Chapter Text
Connection. Mind. Body.
The mind controls the body
The body controls our enemies
Our enemies control jack shit by the time we're done with them
-Stick & Matthew Murdock
It starts off as a series of headaches.
Well, alright. In reality, there were a lot of signs before that. A lot of signs, that, looking back, Peter should have put two and two together, but he didn't. He didn't because he didn't know what he was dealing with, at the time.
Peter's life has gotten a lot more…interesting, since the spider bite. And he doesn't just mean going out in the middle of the night and fighting crime or fighting with the Avengers.
He means he is different.
Sure, there's the obvious spider powers. He's super strong, for example. He randomly, miraculously, is built like a half-runner-half-gymnast without the added burden of needing to exercise. He can climb on walls, he doesn't have asthma anymore, he doesn't need glasses anymore.
But there are other things, too. Like the fact that he cannot, no matter how much he tries, seem to ever be full. Or that Peter can hear…everything, pretty much. He can hear the neighbors downstairs (and by downstairs he means two floors below), he can hear the cats fighting seven stories below and around the corner. He deals with temperature differently now, as well, wanting to sleep for days when it gets cold. And he has this strange urge to stick himself in the weirdest places. On the ceiling. Upside down. Perched in a corner somewhere. Not because it's cool, but because he just feels more comfortable there.
So headaches? Extraordinarily normal (albeit constant) headaches? Not something he really stops to think twice about. Not at first, with all the extra weird stuff that he's been dealing with lately…
"…Dude…" Ned says to him, from the creaky, four-legged swivel stool in Chem class. "You handed me the wrong beaker. I'm pretty sure this will explode if I mix these together."
"Huh?" Peter asks, turning towards his friend, leaning his head against his hand. The ache is behind his eyes and in the back of his skull-…okay, no, it's decidedly everywhere in his head. He blinks, trying to somehow will it away, but all this action does is annoy his brain and send a flash of pain dashing across his line of vision when the fluorescent lights reappear from behind his lids. "…Sorry."
He had, in fact, handed Ned the wrong beaker. The large, pyramid-like shaped glass has a half-finished solution for his web fluid in it, and yep, if Ned pours it in to the beaker their teacher prepared for them, it will most definitely explode.
"Are you okay? You've been spaced out all day," Ned asks, apparently noticing the way Peter is slouched against the desk and trying very hard not to just give up and bury his head in his elbows. Across the room, at her assigned seat, Peter catches Michelle lifting her goggles and glancing their way with an expression that says, something's up, isn't it? Eyebrows knitted together, and eyelids narrowed.
"I just have a headache," Peter says, returning his head to its face-down position. He sighs at the cool surface of the table and the reprieve from the overhead lights. "And everything's bright."
"Oh…sucks." Ned says unhelpfully (not that anything he said could be helpful in this situation), before leaning closer and whisper-asking, "Did you get thrown head-first through a building or something last night?"
"No, Ned," Peter mutters, reaching across the table and grabbing the correct beaker. He slides it to his friend, glancing back at MJ, who is folding her arms. Thankfully, her lab partner seems to be getting annoyed and finally taps her on the shoulder, getting her attention.
"It's just a headache. A very annoying, persistent headache," Peter reaffirms.
He doesn't say that it feels like there's a jackhammer buzzing around in his head, but not right in his head. Like if he was in a building next door and up a few stories, and could feel the vibrations through the floor. Like a low buzzing, ever-present. Annoying. The fizzle of the overhead lights just adds to it. The constant, sizzling hummmmm….
If Peter had to admit, it felt a little like back when-…well, back in the…
Peter derails his train of thought before it can go down that particular road.
That probably isn’t it anyways. It’s probably just a stress headache. From lack of sleep and the added pressures of the school year starting to wind down. It also doesn’t feel the same. Similar, yes, but not the same.
