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peterrparrkerr · 3 years ago

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Hit mad falls in love with target - read on ao3

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Peter waved frantically at Tony when he walked into the lab, eyes glued to a computer screen.

"Tony, quick! Look!" He demanded, nearly vibrating in his chair.

Tony made his way over, hands clasped behind his back as he leaned over Peter's shoulder.

"Isn't it awesome?" The young man asked, waving his hands around.

"What am I looking at?" Tony asked.

"Its cancer," Peter said. He points to different colored lines in the graph, all jagged and fluctuating. "This is breast cancer, and this one is pancreatic, skin, lung."

Tony hums as Peter continues to list each colored line as a different form of cancer.

"I was able to isolate the individual cells from everything else, and- look, look!"

Peter snatches Tony by the shirt sleeve and tugs him from one monitor to the one on the other side of the lab. He taps his fingers on the screen, bouncing on his heels.

"These are the cells after being treated with non-radioactive therapy," Peter said, looking up at Tony. "The number of cancer cells is cut in half within a week!"

Peter then drags Tony across the lab again, babbling excitedly as he does so. "Do you know what this means? This means we can start human testing! And we can market the treatment for practically nothing!"

He shows Tony a live feed of the treatment in action from a TV monitor.

"Think about the possibilities," Peter grinned. "Anyone can get treated, no matter their financial standing. And the treatment isn't as harmful as chemo or radiation. It doesn't attack the body as a whole, it isolates the cancer cells and leaves the rest of the body alone.

"No more hair loss or side effects. And we could cut remission in half too," Peter said. "Just think, this time next year, we could start selling to hospitals all over the world."

Tony smiles down at the younger man. He had known within the first day of meeting Peter that he wouldn't be able to follow through. He's glad he hadn't.

"Have you told anybody else?" He asks casually.

"Ned knows," Peter said. "And Bruce, but they were here when it happened."

"Where are they now?"

Peter gives Tony a wry smile, still too excited about his treatment working.

"I sent them home a couple hours ago," he said. "We've all been awake for almost three days, so I'm sure they've gone to bed already."

"You should be in bed too, don't you think?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter waves him off, shaking his head as he goes to his work desk. "I'll sleep later," he said, pulling his lab coat off and draping it over the chair.

He's dressed in his usual outfit; comfortable pants and a button up.

"Plus, I knew you'd make your rounds around this time, and I wanted to tell you," Peter said with a grin, grabbing his personal items.

That was part of Tony's cover. A janitor for the building Peter worked for. Hes wearing a navy blue jump suit, though he's left the cart out in the hallway.

"I'll walk you to your car," Tony hums, leading the way out. When he'd first started this, he'd offered his company to get closer to Peter -to find his vulnerabilities.

Now though, he does it because he's protecting the young scientist.

He'd skipped out with 45 thousand dollars paid to kill the boy, but as the days had gone on, and Peter had grown comfortable with him, Tony realized he couldn't steal him from the world.

Peter was incredible. He worked tirelessly to find a cure for cancer. He's already created a new insulin for diabetes that he's made available to everyone for only $10 a month -something not many other medical professionals liked.

Peter was making enemies left and right, and Tony decided to make it his job to keep him breathing. If not for the rest of his life, then for as long as it takes for the young scientist to see an end to cancer.

The boy wasn't getting much in terms of money for his creations. In fact, from what Tony's come to learn, the boy doesn't own a car, and rents an apartment with his aunt.

He sees enough to live paycheck to paycheck and this new treatment won't do much to better his life, but he's not concerned with money. He wants to make Healthcare more effective and affordable.

Tony's got morals. Enough of them to know when a hit is a bad investment. That didn't stop him from taking his payment anyway.

The two make it to the car park. Its dark, the overhead lights buzzing annoyingly. Its empty, save for a couple cars belonging to a few of the security guards, and the car Peter shares with his aunt.

It's an older model, grey paint chipping and metal beneath rusting near the wheels. Peter talks animatedly beside him, lands flailing in front of him.

Tony glances around them, scowling as he takes in the familiar cement structure.

"Wait," Tony says, just as Peter's pulling the keys from his pocket. They're a couple feet away from the car, and the hairs on Tony's arms and neck stand on end.

"What is it?" Peter asked curiously, reaching for the door handle.

It's just as Peter grips the handle that Tony sees the wire connected to the metal lock on the other side of the glass.

Tony is quick to react, grabbing Peter by the arms and wrenching him away from the door.

Peter yelps in surprise, but its cut out by the sound of a small explosion. Tony braces for the blast of air that knocks the two off their feet, and grits his teeth at the heat that follows.

Peter's pressed against the cement, Tony weighing down on him. His ears ring, but he quickly gets to his feet, unzipping his jumpsuit and grabbing the .9 mm from the waistband of his jeans.

