In the middle of a busy newsroom, with people running around you like their hair was ablaze and barking out orders and deadlines to drown each other out, you sat almost motionless. You had been staring at your computer screen for nearly an hour now with not a single word coming to your mind on how to start. Your boss had sent you out to find out who this Spiderman guy was, hoping to get the true story before any other news outlet in the city if you did your job well enough.

The way it felt right now, you should be fired on the spot for the work you were doing. You had chewed away at the end of one pencil until the eraser fell off, mindlessly grabbing another to begin its destruction in the same way. You feigned a relaxed posture, trying to sell the lie that you had this all together and everything was okay, but inside you were screaming and panicking. You may have been wearing a welcoming smile when coworkers would pass by, but it was all you could do to not grab them and beg for help.

"(Y/N)!" came the one voice that made your blood run cold; the boisterous echoing voice of your boss, calling out to you over the entire room. "I told you that I wanted at least a page to me by the end of the day! What've you got?"

"Um..." you jolted, sitting up and hurrying to change the view of your blank screen before he could walk all the way to your desk, "I'm actually about to run out right now, on a tip that came in with a sighting in Midtown. I shouldn't be gone long!" You grabbed your bag and haphazardly ran your arm over your desk to shove your belongings inside, slinging the pack over your shoulder and turning to leave, only to be immediately halted by the man blocking your path.

"(Y/N), you've been on this job for over a month now, and I have yet to get one full sentence on this wall crawling arachnid. I'm starting to think that you're avoiding writing the story...like you're hiding something." Your boss took a single step back to regard you, a thoughtful hand resting on his chin, "like maybe you know more than you're letting on, and you're protecting the guy."

"Don't be ridiculous," you scoffed, pushing past him, "I can't stand spiders." You had hoped that he wouldn't follow you all the way to the door, just to try to make his point, but he held back much to your relief. It was true, you knew more than you were letting on, and you were protecting him. The story you were trying to write wasn't to give away more about Spiderman, but to throw everyone off his trail.

