A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Captain America: Civil War, Ant-Man, and Spiderman: Homecoming.
As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta and Winter-Soldier-88 for the brainstorming.
Year From Hell: Season 3, in progress. Please stand by…
Yet another personal roadblock has come about. Please pray for my family.
Namaste,
Sunny
"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
Winter Soldier
And You Will Know Me Still
Chapter 76
A laugh burst out as Darcy's guest sat up, wiping his mustache free of crumbs. 'Guest' is too strong a word, she thought to herself. 'Honored guest' would be taking things lightyears too far.
"Could we put 'Dad' and 'Mr. Stark' in the bag until we get to know each other better?" he suggested without rancor or the thick layer of sarcasm for which he was known the world over. "Please, Fontana, call me Tony."
She pursed her lips to keep from scowling, letting the eye roll continue for effect. "Always hated that name. Middle one too." Though he hadn't said if he wanted more, she poured hot water into both their cups and resumed her seat in the armchair.
Tony used the same bag again, stirring while watching her with a stare he'd likely perfected as part of his business persona, meant to intimidate. Luckily, she wasn't easily panicked into speaking before thinking. Acting before thoughts were fully formed was another side-show altogether. Like the night she and Steve went to the museum. She'd let herself be swayed by her mother's wishes without considering the practicality of their venture. If she had listened to Steve in the first place, they could've saved themselves time. The gentleman he is, Steve hadn't complained.
"Why? Lavinia Fontana was Joni's favorite classical female artist, one of the inspirations for becoming an artist," he told her with confidence and authority, reminding Darcy that he'd known her mother before she was born. "Just be glad she didn't name you after Lavinia's father."
"Right. Having the name Prospero would've been the impetus for many a playground fight above and beyond what I went through with Fontana, and the reason for the change," Darcy added while reaching for a cookie. Tony leaned forward to hold out the plate and returned it to the tray. "My step-father adopted me when he and Mom got married, and I legally changed my first name to Darcy the day I turned eighteen."
The uncomfortable silence stretched between them once again, broken by Tony setting his cup on the tray. "Mind if I use the facilities?" At her pause, he assured her, "Won't look in your closets or medicine cabinet while I'm in there."
"Down the hall on the right." The breath Darcy hadn't realized she was holding whooshed out, leaving her feeling like a deflated balloon. It's going better than expected. We'll be having family dinners before you know it, she thought to herself with heavy sarcasm. Not.
She went back to the kitchen to put up the leftover cookies and put the kettle, cups, and plates in the sink. A quiet footfall let her know Tony was back. Turning around, she was surprised to see him holding a leather jacket in one hand, her anger, simmering under the surface since the initial confrontation, threatened to boil over, "You promised…"
Tony raised a qualifying finger. "That was for the closets and the medicine cabinet, which didn't include taking a peek into your bedroom through the open door," he pointed out. "This proves Rogers lied."
Confused by the non-sequitur, Darcy snatched the garment from his hand, holding it against her chest. Steve's unique scent clung to the fabric. Something she hadn't consciously noticed until, well, now. "About…?"
"Said you and he weren't dating and he's never spent the night. A lie, being as I found his jacket on a chair in your room."
She hung the jacket on the back of the nearest dining room chair and stayed facing away from Tony, gripping the chair through the leather to keep from punching his lights out. I should've tased his ass instead of threatening him with an unloaded gun. "We've only been on a few dates, and he was a perfect gentleman every time. Never even been inside my apartment." She faced him again, arms crossed in a blatant defensive posture. "Not that it's any of your business."
The look in his eyes, guilt with a generous heaping of remorse and regret for the years they both missed, held hers for a moment then slid away. However, Darcy's sympathy bank was overdrawn.
"You have a point," he conceded yet again. "To be fair, your mother never told me about you. Found out by accident. And before we bandy about recriminations, name calling, and contemptuous scorn, let me just say the reason I never tried to see you wasn't because I didn't care." At the tone in his voice, a plea for understanding, Darcy's ire lessened just a fraction. "It was Joni's game, and I had to respect that, unlike your grandfather, who would've muscled his way back into your lives, and even sued for custody. With SI's resources, he would've won, and you would now be having this conversation with her. That's why I never told Mom or him."
From his words and tone, she could tell he wouldn't have anything good to say about Howard, but didn't push. "You'll have to tell me about him someday."
