"I just don't understand why," Peter said again, handing May's hotdog to her after she'd finished arranging her purse back over her shoulder the way she liked.

They were waiting on a ride to SI that was allegedly a few minutes out, and May had said not to look a gift horse in the mouth because otherwise they'd have a steep cab fare out to this compound, wherever it was. Peter had spotted the hot dog cart. May had gotten them double-loaded with the good stuff.

("And this is just us being economical, since we're avoiding cab fare," Aunt May had said to justify extra relish on hers.)

"Jesus, Pete, I don't even know that it matters why," May said around a mouthful of her hotdog. "It's just one of those things. Some kind of freak paperwork thing had our whole building change hands to a new owner who wants to renegotiate the leases for the tenants. Nothing Waylan can do. No rhyme or reason to it. It's just one of those things that happens."

Peter opened his mouth to protest, and huffed when Aunt May urged him to eat his hotdog.

"Hey, hey, Pete. This is not something you need to worry about. Okay?" she looked pointedly at his hotdog, not continuing until Peter took another bite. "It's all taken care of. Apparently, the new owner worked out a deal with another building, or something, inviting tenants to move there, at their convenience. It's. Well. It's definitely a hassle. But what it boils down to is…yes, we have to move, but…all the hard stuff has been taken care of, already," she said reassuringly, swiping at a blob of ketchup at the corner of her mouth with a thumb, poking it back into her mouth.

"So we're just…moving?" Peter whined around his mouthful. "I don't wanna move again."

"Hey. It's okay. Sweetie? It's freaky, I know, but. But it'll be all right. Okay? The new owner is being very understanding. We're getting a month to pack up our stuff, which is very generous—the state only requires a week's notice—and we qualify for placement in this other building—Pete, it's actually nicer. It's closer to your school, it's a newer place. Clean. And here's the kicker: it's 400 bucks cheaper." May punctuated her statement with a disbelieving smack to his shoulder, pushing the remainder of her hotdog into her mouth.

Peter's eyes widened. "Really?"

May started wandering back in the direction of the hotdog cart. "I want fries. You want fries?"

Peter nodded. Getting food into his system was doing wonders for how calmly he was able to discuss this. Especially considering how rattled he'd been feeling earlier, after his awful night's sleep.

"$400 extra a month is gonna be a Godsend, sweetie," May continued. "It'll mean I won't have to work so many overtime shifts, and, more importantly, you get to focus on school, instead of worrying about me and trying to pick up a job." She ordered their fries, paid with cash, and let the change count as a tip, stuffing her wallet back into her purse. "Which you won't have to worry about anyway, because we just finished setting you up with a bank account, and I passed the information along to payroll. As in, this internship you landed is paid. As in you can finally get a new laptop for school. As in I might even let you get a new phone. But we'd have to revisit that after you can go longer than two weeks without cracking the screen to hell."

Peter managed a small laugh, and May took his hands in hers, smiling. "Good news," she said, firmly. "Just…big. That's all. Both can be true."

"Both can be true," Peter repeated sheepishly. It was a therapy thing. Invalidating one thing because of another thing. When both could be true at the same time. Peter hated that he was missing the last day of school for what he felt was a stupid reason. And he loved that Aunt May cared about him enough to press the issue. Both were true. They didn't feel like they could occupy the space, but they could.

May thanked the vendor and pushed a still-steaming boat of fries under Peter's nose, smiling at the hungry look that crossed his face. "Pete, careful, they're still hot," she warned, but Peter stuffed some fries into his mouth with reckless abandon, hissing air through his teeth to cool his mouth when they did, indeed, prove too hot.

"Better?" May said presently, taking her own fries slower, letting them cool a little, eating only a few at a time.

Peter knew she wasn't just taking about the fries being too hot. He nodded, slowly. "Yeah," he admitted to her. "A little bit."

Aunt May smiled. "I'll take it. And I think this just proves my own word pseudo-therapy is legit."

"It's really not," Peter objected, stealing one of her fries. Not because his were gone, but because hers were more tempting, now, by virtue of being more and hotter than his, which he'd all but vacuumed into nonexistence, leaving a few dregs that were cooling too fast in the open air.

"It's real," May insisted, waving his hand away and snatching her fry boat out of the way of his thieving fingers. "If you're feeling out of sorts, the top three solutions are eating, sleeping, and showering." She paused, thoughtful. "Well. I mean. Without being invalidating, though. Like, you have real insomnia things with those awful nightmares you get. So obviously sleep wouldn't help that. So I get that it's not, like, 100% the go-to. But hanger is real, man." Aunt May raised a fist to Peter, and he rolled his eyes.

"Preach," he said, offering his own fist to bump hers. After a pause that had May pulling out her phone to re-check the time, Pete added, softly, "I'm sorry we had to move because of me, Aunt May. Last time, I mean. Maybe if we'd just stayed…I mean…so many things might have been different."

