Taking Things Slow
When Peter next managed to drag himself into consciousness, he could feel the edges of sleep trying to pull him under again. However, he had the uncomfortable sensation that something had changed, and that was enough for the faint tingling of his spider-sense to keep him conscious. He shifted his head back in the direction of the bedside table; the glass had been taken away, and the surface had been wiped with some kind of disinfectant that tickled the inside of his nose. The spider was long gone.
For a second, that made him sad – inexplicably so. He caught the feeling the moment he registered what it was and forced his mind to clear.
He needed to focus.
Peter recognised the blue visitors’ chair just a few feet away as the kind he’d seen the first time he came to the Stark Tower, when they took him to the medical wing, which means that was probably where he was. He didn’t realise they had private rooms for patients, but then again, this was the ever-prepared Mr Stark.
He barely remembered how he got there. The fire he remembered (and he was trying his very best to not think about it), the swing from Queens to Manhattan was a blur but somewhat there, talking to Mr Stark he remembered as well (again, not something he wanted to unpack), but anything that went down in the medbay was pretty much lost from him. He had probably been too exhausted by that point to pay attention. He remembered doctors, and Mr Stark’s ever-present frown of concern, but there was one doctor in particular who’s face pried at his memory. Trying to figure it out was tiring, however, so he let the matter drop.
For now, he was alone, so Peter instead took the opportunity to scan the room. There was nothing particularly interesting to note about the room itself, between the inoffensive art decorating the walls to the machines he was hooked up to. Everything seemed pretty much as Peter would expect from a place such as this. There were no windows, and no clock that he could see from his vantage point, meaning there was no way of knowing whether it was night or day. What worried him was his healing; true, he was still in a great deal of pain, but looking down at his arms, certainly the smaller nicks and cuts seemed to be well on their way to being fully healed. His healing had always been fast, but the past several months of barely getting by had taken it down several notches, and whilst the help he’d received from the Starks had given him a little improvement, it hadn’t been enough to warrant this kind of healing. He was beginning to worry that he’d been in the medical wing for several days rather than hours like he’d hoped, but then his eyes met the bag dangling from the IV rack beside him. It wasn’t a blood transfusion given the colour of the liquid, and it wasn’t painkillers or he’d be able to feel them (even if they didn’t alleviate pain), and he couldn’t actually read the bag from where he was laying, but the thought occurred to him that perhaps they’d already started trying to treat his malnutrition, and that the drip was actually providing him with nutrients or at least fluids. That would explain his improved healing, so he chose to believe that was the reason his healing was doing so well, and not because he’d been unconscious for so long.
An oddly funny thought popped into Peter’s head at that, that he’d spent so long avoiding doctors, and now it was going to catch up with him as they tried to treat years of medical neglect in one visit.
His morbid train of thought was cut short by the door swinging open, followed by the somewhat clumsy entrance of a sleep-deprived Mr Stark. Before Peter could speak, his mentor looked up from the two coffees he was trying to balance in one hand, to clock eyes with the teen. The man froze in place.
“Peter,” he blurted out, pulling out his phone to type a frantic message (to Miss Potts, if Peter had to guess). Aside from that, the man didn’t move, nor make any indication that he was going to speak. His gaze flitted about Peter, from his bandaged head to the cannula in his arm.
“Mr Stark,” Peter replied, simply trying to fill the silence, but in the process he discovered just how hoarse his voice was, and how much the smoke had come to settle on his lungs. He was cut off from speaking further by a coughing fit that tore through his throat and stomach at the exertion. He tried to sit, to make the coughing pass quicker, but his already agitated abdomen protested in sharp, flaring stabs. Tears pricked at his eyes, and he focused his attention on the comforting warmth of the arm that had pulled him up into a sitting position. It settled on his shoulder, rubbing in a soothing pattern until, at last, Peter was able to draw an uninterrupted breath. The hand helped lower him back down against the pillows, and Peter expected it to retract when he got there, but it didn’t. He blinked the moisture out of his eyes to look up at Mr Stark, whose brow was creased with worry, seemingly unaware that he’d even had his hand on Peter’s shoulder. The teen cleared his throat and spoke again, this time a little quieter. “Thanks.”
