xp_logs | Miles & Rachel, Monday evening (Reply)

Miles accidentally reveals his secret to Rachel when she finds him fixing his web-shooters.

Peter had assured Miles that, under proper usage, the web-shooters were unbreakable and would require little to no maintenance. Peter, Miles now knew, was often full of crap. Miles's jaunting through Brooklyn on Saturday was cut tragically short when the shooter jammed trying to transfer out an empty capsule of web fluid for a new one. So now that he was back in the mansion, he'd commandeered one of the small tech labs in the basement, found some tools, and set about trying to fix the transfer mechanism without spraying himself with web fluid.

Judging by the state of the lab, he had already failed that last objective.

"Is that going to be a bitch to clean up?" Rachel asked from the doorway, sounding vaguely amused as a small smile toyed with the corners of her lips. The redhead was wearing a black rubber apron and had goggles pushed up against her forehead, the mad lab tech look completed with a flourish by the screwdriver she was twirling in her left hand. When someone had invaded the lab beside hers, she had not paid it much mind. But it had been a little difficult to ignore the curious noises emanating through the foldable walls between his work station and hers. "Because no one really cleans up after us around here."

And she was nosy, so sue her.

Miles look up from the device, but not quickly enough to avoid being sprayed in the face with more of the quick-drying fluid, leaving him looking like a bad Halloween decoration. He didn't recognize the stranger, but judging by her gear and apparent age, she must have been one of the X-Men he hadn't yet met. "It usually dissolves in about an hour," he said, peeling off a layer of webbing. "No one will even know I was here probably."

There was about a second of her attempting not to react, but then Rachel burst out laughing and whipped her phone out to snap a picture. "Oh, you're cute," she said cheerfully, once she was able to breathe again.

The redhead stepped right in without invitation, until she was close enough to peer at the device over his shoulder. "What problems are you having with it?"

His first instinct was to cover up and hide the device from prying eyes. Peter would not be happy for his proprietary device to fall into someone else's hands. But damn if Miles could fix this problem on his own without making it worse. So he scooted aside to give her a better look, and tapped one of the gears with the pin push tool. "Something's jammed here. When one capsule is empty, it's supposed to slide out and a new one slide into place. But it's stuck."

"Cool mechanism," she told him, shifting it around with her own screwdriver and peering at it. "Pressure release. Is the transfer triggered by weight? No? S'bit like a gear pump, no?"

Rachel poked at the release pad and more of the white stuff spooled out, causing her to grin when it barely missed him. "Flange is out of place in there. It's causing a loose panel which is causing your capsules to catch. Must've hit it pretty darn hard against something."

Miles flashed back to Saturday night and the the stringed-out carjacker who thought a crowbar was an effective weapon against someone tough and strong enough to literally lift the stolen car over his head. Not so effective against him but arguably so against the web-shooter. "So I should be able to get it back into place, then. Least it didn't bend or break, which I was afraid of. I have no idea where I could find replacements."

"Oh, the panel's bent, but nothing you can't hammer out in like two minutes," she said cheerfully. "I'll even do it for you if you run to get me some actual hot food. Orrrr. You could always just go back to the person you got it from if you needed replacements?"

"They're a little busy these days. Also poor." Also Peter would not let Miles hear the end of it if he'd told him he'd broken the web-shooter. "Can you fix? I can order a pizza?"

"Deal," she stuck her hand out for him to shake. "I'm Rachel, by the way."

He returned it firmly. "Miles. Spider-Man, but you obviously already knew that. All the X-Men knew. Didn't think it'd be a good idea to be here and not tell you all, sabes?"

"I'm not X-Men right now." Rachel blinked at him, one brow arched. She gave a little shrug and picked up the web-shooter, peering down the device before unloading the remaining capsule. "I want a pepperoni and extra cheese please. And the non diet kind of pop."

"You're not . . . wait, what?! Crap, you're not supposed to see this!" He snatched the web-shooter from the table and cradled it to his chest. "Forget everything I just said. It's, uh, just a prank I'm playing on Bobby. Yeah. I'm not actually Spider-Man."

Rachel arched a brow at him with an expression that clearly conveyed a mix of displeasure and are-you-kidding-me-right-now?. "I honestly don't care," she said slowly, hands lowering to her sides from where she had instinctively clenched them mid-air to keep her reactive powers in check. "I won't touch it if you don't want me to. But you still owe me a pizza run." Because she'd just come out of a ten-hour science bender and was positively famished.

"I don't owe you . . ." he started to counter, but clearly lost steam halfway through and almost visibly deflated. She was just trying to help. "Oh, who'm I kidding? Sorry. I just . . . it's hard enough to keep secrets in this place even when you aren't just blabbing left and right, you know?"

"Oh, honey. We all have our secrets. You're fine," Rachel said, whatever irritation now lost in her almost-kind-but-mostly-cheeky smile. Spiderman? Spider-Who? "I'll keep your secret and fix your thingamabob in exchange for that pizza, I promise. And then if you're extra nice to me, I'll even show you how to take it apart and put it back together."

Miles hesitated. Peter would not be happy about other people seeing his work, and Miles hazarded to assume, also not happy if someone improved on it. But Miles needed this fixed now and he needed to be able to handle it on his own in the future. Peter would surely forgive him for that, right?

"Okay," he relented, handing the web-shooter back to Rachel. "Just, you know, it's proprietary. Don't steal it. You said pepperoni?"

"Excuse you. I don't need tech to fly," Rachel scoffed, hopping up on to the table as she began to take the device apart, already starting to ignore him. "And yes -- all the pepperoni in the world, please."