Disclaimer: I only own the plot and my OCs. Anything you recognize as not mine belongs to Marvel Studios, Disney, and/or their otherwise respective owners.

Author's Notes: Yep, I'm back with another chapter! This one was quite a bit of fun to write. I'll let you read as to why. :)

Hope you all enjoy. I'll be back next week with the next chapter.

~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

~primis, omega, superhero, genius~

~somebody to love~

~chapter 11: what you need~

That evening, Penny went back to her apartment the normal way, Stark having insisted on one of his employees, a man named Happy (who actually wasn't all that happy), driving her there. Her suit was carefully folded up into a bag slung on her shoulders, Stark also having insisted on giving her it. She supposed this was alright.

Honestly, despite the blood transfusion, she wasn't sure if she would have been able to swing back in her suit – she felt wrung out. She had lost a lot of blood.

As she unlocked the door to her apartment and walked inside, she stared at all of its contents for a moment. The one room was dark in between the setting sun and none of the lights being turned on, and it was rather bare. She'd lived here for over a year, almost fifteen months to be exact, but she'd never really lived in the apartment. She'd never settled. She'd told herself that she would eventually, but she was always at her job or patrolling as Spider-Woman...always trying to ignore how lonely it felt living by herself and being a widow.

Smushing her right cheek with her hand, she sighed.

It wasn't like she would be having the "lonely" problem anymore.

In any event, the bareness of the apartment made it easy to pack. She was able to stuff most of her clothes into her suitcase, although she did have to sit on it to make sure it stayed shut. The rest, which mostly consisted of the winter wear that she didn't really use, she was able to stuff into a large paper grocery bag. The picture of Harry which she kept on her nightstand, she carefully put into a small box, not wanting the other Avengers to see it. The record player and vinyls she had from Uncle Ben and Aunt May had never been unpacked, so all she had to was bring them out from under the bed.

Not much else in the apartment was hers. There was the small TV and cable setup (she doubted she would need the latter, though), the sheets on her bed, her toiletry products, her dish ware, and the food in the cabinets and fridge which basically amounted to cereal and milk. But the bed wasn't hers. The desk that she never used wasn't hers, nor was the accompanying chair.

She thought there might've been something metaphorical about that fact. But with exhaustion creeping into her bones, she couldn't think about it for long. Crawling onto her bed, she was out pretty much like a light.

For once, she got a full night's sleep.

For once, she didn't dream.

The next morning, Penny approached her landlord.

Her landlord wasn't an awful man. He wasn't that great, either, but by all accounts he could be worse. He was in his late sixties, and every morning he was available in the room he'd set aside as his office for a short while, as he read the newspaper and drank his coffee and smoked his cigar. The smell of the latter always made her nauseous, but previously it was a habit she was willing to bear. He'd accepted her application when she'd first been looking for a place to live in spite of not having anything to her name, and had allowed her to pay her rent late a couple of times. He'd even stood up for her once or twice against the guy who lived above her, saying that she was just a beta who had PTSD and should be left alone.

(No, she wasn't exactly happy with being called "just a beta," but in the past she'd been willing to take what she could get.)

"Mr. Carideo," she said, knocking on the open doorframe to his office.

Her landlord glanced up from his paper as he flicked the ashes of his cigar into the accompanying tray. "Parker," he greeted her. "Are you here to tell me you're gonna be late on your rent again?"

...Okay, so maybe she'd had to pay her rent late more than a couple of times.

Sue her: she was an enhanced individual trying to survive on the income of a waitress. Sometimes, something had to give.

"No, Mr. Carideo," she replied. Nervously, she ran her hand up and down the strap of her purse. "Actually, um – "

"Spit it out," he grunted. He took another puff of his cigar.

"I'm going to be moving out," she blurted out. Might as well rip it off like a bandaid. "Um, today. I apologize for such a short notice."

Mr. Carideo stared at her. He blinked.

Then, much to her confusion, he smirked. "Finally."

She'd been expecting him to be mad at her. Or, if not, she'd been expecting him to not care. She hadn't been expecting this. "Excuse me?"

