"Why did I do that?" Clara questioned herself, talking into the palms of her hands, covering her eyes with her fingers. She pulled her hands away from her face and stared down at the end of her double bed. On it, sat the navy-blue suitcase she had told the bellboy belonged to her.

She had spent the last twenty minutes in the shower; some of that time had been spent washing her hair and body, but the majority had been spent panicking over the fact that she had very spontaneously decided to take Peter's case. In the moment, it seemed like a good idea. Peter would have to talk to her if she were to return his clothes and, she's assumed she'd be returning his Spider-Man suit too, but she didn't dare open it to look.

Once she had left the confines of the shower and dried herself off, she had changed into her black ripped jeans, an oversized graphic tee tucked in around the waistband.

Now, Clara stood with her arms folded over her chest, feeling a chill in the well-ventilated room but ignoring it, knowing she'll be sweating through the thin material of the t-shirt as soon as she stepped into the warm evenings' heat. "I'm an idiot. That's why." She answered herself.

A knock on the door made her snap her head towards it. Oh God, she thought, it's Peter and he knows I took his case. She hesitated, waiting to see if he'd knock again. He did.

Clara felt her legs carry her towards the door, and she reached for the robe hanging on the hook behind it, the temperature now raising goose bumps over her arms. Finally, she pulled the door open slowly, peeking through the small crack she made before breathing a sigh of relief.

Mr Harrington stood waiting expectantly for her to open the door fully so he could speak to her. "I called the class down to the lobby to update them on this evening's plans. Why weren't you down there?"

"Sorry, I didn't hear you." She apologised. "I was in the shower."

The teacher looked at her still damp hair before continuing. "Well, good news: we're going to the opera!"

"The opera?" Clara asked with a raised eyebrow.

Mr Harrington nodded. "The tour company gave us these tickets – for free – so we're leaving in thirty minutes, be ready at the front entrance."

He turned to leave. The last thing Clara wanted to do tonight was sit through a four hour showing when she couldn't even understand Czech. "Actually, Mr Harrington, is it okay if I sit this one out? I've got a really bad..." She racked her mind for an excuse. Clara needed to think of something that would allow her to sit out of the event and not be questioned. "Cramps! I have really, really bad cramps."

"Can't you take some painkillers? You'll be sitting down the whole time."

Clara, you aren't going to be here longer that a few months, after this trip you may not even see the teacher again, she thought, reminding herself that even if she were to embarrass herself, it wouldn't matter for long. "And there's a lot of blood. Like, loads. I'm talking-"

Mr Harrington had gone pale, waving a hand out in front of him to get her to stop talking. "It's fine, you can stay. Just... Don't leave your room, and, er, don't talk to strangers."

Clara gave him a mock salute, closing the door before he could change his mind. Facing back to the centre of the room, the main problem at hand came back to her mind. Now he was going to be getting ready for an opera, Peter would definitely want his clothes back.

She sighed and took her robe off to toss it on the bed. Dragging the case from the linen sheets, she trudged back to the door, sticking her head out to ensure the teacher had left before leaving fully. Having seen Peter disappearing into Room 112, she headed that way, carrying the deceivingly heavy case five doors down.

Trying not to over-think what she was going to say, she rapped her knuckles against the door. As she waited, she looked down the hall, wondering if it was too late to just drop the case and run back to safety. The door opening answered that question though. "Clara?" Peter questioned, head poking around with his body hidden behind from view.

Clara heaved the case to her chest, avoiding eye contact. "I think the bellboy left this in my room by accident."

"Oh, thanks." He said. "Did you, er, did you want to come in?"

"Sure." She smiled, Peter widening the entrance way to let her pass. "So... Earlier, I-"

"Forget about it." Clara frowned, looking over to him, seeing the worry in his eyes. She then noticed the black clothes he was wearing; the new suit Fury had made for him fitting his frame snuggly. "I overreacted – I probably did tell you and actually just forgot. I'm sorry."

She winced at the sincerity in his tone. Keeping the truth from him now stung that much more. "Actually, I wasn't entirely truthful."

"What are you talking about?" He moved one foot back, subconsciously getting into his fighting stance though he doubted the girl was any danger to him.

Clara presses her lips together. She had said too much to go back now. "My parents work for S.H.I.E.L.D."

His jaw dropped, eyes widening. "Seriously?"

