Air I Breathe

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Monday, December 30

Tony scrolls through a file on his StarkPad at the kitchen island and sips from the cup of black coffee in his hand. He's trying to concentrate on a proposal that he meant to brush up on the night before, but Peter's loudly chomping down on bowl of Captain Crunch, is slurping at the milk, and the sounds are enough to make his own stomach churn.

"Slow down or you're gonna choke, kid," he warns.

"M'hungy and you said I needed to get my weight back up!"

"That's from the steroids. And yes, I'm glad you have your appetite back, but slow down, okay?"

He drinks the last of the milk from the bowl and places it down on the table. "When's my appointment again?"

"Nine. We'll go up together. I can't do dinner, but maybe we can watch a movie later? To...celebrate?" He tries to concentrate back on the file but pauses when he realizes how weird his sentence just sounded. "Wow, not the right word, Tony, um," he says, putting his StarkPad down and sighing. "You know what I mean, kiddo."

"You really don't have to come, Tony," Peter says. "I-I know you're busy, and it could be a while, with the tests, and you've already missed so much work-"

"Did you hit your head again? You're not going to this appointment alone."

"But Tony-"

"None of this 'but Tony' business. May can't be here, and I can't send you with Pepper because she doesn't do well with medical stuff, so I'm going. End of story."

The first part of the appointment goes well enough. Bruce and Dr. Cho both listen to Peter's lungs and ask him about his symptoms, let him have a break from his oxygen to see how he does in the office, which he's excited about because it's been getting easier to breathe without it, but the appointment quickly progresses into a ten-vial blood draw, x-rays, and a series of pulmonary function tests.

It's the pulmonary function tests that do him in. They always have, even before the pneumonia fiasco. He has to skip his inhalers and nebulizers the morning of each time because it interferes with the testing. The clip on his nose during the test may as well be a vise and the white cylinder connected to the computer is heavy in his weakened state. He coughs and gags between rounds of inhaling and blowing with all of the energy and lung power he can muster. His face is red and hot from the force, lungs and diaphragm sore. He's starting to get a pressure headache when they ask for one last set. He can feel his fingers tingling, but he doesn't want to say no, so he steadies his breathing, tells himself he can do this, and nods.

"Two normal breaths. Just like that. Alright, really deep breath in, and blow. Keep blowing, keep blowing," Bruce instructs, but Peter feels a cough rip through the little tube he's got between his lips and as he pulls away, rips the clip from his nose, he feels the coughs deepen, feels the Captain Crunch from breakfast come up. He barely makes it to the garbage can, needs Tony to help hold him up as he coughs and pukes and coughs.

"It's okay," Tony's comforting as Peter heaves into the can. "I've got you." He can't get his coughing or breathing under control, is dragging in raspy, painful breaths even after the puking stops.

There's a flurry of activity around him as Tony tries to wipe his mouth with a paper towel. They transfer him to a bed, raise the back and decide on a nebulizer treatment to get his tight wheezing under control. Peter closes his eyes, feels woozy from the strain on his lungs and the rapid beating of his heart. He's used to this feeling, and yet, at the same time, he's not. What's happening right now isn't even that bad compared to the last few attacks, but it's also the first time since the pneumonia that he's pushed his lungs to this limit, and he's angry that he can't get his breath back.