Black Widow
Ever since his little dance with the sharp end of a short knife he’d been lying low as Spider-Man. Meeting Captain America, Bruce Banner, and War Machine in one week had to be a sign from the fates that Peter needed to chill for a second. Because of this, he stuck to his usual dark alleyways and two-bit thugs. He tried not to think, or follow the Vulture too closely, and spent the next week or so playing the intended role of the ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’. Tony was still away dealing with whatever crisis they were in now, and while they talked and texted frequently on the phone, neither brought up the obvious contingency. Peter wanted Tony to choose his moment, and apparently Tony was waiting until the day of the ceremony to say “Oh btw, you can come too if you want.”
Thus far, He’d been doing pretty good with flying under the radar. But when fate hands you a silver platter and says ‘take it’, who is Peter to slam the door?
On his perch in lower Queens he noticed three figures exiting a van with blacked out windows. The two burly men on either side were holding a smaller figure between them. Their arms were pinned behind their back, and a black bag prevented Peter from seeing any distinguishing features. He may not be the most experienced vigilante out there, but he’s fairly sure this isn’t the premise to a surprise party. He knows a kidnapping when he sees one.
He makes sure to be extra stealthy as he webs his way across the alley. On top of the building lay a ceiling of windows, one of which was open just far enough for a thin teenager to slip through. Even without his super-hearing the main dude’s voice could be heard through titanium. Obviously he was a little upset to have been played.
“Bet you thought you were sly? That you could fool us? You’re not as charming as you think you are, the boss knows a rat when he smells one.” Peter situated himself on the far wall, concealed by the shadows while still in full view of the body guards. Their faces were hard set and unflinching as they berated the person currently tied to the chair in the middle of the warehouse. The bag had been pulled off her head, but Peter was only able to see her back and shoulder length black hair. For someone currently at the mercy of a man with the stability of a jenga tower, she didn’t quiver at his threats.
When Peter first started, he probably would have jumped in now. Wanting to save the woman immediately is a gut reaction but what if these guys had back up? After experiencing two years of hindsight that said wait until you know what they’re capable of, he stayed hidden to mentally map out his plan.
“How did you know about the shipment?” The one on the right that looks like a great value Vin Diesel spoke, approaching the woman. He tilted her chair back so far that her feet no longer reached the ground and his face was mere inches from hers. Peter itched to act, but the woman responded calmly.
“What supplier? The Vulture does not make his own weapons?” Her accent was thick and sounded vaguely German, but there was no mistaking the words ‘The Vulture’ in any dialect. He wanted to know this answer too— how the hell did a non-SHIELD operative have access to alien tech? He could understand a gun or two slipping notice, but it seemed like this Vulture had an unlimited access to outer space and all its luxuries.
“Do not play dumb.”
“Just trying to get to your IQ level.” The man raised a hand as if to slap her before his friend held him back.
“You know what the boss wants.” His friend warned, despite the fact that the attacker clearly didn’t care.
“Don’t test me.” He pointed a finger at her face, but turned around after to converge with the other lackey. Between the pair was an old silver table tray that house a wide array of knives far too lethal to be medical.
Peter moved ever so slightly to the farther corner for a better look. The movement made no recognizable sound, but the lady’s attention snapped to his corner regardless. Her eyes met his and Peter nearly lost his suction grip to the fall.
Alright, punk’d. The cameras can come out now!
This was starting to feel like a local grocery store, he was running into so many people he was trying to avoid.
He slunk back deeper in the shadows, but her eyes were trained on him. She shook her head so slightly her hair didn’t even move but the message was clear. Do not engage. She gave him another look but this one slightly farther than where he was situated that if perceived correctly meant ‘go that way.’ Peter was about to silently but forcefully argue that he’d rather stay here as defense, but she had already turned her attention back to the kidnapping at hand when the guy had decided which knife he liked best.
