Irondad Oneshots

there will be a day when you can say you're okay and mean it

Alt: Day 4 & 5 of Whumptober (Human Shield & Gun Point)

(Kinda the B99 AU????)

"Detective," Harley greets from the front desk, barely looking up from his computer. Not that he's working, Peter knows he's playing a game or maybe watching something on Netflix.

"Mister Keener," Peter replies, tipping his head in acknowledgement as he makes his way towards the Captain's quarters. "He busy?"

Harley finally looks up, blue eyes sparkling under the fluorescent lights. "Yeah, on a call, I think. But he wants to talk to you. He's not happy."

Rolling his head back with a long sigh, Peter nods. Of course he isn't happy. Peter's going to be the reason everyone has another one of those obligatory Self-Care Seminars about how you can't always put work before yourself. They've had about six of those since Peter's started working as a detective.

"Yeah, Boss nearly blew a gasket when Harley told him what happened," one of Peter's coworkers speaks up. It's Detective Jones from her desk. Her leather jacket squeaks against the chair as she drags herself to her feet, face set in nonchalance and carelessness.

"You told him?" Peter gasps, spinning on Harley.

"I'm his assistant! I don't know why you think I wouldn't," Harley says, rolling his eyes. "Plus, nobody really had to tell him. It's kind of obvious.

"You stayed in the precinct for ninety-six hours."

It's the drawling voice of the captain, full of sarcasm and obvious anger. Right behind Peter.

The young detective spins around, shoulders slumping. There's no getting out of this now.

"I know, Captain. I'm sorry," Peter tries.

"Not only did you spend ninety-six hours in the precinct," the captain continues like Peter hadn't said anything. "I checked through all the footage. You barely ate, you drank thirty-six cups of coffee, you slept for exactly twenty minutes over the ninety-six hours. At your desk. Do you even understand how bad that is?"

"Careful, Cap," their sergeant, Maximoff, speaks up, a smile touching the corners of her mouth. "You're starting to sound a little too much like a dad."

"Captain Stark, if I may-"

"No, you may not do anything. You're taking the day off. Go home, Parker. Please," Captain Stark says, eyes suddenly tired. "Go home."

Peter's gaze drops to the floor. He knows an order when he hears one, but he's sleep-deprived and he wants them to understand, at least just a little bit.

"I caught them," Peter says, swallowing thickly. He keeps his gaze on the floor, curls falling over his eyes. His hair is greasy and longer than he likes to keep it.

Tony sighs. "I know you did, Parker. Trust me, we all know. And if this is some weird way to prove you're a good detective-"

"It's not," Harley says, speaking up from his desk. He hasn't moved, but everyone around the floor is at least partially tuned in to their conversation. Even Detective Jones has stopped moving, watching them carefully.

"Do enlighten me, Harley," Tony says, turning on his personal assistant. "Why does our fine detective here put him through so much bullshit if not for recognition?"

Peter can't help but flinch, hearing his captain swearing in front of all of them. It seems unprofessional.

"He just wants to catch the bad guys."

It's the easiest answer in the world, but it's truer than anybody would like to admit. Peter needs to catch the bad guys or else he's sure he'll crumble with every new crime he sees in Queens.