The man hovered for a moment after Peter stopped coughing, like he expected it to start back up again. When Peter gave a small nod to signal he was okay, Mr Stark backed off, pulling the chair at his bedside a little closer and taking a seat.
An awkward pause passed between them.
However, Mr Stark was never one to leave a silence unfilled. “You’re awake,” he began, sounding uncertain. “That’s… well, that’s good. And… how do you feel, what hurts?”
Peter had anticipated receiving that question at some point. “Oh, I feel fine-“
“Nuh-uh, none of that,” Mr Stark interrupted quickly, giving Peter an exasperated look. “Kid, we're past the point of you keeping this stuff to yourself.”
“Right, right, uhh…” Quickly as he could, Peter conducted a mini-inventory of his injuries. “I mean, I’ve got a pretty bad headache. My ribs are… well, let’s just say I’m very aware of them right now. My throat’s been better, but I’m not surprised after the smoke. The burns I can feel healing, so they’re kind of itchy, but otherwise not too bad.”
“Right,” Mr Stark sighed, sounding even more tired than Peter. “Anything else?”
Peter shrugged as much as he was physically able. “Some bruises, I guess, but nothing else. Honestly, I’m probably in less pain than that time you got Miss Potts to check on me.” It was supposed to be a reassuring statement, but the look Mr Stark gave him told Peter it didn’t have the intended affect. The man winced, bringing up his hands to rub at his face, before huffing out another resigned sigh. Evidently, he was still trying to process everything that was going on, and since Peter could sense the inevitable conversation that was coming his way, he decided he might as well get the ball rolling. “So…” he started, getting Mr Stark’s attention. “I guess you must have some questions.”
Mr Stark let out an incredulous laugh, but his answer was nothing but serious. “Yeah, kid, what the fuck?” Peter couldn’t quite make out his expression; it was somewhere between irritation and surprise.
“I know, Mr Stark, I’m so-“
“You were gonna tell me, right?” Mr Stark cut in, “You weren’t just saying that so I wouldn’t get mad?”
“No, no I was gonna tell you, that wasn’t a lie – ask Natasha!”
It was only the silence that spread between them that made Peter realise he’d made a mistake. The look Mr Stark gave him made him want to shrink into the pillows. “Romanoff knows?” He asked, dangerously quiet.
Peter had no clue what to say. If he denied, that would be an obvious lie, but admit the truth and he’d be throwing Nat under the bus. “Uh…”
For the first time since Peter woke up, Mr Stark appeared to become genuinely angry. He pushed himself up from the chair and started marching towards the door. “Oh, I am gonna-“ he muttered as he went, but, fuelled by the fear that he’d just placed Nat into the line of fire, Peter protested.
“Wait,” he called out, trying to push himself up. Pain flared in his side, but he ignored it, managing to force his legs off the bed and make contact with the floor. He got himself standing, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, sending him toppling back onto the mattress. He heard his name called in the distance, but it was difficult to make out over the blood rushing in his ears.
Peter focused on his own breathing, allowing the rhythm of his aching ribs to take up all of his attention, until the world stopped spinning and he was able to orient itself. He was lying on his side, with one of his arms positioned awkwardly underneath him. The IV had prevented it from going any further - yeah, he really should’ve thought about that. He could also feel Mr Stark’s hand brushing the hair off of his forehead. It was a soothing motion that gave Peter something to cling to until his ears became unmuffled and he could open his eyes without feeling nauseous. Mr Stark was there in front of him, a worried frown pulling at his eyebrows.
“She was gonna tell you,” Peter mumbled, knowing that he needed to dig Nat out of the mess he’d just inadvertently thrown her in to. “But she wanted to give me a chance to do it myself first – I swear, she wasn’t gonna let me keep it a secret.” He started to push against the mattress in an attempt to right himself; clearly, Mr Stark got the gist of his intentions, as the man scooped an arm under Peter and helped him up until he was sat on the edge of the bed, his feet brushing the cold linoleum floor.