His eyes flicked over her hungrily, and although Agent Natasha Romanov didn’t flinch Peter felt the implication. He needed a plan, and he needed one now. If he were sure it was just the two guys with no one on call, he would have no problem jumping in and kicking some criminal ass, but people like this always multiplied when the action starts. As useful as he had been, Peter really wasn’t eager to almost die on Dr. Banner’s med-bay table again. Not to mention, Natasha had told him to check out the rest of the warehouse. And if Natasha’s month long cold shoulder towards Bucky after he went left instead of right when she told him to was indicative of anything— it was to respect her call.
Peter slipped down to where the wall met the floor and touched down lightly. The captor’s tenor and Natasha’s steely voice could still be heard, but were not particularly in focus. To his right a pile of wood boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling with only one entry or exit way between them. Peter slips through the opening, staying close to the ground, and only righted himself when he knows hes out of direct eye line.
Peter’s first impression was that this was where Jake Peralta lived before he married Amy Santiago. The room was a mess—not a single surface area was not covered by a deep sea of paper, fast food wrappings, or the occasional empty alcohol bottle. Having reasonable intuition, it became clear that this was not the operations headquarters. There were no security guards, or cameras, or even order to this pig sty that could harbor the masses Peter knew The Vulture had. However, this had to be some kind of low level base.
The section Peter had managed to navigate through consisted of five desks, all with papers haphazardly strewn about, a few lamps with no bulbs, and a large seven foot cork board that covered the east wall. It looked like an office space, but perhaps for a part time detective, part time serial killer. The cork board wall was decorated in a messy array of pictures, newspaper clippings, and red string connecting one bad handwriting post to the other. Names like ‘Captain America’ or ‘Hawkeye’, and yes, even ‘Spider-Man’ graced the wall, as clearly their organization dealt primarily in the super-villain realm of morality. All the names Peter recognized as various members of his family had one commonality—a thick red line that traced all the way up to the top of the board where two words shone like beacons.
TONY STARK.
Seeing his father’s name so prominent, Peter decided to start his investigation where it mattered. There was a full list of details below his Iron Man picture—– age, residence, family members, average number of security on him at any point, and his whereabouts going as far back as six months. Obviously this operation was still in use as ‘SINGAPORE’ was circled in red, along with photos of him, Clint, and Wanda that were only a few days old, at most.
“What the hell.” He whispered. He traced the line connecting Spider-Man to Tony Stark (there were only conspiracies about Spider-Man actually being a StarkBot) and decided to dive further into this conspiracy. He drifted towards the tables in search of some kind of clarity. Sure, Tony Stark was famous and rich and all those things that meant his forehead literally read ‘kidnap me for ransom’, but this just was excessive. The Vulture was an arms dealer, and Tony had long since left the game of war profiteering. What the hell did they want from him now?
It took some shuffling through the mess on the desk to get to stuff Peter could understand. Most of the files pertained to the alien tech currently cycling through New York’s underground and while yes, Peter was smart, no, he did not understand the physics of other-worldly artillery. A lot of it was crossed out or scribbled over, but some were just barely decipherable for Peter to know they were trying and failing to find something.
It was only when he got to a section of papers titled ‘ENERGY SOURCE’ that he saw Tony’s name again. Behind a picture of his arc reactor were several formulas, some painfully obvious like displacement or power equations, and others with symbols Peter didn’t even believe to be real. It filled up pages and pages worth of the file and as much as he didn’t want to understand it, the meaning on the last page was clear. The arc reactor was powerful enough to charge these guns.
His mind slipped into instant panic mode™. The reactor kept Tony alive, if these people wanted it, they were going to have to kill the keeper. It’s not like a USB drive that you can take the chance of pulling it out without ejecting and the worst thing that happens is you lose a couple of files— it was quite literally the life support Tony had been damned to since Afghanistan. Their goal wasn’t market domination but unlimited power—and Tony was the only one capable of that.
He kept rummaging, mostly looking through the books referencing his family, himself, or equations that undoubtedly related to the reactor. He was piling things up into a ‘keep’ pile that he would take as soon as Nat was out and throwing the rest on the floor. Surely Bruce & Tony could decode the message, and if not then maybe they’d ship it off to Wakanda. He didn’t even care that they’d probably question why Spider-Man bothered with information that barely pertained to him, but that was a small price to pay for giving his dad a head start.
