Author's Note: Abide by the mature teens-and-up-rating. Some violence and language ahead.

"A hero is someone who, in spite of weakness, doubt or not always knowing the answers, goes ahead and overcomes anyway."

- Christopher Reeve

Chapter 6: Here to Fight a Mighty Foe

1 Missed Call

1 Voicemail

1,264 New Messages

Peter stared at his phone's screen in annoyance and mild horror. Scrolling though, he saw that, sure enough, every text message but one was sent from Your Beloved Little Virus Huh. "It's only been a few hours… that is more than a message per minute. Why? Oh God, my phone bill…"

Shaking his head, Peter ignored the 1,263 obnoxious texts and focused on the one from his aunt. He opened it was a mixture of guilt and determination, and then felt suitably foolish when he realized the message was blank. Confused, he checked his missed calls and saw his aunt had also tried to call him and had left a voicemail only an hour ago. With a tap he played the recording.

"Was that the beep? Lord, my hearing is not what it used to be. Peter? This is your aunt speaking. Your very worried aunt. I know you've probably gone off to that young man-from-last-night's house, to the Avenging Tower or whatnot, but some more warning about where you are going than a kiss on the cheek and a maundered goodbye would have been nice. I tried to send one of those texts just now, but I think I pressed a wrong button because the envelope picture popped up before I typed anything. I expect an eta soon mister. That means estimated time of arrival for when you'll be home. Be safe. And bring home some milk. I love y- Beep."

Peter winced, the feeling of guilt bubbling up in his chest and washing away any remaining excitement or pride left from his time with the Avengers. The innocently cut-off "I love you" hit especially hard. I am scum. I am a horrible nephew. I don't deserve cookies. I hurt the most wonderful woman in the world with my inattentiveness and stupidity. Again. I have to go buy her milk and grovel for forgiveness. Don't. Forget. The milk.

Head bowed and shoulders slumped, Peter trudged towards the nearest 24-hour drug store to pick up his penance after sending a quick text that he'd be home in twenty minutes, rehearsing possible apology candidates in his head. They all seemed to fall flat.

Once he found a suitable small pharmacy Peter stepped into the cool store and walked under flickering yellow lights to the back aisle. He listlessly picked out a pint of one-percent from the refrigerated section before heading to the front of the store and setting the jug on the counter. Before he could reach for his wallet and search for change to pay with, Peter glanced at the attending cashier and finally noticed something wrong. The guy was a youth, no older than Peter and maybe even a bit younger, and looked scared. He stared at Peter with wide, hyper focused eyes and was motioning his head to the side towards the door in spastic twitches, his hands shaking from where they were pressed palms-down on the counter. Peter felt confident he got the message when a cold metal object was pushed roughly against the back of his neck.

"Pu' your hans up and turn 'round slowly. I dun wan no funny bus'ness her', got me?" A voice growled out behind him. Peter cocked an eyebrow at the cashier, whose nametag dubbed him Linus, before pulling his face to match the kid's frightened features and complying with the demands.

Well hello lucky number three, nice to see you today. Is it the new brand of deodorant I tried today that is attracting all the people who want to point guns at me? The company that manufactures Axe is going to be getting a strongly worded letter from me. Spidey senses, what are you doing sleeping on the job? Just because we took a little break doesn't mean- oh. Peter observed the robber as they swung their weapon around and whispered harshly for the rest of the cash and the key for the safe in the back. Listening closely, Peter focused on the gun and let his face slacken slightly when his suspicions were confirmed. An empty barrel. Who robs a store with an unloaded gun? Criminals sure are getting cocky these days; or maybe bullets are harder to come by. Well, at least there's nothing to worry abo-

"Wha'd you say, bruh? You think I'd come in here wit' a fake piece?" the robber, who he just now noticed was a young woman also probably around his own age, hissed. She swung the muzzle from Linus the cashier, who was walking towards the back with his hands raised, a key swinging from the right, to point at Peter. She stepped towards him slowly until she was only a few feet away. Did I say that last part out loud? Shit. So much for this scene ending quietly.

