It's the Little Things, Dude.

Peter was starting to think that something was wrong with his friend. People thought Peter talked a lot, but Ned usually never shut up, at least not when he was excited.

And Peter knew Ned was excited. They’d been planning this for weeks, and Ned had asked at least twice a day if it was really going to happen, if Tony Stark was really going to let him stay. Peter hadn’t been able to convince his friend to let it go, that yes, Mr. Stark had said it was fine, and he didn’t need to ask. Every. Single. Day.

It’d reminded Peter of the way he’d texted Happy in the beginning. He might have sent a single two word text apologizing to the man around the fifteenth time Ned had asked, “Do you think he’ll be there? Or is he gonna leave as soon as we get there?”

“I don’t think Mr. Stark is just gonna leave us unsupervised in the tower, Ned. He’ll be there.”

And he was. Tony Stark was currently digging through Peter’s book bag, unpacking the horde of candy onto the large sofa in front of the even larger TV. “Oh, Twizzlers and sour gummies, the good stuff,” he said, before ripping the small bag open with his teeth and helping himself. “Mind if I keep these?” 

Ned simply stood there. Quiet and still, hands clenched around the straps of his back pack as Tony Stark began untangling sour gummy worms.

“Yeah, you can have ‘em,” Peter answered when Ned refused to speak.

Tony seemed to take it in stride, seemingly used to people freezing up in what Peter was beginning to recognize as a fanboy coma. He tossed a piece of candy in his mouth, pointed at Peter and said, “You’re responsible for him. No stupid shit, kid. I’m serious.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 “This room, kitchen, bathroom, your room. That’s it.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 Tony squinted his eyes as he slowly ate another gummy worm. “What’s the rule?”

 “Stick to the grey area,” Peter said, which finally earned a reaction from Ned whose wide-eyed expression took on a look of confusion. “Nothing you would do, nothing you wouldn’t.”

Tony simply winked, clicked his tongue and started to walk away. “Make yourselves at home,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the lab helping Bruce, I’ll be back later.”

 “Bruce Banner?” Peter asked, voice getting a smidge higher than he’d like.

“The one and only. Call Friday if you need me,” Tony yelled, disappearing into the hall beyond.

“Dude,” Ned hissed, “Bruce Banner. As in the Hulk. I’m in the same building as the Hulk!”

 “You’re in the same building as Bruce Banner,” Peter corrected, plopping down on the couch and reaching for the remote. “Pretty sure we don’t want to be in the same building as the Hulk.”

 He flipped on the TV and began searching through the movie channels while Ned continued to stand, head turning every which way as he took in the central living area. “Dude, you promised you’d be cool.”

 “I lied,” said Ned, falling back on the couch and touching the seat cushions reverently, fingers smoothing over the expensive fabric. “This is the single coolest thing to ever happen to me.”

 “You say that every time we do something Stark or Spider-Man related,” Peter pointed out. And it was true. “I’m starting to think that if Mr. Stark waved at you it would be the coolest thing to ever happen to you.”

 Ned grinned and propped his feet on the coffee table as he opened the bag of Twizzlers. “As long as he did it in front of Flash, it would be. Does he have HBO? We could binge Game of Thrones.”

 Peter shifted uncomfortably as he said, “Yeah, that’ll be a no.”

 “He doesn’t have HBO?”

 “He has everything,” Peter explained, “We just can’t watch it. Baby monitor.”

 Ned frowned. “Like in your suit?”

 Peter rolled his eyes and prompted, “Friday?”

 Friday’s voice immediately filled the room, earning another smile from Ned. “Mr. Stark has implemented the Baby Monitor Protocol throughout the tower to help ensure young, developing minds are not exposed to unnecessarily mature themes including but not limited to strong language, nudity, sexual situations, and violence.”

 Ned’s left nostril flared in confusion. “Okay, I get the sex thing, but violence? Dude, you’re Spider-Man.”

 “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s just a joke, but Friday took it seriously.”

 “I am not allowed to go against protocol, Peter,” Friday stated calmly. “We have talked about this.”

 “Repeatedly, I know,” Peter groaned. “Just pick something else, Ned.”

 Two hours later they were half way through the candy and on the third episode of X-Files when Ned mentioned he was hungry.

“You are literally eating right now,” Peter pointed out, tossing a skittle at his forehead.

 “I want real food,” Ned said, looking for the skittle. He gave up when it fell between the cushions. “Like with bread or something.”

 “We can order pizza?” Peter suggested, already reaching for his wallet. “I’ve got like twenty bucks, what’ve you got?”

 “I’ve got ten, but can’t we ask Mr. Stark to pay for it?”

 Peter tilted his head back and looked at his friend. “Do you want to go ask him?”

 Ned looked like he’d rather do almost anything else.

 “Mr. Stark says it is okay to order pizza,” Friday cut in, making Peter jump up in surprise, “as long as you order enough for him and Dr. Banner.”

 “You asked him?” Peter groaned, “Friday, we didn’t want to bother him.”

