On Tuesday June 28, 2016, Peter thought he'd lucked out. He thought he'd be able to get ready and sneak off to the last day of school without Aunt May being any the wiser. He could hear her moving around, clearly on the phone, clearly distracted.
(If Aunt May was distracted then maybe Peter could reinstate Resting Time.)
May had clearly outlined what she expected from today. She wanted Peter to stay home. She wanted to get him an appointment with Sarah, his therapist from when he was young. Or maybe Berto, the grief counselor he and Aunt May shared. She wanted to take him out to lunch, like that was the problem. Like if she took him to get food, that would magically solve everything.
(Not even Thai food had that power. Not even Larb.)
Peter contemplated sneaking out the window. But the fire escape was still broken. And he found himself completely overwhelmed at even the prospect of having to make the multitude of small decisions involved in the sneaking, in the using his powers in daylight, potentially explaining away anything that anyone maybe would see—things he didn't have to worry about when it was already getting dark when he came in from patrol, or when he found a convenient alley to change in; when he followed the routine he set for himself, outside of maybe letting patrol bleed into study time, or study time bleed into sleeping time.
(It's normal to feel overwhelmed by the particulars of everyday living when you have already expended all of your energy repressing.)
Peter picked up his backpack after hurriedly and silently dressing, slipping out of his room and listening for May, who was standing in the living room with her back to him. He checked to make sure he looked okay—he wasn't wearing the same shirt from yesterday, but the shirt was wrinkled, so he'd worn it recently-ish. It was a blue plaid button up over another science pun tee (I make terrible science puns—but only periodically). He'd sniffed it, to make sure it was okay.
Not repressing. Just dealing with it later, he thought hotly at Sarah's voice in his head.
Later was best. (Later, he'd be more prepared.)
(Later is a lie, Peter)
"Shut up," Peter snarled aloud. He didn't have the wherewithal to deal with this shit. Not today. Not on the last day of school. Not after the awful night he'd passed in nightmarish memories that Aunt May was now asking him to unearth.
Not when it didn't even have anything to do with anything.
He pulled a power bar out of his bag and then hooked an arm through the strap of his backpack, sliding it on. So far so good. May wasn't standing by the door. He was in the clear.
He took a large bite of the bar he'd managed to silently unwrap, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and then startling violently when Aunt May appeared out of nowhere in front of him, still on the phone, still distracted, but making eye-contact with him, snapping her fingers to get his attention and mouthing to him to wait for her on the couch.
And then relieving him of his backpack, taking it back to his room and shutting the door, leaning in front of it as she tried to wrap up the conversation.
Aunt May: 1. Peter: 0.
Peter sighed and sullenly shoved another large bite of the power bar in his mouth, letting himself sink into the couch.
He should have just tried the window instead. What was the point of staying home? He probably wouldn't even get an appointment with Sarah today. And it wasn't like he could even tell her anything anyway; secret identities were supposed to be secret, otherwise it defeated the whole fucking purpose.
(Keeping secrets, Einstein?)
Shit.
Peter huffed an annoyed breath, pushing the last of the power bar between his teeth. He closed his eyes, rubbing at both of them with the heels of his hands, again.
Shut up, Skip. No one asked you.
He pulled out his phone from his pocket, angry when he noticed his hands were shaking. He was fine. It was fine. He was just still hungry. (He was always hungry) He cracked his knuckles, and wiped his palms on his jeans, and then firmly ignored the still-shaking, pulling up a web browser and scrolling without seeing.
And it was just. It was so stupid. He hated hated hated feeling this way. Stupid Puny Pukey Penis Parker can't handle his stupid feelings, so he needs someone to point out his patterns of self-destructive thinking. When he should be perfectly capable of regulating his own damn emotions, it wasn't like the bite had made that worse.
(He was Spider-Man, he was supposed to be better. Fucking normal.)
(Are you ready to tell me more now? Or do you need to rest?)
"Shut up," Peter growled again, and God, his eyes were itchy, why couldn't he catch a break—he pressed his hands furiously into his eyes, remembering at the last second to use the heels of his hands—he couldn't trust his strength in muscles he could control, yet. Better the lesser-used heels of his hands which he almost never used.