"I was wondering when a beta like you would settle down," he explained. "Glad to see somebody finally caught your eye. I hope they treat you good, you hear? If not, I'll find a place for you. I'll find a place for them, too, if you know what I mean." His eyes glinted dangerously. "My family has...connections."

Her face flushed. "Mr. Carideo, that's not – "

Her landlord waved her off. "Don't worry about the rest of your rent, your deposit will cover most of it. Just go be happy. Get some therapy too, Parker. You need it."

She started to protest him further, but before her voice could leave her throat she decided not to. She was already lying to him – to everyone, almost – about being a beta and hiding the truth of her being Spider-Woman, she could let him believe in this other falsehood. It wasn't like she would ever be seeing him again after today. "Grazie, Mr. Carideo."

"Prego," he responded. "I'll forward your mail, too. Where's your new address?"

She shook her head. "Not necessary."

They both knew besides her bills, she never got anything.

Her mission with her landlord now complete, the diner was her next stop. There was a sizable crowd in the building, but it wasn't too bad as she headed up to the hostess podium. "Hey, Melanie," she said to the hostess, a beta who'd only been working at the restaurant for a month or so. "Can you get me Bélen?"

Melanie regarded her with wide eyes. "Holy shit, Penny! You've been missing for three days! I thought you were dead!"

"Well, obviously I'm not," she deadpanned. "So can I talk to Bélen, please?"

"Perdida Penny!" Bélen exclaimed as soon as she caught sight of her. Penny nearly jumped out of her skin. She pulled Penny into a hug in front of all of the customers, much to the omega's amusement and horror, before kissing the air next to each of her cheeks. "Bonita, you look like death warmed over. Please, come back to my office so you can sit down."

Penny allowed herself to be pulled along like a rag doll. She saw Bridget gaping at her, and waved at her other omega. Bridget waved back, starting to grin like a maniac; she could hear her squeal of delight across the entire restaurant, thanks to her hearing. Jason looked similarly relieved; he was busy taking out a tray of food to a table, but he did nod to her. "Nice to see you, Penny," he remarked. "You're looking better."

She smiled at their inside joke. "I feel it, too."

Bélen led her into the office, pulling up the spare chair. "Sit, sit," she insisted. Penny sat, watching as the alpha woman sat at the desk chair, running a hand through her curly dark hair. "How are you feeling, bonita? Oh, I was so worried for you when I saw the news reports. We all were."

"I look worse than I feel," she promised. "Pretty much right as rain. I'll be ready to come back to work tomorrow."

Bélen tutted. "Penny, are you sure?"

"Absolutely positive." She stalled. "But, um, my emergency forms and stuff are going to need to be updated. I'm moving out of my apartment."

Bélen was instantly suspicious, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? Where to?"

She rattled off the address of Stark's Tower.

"And you still want to work here, Perdida?"

Penny frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You're going to be a proper Avenger now, aren't you? Going on missions and galas, being famous. You won't need to work here to make money, and I doubt Stark'll ask you for rent. He's good like that."

She chose to ignore the comment about him. "Bélen, I'm only living there. I'm not going to become an official Avenger, and I'm not revealing my identity."

Bélen appeared genuinely confused. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Because...because I don't want to." The simple answer was the best; she didn't have the energy to get into everything else. With how Bélen still seemed confused, though, she figured she had to do a little more. "Please, Bélen. Don't make me give this up. I like working here. I know I'm a superhero, but...I feel like I make a difference here too, you know?" I feel like I'm alive, and not a corpse in disguise.

Bélen's eyes softened. "I won't make you quit. If you want to work here, then you can keep on doing so, though Dios knows why. Most people wouldn't dream of coming back, if they were in your shoes." Penny wanted to thank her, but she didn't get the chance. "But I will be giving you another day off a week."

"What?" Penny cried. "But Bélen, I'm perfectly fine working five days a week!"

"I know you are, which is why I'm doing this. It's for your own good." Bélen took out a pen and her reading glasses, making a note of her decision on a post-it. "I won't see you working yourself to an early grave between here and your patrols, not like you have been. Four days a week, and if you have to go on a mission, you let me know before you go, alright?"

"I won't be going on any missions! I'm not becoming an official Avenger, didn't you hear?"

"Just in case, then. Humor me. I worry about you."

Penny huffed. "Fine."

