A/N: Hello again, friends, and welcome to Chapter Seventeen! I hope that you guys are enjoying the series, I've been putting quite a bit of thought into what's coming next for Spidey! Please read and review, I really appreciate it, and, as always, thank you so much for reading!
Disclaimer: All characters owned by Marvel.
Chapter Seventeen
There was no thunderbolt, no sudden striking of realization. It was a settling of information, a blanket of soft snow easing onto evergreen branches. She felt Jessica's words like they were a well-worn key turning a lock it had opened hundreds of times before. Carol had been down this road herself often, wondering how Peter felt, whether the things he said and did came from a place of more than just friendship. But her conclusions had always been that he was just a caring person; that aside from great power and great responsibility, he also held great love in his heart, and he extended that love to everyone.
It was for that reason, the uncertainty, that she'd kept her own growing feelings to herself. Her greatest fear was not anther Skrull invasion or a visit from the World-Devourer; it was opening herself up to someone and having that door slammed back in her face. Her powers had made her used to being nigh-invincible, leaving her emotions as the only vulnerability she felt needed constant defense.
Now that it was out in the open, however; now that the uncertainty was gone, she didn't know if she could stop those feelings from growing too big for the box she kept them in. And she didn't know if she wanted to.
"Carol?" Jessica asked, rushing around the table and grabbing her friend's arm. She pulled Carol away from the door and sat her back down. "Are you feeling alright? You look pale."
Her head hung down into her chest, and Carol ran a palm through her hair to pull it out of her face. Her eyebrows turned up, wrinkling the center of her forehead. "Could you, um," she said, a slight smile on her face, "Could you say that again?"
Jessica grinned like a madwoman before leaning back in her chair, the grin closing to perfect smugness. "What's the matter," she said, crossing her legs, "You didn't hear me the first time?"
"Just double checking," Carol replied. And… I kind of like the way it sounds.
The smirk never left Jessica's lips. "Peter Parker," she said, "Is in love with you."
Carol felt her mouth turn up before she could stop it, but a sobering thought brought it right back down again. "But he could be in there bleeding out right now," she said. "And we're sitting in here gossiping."
Jessica leaned forward and grabbed Carol's hand. "Hey, if something were really wrong, I'm sure we would've heard by now."
"Where is he?" Carol heard from the hallway, and though it was a voice she didn't recognize, she was almost certain she knew to whom it belonged. She stood from her chair and opened the glass door, just in time to see Tony walk past.
"Right this way, Mrs. Parker," he said, coming back the way he came with an elderly woman on his arm. Her silver hair was cut short, in a bob, and she wore a small jacket over a white top, with blue jeans and tennis shoes. Their feet crunched the shattered bulbs, and Peter's aunt didn't even seem to notice that she was being escorted by the infamous Tony Stark. Her eyes were forward, her mouth set into a hard line with a slight frown, accented by thick laugh lines in her cheeks that told a story of a long life full of joy.
Carol jogged down the hallway after them, Jessica only a few steps behind her. "Tony?" she asked, her voice more urgent then she intended. "What's going on? What's wrong?"
He turned, and Carol noted the spots of blood that had snuck past the apron and onto his lab coat. "Ah, perfect," he said, taking a few steps back and past Carol. "Jessica, would you mind walking Mrs. Parker down to medical, please?"
Her eyes darted back and forth between Tony and Carol for a moment, then Jessica turned to the elderly woman and smiled warmly. "Jessica Drew, ma'am," she said, extending her hand. "You must be Peter's aunt."
"May Parker-Jameson," she said, taking Jessica's hand and harshly pulling her down the hall. "Though you can call me Aunt May, everyone does. Now where…"
May's voice trailed off as she and Jessica continued down the hall, and Carol was about to follow them before Tony stepped into her path. "Not you," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"The hell do you mean, 'not me'?" she asked, shrugging him off. "What's going on?"
Tony grabbed her by the elbow and turned her around. She thought about shoving him away and flying back down the hall, but she didn't want to risk hurting him. Her mind couldn't help racing, however; she was desperate to learn what was going on with Peter. If they called his aunt down here, it means they needed his next of kin. Either to make some kind of medical decision for him, or…
She let Tony guide her down the hall, past the common room and toward the stairs leading up to the training area on the next floor. "Tony, what happened to Peter?" she asked.
"Nothing you need to worry about right now," he said, opening the door to the stairwell. "He's stable, I think. I walked out to go find his aunt once Jarvis told me she was on the right floor."
