Chapter 11: Rule 5 Part ll
5) Do Not Take Food Without Permission; Stealing Will Not Be Tolerated
Silence echoed like a gong around the room, thickening the air with a newfound tension, a tightness to their stares that left them silent and breathless.
Nobody said anything. They just kept staring.
Except, of course, until the woman finally took a small, near-unnoticeable step forward.
Peter noticed, though. Peter noticed enough to rear back and stumble from his chair, papers scattering onto the floors as he floundered to his feet and began to backpedal.
The woman stopped. She kept staring. Her eyes were cold. They gazed back at him with a penetrating complexity, deep and dark and enough to have his skin tingling with nerves he was all too familiar with. Because he was familiar with that look, too.
("Look into my eyes, Peter. Do I look like I'm fucking joking?!")
Mr. Stark had only been gone for around half an hour now, grumbling something about taking calls with an 'asshole to end all assholes', with stern instructions for Peter to keep working on his homework and to 'not touch any of the fun stuff till I get back'.
Well, it seemed the "Fun stuff" had found him, strolling into the room with fiery red hair and a gun holstered to her belt.
Oh, yeah. Peter clocked that, too.
He stared back at her, muscles tense, ready to spring into action. What sort of action he would go along with if he had to was another question entirely, but one he didn't feel like confronting at the moment as he kept his eyes trained on the woman in front of him. He had to be ready. She could make a move at any moment.
"Stark's taken on babysitting detail, now? What, he need the money?"
Okay, different move than he was expecting...
Nevertheless, Peter didn't let his guard down, didn't relinquish the hard stare he was throwing her way. The woman didn't seem to mind the tense looks, for she finally turned her eyes away from him and down to the papers by her feet instead.
She cast a little humored glance up and slowly bent down, lithe fingers wrapping around the edges of the paper and carefully picking it back up. She flipped it over and scanned the page. "Spanish homework, huh?" She quirked a brow, a smirk playing on her lips. "Nice handwriting. Boys like you love their chicken scratch." She set the page down onto the table before her eyes were shooting back up, freezing Peter in place once more.
She must have noticed the continued tenseness to his stance, for she cocked her hip a bit and folded her arms. "I'm not going to hurt you, you know. You can relax."
Peter had no intentions of doing anything of the sort. Instead, he continued to stare at her, waiting for something, anything. A lunge, a reach for the gun, an aggression in her eyes. He cracked open his mouth, felt how dry his throat was all of sudden, the words sticking to the sides.
"You're...y-y...you...y-" He grimaced and swallowed the rock building inside of him before trying again. "You're N-Natasha Romanoff. T-the...Black Widow...aren't you?"
It was a pointless question. He already knew the answer from years spent watching the TV, watching and bouncing from his place on the floor, watching the action unfold on his screen, watching the team beat back monsters and toss bombs into the sky.
The woman continued to stare at him before giving a small shrug of her shoulders, red hair bouncing up and down at the movement. "Sometimes."
He eyed the gun on her hip once more, felt his fingers beginning to twitch at the mere sight of it. He made sure to keep an extra eye on her hands, to flag whether or not they'd move towards her holster all of a sudden. "There are...t-there's people looking for you," he murmured softly, voice wavering in unease. "You're a criminal."
She didn't seem too annoyed at the sentiment, merely tilting her head a bit. "Depends on your definition."
"I mean it. Y-you...you could get in a lot of trouble if...i-if someone found you here." He noticed her cat-like stare still scanning him up and down like a piece of meat. He took another step back. "I...why are you here? W-what do you want?" He didn't know if she'd answer or not. He hoped she would. The longer he stood there with no information, the antsier he began to feel, shuffling back and forth on his feet as he ran through the list of possibilities in his head. Why was she here?
The woman seemed to take notice of the way he began to shift, for she gave a little sigh. "Listen-" She stepped forward.
That was enough to send Peter reeling another five or six steps. "Don't!" He all but shouted, wide-eyed stare boring back into her as he tried to stop the sudden shakiness that had come over him. "D-don't. Just...stay there."
It did get her to stop, but now she was looking at him with a new perplexity to her gaze, resting a hand on her hip as she pursed her lips in what Peter hoped wasn't annoyance. "Relax, would you? I'm not going to hurt you. I don't even know you."
Peter paused at that, her words seeming to jolt him in place. He stared back at her, back at a face he'd seen countless times before, standing next to a team of the world's most well-known superheroes. A team that included-
"You know Mr. Stark, though..." he whispered.
He noticed her face change, noticed it twist into a more serious frown.
"Is...is that why you're here?"
Again, silence. She didn't say anything. So, Peter decided to fill the space with his thoughts.
Germany was a bit hazy for him, the adrenaline he could still feel tied to the memories leaving them jumbled and messy. But he remembered her. He remembered that bright red hair, remembered Mr. Stark telling him to keep his distance from her, warning him to stay off her bad side.
"You...you were in Germany. With him."
He remembered seeing her out of the corner of his eye as they'd fought, seeing her tassel with some of Captain America's other teammates. He'd seen her fight with them, alongside him and Mr. Stark.
"I...you were on his side. You were...supposed to help him. You were supposed to..."
He remembered watching the Quinjet take off into the sky, remembered the yelling that echoed off the floors of the tarmac, remembered seeing her argue with the man in the black suit.
But more importantly, he remembered seeing Mr. Stark stare at her afterward. He remembered the look in the man's eyes. He remembered seeing her on the news, her headshot lined up right alongside Steve Rogers, right alongside the other Rogue Avengers, the other Avengers who had-
"You...betrayed him."
She tensed. Peter did as well. When he spoke, his voice was light and breathy, face scrunched in thought as he tried to search his memories, dredging through the thoughts as the woman stared back at him with an unreadable expression. "He trusted you...and you...betrayed him. How...?" He lifted his head, lifted his eyes away from the floor, and stared back at her, the words soft, almost whispered. "How could you do that?"
His face twisted. And suddenly he wasn't whispering anymore. "How could you do that?!"
His hands curled into shaking fists at his sides as he stared at her with newfound anger, the tingling he'd felt overtop his skin melting into something hotter, something more intense and raw. The antsy nerves he'd felt in him since that morning, since the night before when he'd gone to sleep with those familiar pangs in his stomach made his jaw tense. His eyes gleamed with a bitterness he hadn't been aware of as he spoke, and it took him a second to finally realize that he was yelling.
"He trusted you. He trusted you! Does that even matter to you? Do you know how important that is? How hard that is? He trusted you...relied on you and you just threw it away! You threw it away like it was nothing! Like it didn't even matter. Like it didn't. Even. Matter!"
She looked shocked, or at least as shocked as she could look, which seemed to only constitute a cocked brow and a slight widening of the eyes. Peter found that this passiveness only made him angrier. He gritted his teeth and actually found himself taking a step forward, the new burning inside of him seeming to put him into autopilot. It felt weird, felt...off somehow. Letting out the tightness he'd been feeling in his chest all day, the frustrations he'd held in since that morning. It felt...good...letting it out on someone. Someone who deserved it.
Even if it wasn't his family.
"At least your teammates had the common courtesy to show us all who they really were right from the start, but you didn't even have the decency to do that! You strung him along, strung us all along, and for what? For some sick little game? To get the most out of your double-cross? Is that what it was?
His face was red. He could feel it in his cheeks, in his skin. Or maybe he was just dizzy. Whatever it was, he had to focus very hard all of sudden to keep standing upright. His heart hammered in his chest, blood rushing through his ears, leaving the air pulsing with a tension he couldn't focus through, a haziness he couldn't blink away. The lights were blurring again.
"Listen-"
"And now you have the gall to just stroll in here like everything's alright, like you didn't stab him in the back? You think you can just pretend everything's okay after all of that? Like you didn't break the most important thing a person has?"
Why did he feel like crying all of a sudden?
"Kid-" She looked annoyed.
"Shut up!" The nausea was back, churning deep and dark inside of him. "I can't believe you. I can't believe the sheer audacity you have! I mean, who the hell do you think you are?!"
The switch was instantaneous.
She was in front of him in a second, mere inches from him. Peter's eyes widened, the heat burning against his chest extinguishing like mud on a bonfire as he choked on a gasp and stumbled backward. Her eyes darkened, glossing over with a dangerous film of silent menace as she leaned closer, catching him tight in her captivating stare. Her face was dark, her voice darker.
"My name...is Natasha Romanoff. And I came here to talk to Tony."
("You wanna fight, Peter? Is that what this is? You wanna fight, tough guy? Well, come on! I got all day to enjoy this! Now get over here! Curt! Sandra! Get his arms!")
He heaved out a breath, felt it rattle in his chest as he stared back at her, stared back into those eyes, Max's eyes, Sandra's eyes, his father's eyes. They were dark. And they were dangerous. And they told him to run.
Only...his feet wouldn't move. They were rooted to the floor. His heart jolted and stuttered, but it didn't force his brain into action, didn't shout out a command to move, to bolt, to run and hide and pray nobody would find him. They left him there, left him standing underneath her gaze, withered and shaking...but standing nonetheless.
"N-no..." he finally choked out, nothing more than a whispered plea, but it was said. It was there. "You can't."
Her eyes didn't relent. Only now, they were accompanied by a wicked smirk, a twisted curl of the lips. "Really? And who's going to stop me? You?"
Another breath. Two more. Three. They were barely enough to fill his lungs, but they were enough to keep him from buckling under the weight of her eyes. He was shaking, his hands, his legs, his whole body vibrating with a teeming sense of danger not even three feet from him. But he stood. And he kept standing. Because Mr. Stark was in danger too. And that was enough to keep him there.
"Y-yes."
"That's cute." The smirk disappeared. Her eyes remained. "Sit down, kid. This doesn't concern you."
He tried to grip onto the anger from before, the righteous courage he'd dug up from nowhere. "I mean it! I...I won't let you! You might be used to pushing and shoving and tossing the law aside to get whatever you want, but it's not happening this time! You're not getting anywhere near him!" His voice cracked a bit, but it was stronger this time, strong enough for him to match her glare with one of his own.
She took another step forward. Peter reflexively took one back. Only she didn't stop. She kept advancing, stalking and prowling slowly, like a cat in the grass, lurking and looming over her prey. Peter kept backpedaling until his back pressed up against the wall of the lab. She didn't stop though, not until she was towering over him, leaving him scrunching up against the wall, shoulder pressing into the sleek surface as he shivered, heart bouncing off the walls of the lab. He was sure she could hear it.
"I won't say it again." Her voice echoed in his ears. "Sit. Down."