“Hey, pass me the measuring cup,” Peter forces himself back up in to a proper sitting position, when Ned looks ready to argue his previous statement. His friend gives him a rather pointed stare for a moment, his dark eyes filled with hesitance, before he finally reaches over and gives Peter the glass cup with red markings painted up the side. Peter hastily gets to work making himself look busy, staring at his lab manual.
It would go away. Eventually.
~~
It gets better after school.
At least, he feels a little less on edge. His head is still killing him though, and the fact that movement seems to exacerbate the condition causes him to lose focus when trying to dodge the blurry limbs moving his way.
A spike in the discomfort. A buzz. Now that one felt familiar…
Peter dodges a little too slow, and takes a foot to the jaw. Normally, he'd back up a step, regain his balance, keep going, but this time around, it causes him to stumble and lose his footing. His ass hits the mat hard. Not painfully, but definitely not comfortably.
"…Alright." Comes the voice. Peter reaches up and holds his wrapped hands to the bridge of his nose. "Doesn't seem like we're getting anywhere today."
"…Sorry." Peter mumbles.
"'Sorry's not gonna cut it when the bad guys' got a loaded semi-auto, you know."
Peter finally pulls his hand away from the bridge of his nose and squints up at the figure. It's dark in Fogwell's gym, but Matt looks like he's got a halo, the glare of the sodium lights outside the clouded windows might as well be the torch on top of a light house. The older man is facing Peter, sort of, his body is at a diagonal and his head and gaze are directed above him. But somehow, his stance still tells Peter the man knows exactly where he is.
"Right," Peter says dumbly, because he can't come up with his normal smart-ass comment today. Well, okay, he could, but he doesn't feel like it.
Matt, of course, picks up on it. He always picks up on it. "What's wrong?" He asks, with a tilt of his head. He reaches out with one wrapped hand, and Peter takes it, using the man as an anchor to climb to his feet.
He grimaces at the wave of pressure in the back of his head. "S'fine, just a headache."
Matt gives Peter an amused expression, with a cock of an eyebrow, he says, "Bullshit."
Peter opens his mouth, then closes it with a small grin, mostly because he can't help but nerd out a little at the fact that Matt's powers pretty much bring him only a hair's breath short of being a mind reader. "Maybe a migraine."
"Well, I know about those." Matt says, humming sympathetically.
"Oh?"
"This city's loud," the older vigilante replies, as he turns way from Peter, his bare feet making short, scuffing noises against the wrestler’s mat. When they had been sparing, the pads of his feet had been light, barely making a sound. Now that they’ve relaxed, the man is more careless with his gait. The difference is amazing to Peter. "And it smells."
Peter snorts slightly, as Matt bends and drops through the mat's ropes to the ground. He walks casually to the lockers as Peter follows, a little more slowly. "I won't say you're wrong. But Sal's hotdog stand at least covers it up half the time."
"The sauerkraut follows me for blocks," Matt replies, grimacing as he rummages through his gym bag, which he'd dropped on to the bench. Peter closes his eyes slightly, rubbing at his temples. "Just pain?" There's a rattle of some sorts, so freaking loud, and Peter opens his eyes to see Matt with his head facing towards him, considering him. For a second, it appears as though he's looking right at him, but Peter knows better. The man holds a pill bottle in between his fingers, turning it slightly.
"…I guess, yeah. Everything's loud. And bright." Peter says, sighing.
"It's night." Matt points out, tilting his head.
"How do you know?" Peter quips back before he really thinks about it. He grimaces. That was super rude, you idiot.
Matt actually chuckles though. "Because I can tell time."
Stupid. "Sorry."
"I've heard worse," Matt says dismissively. "But I can tell either way. The sun’s warmth, the air, the flow and movement of people in the city…day and night have their own, unique rhythms."
"…That is extremely cool." Peter says softly. He'd love to theorize about this topic, explore the science behind it, out loud and very embarrassingly, probably, but his brain can't get past the wall of unpleasant throbbing. At least, he thinks, he still has enough sense and direction to reach out and grab the bottle of pills when Matt tosses it his way.