"No, I just meant that- uh, it looks very real and scary and-"

With a gasp, Linus made a break for the front doors, the set of keys dropping with a clatter to the ground. The woman twirled around swiftly and raised her gun threateningly, before dropping it with a grunt and pulling out a knife. Peter's head let out a warning wave, screaming that now there was something to worry about. When the robber dashed after Linus, Peter didn't think twice before grabbing the arm holding the knife, hulling her back towards him, and using his other hand to search for the pressure point located under the chin that he'd read about. He didn't want to hurt her or reveal himself, so television parlor tricks it was. A dozen seconds later he lowered her unconscious body to the dingy ground and kicked the knife away, relieved it had worked.

"Dude…" Peter glanced over at the cashier, who had frozen with his hand on the bar to push open the front door, and then down at the woman.

"Yeah, would you mind not telling anyone about thi-"

"That was AWESOME! You totally just Vulcan nerve pinched that crazy chick. Man, I wish I'd gotten this on video; it would so go viral on YouTube!"

Peter frowned and turned his eyes to the security camera pointed at the shop's interior, but saw the red light was off, so hopefully nothing had been recorded. He'd have to double check later.

"I mean seriously, so cool…"

"Ok, thanks," Peter mumbled, feeling bare without his mask in such a situation. "If I could pay for my purchase now I've got to get going."

"Pay? Naw man, it's on the house. You, like, saved my life! Hey, can I get a photo?"

"Thanks," he reiterated, picking up the jug and speedily sliding past the boy before he could get his phone out, trusting that he could call the police on his own. Peter jogged for a while to get far away from the site of the robbery before slowing to a walk and reorienting himself. He took this time to think; he'd just saved someone, on purpose, for the first time in months. No one had died, or gotten needlessly injured, and he'd taken care of the situation quickly and neatly. Well, it could have gone better if he'd had his mask, but still.

"All right," Peter said to himself as he made his way down the sidewalk, milk in hand, "maybe I can do this. But no Spider-Man just yet; baby steps. Like getting a well-paying job, for instance."

When he arrived home Peter was met with every light in the house off except a lamp in the living room, which illuminated his aunt knitting in her armchair. She didn't look up from her work, not even after Peter closed the door and stood in front of her, gripping the strap of his father's case tightly to keep from wringing his hands.

"Eleven minutes and fourteen seconds," Aunt May stated lightly. "You're eleven minutes and fourteen second late according to your eta."

Peter gulped. "I'm sorry."

"You are sorry? Whatever for dear?"

Women can be terrifying. But I love this one, so I must make a noble effort, for my own sanity. "I'm sorry for coming home later than I said I would, and for not telling you where I was going in the first place, and for making you worry, and for all the other times I made you worry, and for getting one-percent instead of skim, and for-"

"Alright Peter, its ok; that's enough," his aunt chuckled, breaking the tension. Peter smiled, glad his rambling had granted a respite in his aunt's ire and made her laugh. She had the most beautiful, joyful laugh he'd ever heard.

"Now tell me all about what kept you out so late." Aunt May patted the seat next to her, beaconing Peter to sit with her.

"But Auntie M, it's pretty late; don't you have work tomorrow?"

His aunt waved her hand in the air. "I'm taking the graveyard shift at the hospital, so I'm not going to bed for a few hours yet, otherwise I'll be tired as a dog on the job. I'm covering for Janice; she's going on maternity leave. I told you about Janice, right? Lovely girl; so racy and full of life. A child will suit her."

"Yep," Peter replied, not recalling a thing about his aunt's coworker. Then he frowned. "Are you sure you should be working so late? The subway is a good walk from your work and I don't think you should be out when it is still dark for so long. I can wake up early and come walk with you."

"Oh hush now Peter, I'll be fine. Go on and tell me all about today. Humor an old woman."

So Peter spent the next half hour retelling the events of his short day, refusing to go into further detail about Steve's manners or how his behind looked in his pajamas despite his aunt's insistence. He avoided any mentions of weapons or assassins and skipped over the episode at the convenience store entirely. His aunt didn't interrupt again until he mentioned the job offer, which he mumbled through quickly in hopes she'd miss it in light of picturing other interesting images (nope, never mind, block that thought, bury it the back with other wretches of its kind).