Tony rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. "Not lookin' forward to it." He picked up the tray and carried it to the counter. "I'm gonna get out of here so you can get some sleep, maybe reflect upon our unconventional first meeting, and curse and defame my continued existence in private." Darcy followed him to the door. "Should I even bother with the 'if you need anything, don't hesitate' platitude?"
"Despite what you might think, I don't want anything from you. You don't even have to publicly acknowledge me as your child. I just wanted to meet my birth father. You're more than welcome to verbalize it. Just don't wait by the phone, 'cause you'll be on your death bed before that call comes."
He stepped over the threshold and stopped, hands clasped in front of him as if deciding on a way to proceed. "So, now that we've met, what happens?"
"Don't know. Let's sleep on it and see what happens." His hands went into his pockets, undecided what to do or say next, so she picked up the other subject on both their minds, "If you need proof of our genetic consanguinity, I'm willing to submit a sample for DNA comparison to SI's medical department."
With a nod, Tony made his way around the side of her apartment, and a moment later, Darcy watched his Iron Man suit fly away.
Subs on the Square
Queens, New York
That Evening
The shop was more than half full, mostly couples having a quick bite on their way to other pursuits. At Felicia's suggestion, she and Peter had taken a table outside where they could study with minimal distractions. However, Peter had barely spoken since they arrived. Normally, he would plow through his food like a woodchipper through a Redwood, but had only taken a few bites. He'd also been staring off into space more than usual, reminding her of someone who'd gotten bad news and was still processing. She touched his shoulder and he looked at her as if he'd forgotten she was there. "You okay?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah. Fine," he told her in a voice that said he wasn't, belatedly adding a smile, and opening the textbook. "Where were we?"
Letting out a long breath, Felicia plucked the pen from his hand, and shoved all his things into his backpack then did the same for herself. He stood when she did. "Turn around." With a puzzled stare, Peter did as she said. She helped him into the backpack, packed up her belongings, and put her backpack on. Her frugal nature wouldn't let her throw out his uneaten sandwich, so she wrapped it in deli paper, put it in the outside zipper of his backpack, and took him by the hand. "Come on. We're blowin' this joint."
"Thought we were gonna study."
Felicia led Peter to the entrance to the park. "A study group of two or more requires participation from all parties. Since you're all about the brooding tonight, we're going for a walk instead."
He pulled her to a stop. "In the park? At night?"
She smiled and to her relief, he returned it. "Not afraid, are ya? 'Cause I'll protect you," she said, tugging him forward, meaning every word, even if that meant he found out the secret she's been hiding from him and Ned since the day they met.
Setting a leisurely pace, Felicia held onto his hand, and after a while, he began to relax. His chest expanded and contracted with each deep breath and exhale. She looked up at him and finally, he smiled for real. "Sorry I've been rotten company."
Waving away his apology, Felicia carefully eyed a group of teen boys cutting through the grass. On their current path, they'd cross in front of them. "Forget it. Done my share of brooding, except I called it deep thinking." She pulled him to a stop to avoid the others, hoping they'd leave them alone. "If something's bothering you, something you can't talk to your aunt, Ned, or one of your other friends about, you can always confide in me." She mimed locking her lips. "I'm a vault."
He smiled his appreciation, and for a moment, Felicia thought he'd kiss her, but then the moment passed, and he started them walking again. "You're right. I do have had something on my mind."
"This sounds promising. Let's hear it."
Peter opened and closed his mouth a few times then seemed to make a decision. "Go to the Spring Fling with me."
~~O~~
Holding his breath waiting for Felicia's answer, Peter was dumbstruck when she snorted, one side of her mouth turning up in a smile.
"It's a senior function, so technically, I should be asking you." One finger poked him in the chest and was followed by a full-on smile that turned her eyes to sparkling gems. "I'll let it slide this time. And yes."
Hardly able to believe his ears, Peter stared at her for a long moment then smiled, feeling truly happy for the first time since receiving the diagnosis from Dr. Bennett. "Great! Um, give me your address. Aunt May will drive us, if that's okay."
The group of teens Peter had seen heading their way had moved on, to his relief. If they'd harassed them, he would've been forced to defend Felicia and himself, revealing his powers to, well, he thought of her as his girlfriend. Whether she felt the same, he'd find out soon enough.
"I'll come to your place and she can take us from there." She made a face of disgust. "Don't want flak from the foster fam."
