chapter seven
love's ignorance
THE FINGERS OF ANALISA MORGAN WRAP AROUND THE COLD EXTERIOR OF A WHISKY GLASS, nearly most of the liquid within it having been drained in what little time they had been sat within the bar. To her left can be found Quentin, who grips onto a half-filled beer bottle, with Peter being sat a singular seat further from the female, a glass of lemonade sat upon the bench before him.
Peter fiddles slightly with the rim of his glass, his eyes remaining downcast as the thoughts of Fury's prior words echo within her mind, on a constant repeat, like some broken record made only to bestow guilt. Quentin quickly picks up on the odd behaviours of the teenager, and, in his usual attempts to bring comfort to others, he gently placed his hand upon the shoulder of the boy. "Hey, you gotta celebrate. You did something good tonight."
"Yeah..." the soft mutters of Peter dwindles as the all-too-familiar unwelcome sensation of doubt seeps into the depths of his mind, the encouragements spoken by the older male falling upon only deaf ears. "Fury was right, Tony did a lot for me. So, I owe it to him, to everybody."
"Do you?" With his gaze never once faltering away from the down-hearted boy, his brow quirked as he poses this seemingly simple question to the boy.
"Yeah, I mean..." Inhaling a short breath, the boy allows himself a moment to think upon his following words, not possessing the knowledge of how to best phrase his thoughts. "Mr Stark gave me the chance to be more, to be better than him. Fury just wants me to live up to that."
"What do you want, Peter?" Beck questions, the nature in which he does so possessing the kind of caring one would usually only hear from the lips of either a friend or a parental figure.
"What do you mean?" An expression of utter confusion passed of the youthful features of Peter as the man's words echo out, the boy looking up to the man in search of answers
"What do you want?" Quentin repeats, not putting any weight upon the question. When he is once again met with only unsure mutters, he continues his attempts to properly convey his point. "What do you want? You, Peter Parker, now. I mean, we all want something. What do you want, Ana?"
"Another drink," Analisa, who, for the most part, had simply been silently observing the interactions between the two males, sipping upon the alcoholic beverage within her grasp. Sarcasm underlines her tone as she responds, shooting Quentin a smirk of tiny sizes.
Gesturing the bartender over to serve Analisa another drink, Quentin turns back to the boy he's been attempting to convince. With one brow quirked upward, he continues from where he'd left off. "I know you're thinking about it."
"I want to go on my trip," Peter finally admits to his underlying desires, regardless of how odd they may seem within his circumstances. "I want to go back on my trip with my friends. And go to the top of the Eiffel Tower with the girl who I really like and tell her how I feel man, and... give her a kiss!"
"Wow," Quentin exclaims amusedly, a smirk dancing freely upon his upturned lips, raising his eyebrows slightly in his usual, overly-dramatic manner.
"Shut up, man," Peter jokingly shoots back with a shy laugh bypassing the threshold of his lips, the grin upon his face growing to reach a larger size than the one of the man before him.
Once the laughter had died down somewhat, while the two still wore smiles upon their faces, Quentin inquires another thing of the boy, a more solemn tone to his words. "You're not gonna do that, are you?"
"No, I can't," All it took was a fraction of a second for the smile on Peter's face to crumble beneath the weight of his reality, the feeling of annoyance within him toward the countless responsibilities forced upon him still bubbling away, growing hotter with every second.
"Why not?" Beck exaggerates every syllable of these few words, urging the boy to discard the things which weigh him down and follow the direction in which his gut may lead him.
"Because I have too much of a responsibility," Almost instantly after Peter had uttered these rushed words, an unfamiliar woman, speaking in a language foreign to them, taps him on the shoulder. She gently places a pair of glasses in his hands, the expression of Peter morphing into one of thankfulness as he gazes down upon them. "Oh my god, thank you so much."
Quentin appears baffled by the abrupt appearance of the seemingly normal eye-wear, yet, from his past talks with the boy who owned such things, he knew they may be of more significance. "Are those... are those the-"
"Edith glasses, yeah," Peter finishes off the sentence of Quentin before the man can do so, nodding his head slowly in confirmation.