Mr Stark pushed himself up with a sigh, and dragged over his chair so he could sit directly opposite peter. After a moment, he spoke, eyes fixed on the place where the tube disappeared into the flesh of Peter’s hand. “So what, you… told her?” For a brief moment, Mr Stark almost sounded hurt.
“No, no she followed me,” Peter replied with a shake of the head. This relaxed the creasing in Mr Stark’s brow ever so slightly, although Peter couldn’t quite understand why.
“When?” was the next question, but so much had happened since then that Peter had to think for a moment.
“Uhhh… I wanna say last week?”
“Okay.” The man’s expression was completely incomprehensible; he was obviously tired, for starters, but it was as if every new piece of information he received physically weighed him down a little bit more. Peter couldn’t help but feel guilty – after all, they wouldn’t be in this position if he hadn’t just been honest from the start.
“You okay?” Peter asked tentatively, not knowing what else to say.
Slowly, Mr Stark shook his head. “This whole time, I thought ‘At least the spider’s looking out for him’… but you’ve been alone all this time, huh?” Peter winced – that statement was too accurate for comfort. Evidently, this was enough of an answer for Mr Stark. “Jesus fucking Christ, kid,” he muttered, once again rubbing his face in exasperation. “I’m not mad. I don’t even think I’m that surprised? If anything, you make a lot more sense to me now, it’s just…”
The man trailed off, leaving Peter to recollect that conversation he’d had with Nat, about how Mr Stark would take the revelation that his intern was Spider-Man. “You feel like you should’ve figured it out yourself?” Peter supplied.
Mr Stark gave a dry laugh. “Probably, yeah.”
“Well,” Peter began cautiously, not entirely sure where his sentence was going to go, but knowing he needed to say something regardless. “If it’s any consolation, you aren’t the only people I’ve lied to. Two foster homes had no clue-“ Peter had to rush that sentence out of his mouth, lest he get caught up in bad memories before he could finish his point, “- my aunt and uncle didn’t even know I had powers, and when I started doing the whole Spider-Man thing, secrecy became, like, the most important thing. Hell, I’ve dodged CPS for so long, it’s almost second nature.” He paused, in case Mr Stark was going to interject, but the man simply watched him patiently. Peter took a deep breath and continued. “Besides, I pretty much always had an excuse. I live in a dangerous area, so any injuries can be explained away, I made an alibi as Spider-Man when you asked him about me, I went along with the explanation you came up with about being his tech-guy, I never used my powers outside the suit, and I know I’m not in the best health, so I get that I don’t exactly look the type to be a secret vigilante. The odds were stacked against you finding out unless I messed up… and it took a while, but I did,” Peter sighed, images of burning buildings flashing behind his eyelids. He couldn’t even tell which fire would be haunting him from now on.
“I hope you know this is it, right?” Mr Stark said, snapping Peter back into the present and shooting ice cold fear into his chest.
“Huh?” he breathed. Was he being thrown out? Was this his punishment for lying, for deceiving them for so long? Did Mr Stark no longer want anything to do with him?
The man seemed completely oblivious to the fears racing through the boy’s mind; he sat forward slightly in his chair, making sure he had Peter’s full attention. “From now on, you hide nothing. Injuries, concerns, I don’t care if it’s as little as one of your shoes having a hole in it, or as big as getting impaled or some shit – you tell us, and you tell us right away, okay? Cause I’m not having you under this roof and have you still act like a stranger.”
Peter swallowed, willing his voice not to shake. “Under this roof?” He didn’t care if he sounded vulnerable, he needed to understand.
Mr Stark quirked one of his eyebrows. “Well, yeah. Why, you got somewhere to be?” Peter looked down at his hands and shrugged. “Kid, you have a room here, you work here, and you just lost your home. Again. You’re staying here, and if you try to leave, Pepper will have my head.” In spite of himself, Peter chuckled at that, and relief flooded him when he heard Mr Stark join in. Once the over-tired giggling died down, the man continued, “So you better not try and skip out on us again, alright?”