It was the least you could do for your boyfriend, after all. You just didn't realize that it was your boyfriend you were trying to help; not yet, anyway.

~~~

It wasn't a flat-out lie, telling your boss that you were following a lead. You knew that Spiderman worked more often in the evening, and as the sun began to set you made your way into the borough he called home, at least that's what you figured with his sightings spiking in Queens more than anywhere else. Hopefully the lie of going to Midtown would keep everyone from the newsroom on a false lead if they tried to follow.

Pulling your camera from your bag, you found a nice, well-hidden perch on a fire escape across the street from the deli that you had seen him at nearly every day that you had come here. He seemed to be strangely protective of the little shop with windows so plastered in ads for sandwiches and groceries that you could barely see through, only solidifying your theory that he lived here as well as honed his crime fighting skills. You settled into your spot and prepared to wait, sipping on your drink as you watched the streets below and skies above.

Your eyes were so trained on finding the flash of red and blue at any given moment that you didn't see the hand that came down from the steps just behind you, grabbing your camera and pushing you down the few steps with barely time to catch yourself.

"This is mine now," the man said plainly, shoving the device into his own bag. He reached out to take your bag next, but you anticipated this and twisted the strap around his wrist and stood, wrenching his arm awkwardly back until you swore you heard the tear of muscle or maybe even the crack of bone beneath his scream in pain. "Let me go!"

"Give me my camera."

"Fine, take it! Just let go!"

You could have released him to grab the camera, but you had no reason to trust him any farther than you could throw him. It gave you the idea to find out just how far that was. "I think first we need to teach you a lesson about manners. If you want to see my camera, then you ask."

The man was able to free his other hand from the twisting contortion you had made between you, reaching just enough to connect with the front of your shirt. He gave it a firm yank towards him to bang your heads together with a resounding thud. Your vision darkened for just a second, and you saw twice the number of stars than were truly in the sky, but you held your stand. The urge to throw up came quickly, and you nearly did, making sure that if your stomach erupted, you would at least have accurate aim.

"My god, you have a thick skull," you groaned.

"And you've got a big mouth," he snapped back. He was beginning to get cocky again; you could hear it in his tone. It was the simple mistake you were waiting for, allowing your knees to weaken just a little, and your grip to waver, so that he would think he had the advantage. "Now, you gonna behave this time?"

On the street directly below, you didn't see Spiderman watching, but then again, neither did your assailant. With a precisely targeted flip of the wrist, he slung a web to hit the wall right next to you; you took it and pulled it away, instead wrapping it around the man so that your favorite vigilante could bring him down to his level. It wasn't that you weren't holding you own, so he didn't directly interfere, but after watching for just a minute he wanted a part of the action too. What you didn't know was why he took such an interest.

"Ma'am, mind if I get a turn?" the hero chuckled, waiting for your answer. It came almost immediately with the scream and thud of your attacker landing at his feet. "Hmm, maybe not. I think you got him."

"You're a little late," you called down to him with a smirk. "I don't mean to do your job for you, but a girl can't wait forever."

He gave the man a little tap with his foot, pushing him slightly only to get no response. "Yep, you definitely got him."

As he spoke, you cocked your head to the side to listen and concentrate, finding a very familiar tone in his voice. You had only seen Spiderman before, never hearing him speak from behind the mask. But now as he was right here, only a few feet away, you felt both immediately comfortable and immediately familiar with him. "Do I know you?" you asked cautiously.

"N-no, I don't t-think so," he stammered.

"I think I do," you argued, hurrying down the fire escape stairs to meet him. He backed away slightly but didn't fully try to run until you reached out to him; that simple motion sent him into a full panic and he began taking steps too hastily and tripped over his own feet.

"Oh...man...that's embarrassing...K-karen, you didn't see that..."

"Pete?"

"Yeah?" he instinctively blurted out, with a slap of his hand over his mask-covered mouth. "N-no...I mean, what? W-who's that?"

"Peter Parker, what the hell?!"

"Ugh, fine, it's me," he grumbled, pulling away the mask. "Listen, (Y/N) you can write anything you want about Spiderman, okay? I'll give you an exclusive interview and tell you as much as I can. Just don't say who I am, and please...please don't ever tell May."

"This is insane," you whispered in complete disbelief. "Pete, how...when...?"

"It's a really long story. But before I start, I have one quick call that I have to make."

"Okay, I can wait, but don't you dare try to make a run for it," you warned, leaning back against the wall with your arms crossed authoritatively. You still had a trained eye on the man you had rendered unconscious, now far too eager to hear Pete's story to have anyone ruin it for you.

"Mr. Stark, it's P-peter..."

"Holy shit!" you gasped. "Is that Tony Stark?!"

Pete's eyes widened and he pressed a hand over the phone, desperate to keep this conversation away from the man on the other end of the line. "Shhhhh! How many Starks do you think there are? I don't want to piss him off before I get a chance to ask him for this favor. He already took my suit away once..."

"What favor?"

"I want to make sure it's okay to bring you to the compound," he answered, far too matter-of-fact and calm for your liking. Your insides were a muddled mess of knots at the name Stark alone, before even considering stepping foot into the Avengers HQ. "I'm making sure that everyone's home. If we're gonna get you an exclusive, might as well go big or go home, right?"

Part 2

Sitting in front of the Avengers turned out to be nowhere near as nerve-wracking as you had expected it to be. Pete had you worked up and so nervous that your hands had been shaking the tablet from your hands as you tried to read the questions you had put together to ask everyone. But now, after only a few minutes and maybe two questions done, you felt much more at ease with this group. For a collection of superheroes, they were strangely calm and welcoming to an outsider into their inner circle.

Pete had taken his place at your side, the two of you almost squished together into one chair, awkwardly squirming until he could find a comfortable spot that apparently didn't exist. It may have been a power move, you weren't sure, but Tony took a seat directly across from you, and his gaze never once wavered. It felt as if he were studying you, but what he was trying to learn was as elusive as the man himself.

"So, (Y/N)," Tony interrupted you before you could say your next question, "what are your intentions towards our young Mr. Parker?"

"Oh, M-Mr. Stark, there's no reason to ask-" Peter tried, but you were ready for whatever this guy threw your way.

"Mostly sex. I figure Spiderman has to have some pretty wicked flexibility, right?"

