I would say I'm sorry, Peter, but the truth is, your photos have always been low in quality. We needed you because you seemed to be the ONLY one who could get photos, but now, everyone has a camera in their back pocket. We can copy paste better photos from free sources on the internet. We can't accept your photos anymore.

We can't accept your photos anymore.

The words rang in Peter's head, hours later. Yesterday, he had been employed, (at least MOSTLY employed, kind of), and with a roof over his head. (Or at least, MOST of a roof). Now, he was without either. His landlady, bless her spiteful black heart, had kicked him out. He supposed it wasn't technically her fault, but come on, he saved the city on a daily basis! Wasn't that rent enough? (He saved mugging victims, at least. Maybe a couple bikes that had faulty locks. Occasionally he dealt with real villains-remember the Goblin, anyone?)

Now, he sat, more than twenty stories in the air, on the edge of a windowsill. An empty hot dog bun lay forlornly in his palm. There were the remnant stains of mustard and ketchup (relish is for people who like turkey dogs), but the white bun lay empty. Perched up on the windowsill, he tried to distract himself with the view of New York sprawled out in front of him. It practically sparkled in the night. You couldn't see any stars through the light pollution, but it barely mattered if you were up high enough. The city itself was beautiful, lights twinkling beneath him almost like the stars hidden above. Perhaps if he had been closer to the ground, he could have seen the dirt and grime, but even that thought made him smile. New York was like no other city. Even it's filth was special.

He raised his hot dog (or lack thereof) to his mouth, regretfully remembering a time when food was one of the few things he didn't have to worry about. Even though her cooking had been mediocre at best, Peter could always rely on Aunt May. But now, he couldn't afford to go and buy a new hot dog, despite the fact he had been so careless as to let the meat fall right out of the bun. That had probably been a not-so-fun surprise for whoever he had been swinging over, he thought, the image of a lawyer on the East Side suddenly being beaned over the head with a hot dog from the Bronx bringing a smile to his face.

The smile slowly slipped off his face as he chewed the first bite of slightly stale, slightly mustardy bread. His mask was thrown behind him, on the slightly cleaner of the two blankets he had brought with him from the apartment. That, a few pairs of jeans, a couple of t-shirts, and his spider-suit was basically all he had brought with him.

Luckily, he wasn't worried about his being discovered here, hidden away on the top floor of an abandoned building. It was scheduled for demolition in a few months, but until then, Peter was fairly confident no one else could get to the top floor. There were too many missing flights of stairs and broken elevators to do that. And, Peter thought wryly, the roof probably would not be able to support even the smallest of helicopters. So, unless you could fly, you were out of luck. Or unless you had spider-like abilities, he thought to himself, fiddling idly with his broken web-slinger. He still had two working ones (one and a half, his brain corrected) but they were running out of the material, and he couldn't afford to buy more. He couldn't even afford to buy food. He ate the rest of his hot dog bun frustratedly, finishing it in a few bites. His metabolism begged for more, but he ignored it.

He hopped down to his makeshift bed, hoping to catch a few hours of much-needed rest before his patrol that night. He needn't have hoped, because as soon as his head hit the ground where a pillow should have been, he was fast asleep.

"Yes, I'm aware JARVIS," Tony said, the annoyance dripping off his voice in waves. "But, as I told you all day, I don't care."

"Sir, I know you're missing the team, but this could be serious." JARVIS insisted. Tony wondered if it had been a good idea to give JARVIS so much of a personality. Or free thought at all.

"Not as serious as I am about you shutting it," Tony said, almost absentmindedly as he tinkered with the reactor beam in front of him.

"Shutting what, sir?" JARVIS responded, as if he knew exactly what he was saying. Tony didn't doubt that he did, and therefore he ignored his creation. If JARVIS wanted to be touchy, he would have to go bother someone else. Even though, technically speaking, there was no one else in the penthouse with them. Or, really, with Tony. He wasn't sure if JARVIS counted enough as a person to make it a 'them'. He certainly hoped so, because if not, well then his life was just sad. And Tony Stark refused to make his life sad.

