5) Do Not Take Food Without Permission; Stealing Will Not Be Tolerated

 

 

Wednesday - March 30, 2016

Parker Residence- Second Floor

06:12 a.m.

Stars danced before his eyes for a brief flash before he was suddenly falling. A grunt of pain fell from his lips as he slammed down hard against the wooden panels below.

"Serves you right, you little bastard! You can't even do one single thing right without fucking it up, can you?"

Peter didn't respond. He let his hand hover over his throbbing eye as he stared down at the floor below his hands, resisting the overwhelming urge to sigh and roll his eyes, a newfound sense of apathetic annoyance flooding out any potential nerves he could have had.

But what was there to be scared of anyway? Just another morning. Just Flint being Flint.

He flipped over onto his backside and glanced up at said man with an almost disinterested look as Flint loomed over him, brushing his hands over his newly wet shirt.

"Jesus, fucking look at this. Ridiculous!" He growled, pinching his fingers around the damp fabric as he glared down at it.

From the bar counter, Curt and Sandra watched with a humored gleam in their eyes. Plates of freshly made eggs and matching strips of bacon sat in front of them, cruelly untouched in the face of their pint-sized chef's growing hunger. The former took a drink from his own glass of juice before setting it back down with a smirk. "You doing okay over there, Flint?"

Sandra leaned against her partner. "Having some trouble, hun?"

Flint turned his snarl onto them. "Hey, suck my dick, you two," he snapped before whipping back around. Peter's previously passive look turned into a wide-eyed grimace as Flint reached down and grabbed a fistful of his shirt collar, hoisting him up to his feet.

The man's breath blew back hot and humid into his face, carrying with it the thick scent of alcohol and dip.

It's six in the morning. How are you already drunk?

Peter didn't voice this question as Flint gave him a little shake. "You. Go and get me a new shirt." He dropped him to the floor, Peter stumbling to catch himself on his feet. "And clean up this mess, would you? God, how hard is it to carry a glass of fucking juice?"

Peter turned away and grabbed at the tower hanging off the nearby rack, stooping down onto his knees as his face scrunched into an annoyed little scowl. It wasn't the first time Flint had blamed him for his own self-endowed clumsiness, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last. Maybe it was this thought that made Peter scrub at the floor a bit harder than necessary.

Obviously pretty hard since you couldn't seem to do it yourself.

It only took a second to think the thought.

It took two more seconds to realize he's said it out loud.

"What?"

Peter resisted the urge to click his tongue as he shut his eyes and pulled in a hiss of air through his teeth.

Freaking brilliant.

As expected, Flint's chair fell back onto the floor as the man shoved it aside, rounding on the boy below him with shocking speed for someone of his size. His beefy hands wrapped around the collar of Peter's shirt once more as he shoved him against the wall.

"Are you seriously mouthing off to me, huh? Is that it!" The hand slammed down hard against the side of his face, spittle flying from his mouth as his head whipped violently to the side at the smack. Peter felt his ears ringing as another smack slapped against his face, the high-pitched noise mingling with the sound of snickering in the background.

At least some people were enjoying themselves.

Flint dropped him back to the ground and raised his hand to strike out again only for Peter to duck underneath the punch, the man's fist plowing a hole through the wall behind him instead.

All four of them – including Sandra and Curt – stared at Flint's hand now embedded in the wall, thoroughly shocked.

Peter wasn't one to dodge. He usually just took it on the chin, stepping through it in stride to get it over with and move on with his day, like a daily routine that becomes boringly tedious after a while, brushing your teeth or fixing your bed in the morning. Cleaning his blood off of the kitchen floor emitted the same level of daily apathetic casualness as fixing a bland cup of coffee.

So, the dodge? That was new. To all of them, Peter included.

Later on, when thinking back on this sudden sequence of events, Peter would chalk it up to a baseline realization that it was a school day and a fresh set of bruises would be very hard to explain away with a wave of his hand. But even with this logical reasoning buffering against the situation, Peter wouldn't be able to shake away the strange sense of confusion that would linger on the memories of this day for weeks to come.

Why the dodge? He wouldn't have an answer to this for a long while.

Nor was he about to waste any time right then and there trying to think of one.

Without a second thought, Peter ducked underneath Flint's legs as the man remained dumbfounded staring at his hand in the wall. His backpack sat up against the counter Curt and Sandra currently leaned against, watching the scene with amused grins on their faces.

The scientist reached down and plucked up the bag and held it out as Peter ran past, the teen yanking it out of his outstretched hand as he did while the man chuckled with a malicious gleam in his eyes, turning back toward Flint who was just now beginning to blink back into reality to find that there wasn't anything to pummel anymore.

"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?" The man shouted after him, his morning entertainment quickly disappearing from sight.

Peter didn't say anything as he turned and headed for the stairs. The sound of footsteps led him on to the fact that he was being followed.

"Go get him, Flint! Attaboy!"

"Show that baby who's boss!"

The sarcastic jeers of his friends echoed against the walls as Peter climbed the stairs up to the third floor. There was no point in heading down towards the front door. Nobody had unlocked it yet. He wouldn't be able to get out anyway.

So, he made for his only other viable escape route.

"You fucking…huff…come here, you brat!"

He shoved the door to his room open and ran towards the balcony doors, sliding them open without a second thought before bursting onto the awning. With one last quick glance behind him, Peter jumped out onto the fire escape attached to the side of the building wall and began to climb.

He was already more than halfway down when he heard Flint finally burst out onto the balcony, leaning over the railing as he let a stream of curses spit from his mouth. Peter paid him no mind, just jumped off of the final step and broke out into another run as he turned the corner and took off down the street, the sounds of Flint's angry yelling following him the whole way.

. . . . .

It was always strange. Seeing himself like this.

His cheeks were sunken in, not enough to be noticeable if you weren't looking for it, but enough for Peter to see, enough for his eyes to linger for a second longer. The bags under his eyes were dark and gray, matching the darkening purple that was spreading around his eye like ink dripping through paper, seeping out to the edges to cover it in nothing but black.

The discoloration stood out like a sore thumb compared to his skin, which was near translucent from how pale it was. He glanced down at his hands and noticed how vividly his veins stood out against his bony hands, like someone had taken his skin and stretched it as far as it could go, holding it up to the light to see right through it. He ran a thumb over the lines, traced the bumps of the bones and blood as if his hand were nothing than a group of brittle sticks covered in rice paper.

It was always strange. Seeing himself like this, looking like this. Because Peter could remember a time when he hadn't.

He turned away from the windows of the subway right as his stomach gave a sharp flare of pain, sharp enough to have him doubling over as an arm wrapped around his midsection. The subway car jostled around him and Peter shifted further into his seat. He shut his eyes and pressed his temple against the glass, cursing his own stupidity at the morning's events.

He'd cost himself breakfast with that little stunt he'd pulled.

An error on his part regarding a forgotten section of the lab to clean had cost him dinner last night. Which meant he'd been counting on breakfast that morning to make up for it. And considering Max had been out with his father, the chances of getting something to eat doubled without the presence of their resident stickler.

Curt and Sandra were always lenient. Unless he did something to piss them off specifically, they usually allowed him a plate. Flint never really cared and didn't bother to scold when Peter went ahead and served himself something. But Max? Max's hatred for him was no subtle suspicion. It was loud and clear to everyone in the house. And he would search for any reason to deny him a morsel, whether that be a 'forgotten chore' that Max had imagined up in that exact moment or conjuring up a task for Peter to do that would send him away from the kitchen for an hour or two, coming back to an empty skillet and no chance to eat.

