We Might Be Radioactive
Chapter 4
Peter spent most of his Saturday catching up on schoolwork he'd missed through the week. Finals were coming up and he hated the thought of missing more spider-time for studying, but even as a senior he didn't want to let his final grades slip. Aunt May offered words of praise for his educational voracity as he downed snacks between reading segments. By the time it got dark she was perfectly willing to believe that he was turning in early for the night, and not slipping out his window in full costume.
Bruce was waiting for him with cartons of leftover Chinese food that Peter was all too eager gulp down. He seemed to be in a rare mood, showing off the work he had done on their formula since the night before. Once Peter had made short work of the rice and pork they set out on their first test run, spraying a freshly altered cartridge on a sheet of treated glass in weaving lines. As they waited for the sealant to dry they sat back, discussing the various methods they could use to fix it to the suit. Making a life-sized model of Peter came up maybe more than once, and the mischievous little gleam in Bruce's eye reminded Peter all over again how different his latest science friend was than the last.
"You'll be back tomorrow, won't you?" Bruce asked as he spread their new web-textile out on a work table. "To meet Tony?"
"Hell yeah, if you think he'll see me." He helped Bruce stretch the web and tacked it to a cork strip on the end of the table. "Is he really the leader of the super-hero team?"
Bruce laughed as he fixed his end down as well. "Who told you that?"
"Well, no one," Peter admitted. "But Captain America kind of implied it'd be up to him if I wanted to join."
"He did?" Bruce shook his head incredulously. "Imagine that."
Peter watched as Bruce began hunting among the desks for something. "How well do you know these guys, really?" he couldn't help but ask. "Do they all work for Stark? Or is Stark working for the military after all?"
"It's complicated," said Bruce. He returned with a pair of scissors. "And classified. I'm not sure it's the sort of thing you can just 'join' like the police force, or if Tony's endorsement would do you the most good." His lip quirked as if recalling some anecdote. "But if it's a sponsor you're looking for, you could certainly do a lot worse than Tony Stark."
Peter grabbed one of the strands and stretched it out as far as he could. "It's not that I want a sponsor, I just want to help," he said honestly. "Or at least keep doing what I'm doing without so many cops on my tail."
"What you're doing is against the law," Bruce reminded him. "That won't change whether you're government approved or not. There's a reason Steve and Tony don't go around busting criminals in the streets, you know."
Peter shrugged. "I just figured they were too busy doing more important stuff."
"That, too."
Bruce tried to cut through the strand and had no luck. They tried sheers and a box cutter and everything sharp within a two floor radius and found nothing that could cut it. "At least it's durable enough," Bruce said with a chuckle. "Though we might have to spray in patterns if we don't want overlap on the suit."
Peter watched Bruce a moment longer and finally blurted out, "Are you a super-hero, too?"
Bruce's brow perked, but he didn't look up right away. "What makes you think that?"
"You have access to all Tony Stark's private labs," said Peter, leaning forward against the table. "His penthouse. You're on a first name basis with Captain America. You're obviously a genius." Bruce smiled modestly, so he continued. "Most of the internet can't even decide if it is a team, but you've been referring to it that way. So what's the deal?" He lowered his voice without realizing. "Are you a hero, too, Bruce?"
"No." Bruce's gaze flickered to him only briefly. "I'm just trying to help however I can."
They continued to work, testing the webbing's tensile strength and resistance to elements. Peter even slid his fingers through the gaps at one point and fit the rest over his arm like a glove, testing how it flexed over his skin. Bruce helped by pinching the web closed in various places, allowing Peter to bed his elbow and wrist. They had left teasing behind by then, but Peter still felt a tingle when Bruce touched him. His hands were broad, sturdy, but so careful - steady like a surgeon's. Unlike the casual touches he often fleeted to Peter's shoulders and back, he had no qualms boldly probing up and down Peter's biceps when it was for an experiment. It reminded Peter of when Steve had taken his arm, and the way he could feel the man's strength lying in wait beneath a seemingly tender exterior. He hadn't expected to feel that strength in Bruce, and it made his arm prickle with goose bumps.