Peter swallowed. Swallowed the bile beginning to burn in his throat. Swallowed the tingling shooting up the back of his neck screaming that he was in danger, screaming that he had to run, that he had to do something, anything to get away from her.
But he couldn't leave Mr. Stark.
So instead, Peter sucked in a shallow breath and slowly straightened up, back still pressing into the wall as he tried to meet her stone-solid glare. He held his breath and glared right back at her, felt the roaring returning to his ears, the blood in his fingertips.
He leaned closer, their noses almost touching.
"Make me."
Silence. The lab sat suspended in it, hovering in the air, hovering in a state of bated breaths and wavering gazes. Peter heard his heart rather than felt it, heard it beating against his skin, leaving it teeming with anxiety, pooling with dread. He knew what was coming. She lifted her hand and reached into her pocket. He readied his fists, curled them tight as he tensed his muscles, braced to dodge the oncoming attack and-
"Not bad, kid." She whipped out a nail file and started to work on her cuticles. "Does Tony keep any food in here?"
. . .
. . .
. . .
What?
Peter blinked. Blinked a few more times after that. Slowly, his lips parted, shaky breaths continuing to expel out through them like bullets from a gun. "I...what?" Was this a trick? Was that nail file a secret laser? Or maybe it was full of poisonous darts? Sleep gas? Explosives?
"Pretzels or crackers or anything? I'm not too picky."
"No, I...what's happening right now?"
Natasha gave a little smile at that, different from the one before. It wasn't malicious or cruel. In fact, there were no traces of the wickedness she's shown previously. It's like she was a completely different person. She blew on her nails, rubbing them against her shirt before slipping the file back into her pocket. She gazed back at him with a softer gaze as well, still sharp and perceptive, but calmer than before.
"You're cute," she chuckled before casting a bored glance around the lab. "I like you, Peter Parker."
His brain was rebooting, looping through a recharge that left him stuttering in place, staring with wide eyes as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "You know my name..." his voice was slow, but it was about as fast as his smoking brain could manage. "How do you know my name? I'm so confused right now. Am I, like, about to die? D-do you always mess with your victims right before you kill them?"
"Yes. But that's not what this is."
He watched her start to move once again, strolling around the table he'd previously been working on as she continued to gaze curiously at her surroundings. Her body language showed no more signs of tension or aggravation. She walked calmly and coolly like the lab was nothing more than a beach at sunset. Peter slowly pressed a hand to his forehead and carefully lowered himself back into his seat as she spoke.
"I'll have to admit, when Tony told me about you, I definitely wasn't expecting this."
Peter said nothing for a second, too focused on making sure he was awake and lucid as he pressed a hand to his mouth and concentrated on breathing. But once the words clicked in his head, he furrowed his brows and turned back to her. "He...t-told you...about me? Wait, you...you've already talked to him?" A gnawing pit began to open up in his stomach and he grimaced. "As in...he let you talk to him?"
As in, my little tooth-and-nail debacle with you was completely unnecessary?
"Well, he wasn't jazzed about it, but more or less."
Peter felt a new warmth growing on his face. Only it was embarrassment rather than anger this time. "Oh god."
Natasha smiled at him. "You're maybe a week late, kid."
He groaned and pressed his hands to his face, the fact that he'd just yelled at someone that Mr. Stark was apparently fine with finally crawling its way up his neck in a shameful display of hot cheeks and a burning face. "Oh, god. I...I'm sorry. I didn't know...I just thought that...that you were...a-and that..."
The woman put a hand in the air. "Relax. It's fine." She leaned her elbows against the table. "I deserved it. I was mean. I just wanted to see what you'd do." The smile on her face was replaced with a mischievous smirk.
Peter pulled his hands away from his face, nose scrunching in confusion. "'See what I'd...' Wait...that was a test?"
"Mm-hmm."
He paused.
"Did I...pass?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Okay, I just..." He lowered his head and rested it back into his hands. "Just...j-just give me a minute here," he groaned, pressing his arms down into the table as he rested his head on top. "This is a lot to process."
Now, in his defense, Peter figured he might have had an easier time dealing if he'd been having a good day. But sadly, that was not the case. On the other hand, at least his head wasn't currently fighting to detach from the rest of his body like it had been that morning.
The migraine pills that Michelle had given him were strong, even for him and his stupid-fast metabolism. So while they weren't as effective as they would have been for a normal person, they were at least better than the run-of-the-mill painkillers that did all but nothing for him.
The girl had given him more at lunch, after nearly shoving half of her sandwich into his hand. He'd protested, but the half-sandwich was a compromise. She'd wanted to give him the whole thing. Peter hadn't wanted her to give up her lunch and go hungry. Half was the middle ground.
Now that he thought about it, Michelle and her overbearing, forceful attitude were probably the only reason the boy hadn't collapsed sometime earlier in the day. Of course, now that a couple more hours had passed, Peter was beginning to feel the effects of his hunger once again.
He glanced up and noticed that Natasha was now sitting across from him, staring intently. He felt a chill run down his spine at her gaze once again, the feline sharpness that made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. She tilted her head at him, scanned him once before folding her hands underneath her chin.
"What's your name?" Her voice was softer this time. Quiet.
"You...already know my name."
"I know. But I want you to tell me."
This time, it was Peter who scanned her up and down. She didn't seem tense. She wasn't shifting or flickering her gaze around the room nervously. He strained his ears and listened to her heartbeat: steady and even. The boy wet his lips and sat up a bit more in his chair. He didn't release the subtle tenseness to his posture, but he did at least unclench his fists and rested his hands in his lap.
"Peter."
She smiled. "Nice to meet you, Peter." It sounded genuine. "I'm Natasha."
He hesitated for a moment before giving a polite nod of his head, thankful that she hadn't extended out a hand for a shake.
"How old are you?"
"Fourteen," he said without looking up at her, choosing instead to draw little circles into the table with the tip of his finger. "Um...s-so did...did Mr. Stark...tell you anything...else about me?" He asked, trying and failing to be nonchalant as a spike of gnawing anxiety began to worm its way up his stomach.
Perhaps something web-related?
The woman tilted her head and her smile turned mischievous once again. "No...why? Is there something else?"
Peter glanced up at her for a second before pursing his lips and glancing back down. "No..."
Natasha chuckled, her eyes going to the papers and pencils still scattered around the desk from when Peter had been working on his homework. He flinched as he saw her hand reach out, only to calm as he watched her grab onto a spare pencil, dragging it towards her along with a fresh sheet of paper. "I'll be honest. When he told me he'd gotten a new intern, I don't really know what I was expecting." He watched her start drawing on the paper, furrowing his brow at the action. "It didn't really seem like something he'd do. And I have to admit, you are definitely not what I imagined."
"W-what were you imagining?"
"Some pasty-faced college kid looking to pad his resume and kiss as many asses as possible."
"Well, you got the pastiness right." He cast a silent glance down at his hands. They were still as white at the papers around him. The woman gave a little hum and continued to draw.
"So, how'd a..." She paused and threw him a questioning look. "...middle schooler?"
"High school."
She lowered her head once more. "Right. How's a high schooler get himself on Tony Stark's radar?"
Peter hesitated for a moment, chewing on his lower lip as he kept tracing circles into the table surface. She was fishing. That much was obvious. Entertaining her wouldn't do him much good. This wasn't just a run-of-the-mill teacher or stranger that was satisfied with half-assed attempts to lie. This was a world-renowned super spy. He'd have to be on his top game to fool her and with how he was feeling today, the chances of a world-class screw-up were on the table. He wondered where Mr. Stark was, wondered when he'd be back. Blowing an internal sigh at the fact that he'd have to entertain this for a while, Peter gave a little shrug of his shoulder, running her question back through once more to come up with a good enough fib.
"I, uh...I guess he took a liking to my application. I don't know...I...I-I've tried not to ask too many questions."
"It's good to ask questions."
"Not when you won't like the answer."
She spared him a look at that. Peter noticed and hesitated once more before shrugging. "I-I just...I don't really think I want to know why Mr. Stark keeps me around. I'd like to think it's because he enjoys my company but...I-I think most likely it's just cause he's bored."
It took Peter a second to realize that it wasn't the lie he'd planned to say.
It wasn't a lie at all.
He squirmed a bit at that.
Natasha herself gave a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders and went back to doodling. "Give yourself some credit. I think he's taken a liking to you."
Peter scrunched his nose. "What makes you say that?"
"You see anybody else in here?"
He blinked at that, face twisting in thought as he spared the room a small glance. Natasha lifted her head once more and rested her elbows on the table. "There's a reason for that. But I'll let you figure it out," she said with a wink before lifting up her drawing and flipping it around for Peter to see.
It was a crudely sketched doodle of Iron Man stuck to a magnet hanging off a high-rise, dangling in the air with a string of expletives curling from his mouth. He couldn't help but give a little chortle at the drawing, Natasha giving a cool smile of her own as she set it back down and flipped the paper over before continuing her doodling.
For a while, Peter just watched her. She didn't seem to mind his stares nor the way he kept watching and waiting for her to do something else, to make a move or to suddenly shift back over into the threatening persona she'd taken earlier. After a few more minutes of calm and silence, Peter took a small, little breath, letting it out slowly as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He reached for another nearby pencil, if only to give his hands something to do.
"M-Ms. Romanoff?"
"Hmm."
He lowered his gaze, felt a new uncomfortable prickle running along his arms. He rolled the pencil between his fingers. "I...know I already asked this, but I'm n-not too sure about what I should take seriously from our previous conversation, so...I'll ask again...and like, you don't have to answer if you don't want to but, um...w-why...why are you here?"
She stared at him for a moment, face cool as she glanced towards the door. "I just wanted to see a friend."
"I thought Captain America was your friend."
He noticed her head snap up a bit more forcefully this time, almost in surprise. He supposed it was fitting considering his previously meek demeanor had suddenly taken on an almost bitter quality. He didn't look up at her, just pressed the graphite tip of the pencil into his finger.
Her fingers tapped against the table. "Not a fan?"
"Not anymore."
She sighed. "Listen. It's...it's-"
"Complicated?"
She met his gaze. He stopped fiddling with the pencil. She hesitated before casting her eyes back down to the paper. "Something like that."
Peter scrunched his nose again, only this time more out of frustration than confusion. "Yeah. That's what Mr. Stark said. Doesn't seem all that complicated to me," he muttered, glaring down at the papers scattered on the workbench. He noticed out of the corner of her eye that Natasha had set her own pencil down, pushing the papers away as she folded her hands onto the table.
