option two and other complications
After a few minutes of mental deliberation punctured by the insistent tapping of Spiff’s shoes against the polished floors, Peter finally relented his signature.
It was more shaky than usual, but still visibly his. He barely had the chance to set the pen down before Spiff swiped the document up, he raised a small device which hummed as it took a scan and beeped confirmation when finished.
“I’ll leave the rest with you, Happy,” Spiff said, collecting his coat and stalking for the door without another word.
“Always a pleasure to deal with him,” Happy grumbled as he got to his feet, indicating that Peter should as well. “But hopefully that’ll be the last of him.”
Peter didn’t reply but managed a weak smile. He reluctantly followed Happy over to the patiently waiting journalist.
Peter watched from beside Happy’s shoulder as the woman looked up from her computer and pushed her purple glasses further up her nose. She seemed incredibly normal, despite this definitely not normal situation (Peter scolded himself for the thought, this was normal! He was totally normal!). She stood and extended a hand as Peter approached the table.
“Fiona Cordell with the New York Times,” she smiled warmly and Peter did his best to return it.
Happy patter his shoulder comfortingly as Peter sat down, using the feeling of the chair underneath him as a grounding force. Was he sweating? Was it really warm in the café or was he imagining things?
“You’re seriously lucky that I owed Happy a favour,” Fiona looked at the head of security as she spoke, “I usually cover Science news and occasionally Op-Ed pieces but when they offered me this gig I was going to say no, too flashy for me.” Happy barked a laugh at this and Fiona narrowed her eyes in his direction. “But then this guy called up and I couldn’t say no. It’s better for you, my other colleagues were so excited to really rip into you so I’ll try and be a bit more controlled.”
“Fiona,” Happy sighed, “I promised him this would be a nice warm-up interview.”
She squinted at Happy and shook her head. “Why on earth would you tell him that? That is the worst advice for a high-profile teen trying to manage his first scandal.” The way Fiona said scandal made it clear she thought Peter would encounter more in the future.
“I didn’t want him to be worried,” Happy huffed and then looked at Peter, “See now he looks worried!”
“No,” Peter said hurriedly, “I’m not worried at all.” This was a complete lie but it seemed he was going to be lying quite a bit so might as well practice.
Fiona smiled and Happy rolled his eyes. “Do you mind if we send him away? I won’t be able to concentrate on our conversation if I keep being tempted into arguments.”
“Yeah sure,” Peter said grinning, their squabbling had made him feel a little more at ease. Knowing that Fiona and Happy clearly had history made him more trusting of the reporter and her pristine white blouse and checked pants. Did all reporters look like this? Were they all this put together?
Happy sighed but complied with her wishes and went to sit a few tables away, close enough still to intervene should he be needed. With none of the café employees to be seen, Spiff gone, and V having disappeared off somewhere with Kyla and Kiseke, it was just the three of them left in the café. Peter shifted, settling his hands atop his knees under the table and planting them there so that he wouldn’t be tempted to fidget.
“I’m going to be typing some notes out on my computer but otherwise everything will be recorded, are you ok with that?” Fiona asked.
“Ye—” the words got caught in Peter’s throat which suddenly felt very dry, “Yes, that’s fine.”
“Let’s get started then,” Fiona smiled. She tapped at the track pad a few times and straightened in her chair before looking up to meet Peter’s eyes. “So, Stark Industries released a statement this morning saying you will be presenting at the annual Stark Expo, that’s pretty incredible.”
SI gave a statement? That would have been nice to know before the interview. Peter’s eyes flicked towards Happy nervously.
“I can hardly believe it myself personally,” Peter said smiling.
Fiona gave an easy laugh. “Not only that but you were also the youngest intern the company had ever taken on, can you tell me a little about how you found yourself in that position?”
Just like that Peter found himself slipping into an old version of himself from years past. He felt like a 15-year-old again, meeting the doubt of superior SI staff with a thoroughly rehearsed narrative all the while dealing with the incessant teasing of his classmates who’d never believe that Peter Parker actually worked at Stark Industries.
