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"Hello there…"
Immediately, Mikaela's eyes landed on the faint smear of red lipstick on Peter's face, and in that instant, the reality of what had happened hit her like a punch to the gut. The hurt was sharp and immediate, twisting inside her as she felt a surge of emotions—pain, frustration, and, most of all, determination.
She knew what had transpired between Peter and Natasha. It was written all over his face—literally. A surge of jealousy and anger rose within her, but she forced it down. This wasn't the time to crumble. Not yet.
Her first instinct was to run, to escape the scene, but before she could make her move, Peter, sensing her distress, reached out and gently grabbed her wrist.
"Mikaela," he called softly, his voice full of concern.
She froze, her heart pounding. Slowly, she turned to face him, her eyes already filling with unshed tears. 'He was with Natasha. Of course he was… I waited too long.' The thought cut deep, but she wasn't about to let Natasha win so easily.
"Mikaela, I—" Peter began, his voice uncertain, but she cut him off, shaking her head.
"You don't have to explain," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I get it. I saw."
Peter's brow furrowed as he took a step closer, his grip on her wrist tightening gently. "I didn't mean for—"
But Mikaela's resolve finally broke. Before she could stop herself, she stepped forward, burying her face in his chest. The tears she had tried so hard to hold back spilled over, and she let out a soft sob. She wasn't hysterical, but the vulnerability in her quiet sobbing was unmistakable.
Peter's heart clenched as he wrapped his arms around her. He could feel the pain radiating off her in waves, and his own guilt surged to the surface. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
'I can still turn this around,' Mikaela thought through the haze of her emotions. The guilt and the tears were real—she hadn't expected it to hurt this much—but there was no denying the opportunity. She wasn't going to lose Peter to Natasha.
Not without a fight.
From a short distance away, Natasha lingered, her arms crossed as she watched the scene unfold. At first, she felt a pang of jealousy, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface as she observed Mikaela's emotional breakdown. But the longer she watched, the more her perspective shifted.
To Natasha, it initially seemed like Mikaela was truly broken up about what had happened, her emotional response genuine. But then, as Natasha's sharp gaze zeroed in, she noticed something…
Mikaela's sobs quieted, her body no longer shaking with sadness. And then, through the curtain of her hair, Mikaela looked up over Peter's shoulder—directly at Natasha.
'Was that… a smirk?' Natasha's eyes narrowed as she caught the slight curl of Mikaela's lips. 'This b*tch!'
Peter also noticed the shift in Mikaela's demeanor. Even though he couldn't see her expression, he could feel her emotions through the Force. And while her emotions were completely genuine, there was something else hidden among them—something calculating.
"Mikaela…" Peter began, confused.
But before he could say more, Mikaela spoke, her voice still soft, but now with a slight edge. "I just… I don't want to lose you, Peter. Not to her… Not to anyone."
He could hear the vulnerability in her words, but now that he was paying attention, he could also hear something else. A layer of something more.
Was it… strategy?
He knew Mikaela well enough to know when she was being sincere, and she was sincere now—but there was more to it. She was playing her cards carefully, using her emotions to gain an advantage over Natasha.
Peter's mind raced. He glanced over his shoulder at Natasha, still standing there, watching them with an intense gaze. And suddenly, the pieces clicked into place. 'Oh. Oh, I see what's going on…'
Mikaela wasn't just trying to win his sympathy—she was playing Natasha. This wasn't just a moment of emotional vulnerability. It was a strategic move. And as that realization settled in, Peter couldn't help but find the whole situation… kind of hot.
Two women, fighting for his favor, both unwilling to back down. The idea sent a thrill through him.
But before he could dwell on it for too long, Mikaela, still wrapped in his arms, pulled back just enough to look at him. Her tears had dried, but there was a lingering sadness in her eyes.
"I don't want to lose you," she repeated softly, her hand gently brushing along his cheek. "I waited too long, didn't I? I should've waited in the hangar until you got back..."
Peter opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, Mikaela's eyes flicked to Natasha. She knew exactly what she was doing.
'Time to make my move.'
Mikaela rose onto her tiptoes, her hands gripping Peter's shoulders, and without a moment's hesitation, she pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss. The kiss was filled with intensity, raw emotion, and most importantly, a clear message—'He's mine.'
Peter, caught off guard by the suddenness of it, tensed for a moment before relaxing into the kiss. He knew he should pull away, that he shouldn't be enjoying this—but he was.
Mikaela's kiss was fierce, determined, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but admit that he liked it. The fire between these two women, the rivalry—it was intoxicating.
Natasha, watching the kiss unfold, felt her stomach tighten. Her eyes locked on the scene, and her frustration flared. 'So that's how she's going to play this.' The smirk. The kiss. Mikaela wasn't some heartbroken schoolgirl—she was a calculating, strategic threat.
As the kiss ended, Peter blinked, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. He looked between Mikaela and Natasha, feeling the weight of the tension between them.
He wasn't oblivious anymore—he could see it clearly now. They were competing for him, and it was a fierce competition at that. He had to admit, it was exciting!
"Mikaela…" Peter started, still processing the intensity of what had just happened.
Mikaela pulled him into another hug, her arms wrapping around his neck as she leaned close to his ear. "I won't let her win," she whispered, her voice low, but loud enough for Natasha to hear.
'This is…' Peter couldn't decide whether to curse his luck or praise it.
Mikaela cast one final glance at Natasha over Peter's shoulder, her smirk deepening. She had made her move, and she knew it had landed exactly as she intended.
Natasha's gaze hardened. Her initial jealousy was now accompanied by a steely resolve. 'So that's how it is.' Mikaela wasn't just a rival—she was a serious threat, someone who knew how to play the game. But Natasha wasn't going to back down, though she had to admit, she'd underestimated Mikaela.