He hesitantly spared a glance up and noticed she was now giving him her full attention. For a moment, he wanted to shift and squirm under the gaze once more, but was held still by a new urge in his stomach, the same urges from before, steady and warm. He blinked back at her, taking in the details of her face. Her heartbeat was still as constant as before.
"I meant what I said before," he murmured softly, letting his eyes linger on hers. "It's...not easy to trust someone. And he trusted you. He chose to do that. And...a-and you threw it back in his face." His eyes hardened. As did his voice.
"That's not complicated. That's wrong."
And in that moment, staring back at her, staring back at an assassin feared all across the globe, staring back at a woman who could probably kill him in a hundred and thirty-seven different ways, Peter noticed her face shift. He noticed the details morph and twist into something else. It was subtle, almost enough to miss, almost enough to look over without a second glance. But Peter saw it. And he knew.
"I know."
You couldn't fake that kind of remorse.
He sighed and glanced back down at the table. "But you're here."
She blinked in surprise. He continued.
"I...I guess that counts for something. As long as...you're not here to like, you know...assassinate him or something."
She pursed her lips and threw him an exasperated look. "How many times do I have to say I'm not here to kill him before you start to believe it?"
At this, Peter felt his jaw tense and his eyes narrow. "I'm supposed to believe you?"
She paused, staring back at him for a moment before giving another hum of thought. "Guess not."
Peter gave a tight nod and glanced away.
"But can you at least answer me something?"
He bit back a groan. Where the heck was Mr. Stark?
"M-maybe..."
"What's the story behind that shiner you got there?"
Instantly, Peter went tense. He had enough sense to mask it as best he could, but if the way she straightened up a bit in her seat was any indication, then it was clear that Natasha had seen it. He swallowed the immediate defensive snap he wanted to throw at her and instead took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was just a question. Not an accusation. Not an interrogation. Harmless.
"Just...school stuff." He shrugged. It was stiff. "N-nothing interesting."
She tilted her head up a bit, chin sticking out as she stared him down before murmuring something under her breath. "Uh-huh. What kind of school stuff?"
This time, it was harder to wrestle back the retort he felt bubbling in his throat. "Nothing that should...concern you," he finally settled on, noticing the slight bite it had on the edge of his words.
"Does it concern Tony?"
At that, Peter finally clamped his jaw shut, leveling her an annoyed glare. She held up her hands in defense. "Alright, alright. I get it." She leaned up all lax against the table once more. "Touchy subject?"
Peter forced his eyes to roll, forced himself to play the part of the defenseless school nerd. It wasn't hard. He had the look already down-pat. "Believe it or not, I...don't really like talking about me getting my ass kicked in the halls."
Natasha gave a scoff and thankfully seemed to accept the performance, finally. "Ah, I'm sure you got a couple good licks of your own on the guy."
Peter sniffed and glanced away. "Believe what you want. The evidence speaks for itself."
She hummed again. Peter noticed she did it often. He watched her reach across the table again and instantly tensed up once more, watching her like a hawk as she grabbed at the blueprints Mr. Stark had left for him to look over after he finished his homework.
"That, it does. So what sort of stuff is this evidence telling me?"
He furrowed his brow and watched her scan her eyes over the documents. "What...w-what do you mean?"
She smoothed them back out onto the table. "Tony doesn't let just anybody touch this stuff. Aside from his oh-so-precious suits, this reactor is like his baby."
Peter opened his mouth to contradict her, to spew out another lie that seemed more believable than Tony leaving him to tinker with his blueprints. Something that would be more acceptable for a 'low-level intern' like he supposedly was to convince her of the internship scheme they'd conjured up together.
It's not for me.
Mr. Stark's just re-working those designs himself.
I'm just a totally normal, average, not-worth-mentioning, definitely not hiding a secret-identity intern. You think those are for me? Ha!
But he didn't. He couldn't. Cause he was too hung up on her words. Was she serious? Did Mr. Stark truly think so highly of his invention? Was he really so protective?
"R-really?" Was all these questions came out as.
"Oh yeah."
He stuttered in his seat, giving a little shake of his head as he furrowed his brows. "T-then...why...w-why is he letting me work on it?"
Natasha leaned closer against the table, letting another smirk spread onto her lips.
"You tell me."
Peter snapped his jaw shut at that. He scoured his eyes over the table as if the answers themselves were written into the metal surface. But they weren't. He was only met with a reflected image of himself in all his pale, hollow-eyed glory. He tensed his fingers against the table, felt the cold surface pressing into his skin. Natasha was still watching him. But in that moment, Peter didn't really care.
Instead, he slowly lifted his head and stared right back at her, the same hard conviction from when she'd first come in shining back in his eyes.
"You swear you're not here to hurt him?" He asked slowly.
Natasha met his hard gaze with one of her own. Her face was serious, lips pressed into a firm line. "I swear."
Peter held her stare for a moment longer before giving a tight nod, turning away with a sharp sigh as he shut his eyes and pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. Maybe those pills really were starting to wear off now cause he could feel his head beginning to throb once again.
Or maybe this conversation was just dragging on for eternity.
Natasha didn't seem too concerned with the kid's supposed distress, for she turned to the side and folded her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes as her voice took on a sarcastic tone. "Does that mean we can be friends now?" She asked with a smirk.
Peter glanced over at her from between the fingers pressing into his eyes. "How about...loose acquaintances?"
"I'll take it."
He took a deep breath and shut his eyes once more, thankful that at least one thing seemed to be going well that day.
. . .
. . .
"You wanna hear some embarrassing stories about Captain America?"
Without another word, Peter was twisting around in his stool with lightning speed, elbows pressing onto the table.
"Tell me everything."
Wednesday - March 30, 2016
Stark Tower - Private Labs 01
04:48 p.m.
"FRIDAY?"
"Yes, Boss?"
"How high up are we?"
"The 99th Floor of Stark Tower currently stands at 1,667 feet or 508 meters."
"And what are the chances that someone, oh I don't know say a certain Secretary of State, would survive a fall like that?"
"The chances are low, Boss. Though I must recommend you only resort to first-degree murder should no other options be available."
"Yeah, yeah..."
Tony let out a bone-deep sigh, felt the cold glass of the windows behind him pressing into his palms. He shut his eyes, resting the back of his head against the panes running along the hallway walls.
It was almost interesting, a strange feat of sorts just how draining Secretary Ross' mere voice was to Tony's will and stamina. Half an hour was all the veteran needed to completely throw off Tony's entire day to the point where he had to take a second to just breathe in silence in the empty hallway to settle his nerves and lower his temper back down to semi-tolerable levels.
He could feel his hands beginning to twitch, felt the achy soreness in his muscles. He wanted a drink. His body wanted a drink. That much was clear as he stared up at the ceiling and felt the workings of a migraine beginning to thump underneath his skin.
("Your teammates are rampaging around the city and you couldn't give a damn?")
("Glad we're finally on the same page. Only took a couple months-")
("Enough with the bullshit, Stark. You need to get on this. You-")
(Actually, I don't. All I NEED to do is finish this call and check my blood pressure again cause I might start giving Banner a run for his jolly-green money.")
Tony lifted a hand, wearily pressing his fingers into his eyes as he finally pushed away from the windows and slowly started to make his way back down the hall. As much as he'd delight in swapping out the three-fourths of his body's water contents with pure-grade alcohol, he couldn't. Not yet, at least. Not while he was still on the clock.
He'd left Peter with strict instructions to finish up his homework, to which the teen had given no complaints, not that Tony was surprised. There were times when Peter reminded him of an overexcited police puppy. Ready to follow orders and nothing else. It was unsettling, if he were being honest. Especially the distant thought that if Tony told him to jump off a building, he was frighteningly positive the kid would only give mild hesitations before strapping on a pair of skydiving goggles.
Despite this, Tony couldn't help the feeling of relief he felt growing in him at the prospect of wasting the day away with the kid. No distractions. No accords. No mind-numbing phone calls with contestant number three on his 'people to blast into space as soon as another wormhole makes itself known', right under Steve Rogers and Richard Parker.
He had to admit, that third slot was new but wholly deserved, especially after catching sight of that ugly bruise marring Peter's face. Regardless of Peter's insistences that he was just a 'clumsy sideshow' as he'd put it, Tony had his doubts. Very strong doubts, at that. But before he'd been able to ask about it, he'd been pulled away, much to Peter's relief, he'd noticed.
He knew he should ask about it. Knew it was important to learn as much as he could despite the kid's strong-boned resistance to ever even mentioning it. But he'd noticed a certain weariness in the kid's eyes that day. A heaviness to his movements that were usually so spry and bouncy. The kid was tired. Honestly, Tony was right there with him.
He supposed they could both use a break. Both from invasive questions and pushy government officials.
So with that, Tony ran a hand through his hair and quickly tried to wash away the exhaustion pulling at his face, straightening out his shirt to at least try and maintain the image of 'semi-functioning adult.'
His footsteps slowed, however, as his ears picked up a voice. Female. FRIDAY? Peter loved engaging her in conversation, unlike a majority of common folk who were forced to speak with his AI. Instead of clunky, awkward small talk like most of his employees, Peter spoke to her like he'd known her all his life, carefree and cheery.
The smile that had started to work onto Tony's face at the thought quickly ebbed away though.
That wasn't FRIDAY's voice. That was-
That was-
Oh, she wouldn't fucking dare-
Tony rounded the corner with a speed he didn't know himself capable of without the suit, freezing in the doorway as his eyes blew wide and his heart seized into a tiny little piece of crumpled tin.
What the-?
"So, at this point, the shield's been stuck in the ceiling of our training room for two days and we're a few hours away from a mission that requires all hands - and shields - on deck. The workers are stumped. Rogers is no help since he's basically holed himself up in his room from sheer embarrassment, and at this point the suggestion of just throwing shoes at it until it fall back down is starting to look more and more like an inevitability."
"Oh, my gosh...couldn't you have just asked Mr. Stark to help?"
Natasha scoffed and leaned back in her seat, folding a leg overtop the other while Peter looked on with nothing less than absolute elation in his eyes. "Stark was away from the Compound at the time, at least until the mission got closer. And anyways, Steve begged us not to tell him cause you can bet Stark would've used that for blackmail for the rest of the century. I mean...we did, too. But in the choice between us or Stark, he went with the lesser of two evils.
"Eventually, we had to have Sam fly Rogers up to the ceiling, where he proceeded to try and yank the stupid thing back out with the same force he used to get it stuck in the first place."
"Did he get it down?"
