A/N: Happy Friday! Sorry this chapter's so short. Most of them are longer after this.

I'll keep this short and sweet: thanks as always to my wonderful reviewers - EmilyF.6, LoonyLovegood1981, and cat lover 2976 - you guys are my heroes. Thanks also to those of you who followed and favourited this story.

Enjoy.

ICARUS

3

LIVING BEYOND YOUR YEARS


Hands shaking. He's scared. Look at your watch. BREATHE.

"You gotta breathe for me, buddy."

Peter's whole body judders with the effort. Tony barks a hysterical, humourless laugh.

"You can't leave me now, Spiderman."

Eyes widen. Opening mouth to say something. A sort of wet gurgle instead of words. Lips coated with red.

He smoothes the boy's sweaty hair off his alarmingly pale forehead, wipes the blood from his cheek, says his name again.

Tears in his eyes. When did he last cry?

Slowly, inevitably, eyes slide shut. No. Wake up. Wake up! "Peter. Peter!"


In the end, it's May who persuades him.

"I changed my shift so I'll be able to drive you to Stark Tower for your first day," she says excitedly.

Peter doesn't have the heart to tell her that he's not going to do it. Not when she's looking at him with so much happiness and pride that her smile seems to split her face in half. He forces a grin onto his own face, because he is excited - Tony Stark, without a doubt, is his hero, and no amount of sarcasm and ignored coffee is going to change that - but the guilt is rising in his chest already. Don't think about it. Spiderman can save a lot more people with the improved gear Peter can develop in Mr. Stark's labs. And he can do longer patrols because the internship is a great excuse to be away.

So as he looks apprehensively at the Tower in front of him, he tries to push away the heavy feeling in his gut. He's doing the right thing. He can do this. May looks at him. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

"Don't worry. I'll be fine."

She smiles. "Your parents would be so proud of you, Peter."

Peter swallows. There is a lump in his throat and the same sting in his eyes that comes whenever people say things like that. His parents. The invisible ghosts watching over him that he's always fought so hard to please, the people who will never see what he has achieved, so that whatever he does, it never quite seems like enough for them. Because how can they know? How do they know that getting an A in chemistry would make his parents happy, when they could just as easily be angry at him because everyone knows he could have gotten 100 percent, if he had more time to study and a better night's sleep before? How do they know that the Parkers, renowned scientists, wouldn't wish their son was just a little smarter, a little better at the subjects they excelled at as children? And the thing that hurts the most is knowing that they can never be proved right or wrong. No one can look at Peter's parents and ask them, Are you proud?.

But he doesn't say any of this. He just waits for the wave of grief and resentment at the world to pass before he hugs his aunt and walks away.

It's a fairly mild day, but a light drizzle fills the air, making it hard to see long distances. Though the rain feels light, Peter's clothes are already wet, and the gloomy streets are full of people rushing to get inside out of the unpleasant weather. Peter takes a deep breath, feeling the damp air fill his lungs slowly and holding it there until his chest starts to burn. Then he lets it out in one long, steady exhalation, watching a drop of water make its careless, meandering way down his jacket.

It's now or never, Parker.

He steps into the lobby of the tower. It's enormous, to say the least: floor-to-ceiling windows fill it with light, even on a day like today, but classy lamps glowing white are strategically placed so the room is always well lit. White tiles pave the seemingly endless floor beneath his feet. There are plants dotted here and there - not enough to make it look cluttered or too much like a garden, but enough to add a splash of colour and greenery to the impeccably clean atmosphere. There are creamy white sofas to serve as seats on which to wait for appointments or service. On one wall, glass elevators move seamlessly up and down. There are pieces of art littered everywhere.

Peter blinks. You can do this. You're Spiderman.

It occurs to him that Mr. Stark never told him what to do when he got to the Tower. The text message said to report to Reception, though, so he decides to start there. There's a plush red carpet leading up to the pristine desk, which appears to also be a fish tank. He eyes the tropical fish uneasily and can't help but feel grubby and out of place in this shining world of expensive suits and sleek white furniture.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asks, with one arched eyebrow. They must get kids like Peter in here all the time, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tony Stark.

"Um, yeah - I'm here for the internship?" he says.