Tears pricked at the corners of Peter’s eyes, but he refused to acknowledge them. Instead, he nodded. “Alright.” For the first time he could remember, it felt good to give in.
“Good,” Mr Stark affirmed. “Besides, you seem to have quite a puzzle on your hands, and you know I don’t like being left out of the fun stuff.”
It was a fairly innocuous sentence by itself, but it quite suddenly forced Peter to remember the trouble he’d gotten himself into as Spider-Man, which was still very much not resolved and might also have started leaking into Peter Parker’s life as well. He'd been so caught up in the fire, and the memories that brought up, he'd all but forgotten how he got himself in this mess to begin with. “Oh shit. Oh shit,” he gasped, hands flying straight up to clutch through his hair.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright-“ Mr Stark tried to sooth him, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to be calmed.
“But- but the building-“
“Hey, Peter-“
“And Tombstone was- and I don’t-“
“Peter, it’s okay, just-“
“I haven’t even- Gargan could be-“
Fingers circled each of Peter’s wrists, pulling them off of his head and forcing him to focus on the man in front of him. When Mr Stark spoke, it was slow and deliberate. “Okay, first, don’t even worry about the building – you got everyone out, and every single person who lived there will be taken care of. Sure, it won’t be easy for them, but they’re all being put up in temporary accommodation whilst the apartment is being rebuilt, courtesy of the Stark Industries' charitable donation budget, and they will all be receiving financial support in the form of very generous insurance settlements. They’ll be okay.”
The thought that Mr Stark had gone out of his way to fix Peter's mistake struck him right in his chest. "Thank you," he breathed emphatically, "That's... that's so kind of you." He trailed off, a vivid image appearing at the front of his mind of that crowd of scared residents clustered on the street, watching their whole world burn to the ground. “But it was my fault,” Peter lamented, but Mr Stark wouldn’t hear it.
“Bullshit,” he stated simply. “Did you want it to happen?”
The question shocked Peter slightly. “Wh- No, of course not-!”
“Did you at any point think it could happen because of something you were doing?”
“Well, no, but-“
“And did you not do everything in your power to help once you realised what was going on?”
“I… yes.”
Mr Stark shrugged. “Then it seems to me like blaming yourself isn’t the answer. Peter, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve fucked up, so take it from me, this isn’t going to help them just as much as it isn’t helping you. Yes, guilt has its uses, it stops you from becoming complacent, but it will eat you alive if you let it.” The harrowed look in Mr Stark's eyes gave Peter the strong impression that the man was speaking from bitter experience. This realisation - the reminder that, for all his joking and grandeur, Mr Stark had known his fair share of troubles - was enough to weaken Peter's resolve.
“Right,” Peter breathed, “You’re right.”
“It’s been known to happen,” Mr Stark joked, patting his hand gently against Peter’s knee.
Steadying himself with a few more breaths, Peter let Mr Stark’s words sink in. Guilt would only distract him; they had more important things to focus on, and the only real way to get justice for the people he’d endangered was to get the bottom of this whole matter. Just as he was about to ask Mr Stark if anything else was known about the cause of the fire, the door to the room swung open, revealing a flustered Pepper Potts, clutching an arm-full of fabric.
“Peter,” she cried, bustling into the room and dropping the fabric on the foot of the bed, before coming around and sitting down next to him. She fussed her fingers through his hair and inspected each scratch and bruise she could find with tender concern. “I had to step out for a while, I didn’t realise you’d be awake or I would’ve stayed,” she apologised, now flattening the hem of his hospital gown, which had become bunched around his neck.
“It’s alright, really – I’m sorry for freaking you out.”
“Oh, honey,” Miss Potts cooed, but clearly she was lost for anything else to say, as she stopped there, her fingers returning to his hair in an attempt to comb the rogue curls into something less unruly, until a thought seemed to strike her. “How long have you been awake?”
“Not long,” he replied, eyes flicking to Mr Stark with uncertainty.
The man shrugged. “Few minutes, maybe.”
“Right,” Miss Potts hummed, nodding slowly. “And has Helen been in yet?”
“Ah, not yet,” Mr Stark answered with a wince. “FRIDAY?”