"What did you say? An employment opportunity? Is it safe? Do you want to work there? What are the benefits?"

"Aunt May! I told Tony I'd think about it. I don't want to rush into anything."

Aunt May raised her eyebrows. "On the contrary, I think rushing into something will do you some good. You've been so cautious since… some months ago, and you're a growing teenage boy; you need more excitement in your life, more risks. Now, this isn't my permission to go jump into dangerous situations or try drugs, but I think you should treat this like one of your projects; test out the waters for a week or two, then keep with it if you find the experience beneficial."

Peter nodded slowly. "I was thinking of taking the job anyways. I could use the extra cash, and the scholarship it comes with isn't anything to ignore. Yeah, I believe I'm ready for this."

His aunt leaned forward. "Excellent. Now, off to bed with you."

"What?" Peter looked up, surprised. "But tomorrow's Sunday!"

"Yes, and it is almost two o'clock. You have a big day ahead of you full of big decisions. Off to bed!"

"Alright. Love you"

"You too, sweetie."

~ The Next Day ~

"I accept the job."

"Well, of course you do-"

"But I have a few conditions."

Tony stared dully at Peter. "We all have conditions. Lay 'em on me, but just remember you're agreeing to work for me, not selling your soul. That's S.H.I.E.L.D.'s business."

The two were seated in the breakfast nook, which was located on the ninety-second floor. The unhappy man in the stiff suit who had been waiting for Peter in the front lobby when he arrived a few minutes before seven had told Peter that the top ten floors where exclusively for the Avengers' use, and that if he accepted the receptionist position he would have access to those floors as he'd be handling a lot of the heroes' private matters as well. It was at that point Peter realized that the job was less about manning the front desk and more about being a personal secretary for the Avengers. It was a slightly unnerving thought.

But by then, the man had finished escorting Peter to his "interview" with Tony and directed Peter out of the elevator and down a long hall. Before leaving the at a glass door, he'd introduced himself as Agent Coulson and thanked Peter for his service and for relieving him. While finding the thanks rather odd, Peter accepted it and entered into a spacious nook. He could see the large kitchen it was attached to through a set of swinging double doors. Tony, the only occupant, was sitting at one of the booths, focused on a hologram schematic projected in front of him. He tapped the table twice to switch it off when he noticed the teen approaching, but Peter got down to business before he could offer a greeting, leading to their present conversation.

"Actually," Tony amended, "maybe we should order breakfast first, before we get into tedious details."

Peter observed the pointed look his possible new boss was giving him with growing excitement. "You mean…"

"Yea."

With a grin, Peter bent his head towards the ceiling and asked, "Jarvis, could I please have a coffee, decaf, and a plate of bacon?"

"Right away, sir," was the response he got. The sound of a coffee machine and what could have been a griddle starting over in the kitchen widened Peter's grin.

"So cool."

"A coffee for me too, J; black. Everything on the Avengers' floors is automated and controlled by Jarvis on a private, secure server," Tony shamelessly bragged. Peter soaked the information up. "Well, almost everything; none of the others can see the positives of a smart toilet. I can understand Steve and Thor's aversion since most of the technological world confuses them, though they've been getting a lot better lately, but I'm pretty sure the others are secretly Neo-Luddites."

"That… whatever. Anyway, my first term is that I want a week trial period starting Monday, at the end of which I will decide whether or not I want to stay on the post or not."

"Done."

"This is a nonnegotiable- oh. That was easy."

Tony shrugged. "Setting up a trial-run is a good idea; I would have probably suggested it sooner or later myself anyways. Besides, just because I like you doesn't mean you're properly equipped for the job. You were mainly a convenient fill-in at the time, and the job is only temporary anyway."

"Thanks."

"A week will be plenty of time to test if you're ready to take on this position- that being, if you survive the week you are ready. And the others will need time to warm up to you as well; luckily none of them seem to have any immediate aversion to you. So what do you say; wanna take the challenge?"

