Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ARIZONA, 1993.

The sun bares down on an arid stretch of highway, isolated by the inhospitable badlands surrounding it. Even out here, the twin spans of asphalt bustle with traffic, many in transit between Tuscon and Phoenix.

To the east lies a railroad, and far beyond it, a hunter lies in wait, hidden amongst the sparse brush. He wears an armored white and blue suit, mottled with long dried bloodstains. He's strapped with all manner of weapons, and his face is hidden behind a grim skull mask, blue eyes burning in the sockets. All this is wrapped in a white cloak and hood, blending him into the sunbleached surroundings.

The hunter spots his quarry. Southbound, an expensive coupe. The hunter readies his bow and knocks an arrow. He aims high and to the south, firing far ahead of the transport. Then, he knocks another, sending it low, practically skipping along the ground.

With his shots loosed, he mounts a dirtbike, and makes his way towards his projected goal.

The first arrow finally comes down, shredding the tire of a semi, causing it to jackknife. Traffic screeches to a halt, all save one vehicle: The target's. The second arrow had barely scraped under the car, cutting through the brake lines. The couple inside are caught lethally unawares as their coupe slams into the vehicle in front of them.

More and more cars pile up, and by the time the assassin arrives, the scene is a chaotic mess. But his keen eyes had followed all of the action, leading effortlessly to his target. The gravely wounded man struggles to pull himself away. But he gets nowhere. The hunter takes his time, locating and plucking free the two arrows, the only evidence of his crime. The target spits with disgust at the sight of him. "Of course it's you."

The mercenary ignores him, examining the state of the utility truck they rear-ended. He tugs on the straps, calculating what he'll have to do to move the heavy equipment on the back. His victim doesn't give up. "What's the matter, Watson? You're usually so mouthy. A quip for everything."

The target jumps when the hunter snaps loose one of the ratchet straps on the truck. Still lost in his work, the mercenary fishes a piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolding it. He glances up and down, from the paper, to the man, back to the paper, to his passenger. _{^{"Hay, Howard Stark, Maria Stark, bien, bien..."}}

"What the hell are you mumbling?" The target twists and jerks, still trying to get loose. "Spanish? ...Tony Watson, get your head out of your @$$!"

Again, he goes ignored. The assassin reads his next step, then fishes out another piece of paper. _{^{"Toma el papel, abrelo..."}}

He unfolds it, looks at Stark, and immediately snorts. He laughs as he walks up to the driver's side. Howard threatens him the whole way up. "Watson, you have no idea the absolute f#¢%ing s#!tstorm you're calling down on yourself. You hear me? There will be hell to pay. Hell to pay."

'Watson' flaps the paper, making sure it stays open, then presents it to Stark. His face floods with horror. "That b!+¢h! You think this is funny! I bet you're listening in right now! You wouldn't miss this! You need to gloat, huh? To rub it in! Well, ha ha ha--"

False laughing gives way to real, bloodied coughing. He struggles through ragged breaths. "Y-you can't stop this. It's already in motion. It doesn't matter if you pretend, or hide, or run."

Howard fights through another coughing fit. "Trident will succeed! Two prongs are already in place, and you can't protect him forever."

The mercenary climbs up onto the utility truck. Bracing himself between the cabin and the equipment, he pushes with impressive leg strength. It creaks, and tilts, and finally, the other strap snaps over the screams of Howard Stark. A sickening crunch fills the air, and with his mission complete, the mercenary hops down, walking back to his motorcycle. He tosses the note into the flames on the way by.

Dear Howard,

Tony Watson is

dead. Enjoy fading

into obscurity.

    --M. M.

Chapter Text

NEW YORK, 2003

"Dad." Mary Jane fumbles with a compact, making last minute adjustments to her lip liner. She glares at Tony from across a limousine. "I expressly remember you agreeing to 'no complaining.'"

She's dressed to the nines, hair done up with a gemstone hairpin. An eggshell white off-shoulder dress hugs her form, with a splash of gold jewelry on her neck, waist, and wrists. She claps the compact shut, tucking it into her matching clutch.

Her father is similarly dressed to impress, his hair perfectly coifed. The touch of gray in his hair gives him a distinguished, gentlemanly look. He sports a reliable classic, a staunch black and white three piece suit. Perfectly tailored to his herculean build. He's visibly uncomfortable in it.

Tony yanks at his collar, trying to loosen the grip of the bowtie around his throat. "No genuine complaining, yes. And that was for dinner. This is a little more than dinner, honey bun."

"Dad..." MJ shuffles in her seat, raising her eyebrows at him.

"It's the Osborn Charity Gala, MoJo. I could promise good behavior with one or two of these vultures, What I was not expecting was- well-" Tony throws his arms up. "The Osborn Charity Gala!"

Mary Jane crosses her arms. "Dad, you promised!"

"I did, I'm just," Tony grimaces, squirming against going back on his word, "In my decade with the upper crust, I haven't exactly been a socialite."

Mary Jane cocks her head. "Wait, what do you mean?"

Tony looks at her expectantly. "MoJo. I own a six story building in the middle of New York City."

She's still confused, so he pushes further. "Hun, you know Masters Realty, right?"

She shrugs, that's obvious. "Yeah. Master your life. Masters Realty. What about it?"

Tony rolls his hands, trying to lead her along. "So, by extension, like the Masters Fund, Masters apartments, the Masters Community Network, just this past year, the Masters Scholarship Program?"

"Yeah, big business, what a philantropist, what about it?"

He can't make it any more obvious, so he extends a hand. "Tony Masters, Masters Realty."

Mary Jane looks down at his hand, then back up at him. She snorts. "Come on. You're a mercenary, so of course you're rich."

Tony grimaces at the mention of his real work. "Easy, driver's not on my payroll."

She continues to laugh at the supposed joke. "Dad, come on, like I could believe that like you got a building from some big wig or something, but I've never seen you work a day in your life. You would murder someone if you were stuck in an office setting."

Tony struggles to maintain levity while also trying to prove his point. "Yes, which is why I'm the CEO. Hun, you were confused as to why all my mail was addressed to Tony Masters. This is why."

It quickly stops being a joke. Mary Jane's eyes go wide. "You're one of the biggest realtors in New York?"

"I did a lot of things for a lot of important people, and my earnings opened up a lot of doors. The best way to hide dirty money is with clean money."

"Omigod." Mary Jane is bewildered. "You've been rubbing elbows with New York's elite this whole time?"

"No, and that's the problem!" Tony does his best to keep his panic quiet. "Eight years I've been getting invites to this thing, and eight years I've snubbed him! I was hoping I could smooth things out with him over a private dinner, but now this is gonna be some huge dramatic arrival!"

MJ blinks a few times, still trying to process all of this. Tony shrugs. "Silver linings, you're definitely going to be the center of attention tonight. Everyone's gonna be battling to know you. Remember, tonight is about you, yank on me if you have to."

He puts up a pinkie, offering a promise. She hooks it, then tugs. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

Tony sighs. "Because I got this news yesterday, and I had a lot of work to do to make good on my word. Like I said: There are consequences for me being selfish. Even with all this, I wasn't gonna give up this night. Because it's yours."

Mary Jane smiles, then pulls him into a hug. "Thanks, dad."

He gives her a big squeeze. "Always, MoJo."

Tony notices the shift in lights, they're pulling up to the red carpet. "Alrighty, let's rock and roll, gorgeous."

Mary Jane shuffles over to the door, giving Tony one last look for reassurance. He gives her a hardy nod, and she grins from ear to ear. As soon as she turns away, Tony looks terrified, and shakes loose.

"Okay, okay," he whispers under his breath. "Tiger up."

He takes one last glance to make sure MJ isn't looking, then he growls at the driver. He laughs at the poor man's utter confusion. Then he rolls to his feet and follows her out the door.

Chapter Text

Mary Jane steps out into a storm of flashes. The venue is surrounded by photographers, hoping to catch the best picture of every big shot attending the event. She gives a soft 'thank you' to the gentleman opening the limo door, then takes her father by the arm as he steps out. He grins, Mary Jane is beaming. She's so excited. "A red carpet event, can you believe this?!"

"Knowing you, I should get used to it now." They're all smiles as they make their way inside. Once there, they sign in, and Tony steps aside with a staff member, getting his payment info sorted. The concierge hands him a pamphlet for the event, and he flips it open. "Ooh, the auction theme is Hidden Heroes. Wonder where they're hiding."

"Maybe they'll share their hiding spots with you." Mary Jane ribs Tony and he rolls his eyes. "Now c'mon, Harry's waiting!"

Mary Jane is practically buzzing on the elevator ride up. Tony smirks. "Y'know, jumping up and down like that is slowing down the elevator."

"Shut up!" She gives him a harmless shove, blushing furiously. She scoots a bit behind Tony, to hide from the lift attendant. But she can't contain it. She keeps squirming with glee.

The elevator dings, and again, Mary Jane thanks the worker on the way out. They walk into the venue proper just in time for an announcement. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please..."

All eyes fall to the stage, to an unmistakable man. With his curly red hair and a muted green suit, Norman Osborn taps on the microphone a few times to silence the room. "Just wanted to announce that with our latest guests, this event just passed one million and forty thousand dollars!"

Applause erupts through the hall, and Tony's stomach drops when Osborn's gaze meets his. "Please, extend your warmest gratitude to our latest guests, Tony Masters and his lovely daughter, Mary Jane!"

The applause redoubles, and the spotlight travels to the entryway. Mary Jane joins in the applause before presenting a regal wave to the gathered patrons. Tony raises his hand high, mostly to shield his face from the spotlight. He unconsciously mumbles through the wave. "Hi, thank you, thank you, yeah..."

Norman twist the microphone into the stand, then hops off the stage. Tony tenses a little as Osborn makes a bee line for him. Osborn signals for his stage crew to kill the spotlight, then proudly presents a handshake. "Masters! Lovely to finally meet you!"

Tony's prepared, firmly accepting it. "Glad to finally make time. Lovely venue, couldn't've picked a better one myself."

"Oh, of course you could!" Osborn laughs, patting him on the shoulder. "You know,  for a while I was worried! Either I wasn't picking the right place, or I wasn't donating enough!"

Osborn cracks himself up again, and Tony does his best to laugh along. Osborn's behaviors seem practiced. So hollow. "No, but seriously, it's so nice to meet you in person. All the good you do for this city, it's hard to keep up!"

Tony keeps chuckling and nodding. "Yeah, I've always liked seeing people grow. They deserve as many opportunities as they can get."

"I absolutely agree. This city needs more people ready to take action. Change is coming, and strong hands like ours need to steer it in the right direction." Osborn sounds something like a political ad. He's still holding Tony's hand, as if he would flee if he wasn't being held down. "I've actually been meaning to talk to you about some potential joint ventures."

"Ooh," Tony laughs on the outside, but he screams internally. Osborn may have a point about holding him down. "I'm terrible at getting things in order, I'd recommend talking to my partner if you actually want anything to get done!"

"He's right. Never has his ducks in a row." Tony jumps when a woman's voice creeps up behind him. He turns to see a familiar mask. "I just found out tonight that Mr. Masters was going to show up."

"Giuli!" Tony's trained smile cracks with a tinge of guilt. "I knew I missed something. I am so sorry."

Mary Jane shudders at the sight of the Madame. Her black dress looks like something out of the 1900s. Full sleeves, puffed shoulders, but form fitting and laced. Almost every inch of her skin is hidden, from her high collar to her leather gloves. The only part of her defiant to such secrecy is her ear, revealed by her updo, with a brilliantly ornate gold earring hanging from it. That small patch alone teases at the terrible burns concealed underneath her clothes. Mary Jane's keen vision picks up the uncomfortable slide of Masque's eyes under the golden sockets. "Can I help you, Ms. Masters?"

She's stunned to see Madame Masque so blatantly walking about in public. "I-I- w-wha-?"

Tony puts his hands on MJ's shoulders, trying to comfort her. "Hun, I don't believe you two have officially met. This is my business partner Giuli. Giulietta Nefaria."

Mary Jane looks her up and down again, thoroughly embarrassed. Masque sighs. "And this is why I don't like going out in public."

"I'm sorry, just, déjà vu," Mary Jane mumbles timidly. She finds her confidence. "We probably met when I was younger, and that scared little girl just came out."

"That's true, we have," The Madame bows, and she can see the respect in her eyes. Nice save. "Forgive me for being so quick to chastise you. I know I can be off-putting."

"Now, Ms. Nefaria, no one here thinks that," Osborn shoulders in to reclaim control of the conversation. An uncomfortable quiet has fallen over talk of her, 'condition.' "You're an absolutely beautiful, elegant woman. Anyone that would think any less of that is simply despicable."

"What he said." Nefaria glares at Tony for being so crass, and he shrugs. "Hey, you know I like you, nothing for me to prove."

MJ looks into the crowd, and spots a younger curlicue working up the courage to stand out. "Harry!"

He takes the invitation, and rushes in. "Hey MJ! You look amazing!"

Mary Jane swishes her hips and shoots him a flirty smile. "You clean up pretty good yourself, Osborn."

Harry stammers at the display, brain shutting down for a moment. "Duh- Friends! Let's go meet my friends! C'mon!"

Norman grins, looking at Tony. "Perfect opportunity! Let the kids go have their fun, while the adults do their talking."

Unshakeable dread cries out behind Tony's eyes. He hears a sharp breath from Giulietta behind him. Definitely a laugh, as though she were a cat watching a bloodied mouse squirm. "Let's find Tony's seat, and we can discuss there."

"Sorry to interrupt," A booming voice calls from behind Norman. The refined lilt doesn't suit the brutal growl scraping beneath it. And like his voice, a dapper three-piece suit is ill-fitting the colossal, warlike frame of Wilson Fisk. "But I might have to steal Mr. Masters away. Vanessa has been waiting for him to show up, and he's in serious trouble."

"Uh oh," Tony glances to Mary Jane. "Catch you over by the spread?"

Harry gives a winning smile. "That's where we're headed."

MJ cuddles into Harry's arm, and nods. "See you over there, dad."

Chapter Text

The group scatters and the more commonplace mingling resumes, Norman's frustration barely hidden. Tony snatches Wilson by the elbow as he follows along. "Bless you, you big, beautiful, ursine dream of a man."

Fisk chuckles. "That bad?"

"One million forty thousand. Something tells me a few other guests beat us to the million dollar mark. He was looking for me."

Wilson raises his eyebrows. "That's what happens when you ignore eight consecutive invitations."

Tony looks nauseous. "You know I don't do public events well."

"You know I know. That's why I came to give you that buffer. Your brusque sense of humor requires someone to grease the wheel, if you will." Wilson gives him a pat on the back, then smiles wide. "Look who I found!"

