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“Stark.”
May Parker opens the door to their small apartment in Queens and eyes the man on the other side of it critically. He’s casually dressed in light denim, a plain white t-shirt and a dark sport coat effortlessly thrown on to finish off the elegant look that, apparently, rich people used to mingle with commoners like them. On his wrist she catches the glimpse of an extravagant, undoubtedly expensive and most likely custom-made watch.
She herself is clad in skin-tight dark-blue jeans in combination with one of her favorite long-sleeved orange sweatshirts. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and is not entirely sure if the gesture is meant to be dismissive or protective. Peter is lurking in the hallway just outside her line of sight
“Mrs. Parker.” Tony reciprocates politely, meeting her gaze unwaveringly and open. He is trying to look as unthreatening as possible, keeps his stance open and arms hanging by his sides, though he gets the feeling that May Parker is not easily scared from men like him. Or anyone.
She gives a curt nod and steps to the side to let him into their home, making absolutely sure he knows that she’s not at all pleased with his presence there. Nevertheless, he steps forward into the lion’s den, slipping off his shoes and following her into the kitchen where she points to one of the wooden chairs.
It’s in high contrast to the first time they’ve met when he got to sit on the couch and was offered some of her date loaf.
Over the kitchen counter he meets Peter’s eyes who’s standing so close to the wall he’s close to merging with it. Despite the electric atmosphere, the kid’s nervousness elicits a grin that he tries to tone down in an effort to not aggravate the fragile peace in the room.
“Hey kid.”
“Oh,” May leans back in her chair, her face blank, “So you do know that he’s a kid.”
“Aunt May –“
“No,” she shushes Peter with only a wave of her hand without ever letting her gaze wander from Stark.
Tony lowers his head a fraction in an almost imperceptible nod. “I do.”
“Good, great,” she leans forward, both elbows now firmly placed on the table between them, her eyes fiery, “I’m glad we got that out of the way because now I want you to explain to me exactly what you were thinking, recruiting a child into one of your messes.”
Tony raises his head again, chin jutted forward. He makes sure his stance stays relaxed and his mimic stays open. “I was being selfish,” he answers truthfully, “It was an important fight to fight and I thought we had to win it by all means necessary.” He softens, eyes darting down for just a second, then to Peter before landing back on May. “I was wrong and I’m really sorry for my lapse in judgement.”
That sincerity throws May for a loop and she leans back, only an inkling of a movement but enough to show that those words registered. As much as she wants to – and yes, planned to – lash out on him whatever he said, she has never been one to scream just for the sake of screaming. She swallows, not sure where to put the anger that is still cursing through her veins.
She is painfully aware of Peter’s presence in the room and has half the mind to send him out but from what she has gathered so far, he would be able to hear them from his room and could even climb the damn walls if needed. Also, she wants Tony Stark to see her nephew and to know that he’s listening to every single word he’s saying because, after all, that’s truly the point of this meeting.
“Yes, you were wrong,” she says, “but if you knew that why would you encourage him to keep going? Why, if you knew that taking a child into a fight was wrong, would you let that child wander around New York in spandex, fighting guys with alien weapons?” Her voice is rising, her anger bubbling so very close to the surface. “Why would you give him a new outfit and fancy tools to endanger himself instead of speaking to me? How could you let him believe that this is his fight to fight? How could you leave him alone in this? Some superhero you are.”
“Aunt May –“ Peter tries again, taking a step forward and this time Tony is the one telling him to stop.
“You’re right,” he tells her, now leaning forward himself, “I shouldn’t have left him to his own devices after giving him a new suit. And, you’re right that I should have intervened as soon as he tried to tell me about the Vulture and his weapons.”
“However,” he meets her eyes once more, trying to put all sincerity into his voice that he can, “You are wrong if you think I could have kept him from being a superhero. No one can do that.”
May is stunned, for only a second, when what she has been fearing all along is now staring her right in her face. “That’s not your decision to make,” she says quietly.
“No,” this time Peter steps away from the wall and closer to the conversation, effectively inserting himself into the adults’ debate, “It’s mine.”
He turns to his aunt, eyes pleading her to understand, as he has been whenever they tried to talk about it. “I have these abilities and it’s my responsibility to use them to help people. I can make a difference, Aunt May.”
She turns towards her nephew – the most important person in her life – and she shakes her head as she has done every time he has tried to talk about it. Not because he isn’t right but because she doesn’t want him to be.
“Your responsibility is to be a kid, Peter,” her voice is firm but her eyes are pleading with him just like his are with her, “You’re responsible to go to school, make friends, get an education and then you can change the world. Not as a superhero. It’s not your responsibility to risk your life as a teenager.”
“But I am a superhero,” he responds with conviction and he can see how it hurts her but he has to keep going, “I’m Spider-Man and you can’t argue that away and I won’t stand back when I could help someone. That’s not how you raised me and that’s not what uncle Ben taught me,” he adds softly. “Mister Stark understands that and I want you to, too.”
May turns back to Tony who has been watching their exchange quietly, at her questioning look, he sits up straighter, clears his throat and nods once. “I do understand that but I think you already do, too,” he says with a pointed look, “I think you’re afraid of what that means and I think I haven’t done much to help with that.”
“No, you haven’t.” Her eyes are hard again, as if Stark’s words have poked at and awoken the anger still simmering in her gut that is now pushing away the uncertainty of everything else. “You have endangered him more than he’s already done on his own and I don’t trust you to be around him.”
“I understand that,” Tony tries to assuage, “But I think I can help him.”
“Oh, how you’ve helped him before?” she shoots back, “Is that your version of helping someone? Completely abandoning them after giving them a deathly present? He doesn’t need a sponsor, Stark.”
Again, Peter wants to interrupt and defend Mister Stark but he’s faster.
“You’re right,” he agrees again, “He doesn’t need a sponsor but he does need a mentor. I know I have done wrong by both of you in the past because I didn’t realize what it meant.” He softens, “I’m not a parent. I have never been a mentor. I haven’t had great examples of either. But I’m willing to do everything in my power to teach him everything he needs to know and keep him safe so he can always come back home to you. And if you don’t believe anything else I said, you must know that I have a lot of power.”
May looks at him, tries to see if there’s even the shadow of a lie in his brown eyes and when she can’t find it, she looks over to Peter. Pure, innocent Peter who she has raised as her own and who is now a superhero. She closes her eyes and meets neither of theirs. She feels a tear slowly trickle from the corner of her eye and wipes it away with the back of her hand.
In determination she now looks at both of them.
“There are going to be rules.”
“Of course!” Peter exclaims.
“And a curfew,” she adds pointedly then, directed at Tony, “A weekly meeting where you tell me about everything that’s going on. And,” this is directed at the both of them, looking so much like they’re sitting on pins and needles that, despite herself, May has to bite back a smile. “I expect complete and total honesty. You have to earn my trust.”
“We promise,” they solemnly swear in unison.
(She just hopes that’s enough.)