Monday morning was a pain in the ass.
First it was hard to get out of bed. Then I remembered I had school. And then I remembered I was currently being recruited by SHIELD. Yeah. Not a great start to the week. Not even close to morning yet, and I already wanted today to be over.
I scanned the folder Fury had left me into my SA and read through it page by page on the walk to school.
The offer, stripped of the formal language, was this: they train you, you serve them. I would have input into what I was trained in — technology, fighting disciplines, tactics, specialist skills. I would receive personal instruction from a SHIELD agent. When they judged me ready, I would be deployed on operations.
I honestly couldn't find a single compelling reason to refuse. Patrolling the streets every night was becoming repetitive, and I was capable of doing considerably more good with my time. There were always personal projects, but this was a chance to operate at a different level entirely.
I was aware of the disadvantages. Chief among them was the small matter of SHIELD being quietly infiltrated by HYDRA, sitting patient as a spider in a web and waiting for the right moment to strike. I knew that. But for now, the practical advantages of being a SHIELD agent outweighed everything else.
I would have to give up the Chikara dojo. My time with the FF might get stretched thin — though that had never been a serious problem before. And I would have to step back from being the neighbourhood's friendly Spider-Man, trading that for something with a much larger footprint. But maybe I could negotiate that. I'd have to talk to Fury.
I walked into school, SA still running in my pocket, flagging legal terminology I'd want to revisit — words like 'death', 'indemnity', and 'circumstances beyond our control'. If I was signing with the devil, I wanted to know the fine print first.
First period was English. I took my seat and switched off the SA — the last thing I needed was some curious classmate flipping through classified SHIELD operational documents.
"Yo, Parker — what's that?" Flash asked from behind me.
"It's a Scan and Adapt," I said, not bothering to turn around.
"What does it do?"
"It scans and converts any physical document into a digital format."
"Oh. Where'd you get it?"
"I made it."
"You made it?" Harry repeated, looking at the device with sudden interest. "Damn. That's actually pretty cool."
"Thanks, Harry."
I did my best to radiate disinterest in the prolonged conversation they were clearly fishing for.
"So, Parker — are you going to the Homecoming dance this Friday? Or are you too cool for that?" Flash asked, and just like that I found myself surrounded by the popular contingent, which I found exhausting at the best of times.
"Haven't decided," I said shortly. Take the hint.
"Oh, you're probably taking Felicia, right? After that kiss she gave you, she has to be interested."
I shrugged. "Maybe."
"Come on, Parker, lighten up! If I had a girl like that interested in me, I'd be at her door every morning!" Flash grinned.
"You do have a girl like that, Flash — she's right there, and she looks like she's about to blow a gasket," I said, nodding toward Liz, who was staring at Flash with precisely the expression I'd described.
"I — ah, well—"
"He's got you there, Flash," Harry said. The others laughed. Brilliant. This is exactly how I wanted to start my Monday.
"Move," Felicia's voice cut through the noise like a blade as she pushed through the group and dropped into the seat next to me. She turned a flat look on the assembled crowd, then glanced at me and gave a small nod, which I returned.
"Anyway, Peter — you should come, it'll be great! Flash is going with Liz, probably," Harry said, glancing at Flash, who was now being quietly lectured by his girlfriend. "And I'm going with MJ! It's going to be amazing, man!"
I raised an eyebrow at that last part and looked across the room to MJ. She caught my eye, rubbed her temple slightly, and gave a small, resigned nod. I raised an eyebrow in return. Harry being genuinely nice to someone was always mildly unexpected, but stranger things had happened.
"I'll think about it," I said.
"So, Hardy — are you going to the Homecoming dance?" Harry asked Felicia, leaning on her desk with his best approximation of charm.
Felicia turned a withering gaze on him. "One: get your backside off my desk. Two: what I'm doing is none of your business, Osborn."
"Okay, sheesh — just asking," Harry said, retreating. "Catch you later, Pete." He waved and withdrew, taking the others with him.
I exhaled. "Can you believe that guy?"
"What did you expect?" Felicia said. "You became the school hero practically overnight. Everyone's talking about what you did."
"Are they?" I whistled softly. "By the way — what are your plans for Homecoming?"
"Why do you ask?" she said, a small smile forming.
"Because I was going to ask you to go with me," I said.
The smile widened. She curled a stray strand of silver hair behind her ear. "Well... if you're actually asking, then — yeah. Why not?"
"Brilliant. Dinner first?"
"Sure. You can finally give me that proper date you've been promising me," she said, and the wink was slow and deliberate.
I smiled — and then the classroom door opened.
A woman walked in. She wore a fitted black pencil skirt and a blue blouse. Her hair was red and curly, and she moved with the easy confidence of someone who was never in a room by accident.
I recognised her in an instant.
Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. She was standing at the front of my English class, scanning the room with a practised glance — and her eyes settled on me for precisely one fraction of a second longer than anyone else.
She was here to watch me. Of course she was.