"Vanessa!" Tony and Vanessa share an excited shout of a greeting, then close the gap for a hug. They exchange a kiss for either cheek. "You beautiful angel you, how are you?"

She pats on his arms, keeping him close. "I'm wonderful, Anthony. Yourself?"

"Good! My daughter came to meet her boyfriend and I cleared my schedule, I needed to be here for her first gala."

Vanessa shakes her head at the woman next to her. "He's such a wonderful father, my goodness."

Tony gets bashful. "Stop, you."

"I'm serious! Full time businessman, always working to the bone, just got off the mend after a workplace incident, and he's still right here, ready for his daughter!"

"And I'm Spider-Man!" He throws out his hands, producing an empty thwip-thwip. The socialites break into laughter, and he waves Vanessa off. "C'mon, no miracles here. I just love my kid."

"'Miracles!' That's why I wanted to talk to you." Vanessa pokes him right in the chest. "I need you to teach me how to cook like you do."

Tony groans like he's been struck, and Vanessa persists. "I need to learn what witchcraft you did to roast that chicken so perfectly last month."

One of the older gentlemen elbows Wilson with a chuckle, "Careful now, sounds like Mr. Masters just might steal Van away."

"Woah, hey," Tony cuts that thought off. Only to replace it with his own. "Vanessa's not the foodie here. If anyone's gotta be careful, it's her."

Another bout of laughter erupts, and Tony waits for it to die down before putting a hand on Wilson's chest. A twinkle dances in his eyes. "She'll never stop our love."

The laughter from Tony's comedy show carries across the hall, where Harry and Mary Jane reach the hors d'oeuvres. Harry steps in front of her, gesturing to the scrawny pair by the table. "MJ, I'd like you to meet Ricky and Pete."

He spins, and is far more excited to introduce his friends to her. "Guys, meet MJ!"

He stands proud next to her, awaiting their praise. The brunette, ill-fitting in his dressy clothes, for some reason has a camera strapped around his neck. He's kinda cute in a nerdy way. He plates another snack before doing a double take at the gorgeous bombshell accompanying Harry. "Wowzers! Uh, lovely to- Wow, 'Wowzers?' Did I really say that out loud? Yeah, Peter Parker, professional foot eater. 'Foot eater,' what am I doing? First impressions, great job! Real Kodak moment, hehe. Y'know what, I'm just gonna--"

Pete claps his hand over his mouth and does a zipping motion with his other. Then, he gives an OK before going back to browsing the food with his mouth covered. His body language screams that he feels like he's out of place. Harry leans into MJ. "Nervous talker. Take it as a compliment. He thinks you're gorgeous."

She's incredibly tickled by the display. "Lovely to meet you, Peter."

The incredulous nod he gives her speaks volumes. 'Sure it is.'

The blonde next to Pete extends a hand with a suave smirk. "Richard Fisk. And can I just say, you look absolutely ravishing."

"So pretty." Pete couldn't stay quiet long. He talks between bites and coverings of his mouth. "Artists could go their entire careers and fail to capture that kind of beauty. Like, wow."

Mary Jane blushes at the blunt beauty of Peter's compliment. Ricky brings his hand back, slicking his hair to dull the pain of being upstaged. Harry points at him. "And that's the other thing Pete does."

"Monkeys at typewriters." Ricky thumbs at Peter. "He'll just blurt out the most perfect things in the storm of blabbering. It's genuinely impressive, his timing."

"Heh, well," Mary Jane extends a hand, giving Richard another chance to shake. "Thank you for the compliment, both of you, it's very nice to meet you. I'm Mary Jane Watson- Masters! Mary Jane Masters."

"I was actually gonna ask about that," Harry leans in again, this time to whisper. "Why didn't you tell me your dad was Tony Masters? That's a pretty big deal."

MJ gives a strained smile. "Yeah, he likes to spring it on people. Like me!"

"No," Harry's jaw drops. "You just found out tonight?"

She nods blankly. Harry looks across the room at him. "Wow, he really does like surprises, huh?"

Mary Jane sighs. "He's working on it. At least he told me this time."

"Progress, I suppose."

Ricky shuffles in place, clearly a little frustrated. "Okay, Ms. Mary Jane, we gotta know."

Pete shivers, subtly, but noticeably for keen senses like Mary Jane's. He calls over his shoulder. "'We' nothing. Harry, you're an incredibly lucky guy. Seriously, MJ, bless your parents for the gift of you to the world."

Mary Jane appreciates another flirtatious outburst from Pete, but the context gives her a touch of caution. Ricky rolls his eyes. "How much is he paying you?"

Mary Jane's jaw drops. "Excuse me?!"

"Come on," Ricky puts his hands up. "A guy like Harry, scoring a girl like you? We all know what's going on here."

Harry's livid. He immediately squares up to fight. "Ricky, you @$--"

Heavy hands fall on Ricky's shoulders, and everyone jumps. Ricky looks over his shoulder, and he's elated. "Uncle Tony! What are you doing here?!"

"Ricky, buddy," Tony gives him a toothy grin. "You didn't hear them announce me?"

"Oh, come on, you know how it is with these things." Ricky chuckles. "Just clap when everyone else claps!"

Tony's expression holds, if a little strained. "You'd be surprised what you miss, little man."

"Now tell me." He pulls Ricky in tight, then gestures to Mary Jane. "Have you met my daughter?"

The smile on Ricky's face slowly fades to terror as he looks between Mary Jane and her father. He stalls out at Mary Jane, then claps his hands together, pleading. "I am so, so sorry."

"Good, good, getting a feeling you might be taking the wrong lesson, though." Tony twists Ricky around to face him. "If Mary Jane wasn't my kid, would you still feel comfortable implying that she's a w#☆&e?"

"Woookay. Angry father," Wilson Fisk plays hard defense for Tony's cursing. Then context catches up to him, and he looks at his son. "Richard, did you really just say that?"

"It was just a joke, I-" Ricky deflates a little, his crude humor being broadcast to every stranger around them. He limply gestures to the couple. "Sorry Harry. Sorry, I just..."

He trails off, criticizing every word coming out of his mouth. He backs away, and Tony lets him go. Then he slinks into the crowd, looking for a place to hide his shame. Tony and Wilson exchange a look, and Tony speaks first. "Do you, uh--"

Fisk waves him off. "He's my kid, I'll handle it."

He starts after his son, gently excusing himself through every small opening in the amassed partygoers. Tony sidles up to the hors d'oeuvres, trying his best to act casual. Pete spins, pointing something out. "I'd recommend those. The... I dunno, those. Delish."

"Stuffed mushrooms," Tony shoots the random kid a sideways look, then plucks one up for himself. "I'll take your word for it."

He pops the mushroom into his mouth before awkwardly glancing at Mary Jane. "So. The Osborn Charity Gala."

Mary Jane sighs. "Ju- Nothing can be simple with you, can it?"

"If it makes you feel any better, the Fisk family is the extent of the people I know here." Tony shrugs. "Well, 'side from Giuli."

"Pretty powerful folks to be rubbing elbows with," Peter interjects, a different kind of tense in the eyes of the Watsons. "I assume you're Mr. Masters."

Tony turns back to the beanstalk, a little offended. "Is this a friend of yours?"

"Sorry, I- You're the talk of the town." Peter is still browsing the spread. He drums his fingers on the table, something to physically put his effort into to better hide his nerves. "One of the biggest philanthropists in the city. Didn't know it was on Fisk Enterprises' dime."

"Is that a problem?" Tony's quickly siphoning off of the veiled hostility. "Any recommendations for what should happen with my money? You seem to have some opinions."

"Fellas, take it easy, it's a party," Harry tries to cut in. "Pete, what's up?"

Peter glances at Harry a few times, drawn back from his fire. "Sorry, just, I read a lot of newspapers. It paints some unsavory pictures."

"S'how they sell." Tony speaks brusquely, but he's no longer on the offense. "If you'd like comment from me, let me paint you a different picture."

He grabs another stuffed mushroom. "Let's say the world runs on baseball. It's all about the batters, the catchers, the pitchers, the coaches. The team owners. The league owners."

He plucks a tiny fleck of seasoning off of the breading. "And you're some random first baseman. You get to bat every day, and you watch catcher after catcher get creamed by wild pitches. Busted fingers, black eyes, missing teeth. They're not wearing enough padding. And you want that to change. So what do you do?"

Peter follows along, a little grumpy, but receptive. "Complain. Demand better."

"Let's follow this to the most effective version," Tony swishes his hand about as he talks. "You get an audience and complain to the league owner. And what's he tell you?"

Tony's inquisitive face slips into character, some curmudgeonly executive. "You're a first baseman. What would you know about home plate? No catcher's ever complained, drop it."

Tony slips back into his narrative self. "So he tells you to pound sand. Now what would you need to do if you really, actually wanted this to happen?"

Pete grimaces, frustrated by even the hypothetical denial of bettering peoples' lives. "Go on strike? Tell him he--"

"Tut tut tut, you're getting ahead." Tony cuts him off. "How would you go on strike?"

Pete's frustration grows as he's stifled. "Stop playing."

"Okay. One player stops playing. He's fired. Baseball goes on, catchers keep getting hurt." Tony pops the mushroom in his mouth, and shrugs. "See what's missing?"

Peter continues to push down his outrage. "Obviously I wouldn't--"

"--Strike alone? Because you have friends? And there it is," Tony puts his pointers up, bringing them together. "For any change to happen, you need friends. Either a whole community's worth, or someone powerful enough to run the community."

"So what do you think is easier? Hittin' the bricks, convincing every random Joe on the streets to change baseball," Tony directs his fingers to Peter, presenting each one as an option. "Or, with a trophy in hands, telling every reporter in New York that catchers need more pads?"

Pete deflates, obviously a little cornered by this metaphor. "Option two sounds a lot better."

"Yeah." Tony nods, then puts a hand on the kid's shoulder. "And how do you get that trophy?"

Pete looks away, pained by the answer. So Tony answers his own question. "You play ball."

He gives the boy a comforting jostle. "I play d@^n good ball. And it's gotten me friends with some important people. People that can make those changes. And I played over broken fingers, and bloodied noses, and straight up beanballs. I've shaken some filthy hands. And that dirt sticks. But now I've got their ear. And they want to hear what I have to say."

"So what do you say?" He holds out his right hand for a shake. "Friends?"

Peter hesitates. But he takes up Tony's hand. He offers a meek, "Friends."

"Then one friend to another." Tony reaches down, tipping a lanyard sticking out from Parker's hip. "Maybe keep your press pass around your neck instead of in your pocket."

Tony waltzes over to Mary Jane, shaking some of the anger out of his hands. Behind him, Harry quietly chastises Peter for embarrassing himself. Not only in front of one of the most influential businessmen in New York, but his girlfriend's dad. Mary Jane watches her father intently, her own frustration mounting.

His face slowly twists into thought as he catches a glance at Peter's press pass. Then he snaps his fingers. "Jameson! I might know one more person here, Jonah Jameson. Last one. But he'll probably say little more than how-do-you-do. That should hopefully be the last surprise I have for you tonight."

The words offer little sway to Mary Jane's demeanor. Tony finally lets the mask slip, clapping his hands together bearing his sincere regret. "I'm so sorry, Mojo. I'm really trying here. Let's start this fresh. You, me and Harry find somewhere to hang out and chat. Or, you and Harry take a little private time, and I promise to not get involved when he shoots me dagger eyes. Say the word."

Tony's perfectly-timed arrival quickly clicks into place. Tony came running at a glance. Mary Jane grits her teeth. "Dad, can we talk someplace private? Like, private private?"

Chapter Text

"Pete, bro, I was expecting attitude from Ricky, but you? C'mon..." Harry snatches up the card of Peter's press pass. "I was willing to cover your ticket. Why did tonight have to be work?"

"I'm sorry, man, I just," Pete squirms uncomfortably.

"You care." Harry finishes the thought. "You care a lot. About this city. About the little guy. But c'mon, Pete. I just wanted one night like in high school. We didn't care about what everyone out here was doing, we would just hang out. Why can't we do that anymore? Because I'm rich? What?"

A pained expression twists through Pete's face. "It's..."

"Ben. Everything changed since Ben." Harry recognizes it all too well. He shakes his head, defeated. "I just wanted to give you a good night once in a while, man."

"Harry, sorry if I'm interrupting," Mary Jane taps him on the shoulder. "Is there somewhere I could go to chat with my dad in private?"

"Y-yeah," Harry takes a moment to process what she said, then points over his shoulder. "Uh, the preview room is over that way. Most people that are taking part in the auction have been through, so it should be pretty empty."

"Thank you." MJ pulls him into a tender hug, then heads on her way with Tony. They cautiously enter the room, and true enough, not many people are in there. There's more than enough space for them to have a conversation above whispers. Mary Jane turns to her father. "Dad, you still think I'm some vulnerable child, don't you?"

"Hun, it's not a- This- ah, there's-" Tony trips over his words, trying to find a nice way to word this. "It is not that you are not capable. Mary Jane, I live in a very different world. I exercise caution becaus--"

"Helen came back." MJ leans on a nearby cabinet, avoiding her father's gaze.

He takes a step forward, leaning down to try and meet eyes with her. "...What?"

"While you were sick," She briefly glances up at him. "Helen came back."

"An- ...Helen." Tony points to the floor, trying to make it perfectly clear that they're talking about the same person. Ire quickly takes hold of him. "And she found you?"

"Yes." Mary Jane scowls at the floor. "And I dealt with her."

Tony's mind is racing, and it takes him a moment to realize what she had said next. "Wait, what?"

She finds confidence, looking Tony dead in the eyes. "She attacked me, and I incapacitated her. The end."

Tony is utterly befuddled, somewhere between anger and confusion. "I- I'm sorry, did- ...At any point, did you happen to see a woman in a gold mask?"

"The woman being Ms. Giuli?" Mary Jane shrugs. "Yes, we met, and she apparently finished the job."

"The look was the shock of recognition," Tony jabs his fingers forward, setting things straight in his mind. "Not the shock of horror. Okay. How did Helen get close to you?"

"Well, Ms. Masque said that until she could find the backup for Helen, she couldn't permanently deal with the problem, so she waited."

"Until you were endangered by her."

Mary Jane gives a stern look, driving the point home. "Until she was endangered by me."

"Okay- yeah, that, you what?"

"I limited the mobility in her arm, used the opening to disable her vision, then paralyzed her from the waist down. Helen left me alone after that."

Tony is rendered speechless. His eyebrows rise, and his chin juts out, at a complete loss. He huffs and guffaws, finally finding something. "Iiimpressive. I- I genuinely wasn't expecting that. I- wow, I- ...alone?"

"Yeah," MJ grimaces. "Alone."

