venom

During the first week of your second year at Shire University’s globally acclaimed PhD program, you were assigned to your team project. The school became the top-ranked in the world because of their cross-discipline research approach that produced some of history’s most significant science. Admissions likes to receive a cohort of niche theses that can push the boundaries of scientific thinking and find connections in unlikely places.

Your Master’s thesis and doctoral proposal impressed the committee enough to reward you with a spot in the school but not enough to cover the cost. You sucked up your pride and took out the significant loans necessary to pursue your dream: the application of toxicology in medicine. The payoff of that will be worth the stress of living on the poverty line.

You pace your student housing, tuning out the underclassmen’s heavy footfalls, and bite your thumbnail. The names on the assignment were unfamiliar, and their specialties wildly differ from yours and each other’s. Your biotoxicology, Flash Thompson’s chemical genetics, and Peter Parker’s astrobiology.
All of you are rooted in biological processes, so your project will likely follow that pattern which leaves how to connect genetics, toxicology, and… space? You aren’t sure what to make of Peter Parker’s work.

There is ample evidence of life on other planets and he likely has access to a plethora of alien biological life but what that exactly is beyond you. There’s no guarantee that alien life is even carbon-based, which would especially flounder you considering your work is based on solely carbon life. Flash’s specialty works in Peter’s favor, a base in chemistry and genetics will probably guide them to study genetically modified alien life, which could be the foundation for learning how to terraform distant worlds.

How the fuck does toxicology work in this?

You wanted to be paired with a neurosurgeon at the least. A physicist?

Your phone chimes and you want to ignore it, but the tone tells you it’s an email. You put down the letter from Dr. Stacy and read the message. It’s from Peter Parker. He wants to meet with you and Flash at Jazzman’s Café on 52nd at five. You groan in annoyance, hating the idea of canceling your plans with Mary but know you have to go.

You text Mary to let her know about this change in your schedule and she replies instantly with a call. Mary knows you hate to answer the phone which means her response is either very important or she’s driving so you take the call.

“Yea?” You say.

“Who’s your team?” Mary’s question overlaps with your greeting, “Did you get a botanist? An astrologist?” You smile at the enthusiasm of her tone.

“Nope. I got an astrobiologist and a chemical geneticist. I have no idea how their theses work with mine. Listen to this: the space guy is working on assimilating alien plant life to Earth and DNA man studies reversal of genetic diseases. Which sounds like a roundabout way to say he’s looking to the cure for death! You need to read his proposal,” you put the call on speaker and search Flash’s name in the cohort e-doc, “he believes his work will unlock the ability to change the DNA of sentient beings at any age.”

“Okay,” Mary takes a breath, “I have no idea what any of that really meant but I’m happy to be a sounding board. Do you want to rant to are we looking for constructive problem-solving?”

“I don’t even know, Mary.” You sigh, pick up your phone, and take Mary off speaker, returning the receiver to your ear, “I just thought this experience would be different.”

“You know nothing will pan out the way you want, remember when I applied the creative fiction program and now I’m a poet? A fucking poet?” Mary laughs and you do too. The friendship you’ve developed is founded on your shared experience of being lower income students at the whim of the school’s administration. When the writing arts department passed on Mary’s prose for her poetry, she learned this valuable lesson that she’s been trying to pass on. Not that you really want to believe her.

“Literature and science are so different!” Mary always knows how to take your mind out of a downward spiral. “If you get paired up with a playwright and sculptor you’d be able to figure it out, it’s all art!”

“And you’re all science,” Mary says and you pout into the phone. She’s not wrong, the similarities you see between poetry, theater, and sculpting you suppose you can see in your current predicament. At least you all focus on biology. The challenge is the way your specialties interact.

“Okay, fine. How do you suggest a geneticist, astrologist, and toxicologist can combine forces?” You know it’s an unfair question, precisely why you asked it. There’s a slight satisfaction in the silence on Mary’s end of the line, her only scientific endeavors include 9th year iodine experiments.
“Don’t be rude. You know I don’t have that answer.”

“It’s not like there are alien plants that have applications in toxicology and are genetically similar enough to Earth organisms for any productive hypotheses.” You say the words and it clicks. There’s no way the school would create a group unable to access materials that connect them all. They would never pair a cosmologist with a biologist and geologist—unless a biologically sentient planetary object presented itself.