"Extra strength." Matt explains.
"It still won't work on me," Peter mutters woefully.
"Take the whole bottle then," Matt replies. The teenager shrugs, but does, actually, empty about half the bottle in to his hand. The pills are big, so there aren't that many. About six. He swallows them dry and regrets it, but says nothing that would reveal his discomfort.
It had been about two months since Peter had come here the first time, and two and a half since the incident with The Hand and the Irish. Since then, Peter and Matt had met up once every week on Thursday nights, at Fogwell's gym, where Matt had handed Peter's ass to him.
There were rules, of course.
Peter wasn't allowed to use his web shooters. Or his powers, not really. Well, his super strength, at least. With brute force, Peter could definitely hurt, hell, kill Matt, but the vigilante didn't seem to be too worried about it (which Peter understood after the second lesson. The teenager wasn't sure he could actually hit Matt even if he did use his super strength). No, he had said that the point was for Peter not to rely on his powers in a fight.
“Your body is your greatest weapon. Your body, and your mind.”
Matt considers him some more, as Peter stands there miserably, turning his head away from the windows. "This a recurring thing?"
"No, well, it’s been off and on..." Peter says. "I've just been stressed out. Finals are coming up, I've missed a night or two of sleep, and I'm still adjusting to getting my ass kicked every week."
"I'll stop kicking your ass when you stop handing it to me," Matt is grinning as he undoes his hands, rolling up the cloth neatly. Peter rolls his eyes.
"I thought I was doing okay."
"Oh, no, you're lightyears from okay," Matt is playing fun, Peter knows it, but there's some truth. Peter Parker? Sucks at fighting, apparently. He's good at…well, winging it. Acrobatic Improv, as Matt calls it sarcastically.
"It's not my fault they make so many rules. You’d think fighting would be lawless," Peter retorts, as he hears his phone vibrate on the bench. He walks up towards Matt, a couple feet from the man's pack, where his own backpack sits. Peter grabs the small, black brick off the wood and makes a disgruntled noise as the screen lights up and nearly blinds him.
Received. T.S. {Yo. Tomorrow night, upstate? Chinese is on the menu.}
Peter feels his breath catch in his throat a little.
Matt scoffs slightly. "You're worse than Foggy sometimes."
Peter blinks, looking up at his phone. "Huh?"
"He can get incredibly…enthusiastic about certain things."
Peter feels his cheeks heat up. "I-I…do not-!"
"Your heart rate just sky-rocketed."
"Well-…you're…creepy, you know that? That's a complete invasion of my privacy." Peter throws back.
Peter gets a chuckle out of the older vigilante, then a more probing response. "It's either a girl, or Stark."
"...Uh, Mr. Stark," Peter feels his cheeks heat up slightly, and feels the dread start to pick at the back of his neck as he says it.
Matt stills slightly, pausing for a moment. There's hesitation in his actions, probably because they've had this conversation before. "Just remember what I said before."
"Not to-…" Peter feels himself deflate a little, just a little.
Matt does seem to notice, though, and his tone is a little apologetic, but still firm, in his warning. "Not to get your hopes up."
~~
Michelle says Peter's relationship with Tony Stark is not necessarily a good one. Okay, she may have used the word "toxic", and said that the back-and-forth thing the teenager does when considering whether or not he really needs the older man is "straight out of the DSM-5".
In contrast, Matt is judgmental, but in that silent way where you can't hear or see the judging. Just sort of feel it. But the judgment is less aimed at Peter and more at the man he's currently sitting next to, calloused hands on the fine leather of the steering wheel of this…well, frankly ridiculous car that is worth more than everything Peter and his aunt own combined. Not that he owns anything, outright. Nope. He doesn't have a job, so he doesn't like to lay claim to anything in his apartment, or his room. Not really.