As promised, Fiona stuck strictly to the approved topics. She wanted to know more about what he did at the company, how he had managed graduating with the grief of his mentor and the uncertainty of the future. How it was to be snapped and brought back (having not experienced this herself) and find that the world had moved on without you. Even when he spoke of his work with Tony and his grief at hearing of his passing when he was snapped back Peter didn’t become that emotional, not nearly as much as he had expected. Perhaps it was because his words didn’t feel real, they weren’t describing what had really happened but rather a much more bearable version of events. In this story he was an outsider, an onlooker. In this version he hadn’t seen Tony die before his eyes.
Peter had been worried that the last few months spent so entrenched in being Spider-Man would affect his ability to weave lies through his own origin story. Surprisingly, everything came to him more easily than it ever had. A large portion of the interview felt like an out of body experience, as though there were another person in his mind controlling his mouth and doing all the talking.
The interview proceeded and before long a café employee appeared from the back room and brought over tea and cakes. Peter was grateful for the warm drink to soothe his throat after so much talking.
Before he was even aware of how much time had passed the wall clock displayed 2:30 and Fiona was beginning to wrap up the interview. It was so different to any other interaction Peter had experienced with the press that it was no wonder he didn’t notice time passing. He wasn’t getting heckled and she wasn’t demanding answers from him and even let him strategically dodge a few harder questions.
“Before we finish, I have one more thing to ask,” she said leaning forward slightly in anticipation, “it’s a difficult question and one the press has been whispering about for months.”
Peter picked up his teacup in the hopes it would allow him a beat to think about his response to this apparently ‘difficult’ question.
“I know you’ve seen the news; we’ve all seen it too. The press has become obsessed with the idea of you being a protégé, Stark Junior, the Heir, the New Iron Man,” Fiona said, reading the titles that were so sickening to Peter off her computer screen. She looked up at him and took a breath before the big question.
“How does it feel to be responsible for Tony Stark’s death?”
Peter choked on his tea and slammed the cup back down as he coughed violently. He waited for Happy to jump to his feet and come over, but the man only looked up in vague concern as Peter tried to stop his throat convulsing. Happy’s lack of reaction was enough to tell Peter he must have misheard. There was no way that she’d get away with asking such a question.
“Are you ok?” Fiona asked, sliding a napkin towards him that Peter used to dab his watering eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said his voice sounding shakier than he’d like, “what did you say?”
“I asked how it feels to bear the responsibility of the continuation of Tony Stark’s legacy? It can’t be easy being the Golden-child of Stark Industries.”
Peter felt his chest relax and he leant against the back of his chair in relief. He must have misheard the first part, there was no way that Fiona would have asked that question without Happy having come to intercede.
“It’s a difficult thing to live up to,” Peter said honestly, “but fortunately it’s not just me who has to shoulder it, it’s a burden that falls to Stark Industries as a whole and I’m just lucky to be one of the many cogs spinning to ensure that our world can see a more positive, technologically advanced future.”
Fiona nodded as he finished his answer and tapped away at her computer for a few moments before closing it.
“Thank you so much for your time, Peter, it’s been very enlightening.” She rose as he stood and extended a hand to shake his firmly. “Hopefully we’ll be able to meet again in the future.”
“Thanks for being so good about this all, I was super nervous,” Peter grinned, and Fiona scrunched her nose in a smile.
“And you,” she turned to Happy and hugged him tightly, “you owe me now, ok?”
“Are we sure that is how this works?” Happy joked as she drew back, “I think introducing you to your wife should warrant me at least two favours, and I just gave you the first interview with the Peter Parker. Your superiors will be fawning over you!”
“You might have introduced us but that was about it,” Fiona said with an enviable amount of snark. “Fair is fair, it’ll be my turn to call in a favour next time.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Happy waved a nonchalant hand. Peter was growing more and more curious as to how exactly they knew each other.
“Photographer will be around in half an hour, I think he was hoping to get some photos of Peter on the college campus?”
Peter groaned internally, posing at his campus whilst all the students were walking past? That was going to be unbearable.
As easy as the interview might have felt at the time Peter had to consciously say no to all the overthinking that threatened to overwhelm him as Fiona was shown out by Happy. He only felt himself truly relax when the bell above the café door jingled signalling that Fiona had left.
“I’m so glad that’s over,” Peter said sighing and running a hand through his hair.
