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There's a light rap on the door. Phil shuffles his paperwork back into the folder and slips on his "appease the savage student and/or teacher" face.
"Come in."
Peter Parker opens the door halfway and pokes his head through the gap. "You wanted to see me? Uh, sir."
"Come in," Phil repeats. "Take a seat."
"Oh crap," Parker mutters under his breath. "I mean, sure. Sorry, it's been a long... life."
With great will-power Phil manages not to roll his eyes. Someone, somewhere please deliver him from teenage melodrama.
He waits for the door to click shit and then presses the button under his desk which will ensure they aren't interrupted - extra security on the window, and a very mild neurotoxin triggered by anyone who touches the door handle on the outside. It causes very short-term memory loss, and keeps people from following through on what they were about to do; Phil has yet to use it on annoying faculty members, but give him another week.
Parker sits down and slouches low, clearly aware that he's in trouble.
"Your training evaluations have been slipping," Phil says without preamble. He's found it's always best to be upfront with lagging operatives; it doesn't give them the chance to anticipate him, and to make up transparent excuses.
"I know." Parker winces, and bites at his lip. "I... I've been kinda distracted."
Phil just nods, biting back a sarcastic, Really? I can’t tell. Unfortunately, Parker apparently takes that as approval to spill all his secrets.
"There's this guy who kinda made it obvious that he likes me, and I'm not... I don't know what to do! I mean, he's awesome! Hanging out with him is awesome, I just never thought about him that way before. Except now I do. Maybe? I don't know!"
Phil's stomach drops to somewhere in the vicinity of his shoes. Holy fucking hell, please let him not be talking about Stark. The timing fits; Phil knows about the weekend field trip to Stark Industries, knows about the spider suit, and he knows the kinds of people Stark usually makes suits for. People he wants to impress and/or sleep with. God help him, he's going to have to fish for more information if he's going to defuse this particular time bomb. Phil promises himself a long lunch and a shot or three of the good whiskey after this.
"I'm going to need you to clarify what happened, exactly."
"Uh." Parker slouches even lower, as if he thinks his hoodie can shield him from the world. "So, the symbiote thing? Didn't exactly start like we said in the report. We didn't lie! The team went over to Harry's for a movie night, like we said. Except Harry'd decided to... to throw a party. We weren't drinking, honest! But Harry was, maybe? And after the whole "grr, sewer monster" thing somehow his Dad didn't even notice how wasted he was; he just left us cleaning up the place and went back to work, can you believe that?"
Phil's met Norman Osborn. He can believe it.
"So. So I hauled Harry's ass off to bed and he... kissed me."
Phil breathes a sigh of relief. Not Stark. And then, "He's your friend," Phil says simply, as his mind starts reeling. Because oh, fuck, he's stumbled into teenage relationship drama.
"Yeah!" Parker says, as if Phil's just given him the most profound piece of advice ever. "He's my best friend, and I don't want to hurt him, and he's totally in love with me, and I don't even know... I mean, I think I might swing that way? Maybe? But I don't know. How do you know?"
And it gets worse. Has the kid seen him with Clint, or has Phil somehow pinged his gaydar? He doesn't know which would be more embarrassing. He's out professionally - it's a SHIELD requirement - but that's different from having a bunch of teenagers know, or speculate on, details of his private life. Never mind the fact that Phil is in no way qualified to talk Parker through how to do the coming out process gracefully; just ask his ex-wife. Phil had landed squarely in the repressed-bisexual category until the tender age of thirty-five, and realization and acceptance hadn't been neat or pretty. What the hell is he supposed to tell an impressionable kid? And how the fucking hell are kids these days figuring this shit out anyway?
"Well, he tasted like vodka and it was kinda sloppy, but-"
Phil holds up a hand. "That I do not need details about. Just... think about it. In the privacy of your own head. And maybe talk to Harry, if you think you can be mature about it."
Parker's eyes bug out. "What do I say?"
"I'm not writing you a script." Whiskey. Office hours directly after this, and then all the whiskey.
Parker just stares at him with those Trusting Eyes Phil now gets to see every day from the students here at Midtown. It's awful, like being surrounded by green junior field agents, and Phil can never quite shake the feeling that something's going to go horribly wrong. Probably because the junior field agents are usually the first to die when SHIELD has serious contact.
And just like with the junior agents, Phil has to suck it up and come up with something encouraging to say anyway, despite knowing precisely what the odds are of everyone coming out of this unscathed.
"Just be honest. You've gotten this far, so you know how to act like a friend. Do that, and be honest about how you feel, and it should work out."
Parker nods. "To be honest, sir? I need more down time. Harry only threw the party because SHIELD keeps making me ditch him all the time."
Phil wants to wince. Parker's cover isn't going to hold if his friends are already noticing problems, but if the kid wants to be a superhero he's going to have to learn how to make sacrifices. Relationships with people who don't have clearance are usually the first casualty, unless the operative is very good at time management and very good at lying. Phil was both, and his marriage still fell apart. But that's a lesson Parker will have to learn for himself, and a balance he'll have to attempt to strike on his own.
"I can't make any promises, but I'll talk to Director Fury."
"Thanks." Parker scrambles out of his chair and makes for the door, apparently done mortifying Phil for today. He's fast enough that Phil barely has time to press the button and un-secure the room; it wouldn't do for Parker to forget the conversation they just had and make Phil sit through it all over again.
The door clicks shut. Phil emails the school's head administrator to let her know he's taking the rest of the day off. And then he makes a call, because some things even whiskey can't erase from his brain.
"H'lo?" Clint's voice is rusty and cracked; that's what he gets for going out drinking with Natasha.
"So, it looks like I have some free time this afternoon. Any ideas as to how I should spend it?"
"A few."
Phil smiles. Oh, he's got Clint's attention now. "I can be there in twenty."
"I'll get the coffee on."
This. If he's very smart and very lucky, this is what Parker has to look forward to: someone who rolls with the crazy schedule. Someone who always tries to make the most of what little time they do have. And if the kid figures out how to manage it sooner rather than later, maybe Phil's the one who should ask for pointers.
Or maybe not.
He packs up his briefcase, fetches his sidearm, locks up the desk and sets his alarms. He's going home, where he can share his embarrassment and Clint can laugh at him and then help him forget. Maybe it took him a few decades to get here, but it's pretty damn good.