"We might have to fuse it on in sections, with open spaces around your armpits and such," Bruce suggested as he wrapped the web over Peter's shoulder. His deft fingers tried to arrange it in a way that wouldn't bunch under Peter's arm and wasn't terribly successful. "Otherwise it might wad up. Back of the knee, groin..."
He moved the section to Peter's ribs. His eyes behind his glasses were focused and thoughtful, his hands firm as he mapped Peter's chest to his back. It shouldn't have been so distracting - Peter couldn't even think of any groin-related comebacks. Having Bruce fix such scrutiny and such care on him was making him feel young again.
They parted at the window, making plans to meet at the penthouse floor Sunday night. "I almost don't want Tony to come back," Bruce admitted. "I've kind of enjoyed having you to myself."
Peter laughed and hoped Bruce couldn't hear the bubble in his lungs, as ridiculous a notion as that was. "There's plenty of me to go around," he replied, just because it was something to say. Bruce's slow smile only made the bubble worse.
When Peter got home that night, he couldn't sleep. His chest felt a few sizes too small and he couldn't stop puzzling over the mystery that was Bruce. It was as if Bruce's low voice was rumbling through his bones. He was nervous, and excited, and even a little afraid, and he didn't know why. He wished he could learn everything there was to know about Bruce, why his eyes sometimes flicked away when things got too serious, how he knew two famous heroes, what he was supposed to be working on instead of web goo, why his every touch and smile and joke wouldn't get out from under his skin-
"Cut it out, Parker," Peter told himself, burying beneath his sheets. "What are you getting worked up for?" He huffed. "Just imagine when you meet Tony Stark."
He groaned and resorted to counting sheep.
Tony and Pepper made it back to the tower in the early afternoon, and Bruce all but leapt up the stairwell to meet them in the penthouse. The tower chef had prepared a handsome lunch, and as they sat down together to eat, Bruce shared his adventures with his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Pepper was bright and interested, but all through his story Tony kept squinting at him in a way Bruce was at a loss to interpret. When the lunch dishes were cleared he even spread out the web he and Peter had made the night before.
Tony fingered a strand and said, "This is Oscorp."
Bruce frowned. "Well...originally, yes," he admitted. "I remember the spiders that spun it from my short time working with Dr. Connors." He yanked on opposite ends. "But look at how much the treatment-"
"Where did it come from?" Tony interrupted.
Bruce hadn't seen much of Tony's serious side since winning the battle for Earth, but he definitely recognized it. He leaned back. "Spider-Man brought it with him."
"Did he steal it?"
"Of course not." Bruce gathered the web back up, determined not to be disappointed with Tony's less than stellar reaction. "He says he purchases it, mail order."
Tony crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you sure? Because if stolen Oscorp tech ended up in my building that would be a problem for me."
Bruce tried to smile it away and glanced to Pepper for her help, but she only smiled back with eyebrows raised. He deflated a little. "Yes, I'm sure," he said. "Come on, Tony, I've only worked with it after hours. I haven't told anyone about it, either." He rubbed his chin. "Though now that you mention it, maybe it would be better if we came up with something entirely original, possibly synthetic..."
Tony rolled his eyes - his disapproval was starting to get on Bruce's nerves. "What?"
"I leave you here unattended all week, and this is what you come up with?" Tony said with exasperation. "No volatile chemicals, no lead into gold? No anti-alien technology? No Slushie machine for my suit?"
Bruce blinked at him. "Was I supposed to be working on one of those things?"
"Don't mind him," said Pepper, looking too amused by the whole exchange. "He's just jealous you've made a new friend."
Tony rolled his eyes again and pushed to his feet. "Millions of dollars' worth of the best lab tech in the world, and you're making doilies for your boyfriend. It's just not what I had in mind when I gave you my all-access pass."
