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[daretodo]

By now I know the drill. I'm on a strict order of bed rest for the ten days proceeding my surgery, which seems about as long as an overnight trip compared to my last stay in the clinic, a fact I try to focus on as I shift once again on the cramped, uncomfortable mattress. It's not like the bed back in mine and Mary Jane's hut is all that much better, really, but its location is infinitely preferable, surrounded by warm, wooden walls, all of my personal belongings, and most importantly, natural daylight. That it easily accommodates two is another point in its favor, but that particular train of thought just threatens to depress me more -- I'm a newlywed and I can't even sleep in the same bed as my wife. While I undoubtedly have bigger concerns, that's the one I keep circling back around to in my few moments alone.

I nearly lost my life to a man who probably could care less about me, and I did it at the expense of Mary Jane's happiness -- and for what? Some sense of duty, of responsibility? We've only just started our lives together, and I swanned off to play the hero for someone who didn't even want saving, leaving my wife with the all too real possibility of becoming a widow at age twenty-two. God, I've been so selfish lately, caught up in my own personal drama with Johnny's and Sarah's disappearances and Council business and the O.R. that I haven't really been there for the one person who means everything to me. That'll have to change once I'm out of here.

For now, though, I'm left to my own devices, MJ off making lunch for us both. With nothing else to do, I've turned to a battered copy of The Time Machine for entertainment, but I pay attention only to every other sentence, my mind elsewhere entirely even as I turn another page.

Comments

[notawastedlife]

This was not the first time Tony had been in. It was just that the other times he had seen MJ, done an about-face and left before she had in turn seen him. Apparently he did want his skin intact, spider-webbed with black lines as it was, and wasn't that a surprise to everyone.

With the coast clear, he was free to walk in and then proceed to... do nothing. He just stared at Peter for a while from the end of the bed, squinting at him as if he was an equation to be solved and Tony wasn't someone who could solve every equation without squinting.

[daretodo]

I don't notice him at first, which says about as much for my state of mind as it does for the loss of my spider-sense. The heart monitor kicks up a notch when I look up, though, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath that causes pain to radiate out from my chest. Without thinking, I draw up one leg like I could actually get out of this bed right now, the starched blankets bunching up around my waist with the suddenness of the movement. Anger burns hot under my skin, and my face twists into a frown, brows furrowing with incredulous confusion as to why he'd even come in here.

"What?" I ask, voice hard as I stare up at him, the nausea enough to make my head spin. The monitor beeps incessantly, and I blink a couple of times to regain some measure of focus, though I'm unsuccessful on that front. "What do you want, Stark? 'Cause you don't strike me as the kinda guy who finishes what he starts."

[notawastedlife]

Tony didn't immediately respond, in any way. Didn't even move, in fact, as if he hadn't heard, as if he wasn't listening. As if listening to something else entirely.

Then he dropped his gaze, picked up the chart at the end of the bed, flicked through it, still with that same, distant frown. He dropped it back into its place, then passed that same puzzled, furrowed look over the rest of the room.

"I do," he said, out of nowhere, as if responding immediately. Like the comment had just taken a long time to reach him, or, from the low volume of his voice, as if it had played only in his head, and he was responding to that. "Just... not well. Never well, apparently. Should that be beeping so much? Is it designed to beep like that?"

[daretodo]

"Well, given that I'm showing elevated levels of stress right now..." I reply, though in my irritation, I pull on the wire to roll the monitor closer, jabbing the power button to shut the damn thing off. I don't exactly need my panic advertised, here, though some part of me can't help but feel disgusted that I'm scared of a dying man. Still, in spite of his health, he has a distinct advantage over me, and given how we last left each other, the reaction's not entirely unwarranted. Even injured, my posture's as defensive as I can manage, which isn't much at all. "I oughta have you thrown in jail."

[notawastedlife]

Tony looked straight at him, then lifted his eyebrows and tipped his head to the side, acknowledging that this was fair enough. Then he walked over to one side of the clinic and grabbed a chair, dragging it back behind him, legs scraping on the floor.

"Oughta?" he said, slumping down into it, leaning his head on his hand, fingers splayed out across his forehead.

[daretodo]

"Do you really need me to rattle off every questionable thing you did that night?" I ask, which I'm not sure actually answers his question. Fortunately, I don't particularly care. "'Cause I assure you there's a list."

[notawastedlife]

"Not... what I meant," Tony said, lifting his hand from his forehead to vaguely wave, as if swiping this offer away, "you don't need to, I know the list." The list in his head, in fact, might be longer than Peter's, if only because a lot of things were included more than once, for emphasis. "Oughta suggests you think you should but won't."

