Summary:Steve Rogers drops by the Parker residence to speak with Peter about his scholastic achievements. Aunt May makes better apple pie than the bakery down the way. The plot thickens! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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The address is 20 Ingram Street, Queens, New York. In the midst of all the upscale houses, Ingram Street doesn't seem to have changed in decades. Walking onto the street is a little like walking back in time. The houses are old, a few of them in poor shape, but no newer ones exist to ruin the image. The vehicles are modern, though, and there are satellite dishes on a few of the awnings.
The house marked by the white mailbox (PARKER 20)is in very good shape, and there is an actual wide porch swing. There is an oak tree in the front yard, tall and straight, with a heart carved into it and B.P. + M.R. within at neck level.
*
The rumble of a Harley-Davidson Street 750 might disrupt some of the peace of the quiet neighborhood, but the rider attempts to keep the engine at a low purr rather than gunning it rudely enough to startle up birds from the trees. The trundling bike comes to a stop before the sidewalk of 20 Ingram Street and the rider, anonymous behind a black helmet with tinted visor, eyes the place. Then, with a nod to himself, he kills the engine and dismounts from the bike with a controlled grace belying his size. Steve Rogers, with a little bit of helmet-hair he smoothes down after emerging from behind the visor, tucks the helmet under one arm and turns to fuss with something strapped to the seat. From a small cooler emerges…a small apple pie, still warm from the bakery not a few blocks away.
In a brown bomber jacket with fleece lapels and a eggshell-blue button-down, khaki slacks and combat boots, he walks up to the front door and knocks politely. Shave-and-a-haircut, two-bits, precisely.
*
"Just a minute!" The voice is lively, but crickety, almost a chirp. Then the door opens…and an elderly lady is looking at Steve's chest, then up to his face. It is a thin face, but she is wearing a pleasant smile (all her own teeth, she is proud to tell anyone who listens). The thin body matches the thin face, but the eyes are ageless. "Good evening, young man. How may I assist you?"
*
Wearing his best grin, the one with small dimples, Steve executes a nod of his head. The way his upper body also tilts to a degree speaks to military history.
"Evening, m'am. I'm Agent Rogers, of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. I'm here to speak with Peter Parker, if he's available? We wanted to see if he was interested in discussing his future? He's a bright kid." Which is no doubt an understatement to May. "Figured I'd bring pie as well, since I might be interrupting your evening." He showcases the small apple pie with a lift of it at level of his chest.
*
Aunt May seems somewhat surprised, but then again…she's not all that surprised. Then something hits her as she hears the name, sees the impressive build, the heroic Bruce Campbell chin, and adds everything up.
"Holy Mary, Mother of…you're *him.* You're the one Benjy told me…you're CAPTAIN AMERICA!" she says in a hushed whisper. Her eyes go wide with shock. After a moment, she remembers her manners and opens the door wide. "Uhm, come in, come in!"
*
Steve can see it arriving, the realization, like the distant ring of a train's horn. His grin doesn't lessen. If anything, it softens a touch.
"Just Agent Rogers right now, m'am. Thank you." He does now step into the Parker household, but doesn't go beyond the entryway itself. A brief glance around the place and then back to Aunt May. "Let me take my boots off, no need to track street muck into your carpets. Can I put my helmet here?" he asks, gesturing to one of the empty coat hanger mounts on the wall.
*
Aunt May chuckles. "Of course." She sighs. "My Ben used to hang his hat on that coat rack for so long."
The file Agent Shepherd had compiled had included Benjamin Parker, as well as the news articles. The man probably died five feet from where he was standing right now.
She is about to say something else, but spots the apple pie. She tsks. "Agent Rogers, you may be one of the greatest soldiers alive, but you shouldn't have to settle for this. Have a seat at the table. I'll be right back."
She puts the box aside as she walks past the dining table. It is not completely bare. There are some papers covered with notes, a tablet with a hairline crack in the screen, two V/R headsets (the kind you plug smartphones into) and, anachronistically, a small tin box. Weathered but still visible, a smiling Captain America in full costume, shield in hand, stands proud over the banner that reads BUY U.S. WAR BONDS.