The further context of that statement catches up to him. "Mary Jane, I am so sorry that I wasn't there for you--"

"That is not the problem." Mary Jane shakes her head. "You were half dead. I didn't even know Masque existed. Of course I was going to fight for myself. Dad, the problem is you don't believe in me."

"No." Tony looks like he's about to have a breakdown. "God no. Mary Jane, I don't jump in there because I don't believe in you. I want to be involved because I'm your dad, and if I can put some sort of padding between you and any sort of hardship, you bet your @$$ that I'm gonna f#¢%ing be there."

"But," Tony puts his hands up before Mary Jane can get started on her rebuttal. "You are an adult. You're a young adult, so I'd like to believe that you'll come to me because I have bulls#!t amounts of experience, but, still an adult. That means honesty. That means hard conversations. Like, my past. And my life now. Y'know, work."

Mary Jane smiles. "That means a lot, dad. But I can probably wait."

Tony looks skyward, a little relieved. Then his eyes widen. "Omigod, no. It's the perfect time."

"Dad, we're at a party with my boyfriend."

"No, MoJo," Tony points up at the banner hanging behind her. "This is the perfect time."

She glances over her shoulder, and finally realizes what's on auction. A banner hangs high over a bunch of costumed mannequins, posed up in front of a staged battlefield.

Hidden Heroes: The Secret Avengers of a Forgotten Era

She looks back down at the mannequins. She can recognize some. Hawkeye, Ant-Man, Wasp. But the other half of the team is alien to her. A pair of women in black and white, and a man in a slate gray cloak. The man catches her eye. She doesn't recognize the colors, but there's a distinct silhouette to the cloak. The hood. They'd used lights in an attempt to capture an ethereal glimmer in his eyes. Then she looks at her father. 

Tony points to the gray-caped man. "Meet the Cockatiel."

Chapter Text

"Omigod, y'see that?" Tony points to a garish purple-green headdress. "That's Mesmero's old hypno-cap. His first big scheme was hypnotizing random civvies to make one big circus. For some reason he thought he'd look good dressed like some cowboy cobra. God he's such a loser. If Mockingbird hadn't overpowered the hypnosis, the whole team would still be a bunch of carnies. Ugh."

"Mockingbird, huh?" Mary Jane peers at one of the worn circus posters in the display. On it, a pair of acrobats are mid-flip, one of them looking eerily similar to Tony. "You guys seem close."

"She was a pain in the @$$." Tony chuckles. "She was the first super I'd ever met. She could link minds with someone. It was how she could predict their next moves. When we were synced, we were unstoppable. Her years of experience mixed with my analytical ability put us at the top. Off duty we hung out all the time, either with the rest of the Avengers or with Wolvie and Task Force X. She was like the big sister I never had."

Mary Jane tilts her head in disbelief. "So like, have you only ever been friends with superheroes?"

She catches a bit of tension in Tony's body language. He glances at a few displays of SHIELD agents. "Things were... complicated back then. A lot less understanding. We hung out with Task Force X because, uh, she was psychic. A lot of people saw Bobbi as a freak. Like them. Hell, I heard that one hero had hung up his cape just because they found out he was black. You wouldn't believe how much venom people had for mutants and psychics."

Mary Jane is horrified. "God, how could you put up with that?"

Tony shrugs. "That's how things were. There were a lot of anti-mutant types back then. Trask. Hodge. Steven Lang. The sentiment was a lot more socially acceptable. Got in my fair share of fistfights to get some @$$holes to back off Bobbi. When SHIELD stopped putting up with it, a lot of agents broke off. Ended up with the MRD, Purifiers, it was a mess."

"The way everyone talked," Mary Jane takes a few steps away from the displays. "It seemed like people were a lot more heroic back then. I didn't know it was that bad."

"People like to believe that the best of us always wins out. It's comfortable believing that everyone did what they did for the right reasons," Tony muses. "Once you move past that, that's when you're a better person. 'Be who you are when no one else is looking. Especially when they are looking.'"

Mary Jane feels a catch in her breath. "That's beautiful."

Tony smiles. "That was your mom."

They look at the mannequin in the center of the group. Her raven hair sweeps out in wings, face hidden by a black mask. The most defining feature on her tactical suit is a stark black O in the middle of her white bodice.

Mary Jane glances at her father. "Did mom have powers?"

"Nope. She was crazier than me. She was a genius, though. Could improvise like that." He punctuates with a snap. "After Wolverine, I remember I was so scared over losing control. You know how she calmed me down?"

"How?"

"She spent the whole day kicking my @$$." He puffs up, as if he were proud of the day. "All up and down the training room. Whupped me so hard I reset, then whupped me again. She proved that even at my worst, she could take me down if she had to."

"That's, uh," Mary Jane struggles to find the word. She resigns herself to the first one she comes up with. "Yeah, that's insane."

Tony's grinning from ear-to-ear. "It was one of the highlights of my life."

They stare at the mannequin a bit longer. Then Mary Jane breaks the silence. "What was she like?"

Tony takes a deep breath, trying to drum up a picture of her that wasn't obscured by rose-tinted glasses. "She was... guarded. We first met and it was pleasantries, playful flirting. But I could see a little deeper. It was a play to her. Other people were a job, not an interest. I didn't care, she was beautiful. Clever beyond measure. I wanted to know what was hurting her so badly."

He shrugs. "So I kept it up. I bugged and pestered her like nobody else. Even when she ended up being my boss. And one night she finally cracked. 'What do you want from me?' And I just thought, 'F#¢% it, tell her the truth.' And I did. I told her that I could see everything in her body language. That she was hiding so much of herself from the world. And I wanted to know what she was hiding. I wanted to help her face it. I wanted to be someone she could lean on. Because that's what I always wanted. Because she deserved better."

"I'm guessing she took it well?"

Tony smiles softly. "Yeah. She told me about her past. Her mother. And from there she turned around. We were thick as thieves. We would've killed gods for each other."

"The real Mercedes," Tony lifts a finger, "She was compassionate. She was hurt, she didn't trust the world to take care of her. That's what made her so fierce. But she was hopeful. She believed in the people at large. This growing age of superheroes, of gods. It worried her because she could see that some of the wrong people were shouldering their way to the top. But at the end of the day, humans would do what life does. Change. Grow. Improve. And that was beautiful."

Mary Jane cringes, measuring herself up to the giants of Tony's past. "Sounds like you had it pretty good back then."

Tony purses his lips and nods. "Maybe. But it's better now."

She's taken aback. "What makes you say that?"

"Because of you. You're proof." Tony turns to her and smiles. "She was right. You get more amazing everyday."

Mary Jane gets a little flustered. She catches a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind her ear. Tony grins at the reaction, then takes the room in one more time. He shakes his head. "Seriously. You 1v1'd Helen? I've got some catching up to do."

"Yeah, god, it was so terrifying." She squeezes on the sides of her clutch. "But I had to. I couldn't let it continue."

He gives her a slight bump with his shoulder. "I'm proud of you. That takes guts. It doesn't matter how well measured it is. You put your life on the line. And that takes guts."

They spend a moment in quiet seclusion, and Mary Jane sighs relief. "Thanks, dad."

"'Course." Tony ruffles his hair a little, preparing himself. "Now let's take those guts and get back out there. We got a crowd to impress."

Chapter Text

Mary Jane and Tony return to the main floor, and it seems the others have resolved their conflicts as well. The hour comes for dinner, and everyone gathers at their reserved tables. Powerful families rub elbows, making small talk and catching up. At the center tables, the effective kings and queens of New York mingle over lavish food.

Norman sits next to a board stiff Tony, who sits next to Mary Jane. She scoots a little closer to Harry, and they share a smile. Next to Harry sits an empty chair. Past the gap, the table fills out with the Fisks, Richard, Valeria, then Wilson.

"Well, now that we're finally seated, I've been meaning to ask," Norman cues up conversation while breaking up the lobster on his plate. "You're a very experienced realtor. Do you have any go-to contacts for bug problems?"

Tony deflects with humor, gesturing to his plate. "As a professional courtesy, I don't talk about living bugs in front of dead bugs."

Tony exchanges an uncomfortable glance with Wilson. That was very clearly code speak. 'Realtors,' all across New York have problems with a very big, 'bug.' Osborn may have influence in the city, but he's no organized criminal. At least that's what the look in Fisk's eyes says. Tony's curiosity gets the better of him. "But, uh, my contacts tend to be more residential. I would assume a man like yourself would have sterility teams for your labs. You looking to get into subletting?"

Norman shrugs. "Well, expanding business requires good talent, and I'm hoping that I can give my talent some roots in the city. So I either have to find some realtors to work with, or cut out the middle man and manage these properties myself."

Tony watches Osborn's body language intently. It's upsetting. So casual and friendly, but so hollow. The ritzy types are all the same. So perfectly practiced, all about appearances. Calls for decency, gingerly little gestures all for show. They're made of masks, head-to-toe. But there's one thing they can never fake.

The eyes. They dance, always drawn to what's important to them. What they're cautious of. And Osborn's eyes are stone still. It sends a shiver up Tony's spine.

Eyes like that are of a different kind. They're not changing focus, or distracted by pointless motions or stray thoughts. They're hunting. Tony. Mary Jane. Shaw at the opposite table behind them. He's focusing on everything. Cataloguing and organizing. It's not often that Tony meets the eyes of a true killer. Usually, it wouldn't worry him. Plenty of people think like that, feel like that. But Osborn is hungry. And that hunger makes him a threat to everyone.

"So what do you think?" Norman's prod startles Tony. Thinking too long, and he's noticed. "Any room in your books for brokering a deal?"

Tony takes another glance at Wilson, signalling his assessment. "Well, off the cuff, you're in the sciences. Hybridizing that with residential, it's very experimental. Lotta chemicals and instability. Dangerous reactions. That can cause a lot of damage. Any agreements would need some serious layers. A lot of risk involved."

Norman shakes his head. "Oscorp is devoted to mitigating risk. Even so, you don't lead the market by avoiding them entirely."

"Mr. Osborn, should we really be doing this right now?" Tony tries to break the conversation again. "Mary Jane was incredibly excited for tonight. Getting to know the man that she loves a little better. I'm sure Harry's been going crazy over introducing her."

"Oh, Harry's fine," Norman waves him off. Out of the corner of Tony's eye, the pain in Harry's body language screams the opposite. But the elder Osborn pays it no mind. "He understands the importance of hard work. That true success doesn't take nights off. Now, I've never had to raise a daughter, obviously, but I would hope you've taught her not to get in the way of greatness."

Tony is taken aback. He blinks a few times, then gives the words the most gracious interpretation he can. "Uh, yeah, taught her to have confidence in herself, and not let her fears get in her way. She managed a most of that herself."

"She's very lucky to have you." It's like Osborn is talking past him. "But maybe she should've had a feminine role model to learn from."

Tony can feel the hackles raising in his shoulders. "Mr. Osborn, all of us live under very extenuating circumstances. I would appreciate it if you didn't say things without knowing more about them."

Osborn's mask starts to slip, his features hardening. "It's really not that complicated."

"Listen, Norman," Tony glances over his shoulder at MJ. "I don't want to sour things. Our kids are dating. I'd love for us to start with friendship, then talk work from there. The kids are under enough pressure as it is. We shouldn't be adding to that with some industrial balancing act."

"So let's start fresh," He extends a hand to Norman. "Tony Masters. Nice to meet you. Your kid's a real stand-up guy."

Osborn's grimace grows. He's not happy about things going sideways. But it's clear that he wouldn't risk losing face in front of someone like Wilson Fisk. The false smile reasserts itself, and he takes Tony's hand. "Norman Osborn. Your daughter is beautiful."

Tony shrugs. "Right? I don't know where she gets it from."

Chuckles round the table, and Tony continues to steer the conversation. "Now let's hear about these kids! How's college going, MoJo?"

"It's going good!" Mary Jane gladly takes his out to far more casual conversation. "One of my current courses is about the foundations of visual storytelling. All about framing scenes, the placement of actors and how that can change the feel of what's happening. Things like, 'Who's next to who?' It can show the relationships people have, physical distance setting the example for emotional distance. Are there obstacles between them? Differences in elevation? Someone might start beneath their counterpart in a scene, but as the scene progresses, one might rise above the other. Returning to a place the cast had already been, and how they might fit differently now that they've changed through the story. It's really cool, and once you start seeing it, it's everywhere."

"Oh, that sounds like a ton of fun. I've always enjoyed that psychoanalyst stuff. Like the first object somebody might pick up when they walk into a room." Tony's mind drifts to tactile stimulus, and he flicks the fork in his hand. It whirls around the thumb, deftly dancing between his fingers before tapping back into its original position. He stabs the next piece of meat on his plate, eyes drifting to Harry. "How 'bout you, Curly? How's college treating you?"

"Ugh, god." Harry runs his hand down his face, dripping with dread. "Chemistry is wild. So many connections between things you have to keep track of, and if you miss anything, it could be deadly. It's like juggling knives. God, Pet--"

Harry freezes mid-gesture to the empty chair next to him. Tony nods to the empty spot. "The camera-guy?"

"Yeah." A pang of frustration runs through him. "Yeah, he's, like, the only reason I'm still afloat in that class. But, uh, he's always somewhere or another. It's like herding cats."

Tony catches movement in the corner of his vision. The door to the gallery cracks open, and the aforementioned AWOL slinks through. He tip-toes awkwardly through the dining area, and slips into his seat. I don't remember him passing u--

"Sorry, had to get some pics of the displays." Peter shuffles uncomfortably. He's dripping with sweat. "For the Bugle."

"Helluva workout?" Tony cocks his head. "I've heard of heavy source material, but I didn't think it was that heavy."

Parker chuckles anxiously, a little too loud. "Yeah, I ran around a little, wanted to get to this dinner!"

"Well, welcome! Enjoy," Norman gestures to him. "So, Harry says you kids are doing chemistry! Y'gunning for my job, Parker?"

"Oh, nono!" Peter stammers. "Nothing like that, I just- uh, I'm more about the science, not the business. Biochemistry has been an interest of mine for a long time."

Mary Jane perks up at the mention of biochem. "Oh, you're interested in medical sciences?"

"I'm not so bold, I stick to pure biochemistry. Uhh..." Peter waggles his hands in the air, trying to translate deep technobabble into something more digestible at the table. "There's so many different things that animals and plants on earth can do. I'd love to be able to translate those things into our world, y'know? Clothing fibers, construction materials, adhesives--"

"Armor," Norman adds to the list.

"Sure, for firefighters or something." Peter shrugs. "But yeah, you want a perfect example, Spider-man."

The adults at the table go a little bit cold. But Peter's too far into his roll to notice. "What I would give for just an ounce of his web fluid, with him swinging around New York like that."