As Tony moved away to pour himself some fresh coffee, Bruce looked to Pepper. "Did Madrid not go well?" he asked quietly.
She winced. "Not so much."
"And I still haven't gotten to meet this guy," Tony continued from the other end of the kitchen. "He had better be amazing. Because some of us have saved the entire world and not just, you know, Queens."
"You'll meet him tonight," Bruce promised. "He's young, but he's bright. And he wants to be part of the 'team.'" He chuckled to himself.
"How young?" asked Pepper.
"Well...I'm not exactly sure." Bruce pushed his glasses up his forehead. "I assume he's a grad student. Maybe even an intern for...someone around here." Tony gave him a look as he returned to the table, so he kept talking before he could get interrupted. "But you're going to like him. If it were up to me I'd offer him a job."
"In the building?" Tony sat back down. "Or on the team?"
Bruce frowned. He had treated Peter's enthusiasm toward being an Avenger with amusement, and had never actually considered the possibility of rushing into battle with his new friend alongside. He didn't like that thought. "The former. The later...I don't know. I wasn't around to see his body of work, was I? But I'm sure Fury has a file on him somewhere."
"I'll bet." Tony drummed his fingers on the table impatiently. "Do you think he'd let us see it if we asked nicely?"
"No," Bruce and Pepper said at once.
"Might be able to sneak another subprogram into their mainframe, then. JARVIS-"
"Hey." Bruce pushed up from the table. "You gave yourself the whole day off, right? Let's head down to the lab. There are a few other things I've been working on - unrelated to spiders."
It was a crude distraction tactic, but it worked; Tony immediately perked and stood to join him. "That's more like it."
Sunday nights, Aunt May had dinner with her garden club friends. It was a perfect opportunity. Peter suited up early and checked the costume for any nicks or scrapes that could be fixed or hidden for the big meeting. There was no point in combing his hair when it would be shoved inside a mask for the whole trip, but he tried anyway. He set out just before sunset and headed southwest, thinking he would take the Williamsburg Bridge across to Manhattan. As he leapt roof to roof, excited for and already overwhelmed by the encounter to come, he was distracted by a sound of sirens in the distance.
Peter perched on a ledge and, certain there was no one close enough to see anything, lifted his mask to get a better view of the skyline. Smoke rose from the south. "A fire?" Peter murmured. He tugged his mask back in place and debated. "I guess it's on the way. And I've been slacking on the hero stuff lately..." With a deep breath he set off toward it.
The fire was gradually consuming a three-story apartment building. Peter crept to the edge of the roof on the other side of the street, watching as the fire truck that had responded did its best to maneuver in the narrow, car-laden avenue. Thick, black smoke poured out of the windows, several of which were crammed with residents trying to get air while crying for escape. With people crowding the streets to watch and the firemen well on their way to extending their ladders, Peter considered leaving the rescue to the professionals. That was before the explosion.
From somewhere within the third floor there came a tremendous percussion, and the last of the windows shattered as fire and smoke burst out of the already crippled building. The crowd screamed and retreated beneath a hail of debris as the firemen shielded their heads. Peter bit his lip and didn't need more prodding to jump into the fray. He lassoed the building next door and all but flew across the street, swinging into position alongside a blown out third floor window.
Even the brick was hot. Peter took a deep breath, wishing he and Bruce had finished some kind of suit prototype that was a bit more heat resistant. "Reason number forty-three to have a science genius in your back pocket," he said to himself and then darted inside.
It had seemed like a fine idea at the time, the kind of thing any super-hero would do, rushing into a burning building. The reality hit him as hard as the smoke. Though the mask protected his mouth and nose from inhaling too much, the inside of the small apartment was a wash of orange and black against his eye slots. "Hello!" he called, but against the roar of the fire there was no point.
Five sweaty fingers grabbed Peter's shoulder, and he jumped. He turned and found a middle-aged woman clinging to him, shaking and coughing. Operating on instinct he pulled her to the window, but before he could devise a way to get her out, she yanked on him. "My husband-"
"I'll get him," Peter said close to her ear. "Just hang on tight!"
