staying power

He was cooing at the laminator when Saanvi stuck her head in the room and told him he was being summoned. She did not judge him for the cooing. She’d done much cooing in her time.

He thanked her and commenced bestowing even greater enthusiasm upon the machine.

It wasn’t that it was old. It was just how things were.

The interns had built a small shrine to the laminator gods by the paperclips on the short table next to the beast. It was made out of stacked ramen blocks and granola bars. If you weren’t sure of your luck or had found yourself bearing witness to the trials of the coworker in front of you trying to use the machine, you could drop a pen or a binder clip or some change—whatever the fuck you had in your pockets honestly—into the plastic cup in the center as a sacrifice.

Mr. Stark called this paganism and periodically swept through the building like some kind of rationalist colonizer, destroying these tiny shrines, but in time they always sprung back up.

Peter loved them.

Little homes of belief and chaos riddled through the sterile offices on every floor.

On his way out of the copy room, lime-green laminated safety instructions in hand, he dropped a couple of pennies into the mouth of the solo cup. They rang out against the faces of a small pile of their fellows resting at the bottom.

It was not unusual to be called down to Mr. Stark’s office; everyone knew that Peter was one of his favorite employees and frequently one of his favorite pin cushions. Between him and the guys in Lab 80 and the weird chemical engineer who spoke only in tongues that Mr. Stark had hired about a month previous, people were always being called down to Mr. Stark’s office. It was, however, unusual to be called up to Ms. Potts’s office. Unusual and unwelcome.

There, there be dragons.

As far as the lab researchers and managers were concerned, going upstairs was the first step towards the end of your career. You only went upstairs after you’d done something less than positive. Like setting off the whole building’s sprinkler system during an international summit. Or ordering a year’s supply of hydrochloric acid without getting written clearance.

Peter had been in Ms. Potts’s office a handful of times in his life, most of which had occurred as Spiderman. This was probably his fourth or fifth time, and only the second as Peter Parker.

His stomach hurt.

He had to wait outside the door on a couch which pretended to be comfortable but felt like sitting on a plastic rock. It brought back visceral memories of sitting in front of Principal Morita’s solid wood office door back in highschool. Running through his story a thousand times before the door opened and the smell of wood and dry erase markers beckoned him in.

He ran through all the shit he’d done wrong that week. It hadn’t been that much—not shit he thought Ms. Potts would ever have noticed anyways. Like, yeah okay, he’d ordered the branded post-its this time around, and fine, he’d let his interns off fifteen minutes early for the past couple Fridays, but that wasn’t the kind of thing that worked its way up to CEO level, right?

Unless he’d started a trend or something? Unless everyone was letting the interns go early now and they weren’t hitting their hours?

“Peter?” the secretary asked.

“Hmm?”

“You’re up to bat.”

Oh, perfect.

The first thing Peter noticed when he entered the office was that he was facing, not Ms. Potts, but Mr. Stark, slouched low and spinning in circles in her desk chair. He almost sighed in relief but caught himself. Ms. Potts would never fire him herself if it came to that; no, she’d make Mr. Stark do it.

Mr. Stark stopped in his spinning and blinked at Peter owlishly from behind his glasses for a second.

“The prodigal son returns,” he said. Then waved at the seat in front of the desk. “Sit, sit.”

He sat.

The Spidey Sense hummed in the nape of his neck, distrusting. Peter was pretty sure that touching Ms. Potts’s desk was a no-no, spousal privilege notwithstanding. Mr. Stark showed a stunning lack of care in this.

“Pete, me and Pep have been talking.”

Oh shit. Goddamnit. Fuck.

Yep, okay, this was fine. He’d been waiting for this day. For the other shoe to finally drop. For Mr. Stark to come to his senses and see that having another superperson working for him was at least two HR code violations at the same time.

“Been thinking big picture, Pete,” Mr. Stark continued, “Thinking about your future here.”

Ahhhhhhhh.

Well, the good news was that he had recently taken home his office plant out of concern that someone was stealing its leaves for unsanctioned experiments in one of the bio labs. He was pretty sure he could fit the rest of his shit into the banker’s box he kept under his desk for documents that needed to be shredded.

“What do you think, kid? How do you see your future at SI?”

That was a trick fucking question if Peter had ever heard one. Any answer in the positive would suggest that he perceived that future to continue at this very institution. Any answer in the negative would be taken either as permission for release or as a snub against the company.

Tricky, tricky.

Sticky, sticky.

“I haven’t thought much about it, sir,” he said.

Mr. Stark hummed. He nudged open the corner of a little box on Ms. Potts’s desk and then dropped it closed in disinterest.

“Well, let’s say that you did—that you were thinking about it presently, as in, right now, as we speak. What might that look like to you, Pete?”

“I guess, it might be more of the same,” Peter admitted cautiously. “More lab managing. Orders. Signs. Audits. Flashlights, you know. That kind of thing.”