Her hands came up to rub his biceps, and strange as it seemed, that simple touch, somewhat innocently given, made all his troubles seem not as important. The look in her eyes changed, softened, and her lips parted. Even a novice at dating could tell she wanted him to kiss her. Dr. Bennett said that the amount of radiation on his saliva, tears, and sweat wasn't enough to harm another, but should he refrain from kissing just to be on the safe side? His conscience said yes, but the rest of him was the show runner at the moment, and it wanted more than just a kiss. A lot more.
Holding onto her shoulders, Peter leaned down as Felicia tiptoed, hands on his shoulders close to his neck. Their lips hadn't made contact when the shrill blast of a police siren tore through the romantic bubble that had formed around them. They moved apart and he took that as a sign they should wait. Apparently, she did too. She rested her hands on his chest and laughed. He joined in, holding her to him for a brief hug before taking her hand and turning toward the subway. "I'll, uh, walk you to the subway then I gotta get home."
"Yeah, me too." Felicia bumped his shoulder with hers. "We should coordinate for the dance. Don't wanna clash."
"Sure. Let me know what color your dress is." Peter didn't know if that was really a thing or she was having yet another chuckle at his expense, but didn't care. He wanted everyone to know she was his girl and he was her guy. Or did they have to kiss for it to be official?
At the subway station, they leaned against a pillar until the train arrived, their shoulders touching. Felicia boarded, and the last thing he saw before it vanished into the tunnel was her smile.
Stark Tower
Tony's Lab
"Tony?"
Pepper's voice echoed in the hall outside the lab where Tony was tinkering. He'd been dreading and looking forward to this at the same time, ever since he discovered that the daughter he'd never met was working for Erik Selvig. The girl also had a mouth and a temper that rivaled his with a more than generous helping of her mother thrown in to mitigate the bad habits he'd passed on through his DNA. Maybe.
He had to admit Darcy had given him back what he'd thrown at her in spades, and likely would until they found their relationship footing, provided they had one after their abortive first official meeting. As much as he wanted to get to know her better, Tony got the feeling that she was on the fence. Showering her with gifts over and above the bear as a salve to his conscience in an attempt to span the years they'd missed would be met with scorn, sarcasm, and intense loathing. She'd see through it all. Already had, he reminded himself.
The lab door opened and Pepper breezed in. One look in his eyes and she knew. "You talked to her instead of lurking in the dark." She took the tool from him and set it aside. "How did it go?"
Summoning the confidence that had served him so well personally and professionally, Tony managed a smile. "As well as could be expected under the circumstances. We had tea and talked, after I was held at gunpoint, of course." Before Pepper could express outrage, he continued, "Totally justified, I might add, you know, because of the stalking thing."
Pepper removed her earrings, holding them in one hand while taking the pins from her hair with the other and shaking her hair loose. "What happens now?"
"IDK. Give her, and me, a few days or months to process," Tony waved a hand at the world, "and we'll Indiana Jones it from there."
Sympathy shown in her eyes and he loved her even more for not pointing out the obvious, that she told him this would happen. "I'd like to meet her, when you're both ready."
He wanted that too, but wasn't sure how Darcy would feel about it. She was adamant about not wanting anything more from him than knowing his identity, and he would respect that. He also hoped she'd come to her senses and accept the hand he planned on extending as a precursor to a tentative father-daughter relationship. "You already have, I think." He addressed the air, "Friday, display all available information on current Stark Industries employee Darcy Lewis."
The hologram hovered over the grid, prominently displaying the photo of a dark-haired young woman wearing glasses, the twinkle of mischief in eyes that were the spitting image of Joni's the last time he'd seen her. The memory popped into his head of her standing on the sidewalk next to her car waving as he drove away, not knowing it would be the last time they'd see each other. His plans to keep in touch had gotten lost in thesis work for his second and the start of his third PhD.
Leaning against the table, Pepper crossed her arms, head tilted to the side. "Dr. Selvig's assistant."
"Before you ask, no, I didn't know who she was when he hired her. Selvig does all the grunt work for his department. Darcy being here is one big fat coincidence."
"You don't believe in coincidences," his fiancé reminded him, unnecessarily.
Tony let out a long breath as he joined her leaning on the table. "It's just… I should've seen it. She has Joni's eyes."
Pepper's reflection smiled gently. "From what I've heard, her attitude is all you." She walked toward the door. "Have you eaten? I can have Chef send something up, if you plan on working through the night."