"Yeah, crazy stuff," Tony tries to smooth over his ruffles. "Maybe you could figure out how to wash it off my buildings."

"That's really cool, Pete." Mary Jane grins. "I'd never thought about that. Imagine the medical uses for that web fluid."

"Yeah, sounds like a great band-aid." Harry leans on his elbow, twirling his fork in his pasta. A sharp tut draws his attention to Norman, and catching a sharp gesture and a glare, Harry sits back upright, elbows off the table. "I just, uh, these materials seem nice, but this all feels reactive. What about preventative measures? We read about it in school, it's been talked about for forty years, and we still don't have an answer to fossil fuel pollution. But superheroes and superweapons are springing up left and right. We don't need more Iron Men. We need green energy. We need something that everyone can have access to."

Mary Jane takes his hand in hers. "That's a good point, Harry. We could learn something from the science community. Knowledge and advancements should be shared and reproduced, not hoarded away."

"That's all well and good, Harry," Norman grumbles. "But good science has to start somewhere. You need to pick something, then stick to it. Peter gets that. You want to clean up the environment. How?"

Harry cringes. "I- I dunno, it just- There's a lot that--"

"And this is why you're struggling, son." Norman scolds him. "You spend all day on the problems. You need to look at solutions."

Harry grits his teeth, already admitting defeat. MJ leans on him, offering comfort. "Well, you guys work together a lot, why not combine your ideas? Material sciences that could be applied to long-term environmental solutions!"

"Hey, yeah, that sounds great!" Harry grins, he and Pete share an excited look. "Maybe something like chemical filtration! Like a cleanup project!"

"Absolutely!" Pete's happy to see Harry happy. But he raises a hand, offering a pinch of restraint. "But, uh, we should try and narrow it down some more."

"Kodak, you said you wanted Spider-Man's webs, right?" Tony leans forward. Pete's eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling at the question. "We've got a bunch of it from all of the clean-up."

"Yeah!" Ricky brightens up, finally allowed to be involved. "My dad's company cleans that stuff up all the time! We have a bunch just taking up space. Maybe you could, like, nerd it up and make some more, Parker."

"Yes," Pete glows, excited by the opportunity. "I could absolutely reverse engineer it! Then we can test all sorts of filtration systems with it!"

Tony gestures to their end of the table. "Look at that, Three Amigos, saving the city already."

"This is perfect," Harry turns to Mary Jane, utterly delighted. "Thanks for the push, Mary Jane."

They snuggle a little closer, and exchange a kiss. "Anytime, Osborn. Maybe name it after me and we're even?"

"Sure. The Osborn Filtration System sounds like a good name for it."

Mary Jane cocks her head. "Uhhhh..."

"After you." He whispers in her ear. "Mrs. Mary Jane Osborn."

She gasps, then pulls him up to lock eyes. "Cute. But you're taking my name."

Ricky snorts, and Norman nearly spits at the thought. But his sour mood goes ignored as the dinner becomes a celebration of the kids' forming project.

Chapter Text

After dinner, the gala returns to mingling while staff get the auction set up. Tony excuses himself from the group, then slinks through the emptying exhibit room. He pokes out to the balcony, and takes in the night air. He looks to the rooftop above him, watching a peculiar strand flutter in the wind. He chuckles to himself, then leans on the railing, seeing if he can spot more threads in the city lights below.

"You rang?" A silhouette fills the doorway to the balcony, backlight glinting off a golden mask. Masque saunters up next to him, joining him on the railing. "I'm beginning to feel like our relationship is imbalanced."

"Funny you mention that." Tony grits his teeth. "I just found out that the machine was back."

Masque is utterly disinterested. "It did return, and was promptly dealt with."

Tony leans into her, scowling. "We had a deal."

She doesn't even flinch. "A deal I honored. Your daughter is safe, the threat to her safety is dead. It's not my fault you were sloppy."

"Sorry I found out my ex-wife was a murder-robot after she tried to kill me."

"That's exactly my point." She finally turns to glare at him. "The thought never crossed your mind? You've been slipping. The fact you even let it get that far..."

She steps away from the railing. "There was a time you would've killed a brother that crossed you. And this woman had been torturing your daughter for years."

"It-" Tony sighs. "I don't think you'd get it."

"Your daughter's judgement? Sure, haven't seen any of that."

"Attachment really changes how that feels."

"See?" Masque violently gestures to him. "Can you hear yourself? Attachments are a vulnerability. Teamwork I can understand. Coordination and cooperation can be vital to success. But that's not what this is. You're getting stupid. Needlessly putting yourself at risk."

"It isn't needless." Tony breaks the gap between them. "I can be a little more reckless now because they're there. They aren't obstructions. They're support structures."

She turns away from him with a huff. He takes a timid step towards her. "Maybe you could try i--"

"No." She growls. "And definitely not with how you've been lately. ^{_{f#¢%ing disaster.}} ...I thought you were dating Thundra, anyway."

Tony stutters. He leans back on the railing, visibly hurt. "She went home, remember?"

"Ah, yes, further proof of how wonderful attachments are." Masque crosses her arms, facing out into the city again. She takes some small glances at the defeated Tony, taken another cut deeper by her jab. She tenses, trying to ignore him. She fails. "What do I have to do to get this crying to stop?"

"Are y-" Tony snarls. "Whatever, forget about it."

Masque almost looks offended. "Omigod, are you actually crying?"

"NO, I-" He sighs. "Go back to the party. Sorry for not telling you I was showing up."

She stares at him for a few moments, then turns.

"Just-" Tony stops her from leaving. She glares at him, frustrated. "You're the only one that's been here since... Things went south. I- I want you to be involved in my life. I'd like you to trust me, not because we made a deal, but because we're friends."

"Stop." Masque cuts him off there, brushing his arms away. "You remember why I let you in on this. I hated Stark. You hated Stark. We are not friends. I am not a booty call. I am a coordinator to destroy Project Trident."

She heads back for the party, but he calls after her. "Then why not kill me?"

She stalls at the door. Her gloves scrape at the frame as she holds it in a death grip. _{^{"That one-eyed buffoon."}}

"The easiest solution to this plan would've been kill me, kill the kid. You've had years since Stark died. Why not?"

"Because you're a useful idiot." Masque growls. "If I can wipe out the project, I get to keep you. Feel warm and fuzzy yet?"

"You get to, 'keep me?' Kinky." Tony's remark is met with painful silence. The madame glares over her shoulder, groans, then continues on her way. Tony grimaces at her reaction. "Smooth, Tony."

Tony watches after her, eyes drifting to the promo posters still on the exhibit walls. The poses breathe, snippets of times long past.

[[ -such a godd@^^n dork," Barton rolls his eyes, holding the bow in its drawn- ]]

[[ -this is how you look like a bad@$$," Bobbi flexes, showing off her years of hard wor- ]]

[[ "Ridiculous." Hank blurts out with zero hesitation.

    Tony grumbles while trying to maintain his nonchalant smile. "Just take the d@^n photo you d*- ]]

[[ -good for posterity." Janet hugs Hank's arm. Her wings flutter a little, a sign she's a little embarrassed to admit she- ]]

[[ -really necessary? I'm not super." Mercedes blushes, but she holds the pose- ]]

Tony leans back onto the rail, staring through the empty gallery. His best friends little more than cardboard cutouts and distant memories. Solemn thoughts flood his mind, but when he spots Mary Jane peeking through the exhibit doors, he pushes them aside. He smiles wide, then jogs over to meet her. They stick together for the rest of the Gala, and even win a few items off of the auction floor.

When they get home, they burst through the front door. Tony proudly hefts his old sword and shield over his shoulder. Mary Jane follows after, showing loving care to a briefcase. Within, a pair of 1911 pistols and a customized combat knife belonging to her true mother. She looks up the stairs. "Dad, tonight was... a lot, but thank you for coming out with me. I had a great time."

"Always, kiddo." Tony stops at the top of the stairs, admiring his old shield. She climbs the stairs to him before his brain catches up. "MoJo. Any time, MoJo. That's gonna take a while, sorry."

Mary Jane smiles. "Thank you."

He glances at her. "What're you doing next weekend?"

Mary Jane shrugs. "Homework, probably hanging out with Harry."

"Want to learn how to clean those?" Tony points to the briefcase with his chin. "We can talk history while we do."

Her smile grows. "Sure!"

She holds the case out for him, and he slings his kit back over his shoulder before he can accept it. "'Til next weekend."

"'Til next weekend!" She pulls him into a bear hug. "Love you, dad."

"Love you too, kkkKoJo." He almost catches himself, and tries to make up for it by nuzzling her. His arms aren't exactly free to hug her back. "Drive safe."

"You know it." She heads back down the steps, then slips out to the garage.

At the top of the steps, Tony deflates a little. He climbs the rest of the way up, dropping the weapons in the training room. Then he trudges over to the lounge room. Waiting there is a very grumpy Romanov, thumbing through a book. He nods to her. "Hey couch warmer."

She doesn't look up. "Bite me."

"Sorry, easy pickings." Tony plops down in the free chair. He sits pensive for a short while, before bugging her again. "So, manufactured lives, huh?"

Nat sits up, placing the book into her lap. She glares at him in disgust. "What is this?"

"Um," Tony shuffles awkwardly. "I figured we could relate on some stuff, and, uh..."

"You wanted to chat trauma?" Natasha stares at him in disbelief. "After screwing me over?"

Tony chokes on his next words, cursed by his own consequences. "Y-yeah, that's fair."

He pulls a drawer out from the coffee table, and fishes out a remote. He presses a button, and the wall in front of them opens into a massive television screen. Romanov's jaw drops. "How long has that been there?"

"Like, three years. Why?"

She's utterly gobsmacked. "And you just never touch it?"

Tony shrugs. "I had brain damage last year. Sue me."

"I hate you." Romanov rubs her temples. "I hate everything about you."

Tony presses another button on the remote, and the screen blinks to life. "Well I hope one of those every things isn't kung fu movies."

Chapter Text

A few weeks pass, and Tony hits the road upstate with Mary Jane. They pull up a long dirt driveway, and Tony parks the van in front of an old farmhouse. Inside, curtains move, and as they exit the car, the front door opens. A blonde woman, somewhere in her thirties, waves them up to the porch. "Hey you two!"

"Hey Julie!" Tony waves back. "The kids here?"

"They were here earlier to give him his gifts, then they left with my husband. Don't want them sitting around you two potty-mouths all day." Julie smiles at MJ. "Mary Jane, I've heard so much about you! Hope college is treating you well!"

"Oh, y'know, can't complain." Mary Jane pats the wrinkles out of her skirt, returning the pleasantries. "Any big plans with the kids this summer?"

Julie brushes stray hairs behind her ear. "Aside from their birthdays in August, we were thinking about their first big trip out on the lake."

"Sounds exciting, I'm sure they'll love it!"

"Hate to cut this short ladies, but uh," Tony looks left and right, heavily exaggerating secrecy. "Is he out back?"

"Yup!" Julie rolls her eyes. "Fiddling with the generator again."

"Perfect." Tony puts on a scheming grin, pulling out a walkie talkie. "We're good to go, boys."

Mary Jane shakes her head. "You're such a dork."

On cue, fleet of vans cruise up the driveway, all branded with the same logo: King's Bakery. They roll into position, and swathes of bakers pour out, offloading sheet after sheet of cake into the frontyard.

Tony hands Mary Jane a paper and pats her on the shoulder. "Here's the plan, coordinate the bozos. I'm gonna go get him inside."

He runs to the backyard with Julie, where a small, withered old man futzes with a massive high tech generator. "Dad, Tony's here!"

He doesn't react. He's busy. Tony saunters over, and taps the generator a few times with his foot. The old man jumps. "Hey, dust bin, you alive in there?"

"Bite me, bonehead." The geezer leans out of the open hatch, slamming it shut. He turns the key on a nearby panel, and the generator sputters up, and as it comes to speed, it lets out a soft buzz. Something is grating. The tinkerer throws his hands up. "Blasted thing."

Tony leans in next to him, opening the hatch to watch the turbines spin. "Number five. That one."

"Bulls#!t." The old man scowls. "Y'wouldn't know a fan from a fart if it was up yer @$$."

"I'm tellin' ya, Phin." Tony gives a sagely nod, but the geezer isn't buying it. Then Tony shrugs. "I saw the gunk on it while you had it off."

"You and yer godd@^n eyes," Phineas flicks it back off, then checks the turbine Tony pointed out. The griping increases when he finds Tony's right. "All that racket over a pinch of dust."

 Julie smiles watching the old men banter. She sees Mary Jane peeking around the corner, and waves her off. Just a little longer.

Tony pokes the Tinkerer. "Hey, Happy Birthday."

As soon as Phineas closes the hatch, Tony plops a rod wrapped in a rag on it. Phin unfolds the fabric, revealing an advanced stun baton underneath. "Is that..?"

"My old stun-stick. Specialist issue, SHIELD, 1972. Bites like a croc, but the battery capacity could use an upgrade. Since I did my daily duty of helping the elderly, do me a solid, yeah?"

"Ah. Just what I wanted. Work."

"Oh, shutup, you love this c~@p."

Phineas tries his best to scowl, but it cracks under the pressure of his laughter. "Bring it into the workshop, I'm right behind ya. Y'bring your kid?"

"Yup, she's grabbing the balloons."

Phineas waves him off. "I don't need any glitz and glam. Just some chores and my favorite dinner."

He gestures to his daughter while he passes. "Julie, love, could you put a pot on for Tony and Mary Jane?"

Julie gives him a kiss on the forehead. "Absolutely. Love you dad."

With the boys headed inside, Mary Jane is finally allowed to round the house, beckoning the bakers to follow. Julie pops inside to brew some coffee, and in the meanwhile, Mary Jane stands awkwardly. The bakers seem well organized, and visiting a strange new house, she rocks on her heels, as though even standing in the wrong place would be considered improper. When Julie returns with a lunch tray, Mary Jane slinks to the wall, trying to give the woman as wide a berth as possible.

"Oh, hun, you can sit!" Julie grants Mary Jane relief, gesturing to the seat next to the patio table. "Make yourself at home."

"Oh- uh," Mary Jane blushes, and takes a seat. "Thank you."

Julie sits across from her, looking her up and down. "You know, knowing your father, I expected someone a little more..."

Mary Jane brushes her hair out of her face, trying to avoid this mother's eyes. "More military?"

"More brash. I don't know," Julie waves the thought off, then pours herself a mug of coffee. "Ignore me, I'm just used to meeting a lot of my dad's 'business associates.' Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Mary Jane claps her hands together, a tender gesture of gratitude.

"Your loss." Julie smirks. "I can confidently say that I've never met one of their kids before. I didn't even know Tony had kids until a few years back."

Mary Jane sucks air through her teeth. "Neither did he."