The fridge was always locked. His father and the Cons had the only keys. So, Peter had to be smart.

Well, he'd been nothing but stupid that morning. And since Flint would probably rat on him to his father about that day's antics, he could scratch the chances of dinner off the list as well.

The realization that he'd most likely have to wait until tomorrow morning for a chance to eat anything sent another bout of pain shooting through his gut. He swallowed it down and stared out the window at the scenery that flashed by too fast to register.

It wasn't the first time he'd gone without food. And because of this, Peter had come up with certain…backups.

it was Mr. Delmar sneaking him a few extra sandwiches from the bodega, Ned packing some stash-away snacks, MJ throwing the occasional apple at the back of his head or hell, sometimes he'd score something from the dumpsters behind some of the 24-hour buffet restaurants that frequented many of the city streets.

More often than not, his go-to guy for making sure he didn't pass out in Chemistry Class was Ned, who would always forcefully shove a sandwich or two into his hands whenever he looked a little peaked.

However, Peter knew such a source wasn't going to be available to him for the next couple days.

Safe to say, Ned had been particularly chatty over the last few days. Peter couldn't really blame him. When you find out your best friend is a part-time vigilante, swinging around the city in red and blue spandex while fighting crime, you're sure to come up with a couple questions.

Over the weekend, Peter estimated the boy had sent him over two hundred texts, not to mention they'd Facetimed on Saturday for about an hour. Even after all of that, Ned had promised on Sunday that he'd arrive at school with a bucket-load of new, probing questions.

However, come Monday morning and Peter's phone had been blown with a whole new assortment of texts, only this time, they weren't about Spider-Man. Instead, it was Ned warning him of his impending absence from school for the week, complaining about the stomach bug he'd caught from his little sister.

So option one was out.

Not only that, but for some reason, MJ had been absent on both Monday and Tuesday. Of course, the girl was much more discrete with her details. When he'd texted her, all she'd replied was something about visiting some family upstate before practically threatening him with murder if he didn't study for their upcoming Decathlon meet, promptly ending the conversation.

Nix on option number two.

Perhaps if he'd had the energy for it, Peter would have felt some sort of panic as to his limited options, but at the moment, the only thing on his mind was keeping the nausea down in his stomach and the spike driving through his skull as subdued as possible.

He was content in just feeling the vibrations of the train as it skidded by on the tracks, eyes shut tightly as he counted the seconds tick by. Thankfully, not too many people had boarded that particular car, so it was mostly silent.

After he'd lost track of his counting for the fifth time, Peter decided to stop. Apparently, the train did as well.

Cracking open his eyes, the teen winced at the brightness of the fluorescent lights overhead and glanced out the window, watching as the station came into view.

Taking a second to reign himself back in, the teen reached into his pocket to check his phone, wondering if maybe Ned had flashed him a text. As the screen lit up once again, for a fraction of a second, Peter wondered if he'd see a text from his father or one of the Cons.

(He still remembered when they'd had to tell him. When they'd have to remind him of the rules.)

("You were messing around and fell down the stairs. Understand? If I get a message from your school about this, we're going to spend some time in the Dark Room.")

(Peter didn't need reminders anymore.)

With a small groan, the teen pushed himself off the window, biting his lip as a fresh wave of nausea raced through him, his head wincing painfully. Taking a second to make sure he wasn't about to start dry-heaving, the teen wrapped a shaky hand around the straps of his backpack and hoisted it over his shoulder, slowly stumbling off the train.

His legs moved sluggishly as he trudged up the stairs. He had to look back more than once to make sure there weren't any weights tied to his feet as he moved, the sheer exhaustion of the action making him blink in shock.

Hmm...maybe sprinting all the way to the station wasn't the best idea. He murmured to himself as he stepped off the station stairwell. Any energy reserves he'd been saving had been all but used up in his little master escape.

Whatever. He'd worry about that later. Right now, he had another monster to deal with.

Swallowing the last remnants of bile that had caught in his throat, the teen let out a shaky breath and pushed through the doors of the school. He still had about ten minutes before the first bell rang, but the hallways were already crowded.

The noise washed over him like a wave lapping at his feet, dragging him along the sand and down into the depths. The lights overhead blurred into frothing colors that slid and mixed into one another, glaring down at him with a pointed hatred he could feel in his bones.

Peter gritted his teeth and pressed an ear against his shoulder, trying and failing to suppress the sudden whining ring that was now beginning to rise up in the back of his head. He kept walking, feet on autopilot, as if he could outrun the overwhelming urge to kneel down on the floor and curl his arms over his head in a silent plea to tune the world out and declare a universal time-out.

As the initial pain of noise began to subside, Peter stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and ducked his head, shuffling towards his locker.

For once, he was actually glad that both Ned and Michelle weren't around. The amount of energy needed to smile through his teeth and grind out lie after lie was more than he currently had.

Instead, he could just focus on making it through the day in one piece without having to put up a facade for anyone. The relief that came with said sentiment was almost enough to crack a smile on his face. He reached for his locker.

"What's up, Loser?"

Of freaking course.

Remembering at the very last second about his bruise, Peter resisted the urge to spin around to face her as Michelle walked over. Instead, the teen kept his head facing his now-open locker as he braced his hands against the sides of it. "You better have studied like I told you to otherwise you're going to get to know the shovel in my backyard very well," the girl muttered as she folded her arms over her chest and leaned up against the lockers beside him.

He ducked his head away as casually as he could manage. "Of course I studied. I always study." He tried to replicate his usual tone. His mouth tasted like ash.

MJ rolled her eyes as she blew at a stray strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. Glaring at the offending piece of hair, the girl stole a small glance over towards the boy, who continued to look anywhere but at her, his long brown curls falling down in front of his face, concealing it in shadow. "I...I didn't think you'd be back...today," he murmured softly.

The girl scoffed. "Glad to know I was missed."

Peter instantly tensed as his grip on his textbooks tightened. He still didn't turn towards her. "I-I...I didn't mean-"

"Relax, Parker. I'm just messin' with you." She scoffed and Peter had to try very hard to keep from snapping at her. He'd been messed with enough that morning.

Instead, he felt the girl's piercing stare continue to bore into him as he continued to rearrange the textbooks in his arms, grabbing some from his locker while putting away others to save for later. He could practically hear the way her eyes burned in her skull as she scanned him up and down.

"You're being weird. Why?"

His grip tightened as he finished collecting his books. He didn't close his locker though, just kept staring into the dark void of the metal container, imagining himself locked up in its metal walls, crushed and bent like an empty bottle. "I'm not being weird."

"Yeah, alright. Your lying isn't getting any better."

"I'm not lying," he tried to add a hint of humor to his tone. Michelle saw right through it.

"Mm-hmm…then why won't you look at me?"

Peter took a breath. Took multiple breaths. He continued to tighten his grip on the textbooks, felt the spines beginning to creak under the strain. He kept a hand on the door to his locker, felt the metal pressing up against his fingers, cold to the touch.

"Hello? Earth to Peter? You tuning me out?"

She wasn't going away without a fight.

Why was it always a fight?

Without another word, Peter gave a little sigh and shut the locker with a little bang, turning on his heel as he faced her head on. He knew the exact moment when she caught sight of the bruises, for her eyes widened in a show of emotion that was very unlike Michelle.

"Long weekend."

He took a small step forward, only to press his back up against the lockers behind him as Michelle stepped in front of him, eyes dark and cold. "What the hell happened to you?" She asked, her voice tight and controlled. She seemed…angry. He hoped it wasn't directed at him.