Mr. Stark hummed again and stared up at the ceiling with his fingers woven together on top of his diaphragm.

“Yeah, that’s about what I figured,” he said. Peter got the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that this had somehow been the wrong answer.

“Pete, do you know how much you’ve grown since you first came here? And I’m not talking just height.”

“Uh, no?” And he didn’t want to?

“So much, kiddo. So much.”

What did that mean? Was this good or bad?

“I mean, every day, I’m just blown away with you, Pete. You know that?”

He did now. More importantly, what did that mean?

“But me and Pepper were talking, and you know, I don’t want you to stagnant here, kiddo.”

Ah. Right. So this was how they were  going to frame this. If Peter had had to pick, he couldn’t say he’d have done the same, but there wasn’t really any going back now. What a bummer. Actually, no.

What a fucking disaster. He started doing some mental math around his savings, figuring that if he started sending out applications as soon as he got home, he had enough saved up for a couple of months of unemployment before things would start to get a little touch-and-go. Maybe this was time to get back into photography? Maybe he could dig out the camera and do some freelancing after he sent out the first round of resumes.

“Peter? Hello? Earth to Parker, come in, Parker.”

And if things got really bad, May would probably let him move back in for a while. She’d never admit that she found the apartment to be lonely with only her in it.

“Peter. You’re freakin’ me out here, buddy. Are you listening?”

He definitely couldn’t apply to Oscorp now, he’d well and truly burned that bridge. But there was still Pym Industries. They were more physics folks, but he could probably find something in there. There was also always Horizon Labs. He wasn’t sure he was good enough to get into that place yet, but there was no time like the present for finding out. Then, there was MJ’s lab, The Institute for the Advancement of Bio-Technology. And on top of that, there were all sorts of university labs seeking researchers and fellows all over.

If he put his mind to it, he could probably have a new job by next month. 

“PETER.”

“Hmm?”

“Jesus, kid. Thought I’d lost you there for a second. I said, what do you say?”

To what? The panic attack he was about to have in the elevator?

Mr. Stark stared at him in a way which made the wrinkles in his forehead especially prominent.

“The panic attack? Pete, what the hell are you talking about? Did you—wait. Did you think I was firing you?”

Uh, duh. They were presently sitting in the firing room. And Mr. Stark was asking firing questions and saying firing things.

Mr. Stark said nothing for a long, uncomfortable period of time, during which Peter tried to figure out when it would be appropriate to stand up and tell him that he was just going to collect his things. A good ten seconds ticked by and he couldn’t take it anymore. As soon as his knees popped into standing, though, Mr. Stark, said “Boy, sit down.”

And he sat down. It wasn’t a negotiable tone. Mr. Stark took off his glasses and mashed a hand against his face.

“Pete, you gotta stop zoning out when people are talking to you. I’m gonna say it again, alright? Are you listening?”

Yes, he was listening.

“Okay, so. Like I said, Queen’s College has offered us some lab space on campus for the bio-phys department. I know it’s a bit of a stretch, but we thought we’d take the space before they rescinded the offer. Haven’t seen the grounds or the blue prints myself, but allegedly it’s viable.

Pep and I were thinking that it would be good to get the lab over there started by some of our veteran managers. If it’s gonna work, we’ve gotta involve some students in the work. I thought that it made sense for our organic projects to move out that way, since we’ve only got two of them on right now and it’s easier to train students to work in those than it is to get them into the aero-space shit as it is. So what that means is that you, Saanvi, Leo, Himani, Bo and Avery and your teams, basically Labs 30 to 49, would move to the Queens facility for now and once we’ve got everything settled, we can swap you guys out with Labs 12 to 20, since they aren’t going to need the same amount of space you guys will in a couple years here, and the sooner we get the fire squad out of this building, the better we can all sleep at night.”

Oh.

That.

Uh. Made sense.

“Yes, that is what Pep and I thought ourselves. So, what do you say, Pete? It’s closer to home for you. You’d get a bonus of course. Could have a say in designing the new labs. There’ll be students; I know how much you love students.”

Middle schoolers, Mr. Stark. Peter loved middle school students. They just got catty after that.

“Ehn, they’re all freshmen. Anyways, we’d get you a handful of interns to torment for a year or two here and, if Queens doesn’t throw us out on our faces before then, then maybe we could look into setting up some internships more like the kind you had with me. So? Sound viable?”

Honestly? No. Absolutely not. Peter could imagine fourteen potential pitfalls with this plan right now in this very chair. But to say so would be beyond ungrateful. Mr. Stark had done so much for him over the last few years. It wouldn’t be right if Peter just took and gave nothing back. So, yeah, okay; setting up a new lab cluster sounded exactly like the kind of thing his therapist was telling him to avoid agreeing to. But it would be closer to home and he’d get a bonus and it was an opportunity for professional development. Peter hadn’t set up a program or lab before. He knew how they ran. He just didn’t know how to build that infrastructure himself.