"I'll join you for dinner, after a short meeting, and a quick shower," he assured her with a smile.
As Pepper left the lab, Steve got out of the elevator. They greeted each other, Steve reached in to push the floor button for Pepper, and the doors closed.
"You wanted to see me, Tony?" he said as he entered the lab. Tony motioned Steve to a chair. "I'd rather stand," he stated stubbornly, planting his feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed, and his eyebrows turned down in disapproval or annoyance. Tony couldn't tell the difference at the moment.
"Have it your way." Moving over to the window, Tony shoved both hands into the pockets of his pants, using body language to send Steve a silent request to join him, and momentarily, he did.
Steve gave him a curious side-eye, seeming to already know what it was about.
For one of the few times in his life, Tony was at a loss for words. However, it seldom lasted long. "Yeah, uh," he turned from the soothing wooded scene. "I'm about to say something that, even in my wildest dreams, I never thought would come out of my mouth."
Steve opened his mouth, closing it again when Tony held up a finger in warning. "Get to the point, Tony. I have plans."
"And that brings me to the reason for this little tête-à-tête." Tony matched his teammate's arrogant stance, removing any hint of humor that may have lingered from his talk with Pepper. "What are your intentions toward my daughter?"
Timișoara, Romania
The time to move on to his next destination had come and gone, yet Bucky hadn't yet left Timișoara. There was so much culture and history in the city that each day he found something new to do and see. He repeatedly visited the Piața Unirii and the Memorial Museum of the 1989 Revolution. Among the artifacts the museum housed were uniforms, documents, and a film on the Nicolae Ceaușescu dictatorship.
His visits weren't a celebration of that era, rather a wish to memorialize all the Romanian citizens who lost their lives under the rule of a cruel and inhumane individual. Everything he saw reminded him of Hitler and the atrocities committed by him and on his behalf, paying special attention to those who had escaped justice. Like Hitler, Ceaușescu had many who had wielded their power like a blade, cutting and slashing their way through the populace and enjoying every moment.
Having the faces and voices of the ones who got away imprinted indelibly imprinted in his brain would ensure, should he run into any of them, Bucky would immediately recognize them well enough to point them out to the police. Not that he expected to, but just in case. Like him, they would most likely have run far from the land of their forefathers in order to go unnoticed, to vanish in obscurity, taking on false identities, and backgrounds that they recited to themselves over and over, until the lies felt like the truth.
Eventually, Bucky learned all he needed from his visits. He packed up his things, taking special care with the notebooks he'd collected over the months. They were filled with notes, observations, and speculations about his time before, during, and after being captured and turned into a weapon for the enemy. The most recent was also the most precious as it contained everything he remembered about Steve and Natasha.
Bucky shrugged into his backpack, buckled the straps over his chest, put on cap, and headed for the Romanian border.
Stark Tower
Tony's Lab
Dual urges almost caused Steve to speak without careful thought. On the one hand, laughter seemed the most appropriate response. The other hand wanted to punch him in the face or break a chair over his back. With difficulty, he did neither. "What's this about?"
"Your relationship with Darcy Lewis," Tony pointed out as if Steve were a dim bulb. "She's my daughter."
Steve picked up the glass Tony pushed his way, staring into the amber liquid to hide the blush creeping over his features. "Don't want to talk about it." He took a swallow of the scotch and set the glass on the bar for Tony to top off. "Don't have a choice though, do I?" Eyeing his friend over the rim of the glass, Steve wanted to finish his drink and leave without addressing the question of his intent concerning Darcy, but that would only delay the inevitable. "A couple days ago, you were giving me grief about our relationship, blatantly saying you thought we were…"
"Doing the horizontal hula?" Tony reached for a fresh bottle of scotch. "Or maybe you prefer Dad's euphemism for sex: fondue."
Steve ignored the crudeness and addressed the basics of the situation. "And today you want to know my intentions. What's changed?"
Making a sound in his throat that could've meant anything from "You've made your point. Let's not discuss it ever again" to "You're an ass, Rogers". Instead, Tony went with, "She wasn't my daughter then."
Letting his frustration and irritation with Tony's waffling attitude, Steve hitched his hip onto one of the bar chairs as Tony came around and seated himself next to him. "She either is or isn't your daughter, Tony. Make up your mind which it is, or keep your opinions to yourself."
