Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Miguel has had enough. First, his morning coffee was a little colder than usual (thanks, Lyla), then he spent the rest of the morning hunting down an escaped anomaly, and now…

He hears footsteps coming into his lab as he works. It sounds like it's four- no five, people approaching. As they get closer, he can hear the muttering of their voices.

“...just tell him, Miles! Be honest. I'm sure it'll be fine,” one whispers. It doesn't matter. Miguel’s enhanced hearing can pick up on it, even with his back turned. “Like I always say, it's a leap of faith-”

Another panicked one hisses back.

“This is not a leap of faith, Peter. It's more like a leap straight to my doom! How do you think he'll react after he literally just gave me a watch-”

Miguel groans. It's Peter B. and Miles. How could this get any worse?

“Not a watch,” A third voice mockingly chimes in, doing a poor American accent. Quiet snickers follow.

It's Hobie. Miguel knows what this means. The “spider-teens” as they've lovingly been dubbed and Peter have all come to tell him about something. He just hopes it isn't too bad.

“...Yeah, yeah, not a watch. But how am I supposed to tell him that I lost it?”

Oh. It is bad. Miguel violently whips around.

“YOU DID WHAT?!” He bursts, his voice echoing throughout his lab. Peter and the teens freeze. They haven't even made it close to Miguel’s platform.

Peter is the first to step forward, baby Mayday in his arms as always.

“Well jeez, when you say it like that you make it sound bad, Miguel!” He says, clearly trying to ease the tension. Mayday babbles in agreement.

Miguel runs his hands over his face, trying to not break into a slew of curses.

“Because it is bad, Peter!” He paces pack and forth on his platform as it slowly lowers. “If it gets into the wrong hands, it could spell disaster for the multiverse.”

Lyla appears next to Miguel.

“As long as you lost it in this dimension, it shouldn't be too hard to track down. I can find it in a jiffy!” She pulls up some screens and begins to tap through them.

Miles winces, waving his hands.

“Um, see that's the thing…I may have…well…”

“He lost the watch during the mission.” Pavitr interrupts.

Gwen slaps his shoulder, scolding him quietly. Hobie chuckles.

Lyla stops her typing, peering down at the teens and Peter.

“Whoa, ok. This is going to be much harder then! Um…good luck with Miguel I guess?” She flickers away.

Miguel is quiet for a moment. All he can do is stare at Miles, who nervously looks back. He promised Jess and Peter that he'd be better about his temper and he’s trying, really. He takes a deep breath.

“Por Dios. Ok, wow. So you're telling me you lost your dimensional travel device…in another dimension?”

Miles grins sheepishly and shrugs.

“...yes?”

Miguel smiles tightly, if you could call his attempt a smile.

“Ok, we can solve this,” he tries to hide the strain in his voice. “Lyla, can you locate Miles’ device?”

The hologram woman appears along with what appears to be a map. A singular orange dot is on it. She zooms in on it.

“Here's what I’ve found,” she explains. “So the good news is that it hasn't been tampered with so it's still trackable. But the bad news is-”

“There's always bad news,” Peter grumbles as he tries to catch Mayday, who has taken to crawling over Hobie. Lyla clears her throat.

“The bad news is,” she repeats. “is that the Norman Osborn of this universe has taken it. And there's no Spider-Man in this universe, at least not yet. Also, this Norman is notorious for his advanced tech, almost as advanced as 2099’s. So basically…”

Miguel quirks an eyebrow.

“I can't break into his systems.”

That's the last straw for Miguel. His attempted calm demeanor drops. He clenches his fists and bares his fangs. He can feel his blood pressure rising.

“WHAT,” he growls, jaw tense.

“I told you it was bad news!” Lyla rolls her eyes. Just before he can swipe at her, she reappears in front of Peter and the spider-teens. “You guys are gonna have to manually hack in to get it back. Think you can do that?”

Pavitr’s eyes light up.

“You mean like a heist??” he jumps up and down. “I have always wanted to be a part of one of those!”

Hobie grins, bouncing Mayday in his arms. “Stealin’ from some capitalist douche seems like my typa deal.”

“I’m coming too,” Gwen says, stepping forward. She puts a hand on Miles’ shoulder. “We need all the help we can get, right?”

Miles looks at her, nodding. He turns back to Lyla.

“Yeah, but…” he glances at the grumbling Miguel atop his platform. “None of us know how to use 2099 tech super well. And hacking? How are we gonna pull that off?”

Lyla smirks.

“That’s the fun part. I already know someone who can help.”

Miguel’s shoulders stiffen, ceasing his grumbling.

“Lyla. No.”

She flickers away from Miles and reappears next to her boss, who refuses to look at her.

“Come onnnn. Who else do we know who's great with tech?” She nudges his side. “Dare I say better than you?”

He scowls, trying to grab at Lyla who disappears with a snicker.

“No. We're not calling-”

Gwen clears her throat. Miguel turns.

“I'm sorry, who exactly are we talking about?” Gwen asks with a confused look. “I mean, shouldn't we just call this person? It seems like they could really help.”

Miles nods in agreement.

“Yeah. Especially if they could just go like- boop boop beep!” He pretends to type in the air. “And bam! Watch is back, problem solved!”

Hobie snorts.

Miguel shakes his head, frustrated.

“You don't understand, it's not that easy to just- just get a hold of them.”

Pavitr raises his hand.

“I, for one, would love to meet this mysterious hacker person, especially if they're someone from Miguel’s dark origin story.”

“They are NOT from my origin story,” Miguel shoots back. “And I couldn't even call them if I tried. It’s useless.”

“But who? Who is it that we're trying to call?” Miles asks, voice raised.

Lyla reappears. She pulls up a hologram of a masked woman, clad in black with white fur accenting her collar and hips. A playful smile graces her face with a mischievous glint in her eyes. It's you. Miguel purses his lips and turns away.

“We're talking about the Black Cat of this earth. She specializes in tech and is an expert burglar. She's also-”

“Lyla.”

“She’s also Miguel's-”

“Don't. I swear, I will wipe your memory-”

“She's also Miguel’s ex!” Lyla finally manages to blurt out before slapping a hand over her mouth.

Silence.

Mayday giggles, clearly amused with everyone’s shocked expressions.

“EX??” Pavitr yells, jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh. You have an EX?”

Miguel groans, face hot.

“You don't have to say it so loud.”

“I'm more surprised that dear old Miggy here could get a squeeze.” Hobie comments, handing Mayday back to Peter.

Pavitr is still rattling off questions.

“So was this like a meeting through work thing, or like meeting outside of work thing, or blind date thing…oh! Who fell first?” he wiggles his eyebrows. Miguel remains silent, looking away with his hands on his hips. Pavitr snaps his fingers.

“My instincts are telling me you did. Awww! Who knew dark Garfield could open up his heart?”

Miles leans over to Gwen, a sly smile on his face.

“He was able to pull her?” he whispers to her while pointing at your hologram. Gwen can barely contain her snort. Miguel glares at them. They stop laughing.

Meanwhile, Pavitr continues rambling,

“So like, did you guys go out often? I mean, I know in my personal experience it's hard to do dates as Spider-Man. With Gayatri. Who is my girlfriend. Did she know you were even Spider-Man? I mean considering she's Black Cat she probably-” he stops, connecting the dots in his head. “...Uh, isn't Black Cat like a Spider-Man bad guy? You just said she's a burglar.”

Miguel bites the inside of his cheek.

“She,” he begins, trying to say as steady as possible. No luck. There's a slight tremor in his voice. He sighs. “She isn't a bad person.”

He walks over to Lyla’s hologram of you, studying your image. His chest tightens. You have that smile on your face. The one you always wore for just him, when it was just the two of you. It's the smile that makes him freeze and feel weak, the smile that could see right through him. He hasn't seen that smile in a long time. Miguel shakes his head.

“Lyla,” he calls.

“Yes?” her voice is gentler this time, not a hint of teasing in it.

“Is she our best option?” he can't seem to take his eyes off of you.

“According to my calculations, yes.”

A pause. No one dares to say anything.

“...Then figure out a way for me to find her.”

“I'm on it.” Lyla quietly disappears in a flash of orange light, along with the image of you. All that remains is the cold blue of the lab. No more of your smile.

Miguel turns to the rest of the spiders in the room.

“The rest of you, out. I'll be calling you all tomorrow for updates,” He waves them away and jumps back onto his platform.

He listens for them all to leave. Once he's sure they all have, he pulls up a picture on his screen. It's you. You're out of your Black Cat attire, instead opting for an old shirt of Miguel’s that practically swallows you whole. You’re holding a large bouquet of flowers- something unusual for 2099. Despite your love for new and shiny things, you had always had a preference for romantic gestures of the past. Your favorite among them had been flowers. He remembers when you first told him about them. It was a lazy morning after a long night of spider duties for him, cat activities for you. He remembers the smell of the freshly washed bed sheets and the warmth of your body. Most importantly, he remembers your voice calling to him.

“Look at this,” you tell Miguel, legs tangled together as he lays on top of you. “Back in the day, flowers had meanings. Like a language.” You try to show him the old book you dug up from who knows where.

Miguel instead buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing your collarbone with a hum.

You card your fingers through his hair in an attempt to get his attention. No luck. He just nuzzles further into you, running his hands along your bare sides. You yank his hair a little harder. He still doesn't budge.

“Mig, are you even listening?” You ask impatiently.

He hums again.

“Yes. Definitely. Something about flowers talking. Very romantic.” he mumbles into your skin.

“Miguel!” you groan, lightly hitting him. Miguel only laughs, raising his head.

“Ok, ok! I'm listening, cielito,” he kisses your forehead, your cheeks. You try your hardest to not smile as Miguel lays himself back on your chest.

“How do I know you're actually going to listen and not try to make out with me again?” you ask.

Miguel frowns. “It’s not my fault you have a very make out-able face,” you roll your eyes. “But I am going to listen this time.”

With a sigh, you open your book again, reading its passages. You really didn't believe that he would be paying attention. But he did.

That night, Miguel remembers going to every flower shop in Nueva York as Spider-Man in order to craft the perfect bouquet for you. Flowers were already a rare commodity in the year 2099, usually reserved strictly for decor and not romance. But with a little help from Lyla, he was able to make the bouquet and give it to you the next day. That's when he took the picture. In the bouquet is baby’s breath, red carnations and red tulips. You have a wide cheek to cheek grin on your face, your eyes crinkled with joy. Miguel can feel his lips twitch at the sight.

He’s so lost in the memory of you that he didn't even notice Peter, who had swung his way onto the platform. He clears his throat. Miguel turns around. Before he can complain about Peter sneaking up on him, he notices his expression. The usually jovial man looks- different. Sad, almost.

“Peter, wh-”

“Was she, uh,” Peter looks over at the photo of you. Miguel quickly slides it out of view. “Was she your MJ?”

Miguel closes his eyes.

“Something like that.”

Peter bounces Mayday in her carrier, who has fallen asleep. A gentle quiet washes over the lab, the only sounds being the hum of Miguel’s screens and Mayday’s occasional sleep gurgle.

“You should put her down for her nap,” Miguel finally says, turning away.

Peter nods.

“Yeah, I'll get going.” But just as he's about to swing away, he stops.

“Miguel,” he begins. “You can make it work. Trust me, I know.”

He pecks Mayday on the head and swings off, leaving Miguel alone to stare at your photo. Alone with your smile. Alone with you.

Miguel sighs, burying his face in his hands.

In the Spider Society’s cafeteria, Pavitr, Gwen, Miles, and Hobie sit at a table, discussing what happened over lunch.

“...I'm telling you, I’ve never seen him that…distraught?? Is that the right word?” Miles says, waving his half eaten empanada around.

“He looked devastated, ‘s what I think,” Hobie replies, prodding at his unnaturally blue burger with a fry. “His little turtle dove got ‘im all sad and stuff.”

“He's never talked about her before,” Gwen adds. “Not even Peter knew about her. So it must be touchy for him.”

“I know!” Miles cries, mouthful of empanada. Gwen hands him a napkin. “I’m just saying, isn't it awkward that we're supposed to be doing this entire heist thing with his ex?”

Hobie shrugs.

“I don't mind. Mr. Romantic over here though,” he shoots a thumb at Pavitr. “Seems like he's got something to say.”

They all turn to Pavitr. His fists are clenched as he bounces one of his legs. He's smiling so hard he looks like he's about to explode.

“Alright Pav,” Gwen sighs. “What are you planning?”

Pavitr’s eyes light up. He leans in close to the table. The others follow.

“So you know how Miguel is trying to get in touch with Black Cat?” he whispers, barely containing his excitement.

They all nod.

“Well…I may or may not have asked Lyla to tell us when he does. And where.”

Lyla quickly appears next to Pavitr, giving the group a wink and then disappears.

Miles freezes and drops his empanada.

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no,” he leans back in his chair. “There is no way that I'm going to get caught stalking Miguel and his ex. He's already mad enough at me. This is a terrible idea! Right, Gwen, Hobie?”

The question falls on deaf ears. Hobie has already jumped out of his seat, ruffling Pavitr’s hair.

“You are a riot, mate!” he whoops. “This is really quite cheeky of you, eh? Real smart of you!”

Miles shoots Gwen a desperate look. She only gives him an awkward smile in return.

“I dunno, Miles…I have to say that I'm…kind of curious about Black Cat?” she sheepishly says. “I mean, just because we know nothing about her, and especially if we're going to be working with her…”

Miles groans.

“Fine. You guys can go follow them. But I’m not coming.”

“I can't believe you guys convinced me into coming.”

Currently, the spider-teens, Miles included, are clinging to the top of a ridiculously tall building. According to Lyla, they were at the MOAA, or the Museum of Antiquated Art. By some miracle, Miguel was able to track you there the same night. Which meant the spider-teens were tagging along too, though he didn't know it yet.

Gwen looks over at Miles and shrugs. “Hey, Hobie was the one who offered you free food from the cafeteria for a month if you came, not me.”

“Yeah! Great job, Hobie!” Pavitr gives him a thumbs up. Hobie bows dramatically.

They all turn back to stare into the window they're perched atop of. There's nothing but the glow of the city lights shining on the empty exhibits. Pavitr tries to use his hands as binoculars while Gwen squints as hard as she can. Still nothing.

“Are you sure Lyla didn't give us faulty information?” Miles asks, skeptical.

“Of course she did! Lyla would never give up the chance to mess with Miguel.”

“She's still his assistant, though. How can you be so su-”

Miles stops. He gets that feeling. The feeling like an itch you can't quite scratch or a word on the tip of your tongue. It's the feeling of impending danger. His palms become clammy and he feels dread crawl up his neck. He knows his friends feel it too. They've all tensed like him. The feeling gets stronger and stronger, until-

“Hey, kiddies. Heard you were looking for me?”

Miles’ vision is engulfed in darkness. He can't move.

“Oh, fu-”

The museum is dark and empty, filled with nothing but old artifacts and paintings of a time long past. Miguel huffs. Though he had sent out a spider bot to scout for him, he lost its signal. And with Lyla being particularly uncooperative for some reason, it left him to search each floor of the museum by himself. And that…took a while to say the least. There's no sign of you at all, even at the top floor where Miguel currently stands. For a minute, he wonders if this was all for nothing, if it was all futile.

He wonders, if you are here, if you'd come with him. If you'd even listen, after all he'd done. Peter's words echo in his mind.

You can make it work.

“Easy for you to say,” Miguel scoffs to himself. After all, he wasn't a Peter Parker, charming and friendly with the right amount of messy. He was Miguel O’Hara. Grumpy, irritable, and definitely the wrong amount of messy. He was just…him. How could he compete with the infinite amount of Peter Parkers in the multiverse?

Before he can continue brooding, Miguel hears a clink. A glisten by his feet catches his eye. He picks up the object and curses under his breath upon seeing it. It's the spider bot he sent out earlier. Only this time, it's been crushed. Which can only mean one thing.

“Hey, Spider.”

Miguel whips around. That's when he sees you. His breath stops. The first thing he notices is your lips, which are curled upwards into that damn smile. It stirs something within him. You're really here. You're real, not just some hologram or picture. The light leaking from the glass ceiling illuminates your figure as you sit cross legged on a podium. You're wearing your usual Black Cat attire and a large jewel sits in your clawed hand…and an unpleasantly familiar group is tied up below you.

Miguel feels his eyebrow twitch from irritation as Pavitr and Gwen wave nervously at him.

“Saw you started babysitting,” you comment, examining the jewel under the light of the moon. “Real cute of you.”

“Black Cat,” Miguel begins, trying to sound as collected as possible. “Let them go. We need to talk.”

He takes a careful step towards you. You don't even bother looking at him, too focused on the treasure in your hand.

“Y’know Spider, I really didn't think you were the type to be a team player, but,” you peek down at the teens, “here we are.”

Miguel repeats himself.

“Let them go.”

You ignore him again, happily swinging your legs back and forth as you spin the jewel in your hand.

Miguel growls, snapping out of his initial daze. The multiverse could be at risk and he doesn't have time to put up with your attitude.

“I said, let them-”

“Oops.”

Before he can finish, you've let you of the jewel in your hand, letting it plummet to the ground. Instinctually, Miguel lunges forward, falling on his stomach to catch it. But before he can, you've already snatched it out of the air with a giggle.

“Gotcha,” you hum, putting the gem in your hammerspaced satchel (he really regrets giving that to you). You gracefully flip yourself off the podium, placing a foot on the now fallen Miguel's back before he can get back up. Noticing Miles’ attempt to wiggle out of the restraints, you tut.

“Careful, kiddies. The more you struggle, the tighter they get.”

He stops. You turn back to Miguel, whose anger you can see even with his face obscured.

“Black Cat,” he rasps from underneath you. “We need to talk. I'm serious.”

“You're always serious,” you whine dramatically. “It's really boring, actually.”

Miguel narrows his eyes. You narrow yours back. In one swift movement, he's out from under you. You quickly regain your balance, jumping back. You lock eyes with him. The two of you walk slow circles around each other, pacing like predators.

“I really need to listen,” Miguel firmly says.

“And I really need you to leave me alone,” you fire back.

He groans in frustration before firing his red web at you. You swiftly dodge it and snatch an artifact on display, quickly shoving it in your satchel. Miguel rolls his eyes.

“Were you always this much of a kleptomaniac?” he asks as he chases you around the exhibit, arms reaching to grab you.

You shrug as you leap out from his grasp, grabbing a bejeweled necklace.

“I only steal from people who deserve it. You know that, Spider.”

Miguel fires another web at you, entangling your ankle.

“Well, to me it looks like you're just looting the place,” he responds dryly.

Using your claws, you slash the web apart and free yourself.

“These,” you wave the necklace in your hand, “were already stolen. I'm stealing them back.”

When you're sure you're out of his reach, you place the necklace in your satchel. But when you do, you feel your wrists bind together. Looking down, you see that all too familiar red webbing. You curse. You got too sloppy and now look at what happened.

Before you can say anything, Miguel has already tied more web around you. And is walking towards you. Oh no.

“Black Cat,”

He's getting closer.

“We need to talk.”

Even closer.

“It's important.”

Too close!

Your chest is practically pushed up against his and you have to crane your neck all the way back just to see his stupid masked face. You try to keep a maintained posture but it’s just too, too close, even for you. Normally, you would be enjoying this but…things are different now. You sure hope those random spider kids you found aren't looking.

“Why,” you breath shakily, almost seething. “should I help you?”

Miguel tilts his head ever so slightly, as if it was ridiculous for you to even ask that question. He leans down, bringing his face even closer to yours.

“Because I know you,” he murmurs quietly, his hot breath fanning over your ear. “and you know me.”

You scoff.

“No, we don't. I don't even know who you are."

A lie and you both know it. Miguel feels his heart sink at the words. So he does the one thing he can think of. He can't keep talking to Black Cat, he needs to talk to you, the real you. Grabbing your shoulders, he utters a word he'd never thought he'd say again.

Your name.

You freeze. The way he said your name is the way he's said it a thousand times before. But the way he says it this time sounds fragile, vulnerable. He caresses every syllable with such gentleness it makes your chest hurt. You turn your head away from him, refusing to meet his burning gaze. You're quiet. Miguel patiently waits for your response.

“I…” he perks up at the sound of your voice. “...I don't know who you're talking about.”

The words feel heavy on your tongue. Normally, lying is second nature to you. But not with Miguel. Not like this.

Miguel tightens his grip on you before letting go. Even with a mask, you can see the hurt on his face. The way his shoulders sink and his eyes widen ever so slightly.

The web around you loosens and falls to your feet. You stare blankly at it for a second, before raising your eyes to Miguel. He has his back turned to you. With shaking hands, you reach to him, take a step to him, part your lips-

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

The museum's alarms blare and the exhibit you're in turns an angry red. You've been caught. Again.