The teen shrugged. "I had a little accident in the kitchen yesterday."

Michelle cocked a brow. "What kind of accident?"

He stared back into her, back into her calculating gaze.

What were his lines again?

Peter cracked a small smile and rolled his eyes as he rubbed at the back of his neck in an almost embarrassed manner. "A pretty unbelievable one, honestly," he chuckled. Michelle didn't return the smile so he continued with a shrug of his shoulders. "We were having spaghetti and I was helping out, you know? Chopping vegetables. Prepping the water. Well, as I was going to strain the noodles, I guess some water spilled onto the floor, and when I go to turn around again, guess who gets a face full of counter?"

He grinned and shook his head, whisking his hands back into his pockets to hide how they shivered. "My dad said I was lucky I didn't pop my eye out of my skull. Just got some nasty bruises instead.

"It looks worse than it is." He tried to reassure her. "Really all it did was set me back ten minutes for dinner, so that was kinda annoying."

He was getting too good at this.

At least his father would be proud.

Michelle continued to stare at him, eyes continuing to scan him up and down as if the truth were tattooed onto his skin. For a moment, Peter had to wonder whether Michelle had super hearing as well, for if not, there was no way she could hear the frantic beating of his heart. But the look she was currently giving him said otherwise.

However, after a moment, the girl let out a small scoff. "God, you are such a loser," she muttered, Peter hiding the small sigh of relief that flew from his lips at that. The feeling was short-lived, however, as Michelle rounded on him again. "Alright, so I get that. But it doesn't explain why you look like a freaking ghost. Or why you look like you're gonna pass out any second."

Peter felt a grimace form on his face as he glanced away. "I just...don't feel all that good today," he finally said softly, pressing his back harder against the lockers as a small wave of dizziness washed over him. It was gone a second later, but by the look MJ was currently giving him, she'd seen the way he'd swayed.

He threw her a small, nervous smile to which the girl responded with a scowl.

This was not going well.

"Yo! Penis Parker!

And...that was worse.

Peter could suppress the small groan that escaped him as Flash swaggered into view with all the confidence of a CEO strutting the halls of their building. Peter subtly pushed himself up against the lockers, keeping one hand pressed up against the metal, if only as a support.

Michelle's eyes narrowed in annoyance as the boy stopped in front of them, folding his arms as he threw them both a smirk, though it was pointedly aimed more at Peter.

"Where's your boyfriend? You two go at it too hard last night?" The sneer was evident in his tone of voice.

Peter didn't dignify it with a response, leaving Michelle to do it herself as she gave a scoff of her own. "At least then, he can say he got some action. Maybe next time they'll invite you if you ask nicely."

Flash's face contorted into a glare at the rebuttal, obviously expecting Peter's usual response of just standing and taking it in silence. Peter cleared his throat, switching his gaze back and forth between the two of them. "Ahem…not that this conversation isn't the greatest, but for your information, Ned's as home. He caught that bug that's been going around for the last couple weeks."

The other boy held Michelle's glare for a moment longer before seeming to realize she wasn't about to back down anytime soon. So instead, he just scoffed and rolled his eyes, and blew a "whatever" past his lips.

"What do you want anyways, Thompson?" MJ muttered, a new look of indifference masking her features, the previous anger now gone.

Flash shook off whatever annoyance he'd been feeling as he stepped closer to Peter, jamming a thumb in his direction as Peter prayed the kid wouldn't take the few extra steps needed to actually make physical contact.

He might just scream at that.

"Just thought you should know that Penis here really dropped the ball at Decathlon practice yesterday," he sighed with mock sympathy. "You should have seen him floundering around, guessing all the wrong answers. It was so…sad."

Both Peter and Michelle shared annoyed looks.

Flash Thompson had had a problem with him since middle school ever since Peter's project on photon conversion had beat him out in the sixth-grade science fair.

One-upping the kid had been Flash's one and only goal for the past four years it seemed. And his most recent attempt at this culminated in booting him from the Decathlon team.

Said attempts still hadn't amounted to anything more than a couple of eye rolls and some jabs at him to sit down and be quiet from the other members of the team, but Peter had to give him points for persistence.

"Anyway, just here to remind you that the team's been wondering when you're going to do what's best and kick him off," Flash concluded with a pearly smile and another wicked smirk sent Peter's way.

Michelle pursed her lips and folded her own arms. "Really? The 'team'?" She quoted with a raised brow. "You mean the same team I talked to half an hour ago? The team that's run by Cindy when I'm not here, who gave me a debriefing on the practice yesterday a half an hour ago?"

Flash's smile faltered.

"The same girl that said Peter – as usual – got every question right while you were spending your time scrolling through your phone in the corner?" Her eyes narrowed as a small smile formed on her lips. "Yeah, I heard. Thanks for the heads-up, though. It's nice to be reminded that we made the right choice in keeping you as an alternate." She turned and made to walk away at that.

Peter, relieved that the conversation might be ending, had to bite his tongue to keep from letting out a bone-deep groan as Flash jumped in front of her and continued on.

"Come on, Michelle! He stomped his foot not unlike a toddler, Peter noticed with a faint smirk. "I already knew those answers anyway! Besides I can't very well prove just how much better I am than Parker over there when I'm not even given a chance!" His gaze narrowed and he curled his lip. "Doesn't matter anyway. I know I'm smarter than him. You can't stand there and tell me you think otherwise!"

MJ slowly turned back around as she held one of the straps of her backpack, her other hand hanging limply by her side. "I don't think he's smarter than you."

Peter glanced up.

"There! You see? I-"

The girl leaned closer, eyes narrowed. "I know he is. And the rest of the team does, too."

Flash's jaw tensed shut.

Michelle continued. "Face it, Flash. The only way you're moving up from Alternate is if you change your attitude and maybe jump a few IQ points. But I don't see that happening anytime soon. So I suggest you stop wasting my time and give this whole ploy a break, cause it just proves you aren't going anywhere anytime soon." With that, she spun on her heel and walked away, curly hair swishing around her shoulders as she did.

Peter and Flash both watched her walk away just as the bell rang above their heads. Peter swallowed, grimacing slightly at how disgustingly dry his mouth was. Pushing himself off the lockers, he turned to silently make his way to class.

What he didn't expect was for his backpack to be grabbed and forcefully pulled back. He yelped, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as Flash suddenly appeared right in his face, features twisted into a seething look of frustration and anger.

"Don't think this is over. I deserve that spot way more than you do." He pointed a sharp finger into Peter's chest, causing the teen to wince and take a step back, feeling like his ribs would shatter if the teen so much as breathed wrong.

"The only reason they give it to you is cause they pity you, Penis," Flash snarled with a pointed hatred that Peter was tired of seeing in people's eyes every time they looked at him. "Why wouldn't they? Everyone in this school knows you're nothing but a loser." Flash took a step forward. Peter took one back. The ringing was back, pulsing loud and erratic in his ears as the halls lit up with noise from students pushing and shoving to get to class. The lights were blurring again. His stomach twisted. This wasn't good.

Flash obviously didn't notice the teen's distress, for he simply took another step closer. "Well, once they get tired of you, you're out of there! It's only a matter of time." With that, Flash jerked forward, taking a fake-out step forward that had Peter slamming his back into the lockers behind them, obviously Flash's intended effect.

What he hadn't intended was for Peter's legs to buckle underneath him, sending him crashing down to the ground in a heap of gangly limbs.

It was like a switch. The second he made contact with the floor, the world exploded.

