May paced, waiting for Peter to get home. He'd texted her before she'd even gotten to the hospital that morning, and then the school called to say he'd never come in. Being the worry-wart she was, May'd gotten another nurse to take over the second part of her shift, so May was home by 5.

Peter wasn't there. The apartment was a mess, a backpack and textbooks and papers spilled in the hall. There, in the middle of it all, was the box from the attic. The box of pictures and paperwork. The box of Peter's history.

May panicked as soon as she saw the box. If that had been what Peter had stumbled upon-

The woman increased her pacing, thoughts and feelings swirling in her head. She'd told Fury this wouldn't work for long. She'd told him he was too smart, too nosy, too much like his mother to not work it one one day.

Fury.

Maybe he knew what had happened this morning. She knew Peter called every morning to check in with the director on his missions.

Pulling out her phone, the woman dialed the private number quickly. "Pick up, pick up, pick up," she chanted in a soft whisper, willing the stupid man to pick up.

"May, what a pleasant surprise. Has Peter told you the news, then?"

"What, that he found out who his mother was?"

Fury was a hard man to surprise, but he hadn't seen that one coming. "What are you talking about?"

May furrowed her brow. "You don't know? He found the box in the attic, he skipped school and I have no idea where he is."

Fury sighed heavily on the other side of the phone. "He called this morning to resign his agency. He said he was tired of lying to people. To you."

May slumped on the couch. "Somehow, that makes me love him even more. He's a good boy."

Fury scoffed. "A bit hard-headed, but good."

May picked up the remote, turning on the news as she and Fury discussed possible cover stories. She wandered into the small kitchen and turned on her electric kettle, pulling down a mug and a tea bag from the cabinet above the fridge.

"Just tell him that his mother looks younger than she was. It's not like he'll recognize her now, it's been 15 years. She looks so different now that she's all grown up."

"Or we could tell him the truth. I'm not even sure why we're keeping this a secret."

Fury huffed. "She's more useful to me now, I can't have a mother on my hands. God, and it'd wreck havoc on the team. It's better, for both of them, if they just don't know."

"I don't like lying to him."

"Let me remind you that I employ you. That I gave you that boy, I can take him away."

May rolled her eyes, knowing it was a mostly empty threat. Peter was hard to control, and even if Fury did try taking him away, the teen would just run away. She  set down her tea, then set her sights on the television set. "Fury, turn on the local news."

"What?"

"Turn on the news. There's only one person I know who can swing on webs and unironically loves red and blue color schemes and I'm pretty sure I'm watching him stop a bank robbery on the news."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter swung back into his room, his body aching from the workout. It wasn't like the weights and running and agility tests Fury had put him through over the years, but it was hard to swing building to building though the city.

He rolled his neck, letting it crack and stretch. He did his arms and legs next, shrugging his super suit off and throwing on a t-shirt and pajama pants.

The rush of adrenaline he'd gotten from swinging around town had taken him mind off things with May and the box this morning and even Fury. Now that he was standing in his room, breathing in the air of the apartment, it was suddenly rushing back to him. Peter sat on his bed heavily, closing his eyes and relishing a few moments of silence.

The sound of the TV being turned off, and the over beeping, made Peter sit bolt up. May shouldn't be home for another 3 hours, at least!

The teen crept out of his room, coming around the hall corner, his hand deftly unsheathing a knife at his thigh.

Peter jumped around the corner, startling May and nearly throwing the knife.

"Dios Mio, Peter!" May clutched her chest, falling back against the kitchen counter. (Translation: My, God!)

Peter lowered his hands, slipping the knife back into its holster and blushing. "Sorry, May, you startled me. Почему ты рано дома?" (Translation: Why are you home early?)

The nurse took a deep breath, turning back to the lasagna she was preparing. "Your text was concerning. I came home after my first shift. Where were you?"

Peter shrugged. "Out. Can we talk about what I found this morning?"

"Of course," May said, shaking her hands in the sink to knock off the cheese and tomato sauce on her hands. "But before we get to that, I think you have something you want to tell me."

Peter cocked his head to the side, putting on an innocent look. "No, I don't. I mean, I skipped school today, but I bet they called you."

May raised an eyebrow. "They did."

There was an awkward silence. Peter didn't want to come out and call May a liar, not when he didn't know the whole story, but he didn't know any other way to bring it up. 

"My mother wasn't Mary Parker, was it?"

It was so forward, so honest a question, May hardly even blinked.

"No."

"Why did you lie to me? Why... Am I even a Parker? Am I even your nephew?"

May pursed her lips, thinking through her next words very carefully. It wasn't like she could tell him everything, and she had already gone against Fury's orders. She was already too far into the lie to turn it all around in one afternoon. May opened her mouth to speak, but the words got stuck and she swallowed thickly.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Peter whispered.

"Мой маленький паук," May started, but Peter held up a hand. (Translation: My little spider)

"You don't get to call me that anymore."

May winced, but it was barely noticeably. God, she was a SHIELD nurse. She had seen horrible accidents and gun shot wounds that destroyed faces and stitched people back together like rag dolls, but the look on Peter's face now was the worst possible thing she'd seen yet.

"Peter, please. Let me explain."

The boy gestured for his aunt to go on, not trusting his voice to stay steady and calm.

"I never knew your birth mother. Mary and I worked as nurses for a top secret organization, patching up secret agents, so when you were found, we were the ones to treat you. I only know that you were found in some medical building. They... When you came in, you were so little. Just this tiny thing, no where near what a 1 year old should be.

"You couldn't really talk much. Knew a little English, a little Russian. Mary wanted to keep you, she was going to take you home to Richard. But they got called out on a mission, so they went. I guess there was a mole, or maybe it was random, but the plane went down. That part was always true, I never lied about my sister dying.

"So it was just me, right? And you needed someone, so Fury called me into the office one night. He told me what happened to Mary and Richard while you played with some books on the ground. Even then, you were a little genius. And then I picked you up and went home. And Fury told me to tell you it was Mary who was your mother, and that was the story."

Peter processed slowly, trying to understand. He wasn't a Parker. Hell, he might have not even been a 'Peter'. Who... where... how did he get here? Did Fury get his name from the medical facility when he was rescued? Did Fury know anything about who he really was?

Peter's mind latched onto Fury's name as he finally understood what his aun- what May was saying. She knew Fury. She knew SHIELD. She had worked... she was...

"You know Fury?" Peter's eyes watered, nearly spilling over with emotion. "You know Fury, and SHIELD, and all that crap and you still let him take me when I was barely 9? You let him train me like that? You knew?"

May choked back tears that had spilled down her cheeks, sniffling and clearing her throat.

"Of course I knew, cherie," May said, her tongue rolling with the French 'r'. "Of course I knew. Why do you think I kept up with all the languages and left late night snacks every time you had a mission? Why do you think I never once questioned the school trips? Why do you think I never flinched when I caught quick looks at the stitches, or saw you playing with knives?" (Translation: sweet heart)

Peter stumbled backwards, landing on a dining room chair with a dull thump. May came forward, her hands outstretched to steady the boy, but he pulled back.

"Don't touch me."

May recoiled, her face drawn up in pain and confusion.

"Peter, I-"

"I can't do this right now," Peter cut her off. "I can't do this with you."

And with that, the teen went back to his room, packed a small overnight bag, and swung out of the fire escape, each step on the metallic stairs echoing in May's mind. She sat hard on the chair Peter had just been in, her hands in her hair.

Somewhere, far away, the oven beeped that it was warmed for the lasagna.