“Shit!” Forgoing comforting Miguel, you sprint over to the tied up children you nearly forgot about. With a click of a button on your belt, their restraints loosen and you hurriedly pull each of them up from the ground.

“Go,” you tell them. “Get out of here!”

They nod, quickly jumping out the window you came in from. One of the kids, the one with a head of dark wavy hair, however, doesn't budge.

“Didn't you hear what I said?” you nearly yell at him. “Move!”

He just stands in front of you, seemingly stunned with wide eyes. Groaning, you grab his wrist and drag him towards Miguel who’s currently angrily hitting the device on his wrist, muttering something about deactivating the museum’s security.

“Here,” you say, shoving the young spider-kid towards him. “Take your child.”

Miguel glares at you.

“He's not my child.”

“Fine. Take your spawn.”

“He's not my- coño, are you serious right now?!”

“Look, Spider,” you poke a clawed finger to his chest. “First you send your little spider children after me-”

“Not my children.”

“-then you come and start talking some bullshit about how you ‘need to talk to me’-”

“Can I call you auntie?!” The young spider who's stuck between the two of you pipes up. You and Miguel both give him a puzzled stare. He shrinks back down. “Sorry.”

“-and then our little talk sets off the alarms! You messed everything up!” Your voice has become so loud you're almost screaming. Miguel winces.

Sighing, you turn away from the two Spider-Men and grab the grappling hook resting on your waist. You lift it straight up, launching it through the glass ceiling. You look over your shoulder.

“Don't come bothering me, Spider,” you say coldly as glass shards fall around you. “I have a date tomorrow.”

And with that, you fling yourself out of the museum, disappearing to who knows where.

Miguel can only stand stunned, alarms still blaring and room still red.

A date?

He couldn't tell if you were being serious or lying because you were mad at him.

Pavitr is bouncing on his heels next to him.

“Miguel?”

“...what.”

“I think I love your ex.”

Chapter Text

Miguel replays his interaction with you over and over the next day. There wasn't much work for him to do today, so all he could do was be alone with his thoughts. His thoughts of you. Why were you able to do this? You've been occupying his mind against his will since last night, every thought leading to you. Your smile terrifies him and your voice haunts him. He keeps thinking about your words to him.

I don’t know who you're talking about.

I don't even know who you are.

I have a date tomorrow.

A date.

Date.

D-A-T-E.

Miguel clenches his fists. Why did that little word make him so infuriated? He had the ability to travel to any world he wanted, the power of the multiverse in the palm of his hand, and yet he was angry over this?

He imagines you, makeup freshly done in an outfit you carefully picked the night before, laughing and hanging onto the arm of some other person. And he hates it.

He almost feels guilty, after all, who was he to be mad about if you were looking to get back into dating? The two of you hadn't spoken in months up until yesterday.

Lyla appears next to Miguel, who is sitting at his desk. She taps her foot impatiently with a raised eyebrow.

“When are you going to stop?” She asks.

“Stop what?” He replies, not even looking at her. He's been ignoring her since she decided to be so uncooperative the night before.

“That!” Lyla jumps in front of his face, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You've been staring at the wall like a total creep ever since last night.”

Miguel doesn't respond. She rolls her eyes.

“You're totally thinking about her, aren't you.”

He finally turns to face her. “I'm not.”

“Oh my gosh. You totally are. It's not even subtle. This is actually embarrassing.”

“I'm not!”

Lyla’s lips curl into a cheeky smile.

“Is this about her date?” she teases. “Are you…jealous?”

He's-

He's not jealous.

That's something that only dumb teenagers do, not brilliant half-spider half-man people (who are also geneticists and engineers).

He's not jealous.

His mind wanders back to the image of you on another person’s arm.

He's not jealous.

Them telling you a joke that makes you giggle.

He's not jealous!

Your red lipstick staining their face.

He's not-

“Miguel.”

Lyla’s voice snaps him back.

“Desk.”

Miguel looks down. His clenched fists have dented the metal of his poor desk to the point it's groaning for mercy.

Ok, so maybe he’s more worked up about this than he thought. But he’s not jealous.

“Lyla.”

“Mhm.” her display shows her filing her nails with a bored expression.

“Did you see the way she talked
to me?”

“Uh, yeah. She acted like she-”

“-like she didn't know me, I know.”

Lyla narrows her eyes as she watches Miguel stand.

“If she wants to play that game,” he says, mask appearing over his head. “Then fine. I can play it too.”

It's nighttime in Nueva York. You're waltzing along the sidewalk, watching the cars and trains fly through the sky above you like stars. The city lights illuminate your path home as your high heeled boots clack on the pavement. You're wearing a fitted long sleeved black dress with a high neckline and low back, your hair loose. In your arms you're carrying an armful of red roses, a gift from your date. You inhale their scent with a smile and run your fingers over the petals. The only other person to have gotten you flowers was…well, you know who. You brush off the thought and keep walking.

It felt good to go out to the city again. Not as Black Cat, but as you. No robbing, no conflict, just a nice dinner and a handsome face sitting across from you.

How long had it been since you had indulged yourself like this? You don't know. But it was nice to have a break.

As you keep walking, two guys suddenly appear from an alley. They both have sleazy grins on their faces. You resist the urge to scrunch your nose in disgust.

“Hey,” one of them says. “You're all dolled up, huh?”

You ignore them, speeding up your steps. They follow. No conflict tonight your ass.

“Don't ignore us,” the other says, jumping in front of you and blocking your path. “C’mon, we don't bite.”

You purse your lips.

“I'm just trying to go home.” you say firmly as you snake one of your hands down to fiddle with the silver bracelet around your wrist.

“Hey, hey, calm down!” The taller man puts his hands up defensively. “Tell you what, me and my pal here will walk you home.”

As he reaches to wrap his arm around your shoulder, you click a button on your bracelet. Your hand is quickly wrapped in a metal glove, claws forming at your fingertips. You reach up, moving to strike the man before he can touch you, but an annoyingly presumptuous blur of blue and red knocks him out first.

“Hi,” a familiar voice greets smoothly.

You look up. Miguel is hanging upside down from a lamppost with his web, dangling to your eye level. Your clawed glove returns to the bracelet.

“Hi,” you reply.

Before any other words can be spoken, the other guy comes charging towards you with a yell. Keeping his eyes on you, Miguel swiftly punches him in the face and leaves him to fall to the ground.

You glance down at the two unconscious men and then back to Miguel.

“Thanks, Spider-Man.” you tell him.

“No problem.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, almost having a standoff as Miguel continues to hang like a bat. You clear your throat.

“I better get going,” you say quietly as you begin to walk away. “Uh, thanks again.”

“Wait.”

You turn. Miguel is now on his feet, moving towards your side.

“Pretty girls like you shouldn't walk alone at night.”

You snort.

“And why would you be walking with me out of everyone in Nueva York?”

He shrugs.

“I'm Spider-Man. Trust me,” he tries to discreetly look at the bouquet in your arms. You notice anyway. “Date night?”

You nod.

“First one in a while.”

“I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

You purse your lips at the awkwardness of your current situation. Miguel seems to take note of this, jumping to cling onto the wall of a nearby building. You tilt your head. He reaches a hand out to you.

“Where to?”

Internally, you scoff. What was he going to do, swing you around Nueva York like he's some romantic? You didn't want to give him that satisfaction. It's petty, but instead of giving him your hand, you shove your roses into his arms.

“I prefer walking,” you deadpan, ditching Miguel on the wall. “Don't want to ruin my hair.”

He’s quick to follow you however, hopping off the wall with the roses. You look over your shoulder, rolling your eyes when you see him trailing behind you like some lost puppy.

As the two of you continue to walk in silence, Miguel’s thoughts are racing.

You were still acting like you didn't know him. Great. And really? “Cool”?? That’s all he had to say to you? He doesn't even know if he's ever said “cool” before. And now these roses. How could someone else know about giving flowers? He thinks as he inspects them. It's not like it was a common tradition anymore in 2099. As he examines with the red bouquet, a tag brushes against his thumb. He tugs at it. Written on it in a messy scrawl is your name. He flips it over to read the rest.

had an awesome time!!
you looked super hot tonight btw!!!
text me later if you want!!!!!
XOXO
wade

(A crude red winking smiley face thing is drawn next to the signed name.)

Miguel slows down his pace.

“This Wade guy,” his voice cuts the quiet, “was he nice?”

You stop in your tracks.

“Uh, yeah. He was sweet.” you answer half heartedly.

A pause. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Really?”

You can't take this anymore.

“Look, O’Hara,” you snap, whirling around to face him. You feel your lip tremble as you say his name. “Wade and I agreed to just stay friends. Happy now?”

Miguel parts his lips.

“I-”

“First you mess up my job, and then you follow me on my date like a creep.”

“Hey, I didn't mean-”

“I thought I told you not to bother me.”

“You know I don't listen.” he says as a matter of fact-ly.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

You bring your gaze to the ground, kicking around some rubble.

“Look, it's just…something important came up and I really needed to see you.” he says softly, voice tinged with sincerity.

Your breath hitches. Why did he always have to be so gentle with you, no matter the situation? You hated the effect his words had on you. They made your face warm, your knees weak.

“You could have called,” you murmur quietly.

Miguel huffs.

“Well, I can't exactly call you when you've blocked me on all of your comms-”

“I didn't.”

His posture stiffens.

“Oh.”

You look up at him in disbelief and give him a dry laugh.

“Wow. Ok,” you snort. “You didn't even try calling me. Like at all. Real smooth of you, O’Hara.”

Waving his hands around frantically, Miguel searches for an explanation.

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” he asks defensively.

You cross your arms angrily.

“By calling me, smart ass!” you yell back.

“And then what? What would I have done if you didn't answer?” he bellows.

“But what if I did?”

Miguel clamps his mouth shut.

You're nearly out of breath now, chest heaving and hair out of place. The man across from you watches as you wipe the corners of your eyes and smooth down your dress, trying to collect yourself in vain. As if the world could sense your anger, you hear a clap of thunder. Water begins to fall, making your hair cling to your face. You take a deep breath.

“You know what? I'm leaving,” you hiss with contempt.

Before Miguel can say anything, you've already turned on your heel, stomping away in the rain. You take one last peek over your shoulder.

“Don't follow me.” you spit with gritted teeth.

He doesn't.

When you finally, finally arrive home to your penthouse from what felt like the longest walk alive, you slam the front door and furiously kick off your boots. You hear thunder crackle outside.

“‘Don’t bother me!’ I tell him. And what does he do? The exact opposite of what I told him! How is he so- ugh!” you angrily mutter to yourself as you put on your slippers.

The only thing that calms you down is the sound of your cat, Giselle. While animals were rare in your current time, Giselle had come about as an accidental creation from your time as a geneticist at Alchemax. Not wanting any harm to come to her, you took her for yourself (with the help of a spider).

Giselle chirps at you, rubbing her face along your legs as her fluffy white tail stands tall.

“Hey, baby girl,” you murmur to her, picking her up. “you miss me?”

She meows happily. With a giggle, you kiss her forehead and scratch her cheeks.

“I'm going to change and then we'll make you some dinner, hmm?” you tell her as you set her back on the ground.

You go into your bedroom, quickly changing out of your rain soaked dress and into a tank top and loose joggers. You wash your makeup off, wiping off your mascara and red lipstick. When you're done, you walk back to your kitchen to prepare dinner for Giselle.

“Do you want tuna or chicken, Gigi?” you ask her as you dig through your fridge.

No response. Huh. She normally meows back.

“Gi?”

When she doesn't respond again, you close the fridge to take a look over your shoulder. You spot a white ball of fluff by the kitchen window. As you step closer to her, you notice her swishing tail and widened pupils.

Curious as to what's got her so worked up, you move to stand behind Giselle and peek out the window with her.

You should be seeing nothing. Just the lights of the city and the storming sky. But instead you see an angry red spider skull staring back at you. You press your lips into a frown.

When Miguel spots you glaring at him through the window, he taps on the glass with his finger, as if pleading you to let him in. Wordlessly, you open it.

He tumbles in, bringing the rain with him. You shut the window and watch as his mask creeps off from his head, revealing his messy brown locks and strong cheekbones. Your heart nearly skips a beat. Even though he's been nothing but a bother to you for the past day and a half, you still have to admit he's stupidly good looking. Miguel looks at you sheepishly while you raise an eyebrow, hand propped on your hip.

“You uh,” he begins. “you forgot your flowers.”

He brings them out from behind his back. By now, they're in a sorry state, soggy from the rain and a little wilted. The ink on the note Wade wrote you is now smudged, even more illegible than before.

“Sorry, I got caught in the storm.”

You eye them for a second and then take them from him. He feels your fingers brush against his.

“Thanks.”

You place them on the counter.

As if on cue, Giselle meows, swiftly leaping into Miguel’s arms like she belongs there. Traitor, you think to yourself as she rubs her cheek against his.

“Oye, gorda,” he coos to her with a gentle smile. “¿Qué te pasa?”

She trills back to him, closing her eyes in joy as he pets her.

“Don't call her fat,” you scold, throwing a kitchen towel at his face. Giselle jumps out of his arms in surprise.

“Dry off,” you tell him as he peels the towel off his face with a displeased look. “And those,” you point at his wet feet, “Put these on.”

You unceremoniously toss the only other pair of slippers you owned- pink bunny eared ones. Miguel glares at you in protest but upon seeing your expression he stops. Defeated, he puts the bunny slippers on.

“So,” you grumble as you go back to digging through your fridge for Giselle. “You followed me even though I told you not to.”

Miguel shrugs, kneeling down to pet Giselle, who has her stomach sprawled out to him.

“Like I said, you know I don't listen.”

You nod your head listlessly as you crack open a can of tuna. Giselle’s eyes light up, trotting over to her food mat as you place her dinner down. Miguel looks at her with fond eyes as she starts to scarf the fishy mush down.

“She's doing well,” he comments.

“Yeah, when she's not being a little diva,” you mutter under your breath as you pull out a chair at your dining table.

Miguel lets out a chuckle- a rare sound for him. You don't react, instead simply gesturing to the chair across from you.

“C’mere,” you say, patting the other side of the table. “Sit down.”

Miguel looks at you in disbelief for a second. Slowly, he stands and pulls out the chair with a screeching sound that makes you wince. He sits down, looking comically large at your tiny table. You stare at him blankly, head resting in your manicured hand as the other raps against the tabletop.

“Well?”

He looks at you, confused.

“C’mon, O’Hara. What do you need to tell me so badly?”

Ignoring how you're still using his last name, Miguel’s maroon eyes widen.

“You're…actually listening to me.”

You jut your bottom lip out.

“Well, if you're going to ruin one of my jobs, stalk me after a date, and then hang outside my kitchen like a criminal, it must be important.”

He scowls.

“I wasn't stalking you, I just used an algorithm to predict your location-”

You give him a knowing look.

“Ok, that sounds bad. But my point is-”

“Yeah, yeah I get it. Just tell me what's going on.” you cut him off, waving your free hand impatiently.

“I was going to before you interrupted me,” Miguel sneers back. “Now if you would actually let me speak-”

You shush him with a raised finger, pausing to look at your nails. When you're done, you look back at him to continue.

“Why are you so…” he groans in exasperation and presses his hands together. “Look, kitty,” you contort your face at the new nickname. “Something happened and I need as many people on it as possible.”

You seem to be paying closer attention now. He's piqued your interest. “So you’re offering me a job.”

“If you want to call it that, yes. But the important thing is, the multiverse could be at risk right now.”

You freeze.

“The multiverse.” you repeat. The word feels dirty coming from your mouth.

Miguel nods. He shows you his wrist. A silver band is wrapped around it with an orange screen showing a simple display. Without thinking, you quickly grab his arm, examining the device.

“This,” you mess around with the gadget’s UI, “this is the goober you were working on.”

He nods again, face beginning to warm as he tries to wrestle his arm out of your grip to no avail.

“Yeah, but you really shouldn't mess with it too much or else-”

A hologram of a woman pops up.

“Hey girlfriend!”

It's Lyla.

You grin upon seeing her.

“Ly!” you cheer as she gives you her version of a hug (which means she wraps her projected arms around your face and you feel nothing). “I missed you.”

Lyla pretends to wipe tears from her eyes with a tissue that appears in her hand.

“I missed you too, girl!” she fake sobs, falling to her knees. “We have so much to catch up on! Like, Miguel here- wait, nooo! At least let me talk to h-”

Miguel turns the device off, making Lyla disappear. You pout as he pulls his arm back from you.

“Like I was saying,” he tries to regain his serious composure. “the multiverse is at risk.”

You lean back in your chair.

“Let me guess, you gave someone in your little squad one of these watches-”

“It's not a watch. It's a multiversal traversal device-”

“Right, a watch,” you resume cooly, ignoring the deep frown Miguel gives you. “And then they lost it?”

Miguel tilts his head from side to side, his arms now crossed.

“Give or take, yes.”

You take a second to think, before raising yourself from your seat. Miguel feels his heart stop as you lean towards him, a coy smile on your face. He tries to maintain eye contact with you, but it's so hard when he can practically feel your breath tickle his face. One wrong move and your mouth would be colliding with his. He watches with nervous anticipation as you slowly part your lips.

“And you want me to steal the watch back,” you say calmly, smirking at Miguel’s flustered expression, “am I right?”

He looks away from you.

“Yes.”

You hum in response, showing him your hand with a grin. In it, is a silver object. His watch. Miguel’s jaw drops as he frantically pats his body down, grasping at his wrist.

“How- what-?” is the only thing he manages to sputter. He has enhanced sight, hearing, everything, yet you managed to snatch something out from under his nose?

“It's like you said, O’Hara,” you toss the watch up and down, “‘I know you and you know me’. And if there's anyone who knows how to steal from the oh so great Spider-Man, it's the Black Cat.”

When he tries to grab it from you, you pull your arm away.

“Give it back.” he demands sternly.

You stand up fully. “No.” After all the trouble he's given you lately, you're feeling a little mean. Why not toy with him for a bit, ruffle his feathers?

Your smug expression makes Miguel’s blood boil. He doesn't understand how you can draw him in like a moth to a flame but also make him so furious. You're the exact definition of a contradiction. Rising to his feet as well, his large frame towers over you.

He tries to grab the watch from you again, this time more aggressively. You dodge his advances with a bored expression. When he steps closer, you dash out of his line of reach before he can lash at you.

In a flash, you jump and delicately land on the kitchen counter, the now sad bouquet of roses in your empty hand. You point it at Miguel like a sword. Just as he's about to question you, you toss the flowers at his face, blocking his vision. You leap down from the counter and swipe his ankles with your feet, making the large man stumble and fall on his back.

As he yanks the bouquet off with a grimace, he's greeted by you squatting over him, trapping him between your legs. He can't focus. His body feels like it's on fire and his heart is pounding so fast it makes his head hurt.

“Look, O’Hara, I’ll help you,” you tell the dazed Miguel as you dangle his watch over his head. “But before I give you this goober back, I need you to do something for me.”

You flick his forehead when he doesn't answer you. “Eyes on me.” you command. He listens. You smile, enjoying his obedience.

“Tell me that you need me to help you, and I'll give this back to you.”

Miguel furrows his brow, puzzled. That was it? Those were your demands? They were almost juvenile, like a teacher telling their student to say sorry after doing something they shouldn't.

“Look, Lyla said you were the best for the job, so that's why I asked you.” he grumbles, clearly exasperated from your games.

With a frown, you lift the watch up further out of his reach.

“That's not what I said.” you jeer. “Tell me that you need me to help you.”

The man below you scowls, baring his fangs. You know he won't do anything, though. It's all bark and no bite with you.

“Stop acting like a child,” he growls, trying to move out from under you. In retaliation, you push yourself down to your knees, now fully straddling him.

“I think I'm offering you a fair deal, actually. I give you back this all powerful multiversal travel device, and you tell me one tiny thing,” you explain, standing your ground. You know it's a little cruel, but you want to watch Miguel squirm and writhe beneath you.

He looks like a gaping fish as he struggles to respond to you. Feeling your body on top of his makes his mind go blank. You are a divine being as you sit atop him, Miguel a mere mortal at your mercy.

When he still doesn't respond, you sigh with feigned disappointment. You peel yourself off of him at an aching pace and pull yourself up. Miguel remains on the floor.

“You could've had this back so easily,” you tell him, spinning the watch in your hand. “but I guess I'll get to keep this now, right?”

As you're about to walk away, the sound of Miguel’s desperate voice calls out to you.

“Wait.”