The lights dialed up to ten thousand, shrieking and screaming inside his head, blinding him with a searing heat he couldn't get away from, seeming to melt the skin right from his bones, which crackled and splintered under each throb of his head. His ears were bleeding. They had to be. It was too loud and the world was splitting apart right there in his head., making his nails scratch against the tiles below, fists shaking as he scrunched his eyes shut, willing and praying for the noise, the heat, the lights, everything to shut off, to slink away and leave him be, leave him to wither there alone in silence.

Gritting his teeth, the whining refused to leave his ears as he dared to crack his eyes open once again. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the sound of people shouting. The words were garbled and warped, swimming through his head as if he were underwater, a building pressure behind his eyes making his stomach flip and bile churn up his throat.

He lifted his eyes, staring out through scrunched eyes at the blurring hallway, colors mingling and shapes blobbing up into slowly definite images. Michelle was there again. He could identify that curly brown hair of hers even in a half-lucid state. But when had she gotten back? Peter couldn't remember. She was yelling at Flash, whose hands were held up as a shocked look marred his features.

Suddenly, Peter noticed a new figure push through the crowd. It took him a moment to recognize the man through the painful whining in his skull as Mr. Harrington. Once again, the words were foggy and muffled, but Peter watched as the crowds slowly began to disperse, leaving him alone with the teacher, Michelle, and a still shocked-looking Flash.

Peter blinked groggily as a hand was being placed on his shoulder and fingers were holding his chin, forcefully lifting his face. Wincing slightly as the whining spiked before dying down, Peter noticed that Michelle was now kneeling in front of him, holding his face in her hands as her lips moved. Peter assumed she was speaking, but he couldn't really drag in the energy to care about what she was saying. At least the whining was quieting.

"-er? -eter! C..n ear...me?"

He blinked at her again. There was something in her face. Her features weren't as hard as usual, and her eyes held none of their usual cold indifference. For some reason, they looked...softer. Concerned.

"M-MJ?" he murmured. Was that him speaking? It didn't sound like him. It sounded...weird. Weaker.

The whining slowly began to taper off until all he could hear was the soft clacking of people's feet. The lights began to recede, and the blobbing shapes continued to define until the hallway in all its muggy clarity stood before him once more. He noticed it was just the four of them left.

Mr. Harrington knelt down beside MJ, who was now helping Peter sit up against the lockers. "Peter? Can you hear me?" He asked softly.

The teen winced as he pressed his head back against the cold of the lockers, giving a small nod. "Y-yeah...yeah, I can hear you," he sighed. "I...I'm okay. I...I didn't mean to freak everyone out. I'm...I'm fine."

Michelle and Mr. Harrington shared a look before turning back to Peter. "You're fine?" The girl echoed, crossing her arms. "You literally just took a nosedive in the middle of the hallway."

Peter shut his eyes and swallowed. "I'm good. R-really. I...I just got a little dizzy."

Mr. Harrington's face darkened as he let out a sigh and rose back up to his feet, leaving Michelle to kneel next to him as the teacher now turned to Flash, who was still watching the encounter with a genuine look of confusion on his face. "Mr. Thompson. I'll need to have a word with you-"

"Wait."

All three of them turned back to him. Peter struggled to get back up to his feet, Michelle holding onto his arm as he did so, leaning hard against the lockers as he shakily stood back up. "He…he didn't do anything."

"Peter-"

"Really! I just…tripped is all. Honest." He glanced over towards Flash, who was now throwing him a strange look. "He didn't do anything."

From the look on Mr. Harrington's face, it was obvious he didn't quite believe it. However, casting one last glance at Peter, the teacher sighed and turned towards Flash. "Get to class," he murmured with a gruff voice.

Flash didn't need to be told twice, sparing one last freaked glance Peter's way before disappearing down the hall.

Mr. Harrington turned back to the two remaining teens. Facing Peter once more, he asked, "Do you want to go the nurse?" Peter noticed how his eyes lingering on the teen's bruised face.

Peter shook his head, his gaze staying locked onto the tiled floor beneath him, if only to avoid the stares he was getting.

The older man stood there for another minute before he let out a small, tired sigh. "Alright. If you're sure you're alright," he murmured, rubbing at his chin as he cast a few glances around the hall.

Peter gripped one of his backpack straps tightly with both hands, curls falling into his face. "You two should probably get to class," Mr. Harrington said with a hum. "Peter, if you start feeling worse, don't hesitate to head on down to the nurse, alright. We have class together later anyway, so I'll keep an eye out."

Peter gave a muted, controlled nod as Michelle gave a curt nod of her own, grabbing roughly onto his sleeve. "Yeah, thanks Mr. Harrington. We'll see you later," she mumbled before practically dragging the boy in her grasp down the hall. Once they rounded the corner, she all but jumped in front of him, eyes seething.

"Alright, Parker. Slip. What the hell was that all about?"

Peter stared up at her. She was only an inch or two taller than him, but he took a step back nonetheless. Her gaze was intense and nothing short of furious. Peter didn't respond, though, simply tilted his head towards the floor and tensed his jaw.

Michelle obviously wasn't satisfied by this.

"Peter-"

"Look, I don't wanna talk about this right now so can we just fucking drop it?"

He clenched his fists, felt the same unbearable tingling from before tightening around his chest. Michelle stared back at him, her gaze never softening, never relenting. For a moment, Peter thought she was going to yell, but at that moment, he sucked in a little breath and it audibly shook as it entered his throat, wavering with a pathetic lilt as it slithered into his lungs.

He watched her face change, watched the twisted features suddenly begin to unwind, eyes dimming in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights above them. Peter felt himself starting to shake, so much so that he wrapped his arms around themselves and ducked his head to his chest, feeling very small all of a sudden.

At least, more so than usual.

Still, from their encounter with Flash, Peter knew Michelle didn't take kindly to being spoken to that way, so he prepped himself for her comeback, for the verbal lashing that he more or less deserved.

However, he quickly jumped in surprise as he felt something slide over his face. Crackling open his eyes, he found that the harsh lights from before were now covered with a calming bluish tint from the sunglasses now perched on the bridge of his nose.

Before he could react, he felt something being pushed into his hands. Glancing down, the teen saw he was now holding three small orange pills.

Blinking in mild surprise, he turned back up to face the girl in front of him. Michelle's arms were folded over her chest once more as she stared at him with her usual intense look. "You're lucky I carry around my migraine medication, idiot. You should have just told me that's what it was in the first place. I get them all the time," she muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"Take these with some water. They should kick in in around half an hour. Think you can keep from passing out till then?" She didn't wait for a reply as she turned on her heel and began to walk towards her class.

Peter stared down at the pills for a moment longer before his brain finally caught up with him. He lifted his head once again. "MJ?" He called after the girl, the teen turning at the end of the hallway to glance back at him.

He gave a soft smile, feeling just a shade lighter for the first time that day. "Thank you."

The girl stared at him for a moment longer before hoisting her backpack farther over her shoulder. "I'll see you at lunch. Try not to die before then or I'll kill you." She muttered before rounding the corner.

Peter stared after her before turning to look at the pills, the same strange familiar feeling he'd been noticing often twinging in his chest once again. Only this time, there was something different. There was something off about it. It felt...stranger. He'd felt it as Michelle's dark brown eyes had been staring into him. He'd felt it as her fingers brushed up against his cheeks.

. . . .

That should have worried him, too.

---

Wednesday - March 30, 2016

Location Unknown

03:52 p.m.

