Chapter 2: Christine Everhart

Christine Everhart tapped her pen against her notepad. Eyes wandering amongst the crowded room, she checked out every reporter with critical judgment. She spotted rivals and friends alike, all anxiously waiting for whatever Stark wanted to reveal. Knowing him, it was probably some kind of propaganda to distract the news from whatever they were doing in the shadows.

Maybe it was the birth of his love child. After all, Tony Stark and Pepper Potts weren't married. Not according to any court records. The world was quite aware of Pepper's pregnancy despite her pathetic attempts to hide it. When the newsroom stopped talking about Peter Parker, they brought up Tony Stark's bastard. Multiple pools were going on around the office, everyone making bets on the gender and name. Christine scoffed at the profound interest of Stark's baby. In fact, she felt sorry for the baby. Its father was Tony Stark—enough said! That child would grow up damaged. Like Stark.

She exhaled exasperatedly. Every Stark press conference always started late. Stark was never one to arrive on time. Everyone waited on him. Rude and annoying.

Colonel James Rhodes came out from the double doors. Dressed in suit jacket and dark trousers—probably to cover up his disability—he approached the podium and began the normal, introductions. All the reporters bent their neck and scribbled in their notepads with some photographers flashing the colonel.

Christine did nothing. Only kept her pencil tapping away.

She brushed her blonde hair off her neck. The warm climate they had this autumn was insufferable. Even air conditioners couldn't keep up. The room itself was comfortable, but with a packed room, it didn't make it too much better.

Colonel Rhodes finished his welcome statement and turned to reminding the press of rules when the conference began. Christine rolled her eyes. Of course! Rhodes was postponing, which meant Stark was late. Again. Per usual. Her phone ping an alert. She pulled out her phone and unlocked it. The screen read an alert in regards to Peter Parker. Christine swiped to open and a picture of Peter Parker appeared on her screen. He was holding a child, both doing some sort of imitation of an action move. And it was outside of a building. A school building.

Holy fuck! That's Midtown!

Christine scrolled, reading the title and small blurb. It appeared the picture was taken... this morning!

That meant...

The sound of doors propped open distracted her from the phone. It appeared everyone else became more animated than usual, some inching up out of their seats. Christine snapped at her cameraman.

"Get up to the front!" she hissed, shoving him up so that he could get the picture.

Colonel Rhodes appeared back at the podium (when did he leave?) and spoke into the microphone. "Ladies and gentleman, I'm proud to introduce—Mr. Peter Parker."

The whole room surged. Christine put up her elbows, blocking anyone's attempt to cut her off. As she craned her neck over the shoulders of another, she spotted a boy, dressed in a dark sweater and jeans, move down the table that was set up in front. He didn't look at the reporters at all. He stared mostly at the table, trying to decide where to sit. Tony Stark came behind him, tapping the kid's shoulder and directing him in the center chair. Stark pulled the chair out and Peter took his seat.

Others followed suit, Tony sat on Peter's right and a woman with gorgeous red hair sat on the other side of the kid. She must be May Parker, the mysterious, supposedly ill-health aunt of Peter Parker. She looked way younger than Christine believed. She didn't even look sick. Happy Hogan also joined the circus. He stood in the back not too far from Peter, playing the same role as he always did. The only person missing was Pepper Potts.

People shouted at Peter, calling his name to get his attention. Peter didn't respond to them. He kept his gaze elsewhere, almost anywhere but at the sea of lights and faces. Stark was the opposite. He stared straight ahead, almost glowering at the reporters in a challenging manner. He wore his normal attire of casual business with a pair of sunglasses, acting like a young punk. An act he should have retired decades ago in her opinion.

Colonel Rhodes called for attention, reminding everyone of the procedure they went over earlier. Immediately, hands flew up on the air. Colonel Rhodes pointed to a woman in a grey smart suit to start off the conference.

"Mr. Parker?" the woman's voice barely made it through the clicking of cameras.

But, Peter Parker heard her. He lifted his head, eyes directed to the woman. He appeared attentive, leaning into the table a bit.

The woman continued. "Anne Burhall of The New Yorker," said Anne. "First—I would like welcome you back to New York."

Peter adjusted his microphone. "Uh, thank you."

"And, second, what have you been doing?" Anne asked. "You were gone for eleven months. What were you doing in that time?"

"Er… traveling."

That garnered a few laughs, but Peter cheeks tinged red. He stuttered as he tried to change his response. "Uh, I mean, I was away. And, um," he tried to think of more words. "I kind of spent my time moving from one place to the next."

Christine watched Tony give Peter reassuring pat on his arm. Peter released a steady breath, seemingly trying to calm himself down.

Colonel Rhodes called on another person.

"Robbie Robertson of The Daily Bugle," introduced a tall, African American. He wore no suit, opting to wear a black vest with a button shirt. "As Anne said, welcome home. I imagine this has been a horrible experience that you want to put behind you, but out of curiosity, why did you not sign the Sokovia Accords?"

Christine noticed the slight tension in the kid's arm. His fingers fiddled with a ring on his hand.

