ANTI HERO ✷ Peter Parker

#001

˗ˏˋ ONE ˎˊ˗

    The Tower was deathly quiet.

     Brenna's worn combat boots barely made a sound on the polished floor. When you carried the strength she did, you had to take care. She'd learned from a young age that the world was a fragile place. People couldn't be superglued back together.

     Control. Every step, tension in her body reaching a head as she snaked along the long, narrow hallway, past her old room. Opening that door would be like picking at a scab. Best to not let it bleed.

     Her fingers traced the wall, pushing deep enough to leave a trail of indents—just for fun. The hallway opened up into the common area, floor to ceiling glass giving sweeping views of New York at night.

It'd been a month, but it might as well have been years since she'd been curled up on one of those couches struggling through a history report—with no help from Steve, of course—and Tony making himself a mid-day drink, bitching and moaning about a shareholders meeting.

Those were good memories, still warm. Still whole. Proponents of the laughable idea she could have something normal: homework, high school, team Settlers of Catan nights. Kids like her weren't so lucky.

What she needed was in the lab...upstairs. There were about fifteen minutes until FRIDAY went back online. Like JARVIS, she was a learning organism, and she'd invalidate the override code and snitch to Tony in the same robotic breath.

Brenna crossed the open floor, her shadow chasing her the whole way. Quiet, quick...so painstakingly close to the stairs—

     "You used to be great at sneaking out—the getting back in was the problem."

     Her heart leapt into her throat, frozen, whole body stiff as a board.

     Tony Stark leaned against the bar, swirling a glass of dark liquor. He spoke without any trademark Stark Snark, more bitter. Maybe it was reminiscent.

     There might have been a time when Brenna was too afraid to turn and face him, but she had grown in her short time away. "I'm standing here, aren't I?"

    Tony set his glass down on the edge of the bar. "FRIDAY let me know the second you input the code. JARVIS had a certain...affection she doesn't. Unluckily for you, I couldn't sleep."

Hell, he looked like it. In the deep, reflective shadow of the city skyline, Brenna spied the bags under Tony's eyes. The slight crack in his voice. And, of course, the drinking. Scotch was for brooding, vodka was for turning up.

Instead, Brenna got a distinct whiff of bourbon.

Tony's repulser glove was on his other hand. He'd been tinkering with it. The soft blue glow it emitted was downright eerie in the dark.

"You know why I'm here," Brenna straightened up a little. Tony could not get to her, he could not win. "You know what I want...give it to me."

Tony clutched his metaphysical pearls. "Hey, sure thing. Let me get that for you. As a matter of fact, I'll just hand over the keys to the Tower—and, hey, I'll throw the armor in too. I'll do a little dance, and we'll all sing kumbaya." He took a flourishing bow.