Happy is not in the car with them, which is new. New in that, it's been happening ever since Mr. Stark popped up out of nowhere and took Peter out to the Midwest to stop the blob monsters in the chemical plant. That was three weeks ago.
Mr. Stark had given Peter his number after that night, his personal one. Well, not really. Rather, Peter had totally saved it to his phone after the man had called him and Peter had finally realized that he had it in his call history.
He'd kept it in his contact list without the intention of ever using it, except in maybe dire emergencies that required faster-than-sound travel. Peter didn't know, not really, if Mr. Stark would pick up though, so it was a last-resort kind of thing. For all his on-patrol questions and less-urgent-emergencies, the young hero called Matt, and the man made good on getting back to him, no matter how inconvenienced he was. He didn't need the billionaire's number, Peter reasoned with himself. Mr. Stark probably hadn't even thought about the fact that he had inadvertently given it out. The same way Peter was convinced that all that…stuff, he'd said to Peter-About being afraid of the sky, and the time he'd spent with Peter just…picking out stars- That had to have been…a fluke, right? Just a random, one-and-done moment they had shared? So the teenager just kept it as a…as a "Just in case". If Mr. Stark got mad Peter could explain it away as an accident.
But then…the strangest thing had happened.
About one week after the blob incident, Mr. Stark texted him.
Peter had stared at his phone for the longest time, mouth flapping around like a fish, until Michelle had plucked the phone from his hand. He had to admit, he'd felt just a tad bit smug when her eyes widened just the slightest bit.
It was simple. Hey kid. How's everything going? It felt almost…scripted. Very normal. Not something he would expect Mr. Stark to say to him. Michelle cracked a joke about how he'd probably wrote it and erased it twenty times before coming up with "that lame-ass level of casualness", and Peter tried to imagine the man doing that, but couldn't, because why? People did that when they didn't know what to say. This was Mr. Stark for God’s sake. Why wouldn’t he know what to say to someone like Peter?
Peter had texted back. The conversation had been…awkward, something he was unaware that a text conversation had the ability to be.
Peter thought this, too, was a one-time thing. But the next week, Mr. Stark texted again.
Received T.S. {What’s your opinion on the application of unorthodox metals in modern medical tech?}
That conversation had been less forced, in fact, it had sort of gotten out of hand, Peter realized, when he was typing a two-hundred-word reply with his thumbs about the theoretical applications for Vibranium in one of the magazines his physics professor had lent him, to Tony freaking Stark, at three in the morning.
"Just be careful…" Matt had said that same week, on Thursday, in between dodging Peter's swipes and kicks like the teenager was made of molasses.
Matt didn't know a lot of people or let them in, and the trust people got, had to be earned. Mr. Stark hadn't earned Peter's trust, in Matt's opinion. The older vigilante didn't outright say that, of course, but Peter felt it in the shift in Matt's voice when the billionaire was brought up.
Matt didn't like Mr. Stark.
In all fairness, Mr. Stark probably wouldn't like Matt either.
"I've had my fill of lawyers to last me a lifetime," Tony is saying, which Peter finds ironic in this very moment, considering his current train of thought. Mr. Stark looks…um, stressed, to be honest. He's got bags under his eyes that he always had, but they seem bigger these days, and he looks…tired. Peter tells himself he probably doesn't look much better.
"I suppose that's what you get for causing an international- eh, screw it," Mr. Stark doesn't bother finishing his sentence. He smirks, a half-smirk that only reaches one side of his face, as he glances in Peter's direction. "Wasn't tonight supposed to be about forgetting that?"
Was Peter being an idiot? Should he be listening to Matt? He shakes the thought from his mind, and clears his throat. "Uh…speaking of tonight-…what's upstate? I mean-…The Avengers are upstate, of course, but why-…?"
"Oh. It's purely recreational," Mr. Stark says, leaning back in the seat with a casualness that actually feels less like 'casual' to Peter and more like 'fuck it'. "I've been thinking about that Vibranium problem you brought up. And I haven't had my usual tinkering time."