Peter shot his webbing into her stomach and guided her hands to it. She didn't seem to be in any kind of shape to fly out a window or even climb down with the help of the web rope, so he had no choice but to lower her by hand. The firefighters on the street below stared, uncomprehending, but lent their assistance once she was close enough for them to get their hands on her. As soon as she was safe, Peter turned back inside.
The woman's husband was lying face down on the floor. His left arm was blackened, with blood or burns Peter couldn't tell. Wrestling the dead weight to the window was more of a challenge but he lowered the man the same way.
"Is there anyone else?" Peter called. He tried to creep deeper into the apartment but the hallways were burning, and he could feel the rubber on his suit grow soft when he got too close. He felt around as best he could for more bodies, and when he found none, he pulled himself out through the window.
The walls were still blistering. Peter tugged his mask up over his mouth, hoping for a quick gulp of clean air, but the smoke was still pouring out too thickly, and he only ended up choking. Someone was shouting. Peter shook his head to try and clear it and turned, spotting hands reaching for him from the next window over.
"I'm coming!" The firemen had wrestled their ladder under control and were working on the second floor, so Peter continued along the third floor and ducked into another apartment.
Three young boys had been left alone. Peter wound them together, and as he lowered them to the street he saw a familiar face waiting to receive them. He stared. "Captain?"
Steve Rogers was among the firemen in his preppy shirt and slacks. He caught the three boys and freed them from the webbing. "Is that it?" he called.
Peter ducked back inside, but he couldn't reach the hall there, either. As he peered through the mounting wall of flames he thought he heard someone on the other side, but he couldn't be sure that it wasn't groaning and snapping wood. When a panel of ceiling drywall cracked inward he leap outside once more and had to pause, clinging to the sill, his head pounding. The smoke particles were beginning to fill in the fibrous spaces in his mask.
"There are more apartments on the courtyard side," Peter shouted down. "I'm going to check!"
Steve glanced up and down the street, but the buildings were all pressed close together, and there were no nearby streets or alleyways to pass through. "Be careful!"
Peter webbed the roof and vaulted over. The smoke was just as bad and even for the short time he ran across it the soles of his feet burned. As he came to the edge he stopped to take another moment, but there wasn't time - a man was preparing to jump from the third floor window.
"Hey - hey!" Peter aimed for the man's shoulders and got him with both webs. The weight snapping taut dragged Peter up against the ledge but he planted his feet and managed to keep steady until his charge was standing in the courtyard below.
"The kids!" the man shouted, waving frantically at the window he'd just leapt from. "Get the kids!"
Peter swung down to the window and was shocked to find a dozen eight year olds crowding and crying in the opening. Several of them had crumpled party hats hanging off their ears.
"You've got to be kidding me," said Peter.
The man below had his arms up, but Peter wasn't about to start flinging children at him. He climbed inside and did his best to calm the kids down, but they were screaming and coughing, and the fire was spreading fast. "Okay!" he shouted over them. "Three at a time!" He pried two off his legs and grabbed a third, winding them together with his web like he had on the other side of the building.
The first two batches went smoothly with the father waiting below to help catch and wrangle the boys. By the third Peter knew they were out of time. His was sweating through his suit, the ceiling was caving in in places, and the floor below them was creaking ominously. It was getting harder to see all the time. "Come on, guys," he said as he wound four together. "Hold onto each other - there you go. Don't look down."
Peter lowered them down, but when they were about halfway down something crashed behind him, and the two remaining boys latched onto his hips. He struggled not to let go of the boys as he glanced over his shoulder. Through the smoke he could just barely make out a hole where the kitchen appliances had been.