The car is ablaze, crackle-popping and sizzling. Its just the cab thats on fire, but Tony knows its only a matter of seconds before the flames reach the engine and the fuel line.

Tony looks around him, trying to find the culprit -though he knows from experience that the man won't be here.

He grabs Peter by the armpits and pulls him to his feet. Blood smears against his forehead and jaw. His hands and arms are scraped up and Tony can tell his knees are busted too, but it doesn't look like anything damaging.

"We gotta go," Tony urges, already half dragging the younger back towards the building.

"You-you have a gun," Peter gapes, stumbling after Tony, arm in the older's hard grip. "Why do you have a gun?"

Tony reaches the door for the stairwell.

"I'm a hired gun," Tony said, glancing up, then down, gun following his eyeline before pushing Peter towards the stairs going up.

"I thought you were a janitor," Peter gasped, climbing the stairs and swaying. Tony places his free hand on Peter's lower back.

"Thats just a front," Tony confessed. "We got to get you out of here."

"Someone blew up my car," Peter said, panting as they continue up to the first floor. "Aunt May is gonna kill me."

"Not if Buck doesn't kill you first," Tony grunted, pulling Peter out of the stairwell and into the main lobby.

Tony's car is around the side of the building, but its open to attack. Tony can't keep Peter trapped inside the building though, so he risks it.

Their feet slap loudly on the asphalt as they run for the nondescript black SUV Tony had taken to driving.

He checks around the vehicle, under and inside before issuing Peter into the back seat.

Tires screech as Tony peels out of the parking lot.

"What- whats happening? Tony, what- why do-"

"Someones trying to kill you, Peter," Tony said, blowing past the guard tower at the exit of the parking lot.

"But why?" Peter asked dumbly, voice slurring slightly as more blood turns the side of his face crimson.

"I'll answer all your questions when we're safe," Tony promised, eyes frantically shifting from the area ahead of him to the rear view mirror.

Peter must really be feeling the effects of his head slamming into the concrete, because he doesn't protest.

"Lay down," Tony orders, merging into traffic and slowing down. "Lay low until I say."

Peter does -Tony thinks mostly because of his head injury. Tony relaxes a little, knowing the scientist won't be gunned down in the back seat.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere safe," Tony answered, keeping an eye behind him.

He doesn't see a tail, but he takes a round-about way to his safe house, just outside of Queens.

When they get to the small cabin, Tony checks the building before helping Peter inside.

"I think I have a concussion," Peter mumbles, swaying on his feet as Tony guides him to the kitchen chair.

"I don't doubt it," Tony agrees, setting his gun down on the table beside Peter's elbow before grabbing the first aid kit.

He pulls another chair over in front of the young scientist and opens the red box.

"Let me see your hands," Tony orders. Peter does, palms up. Tony begins to clean them and his arms.

"Tony," Peter says, breaking the silence. Tony doesn't say anything. He reaches up to clean the blood from the side of Peter's cheek.

"Is your name actually Tony?"

Tony makes eye contact before nodding.

"And you're a hired gun?" Peter asks, slightly breathless. "Like, like a hitman?"

"Yes," Tony answers, reaching the cut on Peter's hairline. Peter winces, but doesn't pull away.

"You kill people for a living?"

"Yes."

It takes Peter a couple seconds, but it seems to hit him. Hes bolting to his feet, the chair clattering behind him.

Tony leans back into the chair, watching as Peter begins to pace.

"What- Tony, you have to tell me whats going on," Peter demands, hand on his head. Tony knows from experience that pacing tends to help the scientist expell excess energy.

"I will," Tony nods. Peter continues his pacing. Back and forth beside the kitchen counter.

"Why- why are people trying to kill me?" He demanded. "Who blew up my car?"

Tony sets the paper towels down on the table, knowing Peter won't sit still for him to properly tend to him.

"The one who blew up your car is another hitman," Tony said. "Goes by the name Winter Soldier."

"You called him Buck," Peter said, pointing an accusatory finger at Tony, eyes narrowed.

"I did," Tony nodded. "Hitmen tend to run in the same circles, though we don't always like each other. Bucky was probably hired to finish the job."

"Finish the job," Peter repeated dumbly. "I'm the job?"

Tony nods, once more letting Peter process. He knew Peter would figure it out without Tony's help. He was smart.

"Finish the job means someone already tried to- to kill me," Peter said, panting as he continued to pace. The wound at his hairline is bleeding sluggishly, dripping down his temple and towards his jaw.

Peter wipes at it without thought, smearing blood against his cheek. He pauses to look down at his hand, fingers glistening in red.

He touches his forehead again, as if remembering he's still injured, then turns to Tony, accusation and fear in his Bambi brown eyes.

