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chapter fifteen
A FISHERMAN'S TALE
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LENA'S BODY JOLTS BEFORE she's fully awake, chest rising upward as a cough bursts from her mouth. A pair of hands hurriedly turn her onto her side so she doesn't choke. Through bleary vision and half-squinted eyes, she watches water and saliva splatter into a puddle on the ground— or whatever hard surface she's lying on. The force of the ejection spreads an ache throughout her heaving chest as she greedily sucks in oxygen to soothe her burning lungs.

"Sie ist wach," a man's voice says in German.

Lena hears footsteps, but all she can see is a rusty floor and what looks like a net near her head. She faintly feels the sensation she's rocking back and forth. Once all of the water has left her lungs and her coughing fit ceases, she takes a moment to catch her breath and blinks hard to clear her eyesight.

She's freezing. Surprisingly, her wig had stayed on, causing the silver plastic strands to be plastered to her face and neck uncomfortably. Her suit sticks to her like a second layer of skin, waterlogged and heavy when she tries to prop herself up on one elbow. Her teeth chatter as she shivers and sluggishly turns her head.

The first person she notices is a middle-aged man with copper-colored hair and similarly-colored stubble. His dark sunglasses cover his eyes, but his lined forehead is wrinkled with worry as he stares down at her. Judging by how he's crouched over her, he must have been the one to turn her onto her side.

"Geht es dir gut?" he asks in a gruff yet concerned tone.

Lena stares at him, half-blinded by the sunlight reflecting from his white shirt. She can see her reflection in his sunglasses. The sight of herself makes her cringe; she's paler than she's ever seen, and the way her wig is plastered to her cheeks makes her look like a drowned rat.

"I don't..." she manages to say, speaking slowly through labored breaths. Her voice sounds throaty and raw. "I don't speak German."

"American?" the man questions with a surprised raise of his eyebrows. When Lena nods, he continues in a fairly thick accent, "How did you get here? Family holiday?"

Lena doesn't know how to possibly explain that she's a super-powered teenager who was nearly drowned by the very man who's being hailed as a hero by the news, nor that she has no idea what the hell she is supposed to do now. She doesn't know where Peter and Graham are — or if the latter is even alive. She'd left her cell phone at the hotel. Even so, who would she call?

"Paul," another man's voice speaks. When the copper-haired guy turns around, the second man holds a cell phone up to his face. This person is tall and less rugged-looking than his comrade. His blond hair is gelled away from his youthful face, his outfit of a long-sleeved shirt and jeans making him appear more put-together. Paul looks like he'd just rolled out of bed.

Paul lowers his sunglasses onto the bridge of his crooked nose to peer at the screen. As he does, the blond guy casts a wary gaze at Lena. His light-colored eyes show signs of mistrust and a frown pulls down his thin lips.

When Paul turns back to her, he grabs the other man's phone and aims it down toward her face. "Witch Woman?"

A grainy photo is displayed on the device — she'll bet anything it was taken off of Max's phone — of her fighting the fire Elemental in Prague. Her arms are straight out, blue tendrils of energy shooting toward the flaming monster. Luckily, her features are indistinguishable due to the smoke and angle of the camera, but the silver wig and black costume are a dead giveaway.

Lena sighs. "Yeah. Mission gone wrong."

"You are lucky that Lukas found you," Paul tells her, handing the blond man his phone. "You had some bubble-thing around your head that went back into your suit after we got you out, and I think that stopped most of the water from entering your lungs. You weren't breathing. Any longer and we'd have had more trouble reviving you."

Bubble-thing? Lena hadn't noticed anything like that before, but then again, she had never been dropped into open water in this suit before. Tony must have installed it. Beck had been right— he'd known her greatest fears, and he'd been prepared for them.

But it still wasn't enough. Shit. Beck had almost succeeded. If it hadn't been for these men, Lena would be dead, especially since there's no chance of Tony's suit diving into the water after her. She'd drowned. Her greatest fear had come true.

