[for Tony and Pepper] Red Riding Prologue

[daretodo]

The date hasn't escaped my notice. Even if I wasn't a New Yorker, born and raised, even if I hadn't picked my way through the rubble of the World Trade Center, today would have some meaning for me, though it's hardly comparable. Nearly getting killed by a friend on a bender isn't exactly on the same scale as flying airplanes into buildings, after all, and just putting them in the same sentence feels cheap. They share an anniversary; that's more or less where the similarities end.

Consequently, what also shares an anniversary, give or take a couple of days, is Tony's sobriety. In AA, they give out these medallions for certain milestones; they're about the size of a poker chip, nothing too conspicuous. I've made one for the occasion from a piece of scrap metal that I shaped, engraved, and painted -- red and blue, with gold detailing -- over a few weeks between working on other projects. It's on the table in front of me, in plain view so I don't forget it whenever Tony decides to grace me with his presence.

It's rare that I actually ask him for help with something, preferring to keep most of my private stuff, well, private, but one of those other projects I've been working on needs a second pair of hands.

See, I've been working on this one thing, on and off, for the better part of a year: a spider-sense that's technologically based, allowing me a facsimile of the power I relied on more than I would've ever realized if I'd never lost it to start.

It's been little more than a series of glorified motion sensors until recently, each one carefully threaded throughout the material of the quote-unquote 'Vespa' suit that I designed with supplies given to me by whatever forces are in charge of the mysterious presents passed out every January. A part of me thinks it's a bribe to keep us all appeased just a little bit longer, but I've long since passed the point where I'm appeased by much of anything this place has to offer. This is a petri dish of a prison -- an experiment. And even if I don't spend my every waking moment clawing at a way out of here, trying to find a way home, I never forget that one single fact. Not since MJ disappeared.

But still, bribe or not -- experiment or not -- the raw materials I received have proven useful. Sure, things would've gone a heck of a lot faster if I'd had better facilities to work with, or had been less distracted with my mess of a personal life, or had listened to my own speech about impossible problems needing time to solve, but as it stands, I've finally got something workable on my hands. Something a bit better than a bunch of glorified heat and motion sensors.

In an effort at recreating the sensation of my old ability, the current network relies on localized pulses that increase in strength depending on the threat -- basically, the bigger the pulse, the more whatever's about to run into me is gonna hurt if I don't get out of the way, fast. To make the whole process a little less subjective, though -- and to make swinging through the trees a heckuva lot easier -- I've got it connected to a HUD in the left eye piece that analyzes the surrounding environment, increasing my spatial awareness up to 100 feet in all directions so that I don't run into anything. I've even managed to repurpose most of my old spider-tracers to work on the new frequency, and though I doubt I'll have much need to track people on an island this size, you never know when technological breadcrumbs'll come in handy.

Provided it all actually works, I'd say I'm kind of a genius. I mean, it's impressive, really, even if it's not perfect. Eventually, I'd like to upgrade the HUD to something more sophisticated, something with more processing ability to analyze a greater variety of threats -- ones that don't just involve what's out there to hit me -- but I'm working with scraps salvaged from a homicidal space station and a limited power source, here, and arc reactors don't grow on trees. Still, it's functioning enough to warrant further testing, which is why I'm in the workshop decked out in full gear, sweating like a pig and waiting for Tony to show up.

Or, well, a boar, I guess. We don't have pigs here, and I like to keep my references apt. It's a thing.

Anyway, sweating like a boar and growing impatient, I've long since pulled off my mask, and am about to ask Jarvis if Tony's even in the mansion, when the guy finally strolls in.

"There you are," I say on a sigh. "I was about to send out a search party."

Comments

[daretodo]

"Surprise," I confirm, tugging on the mask as I head away from the workbench, and into a clearer area. It fits differently than I'm used to, and I take a second to adjust it, pulling at the fabric until the lenses sit comfortably over my cheekbones. I blink a couple times, waiting for the HUD to boot up; blue lines stretch out in front of me, then fade so they're barely visible, providing me with a clear line of vision. There's enough going on in a fight that I won't want to be struggling to see through a bunch of data just to make sure I land a punch in the right place; this suit's still more man than machine, after all.

Thing is, I want to run a blind test to make sure that machine's going to work if the man's otherwise distracted. My reflexes don't hold a candle to what I'm used to, but even so, I don't want them interfering with the results. I'm faster than Tony; if I see where he's going to hit, I'm going to react, plain and simple. Hence the length of cloth to tie over my eyes; once I shut off the infrared that kicks in with a muttered vocal command, I'm left in the dark.

"Don't suppose Jarvis has any mood music?"

[notawastedlife]

"Jarvis, cue us up something, you should have something in the library," Tony said, flipping the frying pan in the air and catching it by the handle, walking around Peter as Jarvis murmured a very well, sir and hit the speakers.

"So, you just want me to go ahead and lay you out?"