"You can't be serious. You can't be fucking serious!"

"Relax, would you? You're gonna pop a blood vessel and we don't have health insurance anymore."

Clint Barton stood with his arms folded, face curled into a look of barely-restrained agitation as he stared back at his longest time friend. "Natasha, you can't actually be considering this. I mean, please. Tell me right now that you aren't. That this isn't…" He scoffed. "I mean…it's just-"

"You might want to consider your words carefully, Barton." Natasha Romanoff finished slipping the new shirt overtop her head and smoothened it down with a pointed look leveled at said man. "Because I really hope you're not about to tell me what I can and cannot do." She smirked. "You know better than that."

The walls creaked around them, loud and ominous as it echoed against the concrete floors stained with years of age and mistreatment. The smell of stale water and salt wafted through the air, seeming the rust the metal of the roof right before their very eyes.

Neither of the two paid any mind to their surrounds, and neither did their spectators, who silently watched the back-and-forth match like a tennis game, going on half an hour now. Sam Wilson and Scott Lang sat side by side on a pair of heavy-duty wooden crates that had been pushed to the center of the room as makeshift seats while Wanda Maximoff leaned up against the back wall, arms folded and eyes sharp as they watched. Not that there was much else to do.

As Scott had put in within the first fifteen minutes of their arguing, it was the closest thing they had to TV.

The warehouse was somewhere in the shipping district. The details had been left sparse, as was needed nowadays. The building itself was large, large enough to house the types of storage containers carried on the backs of industrial shippers that would pull into port back in the days. It extended out into a massive clearing devoid of anything save for a few wooden crates, metal rafters and some garbage left over from people long since gone. Above their heads was a catwalk that followed the four walls of the warehouse, circling around to a metal staircase that creaked in the corner of the building.

But now there were some new fixtures to the warehouse, including a few dusty mattresses, a couch that had been scrounged up from a dumpster out back, and discarded piles of clothes, tech, and weaponry propped up against the walls.

AKA – the new Avengers HQ.

Clint folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at Natasha as she continued to change her clothes. "I think you forfeit the right to go off and do whatever when it involved visiting one of the assholes that got us into this mess in the first place." He scoffed and tossed up a hand. "No, you go right ahead. What right do we, your actual trusted teammates, have to put out say into the matter?"

"He's right, Natasha."

Said woman paused in whatever she'd been going to say and turned now to Sam, who sat with one leg crossed over the other, elbows resting against his knees. "This mission would be dangerous all on its own. We all know going out in broad daylight isn't really an option for us anymore But you'd actually be willing to compromise our position for what? To see Stark? Just to visit one of the people who dumped this mess on us?" He narrowed his eyes, face hiding what his tone could not, an anger that identified itself simply in the tense posture the man currently sat with.

"What makes you so certain he will not turn you in the second you show up?" Wanda voiced from her spot against the wall.

Natasha didn't lift her head as she pulled a jacket from the pile of clothes. "He didn't the last time."

"Yeah, and he's been known to be such a valuable and trustworthy person in the past," Clint muttered, shaking his head as he began to pace back and forth, the soles of his shoes scuffing up against the concrete floors. "He's probably just waiting for you to make the same mistake again, the very same mistake you're about to make right now."

Natasha lifted her head, staring at the man with her calm, piercing, unwavering gaze. "I'm going, Clint." Her voice was just as calm as her stare. But there was a certain intensity. A surefire determination that made them all tense up a bit more.

This tension seemed to be enough for Wanda, for she didn't waste any more time in pushing herself off of the wall, stepping closer as she shook her head and stared at Natasha with a disgusted scoff. "You'd be willing to place him above us, your own teammates? You're choosing him over us?"

"Don't be such a child." Natasha rolled her eyes, Wanda's flaring indignantly in response. "I'm not choosing anybody over anyone. I'm simply going to check on a friend."

Clint folded his arms. "Shockingly, I don't think that's the word he'd use to describe you."

"Better than what he'd use to describe you."

That earned her another glare.

"Umm...c-can I just say...something...here?"

Four heads turned towards Scott, the man hesitantly lifting his hand into the air like a seventh grader asking a question. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Look...I don't really know this Stark guy all that well. Actually...I don't really know any of you all that well if we're really being honest here and-"

"The point, Scott," Sam muttered.

"Right, right! It's just..." He rubbed as the back of his neck. "All I'm saying is that this seems like a pretty risky operation. And like, I don't know if I should be mentioning this to you or whatever, but I was kinda a pretty good burglar back in the day and uh...one of the main things you always had to remember was to avoid any unnecessary risks, and that's kinda what this sounds like. An unnecessary risk."

Natasha lowered her head once more as she began to unzip the jacket. Sam glanced over towards the man. "You were a robber?"

"Burglar, actually."

"Is there a difference?"

Scott let out an annoyed huff. "'is there a difference?' As a matter of fact-"

"Can we focus please?" Clint puffed with a well pointed glare towards the two bickering men. He turned back towards Natasha, who was shrugging the jacket onto her shoulders. He stepped forward and grabbed her arm. "Natasha-" He stressed, only for her to wrench her arm out of his grasp and lean forward, eyes sharp as they glared back at him.

"I'm going," she growled, her voice taking on a deadly tone. The already tense air strengthened with a newfound weight, freezing over as a chill seemed to crawl up the walls, thick and uncomfortable.

Wanda narrowed her eyes and took another step forward. "Stark doesn't care about you," she spat with a venom that was too potent to be anything other than genuine. "He doesn't care about any of us. He made that perfectly clear when he betrayed us." She paused for a moment before folding her arms over her chest and throwing the other woman a contemptuous look. "You honestly think he is worth all of this? You think he deserves your care?"

"No."

All heads turned upwards towards the catwalk platforms above their heads, the new voice grabbing their attention as they instantly silenced.

But this was always the case when Steve Rogers spoke. Everyone listened.

"In all honesty, he deserves a lot more. But this is all we have right now." Steve moved over towards the stairs. "So, we're gonna have to make it work."

"Cap, come on, man!" Sam called as the large figure began to descend the metal stairs as he joined them on the ground. "You of all people have to be against this."

"You cannot trust him. You have to understand that," Wanda stressed. "He is not our ally."

Steve stopped in front of them. Similar to the rest of them, he was dressed in casual clothes, his actual uniform safely stashed away with the rest of theirs. He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe not," he murmured. "But he certainly isn't our enemy."

Clint scoffed. "Wanna bet?"

"Barton, shut your mouth for one fucking second before I shut it for you," Natasha murmured in a low voice, eyes practically burning in her skull. Clint narrowed his eyes but said nothing else.

Steve let out a sigh. "Look, I know this isn't ideal. And I know tensions are a little high right now a-"

"A little high?" Sam echoed, crossing his arms. "You're kidding, right?"

The super soldier leveled him a hard look. "But you all have to stop seeing this as black and white. Cause things aren't like that. Not anymore." He paused for a minute, lowering his gaze as he blew out a small, almost unnoticeable sigh. "Maybe that was the whole problem."

The others each shared small glances in the silence that followed. Because they did notice. They'd been noticing it for the past few months now. Steve never talked about it. They never asked. It was an unspoken agreement to never bring it up.

Siberia was almost a fantasy, an imaginary event that had never taken place.

Everything else, though? That was all too real.

After Steve and Barnes had broken them out of the Raft, they'd all fled. Wakanda had been the safest place for them at the time. Cap hadn't said much about what had transpired between him and Tony, other than that they had gotten into a fight, and a pretty bad one judging from the fact that Bucky's arm was...well, nonexistent.

