A Familiar Face
Tony Stark's penthouse came to life.
As night fell, the windows and lights began to shift, with the windows no longer opaque and the lights coming on to their fail-safe level: romantic.
The television came on automatically, broadcasting the news.
Sketches and diagrams were splayed out all over his worktable. No one else would have been able to figure out any of it.
In Tony's case, it didn't matter what order they were in; they were just sitting out so that he wouldn't have to go dig them up again.
In point of fact, by this time he was carrying all the specifics around in his head.
"Another suit, sir?" Jarvis asks.
"Not exactly."
A closer look at the diagrams shows tubing, wires, and a headpiece.
The Time-Leap Machine.
xxx
Unaware that all hell was about to break loose, the photoshoot in the law offices of Miller & Ingersoll continued blissfully.
Music blared and photography cameras were clicking away. The offices had been rented for the day - apparently both attorneys were in court right now, so it had been no big deal.
Three comely models - a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead - were draping themselves over the latest-model office copier and desperately trying to make mundane photocopying look sensual and seductive.
They were oblivious to the fact that, just outside at a construction site, a crane operator had been hoisting a massive steel girder above the street.
Warning lights flashed on the control panel within the cab, and the crane operator had struggled desperately to bring things back under his command.
His efforts were well-intentioned, but futile.
"I'VE LOST CONTROL! SHUT IT DOWN!"
His foreman tried to do just that, but was thwarted by the very problem that had caused the controls to go out of whack in the first place: a short in the transformer.
Sparks, flew out of it, several of them bouncing against a sign with an interchangeable number slot on it which read: seventy-six days accident free!
The crane was now swinging wildly, and all the operator could do was watch in horror and wish for a miracle.
"Okay, MJ, I've got a secret: it's my copier!"
The man speaking was Ernie Schultz, the lead and increasingly annoying photographer, trying to get a reaction from the redhead - MJ.
MJ assumes he said it to force the correct expressions or body language for the photoshoot. Ernie either wants to make her laugh and look happy in the photos, or wants her to look sexy and 'smoulder.'
Either way, it didn't work.
"... What does that mean?" MJ shoots back.
She was beginning to feel exhausted.
MJ had aspirations of being a model. It was her dream.
When she'd answered the call for the gig, she figured, how hard could it be to stand around some office appliances and make it look sexy?
MJ was getting her answer.
Her face was starting to hurt, and she was certain that her smile looked as artificial as it felt.
She was groping a photocopying machine, for heaven's sake. How was someone supposed to look natural doing that?
Clearly Ernie was getting a sense of her frustration. He lowered the camera and said impatiently, "Look, I know you're new to this, but you're not giving me what I need."
MJ scoffed. Angrily.
Ernie continued, "I need - I need ... I need mystery! I need romance! I need -" He stopped dead in his tracks. "Now what's that thing doing in my background?
His "background" consisted of a New York skyline visible out the wide windows behind MJ and the other models.
She turned to see what 'ol Ernie was talking about, and at first she wasn't clear on what she was seeing either.
It was moving quickly, but the shadows of the skyscrapers were obscuring it.
Until suddenly, her eyes widened in horror.
She watched the massive arm of a construction crane swinging toward them at high speed. Dangling beneath it was a teetering girder.
MJ was paralyzed in fear.
Surely it wouldn't hit the building? Or perhaps, she was simply dreaming and would awake in her bed at any second?
She remained that way - confused and stoic - for several precious seconds until her mind processed reality.
Then, as the wildly swinging piece of metal hurtled toward them, Ernie screamed, "GET DOWN!"
Everyone dove to the floor as the spinning girder shattered the window.
Glass flew everywhere.
MJ kept her eyes shut, terrified of being blinded by stray shards. Small pieces of glass littered her bright-red hair, and she was shaking terribly.
The piece of metal kept going, deeper into the building, smashing lighting fixtures, sending sparks flying, and annihilating a row of desks. They were reduced to splinters.
Then, just as quickly as it has appeared, the metal beam was whisked out the window and flew away from the building.
MJ, Ernie, and the other models slowly got to their feet.
Standing in the middle of the office wreckage, they quietly marvelled at not only the amount of destruction before them, but that they were still alive to see it.
Still stunned, MJ picked her way through the damage, inspecting it, trying to find her designer handbag.
Once found, she noted it was been completely torn to bits. How could that even happen?
Ernie chuckled incredulously to himself, impressed by the photographic possibilities such devastation offered. He began taking more photos.