Her throat still burns from the force of the water coming out as she'd coughed. She switches her gaze to Lukas, finding him still staring at her as if he expects her to blast him with her powers and kill him or something. The slight fear in his eyes stings, but she doesn't blame him for his feelings. Her powers are destructive. He has no reason to trust her.

Even so, she looks at him with kindness and sheer gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you."

Lukas merely rips his gaze from her and grunts in response.

Lena takes the time to look at her surroundings. She must be on a boat. It's small— when she shifts until she's sitting up, giving her aching elbow a break from holding all of her weight, the thing rocks side to side and causes her stomach to flip. A fishing net tangled with seaweed had been resting on the metal floor next to her head. The way that Paul is standing suggests that he's used to being on small watercrafts; instead of wobbling, he easily shifts his weight to accommodate the boat's movements. Lukas perches on the edge of the boat with a rod in his hands. He busies himself with fixing the bait on it, but Lena doubts that it actually needs to be done.

Now that she's sitting up, she can see the water all around them. The sunlight glints off of the gentle waves and causes her to squint as she takes in the vast expanse of the lake. Slowly, she turns her head around until she's looked in every direction, but all she can see is the horizon line and faraway dots that signal other fishing boats.

Even though the sunlight is strong and even more intense thanks to the reflection off the water, Lena is still freezing. Paul reaches over her head and drapes something around her shoulders. When she looks down, she notices it's a jacket — thin, thanks to it being mid-June, but appreciated nonetheless. She clutches onto the front and tugs it tighter against her body.

"Where am I?" she questions.

"The Müggelsee," Paul answers. "Outside the suburbs of Berlin."

How the hell Beck managed to get her here, Lena doesn't know, nor does she want to. She doesn't want to think about him at all. All she wants to do is find a way to contact her friends and get as far away from this damn lake as possible. She doesn't want to be near a body of water again for a very long time.

Lukas mumbles something in German that Lena doesn't catch. Whatever it is, it must not have been kind, because Paul casts him an irritated look. Lena tries her best to ignore the other guy and huddles closer into the jacket.

"Here," Paul says, rummaging in a duffle bag that looks like it's been well-used over the years. He produces a caramel-colored box and shakes it around. It makes a rustling noise as whatever is inside hits the edges of the cardboard. "You like sweets?"

Lena takes the box and turns it over. It's labeled Toffifee, the description calling it a hazelnut in caramel with creamy nougat and chocolate. At the presentation of food, her stomach growls. How long has it been since she'd last had a meal? The adrenaline had kept her from noticing, but now her body begins to crave the calories she'd missed out on.

At the sound of her stomach, Paul smiles, revealing imperfect teeth and a set of dimples that make him look younger. She can see crow's feet form around his eyes through his sunglasses. "Eat. I have another."

Lena scoots backward until her spine rests against the metal bench that connects each side of the boat. She tears into the box eagerly, shoving several of the half-melted candies into her mouth at once. The sweet flavor makes her close her eyes with joy.

"Where are your friends?" the copper-haired man asks. "Night Monkey? Uh... what's the other one... Night Terror, is it?"

She nods, swallowing the mouthful of toffee before she speaks. "No idea."

He frowns. "You don't know?"

"We were separated."

A cell phone is shoved in front of her face again. Lena glances up mid-chew to see Lukas holding it out to her. When she merely stares at him, he impatiently motions for her to take it and keeps his lips turned into their ever-present frown.

Lena accepts it hesitantly, making sure there isn't any melted chocolate on her fingers before she touches the stranger's phone. "Thank you."

Lukas goes back to his fishing rod without a word.

Lena looks down at her reflection in the black screen for several long moments. Who can she call? Peter and Graham hadn't brought their phones. Since Beck has EDITH, who knows whose devices he's tracking? Especially since Graham had previously gushed about his brothers... are Max and Owen's phones safe? What about her parents? May?

There's one person she aches to call, but that person is buried six feet under and she can't think about him without remembering the vision of his corpse. It's almost like she can still feel his bruising grip on her shoulder—

She shudders and shoves the memory aside. Since she can't talk to Tony, there's another person who will be just as happy to help her.

She dials the number from memory and hopes the person will answer.

After three rings, they do. "Hello?"