"You okay, Pete?"
Peter jolted as May sat on the couch next to him. She was wearing her hair up in a big clip, still in her glasses, not her contacts, dressed in what she called 'loungewear.' Not pajamas, nicer than pajamas, but not the kinds of blazers and blouses and nice stuff she wore to work. She was sitting at an angle, back toward the corner of the couch, her knees together and facing him—perched, not relaxed, despite her clothes – everything about her body language was 'finished with the stupid phone call, focused like a laser on him,' and he wasn't here for it.
"Jeez—I'm. I'm fine, Aunt May. Really, I could just go to school, it's the last day—" Peter tried desperately, but his aunt cut him off.
"Nothing doing. I already left a message with Sarah for an appointment, I got one with Berto, I called the school and excused your absence, and I'm waiting for Stark Industries to let us know whoever their doctor is to make an appointment to look you over. Mr. Stark said he insisted."
Peter was speechless for a moment. "You. That's. You were on the phone with. With Mr. Stark?"
May smiled and waved her hand dismissively. "No, that was Waylan."
"The super?"
"It doesn't matter, hon. How'd you sleep?"
Peter chafed at her dismissal (she knew him, knew he could and would distract her to further his agenda of avoiding this conversation) and he felt something in him just…shut down. "Fine," he said lightly.
Like a liar.
May frowned.
Peter's conscience prickled. He didn't want to lie to May. Not when he already had (secrets) things he had to make sure to deliberately not tell her.
May took his hands in hers. "How are you really, kid? You don't have to lie to me. You don't have to be afraid to feel…whatever you need to feel. Not here. Not with me."
"Not great," Peter amended quietly. He carefully squeezed her hands back, gently, trying to make sure he didn't squeeze too hard. He didn't want to break her fingers on top of everything.
May seemed hesitant, and her words were careful. "How long has this been building up, sweetie?" She opened her mouth as if to say more, but then closed it. She was so smart. She couldn't tell him what she thought it was if she wanted to hear what he said it really was.
And Peter instinctively took a deep breath, to maybe calm himself. She was holding his hands, she knew. She could feel him shaking.
"S-Since. Uh. Uncle B-Ben," he said truthfully.
Aunt May's face twitched a little, and she blew out a quick breath. Peter felt a punch of guilt to his chest.
Losing Uncle Ben had wrecked them both. The grief had seemed to coat him like a slick of oil he couldn't shake. Aunt May, it seemed to him, had gathered herself again when the notification came that a spot had opened up at Midtown, and he could finish the school year there.
No. That wasn't true.
She'd gathered herself at Uncle Ben's funeral.
Pete had just gotten over being sick, after the bite—after he'd gotten his powers.
He remembered he'd brought and worn his glasses to the church, forgetting he couldn't see out of them, anymore. He'd been scared to death to touch anyone. Afraid he wouldn't be able to unstick from them. The many, many people who hugged him, offering their condolences...and Peter. Afraid to hug them back. Afraid of his lack of control. Picturing that stupid door breaking when he jiggled the knob to make sure the latch had closed.
He vaguely remembered Aunt May in a hissed argument with some of his grown-up cousins and their families. People who had appeared, whose last name was 'Parker,' who Peter had met maybe once or twice, when he was younger. They lived in Michigan, he thought. Or maybe Minnesota. He couldn't remember. And the realization that his uncle had this…whole past life there. And that he had memories and stories with these people in them. It had just…devastated him. Utterly. Because his Uncle Ben was gone, now. And he'd never get to share those things with Peter.
And a fire had seemed to light in Aunt May. And she had started getting busy. She scheduled therapy appointments for them both. She contacted Sarah, who Peter hadn't checked in with in in more than a year, at that point.
(All of the…fuss. Had been a long time ago, then. And now. It had all happened a few years ago. And when they'd moved, after, a lot of the worries and anxiety that Peter had had at that point…seemed moot, because he was going longer without getting triggered, now. They lived in an apartment where nothing bad had happened to him. Different trains, different landmarks. He didn't have to walk by the library on his way home from school. He didn't have to pass Skip's parents' apartment building.)