Unfortunately, a high-pitched whistling of wind filled the wrecked office.
Everyone turned once more toward the window, noticing the massive shadow sweeping over them.
"It's coming back!" shouted MJ.
She had no desire to push her luck and see if she would survive the second round, so she quickly bolted for the office door. The others had the same idea.
However, the metal beam suddenly dipped, swung low, and slammed into the building - one story below them.
Suddenly the entire office violently tilted, as if it were constructed on a massive seesaw.
The metal beam had taken out the structural support columns in the floor below them.
MJ slipped as their floor began to pitch downward.
The other models had begun sliding as well, though they grabbed whatever they could to stop the momentum.
The blonde reached for MJ, trying to snag her out of harms way, but MJ slid right past her, arms flailing.
The open window yawned before MJ as she careened toward it, grabbing at the smooth floor, unable to find anything to stop her descent.
She tried slapping her open hands on the floor, perhaps in the vain hope that she might suddenly acquire whatever sticky powers Spider-Man had inherited, though this only slowed her down for a second or two.
Pencils, cans, smashed pieces of desk - even the photocopier she had been groping minutes before - skidded past her, tumbling out the smashed window and falling toward the street below.
xxx
Half a dozen police cars were already on the scene.
The current police captain leaped out of his vehicle, staring at the insurmountable skyscraper before him.
Officer Cooper had also just arrived, pushing her glasses up with her index finger, wondering if the city could go a single day without an incredibly horrific event.
She knew such a thing was implausible.
She shut the car door behind her, walking toward her boss. "They got some kind of short up there, and they can't shut down the crane," she said, face stern.
"Get Con Ed on the phone," the captain replied curtly. "Have them kill the power to the whole block. And get me a rescue team up there!"
"Yes, sir." Cooper turned, making the calls.
Onlookers screamed and yelped as debris came tumbling down, hitting the streets.
Car alarms howled as their once-perfect roofs and hoods were crushed by office appliances and plummeting concrete.
Cooper turned around, squinting to watch as the redhead held on desperately.
The rivets that connected the window frame to the building were popping out one by one.
The redhead was screaming.
"Better not let me down, web-head," Cooper mumbled as the operator on the other line finally answered her call.
xxx
MJ was slipping.
With each passing second, her shoddy grip on the floor was weakening.
One of the final things ever spoken to her would be that she wasn't doing a good enough job groping an office appliance.
Before she could laugh at the absurdity of it all, she began to plummet.
Her heart was pounding in her ears.
She could only watch the sky as it seemed to move further away from her.
MJ would be a puddle on the New York sidewalk at any second.
Hopelessness almost settled in nicely, until she saw a flash of red and black hurtling across her field of vision.
It weaved in and out of the falling debris, effortlessly moving toward MJ, arms outstretched as if to say, "I gotcha!"
Before she knew it, Spider-Man was holding her tight. Her quick descent had slowed considerably.
She wouldn't die.
Before long, she and Spider-Man were at street level.
Spider-Man set MJ gently down on the ground, and she almost toppled over from a combination of dizziness and, most likely, fear.
Not a fear of Spider-Man, however. No. Quite the opposite.
She was gazing at him with awe and amazement.
"You okay?"
Wow. He was actually speaking to her.
She almost couldn't find the words - her wooziness getting the better of her - until she relaxed a little and uttered a golden sentence: "I'm great, Tiger."
Spider-Man looked at her for several more seconds, saying nothing.
MJ wondered if he was blushing under that mask.
I - uh - I gotta -" Spider-Man stuttered, now pointing at the skyscraper above. Nodding to nobody in particular, he leaped back into the air.
Smooth, Peter thought to himself.
An entire chunk of the office was about to detach itself from the building and likely ruin a lot of people's afternoon.
But how on Earth was he supposed to fix this?
Think, Peter, think!
He begins spinning a sort of webbing net directly above the crowd.
A second later, a hail of concrete descended upon the street from above.
Scattered debris from the crumbled floor high overhead continued to rain down, and the hastily spun web held firm as the wreckage fell harmlessly on it.
Although it sagged a bit under the weight, it didn't break.
"Thank you, Oscorp biocable technology!" Peter yelled, swinging upward toward the metal beam currently lodged in the side of the building.
xxx
Tony fired up his gauntlets and boots, rising from the ground.
Within the helmet, readouts were projected against the lenses that covered the eyeholes.