"Good morning, class. My name is Ms. Natasha Randol. I'll be your substitute teacher while Mr. Dunkan recovers." She smiled. The boys in the class lit up. Harry gave Flash a fist bump. I was somewhat less celebratory, given that I knew exactly who was standing at that chalkboard.
The class went by quickly. I'll give her this — Natasha knew English literature. Her explanations were insightful, her questions cut to the heart of the text. Almost enough to make you forget she was a trained intelligence operative who could incapacitate every person in the room before any of them knew what was happening.
Almost.
When the bell rang, everyone shuffled out. Felicia paused and looked at me, asking with her eyes if I was coming. I told her I needed a word with the new teacher. She gave me an odd look but respected it, and walked out.
When the last student had gone, I was still in my seat.
Natasha looked up. "Mr. Parker? How can I help you?"
"I was expecting Fury to give me a week," I said.
Natasha blinked. "I'm sorry — I'm not sure I follow. Who is Fury?"
I rolled my eyes. "Really. A new teacher, appearing this fast, two days after the previous one ended up in hospital? That's not how this school works. It took them over a week to find cover last time."
"Actually, I'd already applied for a teaching position when Mr. Dunkan had his accident. The timing—"
I threw a punch at her face.
Natasha's eyes widened — reflexes firing before thought — and she dodged, caught my arm, and used my own momentum to flip me over her shoulder onto the floor. I lay there staring at the ceiling.
I looked up at her and smiled. "Pretty fast for a teacher."
The pleasant substitute persona evaporated. What replaced it was considerably colder. "Fury said you were quick. I didn't expect this quick."
"It's a gift. Now I'd recommend stepping back before someone comes in and draws the wrong conclusion about why you're standing over a student."
I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. She had a sense of humour — she just kept it well under lock and key. We stood up and I straightened my coat.
"I've read through the offer," I said. "It's acceptable, conditionally. My first condition is this: I want the ability to protect this city. I understand there will be field assignments that take me elsewhere, and I won't compromise a mission by going rogue — but when Queens is under threat, I need the option to respond. That's non-negotiable."
"Reasonable," Natasha said. "Anything else?"
"Funding for independent research and development. And I want ownership of whatever I build. I'm not handing my designs over to SHIELD as institutional property."
"I'll relay both conditions to Fury," she said. Then — seamlessly, the mask sliding back into place — she smiled warmly. "Now then, Mr. Parker, if there's nothing else, I believe you have a class to get to!"
Behind me the door opened and her next batch of students filed in. How she'd known they were about to arrive, I couldn't explain.
I wished her a good morning and walked out.
I felt eyes on me for the rest of the day — real ones, planted ones, or just my own paranoia, it was difficult to say. At lunch I spotted Felicia sitting alone in a corner of the cafeteria and made my way over.
"Hey," I said, dropping into the seat beside her.
"Hey, Tiger," she said. She studied me for a moment. "You know, I think you've earned the right to give me a proper nickname by now."
"Any preferences?"
"You pick," she shrugged, going back to her salad.
I looked at the fork she was using and noticed a small cat etched into the handle. Classic. "How about... Kitten?"
She went completely still. She turned to look at me slowly. "...Why did you call me that?"
"The cat on your fork," I said, pointing to it. "You remind me of one, actually. Graceful, clever, and thoroughly aloof. It seemed appropriate." I let my voice drop slightly on the nickname. "Kitten."
She stared at me for a long moment. "Damn you, Parker," she said at last.
"Don't like it?"
"No... it's fine," she muttered, returning to her meal. I laughed. I could only imagine what it had done to her composure, hearing that particular nickname from me.
After school Felicia, MJ, and I settled into our regular study session. We got some actual work done before the two of them inevitably drifted into a conversation about Homecoming — what to wear, colour coordination, that sort of thing. Felicia and MJ were both deeply interested in fashion, though Felicia cared more about how clothes felt and moved than which name was on the label.
After the session, I headed to the Chikara dojo.
I had a feeling it would be the last time.
At the end of the class I pulled Colleen aside and told her I'd likely have to stop coming. She looked genuinely sad about it.
"Peter, you're one of the most naturally gifted students I've ever taught. You've absorbed more in a few months than most people learn in years. Are you certain there's no way to continue?"
"I'm sorry, sensei. My family needs the income, and I'm stretched too thin as it is. I promise — I haven't forgotten anything you've taught me. If I can come back, even occasionally, I will." It was only half a lie. I was doing this for others. I always had been.
Colleen looked pained but nodded.
"Well, that's certainly a shame," said a voice from the doorway.
We both turned. A middle-aged man stood there — a suit, a well-kept beard, curly dark hair combed back. His smile was practised and warm. He looked at me and I felt my stomach turn to ice.
Bakuto. A senior figure of the Hand. Standing in the doorway of my dojo, smiling at me.
"Master Bakuto," Colleen said, bowing. "This is a surprise. I had no idea you were in the area."