[daretodo]

I honestly don't know how Matt does it. Between the music and the blindfold, there's no way I'll able to tell when Tony's about to hit me without technological assistance, let alone where -- well, provided he stops talking in the near future, of course. That, though, is the point; I've had too many close calls in the past two years, and I'm sick and tired of having my butt handed to me when a fraction of a second's worth of warning, at just the right moment, might have saved me a world of hurt.

If this works like I want it to -- and it should, 'cause I've been tinkering with this for months, now, and I never have that kind of lead-up time for anything -- I could be giving myself back an edge that's always proved invaluable.

"You're missing a key word," I say over the dulcet tones of Freddie Mercury, dropping into a casually defensive posture. "I want you to try."

[notawastedlife]

"Right," Tony said. "Well, just tell me when you're-"

He swung the frying pan at Peter's head, bottom side first.

"-ready."

The swing wasn't hard and abrupt; he wasn't about to damage the guy, it was a frying pan. So a long, rapid arc across distance, to get some speed; it was a reflex and reaction test, after all.

So maybe a little hard, if it did connect. But the tech was probably sound, he figured.

[daretodo]

And he's still talking. Meanwhile, I'm tapping my foot to the beat, stopping myself short of dancing on the spot. This'll be easy. Just a quick test to make sure everything's in working order before I move on to something more challenging than killer cookware.

'Course, though the frying pan's relatively small, it's still got some heft to it. Depending on how fast Tony swings it, I should get a pretty decent pulse in warning before it makes contact. Plenty of notice to get out of the--

[notawastedlife]

There was a clang.

The clang was the result of the frying pan arcing through the air and connecting solidly with a Peter Parker who had not even attempted to move out of the way.

It was followed shortly by a thud, which was said man connecting solidly with the ground as he fell on it.

So... he'd knocked Peter out.

"You appear to have knocked Mr Parker out," said Jarvis. "It appears this test was unsuccessful. Shall I alert Miss-"

"No," said Tony. He considered the body on the floor.

Man unconscious on his floor in a mask. Still not the worst thing she'd ever walked in on, but still.

"...let's give it a second," he said.

He gave it a second.

He gave it another second.

"Okay, maybe-"

Peter stirred.

[daretodo]

It's dark and my head feels like the Hulk thought I was a bug that needed swatting--

(Maybe he did, because, thinking about it -- which hurts, by the way -- I don't... actually remember. Maybe he crashed into the workshop when I wasn't looking-- Only then he'd just be Bruce Banner, and that doesn't make a whole lotta sense, 'cause Banner... He's not exactly a huge threat, I could take him on no problem, if, you know, I could stand up, which is a lot harder than it should be, actually, I should look into that.)

--and judging by the conversation going on (above me? Right, I'm on the ground) -- I'm not alone. So it's a regular afternoon back home, basically.

"Whaaahappened?"

[notawastedlife]

Oh, good. Still talking. Now, was that memory loss, or just disorientation?

One way to find out. Tony applied a highly scientific process to try to work out how badly off Peter was.

"Is that memory loss, or disorientation? Do you feel... concussed, at all?"

He shifted his gaze back to the frying pan. Maybe he should put it down. Or behind his back. He hesitated, then settled for holding it over his shoulder, as if he intended to scratch the small of his back with it.

[daretodo]

Tony. That's Tony talking. I had something to give him, didn't I?

...it'll come to me, I'm sure. He's asking me a question, but I can't find the focus to pay attention to what it is, his words jumbling into nonsense. The way I see it, though, I have more pressing concerns. Namely, that I can't see.

"'m I blind?" I ask, instinctively lifting my hands to my eyes, gloved fingers brushing up against more fabric. No, not blind; I'm wearing my mask still. Maybe it just got moved around a little; it's not like that hasn't happened before. I start to tug at it, what I dimly realize is some kind of blindfold falling away, and letting in light. "What--?"

[notawastedlife]

"Maybe... don't try to get up," Tony said. "No, you know what, let's see if you can get up. That's pushing it. Sit up."

He shifted the frying pan again, this time extending it downwards as if expecting Peter to grab a hold of it and pull himself up.

No, maybe not. He opened his mouth to call for Pepper and then reconsidered, again.

[wildlyconflicted]

All things considered, Pepper couldn't have said whether she preferred when she knew these moments were coming or not. On the one hand, there was a lot of anxiety to be had as you waited around to hear whether or not your superhero boyfriend or superhero best friend were still alive and in one piece. On the other, sometimes you went downstairs on a seemingly ordinary day and found one of them laid out on the floor.

"Jarvis, please turn down the volume," came the sound of Pepper's voice at the top of the stairs, punctuated by the familiar clip of her heels as she moved rapidly down the steps. "I was just about to head down to the Compound, do you need— WHAT?!"

The last word was half-shrieked as she reached the bottom of the stairwell and spied Peter (or who she assumed to be Peter, it wasn't that easy to tell) sprawled across the floor. Tony stood above him with a frying pan, of all things, looking more than a little guilty.