*
It takes Steve a minute to unlace his boots after he hangs up his helmet. He does the latter with a respectful air, very aware of the status of the widowed woman. A lingering look at the motorcycle helmet there means he's considering moving it, but she did seem to wish to allow it. Then, in white socks, he wanders into the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket.
Pausing by the table, he tilts his head to look over the spread of living upon it. His eyes flicker from notes to the tablet and then to the tin. A wry smirk curls his lips. "Never get used to that…" he murmurs to himself, definitely sotto-voce. There's the sound of a chair being dragged out and Steve seats himself there, taking his time in looking around the homely room. It's a comfortable place, with a sense of being well-lived and well-loved. A home indeed.
*
The notes are scattered, ramblings, ideas, concepts.
Cell network. Anonymizer needed?
Need longer-lasting batteries. More power, Mr. Sulu!
Current altitude 1.5 miles. How to break barrier without altering size?
Nellie ready for science fair? Collision avoid debug to be sure.
There are more, but then the aroma hits. Sweet, tart granny apples, with some bite to it. Honey? Molasses?
And then Aunt May walks out with two small plates, each of them with a generous slice of apple pie that makes the one he brought look like it came out of a K-ration. Light, flaky crust, dusting of sugar.
"A proper welcome for a proper hero," Aunt May says, placing one plate in front of Steve.
*
Admittedly, when May arrives, Steve definitely has pulled one sheet of notes over to himself to read by the drag of a fingertip. He slides it back as he straightens in place, surprise making his eyebrows lift.
"Oh, thank you, m'am. Mrs. Parker," the Captain amends with a polite smile at her. He sniffs above the slice of pie set before him and can't help a quiet laugh from the back of his throat. "Can't argue against homemade." He picks up the fork settled to one side of the plate and pauses.
"Forgot to ask, is Peter home?"
*
"Oh, my, no. He ran out to do a quick errand. Heard something on the radio and said he had to go. It was so urgent he didn't clean up after himself, but he is quite earnest, after all. He should be home in a little while." Aunt May smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry. SHIELD, was it? Interested in Peter?"
*
"Ah." The crust breaks under the tines of his fork like Aunt May used real lard to make it and the Captain admittedly can't wait to taste the pie at this point. He pauses, however, and glances up at the question. He rests the utensil's tines upon the platform of the golden outer layering now.
"He's come up on the Division's radar due to his grades. He's got scholastic habits I think most parents dream about. Stellar." Steve nods thoughtfully. "Division's wondering what he has planned for his future. Figured I'd stop by and touch base with him." Now he breaks into the crust to take up a proper bite. Away it goes…and that's a very pleased expression on the Captain's face.
"M'am, you gotta submit this to a contest," Steve reports in earnest once his mouth is clear.
*
Aunt May grins. "Won in a state competition. I keep the award in the kitchen." She winks. "And I will never tell the secret ingredient. Not even to you, And Benjy idolized you. He was in Vietnam…a much less honorable war than the one you fought, I am sure. But he won the Silver Star, and the Purple Heart. Saved four men in combat while wounded." She says this with a note of pride.
She paused, then said, "That boy…no idea how he made it this far. When we heard the IQ results, we didn't know what to think. An IQ of 250? Preposterous. But when we saw the laboratory he was making in the basement at the age of 10, Ben said, 'Let him continue.' With every thing that happened at school, we were just glad.he didn't sustain any life-threatening injuries. And now he's going to be valedictorian. Can you believe it?"
*
Steve smiles to himself at being kept out of the loop. Oh, secret recipes. Still…fair. Stardom shouldn't grant one everything on a silver platter. He sobers to hear of Uncle Ben and his time in the more recent war. "The military was lucky to have a man of his calibre, Mrs. Parker. Wish we had more like him," he replies quietly, not intending to interrupt.
