"Get me to London." I snap the moment the plan door closes.
"Why? So you can commit murder?" Happy questions with the same disappointed tone he used when he had to tell me something happened with Dad—from work delays, to injuries, and cancelled plans. That sadness coated virtually every heartache and disappoint I've known. "You're better than this, kid. You're not a killer."
"Maybe not, but he deserves to die for what he's done—to Dad's legacy, to the public, to twisting my family story for his own gain, to—to what he did to Peter."
"And when did you start getting to make calls on who deserves to die?" He crosses his arms, trying to look intimidating—as if I haven't seen him in a kiss the chef apron making waffles a hundred times. "You've already got enough against you; and this will only make it worse. It won't fix what happened."
"It will make me feel better knowing that he doesn't get to live while someone who deserves everything good and beautiful in life, someone who loved even the most broken person, who actually loved me not just in spite of—but because of—all the things I've done and overcome, while Peter doesn't."
"You and I both know it's not what he would want. It's not what Nat or Tony would want."
"Yeah, but they're all gone, Happy. I've lost nearly every good thing in my life, and I refuse to let him walk away unpunished." I pause and take a trembling breath. "Do you remember why Dad named the team 'the Avengers?' It was because he knew that we can't always save the world—or the people we love—maybe sometimes we can't even save ourselves, but we will always avenge what was lost. So take me to London and step aside. Let me avenge the damage Beck has done to people, to Dad's legacy. Let me kill him for what he did to Peter."
"You know I can't. I made a promise to—" Happy's voice is drown out by the screeching of his default ringtone. I can see the hesitation written on his face as he tries to decide whether or not to keep fighting me. But I assume he answers it for an extra second to gather his thoughts.
I turn and punch the side of the plane's interior out of pure frustration and anger. It hurts my hand as the metal interior buckles, but it makes me feel a fraction less pissed off. Every second I waste arguing with Happy is another second Beck gets a head start. But that all fades away as Happy talks, "Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, kid. Where are you?"
Everything stops.
There's only three people in the world that Happy Hogan calls 'kid,' and I highly doubt he's talking to Morgan. Happy moves towards the pilot's cabin and puts the phone on speaker. "Hi." A man with a heavy dutch accent says as I slide into the pilot's seat, following ARTI's instructions to get us ready to go. "It's Broek op Langedijk here."
"Plotting a course." ARTI tells me and pulls up the navigation guide for me. I ignore Happy's worried look as the engines start up and the plane lifts into the air.
"Thank you, sir." Happy tells the man as he buckles in and watches as I prep the jet for take-off.
"Yeah, no problem. Heh, heh." The man chuckles happily.
"Thanks," Peter's voice is soft and strained. "Did you get that?"
"Got it, kid." He pauses for a second as he stares at the side of my head. "I'm on my way."
"Okay. Th-thank you, Happy." Peter whispers before he hangs up. "I'll see you soon."
The cabin is deathly quiet aside from the rumble of the engines as we cruise through the crowds. It's the kind of quiet that rings in my ears and echoes in the still painful whole in my chest. What seems worst is how Happy's pensive look makes his thoughts blare like sirens on a quiet street.
"This doesn't absolve Beck." I reply to the unspoken question. "He still deserves everything that's coming to him. Nothing will change that."
"Not even Peter?"
"No, not even him. I saw firsthand what Beck did to him, and Peter will blame himself more than anyone. He'd say it's all his fault and take the weight of it on his shoulders. But Beck is the one to blame for everything. It should be on his head—no one else's." I sigh and grip the steering column so hard my fingers turn snow white. "So yeah, I doubt even Peter can change my mind about this. Beck is going to pay."
We circle around a large field with rows of colored tulips. All I can do is painfully watch Peter limp through the field as I land the plane. "Stay here. We're already risking enough. I can't let you be seen and get caught now."
