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The attendant at the ticketing counter had freckles on her eyelids.
Peter made sure to give her the most dazzling smile he could muster, but even his relentless optimism was waning on their hopes of making a flight tonight.
Who ever heard of making standby on a flight from London to New York that had been oversold to begin with — let alone for two people.
And the night after a sold-out concert at Wembley?
Yeah. Freaking unheard of.
Tony shifted beside Peter, impatience twitching in his fingertips. Aware that Tony might be about to blow their cover and whip out a black credit card, Peter asked,
“Are there any other flights tonight to the US? Not just JFK or Newark.”
“Umm, one moment Mr. Parker… let me just check… hmm, well…” the attendant’s eyes flicked between Peter and Tony, as if unsure who was in charge even though Peter had done all the talking. Peter supposed the hat, sunglasses, and face mask gave Tony a somewhat mysterious allure.
“So, I could route you through LAX on standby leaving at 6:35, the airline would comp a hotel for the night, and then in the morning you could fly into Newark…” her face pinched at the mere suggestion, as if knowing the overshot would be too much for Tony to bear when the man hadn’t even said a word.
“Otherwise…?” Peter nibbled his bottom lip, and the attendant seemed to deflate with sympathy for him.
“Otherwise, I could guarantee you seats on a direct flight to JFK… but it won’t be until three pm tomorrow.”
Peter nodded, taking this in very seriously while keenly aware that Tony was trying not to rip the whole ticket booth into two pieces.
“And accommodations tonight…?”
“Oh! Of course, Mr. Parker. The airline would cover a hotel room for the two of you.”
“We’ll do that then, the direct flight and guaranteed seats to JFK tomorrow. Thank you so much!” Peter reached to shake her hand and the woman literally blushed.
“Of course, of course… if you’ll just hand me your passports… I’ll take care of the booking details…” Peter passed the passports to her and nodded when she asked, “Would you like me to check you in now?”
“Please!”
“Okay then that’s… Mr. Peter Parker and… Anthony Stark — ha! Like Tony Stark, huh?”
Tony grimaced behind his mask and answered gruffly, “Get that a lot.”
“Oh I can imagine,” she giggled and cluelessly continued to get their booking squared away.
Peter beamed again at both of them and resisted the urge to pat Tony on the back in a childish form of praise.
She passed their passports back along with two boarding passes and a voucher listing acceptable hotels, and Peter led Tony from the ticket counter with a soft, “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Wasn’t so bad?” Tony blustered incredulously. “Peter we could be home and eating authentic New York pizza three times over by now — maybe four! I don’t understand this whole ‘standby’ system… you wait and get told no, wait and get told no, wait and get bumped to the next flight, wait and get told no again… this is insane. When do you actually fly home?”
Peter looked at him puzzled, “Tomorrow at three.” He said, then he grinned.
All Peter could see of Tony were his eyes, so all he could make out was a deeply furrowed brow in answer to this.
“Come on,” Peter jerked his head toward the sign that read arrivals, “We got a long way back into the city,”
“Right,” Tony mumbled something else under his breath, but through the mask Peter couldn’t make it out. “Which hotel are we going to? I’ll order an Uber.”
“Some place called Queen’s Court Suites, and you won’t be booking an Uber.” Peter said, crossing the arrivals platform to stand in line at the elevators, “We’re taking the subway. Or as they call it here the tube.”
Tony all but dragged his feet after Peter. Boy did he have a bone (or twelve) to pick with Fury; a mission with just the kid was bad enough, but being cutoff from Stark and SHIELD resources was unbearable.
The tube wasn’t just packed, wasn’t just standing room only. It literally overflowed with people. All Tony could see was shoulders and bag straps and all he could smell was sweat.
Peter was wedged in front of him, and in a past life Tony might have reached to cup the boy’s supple ass on the subway car. But he swallowed stringently and held his muscles strictly in check while all around them teenage girls gushed about concerts past and upcoming.
It took them an hour to get into the city and two transfers to different lines before they finally walked 13 minutes to their hotel. Tony dragged his suitcase behind him, grateful at least that Pepper had packed it efficiently and lightly, and resolved to continue to let Peter speak for them at the hotel concierge desk.
There was no one at the desk. Peter tapped the waiting bell once and then held still, Tony’s fingers twitched with the impatient urge to hit the bell another four or five times out of insistence.
“So,” Tony cleared his throat while they waited, “You used to fly like this all the time?”
Peter’s head bobbed. “Not internationally,” he said, “But yeah May, Ben, and I used to visit relatives in Sacramento by flying standby,”
“And.” Tony had to swallow hard to get the word out, still disturbed by their experience on the flight to London just three days ago, “and economy.”
“Yes, economy.” Peter laughed.
“And you waited in all those lines every time? And got way too familiar with the entertainment preferences of the person next to you. And trekked all over the airport between gates when you couldn’t get on. And overpaid for the shittiest cup of coffee you’d ever had in your life. And-“
“Well we never bought anything at the airport, because it was overpriced. But yeah.”
Tony stared down at Peter, and wondered if the boy had been right all those months ago. Maybe the chasm between them was just too wide.
“Hello sirs, sorry for the wait. Can I help you?” An overly cheerful man swept behind the desk and reached for the voucher Peter offered.
“Right then, one room for one night. Your night is fully covered, but there is the matter of the city tax…”
Peter sorted out the fee in cash and Tony asked,
“How much would a second room be?”
“We don’t need a second room.” Peter interrupted before the concierge could answer, “Thank you though.”
They got sorted out with two room keys and were directed down the hall and up three flights of stairs that left Tony puffing more than he’d care to admit. They walked down the most depressing hallway Tony had ever seen (it made him want to put the suit on and just blast himself in the face with one of the gauntlets) and stopped outside a brass sign that read 321.
“Oh.” Peter stopped dead in the doorway and let out a breath, “maybe we do need a second room.”
“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Tony craned his neck and went to his tiptoes to try and look around the younger man, his own heart double thumping with an asinine flicker of hope when he saw the problem.
Tony looked from the room back to his ex.
There was only one bed.