"Pete, you realise just how dangerous it could be if someone else finds them?" Analisa mildly scolds the boy for his misplacement of an item of such high importance, causing him to sheepishly glance upward toward her, as if trying to silently apologise. "How can you just lose weaponised glasses?"
"They were just on the floor?" Quentin adds in, an exaggeratedly astounded tone to his voice. The boy's gaze only flickers away from both the adults, answering neither of the questions that they pose. "Try them on, let's see how they look on you."
"Yeah?" Peter seeks confirmation from the man to follow up with the actions, and when he does receive it, he gently slides the glasses onto their intended spot upon his face. He turns to face Quentin, who simply sits back and observes him for a moment. "I actually really like them."
"Can I be completely honest with you?" The man asks with a singular eyebrow raised at the appearance of Peter, the beginnings of a grin dancing upon his lips. When he receives a nod in response, he states bluntly, "They look really stupid. Maybe they have a contact lens version of them?"
Slowly taking off the glasses, Peter's gaze shifts past the form of the man by his side, and onto Analisa Morgan; the woman he had come to know and trust. He holds outstretches his arm toward her, offering the item in hopes that she may take them from him. "Maybe you could try them on?"
"Oh, no. They were made for you. They're not intended for someone like me," without even an ounce of hesitation behind her words, she denies the offer of the youthful boy, shaking her head to only emphasis her denial. The boy, of course, tries to sway her mind otherwise, but there was no changing that decision. "I'm sorry, but I said no. What about Fishman, here?"
"You try them on?" Peter shifts his arm so that the glasses are now offered out to Quentin, as per the request of the female. A doubtful laugh escapes the throat of the man as he looks upon such an item, unable to believe that something so precious was before him. And so, he denies, causing Peter to only urge him further. "Try them on."
And with a few more moments of back and forth between the two heroes, Quentin takes the glasses from the hand of the boy, sliding them onto his face. He between those beside him with a smile painted upon his lips, asking, "What do you think, guys?"
And, as Analisa Morgan gains a glimpse of the all-too-familiar glasses upon the man who so greatly reminded her of their original owner, a spark of something unidentifiable sparks in a place deep within her. The ghosts of a smile, albeit nostalgic, tug gently upward upon her lips, uttering an amused sarcastic, yet truthful statement in response. "Stunning."
A chord within Peter seems to have been struck also, as he simply stares for countless lingering seconds, realisation striking him suddenly, the force of it being harsh. "The next Tony Stark, I trust you," At first, his words are no louder than a whisper. But, as the haze within his mind clears, his voice grows louder and more assured. "The next Tony Stark, I trust you."
"What?" Utter confusion floods Quentin upon hearing the words of the boy, his eyebrows furrowing together as his facial expression contorts to portray this emotion.
"Mr Stark left me a message with those glasses, for the next Tony Stark, I trust you," Peter, albeit it in an overly rushed and jumbled manner, attempts to convert the complexities which rush through his mind.
"I'm still not following, how many lemonades have you had?" Quentin quips, a light smile worn upon his lips, his head tilted to the side slightly as he tries to understand the words of the boy.
"He knew every mistake I ever made, okay? So he must have known that I was not ready for something like this," Peter expands upon his original statement, his tone of confidence that underlies his words toward this notion growing more with each sentence.
"Why would he give it to you?" Quentin finds himself struggling to grasp upon the logic of the boy within that moment, especially while he was within his frantic, still processing mind.
"Maybe he didn't trust me to have EDITH, he just trusted me to pick who should," With his voice unwavering, sure of the thoughts in which spill from his lips, Peter utters these few words.
"Pete, if you think Tony didn't trust you, you've never been so wrong in your life," The poised voice of Analisa intervenes with the self-doubt which escapes the boy in the form of words, her heart aching for the boy's underlying grief.
"It makes so much more sense," Peter discards the words of the female, not believing whatever message they convey. Upon seeing the head of Quentin tilt to the side in confusion, the boy continues. "He always knew I would do what's right. And he's not going to give them to Fury, because Fury would just give himself EDITH."