"But,—" I try to argue, but Happy pretends not to hear as he heads down the stairs. Everything in me screams to run out there, but I know I can't. All I can do is watch from just outside the doorway.
"Peter? Are you okay?" Happy calls as he steps onto the ground.
"Happy? Is that you?" The question and terror in Peter's voice breaks my heart into innumerable pieces.
"Yeah, of course it's me."
"Stop!" Peter shouts, holding a hand out to Happy so he doesn't come any closer. "Tell me—tell me something only you would know."
"Only I would know. Uh." I watch as Peter stares at Happy in fear that this is another illusion, and the former struggles to find an answer. "Oh. Remember when we went to Germany? You pay-per-viewed a video in your room? They didn't list any titles, but I could tell by the price it was an adult film at the front desk. And you didn't know how I knew, but—"
"Okay, fine! It's you. Stop." Peter grunts in pain as he limps towards Happy and pulls him into a tight hug. "It's so good to see you."
"Peter, you're gonna have to tell me what's going on here." Happy sighs and gently pulls away. "Let's get you on the jet first."
Happy closes the door separating me from Peter's view, and I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming and rushing in there. Mostly because Happy's right to do so. Peter's going to need a minute before I can step in.
Their voices are muddled as Peter explains the situation, and Happy struggles to get a word in. "Peter, there's—uh—something you should know."
"I know that look. It's the one you get when I ask about—oh god—Lia. Have you heard from her? Is—is she okay? Did something happen to her? Happy, please, tell me she's okay."
He doesn't say anything, but I can hear him approach the door and swing it open. "Really, Happy? You waited this long for my big reveal after six months of me not be able to contact him?" I ask the man before nervously looking to Peter. "Hey there, hot stuff."
"Lia?" Peter calls softly, and I nod.
There's a moment where hesitation flickers in his eyes. "Before you ask, yes, it's me, and I can prove it. I know you mumble in your sleep, that you love Star Wars because Ben introduced you to after your parents died, and that—that you became Spiderman because of Ben and what he told you before he died. I know that one time when May made cookies from scratch, you and I pretended that we loved them because she was so proud of herself. But then when she wasn't looking, we stole the rest of them and fed them to the pigeons on the roof, and we did that every time she made them so she never had to know how terrible they really were. I also should mention that I was the one that used to steal all your backpacks as payback for butting in on my investigation into Vulture. And that—"
Peter doesn't let me say anything else as he stumbles toward me and pulls me close to his chest. "You're here. I can't believe you're really here." He whispers as we both begin to cry. "I knew it was you, by the way. You didn't need to tell me all that stuff."
"How? After everything that happened with Beck, how did you know for sure it was me?" I grip onto him tighter.
"Beck doesn't know about you, and I just—I just knew." Peter whispers against my neck. "Please, don't leave me like that again."
"I won't. Not if I can help it." I reply and pull back, fingers brushing against his bruised face. That is, until I remember the way he looked at MJ and that he's probably moved on, which pushes me back a step. "We really need to get you cleaned up."
Happy's already on it as he has the first aid kit laid out, sutures ready to go, and reading glasses in hand. "Sit down, kid." Peter hesitates to move his arms from around my waist.
"It's okay. I'm not going anywhere." I reassure him as I guide him to sit down and hold his hand to reassure him. Peter's hand grips tightly onto my own as the other lifts his shirt to reveal a myriad of scrapes and bruises from the train hitting him.
It's quiet aside from Peter hissing in pain as Happy cleans and stitches Peter's wounds. "Okay, hold still." Happy reminds Peter once he starts to fidget. "There we go."
"Hey," I whisper, fingers tracing the cuts on his face, "focus on me, okay?"
"Ouch." Peter grimaces as he avoids meeting my eye and pulls his hand away from mine.
"I thought you had super strength." Happy comments, and I shoot him a glare.
"It still hurts." Peter's face twists in pain, his hand lets go of mine as the frustration grows on his face. "Happy, come on."
