Life at Baxter
Peter sat at his new workstation, hands resting on the desk, his gaze locked onto the computer screen in front of him. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but his mind was completely elsewhere.
Across from him, Susan Storm was talking, her voice smooth and confident as she explained the laboratory’s protocols, research expectations, and what was expected of him as an intern.
He wasn’t listening.
Not because he didn’t care—but because he couldn’t focus.
Susan Storm was… something else entirely.
Even now, as she gestured toward a holographic projection of a molecular model, her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder effortlessly, her body language radiating both intelligence and elegance. Her lab coat was fitted just enough to hint at her breathtaking figure, but it was her eyes that did the real damage—sharp and blue, filled with curiosity and amusement as she spoke to him.
And God help him—she smelled good. Some kind of soft vanilla and jasmine scent that made his brain glitch every time she moved too close.
Peter quickly looked back at his screen, forcing himself to stay professional.
“You need to stop acting like a lovesick idiot,” he scolded himself internally.
But it was hard.
“Are you even listening?” Susan suddenly asked, her arms crossing as she raised an eyebrow.
Shit.
Peter blinked, snapping out of his trance, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, of course,” he said quickly. “Uh, lab protocols, research expectations… uh, other important science-y things.”
Susan smirked, clearly not buying it. “Right,” she drawled, tapping her fingers on her arm. “So you definitely heard the part about workplace safety and proper chemical handling?”
“Obviously,” Peter deadpanned, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, I’m not planning on setting the place on fire… yet.”
Susan rolled her eyes. “Fantastic. I feel so reassured.”
A snicker came from the other end of the lab. Johnny Storm, who had been sitting on a counter, watching their exchange, grinned. “Damn, Suzie. You’re already giving the guy a hard time? Give him a break, he just got here.”
“That’s what training is for, Johnny,” Susan replied, her tone exasperated. “Unlike you, I actually want my interns to know what they’re doing.”
“Interns?” Johnny snorted. “He’s just one guy, and he’s a genius, apparently. No need to grill him like a boot camp instructor.”
Peter watched as Johnny gave him a once-over, as if sizing him up. There was something about Johnny’s expression that told him he wasn’t thrilled about Susan’s apparent interest in Peter’s skills.
Or maybe it wasn’t about his skills.
Peter forced himself to stay indifferent. He was used to people sizing him up—whether it was Flash in high school, the Avengers when they first met him, or villains who underestimated him.
“Don’t worry about me,” Peter finally said, keeping his voice cool. “I can handle it.”
Susan gave him a slow once-over, tilting her head. “We’ll see about that.”
Peter exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to remain detached. He could not let himself get drawn in.
Not again.
It was better this way.
He couldn’t afford attachments—not to friends, not to classmates, and definitely not to Susan Storm.
His life was a curse.
Aunt May was dead because of him.
Ned and MJ had suffered because of him. Tony
had made the ultimate sacrifice because of his mistakes. Yeah he still blames himself even if it was the only future they were winning maybe if he would have gotten the gauntlet it would have been two and Tony wouldn’t have to sacrifice himself, leaving his daughter and wife and company behind, leaving him behind with technology and people wanting to scree him over as a legacy. His parents died in a plane crash, his uncle Ben, even happy was arrested and injured, hell Peter from the other universe got stabbed because of him.
Ok now he has to pull himself back or he would start crying and breaking down again don’t need that infront of Susan or her brother.
Every time he let someone in—every time he dared to care—they ended up hurt.
He had made a vow. No more attachments. No more risks.
So when Susan continued talking, Peter forced himself to respond in respectful, clipped answers. No jokes. No banter. Just work.
At first, Susan didn’t seem to mind, but as the day went on, Peter noticed the way her excitement dulled.
At one point, she asked him a question about molecular bonding structures, and he simply nodded, offering the shortest answer possible before returning to his work.
Her lips pressed together in disappointment, and for some reason, that hurt.
But it was necessary.
By the end of the day, Susan had gone from trying to engage him to simply observing him. Peter hated how much he noticed.
When she finally left the lab, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“You handled that well, sir,” ERIC finally spoke in his ear, his voice tinged with amusement.
Peter frowned. “Don’t start.”
“I’m simply stating the obvious,” ERIC said. “Doctor Storm clearly finds you interesting, and instead of allowing a perfectly good connection to form, you chose to act like a robot.”
Peter sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You know why, ERIC.”
“I do,” ERIC admitted. “I just don’t agree with it.”
Peter shook his head, packing up his things for the day. “It’s not up for debate.”
“Understood, sir. But I must point out that Doctor Storm referred to you as ‘handsome’ more than once.”
Peter froze.
ERIC’s voice hummed. “Shall I play back the audio for you?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Acknowledged. But you did blush, sir.”
Peter gritted his teeth. “ERIC—”
“It’s okay, sir. Denial is a powerful coping mechanism.”
Peter groaned, shutting off ERIC before he could say anything else.
With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and made his way out of the lab. He had to be back early in the morning, and if today was anything to go by, it was going to be exhausting.
But no matter what…
He would keep his distance.
No matter how much he wanted otherwise.
Peter arrived at the lab early the next morning, as usual. The Baxter Building’s AI, Nathaniel, greeted him upon entry, its smooth voice echoing through the halls as it guided him to his workstation.
“Good morning, Peter Parker. Lab access granted.”
“Morning, Nate,” Peter muttered, stepping inside.
Susan was already there.
She sat at her desk, scrolling through data on a transparent holo-screen, her fingers flicking effortlessly across the display. Her blonde hair was neatly tied back today, but a few loose strands framed her face, and Peter—against his better judgment—noticed.
He took his seat across from her, logging into his system.
She didn’t say anything.
That was new.
Susan Storm always had something to say. Always had a teasing remark, a small observation, or at the very least, a greeting.
But today, nothing.
Not even a glance in his direction.
She was focused on her work, completely absorbed, her expression neutral.
It was… weird.
Peter wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
A part of him told him this was good. It meant his approach was working. He had been distant, professional, and short in his responses, and now Susan had visibly lessened her attempts at small talk.
That was the goal, right?
So why did a small part of him… miss it?
He shut that thought down immediately.
This was for the best.
He couldn’t afford to get close to her—or anyone, for that matter.
Still, when she finally spoke, he found himself snapping to attention almost too quickly.
“I have to clock out early today,” Susan said, finally glancing up at him. Her tone was casual, almost indifferent.
Peter gave a short nod. “Alright.”
She studied him for a moment, as if debating whether or not to add something. Then she gestured to his screen. “You can stay back and keep working if you want, or you can take the rest of the day off. It’s up to you.”
That was it. No teasing. No small talk.
Just straight to the point.
Peter hesitated.
For some reason, his mind flashed back to the previous day—how he had kept his answers curt, how he had barely acknowledged her attempts at conversation.
He had seen it, even if he pretended not to—the way her initial enthusiasm had gradually faded.
She wasn’t cold. She wasn’t rude.
She had just… adjusted.
To him.
And now, for the first time since arriving at the Baxter Building, he felt something unexpected—guilt.
He shifted in his chair. “Uh… thanks for letting me know.”
Susan nodded and stood up, gathering her things. “Try not to burn the place down,” she quipped, though the usual playful spark in her tone was noticeably muted.
“I’ll do my best,” Peter deadpanned.
She smirked slightly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
And then she was gone.
Peter exhaled, slumping back in his chair, running a hand through his hair.
He had done the right thing.
So why did it feel… off?