Doreen's second week started off with some concern. Monday morning found her curled up in a corner of her room, hugging Monkey Joe and sobbing. After several minutes with her, Pepper emerged, and in the kitchen poured herself a glass of wine.
"Is she okay?" Bruce asked. He paused in the middle of making his breakfast and gave her an intense look. "Are you okay?"
"Yes and no. I don't know if you've heard, but the building manager for the Tower got killed last night, so there's a lot of paperwork and stuff to do, and now Doreen is . . . she lost her dad, and then had to take care of Markie until she died, and then she got ripped from her home and sent up here and then there was all the running around getting settled in. This morning, she was thinking about how her Mom made breakfast and everything hit her all at once." She downed the wine in one go and poured herself another. "I guess . . . I guess it's kind of really hit me too. I mean, Markie and i didn't really know each other that long, and God help me, I've barely given her a thought since college, but all we did together and now . . ." The second glass went down and she poured a third. "On top of it all, I'm like, her mother now, and . . . I - I don't know what to do."
"Doreen finally has time to grieve," Bruce said. "It's bad if it goes on for too long, and she'll probably need to talk to someone whose not any of us, but she'll pull through." He thought for a moment and then scribbled on a piece of paper. "Here. I know a guy. He's down in Virginia last I heard, but . . ." Something passed across Bruce's face. It looked almost like guilt. "But he's a good . . . a good man."
"Bruce, do you need someone to talk to?" Pepper asked.
More then even I know, I suspect," Bruce said with a grin. "But it's been that way for a long time, Pepper, and isn't likely to change soon." Finishing up, he turned to the door. "We all want to help the ones we care about, but sometimes, the best way to handle someone's problem is to do nothing." With that, he left.
Alone in the kitchen, Pepper stared down at the glass of wine and then dumped it down the sink. Drinking did not count as doing nothing, she was sure, and there were things to do that her husband preferred to avoid.
Just before noon, Sam Wilson showed up with a young boy in tow. He looked to be about Doreen's age and had the expression of someone who'd had their entire world yanked out from under them and was still in the process of falling to the ground. But he perked up somewhat when he saw Tony and got to shake his hand and there was several minutes of what Tony could only describe as rampant fanboying. Then his face really lit up when Steve, who'd been passing through, offered to take him on a tour of the penthouse.
"Damn shame, that kid," Wilson said as soon as they'd left the room. "Peter lost his parents when he was five, and then his aunt May and uncle Ben got killed last night."
"You mean Ben and May Parker?" Tony asked.
Wilson nodded. "That's right, he ran this place, didn't he?"
"Yeah. He was a good man," Tony said, nodding. "Do you know if they caught the guy who did it?"
"Beats me." Wilson shrugged. "At this point, it sounds like you know as much as I do."
"Yeah, we did," came a new voice that sounded like smokestack at a coal plant.
Standing in the foyer was a grossly fat man with a three day stubble and rumpled, stained clothes. "Ellis Hawthorne," he said, waddling forward and holding out one fleshy hand. "NYPD." Tony shook, years of experience letting him control his expression.
Hawthorne coughed, a horrible hacking phelmic sound and took out a notebook. "So, near as we can tell, this dipshit, name of Macendale, robbed some small time wrestling event over in Midtown and ditched his ride when he got to Queens. Then, he broke into Parker's house and surprised him and his wife. Shot 'em both, stole their car and wound up at this warehouse down by the river. We were gonna surround the place and wait for Swat, when we hear gunshots and godawful screaming. Go in, there's Macendale, beaten black and blue and strung up like a fly in a goddamn web. Had to use a blow torch just to cut the stuff. Turns out it dissolves in an hour, go figure. I'd have left the bastard hang there until it was gone, but the bleeding hearts say we gotta give the sons of bitches medical help ASAP." He coughed again. "Anyways, Parker's nephew shows up after the fact having been off studying at the library. I'd say that's bullshit, but the kid's so puny I could break him in half with one hand and his bag is loaded down with books. Social Services hauled him off, good luck with that. Kid's gonna be lucky to make it to eighteen wherever he winds up getting dumped."