"Yep. Along with a fifth of the ceiling tiles too. All in all, it served as a very valuable lesson for him to learn on the care that must go into training. A lesson that served him well when the exact same thing happened a week later."
Peter's jaw slacked, smile widening. "You're not serious."
"Nobody helped him that time," the woman smirked. "He just sulked until he finally caved and called Stark to help him. And even from a few floors away, we could all hear Tony laughing his ass off."
Tony watched Peter start to laugh, watched the kid hunch over the workbench with a full-face grin and he felt a sudden lurch in his chest. A twitch that snagged against something...hard. Unsettling. He didn't like it. He didn't like this one bit.
"I hope I'm not interrupting anything!"
Both parties looked up at the same time, the atmosphere in the room instantly darkening. Well, at least for Tony and Natasha. Peter, however, seemed blissfully unaware as he gave the man a large grin. Though the innocent look as enough to answer the man's previous questions.
At least Natasha had the decency to look uneasy.
"Mr. Stark!" The teen called happily. "Hey, I met your friend. She's super cool, you know. She's teaching me Russian and it's really hard but she says I'm doing good so I think it's going okay!" He beamed, not noticing Natasha's strange look. Or the fact that Tony was staring at him like he'd just grown another head. "Oh and also, how come you didn't tell me you spoke Italian? That's super cool, too." .
Natasha switched her gaze from the bubbling teen to the frothing man across the room. Tony gave a small shake of his head. "Yeah...yeah, that's great kid. Um...here's a better question, though. Uh...what the hell do you think you're doing with her?" He asked, his voice hiding none of his anger as he glared at the spy.
She didn't look too phased. That made him angrier.
On Peter, however, his shift was instantaneous. Any and all color that had been coming back to his face quickly drained away as he gave the man a wide-eyed stare, flickering it between him and the woman beside him as he slowly stood up. "I...um...I just...d-did..." His stutter was back. With a vengeance. "Did you n-not know...s-she was...here?" The words were small.
Tony gave him a well-duh look.
Peter quickly staggered away from Natasha as Tony moved closer. "Oh, god...oh, god...I...I-I...I'm so...so sorry, Mr. Stark. I...I thought that...t-that you...you knew she was here or that...t-that you at least k-knew I w...was talking to...to her and I..." His hands were shaking now. Not a good sign.
"I didn't mean to...i just...I-I...wasn't...I wasn't trying to...to side with...and I...I-I..." He was starting to pant. That was worse.
The second Peter started to struggle in getting the next word out, Tony stepped forward, trying to ignore how Peter flinched back at his sudden movement. "Whoa, whoa." He called loudly. "You need to start breathing right now, kid. It's not your ass I'm gonna kick out of the building, anyway." He muttered, glancing at Natasha, who was rising to her feet, inquisitive eyes locking onto Peter's quivering form.
He didn't like that at all.
"Come here, would you?" He muttered, grasping Peter's forearm as he yanked the kid forward, a small yelp of surprise falling from the teen's lips as Tony dragged him to stand behind him, blocking the boy from Natasha's view.
The assassin couldn't help but roll her eyes at the display. "Oh, would you relax, Stark? I didn't touch your little intern." She muttered, folding her arms. The man glared back at her. "You. You stay out of this, alright? I'll get with you in a second right after I make sure you didn't inject this idiot with whatever shit you have stored up your sleeve. Hey!" He called to Peter, snapping his fingers in front of his face. The teen flinched back, more out of shock than anything else. "Can you taste color yet?"
"What?"
"Don't deflect. Answer the question."
Natasha groaned as she stepped closer. "Tony, come on. You're overreacting. I didn't hurt him. We were just talking." She muttered with a glare.
Tony pointed a finger at her as he opened his mouth to spit something else out, only to pause as Peter latched a small hand onto the sleeve of his jacket. He glanced down, throwing the teen a quizzical look. "She's telling the t-truth, Mr. Stark." He stammered out, unsure of whether or not he was allowed to speak at the moment. "She didn't do anything. S-she's really nice."
That had Tony freezing. He glanced at Natasha before turning back to the kid. "Nice? What...I...Nice? Geez, you really gave him the strong stuff didn't you?" He muttered over his shoulder as he grabbed the teen's chin, turning his head away to inspect his neck. "Alright, where did she inject you?" He growled, only for Peter to push his hand away, unable to keep the small giggle from leaving his mouth. "I'm being serious, Mr. Stark." He called, glancing back at the woman with a small smile.
"She asked me about my homework, the internship and I mean it about the Russian. She really is teaching me." He stared up at the man. "It's pretty cool."
Tony stared down at him, eyes hard as he searched the teen's face. After a second, he turned around to glance at Natasha, who -what the hell- was actually smirking at him? That little-
"Kid, do me a favor and head up to the second level. I need you to grab something for me."
Peter blinked up at him for a moment. "Um...okay? What do you need me to get?"
Tony pushed him towards the stairs. "I don't know. Something. Anything. Just make sure it takes you a long time to find." He muttered as Peter raised a brow, but said nothing.
The billionaire turned back to Natasha as Peter began to climb up the stairs. Tony noticed out of the corner of his eye as Peter stumbled on the stairs, a small sigh falling from the older man's mouth as he rubbed his fingers into his eyes. "This kid..." He muttered, Natasha giving a small chuckle. "He is...uh...something. I'll give him that."
"Yeah, about that," Tony muttered stepping closer. "Didn't I specifically tell you to stay the hell away from him?" He growled, narrowing his eyes. Natasha's face continued to hold an aura of humor as she smirked. "No. you told me to stay away from Spider-Man. You said nothing about your baby intern."
Tony was about to retort that it was the same thing before he realized what it entailed, quickly stopping himself as he gave her a disgruntled look, huffing in annoyance as he rolled his eyes. "Well I'd assume you'd be courteous enough to include anybody who's in the middle of this little skirmish of ours." He scoffed, refusing to show the relief he felt inside at the fact that Peter was now far away from her.
Natasha blew out a small breath from the corners of her mouth as she glanced up at the elevated floor of the second level, eyes narrowing in though for a moment before she turned back to Tony, who was straightening out the papers on the desk, glancing at the page with the Russian alphabet hastily scribbled on it, rolling his eyes slightly.
"What's wrong with him, Tony?"
The billionaire sharply turned to look at her, eyes searching her face for a moment before his lip curled and his eyes filled with something the woman couldn't seem to recognize. It was anger, sure. But there was something deeper there.
"What do you...what the hell do you mean? There's nothing wrong with him." He nearly spat the words as he stalked closer.
Natasha raised up her hands in a sign of submission. "You know I didn't mean it like that, Tony." She spoke calmly, hoping to appease the fuming man. "But he...the way he acts...that's not normal." She stressed.
"What do you mean?" Tony muttered in annoyance, though Natasha could tell by the look in his eyes that he already knew what she meant.
"I mean, you don't become like that, reclusive, jumpy, fidgety...scared...unless something caused it." She explained. "And not many things that I can think of in a teenager's life should be able to do something like that." She stepped closer, Tony lifting his gaze to meet hers. "What happened?"
The billionaire said nothing for a moment before his eyes hardened and his jaw tensed. "I don't have to tell you shit." He all but growled at her.
The woman let out a small sigh as she leaned back, turning away as she ran a hand through her hair. She stared down at the floor as she leaned up against the metal table, arms crossing over her chest. "Well whatever it was, he didn't deserve it."
Tony glanced up in surprise.
The woman stared back at him, her gaze never wavering. "He's a good kid. A bit nervous at times, but..." She gave a small smile, a genuine smile. "He's...he's good." She gave a small smirk. "He seems to have taken a liking to you too. Nearly bit my head off the second he assumed I was here to hurt you."
Tony's eyes widened slightly. "What?"
The woman nodded. "Mm-hmm. In fact, I think his exact words were 'I'm a mean lady'."
His eyes seemed to double in size at that. "No he did not." He breathed, unable to keep the smirk off his face. "FRIDAY?" He called, glancing up at the ceiling.
"I can confirm that Ms. Romanoff's words are correct. In fact, I even took the liberty of recording the entire affair."
Natasha cocked a brow as she glared up at the ceiling. "Why?"
"No particular reason."
The woman scoffed. "Yeah, right." She muttered, almost sure it was because she'd been getting her ass handed to her by a fourteen-year-old punk. Yep, it was official. FRIDAY definitely hated her guts at the moment. Great, another bridge she'd have to rebuild.
Tony watched the assassin glare at his AI for a moment longer before turning away with a deep sigh. He knew Natasha was one of the last people he really wanted to talk to, especially about stuff like this. But he couldn't stop a small part of his mind from wanting to disclose all he knew to her. Lord knew the assassin had to have some good advise on what to do.
Nevertheless, confessing all of it would mean trusting her, at least on some level . Trusting her with Peter.
He couldn't do that. Not...not with him. Not with the kid. He couldn't risk her hurting him.
He stared down at the ground, his gaze cold. "It's not what happened." He said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "It's what's happening."
Natasha stared at him, drinking in his words carefully. "Does this have anything to do with why it looks like someone smashed a grapefruit in his face?" She muttered, Tony merely sparing her a small glance before turning away again. He said nothing.
His silence was answer enough.
She gave a small nod of her head, realizing that was all the information she was gonna get. She walked over, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder. The man didn't look up, but he didn't pull away either. She considered it a small win. "I'm sticking around, Tony. Whether you want me to or not. Cause I don't care what's happening with the others, with Ross, with...hell, with all of this." She gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "You can't stop me from caring about you."
The man said nothing for a moment before giving a small huff of amusement, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Wanna bet?"
She gave his arm a small pat as she moved away, walking towards the lab exit. As she neared the door, she placed one hand on the frame and paused. It was obvious in her stiff posture that she was hesitating with something, which was shocking enough. She never hesitated. Nevertheless, she stilled for a moment longer before glancing over her shoulder.
"Ask him whether or not he's eaten anything today."
The billionaire turned to her, eyebrow raised. "What? What does that-"
"Just do it, Tony." The woman said, her voice hard. Tony fully turned around at that. Where was this coming from? She sighed and turned away for a second. "I...I just have...a feeling, is all." She murmured. "Maybe it's nothing. Just...it can't hurt to check."
With that, she walked through the door, disappearing from sight. Tony stared after her for a moment before his gaze returned to the floor, his brow furrowed in thought. He stayed like that for a while before he heard footsteps approaching. He lifted his head, watching as Peter hesitantly walked down the stairs, a white knuckle grip on the railing. In his other hand, there was a small, rusted wrench.
