Chapter 4
Tony called on Sunday evening, a week before the event. He was out with Happy, browsing the Tom Ford a good ten minutes before they closed. Peter picked up within seconds. Which was very typical. He wasn’t sure if it was just a teenager thing, since they were usually on his phone. That was probably it.
“Hey, kid.” He had said, “There’s a benefit this weekend for Mount Sinai at the Alice Tully Hall. I’m guessing you know where that is?”
Peter was quick to speak up, “Yes, sir! W-Would you like me to be there?”
“Well, why else would I be asking?” Tony felt himself smile. There was always something so charming about the way that Peter was so willing to put himself into the moment and do his best to be helpful.
“Y-Yeah, Mr. Stark, I’ll go!” Peter tried to hide his excitement, Tony could hear it dripping from his voice. It was funny to see his excitement over something that Tony dreaded. All the people, all the conversations he would have to fake a smile through. He would have to wear a suit, too. It had been months since he had gone to an event, and luckily Pepper piped it up to the media to being a scheduling issue. When in reality, Stark just didn’t want to go. He didn’t feel like it anymore. He was getting older, and after the shit that had happened these past few years he never really had the urge to celebrate much of anything. At least there was alcohol.
“Be there at 8, I’ll be waiting out front.” He stuffed his phone in the pocket of his jeans, whistling a worker over to pick out his suit. Fake it till you make it, he thought.
---
“Oh, man. Oh, man.” Peter paced around the room, threading his fingers through his hair. A charity event with Mr. Stark? What the hell was he going to wear? He had his suit from his junior prom, I mean that would be okay, right? It was fully black, and he had still had his dress shirt and blue tie…
He quickly picked up the phone and dialed Ned’s number. Peter listened to it ring, and with each ring his heart beat faster. He needed his best friend’s advice.
“Hey, Peter. What’s up? If you’re asking if I can come over, I don’t know I’m ki-“
“I’ve been working for Tony Stark as his intern for the past two weeks and now I have to go to a benefit with him and I don’t know what to wear, and I don’t want to ask May for anything.”
Peter spit the words out so quickly that Ned was stunned silent for a few moments.
“Wait, what the hell?! You got the Stark Apprenticeship?!”
Peter fell back on his bed, groaning. “Yes, and I was going to tell you but I didn’t want it getting around.”
“C’mon, Peter, you know I don’t gossip.”
Peter stifled a laugh, “Oh, yeah? Like you don’t run and tell MJ everything that happens to you on a daily basis.”
“You know how she is! She just looks at you, and suddenly you’re pouring out gossip from third grade!” Ned sighed into the speaker. “You should have told me, Peter. You can tell me anything. If you want, I’ll keep it on the DL, okay?”
“Yeah, I’d like that. But really. Should I just wear the suit from last year?”
“I mean, I liked it. Looks crisp. You thought you’d never wear it again, and now you have an opportunity to wear it again.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Does May know?” Ned asked. Peter knew it was coming.
“No, you’re the only person. So keep quiet.”
“You can’t see me, but I’m holding out my pinky. I promise.”
“Thanks Ned.”
---
“Jarvis, text Peter that he has the day off.”
“Jarvis, don’t text Peter that he has the day off.” Tony glanced across the room as Pepper walked into room. He knew he looked pitiful. Rhodes had taken him out drinking last night, and he had maybe five too many drinks. He was sprawled out across the couch, reruns of The Bachelor on the projection Jarvis had thrown up. “You’ve been laying here since 11 am. It’s 4 and Peter is going to be here-“
Pepper was interrupted by Jarvis, “Sir? What would you like me to do?”
Tony glanced at Pepper, throwing his half eaten piece of pizza into the empty cardboard box. He walked over, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Pepper. I’m so hungover that my head is going numb.”
Pepper’s face turned slightly concerned, “Tony-“
“Ah, ah, ah! The kid deserves a day off. He’s been coming for two weeks straight and tomorrow is the benefit.”
“He makes his own schedule, you know.”
“What?” Tony furrowed his brows, dropping his hands from Pepper’s shoulders.
“He’s still a senior. He has classes early morning, and comes in the afternoon when he’s free. He sends me the days he can come, and I put them in the books.”
“God, how much are we paying this kid?”
“Oh, nothing. He denied any form of payment I offered.”
Tony’s mouth dropped open to find a snarky remark, but the pang of his headache brought him to a stop. Well that was surprising. “Jarvis, text Peter that he has the day off.”
Pepper offered a sigh and walked out of the room, throwing her hands up exasperated, and leaving his paper work by the door.
Tony sat back down, turning the tv back on.
“Sir, incoming call from Peter Parker.”
“Answer.” He paused until he saw his icon pop up on the phone. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey Mr. Stark, are you really sure you don’t want me to come by today? I-I can help you with cleaning the garage, I know you were talking about doing that.”
Peter was outside in the hallway, pacing. His calculus class ended in about ten minutes, but as soon as he received the text he wanted to call and be sure. Had he done something wrong? He wasn’t sure why Stark didn’t need him.
“You deserve a break. You’ve been working hard, and the event is tomorrow. Just take it easy.”
“O-Okay. Will do.” He ended the line with a click. He couldn’t help but feel torn. He had noticed, after spending the past few weeks with Tony, how differently he acted when he was at work, rather than the way he portrayed himself through interviews and at parties. Which, Peter had thought was pretty normal of celebrities to do. Until he started to notice that Tony was constantly on edge, and how the smallest things made him react in the biggest ways.
