Keep the Customer Satisfied
It had been eight days since SHIELD had arrested Peter, and he was really starting to miss being at home.
He would do anything to get the fuck out of there. If someone had said to him “Peter, you can either eat a literal piece of shit or stay in this godforsaken shithole for another week,” he’d tell them to pass the fucking hot sauce.
He had remained in that cell for a few days, falling in and out of consciousness, before someone had taken pity on him at some point and lowered the height of the chains so that he could sit on the floor with his back up against the wall. This was how he sat now, his fingers tracing patterns in the dust and grime around him. He hummed a song quietly to himself. It was the best way to deal with the boredom and anxiety. He’d also discovered that the buildup before an interrogation was almost worse than the actual thing, and the humming took his mind off of it.
With a sudden and nerve-frying crash, the door banged open. Peter flinched and scrambled back against the wall, his eyes wide with nervousness. He kept pushing himself into the corner of the wall as if it would open up and deposit him safely on the other side, out of harm’s way. It was no use. He couldn’t break out. He was too weak, anyway, to run or anything.
Light blinded him momentarily as the door swung open, and he could hear people speaking about him, but his eyes were screwed shut against the onslaught and overload. Finally the light diminished; he blinked, spots floating before his eyes. He couldn’t quite make out the face of this new person who was here, standing in the room, with their arms akimbo.
“Mr. Parker.” Wait. He recognized that voice. That’s probably not good.
“Hello?” He forced the words out through his teeth.
The person - a woman - knelt down before him. Then Peter knew who it was for certain at that moment, and against all his better judgement, he smiled dryly. “Sharon. Nice to see you too.”
She wasn’t smiling. “I’ve been reassigned to lead this investigation.” Sharon stood slowly, and Peter watched her actions with tense fear. She suddenly kicked him in the gut; his senses had detected the incoming attack moments before, but with his hands out of commission, he could only hold his arms in front of his face and curl away from her. Her shoe connected with his ribs, and he felt something fracture. He stayed like that, in a protective position, his knees pulled up to his chest.
“What do you want, Sharon?! Stop, just stop. Please.” He didn’t want to cry. Peter really didn’t want to cry.
“Tell us where Barnes and Wilson are.”
“I don’t know! They’ve probably changed locations at this point, so I wouldn’t know anyway!”
Sharon paused. “So you admit that you have been working with them? You knew their location at some point?”
Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit. “No,” replied Peter. Even he knew that he was a terrible liar.
“You’re a terrible liar, Pete.”
“Yup. That- that’s how you know I’m telling the truth when I say that we didn’t do anything. We’re innocent. Please, you gotta believe me, or at least stop hurting me. Please.”
“If you tell us where Barnes and Wilson are, we won’t hurt them or you any longer. I promise.”
For a moment, Peter wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that they wouldn’t kill Bucky on sight, and they would bring in Sam peacefully. But they wouldn’t. He knew it deep down. The offer was too good to be true, and Peter knew it would never happen. Not in this country.
Besides, Sharon Carter was a manipulative piece of shit at times. This was one of those times.
He tried to squeeze the mental image of his friends being hurt out of his mind. On top of that, the government didn’t even know about Maggie, and they would hurt her as bad as they hurt Peter if they ever found her. Peter would never let that happen to her, not in a million years. Not if he had anything to do with it.
“Do you accept the deal or not?” asked Sharon, raising an eyebrow at the kid huddled in the corner.
Stiffly, regretfully, Peter whispered: “Yes.”
Sharon sat down on the floor with him, smiling delightfully. “Alright. Tell me where, Peter. I might even get you a cheeseburger for all your hard work.”
Peter wanted to vomit when he heard that. “Okay. You writing this down?”
“Someone’ll do it. After all, we can always hear you.” She gestured to the security camera in the upper corner of the room. Peter had flipped it off, in excess, multiple times over the course of his stay. “We enjoyed your rendition of Bridge Over Troubled Water the other day.”
Geez, Sharon was in a great mood now. If Peter played his cards right, he’d be able to get a cheeseburger out of Sharon without revealing anything about Sam and Bucky’s location.
“Alright.” He took a deep breath, playing the role of terrified teenager perfectly. “874 Bradshaw Street, up in Poughkeepsie. Please don’t hurt them. They’ll come quietly if you tell them to.” That wasn’t true at all. Sam and Bucky would not come quietly or without a fight if caught, and they had resolved never to go near Poughkeepsie again after the incident that had occurred in their last hiding spot there. It had involved a drunk old man, Maggie’s favorite gun, and some terrible deli meat. Don’t ask.
But on the bright side, Peter would get to eat a cheeseburger and a full meal for the first time in eight days. Totally worth it.
“Thank you, Mr. Parker. We really appreciate it. I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you. Don’t hurt them. And I want my goddamn cheeseburger.” He didn’t want to make it seem all that easy, or else they’d be suspicious. Hopefully he’d get the cheeseburger before they figured out that he’d given them the wrong location. And hopefully they wouldn’t realize that it had been on purpose.