Sam had been furious, of course. After all, the only reason he'd disclosed the man's location in the first place was because he'd made him promise to go as a friend and he'd done just the opposite. Steve assured the man that it wasn't like that. That things were much more complicated, but Sam - the others - didn't see it that way. All they saw was Stark hammering the final nail on their coffin.

They were fugitives.

And it was all his fault.

They just couldn't understand why Steve didn't see it that way.

"Look, I know this is hard. And I know none of you are in quite a forgiving mood right now." More glares were passed around. "But you need to understand that Stark isn't the bad guy here."

"Well, he certainly isn't the good guy," Clint muttered.

"What, and we are?" Natasha shot back with a narrowed look.

Sam let out an angered huff, shaking his head as his face scrunched into a look of frustration. "He lied, Cap. He lied to my face. He promised he'd have your back in Siberia and instead, he tried to stab it-"

"Sam." Steve cut in. "Just...just don't," he grunted with a similar tone of frustration. "A...a lot of things happened in Siberia that neither of us are proud of."

Wanda shook her head, taking another step forward as she scrunched her eyes in confusion, the anger from before melding into disbelief. "Why do you keep defending him?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes and cocked her head slightly, placing one hand on her hip. "I'm surprised you can't relate, Wanda," she called. "After all, you should know what it's like to let your emotions cloud your logic and dictate your actions. Regrettable actions, I'd like to add." Her eyes were sharp.

Wanda clenched her fists, but said nothing, turning her head away.

"Listen, I know this is risky. That's why I'm sending Nat. She's the least likely out of all of us to stir anything up. But you have to stop thinking that we're the only ones who got the short end of the straw." He stressed. "Whether you all want to admit it, Tony is still our teammate. In a way, we were lucky."

"How do you figure?" Scott mumbled.

Steve's brows furrowed. "We still have each other. We're still together. We still have each other's backs." He paused. "Tony...he doesn't have that. Not anymore."

It looked like Clint wanted to comment, but one well-placed glare from Natasha had him shutting his mouth, obviously thinking better of it. Steve turned back towards Natasha. "She's doing this. You don't have to like it. You don't have to agree with it." He stared back at them. "But you do have to accept it. Cause we're not changing our minds."

With that, the man turned and walked out of the large room without another word. Without looking back.

It was final.

Clint stared after him before letting out a disgusted scoff. He glanced at Natasha one last time, his eyes hard and pained before he shook his head, leaving the room as well. Sam let out a small sigh as he followed him out, giving Natasha's shoulder a light pat before he left.

Scott stared after them, turning back to Natasha before letting out an awkward cough. He hesitantly stood up and jabbed a thumb in their direction. "I'm just gonna...yeah..." He murmured before quickly darting out of the room as well. That left just her and Wanda.

She paid little mind of the young woman as she rummaged through her own personal collection of things stashed off to the side, fiddling with her pistol slightly before placing it back into its holster.

"This is still a mistake."

The woman shut her eyes for just a moment before letting out a soft breath, raising herself back up as she turned to face Wanda, the girl's arms folded once again as her dark brown eyes leveled Nat a hard look.

The assassin was not fazed by the look, however, as she stepped forward. "Listen, I know you and Stark have your issues, and I get that. I'm not asking you to like him. But he's my friend." Her eyes instantly iced over as her fists clenched. "So, unless you have an actual reason for being here other than to spew out more garbage…"

She leaned closer, their noses almost touching. "I suggest you shut your mouth and keep your head out of my business. M'kay, kid?"

Without another word, the woman turned and walked out of the room, leaving Wanda behind to glare after her before silently shaking her head and walking off.

Natasha didn't spare any of them a glance as she made for the door. She could feel their eyes on her, but she didn't look. She just kept her head down, her breathing level and her eyes sharp.

She knew why they were against it, and in all honesty, she couldn't really blame them. Aside from Steve, she'd known Tony better than they had. Sam and Wanda were still fairly fresh on the team while Clint was usually off with his family. And Scott? He'd never even met Tony prior to everything. They didn't know him like she did, like Steve did.

They didn't know that this was never a part of the plan, part of his plan.

Natasha threw a small glance behind her at the large warehouse.

Scott was laying in his corner on a bundle of dirty blankets he'd shaped into a bed, his leg propped up on a knee as he bopped his foot along to the rhythm of some nonexistent music. Sam was sorting the deck of cards for about the millionth time. Clint was wordlessly cleaning his bow, though he'd been doing it so often that the weapon now gleamed like steel, and Wanda had gone to sit above them on the catwalk, staring out one of the windows situated above them.

They were angry. They had a right to be angry. Natasha couldn't take that away from them. Sitting on the outskirts of a city with the garbage and the rust, hiding from the very people they'd once risked their lives to save? She couldn't help it. She was angry too. She was angry at herself. Angry for letting things get this far. Angry for predicting the trouble that could have come from the Accords and letting them happen anyway. Angry for what she'd done. Angry for what she hadn't done.

But unlike the others, she didn't want this anger to feed her, didn't need it to motivate her. They did. Living on the run hiding their faces and their lives, they needed something to keep them going. And right now, it was that anger boiling in their chests, in their bones, driving them on. She understood this. Not everybody was cut out for the a double-life, a life of lies and deceit.

She supposed she'd been made for this very situation.

The assassin stared at the scene for a moment longer before lowering her head, stepping outside.

Didn't mean she had to like it, though.

The brisk March air hit her hard as she opened the back door out of the warehouse. The sound of soft waves graces her ears, mingling with the far-off distant sounds of the city. The sky was gray overhead, adding well to the dark, garbage-filled waters that rolled in the Hudson. Their little warehouse was just one of many in the lot, a horde of different buildings sitting discarded like skeletal remains in an elephant graveyard. The creaking of metal filled the air, a soft, moaning sound that mingled with the air itself.

It didn't take her long to spot Steve.

He stood up against the railings posted along the edge of the bayside walkway. The Hudson was as dark and dirty as ever, but it still shone the weak light of the sun overhead, white through the overcast clouds. He leaned against the metal railings; his elbows pressed down against the rusted metal as his hands hung limply over the edge.

Silently, she walked over, her shoes crunching on the gravel underfoot. He didn't turn to look at her as she stopped beside him, resting her own hands on the cold railing below. The thick scent of rotting fish filled her nose, but her face remained passive and calm. Steve didn't seem to smell it either, staring out at the waters before them.

"I don't need to tell you what we're risking in sending you out."

Natasha didn't turn her head. "I know."

Steve said nothing for a moment up for a moment before letting out a deep sigh, dropping his head as he shut his eyes. She turned to glance at him, taking note of the heaviness in his shoulders and the added stiffness to his posture. "Steve..." she called, moving closer. "It's going to be alright."

He hesitated for a moment before letting out a little scoff, lips curling into a little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He glanced over to her and aimed it at her, the usual warmth of his features failing to make her feel better for once. "Things haven't been alright since we started this shit," he said softly before his gaze hardened into a frustrated scrunch as she opened her mouth. "And I swear, if you say language one more time..."

Natasha turned away with a chuckle, Steve returning it with one of his own. He gazed down at the water, the soft, rippling currents lapping up against the side of the concrete walls. The man's smile slowly disappeared as he watched the small waves. "How was he?" he whispered. "Last time you..." He trailed off, but it didn't matter. Natasha knew what he meant.