May tapped a hand to his shoulder, leveling her gaze with his. She'd taken her contacts out this morning after crying, and was wearing her glasses, though she'd taken her hair out of the Who-Bun and twisted it into a clip instead.

And she was still every inch his Aunt May, still formidable and strong and his.

"Hey, you," she said seriously. "I thank God we moved every day, first of all. It was the best thing we could have done for you, back then. You were so scared, honey. All the time. And it scared the hell out of us, Pete."

Peter nodded.

She nodded back, and then continued: "Second of all, you. You didn't even tell us anything until after we'd moved. Remember? So if that would be one of the things that would be different…I'm sorry, but no dice. We've come so far since then, sweetie. We've learned so much about how to help each other...I can't even fathom what you're saying. It would be…completely different. And I don't think it would all be the good kind of differences. Does that make sense?"

Peter nodded again. "But you maybe wouldn't have to work so hard, and Uncle Ben—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Peter Benjamin Parker," Aunt May cut in with authority, but not raising her voice, or in a scary way. "We've talked about this with Sarah. Whose fault is it? You know this."

Peter huffed. "I know, but—"

"Is it yours?" she interrupted again.

Peter sighed. "No."

Liar.

The dissonance was almost physically painful.

Because May didn't know.

The crux of everything that was wrong, recently: Peter had been bitten by that stupid spider. And when he'd realized it had done something…weird...he'd told Ben about it. Because way back when, when he'd finally been in a place where he thought maybe he could tell someone about that, he'd chosen Ben.

And Ben had fixed it.

He'd told May, and Peter had gotten back into therapy, and braved the police station to report Skip, and…Ben had fixed it.

So Peter had told Ben that he had superpowers, now.

And then Ben had died.

And Peter hadn't been there. He'd had powers. Ben had known it, too. If he'd just been there…he could have done something.

"When you can do the things I can, but you don't…and then the bad things happen…they happen because of you."

And May didn't know.

"If I could only ask you to do one thing in my life, Petey, it would just be this thing, okay?" she was saying, now. "Let the bastard with the gun take the blame. Okay? He made a choice to shoot. He can take the blame. It wasn't your fault, sweetheart."

And because he couldn't stomach speaking aloud again, to lie to his Aunt, Peter settled for a lie of action, in a nod.

Yeah, Einstein. Just smile and nod. If you can't lie, just agree.

A loud honk sounded, scaring the pair of them, and Peter winced, unable to hide the reaction quick enough.

May frowned. "Looks like our ride isn't happy."

Peter laughed, then, when the driver grumpily exited the vehicle, looking around for them. "Actually, Aunt May…I should introduce you. Our driver: Happy Hogan."

-o-

"Henry Hellrung. I can't believe it," Tony muttered, stepping off the elevator, arm in arm with Pepper, who chuckled, again.

"What? That he's famous? You're in that special group of famous people who are also alcoholics, it's hardly—"

"No, just. It's weird, isn't it? His big break was playing me," Tony said, but he wasn't able to keep a straight face, mainly because Pepper's chuckles had devolved into laughter. They were back at the compound after catching a meeting electronically, mainly because the compound was too far upstate to find anything closer or sooner.

"God, and he does it so well!" Pepper gasped. "He said he'd watched news footage of you over the years; speeches and press conferences, and the Expo –he even got the footage from that disaster of a senate hearing on C-SPAN—"

"—To be fair, I was dying at the time," Tony tried to interject.

"—and you were trying to pass off the suit as a. What was it? A 'high-tech prothesis.'"

"—that continues to be the most apt description I can make of it, then –"

"—And you. Oh, you were awful! I remember I was so mad at you, you were being so uncooperative—"

"—we've obviously upgraded since the surgery, the ticker's still doing great—"

"—talking about taking the suit being tantamount to. Oh, you said…'indentured slavery or prostitution, depending on what state you were in'—"

"—'servitude,' not 'slavery,' it was –"

"I was dually impressed at your audacity and. And angry beyond words at. Oh, and the. When you hacked the video!"

"—well, they were trying to steamroll over what Rhodey was saying—"

"—And you just. You said 'You're welcome' for. For being a nuclear deterrent, and later, when you actually kind of were, it was just so ironic—"

"—to clarify, I was never the nuclear deterrent, I was more the…source of delivery."

"A suicide bomber isn't better."

"I realized that as I was saying it."

"We're roasting Tony for being a shit? I want in. I have stories from MIT," Rhodey called, and it set Pepper off laughing again. Their exchange had carried on from their time stepping off the elevator until they reached Rhodey's medical wing bed. He was laying prone, and offered a smile when they stepped into the room. "Helen's off being a real doctor instead of letting me wheedle her into a surgery date and it's all your fault," Rhodey said good-naturedly, nodding at Tony. "Happy brought back your kid, and she was all excited about a shiny enhanced to poke and potentially medicate."

"I thought you just needed me out of the picture to work your magic. Sounds like someone is losing their touch. I never thought you'd blame a child for your lack of game," Tony quipped, eyes scanning over Rhodey's chart before he sat down in one of the chairs by Rhodey's bedside, dragging it closer and sighing when he settled.

