Celeb Status
“Level Ten?!”
Flash’s indignant cry mirrored the group's shock. Emmet looked like he’d just been pied in the face, minus the pie all over his face. Ned gawped in glee as Peter attempted to bend physics to hunch his body into a smaller shape.
Mr. Stark was a maker of many brilliant things. He had built the Iron Man suit stranded in a sweltering cave in Afghanistan with a battery lashed to his chest. He had saved the world on multiple occasions with various suits of technological ingenuity and his own honorable heart.
He had also programmed a silicon walkway that screamed out Peter’s level, guaranteeing his death at the hands of his peers. Why had he programmed all that and not a trap door that Peter could fall through?
Flash rambled on, climbing shriller and shriller by the moment, until Peter began to question whether the other boy had gone through puberty at all. “But you said only the Avengers were Level Ten! Why is he Level Ten?! He's a nobody, I mean, come on, everybody knows that he's a nobody—!”
Finally, Emmet gathered himself. “Nametag Kid, what did you say your level was again?"
”I didn’t say,” Peter muttered.
”You're Parker, right?"
”Uh, yeah. Peter. Parker. Peter Parker, sir.”
Was there stealth mode for humans?
”Well, Mr. Parker,” Emmet said. “I-It’s definitely a pleasure to meet you. Would you like to tell us—“
”No!” Peter blurted louder than he meant to. He slouched further in his hoodie and glared at the stupid name tag plastered to his front. “Uh, I mean, no, sir. Thank you. But no.”
”Are you sure? You would technically be more qualified than me—“
”Yeah, yeah, really. I’m good. Uh, you’re trained and stuff. And, I’m just—“ Wrecked. Done for. In the pits. SOL. He tried to sidle behind Ned, who shifted to ogle at him, completely ruining the point of hiding. “Please, uh, keep touring and stuff.”
Emmet goggled at him for a bit longer before turning back around and giving himself a little shake. “Well, thank you guys for your patience. I didn’t—um. Well, never mind. If you follow me this way to the elevator, I’ll be showing you guys the lower level laboratories first...”
Peter tuned out, rankling with humiliation. He could feel Flash’s eyes burning a veritable hole in the side of his skull. Ned wasn’t helping matters at all.
“Dude,” he kept saying. “Man. Wow. Dude.”
“Ned,” MJ said. She had stayed relatively calm during this whole thing, but then again, she wasn't the type to bounce up and down and squeal. “Peter’s well aware. He probably doesn’t need you telling him.”
Ned had not stayed calm. “But dude.”
“Shut up.”
Ned shut up. Peter loved MJ.
The visitor’s elevator was enormous, enough to fit their entire team plus Emmet, and that didn’t even take up half the space. Peter guessed that Mr. Stark had the elevator shafts custom made.
When the doors parted, everyone followed Emmet out. Gasps filled the air as they took in the laboratory, and really, could Peter blame them? It was super sweet.
Stark Labs had no windows, but the lack of sunlight didn’t take away from the experience at all. Instead, it created a lofty underground feel, a bit like a cross between a spelunking cavern and a next-gen space-craft: soaring ceilings with embedded lights, technicolor holograms over steel tables, polished centrifuges with various artsy stickers illicitly slapped onto them.
"Oh my god, is that a quantum microscope?!" Sally sounded like she was about to choke on tears. The sentiment was shared as people started battering Emmet with questions.
"Yoooo..." Ned breathed, looking positively thunderstruck, and yeah, StarkTech state-of-the-art equipment was enough to make even Robert Bunsen rise from the grave.
Quantum microscopes, yes, but also anti-matter accelerators, gamma irradiators, and nano-tech chambers. Best of all, with the flick of a button, the ceiling paneling could slide down to assemble an air-locked cleanroom with a mechanized hatch. No wind, no sun, and a hygiene code worthy of Pepper Potts. Perfect for high-budget experimentation.
After hours, the interns abused their access privileges to conduct increasingly monstrous science fair experiments. The goal was to make it as extravagant as possible without drawing the scrutiny of SI budgeteers.
Raj from Organics would've taken first place with his ceiling high elephant toothpaste explosion, if they hadn't all spent the next three hours mopping it up.
Emmet began his explanation, but a lot of it Peter already knew. Procedures, safety, what went on, who used the place.
Figures in white coats bustled around, balancing equipment and samples on trays. The lab chatter was low and indistinct, but Peter knew from experience that quiet did not mean inactive. Here, ideas flew around almost as fast as the robots zipping around the room delivering parts.
“And often,” Emmet went on, “a room or two of the lab will be sectioned off for testing. Since the lab covers multiple floors, this is easily done by constructing walls—“
“Peter? Is that you?” A voice cut through the ambiance, and Peter stiffened. There: in the polished monitor mounted to the wall he could make out the warped reflection of a young girl in a form-fitting white dress walking towards them. A few of his teammates turned and gasps erupted. Ned nudged him. “Peter! Look who it is!”