He manages to eat another third of his heaping slice of pie as he composes his thoughts on burgeoning genius. "Being frank, Mrs. Parker, I can. Genius might come hand-in-hand with some need to learn about self-preservation, but it sounds like Peter's got a good grasp of the concept. He sounds like he's got a good head on his shoulders. Still…life-threatening injuries? Thought the schools these days were more restrictive about dangerous materials in the labs."
*
She smiled wryly. "If you're going to eat what I feed you and listen to me ramble, then you are required to call me what all my friends call me—Aunt May. That is an *order,* Captain…"
Her face seemed to deflate slightly. "It wasn't his science. There is…was a boy. Carl King. Is it wrong to call a child a monster? Well, he was. Sensed something in Peter and started bullying him in kindergarten. He never stopped. Schooling being what it was, it continued for years. From kindergarten through high school. To call them 'beatings' is insufficient. He TORTURED Peter. Peter reported him, of course. But he wasn't taken seriously. Carl…had some level of animal cunning. He wasn't bright. In fact, he was a very dull boy. Peter called him 'NeanderCarl.'"
She leaned closer. "I think it got very bad in grade eight. Some girl reported seeing Carl hang Peter from the George Washington Bridge by some sort of bungee rope. Peter made a statement…and then retracted it. When I asked him why, he told me that another kid who threatened to report him found his dog with…with an icepick in his head, on his front…front porch." She takes a deep breath. She looks like she wants to stop, but she can't stop for some reason.
"One night, Peter came him and Benjy went down into the basement to talk with him. They talked for three hours. Then Benjy comes up with a package and goes out. I see him visit with his friend Brent, from the police. He h his friend Brent, from the police. He hands over the package and says to give it to someone, but doesn't say why. Ben called it 'gelignite.'"
*
The fork in Steve's hand goes still as he listens. His brows gather together in concern; it has the air of a distant thunderstorm, not darkening his face entirely. A slow inhale and exhale to hear of the bullying. God only knows the amount of empathy welling up in him for the kid now. However, the twist at the end of the tale has him truly unsettled.
"I know what gelignite is. Peter managed to create that in the basement?" He looks to one side and then back at Aunt May. "Think it goes without saying that Mr. Parker intervened at the right time. Figure something came of the incident?"
*
Aunt May sighs heavily. "Ben told me later. He said that Carl had threatened to hurt me. Peter said he had wanted to 'stop them.' He didn't care what happened to him, he wanted to protect us, and he wanted the pain to end. And he didn't say it, but he wanted to take as many of his tormentors with him. We didn't know he could make explosives…not like that. I think Ben shared some of his experiences when he was in the war. How he dealt with…the constant fear. He told Peter he needed to use his mind to be clever. To out-think Carl, and Flash Thompsonanother bully, but nowhere near the beast Carl wasand that he believed in him."
She chuckled, "It worked to some degree. Peter figured out how to avoid the worst of the bullies, how to think rings around them. And then, a month before we lost Ben, Carl just…vanished. Him, his mother and father. Disappeared. His father emptied the bank account, so many thought he fled the state. I think that was why Peter began to look forward to going to school again, working so hard he falls asleep in class."
*
Most of the pie is gone by the time May reports the happy ending to the tale. Steve nods and smiles to hear it. "I'm glad to hear this, Mrs. Parker. Using his strengths…that's how it should be done. It's not all about physicality. Lots of times, it's like you said - about outfoxing the problem when you've got only a few tools at hand." The Captain's looking forwards to tackling the crust at this point.
"This bully's not around again then?" he asks for confirmation, true-blues resting on Aunt May in easy-going curiosity. He's always had the air of a good listener, one truly invested in hearing what's being reported to him.
*
"Carl? No. And forgive me for wishing ill upon anyone, but I hope that boy is in a cell somewhere or being dosed with Thorazine every hour." She sits back. "Flash Thompson is still around, but he's not as bad as Carl was. Few are. Want to hear something odd? When the police entered the home, the only sign they found of the family? A few teeth. Scattered around the bedrooms. Matching dental records for the family. Isn't that STRANGE?"