"All right, relax. Just a few more. There we go."
I want to reach for Peter's hand again, but it's clearly written on his face that now's not the time. Everything that he's gone through seems to building, and judging by the look on his face, he's about to snap any second now. "Oh my god."
"Relax." Happy tells him. I hold in a sigh as Peter pounds his fist agains the table. And there goes the camel's back.
"Don't tell me to relax, Happy! How can I relax when I messed up so bad?" His gaze turns to me, eyes filled to the brim with pain. "How can you even look at me right now?"
"Because it's not your fault."
"How? I trusted Beck. Right? I thought he was my friend. So I gave him the only thing Mr. Stark—the only thing your Dad—left behind for me, and now he's gonna kill our friends and half of Europe. Tell me how that's not my fault!" He pauses, pulling at his hair as he collapses into a chair. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't shout."
"You have every right to be angry, Pete, but you should know, Beck's a master manipulator and a complete psychopath." I tell him and stare at my hands. "Trust me when I say this was pretty much inevitable. He's had it out for my Dad since before he got fired from Stark Industries. It's not your fault you're the only person with a known connection to my Dad. I'm sure if he knew about me, I'd have been in your shoes."
"That doesn't make me feel any better." He replies and looks at me. "I just really miss him—and you."
"Yeah, I miss him too." I look back to Happy, who nods somberly in agreement. "We all do."
"Everywhere I go," Peter's lip quivers as he shakes his head, "I see his face, and the whole world is asking who's gonna be the next Iron Man. I—I don't know if that's me. I'm not Iron Man."
"You're not Iron Man. Neither of you." Happy tells us. "You're never gonna be Iron Man."
"Nice start to a pep talk, Happy."
"I wasn't finished, Lia. Nobody could live up to Tony. Not even Tony." He pauses and looks at me with a sad smile that I know all too well. "Tony was my best friend, and he was a mess. He second-guessed almost everything he did. He was all over the place. The only things that he didn't second-guess was being your Dad and picking you."
I look to Peter with a reassuring smile. It was pretty obvious Dad cared as much for him as he did me, and I know that Happy's right—Dad never doubted that Peter was always meant to a hero—to be part of the crazy little team we call our family.
"I don't think he would have done what he did, if he didn't know that you two were gonna be here after he was gone." Happy pauses for a second, "Now, your friends are in trouble, you're all alone, your tech is missing. What are you gonna do?"
"He's not alone, Happy." I whisper and look at Peter. "You've got me by your side for whatever you decide to do next."
Peter nods and pushes to his feet. "How about we kick his ass?"
"And here I thought you'd never ask." I grin at Peter, "I've already got a playlist designed specifically for Beck's soon to be sore, sorry butt."
"Sorry to interrupt, but I mean, right now. Specifically what are we gonna do? 'Cause we've been hovering over a tulip field for the past fifteen minutes."
"Way to ruin the moment, Happy." I sigh and shake my head.
"Right. Um. I can't call my friends because he's tracking their phones." Peter thinks for a moment before turning to Happy. "Give me your phone."
"My cell phone?"
"Nah, I think he wants the landline you carry around." I tease, much to both Happy and Peter's annoyance. "Please, you both missed me and my witty banter."
A smirk tugs at Peter's lips as he takes Happy's phone. "What's your password."
"Password."
"No, what is your password?"
"Password, spelled out." Happy replies.
"You're the head of security and your password is 'password.'"
"Trust me, I've tried to get him to change it a million times, but he never listens." I answer with a shrug. "What're you doing?"
My answer comes in a livestream from Flash, where he speaks with a nightmarishly bad British accent. "Hello, governor. Cup of tea?"
"Seriously? We went to school together for over two years, and that's what he thinks a Brit sounds like?"
"It's Flash. Did you really expect more?" Peter retorts before turning to Happy. "They're in London."
"London, okay."
"Yeah, I need a suit."