Stable? He thinks? That wasn't going to cut it with her. "Then what the hell are we doing? Go back to the operating room," she said.
"We need to get you checked out, first," he said as they reached the top of the stairs. "Reed's on his way with some new equipment, and I've got Peter's notes. We managed to get some power restored, and hopefully a few of the more protected machines up here will still be working."
Carol shook her head. "I feel fine, Tony. You don't need to worry about me right now."
Tony lead her down the hall, past the training room and into his workshop. "I know you do right now, Carol," he said sitting down at a stool. "But for all we know the radiation could be building up in your system. I need to know if you're a pressure cooker so you don't blow your lid and take my building along with you."
She plopped into a stool next to him, and they sat listening to the whirr of the workshop's machines for a few moments before Carol asked, "What did you need to call his aunt for?"
Tony sighed and turned away from the computer he'd been trying to get to stop flashing static every thirty seconds. "Peter's not… doing well," he said. "When he rolled himself over he... he's just not in the best of shape." He turned back to the screen and pulled the back off, his fingers moving with expert efficiency in the web of wires.
Carol knew that Tony could only concentrate when his hands were busy, but she hated that they were up there sitting around when Peter was downstairs struggling to survive. She was not comfortable with inaction. She was used to finding a problem and blasting it into oblivion, or punching it until it stopped moving. The fact that she was stuck in Tony Stark's workshop was eating her alive more than her "illness" ever had been.
She started the process of preparing herself for the worst, something she'd learned from her time in the military. It was best to see these things coming, to know that it was the inevitable end, and to accept that, especially in their line of work, a premature death was not only conceivable, but common.
That's what her superiors had taught her. And it didn't make the possibility any easier. She imagined his funeral, not Spider-Man's, but Peter Parker's; small, with few attendees. So many people Peter had known throughout his life had died young. She wondered how many of the Avengers would risk showing up in civilian garb; Steve would come, and Logan, but Luke and Danny's identities were public, and Thor wouldn't really have an option. Tony would secretly pay for the whole thing, given how often Peter had mentioned his aunt's financial troubles, how many times she'd heard him whispering to himself about going a month without water or power just so his aunt wouldn't have to go without hers.
A small sob escaped her as she pictured the Avengers' service, the one she'd attended far too many times already. All of them standing on the sides in their uniforms, the honor guard of the original members serving as pallbearers, carrying the casket with his costume to sit beneath the statue at the foot of the old mansion. Steve would stand and say a few words, talk about Peter's sense of duty, ask them all to take his mantra of "With great power comes great responsibility" to heart. Tony would go next, probably tell a few jokes and remind everyone of Peter's love of humor, how much he wanted to just make his friends laugh. Finally, after a few minutes of silence, because either no one else wanted to speak or no one else could, Carol would rise from her chair, unexpected, the flashbulbs from the attending media suddenly strobe lights in the mansion's hallway. She would walk to the podium and stand there, trying to compose herself, to steel herself so she could say the words she'd never gotten the chance to say to him otherwise.
The doors to Tony's workshop opened wide, and Reed Richards walked in, his arms wrapped several times around the six or seven different machines on his back. "Good afternoon, Tony, Carol," he said, wriggling like a snake to an empty section of floor. He flattened himself like a tarp beneath the equipment, then slowly untangled his arms from them before pulling his body out of the metal mass. As he resumed a more human shape, Carol couldn't stop the shiver that ran down her spine. Every time she saw Reed do his thing, she got a little freaked out.
"It's nine in the morning, Reed," Tony said.
Mr. Fantastic paused from stretching his arms up to grab the topmost machine. "Is it?" he asked. "Fascinating."
It took them several minutes for Reed and Tony to unload all the equipment, even with Carol's help, which they both protested against. She wasn't about to sit around waiting, however. She wanted to get back downstairs, and the quicker they got this over with, the better.
"Ok, well, obviously your flight and strength abilities are working," Reed said, scratching notes onto a yellow pad. "How about durability?"
Carol picked up a drill and turned it on.
"No, wait!" Tony said, just a few seconds too late, as Carol jammed it into her palm and the bit shattered against her skin. "That was my favorite drill," he said, his shoulders slumping.
"Shut up, Tony, the drill's fine," she said putting it down on the counter. She looked back to Reed. "What's next?"