They provided Tony with a constant stream of information about both his own body and the performance of the armor.
"Blood alcohol levels are quite high, sir," Jarvis chimed from within the suit.
"Yeah, well, didn't needa hire Sherlock Holmes to uncover that one."
"I suggest you allow me to employ Directive Four."
Tony thought for a moment. "'Never interrupt me while women are over?' That one's a bit outdated-"
"No, sir, that's Directive Seven. Directive Four: Use any and all means to protect your life should you be incapable of doing so."
Tony shrugged within the suit. "Whatever floats you, Jarvis. I'm sure I'll be peachy."
Moments later, Tony emerged from his tower.
The afternoon sky beckoned to him.
He rose slowly, taking his time, but quickly beginning to gain his confidence and move faster.
It had been a while since he donned the suit. He was somewhat rusty.
But there wasn't really time to waste.
He propelled forward using his thrusters, angling downward along the ribboning concrete of the highway.
He matched the twists and curves of the road effortlessly, laughing as he felt himself grow even more comfortable in the suit.
Tony could see that cars were slowing, people far below sticking their heads out their windows or gaping straight up, in awe.
But to them, Iron Man was but a blur.
He was a man on a mission.
xxx
Peter was shooting webs in every which direction.
Anything to hold the office floor in place so it doesn't careen off the building and into oncoming traffic.
"Come on come on come on come on come on come on-"
Several dozen more webs.
They hold the office together for now, but who knows how long until the webs snap. Plus, Pete's webs only last for about an hour or so, so it's hardly a permanent solution anyway.
The building creaks and moans. Bolts spit out, metal bends, and Peter's teeth chatter.
With a few moments to spare, he leaps toward the crane operator, landing on top of the cab. "You okay, buddy?!"
The operator looks terrified, and is practically hiding his face. "I - I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."
"Even if you did clock on this morning with the goal of causing damage, I'm not sure you would've been able to top this," Peter jests. "Let me help you out."
The man fumbles with his seatbelt but it doesn't budge. "I'm stuck."
"I figured it would've been too easy. Let me just-"
An ungodly noise interrupts them. Metal clashing against metal. The screams of onlookers on the streets below. Peter's eyes shoot wide open.
The metal beam attached to the crane is moving again.
It continues to destroy the structural support of the floor below, meaning the chunk of building won't hold for much longer.
"Oh, God," Peter lunges toward it, hoping and praying that the webs he's spraying are doing anything to mitigate the damage.
But then he runs out of webs.
"Wh - huh?!"
Peter smacks against the building, using his adhesive powers to stick for dear life.
If he hadn't stuck to the wall, there is no doubt in Peter's mind that he would've ended up as colourful splat on the sidewalk.
Well, red and black weren't exactly "colourful," but the point still stands.
He begins crawling toward the metal girder, realising that a hands-on approach is now the only available option.
The beam continues to dig deeper into the building. Peter finally reaches it, pretends to spit on both hands and rubs them together, grabbing and pulling the beam with as much strength as he can possibly muster.
He groans in pain, though the beam is slowing down.
If he continued, there would be much less damage to the skyscraper. He just needed to continue holding the beam in place.
Unfortunately, his vision was getting blurry. Spotty.
His head felt light.
"Breathe, Pete," he groans, "C'mon buddy, just keep goin'."
He continues holding the beam in place, feet sticking to the side of the building, a crater forming at his soles due to the pure force he was exerting.
He feels the seams of his suit beginning to tear, making visible the defensive material underneath.
The pure amount of pressure pushing against Peter's body made his arms white-hot and his legs reminiscent of jelly.
Doubt started to creep in.
Oh, God. He's gonna pass out.
This isn't feasible. He can't dislodge a metal girder from the side of a skyscraper, no matter how hard he pulled.
But ... it didn't matter.
Peter had made a mistake not long ago.
When he fought the warlord during the STRIKE mission, he didn't hold back. He was ruthless. He was unforgiving.
And he caused more than damage to a person than Spider-Man ever should.
He had been a slave to his emotions.
It didn't matter if he was angry. It didn't matter that the situation with Pierce and the time-leap machine had still been fresh in his mind. None of that mattered.
He had let himself lose control, and instead of using his powers for good - instead of being responsible - he had failed Uncle Ben.
Last night, at Ben's grave, Peter had never felt so ashamed.
He knew he had to be better. He knew Spider-Man was better.
So here he stands, sideways on a skyscraper, attempting to dislodge a metal girder from its nest as debris and god knows what else fall to the streets below.