Peter considered his proposition. Well, I've already decided haven't I? "Sure. I still have a few conditions I want to pan out, but overall I'm content with accepting the position."

Tony smirked. "Such a tranquil reaction. I know how to change that."

With that, a thin, tall white robot came wheeling out of the kitchen towards the pair, carrying two cups in one hand and a plate stacked high with crispy bacon in the other. The robot wheezed enthusiastically, set the food on their table, drove in a few circles, and then headed back through the swinging doors.

"Wow," Peter said, slack-jawed. "That was… adorable."

"Mmhmm," Tony agreed. "His name is L. U. Sir; he's Dum-E's less well-known little brother. All of my earlier bots ended up with an endearing quality about them when I was finished. They act like little children around strangers; it's so… adorable. I never did find a way to fix that annoying bug."

Peter smiled in response. The two spent the next hour drawing up a draft contract and then another adding and deleting addendums and working out a schedule around Peter's school hours until they were both satisfied. There was just one final particular they were in disagreement over.

"Really?" Tony asked. "Really? I offer you the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to get a full-ride to any university in the world and you want to go to Empire State? That's like having your pick of any gourmet chocolate and you chose a run-of-the-mill Hersey's. It's good, but nothing special."

With a shrug, Peter responded, "I want to stay local. I've got my aunt here, and I haven't really ever been anywhere else. Their programs aren't half bad and if I stay in New York I can internship at one of the many companies I could work for here."

"But there are so many better options!"

"I think Peter's choice is fine."

"Indeed. His argument sounds just."

"No, no, no! He should go for-" Tony stopped. He and Peter looked up from where they had been bent over a stack of legal documents brought in by L. U. "When the hell did you guys get here?"

Steve shrugged from his seat next to Tony. "I didn't realize you were unaware of our presence. We've been in here for the last ten minutes."

"Yeah," Clint grinned, startling Peter, who hadn't noticed anyone sitting down beside him and was disturbed by the oversight. "It was so lonely in our usual breakfast floor without our resident cash cow, so we had Jarvis lead us to you and it turns out we got Peter too!"

"Speaking of which, you owe me twenty dollars Clint." Bruce said. Peter cocked his head and saw the older scientist seated in the booth next to them, back-to-back with Tony and facing away from the group, examining a menu. Wait, a menu? This is their home, right…?

Tony put on a face of widely offended outrage. "You bet on me? What- about what? How could you?!"

"Oh, it was nothing. Really," Clint assured him, covertly sliding a twenty over the divider behind Tony. Bruce took it without looking up.

"It was a simple wager between friends, Man of Iron; nothing unsanctioned occurred," a voice behind Peter claimed, causing his heart to jump in his chest. Spinning around in his seat, Peter saw Thor kneeling backwards on his booth's bench to lean over him and Clint so he could involve himself in their conversation.

"Bells," Peter stated. The others turned to him in confusion. "You are all going to be outfitted with bell necklaces for the foreseeable future so none of you can sneak up on me anymore."

Steve frowned. "We weren't trying to startle you."

"I was," Clint smirked.

Peter mirrored his smirk. "You get sparkling Christmas ornament bells. 'Tis the season to not piss off your new babysitter, Clinty-poo."

"Only the best for me, huh Petey-poo? No, I change my mind about that; I never said anything ending in poo. And I don't like you enough to wear bells. I don't like anyone enough for that, except maybe Nat." Clint sat up straight from his slummed position and took on a more formal posture. "So, you working here now? Mazel tov, chump."

Peter ignored the rhetorical question and focused on the first part of Clint's spiel. "Why are you guys like this? Seriously? Aren't you supposed to be professional heroes and ex-killers for hire?"

Bruce shrugged. "I, for one, used to be a semi-functional introvert with multiple personality disorder. Then I spent months on a team and sharing a living space with these guys. My life took a downward spiral after that into what you see today. We all went a little crazy/ier. It gets better during missions. Pass the salt."

