Thanks so much for your patience, my dears! I have completed all my exams now, and I'll hopefully be getting the results in another few weeks. Enjoy the chapter!

Pepper Potts stumbled away from the window, slightly white.

Well.

That certainly explained Peter's injuries.

It was almost unbelievable to think that Tony's own favourite employee/intern/whatever he was was none other than Spider-Man…

But of course it made perfect sense. Naturally, two superheroes would collect together. In fact, she had to deal with a tower full of hyperactive, destructive men and one woman who didn't seem to trust anybody.

Although the Avengers weren't even the subject of what she was thinking.

Honestly, now that her mind was not reeling with the horrific idea that an eighteen-year-old boy was dressing in Spandex to get shot at, the first though that dropped into her head was I hope to God his girlfriend knew before.

In fact, it was ridiculous to think that she did not. Pepper chided herself for the stupid thinking; a girl as responsible and clever as Gwen Stacy would have recognized that the boy was Spider-Man without much difficulty or mental strain in the slightest.

Pepper allowed a small smile. Well, perhaps a little strain in contemplating the stupidity of someone dressing up in Spandex…

But a teenager dressing up and- Pepper was struck by the sudden, horrifying realization that Peter's injuries had been inflicted by Tony and Steve. Putting two and two together was hard sometimes. Not intellectually, and not particularly difficult, but it was easier not knowing the actual answer if it was painful.

Tony couldn't find out.

He couldn't.

The effect it would have on him would be dreadful. He had felt horribly guilty afterwards, and had gone out and gotten drunk multiple times. He hadn't admitted it to it, of course, but Pepper could recognize the scent of alcohol anyway, even without J.A.R.V.I.S. documenting Tony's movements to her.

Pepper dragged her fingernail the wood of her desk, ignoring the lacquer peeling off in a trail. The desk had tiny indents crisscrossing over it; whenever she was feeling anxious she did it almost automatically. There was no point to replacing the lacquer, it was just more money wasted, and it would all be scraped off relatively quickly.

She planted herself in her seat and sighed. There was also the issue of Peter being a child. He was eighteen years old (and pretended to be nineteen frequently, she understood, for no other reason that adolescent pride), and he was dragging himself out into the terrifying world of criminals and villains.

He was too young for all that, far too young.

Especially to be doing it alone.

She barely registered picking up the phone and pressing in a number, but when she looked at the phone before she hit dial, the S.H.I.E.L.D. number Phil (or Natasha?) have given her was shining in blue.

Pepper's thumb hovered over the key. She briefly wondered why on earth she hadn't just asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to call for her, but that hardly mattered.

Was it the right thing to do? Telling S.H.I.E.L.D. the identity of Spider-Man, that is. She knew they were trying to recruit him, and she knew, from evidence, that they were willing to get violent in the face of refusal.

There was a nasty taste in her mouth. If Phil was still alive, then there would be absolutely no way that he would not already know who Spider-Man was, and this whole issue would have been averted.

Better S.H.I.E.L.D. know, and know how to protect, she thought, and pressed the button.

It was immediately picked up.

"Who is this?" a voice asked, none too politely. She couldn't tell if it was male or female.

"Virginia Potts," she replied promptly. "I need to speak with Agent Romanoff."

To say that the ride to the helicarrier was unpleasant was correct… or at least it was expected to be. Tony expected the two teens to stumble away from him, glued together and green in the face, but they dealt with it remarkably well. Peter didn't seem fazed in the slightest, like he flew every day. Gwen just looked very pink in the cheeks and her hair was messier than before.

By all means, they both should have been gasping for breath because of the altitude, but Peter seemed fine and Gwen just seemed a little short of breath.

They did stumble away though, but only because Peter had a God-knows-what ankle ("Honestly, it doesn't even hurt,") and Gwen had lost feeling in her legs.

An agent ran up to accost the pair, but Tony waved him away with a 'this is outta your league'.

The agent looked at him reproachfully and stalked away, muttering, "I'm getting Director Fury," over his shoulder.

"Great!" Tony exclaimed. "Get Hill and the others too. This is something about Spider-Man!"

"Oh, you better hope it is," the agent said quietly. "The Director is not in a good mood, and the last thing he needs is an arrogant, self-absorbed..." she stopped herself, and then she sped away before he could argue.

Peter rolled his ankle around thoughtfully (with a few cracking sounds), and repositioned his grip on Gwen's hand.

"Fury? Do we really have to meet him?"