"There!" Tony said finally, triumphantly hoisting a shining metal cuff up in the air.

"Sir, if I may be so bold-"

"You may not," Tony cut in quickly, barely giving the AI another thought. He slipped the cuff under his sleeve and fiddled with it for a moment before grinning in what was unadulterated joy. He raised his arm and shot the glass window in front of himself, shattering it soundlessly with a quick white light from his wrist.

"Impressive," JARVIS said flatly.

"Let's see you invent a new type of blaster in an hour and a half," Tony said, casually aiming at the pane of glass still intact. He closed one eye for good measure, and fired, throwing more shards of glass to the ground. He allowed a small smile to turn his lips for a moment before gesturing to a clunky robot in the corner of his now glass covered lab.

"Dummy, clean this up," Tony instructed, waving a finger to the mess he had strewn across the lab's interior. The slow robot wheeled his way over, taking corners even slower.

Tony walked toward the exit door, not pausing as it opened automatically in front of him.

"Sir, your eleven o'clock is still waiting," JARVIS reminded him with a proverbial nudge.

"What time is it now?" He asked, wiping the grease off his upper arms with a silk towel.

"Quarter past twelve," He responded, the unapproving tone apparent in his false tinny voice.

"Wonderful," Tony said, throwing the towel behind him as he walked into the elevator to his main floor, the floor for guests, and the public, and other unscrupulous things. On a good day, he'd only have to go here once, or maybe not at all. Today was not a good day. First, his new assistant got his coffee order wrong, so she had to be fired. Again. Secondly, he'd already had to be to the main floor once for the bimonthly board meeting. Generally speaking, he skipped those meetings, but JARVIS warned him that he was beginning to lose his footing with the board. Again. So, all in all, this would be his third trip to the forty-second floor. Which, of course, made today three times worse than days he did not go to forty-second floor.

"Mr. Stark?" As soon as the elevator doors dinged open, a tall, lithe woman stepped up from her seat, carrying a dark clipboard. Her delicate high heels made her appear almost six feet tall, maybe even taller. It certainly felt over six feet tall to Tony, at least.

"I'm here to discuss the damages to the Central IP Building from three and a half weeks ago," She said directly, without a preamble of any sorts.

"The what now?" He responded distractedly, running his hands through his hair, which was still a mess from his short period in the lab.

"Your little 'test run', Mr. Stark, destroyed almost the entire seventh floor. Despite all your messing around, flying a suit from the comfort of your home might actually have consequences," She finished sharply, looking him up and down.

"Oh," Tony said slowly, looking everywhere in the room but her. "Oh!" He said, louder a few moments later. "I remember that. Just bill me." He waved his hand nonchalantly.

"That's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried about it happening again. I'm tired of you buying your way out of every problem you have."

"Honey, if I could buy my way out of all my problems, you'd be meeting with a very different man right now," Tony said, his voice condescending.

"I'm not smiling, Mr. Stark. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me 'honey'."

"Well, what do you prefer? Long legs? Blondie?" He smirked at her.

"Jamie Wainwright would do just fine," She said, matching his smirk even better. "I run the building in question.

"Well, my apologies, Miss Wainwright. What would you have me do, if not offer to pay for any and all damages I caused?" He asked, his confidence unwavering.

"I would have you publically agree to disengage in any 'experiments' on public property, or at the very least, sign this." She handed him a clipboard. He took it reluctantly.

"What does this state?" He asked, flipping through the pages.

"Basically, that you take full responsibility, and that it won't happen again." She said, tilting her nose upwards.

"Fine by me," Tony said, jotting his signature quickly. He knew that it was dangerous to sign things before his lawyers (of which there were dozens) had looked it over, but he couldn't bring himself to schedule yet another meeting in this godforsaken floor.

"Just like that?" Miss. Wainwright asked, finally a little taken off guard.

"Just like that," Tony said with a wink. "If that's all, I've got other things to attend to."

"I suppose that is all," Wainwright said slowly, still staring at the signed contract in her hands.

