Peter shifts his weight from one foot to the other as they are headed down in the elevator. He's still nervous around her for some reason. This isn't about the pain that comes with touching her anymore. Heck, that issue's pretty much solved at this point. He licks his lips and looks at her. Her jacket was still a bit damp from the rain she'd walked through on her way in.
"Soooo..." Daphne starts, breaking the silence. Both of them look around the elevator, evading each other's eyeline. "You do this every Friday?"
"Pretty much."
"Have you met any of the other Avengers?" He turns to her, unsure what to say. She chuckles at his silence. "Or is that classified?" Peter smiles and looks at his feet.
"A little, yeah."
"A little classified?"
"Yeah, a little." Peter mentally kicks himself in the balls.
Can't he say anything normal? Anything a regular person would say? Can he say anything at all? "Doyouwannahangouttomorrow-" Too much, Pete! You said too much!
"What?"
"Nothing." He looks at the tapping device of the elevator. "I mean..." He turns his head to her. How is she so overwhelming? He's wearing the regulator, yet his stomach still feels so weird. Is this what butterflies feel like? She chuckles.
"I'd like that."
"You heard me?"
"Barely." She smirks at him, a playful spark gleams in her eyes.
"You want to hang out with me?"
"Yeah, Pete. I just said yes," she laughs now. "I, uh... I found a recording of Manon online. It's probably not legal, but I've heard the pas de deux in it are stunning. Maybe we can do some research on partnering?"
"Sounds good!" Peter starts getting excited.
He gets to spend an evening with Daphne alone. Not at the dance hall with her drilling ballet terms into his head. No... Just them... In his apartment! Aunt May is going to a charity event for the homeless shelter she volunteers at tomorrow so they have the place to themselves! It's going to be amazing!
"What time should I be there?" She asks. Peter has to be careful now. He usually takes all of Saturday to patrol, except for when he needs to run errands, like with the ballet wear when he first met her. He always gets caught up in being Spider-Man, like he did today. Crime doesn't have a curfew.
"Seven?" he asks.
"Cool! You can text me your address." Peter smiles nervously and fumbles with his fingers.
"I will," he says.
The mechanical voice announces that they've reached the reception area and before she walks out of the elevator, she gives him a tight hug.
"Thanks for everything, Pete."
"No problem, Daph." He smiles down at her and puts his cheek on her head. Her pomegranate smell fills his nose and he can't help but sigh. "I'm so glad this doesn't hurt anymore."
"Me too," she whispers into his chest.
Peter sees the car outside and reluctantly lets go of her.
"I'm gonna go back up," he says, pointing in the general direction of where the lab is. "Think you can make it to the car without getting in trouble?"
"You're an ass, Peter," Daphne laughs while stepping out the elevator. He holds the elevator doors open till she's outside. She smiles at Peter one more time before getting into the car. The driver shuts the door, but Peter suddenly feels like something dangerous is happening. He can't place what he's feeling. It's like there are hundreds of exclamation marks poking at his head. The elevator door starts to close when he sees the driver's face. He looks familiar somehow. In a bad way. It's not David. But if it's not David then who is he? The guy smirks and locks eyes with Peter. Is that...?
Peter's left alone with his racing thoughts in the elevator as it automatically goes back up to floor 44. He doesn't move. He doesn't know how to. It can't be him. Thor took him back to Asgard, right? He can't be here. It must've been a look-a-like.
"Floor 44, good luck with your project, Peter," F.R.I.D.A.Y. says, like she says every time he enters the lab. The second the doors open he runs out to his backpack.
"Woah, kid, what's the rush?"
"Has the car left?"
"What?"
"Who's your driver?!" Peter had already thrown off his shirt and is now wiggling out of his pants.
"Peter, what is going on?"
"I think Daphne just got into the car with Loki!" Tony frowns.
"Loki is in prison on Asgard."
"How can you know that for sure?" Peter jumps around on one leg, trying to stuff his foot into one of the leg holes.
Tony watches him struggle and then groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"F.R.I.D.A.Y., call the car, call Eric."
"Eric's phone is currently not connected to your vehicle, sir."
"Okay, then where's Eric?"
"Eric is currently in his office. His vitals indicate that he is sleeping." Tony glares at Peter, who is already putting on his mask.
"And my car?"
"I'm sorry, sir. I can't seem to locate your vehicle."
...
"Excuse me," Daphne leans forward in her seat so she can angle herself to see the driver better. "Aren't you the security guard from before?" He smirks.
"I'm just the driver, Daphne." He licks his lips. "You must've guessed my profession wrong."
"I suppose I did." She lets herself fall back into the seat again and leans her head on her hand as she watches the traffic pass by. There's a strange scent in the air. Must be what rich people's cars smell like. Daphne chuckles and stifles a yawn.
The rain that's still pouring becomes a white noise in the background as the drops glide down the window, distorting all the yellow and red car lights. She blinks. She probably shouldn't be falling asleep right now. It's already late, but she wouldn't want the driver to have to wake her up when she gets home. That'd be embarrassing. She cracks her back – reminding herself that Madame Touha told her to not do that – and sits up straight.
The driver glances back at her.
"Must've been a long evening?"
"Very," she chuckles. "I'm exhausted."
"I can imagine." Did his eyes just glow for a second? Daphne blinks again and reaches out for her bag between her feet. She zips it open, looking for her water bottle. When she finds it she gratefully takes a sip. There's a rumble in the distance and Daphne stares at where it came from. "Not a fan of thunder?" He asks casually.
"Not really."
"How come?" She yawns for real this time, not really caring anymore.
"I have my reasons." She takes another sip, trying to make conversation, hoping that it will keep her awake. "Are you a fan of thunder?"
"It reminds me of my family," he states. It sounds more like a fact than a cherished memory.
She's distracted from the conversation by her buzzing phone. Peter must be sending his address. She takes a peek at the screen and smiles when it's indeed the familiar nickname popping up. The message he sent, however, has her worried.
Cindy:
Where are you? Please answer!
She frowns and tries to unlock her phone so she can reply, but it doesn't seem to be responding. Instead, the screen goes completely black.
"Shit," she mumbles.
"Is everything alright back there?" There's a hint of amusement in his tone.
"It's nothing, my phone just died," she sighs. "I thought I'd charged it properly, but I guess I didn't."
"I guess you didn't."
Every part of her feels heavy. The weird smell only seems to be getting stronger and the exhaustion is taking over, but she can't fall asleep now. Peter needs her.
"Is there any way I can charge it in the car?" She leans forward again, resting her shoulder against the passenger seat in front of her. "My friend texted. He seems worried. I wanna let him know I'm okay." Her voice is slow. Lulled. What's happening?
"You don't need to text him."
"I... don't...?" She's losing her sense of direction. Every turn he takes seems like one turn too many. Her fingers don't respond anymore and she drops her phone. It bounces on the ground and hits her foot, but she doesn't really feel it. Her head feels like it's filled with clouds.
"You don't."
"What..." She breathes heavily, unable to finish her sentence as her jaw hangs slack.
This is wrong, something is wrong. But she can't move. The driver accelerates suddenly, causing Daphne to fall back into her seat. The weight of the whole world is pressing down on her and that smell. That damned smell. It's everywhere. She flutters with her eyes, but she's not really seeing anything anymore. Just the fuzzy lights of New York at night outside her window, fading and fading.
"It's okay, Daphne," the driver says warmly. "Just take a little nap."
And she did.