“You did great, all the answers that we were looking for,” Happy said somewhat absentmindedly as he sorted through his files and retrieved his phone. Peter bit his lip but didn’t bring up the final question he had thought Fiona had asked him. At best he’d sound unstable and at worst, totally crazy. “Pepper and May will be happy to hear how well it went but first; photos.”
“Ugh,” Peter groaned casting Happy an exhausted look. He still wasn’t sure how he was able to feel so tired after two days of constant sleep.
“You’re the one who chose option 2, kid.” Happy shrugged and gestured for him to follow. “We have to get going. Now.”
“I liked it better when you were just my babysitter.” Peter thought he spoke quietly enough that Happy wouldn’t hear but he was wrong.
“Excuse me?”
Peter grinned, he did enjoy tormenting SI’s head of security, he was just so easy to tease. “Just that you were so much easier to deal with when you didn’t reply to any of my messages.” Peter added a nostalgic sigh to the mix and heard Kyla snicker, signalling that she and Kiseke had returned to their positions at his back for the walk to campus.
“I was easy to deal with?” Happy exclaimed in outrage, “I was the one having to listen to the voicemails of a 14-year-old about churros and helping old ladies across the street.”
“Aw you remember that, you do care!”
“No, you’re wrong, I don’t care, I’m only doing this for May,” Happy babbled, “and let’s not talk like that for the photos ok? It’ll be so much easier if you keep your mouth shut.”
Peter didn’t reply but mimed zipping his lips shut.
Happy shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. “Also,” Happy hesitated and rubbed at his beard, “there’s some containers of my frozen lasagne and other Thanksgiving leftovers that I put in your freezer at the new place so just don’t let them go to waste.”
Peter had dissolved into a fit of barely contained laughter before Happy could even finish speaking.
Unsurprisingly, the photoshoot was excruciating.
For starters, from his conversation with Fiona, Peter was under the impression that there would be just one photographer. He had been shocked when a team of five people showed up. At Alexander Spiff’s demand a stylist had been brought in to tailor Peter’s image to the expectations of an SI employee. The stylist introduced himself as Ryan and had died silver hair. He skipped all pleasantries as he handed Peter a black clothes bag and told him to find the nearest toilet to change in. This it turned out was easier said than done and Peter had to find another student to ask for directions. He wasn’t familiar with this section of campus just yet.
Peter had walked out of the cramped cubicle in comfortable black chinos, a pair of smart black dress shoes and white button down that felt like it probably cost more than his entire wardrobe. When he made it back to the small gathering of SI employees and Times photographers Peter had been handed a soft grey coat to finish the look off. Peter noticed the red and blue embellishments along the pockets and lining and for a split second wondered if they were trying to suggest something. He then caught sight of the Tommy Hilfiger tag on the inside and his next thought was whether he’d get to keep the clothes.
Things had only gone downhill from there.
Before long the campus chapel’s bell tower struck four, but the photographers were refusing to begin their shoot before the so-called ‘golden hour’. Anyone would have thought this really was a photoshoot for Vogue. Peter brought this up with the main photographer who gave him a funny look and then assured him that it would be almost as good and that he would have the whole front page to himself. Joke not received. From then on, Peter spent most of the time complaining to himself behind flashy smiles. By the time they finally agreed to start the shoot his cheeks were aching at the thought of more smiling.
Compare to all the pampering and preening in the lead up, the actual photoshoot took less than half an hour. It was made to feel agonizingly long by all the insistent stares that Peter was getting, not to mention the attention the SI security team was drawing having actually secured a perimeter around the green courtyard to stop people from getting too close to the background of the shots. It was all so stupidly over the top that Peter was in a foul mood by the time they finally wrapped up. He hated when he got this grumpy because it was so difficult to hide. He was hungry and tried, his head was throbbing, and the sun had been in his eyes for the better part of the last hour. He was not feeling ‘peachy’ as the stylist said every time, he come over to straighten Peter’s coat lapel or brush a hair to the side.
No sooner had the photoshoot finished did his phone begin blowing up with notifications from the MIT student Facebook page. Someone had snuck a photo of him surrounded by the Times team and his own security and posted it for the larger student body to see. People were already tearing into him in the comments which updated every time Peter scrolled up. The post already had 6,000 reacts and most of them were not positive.
Who does he think he is? One comment read
This is the real Peter Parker; matches all interactions I’ve had with him this semester. Stuck up and grasping at the coattails of the world’s most famous superhero. Can’t believe the press really think this guy is Spider-Man.