"So-…wait…" Peter says softly, blinking at the man. The realization slowly starts dawning on him, that this isn't a "work" thing. He nearly whispers the next part, "…We're going to…your lab?"
"Well, it was your idea." Mr. Stark says, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. He gives Peter a look as though he's absolutely assaulted. "I'm morally grey, that's putting it modestly, but intellectual property's where I draw the line."
Peter doesn't respond because he's too busy gaping at the man. And when he does, he wishes he hadn't, the noises he makes are so undignified. "I-..wha-, so we-…wai-………are you serious?"
Mr. Stark rolls his eyes, but Peter can see the hint of a smirk on the man's lips. "Cool it, it's not that big a deal."
But it feels like a big deal.
~~~
When Peter was a little kid, he'd dreamed of standing in in this very spot. Well, not this very spot, as the Avengers compound hadn't been built yet, but-…well, a lab. Like this.
Tony Stark's lab.
Even as they walk through the narrow, glass hallway, Peter is firing off a quick text to Ned.
Sent: {You'll never guess where I am rn.}
He wishes he didn't still have a headache. It'd gone away with the help of the numerous pills he'd taken with Matt, and he'd managed to actually get more than four hours sleep…but come that morning, soon as he'd hit the school steps, that low buzz had come back, that ache had started, and everything had gotten so…loud. Bright. Now it was better, but still…the sharp angles and glare off all the glass in this place is…overwhelming.
He'd be able to appreciate things a lot more if he wasn't so focused on that.
Received Ned {?????}
Peter grins and hastily types a reply.
Sent: {TS's lab}
Received Ned {W}
Received Ned {HAT}
Received Ned {WHAT*!!!}
Received Ned {Like… LAB lab? Or just…?}
Peter looks up from his phone as Mr. Stark, who had been leading, turns around, raising an eyebrow in his direction.
"Ned," Peter explains simply, and the billionaire gives him a nod and an "Ah" before continuing.
Sent: {***Personal Lab***}
Received Ned {Holyfuckingshit}
Received Ned {The dream. You hath achieved it.}
Received Ned {Pics}
Received Ned {Wait can u do that}
Received Ned {Will FRIDAY just automatically erase them from your phone}
Received Ned {That'd be so scary}
Received Ned {…and awesome}
Sent: {hang on}
Peter stuffs his phone in his pocket, feeling the endless vibration against his leg as Ned sends a countless amount of new replies in his direction. He grins and bites his lower lip to keep from snickering.
Really though, Peter would be doing the same thing, if the situation was reversed. His obsession with Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner had pre-dated his friendship with Ned, but it had been one of the core things they originally bonded over.
Neither of them had ever dreamed they'd get to be here.
Mr. Stark reaches the end of the long, glass hallway and stands by the door, waiting. There's no keypad or anything that Peter can see, but he hears the sound of the door unlocking. Must be FRIDAY, somehow identifying Mr. Stark…pretty nifty.
He opens the door halfway, then stops suddenly, so that Peter almost runs right in to him. When the teenager looks up, he's face-to-face with the man.
"First thing, kid. House Rules." Mr. Stark says, narrowing his eyes at Peter. There's a seriousness in this tone that Peter knows means he needs to listen. It's the same kind of seriousness Peter had when he brought Ned to his room for the first time and told him not to touch the Iron Man mask he'd kept from the Stark Expo…
"Don't touch anything." Mr. Stark starts, then backpedals, tilting his head to the side as if retracting and revising internally. "-that I haven't said you can touch. Don't mess with any of the prototype armor, aaaaand don't drink the coffee."
Peter nods slightly.
Mr. Stark narrows his eyes. "Not sure when I last changed the pot-"
{Two weeks, Boss-}
Peter bites his lip to keep from grinning, as Mr. Stark glares upwards towards the disembodied voice of FRIDAY. "And besides, you don't seem like a kid who needs…any form of caffeine."
