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Peter doesn’t remember much about his biological mother. He knows she had red hair and she always smelt like an expensive perfume he’s recognised before, sometimes, whenever parents of kids from his school have come to parent evenings. He knows she loved him. He also knows that she left because she couldn’t look after him like she wanted to.
To compare, Mary Fitzpatrick adopted him when he was four years old, mere months before she died alongside Peter’s biological father, Richard Parker. He knows she couldn’t sing, but did anyway, whenever he had trouble getting to sleep. Her favourite song to sing was Little Boy Blue. He knows she had green eyes, ochre skin and a smile that could outshine the sun. She always complained about having to floss, but did it anyway. It’s easier to remember Mary Fitzpatrick as his mother rather than Virginia Miller, who trusted Richard to raise him alone, especially when he has physical mementos hanging from his bedroom wall that reminded Peter of how much Mary loved him.
That doesn’t mean that sometimes, he doesn’t wonder about Virginia. He’ll dig out his little folder of documents from under his bed, tracing her name where it sits in smudged black italics on his birth certificate and somehow always refusing to actually say it aloud. She’s his mother. Her name is Virginia Miller, but she’ll always Peter’s mother, first and foremost. Peter sometimes wonders if she knew what happened to his parents, if she had to give up legal rights to him to make way for Uncle Ben and Aunt May when they died.
Question after question. Peter has long lost track of how many he’s had, over the years. He’d even wondered once, after his school field-trip to Oscorp, if she was a spider-mutant too. It was silly, but it had joined the list. After all, superheroes were the norm and wouldn’t it be awesome to be a legacy? To be a living, breathing legacy of someone who saves the world?
‘I want to find you,’ he whispers to himself, staring at her name like it’s something sacred. It takes him a moment to realise what he’s just said, before Peter sits up and runs it all through his mind. He wants to find his birth-mother. He wants to find his birth-mother? Licking his lips, Peter thinks of May in the other room and impulsively gets up, heading out of his room to where she’s watching Mamma Mia on the TV.
How ironic.
‘May?’ He calls out, barely breathing at all as she glances back at him through the dark of the living room, the opening lines of Slipping Through My Fingers behind her reminding him just what his birth-mother was missing: him.
‘Yes, Peter? What’s up, spider-bug?’ May asks, grinning as she leans on the spider puns. Peter struggles not to smile, but it truly fades as he realises what he’s going to say next.
‘May,’ he says to her in a tentative voice, ‘Would it be okay- I mean, I’d like to- maybe, if it’s possible, not that I don’t love you, because I do, I really do love you a whole lot and Uncle Ben and Dad and Mary-’
The ranting probably tips her off, but it’s the use of Mary that truly reveals what he’s trying to ask. May stands abruptly, skirting the sofa and nearly tripping over the coffee table as Peter cuts himself off.
‘Pete,’ she murmurs, ‘What are you trying to ask? Use your words, sweetheart. Breathe.’
Peter breathes in, then out. His words crystallise. ‘I want to find my birth-mother.’
He watches her eyes glimmer briefly, before she nods. ‘Okay,’ she says, like it’s not anything to worry about at all. ‘I don’t know if there’s a number to call her on, so we’ll have to go through boxes, to find the paperwork.’
‘I’ve got my paperwork,’ Peter frowns.
‘No,’ May corrects, ‘You have your documents. I’m talking about mine and Ben’s paperwork. We might have a way to contact her and if nothing else happens, we can always go to Social Services for assistance.’
‘Okay,’ Peter repeats, slightly stunned at how fast things are progressing. He could be speaking with his mother tonight, if they have her phone number or even just an email. It’s been thirteen years since he knows they last met, when she kissed his cheek for the final time and disappeared from his life.
‘And if that gets us nowhere,’ May continues, a twinkle to her smile, ‘then we can always ask Iron Man for assistance. Use those connections of yours, Pete.’
Letting out a bark of laughter, Peter lets May take his hand, dragging him through to her bedroom, sitting them both down on the floor as she drags the first box of files from her closet. The box is rusted at the edges, but the blue paint still gleams as they bring it into the light of day.