“What if there are?”

“Then we could manipulate foreign DNA to practical medicine,” you breathe out. That’s something. You can work with that. Holy shit, that’s something. There could be real cures in whatever Parker has at his disposal, alien biology is not public information, especially from a private institution.

“Like cure cancer?” Mary asks.

“Yes, but maybe even cure everything--or at least make a vaccine” your mind is only warming up, “The possibilities are limitless as far as I know. Beyond curing all ailments, perhaps I can prevent them too.”

“Maybe you can make glowing orchids. I still firmly believe they are not of Earth.”

“Orchids are from Earth, but yes I will make them glow for you.”

“Not just at night, I mean daytime glow,”

“I know, I know. I’ll even make glowing green first, it’s your favorite after all.”

“Ugh, you get me. Okay, I gotta go I’m pulling into my garage and will lose connection. I’ll text you when I’m inside,”

“Love you,”

“Love you too.”

The call ends and you feel better. Lighter, even.

You can do this.

This research project is just a stepping stone to your second PhD, and after that, you’ll get grants from labs and cure depression while building an ethical pharmaceutical company. That’s the goal. You promised.

Four hours later you’re seated at Jazzman’s too quickly draining a beer from your glass and eyeing the remaining pitcher. Thompson and Parker are due to arrive shortly; you got here twenty minutes ago to settle into the space and get a drink then go over the dialogue you prepared. You’re dressed well, in jeans and a top lower than what you’d wear to class but not enough to look unprofessional and simple makeup.

Mary approved of the look, and you think your sister would too. It was her shirt after all. The beer is cool and refreshing on your tongue and slides down your throat, drowning out the thoughts of Jane from your mind. Waiting for the boys is already trying enough, a glance at your watch tells you neither of them subscribes to the idea that on time is five minutes early.

Peter Parker is the first to arrive.

He stumbles in with his backpack slightly unzipped and pushes circular glasses up his nose. You cock your head to the side, he reminds you of Harry Potter from a distance but certainly a lot taller. Peter’s red collared shirt isn’t tucked into his khakis, but his belt does match his shoes, you notice as he approaches your table.

You flick your ponytail behind your head and stand to greet him. Peter places his backpack down on the floor and his jacket on a high chair before sticking out his hand.
“I’m Peter. Some people call me Pete and only my Aunt May calls me Petey,” he says and you take his greeting in stride, even looking past the slight clamminess of his palm.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you reply, offering your name in response but he already knows it. You sit back in your chair and offer him a pint from the pitcher of beer.
“Do you—”

“Have you—"

You both fall silent before breaking out into an awkward laugh, “you first,” Peter says.

“Do you already know Thompson?” You ask, taking a sip from your beer as Peter shakes his head.

“I don’t but I’ve heard of him, he’s the chem department’s least favorite asshole,” Peter glances at his watch, “and evidently extends to his timeliness.” He adds and you snort. Great, a sarcastic dork, an arrogant prick, and you are expected to come up with the next great scientific breakthrough in a bar.

“It’s fine. He being late will give us enough time to build an alliance,” you joke and you like the way Peter smiles in return. He doesn’t seem to be terrible company thus far and he isn’t hard to look at, even though he’s dressed like he works at Targée. His voice is strong and smooth with only a hint of greater confidence but you chalk that up to the importance of your joint research.

You and Peter continue to chat and finish the first pitcher. You spoke about your hometowns and past schooling and research; you found out you’re both single but you can tell there’s someone on Peter’s mind by the way he blushes at your question.

Peter has been on a straight path studying physics and slowly worked towards astrophysics but couldn’t let biology go. His affection for the subject pervaded all of his concentrations in research. He originally wanted to be an astronaut but learned he doesn’t have the stomach for zero gravity, he is far more useful behind the computer and has used his time achieving his Master’s proving so.

His work with tracking biological life on asteroids has already been applied in professional settings. Peter’s a real genius.

He’s also done his homework it seems as if he threw difficult questions your way regarding your work. Peter’s focus seems to be the botany aspect, which makes you think his research idea will fall along those lines. He asks you about ways antidotes are administered to patients and the growth rate of crystalized specimens for practical purposes, and you are bewildered by the complexity of his understanding.