Peter clicked on the guy’s Facebook profile and confirmed that he had never even seen Michael Carin, let alone had a conversation long enough to have made such a bad impression. The comments went on and on, some poking fun at him whilst others were more vicious with their words.
There was one comment that stood out to him and had a large number of positive reacts. It was from a user named Harley Keener. The name seemed familiar, but Peter couldn’t quite place where he had heard it before.
It seems pretty low to immediately assume the worst from this strategically framed photo that makes him look like a douchebag (not saying I think he is one). I’ve heard so many students here talk about wanting the bodyguards and the cameras and the glitz of fame, but I think most regular people would look as annoyed as Parker does in this photo if they were in his shoes. Who are we to judge what is happening in his life? We aren’t informed and it’s irresponsible to act like we are. Don’t judge people for the choices they make when you don’t know the options they had to choose from. Not to be cheesy, but Iron Man once said: ‘heroes are made by the paths they choose, not the powers they are graced with.’
Peter hesitated before adding his heart react to the post.
Before he could continue to delve further into the barrage of negativity that was flooding his Facebook mentions, V swiped the phone from his hand.
“What did we talk about?” She shook it at him scoldingly. “You know how this could ruin everything? All I’m asking is that you keep it out of sight when you’re in public. Don’t make me sound middle aged by having to talk about separating yourself from your social media identity”
Peter tried to protest but V had already looked down to his still open screen. He watched in dismay as she scrolled through the comments a bit further and her eyes, which were already dark and intimidating, darkened further. Her lips pressed into a thin line, she turned away from Peter and stalked over to Happy who was pinching at the bridge of his nose in frustration.
Peter was just within earshot of the phone conversation Happy seemed to be finding so frustrating. Give me a second, he mouthed to V before quickly returning to the phone. “Either you come down to Massachusetts or the interview is off. No, we cannot fly him up to you, if you want this interview you can have one of your people come do it.” There was a weighted pause. “Ok, Thursday 9:30 is fine, we’ll be in contact regarding the details of the interview. Yeah, yeah.”
V shoved the phone in Happy’s direction as soon as he hung up. Peter was reminded that Happy often wore glasses for reading as he struggled to squint at the small phone screen. Happy’s face quickly fell further into a scowl and he passed the phone back.
“We should talk to student services, or the Dean.” Peter heard V demand and his heart plummeted. How humiliating would the sort of a conversation be.
“I can’t ask the Dean to take down a Facebook post, she has no control over the sort of thing.”
“Then we talk to Facebook,” V’s voice was raised, “it really doesn’t help Peter’s image right now and with the press hungry enough to tear at any scraps of info this’ll be up on the tabloids in an hour. Surely we can classify this as defamation or slander.”
“No, this is just college students,” Happy said, “teenagers are vicious and don’t give a shit when it comes to things like this.”
“Ok, we talk to Facebook and get it taken down,” she repeated.
“V we are the biggest tech company in the world, we have people who can take it down.”
“Alright, then let’s do that,” V said. She cast a look over her shoulder and Peter hastily looked away, pretending he hadn’t just been eavesdropping on their whole conversation. When she next spoke, it was quieter, and her words were almost carried off in the breeze. “It’s not just about the press, look at him. It clearly doesn’t make him feel great and I don’t blame him. Can we get this under control before it becomes a problem?” At that moment they both looked over in his direction and Peter pretended to be fiddling with his new coat, which remarkably he had been allowed to keep. Peter was prepared for Happy’s response to be ‘get over it, this is part of Option 2’.
“Ok,” Happy said, “I’ll try and sort something out. It could be too much to remove the post entirely, but we can definitely target some of the harsher comments and have them taken down.”
Peter almost wished they would just leave it be. If anything, he’d be affirming those comments by having Stark Industries take care of another thing for him.
Happy waved for Peter who reluctantly began to trudge over, kicking at the grass beneath his feet before remembering the shoes he was wearing were probably too expensive for that. When he reached them, V handed his phone back with a stern look and Peter obediently returned it to his pocket.
“V will handle everything here for now, I have things to take care of in New York,” Happy said.