"Okay, out of time." Peter dropped the kids faster than he would have liked, and he heard a few shrieks, but a quick glance out the window showed they were safely away. He turned back to the last two. "Now let's just-"
The roof caved in. Peter only had a moment to react - he grabbed both boys to his chest and leapt for the window. He might have made it if not for the floor buckling beneath him. His foot went through and he pitched forward, smashing his jaw into window sill. His already throbbing head turned into a jackhammer but he forced himself up, ignoring the debris raining down on his shoulders and back. He jumped, one boy under his arm and another wrapped around his neck, but when he tried to fire the webbing on his free hand, nothing came out.
Peter grabbed - at the sill, at the flat brick walls - and was jerked to a halt when his fingers hooked over the second story window ledge. The impact twisted him around, smacked his shoulders into the wall, and in one heart-stopping, horrifying moment, he felt the boy slip out of his arm. His stomach dropped and he tried to snag the boy's shirt or arm, but he was disoriented and when the second boy yanked on his neck he couldn't risk losing both. Without taking a breath he pawed at the wall using his feet, turning just in time to see the lost boy land safely in Steve Rogers' outstretched arms.
Peter wasted no time in relief. He made sure the last child was secure against his chest and jumped, landing easily in the courtyard. As he finally released his burden the children crowded around, shocked and awed, their voices a chattering blur.
"Is that everyone?" Peter asked blearily.
The father took a head count and then clapped Peter's shoulder. "That's everyone. Thank you - thank you, you saved their lives."
"Yours, too," Peter reminded him, but he was light-headed and his sarcasm wouldn't be up to the task much longer. When Steve pressed a hand to his back he leaned into it gratefully.
"Good work," Steve said. Even his voice was masked by the roar of the fire still behind them. "We can take it from here, if you need to get lost."
"Okay." Peter blinked around, trying to get his bearings, but his mask was full of soot and his limbs suddenly felt twenty pounds too heavy. Everything was smearing around him. "Okay," he said, plopping himself down among the children. "I just need to...catch my breath..."
Before the children could crowd in too close, Steve crouched down next to him. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," Peter said, but the more he tried to get a full breath, the harder it was to take. He hunched with a chest-rattling cough. "I'm fine..."
He'd barely finished talking when Steve scooped him up in his arms. It was almost embarrassing how easily Steve hefted his weight, but Peter didn't have it in him to protest. "I know you don't want to talk to cops right now," Steve said as he carried Peter swiftly to the other side of the courtyard. "So I'll do you a favor just this once."
Peter relaxed. "My hero."
The world went dark. Peter wasn't sure if he passed out or if it was just losing the light from the fire, but he was only distantly aware of Steve's strong arms supporting him as they put the scene behind them. With the adrenaline thinning from his blood he became aware of just how dizzy he was, how thick his throat and lungs felt, and he wasn't ashamed to surrender entirely to Steve's care. He zoned out to the rhythm of Steve pulse beating against his ear.
It was peaceful - weightless, even. He thought inexplicably of Bruce.
Peter didn't regain his senses until they stopped moving, and a lumpy sofa appeared as if by magic under his weary back. He sank into the cushions with a long, pleased sigh, and before he could think better of it, he pulled his mask off. But when he tried to take in his first full breath of clean air, he was stopped again by a twist in his chest and he ended up hacking.
"Hey - take it easy." Steve sat down on the edge of the sofa and took Peter's shoulder, holding him steady until his fit had passed. "You inhaled a lot of smoke." He frowned. "I should probably take you to a hospital."
"I'm fine," Peter said quickly. He closed his eyes to keep the room from spinning and soon relaxed. "I can't go like this anyway."
"You could just take the suit off," Steve suggested.
Peter's lip quirked. "Not wearing anything under it."
He opened his eyes again, hoping to get a smile out of Steve, but the expression fixed on him was one of solemn concern. "What about the rest of you?" Steve asked. "Burns? Broken bones?"
Peter wiggled his fingers and toes. He was sore and overheated and embarrassed, but he'd had worse. "I'm okay," he said. He pulled off his gloves to check his hands and found a few scrapes but nothing that looked more serious than a first degree burn. "Nothing permanent, anyway."