“I get it!” You laugh, holding your hands up in surrender. “You know more about my work than I do, but why do you know any of this?”

“I, uh, read a lot?” Peter tries and you raise your brow, “I got a sneak peek at the research teams and read everything I could about you and Thompson. I swear I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything, I find your work remarkable—”

“I would’ve done the same, don’t worry, but you’re holding out on me about Thompson,” you accuse with a teasing smile. It doesn’t bother you that he read all of your work or that he knew the pairings beforehand. If anything, it gives you a slight edge in the competition that Peter’s already thinking of how to combine forces.

“He’s a dick, no doubt,” Peter says plainly and you stifle a laugh. “He has excellent grades but a lot of comments about disruption and indecent behavior. He’s not invited to teach anymore,” your mouth drops. Not invited to teach? That means he’s rich enough to afford school without a stipend and not get kicked out for whatever he did to lose the teaching responsibility.

“What did he do?” You can’t help but want to know more and Peter is generous with details.

“I heard he’s a good-looking guy and took advantage of that with a few too many students. Can’t find any reason why they even let him stay here, I mean no nepotism or anything,” Peter shrugs and finishes his beer. You take note of his high tolerance for beer, it nearly matches yours. Soon you’ll be having fruity drinks and singing Shakira if you’re not careful.

“Disgusting. I bet he knows someone on the board,” you feed into the urge to speculate about Thompson. Peter volleys it right back at you while ordering the second pitcher, then two burgers and fries, and you barely even remember the point of meeting up. Talking to him is easy. Peter’s funny, smart, and really sweet. Awkward at times but not unbearable.

Peter is in the middle of telling you a story from his undergraduate days as a photographer for the Bugle when Thompson finally shows up. It’s seven-fifteen, and you’ve already finished your burger when he locks gazes with you before approaching the table.

“Incoming,” you mumble and eat a fry.

Thompson is attractive. It’s the truth, he’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’s fit but not bulky and fills out his dress shirt nicely. His messenger bag is sleek and everything about him screams money. Go figure. His stride and neutral face are confident and impressive, he is aware of the space he takes up and enjoys it all the same. Thompson finds the table you described earlier and puts his long coat on the back of the remaining chair, then holds out his hand to Peter.

“Peter Parker I assume.” They shake hands and you admire the strength of Thompson’s. He’s hot. He sits at the high top and pours himself a beer then turns to you, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Flash Thompson.” His smile.

He barely even acknowledged you, which when out at a bar would make him a challenge but you’re here as part of your PhD research.

“You’re late,” you bite. Two and a half beers in and you’re willing to be a little confrontational. Thompson’s face doesn’t hold any remorse, in fact, he looks a bit pleased with himself and his apparent affect on you. His blue eyes and long lashes laud over you with humor and mild interest, you should be discussing possible experiments and coordinating schedules, not sizing each other up after showing up two hours late.

“I am. I had some business manners to attend to at Alchemax Tower.” You kick Peter under the table. Thompson. Major investors in Alchemax Thompson meaning Flash has the strongest shield of them all: a corporation. How did Peter miss that connection? Thompson likely did way worse than sleep with a few students and if Peter’s ease in withholding information persists there could be a major issue. Bottom line: you hate that Thompson’s so hot because he is already the worst and could cost you your PhD if he fails to live up to the university standards.

“Ah—” Peter glares at you but recovers quickly, “What do you do at Alchemax?”

Thompson smiles, amused by the cartoonish nature of your actions with Peter, “I’m a lab assistant in the cancer genetics department.” His smile is inviting, and his eyes an alluring shade contrasted against his brown skin. The navy blue of his shirt brings out the darker ring circling his iris, and he rolls his sleeves to his elbows in just the right way that you notice he’s wearing a silver watch, nothing too flashy but sleek enough for you to know it cost a fortune.

You decide he’s lying about his job and using his organic magnetism as a deflection for the fact he’s late and most likely stupid. It was too smooth of a drop and he twitched as if he wanted to say more. He holds eye contact with you for a moment too long before sipping his beer and sitting back in his seat.

You eat another fry and look at Peter instead with a visible frown.

“An experiment made you late?” Peter says, trying to move the conversation along.

“A meeting did. Couldn’t get my boss to let me go for this,” he shrugs, “you know how corp guys are,”

Is a PhD a business hurdle for him?

