watchesthewatchers | long overdue

"Wouldn't you rather shoot me?"

He holds up the gun, but he decides he'll damn well snap that wrist again if Peter tries to stab him.

"Come talk to him, Peter. I won't even be there if you don't want me to be."

He flips the knife away when he sees the weapon, hands lifting, stepping back against the wall.

Funny, how much he looks like Ricki when he feels trapped.

He drops the gun and kicks it a ways down the sidewalk toward Peter. Then he does the same thing with the clip.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Please- if you're really worried about him, talk to him. And if you're not, if you really don't give a damn about him, then stop jerking him around like this. Be in or out, but make up your mind."

"Out."

He says, without hesitation.

"Now get a god damn measure of respect for him and stop interfering with his work. Do you know how many times I've had to intervene to make sure your amateur snooping didn't end with his brains all over an Indonesian alley? Do you know he's going in to infiltration work without guns these days? You have no idea who he is, what he does, or what he's capable of. Your childish meddling and emotional blackmail are going to end with him dead. Don't come near me again, and don't pretend you're invincible. A sniper on the right rooftop and even you go down. I hate everything you are and I think you're killing him piece by piece and if you take one step closer I swear I'll stab you."

"You think I'm killing him? You have him convinced he's alone, while you go crawl into Tony's bed at night. You dangle friendship and then pull stunts like this, and then pretend I'm the problem here? I wish you'd been the one chased out of Indonesia, and I wish Tony had never met you. You might have them fooled, but not me."

Bruce is so tempted to hurt him.

"If I ever see you again here in my city, I guarantee you'll be in a wheelchair for a year. And if you ever hurt him like this again, I'll make sure you spend the rest of your life in a hospital bed. I won't kill you, but I can make you wish I had."

"How, exactly, do I have him thinking he's alone? I have him here with you, and you're fucking it up!"

Snarling.

"I don't live with Tony. And since you're ducking what I'm telling you, let me spell it out for you; when you followed him, that time I told you not to, remember that? People listened, and I had to move fast and make sure that you didn't cause him to die. This isn't a vague recrimination. You have actively almost had Ricki's brains all over a wall. Stop ignoring me and absorb that, you fucking child."

"Who the hell do you think you are, his saviour? He'd be safe if only I weren't around? You're the reason he was over there in the first place. You're the reason he has that shoulder problem, you're the reason he's been shot a few dozen times. You want him safe, tell your boyfriend to pay him off and let him go!"

"Who the hell do you think I am? The entire network, everything he's ever had to do, that's somehow on my shoulders? Like I make decisions about where he's sent?"

Scornful.

"You have an awful lot of ideas about Ricki, and very few truths. You can say a great deal about me but none of Ricki's bullet holes are my doing. He was working a different handle when things went south for him. Ask him yourself. If you want to take something up with Tony, you can do it. I'm not involved in that transaction, though I'll admit, I'm not interfering mostly because I'm hesitant to turn him over to you for suicide runs.

As for his shoulder problem, I happen to know I'm not the one who gave him a concussion when I was supposed to be protecting him! Ricki and I are evenly matched, we give as good as we get with one another, you abusive piece of shit."

He closes off, smug and distant and very cold the way he does when he's not willing to invest any more of himself.

"You have no idea what I'm like with him, and after meeting you, I like it that way. Tuck your tail and go back to New York, Peter. If he wants to see you, he can find you."

He sneers, and pulls out his phone. Dials.

"Ricki?"

Quiet, as the line picks up.

Bruce waits, hating Peter and his manipulations. Just standing here is an exercise of will.

Peter mostly just listens, clutching the phone in his good hand, smiling helplessly a few seconds in.

"Be careful. I swear, I'll go grey over you."

At length, he adds;

"I know. I will." And then. "You too. I'll send him back to you now, yes? Take care."

He hangs up, quickly after that.

"Tony's looking for you."

Tony, with his shiny, expensive cars and fame, in Gotham. Looking for someone in the bad neighborhoods. It's a recipe for disaster.

"I can't right now. Tell him I'm at the hospital and I'll find him at his hotel."

He instructs him, scooping up the gun. He assembles it, one handed, and looks up at him.

"Ricki will be tempted to drink. But if he makes it two weeks without, he'll be fine."

"If he stays overnight he won't be at a hotel, he'll be staying at my house. Just go find him and get out, or convince him to leave without you."

That isn't something Bruce can do, not with Tony being so worried over Peter. And once he hears what happened, Bruce doubts Tony will listen to him about anything ever again.

He slips the gun away, stands up, and looks him over again.

"Get Ricki to keep his mouth shut, and Tony and Bruce will hear I skidded on black ice. They have a lot of respect for you, I'm not interested in hurting them with this."

Leaning back against the brick.

"In hurting them with the way you chose to break your own wrist?"

He gives him a look of such disgust.

"You manipulative psychopath. Tell them whatever you want."

"Us arguing, idiot."

Teeth baring.

"But go on. Enjoy your victimization complex to the fullest. But go through Bruce to talk to Tony if you're going to accuse him of anything. I trust his judgement, but you've hurt enough of the people I love. Now." The gun cocks. "Get the fuck away from me."

"You have your gun, now get out of my city."

He's not going to turn his back on him, that's for damn sure.

There are police sirens heading close.

Peter rolls his eyes, and pulls the trigger. The bullet ricochets off the wall to his left, the pitch of the sirens change.

"My ride's on its' way. Do you want to be here when they arrive?"

He doesn't flinch. But once Peter starts talking, he does lunge forward, clearing the line of fire and jamming his finger behind the hammer so it can't go off again. He rips the gun back smoothly, though it'll dislocate Peter's trigger finger, and steps back again.

"Changed my mind. You could hurt someone with this."

There's a side door to a bad restaurant, which he opens and slips into. He, more than Peter, needs to be gone when people come to check out why there was a gunshot.

Peter vanishes, simply and elegantly, down the back alley and then off a side street and onto the main drag, disguised beautifully in his impeccable clothing, looking perfectly at ease walking along, looking through shop windows.

He hails a cab with his good arm, leisurely, after the sirens have stopped, and takes it to the nearest hotel.

He slips in, and gets a room on a card Tony will be able to trace.

Tony finds him that night, looking frantic and moody. He knocks on the door, pauses a second, and knocks again.

Peter answers, tear stained and burnt out, looking just flat. Empty.

"It's over."

Tony gathers him immediately, hands on his cheeks, kissing him and pushing him back into the room. When the door is shut he launches into the questions.

"What's wrong?"

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