Watching Spider-Man:FFH

Prt 4

Last time on The Trials and Tribulations of Spider-Man, the People's Hero:

"It's — it's nice to meet you, too," Loki struggled to say, but Peter's rewarding smile made it worth it, somehow. His uncertainty eased, and he smiled back, just barely.

Loki didn't notice the way Fury's gaze turned thoughtful, contemplative from across the room. He didn't notice the way Tony choked in shock. He didn't notice the way his brother hid the smallest of smiles—hid pride—behind a facade of disbelief. (No matter how angry Thor was at Loki for attacking the Earth, no matter how much Loki had hurt him, a part of him would always be Loki's brother. That would never change.)

Loki didn't notice anything but the way Peter's smile widened in understanding just before he looked away, well aware that any more emotion would overwhelm Loki. Loki was privately grateful. He'd never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, before now, and he needed a second to think—to breathe.

Peter seemed to understand that. He pressed his knee against Loki's—briefly, very briefly, for barely two seconds before he let up on the pressure—and addressed the rest of the room as if nothing had happened: "So. Now that you've gotten the chance to stretch out your legs, Mr. Stark,"—Peter's voice wavered over the shape and sound of his mentor's name, his breath shallowing with uncertainty—"we should cut to the point. Does anyone have any clue why we're all here?"

Now on The Trials and Tribulations of Spider-Man, the People's Hero:

Not for the first time, silence reigned. This time, though, the silence was laced with tension instead of shock as everyone exchanged nervous glances with others from their own timelines.

Peter sighed. He'd become intimately familiar with silence over the last couple of months on the run from world governments. For so long, his only companion had been the noiseless whispers of the wind; he'd even call silence a friend by now, if not for the fact that the quiet made him shiver.

He missed his old life. He missed his friends, his classmates and even his teachers. Most of all, he missed his aunt.

I'm tired of silence, he thought, fingers anxiously flexing and curling on his lap.

Perhaps Mr. Stark was able to read his mind even now before they'd officially met, or perhaps he'd simply grown impatient himself, because Tony soon sat up straight and cleared his throat. "I'm guessing that's a unanimous 'no' from all timelines, yes?"

Everyone nodded mutely.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Well, clearly we're getting nowhere," he snorted. "Unless you're all—"

"The notepad," Wanda murmured, lifting one finger to point at a nondescript yellow notepad lying innocuously atop the TV stand. "Perhaps we'll find a clue amid its pages."

Sam smiled encouragingly. "Good eye, Wanda," he praised. He waited for no more than half a beat, head cocked sideways in a silent question: Should I go get the notepad or are you going to use your telekinesis?

Wanda, noticing his unspoken expectation, hesitated briefly before shaking her head, head bowed and eyes haunted. Even without explaining, it was clear to Sam that her thoughts were on her audience—she'd never liked to divulge much about her feelings, but Sam knew it hurt her every time someone reacted poorly to her magic.

"Don't worry about it," Sam murmured to her under his breath, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly for a split-second. She offered him a shaky, grateful smile, and he smiled back, hopping up to his feet.

As soon as he had his fingers wrapped around the notepad, he cast Tony an inquiring look. "Would you like to do the honors, Iron Man?"

Tony hid a smug grin at the fact that Sam had turned to him. And yet, even as he nodded in agreement, easily catching the notepad in one hand upon Sam's toss, he couldn't help but think that Sam's question had nothing to do with respect. There had been no hint of reverence in Sam's voice, nor on Sam's face—something told him that here, surrounded by all of these time-travelers, his status as both Tony Stark and Iron Man didn't amount to much.