Tony cut in. "Out. You guys need to stop butting in on our work so we get these papers signed. What did you think we were doing here?"

"Muttering like lunatics to the voices in your heads?" Clint offered.

"Don't compare us to that mental patient assassin! Scram!"

"That reminds me, where is Natasha?" Peter asked.

"She left earlier today on a mission. But don't worry, she should be back within a few days, so you can catch her up on anything you think is important," Steve answered.

"Oh, yeah…" I'll get Clint to do it.

Clint snorted. "Oh, come on, she isn't that bad. I was exaggerating yesterday. Caught on a high due to the aroma of chocolate and nuts! She's actually my favorite."

Wait, how did he know what I was thinking?

"Peter, you do know you're talking out loud, right…?"

"… Well…"

"Bing." Peter jumped at his phone, eager for a reason not to answer Steve.

Hiiiiii! Are you going to respond this time? Pleaseeeee respond! ... Have you considered responding yet? I reeeeally want you too. -Your Beloved Little Virus Huh

Three more "Bing"s immediately followed. Peter shook his head, unimpressed, and closed the phone. He had tried blocking the number last night, but Huh managed to keep reprogramming its contact back in with the same title. It had driven him crazy, but now he accepted the fact that he was going to have to get used to the idea of functioning without a phone. Or maybe now he could ask Tony for a protected, work-related cell…

"Is that your girlfriend texting you?" Steve asked with a knowing look on his face. "She sounds, as I understand it's said, 'into' you going by all of that requested interaction." Peter froze.

"A girlfriend is it?" Clint said drily. "At your age? How scandalous. You're, like, twelve, right?"

"He has a picture of her on his bedside," Steve added, having fun. Then he saw Peter's face. "Are you alright. No, you aren't; what's wrong?"

Peter flinched. His poker face had flattered spectacularly and Steve was no fool. Time to gracefully recover- with a lie. He couldn't talk about this; not now, maybe not ever.

"Well, we're not- she isn't- I- we aren't… together. Anymore." Wow tongue. Just whoa. You suck so much.

"Ah, a separation, then?" With that Steve didn't bring up the topic again and Clint wisely let it go as well.

Peter cleared his throat, attracting Tony's attention, who had immersed himself in a conversation with Bruce.

"If we are done with the contract, I am ready to start working."

~ At Abandoned Wyndclyffe Mansion, Dutchess County, New York ~

"So let's start from the beginning, shall we?" A cloaked man draped in velvet robes sat at the base of an expansive computer terminal that crawled up and beyond the wall the desk it occupied was set up against, causing wires and metal to clash with dusty peeling crowned wallpaper in a web-like pattern. He faced away from the spectacle to stare at two thieves standing before him on the rugged red carpeting. One was hunched over, peering around the decaying room with widened eyes, while the other stood tall with his chin jutting out to push the cigarette on his lips up, unnoticing of or unconcerned with his companion's nerves.

"I sent you out on a run, a simple retrieval mission for, I believe I stressed this rather clearly, an object of great importance towards our goal. Am I right so far?" The seated figure asked, voice young and pleasant.

The cocker man grunted around his reefer, squinting slightly at the smoke drifting into his eyes. "Sure, but what happened was-"

"And then," he continued, "you two go to the bank where it, a small, unobtrusive black stick, was hidden, decide you need to take the whole place hostage in a full scale robbery, get the drive and then … what? Get caught. And I, the ever forgiving employer, bust my well-paid professionals out of jail- and did I get a thank you?- to hear that neither of you have it, the police don't have it, but a… I'm sorry, who was it that beat up my professionals and stole their one objective?"

"A kid," the main thief growled back while the second began to subtly tremble, eyes darting over the ceiling. "It was a kid that pulled us into an alley after our very successful robbery. But he weren't just no kid, I'll tell ya. He was trained, n' he weren't half bad. You were the one who told us nobody knew what we was doing, n' then some punk finds us not a minute after the fact and takes the prize? It don't add up to a coincidence."

"Who. Was. He?"

"Look Matty, I don't know who-"

"Don't call me by that name!" The man jumped from his seat before quickly sitting back down and rearranging the cowl over his head. "I have a title now; use it."

