The next day Peter had school. So he got up quietly and prepared for the day without making much noise. May had the day off— finally, she needed it so bad —so he wrapped a blanket around her, kissed her forehead, and left without turning on any lights.

Today was definitely a Spider-man day, so he stuffed his suit into the bottom of his backpack and wrote May a note about his after-school plans before he left.

The day went by with aggravating slowness. Time dragged on and on, moving the speed of a snail that had taken a relaxant and decided to go for a slow walk. Every second ached as it passed, and Peter was unbelievably glad that Spanish was his last class of the day. He just had to get through this and Decathlon, and then he was free to work out some of his emotional issues by helping the people of Queens.

Ned really hadn't helped with his anxiety either. Peter regretted telling Ned that he was going up to the Compound before he left yesterday, because now all Ned would ask about was questions about the Compound and Avengers and Iron-man in the same rapid-fire randomness that happened when Ned first discovered Peter's powers.

It was honestly driving Peter insane. Normally he could handle questions, but today every single one of them seem to rub him wrong. Even the innocent ones like Ned's exuberant query about the Compound toilet paper during Physics made Peter want to scream and crawl out of the room. Thankfully he didn't have Spanish with Ned, a short little respite he was grateful for. Decathlon was going to be a nightmare.

Peter almost jumped when his phone vibrated in his pocket and he carefully slid it out and gave it a questioning glance. Didn't he put it on silent this morning? He usually did. Maybe it turned back on again. Wouldn't be the first thing his old iPhone had messed with. The moment Ms. Bibiana turned her back to the class, he touched the screen to wake the phone and see what notification had disturbed him.

It was a text from an unknown number. An awfully familiar unknown number. One that he hadn't saved due to the person's paranoia over his number getting out even though the person's boss, who was even more famous and had a bigger reason to be paranoid, was saved as Mr. Stark in Peter's contacts. The person insisted on anonymity though.

Peter was hit was a sense of deja vu as he stared at the familiar message.

"Meet me in the bathroom after school. Same one."

He raised an eyebrow in confusion and tapped the cracked screen thoughtlessly. Happy wanted to meet him in the bathroom again? Why? Was there something they needed to talk about like-

Oh crap, oh crap. This was about the whole 'being-related' thing, wasn't it? Happy was probably here to tell him all the stuff that Mr. Stark couldn't say to his face because he was too nice and Happy was a convenient bad guy and was less likely to get hurt because he was just the messenger and not the sender and therefore not at fault for this whole thing. Peter couldn't get angry at Happy. It wasn't his fault that any of this happened. Mr. Stark probably knew that and that was why he sent Happy to deliver the bad news instead of doing it face-to-face because he thought there was a possibility, no matter how small, that Peter might lose his mind and attack or something and Mr. Stark didn't want to take that risk. There was no way Peter could ever do that because Mr. Stark was way too important of a man to punch in the face, the whole 'I am your father' deal aside. The fact that Mr. Stark even thought that just proved how little Mr. Stark really cared to get to know him, and now that was about to be blatantly obvious because Peter was about to lose the suit and-

"Mr. Parker."

Peter's head shot up, grasping at the distraction like a drowning man grabs at a life jacket to pull him from the rising waves of panic. Ms. Baniana stared at him, arms crossed and disapproval obvious in her eyes. In unison, the rest of the class all shifted to face him. Embarrassed, but grateful for the distraction, Peter sunk into his seat.

"Yes ma'am?"

She raised an eyebrow and motioned at his phone. "Whoever your texting can wait until after school, can't they?"

Snickers erupted all around. Peter shrunk a bit deeper into his seat. Ouch, caught.

"I was just, uh, checking to see who it was. Wrong number." he lied feebly, mostly for appearances sake. Everyone knew that was a lie, even if they couldn't prove it. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket and shuffled to papers on his desk. He raised his pencil in prime note-taking position and faced his teacher.

She raised a disbelieving eyebrow, but gave him a pointed look and turned back to the whiteboard nonetheless. "When using the nosotros form of divertido, you have to remember it is an oddball word, and that means the spelling changes."

Peter peered around the bathroom entrance and one hand anxiously gripped the wall. He felt stupid for being nervous to walk into a bathroom. It was just a bathroom. There was nothing wrong with bathrooms. They had toilets, sinks, and mirrors, and this one was no different from all the other ones.