*
"Has some of the hallmarks of gang violence," Steve replies, his brows still knitted. "He'd be safer in a cell if that's the case. Wouldn't wish that brand of violence on anyone." His fork scrapes on the plate as he collects up spilt filling to pile it on the remaining toppled wall of crust on his plate.
"Regardless, I'm glad to hear things have settled down for you and Peter, Mrs. Parker. No one needs the shadow of harassment in their school years. No one at all." A note of iron briefly creeps into his voice and fades away just as quickly. "He's got strength in overcoming it — and no doubt the compass of you and Mr. Parker aided in this. I can tell you're good people." He gives Aunt May another small, winning smile, dimples and all. "I bet he knows he's lucky to have you, m'am."
*
Aunt May smiles to Steve and opens her mouth to speak, but then the door opens and another voice calls out, "I'm back and some yutz parked his UWAH!"
Peter shoved the mask into his jacket pocket. The Vulture had been a pretty tough customer, but Peter hoped some jail time might straighten him out. Some biker had parked their hawg on the street nearby.
He checked to see that the bruises had already faded, and stepped in. He was about to expound on the yutz's motorcycle when he turns towards the dining room and CAPTAIN AMERICA IS TALKING TO AUNT MAY I CAN'T EVEN.
*
The new voice has Steve turning in his chair, resting an elbow on the table briefly in order to crane his head over his own shoulder. The smile is well and deeply amused as he glances back at Aunt May. Then, she gets to see the Captain compose himself in an expert manner until there's nothing but the stoic veneer of manners put forth to the general public. It's this bland expression Peter gets to see.
"You must be Peter." His eyebrows lift in expectation as to an introduction. "I can move the bike if there's an issue." His regard shifts to Aunt May given the offer isn't in tease.
*
He just called Captain America a yutz. Earth, just swallow me now. I can never recover from this.
"No! No! It's fine! Really! Fine!"
Aunt May smiles blandly. "Why Peter Benjamin Parker, is that ANY way to speak of a guest? Captain Rogers came over and we are JUST having a nice slice of my award-winning apple pie and…talking about your future…"
*
"Alright, I'll let it sit." Steve barely keeps himself from showcasing the sparkling of amusement. He hides it all behind another mouthful of pie, one of the last few left. He's not at all full, but also not about to go asking after another piece. Manners and all. He does, however, gesture at Peter with his fork after he's able to speak clearly again.
"Heard you've got some grades worth noting. That you're gonna be valedictorian. Not a small thing. Thought I'd hear what your plans are. Glad your errand didn't take you longer than expected." His gaze flicks to Aunt May, betraying her as the one to tell him about the hasty departure from the house before the Captain even pulled up on his ride.
*
"Oh! Uhmm…no, not really. Friend needed some help dealing with a rogue homing pigeon that was carrying something important."
Pigeon, Vulture, one carrion bird as as good as another.
"Well, I was just about to tell Aunt May…" He smiled to her, pulling out a letter. "I got accepted to Empire State University!"
Aunt May smiles, but pauses. "What about MIT?"
Peter shook his head. "Didn't make the cut." He shrugged.
*
"Nothing to sneeze at, Empire State. They run a tight ship." Steve scrapes up the last tidbits of the pie and that plate? Almost as clean as when it came out of the cupboard initially. He desists from licking his finger and collecting up crumblets by dotted presses.
"Thought about any other avenues other than Empire State and MIT?" the Captain then asks Peter, patiently expectant by expression.
*
Peter chuckles. "Yeah…none of them were really all that interested. They called my guidance counselor and he told them about my late arrivals, sudden departures, and missed classes. Guess he was a little bit hacked that I wasn't taking school seriously."
Or that his daughter was also in the science fair and she didn't like it that Peter wouldn't give her his project to claim as her own.
"And I applied for a grant from Stark Enterprises. The HR person on the phone told me that they already had their quota of unreliable geniuses and only because he owned the company." He shrugs.