In the inevitable future of him leaving Stark Industries, that seemed like more or less important experience to have under his belt.

“Think about it, Pete. Have a chat with the others, you’re the last I talked to. See how y’all feel and get back to me by Friday, yeah?”

It was Wednesday. That wasn’t much time.

“Yeah?”

Fuck. He couldn’t—he couldn’t say no. This was Mr. Stark talking.

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll talk to the others.”

He managed not to sprint to the elevator but once inside, he did half-gasp-half-scream at FRIDAY to get him back to his lab.

His sneakers shrieked against the linoleum as he gunned it towards the communal breakroom. He almost crushed the doorframe under his hands when he threw himself into it and gasped,

“SAANVI?”

Half of his team, mixed in with a couple of Leo’s kids stared back at him like a bunch of owls.

“SAANVI???” He tried again.

“She’s in her office?” One of the interns offered him back. He pointed at them to express his gratitude because he couldn’t make his face do it at that moment and then threw himself back in the hall. He managed to hear a few of the researchers asking,

“He’s the third one, what is Ms. Potts doing to them?”

He opened Saanvi’s door a little harder than intended (much harder than intended) and cried her name just as she cried his. The mutual pain and conflict in her face was beyond comforting. She picked herself up and met him halfway for a hug over her desk.

“I don’t wanna go,” she whined like a kid in his shoulder.

“Me either,” he confided.

Saanvi pulled back and looked up at him with deeply bent eyebrows.

“Do we have to?”

“I don’t know how to say no,” Peter told her.

“Fuck, that’s what Leo said. Avery, too. None of us know how to say no.”

“Maybe that’s why they chose us? Maybe they knew we’re all too socially incompetent to refuse?”

“Oh my god, you’re so right—but what the fuck are we gonna do, Peter?”

“I don’t know.”

“OH MY GOD.”

Ah.

Thank Jesus for Himani Gupta. Her finding them meant that they didn’t have to go open every door on the west side of the hall looking for her.

“GUYS.”

They knew.

“I CAN’T SAY NO. GUYS.”

Lol. Same.

“WE HAVE TO SAY YES OR I’LL DIE.”

Oh, amazing. Peter loved it when other people made decisions for the group.

All the researchers and interns were freaking out now since none of their lab coordinators were capable of being normal human beings and had all crowded around Saanvi’s office door within plain sight to panic over what was happening.

Himani informed them all in peak Himani anxiety tones that they were saying ‘yes’ and she would hear no other argument right now or else she’d pack up her shit and go back to her dad’s restaurant. Her fragile mental state couldn’t handle any other alternatives. This was fair, reasonable, and understandable given that it was more or less all of their lines of thinking at that moment.

Now that all six of them were standing in a circle, violently chewing their nails, refusal had gone from an uncomfortable possibility to unthinkable.

“But we can’t set up a lab,” Avery pointed out. She was always kind of pale, but right then she was practically see-through. “We can’t even manage the labs we do have. How the fuck are we supposed to start from the ground?”

“Has anyone even seen the space? Do we know if it’s even a lab to begin with? What if it’s just like, a warehouse?” Bo interjected.

“Mr. Stark claims the space is viable,” Peter offered.

“Mr. Stark built the Ironman suit in a cave, Peter. Viable means fuck all to him. I’m talking about for us normal humans.”

Yes, good point, well made.

“You think we can maybe go see the space first?” Leo tried. “At least then we’ll know what we’re getting into?”

Another excellent point.

“I dunno about you guys, but I’ve only got ‘til Friday to decide,” Avery said.

“There is no deciding,” Himani interrupted, “It has been decided. We are doing it. It’s just a matter of how badly.”

DAMN. Himani was on fire today.

“So what do we do? Just say ‘yes?’ Just send a collective email and say ‘yes?’ What about our staff?” Saanvi pointed out.

They all looked down the hall and finally noticed that the entire floor had gathered outside the breakroom to stare at them all in horror.

“Are we getting fired?” a brave soul called their way.

“Someone do something,” Avery murmured out of the corner of her mouth at the others. Bo took the leap for all of them, throwing a hand up and waving their arm in a gesture probably intended to be comforting.

“Don’t mind us,” they shouted down the hall, “We’re just talking shipments.”

Even a dead dog would know that they weren’t just talking shipments. But Bo had tried, bless them.

“Classified shipments,” Peter called immediately after. May as well tape a ‘do not ask’ sign on it while they were at it.

“You guys are so full of shit,” Alverez called back. “Just tell us, are we getting fired?”

“No one’s getting fired,” Leo told them all resoundingly. “As soon as we know more about what’s happening, we’ll let you all know, alright?”

Was it comforting? No. But it was at least the truth. They couldn’t give their staff much more than that.