"I happen to be Peter's caseworker," Wilson said mildly, but there was a slight edge of temper in his voice. "I don't dump the children under my care."
"No shit? What are you doing here? Gonna get Stark to take the kid in?" Hawthorne gave a short, barking laugh. "No offense Stark, but I wouldn't trust you with a pet dog, much less a kid." He took out a piece of paper. "I gotta pull Parker's HR stuff, lady in the office says you gotta countersign the request." He slapped the paper down on a nearby table. "You need a pen?" Hawethorne began slapping at the pockets of his coat. "I got one somewhere. Yeah, here." He held out a battered old pen that looked almost as bad as its owner.
"Thanks," Tony murmured. For one brief moment, simply because it meant having to spend time in Ellis Hawthorne's company, Tony hated the policy of signing off on all requests for Stark Industries records whether it be by the police, the media, or some third party. He quickly scrawled his signature on the paper (the pen leaked) and handed both back and discreetly wiped his hands on his pants.
"Thanks, Stark." Hawthorne waddled back to the elevator.
"Jarvis, schedule the elevator be fumigated and cleaned," Tony said, wiping his hands on his pants again. "And make sure Janis gets a bonus for having to talk to that guy. File it under hazard pay or something."
"Of course sir."
Tony stared down at his hands. He needed to wash his hands. And take a shower. Maybe throw his clothes in the incinerator. "You know what, we'll do it."
"Do what?" Wilson asked.
"Peter. We'll do it. We'll take him. Start the paperwork. "
"Sir, this may be a decision you will want to discuss with Ms. Potts first," Jarvis pointed out.
"You should listen to the computer, Stark," Wilson smirked. "Sounds like it has better sense than you do." He clapped Tony on the shoulder. "That metal tuxedo of yours might be the best armor ever, but no way in hell will it keep you safe if your woman is mad at you."
Tony grimaced. Wilson was probably right, but taking Peter in felt right . Like being Iron Man, or marrying Pepper. It was something he had to do.
"Tell you what though," Wilson continued, "I'll wait a couple of days before getting Peter started somewhere else." He dug into his case and pulled out some papers. "This is for Doreen. Fill 'em out and fax them back."
At that moment, Peter returned, grinning ear to ear, but his face quickly closed down again when he saw Wilson standing there.
"Um . . . yeah . . . thanks for the tour, Sir . . ." Peter half-mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It was awesome."
"Sure. Not a problem," Steve replied, looking slightly crestfallen at Peter's sudden lack of enthusiasm.
"Come on, Son," Wilson said escorting the boy to the elevator, "its time to go. It'll just be a few days."
"Yeah, sure," Peter said. "A few days."
There were myriad other things that happened that day, most of them related to various Stark Industries facilities and projects and so Tony was unable to bring up the subject of Peter until he and Pepper were in bed.
"No, Tony," Pepper said with finality, rolling over to stare Tony in the eyes. "For God's sake, we've barely got Doreen settled here and now you want to add to it? For all we know, she'll feel threatened or that we're replacing her. It's important that the foster child know that they are loved and completely accepted and-"
"You've been reading parental psychology blogs, haven't you?"
" . . . Maybe."
"Pepper, I'm not saying that we're experts on parenting, but Doreen, she's a good kid, and Peter, so is he. I can't imagine Ben Parker not raising a son who isn't responsible and honest. That, and it feels right. Like something I have to do."
"Tony . . ."
"Isn't that the American dream? A nice house, two kids, and a dog?" A pause. "Oh God, Pepper!"
"What?"
"We have to get a dog!"
"No, Tony."
"Yes, a dog! For science! A science dog!"
"Tony, no."
Tony had apparently forgotten about a dog by the next morning, or at least, he never brought it up, and Pepper is grateful for that. Unlike her husband, she was fully aware of what having a dog around meant and given the way the Avengers lived their lives, it just wouldn't have worked.