Julie almost spills across the table. "Right. Sorry, I'm so sorry, that's--"

"You're fine, you're fine," Mary Jane tries to physically brush it out of the air to ease Julie's stress. "You're fine. We're pretty sure that problem's mostly solved now, anyway. Um, but yeah, even with how close we are, dad wanted to try and keep me separate from all of this business."

"Smart man, this stuff isn't for the feint of heart." Julie stirs a spoonful of sugar into her cup, tapping the spoon on the rim when she's done. She gestures to the pot, offering MJ a cup, but the redhead politely declines. She continues. "I'm assuming you talked him into letting you in? Wanted to see for yourself?"

"Yeah, just, uh," Mary Jane leans forward, eyes wide. "The Tinkerer, huh?"

"Yeah," Julie gives an uncomfortable nod, then takes a sip of her coffee. "Yeah, dad always loved fixing stuff. He always showed Rick and I how everything went together. He'd build us little robots and wonky clocks, home was like a fun-house. Then, uh, times got tough. People would bring him wrecked cars, bikes, he'd show up for odd jobs, all wreckage from some big super fight. He was overworked, and furious. All this damage happening to the city, making everyone's lives harder. Then Beck came to his doorstep."

"Beck?"

"You know him, the fishbowl guy." Julie sweeps her finger around her face, as if drawing a circle around her head. "Mysterio. He talked a good talk about giving power to the people, and suddenly they were both at the bench, cooking up this harebrained alien abduction scheme. And he was hooked."

Mary Jane looks over her shoulder at the house. "Did you try to talk him out of it?"

"Mom did." Julie leans onto the table. "And when that didn't work, she left him, and took us with her. I came back when I could, because he was still our dad. I figured he just needed time to work out his frustrations. Rick... didn't."

Mary Jane grimaces. "Didn't take it well?"

"He saw it as dad putting us second." Julie takes another steep slurp of her coffee. "He was too young to remember the work dad was putting into the house. He fortified the walls, built EM shielding after the Doombots fell on Manhattan. But dad wanted it all to stop. It's why he hated them all. Heroes, villains, it didn't matter. He upgraded them because he was hoping at some point one of these dolts would finally put another out of commission, cleaning up the streets just a little."

Mary Jane's jaw drops. "That was his plan?"

Julie shakes her head. "He's a good engineer, that doesn't mean he's all that good with foresight. He saved that for guys like Fisk."

She sips again, taking a glance at the workshop window. The telltale flash of Tony's red mane bobs behind the glass, clearly talking her father's ear off. She leans towards Mary Jane. "So what's your dad really like? I could never really get a good read on him."

"Well, he loves to think of himself as a comedian. He's super supportive, and he's always willing to try new things." Mary Jane shakes her head, recalling the Gala. "To an extent."

"Right, right," Julie nods along. "Yeah, he's like that everywhere. But I have to know: What's with the sad looks?"

Mary Jane gets a puzzled blink. "Sad looks?"

"Oh, come on, you've seen them. Especially lately. Every time he's come to visit my dad, he gets all pouty." Julie squints at her, incredulous. "No way you haven't seen it."

"Oh," Mary Jane feels a little uncomfortable with the woman she just met psychoanalyzing her dad. "Well, yeah. He's been through a lot. That makes you pouty sometimes."

Julie catches herself. "Right. Sorry. Prying. I just- I dunno, your dad always seemed so strange. I don't know what he does this for."

Mary Jane looks over her shoulder again. She can't exactly explain why her father keeps up the super business, either. She gestures to the pot. "Could I get that coffee, actually?"

In the workshop, Tony has the Tinkerer right where he wants him. Head down at his workbench. Tony watches through the windows above him as the bakers slowly file in, getting the cakes into place. He refocuses on Phineas when he hears a pop. The meager man puts a hand in the air, snapping his fingers. "Since ye'r standing around, butt pirate, K3-Red."

Tony does as he's told, workshop section K, cabinet #3, red drawer. A pile of electrical components he wouldn't dare to fail at naming, he grabs two or three, just in case, then makes his way back to the Tinkerer. "Gotta ask, Phin. What's it like?"

"Haven't done anything about Spider-Man. Or Iron Man. For months." Phineas stops tinkering, for only a moment. His silence could be mistaken for somber, before a smile creeps across his lips. "I love it. Been spending my time making toys for the twins. Can't wait for their birthday."

Tony breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm happy for you, old man."

They pause to enjoy the warm moment, then Phineas speaks. "Why don't you retire? Ye'r getting up there."

"Oh, bite me." Tony waves him off and they share a chuckle. Phineas gets back to work on the stun-stick.

But Phineas talks while he works. "M'serious."

Tony doesn't respond, so the Tinkerer takes it as a sign to keep pushing. "Y'got a kid. She's got a guy. Y'might have grandkids soon. And ye'r worth how much money? Why not?"

"It's..." The truth is, the silence is strain. Tony tenses through the list of reasons. "Complicated. I dunno if you'd get it. I don't know if anyone does."

"I thought yer whole thing was bad blood with Stark."

"Please, Phin," Tony groans, "You could throw a dart in the middle of nowhere and still hit someone that rich kid p!$$ed off. 'Stark ruined my life,' is the bun for the burger that is everyone's villain arc. Not a lot of flavor goes missing, but you can't really call it a burger without it."

"Yeah, ye'r not wrong." Phineas catches that point to the chin. "So it's not about blood, it's not about money. Narrow it down for me."

"It is about the blood. And the money." Tony rolls his hands over each other, as if stacking the reasons in front of him. "And embarrassing new capes. The theatre, the flash, it's a lot of things. That's why it's complicated, you old coot."

"Alright, alright," Tinkerer puts his hands in the air. "It's complicated. Pardon my badgering. Y'just- Y'been lookin' down lately. Just wanna know what's buggin' ya."

Tony leans on the workbench. Phineas is right. Something has been gnawing at him. "I got my memories back a few months ago."

Tinkerer raises his eyebrows. "And that's special this time?"

Tony grumbles. "Yeah. Psychic assisted therapy."

The word, 'psychic,' immediately punctuates how serious things are. "Y'remember something big?"

"A couple things, and that's complicated in its own way."

"Y'keep saying, 'complicated,' and it's gonna start to sound stupid."

"Yes, I remember something big. It has to do with SHIELD." Tony crosses his arms. "And someone said something that makes me..."

Tony grimaces at the very thought. "Scared."

"What was it?"

Tony shuffles, uncomfortable in his own skin. He shakes his head, powering through it. "What if your family wasn't real? What if everyone you knew, everyone you depended on, was a character?"

Phineas leans back, befuddled. "Y'serious?"

"Serious." Tony's face hardens. "I lost my best friend. And I don't know if she was planning for that from day one."

"What if-" Tony's lip trembles. "What if all my happiest memories are just lies?"

"I..." Tinkerer stares at him, at a loss for words. "I'm sorry. I don't think that I could ever imagine something like that. I'm sorry ye'r going through that."

Tony tosses his head back, as if looking for guidance from God. "What do I tell my kid?"

Tinkerer leans back in his seat, putting his chin in his hand. He shrugs. "Tell her what y'remember. What it was like. 'Cuz that's how it prob'ly was."

"But--"

"But nuthin'." Phineas huffs. "SHIELD bulls#!t, right? Fury acts smarter than he is. You know that. Most he prob'ly managed was 'personality profiles.' Match ya up with people to try and get ya to do certain stuff. They didn't know any more than you did. Technically, yeah, maybe it was fake, in like, you all didn't meet up at a bar. But that don't mean they weren't real friends."

Tony softens a little, and a smile plays at the corners of his lips. "Thanks, old man."

"And knock that s#!t off!" Phineas waves him off. "I only got like ten years on you! You only look like that 'cuzza drugs!"

Tony cackles at the outburst. Feeling better, he sneaks a glance out into the backyard, before beckoning Tinkerer to follow him. "C'mon, coffee's probably up."

"Yeah, good call." Phineas hops out of his chair, then follows Tony out through the kitchen onto the back patio. His jaw drops.

The cakes have been assembled, nearly filling the clearing of Tinkerer's back yard with a confectionery billboard.

HOW THE F#¢%

ARE YOU STILL

ALIVE, OLD MAN

Phineas sighs. "Why do I let you into my house?"

"Because I'm a lovable scamp." Tony leans down into whisper range. "Also it's twelve years. You've got twelve years on me, you dusty b!+¢h."

Tinkerer looks to his daughter over in the lawn chairs. She raises her mug to celebrate him. "Happy Birthday, dad!"

"Yuck it up, kid, half these cakes are going home with you." Phineas hobbles down the steps into the yard. "See how you like the twins bouncing off the walls."

"Alright, half," Tony starts sassing out logistics. "So she can take, 'MAN ALIVE, STILL OLD.' Wanna send your son, 'F#¢% YOU,' since he didn't show?"

"Nah," Tinkerer waves off his idea. "The F#¢% is absolutely going with you. But that's not a bad idea, maybe we send her brother 'HOW ARE YOU.'

The four of them settle into the patio furniture, striking up small talk while the bakery crew plates some cake.

Chapter Text

Once again, the Watsons return to Tony's home from a party, all smiles. Tony, brandishing cake, uses a twist of the hips to catch the garage door handle. "See, that was what I was expecting. Dinner, party, chitchat."

MJ, holding a cake of her own, laughs at his whinging. "You're still on that. I don't know how you were expecting the Osborns were gonna do anything small."

Tony pauses. "Fair point. Also, again: Thanks for coming with me."

"Of course, dad." Mary Jane is the first to the stairs. "It was interesting meeting the- Mr. Mason."

MJ flushes red with embarrassment, as if she revealed a huge secret. Tony snorts at her seriousness. "Don't worry, all these years, I still call capes by their real names in costume, and by their cape names in civvies. You're one of us now."

MJ glances over her shoulder up the next flight. "Do you hang out with them a lot? Julie seemed to think you weren't that social."

"Yeah, well, she met me when she was in college. Phin told me to steer clear of her, I steered clear." Tony grumbles at the poor painting of his character. "I wasn't gonna p!$s off the guy that built murder machines and repaired all my s#!t."

Mary Jane ponders what Julie had pestered her about. "Are you doing okay lately?"

Tony's eyebrows jump. "Uh, y-yeah. Just getting back into the swing of things."

"What're you dips#!ts up to?" Romanov strolls out of the lounge with a glass in hand. She looks down at the 'F#¢% YOU' cakes in their hands, and her face fills with judgement. "Nevermind. I don't want to know."

The duo watch as she continues on her grouchy way. MJ almost feels bad for the poor woman, trapped with someone she's clearly not happy to be around. Tony, on the other hand, is almost thankful for an out from MJ's question. They get the cakes stashed away in the kitchen, then head into Tony's training room for another lesson in weapons care.

They pick apart and scrub down the pair of pistols, where Tony's good fortune runs out. "So you're just getting back into things? You seem a little... out of it, lately."

"It's, uh," Tony puts on a strained smile, but he knows he can't hide it from her. His body language quickly flips to exhaustion. "With the memories back, a lot of things are kind of- God, how do I put this?"

He turns his hand in wheels, trying to roll out the words. "Like, my current life has kind of been forced into perspective."

Mary Jane cringes at the clear pain on Tony's face. "Feeling kind of bad doing what you do after all that heroism?"

"Oh, no, I'm entirely justified. So many betrayals, my conscience is clean." Tony leans back, completely waving her suggestion off. "Nah, it's more..."

He lurches forward with a huff. "I used to be a teacher."

Of all the things he could have said. Mary Jane blinks a few times, looking around to check if she's in a dream. "A teacher?"

"No, like," Tony scoffs at the suggestion. "I trained militias."

Mary Jane loses a little tension. Now it sounds much more reasonable. Tony continues. "I mean, when I came stateside, helped Fisk get his boys in shape. One day on the job, a guy is cooking, and I give him a few pointers. He asks if I can straight up help him up his cooking game, and I mean, why not? Cooking comes easy to me like anything else. Then I was doing electrical for a base, so I learned a buncha c~@p, started showing the boys, and a few days later, I'm practically running a trade school."

"So wait, you were a school teacher."

"No, I mean- well, kinda. I don't- I don't think of it like that! It was just helping the boys out." Tony starts to get a little flustered at being called a school teacher. Especially since he used the word school himself. "But like, yeah, that was fun. I felt like I was contributing something on top of my work. But now, like- all I do is cut checks. I just--"

Tony crosses his arms, letting loose a long sigh. "I guess I just miss seeing that progress in other people. That excitement, y'know?"

He catches a glimpse of MJ's face in his space staring. She has this massive happy look, but he can't pin it. Glee? Amusement? Embarrassment burns at his ears. "What? I know it's dorky. You don't have to laugh, I'm pouring my heart out here, god."

"Oh, no, no!" Mary Jane tries to placate him. "Hey, I just think it's cool. You have this passion. And you want to help people to be their best."

Tony blushes harder at how mushy it sounds. Mary Jane scoots closer. "Dad, that's a good thing. Why are you so afraid of that?"

"I just," He becomes ungodly uncomfortable trying to talk about it. His eyes keep springing to the door, making sure Romanov isn't around. "I-I-uh, like I'm- I'm supposed to be this tough, hard motherf#¢%er. My name sends fear in the criminal underworld. People know me everywhere, and a lot of them don't exactly like me. If they found out about this, I'd never hear the end of it. It--"

Tony scratches his head furiously. "It scares me because it's something I care about, and I don't want it to be a joke to other people."

"Okay. Then it's not a joke to me." Mary Jane leans on him, letting the moment breathe. She smiles, and Tony reciprocates, cooling off a little. "So what else did you teach people?"

"Oh, everything. Plumbing, construction, baseball." Tony counts the skills on his fingers. "Hell, a Maggia golf tournament started last year, and Calhoun tapped me on the shoulder to help with his short game."

Mary Jane snorts, picturing her dad golfing in full war getup. "Is there anything you really like having?"

"Cooking is a must. Always need good food while I'm out on the job." Tony finally settles back into comfort, scrubbing the slide of his pistol while he talks. "First aid. Tailoring and hemming. Spanish is a nice thing for nostalgia's sake."

"First aid?" Mary Jane tips forward, trying to catch his eyes. "Do you study a lot of medicine?"

Tony doesn't share her thoughts. "No, just the first aid. Like stitching, splints, proper dosing for painkillers. That's about it."

Mary Jane tries to make it more obvious. "How hard would it be to learn stuff like surgery?"

"Not very, I kinda do it already with removing bullet-" He tilts his head back, finally gleaning something. He turns to her. "Aren't you learning how to perform surgery right now?"