“On it, boss.”
“Helen inbound,” said Mr Stark, looking oddly pleased with himself. Although, Peter strongly suspected that the cheesy grin and suddenly light demeanour was probably a mere façade, especially given Miss Potts’s presence in the room, and how much effort Mr Stark seemed to put into preventing her from worrying. The memory of that sent a stab of guilt into Peter’s stomach; after all the kindness the woman had showed him, he’d paid her back by making reckless decisions that left her even more concerned than she’d been the first time he ever came to the tower. As hesitant as he was to give in to their insisting kindness, Peter took on a silent resolve to be as compliant as possible, in the hopes that this might calm some of Miss Potts’s frayed nerves – even now, the woman was biting at the skin on her lip as she surveyed the machines Peter had all but forgotten he was wired up to.
It took a couple of minutes (during which the adults muttered amongst themselves about various meetings and schedules, things to which Peter had absolutely nothing to contribute) but eventually, a familiar young woman pushed her way into the room, sporting a pristine lab-coat, sleek, pinned back hair, and a clipboard that she didn’t look up from until the door had swung shut behind her.
She gave Peter a bright smile. “Peter,” she greeted, holding out her hand for him to shake. He took it, finally piecing together who she was. At first, he recognised her as one of the doctors from the previous night, one who he had a half-conscious discussion with about his tolerance of painkillers, but now he realised there was another reason her face had stayed with him. She carried on speaking, oblivious to his train of thought. “How’ve you been feeling?”
“You’re Helen Cho,” he blurted out, barely even registering that she’d asked him a question.
She quirked an eyebrow, amused. “You’re familiar with my work?”
Peter let out a strange laugh. “Oh man, I’ve read, like, nine of your papers. I mean, your work on in-vivo tissue restoration is revolutionary.”
“Right,” Dr Cho began, casting her eyes sideways at Mr Stark for a second, who simply shrugged. “How old did you say you were, again?” she asked turning back to Peter.
“Sixteen,” he supplied. She raised her eyebrows, but quickly shook it off.
“Well, in that case I’d love your feedback on my next work – something tells me you’ll have a keen interest in its subject.”
It caught Peter off guard once he realised what she was hinting at. “You want to write a paper on me?”
“If you consent, then yes,” she replied. “Not for publishing, don’t worry. Only, I get the sense that you might want a bit more of an understanding about your own biology, and I’m gonna need some more info on what I’m working with if my team is going to have a chance of synthesising compatible medications.”
“Oh, well, that… makes sense, I guess.” Peter wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it; part of him was flattered, but mostly the thought of actually getting to investigate his powers was perplexing after so many years in the dark. Dr Cho seemed to sense some part of his struggle, as she gave him a sympathetic look.
“We don’t have to talk about that yet,” she said, turning her attention back to her clipboard. “We’ve been documenting your healing whilst you’ve been unconscious – we’ve taken a couple of x-rays, and quite frankly I’ve never seen anything like it. You had a few cracks in your ribs, but since putting you on the drip, your body seems to have kicked into high gear – days’ worth of healing in just a few hours,” she noted, giving Mr Stark a pointed look before carrying on. “Other than those, you don’t have any serious injuries, so as long as you take it easy for the next few days, you should be fine for discharge. Oh – but I’d like to take another x-ray before you leave, and another one tomorrow just to see. And whilst we’ll be removing your IV, I’ll need to run your blood in a few days and see how you’re fairing, make sure you’re getting enough nutrients to keep up with your metabolism. That all sound good?”
“Oh, uh… Yeah, sounds great!” Peter replied, admittedly a little unsure of himself. There had been a lot to process since he’d woken up, and healthcare logistics weren’t really something he had a lot of experience with.
“Perfect,” Dr Cho said, as she set her clipboard down at the end of the bed and gestured to the pile of fabric Miss Potts had brought with her. “I take it these are for him?” She barely waited for Miss Potts to nod yes before she was scooping the clothes into her arm and giving Peter a polite smile. “Well then – let’s get that x-ray.”