 “I was to keep Mr. Stark informed of when you were hungry. It is part of the Baby Monitor Protocol, subset Feeding Time.”

 Peter rolled his eyes, no longer feeling bad about Mr. Stark paying for their food. “Can you order us three extra-large Supremes?”

 “Of course, Peter.”

 Ned sighed in contentment. “This is the single coolest thing to ever happen.”

 “Shut up, Ned.”

Thirty minutes later Peter was hopping in the elevator to meet the delivery guy. He and Ned had split the cost of the tip, the two five dollar bills folded neatly in his hand as he pressed the button for the ground floor.

 The building was quiet now, most of its occupants having left for the day. Peter fully expected the front lobby to be empty, so when the elevator doors opened to show Natasha Romanov standing before him, Peter’s mind sort of froze.

 Her hair was windswept, her face pinched in either pain or annoyance, Peter wasn’t sure. One arm was crossed over her middle, her hand pulling the front of her shirt across her body.  Peter took one uncertain step forward, intending to get out of her way, but she seemed to have other plans.

 With one arm still wrapped around her middle, she used the other to push Peter back into the elevator. She didn’t seem to care that he’d just stepped off of it, and he was too surprised at being manhandled to form the words to point it out. Not that he didn’t try.

 “Um, Natasha? I was kinda…um…” He pointed to the closing doors, the money still clutched in his hand.  She looked over her shoulder, arched her brow, and pushed the button for the top floor. “Never mind,” he muttered and pressed his lips together in what he knew was an awkward smile.

 He’d only actually met Natasha a few weeks ago. It started with an awkward introduction that consisted of Tony pointing at “the kid”, Natasha acknowledging that he was in fact “a kid” and the two adults arguing in front of said “kid”.

 What followed was an awkward dinner (in which Peter sat quietly and didn’t say a word unless spoken to), an awkward encounter in the hallway (Peter had managed to nod his head in hello and give a close lipped smile which was surprisingly returned), and a short run-in in Tony’s lab (where she arrived, asked Tony to speak in private, and Peter was promptly dismissed…kicked out, politely, but still, awkward).

 In grand total, Peter had managed to have three uncomfortable encounters with the Black Widow, all three consisting of maybe less than twenty words spoken between the two of them.

 Round four wasn’t looking to be any better.

 But then the doors closed, Natasha turned around, and Peter finally got a good look at her. She let her arm drop, the fabric of her shirt falling open with it.

 Peter just stared. The words “bra” and “skin” tripping over one another in his head. But then he saw the torn shirt, the red and blistered skin just below the bra and his brain started to process things a little more, because yeah there were boobs, but there were also burns.

 “Eyes up, kid.”

 Peter immediately looked up, not at her eyes, as she had probably intended, but at the ceiling, because, well…

 She sighed, and Peter could tell she was about to speak, but before she could get anything out, Peter’s mouth decided to open and beat her to it.

 “Are you okay?”

 “I’m fine.”

 Peter let his eyes drop from the light fixture and met her stubborn stare with one of his own. “No one ever believes me when I say that.”

 “And they shouldn’t, Tony’s told me some of what you’ve been up to,” she said, surprising Peter with a small smile. “But seriously, it’s not as bad as it looks.” She looked back down and gently touched the edges of the burn. Peter let his eyes follow her hand.

 It took up the majority of her right side, starting a few inches above her belly button and disappearing beneath the swell of the black sports bra. It looked the worst at the center, with white blisters and angry reds, but the rest looked like something closer to a really bad sunburn.

 “Dr. Banner’s here,” he said, eyes still stuck on her fingers tracing along the wound. “He can probably fix you up.”

 “I can do it myself,” she assured him before reaching up to remove the ruined shirt. “Mind lending me one of those sweaters?” she asked, gesturing to Peter’s shirt with her chin.

 She was still struggling to get her shirt off by the time Peter reached around, grabbed the back of his school sweatshirt and pulled it over his head. He held it out for her, returning her grateful smile before remembering the “eyes up” rule and slowly just turning around altogether, facing the opposite wall and giving her privacy.

 Like he hadn’t already seen her with her shirt off.

 “I’m sorry,” she said after a few quiet seconds.

 “For what?” he asked, eyes still firmly locked on the wall.

 “Traumatizing you.”

 Peter frowned and, before his brain could stop him, he turned around and stared at her. She already had his sweater on, the long cuffs gathered in her fists as she leaned back against the elevator wall. “How’d you traumatize me?”

 “Pretty sure it’s frowned upon to show a fourteen-year-old your bra,” she explained, kicking at the ruined shirt on the ground.

 “I’m sixteen,” he corrected, which earned him another smile, the same one Aunt May and Ms. Potts gave him when they thought he was being ‘adorable’. “And you didn’t traumatize me,” he added. “I’m not traumatized.”

 “Right,” she said, and her smile now turned humoring. “All the same, I’m sorry. I’m not used to…It’ll take some getting used to you being so…sixteen.”