“You’re leaving me?” Peter asked. He’d assumed that part of Option 2 was having Happy around and he’d sort of been relying on the support of a familiar face who understood everything that he was going through.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Happy seemed sincere, “but I’m still the Head of Security and SI needs me.”
“Right, of course.” Peter immediately shook off the feelings of abandonment. Of course, Happy had other things to take care of, he wasn’t Peter’s babysitter and he had other responsibilities. Peter felt stupid for assuming Happy would shirk those duties just to look after his girlfriend’s nephew.
“I know you probably won’t listen but maybe don’t look at the news if you can help it? Or social media? Things will be calming down soon but it might not be so pretty over the next few days.” Peter nodded, the warning wouldn’t go unheard and he made a silent promise to himself to delete all his social media apps that evening. He had more important things to focus on, like the fact that finals started on Thursday and he hadn’t even started studying.
Happy hesitated a moment before drawing Peter into a hug. “Get back to the flat, have some food and get some rest, there’s more planned for tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Hap,” Peter said quietly, “say hi to May for me.” He watched Happy leave, looking forlornly as he got into a car and drove off. Peter had never wished that he was returning to New York more. Instead he was directed to a waiting car that had pulled up in the slipway opposite the river.
“Looking flash,” Kiseke said, trying to lighten the mood as Peter slid into the backseat of the Sedan.
“I can assure you that none of this,” Peter gestured to the ensemble he was still wearing, “was me.”
“Well, I hope they’re at least letting you keep the clothes,” Kyla said as she pulled out into the road, “it’s the least they could do after that ordeal.”
“I was whining about how long it was taking myself, wasn’t I Kyla,” Kiseke said agreeing and looked back at Peter.
“You weren’t alone in your complaints,” Kyla grumbled but cast Peter a smile in the rear-view mirror. “But at least today is over now.”
“Not quite,” Peter sighed and tilted his head back against the headrest of the backseat, “my finals start on Thursday and I haven’t even thought about them.”
“Oh, to be a student again,” Kyla sighed.
There was no talking after that and the car fell into a peaceful quiet, disturbed only by the sound of cars outside and the steady clicking of the indicator every now and then.
Before long the road sloped downwards as the car pulled into an underground carpark underneath a block of apartments. The interior was smarter than Peter was expecting. Together, the three of them caught the elevator to the 16th floor. Kiseke drew a pair of plain keys out and unlocked the door to Peter’s new temporary flat.
To Peter’s surprise and mild horror, his suitcases had not only been brought into the new flat, but they had also been unpacked. He peeked his head in the bedroom and found new bedcovers on the double bed, with his suitcases slid underneath it, his clothes had found their way to the chest of draws opposite the door. There was a desk beside the only window in the room and on top of it sat his textbooks and pens, arranged neatly in a way that Peter would never put them. Peter bit back his anger and frustration at seeing how this simple task had already been taken care of for him. He was beginning to regret choosing Option 2.
Instead of addressing his feelings Peter continued to lead the way further into the flat. He at least had the energy to admire the nice stone benchtop in the kitchen and the generously sized living room which would be useful for his upcoming studying. It was already furnished, and Peter could only hope the flat had come this way and that all the furniture hadn’t been provided by SI. He should have insisted that at least some of the rent come from his SI pay check – perhaps he’d have the chance to bring it up with Happy later.
“Well this is way nicer than your other room,” Kiseke said admiring the living room, “no offence.”
“None taken,” Peter mumbled and tried to stifle a yawn.
“We’ll be back in the morning to take you to college,” Kyla said and there was something apologetic to her voice, “make sure you lock the door tonight.”
“Sure thing,” Peter mumbled and followed them back down the corridor, he said his goodbyes and locked his door as they’d asked.
He was alone, finally.
The first thing he did after latching the door was dash back to the bedroom, he rooted around on the floor, looking under the bed at where he had seen the suitcases. Surely....
Peter heaved a sigh of relief as his heart began to reach a more human pace once more. The duffle bag was there. He tugged it towards him and was relieved to find that it still felt full. He hurried to unzip it and could have cried from relief when he saw his tablet, new suit and most important of all, his particles in their metal box. He wasn’t sure why they hadn’t unpacked this bag as well but was too grateful to concern himself with it.