“You guys are a bit ahead of me so I’m gonna order a whisky at the bar before we get down to it, you want anything?” His question is directed at you. Creep. His clean jawline and playful eyes are deceiving, he’s trying to use his innate charm for something. You don’t know what it is yet but there’s something.

“Spicy margarita with salt please and thanks,” Peter orders the same then Thompson steps away. Even from the back, he is impeccable, his pants are perfectly tailored to his long legs and his hair falls appealingly. His shoes are of polished patent leather and his belt matches with a lighter luster, this man is well fucking dressed.

“Peter, he’s hot.” You blurt out once he’s out of earshot and Peter laughs. You aren’t offended, you can’t be. Thompson is fucking hot. “He better not be as smart as you said,”

“He is, unfortunately,” Peter mumbles. “His work on genetic engineering is cutting edge; there’s a reason Alchemax pays him enough to act like that.”

“No one could pay me enough to act like that. What if that’s just how he is?” you know your facial expressions are vibrant and you talk with your hands, so you do your best to keep your voice down but how are you supposed to work with Flash Thompson?

“Even if it is we’re not able to change teams so we’re stuck working together for the next few semesters.” Peter reminds you, and you groan. “I’ll be back,” Peter walks off to the bathroom.

You can’t even fail out of the program until the final experiment which needs to go well for you. You sit and stew in your seat picking at your fries while you’re alone, pulling out your phone to respond to texts from Mary and Jane and emails from residents. A few last minute roommate changes as the semester settles in are easy to navigate and you check social media for any interesting updates.

Nothing. The world is boring today, it seems. You put your phone away, turning your attention to the bar, and seeking out Thompson; he’s easy to spot, speaking with the bartender and closing his tab. You need a boyfriend, or at least someone to fuck. Thompson is a terrible candidate but we’ll see how you feel after another drink or two.

Thompson returns to the table at the same time as Peter and you settle into an easy conversation without hints of animosity bleeding through. Thompson tells you to call him Flash, which you’ll do because it’s easier than Thompson, and then tells you about the time he performed CPR in an anthropology class on his professor; Peter steers the conversation towards the project at hand, which you are so grateful for if you needed to listen to one more self-aggrandizing story you were going to leave.
Peter presented his grand idea: medicinal applications of alien plant life on humans using bioengineered administration.

There wasn’t much room for argument, Peter liked the topic, Flash didn’t care about the topic, and you had no other ideas considering your train of thought was the same. Peter claims to have access to a plethora of options, and that my eye is needed to assess which plants are viable and the theoretical doses safe enough for humans to ingest, then Flash’s expertise will determine its compatibility with humans. Peter’s role is to help you learn how to cultivate the alien life on our planet and Flash will change the future of humanity with it.

Peter shares his idea with enthusiasm and Flash seems mildly interested in what he has to say. He perks up when Peter mentions the payout a patent would be if we’re successful. We’d be the leading team in the newest area of medicine and pharmaceuticals.

You’re enchanted by the money but more interested in what these plants are. They really could be anything. All new poisons for you to play with, new combinations of plant defense mechanisms—you wonder what organisms pollinate them—if the plants even need pollination.

“Is that why you asked me about antidote administration?” You ask at one point, interrupting Peter’s explanation.

“Yes. I think we can figure out a better way to cultivate and administer drugs.”

“Are you joking?” Flash leans forward, his elbows resting on the table and eyes boring into Peter’s. Holy shit there is a lot of money on the table. Enough to pay all of your student loans and then some, and if Peter's puppy-dog eyes are any indication, Flash is the real deal on some level or another.

You just need to play nice with Flash for a year or three.

~

Four months in and you’re fucked. You obviously slept with Flash, there’s nothing that was stopping you. He’s gorgeous, foots the bill, and drives you to work so in all honesty he’s saving you some money and making you come. He’s been a booty call, a very good booty call. No issues with work, and Flash does a decent job balancing his Alchemax time and his research time. You confronted him about his disciplinary history and he readily admitted to taking advantage of his position, but that it was a complication twining of immaturity in his early graduate days and a general dislike for teaching.