Lena feels tears rise into her eyes at the sound of the voice. "Bruce? I—It's Lena."

"Lena? Why are you calling from a German phone number? Is everything okay?"

She closes her eyes for a moment to cope with the relief crashing into her. Her tense joints manage to relax for the first time since she'd woken up. "No, everything's not okay. Mysterio's a villain and he got the EDITH glasses so now he has an army of drones and he might have shot Gra — uh, Night Terror, and he dropped me in a lake and tried to drown me and I only survived because these two fishermen found me—"

"Woah, okay, okay, calm down," Bruce cuts her off in a gentle voice. "Breathe. Okay? Breathe."

Lena obediently takes a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. Once Bruce hears it through the receiver, he continues, "I can have someone hop on a plane. Where are you? I can't fit on regular commercial flights anymore, and the Compound is still rebuilding so there aren't any quinjets, but I can send Sam."

"No," she protests, though her heart warms at the thought of seeing Sam again. He would probably roundhouse kick Beck in the throat if he showed up in Berlin — which is a sight Lena would pay to see — but she doesn't have time to wait for him to jump on the next regular flight and reach her. "I need to find the others. I'm in Berlin— is there anyone else you can call? Is anyone in Europe right now?"

"You know, there is one person with a jet," Bruce says. Lena must be on speakerphone because she can hear his Hulk-sized fingers typing on a keyboard. "Happy Hogan, Tony's head of security. I can call him and send him the location from this phone. Are you sure you don't want me to put someone else on that flight for backup?"

Lena can't deny that she could use the full power of the Avengers right now, but she doesn't even know where the rest of her friends are. By now, they're probably out of Prague, which means that Beck is likely gone as well.

"Please call Happy," she says. "I don't have his number. But be careful— I don't know how much information those EDITH glasses can get, but I want you to be safe."

"And I want you to be safe. Be careful. If anything goes wrong, I'm sending backup."

She hangs up, feeling her heart warm with appreciation for Bruce despite the freezing temperature of her body. Then she quickly deletes the call history from Bruce's number off of Lukas' phone and hands it back to him.

Both men are gaping at her like fish out of water.

"Mysterio?" Lukas asks, surprising her with his speech. It's the first time he's spoken to her. "Bad?"

Oh. She'd kind of forgotten that everything she said could be heard by them.

"Ah, well... yeah," Lena admits. "My friends and I were trying to stop him, but he was one step ahead of us, so that's why I have to be careful about who I contact. And I would really appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about meeting me— I don't want you to be targeted, too."

Paul and Lukas glance at each other in disbelief. Then Paul shrugs, the sunlight glinting off his dark sunglasses as he does so. Lukas nods in agreement.

"We won't tell anyone." Paul promises. "Is someone coming to pick you up?"

"I think so," she says. "But it won't be for a few more hours. You know... America."

"That's at least nine hours," Paul says. "My house isn't too far from here. We can pack up— slow fishing day, anyway."

He leans over the back of the boat and switches on the engine, causing the boat to rumble as the motor hums to life. Lena tenses at the sound. Lukas gives up on pretending to look busy and sits on the bench across from her, closing his tackle box and tucking it someplace safe.

Paul pulls up the anchor. Within minutes, they're moving, gradually gaining speed until Lena's wig rustles in the wind, the soiled plastic strands stuck together in awkward clumps. She grips tightly onto the jacket around her shoulders to protect herself from the breeze. Paul steers from a lever-type thing in the back, his mouth set into a determined line.

Lena never thought she would be on the way to a random German fisherman's house to stay while she waits for Happy Hogan to pick her up, but this trip to Europe has brought more of the unexpected that she could ever have imagined.

-♕-

After spending nearly ten hours at Paul's house — receiving warm clothes from his wife, getting a hot meal, taking a much-needed shower, and sleeping while she's there — Happy's jet flies over the neighborhood. Lena, who had been half-dozing on the sofa, wig and mask still on to preserve part of her identity, jerks awake at the sound of it. She cranes her neck to look out the window behind her. Sure enough, a quinjet soars overhead, slightly low so she knows it's about to land.