Man, caffeine sounds great…
"Yes, sir." Peter says with a bunch of fake gusto.
"Right." Mr. Stark says, leaning back, and there's a bit of hesitation in his expression. For a second, Peter thinks the man might call the whole thing off. Which…would suck, drastically, but Peter sort of gets it. He's read more than a few words in the papers and scientific journals over the years that described Tony Stark as incredibly…closed off when it came to his work. It was noted on more than a few occasions that the only people who were allowed in to his lab, even the less private one at Stark Industries, had been Pepper Potts and his friend Colonel James Rhodes.
Peter is glad he thinks all of this and doesn't say it, because it makes him seem very creepy, and it might cause the man to change his mind. Needless to say, when Mr. Stark steps to the side and holds the door open for Peter, the young hero is ecstatic.
The lab is huge. The hallway had been misleading, looking as if it would lead to a smaller room, but Peter sees, as soon as he walks inside, the lab extends down a level and in to what must be a sort of basement floor. There are sections to this lab, separated by glass partitions and each seeming to have their own purpose. Peter can see a larger area that must be for testing, two smaller areas (relatively, every section on its own is still pretty sizeable) that have work spaces, one seems more digitally-oriented while the other houses machinery, tools, fabrication areas.
Then, of course, there's the section that houses the Iron Man armor. It's far away, in the back of the lab, but Peter can still see a row of suits, each behind their own protective glass, ready to be deployed. It takes everything in him not to run straight to the back and inspect the different models…
The light in the room is dim, Peter notices, and is thankful for, but the lighting itself is that harsh, blue-white light that makes his retinas want to separate from his skull. Peter opts to stare at the ground in between glances at all the tech in the lab.
Mr. Stark looks…weirdly out of place, standing in front of Peter with his hands in his pockets, looking around as if he's some teenager who brought a friend to his house for the first time. Well, here we are.
Peter is noticing that, around him, Tony seems to be having…more and more of these moments. Moments of strange silence, and awkwardness between the two of them. Why? Does Peter…put him off? If so, why bring him here? Or talk to him at all?
In Mr. Stark's defense, Peter puts most people off.
"Uhm-"
"So-" Mr. Stark suddenly says, clapping his hands together once, before extending an arm to lead Peter towards the digital station. And just like that, the weird moment is gone. "Testing area, that big one over there-, Off limits. The housing area for the suits, off limits," Damn. "Which leaves the last two sections-"
"Concept and manufacturing," Peter finishes, glancing at the blue screens in front of him. He grimaces and averts his eyes.
"You got it." Mr. Stark says, flicking his hand. A screen appears as if somehow the computer can read the man's mind. A diagram appears. It's a crystal lattice that Peter recognizes as the metal Vibranium.
On the other screen Mr. Stark brings up the article Peter had referenced during their conversation about a week prior, along with some other articles and documents Peter is pretty sure he shouldn't be allowed to look at, given by the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo he sees stamped in the corner. He tries really hard not to smile. He fails miserably at it.
"Thought you'd get a kick out of these," Mr. Stark says in reference to the S.H.I.E.L.D. Documents, then points over towards Peter's article, blowing it up on the screen and circling a section with his index finger. "This part interested me, I mean-…I knew it already - of course -, but I'd never quite heard it put in to those words, got me thinking about new applications, especially when you gave me your two-hundred cents on the matter."
Peter grins sheepishly, remembering his embarassingly-long text message. "Yeaaaah…sorry about that."
Mr. Stark scoffs. "Don't ever apologize for having good ideas."
This is different. This, right here.
Tony Stark as a super-hero mentor is one thing. It's…terrifying, but Peter had learned pretty quickly that he was capable on his own, once he'd gotten the hang of things. Being told what to do had quickly become stifling. The hero worship had…though not disappeared, worn off quite significantly.
