Pepper hasn't been this angry at Tony in a long time. It's one thing to disappear in the middle of a board meeting. She's used to that. He does it almost every time.

It's a completely different thing to go off the grid and not answer any calls or texts. Not even F.R.I.D.A.Y. would tell her where he was, so as soon as that dot lights up in Brooklyn, she gets a car.

The color of the building on the map (Ironman red, of course) tells her Tony owns the building independent of Stark Industries. When she pulls up, she can see the helicopter on the roof from the ground. The front door is locked.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.," she snaps, "I know he's in there. Let me in." She imagines she looks insane to anyone passing by, talking to a building. Of course, this building talks back.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. doesn't answer at first. Pepper knows she's asking Tony for permission, and she lets out an annoyed huff. After a few seconds, however, the front door swings open to a barren lobby, and by the time she crosses the room, the elevator dings open.


"Tony. Stark."

Tony hasn't heard her voice this angry in a while. He knows exactly why, but it doesn't change the terror that crushes his heart in a well-manicured fist. He schools his expression into that careful disinterest he's cultivate over the years. He spins to face his worst nightmare.

"Pepper!" he greets. The words start to pour out of him like an overflowing sink. "Welcome to the party. Glad you could make it. We've been setting up. It was supposed to be a surprise, you know, but—"

"Cut the bullshit, Stark," Pepper snaps, her red bottomed pumps smacking against the tiles much harder than they usually do. "You went offline. We had a deal."

"The thing is, Pep," he answers through a wince.

"Where's the kid? I know he's here too," Pepper continues. "You checked in Spinneret." When she stands in front of him, she stares him down until his insides light on fire.

Tony feels his face fall, and he scrubs a hand over his face. "That's kind of the thing, Pepper." This time, she lets him speak, albeit with venom in her stare. "It's about Spinneret."

"What about it?"

"It's been compromised."

"How so?"

"I'll show you."


The thing is, Pepper doesn't know Peter all that well. They've met a few times in passing, and he's shaken her hand too fast and too hard and he's spit out a ridiculous number of words that puts to shame even Tony at his chattiest. But she knows Tony. And she knows that Tony is very attached to the kid that is currently looking too small and too pale on a hospital bed in a sterile room. She knows behind that rich asshole face he's giving her—one she hasn't seen in full force in a long time—is genuine, crippling fear.

"You could have just told me," she whispers, her eyes never leaving Peter—young, sweet, enthusiastic, lively Peter. Tony doesn't really respond, just gives her a slow, pleading look. "Is there anything you need me to do?" she offers.

"Just—" Tony's voice breaks. "Just, if anyone asks, lie."

"Of course," Pepper says.