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The words May said to him back in the doorway, with the Vulture’s body cooling against the floor, often come back to haunt him.
He doesn’t regret killing Toomes. He can’t, not after what he did to Benjamin; Noir’s seen a lot of horrors, especially since taking up the mantle of the Spider-Man, but the one that’s stayed with him is that of his uncle’s lifeless body, mutilated beyond recognition, and some days that's all Noir can see when he tries to recall Uncle Ben. And standing in that doorway, staring down the Vulture with his hand around May’s throat, there had been no acceptable reaction other than taking him down then and there.
You shot an unarmed man!
He was going to kill you.
Maybe he could have done something different. Maybe he could’ve been fast enough ( probably not ), maybe he could have used his webs like May had cried once she was back on her feet. But the truth was that, even if there had been another option, Noir wouldn’t have taken it. The Vulture didn’t deserve mercy. He’d had no mercy for Ben. He’d lost his humanity long ago and Noir wasn’t sorry for taking his life from him too.
After the Goblin’s death, he’d convinced Jameson to run all of Urich’s files in an exposé. He wasn’t letting any of his goons who escaped that confrontation off without a fight.
He remembered the day May read the article, a hand over her mouth and tears gathering in her eyes as she learned the true cause of her husband’s death. And when she had turned to him with shaking hands, asking did you know and looking much like the woman who encouraged him to lift his head up when he came home with bruises or a black eye, and Noir plays dumb, no Urich never told me which, at least, isn’t a entirely a lie.
“How awful,” May says, wiping at her eyes with a free hand. “I never imagined…” Her voice trails off. “It’s been so much harder, fighting without him. To think that Osborn organised it…”
And Noir nods along and reflects her shock, because what else can he do? He knows May - he knows she believes the world is governed by rules and honour, even if he doesn’t. Not anymore. She didn’t want to believe that someone out there meant for Ben to die. He wishes he still thought the same.
The paper continues to tell of the Spider-Man’s exploits, and May continues to read them with critical words.
Noir can’t imagine telling her the truth. He tells himself it’s for her own good - but really, he can’t bear the idea of May waiting up every night, looking at the clock and wondering if this is the night that he’s not going to come home. The idea of him not coming home and May finding out that because she’s being called in to identify her nephew’s body should be worse, but whenever Noir thinks of telling her the truth it’s accompanied by a panic that’s sent him into a spin on more than one occasion.
I don’t want to live in a world where people kill one another like animals.
And maybe she’s right. Noir judges Toomes for losing his humanity long ago, but how is he any better? The people he kills deserve it and, like the Vulture, he doesn’t regret their deaths - but he’s still killing in cold blood, just like Toomes did. May would hate him if she knew the truth, and she would be right to. The things he does go against everything she and Ben have ever taught him.
We are nothing without rules of behaviour, she had said that day, and Noir distinctly remembers thinking, but they don’t play by your rules. People - creatures - like the Vulture, like Osborn, they play by their own rules. And by their rules, nothing is safe.
He says as much to Ham, one day when they’re sitting on top of a building in his dimension and the thought has been beating at his head so much that he feels sick when he even thinks of May.
Ham blinks once, and then says, “Jeez, Edge, is there anything about your dimension that isn’t objectively horrible?”
“Apparently not,” is all Noir says in response, tucking his legs up against his chest. After a moment he asks, “How did you know when it was safe to tell your family the truth?”
“Well, first of all my dimension is a little less horrifying,” Ham says. “There was less fear of the entire world caving in if I did.” He shrugs. “I don’t know, really. Just seemed like the right time. MJ figured it out on her own, said she’d known for months. Aunt May, now that was a little harder.”
Noir nods. Fidgeting with his hands, Ham continues, “When I told Aunt May that meant I had to tell her I wasn’t really her nephew. Also that what happened to Ben was my fault.”
“I thought he died when you were a spider.”
Ham’s face turns grave. “When I was a spider I played a cursed game of Uno with my spider siblings. It didn’t end well.” He shudders. “That was a dark day. Anyway. It’s funny, because when I told her, I thought she’d hate me. But turns out she was just upset that we weren’t actually related. Said I was the best nephew she’d ever had - I’m the only nephew she’s ever had,” he says in a scandalized tone. “But I digress. She said she was proud of me and she didn’t blame me for anything that happened. Wow, was that a load off my shoulders!”
Noir taps his fingers nervously over his knee. “She wasn’t mad?”
“Not in the slightest,” Ham says with a grin. “You know, despite the fact that you lack a pig-based pun for your last name, you are a version of Peter Parker. I wouldn’t be surprised if your Aunt May felt the same.”
Noir lowers his gaze to the concrete. “Everything I do,” he says softly, “goes against what she taught me.”
Ham snorts. “Look. Maybe your May doesn’t go about things the same way you do. But really, you’re both fighting for the same thing. In your dimension the consequences are a lot worse if you don’t. If I was your May, I think I’d be proud.”
Noir’s chest tightens. “Thanks, Porker,” he says quietly.
“Hey, no worries,” Ham says casually. “We really need to come up with a better nickname for you to call me. I know Porker’s my name, but you’re wearing it out.”
Noir raises an eyebrow. “And what sorta name would you have in mind?”
“Hey,” Ham says, pointing at him. “You can’t pin this one on me. I went through the effort of choosing like, five different nicknames for you. You owe me the same dedication.”
Grinning, Noir says, “Alright, Porkchop.”
“Well, now you’re just being mean.”