Look both ways before crossing the street.
Grateful for the small things was number two on the List. And Peter was really, really good at being grateful for the small things. For example:
#1: Peter had a bike. (A bike was a bike even if said bike was from his crazy, criminal boss and stained with something that looked suspiciously like blood.)
#2: Peter was only fake hungry.
(Fake hungry was a scale he came up with when he was six. It went like this: hippo hungry, fake hungry, and not hungry. Fake hungry was the kind of hungry where, yeah, you could eat, but you didn’t really have to because the shaking wasn’t so bad that you couldn’t do other things, like your outside and inside chores and helping Uncle Obie in the lab. When he lived with his uncle, hippo hungry—so hungry it felt like a hippo was sitting on his stomach—was the only kind of hungry he was allowed to talk about. He learned very quickly that fake hungry was much preferable to that one—especially when he was told, “I’ll show you what hungry really feels like.” It was a silly, child-like scale, but something he was never able to give up, even after his uncle died.)
And #3: The address Mr. Gargan gave him wasn’t complicated, and even though he was given three hours to complete the task (the task that he wasn’t going to think about, the very-neutral-and-not-at-all-illegal task), he arrived in one.
The hotel-casino by JFK seemed more touristy than his foreman’s style. He could only imagine the stares the man from the warehouse would get here—his scorpion tattoo and muscles standing out among the skirts and suits of the traveling businesspeople. No one paid Peter any mind as he parked his bike outside and weaved through the lobby. Per his boss’s instructions, Peter avoided the main casino floor (and its cameras), and instead took the elevator to the fourth floor. He knocked on Room 421 and stepped back, picking at the frayed edges of his borrowed t-shirt, waiting for the door to open.
Exactly one minute later, it did just that, but only a crack. Peter waited to see if anything else would happen, but when it was clear no one was coming out, he went in.
The hotel room smelled of smoke and liquor and, inexplicably, maple syrup. A small man was standing in front of the mirror straightening the tie on his suit, while a woman in various states of undress waved lazily at Peter from the bed. He blushed and turned away, fiddling with the package in his hands.
“Oh, Adrian.” She purred, “He’s so cute.”
The man (Adrian) didn’t respond, or even look at Peter. He just waved his hand towards the bedside table. A yellow envelope, also unmarked, sat innocently, as if it didn’t have the power to ruin Peter’s life and List and Plan. Peter took it quickly, replacing it with the package from Mr. Gargan.
Peter turned around to leave when the man barked, “wait,” at him. “For your trouble, kid.” He handed him a crisp $50 bill and turned back to the mirror, visibly finished with the whole affair.
It burned a hole in his borrowed jeans the entire ride back to the warehouse. Surprisingly, Mr. Gargan didn’t say anything to Peter apart from “see you tomorrow, runt” when he finally returned. Instead, he handed him $200 and shut the door to his office.
Peter couldn’t describe the feeling that washed over him when he thought about his day. He got off the bike and pushed it beside him as he walked, searching for a new library for the night, and wondering what to do. He wasn’t a stranger to impossible situations by any means—and this was just one more for the books.
“Idiot, come in here, please.”
“Yes, sir?”
“We talked about this, boy. Where does the fucking puzzle go after you are fucking done playing with it?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was still playing with it, Uncle Obie, I just had to go potty, please, I’m sorry I didn’t pick it up.”
“God, you’re so useless. Throw it away, I’m done looking at it.”
“But—”
“What did you say?”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s better. Now come here. I have a phone call with your father. Remember the rules? Not one fucking sound from you. C’mon. Sit on my lap and I’ll put it on speaker. It’s ringing—keep your mouth shut, idiot—there we go—Tony! Hello, my boy, how are you doing? I called as soon as I heard. No luck?”
Late summer in New York was hot and sticky, and Peter had to pinch himself to keep from taking another drink of water from the limited supply he had for the night. His shirt and jacket stuck to his back, and he could feel the sweat drip down his neck and face, ruining all the work of the free shower he took advantage of that morning.