He usually was a little nervous to enter a school bathroom due to the amount of germs that had to be crawling around, but this time he was way more anxious about who was waiting for him in said bathroom.

Yep. There he was. An hour and a half after school had ended and Happy was still waiting.

He leaned heavily against one of the stall doors. The man stared blankly at his reflection in the sink mirror, his head tilted back against the stall and eyes at half mast while somehow still looking tense enough to punch a guy in the face without hesitation. His clothes were all wrinkled and he looked in desperate need of a nap.

Yeah. Happy looked like he wasn't having a good time. He looked like he was about to deliver some bad news.

A little wave of terror rolled through Peter, and his grip on the brick wall tightened reflexively. Something crunched under his fingers. Peter pulled his hand off the wall with a small hiss of surprise and wiped it on his pants to get rid of the brick he'd crumpled under his super strength and glanced at the damage. Well, hopefully no one looks too closely at the cracked brick and wondered how it happened.

He closed his eyes and took a small breath. Come on, he could do this. Just get in there and get it over with. In and out. It was just like with a band-aid. Rip it off as fast as possible for more intense but less lingering pain. Peter took another breath, wrapped a hand on the single backpack strap that hung on his shoulder, and shuffled into the bathroom.

It took Happy exactly five seconds to notice Peter after he awkwardly stepped into view. Once he did, something flashed over the man's face but disappeared before Peter could decipher what it was. Happy stepped away from the stall and jerkily straightened his clothes with a huff. He gave Peter a familiar glare of annoyance.

It would have been almost heartwarming if Peter hadn't been so terrified.

"Jeez kid, what took you so long? I'm not a personal driver that you can make wait, you know." Happy grumbled as he pulled on the suit's sleeves a little harder than necessary. He crossed his arms and stared down at Peter. "Follow me and get in the car. Someone wants to talk to you."

Peter's throat went dry. It was worse than he thought. Mr. Stark was going to do this personally. He knew that Peter wouldn't dare get angry at him enough to attack or really fight back, which meant he really did know Peter and still decided he wanted nothing to do with him.

If it were possible, Peter would have gladly shrunk down to a couple inches tall like the shrinking-growing dude from the airport fight and escape from this situation.

"Who?" he managed to croak. "Mr. Stark?"

Happy's face scrunched in confusion. Something flickered behind his eyes, his face relaxed, and he let out a long sigh. "No. Someone else."

"Oh." Guess that means Mr. Stark really didn't care enough to do this personally then.

Peter meekly followed the SI Head of Security out of the bathroom, through the empty school halls, down the front stairs outside, onto the parking lot, and to the waiting silver Audi car. He vaguely noted it was the same car that Happy took him to the Compound for the Avengers offer test. It could drive itself. That was cool.

He reached for the door handle to the backseat, but Happy swatted his hand aside and popped open the car door himself. Peter's jaw dropped and he stared at Happy in shock as the older man scanned their surrounds. Holy crap. Happy opened the door for him!? Happy was being nice!? Did that mean he felt bad for whatever was coming next? Oh gosh, was Peter in that much trouble?

Happy's gaze crossed over Peter and made eye contact. The man scowled at him and motioned with the car door. "Hey! We don't have all day. Close your mouth and get in the car."

Peter snapped his jaw shut and carefully sat in the seat, consciously making an effort to touch as little of the leather as possible. If he was going to be kicked out, then it was best to not infect anything with his germs.

He slid his backpack off and put it on his lap instead of the floor as usual. His arms unconsciously wrapped around the backpack and he pulled it into his chest, slightly more comforted by the closeness of the suit and web shooters. Virtue of habit, Peter reached up and buckled himself in.

He ducked his head instinctively when Happy slammed the door shut behind him. Holy crap, his nerves were on edge! Everything was setting off his fight or flight instinct. Happy crossed around the back of the car and slid into the driver's seat with a small grunt. He fumbled up there for a second, then without saying another word, the car started to life under their feet and Happy pulled out of the parking lot.

The drive was dead silent. Any drive with Happy was usually quiet, but this ride just seemed even worse. Even the cars that roared beside them on the highway wasn't nearly as loud as before. Peter normally chatted away until Happy rolled up the divider to block him out. That didn't happen this drive. Peter didn't speak a word and Happy didn't touch the divider button at all. It was weird.