The woman glanced over at him before staring down at the water as well, her fingers tapping against the cold metal of the railings as she debated how to play things. "He...he was how you'd expect." She finally decided on. "Depressed, angry, bitter...sad."

She shook her head before turning to face the super soldier. "Steve, it's...it's not good. I'm actually a little worried," she confessed.

The man stared at her, his eyes full of the pain and regret Natasha had been seeing in them since he'd returned from Siberia. He shut his eyes and turned away, lowering his head once again. She tapped her fingers.

"And yet..."

He glanced back up.

"There was something else. I've seen him at his worst before. Trust me. But...there was something different. I was fully expecting to either find him on the floor in the corner of his lab, surrounded by empty bottles and covered in his own vomit-"

"Thanks for that image."

"Or I was just waiting for him to straight up attack me on sight." She paused, wetting her lips as she furrowed her brows in thought. "But...it was different. Sure, he was just as bitter and frustrated as I'd expected, but it was like...it was like he was holding off for some reason."

Steve quirked a brow. "Pepper?"

Natasha shook her head. "No...no, as far as I can tell, they're still apart."

"That makes this worse," Steve grunted.

"Yeah, but I'm telling you, Steve. There was...it...it's like he was holding on to something...something else." She shook her head. "I just don't know what it could be."

Steve's face hardened in thought as he turned his head back around, his eyes scanning the dark waters as he took in the woman's words. He glanced back over towards her as he recalled something she'd told him a few days ago.

"Didn't you mention a kid before?"

Nat glanced at him, shrugging her shoulders. "Yes, but...I don't know if that's what it is. I mean, he said the kid was just an intern."

Steve scoffed. "Well, let's not forget who we're talking about. Tony's not one to disclose what he feels or who he feels it for. Maybe this kid's more than he let him on to be."

Natasha furrowed her brows in thought. "Maybe..."

She glanced back over at the man as he turned away, his hand coming to rub at the back of his neck as he sighed tiredly. She didn't need to be a world-class spy to know the man had been skirting by these past few weeks with only a few hours of sleep each night, if he even did at all. She could tell it was starting to take a toll.

She swallowed and turned away again, the two of them falling into silence once again.

It had been nearly two months since they'd returned to the city.

Half of the team still held that it was close to the worst decision they could have possibly made, electing instead to just stay in Wakanda where it was safe, but just the hint Hill had dropped on them that there were suspected HYDRA forces moving into the city had been enough for Steve to rally them back home.

By day they spent their hours attempting not to bite each other's heads off, while at night, they made good on the tips Hill sent their way, hoping against hope that they'd maybe find some evidence as to how, where, and why the supposedly-dead organization was back in action.

So far, nothing. And with each day that passed of continued failure and ignorance, Steve seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the silent turmoil he'd returned to them with.

"I know this has been tough on you, Steve," she murmured softly, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.

His eyes scrunched tighter for a second before he opened them, keeping them locked on the waters below. "I just...it's..." He paused, unsure of where to go.

The woman stared at him before pressing her tongue against her cheek. "I know you don't talk about Siberia. It's...alright. You don't have to." Her voice was quiet, gentle, very unlike her.

Steve's hands clenched tightly around the metal railing, the soft sound of creaking filling the air as the rails bent like tinfoil underneath his grasp. Judging by the look on his face, the man didn't even realize he was doing it as he stared out over the bay. As the two sat there in the silence for a minute, Natasha wondered if he would say anything else or if he would maintain the tight-lipped silence he'd held up since rescuing them.

Finally, after a moment, the man let out a small breath as he glanced up towards the sky in exhaustion.

"I couldn't lose him, Nat," he finally whispered, his voice almost too soft to even hear. Natasha leaned closer. He didn't look at her. "I couldn't lose Bucky. Not…not again. It's just…" He shut his eyes, fingers tightening around the railing before suddenly releasing, leaving it a crumbled mess as he opened his eyes back up and stared out over the waters below. "I never thought I'd be losing Tony in exchange."

She hesitated for a moment before gently squeezing his shoulder. "You did what you could, Steve," she sighed, only for the man to pull away, glaring down at nothing. "Yeah, well it wasn't good enough. In...in protecting my friend, I was just hurting another. And now they're both..."

He stopped, the words catching in his throat as he paused, tightening his grip on the mangled metal before releasing his hands, turning away. "I just wish I could..." He tensed his jaw and sighed, shaking his head as he lowered his hands once more.

He didn't go on.

"I know you want to talk to him, Steve." She finally said. "But right now, I think that might do more harm than good," she sighed, remembering with a wince how Tony had reacted at just hearing the man's name. She didn't want to think about what would happen when they came face to face. If they ever did.

Somehow, the thought that they never would was even more painful.

Steve said nothing more as he continued to watch the small waves. Natasha knew she wouldn't get any more out of him. With a soft pat, she gave him a small smile. "I'll watch him, Steve. For the both of us."

The man turned to her before giving a nod. He watched as she pulled away, tightening the straps on her jacket as she began to make her way down the walkway, Stark Tower shining against the sun in the distance.

"Nat..." He called, watching as the woman turned back. Without saying anything, they both knew what was being said.

Be careful.

She stared at him for a moment longer before giving a nod of her own.

"I know."

---

Wednesday - March 30, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

04:21 p.m.

Natasha liked to consider herself a calm person. It took a lot to shake her, and it took even more to make her feel even a fleeting glimpse of nervousness. However, underneath the piercing gaze of one Pepper Potts, she could somewhat understand why her fingers were suddenly twitching by her sides.

Rhodey and Happy didn't really make things any easier, she'd like to add.

When she'd entered the office, she'd fully been expecting to see Tony not working at his desk. So, when she entered to see not just one of his slightly irked teammates, but all three, she couldn't help but be a bit cautious.

"Ms. Romanoff," Pepper called coolly, her eyes revealing none of the shock that had been there when the woman had first entered the room. Happy, on the other hand looked like someone had just scratched his car with their keys while Rhodey seemed to be trying to keep his face neutral. It wasn't working all that well.

"What are you doing here?" Pepper continued, either not noticing her friends' displeasure, or choosing to ignore it. Her nails tapped against the desk, the sharp sounds radiating around the room.

"Yeah, In case you haven't noticed, there are quite a few people who are pretty keen in talking to you," Happy muttered. "And uh...it ain't us." Natasha noticed him sizing her up, eyes catching on the bulge at her side where her gun sat under her shirt. The man's gaze darkened and he subtly started shuffling closer to Pepper.

Natasha took a small breath, refusing to back down. "I came for Tony."

"Mm-hmm..." Rhodey nodded, his eyes narrowed. "And uh...just what do you want with him, huh?" He growled. "Here to tie up some loose ends for you and your gang of criminals?" She couldn't remember the last time the Colonel had spoken to her with such venom.

"Rhodey-" She started, her voice calm. She hadn't been prepared to deal with this monster of an issue today.

"Don't," he snapped. "Alright, I don't need another reason to reach over there and dial up Ross, kay?" he muttered, glancing over towards the desk where the company phone sat. Pepper's hand was already sliding closer to it. Natasha made sure to keep the woman in her sights.

"So why don't you go and actually do something good for Tony for once and get out of here? Cause God knows we don't need any more problems, and that seems to be all that you guys bring." Rhodes gripped the arm rests of the chair he was sitting in as he stood up, his leg braces whirring softly.

Natasha couldn't help but glance down at them before meeting his gaze once more.

"Problems for us to fix. Problems for him to deal with, alright? You've already done enough to us."

