Peter was having problems adjusting to living in the tower. He didn't sleep well under the best of circumstances, and the lack of city noises combined with the mechanical hum of the building disrupted his sleep patterns. He suffered miserably from nightmares, and the only relief he got was from web-slinging. Escaping the tower had proved to be problematic. Most of the windows were permanently sealed. Also, his internship wasn't exactly what he thought it would be. Tony was rarely home. Peter spent a lot of time assisting one of the lab technicians, Dopinder, who was paralyzed from the waist down. He was his fetch and carry boy, and it frustrated him to no end. Finally, one day, Peter had some alone time because Dopinder called in sick. Peter found a heap of old trashed parts and began building a retrieval drone for Dopinder, something to grab the things he needed when Peter was at school. He built a series of them, each for a different purpose. He based the design off the drones he used to take pictures of Spider-Man.

Tony was coming up the hall to talk to his lead chemist when he heard the unmistakable buzz of a drone. He walked up quietly and stood in the doorway, watching Peter Parker, sitting cross-legged on the floor amid a circle of discarded bits and pieces. "D-5, grab the fe please. D-6 please get my Doctor Pepper from the desk."

Both drones rose with a whir and completed their tasks. Tony applauded from the doorway. "Now that's impressive. What made you decide to build an army of drones?"

Peter looked up, blinking as he came back to reality. "Dopinder has problems because of his disability. D-5 gets noncorrosive materials, D-6 gets food items, D-7 is a fire suppression device and these grab different materials, depending upon the project." He waved towards the other non-active drones, all sitting forlornly on the floor.

"That's truly remarkable," Tony said. "What else do you have in your backpack of wonders?"

Peter pulled out a textbook. "Advanced calculus," he said, putting the book aside. "I've already gone completely through it, and I'm bored with the class." He pulled out a couple more odds to and ends until he found what he was looking for. "Insta-splint."

In his hand lay a roll of normal looking gauze. He took it, taped up Tony's hand, which just happened to be broken, and tapped the tape twice. It immediately set the broken bones and hardened into a splint. "Voila, Insta-Splint. Now you can go to Dr. Cho and have her make sure the bone has been set correctly."

Tony was dumbfounded. "Do you sleep ok?" he asked, narrowing his eyes a bit, sizing Peter up. He reminded him a bit too much of himself.

Peter flushed. "Oh, I -I occasionally get insomnia. That's when I tinker with my inventions."

He ducked his head a bit, abashed at the direction their conversation was going; he ran a hand through his thick, bushy hair.

"So, Peter, how many hours have you been without sleep?" Tony asked suddenly, attempting to catch Peter off guard. It worked.

"Forty-eight hours," Peter admitted, scratching his head. "Nightmares keeping me awake. I keep dreaming about my Uncle Ben's death, among other things."

Tony looked at him expectantly and he heaved a sigh.

"Ben was carjacked. Him being the ex-policeman that he was, he tried to talk the guy down, but he was shot, and he died in my arms." There were tears in his eyes and his voice trailed off.

"Oh, that's rough," Tony said with sympathy. "Did you go to therapy?"

"Not really. I got physical," Peter said laconically. "I used exercise to work off my grief."

"It's a good thing school starts next week, isn't it? What is this, your senior year?" Tony asked, studying Peter.

Inwardly, Peter groaned. He used to enjoy school, but it wasn't as enjoyable as it was when Gwen was alive. "Yeah, but I miss Gwennie, he mumbled indistinctly.

"Who is Gwennie?" Tony asked with persistence.

"Gwen Stacy. She died last year. Harry Osborn killed her when he went insane," Peter muttered. "Norman has a lot to answer for."

"Oh, kid. I'm sorry," Tony said sincerely. "I really am."

"I know," Peter replied sulkily, "but I'm getting tired of people's pity. I never wanted pity. And it's time for the sympathy to stop. All it does is rub salt in the wounds. I'm sick and tired of being the poor little Parker kid."

"I see. I can relate," Tony told him. "I went through something similar when my parents were killed. It's not pleasant, is it?"

Peter shook his head, stunned that there was someone who could relate to his dilemma. "I'm sorry, Mr. Stark," he apologized.

"No, don't apologize. And please, call me Tony." He walked into the room and smiled. "Do you want to help me with a pet project?"

Peter smiled. "Are you kidding me? Of course I would! What is it?"

"FRI, open the drawer please," Tony commanded. A drawer slid open and revealed a nearly finished Spider Man suit.

Peter looked up astonished. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yep. Spider-Man needs a good suit. That spandex onesie isn't cutting it."

"I've got some ideas," Peter ventured boldly. "I do know the guy, after all."

Tony looked surprised. "You do? Any pray tell, how do you know the amazing bug boy?"

"Arachnid," Peter said with annoyance. "Spiderman got his powers from a spider. Spiders are arachnids, not bugs. I'm his official photographer."