Nervous, Peter drummed his fingers against his leg. Even that sounded too loud for the tension in the car, so he forced himself to stop. He kept his gaze on the window, watching the scenery fly by and tightened his hold on his backpack. The textbooks shifted inside the pack with his grip and he heard some paper wrinkle as a result. Hopefully those weren't anything important.

His fingers picked up their drumming again. This time, he didn't bother trying to stop them.

Happy let out a hoarse cough and shifted in his seat. The man glanced into the rear-view mirror, then away, like he wasn't sure if he should make eye contact or not.

A mile down the road, someone honked their horn.

This was going to be a long drive.

About an hour into the trip, Happy switched lanes and pulled into a off-ramp. Which wasn't unusual per-say. The part that was unusual was that it wasn't the ramp to the Avengers Compound. This one should take them into the city, not upstate to the more rural area.

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Did Happy did take the wrong exit? Should he say something?

Because really, the best place to take his suit from him would be the Compound. It was out of the way of civilians and there were no easy escape routes for web slinging, there would be more protection for Mr. Stark, and there were a lot of eyes to watch Peter in case he went crazy. Doing this in the city made no sense.

"Hey-hey Happy? Why are we going to the city?" Peter asked hesitantly. He stared at his backpack, but glanced up in time to see Happy stare at him through the mirror.

The man was quiet for a second. "That's where the person you're meeting is."

"Oh. Okay." Peter put his head back down and messed with the seat belt. "Sorry, sorry to bug you. I just, I was curious about where we're going."

The car was quiet for a couple seconds longer. The question slipped through his lips before Peter realized it.

"Is Mr. Stark going to be there?"

Something inside Happy released. His shoulders slumped and he slouched in the driver's seat. Through the mirror, Happy's face looked forlorn. Then he straightened, and his face went blank and he gave a small sigh. "No, Tony isn't going to be there."

There was some part of Peter that was relieved. Mr. Stark wasn't going to be there to take the suit personally. That extra stab of pain wouldn't be there, that disappointed look that told Peter not only was he not good enough to be a superhero, he wasn't good enough to be his son.

Yet at the same time it hurt. It just proved Mr. Stark didn't know Peter enough to know Peter wouldn't hurt him for taking the suit, which meant all the time they spent together meant nothing. All the lab meetings, the text messages, the promises made, it all meant nothing.

And that hurt more than any physical wound Peter had ever received.

"Oh." he said.

Happy gave him another glance, unable to hide the concern in his features.

Instead of replying, Peter dropped his face into his backpack and closed his eyes.

Peter slid his single backpack strap on instinctively as he glanced around the underground parking with mild interest. Happy had driven them to Upper East Manhattan and to a building with a familiar label that both made Peter excited and filled him with dread in equal amounts. Mr. Stark never took Peter to the new Stark Industries Manhattan Headquarters, so this was entirely new territory.

It was a skyscraper, similar to the Avengers Tower, though solely focused on the Stark Industries side of Mr. Stark's work. Just like the Tower, this one had a lot of glass on the outside, reflecting the skyline with ease. It was heavily fortified— Happy had to go through several security checks to even park in the private underground garage —and the building screamed high tech from the outside, though Peter doubted it was nowhere near as advanced as the Compound.

Happy slammed the car door shut and did another visual scan of the practically empty garage as Peter awkwardly shuffled his feet on the cement. Happy grabbed Peter's shoulder and dragged him across the garage.

They passed a grand total of two cars, and Happy eyed each of them suspiciously as they walked. He pulled Peter to the elevator at the other end of the room, which opened with a small ding. The inside of the elevator was nice, pure white with silver panels and two silver buttons to match.

Peter tried to shuffle to the back of the elevator but Happy pulled him back to his side.

"Greetings, Mr. Hogan and Mr. Parker." A friendly female voice called out from the speakers. "Where are you gentleman heading today?"

Peter jerked his head to look at the ceiling in surprise at the completely new voice as Happy answered. "Just to the fifty-eighth floor, J.O.C.A.S.T.A. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure. As per previous instruction, I've made this elevator private so no other individuals can get on." The elevator rumbled and started to go up.