"If there's anything weird about that contact I didn't notice when I signed it, my lawyers will be all over you and your building before you can say 'court date', alright?" Tony added as he walked away from the still-shocked Wainwright.

As soon as he was out of ear-shot, he addressed his own personal assistant, the currently un-fired one. "JARVIS?" He hopped back in the elevator, enjoying the privacy of being the only one in his own private elevator.

"Yes, sir?" Came JARVIS's programmed response.

"Can you please do me a favor, and buy the Central IP Building on Fourth street as soon as possible? Wave through any waiting fees, there's no cap on this." Tony instructed, a slightly wicked smile on his face that no one could see but him, in the gleaming shine of his polished elevator interiors.

"Yes, sir," JARVIS responded after a moment of silence.

"I don't remember programming you to question my decisions," Tony said, tilting his face toward the ceiling, raising one eyebrow.

"No, you programmed me to be smart, remember? Something you seem to have forgotten about," Came the snarky reply.

"Just do it," Tony repeated, stepping out of the elevator, a definite knot in his tight shoulders.

"Very well," JARVIS agreed, with what could have been a sigh, but AI's don't sigh. Right?

Peter woke up to the feeling of water, drenching him to the bone. It was raining, and from the looks of it, had been raining for quite some time. Or rather, from the feel of it. Peter's whole body was shaking, and he was drenched, his suit and himself sopping wet. He hopped up quickly and moved, away from the window and into some shelter, but the damage was done.

"Perfect," He said dejectedly, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain falling all around them. His mask was still dry, at least. A silver lining? No, not really. Just a coincidence.

Might as well go patrol now, he thought, disheartened by the idea. He stood up slowly, gripping his mask.

"At least the rain won't bother me now that I'm already wet," He said aloud, to no one in particular as he pulled his mask over his face and leaped from his twentieth story windowsill, arms stretching wide in a swan dive.

" This is more like it!" Peter exclaimed loudly, his voice lost in the wind and rain. He kept falling, tucking and doing a summersault mid-air before shooting his webbing straight across the street, hooking onto a building across from him, the line secure, even in the downpour.

While he was swinging across the city, nothing, not a downpour, not homelessness, not even Aunt May's death (mostly) made him sad. It was just him, the air, and the city. And the rain, right now. He concentrated, trying to feel for something, somebody to go save. Or at least help.

As he swung around New York City during the wee hours of the morning, he found himself thinking, unironically, as he always did, that This is the city that truly doesn't ever sleep. Even when some people probably should. Peter noted as he swung over some young kids who couldn't have been older than himself walking around, obviously intoxicated. He let them go, shaking his head minutely. He'd been drunk, truly drunk, only twice in his life, the day M.J. broke up with him, and then the night after Aunt May's funeral. His metabolism made it harder to get drunk, which wasn't always something he disliked. It had come in handy in the past, a fond memory of himself drinking round after round with Harry and only feeling a light buzz coming to mind for a moment. He quickly crushed it, not wanting to think about what had happened only three months later.

"HELP!" A scream from a few blocks over caught Peter's attention, and as if on a dime in the mid-air, he turned, twisting and slinging his webbing to a building southwest of him. She couldn't be too far away.

In a few seconds, he arrived. He let himself drop twenty feet from the second story to the ground, a loose easy feeling in his shoulders. Homeless, who? He was Spider-Man, defender of the meek and helpless.

But, somehow this woman didn't seem helpless. There was smile on her face, and a bright look in her eye. The two men behind her were wearing ski masks, their expression unreadable, but their stance was meant to be threatening. Peter took a step back, shrugging his shoulders.

"Can I help you tonight, gentlemen? Lady?" He asked, bouncing lightly from one foot to the other, glancing at the three faces in front of him, all of which were still silent. "Coulda sworn I heard someone ask specifically for help from right over here, like, two seconds ago," He prompted uneasily, a smile still wavering on his face beneath the mask. The rain fell harder. The woman's hair was plastered to her skull in a wet matte, strands seemingly glued to her face.

"I knew there was something fishy about this," Peter said after another silent moment, his spidey-sense now pounding in his head, a soundless but deafening warning in the back of his mind.