"Jeff?" the shivering thief muttered with his face still tilted upwards, but his partner ignored him.

"Yeah, alright," he grudgingly acquiesced. "Look Keylogger, I can't say for sure who he was since I never got a good look at 'im, but I'd say he was a Stark employee or somethin'. He took the drive didn't he? A usual thug goes for the wallet, watch, n' jewelry n' whatnot, so he musta knew that it was valuable. That help?"

"Jeff!"

"Oh, of course," the self-titled Keylogger murmured, turning his chair around and putting his back towards the two thieves. "Very helpful; it wasn't like I was targeting them already. Wait; I was. That was the whole point! But, I digress. Excellent work."

Snorting, the thief crossed his arms and smirked. "You sure have grown into a smart ass, haven' you? You wanna do a better job? Naw? Then send us again with better information n' we'll get it this time right from under those blind heroes' noses."

"Jeff!"

"What Ruddy?" The man finally turned to his now obviously shaking cohort. He was surprised to see the ordinarily stoic man's panicked expression, and his body finally began to stiffen, worry making itself known on his brow. When Ruddy's eyes slowly began to drift back upwards, Jeff followed suit.

"No, I don't think that'll be necessary," the man typing away on the board set in front of him replied, basking in the growing fear he could feel radiating behind him. "You see, I need more time to plan; don't want to go in guns ablazing and have the next batch mess it all up again, do I? And I've got all the time in the world for this. My handy little security protocol should take care of anyone who tries to hack into my work. So much time…"

"… Next batch?" Jeff asked quietly.

"Ah, yes. Didn't I mention you're both fired? Because you are." Keylogger waited expectantly for a heartbeat before frowning and whacking one of the closer of the several monitor installed on the wall. "Didn't you hear me? I said fire."

Ruddy and Jeff had already spun on their feet and were racing for the doorway leading to the main hall, so the spray of bullets from the automatics bolted to the ceiling mowed them down from behind. Two bodies fell face-first on the carpet, dyeing the area around them a fresher, darker hue.

"You do need an upgrade, don't you lovely?" the mastermind mused to himself, running a hand over the exposed skeleton of his life's work, his soon-to-be living computer. "We'll take some time to regroup before finding the bad man who stole you from me. More manpower, more skill this time. I'll make you all pretty, a nice body in this dump, and then we'll go get your brain, alright? A conscious of your own; you'd like that wouldn't you? Yes you would…"

~ Outside of Avenger's Tower ~

Peter sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes before glancing at his phone as he stepped out of the sliding doors of his new workplace. 8:00 PM. He'd worked hours past his originally set schedule, but the sense of accomplishment and pride he walked with made up for it tenfold. His first day was hectic, but profitable and busy and satisfying and stressful and-

The ringing in his ears had Peter tensing on the sidewalk, but before he could react a needle sunk into his neck and a bag was placed over his head. Peter inwardly cursed his inability to have a good day since Captain America came hurdling into his life as darkness took over.

~ X Hours Later ~

Body limp in a cold metal chair, Peter counted down the final seconds he estimated were needed before a man of his size would normally wake up from a low-dosage tranquilizer before twitching his body and letting out a low, confused groan. The surprisingly clean bag was yanked from his head and Peter had to squint against the expected light shining brightly in his face.

He'd woken up over an hour ago when his kidnappers were still transporting his body, but after acting like a civilian for so long he was reluctant to possible out himself by escaping when he didn't even know the party that was abducting him. It was a calculated risk he was praying wouldn't spectacularly backfire on him.

"Mr. Parker? I have some questions I'd like to ask you about your new employer, Mr. Stark. We'd appreciate your cooperation."

"Who?" Peter asked, slightly frustrated that he still couldn't focus on the blurry figure sitting opposite him across a table due to the light and feeling a headache coming on. He was fully prepared to take out his frustration on this asshat of a kidnapper. "Mr. Staaa… Nope don't know him. And Mr. Parker- that me? Can't think well- brain fuzzy- light… so… annoying. Set to death ray level." Peter made a few choking noises before resuming his squinting at the silhouette.