The woman took a small step back as she glanced down at the side, a sigh falling from her lips as she hesitated in bringing up the elephant in the room. This was not gonna be good. She could already tell. "Look..." She said softly. "About Leipzig, about...about your legs, you have every right to-"

Rhodes stalked closer. "I'm not talking about my legs." His voice was eerily quiet. Natasha couldn't help but listen intently. The pit in her stomach cracked open even more.

"He trusted each and every one of you. And you tried to kill him."

This...this was worse.

"So, excuse me If I'm not jumping up to welcome you back," he snarled as the tips of Pepper's fingers grazed the phone.

"I'm not asking you to."

They turned back towards her as she lowered her gaze. Pepper's hand paused.

"I know better than anyone just how badly we screwed up, alright?" she said with a pointed frustration in her tone.

"Hmph," Happy sniffed. "You sure about that? Try spending a couple hours around here, you'll see just how badly you screwed up," he growled, glaring back at the redhead.

"But-" She stressed. "That doesn't mean I don't want to try and fix this. I know it might not seem like it, but I care about Tony. And I hate how things turned out." They watched her carefully, eyes piercing as they stared back at her and waited, the tension in the air thick and humid.

"I know we messed up. I know you all were just trying to do what was right. I know...and I'm sorry." She took a breath. "I'm sorry for what's happening now."

Pepper, who had remained quiet for most of the conversation, let out a small sigh as she ran a hand through her hair. "We all are," she said softly. The other two men glanced over towards her before the anger in their faces seemed to die down a little.

Realizing she'd have to make the most of their small moment of calm, Natasha stepped forward. "All I want to do is try to make things right. I know it'll take a while. I'm willing to try. And I know I have no right to ask this..." She couldn't help the small spark of hesitation that silenced her for a second before she found her voice once again. "But I'll need your help."

Happy couldn't help the scoff that fell from his mouth. "Oh, jeez. You gotta be shitting me."

"Look, I know you don't trust me." She pushed on despite the looks she was getting. "Tony doesn't either. I can't blame you all for that. But I do know that you all want this to end just as badly as I do." Judging from the way their faces all twisted into looks of remorse, she was certain she'd hit her target. "I can't work towards that unless I have your help."

She knew it was true. Tony's circle of trusted allies was diminishing greatly and if there was even a chance that she' be able to make things work with the man, she'd need inside help. These three were her ticket in, but she couldn't do much if they started putting up a wall. Tony was already trying to do that. If they joined him in the endeavor, she could forget about her plan to make things right.

Rhodey folded his arms. "And what are we supposed to do, exactly? It's not like we can apologize for you."

"No, but Tony still trusts you," she explained. "You're some of the only people that can help him now. I can only do so much."

Pepper stared at her, drinking in her words. It was hard to get a read on the other woman, a fact in itself that made Natasha wary. Still, she said nothing as she waited for her to come to her own conclusion.

"You're here at least," Pepper finally murmured after a second. "That's more than I can say for some members of your team," she growled, eyes narrowing as she thought of one particular star-spangled pain in her ass.

Natasha quirked a brow. "Do you really think I'd be a good idea to have him here?"

Pepper let out an annoyed sigh as she lowered her gaze to stare at the surface of her desk, which was littered with papers. Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that both Rhodey and Happy were giving her small looks. She had been in enough board meetings to know what those discreet looks meant. They were asking her what she thought. They were waiting for her word.

The woman stayed silent for a moment as she traced her fingers along the edges of the pen in her hands. "I hate seeing him like this." She finally said.

Natasha watched as Rhodey gave a slight nod at the woman's words, apparently finding more meaning in them that she had, for he turned back toward her, a new resolve showing in his face. "We all do. And considering you're one of the reasons he's like this, I'm still incredibly tempted to grab that phone."

The assassin couldn't help the way her muscles tensed slightly at that.

"But...if you're serious. If you actually want to try and help him work past this..." The man trailed off for a moment before letting out a sigh, running a hand down his face. "Then we'll see what we can do." He glared back up at her. "Don't take this as an agreement. We still don't trust you. It's just a consideration."

However, the woman let a smile fall onto her face at his words. "That's all I'm asking for." She murmured softly before turning to glance at the door behind her. She opened her mouth to speak once more, but apparently the Colonel knew what she was about to say before she'd even said it.

"Down in the lab. That's usually where you'll find him nowadays."

The woman nodded softly before turning around.

"Natasha."

she glanced back over her shoulder, one hand coming to rest on the frames along the doorway. Pepper stared back at her, green eyes strong and sharp as her face tensed in a hard look. "Don't hurt him again."

Natasha stared at her for a moment, before glancing around at the others in the room, seeing a similar statement reflected in all of their faces. She said nothing, merely giving a tight nod of her head before briskly walking out of the room.

They stared after her for a few moments, saying nothing as they wondered whether or not they'd just made the right choice. The last thing they wanted was for one of the Rogues to get anywhere near Tony. They knew the man wasn't in the best place emotionally and that could sometimes lead to him making some pretty rash decisions. Decisions he could come to regret later.

However, they also knew that someone had to do something. Someone had to take the first step. They just weren't expecting it to be one of the Rogues, let alone Natasha. But...if there was a chance, if there was hope that the assassin could somehow put them down the road of resolve, then maybe that was a chance they'd have to take.

Happy folded his arms over his chest, quirking an eyebrow as he glanced over at the others.

"Isn't it Wednesday today?"

. . . . .

Natasha exited the elevator, noticing how FRIDAY's voice had been particularly short with her. Could AIs even be annoyed with you? Considering she'd been built by Tony, the assassin wasn't willing to bet against it. In fact, the billionaire had probably ordered her to be extra sassy to the Russian.

The thought had her rolling her eyes. Well, at least he hasn't lost his sense of humor.

As she rounded the corner of the lab, she felt herself stop short as she noticed someone sitting by one of the main worktables. Taking into mind whose lab it was she was entering, most would assume the figure was just Tony. The fact that it wasn't added a whole new level of shock to the woman's mind, effectively throwing her off.

This was not her day, was it?

The figure was small. So, definitely not Tony. Considering he was wearing both a sweater and a jacket that were too big for him, it was difficult to really get a good read on him, but the woman was willing to bet he was at least a little skinny. He had wavy brown hair that draped down over his forehead, and light hazel eyes. However, the most noticeable thing about the boy was that he was nearly as pale as the paper he was writing on, which made the dark bruise on his face stick out all the more.

For a moment, the woman could only stare at the boy, who she was willing to bet was only around thirteen, maybe fourteen. She couldn't tell what he was working on from where she was standing, but she could make out what looked like textbooks on the table as well as a raggedy backpack sitting at his feet.

The boy obviously didn't notice her as he continued to work, his brows furrowed in concentration and his nose scrunched slightly as the tip of his tongue poked through his mouth while he scribbled down on the paper, seemingly lost in his work. Natasha had to admit, the dead concentration in his features was nearly a mirror to how Tony was whenever he worked.

She was moving closer before she could think better of it, ideas as to who the child might be speeding through her head. She liked to think that Tony wouldn't be able to hide the fact that he had an illegitimate child from her, but it was hard to ignore what was in front of her, that being a child that looked very much like a certain billionaire she knew.

However, as she moved closer, the pages around the teen became clearer and clearer until she could read the large print embedded on one of the plans. Her eyes widened slightly as she lifted her head back up.

No way. Not possible. This couldn't be-

"You're his intern?"

The kid whipped his head up at the noise, eyes widening as he caught sight of the woman standing before him.

Okay, in hindsight, maybe not the best introduction.