"You're probably right about that," Quentin quips, having come to possess the knowledge of the agents incredibly questionable ways.
"Right," Peter, who found himself thankful that someone had finally agreed with him, observes both the heroes before him, his gaze finally settling upon Quentin. "So, the world needs the next Iron Man. And it's not gonna be me."
"Peter," Analisa once again attempts to bring a halt to the assured ramblings of the boy. However, her trying to do so only results in naught, as, once again, she is cut off as Peter continues.
"I mean, I'm just a sixteen-year-old kid from Queens. It needs to be an adult with experience and that's good like Tony Stark, like you. "
"How do you think Steve Rogers became a hero?" Analisa's words finally gain the focus of the boy, her unfaltering gaze staring directly at him. "He was just some kid from Brooklyn, fighting bullies in the back alleys. It wasn't the serum that made him a hero, it was his heart. And you have heart."
"So does Beck!" Peter shoots back, growing frustrated with the way that the woman just didn't seem to understand his need to pass on the glasses to the man.
"I know, but what I'm trying to say is-" Analisa cuts her word's off within the midst of her sentence, struggling to string together the thoughts which incoherently rush within her mind. "Look, I'm not him, so I can't tell you what to do. But Tony wanted you to have those, you specifically."
"You just have to trust me with this decision, okay?" A shimmer of pleading passes through the chocolate-coloured eyes of Peter Parker, longing for the confirmation, and trust of the woman.
And, just like that, Analisa is thrown into a pit of thought. Of course, she trusted Peter full-heartedly, regardless of how young he was or the childlike naivety he could, at times, have. However, she strongly believed in the notion that the glasses were Peter's, and his alone, a mantle passes down to him from one of the greatest men she's ever met. But in the end, she gives into the boy's wishes. "I trust you, Peter."
With this said, Peter takes the glasses back from the cape-wearing man directly beside him, placing them upon his face. When the voice of the glasses greets him in an overly-exaggerated cheerful voice, Peter commences the doings of what he believes to be right. "Hi. Yeah, um... I'd like to transfer your control over to Quentin Beck."
"Peter, what are you doing?" Quentin attempts to bring a halt to the actions of the boy before he does anything he may regret, but Peter's mind seemed to already be set in stone.
"I'm doing the right thing," Peter asserts this point once again, wishing the man would take the gift without argument, taking away all the responsibilities which had been forever upon him.
The weaponised glasses speak upon the fact that to transfer the control, it will require any confirmation, and just as Peter is about to do so, Quentin intervenes. "Stark gave you the glasses."
"Stark gave me a choice. It's my choice to make, and I'm gonna make it. Look, you're a soldier, a leader. You stopped the elementals, you saved my life. You saved the world. Okay? He'd want you to have em'."
"Waiting for confirmation," EDITH speaks, awaiting the orders of the boy who had yet to give up control. And, without even a moment of hesitation, Peter mutters one singular word of confirmation.
"Welcome to the Avengers," Peter gently takes off the glasses, offering them to the man once again. Quentin, who had been watching him in an unsure manner, slowly grabs the accessory from the boy, putting them on. "They look good on you."
Quentin nods respectfully to the boy, a tiny smile worn upon his face. He outstretches his hand toward Peter, to which the boy takes, and shakes. "Thank you. It's an honour."
"Yeah," Peter agrees. He then slowly stands from his prior idle spot upon the barstool, his hand wrapping around the strap of his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder. "Mr Stark would of really liked you."
"Where you going, Pete?" Analisa, with a single playful eyebrow quirked and a half-hearted smirk painted upon his lips, questions the boy, wondering what may be next for him.
"I'm going to go find MJ," Peter shoots a grin to the female as he begins treading backwards, commencing his meandering exit from the bar.
"Good luck kid," Quentin, a smile upon his lips that matches the one worn by the female, sends his best wishes to the boy. "I'd give you about a fifty-fifty chance, you're pretty awkward."