His focus returned when the kidnapping when a voice rose to an octave just below a yell. Ignoring Natasha’s previous call to get lost he exited the office and returned to his spectators spot in the shadows.
“We know you’re one of Hammer’s agents. Twist your words however you like sweetheart, you know we’ve got you pinned.” Hammer… that’s the same name Bruce had referenced in Tony’s attempted murder. What the hell did Hammer have to do with the Vulture, aside from the fact that each of them were trying to kill their respective Stark’s?
“Justin Hammer? I thought you worked for the Vulture?” Now that he knew their ultimate plan, he was growing more and more restless with sitting still. Spider-Man was firmly non-violent but even Peter reached his morality limits sometimes.
“You’re a horrible liar.” He sneered. He was still too close to Nat for comfort, and Peter’s initial reaction to jump forward was harnessed only by rational. If she were truly in danger, she’d have called for him.
He bent forward, this time dragging the knife lightly across her cheek. She had the decency to feign fear, but not enough to make her squirm. Maybe she didn’t want to compromise him, maybe she was waiting for him to take the initiative, or set off some geniusly crafted plan, but how much did she trust Spider-Man? When exactly was Peter’s cue?
“Tell us where Hammer’s supply is, and we’ll consider letting you go with most of your fingers.”
“You really know how to make a girl an offer.”
“Listen bitch!” The knife was at her throat now. “Hammer promised us a new supply and we’re more than happy to trade your dead body for his guns. Tell us where the supply is, and maybe we won’t shoot that pretty mouth right off your face.” He had one hand gripping either side of her face, and a knife that was drawing blood from her neck. Peter decided to damn Natasha’s rules and move now. He had just shot a web at the opposite ceiling when she responded, sans accent “So Hammer is the supplier.”
She head butted the guy so hard Peter swore he could hear his nose break all the way from the corner, and her black wig flew off with the motion. She used her legs to swipe at the guy’s feet until he crashed to the ground and then flipped backwards so that the chair she was tied to shattered and released her hands.
Before attacking the other guy, Natasha addressed the room. “Are you just going to watch or join the party, Spider-Man?”
He decided, not because of the shout out, that now would be a good time to start fighting. Peter swung both his legs out and nailed the guy still standing right in the chest as he landed. He could physically hear the air leave his body upon impact and while the hit on the floor could not have been comfortable, he was already getting up to fight back. The guy pulled a gun from his pocket and Peter swore into the mask. When did thugs stop using like, crow bars and stuff? Why did they have to advance past the 40s?
“Hey man, use your words—“ But the guy already aimed & took the shot, forcing Peter to jump out of the way before he could get struck in the chest. A small part of his shoe was singed and he made sure to land on the other when he appeared behind the dude. Two quick webs had his hands tied, but Peter made the unfortunate mistake of not disarming him first. Now the gun was just webbed to his fully functional hand. He turned and aimed in the same motion & Peter knew before he even tried to move that he was going to be too late.
The finger moved to pull the trigger but as it touched, a firm black boot kicked it out of the way. The shot split a couple of boxes resting in the back cleanly in half, and still simmering with the passing moments. That shot was intended for Peter. He took another fraction of a second to dwell on the fact that he would have been cut hot-dog style in this dingy warehouse and by the time he came to Natasha already had the guy pinned. She must have hit him harder than Peter noticed because the dude was knocked out cold when she started dragging him to one of the pipes jutting from the wall. She held his hand up high and said, “Care to do the honors?”
Peter webbed without a word. He really had to work on his fighting skills. After today, would it seem skeptical if Peter asked his Aunt for lessons? Maybe he’d wait a week or so, let the freshness of her battle with Spider-Man wear off, but he definitely mentally marked himself down for after school karate with Nat.
“Find anything good Spider-Man?” She asked casually, as if she hadn’t just been tied to a chair and nearly beaten. He stuttered on his words while his brain tried to form a coherent sentence. Right, he had almost forgotten about the ever present threat of death in this haunted house.
“I uh—-yea—yeah, I found something.” Natasha was patting the guy down until she came across a StarkWatch that was obviously the Black Widows. When Peter further elaborate she stood up straight, pocketed the watch and waited patiently for him to continue.