She frowns. "We only run internships during summer break. You have the wrong date."

It's mid-February.

"Mr. Stark said to come by today ... "

She peers down at him. Peter wishes he was a little taller. "Mr. Stark doesn't give out internships. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Wait - I got the text message!" He rummages in his bag until he finds his phone. The screen looks back at him blankly. He's out of battery. He looks up at the receptionist. "Please could you just send him a message or something? Say that Peter Parker's here?"

"No need," says a voice behind him, and someone claps a hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, Estelle."

Peter whirls round. Tony Stark is stood behind him.

"Follow me," he says, ignoring Estelle's horrified scowl. As soon as they are out of earshot, he whispers, "Don't mind her. She's just got a lot to deal with behind that desk. The number of reporters is insane."

"H-How did you know I was down here?" Peter asks, fighting back wild excitement at the fact that Tony Stark just put a hand on his shoulder, and trying to take in all the sights of the building at once. They go through a door marked Authorised Personnel Only and come to an elevator. It does make sense, he supposes, that Mr. Stark wouldn't want to use the elevators available to the general public.

"Facial recognition told me when you walked in. Here, look at the scanner." Peter does as he is told. There is a brief bleep and hen the doors slide smoothly open. Mr. Stark does the same thing, then presses the button which says 47. Some of the buttons are marked in red - the key above the buttons says, Red buttons are for floors only available with permission to access. Floor 47 is one of these floors. "Normally I'd have you working here." He points at the button marked 28. "That's one of our research floors, and apparently where all the interns go. Who knew?" Peter blinks. "But I want you to take a look at these designs you made. See what we can do."

"Uh - "

"This isn't a permanent thing. Just for today, to see where you went wrong." He pauses. "Also, I have zero idea how to treat an intern. Usually someone else deals with this shit. Sorry. Didn't mean to swear. FRIDAY, clear Peter for Floor 47."

A cool female voice fills the elevator. "Done."

"Whoa," says Peter, looking around in surprise and curiosity.

"That's our resident AI. Her name's FRIDAY - you should be able to talk to her wherever you are in the building. She can answer any questions, show you how to get around, Google stuff for you ... hell, she can do all kinds of stupid shit. FRIDAY, do the horse noise."

An absurd noise fills the elevator - definitely made by a human voice, and barely recognisable as a horse noise. Not that Peter has really met all that many horses to compare it to. He jumps and then mentally kicks himself for looking like such an idiot. Mr. Stark's loud cackle doesn't much help matters either. A slow blush creeps onto his cheeks.

"This one time, I did it to prank Barton for ten hours straight. Just told FRIDAY to play it at random intervals whenever he was alone somewhere. Took him all day to figure out it was me ... " Mr. Stark continues to chatter amicably as the elevator glides to a smooth stop and they get out, without really seeming to care that his newfound intern is contributing absolutely nothing to the conversation. Peter is too busy reeling as the reality of his situation sets in. He's on the 47th floor of Stark Tower, with Tony Stark, who has prank wars with Hawkeye ... what if some of the other Avengers are in the Tower right now, just a few floors above or below? This is insane.

" ... took another look at your plans. They're pretty impressive, you know. How long did you spend on them?"

Peter almost forgets to answer. They have entered an almost cavernous lab space, cluttered and untidy and incredible. There's an Iron Man gauntlet lying on the bench in front of them - just lying there! - and some kind of robot trundling around, picking stuff up and putting it down on different benches; the room is well lit, but not too bright, which is a mercy on Peter's enhanced vision; the air is cool and smells faintly of metal and motor oil - and scotch, though Peter doubts that anyone normal would be able to pick that up. There is a couch with a ragged-looking blanket and old pillow folded on it (does he sleep in here? That's amazing, if weirdly personal) and work spread across almost every available surface, of which there are many.

"Um," he says, "a couple days after school, maybe? I did it at Robotics Club, before - um, before I quit."

"Why'd you quit?"

Peter turns around to see Mr. Stark on his hands and knees on the floor, rummaging for something underneath a workbench. He doesn't seem to care much about the answer, thank God. Feeling mildly uncomfortable, Peter looks down at the floor and mutters, "Too much homework," which has been his standard excuse for quitting every club so far. He wonders how long it will be before he gives up Decathlon as well. Will Liz hate him forever if he goes?