She nodded. "But they also work with Fury, in a way. They feed him information from S.H.I.E.L.D and he provides them with information they don't already have."

"Woah." He said, sitting on the edge of his bed. Clara waited for him to say something else. "So that's how you knew about Beck?" She nodded. "You knew I was Spider-Man, why didn't you tell me about your parents?"

Clara shrugged, earning a barely noticeable smile from Peter as he picked up on her repetitive habit. "It's part of their contract, they aren't actually supposed to tell anyone other than people involved in the company."

Peter frowned. "No, it's not. Agents can tell literally anyone they work for S.H.I.E.L.D. They do it when every they're talking to people for investigations and stuff."

Again, she shrugged, this time from being caught saying too much yet again. "They go undercover a lot." Nice recovery, she praised herself.

"But then wouldn't they just be given fake I.D's?"

Damn it, Peter, help me out here. "Yeah, but it just makes sure they can't be traced as easily if their cover gets blown." That one's a stretch, she winced inwardly.

He narrowed his eyes. "So, why'd you steal my suitcase?"

Clara's eyes widened. "I didn't steal it, I told you, the bellboy left it with mine in my room!" He crossed his arms and gave her a look, an eyebrow raised. "It wasn't technically stealing – he gave it to me from the trolley, all I did was point."

Peter let out a burst of laughter. The sound was contagious and Clara joined in, dropping onto the bed next to him. She noticed his laughter fade away quickly though, his smile leaving to be replaced by a sadness that made Clara stop laughing to. "What is it?" She said worriedly.

"Nothing." He rose from the bed, Clara bouncing gently as he moved. "We should probably go downstairs; they'll be leaving for the opera soon."

"No." Clara said stubbornly. "What is it?"

"I just remembered what you said about having to move around a lot, that's all." He looked away, heading towards the door. Clara blushed, realising he had brought it up because he was upset she would be leaving shortly after the trip.

"Er, Peter?" Clara asked, stopping him going any further.

"Yeah?" He turned back, the gloominess crowding in his expression.

"You're wearing your new suit." She pointed to his outfit.

"Oh, right." He opened his suitcase, pulling out random pieces of clothing before finding the 'nice outfit' Mr Harrington had told them to pack. Seeing a flash of red and blue, Clara immediately reached out, snatching up the cast-off super-suit to examine it. "That's my old one, it's just easier to travel with."

She ran her fingers over the fabric. It felt stronger than spandex but stretched the same. "It's nice."

"Yeah." He replied, focusing on tugging the slightly over-sized trousers over the skin-tight clothes he was already wearing, and buttoning a white shirt over his torso, the black material visible underneath, but the black jacket that was thrown on next taking the attention away from it. "It's my favourite suit, actually." He added.

"How come? Don't you have a super high-tech one now?"

"You have to charge it though and it takes so long." He moaned, earning a light laugh from Clara.

"First world problems." She uttered. "You know, my parents are on a pretty tough mission, right now. I think that's one of the reasons they sent me on this trip. The point is, I'll probably be in Queens for the rest of the summer at least..."

Peter's face lit up again for a minute and he beamed at her, but the boy tried to hide his happiness from that statement, clearing his throat and looking down to his case. "Cool." He said simply, trying his best to act unaffected by her words.

A mischievous smile flit over Clara's expression. "But I might ask them if they can ask to be relocated..." She sighed dramatically.

"No!" Peter exclaimed. "I mean, sure, if that's what you want."

"What's the plan then?"

"Hm?" He asked.

"You're all dressed up underneath your dress-up. You're obviously up to something." She commented, leaning back with her forearms propped onto the bed behind her.

"Er... okay, so we're going to be in the main square, I'm gonna be in the cathedral tower, keeping watch for the fire monster. When that shows up, I have to radio Fury and then that's when Mysterio and I will move in." He explained quickly, as if he had been running the plan through his mind none stop since he heard it.

"Ah, so that's why the opera thing's happening?"

Peter grinned proudly. "Yeah, that was my idea." She doesn't need to know E.D.I.T.H helped, he thought.

"Right." She nodded slowly, wondering why that, of all things, had been his plan.

"Do you want to go downstairs now? I'm sorted."

"Yeah... I'm not going." Clara told him.

"What, why?"

"Because I'm not sitting through a four-hour opera - are you insane?" She said rolling her eyes, seeing the concern grow on his face. "Relax, I'm not leaving the hotel."

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