Steve continued to stare at him, and after a moment he reached out. Peter stayed very still, his heart suddenly in his ears as Steve's broad fingers gently probed his jaw. "Looks like you're going to have a nasty bruise," he said, reminding Peter all over again about the tumble he'd taken on his way out of the building.
"I heal fast," Peter mumbled.
Steve wasn't satisfied. He pressed two fingers against Peter's jaw, carefully feeling out where he was tender. He urged Peter to tip his head back so he could rub the soot off his neck, where he had pulled the mask up for a brief and unsuccessful gulp of air. Peter kept still as Steve checked his hands and even a few spots where the suit had become especially singed. It was surreal. Peter's senses still felt muddled with smoke and ash, turning the room around them into a smear of light and shadows, but he was excessively aware of Steve and every move he made: of Steve's weight, sinking the cushions near Peter's waist; of Steve's hands, broad and warm, ash under his nails; of Steve's bright blue eyes flicking with calm, steady scrutiny over Peter's body. It reminded Peter of the second night they met, feeling the latent strength in even Steve's easy grip. There was something awing and almost humbling just being next to someone like that, let alone having his attention on him.
Peter was so absorbed that he didn't realize Steve had been talking the entire time until he patted him on the chest. "Still with me?" Steve asked.
Peter started. "Y-Yeah." Steve's hand felt like a bear paw on him, and his stomach fluttered. The sensation was fascinating and unnerving at once and he didn't know what to make of it. "Sorry. I'm kind of out of it."
Steve frowned again, and then that hand was on the side of his face, turning Peter to look at him. Peter's cheeks flushed nearly as hot as they'd been in the fire. "Are you dizzy?" Steve asked seriously. "Hit your head? I hope you don't have a concussion."
"No, I'm..." Peter did his best not to squirm, but when Steve pulled his hand back, the drag of his fingertips against Peter's cheek put full on butterflies in his insides. "Thanks, but I'm okay. Really."
"All right. I'm glad." Steve finally leaned back, but he left his hand perched on Peter's chest protectively. After a moment of contemplation, he smiled. "You did good tonight."
It was the smile that did it. Peter's toes curled and suddenly he realized - this was just how he had felt tumbling into Gwen's bedroom with lizard nails in his chest. His breath was buzzing in his lungs and his face was burning and he liked Steve's broad hands moving over him. He wanted calloused fingertips on his skin. He might have even wanted to curl up in a pair of strong arms again, and an understanding came over him, drawing into focus a hundred errant thoughts and half-formed impulses years in the making.
"Oh shit," Peter whispered.
Steve made a face, and Peter grimaced, trying to recover. "I just realized," he babbled. "I mean, I kind of knew before, but I..." might be gay? He flushed all over again. No, bi? What is going on with me? "...I was supposed to meet Bruce," he finished lamely. "He was going to introduce me to Tony Stark. Man, I don't think I can make it to Manhattan like this, though. I don't even have his number to tell him..."
"I do." Steve gave him a pat and then stood. "Just take it easy - I'll let them know."
Steve moved away, and in his absence everything became a bit clearer. Peter rubbed his face with both hands and groaned. "What's gotten into you?" he mumbled, sinking deeper into the sofa. He was half wishing he'd been swallowed up by the fire.
He thought back over the last several days - the late night visits, the teasing and touching and...flirting? Was that what it had been all this time? He remembered Bruce's hand against his back, firm and almost possessive, and his skin prickled with eager goose bumps. He tried to remember if Bruce had specified male or female in their talk of lost loves and couldn't. His stomach was dancing up into his ribs and he forced himself to keep his eyes open, studying Steve's modest apartment as if it could keep his mind off the inevitable conclusion he was smashing head-first into.
Calm down, Peter told himself. Just calm down. This doesn't necessarily mean...anything. Does it? He swallowed, and when he heard Steve's voice lift from the other end of the room, he strained to overhear.