The teen reached the bottom step with a loud exhale, eyes shutting in exhaustion. "Okay..." he panted. "I g-got...something? I got something." He murmured, holding up the little wrench for the older man to see.
Tony plucked it out of the teen's hands, inspecting it for a second. "Oh, I still have this thing? I meant to throw it out like two weeks ago. It's super old." He muttered.
Peter stared at him for a moment before dropping his head, his chin nearly hitting his chest. "Great. That's...t-that's great..." He said, Tony noting how out of breath the boy sounded. He quirked a brow at that. What, had he run around the lab or something?
"You good, kid?" He asked, walking closer.
Peter waved him off, Tony halting in his stride. "Yeah...yeah, I'm good. Just..." He sucked in another shaky breath. "God, that was a l-lot of walking, y-you know...?" He tried to give a small smile, but it ended up resembling more of a grimace.
Tony noted that his face had grown another shade paler, if such a thing were even possible. Quickly trying to convince himself that it was merely a trick of the light, Tony glanced behind him at the doorway. "Kid, could you do me a favor and maybe not tell your dad that I let you fraternize with a wanted war criminal?"
Peter huffed. "Yeah, don't worry. He won't be hearing about this anytime soon."
"Excellent."
The teen took a step away from the stairs, but quickly stumbled. Tony moved forward, only to watch as Peter grasped onto the railing as tightly as possible, face scrunching up in pain for a second before he quickly righted himself.
"Kid..." The man said warily. "I really think you should sit down for a second." He slowly inched closer, hands creeping up as he watched the teen intently. Peter gave a small shake of his head as he opened his mouth, only for him to suck in another breath. "I'm...I-I'm fine, Mr. Stark. R-really." He murmured as he tried once again to step forward.
This time, he couldn't catch himself as his knees buckled all of a sudden, a small yelp falling from his lips as he toppled forward. "Hey!" Tony shouted, quickly shooting forward right as the teen collapsed against his chest. Strong arms wrapped around his too-tiny waist as the billionaire tried to steady him.
Peter grunted as he scrunched his eyes tightly. "D-damn it." He muttered, the words muffled against Tony's jacket. A..alright. So...so I'm a little s-south of fine, but we're just g-gonna pretend that this d-didn't happen." He sighed, mostly to himself than to anyone else. He lifted his gaze and Tony was sure that if his face had any color to it whatsoever, he would be blushing. "S-sorry." He murmured, quickly looking away.
"God, kid." Tony muttered as he slowly began to lower the boy to the floor. Peter dropped to his knees, panting as if the small movement had zapped away all of his remaining strength as he flipped himself over so that he was sitting on his bottom, one of his arms propped straight against the ground while the other lay limp in his lap. His head was tilted back as he blinked rapidly.
Tony stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly parted in shock. The boy barely even seemed phased by the fact that he'd nearly face-planted on his frikkin floor! Quickly shaking his head, the man cautiously lowered himself down, crouching in front of the teen as he rested one arm on his knee. "What the hell was that, Peter?" He asked, his voice tense.
The kid stole a quick glance his way before turning away. "Nothing. N-nothing, I just got a little dizzy, is all. I...I might not have...gotten much sleep last night." He tried to chuckle, but the noise died in his throat as he caught sight of the older man's expression.
Tony was staring straight at him, not even trying to hide such a fact. His eyes were hard as he flickered around the teen's figure, seeming to drink in every detail before he turned away with an aggravated sigh. "God I hate it when she's right." He muttered to himself before turning back to Peter. "Have you eaten today?" He asked, though he was certain of the answer already.
Peter stared back at him, eyes wide as his mouth parted slightly, only for no words to come out. Tony huffed as he narrowed his eyes. "Yesterday?"
"I...umm..."
"The day before?" He sounded angry. Peter's fingers twitched.
"I think...I h-had an...apple?"
Tony shook his head. "Jesus fucking Christ, kid." He growled. "Are you insane? I...I think you're starting to go insane. Cause only someone who's mentally absent could do something so monumentally stupid." He snapped.
Peter said nothing. Tony took it as an invitation to continue.
"Going three days without a proper meal is enough to worry even a normal human. But you? With your freaky metabolism? It's downright deadly." He leaned closer. "Were you just gonna try and ignore all of this?" He asked, eyes narrowed. "Wait until you keeled over and couldn't get back up again? Cause judging from the look of you, it would have only taken a few more hours, at least." he growled.
Peter flinched back as he turned his head away, his lip quivering as he opened his mouth. No words came out. The teen squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to force the words to come out, but his tongue seemed to be tripping over itself.
Tony's hardened eyes remained on the teen's form, pausing as they stopped on the dark bruise, which looked even worse now that the teen's skin held almost no color. Instantly, the fire in his eyes died down as a sickening jolt of realization shot through his stomach, making bile rise up on his throat.
He swallowed and looked away, eyes lifting towards the ceiling for a minute before he gazed back down at the teen. "How'd you hurt your eye?" He asked, his tone dark and foreboding.
Peter glanced back up at him, eyes wary. He'd received that question more times than he could count that day. And with each question, he always had the same answer. It was like reflex. The same with all of his lies. Always at the tip of his tongue. Spoken cleanly and fluently. Perfectly crafted. Nobody could ever see through it.
So...why couldn't he speak?
He stared at the man as he tried to find the words, his fingers twitching once more. "I...I-I...was...w-was..." He cleared his throat, his hands shaking. "I was m-making...dinner-"
"The dinner you didn't eat." Tony muttered as he raised a brow.
"umm...and...I...I-I slipped on s-some water. H-it my head against t-the...the side of the...counter."
God, not even a four-year-old would have believed that.
Peter ducked his head as he waited for the older an to call him out on it, to chew him up and grind him into nothing for the lie.
The billionaire said nothing as he continued to stare at the boy, taking in yet another example of the kid's inability to lie to him. He honestly didn't know what he'd been expecting. It wasn't as if the teen was actually going to tell him what had really happened, not if it was what Tony assumed it was. He'd be lying if he said hearing the boy lie to him didn't make him just a little frustrated, but the small twinge in the back of his mind continued to remind him that this was what he'd have to expect from him.
At least until he started to earn his trust.
"Okay."
Peter snapped his eyes open and whipped his head up, which was a mistake as a wave of dizziness smashed into him. Tony seemed to notice this as he placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "If you say so, kid." The man continued, though it almost looked as if the words pained him.
Peter said nothing as he lowered his gaze. Tony stared down at him, biting his cheek in thought as he let out a small groan. This just wasn't his day, was it. He glanced over towards the door. First things first, he had to get some food into the baby idiot at his feet. The first thing that popped into his mind was the food court downstairs, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his head.
Considering how loopy and out of it the teen was starting to get, he knew the last thing they needed was to bring him somewhere loud and noisy with tons of different people and mingling smells. Even he feared getting some sense of sensory overload in that god forsaken place, let alone a kid with literal super senses.
So, without the cafeteria, that only left one option. Tony couldn't help but grimace at the thought, but one last glance at the sad-looking mess of a teen at his feet was enough to have him suck it up. Besides, it wasn't like anybody would be up there anyway.
"Alright, kid. Let's go do something smart for once and get some food in you."
Peter blinked up at him before biting his lip. "You don't h-"
"Kid, if you say 'I don't have to' one more time, I'm literally going to force-feed you baby food." He muttered, leaning closer. "And I'll make the airplane noises."
Peter's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."
The man grinned. "I'll even have FRIDAY record it."
The teen stared at him, mouth agape for a moment before he finally relented with a sigh. "Can you stand?" The billionaire asked as he rose up to his feet. Peter blinked in thought before he tried to push himself up, only to wince as a horde of black dots lashed at the corners of his eyes.
"Yep, gonna take that as a hell no." Tony muttered as he grabbed Peter's arms, hauling the boy to his feet before wrapping a securing arm around his waist, making sure the teen didn't have a repeat act of falling on his face.
Peter tensed at the touch, but said nothing as Tony led him out of the lab and over towards the elevator. Even as they stepped inside and began their ascent, Tony didn't remove his arm. Peter still didn't say anything.
The teen stole a small glance up at the man, but noticed that his gaze was elsewhere. He lowered his head as he felt the strong, steadying grasp of the man's grip around him. He could feel the usual shiver of uncomfortableness running down his spine at the touch, but to the teen's surprise, he didn't pull away.
Peter had grown used to the fact that any and all forms of physical contact were red flags for him. He knew this, his friends knew this. At most, he'd get a high-five from Ned or a small pat from MJ. On really bad days, he'd even go as far as to accept hugs from certain trusted people. Of course, any forms of contact were brief and brisk. He just could not handle being touched for long periods of time.
Which made the fact that he hadn't yet pulled away all the more shocking.
Peter glanced down at his slightly shaking hands and shut his eyes, surmising it all to the fact that he was just too exhausted to do anything about it. Yeah. That had to be it.
Unbeknownst to him, Tony was having similar feelings as he steeled his gaze to anywhere but the kid in his grasp. Unlike Peter, he had much more practice in masking his uncomfortableness. After all, physical contact wasn't really his cup of tea either. Apart from Rhodey, Pepper and the occasional Happy, most people weren't allowed to get close enough to touch him, let alone they actually do it.
He bit the inside of his cheek as he stole a small glance to the teen below him, Peter's eyes trailing along the floor. The billionaire turned away again, slightly shifting his hold on the kid. This didn't mean anything. This was only because the moron was too out of it to hold himself up. That was it. That had to be it.
They still said nothing.
After another moment, the elevator opened up onto the penthouse floor. Peter cracked open his eyes slightly, gasping as he took in the sight before him.
"Holy shit."
"Language."
"Heh...you sound like Natasha."
"Don't ever insult me like that again."
Peter smiled as Tony rolled his eyes, the teen barely able to look away from the room.
The elevator opened up at the back of the room, revealing a huge room that seemed to be split into two main parts. One one side, you had what appeared to be a large living room, complete with a large couch and a few chairs situated to face the huge TV that sat on the wall. Across from the living room sat a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a cooking magazine, the models and appliances all looking sleek and brand new.
Pressing one hand against the wall for support, Peter stepped away from the billionaire as he moved deeper into the room, head swiveling to take in all the sights.
As he backed away from the elevator, Peter noticed that the wall continued up before tapering off onto another second level, similar to how the lab was structured, resembling a balcony of sorts. Off to the side, near the many couches, there was a large, spiral staircase with individual hovering glass steps that led up to the higher level. However, the stairs also led down which led him to presume there was another level just underneath them.
