Chapter 208: Expo

When Peter arrived home that evening, he changed into something more comfortable and went to the dining room. He settled into his usual seat and waited for the food, which was brought out by May and Yuri.

"I would like you to come with me to the Expo tonight," Peter said casually between bites.

The girls exchanged glances, then looked at him.

"Sorry, baby," Cortana said first. "I will be busy in the lab today."

"Alright. Just do not break anything."

"Cesar and I are going to a video game convention tonight," Yuri said.

"Good. It is healthy for you two to spend time together."

"I have a get-together with the girls planned," May added apologetically. "It has been a while since we have all seen each other. Sorry, amor."

"No problem. Sometimes you need to go out with friends."

Susan opened her mouth to volunteer, but Peter fixed her with a single look. She shut her mouth automatically. The other girls noticed.

"You are definitely not going," Peter said, pointing his fork at her. Susan meekly lowered her head.

"What? Why?" She attempted to meet his eyes but glanced away after a few seconds.

"You did not organize your paperwork last night."

"I was busy last night," she protested. "I can do it another time. It is not important."

"I would let it slide if your backlog had not ballooned to the point of becoming the Old and New Testaments combined."

Susan’s eyes went wide. "What?!"

"You heard me. I recommend you start now. If you are lucky, you will have everything sorted by tomorrow morning."

The table erupted in laughter as they watched Susan being scolded for something so trivial. Susan sank lower in her chair.

"What if you invite Mary Jane?" May suggested.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Mary left New York a while ago. She is studying abroad for her acting career. We text occasionally. I thought Anna had told you?"

Every girl at the table looked surprised. Missy appeared the most startled to learn that her friend had left without anyone mentioning it.

"I suppose you also do not know that Gwen is studying at Oxford," Peter continued. "Her entire family relocated with her. George told Dan, who passed it along to me."

The girls stared at him.

"Well," Cortana said after a moment, "I wish you luck tonight."

"There is no need to worry too much. Once the Abstergo internship program is established and successful, I will send an offer to Gwen." He said it casually, but the message was clearly directed at Missy, who nodded in understanding.

"I can come with you," Missy offered.

Peter turned to her and let his gaze soften completely—a look of absolute, unguarded love that made every woman at the table sigh involuntarily.

"You are my angel, darling."

"And you are my little Lucifer," Missy replied.

"Lucifer? Me? Nonsense. I am more like Azrael."

After lunch, Peter and Missy headed to the garage.

"Let us use that one," Missy said brightly, pointing at a random car. "It looks nice."

Peter stopped walking. "As a car enthusiast—if anyone other than me heard you say that, I would have to attend the funeral of the idiot who tried to kill you for such sacrilege."

Missy laughed nervously.

They climbed into the car and drove to a high-end clothing store. As Peter stepped out, he noticed several pedestrians glance in his direction—then immediately look away. Missy got out and raised an eyebrow when she realized he was wearing different glasses and a completely different hairstyle than usual.

She scanned the sidewalk and noticed that no one was filming them or taking photographs. That struck her as strange.

"Why is nobody—" she began.

"I am Marvel’s Clark Kent," Peter interrupted. "The same way I am Marvel’s Bruce Wayne and Batman."

Missy stared at him for a moment, then decided to ignore his nonsense and walked into the store. A young saleswoman greeted them with a bright smile.

"Hello! How can I help you?"

"Hi there," Peter said warmly, resting an arm behind Missy’s shoulders. "My girl here needs a formal dress for an event tonight."

"Wonderful! What color are we thinking?"

"Red," Missy said.

"And the style? Elegant, casual, sexy...?"

"Elegant," Missy replied, then paused. "But sexy."

The saleswoman laughed. "I think I have exactly what you need. Follow me."

Missy turned to Peter. "I will be back in a bit."

"Take your time," he replied with an easy nod, then wandered down a separate corridor to browse the men’s suits.

None of the options caught his eye until one particular suit at the end of the rack stopped him cold. He picked it up, stepped into a fitting room, and changed.

He examined his reflection. "I am a god among mortals," he murmured.

He folded the suit carefully, brought it to the register, and paid. The cashier subtly slipped a scrap of paper into his receipt bag. Peter glanced at it—a phone number.

Women in this world do not beat around the bush, he thought.

He crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then he sat down and waited for Missy. With nothing else to do, he closed his eyes, controlled his breathing, and slipped into meditation.

An interesting phenomenon of deep meditation was that time seemed to flow considerably faster—transforming the otherwise endless torture of waiting in a clothing store into something almost bearable.

--------

As night fell, Missy stood in the living room, dressed and waiting impatiently for her boyfriend.

"Why is he taking so long?" she muttered.

"Why are you always taking so long to get dressed?" Cesar replied from the couch.