Aunt May hadn't just wallowed in grief. She hadn't let herself shut down. After the funeral, she had started figuring stuff out. She set reminders on her phone, now, and she always made sure they had a plan. She communicated her feelings with Peter and did regular check-ins with him that did help—he knew, above anything, no matter what, that Aunt May was safe, Aunt May was home and she was in his corner— and it had been better, for a while.
Because when Aunt May seemed to be doing okay, Peter felt like he could be okay, too.
He had started to focus on getting used to his powers. He had been motivated, even. He could see he was making a difference. He had made goals to strive for. Controlling his strength so he wouldn't break the door again. (Or the subway window. Or the shelves in the gas station.) He'd learned to juggle and gone through dozens of eggs. There was a bodega nearby where he could sometimes do odd jobs for groceries, under the table, and so he'd spent time there in the evenings when Aunt May worked late.
It was good practice for lots of things. He had to keep enough of a grip that the eggs stayed in controlled arcs, but not too hard to crush them. He got to hone his senses; he got pretty damn good with his hand-eye coordination. And he had to rinse his hands off practically every minute, at the start. But he improved.
He also developed his web formula. It was largely an exercise in self-soothing, at that point, when the idea of hurting anyone while trying to save them gave him, like, super-anxiety. If he had a way to incapacitate criminals without the risk of accidentally snapping their spine in half? That was definitely preferable.
"I'm sorry," Peter said when the guilt in his chest could be ignored no longer. (Because he wanted her to know it wasn't her. Could never be her because they were in this together, they were the only ones who knew the enormity of what they'd lost.)
"Pete. Honey," May said, and she didn't let go of his hands. "You don't. You don't have to apologize." And her voice was thick, and her eyes were bright, and Peter wouldn't be able to keep it together if she was gonna cry, and this was—
And she was hugging him, and it didn't matter that he was almost taller than her, now, or that he was supposed to be better than this, better than breaking down for no reason, Peter let himself return the embrace.
It was an almost uncomfortably long embrace, and it was eventually May who started laughing a little.
"Us stubborn Parkers, huh? No one wants to give up first?"
Peter laughed, too, at that. It was something Uncle Ben would say.
They pulled away from each other, and May went for a tissue. "God. See, I knew I shouldn't have done this stupid mascara, it says it clumps less but it's not waterproof."
Peter smiled, wiping his face with hands that were less trembly than before.
"Okay," Aunt May said, and she was back to business. She blew her nose, took a deep breath, and offered a tissue to Peter to do the same. "We have to hit the bank today, to set up your direct deposit for your internship. And maybe get you an ID to do that? So, DMV first. I squeezed an appointment in with Berto for this evening at 6:00, I figured we'd do Thai right after. Ooh. And a check-in appointment with SI's doctor, if they can squeeze us in this afternoon. Mr. Stark said he'd foot the bill, since you had your fight on his dime."
Peter's brain stalled for a moment. "F-fight?"
"Your fight? With. With. What's his face. Steve?" May snapped her fingers when the name came to her.
And Peter nodded. Right.
"And boxes. Oof. We need boxes. I'll ask—"
"Boxes?" Pete interrupted, frowning. "What for?"
May winced. "Shoot. I was gonna wait to tell you."
"Tell me what?" Peter felt his heart pound harder.
"Pete," May said slowly. Calmly. "We have to move."
-o-
"Why can't you just do it, Honey Bear?" Tony pouted, flipping idly through a holographic carousel of images: profiles of people from his AA meetings compiled by FRIDAY, who had already pre-screened them. Twice.
Tony had woken refreshed after finally sleeping. After showering, and eating breakfast, he'd been Rhodey-bound, and now they were in Rhodey's suite, a day or so from Helen wanting to try her procedure. (They'd probably be closer, if Tony's impatience won the day, but Helen gently reminded him that the more time she had to ready it, the better Rhodey's chances at not rejecting the graft.)
(On a different note, the noted absence of worry-lines on the faces of everyone he interacted with was a nice perk, and he decided to take the whole 'behaving like a human' thing under serious advisement. Maybe.)