-
Peter took a sip from the mug of hot chocolate that Miss Potts had just placed in his hands, revelling in the soothing sweet taste, and the way the warmth spread through him. They were back in the penthouse, with the evening sun almost fully set over the amber skyline of Manhattan, sending a cosy sea of light across the slick surface of the tiled floor. The clothes he had been given seemed to be some kind of loungewear; sweatpants and a loose-fitting Henley, both with ‘Stark Industries’ printed somewhere on the fabric, which Peter gathered had been Mr Stark’s idea of a joke. He didn’t mind, though, not when the clothes were that comfortable. Peter allowed himself a moment to relax – soaking up the heat of the ceramic, settling into the plush pillows of the couch, and the impossibly soft blanket now draped over his lap – before forcing himself back to the matter at hand. “I know there’s a lot to discuss, so I’ll try my best to keep all the information in the right order,” he began, half-settling the mug in his lap, until Mr Stark’s confused expression made him pause. “Y’know,” he tapered off uncertainly, “About the… stuff I told you? Since I was hiding who I was, there’s probably stuff I missed out.”
Miss Potts came around the sofa with her own mug and tucked herself into her partners side on the other end of the sofa, as Mr Stark shook his head. “Peter, what part of hot chocolates on the couch says ‘time for an interrogation’ to you?”
“Well, I just thought-“
Miss Potts cut him off, bringing her feet up onto the cushion and settling very deliberately against Mr Stark’s chest, almost as if she were making a point. “Sweetie, it’s been a long day. It’s not the time for you to be thinking about all that when you literally just got released from the medbay.”
“But Miss Potts-“
“Nuh-uh, we can talk about conspiracies and evil organisations in the morning, but for tonight, you’re taking things slow.” Her expression left no room for argument, so Peter shifted his gaze to Mr Stark, who simply shrugged.
“You heard the woman,” he said, picking up the TV remote.
As much as he didn’t want to argue against them, it didn’t sit quite right with Peter to ‘take things slow’ when he had responsibilities. Whoever set that building on fire was still out there, whatever was going on at Hammer Tech was still in progress, and he had done almost nothing towards figuring out any of it. “But the building-“ he protested weakly, but he stopped trying when Miss Potts pulled herself from her partner's side and shifted across the couch cushions until she was half a foot away from him. From there, she paused, clearly waiting for him to flinch or signal that he was uncomfortable, but he stayed perfectly still. Peter simply watched the slow, steady path of her hand as she brought it up to brush through his hair, much like she had in the medbay but this time, it was more caring than fussing. He closed his eyes against the comfort it provided, feeling a stab of nostalgia for the times when Aunt May would do the exact same thing.
After a moment of silently carding through his curls, Miss Potts continued in a soft voice. “You let us worry about the building. Peter, you’ve been doing this alone for far too long. Besides, you know who we are – we have a whole team of Avengers on our side, there’s nothing we can’t handle.”
Yet again, there was a big part of him that wanted to contradict her, but he didn’t want to come across as argumentative. Peter wanted to believe that it would all work out okay, that now that he’d finally opened up, and that he had people he could trust to help him, that things would work out for the best. However, he couldn’t help but feel bad about dragging them into his mess. Spider-Man was supposed to protect people, make the world safer – not run for the hills the moment things got dangerous. It didn’t feel right to let someone else take the wheel, especially when that seemingly meant he had to ‘take things slow’.
He kept this to himself however, figuring that by tomorrow, he could go back to putting everything right. For now, he focused back on the calming sensation of the fingertips on his scalp. “Thanks, Miss Potts. You too, Mr Stark – I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys sooner.” It was little more than a whisper, but he needed to say it, at least once.
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Mr Stark piped up. “Although maybe you could drop the whole ‘Miss’-‘Mr’ thing? It was funny at first, but I feel like we’ve passed the point of formalities, don’t you?”
Peter considered that for a moment. On the one hand, it would like he was taking liberties ('That’s Mr Westcott to you-').
On the other hand… if it was more comfortable for them if he used their first names…
“…I’ll think about it,” Peter landed on, but he could practically hear Tony giving Pepper a smug grin.