"Mr. Parker," the voice began again, just as calm and undisturbed as before, which disappointed Peter, "I understand that you've only just started working at Stark Industries as a-" for a second the voice broke off and the shuffle of papers took its place "-primary desk operator, and you don't know very much now, but I believe your services could come in handy in the near future. And if you aren't willing to help, well then we might have to h-"

"How much are you willing to offer?" Peter asked bluntly.

Another pause ensued. "What?"

"I prefer either singles or hundreds, all unmarked bills, of course."

The blurred figure leaned back and Peter could picture the unknown man crossing his arms. "So you'd be agreeable to working out a deal then? In that case-"

"A deal? Not so much," Peter shrugged. "I just want to know if you'll give me money." No response was forthcoming, so he elaborated. "I see no other upside to this course since you keep asking me about people I don't know and jobs I don't have, so I thought I'd turn the conversation in a more positive direction."

"So you claim to not know who Tony Stark is? That seems weak to me. And you just came from this 'job you don't have', yes?"

"Mr. Stark? Don't know him. I have an acquaintance named Tony, but I'm sure they're entirely different people. My job is as a secretary trainee, not whatever you were going on about. Can I have a phone call? Or pie? Or both?"

"I'm not the police, so no phone call," was his captor's immediate answer.

"No, but you are the head of a government organization, right Mr. Fury?" Peter grinned, a little too proud of himself. He had finally been able to make out a dark patch on the left side of his captor's face and made the connection between the article he had read from Huh about S.H.I.E.L.D. and its illustrious leader, Nick Fury. Plus he had heard Natasha and Clint talking about him the night before during the movie and Tony had mentioned the organization earlier that day (if it still is Sunday, that is), so the man was still fresh in his mind.

A click brought about the death of the ungodly light to a less blinding setting and Peter finally got a good look at Fury. Wow, the, like, two pictures of him on the web don't do him justice. He looks way gruffer and… older in person.

Fury leaned back in his seat and studied Peter. Peter refused to look back and instead assumed the best napping position he could handcuffed to a hard chair, still ticked off. "Did Mr. Stark warn you about this?"

"No, why? Ahhh! Is that jerk I totally don't know in on this? Revenge will be swift and effectively ineffective…"

"He shouldn't even know about this, but my men aren't always the best at keeping him out of our digital pockets, so I'm never sure of the extent of his knowledge," Fury mused.

Peter finally tired of his own games. "And just what is this, precisely, oh great GM?"

"This," the man (Peter decided he would mentally be christened 'Eye Patch' for kidnapping him, now and for all eternity), "was a test to see whether or not you can handle the stress and responsibility that comes with your new post. You'll be exposed to a lot of delicate information during your time at Stark Industries, most of which could endanger more than just Mr. Stark if it fell into unsavory hands, and we needed to know if a basic simulated abduction and threats could break you. You will be receiving more training on the job."

"Oh joy. In that case I quit." First day and I get kidnapped as a training exercise? Heck no. Well, it was kind of fun… but I don't want to give this guy the satisfaction of accepting. Although, I would get more opportunities to mess with him if I stay…

"No, you don't have to. The way you handled the situation was satisfactory; even more so than Agent Katie's first run," Fury assured him. Peter didn't appreciate the condescension.

"Katie is an agent?"

Eye Patch shrugged. "Not officially yet, but we're working on her. She'll eventually agree to join S.H.I.E.L.D. As will you."

"Lord, what is wrong with you people? No, you can't have my soul!"

End Author's Note: If you are confused about the robot's name, say "L. U. Sir" three times fast. Tony is a jerk. And in the next chapter the plot will become more serious, so please bear with me through the thick layer of fluff and rising action.

Also, if you do design to leave a review, which I greatly appreciate, please login beforehand if you have an account. I can't respond to anonymous reviews and I don't want to block them or call anyone out in the author's notes in order to reply, but I've gotten a few anons I'd like to banter back at and I … can't. Just a note for the future.