Peter can’t wait.
It takes about half an hour before they figure out that the phone number scribbled on a post-it note left by the lawyer labelled VM# is the number they’re looking for. Peter types it into his phone, making three mistakes and having to backspace the entire thing. May stays with him the whole time, reaching out to grasp his shaking hand when he can’t stop trembling.
‘What- what if she doesn’t want to speak to me?’ Peter asks her, terrified for the first time. ‘What if she’s moved on? What if I have a whole other family out there with her? What if-’
‘What if,’ May interrupts, tapping the green icon to begin the call, ‘you phone and ask?’
Peter stares at the ringing phone, turning on speaker so it blares even louder. He wants May with him, to listen and help and maybe even speak, if he can’t. After three rings, it picks up.
So fast, Peter thinks numbly, only to break out of his focus as he realises he recognises the voice on the other end.
‘Hello Peter,’ says FRIDAY. ‘Ms Potts is busy at present, but I can easily redirect your call to Mr Hogan or Boss, if you need to speak to someone.’
Peter gapes. May stares. FRIDAY calls out in confusion, ‘Peter?’
‘…I’m here,’ he eventually says, so very confused. ‘How long has Ms Potts had this number?’
‘This has been Ms Potts’ private line for over eighteen years. Could I ask why you’re phoning her and not Boss?’ FRIDAY asks curiously, but Peter’s brain isn’t computing. May, however, seems to be getting her head on straight and within seconds, she’s taken the phone from him, clutching it in front of her chest.
‘This is May Parker,’ she says, tone sharp. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something about Ms Potts, before we go any further?’
‘You may, but I also may not answer,’ says FRIDAY, tone curbed. Peter recognises danger there, but again: no brain at the moment.
May strides onwards. ‘Has Ms Potts ever gone by the name Virginia Miller? Because if she has, I’d really like to have a word with Mr Stark.’
FRIDAY, sassing her, says, ‘I’ll transfer you to Boss, then.’ There’s a clicking noise, but before the call can go through, Peter hangs up as fast as he can, practically flinging his phone onto May’s bed.
The Parker’s stare at each other.
‘…holy shit, Peter.’ May says, before stating in a tone of finality, ‘You’re Pepper Potts’ son.’
Faintly, Peter hears himself reply, ‘Yeah.’ Then his phone rings again, this time with Tony’s pre-programmed ringtone of Highway to Hell. It came with the ringtone installed. He hangs up. Repeatedly. And then, because his phone is a StarkPhone and the creator can hack it, the next time he tries, the call goes through anyway.
‘Underoos, what’s wrong? I’m tracking you right now-’
‘He’s home,’ May interrupts, the only with a cool head at the moment. Peter is still silently freaking out. ‘We’re fine. There’s just been some kind of…’ then she hesitates and Peter silently mouths don’t tell him at her. May gives him a Look, then says to Tony, ‘Misunderstanding? Problem. Confusion?’
‘With what?’ he asks, as if they hadn’t just attempted to phone Peter’s biological mother, his girlfriend.
‘A…file.’ May says, ignoring Peter’s switch to ASL as he tells her to hang up. Immediately. ‘I wasn’t aware Virginia Miller and Pepper Potts were the same people.’
‘Uh,’ Tony mumbles. ‘That’s her dad’s name. Miller, I mean. I’m the one who called her Pepper, it just stuck—it’s not her real name. She used pepper-spray on my old secretary who was stonewalling her, when she found out I had some board members mooching off the SI bank accounts. I thought it was funny, at the time.’
May breathes in slowly, then continues. ‘Well, I was trying to phone her about the Miller-Parker-Fitzpatrick casefile. Peter and I wanted to discuss it with her. Only, Friday picked up our call and here we are.’