For a moment, Peter wondered why Tony needed such a lavish and large penthouse considering it was just him living here. After all, this place seemed to be able to fit a small army.
It was then that the teen remembered that it hadn't used to be just him, his brows furrowing slightly in realization.
"Hey, kid."
Peter turned, noticing that Tony was now in the kitchen, fiddling with something in one of the many cabinets. "Get over here before you keel over, would ya'?"
A few not-well-hidden stumbles later and Peter found himself clambering onto a stool set up against the dining bar along one of the kitchen counters. The kid folded his arms on the surface of the table and rested his head, eyes lazily following Tony around the kitchen.
Peter noted how the billionaire almost seemed...lost in the kitchen, as if he'd never set foot in the room before. Considering this was the man who the teen was relying on to feed him, it probably wasn't that good of a sign.
Before he could start to worry, however, Tony was glancing back at him. "Alright, kid. Do me a favor and don't die for like, the next twenty minutes or something." He paused. "Actually," Turning back around, he reached into the fridge. Pulling out a can of soda, the man placed it on the counter in front of the boy's face. "Drink this. No wait," He turned back around. Suddenly an identical can was being placed right next to the first one. "Drink both of these."
Peter glanced up at him. "Umm..."
"No talking. Chugging."
Peter blinked at the can before his lips were curling into a grin.
"What?" Tony asked, cocking a brow.
The teen shook his head. "No, nothing. It's just...I found the next title for your autobiography."
Tony stared at him before slapping him with the dish towel, Peter ducking under the rag. "Smart-ass." The billionaire muttered with a smirk.
Peter smiled before turning back down to stare at the sodas. Without another word, he popped the tab on the first one and tipped the lip of the can back towards his mouth. The fizzy liquid swished around his tongue before falling down his throat. The frothing bubbles made it hard to chug per say, but he got it down fairly easily. The next can took him a bit longer to finish, but he did. Setting the empty can down next to the first, the boy let out a small sigh and rested his head back down on his arms.
The teen watched as Tony milled about the kitchen, fiddling with the stove as a large pot sat on one of the burners. Cursing something under his breath, the man finally seemed content as he moved away, digging around in the fridge for a moment before he pulled out some vegetables and a box of broth.
Peter let his eyes flutter shut as the man worked. He didn't sleep. But this just seemed better. Tony obviously noted the teen's exhaustion, for he said nothing as the kid rested, simply content to work in the silence.
In fact, it wasn't until at least ten or fifteen minutes had passed before the billionaire spoke up once more.
"Mkay, kid. Spill." Peter's eyes opened once more as the man continued. "I've known you for nearly two months now and something like this has never happened before. I know you're a pretty good liar when you want to be but I don't think even you could have hidden the fact that you're, oh...I don't know, casually starving in my presence." He threw the teen a disapproving look as he folded his arms. "Like...what the hell?"
Peter lifted his head and glanced down at his hands, seeming to find his fingers incredibly interesting in that moment as he traced them along the counter. "My friend, Ned. He's been sick for the past couple days. Usually, he forces me to eat something. A sandwich he packed for me. An apple or two. Something like that. He knows I don't eat all that much at home so he-"
The teen's words quickly died in his mouth as his eyes widened slightly, a panicked look washing over his face for a moment before it was replaced with a look of apprehension. Tony narrowed his eyes as he leaned against the counter. "Okay...follow-up question: Why don't you eat at home?"
Peter stared at the man for a moment, eyes flickering over the features of his face before he turned away, hands wringing together. "Umm...I...I usually don't have time to." He finally murmured softly. "With homework, chores and well...spider-man-ing...I'm usually pretty busy. Most days, I barely have time to finish all my work before my father gets home, and once he does, I have to get started on dinner. And it's not like I can actually sit with them while they're eating," He muttered, rolling his eyes. "so I usually go and finish my homework upstairs and then head out on patrol." He explained, Tony staring at him intently as he did so.
"I guess I just forget sometimes."
It wasn't a total lie. He did just forget to eat sometimes. Besides, it not like Mr. Stark had to know his father was a psycho control freak who seemed to make it his goal to torture and manipulate every aspect of his son's life.
Nobody needed to know that.
Tony continued to stare for a moment longer before he turned away, the look in his eyes lingering with Peter for a moment before it too vanished. The older man moved back over to the pot, which was boiling now with whatever liquid was being held inside. "Uh-huh...and uh...why are you the one cooking anyway?" Tony asked. The teen watched as the man grabbed an onion sitting off to the side. He peeled it before grabbing the knife. He only made a few slices in the vegetable before pausing, deciding to just dump the entire onion into the pot.
...okay?
He reached over and picked up a carrot, swinging it around in the air as he spoke. "Doesn't that seem like something your mom would be doing?" He asked absentmindedly as he began to chop the vegetable into small, uneven slices.
Peter barely registered the question as he watched the boiling pit, which was threatening to overflow. "Yeah, no. I don't think she's gonna be cooking me meals anytime soon." He muttered before raising his hand. "Umm...do you think you should...?" He murmured, gesturing towards the pot as he winced watching it begin to splash out around the rim.
Tony continued on as if he hadn't heard him. "How come?" He asked, glaring down at the carrot pieces before haphazardly tossing them into the pot.
Peter grimaced as the already frothing pot got even angrier. The word were out of his mouth before he could even understand what the question was. "Kinda hard to cook pasta when you're six feet under. You get dirt in the spaghetti sauce."
The room instantly seemed to freeze, the atmosphere quickly becoming heavy and suffocating. Nobody even moved as the pot began to boil over. Tony, whose back was still to the teen, shut his eyes tightly, mouthing a 'fuck me' before slowly turning around.
Peter seemed just as surprised as him, as if he hadn't expected the words to fall out of his mouth. His eyes were wide and his posture was as rigid as a board. He blinked rapidly before his wide eyes met Tony's. "S-sorry...I...I-I...sorry, that's was...I mean...I-I didn't...didn't mean to...t-to..."
"Kid, hey." Tony cut him off, lifting his hands. "Why are you apologizing? I'm the asshole here." He scoffed, though there was very little humor behind it. What made things worse was that Tony already knew that. He knew Peter's mother was...gone. That was one of the first things that'd he'd discovered when he'd researched the teen all those months ago.
Just can't stop spewing out the garbage huh, Stark? Well, points for mentioning the dead mother. What now? Gonna bring in the douchebag dad? Maybe a school bully? Or, better yet! Why don't you just slug the kid in the face. Yeah! That's it, you idiot.
Peter seemed to be in just as much, if not, even more turmoil than Tony as he stared down at his hands. "Sorry..." He said once more. "Just used to...to ignoring her, I guess." He said softly.
Tony furrowed his brow at that. "What do you mean?" He asked, despite his better judgement. He didn't really trust his mouth at the moment.
Peter glanced at him for a moment before staring back down at his hands. "Dad doesn't like it when I walk about her." He whispered. "He gets mad. Like...like really mad."
The man's face twitched angrily at that, but he held his tongue, knowing whatever he said on the matter probably wouldn't do any good. In fact, it probably would have been best if he stopped talking altogether and just finished whatever disaster he was currently cooking. Stuff like this...this was all feelings. Emotions, turmoil, pain...not really his thing. He usually tried to stay away from topics such as these. For when it came to him, he had the delicacy of a bull in a china shop.
A robot bull.
With lasers.
And rockets.
On steroids.
After all, he wasn't really the best when it came to retraining strong emotions. Siberia was a prime example of him losing control and he definitely wasn't about to risk that again. Or worse, making Peter risk that. Having only caught a few glimpses of the teen's true anger, he hated to wonder what it would be like if the teen ever did lose control like he had.
Still, he couldn't help but take in the sight of Peter's face. He knew that face. He recognized that face. it was identical to the one that had plagued his face after...after...
He'd tried to hold it in too. But nobody ever told him that avoiding the pain was just as torturous as confronting it. He glanced back at Peter. He couldn't force the kid to talk. Heaven knew dozens of people had tried that with him and all it'd done was make him more and more reclusive. He'd tried to refuse. But at every corner, it seemed as if there had been someone trying to pry the truth out of him. As if they were taking away his right to choose whether or not to talk through his pain.
No...he couldn't force Peter to speak. But that didn't mean he couldn't give him what he'd never had: the right to choose.
"Do...do you want... to talk about her?" His hesitations were clear in his voice.
Peter narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists. "No." He growled, his face morphing slightly into an unreadable expression. "I...I don't know. She..." It was obvious he'd never done something like this before. He was flustered. But he wasn't tripping over his words, so Tony assumed he was okay.
Well...as okay as one could be when talking about...you know...
The teen let out a small sigh. "She was...I was only four when she died so...I...I-I..."
"What happened?" The billionaire asked, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. His eyes widened as his brain began to catch up to his big mouth. Fucking goddamn it, man! Like, come on! Peter stared at him as he tried to backtrack, tripping over his own feet as he did so. "You know what? Never mind. Forget I even said anything, kid. I'm just-"
"No."
He looked up.
Peter's face was tight as he stared at his hands, as if he couldn't pull his gaze away from them. "No...it's okay. I..." He let out a small humorless laugh. "It's so stupid. I was like, only a toddler when it happened, but I still remember it so well, you know?"
He trailed off for a moment, not saying anything. For a second, Tony wondered if maybe he'd changed his mind, but after another second, he opened his mouth.
"It was raining outside. Thundering. I didn't like it. It was loud." His words were clipped. His voice tight. But he didn't stop. Tony didn't say anything. Peter continued.
"She came into my room. I knew something was wrong cause...cause she was scared." He glanced back up. "I didn't like that either. She...she pulled me from the bed and took me downstairs." He gripped his hands together tightly. "That's when I started to hear the gunshots."
"Gunshots?" Tony echoed, his voice low.
Peter barely gave a nod. "They...they sounded like thunder. The...t-the thundering. It...i...it confused me. And it was loud. Like...i couldn't...it was t-too loud and...I-I..." He grit his teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut, his shaking hands digging into his jeans as the distant sound of thundering began to fill his ears. But they were sharp. The noises. It was sharp. And loud. Too sharp to be thunder. God he...he couldn't do this. It was too loud and he couldn't-
He blinked open his eyes as he felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, quickly dragging him back to reality. He glanced up and noticed Tony was now leaning closer, brow furrowed in an expression Peter couldn't really identify. But he didn't care. The noise, whatever that had been, it was gone again.
The billionaire stared down at him. "You don't have to keep going if-"
"No." Peter shook his head, shutting his eyes for a brief moment once again. "I...I have to do this. I just...I..." Tony nodded, clearly understanding as he took another step back.