So, Tony had been bullied into sitting with Rhodey to help him look at profiles of potential new sponsors. It was more of a task than it should have been, largely because he was a public figure twice-over. Also, because it wasn't a choice he wanted to make.
(He wished he could just not have fallen off the wagon in the first place, and then he'd have Happy. But you didn't always get what you wanted.)
"Why I can't?" Rhodey asked, and his tone had the makings of a list. "You want the list?" (Tony crowed in victory when he was proven right.) "Firstly, I've never done the program, so I wouldn't know what the hell to call you out on or what to let slide," Rhodey ticked off his fingers, ignoring Tony's amusement. "Second, I'm about to undergo an experimental procedure on my spine, which will be a hard thing for both of us, and third and most importantly, I'm not in a place to babysit your ass."
"I don't need a baby sitter. Since when— "
"You do. You do, Tony. You need a baby sitter who's—"
"—do I need a baby sitter? Not in—"
"—oh, I'm sorry, I was trying to actually answer your question—"
"What question? I think—"
"Girls, girls, you're both pretty."
And Tony looked utterly flabbergasted, closing the carousel of profiles, realizing the comment had come from his speakers.
Rhodey laughed, hard, as Tony sputtered incoherently. "Ex-Excuse me? FRIDAY?"
"Your AI just quoted Megamind at you! And it was legit! You've got your robots learning how to tell jokes? At. At your expense?"
"I most certainly do not," Tony muttered, not quite able to compute that FRIDAY had just roasted him.
"That would have been a program cultivated at my request," came a voice from the doorway. "You gave JARVIS sarcasm harmonics and random pattern conversation protocols, so I wanted to explore avenues of humor for FRIDAY. Because you take yourself too seriously, here."
Pepper Potts was a vision in professional poise, as always. She wore a pastel pink pencil skirt and white blouse with smart heels that matched the color fairly well. A blazer that matched her skirt was draped neatly over her arm, drawing attention to just how put-together she looked. No stains on her crisp white blouse, no wrinkles, her hair was clipped up off her neck, but still styled in loose curls. She pulled a black suitcase on wheels behind her, smiling brightly as she entered the room.
"Hey, Pep," Rhodey grinned, carefully extending his arms but not trying to move from his prone position, inviting an embrace she happily responded to.
Tony felt a surge of jealousy, but then Pepper turned to him, smiling, pulling him into a hug, too.
And that was more okay.
And Pepper let the hug go longer than strictly necessary, pulling away eventually, only to catch his eye.
"How is he, FRIDAY?" she said, looking at him and offering a small smile.
"Rested, clean and breakfasted," FRIDAY seemed to chirp. And then, "Mr. Stark, as well."
They all chuckled, and it was as if they had been under some…spell. A very mild tension had been there, that Tony only noticed now by its lack.
"Pull back a little on the jokes, please, FRIDAY," Pepper stated gently.
"Sure thing. Decreasing humor dynamics."
"Twelve percent," Pepper said then, looking at Tony and smiling with everything except her lips. Inviting him in on the subtle joke at his expense.
And Tony felt a smile, wide and real, spread across his face, and then he winced because—Ow—his face still hurt from his, ah. Avengers-sized disagreement a few days ago.
And he realized he hadn't smiled, yet. Since he'd gotten hurt.
And Pepper went to "freshen up" and claim a room as her own, extracting a promise from Rhodey and Tony that they wouldn't impulsively make their decision. Because of course she knew exactly what was going on. She was scary, that way.
She even pulled Happy and Helen in on it.
And the applicant pool was whittled down to five promising candidates when Pepper declared they'd done enough and needed a break.
And then they were all sitting with Rhodey in his room, arguing good-naturedly about each candidate and laughing at Tony's expense when he couldn't be bothered to form an opinion of them past, 'I don't like them.' They ordered out, and had food delivered, when Helen gave Rhodey the okay (And that was a little bit of a bummer, for Rhodey, because it meant he wouldn't be having his surgery as soon as he'd like, or else Helen would be restricting his food intake.) Then Tony was eating pizza, and Happy was asking about Pepper's salad, and how she felt about basil, and Rhodey was remembering a hole-in-the-wall Italian place he and Tony used to frequent in college.