Bruce glanced up at the sound of the phone. He had spent the last half hour telling himself it wasn't late yet - not enough for his visitor to be considered missing, anyway - but he couldn't help the little sparks of anxiety and eagerness in his stomach. After Tony's delightful display of confidence earlier, he had hoped that Peter would show early and impress.
Rather than answer the actual phone, Tony pressed something on the living room end table that flashed the incoming call up on the television. The number appeared along with an irritatingly cheery clip art of an American flag. "Rogers," Tony greeted. "You'd better get over here if you want to meet Bruce's amazing Spider-Man."
"That's just why I called," replied Steve. "I have him here with me. He wanted me to let you know he won't be able to make it there tonight."
Bruce frowned and almost didn't notice when Pepper took a seat next to him and offered a cup of tea. He managed a cursory smile but his attention was fully on the conversation. "Why not?" Tony was asking. "He get cold feet?"
"There was an apartment fire down near Greenpoint. We both happened to be in the neighborhood and lent a hand."
Bruce shifted forward to the edge of the sofa. "Are you both all right?"
"We're all right," said Steve, and as he continued Tony began pushing buttons on his table screen, calling up the local news. A muted video of smoke and fire pouring out the windows of a three story building appeared on the television. "But Spider-Man took a few rough hits and I don't think he's doing any more web-slinging tonight. He sends his regards."
Bruce set his tea aside untouched. He watched, fingers laced, as the news played footage from someone's camera phone: Spider-Man crawling from one window to the next. "Look at that," Tony said to Pepper. "Crawling right up a flat wall just like a spider. How does he do that?"
Bruce couldn't take his eyes off the spectacle. "Okay," he said. "Thanks, Steve. Tell him to take it easy, and when he's up to it, he knows where to find us."
"Ask him how he does that wall-crawling thing," added Tony.
"Good night," said Steve, and he hung up.
Bruce pressed his chin into his knuckles as he continued to watch the news coverage. With the phone conversation over the volume lifted, and he listened attentively as the reporters confirmed zero deaths and mostly minor injuries. It was when a dozen children were marched out of the courtyard that Bruce felt his stomach clench, and he swallowed hard.
"Okay." Tony shot Bruce a dry smirk. "I have to admit, saving kids from a burning birthday party? Not bad."
Bruce rubbed his eyes. He was proud of his new friend, and he wanted to say so, but his mind's eye was full of the image of Peter leaping into an inferno of red flame and churning smoke. He knew how easily things could have gone wrong. It burned in him an unwanted reminder that this was no uncommon occurrence. Peter was out there all the time, against knives and bullets and disasters of every variety. He was risking his life for strangers for no reason other than it was the right thing to do, and Bruce felt an inkling of shame that he couldn't do the same - that he was disappointed Peter wasn't coming even though it meant a dozen lives saved.
"Bruce?" Pepper touched his shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"Yes - sorry." Bruce took in a deep breath. "It's just...really something."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "You know," he said, "if he's going to be an Avenger, he's going to be mixed up in a lot worse."
"I know - I never said I wanted that for him." Bruce smoothed his hair back. "It would just be nice, maybe, to have a friend who wasn't in the line of fire. So to speak."
Tony and Pepper both gave him a look, but even he didn't know what he really meant. He picked his tea back up and took a long sip, hoping they would go back to conversing amongst themselves and spare him the embarrassment. Thankfully, Tony obliged, and was soon engaging JARVIS in speculating on how Spider-Man was able to stick to flat walls. Bruce thought he was safe, but as soon as he took the cup away from his mouth, Pepper leaned in again.
"I'm sure your friend is fine," she said with a gentle smile.
Bruce grimaced and hoped he wasn't blushing. "I know," he said, his eye wandering again to the news. Watching it made the hair stand up on the back of his neck. "Thanks."
Steve returned from his phone call with two aspirin and a glass of water, which Peter was all too happy to accept. He still felt as if his face was on fire, and having Steve retake his seat on the couch with him didn't help. It especially didn't help when he at least realized that he wasn't wearing his mask, and Steve was staring him full in the face. He gulped down the entire glass and his stomach squirmed. "So, we're good?" he asked, hoping to distract himself.