"I got it covered." I interject and hit a button that opens the panel in the back of the plane. "It's a little something Dad installed when he got the jet. Just—" I gently grab Peter's wrist, ignoring the spark it sends through me as I use my free hand on the other pad, "—put your hand here." The machine hums to live, and I grin as Peter takes it all in. "Pull up all the specs for Spiderman and Phantom."
One of the fabrication tanks lights up with the variety of suits Dad and I created over the years, along with a few more Dad must have made during the Blip. I turn around to the other and try to fight a smile as Peter jumps headfirst into the specs of his new suit.
"Yeah, open that. Okay, no, no, no." Peter mumbles, and it makes my body relax a little. I've spent six months looking over my shoulder, constantly panicking and expecting the worst, and most of all—missing the simple things like Peter talking to himself as he works. I look over at Happy to see him smiling contently at the sight of us.
It's only as he turns around to show me something that he notices both of our looks. "What?"
"Nothing." Happy replies for the both of us. "You two take care of your suits, I'll take care of the music."
"Don't let me down, Happy." I call as I flip through the options of for my suit. Unfortunately, six months of tracking down scientists, saving test subjects, and ruining every plan the REM Trials comes up with is pretty rough on a suit without being able to repair it, which means I could definitely use an upgrade right now.
Back in Black blares across the jet's speakers, and I grin at Happy as it plays. Dad always used to play this and all the classic rock he loved when we were working together in the lab. Peter grins, "Oh, I love Led Zeppelin."
I have to bite back a laugh at it, and thankfully Peter doesn't notice. We just keep moving in perfect sync, helping each other pick and craft the upgrades of our suits. It's like nothing's changed. "That's one of my favorites." I comment when I catch a glimpse of the base design he's using. "It really makes your butt look cute."
Peter blushes at the comment and shakes his head. "Why do you always compliment my butt?"
"Because, it makes you blush, which is insanely adorable, by the way." I shrug and smile at him. "What are you working on?"
"Trying to get my taser webs to carry enough voltage to take down the drones."
"Increasing it by twenty five percent should do." I reply and show him the new read outs. "The drones are meant to last for a long time between charges, but if you put too much power behind the punch, it's not gonna end well."
"Okay. I'll increase it by twenty five percent and have complete manual control over detonation."
"Sounds like a plan." I move to go back to working on my suit, but Peter's hand catches my wrist. "What?"
"I really missed this, you know. Us—working together." He stops for a second and looks down at his hand on my wrist. "I get why you had to leave, but—but is it over? Can you come back when we finish this?"
Every ounce of comfort and happiness I had built up seems to go crashing down to the ground. "I wish I could, but I can't. The people in charge of the trials are getting more powerful every day. Pete, if I go home and anyone knows, they'll—they'll kill you and everyone close to us just for a shot at me. I can't risk that."
"Then let me help. I can protect you."
"Not from the Reaper you can't." I sigh and hold back tears as Peter's expression drops. "I'm sorry, but it's a long story. Maybe I can explain when we stop Beck."
"I'm holding you to that." Peter whispers as his fingers brush against mine. "Just don't run off like that again, okay?"
"Trust me, I don't think I could handle leaving like that again." I pause and lean into him for a long minute. "I really missed you, Pete, and as much as this sucks, I'm glad it brought us back together."
"Me too." He whispers as he presses his forehead to mine. "Me too."
I close my eyes and save this moment in the back of my head for when I'll inevitably have to leave him again. All I want is to hold onto this forever—to be right here, just like this with Peter for as long as I possibly can.
It breaks my heart knowing that it's only a matter of time.
A/N: Hey, guys! So i wrote a short story for a writing competition (my first one ever). Honestly, I'm super proud of how it turned out--especially for a thousand word limit, which is like a third of even my usual one-shots. It would mean the world to me if you'd check it out! The link is in my bio (because wattpad is being dumb and won't let me add it here.)