"What did you do?" she yelled as she surged forward to drop to a knee at Peter's side.

[notawastedlife]

"He's... fine," Tony said, now holding the other side of the frying pan as well, so it was in both hands, between Pepper and himself. "No, he's- he'll be fine, we'll get him... some ice?"

This was not the question. He was aware this was not an answer to the question he had in fact been asked. He was just a little certain that I hit him with a frying pan because he asked me to was not going to fly.

He'd try it, certainly, it was the truth, he wasn't going to lie, but best to start with that assessment of the situation. Such as it was.

[daretodo]

For about a split-second, I catch a glimpse of red hair from between my fingers and think it's Mary Jane that's yelling, but I quickly realize that that can't be right, even through my daze. Pepper, then -- my other favorite redhead. From behind my mask, I smile at her, not thinking through the fact that she won't be able to see it.

"Heya, pretty lady," I slur, reaching out to pat her hand, but catching her foot instead.

[wildlyconflicted]

"Peter, can you hear me?" Pepper asked as he gaze shifted from his head to where his hand had landed inexplicably atop her Jimmy Choo. He'd not be so disoriented if he didn't have a concussion, which meant Tony had either hit him in the head or hit him elsewhere hard enough that he fell and then hit his head anyway. She rolled a furious gaze up to her boyfriend.

"Ice. Now. Before I take that from you and beat you with it."

[notawastedlife]

"...is that a great idea? That's how we got in this situation to begin with," Tony pointed out, to be reasonable.

As he took a step back and tossed the frying pan onto the table, a safe distance away from... everyone, really, before bounding up the steps to retrieve said ice. He was reckless, not stupid.

[daretodo]

I can hear Tony (not Banner, but I already established that, right? I mean, Banner isn't even on the Island, though at the rate we all keep showing up here, it's hard to keep track, especially since I don't get to stare at everyone's files every day anymore, not to mention the whole splitting headache thing. The latter, admittedly, is the more pressing concern at the moment. Forget about keeping track of people, I can barely keep my own thoughts in order, everything slipping from memory the second I think it) scamper upstairs, leaving me alone with Pepper.

"What--" I clear my throat, and try to sit up for her benefit more so than my own. I'm greeted with an intense desire to throw up for my efforts. "What happened?"

[wildlyconflicted]

"Take it slowly," Pepper advised as she caught a hand against Peter's back. "You've been hit in the head, I think you might have a concussion." Naturally, she had no idea how that had happened, but hopefully Tony could clarify when he got back. (If he got back. She had threatened to beat him with a frying pan.)

"Can you take your mask off so I can get a better look at you?"

[daretodo]

"I don't usually do this on the first date," I say, surprised for the hand on my back, but grateful, too, because it means I don't have to work quite so hard just to stay vertical. After a few seconds' worth of fumbling around with the hem of my mask, I slowly start to tug it upwards, wincing as the material pulls at my hair.

[wildlyconflicted]

"Here, just— Let me get it," Pepper said as her deft fingers moved to pull Peter's away. Afraid he might pitch over again without her support, she shifted so that he could lean back against her and then began to gently pull the mask free.

"You do know who I am, don't you?" she asked, hesitant to assume when Peter didn't even know what had happened to him.

[daretodo]

I look at her like she's grown a few extra heads. (Though to be fair, until I blink to refocus my eyes, it looks like she has, so maybe the look is more warranted than I originally thought.)

"Of course I know who you are," I say, lifting a hand to gingerly prod where it hurts the most. Yeowch. "Gwyneth Paltrow, huge fan." I let her think I'm serious for about a beat, before adding, "Pepper Potts. Wrangler of Tony Stark and one of my best friends."

[notawastedlife]

They had ice. It was a reasonable thing to have, in the conditions, and also considering that while Tony had never quite concussed himself as badly as Peter seemed to be right now, he had launched himself across the workshop on more than one occasion.

He even knew where they kept it, although admittedly that was less of an achievement than remembering where they kept the frying pan. (In the workshop, apparently.)

He took the stairs down two at a time. "Got it. Hey, he's sitting up, see, doing well."

[wildlyconflicted]

"You hit him over the head with a frying pan, didn't you?" Pepper asked as she held a hand out for the ice pack and scowled up at her boyfriend. "A frying pan. He probably has a concussion now, thanks to you. Peter, here—" She pressed the ice pack into Peter's hand after snatching it from Tony's. "Hold that on your head."

[daretodo]

"Can you--" I fumble with the ice pack for a couple of seconds, trying to remember how my hands work before I finally get the damn thing pressed to the part of my head that hurts the most. It seems like a good starting point.

"Can someone tell me what-- Frying pan?"

[notawastedlife]

"In my defence," Tony said, taking a small step back after handing over the ice pack and continuing to hover, "I thought he'd duck."

[wildlyconflicted]

"You thought he'd duck," Pepper slowly repeated, in the hope that Tony would recognize how ridiculous it sounded. "Why were you swinging a frying pan at Peter in the first place?"