She gives him an expectant nod. Cogs start turning in Tony's head. "I know some guys. I could sit in with them, learn the ropes. Then--"

Mary Jane's grin grows. "We could study together and you could teach me how to perform surgeries. You get to teach, we get to hang out, I get help for school. It's perfect!"

Tony jumps to his feet. He twists on his heels, utterly elated. "That is perfect. We could even talk life stuff, so I associate the surgical knowledge with you! That'll cover our ass in case this memory s#!t is temporary!"

"That's true!" MJ joins him in his excitement. She rushes over to her bag, fishing out a notepad. "I'll put together a list of stuff we might need to do this!"

"I'll look up some places I can buy medical supplies, furniture, stuff like that." Tony slips his phone out of his pocket, opening up a web browser. He smiles ear to ear. "You're a genius, MoJo."

Tony stalls out when he sees tears on her face. He rushes to her side. "What's up? You good?"

"Not sad. It's just," She smears some off the tears from her cheeks. "For a long time, things have been really--"

She struggles with the next words, so she tries to translate it by wobbling her hand. "Not bad. Like, it felt more like we were just surviving problems. This- I like that we're doing things ourselves. Not reacting. I'm happy."

"This is our year, MoJo." Tony pulls her into a massive hug. Then, he points to the sky. "From here on, the world has to contend with the Watsons!"

Mary Jane works the last of her tears off her face, smile returning. "You're such a dork."

Chapter Text

It's another day at work, and Taskmaster leads Thundra through the vents of the facility. They slip past pipes and railings, up and down ladders on a long, meandering path. Tasky grumbles. "I don't know what it is."

"It certainly seems to be bothering you." Thundra lifts a grate from the floor, slotting it into place on a nearby wall. They look down into the pit. Thundra crosses her arms. "Well? Speak. Your emotions will find their words with time."

"It's-" Tasky flops his arms, frustrated. "It's stupid. Just- I dunno, everyone thinks I'm a weird hermit like Mason."

"Tinkerer?" Thundra raises an eyebrow. "You and he are nothing alike."

"Thank you."

"He's far more sociable."

Tasky glowers at her. "Thank you."

She playfully shoves him. "I tease you, Taskseeker."

"I'm serious though." He squats, inspecting the corners and entry vectors. He gives Thundra a nod and she retrieves the grate, slotting it back into place. "I used to be a total socialite. Got on with everyone, save the a$$#*les. Believe me when I say Frank Castle has always been a buttmunch."

Thundra is taken aback. "You knew the Punisher?"

"See? Right there!" Tasky points at her. "That shouldn't be surprising. I was military. In Vietnam. It's how I got signed up with the original Avengers."

"What was happening in Vietnam?"

"Right. Time traveler." Tony waves it off. "War. Bad kind that made the Punisher go trigger happy."

They finish their circuit through the vents, dropping into the kitchen. "Okay, those veggies look pretty ready, take those cartons of broth and pour them in while I prep the chicken."

"Okay." Thundra proceeds, uncapping the broth. "So you're awkward. And this upsets you."

"Yeah." Tony pulls the chicken from the wrapping. "I just- I don't know what happened. Like, I don't exactly have enemies, but like, you're the only person I have any meaningful relationship with out here."

"What about the other Ant-Man? The perverted one."

"I mean, yeah, but like," Tony grimaces, he's not explaining it right. He focuses on the task, slipping the chicken breasts into the now full pot. "Now we just wait for it to come to boil. Help me with the pasta, huh?"

They move over to another station, and Tony continues. "Sure, we bond over movies an' s#!t, but I can't- like- trust him with anything! He's a fantastic work relationship, but it stops there. At work."

"Maybe that's what's changed." Thundra hands him another handful of egg dough. "You struggle with trust, Taskseeker."

Tony shakes his head. "Still not gonna use my proper hero name."

Thundra huffs. "I will call you husband before the word, 'master,' ever leaves my mouth in a serious fashion."

"See, you're supposed to compare the thing you will never do to something unlikely." Tony squints at her. "Is our relationship shot then?"

"No, you idiot. Because 'husband' implies you're my equal." She grabs Tony by the jaw. "And you know that both of us would rather you be my pit cleaning harem boy b!+$h."

"Guuuh," Tony blushes furiously at the blunt statement. He shudders, bringing his hands up to shake the tension out of his body. "Easy girl, we're at work."

Thundra gives him another playful grin. "Sorry, it's just so much fun making you blush."

"So you say," Tony returns to rolling pasta, trying to burn some of the excess excitement. "But yeah. I struggle with trust?"

"You do." She rejoins him in their work. "That would harm your ability to connect with others."

Tony doesn't like that thought. He folds the sheet of noodles before flattening it out again. "So how did I lose all my trust?"

Thundra pauses a little too long. "You already know."

The words make his skin crawl. Then it clicks. "Thundra?"

He turns to face her, but her shoulder is to him. She's turned away. His breath quickens. "T, look at me."

She's gone. Tony shakes his head, cursing the thought. "Thundra, look at me. Please."

But she won't turn. He wants to move to the other side of her. Look her in the eyes. See her face. Just one more time. But his legs are heavy, like lead.

He looks around for something. Anything to help. He sees more backs. Barton. Bobbi. Hank and Janet. Mercy. Tears work into Tony's eyes. "T, please turn around, please, I love you."

He grabs her shoulder, shaking it. "Everyone else is gone, please, just let me say goodbye."

He's awake. Tears run past Tony's ears. He itches his scalp, grits his teeth, huffing and hiccuping out pain. His nose runs and it catches at the back of his throat, forcing a coughing fit.

He rocks upwards, head hanging over the side of the bed. He scrubs the tears from his face, and it takes him a bit before his breathing regulates. He flops onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He lies there until light creeps across it, having flooded its way around the blinds.

Another morning in isolation.

Chapter Text

It's a busy morning at one of the Kingpin's safe houses. Carts ferry cases of munitions. Goons grabbing guns and knives from lockers. They inspect, organize, then equip themselves.

In the back, Taskmaster stands at attention, watching everyone work. He holds his watch aloft, seconds ticking away. The clattering of munitions, slides, holsters and straightened postures dies down, and Tasky presses the button. "Seven minutes, thirty-two seconds."

He paces the room, getting a closer look at the preparedness of his underlings. "Think about that. A lot can happen in seven minutes."

He raises his watch to the roof. "Most of my explosives are timed for one minute, thirty seconds. That's four explosives set up with time to bail."

He spins to find every eye he can. "So how can we improve that?"

One of the ladies near the door raises her hand. He gestures for her to go ahead. "Smaller groups. Deploying in waves, sir."

"Good, very good." Tasky points at her, waggling his finger. "Organization is key."

He returns to addressing the crowd. "Everyone, grab your personal s#!t out of your lockers. When I point at you, move to the front lockers for your row. Everyone else slide to the back as needed."

Soldiers shuffle around and load their equipment into their new lockers. When they're done, Taskmaster pats the shoulder of the one closest to the door. "Alright. Now, we'll have sixteen people, ready to deploy within a minute twenty. And that way, you can be out the door without tripping over your comrades."

He raises his hands high to keep that train of thought from running too far. "Now that doesn't mean rush it, and run out as soon as you're square. Group up. Keep track of the people near you. when double digits are ready, move in blocks. Heroes can outlast an army of onesies/twosies. They'll struggle a lot more with cohesive units hitting them in unison."

"So on that note," Tasky closes his fists, but keeps his pointers high. "We're squadding up. Groups of ten. Out front, we've got marked vans. You'll go to the color I name, and you'll address your new commander."

He levels his fingers to the back of the room, pointing down each side. "Bang bang bang bang bang. Yellow team, you're with Hollister."

He repeats the gesture. "Red. Lopez. Orange, you're with Brown. Which is a guy, not a team color."

He pauses to let the gang chuckle. "Blue's on McMahon. White, you're with DeSilva. With me."

He beckons, and the teams follow him out the door. They gather by their marked vehicles, with unit leaders handing out scarfs for their color. Tasky walks up to white leader, DeSilva. "Marco."

He nods. "Boss."

When he sees all the teams properly indicated, Taskmaster hops into the back of Marco's armored truck. He cups a shout. "Alright newbies, load up!"

The units stack into their respective vehicles, and Tasky slides open the window to the driver's cabin. "Let's roll."

With the gang on the move, Tasky finally kicks back with a groan. DeSilva leans over to the window. "I hope you didn't stick me with a bunch of chumps, TM."

He rolls his eyes. "Marco, you got the best bunch of the whole bushel. Freshly discharged, good reflexes, fully able to offset your army man LARPing."

"Oh, bite me, skullface."

"Sounds like someone is nominating Team Orange for promotion this year."

"Jake has been putting in work." Marco pauses to make sure his turn goes properly. "Honestly don't know why you put McMahon in charge of Blue."

"Because he needs humbling." Tasky glances at the reason for the turn. Firefighters up the road. Must've been an accident. "When Brown's team crushes his, he either quits or figures out that teamwork makes the dream work."

DeSilva chuckles. "You really plan for ev--"

Taskmaster shushes him. "What is that?"

A rush of engines sweeps overhead. A shadow flickers over the front of the truck. DeSilva shrugs. "Chopper?"

"Too small. Too big for a drone." Tasky's pulse picks up. Something just hit the road ahead. He twitches when a soft thud reverberates from the floor. Near the rear axle. It's followed by a haunting sound: A tinny cackle, like something out of a cartoon. "BRACE!"

The word barely scrapes past his teeth. A blast sends him into the ceiling, then gravity slams him into the siding.

Chapter Text

Light peeks through the tangled metal that was the rear axle. The interior of the truck is a jumbled mess of viscera and scrap, heaped on the roof in piles of limbs. It's almost impossible to tell the dead from the living still in there.

Taskmaster gasps awake. He writhes against his own aching muscles. Everything hurts. He pushes one of the rookies off of him, then makes a far more cautious stretch, trying to parse bruise from break. Nothing of note. He groans to the driver's window. "Marco..."

He rolls onto his side, grasping at the hatch for the window. "Marco!"

He freezes when he hears giggling outside. "Polo~"

Taskmaster pulls his sidearm, scooting up to the wall furthest from the hole. His voice sinks to a whisper, and he shoulders the window open. "Marco."

Gunfire roars, and bullets skip off the siding of the truck. With a distraction, Tasky glances into the driver's cabin. His heart drops.

Marco's belt was cut, but he still hangs, pinned by something. They look like throwing knives, but they're shaped wrong. Like some kind of paper bat cutout. The windshield paints a different picture, however. These things pierced it like it were made of chalk.

Taskmaster clings to the wall, stashing his pistol. He kicks the grate loose to squeeze into the cabin and check Marco closer. He's gone. Taskmaster scowls.

"Is it my turn again?" Something hits the ground outside. Tasky's blood runs cold. A vicious force sends the truck tumbling again. "MARCO!"

Taskmaster twists in the air, barely avoiding the blades sticking out of DeSilva's chest. He takes stock of himself. The truck is upright again. Shotgun on his left, beneath the dash. These knives have to be tough, so he takes one in one hand, and the shotty in the other.

He hears boots on the asphalt, and he listens intently. Once they cross over the crackle of broken glass, TM kicks the door open, and blasts the open air. He immediately flings a light-web, zipping out of the truck just to be winged by a passing glider. Tasky responds by whipping the bat-knife at his assailant.

He tumbles, and when he rights himself, he's eye to eye with terror. A green-skinned menace, clad in purple rags, stares at him like a fresh cut of meat. A sinister smile creeps up his lips. The Goblin. He flips the bat blade in his hand. "Hey, you've seen that move before too, huh?"

Pain catches up. His armor took a chunk of that blow, but his ribs are screaming at him. "Getting a little too crazy, Green? I know I can copy him, but that doesn't make me Web-head."

"Oh, I'm done wasting time on that gnat." The Goblin splays his arms, presenting himself to the world. "I'm expanding my horizons!"

"Ducky." Taskmaster tries hard not to telegraph his vulnerability. "What's that have to do with me?"

"Well, it means I'm recruiting! I have a new benefactor, and I'm looking to payroll some talent!" Gobby sweeps his arms, striking a pose not unlike Uncle Sam. "How about it, Tasky?"

Osborn, that psychopath. Tony groans. "The last time I joined the circus, it didn't end very well for the clown running it."

"Oh, Taskmaster, with all the things you learn," The green menace shakes his head. "You'd think you'd recognize the difference between an offer and an ultimatum."

The Goblin sweeps down on his glider, and Taskmaster twists, shield deflecting the blow. He's lined himself up. Duck Goblin. Pull sidearm. Plug the freak in the back.

A thud draws his eyes down. A pumpkin bomb rests at his feet. It bursts with concussive force, sending TM plinking off the truck. Gobby calls from afar. "You're making a mistake, Taskmaster."

He hovers over TM while he tries to right himself. "The time of mortal men is ending. You either rise with the gods, or fall into the next pile of corpses."

Tasky grumbles under his breath, and Gobby leans forward. "Speak up?"

"Gods. Is that how you really see yourself?" TM rolls his shoulders, settling things back into place. "You think too little of the rest of us."

"I know exactly what I see." The playfulness leaves the Goblin. "No man on Earth can measure up to me."

"Brown?" Taskmaster tilts his head. Gobby mimics his motion, confused. His glider howls, surely some alarm for missile lock. The glider lurches as a rocket tears across the street.

The Green Goblin thinks he's in the clear until he hears the shot. Tasky hits the missile right when it skims under Gobby's glider, sending the green menace toppling to the ground. Toes barely touch asphalt before Taskmaster's shield finds his jaw. Heavy slugs punch through the Goblin's armor as Taskmaster catches his shield, closing the gap.

He crashes into the Goblin, only to stop dead. Even with grievous chest wounds, the Goblin carries immense power. Tasky twists his shield, catches Gobby with an elbow, and when the maniac retaliates, TM blocks the knee, skidding away to get space. He flicks the magazine out of his pistol, slams another in, and takes aim.

The green meanie springs over the shots, and his glider jets off of the ground to find his hands. He slams it down on Tasky's shield, and fearsome blades pierce through, inches from his face. TM braces as best he can, but once Gobby regains his footing, a lone press drives a glider blade into Tasky's shoulder.

He howls in pain, but the roar of the glider's engines cover his cries. The glider pins him to the ground, and Green Goblin rounds the wing, producing another bat blade. "I gave you a chance. I hope that Masters pays you well enough for your death to have been worth it."

"O-agh! On second thought, let's maybe talk about this," TM winces, looking around for a way out. "I was unfamiliar with your game, and I make mistakes like that!"

"Too many mistakes." The Goblin squats down next to his head. "But hey, silver linings, now the skull makes sense."

Bullets skip across the pavement, Tasky's mercenaries trying to buy him time. Gobby rolls his eyes, plucking bombs from his satchel. He flings them at the source of his ire, and they scatter.