*
Nat had woken up at around 5.30am, early riser that she is, and had started getting ready as she would on any other morning, only for FRIDAY to inform her that Peter was in the medbay. By this time, Nat had changed into her gym kit and was just about to head down for some morning cardio, but FRIDAY’S alert meant that she instantly ditched her water bottle and raced for the elevator. Admittedly, Nat had forgotten she’d asked to be included when Tony once mentioned setting up Peter in the notification protocols, but it didn’t matter; she heading straight for the medbay, needing to see with her own eyes how bad the kid’s situation was that he had come to the tower so early in the morning.
It didn’t take her long to find the right room, and she’d been about to burst through the door when the sight through the window made her stop in her tracks outside; she could see Peter, battered and unconscious on the bed but definitely alive, with an exhausted looking Tony hunched in a chair beside him, glaring daggers at a pile of dirty red and blue cloth. The kid’s suit. If she walked in, she’d have to explain something that would very likely make Tony mad, which would in turn wake up Peter, who looked like he really needed the rest. Instead, she opted to retreat back to the Avengers’ common floor.
She’d collected her water from where she’d abandoned it, and was considering ditching the cardio when she bumped into Sam, Steve and Bucky, who were also on their way for some exercise. It would’ve been weird for her to go back to her room, and she doubted they’d buy that she’d already worked out, so they accompanied Nat to the tower’s gym. No one questioned her on why she was being so quiet, even as the elevator opened and they all went about their routines. Steve had invited her to spar, but she’d shaken her head at him, putting in earphones and heading straight for the treadmill. She deliberately set it a little faster than normal, hoping the exertion and the music would block out everything she didn’t want to think.
It didn’t work – her thoughts spiralled regardless.
The kid was just supposed to be heading back for a quick repair job, but he’d got himself seriously injured. Somehow, he’d ended up at the tower, apparently as Spider-Man. Had Tony gone to collect him, or did he come in the suit? Either way, his identity was in the open, and not in the calm, controlled way they’d both hoped. Maybe Peter had already told Tony that she knew, and Nat would soon be called over to give the information the unconscious Peter couldn’t supply. Or, perhaps Peter had never had a chance to speak, and Tony had had to remove Spider-Man’s mask, only to find his frail mentee underneath it. She dreaded to imagine what he might be thinking if that were the case.
Nat was starting to debate the risks of asking FRIDAY if there was any surveillance footage of Peter’s arrival, and whether Tony would find out about her request before she had a chance to explain it, when she sensed a shadow moving closer to her. Her body acted on instinct, sending her hurtling off the end of the treadmill to land a sharp kick on whatever had snuck up on her. The attack was blocked by a metal hand, which clasped around her ankle and forced it to the ground, making her come to a stop just as she’d registered there hadn’t been a threat - just a confused (and now slightly alarmed) Bucky. By this time, she had secured the concern of everyone in the room, including herself; it wasn’t like her to be caught off guard. She pinned it down to a product of the post-mission come-down after Vienna and left it at that, rather than start to question her integrity as an operative. However, this reassurance did nothing to assuage the suspicions of her friends. She’d acted too oddly to pass it off as nothing, so with a reluctant sigh and two fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, she’d explained there was a non-urgent but possibly serious situation upstairs that had her on edge. They’d pressed for more info at first, but eventually let the matter drop as Nat took it upon herself to leave the gym.
She’d kept to her room for a while, until FRIDAY made an announcement to the whole floor that Tony and Pepper wouldn’t be joining them for breakfast as planned, after which she saw no use in hiding away. She went out to the living area, making a pot of green tea and stationing herself at the kitchen island, closest to the elevator, in case she was called.
...Which brought her to the current moment.
“You… are on thin fucking ice.”
Natasha smirked, setting her – eighth? Ninth? – mug of tea back on the counter and ignoring the confused looks the rest of the team were giving her. “Good evening to you too, Tony.”
“Oh sure,” he ranted, striding across the room until he was stood in her line of sight – making a scene, in typical Tony-fashion, she might add. “Yeah, no, go ahead, pretend like you didn’t fuck up, that’s fine by me. Not like I’m the one picking up after you.”