"Nothing fishy at all," Said the woman suddenly, fishing in her handbag for a moment. "I did ask for your help. Hollered for it, even. We need it after all."

"We?" Asked Spidey, but not before all three of them pulled out a gun, something small but foreboding and aimed it directly at him.

"Wait a moment," Spider-Man said, raising his hands slowly, fingers poised on the web-shooters. Just as he pressed down, and leapt, aiming for their arms, all three shot him, as if on cue, embedding him with huge darts, two on his torso, and one particularly painful one in his neck.

"What..." Was all Peter could croak out as he fell to the ground, landing in a puddle, splashing the three of them with cold dirty rainwater. They seemed not to notice as they crowded in closer, studying their captured prey.

"If I'm not supposed to send the suit out alone," Tony said snidely, stepping into the Iron Man suit, "Then I guess I'll just have to go with it." He raised his head a few inches, addressing his AI. "If I happen to die in this untested suit, please hold the funeral in Miami, and also sue the shit out of Miss what's-her-name from today, thanks."

JARVIS didn't respond.

"You'll regret that, if I truly do die," He prodded the program, glancing around his ceiling, even though he knew better than anyone that just because his speakers were in the ceiling tile and on the upper levels, it didn't mean JARVIS himself was. Bad habits.

"It's on your head, then," Said Tony, and then he launched himself out of the window.

He dropped a few feet and then kicked in the repulsors, soaring dozens of feet above even the tallest buildings in seconds. The rain from the last night was gone, but the whole city seemed to have a wet gleam as Tony kept rising, his shining city becoming smaller and smaller until it seemed like a toy set. And then, he plummeted into a controlled dive, spinning until he couldn't see straight. And he loved it.

Feet before he hit the roof of a building underneath him, he righted himself, pushing himself upward with the repulsors, shooting up into the sky just as quickly as he fell. This is what being a billionaire was all about. The suit from the cave in Afghanistan was but a distance memory as he flew among the buildings with ease, passing each one with what would have given a lesser man whiplash.

Suddenly though, his left side faltered.

"JARVIS?" He asked quickly from inside the helmet. "JARVIS, what was that?" The repulsers sputtered once, and then went out. Tony went into a tailspin, approaching the ground quickly. He did his best to aim for an unpopulated area. Maybe he should have listened to that woman from this morning and been more careful with his suits and their excursions, he thought for a split second as he crashed through a window, glass shattering around him and his new suit. The building was long abandoned, thank god, and he shot out the other side, breaking through a plywood planking covering where the other window should have been.

At least I slowed myself down. Tony thought dryly as he came to crashing halt in the alley behind the building. Where on earth was he?

He pressed the side of his mask lightly. Nothing happened. He tapped it harder until he was basically pounding on his metal neck. Finally, his mask retracted.

"JARVIS! What the hell was that?" Tony asked, breathless.

"I'm afraid JARVIS can't hear you anymore," Said a voice, stepping out from the shadows streaming around the buildings. The sunset would have beautiful, Tony thought, if only he could see it past the skyscrapers around him.

"Who are you supposed to be, and what have you done with JARVIS?" Tony asked calmly, his metal feet making his footsteps sound heavy.

"I've hacked him, of course. Oh, and I've hacked your suit. I expected it to be empty, but" She shrugged, and hit a button on her iPad. Tony's suit was forced to it's knees. "This is a nice surprise."

With that, she crouched, and leaned in close to Tony's face, close enough for him to smell her perfume. It was expensive, and very light. Something floral, he thought absentmindedly, his brain still working a mile a minute. Hack JARVIS? Who was this woman? Just as he was formulating what was looking to be a very witty response, he felt something sting his neck.

"Goodnight," She said, smirking just like that woman had earlier today, as if she held all the cards. Except, thought Tony cynically, this woman did hold all the cards. He felt himself waver and then topple over. His neck kept pounding, a smarting pain that throbbed. He pulled his hand up to feel it, but either it or the suit didn't respond, and soon, nothing did.

They had him. They had both of them.