Reed walked her over to a machine that had a large sheet of metal at the back with dozens of wires sticking out of it. "Your photon blasts," he said, cranking the power. The computer screen next to him whirred to life, and Carol could feel energy calling out to her from the metal sheet. "We need to determine if you're still emitting your regular levels and forms of energy. The metal at the back is vibranium, and the sensors will give me a readout as to how much and what kind of energy you're putting off."
Carol stepped toward the machine. "So you just want me to shoot it, right?"
"Uh, yes, yes that would do it," Reed replied.
She raised her fist, and yellow light glowed around her knuckles. Her mind turned back to Peter, lying unconscious downstairs just because he wanted to help her, bleeding out because she asked him, dying because...
Because he loved her.
Her fist disappeared in brightness of the light, and yellowed steam rose from the burning heat in her eyes. "Uh, Carol?" Tony said, "He just needs you to hit it, you don't have to try to blow it up."
She could feel the white in her knuckles, not just from how tightly she clenched her fingers but from the searing fire beneath them. She tried to refocus her thoughts, but her mind kept bringing her back to Peter. How angry she was that there was nothing she could do for him, when he'd done so much for her. How frustrated she felt, there in Tony's workshop running tests when all she wanted was to be downstairs, next to his bedside. How guilty she was that he was hurt because she had asked him for help, because she believed in him, because she…
A scream tore from her throat as energy exploded from her fist, throwing the rubber man next to her back several feet. The light struck the vibranium with an audible boom, the ripples of sound echoing through the workshop. The side walls leading down to the metal sheet were charred black, and smoke rose from the end of the machine.
Reed slunk his way back over to the computer and managed to get a look at the readings before the screen exploded. "Well," he said, bouncing the plastic shards off of his face, "You seem to be burning off some of the excess power of the radiation, but they're still photons." He stroked his chin, and it followed his grip as he pulled his hand away. "We should really run some other tests…"
"I'm fine," she cut him off, turning to walk back down the stairs. "Now would either of you like to bring your smart asses back downstairs to the person who actually needs your help?"
Tony rose from his stool and grabbed her by the elbow. "Hold on," he said.
Carol bent her arm and caught Tony's fingers between her forearm and bicep. His pinky gave an audible pop. "Tony," she said, her voice dripping with honey, "I really am fine. Please let me go downstairs."
Tony let go after his ring finger cracked. "Just let me get a blood sample we can look over," he said, shaking his fingers out and walking back to the table. He rummaged through several drawers before removing a needle and vial, which he screwed into a device that was sitting on his workbench. "Adamantium needle," he said as he walked back to Carol; she thumped the inside of her elbow a few times, raising her veins, and Tony jammed the needle into her arm. The vial filled with her blood, and as soon as he removed the device she flew past him, out the door and back down the stairs.
She slowed as she approached medical and saw Jessica standing in the hallway. "Jess?" she asked. "Where is he?"
Jessica turned around, her arms crossed under her chest. "Strange is in there with his aunt right now," she said. "They wouldn't tell me anything."
"I got the same from Tony," Carol said. "I suppose I should wait to go in?"
Jessica nodded. They stood in silence for a few seconds before she asked, "Are you ok?"
"Yeah," Carol replied. "Tony and Reed just wanted to make sure I'm in good shape."
"And?"
"I'm tip-top," Carol said. "I already knew it. I knew it the moment I woke up in that tank."
The door in front of them opened, and Doctor Strange stepped out into the hall, his usual garb as the Sorcerer Supreme absent, replaced by scrubs and a lab coat. The only indication that he was more than a medical doctor at all was that he still wore the mystical eye medallion around his neck. Before anyone could speak, he walked up to Carol and hugged her around the shoulders. "I'm glad to see you're alright," he said.
She smiled into his shoulder. "Thanks, Doc," she said. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. "How's Peter?"
Strange sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not really allowed to…"
Carol grabbed the front of his lab coat. "Doc," she said, petting the wrinkles out of the fabric. "I love you, you're a wonderful man, I will hurl you into lower orbit." She smiled sweetly, and her eyes burned like stars.
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Well, uh," he said, "He lost quite a bit of blood, and given his unique makeup we couldn't really give him a transfusion."
"So is he awake?" she asked. "Is he gonna be okay?" Strange wrinkled his forehead and turned away from her, running his thumb and forefinger across his thin goatee. "Doc?"
