Falling

The smell of ozone and expensive cologne always clung to the lab, but today it was competing with the faint, lingering scent of my own peppermint gum—a desperate attempt to mask the two cigarettes I’d shared with Maya behind the gym.

"You’re staring, Janie. It’s creepy. Stop it," Peter said, his voice muffled by the headpiece of the Spider-Man suit. He was perched on a rolling stool, one leg hiked up as he tinkered with a web-shooter.

I leaned against the reinforced glass table, swirling a screwdriver between my fingers. "I’m not staring. I’m observing. There’s a difference. One is for creeps, the other is for scientists. Dad says so."

"Your dad also says you shouldn't be in here when he’s at a board meeting," Peter countered, finally snapping the casing shut. He pulled the mask off, his hair a sweaty, chaotic mess. "And you’ve been 'observing' for twenty minutes without saying a word. What’s up?"

"Nothing. Just thinking about how weird it is that my best friend spends his nights swinging around Queens in spandex while I’m struggling to pass AP European History." I offered him a sharp, crooked grin—the one that usually got me out of trouble with Uncle Rhodey. "Still can't believe I caught you. You’re supposed to be the observant one."

Peter sighed, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "I was tired. And you’re quiet when you want to be. It’s a Stark trait."

"Don't lump me in with him," I said, though there was no heat in it.

Living with Tony Stark was like living inside a hurricane that happened to have a world-class espresso machine. I loved him, obviously. He was the guy who stayed up until 3:00 AM helping me build a kinetic sculpture for a middle school art fair, and the guy who bought me a vintage Vespa I wasn't allowed to ride without three layers of Kevlar. But he was also the guy who looked at me sometimes and saw a reflection he didn't like.

I checked my phone. A text from Cam popped up: Roof at 9. Don’t be a narc.

"I gotta go," I said, pushing off the table. "I told Maya I’d meet her for a study session."

Peter frowned, his spider-sense for lies probably tingling, even if it wasn't the supernatural kind. "On a Tuesday? You hate studying on Tuesdays. That’s 'Trash TV' night."

"New year, new Jane. Evolution, Pete. Look it up." I waved a hand dismissively and headed for the elevator.

"Jane!" Peter called out. I stopped, the doors half-open. "Be careful, okay? I’ve seen those guys you’ve been hanging with. They aren't exactly... Avengers material."

"That’s the point, Pete," I said, the doors sliding shut on his worried face.

---

The air on the roof of the abandoned apartment building in Brooklyn was biting, but the view was better than anything the Tower offered. It wasn't polished. It was gritty and real.

"Look who decided to show up," Maya cheered, holding up a red plastic cup. She was sitting on the ledge, her legs dangling over the edge with a terrifying lack of concern. Chloe was next to her, sharing a joint with Jack and Will.

"Stark! Did you bring the good stuff?" Cam called out. He was leaning against a rusted water tank, looking effortlessly cool in a denim jacket that definitely wasn't warm enough for November.

"I brought myself. Isn't that enough?" I joked, walking over to them.

Cam reached out, grabbing my waist and pulling me into his space. He smelled like cheap bourbon and clove cigarettes. It was a sharp contrast to the sterile, high-tech world I lived in, and I craved it. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear.

"Depends on what you’re willing to do with yourself tonight," he whispered, his voice low and vibrating.

I felt a flush creep up my neck. I didn't necessarily want to do everything Cam hinted at, but I liked the way he looked at me. He didn't see the "Stark Heir" or the girl who grew up playing hide-and-seek with Captain America. He just saw Jane.

"Give her a drink, Cam, stop mauling her," Chloe laughed, tossing a lukewarm beer my way.

I cracked it open and took a long swig. It tasted like metal and foam, but the burn in the back of my throat was grounding. Within twenty minutes, the beer was gone, replaced by a flask of something Jack had swiped from his dad’s liquor cabinet.