"Uh… why I didn't sign them," Peter started, flicking a glance to Tony. Stark gave him a small nod. "To, uh, be honest, I didn't think I needed to. I wasn't an Avenger. I thought only Avengers had to sign them."

Hands shot back up and then all fell down when another voice boomed out from the crowd.

"James Attics of CNN," announced James, sounding as boastful and prestigious. "You're not an Avenger? Were you not involved in the Berlin incident back in—"

"I-I was," Peter answered. "But, I came more as a helper. Not a fighter. Originally. It… was complicated."

Like all things with Stark and the Avengers. Too many knots to undo in order to get to the real truth.

Another reporter took over for Attics. "Emily Burns of The New York Times," she began. "When did you first become Spider-man? There are video recordings of your activities as early as 2015. When did you actually develop these powers? Or were you born with them?"

"I, um… I think I am going to have to pass on that one," Peter said. "Sorry."

"But—"

"Moving on," Colonel Rhodes drowned out Emily's follow-up. He called on another reporter, who asked the kid about who he was with on his "travels".

Peter, again, refused to answer. On both times, Stark neither disciplined nor encouraged the kid's responses. Christine took notes. She scrutinized every single detail, trying to find the best question to ask as everyone else took the easy questions that could have been answered in a statement piece.

She noted the kid's fidgeting again, playing with a ring on his finger as he answered more bland questions. Christine tried to get a closer look at it, but the boy's hand kept blocking it from view through his nervous fumbling.

It was clear Peter Parker didn't want to be here. Stark forced him. That was clear by not only the boy's uncomfortableness, but Stark's casual attitude, acting parental to the boy. A ploy to shed his old image of a playboy asshole. He had Parker dressed in boy-next-door attire rather than in a suit and jacket, to give the kid a more agreeable appearance to sway them. An opportunity to make the journalists see Peter Parker as a kid and not the super-hero, Spider-Man.

Christine wasn't a fool. She knew Stark's manipulations well enough to not be tricked. That was why her article was going to be significantly different than everyone else's in the room. While everyone reported what Tony Stark wanted them to report, Christine was going to report on the serious aspects of Peter's ordeal.

Starting with her first question.

Christine raised her hand. She got called. She stood up, making sure Tony Stark saw her in the sea of reporters. He did. His expression hardly changed, but she knew he noticed her.

"Christine Everhart of WHiH World News," she spoke with precision and elegance, which grabbed people's attention. Exactly what she wanted. However, she kept her focus on the kid. "Mr. Parker, you made it very clear that Mr. Stark initiated you into the Avengers. Why do you still associate yourself with a man who has constantly demonstrated irresponsibility and has put you and your aunt through a horrible ordeal?"

She pressed her lips together to hide the growing smirk of retribution when she witnessed Tony scowl. Peter Parker screwed his face into a muddled expression, a bit baffled by the question.

"I don't blame Mr. Stark, if that is what you wanted to know," Peter responded. "If anything, he did his best to keep me out."

"So you're saying," Christine yelled loud enough to distort Rhodes' voice so that she remained heard, "you do not fault Stark for inducting you—a minor child—into the Avengers?"

"I'm not an Avenger."

"Nonetheless, he involved a minor child in dangerous and illegal business at the time," Christine persisted and Peter drew in his shoulders, slinking back in his seat. "Your induction into Avenger's business is the reason you got on Secretary Ross's radar, which led to the attack on Midtown. Do you not consider that irresponsible? An adult dragging a child into such—"

"Ms. Everhart," Tony Stark interrupted as he signaled the kid to cease speaking. "As persistent as ever when it comes to me. You know you didn't have to come all the way up here. If you have any questions for me—talk to my lawyers."

Tony then snapped his fingers to some random individual in the front row, ceasing her line of questioning. "You—ask your question."

The male journalist was young and seemingly inexperience. He wasn't ready at all when Stark unceremoniously picked up to speak up. His surprise showed when he fumbled through his notepad, trying to find whatever note he wrote down. "Um… yeah, er… Jonah Crawford of The Daily Mail," he muttered as he stopped fidgeting with his notepad. "What can you tell us about the incident at the school? Do you remember it?"

The kid breathed, brushing his loose hair back with his fingers. "Um, yeah… I, er, I remember," Peter answered. He twisted the ring. He blinked. "I remember… sensing danger. And there was a noise. We already knew something was wrong."

The kid dropped his head a bit, fingers pinched into his palm. "I, uh, I told Mr. Harrington to not open the door, but it was too late," The kid blinked and rubbed his eyes with his hand. "My… my classmates. They were, um, screaming. People running. I, um…"

Christine peered at the kid. His breathing got heavier. Chest expanding more and more. His fingers twitched, flexing a bit as if trying to ground himself. And he kept blinking. More than normal. He squinted his eyes, nose scrunched as he troubled over finding his voice.

Stark tilted his head, examining the kid over his sunglasses with concern. Expeditiously, Stark yanked off his sunglasses and slammed them over Peter's eyes. He was already out of his chair, clamping his hands shut over Peter's ears when he barked out commands.

An uproar of commotion happened. Happy Hogan shot up to Stark at once. Without even a word passing between them, Happy swiftly lifted Peter out of his seat and cradled him like a bride. Stark kept speaking, addressing the aunt as she panicked over her nephew.