You grin to yourself before turning around. He’s a mess now, face flushed and panting. He quickly flits his eyes to yours, then away again. He can't handle the way you look at him with a fiery stare.

“I-”

You tilt your head, egging him on.

“I need your help.”

He finally lets his eyes meet yours.

“I need you,” he murmurs your name, “please.”

Satisfied with his answer, you hum and bend down to his level.

“Good boy,” you praise, reaching a hand out to comb through his hair. Miguel feels himself shiver as you do. “Here’s your treat.”

You lazily toss his watch to him and he catches it effortlessly. You stand back up, not noticing the way he looks at you as you pace out of the kitchen.

“Come on, Gigi,” you whistle to your cat as you move towards your bedroom. “It's bedtime.”

Miguel hears a meow and watches as Giselle leaps out from who knows where. She crawls over him before trotting to your side. You take a look over your shoulder.

“Meet me back here tomorrow morning, O’Hara,” are the last words you tell him before shutting your bedroom door.

Miguel sits astonished for a moment, face still hot. He takes a deep breath in an attempt to slow his racing heart. It doesn't work. He stares at the watch in his hand and slides it back on his wrist. With a few clicks, he turns it back on. Lyla immediately materializes with crossed arms.

“You are so fucked.” she says.

Miguel lets his head fall to the floor with a groan.

The next morning, Miguel finds himself swinging back to your penthouse, effectively following your orders. His face still burns from the events of the previous night. You've always been this way, able to make anyone wrapped around your finger with your words and charm. Especially Miguel. You make him feel weak and fragile like a crumbling monument. You are the wind to his house of cards, the water to his footprints in the sand. In one simple action, you make him fall apart. In your clawed hands you hold his beating heart, able to squeeze it so hard it bursts or caress it so softly it flutters. Miguel doesn't know which one he'd prefer.

When he finally arrives at your place, he hangs onto the side of it and prods at your kitchen window. You've left it unlocked in a silent invitation to let him in. He creeps inside and slowly closes it behind him. The kitchen is empty and you're nowhere to be found. Assuming you're still asleep, Miguel lets his mask fall and takes to exploring your penthouse, treading silently as to not wake you up.

Back when the two of you were still together, Miguel frequently visited your penthouse, practically living there with you and Giselle. He often stayed the night, finding comfort in your presence, to the point where you began to fill your home with things meant for him. A spare change of clothes, a toothbrush. Pantries stocked with his favorite snacks, pictures of you and him hanging on the walls. But now there was none of that.

He couldn't tell in the dark, but now in the light of day he sees it. There are no more pictures of him displayed, no more pairs of slippers laid out for him. There isn't a trace of him left. You've cleaned it all out. It's as if he never lived here, never built a life with you here. He never kissed you on that couch, never comforted you as you cried while watching old chick flicks on that TV. He was never here.

As he continues to look around the room, an object on a shelf catches his eye. He moves to examine it. It's a holo-cording, with something carved on its side. Miguel reads it and silently gasps. It's the date of your anniversary. Or what was your anniversary.

Miguel looks over one shoulder, then the other to make sure you're not watching before turning the holo-cording on. He can't help himself. The device projects a video.

In it, the camera shakes for a bit before pulling back and revealing you. You smile at the recorder, happy to have finally gotten it straightened. You quickly go off screen and come back, tugging on the arm of someone and saying incoherent words to them. Miguel already knows that it's him. When you finally manage to tug him into the recording you gesture for him to smile. He tries, the corners of his lips barely lifting up. With a laugh, you cup his face between your hands and murmur something to him that makes his gaze soften. Miguel watches as you press your lips against his. His eyes widen in the video and then close, leaning into the kiss. When you pull away, you move closer to the camera, ending the recording.

“Hey.”

Miguel spins around. The holo-corder turns off. You're leaning against the doorframe and wearing your Black Cat uniform, save for your mask.

“Are you snooping around?” you ask with a questioning look.

A quick “no” is his only response.

Deciding to not press him further about it, you turn, motioning him to follow you.

“Let’s go, Spider.”

He does.

Chapter Text

“Where exactly are we going?” you shout over the wind blaring past you. You're hanging onto Miguel’s back at his behest as he webs through the city. While you told him you could just follow him and use your own gear, he insisted and you knew his stubborn self wouldn't back down.

“My new lab,” is Miguel’s response to your question.

You quirk your lips, dissatisfied with his answer. Looking down, you watch as people point up at you and Miguel in awe. Spider-Man sightings so out in the open were few and far between.

“Don't loosen up,” he berates when he notices your hands start to slip off his shoulders. You roll your eyes at his nagging but loop your arms around his torso anyway.

“I could've just used my grappling hook, y’know,” you tell him as he shoots another web out. Miguel uses it to swing the two of you to the side of a building, digging into it with his claws. You bend over his shoulder with a furrowed brow. He cranes his head to face you.

“I need to make sure you're actually coming with me,” he explains, mask concealing his expression.

You frown.

“So you're saying you don't trust me.”

“No, I'm saying that I need to make sure you're coming with me.”

“Which is saying you don't trust me.”

Miguel lets out a defeated sigh, body slumping.

“Look, I just want to make sure you stay close to me,” he concedes. “Ok?”

Your eyes widen slightly. His words tug at your chest. You quickly bring your head down to rest on the crook of his neck, hiding your face.

“Whatever you say, Spider,” you mumble into his shoulder as you tighten your arms around him.

Miguel watches as you do, mask still unreadable, before launching another string of red web and leaping off the building’s side. You close your eyes. You know the real reason you refused to let him swing you home the night before. It’s nostalgic, the pointing civilians and Miguel’s scolding. It reminds you of a time of flirtatious glances during fights turned into stolen kisses in alleyways turned into nights spent in each other’s arms. You know, you know that time is long gone, but a small fraction of you still aches for it. Hanging onto Miguel's back while he glides across the city with you just makes it worse.

You want to stomp the ache out; longing for a happier time makes the painful ending hurt more. But Miguel’s sudden reappearance in your life makes you want to clutch onto it, if only for a little longer. You feel like you're betraying yourself. You're betraying the you who spent countless nights sobbing in an empty bed that should have been shared, the you who ate alone at a dinner table set for two. The you who swore to never let that man back into your heart again. What would she think of you now?

Miguel drops to the ground with a thump. You open your eyes slowly.

“We’re here,” he says.

You hum and slide off his back. Miguel lets his mask move down his face, shaking out his brown locks. His eyes dart towards your downcast expression.

“You ok?”

You blink and turn to meet his stare. His brow is knitted in concern. You hate it.

“Yeah, um…just thinking.”

He almost looks like he's about to say something, but doesn't. Instead, he gestures towards the door in front of you, which opens as he does.

You step in, with Miguel following you in after. The two of you stand on opposite sides of the elevator, backs turned.

As the doors close, you make a silent promise to protect your heart.

Especially from Miguel.

Your jaw hangs loose as you try to comprehend what you're seeing. Hundreds, no, thousands of spider-people are walking and crawling all around in front of you. On top of that is the abnormal architecture of the building; white pillars gliding across in every direction, spider-people on each side. You knew about the multiverse and its infinite possibilities but you didn't expect this. You almost wonder if you hit your head while hanging onto Miguel’s back, because there is no way this many spider-people exist. Right?

Miguel eyes your shocked face as he stands next to you.

“We have to keep moving, kitty,” he chastises, walking ahead without you.

You catch up to him in a few steps, turning your head in awe at all of the spiders surrounding you. It's almost like an infestation. You take note of every spider you see: one wears a backwards baseball cap, another has mechanical arms sticking out from behind them, and. Is that a werewolf? And a cowboy, decked in full gun slinging regalia with a horse? This is weirder than you thought it would be.

As you continue to make your way through the building, you start to notice how quiet it is. Which is odd, considering the sheer number of people around you right now. And then you notice how whenever you look at a new spider-person, they're looking back. They always look back. That's when you make the realization.

Everyone is watching you.

You swallow thickly and move closer to Miguel, your side now touching his. He becomes conscious of your closeness, watching how your body tenses with every passing second.

“It's ok,” he quietly reassures you. “Nobody's going to hurt you.”

You curve your neck up to whisper in his ear. He leans down to listen.

“But why is everyone staring?” you hiss, taking one last glance around. The only friendly face is a spider-woman with platinum blonde hair in a monochrome suit, who gives you a playful wave and smile. “Are they going to kill me?”

Miguel’s expression hardens at your words. He pulls you closer to him.

“No. And even if they were going to, I would get to them first.”

Before you can question what he meant by that, a new spider-person lands in front of you. Miguel lets go of you. He’s a little older than you, wearing a pink bathrobe on top of his Spider-Man uniform. A baby carrier is strapped to his chest, with said baby poking out of it. He gives you a wide grin and extends his hand out to you.

“Hi,” the Spider-Man (Spider-Dad?) greets. “I'm Peter B. Parker. Miguel ever mention me? I mean, he probably did, I'm basically his best friend!”

Miguel groans, pinching his nose bridge in embarrassment.

You take Peter’s hand in yours and give it an awkward shake. His grin drops ever so slightly.

“Ok, we'll take that as a no. But I’m not surprised, Miguel over here is a real secret keeper!” he laughs, slinging an arm around Miguel who frowns. You can't help but smile. Together, the two of them look like a golden retriever and a hissy cat.

The baby in Peter’s carrier giggles. Peter’s eyes light up.

“Oh wait! I totally forgot the reason I wanted to meet you in the first place,” he lifts the baby out of the carrier, shoving her in your face. “This is my daughter, Mayday. As a dad I really want to provide her with a strong female role model and I thought you'd be the perfect fit! I mean, there's plenty of powerful women who work here, but I think she needs someone from outside of her dad’s job. Anyways, I read this all in a book about raising your kids and…”

Your head is spinning, trying to process all of this information. Now there’s spider-babies too?

“...and yes, she has her mom too, but I think it's important for her to have a variety in who she looks up to…”

You can barely keep up with what Peter’s saying. You eye your way past Mayday and at Miguel, who is shaking his head as he paces back and forth.

“...so basically that’s why I think you'd be a great role model for Mayday! Any thoughts?”

Before you can give an answer, another spider-person lands next to Peter. This one you recognize. It's the kid from the museum. He waves at you enthusiastically. With his mask off, you can see the full smile he gives you. It's so bright you feel like you're staring at sunlight.

“Hi auntie!” he says jovially. “I heard you were coming today, so I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Pavitr, and I'm a huge fan of your work! I mean, I only found out about your existence like two days ago, but still!”

You can only give him a dazed nod.

“The fact that you steal back stolen stuff is so cool to me! I'm super excited to be working with you and- can I call you auntie?”

You look at Peter, then at Pavitr, then back to Peter.

“Um…sure?”

Pavitr squeals.

“The Black Cat is my auntie!” he nudges Peter, who pushes his face aside when he opens his mouth again.

“Now Pav, Miss Cat and I were having a very adult conversation about my baby before you came here. Now if you would let us continue-”

“What are your opinions on stolen culturally significant items?”

Peter coughs loudly. You take another glance at Miguel, who has yet to take notice of your predicament and is still pacing.

“Like I was saying,” Peter places Mayday back in her carrier. “I think all girls should have women like you to look up to. Y’know, there was this parenting book I was reading- great find, by the way-”

“Were you bitten by a radioactive cat?”

You're practically staring holes into Miguel's thick skull as the two Spider-Men in front of you fight for your attention. Miguel, however, is too busy silently cursing to himself. Word must've gotten out about you and your relationship to him. He already has a sense of who the culprit is.

“Hey boss!” a friendly voice breaks his concentration. Looking up, Miguel finds Lego-Peter hanging from a web in front of him. “Just wanted to say, all of us in the Spider-Society are rooting for you.”

Miguel’s annoyed scowl deepens. Lego-Peter doesn't react, instead leaning to the side on his web.

“You might want to go help your friend over there,” Lego-Peter suggests.

Miguel follows the Lego’s gaze, finding you being swamped with questions from human-Peter and Pavitr. Your eyes are pleading for his help.

Miguel begins to stomp towards your rescue.

“Go get ‘em tiger!” Lego-Peter hoots behind him. Whoops and hollers from the rest of the society follow.

With little effort, Miguel shoves his way past Peter and Pavitr, grabbing your wrist and silently dragging you away. The cheers from the society get louder as he does.

“Boo, Miguel! Boooo!” Pavitr jeers at the large man as he continues to tug you along like a ragdoll.

Peter only chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Leave them be, Pav. They've got their own thing going on.”

When Peter and Pavitr are out of sight, you turn to Miguel with a lopsided grin.

“Thanks for saving me back there, O’Hara.”

Miguel’s lips lift up into a slight smile.

“I always do.”

You snort, letting go of his hand. You didn't even realize you were holding it. You ignore it and walk ahead, while Miguel examines his palm. He thinks it feels empty without yours in it.

When you arrive at Miguel’s lab, there's already people there waiting. It's the other spider-kids you met at the museum, all unmasked. A tall, skinny young man wearing a leather vest, a girl with an eyebrow piercing, and a boy with dark curly hair and big brown eyes. You make note of his familiarity.

Miguel leaves your side, giving each of the spider-kids a stern nod. They acknowledge him back, with the familiar spiderling looking a little more nervous than the rest.

The kids then turn to you. You wave at them with a gentle smile, following Miguel as he jumps on a suspended platform in the lab. You leap on it with ease after him.

“You didn't tell me we'd be working with teenagers,” you tell him in a hushed voice.

Miguel only shrugs.

“Well, get used to it. Most of us were pulled into this when we were young,” he says, organizing the screens in front of him.

You drop your eyes to the ground. You know what he means. This is being a spider-person. You've seen the trouble it brings first hand with the man in front of you. You stood by his side until you couldn't anymore.

“Here,” Miguel presses something into your hands. “You'll need this.”

You peek down at it and grin. It's a watch, identical to the one you picked off of Miguel last night. Sliding it on, you already know what you're going to do as you turn the device on.

“Heyyy!” Lyla sings out as she projects out from your watch.

“Hi, Ly!” you laugh. Miguel observes you with crossed arms.

“How have you been, girl?” The hologram woman asks as she flickers all around you. “Oh my gosh! We totally need to take a pic of this reunion.”

A large phone appears in Lyla’s hand, as she poses for a selfie. She's turned on a cat filter, with ears and whiskers decorating your face and Miguel’s unhappy expression as he stands behind you. She takes the photo and projects it for everyone to see. The spider-kids below you snicker. Miguel feels his face warm.

“Lyla. Delete that,” he orders sharply.

Lyla grumbles, bringing the projection down.

“You're no fun, Miguel!” she whines before reappearing close to you. “I sent it to your watch.” she whispers. You tap a few things on your wrist, and sure enough, the photo of cat-eared Miguel appears. You and Lyla both giggle at the sight.

“Lyla.” Miguel warns.

You pout and turn off the device.

“Calm down, Spider,” you say as you playfully hit his chest. “You don't want your face getting stuck in a frown, do you?”

You watch as Miguel tries to contort his face into a smile. He fails, his frown returning. He really does look like a hissy cat, you think with a chuckle before turning back to Lyla with a clap of your hands.

“So Ly,” you say, hopping down from the platform. “Care to introduce me to everyone?” You gesture toward the kids in front of you.

Lyla moves down with you, pretending to read a sheet of paper in her hands.

“Let's see…we've got Hobie-”

She points to the tallest one, who gives you a small salute and grunt.

“-Gwen-”

The girl gives you a shy wave.

“-and Miles.”

Something lights up in your head upon hearing that name.

“Miles,” you repeat. “Miles…Morales?”

Miles glances at you meekly.

“...that's me.”

Suddenly, you place your hands on his shoulder and start pinching at his face like a fussy grandmother.

“Oh, wow! I didn't even recognize you,” you say, squishing his cheeks together. “You grew. A lot!”

Miles looks over at Gwen and Hobie, who look equally as confused.

“Um…do I know you?” he asks, voice muffled.

You let go of his face, shaking your head with a light laugh.

“No, but I know you. You're from the collider thing, right?” he nods hesitantly. “I heard all about you from O’Hara. I'm glad you're here.”

Miles can't help the smile that appears on his face.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. Grumpy Pants over there didn't really seem to like you back then but I was always rooting for you,” you give his shoulders a firm squeeze. “Are you doing well? Things going ok in your universe?”

“For the most part, yeah,” Miles replies, feeling more at ease. You beam.

“If O’Hara gives you any more trouble, you let me know, ok?” you tell him with a wink.

Miguel clears his throat.

You and the spider-kids turn around.

“Lyla, is everyone here?”

Lyla pulls up a screen in front of her, examining it for a second.

“According to my calculations, the others should be coming right-”

You hear a crash and the babble of a baby.

“-now.”

Taking a peek behind you, you see Pavitr and Peter laying on top of each other in a pile, while Mayday starts crawling all over Miguel's lab equipment.

“Sorry guys!” Peter shouts from underneath Pavitr. “Mayday got away from me, and um. God, I should've never given her that webshooter!”

“Catching babies is much harder than it looks!” Pavitr adds as he gets up. He swings the bangle off his wrist and uses it to loop around Mayday, pulling her into his arms.

Peter stands, cracking his back and grumbling something about old age. Mayday squeals in joy as Pavitr bounces her up and down. Everyone shares a small laugh, even Miguel, whose lips are upturned. His eyes meet yours. You quickly dart them away, lips pressed together. You don't see how his smile fades.

“Now that everyone is here,” Miguel’s voice calls out, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “We can finally get started.”

The lab changes to a pitch black, the only light being Lyla’s orange glow. A hologram of a city erupts from your feet, growing in size to fill the room.

“This is the earth we're going to,” Miguel explains, before zooming in on a particular building- a large, black skyscraper. “And this is where our target is. The Norman Osborn of this world has taken one of our multiversal traversal devices-” he shoots a quick glare at Miles. “-and we have reason to believe he's going to try to figure out how to replicate it.”

A hologram of a tall man in a suit appears. He looks suave and charismatic, glancing off to the side.

Hobie, Miles, and Gwen all groan.

“Normans are seriously the worst,” Hobie says, dramatically lolling his head to the side. “Always killin’ my vibes, man, I swear!”

“Like I was saying,” Miguel continues bitingly. “If someone like Norman gets the ability to travel across the multiverse, it could spell disaster.”

He motions a hand towards you.

“I’ve called Black Cat here to help us break in. She has all the necessary skills to get into the Oscorp systems without getting detected, unlike Lyla who might get caught in their security systems.”

Lyla blows a raspberry. Miguel’s eyes flick towards her in irritation.

“Lyla’s superficial scan of the Oscorp headquarters shows that they're keeping an eye out for signs of multiversal travel into their world throughout their New York,” he slides a screen forward, with pictures of everyone in the room displayed (even Mayday). “So we're going to be staying in this earth for a while in order to lay low. Peter will be in charge while I'm gone since Jess is on maternity leave.”

Peter and Mayday’s images slide to the left as Peter pumps his fist in joy and spins Mayday around.

“I've put everyone else into pairs. If anything happens to your partner, or you don't see them for more than ten minutes, you call me or Lyla. You'll be rooming with your partner and sticking with them at all times, understand?”

Gwen and Miles nod. Hobie and Pavitr give a thumbs up. You raise an eyebrow. Partners?

“Gwen and Hobie, you'll be team one-”

Their pictures slide to the right. They throw each other a fist bump and a smile.

“-Miles and Pavitr, team two-”

Pavitr wraps his arm around Miles’ shoulder, who lets out an unenthusiastic “yay”.

Wait- if Gwen is with Hobie, and Pavitr is with Miles that means-

“-and I'll be with Black Cat for team three.”

You watch in horror, mouth agape, as your photo slides to the right side of the screen with Miguel’s. God. You're going to be stuck with Miguel this entire mission? And- Oh no. The weight of the situation lands on you like a ton of bricks.

You have to room with him?

Miguel moves on, seemingly not seeing your flabbergasted face. If he did, he ignores it.

“I’ll start creating a more in-depth plan with Black Cat today. And also-”

“Wait, wait, wait. Back it up, Spider,” you cut him off, taking a step forward. “Are you serious right now? We have to stick with our pre-assigned partner the entire time? What, are you going to watch me like I’m a child?”

Miguel scoffs, placing his hands on his hips.

“Well after that little stunt you pulled last night, I need to keep a closer eye on you,” he grits, leaping down from his platform and landing in front of you. “Don't want the little kitty getting her paws on things she shouldn't, right?”

You let out a sarcastic laugh.

“Oh come on, don't act like you weren't enjoying it, Spider,” you jab a finger towards his face. “You were the one who was begging for me on the floor.”

Peter smacks his hands over Miles’ ears. Miguel narrows his red eyes towards you and pushes your finger down with a firm hand.