*
Those mobile brows lift again. "Hmm. Well, if you're interested still in Stark Industries, I can always drop a hint to HR. Or not, it's up to you. 'm not about to take the wheel of your future, it's all in your hands." He leans back in the chair easily, eyes still on Peter.
"The Division I work for knows of your grades and scholastic achievements. Figured I might let you know about it so you can think on it. SHIELD, that is," he clarifies for the young man as to which Division he's referencing.
*
Peter blinked. "SHIELD? But…gee, i dunno. I should probably get at least a degree first, right?"
"You could still get that, Peter." Aunt May looked to Rogers. "What kind of work would he be doing? Nothing too dangerous, right?"
*
"It's not my purview to be handing out the tasks, I'm just an agent," Steve explains to Aunt May without a hint of false modesty. He's pragmatic, after all. His regard shifts back to Peter.
"But yes, SHIELD'd prefer you finished out any degree you started. We're not here to pull you away from your schooling or your work. My guess is it'd be an internship in something pertaining to science, given your interests." He lifts a hand and lets it fall. "It's an offer just like any other you'd get. No one's feelings are gonna be hurt if you pass it up."
*
Aunt May goes over to Peter and hugs him. "Come on, Peter. He says we can think about it, and you love to do research."
Peter looks to Steve and says, "Uhm…can I think about it and get back to you?"
*
"Of course. It's a big decision to make. Lots of opportunities expand from an internship at SHIELD. However, as I said, no one'll be offended if you decline. If you don't feel you're a fit, then don't lose sleep over it." A chime from the phone in his coat pocket and Steve pulls out the device, frowning at it. "Unfortunately, I'm needed. Mrs. Parker, thank you for the pie. 'm not suprised it won an award. Here, let me get dishes." And like the gentleman he is, Captain Rogers takes up her plate as well as his own to put it in the kitchen sink.
When he returns, he's got a business card to hand to Peter. It's a simple affair in black lettering on white cardstock, with the SHIELD logo and a phone number upon it. "Call that number if you have questions. They know I've spoken to you, they'll answer 'em." Off to the entryway he walks to slip on his boots again. He's quick to lace them, a thing of long-practice, and he has the motorcycle helmet under his arm shortly after.
"Thank you both for your time. Call us whenever." Both Peter and Aunt May are given a warm, polite smile and Steve then lets himself out. He walks back down the path to the street and to the motorcycle.
*
Peter takes the card and nods, before Aunt May pushes the pie box into his hand with three slices of her pie instead of what was originally in there.
It is a warming night, and the streetlights are coming on. One comes on over the garbage can near the motorcycle, illuminating the corner of the envelope poking out from under the can.
MASSA
ATTN: ADM
*
The pie box, filled with three slices of pie that are going home to Chez Rogers and most definitely NOT the Triskelion breakroom or Avengers Mansion's kitchen, is stowed away in the small cooler. While strapping it down again to the motorcycle's seat, a brief breeze flutters the corner of discarded paper, drawing Steve's attention. He pauses and frowns upon reading the scant lettering immediately visible.
A glance back at the Parker household and then to the garbage can. With careful skill, he plucks the sheet of paper into full view and reads it, back turned to the household. His eyebrows rise.
*
The envelope still has the letter inside.
MASSACHUSETTS INSTITUTE OF TECHNOLOGY - FINAL NOTICE
To: Peter Parker
Mr. Parker, I wish to regretfully inform you that the deadline to accept the student position for the Neuroscience program has passed. We apologize that we were unable to reach out to you after the two letters of acceptance we sent.
We understand that an elderly family member is involved, but we cannot make allowances in this matter. Hopefully, you will change your mind and re-apply. Your work in microtechnology, neuroscience, and computer science make you a solid candidate, and you would be considered with a minimum of debate. We wish you luck in your future endeavors, and hope you will consider us again.
Sincerely,
Johann Reichter
Dept. of Admissions, MIT