"You," he said softly, in disbelief. "You were hired to kill me, weren't you."

"I was," Tony nodded.

"But you haven't," Peter said. Tony can practically see the gears turning behind his eyes. "And, and now whoever hired you hired the Winter Soldier."

Tony only nods. Peter takes a shuddering inhale and has to grip the counter with a bloody hand to stabilize himself.

"I'm- I'm- who- who would want to-to kill me?!"

"The payment was anonymous," Tony said. "Thats how it works. But whoever it is is threatened by you."

Peter looks at Tony incredulously. "Me? Why me? I'm the least threatening person -like- ever!"

"You've cost Big Pharma millions with your insulin," Tony said. "You've patented it, so they can't take it and upcharge the way they've been doing. And if your treatment for cancer is a success, you'd be costing them even more."

Peter takes a moment to process that before he nods. "Right, yeah. I knew I was going to make a lot of people mad about that, but. But I never expected anyone to actually try to kill me."

"Money is a powerful motive," Tony said, a little too much experience leaking into his tone.

Peter hears it, because he stops his pacing, shoulders dropping. Exhaustion seems to pull him towards the floor like an anvil tied to his spine.

He sways a little, and Tony's about to offer him the chair again, but he moves to it willingly. When he sits, their knees are barely touching, and he blinks dazedly at his bloody hand.

Tony grabs a clean rag and leans forward to clean up the blood from Peter's head. The younger lets him, still processing and no doubt sluggish from the concussion.

"Why didn't you?" Peter asked after Tony had taped gauze to his hairline. It was patchy and poorly done, but it would help.

"Why didn't I what," Tony hummed, using an alcoholic wet wipe to clean the remaining blood from Peter's hands. The boy winces at the burn to his scraped palms.

"Kill me," he said, swallowing thickly. "You had plenty of opportunity."

Tony sighed, setting the wipes down before leaning forward and looking Peter in the eye.

"Because I believe in the work you're doing," he said honestly. "And I'm going to make sure you finish it."

Peter blinks once, twice, before breaking eye contact and sighing, body eating to melt into the chair as the air leaves his lungs.

"Come on," Tony said, standing up and slipping the gun into the waistband of his pants. Then offering his hand. "This place is safe. Theres a bed you can sleep in."

"I shouldn't sleep with a concussion," Peter said weakly, taking Tony's offered hand anyway.

"Its mild, I'm sure you'll be fine," Tony mused, heading deeper into the cabin to the bedroom.

The bedroom isn't anything special. A twin bed in the corner, a four drawer dresser and a blackout curtain.

Peter climbs onto the bed, not bothering with the covers or taking his shoes off. Tony thinks its best he sleep with them on anyway, in case Bucky finds them.

Tony moves to leave, grabbing the handle, and Peter bolts upright again, eyes wide.

"You're okay," Tony promises. "I'll be right outside."

Peter gives the barest shake of his head. "Stay here, please," he says softly.

Tony nods, shutting the door and turning off the light before making his way to the side of the bed. Theres an old step stool there, and he sits down at the head of the bed.

Peter lays back down, body too tense to ever fall asleep. Tony keeps his ears attuned to any noise that could alert him to Bucky, or anyone else, gun sitting perfectly stop on his knee, finger off the trigger, but ready at a moments notice.

"Tony?"

"Yes, Peter."

Peter shuffles around, and Tony turns his head just in time to feel pillow soft lips connect with the corner of his mouth.

He can't help but smirk as Peter settles back down. "Thanks for not killing me."

Tony chuckles at that, leaning his head against the wall. "I may be a hitman, but I've got morals," he says into the dark room. "Besides, nobody likes cancer."

Peter laughs tiredly at that before reaching his hand out and grabbing Tony's. Their fingers interlock, and Tony doesn't really know which one of them initiated it.

"You're going to be okay," Tony continued. "I wont let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me."

"I know."

#marvel #tony stark #peter parker #ironman #starker #spiderman #my writing #ao3 #sfsummerbingo21

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themomsandthecity · 8 years ago

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I Grew Up With 2 Moms, and I Wouldn't Change a Thing

