ʟᴏꜱᴛ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ || 𝟙

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 27

"I'm sorry but I cannot grant you access to the files under Quentin Beck alias Mysterio"

"Yeah, yeah I get it!" she groaned, throwing the tablet against the wall, watching as it clattered to the floor, undamaged and as pristine as ever.

Great, she couldn't take out her anger on that either.

She had been hearing the same sentence from FRIDAY ever since she shut herself in her room, trying to glean whatever little she could about Quentin Beck, his connection to Peter, PROSOC and consequently herself.

Nothing.

Despite pummeling her muscles with blazing hot water, the migraine in her head remained like someone had taken a drill bit and shoved it into her front lobe, twisting as far as it would go down.

Miss Demetria?

"Yes?"

Mr Parker has returned from school and would like to see you.

She didn't know who she hated more right now: the robot or Parker.

"No, FRIDAY. I'd rather not see his face right now." She sighed, picking up the tablet, plugging it into its port.

I'm afraid he's rather insistent

"Isn't there a lockdown protocol or something you can initiate to stop him from entering my room?" she asked, exasperated, glancing upwards at the tiny cameras that were properly monitoring her as she spoke. 

You are not authorised to -

"OKAY! OKAY," she screamed, drowning out the robot's monotonous voice.

If I hear the words unauthorised or access not granted one more time I'm going to level this compound.

She refused to acknowledge the soft knock on her door as it came once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Before he gave up.

There was a whisper of something against cloth, a slip of paper pushed through the crack underneath her door frame, like they were 8th graders, passing along notes in class, before the sound of his footsteps faded.

Look, you're right. I shouldn't have screamed at you like that. I have been through some things and it wasn't fair for me to project it on you. But I do know you. To know what it feels like to wake up and have your whole world taken from you. Maybe one day I'll tell you, maybe you'll understand why I'm so terrified. Why I overthink every move I make. But when I found you, I didn't think twice. All I saw was someone who needed help. Taking you in was right. I acted with my gut and not my brain. And my gut tells me that you and I, we can solve this together.

Please.

Peter.

--

"Hey kid." Bucky greeted him as Peter slumped into his chair, picking at the Pad Thai on his plate, the usually aromatic dish not particularly appealing to him.

"Bad day?" Sam asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." he mumbled, picking up a single limp strand of noodle.

"Girl problems, huh? I feel that," Bucky nodded sympathetically as Sam rolled his eyes.

"Bitch please, the last girl you tried to pull was the one that worked in that Japanese restaurant."