Doreen was in the kitchen for breakfast as well, and while her tail was slightly droopy, she was smiling and even laughed at one of Clint's jokes. Pepper supposed that it was the best she could hope for all things considered. Especially since Markie's death still stung. Just a little.
She also cannot get Tony's remark about the american dream out of her mind. It sits there, popping up as an idle thought, or her memories of her own siblings. Finally, she picks up the phone.
"This is Pepper Potts, Mr. Wilson," she says. "Tell me about Peter Parker."
Later it would occur to her that Wilson had brought Peter by just to plant the idea of adoption in Tony's head. But as the movers are bringing in Peter's stuff and she brings it up, Wilson simply gives her a blank look.
"I don't know what you mean, Potts," he says. "I just came by to drop off some paperwork." But there's something in his eyes, a glint that Pepper has learned to spot.
Sam Wilson, she decides, is someone who should never be taken lightly.
That Peter and Doreen not only both call the Tower home, but also share a birthday, leads to Clint referring to them as the Stark Twins, mostly as a joke. But it is somewhat apt. Both were fairly quiet, neat, and polite, though after their first fight, Tony wanted to go down to Alabama, find a way to bring John D. Green back to life, and kiss him.
Green, as it turned out, was smarter than even he knew, since he'd recognized from the start what could happen to anyone if Doreen lost control of herself. So he'd taught Doreen what he'd called the "Code of the Squirrel"; a series of affirmations and a code of conduct designed to channel and redirect Doreen's temper and it had been the custom to recite it every day, all of which paid off when Peter turned out to be an even bigger smartass than Tony and rather than punch him, she'd gone looking for wood to chop. Apparently, when Doreen got mad, she'd been sent to chop wood. There was no wood, but it hadn't taken Tony long to design and configure a machine to do the same thing, and Doreen took to it enthusiastically.
But first, a week after moving in, Jarvis caught Peter leaving the tower via window.
Pepper had needed to fly to Toronto, so Tony coped with an empty bed the only way he knew how; whiskey and his workshop.
"Your pardon, sir, but Peter is leaving the tower," Jarvis said.
"So? Pause the elevator and bring it back." Tony wondered what could be possessing Peter to leave this late at night. He'd been very clear on their curfew and bedtimes and it was after ten, confirmed by a glance at the nearest monitor. He was actually grinning as he left the workshop, since first find out why Peter was leaving and depending on that, whether or not he would punish the kid, or help him out. After all, girls (or boys, Tony didn't judge) or midnight snack runs were one thing. Disobeying the rules was another. Namely, getting caught in the process of breaking sad rules.
"That's not possible, Sir, as he has left via window."
"Win . . . where the hell did he get a rope long enough?" Tony turned on his heel and ran back to the workshop. "We're a good seventy stories up!"
"He is not using a rope, Sir, but rather is crawling down the side."
"Show me."
One of the holographic monitors switches to a security camera feed, following a lean figure dressed in red and blue crawling down the side of the building like a . . . the only term that comes to Tony's mind is a spider. "Mark, him, Jarvis."
A small rivet popped out, spraying Peter's heel with a bit of radioactive paint and then Tony is running again. This time to the armory, where he grabs the suitcase armor and triggers the activation sequence.
"Sir, Peter has fired some sort of web line at one off the neighboring towers and swung away to the northwest," Jarvis told him as the suitcase armor sealed itself over his chest. The paint tracer is working, though fading with distance."
"Oh good," Tony replies as the helmet unfolds, the visor comes down, and the HUD activates. He runs back to the main room and then out to the terrace. The boot engines roar, and then he's in the sky, heading northwest.
For a guy who's essentially an urban Tarzan, Peter can move, and it takes Tony a few minutes to reacquire the tracer's radioactive frequency and then track him down. He finds Peter in the street outside an all night grocer, wailing on three thugs. A bath of cash lay on the sidewalk nearby and from the doorway of an all night market, an elderly man watched, silently cheering for Peter.