"Yeah," a contagious laugh bypassing his lips, Peter offers one final wave to the two adults who had yet to leave the bar. "See you later,"
"See ya," Quentin calls out as the boy begins to fade from his sight, the female left to linger by his side waving in addition to this. And, once Peter had finally exited the scene, the two find themselves consumed by silence, one which, albeit, had an underlying comforting nature.
This same silence remains upon them for many fleeting minutes to come, with Quentin looking over toward the female, but Analisa only gazing into a spot of nothingness. Countless thoughts rush within her mind like a tsunami of notions she felt were unwanted. And so, in an attempt to ease her mind from the onslaught of her thoughts, she verbalises the main one to the man beside her. "I thought I lost you today."
"I'm sorry about scaring you," With a genuine-appearing glimmer of solemness held within his eyes, he offers the female a minuscule smile intended to reassure. He gently takes the hand of the female within his own, much like how he had before the battle, gripping it in such a way as to remind her that he's still there. "But you don't need to worry about me. I'll always find a way to stay by your side."
And, despite her failed experiences with such things in past, Analisa Morgan couldn't help but believe the words which escape the mouth of Quentin with such a kindness behind them. When she flickers her eyes to meet his, she is forced to swallow down a lump forming within her throat, once caused by the notion that he could have so easily been stolen from her on that day.
After maintaining eye contact for a few blissful seconds, an expression of realisation crosses over her features. "Oh! I almost forgot..." The woman trails off as she rummages through her pocket using her free hand, her frantic actions only slowing when her fingers touch upon an item made from metal. Once she pulls it out, Quentin can see that it was his wedding ring, which he had gifted to her within the battle. "I thought you might want it back."
"No, no, you keep it. It's yours now," Quentin dismisses the attempts of the female simply by sending a charming grin her way, conveying his message with great ease. The woman hesitantly slides the golden band back in her pocket, her uttering a few words of thanks as she does. "By the way, are you planning to come to Berlin?"
"I don't know..." Analisa trails off within the midst of her sentence, doubt enlaced within her every syllable. "I mean, I know I should. I want to fight by your side, I do, but... I'm scared. I can't lose what little I have left."
"Then shouldn't that be why you fight? To protect what little you have left?" Quentin allows a pregnant pause to wedge between his words, wishing for them to truly sink into the female. "Peter, because he's just a kid, and Fury's already said enough. But there'll always be another threat out there. If you don't fight, and the battle does not go our way, your life will be ripped from your hands as it has been mine, and you'll be defenceless against it all."
"Okay," Analisa mumbles quietly, nodding her head to signal her agreement to the words of the man. "I'll join you a little later, though. I want a good night's sleep before I jump back into any of this hero business. But I'll meet you there."
"I'm heading out there tonight. I'll wait for you there, however long it may take," The heart of Analisa flutters as Quentin's words echo out in her eardrums, a beautifully made concoction of charisma when mixed with the smirk worn on his lips. "For now, you should probably head back to the hotel and get some sleep. Wouldn't want to keep me waiting too long. I'll probably stay here for a little longer, then join Fury for the ride over to Germany."
"So this is goodbye for now?" Analisa inquires with a downhearted spark behind her words, her heart aching to remain in the presence of the man, who had so easily gained her trust.
"I prefer the term see you later," Quentin sends a small, comforting smile to the girl, confidence backing up his every word, as he knew he would most definitely see her once again. Both adults standing from their seats, Quentin pulls her in for a tight hug in his way of bidding her farewell, one in which she savours.
"See you," these words echo from the mouth of Analisa at the volume of barely a whisper. She shoots him one last solemn smile as she exits the bar, calling back to him, "I'll keep that ring safe for you!"
"I don't doubt it," and with that said, Quentin is left alone within the bar, both heroes having faded from his view. Now, with prying eyes no longer watching his every action, the facade he had worked so hard to uphold finally shatters, a menacing grin crossing over his lips as the illusions around him shut down, leaving only reality in its wake. "See? That wasn't so hard."