"What were you guys talking about?" Rhodey said presently, when Tony didn't immediately open a conversation.

"Tony's new sponsor was talking about watching news footage of him, and so we were talking about that senate hearing when the Army wanted the suit. Before Tony's birthday, or the Expo," Pepper summed up, smiling and pulling her chair up beside Tony's.

"Where's Happy?" Tony asked distractedly, impatiently confirming some incoming messages from FRIDAY on his phone without looking at them. He was trying to find his list of doctors again, what had their names been?

"Said he had to get the car gassed up before taking the Parkers back home, later," Rhodey had the look of wanting to shrug, and then carefully…not doing it.

"Ms. Potts, I believe this was for you," FRIDAY's cool voice interjected from the speakers, and a small, rectangular metal…thing was presented to her in the helpful prong of DUM-E, who had recently gotten wheels and could often be seen making simple deliveries within the building.

Pepper frowned at the offering, taking it, thanking DUM-E, and looking askance at Tony, who glanced at, but didn't immediately register the strange gift.

The rectangle was perhaps the size of a USB drive, with a small depression in the center, and nothing else marking what it was or what it would do.

Several things happened in the next instant.

Rhodey asked what the thing was.

Tony registered what it was, and reached out to stop Pepper from doing what he suddenly clearly knew she was going to do.

Pepper pressed the depression like a button.

The room seemed to explode in a gentle way, covering everything in a sticky, gossamer coating of cotton-like fibers. Almost like spun sugar. Cotton candy.

No one spoke for a moment, and when Pepper moved to pull the fibers away from her face, it didn't seem to work very well, because they were much, much stickier than cotton candy.

"Shall I apply the solution Mr. Parker developed to decrease the stickiness?" FRIDAY queried innocently.

"Yes, FRI, make it happen," Tony said quickly, helping Pepper to pull a clump of the webbing – it was Peter's web formula design – off her cheek.

"What the actual fuck is this shit?" Rhodey asked from the bed, as a mist started to descend into the room, slowly seeming to melt the fibers away: Like cotton candy coming into contact with water, it started to dissolve.

"Um. So. Funny story," Tony reached up to his hair, brushing a few slimy clumps of dissolved webbing out of it with his fingers. "I was having FRIDAY analyze samples of. Um. Spider-Man's webs. We came up with a potential upgrade, and I guess…the protocol was set to deliver it the next time he came to the compound. He's. Ah. Here. And interestingly enough, he has. Uh. The same initials as. As Pepper. So. So DUM-E brought it to her."

"I feel quite disgusting," Pepper said calmly.

"I. I didn't foresee this as a problem, somehow," Tony said offering an explanation in lieu of a proper apology, babbling in his way. "I mean, I don't know why, I never would have called this happening. I hate writing out names, initials are easier. And it brings me no small amount of joy to shorten Rhodey's name to Junior. Y'know. J-R."

"Why does it taste like a blue-raspberry jolly rancher?" Rhodey said, tongue spitting out a stubborn clump near the corner of his mouth.

"That was. Um. The kid hates cherry, I asked," Tony said simply. "It's been a recurring problem that the formula gets in people's mouths, so might as well fix it so it doesn't taste like chemicals."

"I'm gonna. Um. Rhodey, you good? I'm. I'm gonna shower," Pepper said, pushing her bangs off her forehead, where they stuck with the rest of her hair, now thoroughly dampened with the solution FRIDAY had misted into the air.

"Tony's gonna help me shower, too. Right Tony?"

"Spongebath, Platypus?"

"No. I want to actually feel clean, after."

"Um. FRIDAY, please upgrade DUM-E's protocol to differentiate between the P.P'sP.'s in Tony's notes. Or pester Tony to stop using initials of people who happen to share the initials," Pepper said calmly, standing and wiping more of the stuff off her arms. "Or perhaps take away his ability to approve things without reading them. Make him read them aloud. Use your massive quantity of protocols and programming to figure out a way to suitably punish Tony for this lapse in common sense. He's supposed to be a genius."

"Yes, ma'am," FRIDAY affirmed, and it was probably Tony's imagination, but the words almost sounded contrite.

"Pep? I love you!" Rhodey called as she left the room. She didn't look back, but waved a sticky hand to indicate she'd heard him. "Now you broke Pepper," he accused, looking at Tony once more. "First Happy, now—"

"She's fine. She's gonna take a shower. Hey, FRIDAY, troubleshoot some ideas to get Colonel Rhodes his shower," Tony said, entirely focused on Rhodey, now, and wiping more of the dissolved goo from his hospital bed. "Something more sophisticated than hosing him down with whatever DUM-E is gonna bring."

As if summoned, DUM-E appeared, holding a cone of paper in its prongs, offering it to Tony.

Rhodey laughed long and hard, spinal injury be damned, when Tony took the paper and revealed it to be a dunce cap.

-o-