Peter sucked in a deep breath as he stared back down at his hands, tracing each line as he continued, the motion seeming to calm him. "She...she hid me in a closet and closed the door. There were a lot of gunshots after that."
Tony raised a brow. "Where was your dad?"
Peter shook his head. "I don't know. It was just me and my mom in the house at the time. I think he was at the office when it happened. Anyway, when everything got quiet, I went to check what was happening. I wasn't supposed to. I was supposed to stay in the closet, stay hidden, but...but I was scared and I wanted to...to see her, you know?" He asked, raising his head. He didn't wait for a reply.
"I got out. I...I went to check...the...the living room and..." He lifted his hands slightly. "and...that was it." He murmured, dropping his hands back down into his lap. A small smile crept onto his face, but Tony couldn't help but feel a little uneasy at the sight. "It's funny, really." Peter chuckled. "I thought I'd only lost one parent in the break in. But, turns out my dad died that night, too." He sighed. "At least a part of him did."
He turned away as the pair lapsed into silence. The only sound was the frothing of the pot and the hiss of the liquid reaching the burner underneath. Tony said nothing as he turned away. What was he supposed to say anyway? What could he possibly say that hadn't already been said? It wasn't like it would change anything.
This wasn't his thing. Comfort, words of encouragement. But he wondered if such things would really be of much help in that moment. He'd relieved plenty of kind words when his parents had died and it had done nothing to ease the pain. In fact, he remembered moments where such words had made him mad. It wasn't their tragedy. What right did they have to be sorry? Their words meant nothing. Nothing but hollow apologies and cold comfort.
He glanced over at Peter, who continued to stare down at his lap. Tony remembered all those people. He hated them. Hated how shallow they all were. Hated how they tried to beat around the bush and stepped on eggshells around him. Like he was this fragile thing that deserved their pity.
He stared at the teenager across from him. Peter didn't need that. He didn't deserve those empty words.
So, as he moved the pot off the burner, he said the first thing that popped into his mind, something he'd secretly wished someone would have said to him.
"Yeah, that shit sucks, doesn't it?" Cause it did. And it had.
Peter lifted his head and cocked a brow. "That's...one way to put it." He muttered, though he didn't seem too bothered by the words. A little surprised, maybe, but not bothered. In fact, he almost looked...amused.
The billionaire leaned his elbow against the counter, gazing back at the teen. "Well, I can honestly say I know how that feels, kid." He muttered. "My parents died when I was only a few years older than you, so I guess it was a little easier on me." He sighed, Peter staring back at him with those large, longing eyes of him. Those eyes that made Tony want to talk and keep talking until he finally said something that made him worthy of the praise gleaming in those hazel pools.
"Still...it's hard when you're alone."
Peter blinked at him before letting out a small breath, turning his gaze away. "Yeah...I know how that feels, too." He whispered.
"Well you shouldn't." The boy turned back towards the man at the tone of his voice. There was something there. Something he hadn't heard before. It wasn't pity. He knew what pity sounded like. He hated the sound. No, this...this was almost like...understanding. Hmm...it sounded...strange. Not bad, just...strange. Uncommon.
"So for that...I'm sorry." Tony finished, his eyes reflecting something Peter rarely saw in them. A rawness the teen was certain the older man often tried to cover up. He knew how that felt too.
The billionaire quickly seemed to notice his slip, for he blinked and it was gone. He let out a small cough against the back of his hand as he pushed off the counter, tuning away from the boy as he moved back over towards the pot. "Jeez..." He muttered as he stared at the concoction.
"Well, not gonna lie, kid. I'm only like, sixty percent sure this is edible." He scoffed as he began to fill a small bowl with the liquid. "Eh... make it forty" He winced as he stole another glance at the liquid. "But you don't have that many options. I can't just keep loading you up with soda so here you go." He grimaced as he placed the bowl down in front of the teen.
The broth was a dark yellow with swirls of brown mingled in throughout. The teen glanced back up, giving the man a small smile. "Trust me, Mr. Stark, I've had worse."
Tony smirked. "I doubt it, kid."
Peter leaned forward, cocking a brow. "Do you know what's in the dumpsters behind those 24 hour buffet places? Cause I do."
The man stared at him in shock for a moment before an involuntary shudder racked his body. Peter nodded. "Yeah, exactly." He chuckled as he grabbed the spoon next to the bowl and took a sip of the soup.
He didn't want to say it was...bad. More like his tongue refused to accept that it was even touching such a thing - cause it definitely wasn't food. So...pretty bad. It tasted a little like he'd just juiced an onion of whatever juice it had inside, dumped in an entire container of salt and then mixed the entire thing up in a toilet bowl...while on fire.
Tony couldn't help the smile that formed on his face at the teen's expression. "Still think you've had worse?"
Peter swallowed the liquid that had been in his mouth with a small groan before giving a small shrug of his shoulder. "Well I mean, I didn't have to fight with a raccoon over this so...silver linings."
The man chuckled. "It's fine, kid. I know it has to be terrible." He muttered as he grabbed a spoon from the sink and dipped it into the bowl. He'd barely even allowed the liquid to touch his tongue before he was spitting into the sink, Peter flinching back with a laugh. "God!" Tony breathed. "Forget the starvation. This right here is what's gonna do you in." He scoffed, Peter snickering behind his hand. "Actually, I think the starvation is more humane." The billionaire grimaced.
Peter shrugged his shoulder as Tony continued to shiver at the violation of his tastebuds. "You know, it would probably be a lot better if you counter the saltiness with a little pinch of sugar and then maybe add a bit of lemon juice to counter the onion taste." He explained, before pausing. "Like...like a lot of lemon juice. Like...a lot a lot of lemon juice."
"Okay, okay, I get it." Tony scoffed as Peter grinned. "How come you know so much about cooking anyway?" The man asked as he folded his arms.
Peter waved one hand dismissively. "I cool every day for a house of six people." He muttered. "I kinda had to learn it fast."
"Right." Tony uttered.
Peter glanced down at the...soup? before him, grimacing as a bubble emerged in the thick liquid before popping. "Umm...Mr. Stark? I don't mean to sound rude or ungrateful or anything, but umm...do you think maybe we can make something else?" He asked with a pained look on his face. It was probably from the fact that he was like, ninety percent sure the soup had just growled at him.
The man nodded. "Sure, but whatever else I make probably isn't gonna turn out much better than that." He pointed with a disgusted look towards the soup.
Peter smiled. "I know. That's why I said 'we'".
Tony cocked a brow as he stared at the teen, though he couldn't help the small smile that fell onto his face. Peter hopped down from the stool, content with the fact that he didn't sway. "How's breakfast for dinner sound?"
The billionaire glanced back over towards the growling soup. "Better than death." He muttered. "Fire away, kid." He called as Peter began to make his way over towards the fridge.
As he watched the teen grab a carton and place it on the counter, he couldn't help the small nagging feeling that had been burning in his chest ever since Peter had revealed what he had. He stared at the boy for a moment in deliberation, wondering whether or not it was actually a good idea before he decided it couldn't hurt.
Walking forward, the man placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, the boy gazing up with a questioning look. He stared down for a second before speaking. "I'm sorry about your mom, Peter." The words were soft, quiet. But both Tony and Peter could feel the gravity of them.
The teen searched the older man's face for a moment before he took a small breath. "I'm sorry about your parents."
Tony's fingers twitched slightly at that, but for some reason, the words he'd heard millions of times seemed...different. As if they held a whole new meaning just by having this one teenager speak them. Maybe it was how he said it. How they'd both said it.
No pity. Just understanding.
The billionaire nodded.
"I'm sorry for feeding you poison."
Peter couldn't stop the laugh from falling from his lips. "I don't think even poison tastes that much like onions."
Wednesday - March 30, 2016
Stark Tower - Penthouse
06:24 p.m.
"Okay, it's official. This is impossible." Tony muttered as he tried to fold over his omelet. The edges simply cracked as the egg began to tear and break, bits and pieces of it sticking to the pan. "I-" He started, only to pause as he glanced over at Peter. The teen folded his omelet over perfectly, the edges a pristine golden brown as he slid the entire thing effortlessly off the pan and onto the plate beside him.
Tony narrowed his eyes and pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "There's a lot to not like about you, Mr. Parker."
Peter threw him a cheeky grin as he placed the skillet into the pan. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're doing great...if you're going for scrambled eggs." He chuckled with a small sympathetic smile.
Tony glared back at the pan. "Questa è una cazzo di cazzata." He muttered under his breath.*
Peter scrunched his nose. "Stop cursing." He scolded, placing his hands on his hips. Tony quirked a brow. "How do you know I'm cursing? You don't even know Italian!"
The teen sniffed. "Context clues." He teased, smile growing as Tony's grumbling raised in volume.
Peter placed the plated omelet down onto the island in the middle of the kitchen, which already held an assortment of different dishes, ranging from burnt bacon to burnt toast to burnt...oatmeal. Peter couldn't tell.
Well...he was getting...better.
Tony haphazardly pushed out the contents of the pan out onto the plate next to him. "There, that's as good as it's getting." He muttered as he folded his arms. Peter giggled as he grabbed the plate and placed it next to his. "Better than the last batch." He called, Tony letting out a small hum.
The pair moved over towards the island as they stared at the multiple plates of food. "We don't have to eat all of this, do we?" The teen asked. Tony shook his head. "Nah, we'll just force Happy to eat it or something."
"Cool."
The billionaire watched as Peter moved back over towards the counter, where a freshly mixed bowl of uncooked pancake batter sat. The man watched with slightly furrowed brow as the kid gave the bowl a slight stir, a nagging topic hanging in the back of his mind. He knew it wasn't gonna go away until he addressed it.
"Kid?"
Peter turned towards him. Tony moved closer. "I don't want this happening again." He sighed, continuing as Peter gave him a confused look. "As in, I don't want you showing up here hungry anymore alright. I can't have you hiding something like that from me."
Peter lowered his gaze. "Mr. St-"
"Ah, ah, ah! Let me finish" He interrupted, the teen falling silent. "I can't have you going hungry when I'm literally the most equipped person to help you with that." He scoffed as he tossed his hands into the air exasperatedly.
He leaned closer and placed his hands onto the teen's shoulders, Peter tensing for a second before a small laugh fell from his lips as Tony gently shook the boy back and forth. "Listen to me, tiny human. If you're hungry, I need you to tell me, alright?" He quirked a brow. "Cause if Pepper finds you passed out on my lab floor, she's gonna make me eat more Devil Soup, mkay? And I'm gonna tell you, kid. I don't think my heart can take any more of that."