Paul stands from the kitchen table. "I just got a text. Whoever's picking you up wants you to meet at a field. They sent coordinates."

Lena rockets to her feet so quickly that black spots dance in her vision. She tosses the blanket she'd been cuddling with onto the sofa, heading toward the door without a word.

"Hey!" Paul calls after her, scrambling to grab his car keys. "What are you doing?"

"I'm gonna fly," Lena replies shortly as she bursts into the sunlight.

The man slaps a hand onto his face in exasperation as he follows her. Now that his sunglasses are gone, she can see that his eyes are kind but rimmed with fatigue. "Ach du lieber Himmel!" he mutters under his breath, then reaches out and gently grabs her wrist, causing her to whirl around. "You said you wanted Lukas and I to be safe, yes? Well, imagine what the neighbors will think when Witch Woman comes out of my house and soars into the sky. Huh? Not such a good idea."

Lena's face falls and guilt begins to spread through her chest. Of course. How could she have been so selfish? The excitement and relief of getting to see Happy soon has clouded all of her usual good judgments.

She lowers her head. "You're right. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," he says, releasing her arm. "The coordinates they gave are about a twenty-minute drive."

Lena nods. Paul clicks the button on his car keys to unlock his vehicle, striding toward the driver's side with his long legs. Lena catches sight of his wife, Andrea, standing in the doorway. She gives the blond woman a wave.

"Thank you for your kindness," she says. "Are you sure you don't want these clothes back?"

Andrea waves a hand dismissively. "No, you can keep them. Those pants haven't fit me in years, and the shirt is a little worn anyway."

Lena wears a pair of black trousers and a blue shirt with lettering in German that she can't understand. Still, the gift of clothes when she'd needed them most seems so personal, something that she'll always remember.

"Thank you," she says again. Andrea gives her a kind smile and motions toward her husband's car. Lena turns around, jogs toward the passenger door, and climbs inside.

The twenty-minute drive is silent except for the old rock music Paul plays on the radio. It's a mix of German and English music, but all of it screams Paul. Even though she'd just met this man today, it seems like she's known him forever. He has the vibe of a loving father who frequently takes in lost children. Instead of batting an eye when he and Lukas had rescued an unconscious superhero from the lake, he had done nothing but take care of her. She's going to miss him.

They pull into a field. Lena's heart skips several beats at the sight of the quinjet parked a fair distance away from the parking lot. She'll have to walk, but she doesn't mind.

She turns to Paul with a smile and throws her arms around him in a hug. "Thank you, Paul. You've done more than you know. I mean, you literally saved my life."

The man chuckles, giving her a pat on the back before releasing her. "You're welcome. Now go save the world, and be safe."

Lena nods and climbs out of the car. Her limbs tremble with excitement as she takes a step onto the lush grass of the field and then breaks into a sprint. With every step and thrum of pain through her aching body, the jet comes closer. Pretty soon, she can see the door opening, causing a staircase to descend and a figure to appear on them. It's too short, thin, and young to be Happy.

She nearly trips over her own two feet when she realizes who it is. Peter.

Heart pounding in her ears and a burst of adrenaline making her blood feel like gasoline, she pushes herself to move faster. But then, several yards away from him and the jet, she screeches to an abrupt halt.

What if it's an illusion? What if this is all a trick of the mind, one of Mysterio's grand schemes? What if she gets on that jet and ends up right back in his clutches?

Peter looks like the real Peter. He's dressed in black cargo pants and a black t-shirt, a cut slashing the skin below his left eye. His curls are damp and spill over his forehead in waves. He stands with his hands curled into fists at his sides like it's taking all of his willpower not to run toward her.

"Tell me something only Peter would know," she orders, fighting to keep her voice from shaking.

He thinks for a moment, then decides on, "When you were rightfully angry at me for leaving you out of the Maryland thing and lying to you, I bought us Thai food and we ate it on the fire escape outside of your apartment. I also made a horrible reference to the F.R.I.E.N.D.S theme song."

Lena chokes on a sob, stepping forward as her entire body sags in relief, only for Peter to hold out a hand to stop her. There's pain clear in his eyes as he does so.