The world started to blur at the edges, the sharp anxiety I usually carried—about grades, about Dad’s expectations, about the weight of my last name—softening into a dull hum. I felt light. I felt bubbly. I was talking too fast, laughing at Jack’s stupid jokes, and leaning back into Cam’s chest as he wrapped his arms around me.

"You're so tense," Cam murmured, his hands sliding under the hem of my hoodie. His fingers were cold against my skin, wandering upward.

I stiffened for a second, a small voice in my head telling me to move his hand. But then Maya looked over and winked, and Will started telling a story about how he almost got arrested, and I didn't want to be the girl who ruined the vibe. I didn't want to be the "uptight" one.

"I'm fine," I muttered, mostly to myself, and leaned my head back against his shoulder.

We stayed there for hours. We smoked until my lungs felt heavy and drank until the stars above Brooklyn started to spin. At one point, Cam pulled me away from the group, tucking us into the shadows behind the water tank.

He pressed me against the cold metal, his mouth crashing onto mine. It was messy and tasted like smoke. His hands were everywhere—fumbling with my jeans, pulling at my hair. Part of me felt a flicker of discomfort, a sense that this was moving faster than I’d intended, but the alcohol drowned it out. It felt like a rebellion. Every touch was a middle finger to the pristine life waiting for me back at the Tower.

"You like this, don't you, Janie?" he whispered, his breath hot against my neck.

"Yeah," I lied, or maybe I didn't. I liked the attention. I liked the noise. I liked not being the girl in the lab.

---

I snuck back into the Tower at 2:00 AM through the service entrance I’d hacked months ago. I was doing a decent job of walking straight, though the hallway seemed to be tilting slightly to the left.

"FRIDAY, lights at ten percent," I whispered.

"Welcome home, Miss Stark. Your heart rate is elevated. Should I alert—"

"No! No alerts. I’m just... I ran up the stairs. Cardio. It’s a thing."

I made it to the kitchen, desperate for water. I was halfway through a glass when the lights hummed, brightening just enough to reveal a figure sitting at the island.

My heart did a painful somersault.

Tony was sitting there, a tablet in front of him, but he wasn't looking at it. He was looking at me. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes that mirrored mine, though for very different reasons.

"Study session ran late?" he asked. His voice was dangerously calm.

"Yeah. Maya’s a beast with the flashcards. We lost track of time." I kept my back to him, rinsing the glass. I could smell the smoke on my hoodie. I prayed he couldn't.

"Funny. I called Maya’s mom around midnight. She said Maya was out with friends. Didn't mention you."

I froze, my grip tightening on the counter. My brain scrambled for a pivot. "Oh, yeah. We went to the diner. Needed caffeine. Must have missed each other."

Tony stood up, the stool scraping against the floor like a gunshot. He walked over, stopping just a few feet away. I could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Jane. Look at me."

I turned, putting on my best 'I’m annoyed you’re questioning me' face. "Dad, I’m seventeen. I’m allowed to have a life that doesn't involve a GPS tracker."

His eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, his nose wrinkling. I saw the exact moment he caught the scent. The disappointment that flashed across his face was worse than if he’d started screaming.

"You smell like a dive bar in 1974," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "And your eyes are bloodshot. Don't tell me it’s allergies."

"It’s just... we were hanging out. Someone was smoking nearby. It’s not a big deal." I crossed my arms, my stubbornness rising to meet his. "God, you’re such a hypocrite. How many times have I walked in here and found you smelling like a scotch distillery?"

Tony flinched. It was a small movement, but I saw it. "That’s exactly the point, Jane! I know where that road goes. I’ve spent twenty years trying to pave over the potholes on that road so you wouldn't have to trip on them."

"I’m not tripping! I’m having fun! I’m a teenager, Tony. This is what we do. We don't all spend our weekends building Iron Man gauntlets and saving the world."

"You’re lying to me," he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and fear. "You’re sneaking out, you’re drinking, and you’re hanging out with kids who have the collective IQ of a toaster. You think I don't see the signs? I invented the signs."