"I was passing through. I thought I'd drop in." He turned his smile to me. "And who is this?"
"Peter Parker," Colleen said proudly. "One of my very best. He's leaving us, unfortunately."
"Oh?" Bakuto stepped forward, his expression one of gentle curiosity. "And what takes you away, Mr. Parker?"
I kept my voice even. "Family finances. I need to prioritise supporting them right now."
"I see. Well — my organisation offers a number of scholarships for promising young people. I'd be happy to arrange one for you, assuming your progress here is as impressive as Colleen suggests."
"I appreciate that," I said carefully, "but it wouldn't be fair. Other students here need the support far more than I do. I'd rather the opportunity go to someone like Marcus."
Bakuto's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes shifted — a slight recalibration. "It would be a genuine shame to let talent like yours go untended."
"I'd rather let it go untended than put a burden on my family," I said, meeting his gaze.
Colleen called after me as I walked out. I didn't stop.
This was the right call. The absolute last thing I needed was the Hand developing an interest in me. If they ever suspected I knew what they were, what they did — they wouldn't hesitate. I needed distance, and I needed it now.
I walked into the Baxter Building and found them in the den — voices and laughter coming from inside. I stepped in and stopped.
May and Ben were sitting on the sofa with the FF.
"Oh, hey Peter! How was school?" Sue asked, smiling at me.
"...Fine?" I looked at my aunt and uncle. "What are you doing here?"
"We figured it was time we saw this place you spend so much time at," Ben said. "And I have to say, Peter, you couldn't have chosen better."
"Thanks, Uncle Ben," Johnny said, smirking.
"He's not your uncle," I said.
"Now, Peter — that's no way to speak to your colleagues," May said.
I stared at her. "...Even Johnny?"
"Especially Johnny."
"Ha! You'd better show me some respect, Parker, or I'm telling your aunt everything," Johnny crowed.
"I will douse you in petrol, Storm," I said flatly.
"Would you like more tea?" Ben asked, lifting the pot toward May.
"Oh, yes please, Ben — that would be lovely," she smiled.
Reed caught my eye and grinned.
"Et tu, Reed?" I said.
He and the others laughed. I gave up and sat down, and we all talked for a while — easy, unhurried conversation that I found myself genuinely enjoying. Eventually May and Ben made their excuses and headed home.
The moment the door closed, I let the easy expression drop.
"I need to tell you all something," I said.
"It sounds serious," Sue said carefully. "Is it your other work?"
I nodded. "I've been approached by a covert intelligence organisation. They know who I am. They've offered me a job."
Reed's expression shifted. "Which organisation?"
"SHIELD."
Reed let out a slow breath. "Hell."
Sue matched it. "This isn't good."
"I only know the basics," I said. "Big spy agency, serious resources, a finger in every intelligence operation on the planet."
"That's about right," Sue said. "Their stated mission is to stand between the world and the things that would destroy it. That was always how our father described them. The gatekeepers." She paused. "They're not the kind of organisation you want as an enemy. They have the capacity to dismantle criminal networks, influence governments, and bury you so deep you'd never surface."
"They've made me a full offer," I said, and walked them through the terms. Sue studied the document on my SA carefully.
"Are you going to accept?" Johnny asked.
"Honestly? I don't think I have much choice. I was foolish to think I could stay invisible indefinitely. At least they're giving me terms to negotiate."
"Take it," Ben Grimm said from the corner, his voice low and measured. "It's the best arrangement you're going to get. The training will keep you alive. And if Fury thinks you're worth protecting, he won't make an enemy of you."
"The deal looks fairly solid from what I'm reading," Sue murmured. "You're unlikely to get cheated out of the training."
"Win-win?" I asked.
"Basically," Reed said.
"If I do this — I won't have as much time for any of you," I admitted.
"We've always been flexible about timing, Peter. Don't worry about us," Reed said.
"And what friends?" Johnny asked. "Weren't you supposed to be some kind of cool loner?"
"I was. And then people found out I knew all of you, and suddenly I'm a celebrity."
"Oh, that's wonderful, Peter! You can never have too many friends!" Sue smiled.
"They don't act like friends. They act like I've become a spectacle," I said. "Though... there is one person. She's— she's alright."
"A girl?" Ben's expression shifted.
"A girl!" Johnny sat up. "Tell me everything."
"Absolutely not."
"Why?!"
"Because the second I do, you'll look her up and be insufferable about it." I glanced at his phone, which was already in his hand. "Put it down."
"...Are you on Facebook?" he asked hopefully.
"No. Waste of time."
"Same," said Reed, with a sigh.
We talked for a while longer about the SHIELD decision before drifting to our separate projects. Later in the evening Sue pulled me aside about the SA patent — the lawyers were progressing, and she was in preliminary talks with Amazon about manufacturing rights. I'd get fifty percent ownership of the patent and five percent royalties on every unit ever sold.
Things, it seemed, were looking up.