Tony's eyes shot open in pure shock, looking away for a mere flash of a second at the sound of Steve choking on his drink next to him. He gave the poor guy a few heavy slaps to the back to help him out, but Steve waved him off and sat back in exasperation, catching his breath to hear what you would say next. You didn't even have to look at Peter to know that he was pale as a ghost and as non-verbal as the chair you were sitting on.

"I'm sure that he does," Tony played along. "I bet a few nicely planned out webs could really open up a world of new positions for you two."

"Tony!" Steve gasped, giving the man a firm slap on his arm. Once he regained his composure, he leaned in, whispering as if you couldn't hear him. "What are you doing?"

"What? She's fun."

"That's so inappropriate!"

"So is she!" he laughed, with a wave towards you. "She started it!"

All Steve could do was to wait until the rest of the team's laughter died down, giving up on a battle that he wouldn't win anyway. He hated being the guy who had to keep everything on track, and the guy who had to always come off as responsible; it wasn't often that he let loose and played along, and he really wanted to, but this was Pete's moment to bring you to them and he would continue to behave. "Alright, let's get back to the interview," he suggested, "she's the one who's supposed to be asking us. (Y/N), what would you like to know?"

"Um, well," you paused, looking down at your list with a swipe of your finger over the tablet's screen, "I only planned on one question each, so that I didn't take up too much of your time."

"Okay, let's hear them," Sam agreed, taking a seat next to Clint. "But be nice," he warned with a sharp point in your direction, "Barnes over there is very sensitive. Cries at the drop of a hat."

"I do not, ya ass!"

"Oh, okaaaaay," Sam continued to nudge, throwing the cap from his beer at his friend. "You cried at Lion King just yesterday."

"His dad died saving him! How heartless are you?"

"Guys, let's reel it in," Steve urged once again. "We're not making a very good impression on Pete's girlfriend."

"Nah, you guys are fine, this is great! I'm just feeling lucky to get the chance to talk to you all." You turned around to your boyfriend with a smile to thank him, but he was looking just as scared as ever, his eyes wide and his skin pale. "Pete, this is good, really."

"Okay," he whispered with a nod, "let's go ahead with the questions..."

"Right, okay then, let's just do rapid fire. Give me the first answer that comes to mind. I think I'll start with Mr. Stark."

"Tony."

"Yeah, I don't think we're there yet," you smirked. "Tell me, Mr. Stark, what is your greatest weakness?"

"Ooooooh, oh man, here we go!" Clint clapped excitedly. "Start this thing out strong, (Y/N)!"

"Being Iron Man," he blurted out, but it was filled with genuineness and completely serious. He looked back at you for there to be more asked of him, but you couldn't speak.

His answer left the entire room dead silent and the team around you aghast. They stared at him as if he had just grown another head right before their eyes; this was the last answer that anyone would expect. No, even the last answer wouldn't have been this one. "I'm sorry," you finally continued almost meekly, "could you clarify?"

"When I'm Iron Man, I'll do anything that I have to do to get the job done, even if that means the end of me to make it work. My weakness is that I can't save me from myself if the choice needs to be made."

"And that's not the case for Tony Stark?"

"Oh, hell no, that guy's an asshole," he scoffed, with a wave of his hand. "Arrogant SOB if there ever was one. Case in point, I never say this, but enough about me. Who's next?"

"Captain Rogers," you paused and turned to him, waiting for his attention, "what was the hardest thing for you to learn when you came out of the ice?"

"How to be alone."

"Wow, you guys are keeping this pretty real," you mumbled under your breath. "Would you like to clarify or add to that?"

"Nope."

The sense of finality in just his tone left you rigid and unnerved, and that was before you had a chance to look up from your work to see his eyes. The usual glimmering blue of them had gone dull, looking tired and hazed with fatigue as if he hadn't slept in years. You wanted to delve into this, and to ask him more, but you knew that now wasn't the time; maybe one day, after the team had a chance to trust you with their answers, you could talk to him further. "That's fine," you whispered back. "Um...how about... Vision. What are you, exactly?"

"That's a very complex and vast answer, Miss," he began. But then he made good on that explanation, expanding on thought after thought, each one bringing a new perspective and further insight into himself. This went on for nearly thirty minutes before he brought his answer to a close, and you were left to choose one final question.

"Okay, let me see," you muttered under your breath, running down your list of options for the remaining Avengers. You wanted your last question to be a good one, so that your story for your boss would get him off your back for at least a week or so before he bugged you about Spiderman again.

"I say either Clint or Sam," Peter nudged you gently with a whisper of his suggestion. "You'll get the best answers, no matter what you ask 'em."

"Sure, Sam it is."

"Now we're talking," Sam replied eagerly, sitting up just a little bit straighter in his chair. It gave you hope that Peter was right, and the answer yet to come would be easily quotable. "Hit me, girl."

"You've been friends with the Captain for a few years now, right?"

"Sure have."

"I've read that you met in D.C., right before the fall of SHIELD?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "I got recruited."

"No," Steve interrupted, "you offered. I tried to turn you down, but you were really pushy about it and wouldn't take no for an answer."

"It's okay, it doesn't really matter how," you clarified, raising a hand before the argument could get a chance to start. These two guys were known for throwing sarcastic hits back and forth, and you had no desire to find yourself in the middle of it. "So then tell me, Sam, what made you decide to give this friendship a shot, when he introduced himself with such a dick move? He lapped you, what, like three times?"

"Oooooh! Steve, she burned you!" Clint laughed aloud, holding his chest and falling back into the couch, nearly taking out Natasha in the process.

"I'm just asking what the people want to know," you smiled, trying to be innocent.

Sam squinted suspiciously, though you could tell that you had gotten through any attempt at redirecting or stopping you from pushing him for an answer. He always carried a playfulness about him, that much you knew just from following the Avengers for some time now, but as you found yourself seated across from him, it emanated from the guy. You couldn't help but to smile back and you nearly lost your resolve.

"Alright, sweetheart, I'll play," he finally said. "Truth is, I figured if any guy thought that being a pretentious prick was the way to meet people, he must not have much for social skills and probably doesn't have any friends. I felt bad for him."

"You felt bad for a guy who ran laps around you three times, and looks like that? I don't feel sorry for him at all. Maybe he didn't have much for friends, but I guarantee he had a long line of women ready at a moment's notice."

"I'm sitting right here," Pete leaned in. "Maybe cut back on the staring if you don't mind? You're drooling just a bit, too."

"I am not!"

"It's okay," he added, "I get it. Cap's hot. Maybe just don't be so blatant about it in front of everyone. I'm trying to build an image here, and I haven't done all that well so far."