“Look, I'm just trying to make sure everyone stays safe. And that includes you.”

You gnaw on your lip, ready to snap back. Just as you're about to, you hear a gurgle from Mayday. You suddenly become hyper-aware of the other people in the room. They're all looking at you, uneasy. With a sharp exhale and a shake of your head, you decide to back down. You don't want to have another meaningless spat with Miguel in front of them.

“Fine. But I’m picking the hotel!” you yield, spinning on your heel and storming out of the lab. You tap your new watch and summon Lyla.

“Ly, please get me all the data you can on Oscorp,” you command. “I need to do some research.”

Miguel’s gaze follows you as you leave. He feels his body droop, disheartened. He just can't ever seem to get it right with you. Taking it as a signal to leave, Peter gently ushers the spider-teens out, much to their dismay.

“Hey, Miguel?”

Miguel peers down at him.

“I like her.” Peter shoots him a dopey grin and continues to escort Miles and the rest out.

You're currently glaring at your lunch. After wandering around the spider-society, you stumbled upon the cafeteria and decided to get some food. Unfortunately for you, the “daily special” you ordered has Miguel’s dumb face on it.

You continue to glare at the blue burger bun. It glares back.

“Uh, hey.”

You bring your glare to the owner of whoever just spoke to you, only to soften it when you realize it's Miles and Gwen. They're carrying their own lunch trays with Miguel-faced burgers atop them.

“Oh. Hi,” you say with a weak wave. “What's going on?”

Gwen plops down in the seat across from you, Miles doing the same after her.

“We just wanted to see how you were doing,” Gwen says with a sweet smile. “That thing between you and Miguel was-”

“Intense,” Miles finishes for her, tossing a fry to his mouth. “Really intense.”

You feel yourself relax. For teenagers, they sure were considerate.

“It’s fine,” you tell them as you rub your temples. The blue burger continues to glare up at you. You frown.

“If it’s ok with you,” Miles pipes up. “Could you tell me more about how you knew about me?”

The boy looks at you nervously as you purse your lips.

“You don't have to if it's too-”

“No. I should've told you earlier,” you reassure him. Leaning back in your chair, you stare at the ceiling, watching as spider-people crawl by. “Back when me and Miguel- I mean, O’Hara were…together, he started talking about this new thing he found out about. The multiverse.”

You still remember when he first came home to tell you the news. He rushed inside, picking up Giselle in his arms, face bright. He was different then. Still a bit cynical, but. He had optimism. Hope. He came up behind you, telling you about his new discovery. And his plans to protect this so-called “multiverse”. A part of you knew that it spelt doom. You knew how much tunnel vision Miguel could get when he was set on something. But you ignored it, instead smiling and pecking his lips in congratulations.

“He started working on the watches as soon as he could. He, uh, got busy pretty fast,” you chuckle. “Missed a few dinners, but. It was ok.”

Normally, you would be the one to get home last, with a fresh bag of stolen goods you stole back resting on your hip. But when you arrived, the penthouse was eerily empty. You found a note on the kitchen counter from Miguel, telling you to start dinner without him. You did, but made sure to leave extra for him in the fridge.

When Miguel finally got home, you were already in bed. He crawled in with you, kissing your cheeks and thanking you for the food you prepared for him. He showed you a prototype gadget he had been working on, telling you it would one day let him travel dimensions. You rolled on your side away from him. Miguel tugged you back to face him and cradled your face in his hands.

“Hey, I won't be late again, ok? Te lo prometo.”

He lied. One dinner turned into two, which turned into ten. You would eat in silence, staring at the seat across from you that should have been filled.

“Then the collider happened. That’s when I learned about you, Miles.”

Slowly, you noticed Miguel change. He became quicker to irritation, smiling less. He looked tired. You wished you could take your hands and smooth out the skin under his eyes, press your lips to his forehead and melt his perpetually furrowed brow away.

He was spending more and more time in his lab at his place. One night, he didn't come home. You had gotten used to it by now, but you still called Lyla, asking where he was. She directed you there.

When you opened the door to his lab, you gasped. The room was pitch black, only filled with giant screens displaying flashing images. One in particular caught your eye. A young boy, wearing a costume similar to Miguel’s. You found yourself staring at it, until Miguel appeared from the darkness. He called your name. You spun around and ran into his arms. He embraced you, and for a moment you felt like things had returned to the way they were before.

“Let’s go home, Mig,” you murmured into his chest. “Please?”

You felt him stiffen at your words.

“Not now. I can’t go home now,” he said, pulling away from you. “I have to fix this.”

You refused to let go of him, digging your fingers into his arms.

“Tell me what’s happening, Miguel. If it's important, let me help.”

That night, he explained everything to you. From Miles to the collider to his new plan: gather as many spider-people as possible to try and solve the problems this Miles kid had created. In response, you asked him how long it would take him. How many nights he would be away.

“I don't know,” he told you. “But I'm doing this to protect you. Everything I do is to protect you.”

You couldn't fully believe his words.

“He began gathering people from other dimensions for his little spider-squad. Behind his back, I looked up more data about you.”

You and Miguel hadn't spoken in weeks. He was always caught up in his multiverse stuff, while you busied yourself with shipping your stolen goods back to the right owners. On the odd occasion he did come home to you, he would wordlessly crash into bed with you and pull you close to him, pressing harsh kisses along your neck and jaw and muttering apologies. You never said anything in return. When you woke in the morning, he would be gone, a fresh bouquet of flowers left on your nightstand in his place.

As you found out more about Miles, you found yourself questioning Miguel. How could a kid be responsible for the multiverse’s downfall? You didn't know. Either way, you had had enough of putting up with his cold shoulder. But when you arrived home from a night of thievery, you were shocked to see Miguel standing in the middle of your kitchen, out of his Spider-Man suit and in a loose jumper and pants. A freshly prepared meal was laid out on the dining table. Your heart was doing cartwheels and backflips, unsure of how to feel.

“Miguel, I need to talk to you,” you said sternly, taking off your mask.

He remained quiet, instead walking up to you and pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. You shoved him back, claws still sharp.

“What's gotten into you?” you questioned with watery eyes. “You don't come home, you act all distant, and then this?”

“I have something that I need to show you,” he told you, brushing away the tears that began to fall on your face. You place your hands on top of his as he does. “I found a way to make things right. To make both of us happy.”

You stared up at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I'll take you to my lab. I'll show it to you there.”

Looking back, you really wish you didn’t go with him.

“...and then me and O’Hara…separated. But I’m back here to help now, so things change, right?” you conclude your recounting. You know the smile you've put on is unconvincing based on the concerned looks Gwen and Miles are giving you.

“Sorry. Did I get carried away? I didn't mean to make it all about me, you were the one who asked, Miles-”

“No! It's fine. Thanks for telling me,” Miles says, waving his hands. He hesitates for a moment before speaking again. “...am I the reason you and Miguel broke up?”

Your heart breaks at his question. He almost seems to shrink down into his seat, despite his lanky frame, and begins to pick at his suit. Gwen puts a gentle hand on his shoulder in comfort. You know that Miles already feels unfavored by Miguel, and you don't want to give him another reason to feel small next to him.

“It's not your fault. It's never been your fault,” you state. “It's just- dumb adult stuff got in the way. If anyone believes that a kid like you made two grown adults break up, they're out of their mind.”

You reach over and ruffle his hair.

“Hey, I’m almost sixteen!” Miles protests, lips cracking into a slight grin as he tries to smack your hands away.

“Mhmm. Which is still a kid, even in the year 2099,” you tease.

Gwen laughs, lightly hitting Miles’ back. He looks at her warmly. You smile to yourself. Something about them reminds you of you and Miguel, back when things weren't so complicated. Young and full of ambition, not entirely sure what’s coming next.

A beep from your watch interrupts your thoughts. Lyla’s hologram appears from it.

“Ok, it took a bit to get around Oscorp security, but I finally got all the data you wanted,” she says, chest heaving. For an AI program, she seems exhausted. Or maybe that’s just for dramatics.

“Thank you, Ly,” you hum as she zips back into your watch.

“Are you going back to the lab then?” Gwen asks. You sigh. You know what she really means.

You know you have to face him again. But the safety of everyone in this world, of every world, matters more than your bygone romances.

You glance down at your angry burger again and pick it up in your hand.

“I am,”

You take your first bite of the Miguel-burger.

“No matter what happens.”

When you return to the lab, the first thing you see is a new setup in the corner. It has a few screens, a comfy looking chair that Miguel's setup lacks, and a mug that reads “world’s greatest mind”. You know he must've done this while you were gone. He's trying to tell you something without words.

I’m sorry.

Miguel is still on his own platform, back turned to you as he studies his holographic monitors. You walk over to your small setup, taking a seat in the chair. You turn on your screens, seeing that Lyla has already preloaded the Oscorp data. A hot drink is waiting for you in the mug, no doubt prepared by Miguel. You lift the mug in your hands, blowing on it lightly, and take a sip. It's your way of responding to his wordless apology.

Thank you.

Miguel steals glances at you as you begin to work. You pretend not to notice. The only sounds in the lab are your hushed murmurs to Lyla and Miguel’s occasional awkward cough, AKA his poor attempt at a conversation starter.

You file through news articles, internal schedules, and employee lists, trying to find a breaking point. Then something catches your eye. Bingo. It's perfect.

Meanwhile, Lyla has taken to bugging Miguel. A pop up appears on his screen.

just talk to her.

Miguel grumbles, closing the pop up. Lyla materializes with a displeased face. She snaps her fingers, making another pop up appear on the screen.

you scared?

Twisting his bottom lip, Miguel relents to Lyla’s nagging and types a response.

No.

uh huh.

She doesn't want to talk to me.

you don't know that.

Everything I do just makes her more upset.

lol

What?

lol = laugh out loud. old slang i found while looking for oscorp stuff

I'm not talking to you anymore.

ok :P

“Lyla?”

You call to the AI, finally breaking the silence in the room.

“Could you please come over here? I need you to print some things for me,” you request.

Lyla looks over to Miguel with a smirk, before flashing to your side.

“Yes ma’am!” she chirps gleefully, disappearing in a blink.

You go quiet again, resuming your tapping and swiping. Miguel sees this as an opening to have an actual conversation with you. Internally, he psyches himself up to say something. But as if you could read his mind, you begin to speak before he can.

“Oscorp’s annual ball is coming up soon,” you announce, focusing your attention on the screens in front of you. “I'm having Lyla print IDs for the new profiles I made for everyone. That party is the one time of the year when they lower security.”

Miguel just stares at you with an unreadable expression.

“What?” you query, swiveling in your chair in his direction.

“I thought we were planning together,” he simply says. He almost appears disappointed, wearing a frown that borders on a pout.

You tilt your head and shrug.

“You hired the heist expert. I'm just doing what I’m best at,” you raise yourself to your feet and place your hand out. Lyla’s avatar manifests, dropping a pile of papers and cards into your palm. “Think of it as getting even for the entire ‘partner’ thing.”

Miguel then remembers how annoying you can be. You sift through the papers and tap them so they all lay even with a self-congratulatory smile. Just as he's about to say a snarky remark back, Lyla dumps another copy of papers into his arms. She shrugs cheekily as Miguel gives her an aggravated glare.

“Make sure you read over all of them!” you call.

Miguel groans, slamming the pile on his desk. He brings his eyes to you, then back to the papers. Why couldn't you have just made digital copies? Turning over the first page, he begins to read the profiles you've made.

You've assigned Gwen and Hobie fake identities as musicians in order to infiltrate the ball’s band, noting that they'll have to learn how to play classical jazz and that Hobie will have to drop the whole punk thing in order to blend in. You must've had Lyla give you information about their skill sets.

Miles and Pavitr are written down as waitstaff- boring, but believable for them, Miguel thinks- you've noted Miles’ ability to turn invisible and Pavitr’s great conversation skills.

He then flips to the next profile. It's the one you made for him. His eyes scan the page.

Name: Miguel O’Hara

Notes: Skilled but can be extremely stubborn. Needs reminding that he's not working alone. Ego as big as his giant shoulders.

Miguel feels his eye twitch.

Assigned pseudonym: Michael Stark

Notes: Stark name will be useful in getting into Oscorp’s ball undetected, especially since Tony Stark denied his invitation and will be out of New York when the ball happens.

Seriously? Miguel to Michael? He could've come up with a better name, like…Mig…Mickey. Ok, so maybe he can't. But you still could've tried harder! You don't notice how he's staring daggers at you, too focused on double checking the IDs Lyla made for you. He continues to read his profile with a glower.

Details: “Michael” is an entrepreneur and philanthropist much like the more famous Stark, whom he's distantly related to. Met his wife at her debutante ball when she tripped and fell into his arms before her first dance. Got married a few years later.

Miguel stops.

Wife?

He hurriedly flips through the rest of his fake profile, trying to find yours. When he does, he looks over the sheet with wild eyes.

Assigned pseudonym: Selina Stark

His heart skips a beat. Same last name. But you said the Stark name would be helpful for sneaking into the ball undetected. So it could be nothing. Right? He reads further. Until he spots something that makes his breath stop. He nearly crumbles the poor sheet of paper in his hands. There was no possible way you wrote that down.

You know Miguel is standing behind you without even having to turn around.

“What do you want, Spider?” you ask, busy making sure Hobie’s fake ID is passable.

“What did you do?” There's a growl in his voice. You take a deep breath. You knew he would hate your plan.

“I just did what was the most feasible,” you quickly respond. “Now if you don’t have anything else to tell me, could you please go-”

You yelp as Miguel grabs the top of your chair, roughly spinning you around to face him. He leans over you, caging you underneath him, and shoves a piece of paper towards you.

“What is this,” he demands, pointing at a line of text on the paper.

You read what he's pointing at.

Selina Stark met her husband, Michael, at her debutante ball.

“Why did you do that?!” he yells as his claws come out, creating a tear in the paper. You grab it out of his hands, rolling your eyes.

“Don't be so dramatic. It's just for the job,” you straighten out the creases in the sheet. “Besides, two unknown people getting into some fancy ball is way more suspicious than some rich couple.”

Miguel doesn’t let go of your chair, still above you. His leg is brushing against the insides of your thighs.

“You really didn't think about what this- what this means for me? For you?” he runs a desperate hand through his hair.

You look him straight in the face, refusing to back down.

“What?” you taunt, angling yourself forward. “You not over it?”

Miguel scoffs, nose scrunched. You can see his fangs peeking out from his upper lip.

“Are you?”

The way he says it makes a tingle rush down your back. As you search for an answer, your hand slips on the arm of the chair, making you slide down on your back. Miguel places his hands on either side of the chair, his large frame essentially pinning you to it as you awkwardly sit up on your elbows.

Your brain is telling you that yes, you are so over Miguel and he can go walk into Nueva York traffic for all you care, but your throbbing heart and the heat threatening to creep onto your face say otherwise.

“Listen, husband,” you spit, despite your burning cheeks. “We’ve both got a job to do. So let’s just act like mature adults and get this over with.” You seize his shoulders and attempt to shove him off of you. He doesn't move.

He studies your face for a moment. You feel like he can hear every secret in your soul as he does. Your face gets hotter and you’re sure Miguel's enhanced hearing is picking up on your racing heartbeat. When you realize the compromising position you're in with him, it gets even faster.

Miguel takes his eyes off of you, letting go of the chair. You scramble to sit up straight again.

“Fine,” he says, arms crossed. “We do your plan, we do my partner system. Neither of us get to be happy.”

“Fine!” you shout at him as he walks away.

“Great.”

“Awesome.”

“Uh huh.”

His voice gets quieter, fading as his platform begins to rise at a painfully slow pace.

You mutter curses at him as you use your feet to spin yourself back around again. Placing your hands on your cheeks, you wait for the heat to dissipate.

Suddenly Lyla appears and is eating digital popcorn out of a bowl.

“Wow,” she pops a kernel in her mouth. “That was exciting.”

You groan, too tired to put up with her banter.

“Want me to start measuring ring sizes?” she grins, her popcorn being replaced by a tape measure.

You wave her away, mumbling “not now, Ly.”

She listens, flashing away.

As you sit alone, you remember your vow to yourself.

You won't let him into your heart.

You promise.

Chapter Text

You and Miguel have formed a routine.

When it’s early, he picks you up from your penthouse, you cling onto his back as he swings you two over to the spider-society, and then you go to his lab. The two of you work in silence, only speaking to each other in short sentences to share mission details or ask questions and give answers.

When it's noon, you leave to get lunch in the cafeteria. Miguel stays in the lab. Sometimes, he’ll ask you to get him something. You always do. As soon as you walk in with whatever he requested, he's already webbed up the takeout container it's in and flung it up to him.

When you start getting tired at night, he notices before you do. He tells you he'll take you home. You say no and tell him you can work more. He says he'll take you home again. You refuse, stronger this time. Which inevitably leads to the two of you bickering, the only one watching being Lyla. Once the two of you are done fighting, you finally agree to call it a night and crawl onto Miguel's back, resting your head on his shoulder as he swings you back home. He cracks open your kitchen window and uses a gentle hand to guide you inside. He tells you goodnight, you tell him the same.

Rinse and repeat.

Today, Miguel watches as you lecture the spider-teens on their fake identities. You tell Miles to fix his posture, Hobie to take one of his several piercings out. You ask each of them to say their profiles to you without reading them, and they all oblige with a groan. You've turned Miguel’s lab into an acting class, with you as the teacher.

“Gwen, tell me where you're from.”

“I'm from Queens Plaza, where I moved after my first year of college studying kinesiology in order to pursue my true passion: freestyle jazz drumming,” she recites monotonously, sitting crisscrossed on the floor.

You nod in approval.

“Good job. Pavitr, tell me why you're working as a waiter at tonight’s party.”

“I need to make a little extra money so I can save up to buy a new air conditioning unit for my apartment, which broke two weeks ago while I was sleeping. Boy, do these New York summers sure get hot!” he boldly declares, chest puffed with pride. Even with you, he’s a teacher’s pet.

“Excellent. Now Hobie, can you say why you decided to join the band for the ball?”

“I don't take orders,” Hobie declares, swinging his legs to rest on top of one of Miguel’s machines. You tap your foot impatiently.

“Hobie, can you not say why you decided to join the band for the ball?”

The boy jolts up and taps his chin, pretending to dig up a foggy memory.

“Well, now that you've mentioned it…I think I can! Y’see, it all started when I was doin’ a show in Soho…”

Miguel snorts. Of course you would be able to get Hobie to do what you ask.

After all, you've become somewhat of a celebrity at the spider-society. Whenever you walk in during the morning, a crowd of spider-people eagerly wait for you, ready to clamor you with questions.

“How long have you been Black Cat?”

“What material are your claws made out of?”

“Is Miguel’s ass really that big, or is it just the suit?”

You would answer all their burning questions, if Miguel hadn't essentially appointed himself as your personal bouncer. He always guides you through the swarms of spider-people, telling them you're busy, with a careful hand on the small of your back. You don't mind though, because without him you're sure you'd be crushed. When he isn't there, Peter is the one defending you, wildly screaming at the spider-mob to “back the F up” when they surround you in the cafeteria.

When you ask him why he does it, Peter only smiles, Mayday in his arms.

“Miguel asked me to,” is all he tells you, not elaborating further.

You decide not to push it. You don't know how your feelings would change if you did.

“...and that's when I told myself, ‘gee! This band is really quite interestin’! So I decided to join and that's why I’m at this party tonight,” Hobie finishes.

You stand and give him a small applause as the other teens watch with disbelief. He pretends to curtsy.

“Hobie, are you sure you've never been in a play before?” you ask, still in awe of his performance. “Because that was scarily convincing.”

Hobie only shrugs.

“Well, Shakesy P’s lil’ company asked me to be in a production once, but I said no because I had to walk a show that night.”

Wow. These kids have really done everything, haven't they? Saved their loved ones, started revolutions, stopped the entire world from collapsing in on itself. You wonder if it hurts, having so much responsibility on your shoulders while also being so young. How one little spider-related accident could change the trajectory of your life forever.

Miles raises his hand.

“Is it my turn?” he asks politely.

You take a second to think and then shake your head.

“O’Hara,” you shout.

Miguel's eyes move to you.

“Tell me how we met.”

He opens his mouth, then stops, hesitating. He so desperately wants to say the truth, that he met you when he first got hired at Alchemax, that you were his seemingly sweet and demure coworker who was actually bold and fearless outside of your day job. That he first fell in love with you when you started leaving coffee and donuts on his desk. That he fell even harder when he saw you punch a security guard out of your way when he was supposed to be stopping you as Spider-Man.

But he doesn't. Because that's not a part of the plan.