"Thank you," Bélen replied. "Now, go back to your apartment and don't come back until the day after tomorrow, since I'm assuming you'll be moved by then. You need the rest, cara. You did almost die."

Back at her apartment, Penny did wind up taking a nap for a few hours against her will. One moment she told herself she was just going to rest for five minutes, the next she woke and saw the other Avengers would be arriving in about two hours (Stark's insistence – "you think I'm letting you move your stuff so soon after almost dying? No way in hell, Spidey."). Hurriedly, she got out of bed, finished packing up her things, did a somewhat decent cleaning of the apartment, and then waited outside the building with her arms crossed.

At the two-hour mark precisely, a sleek black car pulled up. She recognized it as a Bentley, brand new. Expensive.

The passenger door's window rolled down, revealing Rogers. He gave her a sunny smile. "Spider-Woman."

"I'd appreciate you not calling me that while we're here," she warned. Looking past him, she saw the driver. Her shoulder subtly relaxed. "Hello, Dr. Banner."

"Good afternoon," he said.

Rogers stepped out of the car. He was wearing a disguise but it wasn't worth jack shit, only a baseball cap and a pair of hipster glasses along with a brown melton topcoat. She almost commented on it, but the faster they got through this, the better. The less likely it was one of her soon-to-be former neighbors would reveal her identity. "Come on, I live on the third floor and the elevators here never work."

He surveyed the building as they walked inside, examining its slightly run-down quality. Mr. Carideo never did much if it costed a lot of money. "This building certainly has its...charms."

She shrugged. "It's not much, but it's home."

(That's a lie.)

He cracked a smile. "I know how that goes."

Rogers didn't say anything when they entered her apartment, but his expression was enough alone. He was surprised; whether by how small it was or her lack of things, she didn't know. She didn't really care to. Penny put the boxes of records and their player in his arms. "Be careful with these," she told him. "They're fragile."

"Of course."

Between two enhanced people and how little she had, they were able to get everything out in quick order. Almost all of it fit into the trunk of the car, only a couple of things having to be put in the backseat with her.

When they were done, she put her keys in the mail slot to Mr. Carideo's office that was usually only used for rent payments, then glanced up at the building from the outside somberly. She wouldn't miss this place; yet, a sense of melancholy washed over her.

Once she got in that car, moving away was a decision she wouldn't be able to take back. Whatever was going to inevitably happen because of this choice, her fate, would be set in stone.

"Queens?"

She felt her eyes nictate. "Coming."

In the car, Banner turned around as she strapped herself in. "I hope you don't mind jazz," he apologized.

"It's fine."

The car ride was mostly spent in silence, save for the music. Dr. Banner and Rogers talked about this and that. The scientist didn't try to initiate her in the conversation. For that, she was thankful.

Truthfully, even with her nap, she was exhausted. It seemed her injuries had taken a lot more out of her than they usually did.

At least she wasn't producing much slick. She had no idea if it was because she was recovering from almost dying or because her instincts were now mostly satisfied that she was going to be living in close proximity with them, but whatever.

Stark was waiting for them in the garage where all of the Avengers vehicles were parked. "Hey, Spidey," he said. His good mood quickly vanished, however. "You feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Penny mumbled.

Sensing the awkwardness he'd created, the billionaire changed the subject. "Right, well," he coughed. "I'll help you and Steve get your things to the elevator, then I'll get you set up. Bruce, meet you in the lab later?"

"Yep," Bruce agreed, heading off towards the elevator – one of them, there was more than one. "I'll see you around, Spider-Woman."

"...See you," she returned reluctantly.

For once, Stark was able to keep his mouth shut. He didn't say anything until they'd gotten all of her things into the elevator and the doors had closed shut behind the three of them. "Okay, layout of the building," he began. "As you know, the conference rooms are on the seventy-seventh floor. There's two floors below it that are technically Avengers floors, but they're for offices and the like. Seventy-eighth through eighty are labs that are open to all of the Avengers, in case you want to do chemistry or whatever area of science is your choice. Eighty-one through eighty-three are the gym and pool. Eighty-four is MedBay, as you also know. Eighty-five is the communal floor. Eighty-six is yours. Eighty-seven is Clint and Natasha's, eighty-eight's Bruce, eighty-nine's Thor, ninety's Steve, and ninety-one through ninety-three are me."