Emmet kept on talking, clearly unaware of the situation.
”PETER!” Before he could brace himself, he was being tackled from behind. Only Natasha’s training kept him from completely faceplanting in the middle of the lab. The arms around him squeezed tight until he felt like he was at the whim of a very enthusiastic boa constrictor.
Shuri pulled back with a broad grin, seemingly deaf to the the uproar she incited. “Peter! Are you ignoring me?”
”Hey, Shuri,” he said meekly.
”Don’t ‘hey, Shuri’ me, nerd,” she said affectionately. “I haven’t seen you in FOREVER! What are you doing? You look like one of those awkward tourists that come here.” She paused, looking around, then frowned. “Wait, are you one of those awkward tourists?”
”This is my school,” Peter mumbled. All his hopes of staying under the radar vanished with Shuri’s broad, wicked smile as she turned to Mr. Harrington.
”It is so good to meet you,” she gushed, and Peter resisted calling her bullshit. She put up a nice front, but in reality, she hated public relations about as much as she hated American healthcare.
As she had told Peter once, “I feel like when I say I’m a princess, people expect me to put on those ridiculous glass shoes they wear in the movies and faint. It’s no wonder the girls are fainting. Those shoes look like torture devices. Vibranium is always better.”
Mr. Harrington gobbled like a fish out of water. Flash lunged to the front, looking positively desperate as he said, “It’s awesome to meet you, Your Highness. I’m Flash.”
Shuri didn’t even spare him a glance as she turned back to Peter. “Well, see you around.”
Then she walked off before he could say anything. As soon as she stepped out of view, all eyes swiveled back to Peter in comical unison.
He sighed. This was going to be a long trip.
***
He was right. As they walked through the labs, he got recognized everywhere.
”Pete?”
”Peter!”
”Hey, dude!”
”What’re you doing here?”
”Where you been?”
”I got this new design—“
”My brother saw you at Delmar’s the other day—“
”Gotta tell you about this thing I heard on TV—“
”Pedro!”
”It’s Peter,” Peter muttered as Sebastian Álvarez pulled him into a headlock and rubbed his knuckles over Peter’s scalp. The big burly nineteen-year-old, known by everyone as “Big Al”, was one of the younger interns in the Technology Sectional of SI, fondly known as Tech Sec. He was basically a human calculator. Give him a math problem, calculus, trig, geometry, anything, and a jug of coffee; he’d be happy as a clam. “Nobody calls me Pedro.”
”Yeah, I know. Good seeing you, Pedro.”
Al released Peter and ran off to one of the testing rooms, leaving Peter in the increasingly familiar position of having everyone‘s eyes glued on him.
Never before had Peter been so excited to go visit some offices and meetings rooms.
He probably wouldn't see anyone he knew there. Hopefully. He could use a breather.
***
The team, still in mass shock, piled silently into the elevator. Emmet made a few brave attempts at continuing the tour spiel, but eventually lapsed into silence once he realized nobody was paying any attention.
One floor passed.
Then two.
Ding!
The offices went uneventfully (that was a first), and nothing very interesting was in the library. A bit of a murmur went up when two SHIELD agents walked by in, but other than that it was smooth sailing.
Peter wondered if it was too much to ask for if the rest of the trip was this calm.
They all piled back into the elevator.
***
Emmet pressed the up button.
"Four floors up, folks!" he said cheerfully, and Peter began the silent count in his head.
One floo—
Two gloved fingers slid between the closing doors, pressing them back open, and Peter's heart ceased to beat.
A stony faced Clint Barton entered the elevator.
Of course it was too much to ask. The world hated him.
Everyone pressed back against the walls of the elevator to give him space, Peter included. Shock and excitement rippled through the team.
Whispers of ohmygodit’sHawkeye! filled the air.
Don’t notice me, Peter pleaded with every fibre of his being.
And it seemed like Clint didn’t. Peter forced himself not to relax, to show his relief.
Then, he saw the corner of the archer’s mouth jut up in a smirk, and his heart plummeted all the way back to the lobby.
That bastard knew.
But Clint didn’t do anything more than nod at Emmet and Mr. Harrington and turn back to face the doors. And the more Clint didn’t do anything, the more Peter stressed.
This was Clint holding back. This was Clint planning something much bigger that needed more space than an elevator shaft to carry out.
In other words, Peter was dead meat.
Two floors later, Clint got out, smirking the whole time.
Flash leaned over to Peter and whispered, “So much for knowing the Avengers, huh.”
But it didn’t even bother Peter.
Because Clint?
He was way, way worse than Flash.
And Peter had a target on his back.