‘Oh, Pep is just upstairs,’ says Tony. Peter lunges for the phone, aiming to hang up, but May predicts him and soon they’re grappling for the device, trying not to make any noise or touch the screen as Tony continues on, oblivious to the fight taking place on the other end of the line. ‘Her contacts usually know when to call her on that number. Strange that you have it, but okay. What’s this case between you guys, anyway? On my way to her, now.’
Peter glares fiercely at his aunt, but May has the phone held up away from him, her other arm wrapped around his neck. Not wanting to use spider-strength on her, Peter is trapped.
Slightly out of breath, May says, ‘If you don’t know, then she’s not told you. I’m surprised it never came up, to be honest, especially with Peter hanging around lately.’
‘Not sure what you mean by that, but fine—here. Pep! Phone for you,’ he calls out on the other end, stating, ‘Something about a Miller-Parker-Fitzpatrick casefile.’
Both May and Peter hear the smash of a glass, followed by a yelp. Eyes wide, the two listen to Tony presumably help his ladylove clean up a broken wineglass, teasing her over the file name.
‘Who said they were calling?’ They hear her ask and it’s her voice, so familiar and yet so shaken, a Pepper Potts whose world is turning upside down, that prompts Peter to settle into Aunt May’s side instead of trying to hang up, his eyes locked on the receiver. ‘Tony, this is important. Please.’
‘It’s the Spiderling and his aunt, May Parker,’ Tony tells her. ‘They sure didn’t expect to be rerouted to Friday. Say hi, Parkers!’
‘Hi,’ Peter garbles, somehow not sounding like a complete idiot.
Silence overtakes the other end of the line for the longest of moments, before they hear Pepper again, saying, ‘Hello. Just let me sit down with Tony, okay? I- I need to explain this to him. I’m going to put you on hold, just for a minute. Just a minute, I promise.’
‘That’s fine,’ May says gently, kindly. Her fingers run through Peter’s hair and he sinks further into her side, feeling his shock begin to fade. Pepper Potts. Virginia Miller is Pepper Potts. ‘Take all the time you need. Peter can wait another hour.’
‘It won’t take that long,’ she insists. ‘Just a minute.’
‘Alright, then,’ May says, before clicking the hold option and setting the phone down on the ground. The two Parker’s stare at it silently.
Peter, beginning to accept the truth of the situation, eventually asks, ‘What do you think Mr Stark will think?’
‘It’s another reason to protect you,’ she says immediately. The why is obvious.
Peter wonders how the conversation is going. If Tony is freaking out, if Pepper is in shock, if, if, if.
I know my mother.
A laugh startles out of him. He knows her. Peter has met Pepper Potts, has had dinner with her that one time when Tony threw a potsticker at his head, has had his hair ruffled by her very hands and her arm wrapped around his shoulder. All of that is within the last three months alone—and she was his mother this entire time.
‘She likes me,’ he can’t help but whisper, slightly in awe. May presses half a dozen happy kisses to his face before the phone beeps and they’re suddenly hearing the unsteady voice of Tony Stark.
‘Right. So…Spider-ling. Mini Pepper. Wow, I never expected that to come out my mouth like, ever.’
‘Unexpected as this is, it’s really nice to hear from you,’ says Pepper. Peter sniffles and then he hears more sniffles through the phone and then they’re both bawling their eyes out on either end of the line. May wraps him up in her best hug and lets him hide his face in her shirt. He can hear Pepper calling him her baby—‘That’s my baby, that’s my son, Tony!’—and something in his heart cracks wide open.
‘That’s my mom,’ he says, matching her tone for tone. ‘That’s my mom, May!’
‘I know, baby,’ she soothes him, kissing his head as they listen to Pepper break down on the other end of the line. He had another mom—he had another mom.
The minutes passed, Pepper constantly trying to apologise through her tears, and Peter continually stopping her, over and over, a never-ending cycle until finally, Tony asks May to bring themselves to the Tower. May agrees without protest, saying she’ll bring an overnight bag.
‘May,’ Peter croaks, feeling six years old all over again, but in the opposite direction. ‘Mom.’
‘Peter,’ cries Pepper, and it feels like coming home.