“...I met you when I was attending your debutante ball. You tripped before your first dance, but…I caught you.”

Crap. That wasn't good at all. That was probably the least believable spiel anyone’s given today, even worse than Gwen’s unenthusiastic performance and Pavitr’s overacting. Hell, even the self proclaimed anarchist did better than him. Miguel waits for you to say something, anything, ready for you to tear him apart. But when he looks at you, you're smiling. It's slight and gentle, so unlike the teasing and smug ones you've given him before.

“Perfect,” you compliment, lips curled in amusement.

Miguel looks off to the side, trying to disregard the way your praise makes his heart swell.

You turn your attention back to the teenagers in front of you.

“Why don't you guys go home? You’ve all worked hard today,” you suggest.

Hobie jumps up from his seat.

“Y’mean Peter Pan here doesn't have to recite his lil’ story?” he points a finger towards Miles, who looks displeased with the accusation.

“Hobart, don't be mean to him,” you say with a warning tone. “Everyone’s been working hard these past couple of days, including Miles.”

He throws his hands up in surrender.

“Now, go home. I mean it.”

Lyla appears at your side.

“You heard the lady! Scram!” she cries with a shoo of her hand.

You give her a look but smile as the spider-teens begin to file out of the lab, waving them goodbye.

“Make sure you go to bed at a reasonable time!” you shout after them.

Pavitr spins around and shoots finger-guns towards you.

“Of course, auntie!” he shouts back before Gwen grabs his collar, tugging him away as he continues to yell goodbyes.

Shaking your head with a laugh, you walk back to your setup and sink down in your chair, the energy you once had leaving your body. Miguel observes as you straighten yourself up and continue your tinkering with the spider-bots you had asked him to give you earlier that week. When he notices you attempt to suppress a yawn, he frowns. You're trying to hide it from him. Again.

He moves to stand behind your chair, making his presence gently known. You don't say anything and continue to mess with the bots. He waits, content to just watch you work. Install some new software, fiddle around with the hardware. This goes on until you prod at a wire that makes the metallic spider go limp in your hand.

“Oh, shock,” you curse under your breath, dropping the spider-bot out of your palm. You crane your head backward and stare up at Miguel with irritated eyes, which he’s learned is actually your code for please help me.

He gently reaches over you and grabs the tiny robot. You turn around in your chair and sit on your knees, watching as he fixes it. Miguel unsheathes a claw on his pointer finger and uses it to push around a few things in the spider-bot. After he's poked it enough, it springs back to life, floating out of Miguel’s grasp. You pluck it out of the air and eye it for a moment.

“Thanks,” you tell him. Just as you're about to return to working, Miguel stops you with a hand on your shoulder. You know what this means. The tender look he gives you is enough to tell you.

“We should head back,” he says. “It's late.”

You push his hand off of your shoulder.

“No.”

Miguel purses his lips in annoyance. If there was anything the two of you had in common at this point, it was your stubbornness.

“I know you've been yawning,” he tries again. “You’re tired. I can tell.”

Groaning, you dramatically slump down in your chair.

“Why must you dictate my bedtime?” you question, hanging your head to the side.

He tilts his head with crossed arms.

“You dictate their bedtime,” he nods towards the exit of the lab, referencing the teenagers you just shooed out.

“That’s because they're kids,” you swiftly reply.

Miguel clenches his jaw.

“It's late,” he repeats, as if saying it more would convince you.

You only blink with a tight smile.

“You already said that.”

He tries to bite back his displeasure at your impudence.

“Just let me take you home-”

“I can take myself home, thank you very-”

“CAN YOU GUYS PLEASE JUST STOP.”

You both turn. It's Lyla, her hair frazzled and her heart sunglasses out of place.

She inhales deeply, hands pressed together, before speaking again.

“Look,” she says, pointing her hands to you. “We both know you’ve been working yourself to death. And you,” she flickers to stand on Miguel’s shoulder. “You really just want to spend more time with her. So can we please just wrap this little song and dance up so I don't have to watch it for the nth time?!”

Miguel sputters, frantically looking between you and Lyla.

“I do not want to spend time with her,” you look at him with a raised eyebrow. “I just want to make sure she gets home safely-”

“Uh huh, and I’m made out of flesh and bone,” Lyla quickly responds with a roll of her digital eyes.

Unintentionally, you yawn again. Miguel’s sharp gaze snaps to you. You meet it with a guilty expression, eyes wide and mouth dropped, like a deer in the headlights.

“Um…oops?”

Before you can say anything else, Miguel has grabbed your waist, hoisting you up out of your chair and over his shoulder.

“Hey! Put me down!” you protest, hitting his back with your fists. He doesn't flinch, instead stomping his way out of the lab. You desperately look up at Lyla.

“Ly! Lyla! Tell him to let me go! Make his suit malfunction so he goes naked or something!” you scream at her, still swinging your arms against the man currently dragging you away. She only shakes her head with a click of her tongue.

“Sorry girl, this is for your own good!” she calls to you before disappearing.

Wailing in defeat, you let your body go limp against Miguel's. He just keeps trodding ahead. When the two of you reach the main area of the spider-society, you groan in embarrassment. Every single spider-person you pass gives you a weird look. Why wouldn't they? To them, it looks like their resident superstar is being kidnapped by their leader.

“Couldn't you be more discreet about this?” you whine, trying to cover your face with your hands.

“Couldn't you be more cooperative?” Miguel fires back, continuing to walk forward. You open and close your mouth, blanking on a response. Ugh. You guess he was maybe sort of kind of right. But that doesn't excuse the humiliation you're currently facing.

You watch as each spider-person begins to whisper to another upon seeing your sorry state, hushed mutters of “is she ok?” and “what’s he doing?” floating past your ears. You know you won't be hearing the end of this the next time you come in with Miguel.

Then, Miguel stops. You try to push yourself up against his back to see what's happening. Huh. It's a…Lego-Spider-man who’s hanging from a plastic web in front of Miguel. Honestly, you've given up on counting the number of bizarre spider-people you've met over the past few days.

“Hey boss!” The Lego-Spider greets. “I had a quick question for you- oh wait, I see now is a bad time, see you later, byeee!”

Lego-Peter swings away as quickly as he appeared. Oh, great. Now the literal plastic toy Spider-Man has seen you pathetically hanging off of his boss’ giant shoulder. Even Miguel looks embarrassed at this point, face flushed and lips pressed into a thin line. You smirk.

“Now you know how it feels.”

“...shut up.”

After you finally escape the discomfort of the spider-society, Miguel sticks you back to your usually piggy-backed position on him. You don't even bother fighting him as he adjusts your arms and legs on his back, making sure you're secure.

“You ready to go?” he asks with a gentle pat on your hand.

You let out a grumble, muffled by his shoulder which you've buried your head into.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

Miguel shoots a web out from his fist and jumps, swinging away with you.

The countless skyscrapers of Nueva York fly by you, becoming a blur of metal and glass. You stare at your reflection in the windows, watching as bored office workers light up and point in awe upon seeing you and Miguel.

“It’s Spider-Man,” you read from their lips. “It’s Spider-Man!”

Miguel takes a quick peek at you as he web-slings.

“I'm having Lyla watch over Giselle while we're gone,” he says, trying to have an actual conversation with you and not whatever the two of you have been doing for the past few days.

You only offer a hum in response. Miguel sighs.

“Can we please just talk? Like, actually?” he asks with a pleading voice. “We can't keep doing this.”

Slowly, you lift your head up from its resting spot on Miguel.

“You're right,” you murmur. “We can't keep doing this.”

He nods.

“Exactly. So if we could actually speak like normal people, that would be-”

He stops. He can feel you tracing a claw at an achingly slow pace along his chest. He nearly lets his grasp on his web slip when your hand crawls up to his face.

“Spider,” you whisper sweetly into his ear as you run your finger along his jaw. “I have…something to tell you.”

Miguel tries to keep his focus on swinging, but you're making it really hard for him to do so. Your voice is dripping with honey and your touch sets him ablaze. He swallows. Hard.

“Yeah?” he breathes, head feeling light.

“Mhmm.”

You're holding his face from behind now, leaning forward and tilting your head towards his. Miguel suddenly becomes thankful for the mask shielding him from you. You're going to eat him alive.

Bending down, you cup a hand over his ear. It's not like you had to, though. You're both sixty stories up from the ground.

“I just wanted to tell you…” you murmur into your cupped hand. He can feel your breath blowing puffs of air towards him as you speak. God, he really is thankful for his mask. Without it he's sure you'd be teasing his red tinged face.

“...don't let your guard down.”

Wait.

What?

Before he can fully process your words, you've already gripped your hands onto his shoulders and turned him into a launching pad. Pressing your feet into his back, you use the leverage to push yourself off of him, flinging yourself off of Miguel.

You use two of your fingers to give him a cheeky salute.

“See you, Spider!” you call up to him, closing your eyes and spreading your arms as you free fall into Nueva York traffic.

Shit. Shit! Miguel lets go of his web, rushing down to catch you, but you're falling faster than he can catch up. He's certain you're going to land on some idiot’s car who didn't see you crashing down from the sky, and it'll all be his fault because he let you go, because he didn't keep you safe. But just as he's sure you're going to pummel into the ground, you're gone.

“Over here, Spider!”

He whips his head to the side. You're on top of a nearby building, but quickly jump off of it again. Miguel groans, quickly shooting out a web to follow you. Right. Grappling hook.

He can hear your laughter in the wind as he chases you, leaping from building to building, car to car, the only witness being the setting sun.

“Get back here!” he yells after you as you glide through the air.

You stick your tongue out at him. How typically irritating of you.

“Come and catch me, then!” you yell back as he runs after you on a roof. Just as he's about to grab you, you elegantly dive off the building. He does the same after you, with less grace, of course.

As you're soaring through the air, you turn towards Miguel, who's falling right next to you.

“Hi,” you greet with a grin.

You can see him scowl under his mask.

“Ok, bye!” you launch your grappling hook, gripping it to the side of a train that turns sharply to fly vertically in the air.

Miguel grumbles to himself. This is feeling a little too familiar now. He jumps up after you, using his red web to stick himself to the same train. When you look down, you can see him clawing his way up towards you, shouting words at you that get lost in the rush of the wind. You snicker.

As the train’s intercom begins to announce its ascend to the moon, you push yourself off of its metal side, landing on one of the many rings that surround its track. You walk to the edge of the ring, sitting down and letting your legs dangle in the air. Not too soon after, you hear a heavy thump behind you. You don't have to turn around to see who it is.

“¡Ay, coño!” you hear Miguel roar as he stomps towards you. “¿Por qué saltabas? ¿Eres estúpida o te haces?”

You just stare up at him with a smile as he glares down at you, hands on his hips.

“Well?” he demands.

You don't say anything and pat the space next to you. Miguel sinks down next to you with a huff as his mask drops.

Before he can begin to lecture you about the dangers of leaping into oncoming traffic, you speak.

“I’ve never left here before,” you say softly, watching as the sun sets, kissing the sky with pinks and reds as it leaves.

Miguel raises his brow.

“Of course you haven't. Only the members of the Arachno Humanoid Poly Multiverse have the means to travel dimensions-”

“No, not that,” you wave your hand in dismissal. “I mean here. Nueva York.”

You gesture to the city in front of you. Miguel follows your eyes and looks ahead with you. He watches as the sun falls below the horizon, neon lights coming to life in its place. His body relaxes, the tension he once felt disappearing. You bring your knees up to your chest.

“You've all done so much,” you murmur, laying your head on top of your knees. “You, Miles, Peter, all of them.”

As you continue to gaze at the city below, Miguel brings his eyes to you, leaning back on the palms of his hands.

“What do you mean?” he quietly asks.

You close your eyes.

“Isn't it obvious? Everyone looks up to you. They point whenever they see you, any of you. You're all just- just so special. I don't even have superpowers. Just a big brain,” you sigh. “And now I’m about to go to another earth to help stop some wacko from destroying the multiverse?”

Ah. Miguel knows this one. Despite all your confidence and gloating, he still knows you're human underneath. He wonders if you forget that fact sometimes. He knows he forgets it with himself. Before, Miguel was the only one you would drop your defenses around, the only one who could see the woman behind the cat. And he supposes that’s still the case, in some ways.

Miguel shuffles himself a little closer to you. You feel his shoulder brush against yours. You don't pull away.

“Well…I think you're special,” he says, and he fully, truly, sincerely means it.

You look up at him with wide and glassy eyes, lips parted in surprise. Then, you snort- once, twice - until you're rolling over in laughter, leaning on Miguel for support. He frowns.

“Why are you laughing?” he questions, gently pushing you off of him.

“I don't know,” you giggle, wiping a tear from your eye. “I don't know.”

When your laughter subsides, you sigh again, this time with content. Miguel observes as you do. You're both quiet for a moment, but it's not like your past silences. This one is comfortable, at ease. The two of you just stay like that, watching cars fly by like rockets and the city light up as if it were made of stars, twinkling and glittering differently with each passing second.

Miguel feels your hand move towards his. He almost wonders if he's supposed to hold it until you slide something towards him. He takes it in his hand.

“I, um,” you begin, your gaze being held to the side. “I meant to give these to you earlier. I had Lyla make them but- I didn't know when to tell you.”

He peeks into his palm and nearly gasps. It's a pair of wedding rings- they're simple, just smooth silver bands, which is unusual for your normally flashy taste.

“Don't ask me how she got your ring size,” you say, turning your face away from his.

Miguel feels himself smile a bit. It's cute, he thinks, the way you try to hide your flushed face from him. He can tell from the sound of your heartbeat. Looking back down at the rings, he lifts the smaller one up. You freeze when you feel his larger hand grab your left one. Nervously, you look back at him. His red eyes are so, so soft it hurts to look at them. They're the same as they were before, back when your days were filled with his touch and his love.

“May I?” he gently requests, gesturing to your hand and the ring in his grasp.

You slowly nod, giving him permission.

You hold your breath as you watch him slide the ring on your finger, and you swear the world slows down. Fuck, this felt too real. The way he's looking at you almost makes you believe it is.

The silver band is an unusual feeling on your hand. You know it's not for a real commitment, for a real relationship, but it bears the weight of all of your what-if’s and what-could-have-been’s.

You feel your heart rattling against your rib cage as Miguel takes his hand away from yours and places his matching ring in your hand, silently asking you to do the same for him.

You hold his hand in yours, carefully lifting the band and slipping it onto his ring finger. You feel like you've just sealed a deal you weren't ready for.

Miguel lifts his left hand up, turning it back and forth and observing the way his new ring catches the light of the city below.

“It’s nice,” he tells you with an unreadable expression.

You don't respond. He doesn't need you to.

With one last yawn, you rest your head on Miguel’s shoulder. He was right. You're getting tired.

“...Miguel?”

You don't even notice the way you let his name slip from your mouth, or the way his body goes rigid when you say it.

“Hmm?”

“I'm ready to go home.”

“...ok.”

Miguel crawls along the outside of your penthouse, with you hanging onto his back. He took extra care this time to make sure you wouldn't randomly jump off again. But he didn't need to. The moment you got on his back you practically passed out, snoozing softly in his ear as he swung you back home.

He gently shakes you when he reaches your kitchen window.

“Wake up, kitty,” he chides.

You raise your head, heavily blinking the sleep out of your eyes.

As Miguel opens your kitchen window, you pry yourself off of him with a tired whine. As always, he helps you inside with a gentle hand, this time with a ring on it.

“Make sure you get some sleep,” he tells you as he hangs upside down from your window. “Remember, tomorrow’s the day we leave.”

You bob your head slowly. Tomorrow was the day you travel to retrieve Miles’ lost watch. You had nearly forgotten about that, too caught up in memorizing fake identities and messing with Miguel’s tech. You didn't expect it to be so soon. The past few days had flown by before you knew it.

You wait for Miguel to leave. Instead, he just keeps hanging upside down from behind your open window. He almost looks like he's going to say something, despite his face being covered. You attempt to decipher the red patterns on his mask, trying to gauge his emotions. He still doesn't leave, meeting your gaze with his own.

Out of the dark, a meow calls to you. You turn away from Miguel, seeing Giselle happily trot towards you. He watches as you greet her warmly and scoop her up in your arms. The white cat meows again, this time louder.

“I should feed her,” you say faintly, turning back at the man dangling in front of your window.

Miguel looks at you, and then Giselle.

“Oh. Right,” he realizes you're asking him to go, politely at least, and moves to do so. He takes one last glance as you before he does. “Bye, kitty. And…kitty.”

You find yourself laughing at his little joke. He smiles, though you can't see it, shutting the window behind him and leaping off into the night. You press yourself up against the glass, watching as his blue and red suit fades away into the distance. Your eyes wander back to the silver ring now decorating your hand. Giselle bats at it curiously with her fluffy paw.

“Gigi, that's not a toy,” you scold her, setting her back down on the ground.

She only chirps in response, seeming slightly miffed at still not having her dinner.

You roll your eyes at her sass and readjust the ring, running a finger along the cool metal.

You can’t help yourself.

Once you had Giselle happy with a stomach full of cat food, you let yourself change into something more comfortable than your skintight catsuit and crash face first into bed. Lyla’s words were ringing true. The nights spent up late working and arguing with Miguel were catching up to you.

Just as you shimmy under your comforter, ready for a restful night of sleep, the comm resting on your nightstand starts to blare obnoxiously. You groan. Of course this had to happen now. Who would even be calling you this late? You reach an arm out to the nightstand, blindly patting it down as you try to grab the comm. Once you feel it in your hand, you bring it towards you and tap it, waiting for it to project the name of whoever had the audacity to be calling you at this hour. When it does, you feel your heart clench.

DO NOT ANSWER!!!!, it projects in angry text. You already know who it is. You ignore the warning and accept the call.

“…Hello?”

It’s Miguel, his voice croaking through the device.

You roll over on your side and place the comm on the other side of the bed. Where he used to lay next to you.

“Hi,” you reply stilly.

A pause.

“…why did you call?”

You can hear Miguel smack his lips before speaking.

“I forgot to tell you goodnight,” he says.

You snort. He’s a terrible liar.

“Mhmm. Is that all then?”

You wrap yourself with your comforter as you wait for his answer.

“…no.”

“Ok.”

“I wanted to see if you actually blocked me or not.”

You twist the ring on your finger.

“I told you I didn’t.”

“Yeah. And you answered.”

“You called.”

Another pause, this one longer. Somehow, talking to him through your comm feels even more intimate than your previous interactions with him. You almost feel like a young schoolgirl who’s anxiously calling her crush. Except you’re not. You’re calling your ex turned work partner, you remind yourself. You don’t have those silly feelings for him anymore. You twist the ring again.

“I’ll let you go now,” Miguel’s voice calls from the comm laying across from you.

You bite your lip.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Ok.”

“Well. Goodnight, kitty.”

“Goodnight, Spider.”

You hesitate for a moment, waiting for Miguel to hang up. He doesn’t. You know he’s still there. Using a reluctant hand, you tap the top of the comm again. You hang up on him. Someone had to do it, right?

Miguel stares blankly at the projection in front of him. CALL ENDED, it reads. With a heavy sigh, he closes it with a swipe of his hand. He peers into the window he’s hanging to the side of. Only Giselle stares back at him, her little face fully pushed up against the window with round, blue eyes. At least he knows you’re probably in bed. Good. Hopefully you get some sleep.

He leaps off the side of your penthouse, for real this time, and shoots a web out. He looks at the ring on his finger and decides to rehearse the role you gave him one more time as he swings into the inky black sky. He says it barely above a whisper. The words feel like they fit on his tongue.

“Buenas noches, amorcito.”

Chapter Text

“What’s wrong?”

You tilt your head and blink, confused as to why Miguel is staring at you like you've grown two heads. His nose is scrunched and there's a deep knot between his brows, with his upper lip pulled up in disgust. He looks mortified.

“What the shock are you wearing?” he asks, face unchanging.

You look down at your outfit. You're wearing tall black pumps and a loose button up neatly tucked into your wide legged slacks. You’ve accessorized with gold jewelry, no doubt 24 karats at the least. To top it all off is a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses resting on your head and a giant white fur coat draped over your shoulders. Yeah. It’s excessive, for sure. Definitely not what your typical person in 2099 is wearing.

“This is my early twenty-first century look!” you explain, spinning around so he can see the full getup. “Do you like it?”

His glower deepens.

“You look like a relic.”

You eye his own clothes. He’s dressed like an old action movie star, wearing blue jeans, a red shirt, and a leather jacket with a small black backpack slung over his shoulder—a definite change from his usual oversized turtlenecks and joggers.