Helen had left to do her actual job, apparently, without Tony noticing, and Happy sighed and showed his phone to Tony, rolling his eyes.
"Everything. And I mean everything regarding the kid is getting CC'd to me. And it's annoying. I don't care. I don't care that he signed a paper I signed, or that he set up his direct deposit, or has an appointment with Bambi and Pep next Tuesday, or an appointment with—Oh, jeez. Now. Now this. I have to go, like, now," he blustered, punctuating his upset with a besieged look at Tony. And then he was marching toward the door.
"Hap-Happy? Where are you going?" asked Pepper, bewildered.
"I'm the damn go-to chauffer for Spider-Man," he snapped. And he left in a huff. If Rhodey's room had a door that slammed, Tony was willing to bet he would have slammed it.
"What am I missing?" Rhodey asked, looking from Tony to Pepper. Pepper shook her head, lifting her hands as if to defend herself.
"I am not responsible for whatever just broke Happy."
Tony sighed. "I…might be."
He knew Pepper. And he'd talked about this with her, at length, while Rhodey had been sleeping, or being scanned, or still on a fucking plane from Germany because they wouldn't budge on their policy to not use private transportation because Tony wasn't down as Rhodey's family. (And that had hurt more than he thought, and he needed to have a chat with Rhodey about it)
The point was, he knew Pepper. So, he knew when it clicked, for her.
"Is that…the boy? Your new intern? It was—he's Spider-Man?"
God, Pepper was beautiful. When she'd come back from putting her things away into a room, she'd returned without her shoes. And now, her feet casually propped on Rhodey's bed, still taking demure bites from her salad, he saw the glint of silver on her ankle—a delicate chain she liked to wear in LA that she said helped remind her to try and make time to walk on the beach—and she had this way of looking at him like…like he was competent. Like she had every reason to trust him, and that he'd never come short of her expectations.
(And it was bullshit. He'd disappointed her countless times in the years they'd known one another. But she always looked at him that way. Not disappointment. It wasn't her expecting too much of him or being disappointed that he'd screw stuff up. It was her trusting him to try again. And daring him to be spectacular.)
"Hold up. What? You're taking Spider-Man as your intern? Since when?" Rhodey hadn't had much of an appetite, and now he pulled over a water cup, sipping through the straw and looking at Tony expectantly.
So now they were apparently having that conversation.
Tony sighed, and filled them in. Pepper already knew about the fight, and about how he and Happy had agreed he needed a new sponsor. Rhodey listened as Tony summarized that part of things for Rhodey's benefit, and then they both listened as he told them all the stuff he'd found out last night.
"Wait. So, Spider-Man is how old, now?" Rhodey asked when Tony finished, and Tony let out a bark of laughter.
"So…so the internship was going to be a cover?" Pepper started, and Tony nodded.
"Until…well. It's. It's gonna be legit, now. Kid needs the cash flow. Figured we could tell him he could do research into repurposing his web-fluid as a medical thing, or something. He can have real lab hours and everything we do for regular interns."
"Back up, Tones, did you not hear me? You brought this kid on an Avengers mission? Did you. Does Ross know—"
"Ross doesn't know," Tony interrupted Rhodey, looking at him. "My lawyers—"
"Do you mean my lawyers?" Pepper interjected, smiling.
Tony smiled back, pushing through the wince that wanted to accompany it when the muscles in those parts of his face that were still tender were affected. "No, actually. I've moved up in the world. Just for this, I hired new lawyers to keep on retainer. I'm trying out a few firms until FRIDAY can vet me better ones. Landman and Zack, Hogarth Chao and Benowitz. Full of sharks, but there's some good eggs in there."
"Flirt later, answer Rhodey's questions now. How old is this kid? We gonna card him, or what?" Rhodey said insistently.
"Kid's fourteen. Turns 15 in a few months. I made him a better suit than he had, so he should be safer," Tony said knowing it wasn't near enough to give any peace of mind. He'd been thinking really hard about it, unable to figure out what the 'right' decision was.
"And his mom doesn't know?" Pepper clarified, to which Rhodey responded by choking on his water, hissing in pain when he coughed to get it out from where it had accidentally gone down the wrong pipe.