[wildlyconflicted]

For Pepper to be here took much more effort than she ever could have expected. In the aftermath of that disastrous party, she'd had what boiled down to a total emotional meltdown (While dripping rainwater all over Aaron's floor, no less). Even after, with time to calm down and feel more sane, she couldn't bring herself to see Peter, had instead asked around for updates on his condition. Everything that had happened and the accusations he'd leveled at her were still far too fresh.

Just now she's not doing all that much better, skulking in the doorway but unable to make herself step inside. She can't say for sure whether her being here is appropriate, and certainly doesn't assume Peter wants her around. But she needs to make the effort, at least, if only to prove to herself that she can.

[daretodo]

For about five seconds I consider ignoring her. That she holds some of the blame for what happened that night goes without saying -- but then again, I'm not entirely innocent, either. I should have spoken up sooner about my concerns, though as my time in the clinic keeps demonstrating, there was a lot I was I should have done and didn't. Eventually, I let the book fall open into my lap, and I fix Pepper with a level stare, though the way the steady beep of the heart monitor picks up a bit betrays that I'm not as calm as I'd like to appear.

"In or out -- you're in the way where you are."

[wildlyconflicted]

"I'll go," Pepper is quick to reply, surprised at how confident she sounds in that decision when there is absolutely nothing about this situation that she's certain of. "I just… wanted to see you, I suppose. But I'll go." Surely if just laying eyes on her is enough to increase his heart rate, staying is the wrong choice.

She manages a smile, faint and forced, before whatever measure of self-control she'd been managing falters and she has to look away. "I'm sorry," she says, and wipes at the corners of her eyes. Even if the situation they've all found themselves in is not really any one person's fault, she expects he deserves at least that much.

[daretodo]

"There's a chair," I say after a long beat, my voice seeming unnaturally loud in the tense silence that follows her apology. Slowly, my pulse starts to level out, and the breath I manage to take is measured carefully to induce the least amount of pain. When I speak again, my words are rushed, tumbling over each other. "In the corner, if you wanted to-- You really are in the way there, Pepper."

[wildlyconflicted]

For a handful of seconds, she hesitates, wondering whether she can really do this right now. The question that eventually gets her to move, though, is when better time will there be?

The chair in the corner she drags over so that she can sit at Peter's bedside. This is the second time she's had to visit him in here, and it's two times too many. Ducking her head, she reaches to the bedside table for a tissue.

"I didn't want any of this to happen," she says, although surely he understands at least that much.

[daretodo]

"That... makes two of us," I sigh, more weary than bitter. There is absolutely no part of this situation that's new to me, but the repetition does little to endear me to the experience, nor does it make any of this easier. Still, there are motions I know I'm meant to go through, and their familiarity, at least, is a small comfort. While watching Pepper Potts cry doesn't inspire the same pain that Mary Jane did, she's a friend all the same -- one who's made some mistakes, granted, but I've already taken her apology at face-value. That she's obviously torn up about what happened isn't in question, and besides, it's like I said before -- she's not alone in terms of who gets the blame.

Tentatively, I hold out my hand for her to take, palm up in a silent gesture of peace, reassurance.

[drownondryland]

It hasn't been all that long since Meredith was discharged herself when she comes back to work. She slips out of the house like it's a secret, mostly because she just doesn't want an argument about this, because it probably is inadvisable. There's not a hell of a lot to do in the clinic, though, she figures, that's anymore strenuous than what she's been doing at home, and she's going stir-crazy. She'll be careful, she promised Sean that much, but that's it.

But before any work she has to do, she makes her way over to Peter's bed, glancing briefly at his chart to see if she's missed much of anything. "How're you feeling?"

[daretodo]

If anything from the last few weeks is destined to leave a lasting mark on me, it's not the fight with Stark that'll do it. All things considered, that was fairly run of the mill by my standards, my continued lack of powers notwithstanding. No, if I come out of this mess with anything at all, it'll be a fear of having to go under the knife ever again, the memory of waking up during surgery still fresh after days. It's that alone which makes me start at the sound of Meredith's voice, though I calm down within a matter of seconds, once I realize how ridiculous my reaction is.

"Like I got impaled on a rock," I quip, tossing the book aside me, listless. "So just peachy, thanks for asking."

[drownondryland]

"I can't say I know the feeling," Meredith says wryly, "but I'm guessing it's worse than getting run down by a tree." She still has to lean against the bed a little, chart in one hand, fighting off the thought that she really should wait another day or three. She feels strangely useless as it is, standing there, looking at his chart where it's been filled in by others, notes made in someone else's hand, and she sets it down quickly. Other people step in fast. It's a blessing for the patients and that's the important thing, but she feels pointless enough without the reminder she's easily replaced. "Anything I can get for you?"