 Peter didn’t really know what to say to that, so he just gave her another tight-lipped smile and let his fingers play with the hem of his t-shirt, the wad of money was now a rumpled mess in his sweaty palm.

 Two more seconds went by, and Peter could feel the elevator begin to slow when she spoke up again. “That wasn’t…please tell me that wasn’t the first time you’ve ever seen a girl without her shirt on.”

 Peter felt his eyes widen, knew from the familiar heat that he was blushing, that his ears were turning red. “No… I mean…in person, maybe…”

 She just groaned as the elevator doors opened, her face buried in her hands. “Just don’t tell Stark, for the love of god.”

 “I won’t tell anybody,” he hurried to assure her, bending down to grab what was left of her shirt as they stepped out onto the floor. “I mean, it’s not like anybody’d believe me anyway…”

 “Who wouldn’t believe what?” Tony asked, rounding the corner, Ned following behind like an over eager shadow. Peter thought hearing about Bruce Banner had nearly sent Ned over the edge of fanboy nirvana, but looking at him now, standing behind Tony Stark as he openly stared wide-eyed and slack jawed at the Black Widow…Peter was fairly certain Ned had officially been broken.

 Peter turned his eyes from Ned and an impatiently nosey looking Tony to Natasha, waiting for her to take the lead. Only her idea of dealing with an inquisitive Tony was to cross her arms across her chest and stare at him.

 It was obviously a familiar game between the two because Tony simply narrowed his eyes and pointed a half-eaten Twizzler stick at her accusingly.

 “Friday said you were hurt.”

 “I’m fine,” she assured him, much as she had done with Peter earlier. Peter half expected Tony to do the same as he would with Peter and simply ask Friday what was wrong, to run a scan, check for vitals, pretty much anything he could to blatantly prove Peter to be the lying liar that he was.

 Only Tony didn’t. Which was kind of not fair.

 Instead, Tony put the Twizzler stick back in his mouth, chewed on the end contemplatively as he continued to stare at Natasha. Then he looked to Peter, looked at the balled up bundle of black fabric in his hands before looking back to Natasha in the oversized blue sweatshirt proudly displaying Midtown School of Science and Technology on a bright yellow banner.

 Tony, the genius that he is, simply smiled, Twizzler hanging out of his mouth like a limp cigar, and said, “Nice shirt.”

 Natasha didn’t even flinch. She just continued to stare back with a challenging glare.

 Ned, mouth still hanging open, had regained the ability to blink and was doing so slowly as he stared back and forth between Tony, Natasha, and the black shirt in Peter’s hands.

It wasn’t until Tony casually and somewhat accusingly asked “Did you flash the kid?” that Ned managed to actually look at Peter. Peter wasn’t entirely sure what his face was doing, he just hoped it didn’t look like Ned’s, who seemed to have once again lost the ability to blink.

Peter could feel his face heat up, and he knew better than to look at Tony, and he couldn’t look at Natasha. That left the shirt in his hands. He focused on the torn and singed edges, the slightly melted buttons and tried to imagine what could have caused that kind of damage in the middle of Manhattan.

He expected Natasha to come up with an excuse, something brilliant and spy worthy. Instead, she gave a defeated sigh and said, “We’re gonna work on that poker face, Parker.”

Peter felt the blush burning his face as he slowly glanced up with what he hoped was an expression that said “I’m sorry.”

She gave him another look, one he’d seen Aunt May give him on occasion but still hadn’t been able to translate. He was about to open his mouth and try to apologize out loud, but Tony reached out, placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder and carefully steered her away and down the hall, their voices trailing behind them.

“Why are you traumatizing my kid?”

“He’s not yours and he assured me he wasn’t traumatized.”

 Peter waited until they were out of site before he turned to face Ned, who was still staring with a blissed out look of awe. Eventually, the corners of Ned’s mouth began to turn up in an open mouthed smile in a way that always reminded Peter of an emoji. Peter couldn’t help but smile as well.

 “Dude,” Ned whispered. His voice echoed that same tone of awe it had when he first found out about Spider-Man.

 “I know.”

 “That was Natasha Romanov. The Black Widow.”

 “I know.”

 “She’s wearing your shirt.”

 “I know.”

 “Do you think she’ll give it back? “

 “I don’t know.”

 “Do you think it’ll smell like her?”

 “I don’t…,” Peter began, only to stop when he registered exactly what Ned had said. He frowned and said, “Don’t be weird, Ned.”

 “You’re right. That is a little creepy,” Ned agreed, nodding as he leaned further into the hall, neck stretching to see around the corner. “Did you really see her topless? I mean, that is what happened right? She’s like, not wearing a shirt under that, right?”

“No. I mean, she’s wearing a bra, but…I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about it.”

“Dude. Your life…”

“I know.” They stood in silence, both trying to absorb this new development. Even after two years it was sometimes a little too surreal: super powers, the suit, Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers…

Ned finally gave up looking for another sign of the Black Widow and turned to Peter, his face wrinkled in confusion. “Dude, where’s the pizza?”