Before he could say more, Steve set down his newspaper on the armchair he was sat in and made his way over, holding up his arms in an appeasing gesture. “Hey, easy, Tony-“
“God, don’t you ever get tired of the whole girl-scout act?” Tony snapped, cutting him off.
It didn’t faze the soldier at all; he simply straightened up and carried on speaking. “We heard there was a situation upstairs – is everything okay?” Nat appreciated the discreet way he phrased it. With the way she’d acted, she could only imagine what suspicions they had.
Tony huffed out a resigned sigh. “Yeah, cap – everything’s just peachy. My intern nearly died, but other than that, yeah, today’s been great.” Natasha remained impassive, but there was a shift in the room.
“That kid from last night?” Sam interjected. “What was it- Peter?” At the mentioning of the name, Nat could practically feel Bucky's trademark stare burrowing into her, but she paid him no notice. For the time being, that is.
“Yup,” Tony nodded. He gave Natasha a meaningful look before addressing the rest of the room. “Pete, he… works for-with Spider-Man, I guess." Now that did surprise Natasha. "Makes the guy’s tech, all that shit, whatever – only recently, the spider ran into a bit of trouble and had to lie low, and last night Peter’s whole apartment building went up in flames. FRIDAY?” At his request, a hologram appeared above the kitchen isle, displaying news footage from earlier in the day. That was Peter’s building, sure as anything, only now the place was reduced to a hollow, charred shell. Tony continued, “The kid’ll be fine, he’ll be staying with us upstairs, but I need to find out if the fire has anything to do with the situation the spiderling brought to our attention.”
“And what situation was that?” Steve asked, already treating this like a mission.
Another sigh from Tony – clearly, the day’s events had worn him down. “Justin Hammer,” was all he said, but this was enough for a wave of recognition and contentment to wash over the room. “Don’t get too excited – we’ve got no leads, no concrete proof, and absolutely nothing to base an investigation off of, but the spider seemed pretty sure of himself, and given that the only intern I’ve ever trusted enough to work beside personally just spent the whole day unconscious in a hospital bed, I’m not taking chances.”
“Hang on, that seems like a bit of a leap,” Steve protested, shaking his head. “Either you’re looking for someone to blame for this, or there’s something you’re not telling us.”
“Of course there’s something I’m not telling you, I’ve been awake since yesterday morning and this isn’t a briefing. I came down here ‘cause I needed to talk to Ginger Spice,” he retorted, jerking his thumb at Natasha before turning his full attention to her. “I don’t care how you do it, but we’re gonna need to know what caused that fire. Find out what started it, and if it isn’t too much trouble, try and avoid the whole double-agent schtick.”
She wanted to challenge him, but the man was clearly exhausted, and prodding at his nerves now would only make things worse for everyone. Instead, Nat nodded her head. “I’ll keep in touch, it shouldn’t take long. How’s Pete?” she asked, before he had a chance to say something sarcastic. It appeared to be the right question, as Tony’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly as he bobbed his head to the side.
“He’s… fine. Sleeping. He’s out of the medbay, at least, and we managed to get some food in him before he dozed off.”
“Will he be staying here?”
Tony winced. “For now. We haven’t really discussed long term, but I’m not letting that little shit out of my sight just yet. He’s been surprisingly compliant so far – not sure how long that’s gonna last though.”
“I can always talk to him,” Nat shrugged, but Tony’s shoulders tensed as she spoke.
“Oh, you’ve talked to him enough.” It seemed for a moment like he was about to walk out on that steely note, but strangely, the man seemed to reconsider. A moment later, he spoke again in a lower voice. “But… maybe. I know you two get along, and… he could probably use a friend right now.” It almost looked like it pained Tony to speak so earnestly. As such, the man shook his head and made for the elevator without meeting anyone’s eyes. “Find out what caused that fire, and tell me the second you have it or I’ll paint your guns neon green,” he called over his shoulder, not even turning back to face them as the doors shut behind him.