Missy opened her mouth to retort, then closed it and shot her son a withering glare. He stuck his tongue out at her and retreated to sit beside Yuri, who was watching television.

"Ready to go?" Peter’s voice came from the top of the stairs.

"Finally! Why did you take so—" Missy turned and froze mid-sentence. "Oh my God."

Peter descended the stairs in the new suit, looking as though he had stepped off the cover of a luxury magazine.

Susan, passing through the hallway, let out a low whistle and slapped his backside as she walked by. Cortana, directly behind Susan, let out a possessive growl, kissed Peter on the cheek, and kept walking. Yuri produced an exaggerated moan from the couch. May simply winked.

"Today is apparently opposite day," Peter remarked dryly. He turned to Missy and took her hand. "By the way—you look absolutely beautiful. Come on, let us go."

As they descended the front steps, Missy spotted a sleek, entirely black limousine waiting at the curb.

"Did you hire a driver?" she asked.

"Not exactly."

The driver’s window rolled down, revealing Grievous wearing a chauffeur’s cap.

"Madame. Sir," Grievous said with mechanical formality. "I will be your designated driver this evening."

Missy smiled and greeted the robot warmly. "Thank you for driving us, Grievous."

"It is my pleasure."

Inside the limousine, Missy’s eyes widened at the luxurious interior—leather upholstery, ambient lighting, a fully stocked minibar, and a sound system that hummed with quiet elegance.

"You have outdone yourself, darling!" she exclaimed.

"Thank you. Nothing but the best for my girl."

Missy could not resist. She launched herself at him, attacking him with a barrage of enthusiastic, affectionate kisses.

----

The limousine pulled up to the Stark Expo. Peter stepped out first, then offered his hand to help Missy out. She took his arm, and they shared a smile before turning to face the long red carpet lined with journalists and photographers.

Peter’s fame ensured that the cameras focused on him considerably more than on the other arriving guests.

"Mr. Parker! Could you tell us who the young lady beside you is?"

Spotting the journalist, Peter approached him casually. The reporter grinned like a child who had won the lottery, earning suspicious looks from the rest of the press corps.

"She is Missy Kallenback," Peter said smoothly. "A good friend from school. She is also working part-time at Abstergo as a nurse."

As they resumed walking, Missy pulled herself closer to him.

"Friend?" she whispered.

"It is best not to draw attention for now," he whispered back. "Once you have your powers, you can freely tell the world you are dating me."

She huffed but accepted the reasoning.

They left the red carpet and entered the VIP area. Peter made his way to the minibar.

"What can I get you, sir?" the bartender asked.

"A whiskey. Shaken, not stirred."

"And for the young lady?"

"A margarita."

The bartender nodded and prepared both drinks. Peter collected them and returned to Missy.

"What is it?" she asked, eyeing the glass.

"Margarita for you. Whiskey for me."

Missy took a sip and immediately fought the urge to cough violently. Peter offered her his glass instead. She took a cautious taste—and her face twisted in undisguised revulsion before she coughed again.

"You drink that?!" she sputtered.

"Yes."

"That is disgusting."

Peter chuckled, took her abandoned margarita, and drained the entire glass in one smooth gulp. He politely asked her to hold his whiskey, returned to the bar, and ordered something different.

"Here," he said, handing her a delicate pink glass.

"And what do you want to kill me with now?"

"I ordered something lighter. That is a Pink Panera."

Missy took a tentative sip, swallowed, and smiled contentedly.

Then the opening notes of "Pick Up the Pieces" began to play through the venue speakers. They watched as Justin Hammer danced his way onto the stage. Peter could not help but cover his eyes at the sheer spectacle of how pathetic the man looked.

They endured the speech until the part that genuinely interested Peter arrived.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Hammer announced with theatrical flourish. "I present to you the new face of our nation’s armed forces—the Hammer Drones! Army!"

A row of ground-based drones rose into position on the stage.

"Navy! Air Force! Marines!"

Each branch’s drone complement emerged in sequence to thunderous applause.

"This is way better than cheerleaders!" Hammer crowed. "But although this technology is revolutionary, we will always need men on the battlefield. Ladies and gentlemen—it is my honor to present the first prototype of the Variable Weapons Threat Response Suit, and its pilot: Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes!"

A section of the stage floor opened, and patriotic music swelled as Rhodes rose into view, clad in the War Machine armor. The crowd erupted.

Then a familiar sound cut through the noise—not a rocket, but something Peter recognized instantly. When Iron Man landed on the stage, the audience erupted with even greater enthusiasm than they had shown for Hammer’s entire presentation.

Peter’s eyes narrowed.

Karen. Deploy all Spider-Bots. Get the protection robots on standby.

Understood, Karen replied.