She shoved him again. Peter squeaked. “Don’t,” she hissed, “cuss at me. Ever.”
“Sorry.” He let his eyes fill up with tears, adding to the act. “Can I still get that cheeseburger though? Like you promised? And you also said you wouldn’t hurt me anymore if I told you…”
Sharon looked at him, brushing her hands off on her blouse. “We’ll see.”
Now Peter wanted to cry for real.
-----
“Shit! Sam! Come here!” Bucky was staring at his phone, wide-eyed.
“What? You can’t figure out how to work the Netflix app?” Sam lazily rounded the corner into Bucky’s room. They’d taken over a condemned apartment building that week, and were using it as a new hiding place.
“No. No. Look at this press release on the news.”
Sam peered over Bucky’s shoulder, and quickly scanned the document which was pulled up on the screen. “Oh no. Oh my god.”
The document, in clear type, was announcing that Sharon Carter would be taking over as lead investigator for their case. In true government fashion, the press release had been issued by accident, but it was out for the whole world to see now.
“She’s gonna kill Peter. She’s gonna get all the information she can out of him and then she’ll kill him, and no one will be able to stop her,” said Bucky softly. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. He couldn’t seem to accept that Peter was in even more danger now than he ever had been before.
Sam agreed profusely. “I think, by now, we’ve established that Sharon is the Power Broker. She’s got powerful people on her side who are willing to go to extreme lengths to help her. We can only hope that Peter’s drawn the same conclusions we have.”
Bucky nodded. “So… Sharon is the Power Broker. Ok. What do we do next?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” said Sam, unsmiling. He even looked angry. “We break Peter the hell out of that place.”
Peter had done his absolute best to get in contact with someone other than Sharon since then. He sat against the wall in the damp, dark cell, staring at the security camera intensely. In fact, this was what he was doing now.
He side-eyed the camera and spoke. “Can I speak to someone else please? Or can someone update me on what’s going on?” No response. He sighed. “Are Sam and Bucky okay at least? Have you hurt them? Are they in SHIELD custody?”
The camera remained as silent and impassive as ever from its perch in the upper corner of the rather-large room. Peter scoffed.
“I’m bored. Can I AT LEAST get my GODDAMN CHEESEBURGER?”
The door banged open, surprising him as usual. It was Sharon. She was holding a McDonalds bag in one hand, and she looked incredibly annoyed.
“Mr. Parker, respectfully, shut the fuck up because we are trying to concentrate on the arrest of your friends. Oh, and here’s the cheeseburger, like I promised.” She set down the bag in front of him. Peter, who was getting increasingly annoyed on his part, wriggled his fists in the cuffs over his head.
“Can you let me down a little bit? Please? Just so I can eat, and then you sickos can string me right back up.”
Sharon made eye contact with the camera and tilted her head. There was a soft whirring sound and the clinking metal lowered enough to allow Peter some limited access to his hands. He used his foot to kick the fast food bag toward himself, and hungrily pried through the brown paper bag to get to the cheeseburger inside. His eyes widened with delight. “You got me fries, too? Gee thanks, ma’am.” The last bit was a jab at Sharon, which fell short. She nodded pretentiously, turned swiftly on her heel, and left.
Peter wolfed down the burger. He drew the fries out a bit longer, taking his time and savoring every last bit of salty, fried, calorific goodness. He licked the ketchup off the hamburger wrapper, and sat back with a burp. That was a good meal. One of the best he’d had in more than a week.
Hours later, when Peter was hungry again, the door banged open per usual. Sharon Carter, looking horribly angry and being tailed by two nervous-looking agents (both of whom were sweating like crazy, one of whom had blood on his collar). The door slammed closed. Sharon pulled out a small device and pressed a button; Peter’s arms were yanked upwards, and he grimaced, biting back a shout.
“They weren’t there!” she cried angrily. Sharon seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Or maybe a stroke.
“They… weren’t?” Peter acted confused. He wasn’t confused. He knew exactly what to expect, but apparently he was a far better actor than he had thought.
“No. No they were not,” Sharon spat. She pulled a chair from the back of the room, and swung it around so that she could sit down. The two other agents continued to hover nervously behind her. “Where are they, Peter?!”
Peter continued to play the part of the young, dumb, innocent teeenager whom they all thought him to be. It was good to have a cover like that. Hopefully he wouldn’t blow it and reveal their whereabouts. “I told you, it’s been more than a week. They’ve certainly changed spots by now.”
Sharon glowered. Suddenly, in the space of a second, a new idea went through her head; Peter could practically see the cogs turning and forming the thought.
“You gave us the wrong location on purpose, didn’t you?” Her voice was quiet. She smiled darkly at him, and bent down a little so that she was level with his face. She stared intensely at him until he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I told you before, and I told you just now. I only know their last location. I can’t predict the future, so I honest-to-goodness swear that I have no idea where they’re hiding out at the moment.” His voice raised nervously at the end. It wasn’t on purpose.