Tony was no expert on hand to hand, but he knew enough to recognize that Peter was winning only through his superior speed and agility. He also recognizes that while he's not trying to seriously hurt the thugs, he's still fighting like a man driven by a demon. Tony knows that demon, he knows it well. That demon that plagues someone out to redeem themselves and you will never, ever escape it.
Tony waits until the bad guys are webbed up and Peter is swinging away. Curious, he follows him through the city, where Peter foils two muggings, another robbery, several assaults of various kinds , and the rampage of some jackhole who seemed to think that chemical adhesive was an effective weapon and if his ranting was any indication, that the Avengers were the puppet of a still very much alive John D. Rockerfeller. A few times, Jarvis informs him that the other Avengers are gathered in the main room of the Penthouse, demanding to know why Tony took off in the armor. The only thing he can think of is "personal matter". Which sounds lame, even to him.
Finally, as Peter headed for the taller towers, Tony swooped inand grabbed him around the waist.
"Hey! What the-oh." Peter slumped in Tony's arms. "I am in so much trouble, aren't I?"
Tony didn't answer.
When they return to the Tower, Tony can see the other Avengers through the door, Steve at their head. Tony raises his visor and he and Steve lock eyes and then Steve turns around and shoos the others away from the door. Removing his helmet completely, he turns to look at Peter, who has removed his mask.
"Jarvis," Tony said, "Until I re-enter the tower, discontinue all audio or video monitoring of the terrace." Then he sat on the bench. "It's just you, me, and the concrete, Pete. If you want to talk, I'll listen."
Peter sits down next to him. "I got my powers about a month ago. My class was at this tour over at Morbius Biotech, and . . . well, this spider bit me." he pulled off his glove and showed Tony the faint scar on the back of his hand. "I got the speed, the agility, the strength, and the reflexes of a spider my size."
"Not that I'm one to look askance at stupid risks, but I'm pretty sure you sneaking out to beat up bad guys is on the list of things Pepper and I aren't allowed to let you do. A list we signed. Twice. Maybe three times. So why?"
"Because I have to. Because it's my responsibility."
"What? To help the cops? Sure, I suppose so as a citizen or whatever, but-"
"NO!" Peter screams. "Because I have to! Because Aunt May and Uncle Ben are dead! Because I killed them! Don't you understand? They're dead because of me!"
Multiple responses ranging from sarcastic to incredulous run through Tony's head and then he made himself stop and think. What would . . . . no, his father is a bad example, What would Steve Rogers do? Steve wouldn't judge, he'd listen. Get all the facts. "Alright, Peter. Start from the top. What . . . what happened that night?"
Peter pulled one leg up to his chest, resting his chin on his knee and staring at the ground. "I'd had my powers for a couple of weeks. I spent a lot of time figuring out what I could and couldn't do. Nearly got myself killed a couple of times working out how far I can jump. That's when I made the web shooters." He pulls back his sleeve to show Tony a shiny metal bracelet. Tony recognizes a pressure spray system when he sees it. The trigger is a contact in Peter's palm. "My dad . . . my real dad, was an inventor . . . there was this trunk of stuff he left behind. This was his project. The plans and materials were all there, they just . . . needed work."
"So you finished his work." Unbidden, Tony thought of the Hot Rod in his garage at the house in Malibu. The one he and his dad had been working on when the crash happened. The one, he realizes as he sits there on that terrace in the New York night, that he keeps finding a reason not to finish because no matter how hard he tries, Howard Stark's ghost still hangs over his head. "Then what?"
"That night, the night . . . I lied. I lied to Aunt May and Uncle Ben, and I lied to the cops . . . I lied to a lot of people. I never went to the library to study. I went to this wrestling event."
Alarm bells sound off in Tony's head. "You don't seem like the wrestling fan type."