“Says you. You're dressed like someone’s great grandfather,” you tell him with a huff, studying his outfit. “Here- let me just-”

You take his jacket collar in your hands and adjust it with a few tugs, then brush some dust off of his shoulder. Lastly, you take a pair of thick-rimmed glasses out of your back pocket, shake them open, and slide them onto Miguel’s face. His putrid expression melts away as you do. Once they’re fixed to your satisfaction, you take a step back to admire your handiwork and nod in approval.

“Now look good, O’Hara,” you grin. He removes the glasses from his face, seemingly puzzled. “Don’t worry, I got you transition lenses. So y’know, your eyes don’t start burning from the sun.”

Oh. You’re back to a last name basis with him. He turns the glasses over in his hands.

“Why do I need these?” he questions.

You shrug.

“Secret identity.”

Miguel twists his lips, unamused.

“And also, they really pull the whole ‘Stark’ thing together. I mean, look at this-”

You tap on your watch, pulling up a life-sized projection of a dark haired, bearded man wearing a black velvet suit. He’s wearing glasses that are similar to Miguel’s, who thinks he looks tacky. And short.

“Tony Stark,” you explain. “He’s a big weapons mogul, probably as wealthy as Osborn. Luckily for us, he’s doing some sort of weapon demonstration on the other side of the world while we use his name to our advantage.”

“We’re seriously pretending to be related to this guy?” Miguel sneers.

“You’re not pretending to be related to him,” you bring a hand to your chest, turning off the hologram. He notices your fresh manicure, your nails painted ruby red. “I am. You’re just my husband, remember?”

My husband.

A wish that could never come true.

Miguel feels the ring on his finger go heavy.

“...right.”

For a moment, he swears he can see a flicker of concern in your eyes. But before he can confirm it, you’ve already ripped them away, bringing your gaze to the side.

“Could you, um. Help me with my luggage?” you gesture your head towards your bedroom.

He pauses, then nods, walking past you and to the room. When he looks inside, he can feel his face tense in frustration, and he thinks he can feel a vein popping from his skull too.

“What the shock is this, kitty?!” he yells, pointing angrily pointing at whatever you’d done in there. You push past his hulking frame and peek in with him. In your room are two giant suitcases practically stuffed to the brim with who knows what, and two large duffle bags, equally as full, on top of your bed. Giselle is sleeping on one of them, having claimed it as her new spot.

“Oh, that,” you say, ignoring Miguel’s displeasure. “I don’t pack lightly.”

He rubs a hand over his face in exasperation at your flimsy excuse.

“You could’ve used those hammerspaced bags I gave you.”

“These are those bags, Spider.”

“...are you kidding me.”

“I said I don’t pack lightly!” you insist, throwing your arms up in innocence.

The two of you just stare at your bags for what feels like an eternity, Miguel looking like he’s just seen the depths of hell in your bedroom. Giselle wakes up with a big yawn, showing all her sharp little teeth. She takes her time to stretch her back legs, then her front legs, and then jumps off of the duffle she was once resting on. As she does, she knocks the poor duffle bag over, making it tumble to the ground and bump against one of your suitcases. The small collision is its last straw. The suitcase bursts open, piles of metal tools loudly clanking out along with heaps of expensive looking clothing.

You look up at Miguel, whose face has become colorless with shock. Giselle rubs against his leg and meows, demanding his attention. You worriedly tap your lips.

“So no webs then, huh?”

Miguel just slowly turns his head towards you, eyes and lips crinkled with revulsion like you just asked the dumbest question in the world.

“No” is the only thing he spits out.

You groan into your hands and lean back. Giselle meows again.

“You got a car?” you ask, voice dampened by your palms.

He shakes his head, catching Giselle in his arms when she jumps.

“Don’t fit in ‘em.”

Of course. What six-foot-something beast of a man would fit in a ridiculously small vehicle, let alone with you and all of your heftily packed bags? You’re sure you’d pop out the side window if you tried.

Think, think, think! The spider-children are probably waiting for the two of you right now in Miguel’s lab. How can you haul all of your stuff over? You were too tired last night to foresee this happening. Come on, use that giant brain that got you into Alchemax! What can you do? What can you…your eyes light up. You’ve got it.

You tug on Miguel’s leather sleeve. He stares at you in question as Giselle kneads her paws against his face.

“How does public transportation sound?”

Miguel scowls again.

“What?”

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please!”

You watch as the doors of the train shut in front of you, effectively trapping you inside the metal tube. It’s packed like a can of sardines, crowded due to rush hour, yet another thing you failed to foresee. You've been crammed into the middle of the car, stuck between groups of students and tired business people with barely any room to breathe. Your back is firmly pressed up against Miguel’s chest, each of you carrying a duffle bag on one arm and balancing a suitcase with the other. Miguel isn't so pleased either, with his towering height forcing him to slightly hunch over you.

You don’t even know why you bothered talking about secret identities before. The two of you may as well be dressed up as Black Cat and Spider-Man with the amount of uncomfortable looks you’re getting. You hear a child whisper, “Mommy, why are those people dressed so funny?” before his mother shushes him and tells him it’s rude to stare. To any sane person, you and Miguel probably look like you’ve just stepped out of a time machine, perhaps the ghosts of someone’s dead grandparents coming back to haunt them.

“How many more stops?” you mutter to Miguel through your teeth.

“Eight,” he murmurs, having bent down even further so you could hear him amongst the chatting yuppies and people jabbering on their comms.

You take a deep breath. This was going to take a while. While subway technologies had improved over the past couple of decades, there was nothing that could quicken the pace of the metro. If you were on the Lunar Railroad, the train you had been clinging on the day before, that would be a different story.

When the train suddenly halts at its stop, you stumble forward a bit. Normally, you'd be able to catch yourself with ease. You're basically a trained acrobat, but…your heels were giving you some difficulty. Curse your choice of footwear. What’s more, due to being stuck in the middle of the train car, you couldn't reach any of the metal rails you were meant to hold onto. Curse your choice of transportation.

After people are finished filing in and out of the train, the PA system makes the same announcement after saying its next stop.

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please!”

You had a feeling you were going to get tired of that soon.

As the train begins to sharply pull away, the force makes you lose your balance again. Your suitcase begins to slip out of your grip and when you try to awkwardly reach for it, it only makes you teeter more. Shit! You are not about to fall like an idiot in the middle of the Nueva York subway. Just as you grab the nearest thing your free hand can reach, you feel something firm and warm on your waist. You snap your eyes up.

It's Miguel, his brow knitted, this time with worry. His hand is wrapped around your waist, having saved you from collapsing flat in your back. And then you realize what you grabbed was the collar of his shirt. The two of you look like you're in the middle of a complicated choreographed dance, with Miguel dipping you down for the dramatic climax. You let go of his shirt. He lifts you back up effortlessly.

“Are you alright?” he asks with clear concern.

You nod quickly, cheeks warming from his touch.

The crowd behind you shuffles around, pushing you closer to Miguel, until your face is fully up against his chest. Your breath stops. He's still got his hand on your waist, carefully keeping you stable. Why does this keep happening to you? You don't necessarily believe in higher powers, but it feels like the universe is trying to force you and Miguel together, literally.

You had, what? Six, seven more stops of this? You can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the sound of his heart. You think it sounds a little faster than normal, or maybe that’s a side effect of having your DNA spliced with that of a spider.

As the train comes to another stop, you see Miguel twist his head back and forth, as if searching for something. Then he’s grabbing your wrist, leading you through the pack of irritated Nueva Yorkers. They all give him a glare when he doesn't bother to say “excuse me” as he pushes his way through. Once you've seemingly found whatever Miguel was looking for, he stops walking and motions his hand forward. You follow it and find…a singular open seat. A sure rarity during rush hour. It's not much, the people on either side of the seat are slowly taking up the little space it already has and it’s definitely worn from use.

“Sit,” Miguel tells you, his hand still out.

You peek over the crowd and see more passengers boarding the train.

“Oh no, it's ok, I can stand. I'm sure someone else will need this seat more than-”

“Sit,” Miguel repeats, and this time he's not asking. It’s an order.

Still as mulish as ever, you see. With a sigh, you plop yourself down, your fluffy coat spilling over to your neighbor’s seats. They don’t seem to mind, though. You place your duffle on your lap and your suitcase between your knees, while Miguel holds onto the handrail above your seat, protectively standing in front of you.

You don't know if this is any better than before. Now you’re just staring at his crotch.

As the doors on the train close, the PA system makes that same damn announcement.

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please!”

Miguel leans down, still holding onto the metal handrail.

“Six more stops,” he whispers into your ear. His breath tickles your neck.

You push him back, making the two of you go face to face.

“You know I can count, right?” you hiss at him.

Miguel narrows his eyes.

“I'm just telling you because we've never taken the train there before,” he seethes.

“Yeah, but you don't have to keep reminding me! The stupid PA says the next place we're going at every stop anyway,” you reply, your voice a little above a whisper.

“Well I wouldn't be doing this if someone didn't bring an obnoxious amount of bags with them!”

You scoff.

“It's only four!”

“Uh huh, four bags that are somehow completely packed, despite having hammerspace.”

“I'm trying to be as prepared as possible!”

“Oh, come on! Don't act like I didn't see all of that designer junk coming out of your bag when it exploded all over-”

You shut him up with a hand over his mouth with a frown. Miguel’s formerly quiet voice had raised to a normal volume, loud enough to make some people in the train car turn their heads. To them, the two of you probably look like one of those annoying couples who don’t have the courtesy to argue in private.

You take your hand off of Miguel’s mouth and he stands back up, forfeiting for now. Back to staring at his crotch. You watch as he shoots an angry glare at everyone who’s turned to gawk at your argument. They all nervously look away. After all, no one wants to piss off the strangely dressed and possibly crazy man on the train. You scold him with a light kick to his shin. He stops, going back to protectively hunching over you like he’s guarding you from the paparazzi.

You just stare down at your lap as the train continues to chug along, pretending to examine your freshly done manicure. You busy yourself with picking at your nail beds, knowing that if you dare to look up Miguel will no doubt be looking right back.

You come to another stop. People move on and off again, worried commuters rushing to their next train and exhausted hospital workers stumbling on fresh off of their overnight shift.

You wonder how much longer it’ll be as the doors close and the PA system chimes.

“Stand clear of the closing doors, please!”

“Took you guys long enough,” Lyla says, arms crossed as you enter the lab.

The spider-teens are waiting as you expected, having turned Miguel’s equipment into their personal loungers. Hobie is completely splayed out on one, absentmindedly plucking at his guitar while Pavitr is fast asleep, his head resting on Hobie’s legs. Miles is watching something on his phone with Gwen, both of them quietly laughing to themselves, practically cuddled up with each other. They’re all dressed in their casual, “civilian” clothes like you asked. Peter is also there, restlessly tapping his foot as he checks his watch. You and Miguel were definitely not on time.

“I hate the metro,” you whine, tugging your suitcase behind you.

Miguel grunts in agreement, now somehow carrying both duffle bags along with his own backpack on his shoulders.

Everyone lights up at the sound of you two, Pavitr snorting awake. Peter rushes over to take a bag off of Miguel’s shoulder.

“Oof, what are you even carrying in here?” He groans, hauling the bag up.

“Oh, just some outfit changes, fake IDs, spare equipment, a soldering iron, and maybe some modded spider-bots. And like, two computers,” you answer casually.

Peter gives you the same look Miguel had given you that morning. Miguel can only silently shake his head with pursed lips.

You look between the two men’s accusatory stares.

“What?!”

“Ok, moving on from Miss Cat’s concerning packing list,” Peter turns back to the spider-teens. “Is everyone ready to go?”

They all nod, Pavitr still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Miguel moves to the front of the room, nodding for you to do the same. You dash to his side and past the teens, leaving your suitcase on the floor. When you see the way Miguel stiffens his expression in preparation to speak, you have to hold back your giggle.

“All right. Does everyone have their multiversal traversal device?”

Everyone holds up their watch on their wrist, you doing the same. Miguel nods his head in approval.

“Good. Now remember, we can’t risk losing another one,” Miguel warns. “Not just because it means we have another device to hunt down, but we don’t want to be caught glitching.”

You whip your head in his direction. Glitching? He didn’t tell you about that.

“Wouldn’t dream about it,” Gwen sighs. “I don't want a repeat of that entire fiasco.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” adds Peter from the back. “Probably one of the worst pains in my life.”

Well. That wasn’t ominous at all. You double check the tightness of your watch, making sure it’s sure it’s secure on your wrist. It is.

“Lyla has sent all of you the coordinates you’re traveling to today,” Miguel continues. “So get there and get to your housing. Attract as little attention as possible,” he glances over to you, eyeing you up and down. “Some of you might have more difficulty with that than others.”

Your mouth opens in disbelief at his words.

“Hey, this is a curated look!” You defend, slapping his arm.

“I think it’s pretty chic,” Lyla compliments, having suddenly appeared between you and Miguel. “I mean…”

She does a little twirl, showing off her own digital fur coat with a grin.

You snort. Of course Lyla would only have good things to say about your outfit, you’re basically wearing the same thing, sunglasses and all.

Miguel shoos Lyla away, like he’s trying to swat at a fly. She disappears with a snicker.

“Like I said, attract as little attention as possible,” he grumbles. “Black Cat, do you have anything to add?”

You dart your eyes up to Miguel, slightly caught off guard. He tilts his head, gesturing for you to speak. Go on, he seems to be saying. You do, pulling your fake identification card out.

“You guys got your IDs?” you ask.

The spider-teens rummage around in their bags and take their IDs out, raising them in confirmation.

“This feels slightly illegal,” Miles pipes up, squinting at his ID card. “I mean, if we weren’t trying to stop the wrong person from getting access to the multiverse, this would definitely be a bad guy thing.”

“It’s not illegal if you don’t get caught,” you sing with a smirk.

“Yeah, listen to the lady, bruv!” Hobie chides in glee, wrapping his arm around Miles. He waves his ID around, “Mind if I keep this afterwards? Gonna need it in the future, I think.”

Your expression shifts to an unamused one as he speaks and you cross your arms in impatience.

“Hobart.”

“What?”

“Hand it over.”

Hobie looks around the room, then back at your frown. With a defeated groan, he slowly walks up to you in dragged out steps, fishes a sparkly gold bracelet out of his back pocket and places it in your hand.

“You need to improve on your technique, bruv,” you chastise, slipping the bracelet back to its rightful place on your wrist. “Especially if we’re going to be picking stuff off of Oscorp employees.”

“Can I still keep the ID, though?” Hobie requests with hope in his eyes.

“Obviously,” you tell him, your smug smile returning.

Letting out a celebratory whoop, Hobie prances his way back to his spot next to Miles.

Miguel makes a face at you. If he had said Peter and Jess were equally terrible mentors, you were worse than both of them combined.

“Now before we do anything else,” you announce to the rest of the spider-teens once they’re settled. “What’s my number one rule for pretending to be someone else?”

“Always stick to the script,” All of them recite in a bored, monotonous tone, save for Pavitr, who says it like it’s his personal mantra.

“Good.”

“We should get going now,” Miguel suggests, adjusting the bags on his shoulders. “We don’t want to be later than we already are.”

After he says that, everyone starts to say their goodbyes, with Peter giving each of the spider-teens a hug and wishing them good luck. You giggle to yourself when you overhear him tell Miles to remember to baby powder his suit. Despite only having known them for a short while, you know you’ve grown attached to them, all of them. From eating concerningly blue burgers in the cafeteria together to poking fun at Miguel with Lyla, they’ve all become a part of your everyday life. But now it’s time to say goodbye to that, for now.

Peter walks up to you, arms spread wide.

“Care to give a spider another hug?” he asks with a grin.

“Peter,” you laugh, embracing him warmly. “Of course you can!”

“Sorry that Mayday isn’t here to say bye,” he tells you as he pulls away from the hug. “Her mom wanted to spend more time with her. Y’know, mommy-daughter day.”

“Can’t miss out on that,” you reply with a playful shrug. “Well, you go home today and tell her I’m going to miss her, smelly diapers and all.”

Peter chuckles with a shake of his head.

“Will do, Miss Cat.”

He hands you the duffle bag he had been carrying, to which you throw over your shoulder after picking up your suitcase. You move back to Miguel, who’s tapping on his watch.

“You ready?” he asks, raising his gaze to you as you approach.

Before you can respond, you feel a sudden change in the room. It almost feels like wind is blowing, which should be impossible because you’re inside. Then, you see an orange light coming from behind you. You turn around and gasp.

In the middle of the lab, a hexagon shaped portal has appeared, with swirling rings that glow in brilliant warm colors. Miles and Pavitr stand in front of it as it lets out a quiet hum that resonates through the lab. You’re stunned silent by the sight.

“We’re going now!” shouts Pavitr. “Bye!”

He gives a big wave of his arm and jumps into the portal. You watch how his form distorts as he does. Miles is next, taking one last look at you before he goes.

“We’re all still meeting at your hotel tonight, right?” he asks you.

You blink a few times, still astounded, before nodding.

“Yes, Miles. Now get going, or else you’ll worry Pav,” you gently scold.

Miles rolls his eyes but smiles, leaping into the portal after Pavitr. Not soon after, the hexagon shrinks down into nothing, as if it were never there.

“Oi, we’re headin’ out too,” calls Hobie from the other side of the lab, in front of an identical portal with Gwen. He struts backward into it, disappearing.

Gwen waves goodbye and gives you a smile.

You wave back at her, returning her expression.

“See ya,” she beams before walking into the portal.

Like the one before it, the portal begins to close after Gwen makes it through.

You look up at Miguel after it’s gone.

“Our turn?”

He looks back down at you and nods.

“Our turn.”

With a click of his watch, a third hexagonal portal opens, this time in front of you. You hold your breath as it slowly whooshes to life, filling the lab with oranges and yellows and reds. You can feel your palms getting sweaty. Ugh, why are you getting nervous now? You’ve faced worse than some hexagon shaped thing. Then again, you’ve never traveled to another dimension like Miguel or the kids. Who knows what could happen to you? Ok, stop being anxious. Are you overthinking this? You probably are.

Miguel seems to take notice of your mood and steps forward, sticking one of his legs in the portal and extending a hand to you with a reassuring look.

Nervously, you place your hand on top of his. He gently curls his fingers around your hand, taking a slow step into the portal. Before you follow after him, you glance back at the lab. One last look at your home.

“G’bye Peter!” you hurriedly yell, stepping into the portal after Miguel. The last thing you see is Peter waving at you, saying something you can’t quite hear.

Then it feels like you’re falling. Or maybe flying? Either way, you’re zooming through hexagonal rings upon hexagonal rings. You feel like your head is spinning, doing cartwheels between dimensions, if that's even what you were feeling. The only thing you can really feel is the handle of your suitcase and the warmth of Miguel’s hand against yours.

And then as soon as it started, it’s over. You hear the sounds of angry honking and bustling civilians. The smell of street food and cigarette smoke reaches your nose. Miguel lets go of your hand.

“We made it,” his voice tells you. You slowly crack your eyes open. You didn't even realize you had them closed.

Flashing advertisements, zipping cars, and towering buildings all fill your vision. He’s right. You made it.

You’re in New York.

Before you have another second to process what’s happening, Miguel grabs your hand again and drags you out of the alleyway you had landed in, sidestepping to merge with the crowded sidewalk.

As the two of you walk, you lace your fingers with his. Miguel feels the cool metal of your ring touching his fingertip.

You lean up to whisper in his ear.

“Stick to the script, Spider.”

Miguel can’t believe what he’s seeing. Luxurious couches, silk pillows, gold legged chairs, and a stupidly big chandelier. Who even uses chandeliers anymore? Just use a normal light. It’s cheaper and more functional. There’s a reason why there’s no more chandeliers in 2099. And this is just the lobby. But he knows this was your choice. This is the ridiculously opulent hotel you selected personally, the place where he’d be staying with you until you finished this mission. He had to get used to it, whether he liked it or not.

“Michael!”

He turns at the sound of your voice. You’re calling for him, but not really for him. You’re calling for a man who doesn’t exist outside of the fake backstories and profiles you made for him. But again, it’s not him.

You rush to Miguel’s side, your heels clicking against the smooth tile floor, and wrap your arm around his with a warm smile. Maybe he was wrong about your outfit. Amongst the grandiosity of the lobby, you looked right at home, blending in with the other well dressed clientele.

“I just gave the bags to the bellhop, babe,” you say, leaning against his shoulder. “We can check in now.”

Miguel stiffly nods, fixing his glasses. Unlike you, who had slipped into character with ease, he was having a little more difficulty. With every word you speak to him, every act of affection, he has to remind himself that you’re not saying that to him, that you don’t really mean it. It’s just a part of the script. Just a script.

You poke his side with a red nail.

