing on his white clothing and the quiver in his voice the final bolt to his tomb.
"Are you alright, sir?" Peter asks. "Can I help you?"
"Yes-yes—I mean no- Yes, I am quite, I am quite alright. I am fine. I am fine. No need to help me. Please. If you could—leave me be and I will be better."
Peter nods quietly at the man, genuinely worried because he does not believe a word he said. He'll call in a medic to fend for the intern, because they work just as hard as actual employees.
As he closes the door to the bathroom though, he hears just the shakiest whisper, "What have I done?"
It bothers Peter, a lot.
A gut feeling forms, takes root and spreads, but is swiftly cut just as it sprouts because they are announcing that the students and guests should move to the second floor because the goddamn tribute is starting right fucking now—
Peter arrives in a floor packed with people, jittery students, prepared students—full makeup and costume ensemble and all—and then those who are excited for it all.
He doesn't know where he stands, but he feels a nervous kind of energy bubble up from his stomach to his fingertips, which will probably be very inherent in his voice.
"Ey! Peter!" he turns his head to see a hand raised in the air calling for him, Abe, with the rest of AcaDec.
He manages to squirm his way through the sea of people and finds himself squished between Ned and Cindy. They are in the better part of the crowd, close enough by the circular platform, and far enough to see everything reaching the main stage.
Peter feels a certain numbness of senses, and his hearing hones in on his own breath, everything else a blank echo.
You can do this Peter. It will be worth it. You'll survive this.
The mic screeches, feedback luring him in to the present world. Pepper is taking the stage, fine, crisp suit that is both business and welcoming to the audience. Her hair is tied into a low bun, smile gracing everyone in the room. Her face is reflected in the two screens on each sides of the stage, looking across the attendees with something akin to approval.
She looks ahead, and the people around Peter suddenly quietens, eager to listen to what the CEO has to say.
"A few months ago," she begins, "I wouldn't have thought that this place could be occupied with so many young people."
A bunch of chuckles echo across the room but she continues, "I say that not pertaining to the age, but to the spirit."
Ah.
"See, even before the Shadow Period, so much had already happened to this world that would make any agent or any employee of SHIELD and Avengers lose the vitality of their souls."
Peter would know that.
"And then came that period."
A hush falls on the crowd, knowing the weight of that time and respecting it with their silence. The only thing that comes is Pepper's somber voice, "Some of you wouldn't know. But to those who do, we remember the empty eyes. The slackened shoulders and the general looseness of… everything. Of hope, of spirit, and of life. I saw it happen to Tony. I saw it every day, and then I saw it slowly fade, just a little bit each and every moment, since our daughter Morgan was born."
A bunch of people let out an "Awww", the rest turning to look at Morgan who is sitting on the stage with Principal Morita, waving at them with her adorable smile.
Pepper's eyes also find Morgan and a look of incredible adoration and love falls. Everybody understands it.
She continues, "Along Morgan, and despite everything, I am both astounded and humbled to see you kids grow and prosper. To watch you all laugh and dream. To collectively and consciously choose happiness, even when it doesn't seem like it's one of the options."
The crowd of students are filled with a venerated aura, feeling good about themselves as they should be, thinking that they might just be what Pepper, the CEO and the strongest driving force behind SI, says they are.
They came here thinking they might see cool gadgets, hot agent and a chance to get noticed by the company.
They were excited because they could finally break the loop of going to school and then home and then school.
They walked in thinking of this as the single most amazing thing to happen in their life (-coming back when you didn't know you were gone isn't really that great. Maybe to those who were left by the snap, they would think of this as the second greatest—) not thinking that maybe this would be the one to change it.
And so, they take it all in—the wonder, the gratitude, the supreme serenity that holds this moment of revelation.
That they did something worthwhile by trying to make it all a bit better.
That being happy might just be as noble as saving lives.
That smiling for someone, and then smiling for oneself might just be the greatest gift, might just be a sign of bravery.
Pepper's eyes sweep across the room and is satisfied in seeing them all consider this.
"A month ago, Principal Jim Morita came to me, talking about second chances and an empty hallway despite being full. And he talked about this certain project of his, this wonderful event that would do something, maybe change something, speak to someone."
Pepper's eyes twinkle and her lips curl into a smile, "And thus, the trip."
Principal Morita is shaking his head, a little bit embarrassed but wholly composed—to think that Pepper will speak of that, the depth of his affection for the students under his care.
"Do you know what he told me when I asked him what he saw in here? Why it had to be SI?"
The crowd murmur in dissent, other guessing under their breaths.
She pauses for a few beats, the crowd of students waiting and listening, because they know that whatever Pepper will say is true, that whatever it is, there is something to take from the wisdom of her words.
Her eyes promise something much more, a realization, perhaps?
"He said he saw the future. Here. In SI? Well. While we are all for technology and progression, I think we're too much a part of the past to be considered the future. It has to be something else. Something new, I thought, then. But then, he continued talking, telling me that he saw here the foundations of something bright. That this was the best place that his students could gain something essential. That there was no better place to learn about life again than the castle of my husband, Tony, who gave his life for all of ours. And that was when I understood. He wasn't talking about SI. For Jim, the future was you."
And wow they were crying.
The pinnacle of something pure and exciting reaching its crescendo, inspiration and compassion bursting, bubbling and then—
"Believe me when I tell you this. Your life? It matters. It matters so much because one person is all it takes to mean the difference between the life and death of so many others. And Tony he—he understood that. But I'm not telling you that you have to sacrifice your life to matter. I'm telling you that it already matters and that you have to live it in order to understand its value. And that is what this is all about. This is what it has always been: Life."
Cindy is bawling beside Peter, taking refuge in his shoulder and him trying to share as much reassurance as she needs, Ned and Betty crying on each other's side. MJ looks at Pepper like she is a God, like she believes her more than she ever believed everyone, and a burning passion ignites and strengthens. Peter could hear the elevating beating of Flash's heart, the telltale signs of someone trying not to cry, the shaking shoulder and then the stillness.
Peter wishes he could tell him it's okay to cry.
For now, it is Charles who gives him the tissue and Abe to try to talk over it, so Flash wouldn't be too embarrassed of the sob that escapes his lips.
"Today," Pepper begins, and so does a new perspective, and a new life for them, "we celebrate not only the life Tony has lived, but also the potential and the power in your own." She raises her hands, strength in her stance, compassion in her eyes, and the intermingling buzz of excitement, "Let the tributes begin."