There wasn't much of a choice at that point, you got yourself into a situation with Flash knowing he clearly dissplayed unsavory behaviors but for some fucked up reason that didn't make you hesitate. You feel a bit unsettled at the peace of it all, but the work you’re doing with the team is so exciting you don’t have the time to feel it. Stress mounts willingly in your body and you welcome the pit of fire in you, the reminder of why you love research and discovery. Flash has introduced you to an entire new ballgame of science and life.

The plants the school provided are microorganisms that carry venom and an antidote with the ability to administer both simultaneously. You learn from observation this is due to their bad sensory mechanisms, resulting in them often biting one another, but upon further analysis, it becomes clear biting developed into part of their mating culture.

At the microscopic level, these plants are alive and made of drugs. They exist on drugs. Haemotoxic, cytotoxic, and neurotoxic. Their venoms come in strains, all different types of poison; ones that have psychoactive properties, lethal properties, aphrodisiac, paralyzing, pain-inducing, venoms and poisons each affixed to a corresponding antidote.

Every single one.

It occurs to you that these are what you’re looking for.

This is what Peter saw when he discovered the plants, he needs you to develop ecology for its cultivation with proposed pharmaceutical uses and Flash to make it work on humans. As it stands, these plants do not produce anywhere near enough of these substances for consistent research let alone medicinal application. You and Peter have to grow a royal garden before Flash can make it into a viable anything.

Then Flash will take it to Alchemax and they’ll make another billion dollars by releasing more addictive drugs and be the only place for the antidote—what the fuck is going on? There’s no way this isn’t a conspiracy. Peter knowing beforehand? Flash’s connection to Alchemax?

Where do you fit into this? Collateral damage?

Fuck. You need to be smart about this.

Why would Peter put you in this position? You’re friends.

You set aside your work in the lab and step away from the plant. The paranoia creeps in and you deny the opportunity to stop it in its tracks as the plant's purple leaves and red petals glint under the sterile lab lighting. Aesthetically, the plants are pretty, but you’re just glad you can’t smell them. Reports say it’s potent and indescribable, nothing else. The plant appears to glow a bit, which reminds you—you leave a note to follow the glowing mutation and try to breed it with orchids for Mary in the margin of your notebook.

You send a quick text to Peter asking him to come to the lab. You’re going to ask him about this. Is Alchemax paying him in advance for this? Should you be getting paid by them too? You could move out of the student housing. You could stop working for the university and get a life outside of wine nights and movie outings and work.

Sometimes you forget what a burden money is, well, lack thereof. You ease the worry and suck it up by sacrificing your privacy and date somewhat concerning but well-off men, but every so often despair flares up which is why you think Flash has been a particularly welcome presence in your life. He’s so carefree with money and life, it’s a fantasy, but then he usually goes and says something stupid that ruins the moment, but for that split second you can feel free. That's the only time you really have to be concerned with these matters anyway.

Peter shows up to the lab disheveled with his tie is loose and his hair pushed back at a hurried angle. You rise your brow when you see his pants are creased more than usual.

“Where were you?” You stand leaning against the desk, lab coat pristine and braid still tight. You’ve taken to dressing in nice black slacks that cost too much and silky shirts courtesy of Flash with comfortable yet stylish boots. Dating Flash has a few perks more perks than trophy and clothing is one of them, he enjoys shopping and incidentally has a fantastic eye.

This perk doesn’t extend to Peter, who remains in khakis or dark jeans and button-downs with beat-up white sneakers. Peter puts his jacket down and takes a look at your work.

“You said this was an emergency!” Peter huffs before shooting you a glare and answering your question, “I was home.”

“Lair,” that’s barely an answer, you both know it. You get closer to Peter and notice the smirk fighting on his face. “Who is it?” He’s seeing someone new. You haven’t seen him this chipper in weeks and you’re momentarily sidetracked from the anger brewing in your mind.

“Plant 162 has this?” Peter’s voice is bewildered.

“Yes,” you repeat, “who are you sleeping with?”

“Dr. Stacy,” Peter breathes out and sits in a lab chair. He’s staring at your report with rapt attention and you’re processing—Dr. Stacy?

“That’s how you saw the teams beforehand. You’re fucking Dr. Gwen fucking Stacy.” The head of our program, notorious hardass and brilliant scientist Dr. Gwen Stacy who revolutionized AI technology and helped develop the closest thing you have to a cure for the flu. That unceremoniously ghosted Peter at the first quarter check-in for the project despite being his direct advisor.