Peter shifted on his feet for a second. He glanced at Happy, then the ceiling, to his shoes, then back to the ceiling. Would it be too much for him to ask about this new AI? Happy already had to drag him all this way, Peter wouldn't want to intrude further. His curiosity burned at him though.

Peter bit the bullet and asked. "Is… is F.R.I.D.A.Y not installed into this building?"

Happy snorted. "No. Tony decided that having her run all the Avengers stuff, his stuff, and all of SI's stuff would be too much, even for her. She's connected to the building, but only answers to select few individuals like Pepper and Tony and me. For anything that has to do with Stark Industries, J.O.C.A.S.T.A is the one that you'll be talking too."

"Oh." Peter looked at the elevator ceiling and waved. "Hi, J.O.C.A.S.T.A. It's nice to meet you. I'm Peter."

"It's nice to meet you as well, Peter. I hope you have an excellent stay at the Stark Industries Manhattan Headquarters." The warm, French accented voice spoke fondly back. The numbers above the door ticked on steadily.

"I doubt that." Peter quietly muttered under his breath.

Happy's grip on his shoulder tightened for a split second before it relaxed again.

"Thank you J.O.C.A.S.T.A. I appreciate it." Peter added, louder. Happy's hand seemed heavier on his shoulder then it did thirty seconds ago. To throw off any possible questions that could come from his statement, Peter asked another question. "So what does your name stand for?"

"J.O.C.A.S.T.A stands for 'Just One Cute And Sexy Technical Assistant'. I was created by Tony Stark in 2012, but wasn't installed into this building until late 2015. I've been in operation for one year."

"Wow. That's a long time." Peter wiggled his shoulder pointedly. Happy didn't take the hint and kept his hand attached. "You must be super busy all the time."

"Not really. I only have to run Stark Industries business. I bet my sister system, F.R.I.D.A.Y, is twice as busy as me."

"That doesn't mean you aren't amazing." Peter pointed out. "SI business is still important. They help people all over the world and I bet they couldn't do any of it without you."

Fractionally, just small enough to catch it, the lights in the elevator brightened and the temperature inched up a degree.

J.O.C.A.S.T.A's voice was softer. "Thank you Peter. I appreciate the compliment."

Happy snorted and shook his head. He couldn't hide the hint of a smile on his face.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows at him, but smiled shyly at the ceiling. "No problem."

The elevator slowed to a halt. After a couple seconds, the doors dinged and pulled back. "Welcome to floor fifty-eight. If you ever need me, then just say my name and I'll answer. Please enjoy your stay, Peter and Mr. Hogan."

"Thank you." Peter said before Happy hauled him out of the elevator.

The fifty-eighth level was surprisingly plain. A seemingly endless hallway with a few potted plants and pictures on the white columns of the walls. The rest of the walls were mostly glass that offered a peek into the offices. Each office had a nameplate with a fancy title underneath the name like 'Supervisor of Internal Affairs' or such.

Peter tried not to stare as Happy dragged him past, but it was hard to keep his curiosity in check.

Few people looked up as they passed and the ones that did always stared back in surprise. A man that was heading the opposite direction in the hallway glanced Peter up and down, a frown on his face, before his glance flitted to Happy and he looked away. Even without words, Peter suddenly felt self-conscious of his graphic t-shirt with the large jacket thrown on top, jeans and a backpack compared to everyone else's suit or skirt. He pulled his jacket around him tighter in response.

There was another example of Peter not being fit for the world of Tony Stark. Didn't have the right clothes.

Happy took him to the very end of the hallway and turned right. A large glass door greeted them, but it was fogged so that it was impossible to see inside. The entire wall was solid metal, at least a couple inches thick. Two cameras guarded the door and at least four more poked out from the walls behind them.

With all that protection, whoever had this office was obviously more important than the rest of the employees. Peter's spidey senses tingled from the observation he was placed under by simply being by this door. Did that mean Mr. Stark did know Peter enough to put an authority figure in supposed harm's way and still didn't bother to show up personally?

Peter's nerves doubled as Happy pulled out a badge and held it to the door handle. The door buzzed before it beeped and swung open.

The inside was a smaller room. It looked like a waiting room. There were soft chairs lined around the wall and a white desk where a brown haired lady typed away at a desk next to another fogged door. It was a nice room, but the feeling it gave off was closer to the tension of waiting in front of the principal's office after being caught doing something wrong.

