176. Rust and Ashes. (Patreon)

Pepper Potts POV:

I stood before the glass wall of my office, Manhattan spread out beneath me like a living circuit board. Lights blinking, traffic flowing, people moving in patterns too vast to track. A city that never stopped.

Normally, the sight steadied me.

Today, it did nothing to loosen the knot tying in my chest.

I tapped the contact on my smart watch.

Peter answered almost immediately. “Pepper."

Just hearing his voice made me swallow. Peter Parker always sounded calm, steady, grounded. Even when the world was very clearly burning.

“I need to go to Los Angeles." I said, skipping pleasantries. “To see Happy.”

Peter didn’t interrupt. He never did when something mattered.

“I sent him." I continued, the words heavy, almost sharp in my mouth. “I was the one who asked him to follow Eric Savin. If I hadn’t....”

“...then someone else would have.” Peter said gently. “Or Savin would’ve vanished entirely. Pepper, you didn’t put Happy in danger. Savin did.”

I closed my eyes, fingers tightening against the edge of the desk. “That doesn’t make it feel any better.”

“I know.” A pause then, “I’ll have a Winter class Prowler jet ready within the hour. It’ll take you straight to L.A.”

I blinked. “Peter, those are classified.”

“I need you there.” He said, his tone firm now. “Not just for Happy. Tony’s… not exactly known for restraint when someone he cares about gets hurt.”

I exhaled slowly. “You want me to keep him from doing something reckless.”

“I want you to keep him from doing something irreversible.” Peter corrected.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “I understand. I’ll talk to him.”

Silence settled between us. Not awkward but heavy. The kind that carried weight.

Then Peter spoke again, quieter.

“Pepper… don’t blame yourself. Guilt is like rust. It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t explode. It just gnaws. Slowly eating you from the inside.”

My chest felt heavy.

“That’s experience talking.” He added. “Both mine and Gwen’s.”

I managed a let out a small, fragile smile. “I’ll… keep that in mind. Thank you, Peter.”

“Anytime.”

The line disconnected and I immediately called Tony.

Straight to voicemail.

My stomach dropped in worry.

Tony POV:

The Audi R8 e-tron slid into the hospital drive without a sound, its electric engine smooth and elegant. Perfect. A joint venture between Audi and Parker Automobiles.

Silent when it needed to be.

Capable of roaring like a predator when asked.

I usually appreciated that kind of engineering.

Not today.

I barely acknowledged the valet before striding into Los Angeles General Hospital, sunglasses still on, my teeths clenched so tightly it ached. The fluorescent lights felt harsher than usual. Too bright. Too clean. Too indifferent.

“Mr. Stark,” A doctor said, hurrying to keep pace. “He’s in the ICU.”

I didn’t slow.

Happy Hogan lay inside a medi-pod, suspended in sterile light. Translucent plating revealed the careful ballet of microbots and medical systems in liquid. Machines were humming softly, patient and methodical.

I snatched the medical report from the doctor’s hands.

Multiple fractured ribs.

A cracked skull.

Severe internal trauma.

Burn injuries along both arms and legs.

My teeth locked even harder.

“Thanks to Parker Pharmaceuticals’ technology,” the doctor said quickly, sensing the danger in my silence, “he’s expected to make a full recovery. Four years ago, injuries like these would’ve been..."

“...fatal. I know.” I finished flatly.

I stared at Happy. The man who’d stood between me and the world more times than I could count.

“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I know.”

I turned and walked out before anyone could say anything else.

The reporters were already there.

Microphones. Cameras. Flashbulbs. A feeding frenzy the moment I stepped outside.

“Mr. Stark! What do you think of the Mandarin?”

“Is this a personal attack?”

“Will you retaliate?"

One reporter shoved a camera so close it nearly touched my face.

“Will Parker Industries’ Spartan PMC respond in solidarity?”

I stopped.

Then I turned and looked straight into the lens.

“I don’t fear a scraggly old man named after a Chinese orange." I said coldly.

A ripple of shock moved through the crowd.

I leaned in slightly, voice precise. Measured like a targeting solution.

“My address is 10880 Malibu Point. Malibu, California. Nine-zero-two-six-five.”

Silence fell like shattered glass.

“I’ll be waiting.”

I reached out and smashed the camera. Plastic burst apart. The reporter yelped.

I didn’t look back as I walked to his car.

Peter POV:

I stood in the Parker Tower penthouse, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the massive holo-screen as Tony’s declaration replayed on a loop.

Beside me, Gwen, my wife let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“And there it is,” She said. “Step one of How to Turn a Covert Operation into a Public Dumpster Fire.”

I winced. “Yeah. That’s… that’s Tony.”

Gwen glanced at Tony's image. “You had a plan. A good plan. Multiple contingencies. I saw the flowcharts.”

“He just took those flowcharts,” I said, slipping an arm around her shoulders, “and fed them directly into a wood chipper.”

She leaned into me anyway. “He basically sent the Mandarin a handwritten invitation with fireworks.”

My gaze stayed on the screen, thoughtful rather than angry. “I’ll adjust.”

Gwen snorted. “Of course you will. Because why not.”

“Tony’s reaction wasn’t outside my predictions,” I said calmly. “Happy getting hurt was. That part I didn’t account for.”

She tilted her head, studying me. “You okay?”

I smiled. “I’ve been hunted across realities by entire teams of alternate Spider-Men.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“There is no way in hell,” I said evenly, “that I get outplayed by an expensive lava lamp.”

Gwen laughed despite herself. Sharp, bright. “God, you are so you.”

I finally looked at her, returning the grin. “And you love me for it.”

She smirked. “Don’t push it, Parker.”

Outside, the city kept moving and somewhere in Malibu, a man in red and gold had just lit the fuse.