"Yes," a red-haired woman said plainly as she walked over and thrust a mound of paperwork into Tony Stark's armour-clad arms. Gwen Stacy stared with a confused look, like she was trying to place the woman's face. "Stark, you still have to file that report for the incident with Spider-Man. Rogers has managed to hand his in, and we don't want a redo of last time."

Tony swallowed. "No."

"Good. I am not your errand girl. I'm supposed to be out in the field."

Gwen snapped her fingers as she remembered who the red-haired agent was. "You're the Black Widow, aren't you?"

Romanoff looked down at the girl with a much warmer look than she had been staring at Tony. "Yes. I wouldn't recommend going around telling people though, S.H.I.E.L.D. security would find you in a second."

It wasn't exactly a threat, and even if it was, it was a much milder one than Tony had been subjected to.

"Oh, of course not," Gwen said, looking unsurprised and unaffected by the response. "Is there a medical bay we could head to? Peter's ankle needs looking at."

Tony tried not to feel slightly offended that Gwen was immediately looking up to the Widow as the One-In-Charge, as opposed to him. But then again, Romanoff had an air of authority that intimidated many.

Including him, of course.

"My ankle does not need looking at," Peter interjected defensively. The Black Widow and Gwen looked at him with not even remotely concealed expressions conveying a clear message:

For God's sake, you need help. Stop whining.

Peter seemed to accept this, surprisingly enough. Apparently he was not as similar to Tony as he had thought.

"Okay," he said meekly.

An hour or two later, in the main conference room that still had a smear of something that looked suspiciously like blood on it (a frustrated looking agent was scrubbing away at it with a considerable lack of enthusiasm), the various teenagers and Avengers on board the helicarrier were collected up and dumped.

The total was made up of four people: the Black Widow, Tony Stark, Gwen Stacy and Peter Parker. The grand total, however, was not of four, Natasha had expressly stated that Director Fury would be coming, and that they had better shut up and wait for him to arrive.

Peter reclined in his seat, making his sloppy posture look even worse. His ankle had a fresh cast on it (he had accepted it only with complaining), and the cut on his forehead (which had healed enough to not warrant stitches) had a smiley face band-aid that only agents stupid enough to get paper cuts were forced to wear. Gwen sat up straight, looking impeccable despite the bruises around her throat, her messed up hair and slits in her clothes from shards of glass from the window.

They're completely different, Natasha thought to herself. In many more ways than just appearance.

The sample of Parker's blood would determine that.

Natasha had been surprised when one of the younger agents had sprinted up to her in a corridor (honestly, no one ever did that. Once someone has been working at S.H.I.E.L.D. for long enough, they understand that you do not simply run up to the Black Widow), and delivered a message, gasping, that not only was Stark coming aboard with two teenagers (a large pile of paperwork was planted in her arms at this) and that he had to complete all that paperwork or else, a Ms. Potts had called and requested to speak to her.

Fully expecting the usual pleasantries that she was subjected to when talking to Pepper (she actually did quite enjoy talking to Pepper. She treated her like a human being, not an assassin, even though she did recognize and respect the fact that Natasha could have taken out the entirety of the Roman Army), she was surprised (although she didn't show it), to hear that Pepper had a very, very important message.

And it was far more important than anything the White House or foreign secret services had ever given them.

The first part of the message was that under no circumstances, ever, at all ("I mean this, Natasha, I want a promise,") tell Steve or Tony or someone who will tell them this because it could affect them horribly.

The second part was that the teenage boy, Peter Parker, who Tony Stark was dragging to the helicarrier, was Spider-Man.

("I said don't tell them, but just make sure that poor boy doesn't get himself killed.")

Natasha narrowed her eyes fractionally and stared at the boy in front of her.

He didn't look like anything special. He was a skinny, lanky, gangly (and every definition of the word meaning 'thin'). Was he possibly a mutant?

No, she thought. He'd be in Professor Xavier's school if he was so. Certainly not strutting and swinging about Manhattan, punching criminals in the face and exasperating the police.

Regardless, the sample of his blood being analyzed at that moment would tell them everything they needed to know.

I hope the Director arrives soon, she thought. Director Fury was waiting for the results before he came, and she wasn't sure how much of Tony Stark's shit she could deal with.

Some meaningless blather was spilling from his mouth, and Natasha shut it out as best as she could, hoping that the Director would please come quickly.

Thank you once more. I'm going to be heading off interstate soon, so I'll try to churn out another chapter before that, but no promises.