"They said you're welcome back whenever you're up to it," said Steve.
Peter sighed with relief. "Okay, good. Thanks."
He was contemplating the best way of getting the hell out of there when Steve's expression grew serious again. His bright blue eyes were inescapable. "What's your name, son?"
Peter gulped and immediately wished he hadn't drunk all the water. All things considered there was no reason to lie, or even to protest Steve's choice of address. "I told Bruce he could call me Peter," he said, his voice coming out weaker than he would have liked.
"How old are you, Peter?"
He clutched the glass resting on his stomach. "Seventeen, sir." The last part slipped out involuntarily.
Steve smiled grimly. "A little young to be doing this kind of work, don't you think?"
"No," Peter said without hesitation. "No, I don't think that."
Steve didn't reply right away, so Peter went on. "Look, I know I'm not that great at this yet, but I did save a lot of lives tonight, including kids, didn't I? And a whole lot more before you and your broad-shouldered super-hero friends showed up. So I think I'm plenty qualified to put on spandex and fight crime just as much as anyone else."
Steve chuckled as he held up a hand in surrender. "No, you're right. You're right." His smile tipped with genuine fondness. "You did great. To be honest, if I could I'd probably be suiting up with you every night."
Peter's heart gave a heavy thud. "Uh...so why don't you?" He pushed himself up on his elbows. "Because it's not like I'm territorial or anything; you could come. We could bust some heads together. If you wanted."
"Some of us are bound by due process and personal liberties," Steve said. "But I'll give you my phone number. If you ever need help with something a bit more humanitarian than busting heads, you know who to call."
"Yeah?" Peter sat up as he watched Steve leave to retrieve his phone. "You, uh, wouldn't be willing to give me Bruce's number, too, would you?"
"I don't think he has one." He tossed Peter his phone.
"Huh." Peter entered his phone number into Steve's contacts as simply "Peter" and sent himself a text. "I guess if he never leaves the tower he doesn't have much use for phones, either."
Steve frowned thoughtfully. "So you're still meeting with Dr. Banner, huh?"
Banner. A pulse of heat shot down Peter's spine but he managed to keep the effects out of his face; he finally had a full name. His name is Dr. Bruce Banner. "Well, yeah. He's been helping me work some things out."
"How much do you know about him?"
They were back to serious-Steve. Peter had the feeling Steve wasn't a great liar - if he ever did it - and his face showed easily that he was looking for a specific answer without wanting to ask for it. Peter had no idea what it could be. "Not much," he admitted. "He's friends with Tony Stark. He's a genius scientist. Not much of a social life." He's handsy when he's in a good mood. Peter pretended to drink from his glass even though it was empty. "He likes Skittles. That's about it. Why?"
Steve continued to stare a beat too long and then shook himself. "Nothing. He's a good guy. If you're getting along, I'm glad."
Peter could almost inhale the history, and it tasted a lot like don't break my friend's heart, but he was sure he was imagining it. Too much smoke in his brain. Before he could let the errant thoughts slip to his tongue he handed Steve his glass and his phone and pushed to his feet. "Well, I should go. I'm feeling better and I want to get home before my...before it gets late. Later." He tugged his gloves and mask back on.
"Are you sure you don't want a ride?" Steve asked.
"I'll be fine. I'll go slow." He started to offer a salute, but then Steve put his hand out, so he shook it instead. "Thanks for your help tonight."
"And you," Steve replied. "Take care."
Peter showed himself out onto the fire escape and immediately made for the roof. When he was sure only pigeons were around to see he tugged his mask up. He could still see the smoke from the fire billowing in the distance, and it helped him get his bearings. "So, Captain America lives in Brooklyn," he said to himself, taking note of the address. "I guess it figures." With his brain crammed full of a million questions he headed - slowly - for home.