The teen let out a small laugh before Tony gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "Do you think you can do that, kid?" He asked, the humor leaving his face, quickly being replaced with a concerned frown. Peter stared at him for a moment, glancing down at the floor in thought before he stared back up at the billionaire. He felt his fingers twitching, but ignored them. Instead, he gave a small smile as he nodded his head.
The man nodded his head as he patted the teen's shoulder. "Good deal, Baby Genius." He called as he moved away, Peter giving a small groan. "That's sticking now, huh? Great..."
Tony threw a smirk his way, moving over towards the bowl of cake batter. "How many more of these do I have to screw up until we're done?" He muttered as he picked up the bowl of batter.
Peter giggled. "You're not that bad. Besides, we only have a few more. I'm not giving up until you've at least tried your hand at each of these. From what you told me, you only ever once tried to make an omelet."
Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it was horrible." He muttered as he popped the batter-covered wooden spoon into his mouth. "This, however, is not. Seriously, I know I shouldn't be eating this but it's like the best thing I've ever tasted in my life." He said as Peter gave his own eye roll.
"Welp, I'm thinking a breakfast sandwich might be a bit above your level right now."
"Pshh...thanks."
Peter scrunched his nose. "Don't pretend that it isn't. We both know it's true and- would you stop eating the batter?! That's bad for you! It's not even cooked!"
Tony glared at him. "Fottiti, questa è l'unica cosa buona della mia vita in questo momento."*
The teen pouted right back. "Stop cursing! My baby ears are burning." He moaned overdramatically while Tony rolled his eyes. "Please, this coming from the kid that spend like, an hour with a wanted assassin."
Peter placed his hands on his hips. "That's not going away anytime soon, huh?"
Tony smirked at him as Peter sighed. "Whatever. Anyway, since you're kinda already there - and it'll keep you away from the uncooked batter - we could at least try some scrambled eggs. They should be easy for you. They require no finesse."
The billionaire threw him a look. "Thanks." He deadpanned. Peter giving him an apologetic smile. "You know what I mean. Can you pass me the pepper?"
"Pepe, kid. Pepe." Tony corrected as he handed the teen the shaker. He'd decided around an hour ago that if Peter was gonna make him look like a fool when it came to this, then he was gonna relish in hearing the boy sound like a fool. So, long story short, Peter was now learning two new languages.
Peter nodded. "Right, like the skunk."
"What now?"
The kid turned to look at him as he shrugged. "Pepé Le Pew? You know, Looney Tunes? Bugs Bunny. Daffy Duck."
Tony gave him an odd stare. "Are these words coming out of your mouth right now?"
"Haven't you ever watched Looney Tunes?" Peter asked with an incredulous stare.
Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, cause I look like the kind of guy that watches cartoons." He muttered.
Peter shrugged his shoulders as he lowered his head. "Well you're Italian and you can't cook for shit so I don't know what to think." He murmured under his breath, puffing his cheeks slightly as Tony stared at him with an unreadable expression.
Suddenly, Peter found himself letting out a loud shout of shock as a handful of cold, pancake batter was being shoved into his face. He sputtered as he wiped the thick, sticky substance away from his eyes. He whirled around to stare at Tony, who didn't look the least bit regretful.
"HEY!" Peter shouted, forgetting for a second who he was talking to. Tony didn't seem to care at all as his face held the barest hints of a smirk. "What?"
The teen opened his mouth, only to pause as he caught sight of something past the kitchen. The billionaire seemed to notice the teen's shift, for he turned around as well, eyes widening at the sight.
Pepper, Rhodey, Happy and Natasha were all sitting at the dining bar, identical smirks adorning each of their faces. Happy and Rhodey both had their phones out as Nat gave a small wave. "What are you two boys up to?" She called innocently.
Rhodey rested his cheek on his fist. "Gotta say, Tones. I'm pretty pleased. Now I know what to get you for Christmas this year. A nice pretty apron." He chuckled.
Pepper chuckled as Happy leaned closer. "Make sure it's Iron Man themed."
"Or else he won't wear it." Natasha added.
Peter tried to hide his grin as he glanced back up at Tony, who had yet to say anything, his face blank. Finally, the man seemed to snap out of his stupor as he clicked his lips together, casually wiping a large slab of batter off of Peter's cheek before hurling it towards Rhodey and Happy, the two men ducking underneath the projectile as Peter burst out laughing.
"Pete, you know what I said before about all this food?"
"Y-yeah..." The teen breathed through his laughs.
"Scratch that. They're all eating this shit now."
The four intruders in the room seemed to pale at that. Tony glanced over at Peter as the kid continued to giggle, the billionaire poking the teen in the cheek.
"You got something on your face."
5) I Will Never Eat Without Permission . . . . At Home
* This is fucking bullshit.
*Fuck you, this is the only good thing going on in my life right now.
Fun Fact: Tony Stark is speculated to be part Italian, at least on his mother's side. His mother's maiden name, Carbonell, is likely a shortened or Americanized version of the common Italian surname Carbonelli or Carbonello. For some reason, the idea of Tony mostly using his Italian just as a means to curse is hilarious to me. So I decided to add it in as another little bond between him and Peter. So, just as Natasha is teaching him Russian, Tony teaches him a little Italian on the side.
Welp, hope you all enjoyed that fluffy goodness that was this chapter. Just had to ride out some spiky angst thorns to get there, but you made it eventually!
Also, I've been getting some private messages from readers asking if whether or not their constant commenting is somehow annoying and I would just like to put this out there just in case any of you are having similar doubts...ahem...
DON'T STOP COMMENTING MY LOVELIES!
Seriously, though. I rate how well a certain chapter was received based on how many of my readers felt inclined to comment, you know to take time out of their actual day to do something they so don't have to do and if makes me feel so great to see that a chapter got a lot of comments. I take the time to read all of them so don't think I don't appreciate them, cause I most certainly do!
I feel like there was something else I wanted to tell you guys, I just can't figure it out right now...
Oh well, thanks to these people for favoriting and/or following: CupcakeCookie21, Maddy Love Castiel, PrincesNaina, king andos, AltoOwl, justwannawritesanonymous, BurningRosethorn, manya20, K4zuk1, MaraudersandHarry, 1-800fangirl, Ljo998, BabyPinkPuppy, CharHarvey, ZEMD06; Aelo1669, FantasyGirl1329, YamadaNisako, nelliej2324, The Great Katabawa, ParkerAlexis88, XxlaurynxX, nananatz
Reviews:
FanficFan920: Guess you'll just have to wait and see ;)
Luckias:Well here's a nice little end to your cliffhanger so you can sleep easy now. Man, I will always accept your cookies. Now shower me. Shower me in you pastry goodness. Tough break dude, hopefully by the time this chapter is ut the movie will be ready and waiting for you on the other side. Anyway, you definitely have to see it. It was quite a refreshing movie after the sobfest that was fucking Infinity War. Hate that goddamn movie for making me feel things I don't want to feel! Dude, your comments could never be a problem for me. I base how well my stories are rating by how often my readers feel inclined to comment so don't be shy.
HeCallsMeBeloved: *Begins to do the Robot-Caveman dance from that one Spongebob BC episode* *quickly stops and sits when realizes nobody knows what you're talking about*
PrincessNaina: We got tears! I repeat! We got tears! Let me just go ahead and mark down what chapter this took place in and...yep. Honey, you better strap in cause if you think that's as sad as we're going in this story you are in for a very watery ride!
Seawell: *awkwardly pats back when hug lasts too long* Still feels good! Yep, I'm basically counting down the days I have left before I have to enter back into the hellscape that is high school. Conversing with a bunch of superficial, self-centered whiny brats who never got taught the lesson that their opinions don't matter all that much and that they aren't as special as their parents made them out to be. God, don't you just love it? And people wonder why my stories are so sad and angsty. I'm a teenage girl! Angst is basically what I drink on a daily basis! JK, my sister's like that though and I want to murder her more times than I can count...maybe that's why my stories are so dark...hmm...
Anwhoo! I know I can count on my readers! I lone all'yall. Whoops, sounded too much like I'm from Florida there! Sorry! Now I gotta go! There's an alligator in my pool and then I have to go with my family to Disney World cause apparently that's all there is in Florida. Alligators wearing Mickey Hats.
That lowkey sounds awesome...
ParadoxicOrder8: Dude, I can't even drive yet XD
Phoenixhp5: Gracias, amigo. I'm definitely gonna take my time with this story, but I'm a pretty impatient person so I at least try and to extent the courtesy of updating regularly cause that's what I'd want someone welse to do for me. Plus, I gotta do something when I'm daydreaming in class. Might as well be planning for the next chapter XD
Toni42: Nah, man. I with writing was my whole life. I would be so happy if it was. MJ and Flash will be getting more spotlight moments as well as Ned. Gotta love Ned. The Rogues will be getting the same treatment end woof! Tension? Boy, you haven't seen anything yet!
Qwertywerido: Woof, tell your friend I'm sorry
RosettaQueen: Well, ya gotta give the kid some credit here. Just depends on who he's lying to. I;ll be sure to highlight those distinctions more as the story progresses.
LOST in the supermarket: New update man! Lengthy and wordy and stupidly long! Just as you all like them...i guess XD
LoonyLovegood1981: You're good, man. I've just gotten some private comments saying how they hate the format of this story and all that whiny bullshit from people who definitely couldn't do better if their grammar in those messages was any indication XD ANywhoo...just glad you're not one of those assholes.
AltoOwl: Honey, conflict is my middle name.
momocandy: How...DARE you not leave a review?! I specifically state that any and all people who have the GALL to read my story must post a comment with NO HATE within the first five minutes of clicking! I accept NO FLAMES! If you con't like don't read! Nobody deserves criticism! It is hatred and pure jealousy and could never do an author actual good like telling them their weak points in writing and giving them a good basis on where they can improve and better their skills! Preposterous! And how can you have the audacity to read this story in your own work place, taking the time to relax and honor me by using your break time to read my story! Where do you get the nerve?! And you bet your ass you follow this golden shit to the end of the line! But it's not like I need you or whatever! It's not like the support and love from readers such as yourself actually motivates me to continue writing for such fans and lovelies and other wonderful people like you! You're insane if you think otherwise! :(
Agent blue rose: Ahh...Natasha. Everyone's favorite boss ass bitch
xXCinderzXx: Hola! Gotta love those who prioritize reading over actual human needs! Guess you'll have to wait and see on who this mystery character is. But I'll give you a hint...it's neither of those XD sorry!