“Hon? Are we going to check in or not?” you ask, batting your eyelashes.

Shock, you looked adorable like this, he thinks. But it’s time to focus.

He clears his throat and pats your hand that’s resting on his arm.

“Sorry, I was just thinking. Let’s go, amorcito,” he smoothly replies, putting on a smile to match yours.

You laugh like he just told you a funny joke as you walk towards the check in desk. It’s manned by a young agent dressed neatly in a matching navy suitset. Just like the two of you, she puts on a movie star smile as you move in front of her.

“Hi,” she greets in a practiced customer service voice. “How can I help you today?”

“My husband and I are here to check in for our stay,” you tell her, still leaning on Miguel’s shoulder.

“May I have the name on the reservation?” she requests politely.

“Oh, it’s Stark,” you say, raising your voice. “Selina Stark.”

The young woman suddenly perks up, and quickly types in a few things on her archaic looking computer.

“Y-yes, I have your reservation right here, Mrs. and Mr. Stark. May I see some identification?” she stumbles, struggling to maintain her refined demeanor.

Excellent. The Stark name was doing its job.

You and Miguel both slide your IDs forward, still smiling. She looks them over for a second, before quickly sliding them back to you.

“Everything looks good. Your room is all ready and made for you right now, would you like your keys now?”

“Yes, that would be great. My wife and I would like to get some well needed rest after our flight in,” Miguel responds charmingly before you can.

My wife.

You can almost feel your stomach twist at his words.

“Ok, I’ll get those made right away, Mr. Stark,” the agent says, clicking something with her mouse. “What brings you to New York?”

“Oh, nothing much,” you say. “We’re just here to see some sights, eat some food. Have a little fun. Right, hon?”

You sweetly look up at Miguel, who nods in agreement.

“I know you’re excited nenita, but we don’t even have our room yet!” he chides with a fake chuckle, plastered smile still on. “We’ll go out once we’re settled, ok?”

The agent gazes between the two of you, her customer service smile shifting into something different. Admiration, perhaps. Thinking, what a lovely couple they are.

“Alright, here are your room keys, Mrs. and Mr. Stark,” she slides a small envelope towards you. “I saw that you already gave your bags to the bell service, so they’ll be up shortly. Enjoy your stay!”

As soon as the two of you walk away from the check in desk, Miguel’s expression drops.

“Why is everything so gaudy here?” he mutters so only you can hear.

“It’s just the way things are at this time, Spider,” you mutter back. “This is their definition of luxury.”

He scowls as the two of you step into the elevator.

“I don’t like it.”

You unlink your arm from his, stepping to the other side of the elevator shaft.

“Well, I want to enjoy it,” you say, clicking the button for your floor level. “Y’know, try everything that we don’t have in 2099. Like a deconstructed sandwich. Or bubble tea.”

Miguel scoffs, the elevator beginning to rise.

“There’s a reason we don’t have those things anymore.”

“Yeah, but I still want to try them.”

“We’ll get bubble tea after we’re done here,” he grumbles, expression unreadable.

You look at him, surprised that he's obliging to your antics for once. Your lips curl back into a smile. A real one, this time.

“Sounds good, Spider.”

You're both quiet for the rest of the elevator ride, watching as the floor numbers slowly tick up. The doors open when you finally reach your floor, Miguel holding them open for you to step out.

You do, and begin walking down the long hallway toward your room with Miguel in tow.

When you arrive at your room, you take a key out of the envelope the agent gave you, tapping it against the door handle. It unlocks and you eagerly swing the door open with a grin.

“Here we are, Spider!” you cheer, throwing your fur coat off and jumping onto the couch in the middle of the room. Miguel frowns. If the lobby had been opulent, then this hotel room was ostentatious. Floor to ceiling windows with a view of the city, a large private balcony, a giant TV, and a couch large enough to sleep a family of seven. And once again, another fucking chandelier. Miguel is starting to question the sanity of interior designers of this time period.

“I booked us a suite since we’re going to be here for a while,” you tell him, kicking off your pumps. Miguel doesn’t move from his spot in front of the door. You stand with a roll of your eyes, walking back to him.

“Come onnn. At least look around!” you whine, tugging on his arm. He relents, letting you pull him around the suite. You excitedly point out the marble tile in the bathroom, gush over the giant shower, and relish over all the free bottles of luxury bathroom amenities the hotel has so kindly gifted you. Miguel jumps in surprise when the toilet automatically opens when he walks near it, as if menacingly inviting him to sit on it.

You bring him back into the main room, telling him that the couch actually reclines, so it could actually probably sleep a family of twelve, he thinks. There’s also a fully built out kitchen tucked in the side of the room, with newly furbished everything, from the stovetops to the refrigerator, which even has a touch screen on it. A little less archaic than everything else, you both agree. You open the fridge, peeking inside at all the goods the hotel has left in there, and become temporarily confused as to what “Evian” is (you force Miguel to open it and take a sip. It’s just water, but who the hell calls their water “Evian”?).

You then start to drag him to the last part of the suite: the bedroom.

“-the best part of the suite has got to be the bedroom. I swear, the beds looked like literal clouds when I was looking at it online-”

You’re promptly interrupted by the sound of a doorbell. It’s probably your luggage. You skip your way to the door and open it. Sure enough, a young bellboy is waiting, a full cart of your bags behind him.

“Is this the room of Mrs. and Mr. Stark?” he asks politely.

You both nod.

“Well, I have all of your luggage here and the package you ordered, Mrs. Stark. May I come in?”

You nod again, but Miguel is confused at the last thing the bellboy brought. A package?

The bellboy shuffles in, pushing the luggage cart in with him. He seems to be struggling a bit, but he doesn’t know that all five of those bags have hammerspace.

“Would you like me to put these bags in your bedroom, Mrs. Stark?” he asks after catching his breath.

“Oh, that would be great!” you cheerfully say, walking over to what Miguel presumed to be the bedroom door. “Me and my husband were actually just about to look insi-”

You freeze as you open the door. Miguel raises an eyebrow.

“Um, is everything alright ma’am?” the bellboy questions upon seeing your frozen state.

You quickly whip around, slamming the door behind you with a nervous smile.

“You know what? I actually think my husband can handle the bags,” you excuse with a laugh, aggressively jutting your head at Miguel when the bellboy isn’t looking.

He gets your signal and begins taking the bags off the luggage cart himself without breaking a sweat. The bellboy stares at him in disbelief, then back at you.

“A-are you sure ma’am? It’s my job to help you with your luggage-”

“Yes, I’m sure, now just take your tip and leave, ok thank you!” you shove the bellboy out of the room with his luggage cart and smack a hefty stack of cash into his hands, before shutting the door in his face.

Once he’s gone, you look at Miguel with panicked eyes.

“Something’s wrong,” you pant, rushing over to one of your bags. You unlock it and start to dig through it, tossing clothes and random metal parts over your shoulders as you do.

Miguel sets the last bag on the ground, still confused about your panic. Surely, it couldn’t be that bad. Maybe the sheets didn’t have a high enough thread count for your taste, or there wasn’t a diamond encrusted alarm clock waiting on the nightstand. He decides to see what’s wrong for himself, pushing the bedroom door open. It’s a large room like he was expecting. Seems pretty normal, right? And then he sees it.

A singular, king sized bed smack dab in the middle of the room, complete with a pair of kissing towel swans and rose petals scattered around in a heart shape.

Fuck!

What’s even worse is the jacuzzi in the corner of the bedroom, already filled with water and even more petals with candles surrounding it, ready for some young couple to take a romantic skinny dip.

Miguel hears your whines from outside of the room, bawling about how the hotel must’ve messed your reservation up. No. That’s not who did it.

“Lyla,” he hisses to his watch, face burning red.

Her hologram projects her sitting crossed legged with an innocent face.

“What?” she asks naively.

“What have you done?”

She flickers around the room, examining every corner with a snicker.

“I thought it would be more realistic!” she explains as she takes a picture of the towel swans with her large phone. “Like, imagine this: young, hot, attractive couple take a romantic vacation in New York. But oh! They’ve booked the honeymoon suite. Perhaps they’ll spend a passionate night together in The City That Never Sleeps-”

“Honeymoon suite?!” Miguel boils, trying to keep his volume down. “You switched the reservation to the honeymoon suite?!”

Lyla holds her hands up in defense. Miguel is still seething, trying to grab at her to no avail.

“Hey, I’m just trying to give you some opportunities here. I’m basically the world’s best wingwoman.”

Then there’s a knock on the door.

“O’Hara?” your voice meekly calls from the other side.

“Oops! That’s my cue to go,” Lyla declares. “Like Lego-Peter said, go get ‘em tiger!” She gives him a wink and disappears.

Miguel stands in the middle of the room, taking a deep breath to calm himself before answering the door. When he opens it, you’re shoving an ancient looking phone in his face, aggressively pointing at something on the screen.

“Look!” you wail, still shoving the phone at him. “Look, why does it say ‘honeymoon suite’?! I didn’t book that, I booked the double queen suite!”

You’re pointing at the summary of your booking, where it boldly reads honeymoon suite.

“I don’t understand old technology at all,” you cry, bringing the old phone down to roughly tap on it. “Lyla said it would be streamline!”

When you spot the kissing towel swans again, you let out another bawl and run for the couch, landing face first on it.

Miguel doesn’t know what to do. You’re basically crying at this point, sobbing about how you’re never trusting hotel booking websites again. He knows your mascara is probably running from your tears, which you’ll most definitely complain about later. The main room is a complete mess, covered in clothes and spare parts from you searching for that old phone. The Black Cat, utterly defeated by a switched hotel reservation. So he does what he used to do. He walks over to the kitchen, grabbing a few paper towels. Then he moves back to the couch, kneeling down next to you and rubs soothing circles on your back.

“Hey, maybe the hotel just got confused,” he suggests, despite knowing the real culprit.

He knows the way to calm you down in these types of situations is to act like everything is fine, and eventually you’ll stop being upset over whatever you’re upset about. It worked before, so it should work now.

You turn your head towards him with a sniffle.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, snot dribbling down your nose. Miguel wipes at it with one of his paper towels. “I messed everything up.”

“It’s fine, kitty,” he reassures you, brushing your tears and smeared mascara away. “I’ll just…sleep on the couch. It can probably sleep a family of twelve anyway,” he chuckles.

You giggle at his joke, then shift back into sniveling.

“I really didn’t mean to do this,” you say, blowing your nose into a paper towel. “I thought separate beds would be better…for both of us.”

Miguel feels his heart sink a little. You didn’t even want to lay next to him now, even though you’ve done so for so many nights before. But then again, he doesn’t know what he would do if he had to share a bed with you now. Would he just lie there next to you like an idiot, or would you let him hold you like he’s always done? He doesn’t know. But what he does know, is that right now you need someone to comfort you, and he’s the only one there.

“Hey,” he calls to you. “Mírame.”

You do as he says and look at him through your teary eyes.

He’s giving that look. He gives you that same, tender look he’s always given you. The one that he gives you when he notices you becoming tired after a long day of work, the one he gives you when he’s putting a ring on your hand, the one he gives you when you’re about to jump across dimensions. The one that wholeheartedly, sincerely tells you one thing:

It’s gonna be ok.

It’s gonna be ok, even if you’re upset over something silly.

It’s gonna be ok, no matter how much you cry.

It’s gonna be ok, because I’m here with you.

It’s gonna be ok.

Your tears have stopped. You sit up, rubbing your eyes one last time. Miguel still has his hand on your back, still rubbing gentle patterns into it.

“Feeling better?” he asks, voice filled with care and concern.

You slowly nod.

“If it helps, I’m really impressed that you managed to completely fill four hammerspaced bags,” he says, trying to make you smile. “Still not sure how you did it, but.”

You snort and wipe away your melted mascara.

“Yeah, um,” you sniff. “I’m not sure either.”

Your lips crack slightly upwards. Miguel considers that enough of a win for today.

He searches around the room.

“How about…we open up that package you didn’t tell me about?”

Your face lights up when he says that. You dash off the couch, suddenly full of vigor, and slide down on your knees next to the box. With a click on your wrist, your claws encapsulate one of your hands. You use them to tear into the tape covering the box, easily opening it. Miguel watches as you pull out a strangely shaped black rectangle from the box.

“What is that?” he asks, unsure what to make of the object.

You grin, despite your messed up makeup.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Holy shit!” Miles yells, a big smile on his face at the sight in your hotel room. “Is that…”

“...the newest console?!” Pavitr finishes.

You nod proudly, your makeup now fresh and fixed and room cleaned up.

“Yep. Took literal ages to get it set up…but we did it!” you pat Miguel’s shoulder, who just stands unhappily with crossed arms (in reality, the set up consisted of Miguel yelling instructions at you and you struggling to follow them, followed up by both of you wondering how the hell people could do anything in this time period).

“How did you guys even get this?” Gwen asks, in as much awe as her friends. “This thing’s sold out everywhere in my universe.”

You shrug.

“A little bit of magic, and a whole lot of Lyla.”

Miles and Pavitr quickly run to the TV, admiring the shiny new video game system sitting in front of it. Gwen and Hobie both jump on top of the ginormous couch.

“Can we play with it?” Pavitr gives you and Miguel puppy eyes. “Pleaseee?”

You slap a hand over Miguel’s mouth before he can say anything.

“Of course you can! That’s why I got it,” you reply, giving a thumbs up.

The two boys let out a cheer, swiftly grabbing their own remotes and tossing some back at Hobie and Gwen. You watch with a soft smile as they turn on the console, Miles excitedly pointing out the brawling game it came preinstalled with on the home screen. They boot it up and begin playing it with enthusiastic eyes.

Miguel stands next to you, his normal scowl having returned.

“I don’t understand why you got them a video game,” he frowns.

You shush him as the teens begin to select their characters.

“We’re supposed to be on a mission. We don’t have time for-”

You shush him again with a finger to his mouth.

“Look at them, Spider,” you tell him quietly. “Let them be kids.”

Miguel brings his eyes up to the spider-teens. He sees their wide smiles, hears their bright laughter as they play. His expression softens. At the end of the day, whether they’re Spider-Man or Spider-Woman, you’re right. They are still kids, no matter the amount of pressure he or the world puts on them or how much they're forced to grow up. They’re still kids.

“...fine,” He concedes. He supposes they can relax before the real work starts.

You hum, going back to watching the teens play.

“Hobie, why’d you attack me?! I’m still trying to figure out my controls!”

“That’s what they all say, mate. I ain’t showing any mercy here.”

“Oh my god. You’re totally just targeting Miles. Pav, wanna form an alliance?”

“Totally. Then we can dominate the world! Team Gwevitr forever!”

“Wait, we’re doing alliances now?!”

You laugh to yourself, turning to Miguel to see his reaction, but he isn’t there. Huh. While the teens are busy playing their game, you look around the suite for him.

Is he in the kitchen? No. Maybe taking a dump on the terrifying toilet? Still no. Seductively waiting for you on the rose petal covered bed? …thankfully, no.

You walk back into the main room, completely stumped. But as you look around one last time, the light of the TV illuminates a large figure on the balcony. Ah. You found him.

“Hey Spider,” you greet, shutting the balcony door behind you. He’s leaning over the railing. You do the same, scooting up next to him. “Too loud in there for you?”

He nods.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

You look ahead at the city lights in front of you. Despite being in a different year, a different reality, something about the way the lights twinkle feels familiar. It reminds you of home.

“I wonder if Giselle’s doing ok,” you think aloud with a sigh.

“I’ll ask Lyla how she’s doing tomorrow morning.”

You get a funny feeling in your stomach at his short responses. You wished he would say more. Why are you suddenly so desperate to talk to him all the sudden? Normally he's the one begging to have a conversation with you.

“O’Hara?” you say a little louder, hoping to hold his attention. He finally looks at you, red eyes lightly glowing in the dark. “I…”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to go on. You try to swallow, but your mouth is dry.

“I just wanted to tell you…thank you for um, taking care of me.”

God, you can feel your face warming. You’re back to feeling like a little schoolgirl around him again.

“I know I don’t always say it, and I probably should say it more, but…thank you.”

He’s quiet for a second. You chew on the inside of your cheek.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he finally says. “I’m your partner, remember? We’re a team.”

You nod. You don’t know why, but his answer doesn’t satisfy you.

“Right. A team.”

You go back to staring at the city lights. Miguel shifts his body closer to yours, your pinkies now touching.

“How much longer do you think they’ll be playing that game with the French plumber and the weird pink thing?” he speaks up, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

You snicker.

“First of all, I’m almost certain that it’s an Italian plumber. And secondly…probably all night. We’ll have to kick them out so we can get some sleep.”

Miguel laughs at your answer.

“Hmm. They’re going to be at it all night, aren’t they?”

“They’re probably still playing as we speak.”

Little did the two of you know, the spider-teens had paused their game some time ago, instead focusing all their attention on your conversation on the balcony.

“How much are you guys betting they get back together?” Gwen asks the group as they watch you from the couch.

Pavitr rubs his chin.

“Um…maybe twenty, thirty dollars?”

“A hundred quid,” Hobie declares without hesitation.

They all turn to him in shock.

“You’re definitely going to lose this one, Hobie,” Miles says. “I mean, for the most part, all they do is argue, so-”

He stops when he sees what’s dangling from Hobie’s hand.

It’s your gold bracelet.

“She’s lettin’ her guard down because of him,” he nods to the two of you outside. “Made it super easy to nick this thing off of her.”

Miles looks at you and Miguel, then back at the bracelet.

“If that’s how it is...then I’m betting a hundred too.”

Chapter Text

It’s dark.

It’s so, so dark.

Somehow, the black void feels both cramped and infinite, a night sky without any stars. Swallowing him whole. His enhanced senses can’t pick up on anything in here. No sights, no sounds. It’s just. Nothing. He can't even feel the ground below him, if there was even any ground to begin with.

Miguel knows where he is.

He’s been here before.

He waits for it to start.

“Papá!”

A glimmer of light breaks through the darkness.

“Papá!”

It comes closer, slowly starting to take form until it has that same, innocent face that he failed.

“Papá,” it says, wrapping its little arms around his waist.

Miguel lifts her up from the ground and into his arms.

“Hi, Gabi,” he softly says, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

She giggles, kicking her legs in excitement.

“Papá, did you see me?” she asks, eyes full of joy. “I did it! I scored the winning goal! I was like- ahuh! And then, wham!”

She waves her arms, squirming around in an attempt to reenact the scene for Miguel. He lightly chuckles, his plush lips lifting into a smile.

“I did, Gabi. I always do,” he reassures her, holding her small hand in his and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

He pulls away and then it really starts.

Something seems to register in Gabriella’s mind. She rips her hand away from his and stares at it. The edges of it seem to be flaking away into flickers of light. She gasps, jolting her eyes to Miguel.

“Papá,” her voice shakes. “What’s happening to me?”

Her happy expression is slowly replaced with fear. Her smile has dropped, bottom lip trembling. Her brow presses down in worry and her normal breaths become harsh pants.

Miguel brings Gabriella closer to him, holding her tight to his chest as she begins to chip away into bright colors. He knows he can’t stop this. He never can.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, trying to wipe away the tears from her eyes, but his hand passes through her face. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t save me.”

Miguel feels the guilt consuming his insides, taking up every inch of him like a stain.

“I-I know,” he quivers, sinking down to his knees. “I’m sorry.”

Gabriella is rapidly disappearing, the fractals of light that were her body floating up and away. The fear from her face is now gone, a dark, expressionless, accusatory stare taking its place.

“You didn’t save me,” she repeats. The voice coming from Gabriella doesn’t sound like her own anymore. It’s a complete cacophony, guttural and vile, sharply stabbing at Miguel’s side. “You didn’t save me!”

The voice grows stronger, angrier until Gabriella is thrashing around in Miguel’s arms, letting out grating cries of agony as she continues to evaporate into light.

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at her; he doesn’t know if his heart could bear it. Her wails are blows to his chest, reminders of the worst mistake of his life. But no matter how deep her words cut, he just keeps holding her, whatever is left of her.

“It’s all your fault.”

The voice is Gabriella’s. Miguel opens his eyes.

There’s nothing. She’s gone, the only proof of her existence being a bit of light that floats into the air. He watches as it rises, and then burns out like a candle, a dismal eulogy to his failings.

It’s dark again.

Regret, pain, and anger all well up in his throat. He tries to choke out a sob but he can’t, instead only mustering a pathetic whimper.

You can’t even shed tears for her, a voice jeers in his head. Look at how selfish you are.

It’s all your fault.

Miguel sits on his knees, alone in the endless black, waiting for it to end.

It doesn't.

“Miguel.”

He turns. Another gleam of light has cut through the darkness.