With a little time, a blade pops out of his boot. He drives it up into the glider, over and over, seeking any vital components. One of the thrusters sputters, but it's not enough. He clenches his eyes shut as the blade presses to his neck.

Wet thuds rock the glider. The Goblin glowers over the wings at the source of the attack, all too familiar with the sounds. Sparks fly, and all of the thrust vanishes.

Tasky flings the glider off of him, and his pistol is at the ready to put a few more rounds into Gobby's gut. TM whips his boot knife at GG's face, only for his ankle to be caught.

The Goblin flings him, putting all of his focus on the true threat. A threat that feigns heartbreak. "Gobby, are you menacing other capes? Behind my back? I thought what we had was special!"

Spidey deftly lands on the streetlamp above. Green Goblin scowls. "Don't you have anything better to do, Spider-Man?!"

Venom drips from Gobby's every word. But Spider-man goes unfazed. He swings in, delivering a swift boot to the Goblin's chin. "Are you kidding? Everything to do in New York costs money! I'm poor as dirt."

"And we're all the poorer for it!" Goblin flings a handful of blades and firebombs, and Web-head dances through them. Spidey snags the Goblin's hood, yanking it over his face. "Even one day, I can't have one day without you crawling up my @$$!"

"So that's why you're so grouchy." Spider-man ducks a blind haymaker from the Goblin. "Good thing I'm not dead, you'd be even worse!"

"I hate you," Green Goblin growls as he doffs his hood. "I hate you I hate you I hate you I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!!"

The green menace unleashes a flurry of blows, trying his darnedest to catch Spidey with even one fist. He slams the ground, sending rubble and sparks in all directions. His injuries are too much to be able to keep up with his nemesis.

But he didn't need to keep up. Just hold him off. The thrusters on his glider kick back on, one of his incendiaries burning it clean. It rockets forward, right under a somersaulting Spidey and directly into Green Goblin's grasp. The Goblin soars off into the cityscape above, roaring into the sky. "I will have my day, Spider-man! COUNT ON IT!"

With Gobby on the run, Spidey rushes over to the downed Taskmaster. "Heh, first time for everything, huh?"

Tasky grumbles, nursing his shoulder. "Shut up."

"Oh, come on now," Spidey picks the mercenary up in a princess carry. "What do we say~?"

"Bite me, bug breath." Taskmaster groans. "I can take care of my self. Check these trucks, coordinate with my security guys. I've got injured. And dead."

"Oh god," Spider-man quickly places TM back on the ground, then zips over to the nearest security truck, popping it open.

Panicked shouts give Tasky an idea, and he presses the comms button on his mask. "Heads up, Spidey's here for rescue. Help him out."

And with that, the clamor settles down. Taskmaster grumpily stitches his shoulder wound as relief efforts get underway. He watches as more and more bodies get stretched across the asphalt. White Team was almost entirely wiped out. Not to mention Marco. Guilt creeps up his spine. Goblin was clearly targeting Tasky. Everyone else in the truck was just collateral.

With his shoulder handled, Tasky offers triage to injured soldiers and civilians. But the sour expression behind his skull certainly doesn't help his bedside manner.

F#¢%in' Osborn. What kind of idiot hires an animal like the Green Goblin? Taskmaster huffs. He wants to play mobster? Fine. This city could always use new examples.

Chapter Text

Three days of phone calls and house calls. Informing loved ones of health emergencies, mothers and grandmothers of dead sons. Tony plods off another stoop, taking a deep sigh. God, I need a f#¢%ing break.

He looks off to the orange of the setting sun. Another day burned. He pulls out his phone. Just in time for it to ring. Sal. Salvatore DiSaverio. Owns the mob bar in lower Manhattan.

Tony grumbles, then answers. "Y'got the B@$+ard."

"You're late." Code word. Emergency. "The bar looks like a sewer. You got three minutes to drag your ass over here."

Tony's heard enough. "On the way."

No breaks. But at least he'll have an outlet for his frustrations.

-------

Taskmaster adjusts his gloves, bumping the door open with a hip as he enters Salvatore's. The place is empty, save for an odd trio at the middle table. A serpentine beast-man glares over his shoulder at the noise, then goes back to drinking. He's disinterested, they've met too many times before for him to want to waste his time fighting. "Taskmaster."

"Slither." Tasky bobs his head in greeting. He looks to the next, a regal blonde, disgusted at the sight of him. She takes an elegant sip of her drink, trying to join the reptile in ignoring him. "And which one are you? Number 5?"

She glares daggers at him. Her outrage only grows when Taskmaster doesn't turn and run in fear. "Don't associate me with those meager imitations. I'm not a Cuckoo anymore."

"Sure." Tasky rolls his eyes. He looks at the last patron, a scant woman with a pink mohawk. Sharp bones protrude from her back like butterfly wings. "You're new."

She scowls. "Maybe you should find another place to drink, Bone-head."

Taskmaster crosses his arms. "Glass houses, hun."

Fresh bones creep up from her skin, right above her wrists. The snake drops his drink back onto the table with a tired clack. "Relax, Marrow. He's not worth the trouble."

The punk looks to her compatriot, then glowers back at Taskmaster. "If you know what's good for you, f@&&*t, you'll get lost."

"'Fraid I can't." Taskmaster strides up to the bar, looking for Sal. He spots him through the kitchen window. Safe. Taskmaster turns on his heel. "See, we got a problem, Bone Spurs."

He leans back, then gestures to the empty room. "See, this bar's supposed to be full. It's happy hour, and all I see here are three sad sacks. Sorry, Slither."

The reptile raises his glass in respect, and Taskmaster continues. "Now, Sal back there, he's a nice guy. Real patient like. Polite. Pays his bills. Pays his dues. All he asks for is a nice, clean bar, friendly folk, and an overall quiet night."

Tasky takes a few steps back to the table, squatting down to put his head at their level. Not unlike a parent admonishing a child. "I don't see any friendly folk in here."

"There's a mess on the floor." He points to a spot, clearly a large splotch of dried blood. "And both of those things are telling me that maybe tonight wasn't so quiet."

Slither shrugs. "I tried to tell her not to pick a fight, T."

"You're a smart man, Aaron." Tasky tilts his head at the sound of the kitchen door opening. A slim older woman rounds the bar with a platter of food. She tries to avoid eye contact with everyone. Taskmaster bows to her. "Thank you Mary."

She gives him a timid, exhausted stare before making her way back to the kitchen with her husband. TM watches her leave, then returns to addressing the trio. "Now here's the thing. You three have scared off a whole night's business. And, genius that I am, the telepath amongst you says to me that you're in here for a free lunch. But around here, there ain't no such thing as a free lunch."

"So here's your options." Tasky raises his hands, inviting them to picture his vision. "Option one: Ten K. On the table. Covers the night, you can sit and enjoy your dinner. Everybody's happy."

"Option two: Clean up the bar, then beat it. We'll getcha some to go boxes while you clean, they can try to wrangle people back into here and get back to business."

"Option three: You pick a fight with me. And you lose. Painfully." Taskmaster leans forward, his demeanor becoming far more fierce. "This is Kingpin's town. You are only here by his good graces. And you are wearing those graces very thin. Capiche?"

"Kingpin?" Marrow laughs. "Kingpin doesn't own this city anymore. Now's the mutant's time."

The Cuckoo rises, chin high. "We're not scared of you, human."

"Option two." Slither gets up and saunters to the bar. He calls to the backroom. "Can I get some gloves for the blood?"

The ladies watch him, dumbfounded. Marrow snaps first. "What are you doing?!"

"You two are young. Too young for the Months of Blood." Sal comes out with a box of nitrile gloves, and Slither plucks out a few to double wrap his hands. "Take my word for it when I say take the deal."

He suddenly twists in pain when the Cuckoo lifts her hand. "I can't believe you're so weak, Slither. Where is yo--gck!"

Taskmaster moves quicker than the eye. A suppression collar snaps around the blonde's neck with force. The table lurches left with a kick, knocking Marrow onto her back. With the space between Taskmaster and the Cuckoo cleared, he takes a mighty step forward, driving a haymaker into her face. She flops to the ground, out in an instant.

Marrow somersaults backward onto her feet. Bone blades sprout all over her body, and she hucks a bone dagger at Taskmaster's head. He plucks it from the air, flinging it into her knee.

She jerks her leg back reflexively, and her head comes forward just enough to catch a glowing shield to the jaw. On her way back, a strand of light-web snaps to her chest, and TM drags her back to him, falling into a rolling kick. Marrow soars overhead, sailing through the bar door.

She tries to regain her footing, only to take a shield throw to the back of the head. She tumbles again, and when she finally rights herself to Taskmaster, the color leaves her face.

Shots tear through Marrow; knee, hip, shoulder, other knee. She tries to strengthen the bones, but she's not quick enough to outlast magnum rounds. She's snagged by light-web again, and Taskmaster presses a magnum tight to her eye socket. "I see movement under your skin and you're losing your head."

Marrow raises her trembling hands, staring death in the face in more ways than one. "We're cool. We're cool. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"That's a step in the right direction." Tasky tugs her a little closer. "How's option two sounding now?"

"Good." Tears well up in her uncovered eye. "Really, really good."

"Good." Taskmaster releases the web construct. "There's a bathroom in the back. Clean yourself up. Clean the bar. Pick up blondie. Beat it."

"Okay." Marrow nods, trying to catch her breath in all the emotion. "Okay."

TM heads back inside. "What'd you order? To eat?"

"Wha?" She's still catching up. "Uh, I got the garlic knots."

Tasky gestures to the fresh mess. "I'll get some fresh ones on. You're welcome."

Marrow looks down at her bloodied limbs, then back up at the bizarre mercenary. "How did you know I had a healing factor?"

The silence speaks uncomfortable volumes. "Crazy b@$+ard."

Chapter Text

Mary Jane stares at the clock ticking on the far wall. Three minutes before 6:00 PM. Almost an hour after the agreed meeting time. The second hand finishes its loop before she checks on the others again.

Harry taps away at his phone. Back and forth, he flips between the message history with Pete and the group chat. She can see blocks of messages from Harry, with no responses. He looks at Ricky. "Has he said anything to you?"

Ricky looks up from a stack of cards, a third variation on solitaire. He better prepared for the boredom, and Mary Jane even learned a few new card games from him. She didn't even know there was more than one version of solitaire, for that matter.

Ricky fishes his phone out of his pocket and flips it open. It presents a similar silence from their friend. With Harry properly dissatisfied, he returns to flipping fresh cards off the deck, then plucking sequential cards out from the pile.

The door bursts open. Finally, Peter. A very, very visibly exhausted Peter. But he can't seem to slow down yet. "Sorry, sorry, I saw all your messages, I was really hauling @$$."

He thuds a massive canister onto the table in the middle of the room. He steps back, gesturing at it. "I present to you, about 3 gallons of web fluid. This should get us started on the filtration project. Ricky, you got those frame pieces machined, right?"

The blonde rattles a box next to him, then nods to the bucket. "That's it? It's been like a month."

"Yeah thanks, Rick. Did you know there are web fluid variants?" Pete huffs as he rummages through his backpack, producing gloves. "Yeah, found that out the hard way. So I synthesized dollops of each variant, tested them, figured out that this was the most effective for what we were doing. High viscosity. Also the hardest to synthesize because it was already doing what we want. Absorbing air pollutants. So I had to parse out what a pure sample was, then synthesize that. All that between working a job and going to college and taking care of May. You're welcome."

Mary Jane hops off the other side of the counter. "I thought this was a group project."

"It is." Peter flops the gloves into her hands. With his other hand, he flaps a packet of paper. "You guys are up. Instructions on how to build the frames, treated gloves so the webbing won't stick to you. Just gotta build the frames then stretch the web fluid over them. Good luck."

Harry storms up behind him. He's spotted another familiar tick. "You're leaving. Seriously?"

Peter sighs. "Shocker's at the bank on Broadway near Park Row. Spidey's gonna be there. I gotta be there."

"Pete. This is an Oscorp sponsored project." Harry drives his finger into the countertop. "You can get paid right here."

Parker shakes his head. He zips his pack and slings it back over his shoulder. "Harry, you know I can't take that money."

Harry throws his arms out to his sides. "Peter--"

"At least!" Mary Jane cuts in between the flaring tempers. "At least show us how to build one. I'm a visual learner."

Pete does a double take at the door. It's a small request. Mary Jane crosses her fingers that it will work. Peter delivers a mighty harumph, but turns back to them. "You get one, and it's gotta be fast."

Mary Jane drags one of the crate carts over. "I can do fast all day."

Step by step she races him to the complete product, and when they're done, she holds hers out to him. "How's it look?"

Impatience is clear on his face as he snatches it from her hands. But then he takes a look at it. He flips it in his hands, and his indignant frown falls away. He's impressed. "Wow, that's actually perfect. You got it."

She puts a hand on it to take it back, placing her other on his shoulder. "Awesome. Go make your money, we got it from here."

Awe gives way to relief, and Peter snatches his bag back up. "Thank you, Ms. Masters."

"MJ's fine." She smiles. "Go get 'em, string bean."

Pete sprints out the door, grabbing the corner as he hits the end of the hallway. And he's gone. Harry sighs. "I swear with that guy."

"Eh, it's not that bad." Mary Jane starts on the next filter. Harry gives her a tired look. "C'mon, you've met Janey. She hates just taking money. 'It's embarrassing.' I'll take the paycheck, though."

She giggles and gives Harry a hip bump, trying to pull him out of the doldrums. Harry gives the best smile he can muster, which isn't saying much. But it's still a smile. "Saving up for something?"

"Gotta make rent somehow." She glances up at Harry, but that doesn't slow her down. However, she does stop to mirror Harry's frozen confusion. "What?"

"You. Need help making rent." Harry leans forward. "...You?"

"Yes. I'm trying to break out on my own. Splitting a place with Maddy. And I don't want a blank check." She brings a stern point under Harry's nose. "I want to do what they're doing. Making an honest buck."

"Which is to say I know this is honest work." She gestures to the device in progress. "So are you gonna learn too, or am I making all of these?"

Harry's smile becomes far more natural, and he takes up his own pair of gloves. Mary Jane turns to the young Fisk. "Ricky?"

He fishes up his cards, then pockets the pack. "I'm comin', I'm comin'."

She guides them through the first few, and soon enough they're hitting a steady clip. Covered filters start to stack up, and an hour passes. After another half hour, there are barely a dozen left to make. When Peter finally staggers back in, he's a mess. Harry rushes to his side. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, ate s#!t on the way there." Peter groans, cradling his ribs. He holds up his old Kodak. "Saved the camera, though."

Ricky rolls his eyes at the snark. "Pete, man, you're going too hard."