Tony stared into his glass, slid off the chair, and wandered around the enormous room. Steve got up to follow him, staying several feet behind.
"When has that ever happened, Old Man?" The glass was brought to his mouth, and he made a sound in his throat at finding it empty.
"Well, we're in agreement on one point, at least." In the space of a single breath, Tony appeared to age before his eyes, and Steve nearly regretted baiting him. Softening his tone to take some of the bite out of his words, he asked, "What's this really about?"
Giving every indication that he wanted to hurl the glass against the wall just to hear the crash, Tony finally looked Steve in the eye, his voice soft, with undertones of nostalgia. "We, Darcy and I, sort of met the other night."
Steve's confusion, never far away since coming out of the ice, surfaced again. "Sort of?"
"Did. We did meet."
That was a good thing, wasn't it? Though Tony's attitude said otherwise. "Where? When?"
"Where? Her apartment. We had tea and cookies. When? Last night. You might also be interested in how this meeting came about." And there it was. That glint of intent to cause mischief that more than hinted at past misdeeds. "She found me lurking outside her apartment trying to get up the nerve to knock on her door." Then, he grinned with pride. "She stuck a gun in my face. Said it was your doing, and I believed her."
The Parker Apartment
Queens, New York
Saturday, Mid-Morning
May set her needlepoint aside and went to answer the door, expecting to see Mrs. Gonzales holding a bowl and begging to borrow a cup of sugar, flour, milk, or some other food item her doting, but forgetful husband neglected to pick up at the grocery store.
She took off her glasses with a smile. "Felicia. It's good to see you again."
"And you, Ms. Parker," the girl told her while glancing over her shoulder into the apartment.
"You just missed Peter," May opened the door wide, inviting the girl in to keep the nosy neighbors from having even more to gossip about.
Felicia stood just inside as she closed the door, hands holding onto the straps of her backpack. "I waited for him to leave cause I'm here to see you."
She followed May into the living room. The older woman moved the basket of knitting and needlepoint projects to the dining room table so Felicia could sit down. "Me? Why?"
The backpack came off and was set on the floor at her feet. "Peter and I are going to the Spring Fling together and…"
"You need help picking out a dress," May said with certainty. "Why isn't your foster mother taking you shopping?"
The girl's eyes dropped to the floor in embarrassment. "Didn't ask. She'd tell me they couldn't afford to spend money on something I'm only going to wear once. I've saved up from the part time job they don't know I have, but it's not much. I was hoping, with your connections to charitable organizations, you would know where I can get a dress and shoes that won't cost too much." She touched the long braid hanging over one shoulder. "Hair and make-up too."
Smiling gently, May got to her feet. "I'll get my purse and put on shoes, and we'll go. I know a place." Throwing over her shoulder as she walked to her room, "The hair and make-up is even easier."
In less than five minutes, they were pulling out of the apartment's garage into Saturday morning traffic. It only took twenty minutes to get to the shop May had in mind.
Ned's Bedroom
"C'mon already. Make a decision," Ned whined at Peter. "We doing this online or goin' out?"
Holding his phone in one hand, the other fiddling with the string on his hoodie, Peter paced from the window to the door and back. "Can't until Felicia tells me what color she's wearing."
"Why? You didn't do that with Liz," his best friend pointed out. "It's just a tie, Parker, not an entire suit."
"I know, but," one shoulder twitched and his face heated with embarrassment, "it's different with Felicia."
Ned huffed and pushed himself off the side of the lower bunk, to rummage in the closet. "I have one suit. If we don't match, it's not the end of the world." He held his suit jacket under his chin, examining himself in the mirror.
"I promised," he reminded Ned yet again. "This is a senior/junior event and I don't want to embarrass her." Peter threw himself down on the bed, feet pushing against the bottom of the upper bunk. "Who you going with?"
A sly smile gave Ned the look of a teenage Hispanic Santa Claus. "Violet."
The name wasn't familiar to Peter. "Who?"
"Violet Cameron," he clarified, a dreamy smile on his chubby face. "Her friends call her Vee."
Peter stopped kicking the upper bunk, grabbed a rubber ball from the desk, and tossed it from hand to hand. "Where'd you meet a junior?"
"Same way you met Felicia, between classes. She dropped her phone. I picked it up. And get this: she's an Ed Sheeran fan too." He breathed on his knuckles and polished them on his shirt. "We went to the arboretum and afterward, stopped at the coffee shop," he sighed. "She asked me on the subway ride home."