Christine couldn't hear a word. She tried to nudge her way up front, but the crowd of reporters already seized forward, trying to capture any hints as to what was happening. She got pushed, squeezed and elbowed in her struggle to get closer. To no avail, she never heard a single word that transpired.

Stark was already at the doors, throwing his last words to Colonel Rhodes before hurrying out the double doors that Peter, Happy and the aunt already exited from. Two guards closed and sealed the doors. Colonel Rhodes returned to the podium as people shouted for an explanation.

"That is the conclusion of this press conferences. Thank you," finished Colonel Rhodes as he too stepped away and disappeared through those same, guarded double doors.

As everyone else groaned, getting up from their seats to share notes or swap theories as to what happened to Parker, Christine picked up her bag and strode out with a smile on her face. She got exactly what she needed.

Christine rapped her knuckles against her boss's office before letting herself enter. Bob Hollander was like all other men in media. Big, gray and balding. He acted tough, with all his barks and grunts, but that was all to him. When confronted, he simply backed down and cursed her.

So, Bob Hollander already poured himself two fingers of scotch when she walked in. "Guessing the conference went well?"

Christine stopped in front of his desk. "You saw the news?"

Bob nodded. "Who hasn't?" he took a drought. "Got any pictures?"

"Ramsey is getting them," Christine said, wanting to get the point of why she was in his office.

But, Bob wasn't overly interested at the moment. "What did he look like?"

"He looked like a kid," Christine brushed his ramblings aside. "Look—I have a great news piece for us."

Bob sighed, but signaled her to continue.

"All the other media sources are going to report on Mr. Parker's homecoming," Christine began her enticement, "but instead of following everyone else, we report on something with a bit more gravitas to it."

"Like?"

"Well, in the conference, Mr. Parker suffered from some kind of scare. Like a panic attack," she explained to her boss. "Kids like Parker don't belong in that world and the episode at the press conference just proves the point.

"So, I was thinking that rather than report on the kid's homecoming, we do an investigative report on the trauma Parker suffered from being involved in the Avengers," Christine suggested. "The Avengers need to be held accountable for their part in that whole ordeal! Particularly Stark since he initiated the kid into their mess.

"Imagine—okay? An in-depth story on how the Avengers psychologically damaged an innocent kid," Christine already pictured millions of people tuning in to watch her. "This will open big doors to discussions on how what type of influences the Avengers have on our society and children."

Christine took a breath and flicked a strand of her hair back. "So—what do you think?"

Bob said nothing. He stared, but Christine saw the inner clicking of clogs working as the idea floated in his head. After a minute, he downed the last of the scotch in his glass. "No."

Christine's mouth dropped. "No?"

"We aren't going to glamourize a kid's trauma for your personal vendetta, Everhart."

Christine was taken aback. "Personal vendetta?" she repeated, offended. "Mr. Hollander, I will have you know that all my reports are conducted through volumes of research, data and interviews. I don't create fake news to justify my beliefs."

"No, but you sure as hell twist them," Bob grunted, he got off his chair and walked around his desk. "Look—the public adores the kid. Parading his trauma will only make you look callous. And using Parker's trauma as a way to blame the very group of people that got him out of that mess, won't get us any more viewers. Hell, we will almost sound like we support Ross! Then we would lose viewers. Maybe even advertisers?" Bob sighed against his desk. "And we can't have that. I'm sure you enjoy your paycheck, correct?"

Christine was flabbergasted at what she heard. "I thought you hired me because of my persistence to uncover the truth? Not to kiss whosever's ass?"

"I did, but that doesn't mean I am giving you full rein to do whatever the shit you want," Bob retorted. "Everyone knows you fucked Tony Stark years ago. That's common knowledge. We also know that you hate his guts. Again—common knowledge."

Christine felt her cheeks get warm. True, rumors floated carelessly about from newsroom to newsroom about her one-night stand. Her interaction with Stark never helped dismiss that rumor. It's no wonder they all found the rumor to be fact rather than false.

Bob continued speaking, arms crossed over his round, scotch belly. "So—my answer is no. You're not going to exploit the kid's trauma for your vengeance, got it?"

Christine numbly nodded.

"Vocal, Everhart!"

"Yes, sir," Christine said. "I understand. I won't report it."

Bob nodded in affirmation. "Good—now, go meet up with Will. Go over the talking points. And I want a nice, clean version of the press conference."

Christine clenched her teeth, but obeyed Bob's ruling. She marched out of his office, her heels clicking in a crescendo of anger as she headed to her own, cramped office. She slammed her door closed and let out a little scream.

A knock at door interrupted her rampage. "Hey there, Everhart," said Will Adams, her co-anchor. "How did the press conference go?"

"Fuck you," was all Christine said before slamming her office door in Will's face.

That was a bit satisfying. More than she thought it would be. Christine took a deep breath. This wasn't the end of the world. There were millions of other things she could nail Stark for. After all, a man like Stark was full of skeletons. Eventually, she'll dig one up. Maybe not now, but soon.

And that's what she told herself as she readied for the rest of the day.