Hysterical celebration erupts from the bar-goers who had truly been a part of reality, loud cheering ricocheting of each of the walls. The man who had sparked such a gleefully uproar laughs also, a crazed glimmer within his eye as he exclaims, "I mean, the kid just handed them over! I thought that he'd at least give them to the Avenger, and I'd get them from her! But no! Things are going uphill for us, my friends."
"Someone get this stupid costume off of me." He requests after simply basking in his victory for a few moments longer. As if those around were prepared to fulfil his every whim, his many pieces of odd-appearing armour are taken from him, leaving him in only the basic attire which lays beneath the facade of heroism. He takes off the weaponised glasses he had received, handing them over to one of his workers. "Okay, we have EDITH. Get these connected to our system."
As Quentin weaves his way throughout the crowd, and to a spot in front, the crowd before him begins chanting for a toast. He, in a half-hearted way, as his true desire for the praise cannot be denied, he attempts to quiet down those who cheer. "This is a big win, but we still got a lot of work to do."
Without much more convincing needed to do so, Quentin gives in to the wishes of those who cheer him on. Jumping upon a nearby tabletop, to ensure everyone could see him, he takes a beer from the hand of a nearby man, raising it into the air as he begins. And, his first words are met with a chorus of boos directed toward the name mentioned. "To the man that brought us all together, our former boss, Tony Stark!"
"The jester king, literally wrapped in wealth and technology, that he was unfit to wield. Like the holographic system I designed a revolutionary breakthrough, with limitless applications that Tony turned into a self-therapy machine and renamed BARF. He renamed my life's work BARF. I told him that my technology could change the world. And then, he fired me, said I was... Unstable."
"To Tony!" Quentin once again toasts, this time another round of cheers erupting from the big crowd. "Next, to William. The integration of my illusion with your weaponised drones was brilliant. Powerful illusion, real damage, worked like a charm. And it's just the beginning."
"Thank you, brother," William responds with grande levels of gratefulness woven within his tone, a small, proud smile painted upon his lips. Quentin returns the smile in full, finding enjoyment in the situation unfolding around him.
"To Guterman," Quentin continues onto the next person, gesturing to a man lingering at the back of the crowd. "The story you created of a soldier from another Earth named Quentin fighting space monsters in Europe is totally ridiculous, and apparently exactly the kind of thing people believe right now! I mean, everybody bought it. You even managed to wrap Analisa Morgan, the oh-so-great Avenger, around my finger! Imagine the respect we'll gain when we 'save' their beloved hero's life! It will prove that Mysterio is more powerful than even the woman they both love an fear!"
"To Victoria. Staging electromagnetic pulses at each attack sites of Fury's own satellites to confirm our lies? Inspired idea!" He then moved his attention away from the woman, and upon another. "To Janice. After Tony died, she was the one who discovered that EDITH was being handed over not to us, not to the defence department, but to a child."
"To the rest of you; Tony Stark is gone. There is a window of opportunity and someone will step up. But these days, you could be the smartest guy in the room, the most qualified, and no one cares. Unless you're flying around in a cape or shooting lasers from your hands. No one will even listen."
"Well, I've got a cape and lasers! With our technology, and with EDITH, Mysterio will be the greatest hero on Earth! Then everyone will listen! Not to a boozy man child! Not to an ex murderer! Not to a hormonal teenager! To me! And my very wealthy crew! To us."
"To Mysterio!" To Analisa Morgan! To Peter Parker!" Quentin chants with a sickly grin plastered upon his lips, his beer raised in the air as he soaks in the enthusiastic shouts of the crowd. However, his expression fades for a few seconds upon mentioning the names of the two who had 'fought' his monster's, shaking his head slightly. And, with a soft voice, he mumbles a few seemingly sympathetic words to himself. "They trust too easily."
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A/N
And so, the betrayal begins (':
the amount of dialogue within
this chapter is actually brain-
numbing, but at the same time,
necessary? so sorry if the areas
other than the other dialogue
isn't as fleshed out as usual, i
didn't really want to make this
already 4,000 word chapter
8,000 words.
anyway, i hope you enjoyed
this chapter! there'll be some
major stuff happening in the
next one, so stay tuned! 💛