Those people needed him right now. As long as he saved them, nothing else really mattered.
Peter could die here for all he cared - and at this rate, that looked more and more probable by the second.
That was, until Tony's robotic voice entered his eardrums.
"Now's not the best time to be lifting weights, kid."
"T-that's funny, Tony. Quick, make another joke - not like I'm breaking my back tryna save everyone down there or a-anything."
"Gotcha. Hold on."
Iron Man hovers below the beam, using the propulsion from his suit to push upward.
Slowly but surely, the beam dislodges itself.
Peter almost collapses from exhaustion right there and then.
The next hour or so was spent on clean-up duty.
Although the crane was still moving out of control, it didn't take long for the power shutdown to take effect.
Every light on the street suddenly went out, and the sound of the electricity dissipating was almost like a body's great exhalation of relief.
The runaway crane came to a slow, grinding halt. A ragged cheer arose from the crowd.
Tony used the high-velocity lasers from his gauntlets to meld together areas of metal alongside the building. Peter noted that the lasers looked strong enough to a repair a ferry, should it somehow ever split in half.
"Fighting a building is a bit less extreme than the Chitauri invasion, but I guess we get what we're given."
They landed on a nearby rooftop, away from prying eyes.
Peter practically fell to the ground, breathing heavily, body aching. "T-thanks."
"Yeah, don't mention it. Been a while since we've been side-by-side in our fancy getups."
Although his body is on fire - and not quite enough air is filling Peter's lungs - he gives Tony a thumbs up from the floor. "Was fun. Let's wait a while before we do any more strenuous labour together, though."
"You out of webs? Y'know, it would be much easier if those were organic-"
"Yeah, thanks, Tony," Peters sits up, annoyed at the validity of his comment. "You really didn't have to show up, though. Don't get me wrong, I definitely appreciate the help, but even Spider-Man can handle some faulty machinery."
"Actually, by JARVIS' calculations, that entire floor would've toppled inside itself if I didn't come fix it up. That crane made a mighty mess of things, I'd say. I believe you owe me some magic words?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, here's your applause," Peter half-heartedly pretends to clap, still catching his breath and seeing spots in his vision. "Pats on the back for everyone."
"... For real, though. You did good."
Finding enough strength to stand on his feet, Peter nods to Tony. "You did good, too. I sorta brought a knife to a gunfight back there. Without webs, I couldn't do much."
"Please. Look down there. That net saved at least fifty dopes who decided to stick around and watch the fireworks. And webbing the building gave me enough time to get here and patch it all up. A little Band-Aid works wonders."
Peter knew the words were true. He supposes today was a success after all.
A genuinely messy, horrific success, but a success nonetheless.
"Oh, hey - got something for ya. Gotta come by the lab to get it, though."
Peter racks his brain. What on Earth could he possibly have in store this time?
"I'll have to find some time this weekend. I was hoping to keep looking for Cap and Widow tonight. Sorta have a party tomorrow, so won't be out on patrol-"
Tony interjects, confused. "Steve and Tash? What'dya mean, 'keep looking?'"
Peter blinks quizzically.
Had SHIELD not told Tony?
Had he not heard of the random explosion on William Street?
Well … he supposes that makes sense. Tony hadn't been the most trustworthy person to their organization in the past few months. And Peter's not entirely sure what hours of the day the billionaire is actually awake during to hear about random New York crime.
And … Tony was the reason Pierce had almost destroyed SHIELD from the inside.
But still. Entrusting the task of finding Captain America to a borderline teenager made Peter question how involved SHIELD wanted Tony at all.
What was going on?
Peter makes up an excuse. STRIKE training, or something along those lines. Steve and Natasha had hidden something, and Peter needed to use his tracking skills to find it.
Peter can't read Tony's expression from under the mask, so he has no idea what the older man is thinking, or if he even bought such a hastily-crafted excuse.
However, noting how it was almost dinner time at the Parker house, Peter excuses himself and bids the Avenger farewell for now.
He doesn't look back. However, he could sense Tony staring at the back of his head, standing as still and as silent as a statue.
Peter drops into a nearby alleyway. As he was completely out of webs, taking the subway to Queens appeared to be his only option.
Months of experience had given Peter a mastery over quickly changing his outfits. He leaves the alley almost as suddenly as he'd entered, checking incoming train times on his phone.
But something is gnawing at the back of Peter's mind.
Was Tony okay?
xxx