Chapter Text
prologue: the beginning of the end
“It’s a Sicilian message. It means Ben Parker is sleeping with the fishes.”
“Was that a Godfather quote, MJ?”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunate that you’d have to use that one,” Ned frowns, watching Viz wrap the fish and vest back up.
“Peter won’t be happy about the hit order,” Pepper says, lips pressed together. She lays her finely-manicured hands one over the other on her crossed legs, already calculating risks.
Friday tilts her head. “Peter has Ben’s blood. He won’t sit.”
“Well,” Ned says, tipping his hat to the air in respect. “I suppose May won’t be able to keep him out of the family business after all.”
“Shame,” MJ says, sipping tea. “Thought he’d get out clean.”
“You’re happy he’s coming home, though.”
Sip. “Always happy to see Peter.”
Ned quirks a brow, amused, but says nothing.
“Viz, send some guys to pick him up. Make sure he gets to the airport safely,” Tony says finally, a deep frown on his face.
“Yes, sir,” Viz says, starting to walk out. “Would you like me to call the Liberties?”
“Hmm,” Tony hums, scratching his beard. His foot taps in a syncopated rhythm.
MJ sips her tea again; Viz keeps still, like a statue, the package in his hands starting to leak.
“...Sure,” Tony says, raising his chin. “But only to let them know the news. Let’s not be rash. And go take a shower after you throw that out, the smell sticks.”
Viz nods. “Yes, sir.” He spins on his heels, leaving the door slightly ajar on his way out to air the room.
“Waste of fish,” MJ deadpans. “Too bad it’s probably laced.”
“I see the appeal of vegetarianism now,” Friday says, swiping at her nose. “Disgusting.”
“You won’t be saying that when we pull out the branzino tonight, Fri,” Pepper says, standing and turning to her husband. “The press will be all over this.”
“Do what you gotta,” Tony replies, laying back in his chair. “Are the new cannons ready?”
She nods.
“Leeds, with me. We’re going to check on Donna Renati,” he says, stretching to stand. “Then we’re going to bring her here, where it’s safer.”
Ned nods, clicking something on his wrist—a mechanical glove transforms outward, light blaring from the blaster in the palm area. He looks it over quickly, then clicks the button again to shrink the device. “All good.”
Friday’s already jotting down notes. “I’ll call Captain Rogers, it’s his jurisdiction.”
“Wait ‘til your brother has confirmed that the Liberties know our stance, Fri—we don’t want them to run into the Osborns guns blazing,” Pepper says.
“Knowing Viz, he’s probably managed to do it while showering,” she snickers, scribbling another note. “But yes, boss. Of course.”
Pepper chuckles, giving Tony a short wave. “Be safe, and call when you’re with May.” She turns to her apprentice: “MJ, with me—time to see how quickly you can dismantle and divert twenty of New York’s most annoying journalists.”
MJ brings her mug down to her lap, a sly grin plastered on her face. “Am I allowed to drag Oscorp?”
“...Once.”
“Let her go for three, at least,” Tony says with a wave of his hand, moving to the door.
“It was business, Tony,” Pepper frowns, at his heels.
“It was personal, disguised as business,” he says with finality, gesturing open-handed at Friday. “Friday’s been tailing them. We know they’ve had a beef with the Renatis ever since Harry started strolling around with those goblins of his in Forest Hills.”
“Now that’s a name,” Ned smirks, nudging MJ, who had gotten up to join the line to the door. “We should give ‘em a gift.”
“A flurry of green goblin masks raining over downtown Manhattan?” MJ says, eyebrows raising as she freezes, imagining the scene. “...Art, Leeds.”
“I approve that,” Tony points, opening the door. “Friday, call your brother and sister-in-law and make that happen.”
Friday salutes with her free hand, the other writing the circles and dashes of shorthand. “You got it, boss.”
“This is why no one takes us seriously,” Pepper frowns.
“No, this is why they leave us alone,” Tony quips. “Also just the...em, general lack of murder.”
“On our end?”
“On our end.”
“Okay, out the door, Don,” Pepper says pointedly, kissing his cheek. “I want to get there before they start spinning this on us.”
“See ya, Fri,” MJ says, chugging the last of her tea from her spot behind Pepper. “Hit me up with our new art project, yeah?”
“You got it, MJ,” Friday grins. She waves them all off. “Ned, don’t overcharge the gauntlet, it could backfire.”
“Got it, Fri,” Ned salutes, a boyish grin stamped on his face. “Tell Steve we say hello!”
“Leeds, feet, moving!” Tony yells from the hallway.
Ned’s expression switches to Oops, and he scurries out the door.
Friday sets her notepad down, finally, and navigates to a familiar number on her phone.
Ring. Ring. Ri—
“Captain Steve Rogers, of the Brooklyn 84th. How may I help you?”
“Hello, Captain Rogers,” Friday says smoothly. “I’m here to alert you to a situation.”
“...Friday. How’s it going, kid?”
“Not well.”
“The hit at the pier.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re on it. You’ll be the first to know.”
“Thank you, Captain. And the Liberties should know not to interfere just yet, but if they ask—”
“I’ll make sure Bucky and Nat don’t do anything crazy.”
“The help is appreciated, Captain. Enjoy your next raise.”
“My pleasure, kid. Send my regards to the family.”
“Of course. We send you ours.”
Click.