$200 + $50 + $2 was $748 less than what he needed for his ticket and travel, but more than he started with so that was something (small things). Of course, if Ned could hear what he was doing now, he’s pretty sure his friend former roommate would hit him upside the head. But just because Ned begged him to take his savings, didn’t mean that Peter would cave. He didn’t want to drag Ned into *any* of his mess and honestly, it was too much of a risk that they were even still emailing. He tried to cut it off after sending in that anonymous tip about Horizons a few months ago, afraid they were going to connect him with it, but it’s been over a month since their raid, and no Iron Man yet. Peter could sigh in relief for that (small things). No, better Ned stay out of it entirely.
He stopped at a corner to wipe his brow. A man sat at the curb with a sign asking for food. He lifted his hat as Peter passed. Peter nodded, crossed the road, thought for a moment, and then crossed back. Dropping $150 into the man’s hat, Peter jumped on his bike and rode away.
$100 for the computer. That was the deal. It was only right. He’d return Mr. Gargan’s bike tomorrow and look for another job.
The sun had set an hour ago, and finally—finally—it was cooling off. Peter was about to cross another street when he heard a yelp and a loud meow. A small, blurred figure streaked in front of him. Peter hit his brakes, swerved, and felt himself go flying over the handlebars.
As he flinched away from the shocked shouts and hands around him, he took comfort in the fact that at least he didn’t hit the cat.
Small things.
Meanwhile…
“Tony, you need to sit down, honey. Your pacing is driving me mad.”
“J. Tell my beautiful wife, light of my life, why I can’t do that buddy?”
“Sir, per the rules you set up after the 1999 Great Kitchen fight, you must understand why I am Switzerland right now. If you have something to say, say it yourself.”
“I swear no one respects me around here.”
“It seems that way, sir.”
Pepper’s hands carded through Tony’s hair as she pulled him to the couch. She pointed at his own shaking leg.
“Too much coffee, love. Now what’s wrong?”
He closed his eyes at her ministrations and sighed deeply. “That fucking Leeds kid is avoiding my calls. I have half a mind to take the suit and show up on his porch.”
She clucked her tongue. “And what a sight for the police and news that would be: Iron Man Stalks and Intimidates Traumatized Child by Breaking Down Constitutional Privacy Laws and Old Ladies’ Apartments.” She looked concernedly at the tears pricking his eyes. “J?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Did Ned understand that our invitation was very important?”
“I think he grasped the concept, ma’am. He has redirected all my calls to a 1-800 number for Disney timeshares and all of Sir’s emails are bouncing back with pdf attachments of Taylor Swift lyrics.”
Pepper’s lips quirked briefly into a smile. “I know this is serious, but let’s be grateful for the small things here.”
Tony scoffed, “And that would be?”
She squeezed his hand. “Our baby made a very loyal friend. Reminds me of something Jim would do for you.”
“If I may, ma’am, Col. Rhodes sent Sen. Percy’s office twenty crates of spotted dick yesterday, shipped fresh from London. He attached a rather colorful note to it.”
Both Pepper and Tony laughed despite themselves. “See, honey. It could be much worse than Taylor Swift.”
They sat in a heavy silence, a rare moment of quiet between them. Pepper checked her phone.
“Here’s something that might cheer you up—I just got this week’s numbers for our Project Safe locations. 200 referrals made, 1500 showers, 2000 clothing items, and 600 boxes of granola bars given.”
Tony whistled. “That’s great, Pep.”
“Oh, here’s a note. Apparently a boy in the Queens location paid $10 after taking a shower and walked out before the worker could give it back. Hm. We need to see if there’s something we can do to prevent that from happening again. Jarvis, put that on my list.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Also Jarvis, set aside time in my schedule tomorrow. Midtown School of Science & Technology is our new grantee for the September Foundation. I’m going to visit in person to give them the news.”
“Yes, ma’am. Pardon me if I'm wrong, ma’am, but is that not also the school Mr. Leeds attends?”
“Hmm. Is it? What a coincidence.”
Tony bowed and clapped. “My queen.”
“My king.” Leaning back in his open arms, she eventually fell asleep, just as restless as she was ten years ago.