"What?" he croaked. "So, he's a minor vigilante who doesn't even have parental consent?"
"Kid doesn't have a mom. It's an aunt. Because his parents died when he was little. Then his uncle, 6 months ago," Tony corrected. "As far as I can tell the parents were in a hit because they were CIA, and his uncle died in a random mugging."
"Jesus," Rhodey frowned. "That's a bad deal. Kid was cracking jokes about Star Wars. And he's, like, a literal orphan? And—oh God, he would have lost his uncle around Christmas. That's messed up."
"That's around when he got his powers, too," Tony put in.
"Tony? Why…are you telling us all this? What…are you thinking?" Pepper asked slowly.
"Just. Okay. This. This whole shitshow that just went down," Tony gestured in the air, as if pointing to the events in question. His friends knew him, and nodded, to show they understood. "I'm just. Y'know. I'm kind of following this kid on YouTube. Having FRIDAY analyze these god-awful flip phone videos, trying to sync them up with traffic cams."
"Standard sort of behavior. Y'know. If you're Tony Stark and an ass who doesn't believe in privacy," Rhodey snarked.
Tony felt himself sort of smile. "Yeah, well. Obviously enhanced kid, jumping around in spider pajamas. Rescuing kittens from trees, jumping between a car and a bus, so they don't T-bone. And a side note? Those kinds of crashes are never pretty. 3,000 lbs., 40 mph. And he just. Y'know. Caught it. Stopped what could easily have been a multi-car pileup, definitely saved the life of the driver. Probably a few passengers on the bus. Those webs are something else.
"And then we have this Accords nonsense. And I think, 'Man, if I had this guy on my side, I could end this all.' Subduing without unnecessary force sounded pretty fucking great."
Tony cleared his throat. The bitterness in his voice surprised him. It was all too fresh. Raw. "Should sic my new lawyers there. See what amendments they can come up with to add to what SI already did. For the Accords, y'know. All these little loopholes keep cropping up."
"Tony?"
Just the one word. Pepper was good at stopping him from tangenting.
"Yeah, well. Took FRIDAY all of half an hour to analyze all known videos and manage to puzzle a semblance of a profile together. Figured out a name. Matched an address. Mind you, this was all just data. Words and numbers on a page. Until I went there."
Tony shook his head. "Awful neighborhood. Pitiful building. Elevators were ancient and loud. Went in, met the aunt. Told some bogus story to buy time 'til the kid got home. Then. Then I met him. Peter."
Tony felt exhausted, then. He sought the chair he'd occupied earlier, when they were eating pizza and making fun of how he couldn't commit to any of the names they were going over, for a new sponsor. He sat down, feeling burdened and useless. "Oh, God," he moaned, bringing his hands up to his face smushing his cheeks and wincing because – ow—he'd forgotten about the fucking bruises again. "This just. How did this all get so messed up?"
"Hey. It's okay," Pepper tried to reassure him.
Tony shook his head.
"No, Pep. It's. It's not."
There was a pregnant sort of pause as it sank in.
Rhodey. This whole mess.
"Well, what, Tones? You're getting at something," Rhodey asked, and he looked concerned.
Pepper took Tony's hand, rubbing a gentle thumb over his knuckles.
Tony offered a sardonic smirk. "He's. He's a kid, Rhodes. He's a fourteen-fucking-year-old kid. A kid who has been trying to deal with all sorts of shit, and he gets superpowers on top of it –and how desperate am I? To drag a literal kid into this mess?"
"He'd already chosen to be a vigilante when you met him," Pepper pointed out. "I don't think you dragged him anywhere he wasn't already leaning."
"Pep. I. I brought a 14-year-old child to an Avengers fight. And he said he was happy to do it because I asked him. And then when I was taking him home, I got drunk, and it made him so anxious he used his super-strength to tear baby-spider-sized chunks out of my very durable airplane seat. I. I don't feel smart or heroic, bringing the kid. I feel like a manipulative piece of shit."
"Oh, Tony," Pepper said, and Rhodey leaned back in his pillows, frowning.
"I mean, you put it like that, Tones, I'm kind of pissed at you, too."