"I have to. I'm the Bugle's Spider-Man specialist." He sidles onto a stool, sucking air through his teeth to grit through the pain. He shakes his head. "And he's been all over town lately. All the big names in New York have been MIA, and Spidey's picking up the slack. And Jameson said if I miss any big opportunity, I'm toast."

"Missing?" Mary Jane straightens up. "What's the scoop on that?"

Parker sighs. "There's this bill battling through congress right now. The Superhuman Registration Act. Serious stuff, and a lot of heroes aren't happy about it."

"Oh no, the spandies are having a hard time? Tragic." Ricky quickly becomes disinterested. "Imagine that they can't fly down main street anymore."

"Ricky," Peter scowls. "I know all's well in Fisk tower, but the work heroes do can make or break some poor communities. And a lot of them are nervous that this will get in the way of that."

"Yeah, well maybe people that can throw trucks shouldn't be busting up people trying to survive." Richard pulls the next strand taut. "New York's a mean city."

Pete tightens up, furious. As if Ricky had any idea what he was talking about. "It doesn't need to be."

"Tell that to your dad." Harry and Pete go pale at the comment. MJ looks around, clearly Richard just crossed a line.

Color quickly returns to Peter's face and then some. "Go f#¢% yourself, Ricky."

He snatches up his pack and storms out. Harry glares at Fisk. "What the hell, bro?"

He races after Peter, trying to reason with him from afar. Mary Jane is left in the uncomfortable silence of Richard's seething. She struggles to find what to do next. Going back to work after that seems foolish. She makes the bold choice to ask Rick. "What was that about?"

"Just-" Ricky growls, then relents. "Pete's always so holier-than-thou. All that big 'change the world' kinda talk. He's either naive or fake, and I don't like either."

Mary Jane squirms. "And his father..?"

"Uncle. Ben." Ricky grimaces, a glint of shame. "Guy was the same way. And he got killed for it."

Mary Jane cringes at the realization. "And you thought bringing up his dead dad would help him?"

"It was five years ago! I-I just," The shame grows. Ricky deflates a little. "I don't want to see Pete wind up like Ben did. Those bruises weren't a fall. Pete picks fights. Always used to draw his school bully away from the other kids."

Mary Jane looks out to see Peter propped up at the corner, Harry still consoling him. Peter is visibly swirling with anger, eyes locked on the floor. She scoots closer to Rick, and points Pete out. "Rick, I think Peter knows a lot more than you think. He just wants things to be better. He's not faking, or naive."

"Everyone's faking, Red." Ricky crosses his arms. His face hardens with a stern resentment of history. "You should know that."

"It's scary, isn't it?" Mary Jane can't take her eyes off of Pete. "Seeing someone be so genuine always scares the s#!t out of me. But it's a little comforting to know that they're out there. The world isn't entirely terrible."

Richard shudders, thrown off by MJ nailing his feelings. But years of instinct override the vulnerability. He wouldn't dare be afraid out loud. "If that helps you sleep at night."

He twists on his stool, getting back to work. MJ scoots back to her own station, regularly glancing back to the hallway. She sighs. The trio is uncomfortably familiar.

Chapter Text

The sky is completely dark by the time Mary Jane gets back to her apartment. She jimmies the key into the deadbolt, and with a turn and a clack, she's in. She tucks her keys into her purse, and kicks the door closed with her heel. "M'home. Not a robber."

When only silence greets her, MJ cocks her head. Maddy's definitely not in bed at this hour. Scanning the apartment, Mary Jane finds her clue in the kitchen. A sticky note tacked to the pile of dishes. Sorry! Friend Emergency -Maddy

"That's three days of dishes, Maddy." The redhead curses the note. She wanders over to the fridge, praying for a small mercy. Upon opening the door, she grimaces. "Aaaand she ate my share of leftovers. Great."

She peeks into the cabinets near the fridge, then plucks the half-loaf of bread off the top. Turning it over in her hand, she spots splotches of green-blue. She throws her head back with a groan. Her only food options require prep. She reaches up again, fearing more bad news from the tortillas. But they're safe.

Mary Jane slaps them onto the kitchen table, then plays dish jenga to rescue the required skillet and spatula. Some more rearranging and aggressive scrubbing later, and the skillet sits on the stove top. The growing heat wicks away the last droplets of water. She gathers the cheese and butter from the fridge and watches the stove clock tick for a few minutes. She tests the first brush of butter on the pan. It crackles and pops. It's ready.

She paints the surface with the spatula, filling the kitchen with sizzling. Then she drops the tortilla in, sprinkles some cheese, then cautiously plucks at the edge, trying not to touch the piping hot metal. Once she gets her quesadilla properly folded, she brings her arms to the ceiling for a mighty stretch. She eyes the pile by the sink, her compulsions for cleanliness itching against her frustrations at more work. She lets out a weary sigh. "You'll just have to deal with it again tomorrow."

She makes sure to cook her quesadillas safely, then gets started with the dishes while they cool off. But MJ locks in a little too hard. By the time the drying rack is full, her food is cold. She grumbles through it. She just washed the same skillet twice tonight. She looks down at the empty, greasy plate before her, and sulks. One more wash, and she checks in for the night.

But sleep is short lived. A very drunken Maddy prods her awake while the sky's still dark. "Mm'sory."

"Whu?" Mary Jane tosses and turns. "Maddy, seriously?"

"M'sorry." Maddy bumps her head against MJ's back, nuzzling pitifully. "I shooda did d'dish'z. Butchoo'did d'dish'z. M'sorry."

"Go sleep, Maddy. We can talk tomorrow."

"Mm-mm." Maddy continues to drill her skull into Mary Jane's spine. "Gotta frowup."

"S#!T-" Mary Jane manages to translate the murmuring just in time. She springs out of bed, turning Maddy to the bin before her first sickly belch. She seethes at her circumstances. "C'mon, Maddy, let's get you to your bathroom."

She ushers Maddy to the porcelain throne and helps her into a comfortable position. She makes sure to tug Maddy's hair back and get it tied up before rubbing the wasted girl's back. "So what was the emergency?"

Maddy groans. "Bekka."

MJ nods sagely. "Becca. That's the makeup girl, right? The one that doesn't like me?"

"Nooo, she likeshyu." She tries to reach behind her to touch Mary Jane. "She likeshyu. Yer jus'like- ...Yer really pretty. She gess all sel' consus."

"Right, right, thank you." MJ lets Maddy hold that idea. No need to argue when she's this far gone. "So what happened to Becca?"

Maddy grimaces. Her stomach's turning again. A few uncomfortable belches pass, and when she feels safe again, she speaks. "Cat. Cat died."

Mary Jane nods much more enthusiastically now. "Ah, yes. Gotcha. So cat funeral."

"Uh huh. All gurlz on deck." Another round of retching finally gains purchase, and Maddy hurls into the pot. She coughs through the burning of her throat, then grumbles. "Wen a li'l too wild t'help her fr'get. Ha'fun tho."

"Sounds like." Mary Jane gives her a few pats. "Need anything else hun? Towels? Pillow?"

"Yessspleez." Maddy hugs the toilet seat, perturbed by another burp. She calls after Mary Jane as she steps into the hall. "Tooo pillowz pleez? Wun fr m'butt too."

"You got it." MJ pulls from the linen closet, then pokes into Maddy's room for the pillows off of her bed. She wraps them in the towels on her way back to the bathroom. She holds one out. "Butt."

Maddy rises to her knees, keeping her head in place. Mary Jane shuffles a pillow under her, then holds up the next one. "Face."

Maddy tilts her head up just enough for MJ to squeeze the pillow into the gap, giving her friend room to puke. She playfully pokes her nose. "Buttface."

Maddy frowzily waves away the attack, then blows her aggressor a raspberry. Mary Jane smiles. "You gonna be okay? I gotta get back to bed."

"Mhm," Maddy nuzzles into the pillow. But her brow furrows, an errant worry fighting through her clouded mind. "Yoo werk t'day."

MJ leans out of the doorway, spotting the kitchen clock. "Yup. Today."

"M'sorreee." Maddy moans. "M'sorry."

"It's fine, I've got at least an hour for more sleep." Mary Jane forces a smile. "You're alright, you needed help."

"M'sorry."

"It's okay." MJ sighs. "Good night, Maddy."

She thuds back into her bed, then rolls around, trying to find a comfortable position. But it's too little too late. The drowsiness hits right when her alarm goes off. And it's off to the races again.

Chapter Text

Mary Jane staggers as quickly as she can through the lofty university halls. Work had run a bit late, especially in her frowsy condition.

She focuses all of her foggy mind on her everyday route to class. A left here, the stairwell on the right, one, two three doors. She stops just before barging through.

Mary Jane carefully presses on the knob, and slinks through the doorway. She offers a few apologetic cowtows to the professor on her way up the steps. Finding a seat, she flips open her books, unpacks her pencils, and quickly jots down everything she can see before the professor moves on.

It's not long before the words on the page start to bleed. She does her best to rattle out the cobwebs, but the lack of sleep is rapidly gaining on her. She grits her teeth to no avail. Desperate enough, she chomps on her thumb, hoping a little adrenaline might give her the extra oomph.

A whisper comes from her left. "Long night?"

MJ jumps. A blonde girl, previously further up the aisle, is now right next to her. She chuckles awkwardly. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

"I just recognize the look. Here," She shifts her notes just a bit closer, giving Mary Jane full view. "Now lemme guess..."

The blonde looks her up and down, and Mary Jane returns the favor. She's of a slender sort, with shoulder-length blonde hair. Her clothes are rather preppy, plaid skirt, dark stockings, tonal turtle-neck top. MJ glances at the wooly green duster draped on her chair. The black bandana pulling her hair back. Whoever she is, she cleans up well.

And she's ready to voice her own assessment. "A friend interrupted your sleep. Trouble with sleep led to trouble with work, led to trouble getting here on time."

Mary Jane blushes. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Nah, I'm just that good at reading." Blondie rests her chin in her hand, beaming confidently. "Tired eyes, neutral clothing perfect for a retail setting, time of arrival tells me you were close enough to believe you could get off work and get here early. And you're giving me the time of day. Everything says something."

Mary Jane suddenly feels like all her flaws are on broadcast. "Good work, detective."

The blonde extends a hand. "Gwen Stacy."

MJ glances at the professor, then quickly shakes her hand. "Mary Jane Watson."

Gwen settles back into facing forward, but maintains a hushed closeness to Mary Jane. "Sorry about coming to bug you, just figured you could use some help staying awake."

"I appreciate it," Mary Jane alternates between the notes on the board and the notes in Gwen's book. "Did I look that desperate?"

"No, my boyfriend's the same way." Gwen smirks, then sits upright, waggling a doting finger. "I find that people that need help seldom ask."

MJ grimaces, picturing this morning. Had the roles been reversed, she probably would have left Maddy to sleep. "You might have a point there."

The girls spend a few moments writing in silence, and Gwen pipes up again. "What do you say after this we get you some coffee and we can go over these notes?"

MJ groans with delight. "Ms. Stacy, I would love nothing more."

Class swims by due to her exhaustion. But thanks to her new study buddy, that's not quite as concerning. They pack up and make their way off campus for the day. Gwen bumps Mary Jane with her elbow. "You were in 101 with Professor Connors last year too, right?"

"Yeah! Morning class, I remember you." Mary Jane searches her mind for more specifics. "You sat closer to the back."

"Mhm." Gwen nods. "You looked exhausted then, too. But a lot rougher."

"Yeah, I can imagine," MJ huffs. "A lot was happening. A lot of uncomfortable stuff."

"Yeesh, gotcha." Gwen pouts out of worry. "Whatever it was, I'm sorry it happened to you."

"I appreciate the concern," Mary Jane makes an effort to show she's okay. "Maybe someday when we're closer. In more private settings."

"Aw, already planning our life out for us?" Gwen gets a playful grin. She sweeps her hand across the horizon, picturing a dramatic future. "How many dogs are we getting? Apartment or white picket fence?"

MJ chuckles. "I'm thinking a medium sized one for our medium sized apartment. You know how difficult it can be to find a place that accepts pets."

"Wild, right?" Gwen leans in. "Some people can build entire man-sized mechanized bird costumes in their apartment, no fuss. But you have a cat that's too scratchy, and we're gonna have problems."

Mary Jane lets out a full-bellied laugh this time. "True. This city is crazy."

With a lull in the conversation, MJ does her own digging. "So I'm guessing you work retail too? Makes sense that it was your first guess."

"Well deduced, my dear Watson." Gwen taps at her temple. "I did retail in high school. Couldn't last, it was just so garbage. Now I'm interning at the morgue."

Mary Jane does a double take. "And what's that like?"

"It's pretty cool, actually." Gwen tucks her hands into the pockets of her duster. "Identifying CODs, bit of admin work, and a bit exciting at times."

Mary Jane cocks her head. "Exciting?"

"Yeah, last year a corpse just got up and walked out. Turns out it might have been an android?"

"Omigod, that sounds terrifying."

"Oh, it was." Gwen nods furiously. "I leave the room to answer the phone, and suddenly the ME's screaming his head off. I run back just in time for a corpse to barge through the door. Felt like I was in a horror movie."

"I'm glad you're okay." Mary Jane pulls her into a hug while they walk. "It didn't attack you or anything?"

"Nope. Just walked right out. Didn't even look at me." Gwen shrugs. "Since then it's policy to have a guard on the basement floor for, uh, 'unexpected misclassifications.' Though I'm not sure bullets are going to help with that problem."

Mary Jane stares at her, bewildered. "I think I'll stick with retail."

"Oh come on, have a little excitement in your life!" Gwen gives her a shake. "Solve a mystery, rewrite history!"

MJ raises her eyebrows. "DuckTales?"

"Woo-oo!" Gwen pumps her fist, then cackles at her own joke. "In seriousness, I was not expecting that at all. I'm getting into forensics to help capture the truth of things."

Gwen's peppiness fades a little. "My dad died a year ago. I want to make sure people don't have to be lost in the confusion of what happened. I want them to have closure."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Mary Jane offers her a hand in comfort. Then she ponders what she'd said earlier. "My father was in a rough spot last year too. I almost lost him. It's why I looked so stressed."

Gwen gives her a pained look, and gives her outstretched hand a squeeze. "I'm glad he recovered."

"Thanks." MJ smiles, though only with her mouth. "I'm not sure he's out of the woods yet."

"Woof," Gwen grimaces. "Let's hurry up on that coffee. Talk some good news."

"Agreed. Let's talk about the roommate that kept me up. Maybe that'll be good for a laugh."

They continue on their way, Mary Jane taking her time complaining about the events of her night. And Gwen listens along, gobsmacked by all her piled greivances. They talk well into the afternoon, with a friendship forming fast.