"Your turn."

Lena rifles through her memories. Peter. What's something only he would know?

"During your freshman year when I went to watch Graham in the school band's concert, you sneezed and almost fell out of your chair in the middle of it," she says. "You thought nobody noticed and kept playing... but I did."

Peter nods, a small smile breaking through the previously hard expression on his face. Lena breaks into a sprint again and slams into his arms. He steadies them, hugging her back with fervor and holding her like he's afraid she'll slip through his fingers. It makes Lena want to cry, but she forces back her tears— she's had enough of those lately. Instead, she settles on balling the fabric of his shirt in her fists and burying her face in his shoulder.

He pulls back just enough to cup her cheek and kiss her. Every other time, it had just been once, but now he does it again and again and again. Each gentle press of his lips feels like an apology and a prayer of gratitude. He's real. He's real.

Pretty soon, she's breathless and has to pull away. Her eyes open and catch sight of a familiar man with short, curly hair and a salt-and-pepper beard standing on the staircase of the jet: Happy Hogan.

Awkward.

"Uh, hi, Happy," she says, causing Peter's eyes to widen as he whirls around to face the head of security. "Thanks for doing this."

"It's no problem," he replies, warily eyeing the teenagers as if he half-expects them to make out the entire time they're on the jet. "It just so happens that I was on my way to pick up Peter in The Netherlands when Bruce called."

The Netherlands? How Peter got there, she isn't sure, but she figures she'll find out eventually.

"Come on," Happy says as he waves them onto the jet. "We can't stand out here forever."

Lena turns around and glances at the parking lot, but Paul's car is gone. Her face falls; she hadn't even thought to get his last name.

Then she realizes something with a sinking sensation in her gut. The joy in her eyes fades as she looks back at Peter. "No Graham?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head with his mouth pinched. Lena sighs and closes her eyes. It doesn't mean he's really dead. Maybe he'll find some way to call just like the two of them did, and then they'll pick him up, and everything will be okay.

"Kids!" Happy impatiently calls from inside the jet. Lena and Peter jump before hurrying inside, the staircase closing after them and securing them from prying eyes or ears.

The interior of the jet is sleek. Orange seats line each side, complete with small tables made of polished wood beside them. The back of the jet is dark. Lena can't tell what's there— maybe some airplane stuff she isn't familiar with.

Now that they're alone, Lena removes her mask and tosses it onto one of the chairs. Her wig follows along with her hairnet. She shakes out her hair and attempts to tame her wild bangs, wincing as she accidentally touches a bruise on her temple.

"Anything you need stitched up?" Happy asks, pointing to an open first aid kit that sits on one of the tables. She can only assume that he'd used it to take care of Peter.

Lena hesitates. "Um... I don't ... think so?"

"Well, that's not very reassuring."

She hadn't exactly wanted to look at herself in the mirror the entire time she'd been at Paul's. Call her silly, but she can't forget the way her reflection had seized her around the throat during Mysterio's onslaught of illusions...

"Lena?" Happy asks with a snap of his fingers to get her attention. Lena zones back into the conversation and shakes her head to clear it. "There's a bathroom over there. You wanna use the mirror to see if you can find anything?"

"Uh—" She glances toward a door near the pilot's chair that must be the bathroom in question. No, she does not want to look in a mirror. She turns around until she's looking at a sympathetic Peter. "Can you check my back?"

"What?" Peter asks with a surprised blink. When she raises her eyebrows, he stammers, "Um, yeah, s—sure."

His cheeks are tinged pink as Happy turns around with an exasperated sigh. Lena balls up the front of her shirt in her hands and lifts the bottom half of it, facing the opposite way so her back is to Peter. She can feel his fingers ghosting against her skin as he examines a few small cuts and bruises.

"I think this one might need stitches," he says, brushing over a spot that's particularly painful.

Lena groans. Once he finishes checking the bottom half, she allows him to lift the rest of her shirt up to her neck while still covering her front side. She does have a sports bra on, so it wouldn't be that bad anyway, but she isn't really comfortable with whipping off her top right now.