“Do you know what these organisms mean?” Peter says from his new seat at the lab desk. “We found the symbiotes. These are the meta-organisms of the symbiotes these are how they were made. Do you understand?”

Symbiotes?

“Peter, relax.” You take a breath, “these microbes only indicate greater life from its place of origin. You can’t develop a sentient carbon based species from fragments of plant life, let alone apply to any human biology,” you roll your eyes at him but when you’re done you’re startled by the serious look on Peter’s face.

“That’s what Flash is for,” he supplies and your mouth drops open. “Symbiotes are the key to curing every disease and illness that mutates. They can regrow limbs and organs within minutes. These primordial samples have even more, they have the most effective mechanism for healing. We could cure cancer with a shot.” Peter is rambling and you don’t doubt his altruistic motives but you do doubt his ability to see scope.

Flash and Alchemax are going to do something fucked up with that.

“What about Flash’s boss?” you ask.

“The school and the scientific community will prevent this discovery from being abused and capitalized.” Peter waves you off. “It’s in their best interest. They want to have access to the best of the best and having us will get them more grants. We can ensure it’s used only for the right reasons and get paid to do so.” His assurances are flimsy and you’ll scarcely accept them for now.

You trust him, you have to.

Mary’s off in Europe doing her job as a professor at study abroad and Jane is off doing stars knows what. She hasn’t returned your calls in weeks. Flash has been a nice distraction from this, you realize, but you’re certain that you’re doubtful of his motives. Peter is your only real alliance for the time being.

“Has Flash figured his part of this out yet?” Peter stands from the chair and walks to his station, scanning the solar system for similar geoastroids to the one that carries plant 162. You need to have a working something by the new year to continue your research and one plant won’t cut it.

“You mean does he know about 162? Not unless he reads every page of the reports, which I know he doesn’t.” You look at the plant in its isolated bubble, purely existing and the most exhilarating part of your week, even with its frustrations. A fucking plant.

You’ve managed to isolate its reproductive cycle but you’re having issues gathering seedlings. The flowering bulbs aren’t intermingling. This poses an issue for genetic applications but Flash hopefully figured something out to get it into a living earth ecosystem.

As if you summoned him, Flash’s name lights up your phone and you answer his call.

“Hey Flash,”

“Hey babe,” He sounds like he’s driving in the car, “I’m in the ‘cedes on my way to the lab. I got coffee, iced for you. Tell Petey I’ll be there soon and I figured it out.” You bite back a grimace as Flash ends the call unceremoniously and you put your phone back in your pocket, relaying the information to a bubbling Peter.

A few minutes later Flash confidently walks into the room and hands you the coffee with a kiss to the crown of your head. “You look great,” he says quietly enough only for you to hear before he moves to Peter and pulls him into a tight hug with a slap on the back.

“Spiders.” Flash turns around with a signature grin and a look of amused shock crosses your features.

“What do spiders have to do with anything?”

“I am so glad you asked, Spiders, my friend and lover, are a species with the least painful most effective bite. It’s less than a needle and doesn’t need a vein, there’s no need for hazardous waste when you can just keep a terrarium of vaccines, flu remedies, and banana bags ready for use.” Flash rehearsed this in the car you have no doubt. “The genetics make sense, they’re already equipped with venom safety and are no harm to themselves all we need is the right venom or whatever, and we can start there.”

There’s silence in the lab once Flash is done talking. Spiders don’t not make sense, but you’re suspicious of his enthusiasm. Peter seems to feel the same as he looks at you with a hint of trepidation creasing his brow and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Flash’s face falls with disappointment.

“Do either of you geniuses have any other ideas?” Peter looks at you, and you scramble for something. You’re looking to revolutionize medicine in an unexpected and cost-efficient way. Spiders are weird but not terrible, and this idea will at least get you through the first check-in with Dr. Stacy.

Upon further thought, spiders could work well in an ecosystem with 162, its habitat might be capable of supporting a spider once Flash can figure out the right Earth starting point. The only caveat being Flash would have to see the extent of the plants’ uses.

Or.

Or, or, or.

You could lie in your PhD research and withhold vital information about the experiment from your partner and fuck buddy. That could work. Only tell him what will help you complete the project, nothing more.

“Good thing I’m not afraid of spiders,” you ultimately say in agreement.