My spider baby, my responsibility

The scent of alcohol and copper

"Peter, honey." Ms. Marks called, waving the teen over with a gentle smile. "Come here, please."  

The teen obliged, stopping his ascent to the stage and joined his boss in her office at the back of the restaurant. His eyes flitted across the room and its inhabitants, his spider-sense calmly buzzing, he tucked his hands up into the sleeves of his hoodie. He scanned his surroundings out of habit, using his heightened senses to take in every little detail.

The office was small, with faded blue wallpaper that was peeling from age and moisture, the small window on the back wall was cracked and stained, and the floorboards screamed with each step. But it was brightly lit with multiple colorful paintings hung on every wall. The room had a soft, homey feel, just like Ms. Marks.

The middle-aged woman always wore her frizzy blonde hair up in a loose ponytail or bun. Her clothes were always clean, and usually, in some grey or blue shade, even her aprons were perfectly intact and on the cool side of the color spectrum. Her voice and smile were warm and inviting, much like how May's used to be.

The drab wooden door creaked and groaned as he shut it behind him. It needed to be replaced just like many other things in the restaurant. "Come sit, honey," she prompted, tapping her desk when Peter remained standing, shoulders slightly hunched as he played with his hands. She attempted a joke, "I won't bite you."

Peter gave a jerky nod and sat down on the chair across from her. He didn't mean to be rude or difficult. Miss Marks was incredibly sweet and seemed to actually care about him. She always seemed to know when he was in a particularly bad mood or had had a rough day, and, as a result, would try to cheer him up. The young hero much appreciated her compassion although he never verbalized it.

But the last two days had been bad, terrible even, and he couldn't help but feel tense, his spider-sense always on alert. He knew Ms. Marks wouldn't hurt him, but he refused to let his guard down.

Ms. Marks' eyes swept over Peter, forcing herself to remain calm and collected as she took note of his rumpled appearance. Not to mention how much he was shaking. In general, his clothes were a little worn, and he always seemed a bit tired, but he was usually put together - at least somewhat. Not today, though. His hair was a tangled, greasy mess, his skin was so pale it was nearly grey, and he refused to meet her gaze. It took all of her willpower not to reach across her desk and hug the poor kid.

"Did-did I d-do something wrong, Ms. M-Marks?"

"Oh no." She quickly tried to reassure him. He sounded so scared and it pulled on her heart strings. "No, honey, you've done absolutely nothing wrong. I just wanted to check-in. See how things were going. And how many times have I told you to call me Patty."

"Oh...." He trailed off, not knowing what to say since he didn't want to straight-up lie like he usually did. "Um, sorry."

Luckily, Miss Marks picked up on his hesitation. "Tony Stark called me last week."

"Re-really?" He shifted uncomfortably, "that's uh... cool."

"He asked about you," she continued. "He sounded very worried; wanted to know if I knew anything about you then gave me an earful about letting his kid work under the table. Then promptly hung up."

"I'm so-sorry about that I ju-" 

"Don't apologize, sweetie." Slowly, she reached out and took one of his hands in her own. "With anyone else, I'd find this entire situation... fairly odd. But with you," she smiled and squeezed Peter's hand, "it just seemed normal. There's more to you then meets the eye, and it's obvious Mr. Stark sees that." Peter ducked his head in an attempt to hide the blush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. Ms. Marks chuckled, relieved she could still help the boy smile. "Now go home."