She was reminded of the Tudor apartments, where Norman and Harry had lived. Norman had bought their building and converted the top two floors into a single apartment for him and his son. After she and Harry had gotten married, he'd renovated the two floors below it into another apartment just for them. It was where they would've lived and their children would've been raised, once they'd gotten finished with college.

She shook herself from the memory. "That's a lot of floors."

Stark winked at her. "That's what happens when you own the building you live and work in, my dear." Her heartbeat started to rise at the term of endearment. Rogers gave her a weird look for it, but his fellow alpha was oblivious. "Now, the elevator doors technically open into your living room; they do for everybody else's, too. Instead of knocking, JARVIS will announce someone and ask if they can come in. If you ever don't want him to do that, there's a passcode you could give them to come in whenever they please. Without either, they won't be able to access your apartment. Right now, the code for it is 'Itsy-Bitsy.'"

She snorted. "Cute."

He was unrepentant. "You'll be able to change it, don't worry," he said. "And here we are. Itsy-Bitsy."

The elevator doors opened.

Now, Penny knew rich. She'd married into one of the wealthiest, "old money" families in New York, after all. The Osborns had been rich and famous well before Norman had started up his company, not like Howard Stark. It had been an adjustment, going from living in a struggling family where most things were secondhand to one where the extravagant was the norm. She remembered that first time she'd gone over to the Osborns' before she'd married Harry, and even with having known they were rich, had still felt her jaw drop open as she'd said, "Whoa."

This time felt a lot like then. Stark was as rich as the Osborns, if not richer, just in a different way. The entire living room had sleek, modern furniture. There was a huge, 60-inch flatscreen TV on one of the walls with a gaming console she knew she would never use, but Ned would've appreciated. In the open kitchen, the appliances were all expensive and brad new. There was even an espresso machine – and a part of her was disturbed at that, wondering if Fury had told Stark about her love of coffee or if it was something he had figured out himself.

The entire floor had the same ceiling-to-floor windows as the rest of the building. The walls were a subdued, bluish-grey color that was to her style, not like the navy blue or scarlet red she'd been expecting Stark would think she'd like. There were no pictures or other decorations up, leaving her free to design the room however she liked.

"We'll let you explore everything yourself," promised Stark. "But, what do you think?"

Honestly, she'd forgotten he and Rogers were there. She also hadn't realized she'd stepped out of the elevator, so that now she was standing in the living room. Her living room.

"I..." she started. Without thinking about it, she shucked off her shoes – and then was promptly surprised. The carpet, even through her socks, was soft. Soft. How had Stark managed that? "I love it."

It was the utter truth.

She actually did.

Pivoting around, she saw Stark's chest puff outwards with pride, and didn't even have it in her to be annoyed by it. "I knew you would," he informed her. "Pepper always said otherwise, but I'm good at interior designing."

Rogers made a noise. "Good at hiring people for interior designing, you mean."

"That, too. Stop besmirching my name, Rogers. Help me get her things out of the elevator."

"Whatever you say, Tony."

"If you don't like anything, just let me know – or JARVIS," Stark spoke, once he and Rogers had helped her complete the previously mentioned task. "I'll be happy to – "

"Yes, thank you," she said. Admittedly, she wasn't listening to him as much as she should've. "I'll be fine."

Stark took his departure, using the elevator. Rogers hung back; after the doors had closed on the other man, he turned to her. "Tony's really happy to have you here," he commented. "He's been planning this for a long time."

That drew a chuckle out of her. "I can tell."

"Sorry if he did a little too much."

"It's...okay." And it was. "But you shouldn't have to be the one apologizing for him." Rogers gave her a chagrined smile. "Thanks, Rogers."

"Not a problem, Queens."

When he was gone, Penny took off her socks. She spread her toes on the carpet, tears very ashamedly coming to her eyes at the gentle feeling of it after so many years of being used to rough, rough, and more rough. It was like something out of a forbidden dream, a wish she'd never expected to be granted again.

But, as she did, there was one question that remained:

Now what?

Word Count: 3,458

Next Chapter Title: cracklin' rosie