Strange turned back around and threw a hand up in the air. "He's in a coma," he said. Carol took a step backward, and Jessica put a hand over her mouth. "Some of the shrapnel punctured and collapsed his lungs," Strange continued. "All the trauma sent him into cardiac arrest. We were able to revive him, but… his brain was deprived of oxygen for a few seconds."
Carol was finding it difficult to think of words. When they finally came, the sound was a voice she could barely recognize. "Is he going to be ok?" she asked.
"He's stable, now," Strange replied. "His vital signs are solid. The question is whether or not he'll recover from the lack of oxygen and wake from the coma."
Carol nodded into her sternum, sniffing in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. She raised her head, blinking several times. "How long could that take?" she asked.
"That's entirely up to him," Strange said. "He could wake up tomorrow, or he could never wake up at all."
Carol nodded again and cleared her throat. "Do you think it would be ok for me to sit with him for a little while?" she asked.
Strange gave a slight frown. "I don't see why not, though his aunt is in there right now," he said. Carol walked past him, but he stopped her just as she was opening the door. "I would be careful, though," he said, nodding into the room. "The woman is… fierce."
Carol smiled a thank you and entered the room, the door clicking behind her as it shut. She turned the corner and saw Peter, a small ventilator next to his bag of fluids and heart monitor. The bed was propped up, sitting him at a forty-five degree angle, giving him the appearance of someone taking a nap in an easy chair—except for the tubes running into his mouth. There were three: two large blue ones that led into the ventilator, and another thin, clear one that Carol assumed was a feeding tube. Full life support, then.
His face was drawn and pale, with dark bags beneath his eyes, but otherwise he looked peaceful; sleeping, finally, after all the time he'd spent dragging himself through nights in his lab, researching. A bandage was wrapped around his left bicep, several more over his knuckles on both hands. She didn't even want to imagine what his back looked like.
The elderly woman next to him turned her head as Carol took a few more steps into the room, then stood to greet her. "Hello," she said, extending her hand. "I'm May, Peter's aunt. I remember seeing you in the hall, before."
"Yes, ma'am," Carol said, taking her hand. Carol could feel vibrancy in the old woman's grip; frail as she seemed, there was much life yet to be lived. "Carol Danvers. It's a pleasure to meet you."
May smiled, the deep laugh lines in her cheeks prevalent. Carol couldn't imagine anyone having raised Peter to not be cursed with those particular wrinkles. "Yes, Peter's mentioned you several times," she said. Had he, now? "You've undergone a recent name change, as I understand it?"
They moved to his bedside, where they sat on a couch that appeared to have been untouched by the dust and damage to the medical wing. "I didn't realize Peter kept you so up to date," Carol said.
"Oh, he doesn't," May replied, taking his hand again. "He hates that I look into it at all. Thinks I'll worry myself into an early grave." The heart monitor combined with the clicking of the ventilator to create a strange, melancholy music in the dark room. Carol looked at May, saw the older woman's nose wrinkled up, doing what little she could to hold back her tears. "Do you know what happened this time?" May asked. "Do you know what happened to my s… nephew?"
Carol hung her head. "May," she said. "May, I'm so ashamed."
May took her hand away from Peter's and took Carol's instead. "Why, dear? What should you be ashamed for? You didn't do this to him."
"But I did," Carol said, turning to face the older woman more. "I was sick, and I asked him for help."
May sat in silence for a second. "Did you have other options?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Then why did you come to Peter?" May asked.
"Because I knew he could do it," Carol said. "Because I wanted him to know he could do it."
"And did he?" May asked. "Are you cured?"
Carol nodded. "Yes."
"And his… condition," May continued. "He had to fight?"
"Yes, but…"
May took her hand from Carol's, stood, and slung her purse over her shoulder. Her heels clicked on the dusty tile as she walked toward the door.
"May," Carol said, standing. "Please, I'll go, you don't have to…"
"I will see him when he wakes," May said, her hand on the door handle. "I know my nephew, Ms. Danvers. From what your friend Jessica told me, he waged war to save you. It is not my face he will want to see when he first opens his eyes."
Carol took a step forward. "Do you want me to walk you down?" she asked.
May opened the door. "I am perfectly capable of seeing myself out," she replied. "Please give my regards to your fellow Avengers, Captain Rogers in particular. And do call once Peter wakes up."
She walked through the door, pulling it closed behind her. Carol stood in the darkened room, listening to the rhythm of Peter's heartbeat and breathing, before she sat back down on the couch and took his hand again.