Peter shook his head. "I had powers, I had the web shooters, I had an Aunt and Uncle getting old . . . and I was greedy. I thought I could make some money. The Hudson Bay Association was putting on a show. Three grand for anyone who could stay in the ring with Bonesaw McGraw for three minutes. I beat him in a minute and a half. But when I went to claim my prize, the Association's head wouldn't pay up. Not his problem that I didn't read the fine print. He claimed that since I didn't go the full three minutes, I violated the terms of the offer. As I was walking out, this guy runs in with a gun, cleans him out."
"Macendale . . ." Tony breathes, the pieces lining up inside his head.
"Is that his name?" Tears run down Peter's cheeks. "He bursts out of the office, runs right past me. I could have stopped him. Stuck my foot out, done . . . something. And I didn't. Not my problem, right?" A sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a sob erupts from Peter's throat. "He even thanked me." Peter scrubs at his eyes with one hand. "Subway broke down so by the time I got back to Queens, Aunt May and Uncle Ben were already dead. I heard some cops saying the killer had stolen their car and was holed up at the warehouse by the river." Peter looks at him, eyes red with tears. "Every kid in Queens knows about that place. You could hold off an army in there." Peter looks up at the sky. "I was angry, I was crying. I slipped past the cops, snuck up on the bad guy, and took him down. Only then did I actually look at him and I saw . . ."
"And you saw the guy you let get away," Tony finished. "The one you could have stopped, and didn't."
"Yeah. Uncle Ben always said that with great power came great responsibility and that's when I realized I'd ignored my responsibility. I had great power, and I'd been selfish and irresponsible. Don't you see? I have to do this. It's my responsibility and my fault."
Tony again makes himself stop and think before speaking. He doesn't do it normally, and it's hard, but he does it. He has to. Again, asking himself what Steve would do comes to his rescue.
"Peter, you're right. You did ignore your responsibility and because of that, two people are dead. But ask yourself, would you still feel the responsibility if it had been one of your neighbors? Or a stranger? Or if only Ben had been killed? Or May?" Peter flinches and looks away. "If it hadn't been Ben and May, it would have been someone else," Tony continues. "I think you know that, and that you feel guilty for wishing it had been someone else haunts you." Peter flinches again and Tony rests one metal hand on his shoulder and taps the arc reactor with the other. "A man named Yinsen once told me that I had a choice; to sit and do nothing, leaving my life's work in the hands of murderers or I could do something about it. What would be the last act of defiance for Tony Stark? I chose to create Iron Man, you chose . . . Spider . . . whatever."
"Spider-Man," Peter said. "With a hyphen. Strunk and White said so."
"And who am I to argue with them," Tony said with a nod, wondering who the hell Strunk and White were. "Point is, we both realized that we failed in our responsibilities and now, we have to live up to them. So here's the deal; You put Spider-Man away. No costume, no adventures, no late nights running around the city. You go to school, do college, date, learn to drive, do all the stuff you'd do if your Aunt and Uncle hadn't been killed and you didn't have powers. When you graduate college, if you still want to be Spider-Man, there'll be a place in the Avengers for you and you can honor your responsibility to the memory of your Aunt and Uncle properly. You take the time to be Peter Parker. In return, you'll an unpaid intern for the Avengers. You'll train alongside us, and during missions, you'll help out in Mission Control or in the lab."
"What if I say no?" Peter asked.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. gets involved."
"I . . . don't think I want that."
"I knew you were a smart kid. So what will it be?"
"Can I at least keep the web shooters?"
"I don't see why not." Tony stands, picking up his helmet. "Why don't we get out of these clothes, you get your dad's stuff and meet me in the kitchen. We'll make banana splits and talk science until the sugar high wears off."
Peter actually smiles, a real, genuine smile and Tony grins as they walk back inside. As he puts his armor away, Tony pauses. "Jarvis?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"It's time to exorcise some ghosts. Contact Malibu have them ship the hot rod and the parts here to New York. It's time I finished the damn thing."
"Of course, Sir."
Tony nods. Who said parenting was hard? This is easy