The first time he came into the workshop unannounced, Tony nearly chucked a wrench at his head when he didn’t realize it was Peter. The next day, the door had a little alarm that beeped when he entered the room.
When Happy would drive them to lunch, he sometimes could catch Tony holding onto the door handle so tightly that his knuckles were white. He was constantly jittery while they were on the road, and it wasn’t until they returned that he could see him physically relax. Sometimes they would talk over lunch, usually about the suits. Other times, they would simply watch TV, or Tony would research while Peter scrolled through his phone.
Some days, Tony would be talkative, asking all kinds of questions, and other days he hardly said a word. Some days he would work four hours straight, his ideas coming a mile a minute. He would ask Peter to write everything down for him, and he could hardly keep up.
“Slow down, Mr. Stark, I’m not Jarvis.” He had said.
“You could be. God, sometimes I think you’re as smart as he is.”
It was confusing, when Tony complimented him like that. His heart would beat so loudly he swore that Tony could hear it on the other side of the room. It made him proud of himself, too proud. But there was something else that he couldn’t put a finger on it. Something that he felt deep in his stomach, something that made his palms sweaty, and made it hard to keep his grip on the pen.
And then not even an hour later, Tony would crash. The ideas would find their way into the trash. “It’s part of the process, kid.” He would tell Peter, “My brain isn’t what it was ten years ago.”
But Peter didn’t really understand. Everything that Tony talked about was pure genius. Even his ideas in passing were some of the most superb things that Peter had ever heard. Sometimes, he wondered how many people tried to copy his ideas, but failed. Because he had some great ones, but no one would ever be able to make it come to life except him.
And so Peter went home after Calculus, and May was ecstatic to finally have him home for an evening.
“They really are working you hard, aren’t they?”
Peter nodded, shoving a spoonful of macaroni into his mouth. He still hadn’t told May. He thought maybe it would be a good time now… but he figured it might be easier to wait until after the benefit, in case she was a bit temperamental about it.
“Oh, yeah. But it’s worth it. Good people, good place.”
Luckily May wasn’t one to press a subject. She was good about giving Peter his space, and she trusted him enough to know that he wasn’t a complete idiot.
“So…” Peter started, tracing the spoon around the edge of the bowl. “Tomorrow night, I may be out a little late.”
“How late? It’s a Saturday so that’s fine, but just let me know where you are.”
Peter nodded. “I’m just working tomorrow afternoon, and then some coworkers wanted to get dinner at a place nearby.”
“Okay, sweetie. You have fun.” May took his now empty bowl, ruffling his hair.
Peter returned to his room, and neatly folded his suit in his bag. He prayed to the gods it wouldn’t get wrinkled.
---
The next afternoon, Peter headed out a bit after 6. He knew it took about an hour on the ride to Manhattan, and he would have to change somewhere during that time. He was becoming more accustomed to the longer journey. An hour wasn’t bad, so he just stuck in his ear buds and listened to music, watching the people roll on and off.
It was soothing. It gave him time to think, and usually he thought about school, and college. And sometimes he would think about Mr. Stark. Sometimes it was just thinking about the way he worked. Peter had a pretty good memory, and he had started to memorize the patterns Tony took while he was tinkering on his suits. He thought about the way he whispered to himself, the way he tapped on his work desk while he was thinking. The occasional charm in of Jarvis, with a status update or a simple remark about his work. He thought about the way he looked when he was concentrating; furrowed brows, his eyes wide with concentration, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. The occasional click of his tongue when something didn’t go right.
There was more than Tony that what met the eye.
Peter heard the announcement on the loud speaker, he quickly gathered his things and may his way to the nearest public restroom. He had worn his shirt and shoes, so he quickly changed into his shirt and suit jacket, standing at the mirror to tie his tie.
A group of men made their way into the bathroom. They were middle aged, slightly rough looking. They were loud, boisterous, and Peter could smell the alcohol wafting off them. Peter tried to hurry up, gathering his book bag and making his way towards the exit.
A larger man raised his eyebrows and stepped in front of the exit. “Where you headed kid?”
“U-Uh, just work…” Peter tried to duck under his arm, clutching his bag closer to his chest.
The man caught him by the shoulder, and Peter winced at his tight grip. “Really? You sure you’re not headed to that fancy service up on Broadway? Lots of rich men up there tonight.”
Peter let out a laugh, “N-No…” He lied, “Just to work.”
Before he could protest, the man had him shoved against the wall, snatching his bag from his hands. “I want whatever you have in here. Money, whatever it is.”
Peter felt his stomach tighten, his heart rate increase. What was he supposed to do? “I-I don’t have anything on me.”
Next thing he knew, there was a searing pain coming from his jaw. His head felt dizzy with the impact. The man had punched him, and tore his bag open, taking his wallet and cellphone. He shoved him on the ground, kicking him hard in the ribs. Peter saw red, and he doubled over, clutching his side with a whimper. The men threw the bag down on him, leaving the bathroom with shared laughter.
God, what was he supposed to do now? He tried to stand, but the pain in his side was too great. The overhead fluorescent flickered with mockery.
He tried to get up again, taking a few steps before he collapsed back on the street corner, hissing at the pain, feeling wetness roll down his cheeks. Was he really crying right now? He chastised himself. There were more important things to worry about at the moment, and he was crying like a pathetic baby. He heard a man’s voice echo above him, and a call for help. And within seconds, he felt himself starting to slip away, the ground fell out from beneath him and he was falling, reaching for his strands of consciousness.
But he came up to short.