Still feeling like his heart needed a bit to calm down, Peter went into the kitchen, particles clutched close to his chest. As Happy had promised the freezer held several Tupperware's of Thanksgiving leftovers from the Compound, including Happy’s special lasagne which Peter had to admit was probably his favourite. Peter retrieved some of it and put it in the microwave to defrost.
Peter had to rifle around in the new chest of draws before he found a pair of jeans and a suitably warm hoodie to put on. He discarded his smart clothes on the bed and hung the coat on the back of the bedroom door.
Peter turned his college satchel upside down onto the bed. Out fell a lecture notepad, some pens, his two phones and the clothes that hadn’t been good enough for the shoot. His sneakers were no where to be found, Peter could recall carrying them back to the green where they took the photos and putting them down, but he apparently hadn’t thought to pick them back up again at the end. Oh well. The shoes were old anyway. Peter slung the satchel over his shoulder and replaced the pens and phones but added his tablet instead of the lecture pad. It was lucky that the bag was so roomy he thought as he added the heavy metal container of the particles and placed his suit carefully on top.
Peter left on the smart shoes and enjoyed the tapping that they made as he walked over the tiled flooring and back into the kitchen. The microwave was beeping insistently, and Peter yanked open the door, retrieving the piping hot container and, after making sure the lid was on firmly, put it in plastic bag to carry with him. He had to search a few of the kitchen draws but eventually found a knife and fork which he also added to the odd ensemble that was gathering in his bag.
The windows by the living room were thankfully not as restrictive as the ones at his old flat and opened fully, allowing him to squeeze out and onto the narrow fire escape. It was then that Peter realised he didn’t have any web shooters on hand. He paused, looking out over the city lights.
“Old fashioned it is,” he murmured to himself and began to take the stairs down. He didn’t doubt that V had set up some sort of surveillance outside the door of his flat to ensure he didn’t go out without permission and he just had to hope she hadn’t arranged the same for the alleyway behind the apartment complex.
The particles might not have been discovered this time around, but Peter wasn’t going to risk it again. He needed to get them safe and locked up. With the press on his back there was no telling what they might find, what might fall apart if they tried to dig too deep.
Peter felt vulnerable being out without his suit, but he pushed the insistent worry aside and after a few wrong turns and having to consult maps on his phone, he found the usual route that he took to his warehouse. According to maps the new flat was around about halfway between college and the lab, which was convenient despite how messed up his current situation was.
It was a relief to see that all the security of the lab had remained intact and untouched in the days that Peter had been away. The doors had barely had the chance to seal behind him before Karen’s voice came overhead speakers.
“Peter!” Her voice was frantic, and Peter immediately jumped to the worst, the possibly something had happened back home with May or Morgan or MJ or at his lab perhaps. “I’ve been trying to contact you all afternoon.”
“Sorry, Karen,” Peter said ensuring the doors were locked firmly behind him before dropping his heavy satchel on the couch that was pressed against the exposed brick wall. “It’s been such a crappy afternoon, was there any particular reason you needed to talk?”
“I was worried; you hadn’t talked to me since the accident and while I was able to keep an eye on things remotely from your network, any information regarding your condition came through Genevieve. It is better to hear your voice, are you well?”
“You tell me,” Peter said, “I’m sure that Genevieve collected plenty of info from the med bay.” Peter took the lid of the lasagne, grateful that it had retained some of its heat during the ten-minute walk. He leant back and looked up at the ceiling, one of the three speakers was directly above him now. He didn’t say it, but he was grateful for Karen’s concern and felt relief in how grounded she was. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate how much his aunt worried for him, but it could be exhausting. Karen’s practicality and logical side was a welcome refresher.
“Your condition concerns me,” Karen admitted, “it is unusual for your body to shut down for such an extended period. Both Gen and I have discussed it and we fear there is a correlation between your coma-like state and the research.”
Peter tilted his head, considering the possibility. “What else can you tell me about my condition those two days, did Gen collect any other information?”
“Whilst you were unresponsive for the weekend, I had the chance to analyse the results from both the hospital and the Avengers med bay.”
“Mmhm,” Peter mumbled to show he was listening, despite being two mouthfuls into Happy’s delicious lasagne.
“By the time you were admitted to the E.D. your condition had deteriorated severely,” Karen explained, “to preserve what energy you had left, your body tried to shut down some of the less essential functions.”