Peter must have been the only one who felt that mood, because the secretary lady didn't look up when Happy cleared his throat expectantly.

"Miss Potts is expecting you." She said.

Peter's brain stalled. Wait. Miss Potts, as in Pepper Potts, the fiancee of Mr. Stark, the CEO of SI, one of the top ten business women of the entire world, wanted to see him. Him. Peter Parker. The disappointing secret son of Tony Stark. He blinked dumbly.

"Thank you, Miss Jennings." Happy pushed Peter to the second door, opened it, and shoved both Peter and himself through.

Peter blinked again, barely taking in the room's white walls, large paintings, silver bookshelf, and potted plants as his attention focused on the wooden desk in the center of the room and the women who sat behind it.

The woman glanced up as the door clicked shut behind them. She dropped the pen and rose from her seat. One hand pushed some loose hair back over her shoulder, then was held out in greeting as Happy pushed him closer.

"Hello, Peter." said the Pepper Potts, warmly. "It's nice to meet you."

Peter's shoes tapped the edge of the desk, kick starting his brain into action and he reached out and shook her hand. His palms weren't sweaty, were they? He brushed his hands against his pants self-consciously after they let go.

"H-hi." Peter stuttered. "I'm Peter." Then he blanched, and hurried to correct himself. "But you already knew that because you said it, obviously. I just got so nervous that I didn't notice, not because you're scary or anything, well, you kinda are-not in a bad way! Not in a bad way- I'm just super nervous and very anxious and, and, and, and totally rambling, I'll stop talking now." He clamped his mouth shut and looked at the ground.

Miss Potts chuckled softly and Happy sighed. Peter's cheeks burned as he stared at the tile.

Miss Potts touched his shoulder, then his chin. Peter raised his eyes to meet her own. She offered him a kind, warm smile that he clumsily returned. "That's okay Peter. I'm used to being rambled at. Tony is a master at talking about everything and nothing at the same time."

His smile faded at the mention of Mr. Stark. Miss Potts pretended to not see it as she dropped her hand. She took a step back. "Tony's told me a lot about you. He's always got something good to say, whether I asked or not. I've wanted to meet you for a while now, but I wish it was under better circumstances."

Peter ducked his head. "Yeah. Me too."

There was a half a second of silence before Miss Potts spoke again. "Please, have a seat."

He blinked in surprise at the two chairs that lounged at the front of the desk. Where those always there? He must have missed them when he came. Peter hesitantly slid off his backpack and hugged it. He gingerly sat on the edge of the plastic chair, spine going stiff to not touch the back.

Happy took in the other chair. Most of the tension he had been holding all day dissipated as he slouched next to Peter, though some did linger. Across the desk, Miss Potts also sat, her position prim and proper and everything one would expect from a CEO. Suddenly feeling disrespectful, and not wanting to look like a scared child hugging his backpack, Peter dropped it to the floor and brought his hands to his lap.

Miss Potts stared at him, though not unkindly. It was a gentle 'I-can-see-into-your-soul' sort of stare, the same one that May had. One of the ones that examined him, looked at his body language for tells, caught the tiny signals that Peter unconsciously gave off and somehow interpreted those to find his true thoughts and emotions. MJ could do it too, though her stares were less gentle and more unsettling. Was it just a girl superpower thing then?

Against his will, Peter's right knee started to bounce as he fidgeted with his fingers. He forced his leg to stop and gripped the sides of the chair to keep his hands still. He didn't dare look up. After a couple of seconds of silence, Peter glanced at Miss Potts through the fringes of his hair.

Miss Potts was smiling like she had a hard question that was just confirmed. Peter ducked his gaze back down as she cleared her throat.

"I know about you and Tony." She said simply.

Peter's lungs tightened. All of his fears and concerns rushed back in one overwhelming tsunami of anxiety and terror and something went crunch under his grip.

Miss Potts and Happy both jumped up at the sound. Peter barely noticed them move, hyperfocused on the wet that suddenly erupted from his fingers and palms. Shakily, he raised one hand to his face. Clenched in his bleeding fist was a large chunk of splintered plastic in the same color of his chair. As he watched, a drop of blood started to make its way down his wrist.