"That's it."

"At least it's only one," she mumbles.

Lena sits in the chair for ten minutes as Happy meticulously stitches up the wound in her lower back. She'd had to get them as a child when she'd fallen off a metal folding chair and gotten a sick gash on her leg, but at least she'd had anesthesia injected into her skin to make the area numb. Now there's nothing to ease the pain.

Her teeth grit together so hard her jaw aches. Each time she feels the prick of the needle poking through her skin, her body involuntarily flinches at the sharp sting. Peter had offered a hand to squeeze before it started. Lena finds herself grateful for his super-strength; the only cringing he does is on behalf of her as she practically crushes his fingers in her iron grip.

"All done," Happy announces, giving her a pat on the shoulder and pulling her shirt back down. "Good job."

Lena releases Peter's hand and puts her face in her hands with a groan.

"So, where are we heading next?" Happy questions. "We've been sitting in this field for too long."

"Well, we can't do anything until we find Graham," Peter tells him.

"Oh yeah, the, uh, the ghost guy, right? The nightmare dude?" Upon both of their nods, Happy continues, "Where is he?"

"If we knew that, we'd be heading there right now," Lena points out.

"Ah. Right. Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"No."

"Fantastic." Happy heaves a long-suffering sigh and slides his hands into the pockets of his suit. "Well, we can give him about twenty more minutes. Then, we have to start coming up with a plan."

He heads to the pilot's chair and slips into it. Lena turns back to Peter to ask him how he's doing, only to see the answer reflected clearly in his eyes. They're red-rimmed like he's fighting back tears. His lips are pursed together in an effort to stop them from wobbling, his Adam's apple bobbing with a painful swallow.

"What's wrong?" she asks, placing a hand on his knee in concern.

He doesn't look at her when he answers, voice thick, "Do you only like me because I'm Spider-Man?"

She blinks. "...What?"

Peter turns to her, fueled on by an invisible force that's churning through his insecurities, eyes watering again. "Is that the only reason you like me? Because I feel like you only started noticing me after you figured it out—"

He cuts himself off when she reaches over and grasps his face in both of her hands, squishing his cheeks and causing him to look kind of like a fish. Even though his expression would otherwise be humorous, she looks him straight in the eye without a joking smile. Her expression is pinched with pain at the fact that he could even think that.

"No, Peter. I don't like you because you're Spider-Man," she assures him. "I like you and you just happen to be Spider-Man. Is... is this because of Mysterio?"

He hesitates, then nods, a tear spilling over his eyes and falling onto her thumb. She wipes it away gently.

"I always see you. I've always noticed you. I could fill an entire novel with all of your favorite things and habits. Whatever Beck said, it isn't true. He was just trying to get into your head."

Peter nods, his cheeks still squished so his speech is muffled. "You wemembew dat, too. Just twying to get into your head."

She laughs softly. "I'll try."

________

a/n:

me about peter and lena:

we love paul. all my homies stan paul. i picture him as michael fassbender which is ironic because he plays young erik lehnsherr in the newer x-men movies. oh well, erik just has a doppelgänger now

┏┓
┃┃╱╲ In this
┃╱╱╲╲ house
╱╱╭╮╲╲ we love
▔▏┗┛▕▔ & appreciate
╱▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔╲
paul
╱╱┏┳┓╭╮┏┳┓ ╲╲
▔▏┗┻┛┃┃┗┻┛▕▔

sorry for that MAJOR cliffhanger in the last chapter. honestly i needed to keep you guys on the edge of your seats! i'm so glad you liked the illusions so much and were genuinely concerned about lena. and no, i'm not going to reveal graham's fate yet. i'm going to keep you waiting in agony :)

by the way!! if anyone reading this lives in the berlin area and i got some geography wrong, i'm so sorry. i did so much research but of course i'm human and make mistakes. please let me know if anything should be corrected, especially the german!

—kristyn

TRANSLATIONS:

Sie ist wach: She's awake

Geht es dir gut?: Are you okay?

Ach du lieber Himmel!: Oh my heavens! (Used to express exasperation toward someone)