"Happy doesn't get it. I put him in charge of the kid. I just. I don't want him anywhere near this. Avengers-sized disagreements don't need to concern 14-year-old kids," Tony said, finally circling back to the point of this conversation. "I upgraded his suit – no more spider pajamas. Same protocols as our suits, Rhodey. I'll get a catalogue of any injuries, I can track him, make sure he's getting home safe, and not getting involved in anything over his head."
Pepper smiled, then, oddly. "Tony Stark. You won't be happy until everyone has an Iron Man suit to protect them. Is that it?"
Rhodey laughed, then, and after a moment, Tony did, too.
"I think you're doing good," Pepper said slowly. "You've been thinking about this a lot, obviously. Getting him that suit alone is gonna be a game-changer for him."
"Happy's gonna be fine. Tell him what you just told us," Rhodey added.
"I talked to the kid's aunt. She kind of. Ah. Slapped some sense into me. Hence the, uh. The info dumping," Tony started patting his pockets. Blueberries. Where—
Pepper held out a package to him, already opened. Freeze-dried blueberries. "So, you didn't stop at just the suit. What else did you do, Tony?" Not…she didn't ask in a judgmental way. Just…expectant.
"Well, their apartment was a piece of shit. They used to live somewhere nicer—anyway, I bought the building, slated it for repairs. Found nicer tenements for the occupants, gave the landlord enough notice for gentle eviction enforcement. The new place will be a lot nicer for the kid. Closer to his school. Bigger space, nicer view."
"You. Okay. You bought his building. Of course, you did. Gave him a billion-dollar super suit. Hey. Comes with the territory. I hope he gets dental," Rhodey muttered sarcastically.
"Well, Helen is gonna be his GP, since he's enhanced, and everything. He's gonna come in for a check up and I figured we'd ask about insurance and stuff then," Tony said obliviously.
It was Rhodey's turn to put his hands up, smushing his face. "Walked into that one. All right. Okay. Pep? Anything to add?"
Pepper smiled. "Thanks for telling us, Tony."
Rhodey sighed. "Yes. Thank you for telling us and not just bottling it up inside. It's good that you share with us when you're wound up about something."
Pepper held out a hand for some of Tony's blueberries, which he happily shared. "I think we need to make sure you have a new sponsor sooner rather than later, Tony. And I don't think it would hurt to mention some of this to your therapist."
"Ditto," Rhodey echoed. "God knows I'm gonna give mine an earful."
Uncomfortable with how vulnerable he'd been, Tony nodded, and summoned the carousel of profiles. Just five names left.
"Too young," he muttered. The kid was barely 20-something. Or looked it. Then, "Too old." The second name belonged to a man in his 80s.
"Okay," Pepper nodded. "No to Daniel and Allan. Three left."
"No to that one," Rhodey pointed to another of the names, and it surprised Pepper.
"He was in the military, Rhodey, I thought you'd like him?"
"I'm pretty sure he's also a mercenary," Rhodey said firmly. "I vote no for him."
Tony shrugged. "Works for me. Two left."
Pepper smiled. "Oh, how funny. They're both named Henry."
Henry #1 was a scientist. Henry #2 was an actor.
Tony hesitated. His immediate instinct was leaning toward scientist Henry.
Going with his gut hadn't seemed to be too helpful to him, lately.
"This one," he expanded the profile for actor Henry. "I'll reach out. Get something going."
"You gonna catch a meeting?" Rhodey asked casually. "I know that much. After starting over, you need more meetings."
Tony reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. I'll. Uh. Figure it out."
"I'll come with you," Pepper offered, finishing her salad and standing. "Just let me grab my shoes.
"Will you be okay?" Tony looked at Rhodey.
Rhodey smiled. "You kidding? With you gone, I can try wheedling Helen for my procedure again without you there to exasperate her. Gimme another slice. It's gonna be my last food for a while. I can feel it."
Tony held out the box, and Rhodey pulled out a slice of pizza, taking an enormous bite before pressing his call button.
Tony sighed in long-suffering. "Will you miss me, Platypus?"
"Hurry up and go," Rhodey shoed him. "Report back after you're done."
So, Pepper materializing once more by the door, Tony left.