She seemed to find that an acceptable answer. She raised her eyebrows, nodding slightly, and tilted her head to the side. It was all almost out-of-character. She motioned for the two agents behind her to leave, and they did.
The one with blood on his collar left first, followed by the girl, who was sweating even more than he was now. The door opened, making a slightly loud squeaking sound. It shut behind them with over-exaggerated finality. Sharon turned around and removed a pair of sunglasses from her pocket.
Shit. Shit. Holy motherforking shirtballs.
Peter kicked and shouted reproachfully, his legs lashing out against air as he now hovered a foot above the ground, suspended by his arms. It was starting to hurt even worse. He knew what was coming.
Sharon pressed a button and Peter barely had time to screw his eyes shut and press his head into his arm before the horrible lights and piercing, screeching sounds obscured everything.
He pressed his arms up against his ears, he could feel blood leaking from his hands and his wrists, everything was white and blinding and everything was painful and it started to hurt again oh god it hurt oh my god this isn’t good this is really not good oh for fuck’s sake why the HELL did he ever leave his apartment on that one faithful morning all those months ago? Why the hell had it been so fucking important for him to be a part of the action, for him to leave his nice comfortable little life with Aunt May? She was probably worried out of her mind right now. They’d hardly seen each other. And oh god now he was dying and the sound of it all was too much and HERE I AM HERE I AM HERE I AM bloody hell that hurt so I guess that’s gonna be a home run hit from the only living boy in New York, the reason why the Brooklyn Dodgers left for California, the one and only the man the myth the legend himself ‘twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe all mimsy were the borogoves and the mome raths outgrabe and la di da di da and do-and-do-a-dee-do and here I am… the only living boy in New York…
He was unconscious by that point. Sharon clicked her tongue and turned away, sliding the sunglasses off her nose. That poor brat had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.
Maggie crept along the sidewalk, her hood drawn over her face. She breezed through the parking lot, towards Sharon Carter’s car, nonchalant. She carefully fastened a device to the underside of the car and walked off speedily. She walked all the way to Sharon’s apartment on the other side of the city. It was a good workout.
She entered the building using the key which had been swiped from an unsuspecting resident moments beforehand. She stood in the massive lobby, with its doorman and fancy chocolates which were wrapped up in gold foil and arranged temptingly in a bowl at the front desk. She cheerily crept up to the counter and pocketed a few, sighing happily to herself.
“Ahem? Young lady?”
The voice came from behind her. She turned around, surprised, and smiled at the doorman who was glaring sternly at her.
“Do you live here?” he said, bluntly and rudely. “Because, after all, only residents are allowed to take candy.”
Maggie smiled brilliantly. “Oh, I’m only here to visit my Aunt Sharon. We haven’t seen each other in ages, so I’m going to have lunch with her in her apartment. You know Aunt Sharon, she doesn’t like when people poke around in her personal business…”
The doorman seemed to know Sharon well enough to understand that. He blanched nervously. “Yes, of course, go right up.”
Maggie smiled, and turned toward the elevator.
“Sweetheart, isn’t your Aunt Sharon at work right now?...And won’t she be at work until late?” He had a suspicious frown growing on his face. The doorman started toward her. Maggie stared wistfully at the elevator doors for another moment before turning around to block the incoming swing from the doorman.
She caught his arm and pulled it aside; he aimed a punch at her head but she ducked under his arm and kicked him in the groin. The poor dude let out a cry of pain, and Maggie pulled him around by the shoulders and threw him headfirst into the wall. There was a thunk, but she didn’t throw him that hard, so he should be fine. Should be. Er, hopefully.
She picked him up by the armpits and dragged the guy into a closet. He was six-four, two hundred pounds, and super annoying to stuff in a broom closet. Oh well. He had it coming, what with him being a doorman and all.
Task accomplished, Maggie swiped her way into the elevator and rode up to Sharon’s floor without further incident. Her apartment was in the middle of the hallway, with fancy lettering engraved on the door. Once she got up there, she bent down to lean her head against the floor, and peered under the doorway. Okay. Perfect. No one was home. Carefully, she slid a thin, disk-like device under the door. Once it was inside, she pulled out her phone and leaned her back against the door. She was able to control the small disk remotely, by use of her phone, and she guided it slowly into a hidden spot where it would hopefully not be seen. Once it was there, she let the disk settle into place.
The two devices - the one in the car, and the one in the apartment - would record anything and everything Sharon Carter did and said. And hopefully this would build up enough evidence to convince the rest of the world that Sharon Carter was, in fact, the Power Broker.
She left the building, pocketing her phone. Once she stood outside, Maggie reached in her jacket pocket and unwrapped one of the fancy chocolates she’d stolen from the doorman’s desk. She popped it in her mouth, surveying the cityscape around her, and allowed a cheery, contented sigh to escape her and mingle with the other sounds around the city. Sharon Carter was going to pay for what she’d done. After all, revenge is a dish best served cold.
Get ready for some ice cream, people.