[daretodo]

Maybe it's something I'm just inclined to look for, having been in the good Doc's position so many times in the past, but the way she's standing doesn't suggest someone who's yet a hundred percent. Eyes narrowing slightly, I purse my lips in thought as I consider her carefully for a moment longer.

"A chair," I say after a moment, nodding towards the one Mary Jane left empty when she went earlier. "Sit down, relax."

[drownondryland]

Meredith considers it for a long moment, then heads over to accept the seat. She doubts he's about to lecture her for anything, which makes it a lot easier to agree to. "For a couple minutes," she says. "I guess the rest of my work's not going anywhere."

[daretodo]

"Probably not," I agree, letting out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding once she sits. There's every chance I could've been crossing some sort of line, but given that I've only finally started to get comfortable around Meredith after months of dancing around, second-guessing myself some more -- at least knowingly -- doesn't strike me as the greatest idea in the world. "But even if it was, I'm a much better conversationalist than a bunch of charts."

[badblood_rising]

It never got any easier. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Today, it was cutting his finger as he made lunch for Cori. Stupid and not something he was ever stupid enough to do usually, but Cori had been wobbling on her own two feet. He was so wrapped up in rushing to her aid if she fell that he didn't notice hurting himself. And she still had fallen down.

He strode into the clinic, carrying Cori on his hip, and looked this way and that, checking for a doctor before he just raided the supplies for a band-aid. Cori's gaze narrowed in on Peter. "Boo boo," she said, pointing at Peter and looking up at Sam.

Sam blinked and focused on Peter with a slight frown. "...Dude, what happened to you?"

[daretodo]

The IPD can't even spare enough people to go looking for a guy who nearly killed a council member, so that news hasn't yet spread of what happened on the yacht doesn't take me much by surprise. If anything, the presence of a kid on Sam's hip is more startling -- he never struck me as the fatherly type. Not that that really means anything in the grand scheme of things, but it's a slight change in my perspective nonetheless. Mary Jane and I have discussed having children before -- even had that pregnancy scare earlier this year, which would've been too much, too fast-- but while we're both open to the idea for the future, I can't help but wonder if it'll ever be a good time. I've almost died on three separate occasions in the past year alone, and after what happened back home, with May and Ben and Norman, I can't go through that sort of loss again.

Still, I don't let any of that thought process show on my face, instead offering the little girl a small wave as I say, "Big booboo. Careful who you make your friends with, kiddo." To Sam, I add, "She's beautiful. Yours?"

[badblood_rising]

Sam had also spent the last few days holed up in a cave of all things, and with most of his attention divided amongst Cori, the last few weeks of school and doing repairs to his hut, he hadn't had time to pay attention to passing conversation like usual. More than Peter being injured, Sam somehow having missed it also startled him.

The question startled him too, and he shook his head immediately, maybe a little frantic. "No no. I mean, thanks, but she's my sister," he explained quickly. "Um, half-sister, technically. We.. had a couple losses recently." He didn't want to say much out loud to upset Cori, and instead mouthed the word "mom" to Peter.

Cori didn't pay much attention to her brother, not speaking up again but leaning her head on Sam's broad shoulder, wide brown eyes locked on Peter.

[daretodo]

"I'm sorry," I murmur, face falling for all of a moment until I notice those big brown eyes staring at me, and I school my expression to something less depressing. I was just a kid when I lost my parents, but I can remember it like it was just yesterday. This isn't about me, though, much as I can sympathize. Dad? I mouth to Sam, taking his lead.

[badblood_rising]

The corners of Sam's mouth twitched downwards in a tight, slight disapproving look. It was subconscious, like a nervous tick, something he couldn't fix because he wasn't wholly aware of it.

He waved his hand backwards, mouthing "long gone" and hoping Peter could read that on his lips. He didn't especially want to talk about that just then with Cori on his hip.

"But seriously, what did happen to you? During the hurricane?" he guessed, but thought unlikely, given what Peter had said about friends. Sam moved to set Cori down on the bed next to Peter so he could look for a bandaid with both hands.

[daretodo]

"Well, it happened on the 11th, yeah, so you get half points," I say, buying the hint to follow the change in subject instead of wheeling back around on that look of his. There's a story there -- that's one of things I've been picking up about Sam since we first met, that there's a story -- but loath as I am to talk about myself in any real capacity, the guy could probably use some shadenfreude right about now. "Tony Stark went on a bender in that fancy suit of his. I got in the way."