They may not know it, but my mom and stepmom make an amazing team. I know it sounds crazy - that two women on the opposite sides of a failed marriage could be on a "team" of any kind, let alone a winning one. They probably think that they're barely getting by in the wild world of parenthood, struggling to make the right choices day by day while raising my little brother and me . . . but to be honest, they're kicking ass. I can say without question that my two mothers are now counted among my best friends, and I consider myself lucky to have grown up with double the moms in my life. My Stepmom After my parents' divorce, I was very wary of stepmothers. Growing up watching movies like The Parent Trap, Cinderella, and Snow White, how could I not be scared of the future that awaited my little brother and me? So when my dad decided that the time to introduce us to his new girlfriend was long overdue, I was on my guard - imagine my shock when I hit it off with the athletic, cheerful young woman who made my dad incredibly happy. However much I liked her, though, I was fiercely protective of my little family and made it known. I was defensive of my mother's role in my life, and I made it known that no stepmom was ever going to replace her. Luckily for me, mine never tried. On the many occasions when I rudely asserted that I didn't need another mom, my stepmother responded kindly, assuring me that her role was "co-mama." Not mom. Not dad's wife. Rather, she was there to support our family as a loving coparent. To this day, I can't imagine a better way to put my stubborn little mind at ease. When my dad and stepmom got married, I not only gained a cool new co-mama in my life . . . I also gained a whole new family of grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles who love me like one of their own. I can't imagine life without them. I've heard many stories of stepparents who are distant, uninvolved, and have no investment in their stepchild's life. That was never the case for my stepmom - she encouraged me to pursue my dreams. When I wanted to study fashion design, she bought fashion magazines for my rudimentary mood boards and even managed to find a dress-form mannequin in my exact size. When I switched gears to focus on writing, she read countless stories that never made it past the first chapter. I ended up focusing on nonfiction writing as a career, but without her encouragement during these early stages I doubt I would have had the courage to pursue such an "impractical" occupation. She screamed when I got accepted into my dream college, jumping around with me in the hallways of our house. When I landed my job at POPSUGAR, she was so excited for me that she cried. My stepmother has always been one of my biggest cheerleaders, and I will never be able to thank her enough for it. My Mom Don't even get me started on my mom. You know Lorelai Gilmore? If you could combine her with Mrs. Incredible (aka Elastigirl from The Incredibles), you'd get my mom. She's one of the hardest workers I've ever known, possesses a fierce independence that would put Beyoncé to shame, and values her kids above all else. While many women dread inheriting characteristics from their mothers, I'd be lucky to become more like mine. She taught me how to love without holding back, live a life that I'm proud of, and form relationships worth keeping. Over the 21 years that she's raised me, my mom has worked her butt off. Long hours of exhausting tasks and heaps of responsibility awaited her at the office every day, but somehow she always put on an energetic smile for my brother and me. During the few months since I graduated and entered the workforce, my already high regard for her has increased a hundredfold - I get eight hours of sleep per night and still feel sluggish when I arrive home from work! She's always been determined not to let her personal struggles affect her parenting, and despite everything from financial woes to health scares she's succeeded. If she ever felt threatened by another mother's presence in my life, I never knew it! It seems that every spare moment of my mom's life is spent connecting with her kids through the activities that matter to us. For my little brother, that means many late nights spent poring over football strategies, creating sports-team rosters, and baking enough snacks to feed an entire mountain-biking team. When I still lived in the house, it usually meant picking through stacks of used books at musty bookstores or picking up burritos for marathon nights of Lost. My brother and I are vastly different people, but my mom managed to value and connect with us equally. I wasn't the most obedient or respectful teenager, but my mom persevered and loved me anyway - and I'm thankful that my rebellious days are over, because now I can talk to her about anything. She's spoken more words of prayer for me than are written in 10 copies of War and Peace - I'm sure of it. If you collected the tears she's shed for me during times of heartbreak and distress, they would fill a fish tank. I can call my mom anytime for an attentive ear and compassionate advice, and she's still always game for Thai food and Netflix binges. It would never embarrass me to call her my best friend. The "Team" My mom and stepmom may not know they're a team, but for 14 years they have been. From tackling tough issues to getting me through college, they've collaborated peacefully and admirably in ways that most divorced families couldn't fathom. They have worked so hard to keep any stress out of our households - for every "serious" discussion, they (and my dad, of course!) would reserve a room at the local library to hash things out, allowing me and my brother to enjoy time with friends instead of overhear potentially concerning financial talk. This type of thoughtfulness and cooperative concern for the kids was the norm in my childhood, and I'm so lucky for it. My two mother figures worked hard to coparent without any drama, which is sadly quite uncommon in the world of divorced families. My birthdays were celebrated with all three of my parents present, enjoying one another's company without any harsh words spoken. When I graduated both high school and college, both moms sat together in the audience. I got to look out at the commencement onlookers and see the most important women in my life smile back - a privilege that I'll never forget. Looking back on a childhood of shared birthday parties, peaceful transitions between the houses, and open communication between sets of parents, I don't know if my two mothers even know how great of a job they've done. Between the two of them, I've never gone without a shoulder to cry on, good advice, or a loving hug. My unlikely team of moms is a winning one, and I've been indescribably blessed to call them mine. http://bit.ly/2nJbiMV

#Personal Essay #Single Moms #Motherhood #Divorce

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