Without another word, Natasha turned on her heel and walked away, her mind already racing with thoughts of how to turn this situation around. She wasn't going to lose. Not to Mikaela.
The rivalry between them had only just begun.
————
While Peter was grappling with his complicated romantic situation, miles away, Obadiah Stane was working overtime, obsessed with his own mission.
The Decepticons had placed their faith in him to find the AllSpark, and he knew that securing it would ensure his position in their good graces. More importantly, it would give him the power to see his plans come to fruition.
Sitting in his private office, Stane leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers impatiently against his desk. His brow furrowed in concentration as he scanned through a list of contacts, from high-ranking officials in the military to government insiders and business associates.
They all owed him favors. Someone had to know something. After all, a giant metal cube with strange glyphs carved into it wasn't exactly something you could overlook.
He'd made calls for hours and hours, speaking in hushed tones to every contact he could think of, but none seemed to have any answers.
As time passed, the frustration was building inside him, a simmering rage that grew with each dead end.
Until finally, one of his more reliable contacts in the government gave him a lead. "There was a time," the man said, his voice low and hesitant, "when I had to visit the Hoover Dam for a classified Shield operation. There's a hidden base there, not public knowledge. They call it Sector 7. I remember seeing a cube like the one you described there. It had these weird carvings, just like you said."
Stane's heart raced. 'This is it!' His fingers tightened around the phone as he thanked the contact and hung up, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. He had the lead he needed.
Sector 7.
He knew, however, that this wasn't enough. Stane needed confirmation. He couldn't risk bringing false information to the Decepticons—not with Megatron in charge. The thought of failing to deliver good intel to Megatron chilled him. 'He's not the forgiving type.'
His first instinct was to reach out to Peggy Carter, the director of Shield. She would know more, and if anyone had access to the classified information about Sector 7, it would be her. But no matter how many times he tried, Peggy didn't answer his calls.
Annoyed, Stane found himself in an uncomfortable position—he would need to pay a visit to Tony Stark…
…
..
.
Stane hadn't expected Tony to be at Stark Industries, not after all these years of avoiding the company. Ever since Howard and Maria Stark's death, Tony had distanced himself from the family business, leaving most operations to Stane. But the recent robbery seemed to have stirred something in Tony.
Walking through the familiar halls of the company, Stane's lips thinned into a tight line. The last thing he wanted was Tony snooping around, getting involved. 'If I had it my way, the entire company would be mine. Not a single Stark left in sight.'
Still, he needed to play his part, pretend to care, and bide his time.
As Stane approached Tony's father's old workshop, he heard the faint hum of machinery and the clink of tools. Stepping inside, he found Tony hunched over his workbench, laser-focused on some project.
The room was filled with scattered blueprints, prototypes, and a faint whiff of motor oil.
"Tony," Stane called out, stepping further into the workshop. "You're here. Didn't expect that. What are you working on?"
Tony glanced up briefly, wiping his hands on a rag before setting down a small metal component. "Just something my father and I worked on when I was younger," he muttered, his voice distant.
Stane feigned sadness, stepping closer to place a hand on Tony's shoulder. "I'm sorry about the robbery," he said, his tone dripping with sympathy. "I know how much the Arc Reactor meant to you and your father. If there's anything I can do—"
Tony shook his head. "It's not your fault, Obi. How could we have possibly prepared for giant robots robbing the place? No one saw that coming."
Stane nodded, keeping his expression sympathetic, though inwardly, he was pleased. 'No, no one saw that coming…'
"Still," Stane said after a pause, "I wish I could've done more. Have you been in touch with your godmother lately?"
Tony glanced at him, clearly disinterested. "Peggy?"
Stane nodded, watching Tony carefully for any clues. "Yes, I figured she might have some insight into what's going on."
Tony gave a noncommittal shrug, clearly not interested in the topic. "I've talked to her here and there, but nothing important..."
Stane wanted to press further, but Tony turned back to his work, clearly dismissing the conversation. Frustrated, Stane knew there was no point in pushing him any harder. Peggy wouldn't answer his calls, and Tony wasn't going to be any help.
Still, Stane had what he needed. Even without Peggy's confirmation, Stane was confident enough in the lead. He just hoped the information was accurate. The last thing he needed was Megatron's wrath if it turned out to be false.
As Stane turned to leave, something caught his eye—a glint of metal on one of the tables in the corner of the workshop. He took a few steps toward it, curiosity piqued. It looked like… armor? But not the kind Stark Industries usually dealt with. It was sleeker, more compact, with metallic plates designed to fit the human body perfectly. His eyes narrowed in interest as he studied the suit.
'What is that?' Stane thought, frowning slightly. 'Since when is Tony working on something like this?'
Before he could take a closer look, Tony glanced up and caught him staring. "Something wrong?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.
Stane snapped out of his thoughts and gave a quick, dismissive smile. "No, nothing. Just… interesting project."
"Yeah," Tony said, his voice nonchalant as he returned to his work. "It's a personal thing."
Stane lingered for a second longer, but he couldn't afford to waste any more time. He had to report back to the Decepticons, and the armor would have to wait. For now.
…
..
.
As Stane left Stark Industries, he made a beeline for the Stark facility the Decepticons had taken over. The facility was enormous, fortified, and brimming with Decepticon presence.
Entering the darkened facility, Stane made his way through the labyrinth of corridors until he reached the central command chamber where Megatron awaited. The towering Decepticon leader stood, his massive form casting a shadow over the room.
Stane swallowed hard, approaching with cautious confidence. "I have the information you asked for," he said, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest. "The AllSpark… I know where it is..."
Megatron's optics glowed a dangerous red as he regarded Stane. "For your sake, human," he growled, his voice a deep rumble, "I hope your information is accurate..."
A/N: 2342 words :)
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