~~~~

A few hours later, that image that Pete was trying to build wasn't doing much better.

The team had been gracious enough to ask you to stay for dinner, where the sarcasm and quips flowed easily and the stories that each of them told about the other were enough to write a book if you ever chose to. You started to wonder if your future could hold the potential to be the Avengers team biographer, and you made a mental note to talk to Stark about it later. If you sold the idea well enough, and catered to both his superhero and his egomaniacal personalities, you might just be able to spend a lot more time there, and maybe even be able to quit that terrible newspaper job and tell your boss off once and for all.

It was easy to lose track of time around these guys, that was certain. Beyond the regaling you with stories that Peter seemed to enjoy as much as you were, they also completely impressed you with the catalog of films that Tony had amassed over time. They just as easily impressed with their knowledge of so many of them, that their arguments for and against the choices made to watch could have been written by professional movie critics.

"They really get into this, don't they?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Pete sighed, "I never get to pick anything."

"Well, that's just not fair at all. You know a lot of great movies. Why don't you ever say anything?"

"Mr. Stark said that he doesn't trust anyone's opinions of movies if they were born after 2000."

"That's ridiculous," you scoffed. You and Pete had been assigned to one of the couches towards the back of the common room, eventually finding out from him that this was his usual place for movie night, being the newest Avenger with the least important opinion. When you tried to stand up to make your point of view to the group, Peter grabbed your arm and pulled you back into him. "Hey, I was about to make a point that could really benefit you if you played it right."

"Trust me," he smiled back, "you're going to find the bickering between Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers much more entertaining than the movies they're about to disagree on."

He was right; the bickering of an old married couple was epic and endless, so much so that a movie was never even chosen and the team disbursed to find their own entertainment. It left you and Peter alone, still on the couch, only now you were both deeply asleep, your body almost fully supported by his. With the grip you knew he had as Spiderman, you slept with no worries that he might allow you to fall. Being so comfortably asleep was wonderful, but it also left you to the mercy of those around you. The bickering had to end sometime, and Steve decided to wander back into the room to say his goodnights, only to stop short of the barrier with a wide, dorky grin on his face that Tony couldn't ignore.

"What am I missing?" Tony whispered as he joined Steve. "You're smiling like a doofus."

"Look," he answered with a point in your direction, "they're so cute."

Tony regarded the two of you for several minutes, and it didn't escape Steve's attention in the least; Stark never could leave well enough alone and he knew it. "Yeah, that's not exactly the word I would use," Tony chuckled, taking his phone and quietly hurrying to stand next to you.

"Tony, what are you doing?" Steve again whispered, only this time it was through clenched teeth and the whimsical look in his eyes was replaced by anger that he was about to ruin such an adorable scene. "Leave them alone."

"I just need a picture, calm down, grandpa."

"Why?"

"This could be very valuable to me someday. If this girl takes the job I'm gonna offer her to handle our image, she'll be digging into Avengers dirt pretty hard. I need some insurance in case she finds something unsavory."

"Maybe you shouldn't be doing unsavory things, you ever think of that?"

"Pfft, no."

"Of course not, what was I thinking?" Steve huffed. "She's really going to have her work cut out for her, and look at the poor thing. She has no idea."

"Oh, I bet she has some, Cap."