"You don't know them!" I shouted, the alcohol making me bolder, meaner. "They like me for me. Not because I’m a Stark. Not because I’m a project. They’re my friends."

"They’re a distraction," Tony snapped. "And you’re using them to hide whatever is going on in that head of yours. You’re acting impulsive, you’re being defensive—"

"I’m being defensive because you’re attacking me!"

"I’m trying to protect you!"

"I don't need protection! I need you to back off!" I stepped around him, heading for my room. "I’m fine, Dad. I’m getting straight A’s, I’m home, and I’m fine. Just go back to your robots."

I slammed my bedroom door, the sound echoing through the penthouse. I threw myself onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow. My head was throbbing, and my stomach felt like it was full of lead.

I wasn't like him. I wasn't. I could stop whenever I wanted. The drinking was just for the parties. The smoking was just to relax. It wasn't a problem.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the small silver flask Cam had given me as a "souvenir." I took a small sip, the burn settling my nerves.

See? I thought, staring at the ceiling as the room began to drift. I’m totally in control.

---

The next few weeks were a blur of calculated deception. I became a master of the "stealth entry." I kept a bottle of heavy-duty eye drops and a pack of extra-strength mints in my bag at all times. I learned that if I wore enough perfume and kept the lights dim, I could hold a five-minute conversation with Natasha or Steve without them suspecting a thing.

Peter was the problem.

We were sitting in the school library, supposedly working on a lab report. I was staring at the screen, the words swimming. I’d had a few shots before school to take the edge off a hangover, and now I just felt fuzzy.

"Jane, you typed the word 'oxygen' with three Ys," Peter said quietly.

I blinked, looking at the screen. "It’s a stylistic choice."

"You’ve been 'stylistic' all week. You missed movie night on Friday. You didn't answer my texts all weekend." He leaned in, his voice dropping. "And you look like you haven't slept in a month."

"I’m just stressed, Pete. The internship, the classes... it’s a lot."

"Is that why you were at that party in Queens on Saturday? The one that got broken up by the cops?"

I felt a spike of irritation. "Were you spying on me? Is that what you do now? Spider-Man: Neighborhood Stalker?"

Peter didn't take the bait. He just looked sad. "I wasn't spying. I was patrolling. I saw you leaving with that guy, Cam. You could barely stand, Jane."

"I was tired! And Cam was helping me."

"He was 'helping' you into the back of his car while you were laughing like you didn't know where you were." Peter reached out, covering my hand with his. "Jane, talk to me. If something is wrong, if you’re feeling... I don't know, overwhelmed... you can tell me. You don't have to do this."

I pulled my hand away as if his skin were hot. "Do what? Have a life? Sorry I’m not a saint like you, Peter. Some of us actually like to have a good time."

"Is this a good time?" he asked, gesturing to my shaking hands.

"I’m fine!" I hissed, standing up so fast my chair screeched. "Everyone needs to stop telling me how I feel. I’m fine, Dad is fine, everything is perfect. Just leave it alone."

I stormed out of the library, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to get out. I needed to see Cam. I needed a drink.

I texted the group chat: Who’s out? I need to forget today exists.

Cam replied instantly: My place. Parents are in Vegas. Bring the Stark fire.

I felt a wave of relief. At Cam’s, there were no lectures. There were no "spider-senses." There was just the music, the smoke, and the blissful, numbing dark.

As I walked toward the subway, I caught my reflection in a shop window. For a split second, I didn't see myself. I saw a photo I’d found once in the back of a drawer at the Tower—a photo of my dad in the nineties, slumped in a chair, eyes glazed, looking like a ghost in his own life.

I shook my head, clearing the image.

"I’m not him," I whispered to the cold air.

I hopped on the train, heading toward Brooklyn, heading toward the only place where I felt like I could breathe, even if the air was thick with things that were slowly killing me.