But Tony Stark as a scientist…that's…it's just different. Peter's pretty sure that if Mr. Stark had told him to sit in a corner and hand him coffee Peter'd do it just for the chance to be here. This dream…well, this is the original dream. The dream before Spider-Man was even possible, much less an idea. This dream had gotten Peter through years of teasing and ducking away from over-zealous bullies because one day, one day…maybe, he'd be here. Or at least, working somewhere at Stark Industries.
"Right," he says quickly, taking care not to repeat "sorry".
"So I think-" Mr. Stark says, pulling up another document, and depositing it on the screen next to Peter's article, "This application would be a great way to start, do some proof-of-concept tests, then branch out from there, ya think? We can test out my new equipment, God knows, it's been sitting here collecting dust for…eh-…"
{…two months, Boss.}
"Thank you, FRIDAY," Mr. Stark says irritably. He turns away from the desk to gather some pieces of equipment, as Peter leans in closer to take a look at the document. The blue letters are bright, and the small, yet persistent repeating flicker of the holographic light makes the letters…jump. Twist…burn. Peter finds he can't really read it. He leans back and reaches up to rub his eyes with his index finger and thumb, then pinch the bridge of his nose. The pressure makes him feel slightly off balance.
"…Pete, you good?"
Peter blinks, lifting his head and glancing over at Mr. Stark, who has reappeared at the desk. He's looking at Peter, with a bit of concern, but more suspicion. Which…makes sense, considering Peter's track record for hiding things.
"Yeah, just…long day. Tired."
Mr. Stark narrows his eyes. "You didn't get thrown head first in to a building?" The tone suggests even more suspicion.
"Ned asked me the same thing," Peter says, rolling his eyes. "No, it's just a bit of a headache. I'm good."
"Uh-huh. Well, don't break a brain muscle, there, kid." Tony points behind him, towards another desk, facing the front of the room. "There's painkillers in that drawer if you need it."
"Thanks." Peter says, glancing towards the drawer and moving towards it. As he opens it, he sees it's just regular old Aspirin, and not a lot of it. The bottle sounds nearly empty. He places it back in the drawer without opening it.
"I'll be in the other room, setting up."
Peter nods, watching Tony shuck off his blazer and give it to a simple, robotic arm he knows from his research as DUM-E. Peter takes a couple seconds to collect himself, willing the headache to go away, before fishing out his phone and checking his text messages.
Received Ned {omfg are u making stuff}
Received Ned {let me know what you do}
Received Ned {Plans, drawings}
Received Ned {Or maybe just bring me back a nut or an Iron Man gauntlet}
Peter rolls his eyes and smirks slightly, before looking back up towards Mr. Stark. "…Uhm…is it okay if I send Ned a picture?"
Mr. Stark doesn't glance up from the machine he's currently bent over, a panel open and his hand halfway inside. "One picture. Of one item. With no sensitive information in it."
Peter smirks and swipes into his camera, lifting it and trying to find something to take a picture of. He lets the camera settle in to focus on Tony, zooming in so the rest of the lab isn't visible. The composition is pretty great, if he does say so himself. Tony's face is lit up by the internal light of the machine he's working on, and the camera's auto function adjusts the exposure on Tony's face…making the surrounding environment much darker, and the weird, blue glow on his face that much cooler.
Sent {-Image- *Attenborough voice* "Here we have a rare sighting of Tony Stark in his natural habitat. Not much is known about this species, and even less is known about its nesting grounds."}
Received Ned {…Can I frame that?}
Received Ned {Sell it to National Geographic}
Sent {College tuition. But alas, pretty sure that'd terminate lab privileges.}
Received Ned {I'm so jealous dude}
Received Ned {I'm serious, bring me back something}
Sent {I'll see what I can do}
Peter grins widely and, feeling slightly more stable, tucks his phone away and walks towards the room to join Mr. Stark.