“I—Iron Man is the target.” It felt weird to say it objectively. If this were Peter and Nat naturally he would be pacing and panicking and spewing out flawed plan after flawed plan to save Tony Stark. Now he was choking back his feelings and un-ironically calling his dad ‘Iron Man’.
“Yeah, if Hammer is involved I got that, he hates the guy.” She pushed past him and towards the office space Peter had previously vacated. Despite it being clear she could care less whether Spider-Man was here or not, he trailed after her, trying to make his point faster.
“No, they want don’t want him for some revenge thing!” For some reason he felt like a petulant child right now, begging to be understood. She was in danger! Why didn’t she seem to care?
“So it’s a money thing?”
“No, they want the reactor! The thing keeping him alive, they need it to—- to charge their space guns!”
That elicited some minor response from Natasha. He was used to her being collected, but this impassive persona was a new edition. A raised eyebrow was all he got and not a foot in her step faltered.
“He dies if he doesn’t have that.” She replied. And without forethought, or sanity, or even common sense Peter couldn’t help but shout “I know!” that’s what he’d been trying to get at.
She turned and stopped then to inspect Spider-Man full on, her eyes narrowing. Suddenly Peter felt smaller than he’d ever felt and he resisted the urge to take a few steps back. She wasn’t genetically modified— she couldn’t see behind the mask, but Natasha had always had a way with knowing everyone’s secrets. Could she know his?
“How did you know I would be here, Spider-Man?”
Peter gulped. Of this, he was actually totally innocent. He hadn’t been following her, he’d been tracing the Vulture! But still with her steely eyes bearing down and the very real knowledge she could overpower him blindfolded, he watched his words.
“I… didn’t. I’ve been trailing the Vulture for weeks now. His minions are the only guys I can catch wind of though. I saw someone being kidnapped and I acted! I thought…” How does one phrase ‘I know you were with my dad yesterday, how and why are you back in the Western world? “—I didn’t think this was your typical area, anyway.”
“Yeah well, Iron Man is being hunted.” She continued moving at that, and Peter ran to catch up. “The Avengers are a pretty tight group, we protect our own.”
Peter wants to shout “I know” again, but this time he bites his tongue, a little touched that Nat admits to actually liking Tony Stark. He’d pass that information on if he knew it wouldn’t get him poisoned, or worse: lectured.
Natasha passes the old crates that separate the sides of the room and whistles at the sight that unfolds. “Dude’s got a fetish. He’s one dart-board-with-Tony’s-face away from being a cartoon villain.”
She pulls the StarkWatch out from her pocket and wraps it around her wrist, speaking fast Russian into the monitor. When she’s finished with her synopsis, the agent flicks through file after file on the first desk, throwing the rejects from the table ungracefully.
“Where did you find the reactor files? I’m just getting a lot of P.I. work on the Avengers here, I already know Cap’s got a Planet Fitness membership.”
Peter points to the table in the far back, next to where the board with all of the Avenger’s whereabouts are. “Back there, I was going to grab it when… you were done…”
“Being kidnapped?”
“—-pretending to be kidnapped.” That actually got a small smirk out of her. Ha! Even without being her nephew he could still make the Black Widow crack!
She follows his direction and starts rifling through the papers on the desk. Peter takes this moment to look around for what his frantic mind might have missed before, like whether these dude’s had pieced together the Peter Parker + Spider-Man formula yet. His Spidey picture is mid-action, soaring dangerously close to hitting the roof of a NYC cab, and the information below is most of his rounds the past few months. They had gaps, Peter found solace in that, but the major events like the Brooklyn High School attack, and Peter’s recent mugging experience had full reports. Luckily the only mention of ‘Peter Parker’ was in Tony’s descriptor.
“Did you take the file?” Natasha’s voice brings him back to Earth. When he’d heard the escalation of Natasha’s fight, he’d left all he found where it was. He’d planned on coming back here to retrieve the evidence, but as of this moment he hadn’t touched it. If it was gone then that meant they weren’t alone.
