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🕑 Added 2019-07-04 21:00:00 +0000 UTC
Peter didn’t feel right being around the Avengers at the funeral. He felt marked by some scarlet letter. Tony’s apprentice, his successor, the reason he risked it all. When the Avengers—Tony’s real friends, his real family—looked at him, Peter felt like they were searching for value. Some trick of the light that would justify that sacrifice. Something that would make the puzzle pieces fit. Peter supposed he could sympathize. He just didn’t have anywhere to look.
He went inside the house—somehow its forbidding solitude didn’t seem to have an effect on him, not when he could barely believe Tony was gone. He found Pepper sitting alone on the sofa, a tear trickling from either eye. If she wasn’t in the same boat that he was, they were at least in the same river. Peter imagined the Avengers found it hard to face her—hard to wonder again if there was anything more they could’ve done to save her husband. With all his problems, Peter didn’t have that one. Tony saved him, not the other way around.
“Peter… oh, there you are,” Pepper said, wiping her eyes. If Peter had detected any censure in her words, he would’ve fled immediately—as it was, he nearly flinched to hear her. But when she spoke, it was like she was beseeching him to stay, to comfort her. He sat down beside her and she almost fell on him, resting her head on his shoulder, crying again with barely any respite from the tears she’d wiped away.
Peter cradled her head, rocking her like she was a small child instead of a woman twice his age. “It’ll be alright, Ms. Potts… Mrs. Stark. Your husband’s a hero. If you can’t have him… at least you get to remember him the way he wanted to be.”
Pepper shook her head mutely against his arm. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Hold me, Peter. I don’t have anyone to… just hold me…”
After a moment, Peter started stroking Pepper’s hair. It seemed to bristle, growing unruly at his softest touch, as though her usual well-manicured pomade was somehow hiding a mass of wild hair. He smoothed every strawberry blonde lock by hand, stroking it down her back, feeling her spine tighten and relax as he transitioned from combing down her hair to caressing the tension from her back.
“God, you’re such a sweetheart,” Pepper breathed tearfully, her voice trembling, but less raw than before. It reminded Peter of every sci-fi show he’d ever seen, where they stopped the power core from exploding but it was still damaged, venting steam, being a mess. “You remind me of him. Tony. When he was young.”
She must’ve sensed the start go through Peter. Surprise at Tony Stark being called a sweetheart. Even more surprise at being compared to him.
Pepper reached up to run her hand over his smooth face. “You know Tony. He doesn’t hide things, he just shows you everything and sees if you care enough to sift through all the crap to see what’s important. He showed me videos from his childhood, photos—stories. He was a lot like you, Peter. But when his parents died, it changed everything. You’re like how he was before.”
“I know what it’s like to lose people,” Peter said tersely, instantly regretting it—lecturing the widow at her funeral on loss, volunteering himself to talk about Uncle Ben and his parents and… everyone when it was hard enough talking about Mr. Stark. Tony.
“I know you do,” Pepper replied. “But you haven’t let it change you, you’ve just let it… make you better. That’s what Tony would want for you. It’s what he’d want for himself—if he had any say in the matter… it feels so good to have someone's arms around me. No one knows how to touch me with him gone. No one knows what I… need…"
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