“Like a coma?”
“Not entirely,” Karen paused, “have a look at the diagrams on your tablet.”
Peter shuffled around his satchel and retrieved the tablet, watching as diagrams flashed across his screen before he eventually came to information regarding his vitals on Friday night around 11:45pm.
“Initially you were just unconscious, but more of your systems shut down than a normal person would experience if they were unconscious,” Peter zoomed in on some of the numbers and tried to make sense of it all, “the doctors in the hospital took your slowed heartbeat as a bad sign and attempted to use fluids and adrenaline to put your body back in a condition that might make you more responsive.”
“They interrupted the natural cycle that your enhanced genes were going through. In fact, your body was already producing a surplus of adrenaline and your blood pressure was too high, so your body was trying to regulate those symptoms,” Karen explained, “so when they pumped more of those into you, your body reacted badly because it was already trying to keep the ordinary levels down. To combat that all your body expended energy into your cells, which was why you began to heal unusually quick, even for you. After that burst, your body went into a sort of hibernation.”
“Don’t spiders hibernate?”
“Some, long living arachnids do opt to hibernate during the winter months, yes.”
“Cool,” Peter said swallowing his pasta, “so I’m becoming even more spider?”
“No.”
“Dang.” Peter joked.
“I don’t see this as a laughing matter Peter, even with the condition you were in after the bridge your body should not have had such an extreme reaction, no matter whether the doctor’s overloaded your system. Something has upset the natural balance in your body and it concerns both Gen and I.”
“Yeah, I’ve definitely done more and been less tired than that,” Peter said, “even after Thanos I slept a lot, but I was conscious most of the time.” Unbearably conscious, he meant. In those first few days all he’d wanted to do was sleep and pretend it was all a bad dream. Speaking of dreams.
“Karen,” Peter began as he finished off the last of the lasagne, “I’ve been thinking.”
“About?”
“In the five years since I've been Spider-Man, I don’t think I’ve ever remembered having a dream.” Peter packed up the Tupperware and returned it to the plastic bag. Feeling remarkably energised compared to the afternoon he sprang to his feet and began to pace around his workshop.
“That is curious.”
“I know lots of people say that you often don’t remember your dreams, but that seems too consistent don’t you think?” Peter asked, “5 years and I’ve never remembered a dream, I can definitely remember a few from before then, but never after.”
“I would expect it has something to do with your abilities then.”
“That’s what I thought,” Peter said, and he paused, wondering whether he should really tell Karen. He went ahead anyway. “I dreamt on Sunday just before I woke up, and last night too.”
“This is worrying,” Karen said, and she was quiet for a bit.
“You think?”
“Well, it is possible that your unique genes have hindered the ability for your brain to involuntarily produce the necessary conditions for dreams. It could have something to do with the stage of sleep required?” Karen was quiet for a bit. “Alternatively, it is also likely that your enhanced senses make it more difficult for your brain to conjure up dreams as it is competing with a set of senses so advanced that they are able to see through anything your brain conjures. It would mean you’re more likely to be able to lucid dream if anything or become aware that you are in a dream and wake yourself up fairly easily.”
Peter grinned, “so you’re saying that my Spidey senses would be able to tell that what was happening wasn’t real and pull me out? That’s kind of cool.”
“Perhaps, something along those lines. I would have to look into it more.” She paused before continuing, “it does not, however, explain why you have started having dreams now.”
“No,” Peter murmured going serious once more and pressing his fingers to his lips in thought.
“Peter, I am concerned about Project Chronos,” Karen said, and Peter rolled his eyes skyward, glad she could not see him. "These developments correlate too closely with developments in your research.”
“I guess you aren’t totally wrong,” Peter said, “how about we try monitoring my sleep over the next few days and try and figure out if there’s another explanation before we rush to conclusions. Though I can’t guarantee I’ll be getting a whole lot what with finals.”
“George has prepared your schedule for that but from what I understand he has limited his social media collecting due to current circumstances.”
“Good,” Peter muttered, “and can you delete all social media from my devices? I don’t want to have the messages coming in, it’ll distract me from what’s important.” Like finals, and Project Chronos.
“That’s a good idea Peter, I’ll have him do it right away.”
“Thanks for worrying about me,” Peter whispered too quiet for Karen to hear.