“No, I left it—–“ Peter’s ears picked up the sound of slamming doors. In an otherwise quiet neighborhood, there was no mistaking the sound of combat boot on gravel, and men running with heavy artillery. Although Natasha’s hearing was not super enhanced by any means, it was clear from her expression she had picked up on the change as well.
“I don’t suppose you brought friends?” Natasha joked, grabbing papers at random. Peter was stuck between wanting to web the entrance up to give them more time, and wanting to get the hell out of dodge before those boots even had the chance to shoot. Someone had already been in here that escaped Peter’s notice previously, so obviously he wasn’t on his A-game.
Thankfully, Natasha made the final call. “Care to give me a lift?” She nodded up at the window above their heads. Peter agreed, but first shot two webs at Natasha. One, on her hand to keep whatever file she had been searching in firmly to her hand, and the other still connected to Peter’s wrist, on her shoulder to act as something of a harness should Peter lose grip mid-flight.
“Thanks for flying Spider Air!” Peter joked, just as the sounds of the entrance door being kicked open sounded. They swung through the window when the first shots rang out, chipping the stone next to their heads and Peter had to remind himself that he was holding onto the Black fucking Widow, meaning that Spider-Man was not allowed to scream. From their eagle eye view outside there were more than ten black vans lined up, and more people than Peter could count running into the warehouse they had just vacated.
When it became obvious they hadn’t been followed, Peter landed on a barren roof top to catch his breath. He cut the web tethering them, and Natasha immediately poked at something on her StarkWatch after steadying herself.
“Not bad, Spider-Man. The Avengers will be here any moment if you want to stick around. Join the team for a night. They’ll have cleaned ship by the time we get there, but there’s always something to be learned from the ruins.”
She was reading something on the screen, but Natasha meant the invitation seriously. Maybe in another life he could take that offer, raid the base, and play superhero with the big leagues—– but everybody’s luck runs out eventually. It’s best not to fix what isn’t broken.
“I can’t, I’ve got…” what, homework? Spider-MAN is reportedly in his mid-twenties not a fifteen year old with the mother of all secrets.
“—a thing. But thank you for the offer. Maybe next time, Nat.” As soon as the word slips his lips he knows he fucked up. It’s like in those cheesy movies where the record scratches and the voice over goes ‘yep, that’s me’ just before they get punched in the face or thrown into a dumpster. Instead the silence weighs between them like a dumbbell, and Peter seriously debates having his vocal cords removed.
She noticed, stopped whatever message she was typing out and sized Peter up like a challenge.
“How did you know my name?” Her voice isn’t playful like it is with Peter, or even bored like it is with Spider-Man. It’s icy, and lethal and laced with enough venom to kill a man. She’s got a hand where he suspects a gun would lie, and her eyes are staring down Peter’s mask with such an intense fury that Peter can physically feel the heat. If he was a smarter man, he would have already started speaking right now, but the fear bubbling in stomach has him frozen.
“Answer me.”
“I—I saw it in the file! Natasha—– I mean, I just assumed the Nat part.” He explained, both pleased and devastated by his own answer. What kind of person just ‘assumes’ it’s cool to call the world’s deadliest assassin by a nickname? The file thing was good, but there really was no coming back from calling her ‘Nat’.
She nodded like she’d accept it, but wasn’t happy about it. “Natasha.” She corrected simply, and walked to the edge of the roof. The Avengers tower was a mere shadow in the distance, but still close enough to be visible. The Avengers had to be closing in to their location now, Peter had already wasted too much time.
He stumbled over his feet as he started towards the opposite direction. “It was uh, nice to meet you, Miss. Natasha. Agent. Black Widow.”
He didn’t stick around long enough to let the embarrassment set in, and immediately flung himself off the building and soaring through back alleyways. Momentarily neglecting to dwell on the cosmic fuck up that was the single word ‘Nat’, he had more important things to focus on.
Natasha was in danger. Tony was in danger. Every person on that board, every person Peter loved was currently being targeted by an alien-tech gang. If he was going to do anything about it, and he was, he’d have to step up his game. Spider-Man is going to save the Avengers.