"Peter!" Miss Potts was up and around the desk in the same time it took for Happy to stand up. She grabbed his wrist and laid his hand horizontal as her eyes roved over the damage.

Happy grabbed Peter's other hand and brought it next to the other one. He hissed at the bloody sight. "Holy crap kid. What did you do?"

Peter didn't answer. Instead, his brain chose to work on unclenching his fists. Slowly, despite the minor stings, his right fist open, followed by the left. Blood covered splinters fell to his lap. Miss Potts let out a little sad sound at the splinters that stuck into his hand.

"Looks like he broke the chair." She said when it was clear Peter wasn't about to speak. She rolled the sleeve of his jacket up to elbow to keep it out of the blood that dripped.

There was a whistle. "Kid did more than that. He broke the chair and splintered his chunk-full into pieces. Just look at his hands. I'll get the first-aid kit."

Happy's grip vanished and Miss Potts grabbed his other hand. She flipped them both palm up, leaving the damage easily visible. She made another distressed sound at the sight. "There should be some tweezers in my desk. Top drawer, third to the left."

There was an answering grunt and the sound of papers being shoved aside.

Miss Potts rolled up his other sleeve as blood continued to run down his arm. She reached behind her and grabbed some pieces of paper and placed it on his lap to catch the drip. Her soft hands returned to their previous spots, and, almost on instinct, her thumbs started to make comforting little circles on the inside of his wrists.

"I'm sorry Peter." She said quietly. "I should have given you some sort of warning before we delved into this topic. Tony is good at hiding his pain, so I should have figured you could do the same. I should have paid more attention to your feelings rather than how much Tony I could see in you. That was my fault. I'm sorry."

The 'I'm sorry' pierced through Peter's brain. The beginning of tears pricked at his eyes as the pain in his hands doubled. All his senses kicked into overdrive. He instantly felt every nerve in his body, heard the heartbeat of everyone on the floor, smelled the perfume that lingered in the air weeks later, tasted the school fajitas he ate for lunch. Every single splinter that punctured his hands screamed, but the ache of having to listen to such a wonderful woman who resembled his aunt so closely apologize for something she didn't do was worse.

"Don't..." Peter croaked. Miss Potts blinked, startled. "Don't. It's not your fault. That was on me. I should have been more prepared for this moment."

Happy appeared back at their side with a small white box and tweezers in hand. He sat on the chair, popped the box open, and dug out a tube of antiseptic cream. He took one hand from Miss Potts and started after the splinters with the tweezers. The freed pieces of plastic plunked onto the paper on Peter's lap.

Miss Potts raised an eyebrow. Peter didn't know how someone could pull off a gentle eyebrow raise, but Miss Potts did it somehow. "Prepare? What were you expecting?"

"Screaming." Peter swallowed a pained grunt as Happy removed a particularly bothersome sliver. "Polite screaming, the kind that's not actual screaming but more like coldly blunt words that practically are screaming 'We never want to see you again don't ever talk to us again'. Maybe some NDAs to keep me silent on the whole," Peter motioned to himself with his elbow. "being related deal. And maybe my Spider-man suit being taken. But definitely orders to never see or talk to you or Mr. Stark again."

Peter kept his gaze down, his eyes lingering on his wrists. As nice as it had been to get that all out, he really didn't want to see how the adults took to his emotional turmoil. Too bad he could kind of tell. Happy's hands had paused in their work and Miss Potts's grip on his wrist tightened, her thumbs coming to a halt.

Quietly, gently, Miss Potts's voice came from in front of him. "Why would you think that?"

He slumped a little in his seat. "Because… because I'm me. I'm stupid and make a lot of mistakes and I'm pretty sure Mr. Stark hates me."

Peter heard more then saw the two adults share a glance. Happy went back to picking splinters. Miss Potts restarted her thumb rubbing.

Miss Potts sighed. It was tired, the same sigh May gave through the door when Peter barricaded his room, blaming himself for Ben's death for the third time that week only a month after it happened, despite all of May's reassurance that it wasn't Peter's fault, he didn't shoot the gun. It had the same haunted quality to it, one that spoke of the repetitiveness of the action. Miss Potts's free hand touched Peter's cheek. Surprised by the touch, he looked up and met her eyes.

"Peter." Miss Potts started. Her thumb swept along his cheekbone and she gave an understanding smile. "Tony doesn't hate you."