The Waterspout

In Which Tony is an Idiot and Peter Meets Someone

Saturday morning, Peter donned the mask first thing, slipping out his window with a bagel in hand and swinging off through the early sunlight.

"Hey Karen! You okay?" he asked.

"Of course. I reset my programming as soon as I finished last night."

"What did you find out?"

"I called FRIDAY."

Peter panicked. "What?"

"Not Mr. Stark. FRIDAY."

Right. Peter forgot, sometimes, that the other AI was just as developed as Karen. "What did she say?"

"She said that there is footage, and files, of Mr. Stark's exploits. On his personal computer, and that she'd be open minded if you were brave enough."

Spider-Man crossed his arms, detaching his web as he landed atop another roof. "I'm brave enough."

Peter paused. "Does that mean... I have to go through his stuff?"

"There's no other way," Spider-Man added.

"Indeed, Peter. But yes, you will have to find a way to access his study," Karen said.

Peter nodded, nervous. "Can I do that?"

"You'll have too."

"Of course." Spider-Man shook his head and webbed off towards the next building. "This is for Mr. Stark's own good, right?"

"I believe so."

"Yeah."

"Should I... call him?" Peter asked hesitantly.

"Schedule some sort of meeting. Maybe in the workshop?" Spider-Man said. "Then sneak into the study and talk to FRIDAY."

"I think that would be wise."

Spider-Man landed on the side of a building, sticking there and pulling his mask up over his mouth to allow easy consumption of his breakfast and speech. He opened the backpack he'd taken to wearing that held his phone and a change of clothes and dialed Stark's number, waiting as the thrumming rings purred in his ears.

***

Tony had a headache. A bad one, and all of this politicking was not helping. At least it was company politics though, not worldwide. He was not good at politicking, not really that good at anything, and it hurt his damn brain.

He was bounding down the hallways of the compound, feeling distinctly like a kid during passing period as he rushed towards his next meeting. It was 9:00, and Tony had to meet with and make good excuses to everyone he skipped the day before. So far, he'd been using the technological malfunction too complicated for your feeble mortal brains to understand excuse, will its added bonus of explaining both his absence and why he looked like he'd spent all night awake in the workshop.

He had, of course. But usually, he had enough strength to wash the grease from his hands and hair and walk with his chin up when morning came around.

He was glad his responsibilities had pulled him from the workshop that morning, reminding him that there was more to his existence than metal. Faced with people, Tony remembered his wit, remembered his mind, and remembered his strength. He'd sent Rhodes a text, telling him he was sorry for avoiding his calls but that he was fine, making sure the man understood he referred to the conversation they'd had. Rhodes wouldn't bring it up again; Tony knew his friend that well.