"Ha!" Mr. Stark, having progressed to having his entire head and upper torso under the table, attempts to stand up, slams his head on the table's underside, swears colourfully, and then crawls out backwards, clutching Peter's blueprints. "Dum-E's always putting stuff in stupid places. Sorry about the swearing."

"You don't need to apologise," Peter says, amused. "My aunt says worse." Then he claps his hand over his mouth. "Don't tell her I said that."

"I'll consider your request. As you can probably see, I don't have that much experience around kids."

"Mr. Stark, it's fine, sir - "

Mr. Stark's head snaps around to face him. "Okay. Let me lay some ground rules. First. You don't try and kiss the ground under my holy feet the whole time. I only make people I really hate do that. That means no calling me sir. My name is Tony. No sucking up to me. Calling this an internship is just a formality. I want to see what you know. So you're more of a consultant, I guess. An underage one. Second ... don't touch anything that looks like it can dissolve your skin. That's about all I can think of."

Peter tries hard not to look terrified.

"Third. You're allowed to talk. God knows I get enough of the silent treatment from Pepper. Speak!"

"Um ... okay."

Mr. Stark - Tony - unrolls the paper and looks at the drawings. Peter reaches out to take another piece of paper.

Stretching his arm pulls his sleeve back a little, revealing the ugly mess of purple and green and yellow that is his healing wrist, still bruised from yesterday's antics. Well, crap, says Peter's incessant internal monologue, but it fails to provide anything useful to do, so he and Tony both just stare at it for a couple of seconds, as if that can magically repair the bruising, make it disappear, and maybe find a reasonable explanation for why it's there.

Tony is the first to break the spell. "Yeesh, kid," he says, pulling a face. "How did that happen?"

Think think think think think think think think - "I - uh, I tripped over."

Silence. They both look at the unmistakable bluish finger-marks encircling his wrist. Then Peter clears his throat uncomfortably and pulls his sleeve down, Tony makes a sympathetic, if suspicious, noise, and they both turn back to the plans. They survey them awkwardly for a few minutes before a woman walks in.

"Tony?" she says, surprised. "Who's this?"

"Oh, hey, Pep. This is Peter, my intern. Peter, this is Pepper Potts. She basically just runs the whole company."

"Hi," says Peter.

"Tony, you don't have interns. You don't like people. Also, our internship program runs in the summer break."

"Well ... Peter's my personal intern, I guess. We're taking a look at some suit designs. Right, Peter?"

"Uh, yeah," Peter mumbles distractedly, finding a pencil on the bench in front of him (this place could have been made for him) and using it to redraw some wiring specs that look a little off. Is there too much resistance, maybe? Would different wiring materials work?

Pepper ignores him. "Tony, can I talk to you outside for a minute?"

"Sure. Just a minute, Peter."

Peter nods and pretends to busy himself with the work. Pepper leads Tony out of the lab and Peter listens to their conversation with interest, his enhanced hearing picking up on their hushed voices even through the door.

"Tony, what aren't you telling me? Is he your estranged son or something that you didn't know about? Because, obviously, he was born a long time ago and I'm not mad at you for that, but I think I deserve to know if you have a kid ... "

"He's not mine," Tony says firmly.

"Then why is he here? What's gotten into you? You're terrible with children!"

"I know, but - but this kid just walked up to me after I fought those drones the other day. And he thought I was just a drone, and he gave me these designs to improve my suit - and they're really good, Pep. Really good, especially for a kid his age, without any access to my actual suits. And he's smart. I looked at his school reports. If he was a few years older, I would be working my ass off trying to get him to work for me."

"And you weren't even slightly intoxicated when you recruited him?"

A pause. " ... That's beside the point."

Peter should have known it was too good to be true. At least now he does know.

"At least tell me you did a full background check. No school records of theft, no criminal associates, anything like that?"

"He's all clean. He'll be down on 28 most of the time, anyway."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Tony," Pepper says with a sigh. Peter can hear her heels clicking on the polished floor as she walks away.