"You never said a word to your best friend," Peter accused. "That's me, by the way."
Ned dropped into the desk chair, hand out to catch the ball Peter threw. "Didn't want to jinx it."
The ball came at Peter, and though his eyes were closed, he still caught it. "I get that. We could ride to the dance together. May would drive us."
His friend's face crinkled in thought. "I'll talk to Violet." Peter's phone beeped and he shot to a sitting on the side of the bed. "Who's that?"
"Felicia. It's a picture of," he turned it this way and that, "part of her dress, I think. Now I have a color." Peter scrambled to his feet, snagging his backpack on the way to the door. "Let's go. I gotta get a new tie and order flowers."
The Home of Charles Fowler
Cleveland, Ohio
The man known to the local delivery drivers as Charles Fowler rolled out of bed, scratching his stomach and yawning on his way to the bathroom. He washed his hands, gave them a perfunctory pass with a hand towel and shuffled out to the living room, stopping on his way to the kitchen to turn on the computer.
With the coffee brewing, Fowler returned to the table he used as a desk, logged into the computer, and immediately accessed the surveillance recordings from the cameras hidden all around the tiny house he'd rented through a third party. There was nothing on any of the recordings, no movement that couldn't be attributed to the neighborhood cats, dogs, and other wildlife that roamed in the dark. The average American citizen would be relieved, maybe even let down their guard. But he wasn't American and hadn't survived this long by being average.
Fowler had only gone out when he absolutely had to and was seldom gone more than thirty to sixty minutes. He dared not leave himself unprotected, especially in public. Not after the incident with his car a few weeks ago. A Kevlar vest and a variety of concealed weapons, on his person, in his vehicle, and strategically hidden throughout the house, garage, and yard ensured that he would survive yet another day is this hellhole.
The blinds and blackout curtains remained drawn day and night, and he slept with one hand wrapped around the grip of a handgun, jerking awake at the slightest sound. Except for last night. Fowler had been so exhausted from lack of proper sleep that he was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, and hadn't awakened even once until the alarm.
The coffee maker gurgled, signaling the completion of the brewing cycle. He returned to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and drank it while heating one of the frozen meals he'd stockpiled in the freezer so he wouldn't have leave or order food delivered. They were as tasteless as the boxes in which they came, but it was better than starving, or dying, should the presence he felt watching him took into his or her head to attack when his defenses were weakest.
Taking a plastic fork from the box on the counter, he collected the meal from the microwave, and carried it back out to the table so he could eat and work at the same time. Fowler was not a computer genius by any means, but, once again, his knowledge was well above that of the average citizen, here or in Russia.
Accessing the website through which he worked, Fowler first read over the emails he'd received from his employers before beginning the next research project he'd been assigned.
Viewpoint Hotel
Long Island City, New York
Junior/Senior Spring Fling Dance
Standing with Ned in the lobby of the hotel, Peter forced himself not to fidget or check the time yet again, still confused by the turn of recent events.
Two days before the dance, May informed Peter that he would be spending that night and the next at Ned's home and that their dates would meet them at the hotel. His aunt wouldn't say why. She merely smiled in a way women did when they had something planned to which the men were not privy. He'd called and texted May, but got no response. Felicia had been a little more forthcoming, but not by much. She'd answered his inquiry with a short, succinct response that left him even more baffled. Ned too, to go by his jaw-drop when Violet gave the same response word for word.
Busy. Can't talk. Turning off phone. Will meet at the hotel Saturday night.
The only reply to his texts came from May, and just to reassure him that she was fine. Phone calls weren't answered at all. Same with voicemails. After the third, he'd stopped calling. He could've just gone home, but May had apparently anticipated his reaction to her edicts and removed the suit and web-slingers from his overnight bag while he was in the bathroom.
Peter was startled out of his thoughts at the increase in volume of those around him. Employees and guests alike were craning their necks to see something coming up the drive. Still annoyed, he ignored the rest of the crowd until Ned grabbed his shoulder and pointed just as a long, sleek, shiny white limo pulled under the porte-cochère and stopped.
The uniformed driver came around to open the back door, tipping his hat to the passengers.
Peter's Spidey hearing picked up a voice that grated on his nerves like sandpaper. Aggravation turned to breathless anticipation upon the sound of another, more welcomed voice.
TBC