It stands, morphing and contorting until he can’t deny who it is anymore.

It’s you.

You look like a phantom, hauntingly ethereal with unwavering eyes that seem to stare right through them.

“Miguel.”

You say, unblinking.

He stumbles back, trying to run from you, but his legs feel like they’re trapped in tar.

“No. You're not supposed to be here,” he trembles, eyes wide with panic.

“Miguel.”

Your voice echoes through the void. You move closer to him, so smoothly it almost looks like you're gliding above the ground.

“No. Please, I- I can’t,” he begs as you stand above him. “You can’t be here.”

You tilt your head, smiling with that smile you only save for him.

“Miguel,” you bring your hands up to cup his sharp cheekbones. He shivers, your palms being ice cold against his skin. “What’s wrong?”

He places his hands on top of yours, trying to savor your touch, even if just for a little. Your lips are still pulled in a smile.

“Please,” he says quietly. “I can’t lose you too. Please, stay with me.”

You don't say anything.

And then-

“Pfft.”

Miguel looks up at you.

You're-

You're laughing.

The sound is light and airy, but there's an underlying venom behind it. Your fingers start to dig into his face, pinching his skin. He tries to break free from your grasp, but he can't and his body feels like it's paralyzed. You've got him captive.

“Oh, Miguel,” you sigh, your smile coming back. Only this time, it's twisted and wicked with a condescension that makes him feel weak. “Why would I stay with you if you couldn’t even protect her?”

Like Gabriella, your voice has changed. It's honed like a blade, crueler.

You start laughing again, just as the edges of your body begin to flake away. The maniacal sound fills Miguel's ears as he watches you fade away in horror. This can't be happening. You were never supposed to be here. His whole body is shaking, heart pounding. He can't feel the sharp tips of your nails on his face anymore. You’re disappearing right in front of his eyes, your legs and arms becoming nothing but light.

“Don't leave,” he cries, but his voice is overpowered by your laughter. “Please, don't leave me!”

As the last of your body flickers away, you leave him with one last thing while giving him that vicious smile.

“It's all your fault.”

Miguel’s eyes snap open.

He sees the familiar sight of the chandelier on the ceiling.

He exhales, trying to calm his beating chest, but the anxiety doesn’t dissipate. When he closes his eyes, he still sees it. Gabi crumbling in his arms. You standing in front of him.

You…

Where are you…?

Shit.

He jumps off the couch, rushes to the suite’s bedroom and violently flings the door open. You aren’t there, only a few rose petals on the bed remaining in your wake.

No…

No, no, no, where are you?

Dread fills Miguel’s spine as he quickly searches the bedroom, practically tearing it apart in trying to find a piece of you, anything that would prove your whereabouts. When he doesn’t find it, he bolts back to the main room to continue his search.

He remembers what he told you in his dream.

He can’t lose you too.

He desperately yells your name, panic seeping into his body, replaying the image of you fading into nothing just like Gabi.

“What?”

He whips his head at the sound of your voice. You’re standing in the doorway of the bathroom, your skin damp and your body loosely covered by a bathrobe. You eye him quizzically, hair still dripping wet.

“Where were you?” he asks, the sharpness of his voice overwhelming its worry.

“I was just showering,” you grumble, patting the water out of your hair with the towel in your hands.

Then he’s darting up to you, hands firmly planted on your shoulders. He examines your entire figure, making sure you’re real.

Your brow presses down, your annoyance changing into concern.

“I…” he croaks out. “I just…”

He’s still eyeing you up and down. You can’t help but think there’s something more to his scrutiny.

“...put some clothes on.”

He lets go of you, walking back to sit on the couch.

Your concern turns back into annoyance. Who the hell was he to talk? He was the one walking around shirtless, with nothing more than a pair of tight boxers.

“Well, good morning to you too,” you mutter, shutting the bathroom door behind you.

Once you’ve finished in the bathroom, you walk out to find Miguel, now wearing a shirt, tidying the bedroom. He’s swept up the rose petals into a pile, neatly discarding them in the trash bin. The towel swans that you haphazardly threw on the ground before you went to bed are now meticulously folded into squares, sitting next to the now drained and candle-free jacuzzi.

You lean on the doorframe, silently observing as he stacks your bags in the corner of the room, unaware that he had basically ripped it to shreds half an hour before.

He almost looks domestic like this, fussing over the bedsheets and fluffing your pillows.

“O’Hara?” you call. He stops messing with the sheets, bringing his focus to you. “We should get going.”

He just nods slowly, quickly brushing past you to get his things ready for the day.

You press your lips down.

What’s his deal? you think. The night before, the two of you had been laughing about yellow mice and blue hedgehogs. Maybe he’s just tired?

Miguel watches you scarf down a breakfast bagel. You had demanded that you stop to get one, eventually coming across a small diner where you enthusiastically ordered a bagel with all the finishings, including a fried egg and cheddar cheese. Miguel made sure to grab two handfuls of napkins and stuff them in his pockets before you left. He didn’t want you making a mess while the two of you were walking.

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” you ask between bites, the tin foil crinkling in your hands. “Because- mm- this is so good. Maybe there’s an upside to having stone age technology here.”

You lick your lips, trying to get a runaway bit of yolk off of your face. Miguel raises a napkin to you to dab the yellow smear off your cheek.

“I don’t want any,” he blankly responds after successfully getting the yolk off.

“But what if I get full and don’t finish it? Then I’ll have to throw away a perfectly good bagel…and the money I spent on it. Tragedy!” you say dramatically, pretending to faint in Miguel’s arms.

He groans, shoving you off of him. You snicker and continue to walk next to him.

Just as you’re about to take another bite out of your bagel, it’s snatched from your hands by Miguel. You let out an exaggerated gasp, trying to grab it back from him, but he keeps it out of your reach. You stop when you see him bring the bagel to his lips. Slowly, he takes a bite from where you had been eating from. You watch as his expression shifts from stiff to something softer as he chews and swallows, and then he’s shoving the tin wrapped bagel back into your hands.

“...it’s good,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with his knuckles.

You nudge his side, grinning.

“See? I told you so.”

He doesn’t react, face still stoic. Your grin weakly drops and you turn your attention back to your bagel.

The two of you keep walking, and you keep munching on your bagel, until you reach your destination. You both come to a halt at a corner street sign and look up at the imposing building in front of you. Oscorp Industries. All you had to do now was wait.

Miguel leans against the signpost as you scurry off to find a garbage can for your tin foil. The New York sun has made the lenses of his glasses dark as he continues to stare up at Oscorp. He was going to have to waltz into that building in a few days time, pretending to be someone else with you on his arm as his wife. But he had a problem: He still can't fully get into the whole “Michael Stark” character.

Despite how smoothly check in had gone yesterday, the simple action of walking out of the lobby today was not. When you laced your arm around his, he nearly tripped out of surprise. The concierge had run up to him in concern, asking if he was alright, to which you excused Miguel, explaining that your husband was just tired and a little clumsy. You and the concierge shared a laugh, he told the two of you to enjoy your day, and you continued your way out of the lobby with him.

He had convinced himself that he could do this, but it was hard. Every action you did as his “wife” was too familiar. It was like you were going through the motions of your past, easily able to slot yourself back into being at his side like you belonged there. And shock, were you convincing. People in the lobby whispered about how cute the two of you were together, and how much you seemed to care for him. They all fell for it. Miguel thinks he may have too.

As he’s watching you make your way back over to him, you’re suddenly roughly bumped into by a random passerby.

Miguel feels his muscles tense. You're falling. You're going to tumble into the streets and there's a bus speeding down the road. He- he can't move. His legs feel like they're stuck in the ground. No. You're going to get hurt and it'll be all his fault and-

You stumble a bit, but quickly steady yourself.

Miguel’s body doesn't cease its tautness. You look over your shoulder as the passerby disappears into the crowd. He follows your stare, preparing to hunt down whoever nearly pushed you into the street. But he stops when he spots a familiar guitar case strapped onto their back.

“Hey.”

You're back in front of him. Miguel relaxes. You're safe, for now. You tug on one of his belt loops. He looks down. You show him your sleeve and the faintest edge of a card peeks out from it. You’ve got what you came here for.

“Lyla, run a diagnostic over this badge, please.”

“Yes ma’am!”

You really had come prepared, Miguel thinks. With all the equipment you stuffed into your luggage, you were able to convert part of the main room into a workspace for you and him, using a coffee table and vanity as desks. You and Miguel work in tandem, you sitting on the ground with the coffee table and Miguel at the vanity. You’re both typing away and reading data on your computers at your respective spots, back turned.

“I don't understand why he had to push you like that,” Miguel mutters quietly.

“It’s fine, Spider. We got what we needed,” you place the badge Hobie had slipped you down for Lyla to scan. “You should just be thankful he was able to loot it during his first rehearsal.”

Orange light moves up and down the card and information begins to pour into your screen.

“You almost fell right in front of one of those stupid red buses.”

You crane your head to look at Miguel. You’re only met by his back. You let a breath out through your nose and turn back to your computer.

“Well, I didn’t. I caught myself.”

There’s a bit of snippiness in your voice. Miguel turns in his chair towards you.

“You could’ve gotten hurt,” he insists.

“I just said that I didn’t,” you retort, not looking at him.

“Could you just tell Hobie to not bump into you so hard next time?”

There’s a certain exhaustion in his voice as he says that.

“Hey,” you crane your head back again to face him. “I’m ok, O’Hara. I’m not hurt.”

The look in his eyes makes you think he doesn’t trust you.

Your computer beeps, signifying that Lyla has finished her diagnostic.

“I’ll tell Hobie to not do that next time,” you add before turning back around.

Miguel’s gaze lingers on you. The vision of the you in his dreams is still burned in his mind.

Shaking your leg, you analyze the information Lyla had gotten you from the security badge. You had requested Hobie to steal one off of an Oscorp employee during his band’s rehearsal with Gwen, and to your surprise he rapidly delivered. You wanted to create a copy of the badge and then have Hobie put it back like it was never gone, so you would be able to easily bypass whatever security Oscorp had. However…

“...Jammit.”

You clench your fists and jaw. Something is wrong.

“Lyla.”

She materializes next to you.

“Yes, girlfriend?”

“Please don’t tell me that this badge needs biometrics to actually be useful.”

She stands on your shoulder, bending over to read the data with you.

“...it does.”

You rub a hand over your face. Jobs were never that simple, were they?

“What happened?” Miguel asks, now suddenly looking over your shoulder with Lyla.

“Biometrics,” you groan. “I’m gonna have to figure out a way to get someone’s fingerprints. Or an iris scan. Whatever they use at Oscorp.”

Miguel hums, standing back up with his hands on his hips.

“You should get that back to Hobie before anyone gets suspicious,” he suggests, strutting over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.

“I’m going to,” you reply, turning your computer off.

You pick up the badge and walk to the bedroom to put it away for safekeeping.

Before you shut the door, you poke your head out and look at Miguel, who’s taking a swig from his bottle.

“Are you going to come?” you ask.

He glances over to you, screwing the cap back on top of his water.

“Yeah.”

“Ok.”

You quickly bob your head and close the door behind you.

Forgoing the use of the subway (you didn’t want to see how it would compare to the one at home), you and Miguel find yourselves swinging across New York to Hobie and Gwen’s place. You had waited until it was late, letting the night cloak you and Miguel from anyone who wasn’t supposed to see you.

As Miguel uses his web and you use your grappling hook, you notice how it’s…quiet. It’s not like you hadn’t swung in silence with him before, just look at the past few days you spent at the spider-society with him. But this time, it’s different. There’s something about his demeanor that you can’t quite put your finger on. It reminds you of the last few times you saw him before you ended things. He’s guarded, his mind seeming to be somewhere else.

It worries you.

You keep peeking over at him, wondering what’s going on, but his mask ruins any chance of you trying to figure out his headspace.

After a few more minutes of silence, you make it to the small apartment you rented for the two musical spider-teens. You silently land on the fire escape, Miguel following behind you. You knock on the window you’re in front of. It slides open, revealing Gwen. She nods her head for you to come in.

You climb in through the window. The apartment is pretty nice, with a full kitchen, large living room, and two separate bedrooms (after all, it was hand picked by you). There’s a pair of drumsticks and various sheets of music laying around the ground, probably from their rehearsal.

“How’s the band?” you ask Gwen, taking your mask off.

“Oh, it’s actually going pretty well!” she replies enthusiastically. “The other members are actually a lot cooler than I thought they would be. Doing jazz style drumming is an adjustment, though.”

You laugh lightly.

“That’s good to hear. Me and O’Hara were here to drop off-”

“Where’s Hobie?”

You and Gwen both turn to Miguel, who still has his mask on. You give him a look of warning.

“Oh, he’s just…getting our dinner,” she eyes him suspiciously. “Why?”

Miguel crosses his arms.

“I need to talk to him about something.”

“Spider,” you quietly hiss at him.

Gwen looks at you, then at Miguel, rubbing her arms.

“...did something happen?”

“No-”

“Yes.”

You shoot him another glare at his answer. Just before you can scold him again, the apartment door busts open.

“Oi Gwendy, I got Chinese, if that’s good with ya. Really wanted to try a crab rangoon, so.”

It’s Hobie, having kicked the door open and dangling two bags full of takeout containers from his hands.

His eyes light up when he spots you and Miguel standing with Gwen. He grins.

“Well, look who it is! Our fearless leader and the lady of the hour!” he sets the bags down on the kitchen counter. “What’s up with you, now?”

You hold out the badge to him.

“Hobie, I’m going to need you to plant this back on whoever you took this from and figure out who exactly they are. There’s nothing about them on here, and I need to know who they are so we can look them up.”

He swipes it from you, lifting it up to examine it.

“Oh, I remember exactly the bloke I got this from. A real muppet, he was. I’ll get this back to him in a jiffy.”

He slides the card into his pocket.

Miguel takes a step forward. You narrow your eyes. He glares back.

“O’Hara,” you hiss again.

“Are you guys fighting or something?” Gwen finally blurts, tired of your tension.

“No,” you both respond.

“Havin’ a lovers’ quarrel then?” Hobie asks with a cheeky smile.

“No!!” you both shout.

The boy merely snickers at your reaction.

“Look,” you sigh. “O’Hara here didn’t…appreciate the way you bumped into me this morning to give me the card.”

“Aww,” Hobie coos, looking at Miguel. “You worried about her, Miggy?”

“Yes- no-!”

You internally smack your face at his response. Hobie was just trying to get a rise out of him, and he was taking the bait like a blind fish.

Before Hobie can say anything more, Miguel is already halfway out of the apartment window.

“Come on, kitty,” he groans, irritated from Hobie’s jibing. “Let’s go. We did what we came here for.”

He quickly jumps out of the window, slamming it shut behind him. You and Gwen wince. The smirk on Hobie’s face doesn’t leave.

“Sorry about that,” you tell them. “I don’t know why he’s in such a pissy mood today.”

You move to the window to follow Miguel back outside.

“Wait,” Hobie calls. You turn. “I got somethin’ for you.”

You quirk an eyebrow, wondering what it could be. And then he pulls out a familiar gold bracelet. You gasp and quickly snatch it out of his hands.

“How did you get this?!” you demand, checking the bracelet for any damage it might have gotten while it was out of your watch.

“Nicked it off of you last night,” Hobie shrugs with a self satisfied grin. “Would you say my technique’s improved, bruv?”

You exhale sharply and shake your head.

“Yes it has, Hobie,” there's a hint of a smile on your face. “Now are we done here?”

Gwen quickly nods and gives you two thumbs up.

“Good. Remember to stick to the script at band rehearsal, ok?”

You lift the window back up, crawling through it and leaping off the fire escape into the night.

The two spider-teens watch as you go.

“Gwendy.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell the others I’m raisin’ my bet to two hundred.”

“Hobie!”

You don't say anything to Miguel as the two of you swing back to your hotel. Or when you enter through the balcony.

It’s only when he’s about to go to the bathroom to change out of his suit that you speak up.

“O’Hara.”

He stops, looking over his shoulder at you.

“You can't be so harsh with them.”

Miguel lets out a huff.

“They have to show responsibility.”

You purse your lips. This really was like talking to a brick wall, wasn't it?

“Come on. They're kids. They're bound to do something stupid.”

He fully turns around, brow furrowed and pointing a finger at you.

“Stop using that as an excuse for them,” he bites, pacing towards you. “You don't understand what kind of responsibility they hold because of what they are. What they represent.”

You take a step backward as he comes closer.

“Well maybe I don't, but they're still young,” you argue back. “Have you ever considered that Miles can't even legally drive a car in his universe? He’s fifteen!”

Miguel just looks at you with a scowl as he approaches you. He comes closer, and you walk back with every step he takes. You don’t dare look away from him, staring back at him in defiance.

"Hobie needs to learn that he can't do things like what he did this morning. He could end up hurting someone, he could've ended up hurting you," he tells you sternly.

You inhale deeply, trying to not roll your eyes at him.

“Why are you still on about that? I know I said thanks for taking care of me before, but I don't know what's going on with you right now,” you rant angrily. “What the shock is up with you today?!”

“I’m trying to make sure no one messes anything up,” he yells, taking a step closer with his irises glowing blood red. “Like any good leader would do.”

“Well, leader, I think you're doing a pretty terrible job if all you're going to do is yell at your teammates. It's not a cute look,” you snap.

Miguel raises his clenched hands, trying to find reason within your sass. When your face shows him you're not backing down, he drops them in defeat and lets out a frustrated groan.

“I- urgh! Don't you get it?!” He shouts. “I'm doing this to protect you!”

The room falls silent as his voice echoes through it. A chord is stricken deep within you, in a place you tried to push down. You hate those words. You still don't know if you believe them.

You try to shrink down, back away from him, but you feel the wall behind you. You try to look around Miguel, find a way out of this, but his large frame has you trapped in a corner, literally. Your heart is crying out in confusion, beating painfully against your chest.

“I-”

When you see his icy stare, you tear your eyes down.

“I don't want to do this again,” you say quietly, a slight shake in your voice. “Please.”

Again.

The ice within Miguel’s eyes thaws, guilt taking its place. He's done it again. Pushed you further back when you tried to pull him closer. Just like that fateful night when you came to his lab. Which led to one thing, which led to another, which led to you ending what you had with him, or at least the fragments of what was left. Like he thought before, it's too familiar. The pet names, the affection, and now even your arguments.

It’s all too familiar.

You’re rubbing your shoulders with your hands, trying to warm yourself from Miguel's cold attitude. You don't even look at him, too scared of repeating the past and all its regrets.

He so longs to hug you, to comfort you, to tell you that his heart feels like it's going to burst whenever he's around you and that you're one of the most important people in his life, but something stops him. He can't seem to form the words on his tongue; whenever he tries they come out as annoyed nags and snippy comments.

He opens his mouth, trying to force something out, but nothing comes.

You can't even tell her how you feel, a familiar voice sneers to him. You're a coward. You can't do anything right by her. It’s all your-

He hears something outside.

It's faint and slight, but his hearing never misses anything. He ignores the voices in his head. Right now, in this moment, your safety matters more. Instinctually, Miguel presses himself closer to you, slamming his hands on either side of your body. You’re about to protest, but when you notice his razor sharp focus on the door, you stop.

“Someone’s here,” he hisses to you, gaze steady.

Now would be a terrible time for someone to come in, you're both still clad in your costumes with technology someone from this decade couldn't even fathom stacked in the corner.

You stare at the door with Miguel, waiting for a knock, a call, anything. But nothing comes.

Then something slips under the door.

It's small and square.

Miguel quickly webs at it, bringing it into his hand.

It's an envelope.

“Lyla, scan this for trackers or anything that might compromise us,” he quietly mutters to his watch.

Lyla herself doesn't appear, only her orange light that scans over the envelope. Even she knows danger when she senses it.

After a few seconds, a green checkmark appears over the envelope, showing Lyla’s approval, and Miguel relaxes, lifting himself off the wall and you. You feel a chill without his body against yours.

“They’re gone,” he breathes a sigh of relief and hands you the envelope. “Says it’s for you.”

You take it from him and turn it over. In an elegant script, it reads To Mrs. Selina Stark.

You curse.

Somebody knows you’re here.

Miguel watches from over your shoulder as you tear it open, not caring about neatness. You unfold the letter on the inside and read it.

Dear Mrs. Selina Stark,

It has been brought to my attention that you and your husband are currently visiting New York to attend Oscorp’s annual ball, celebrating its achievements over the years.
As a sign of goodwill and respect to your family, I humbly invite you to dine at one of my favorite restaurants in the city where I have booked you and your husband a reservation for tomorrow night.
I also invite you and your husband to attend the VIP section of the ball, where we will be demonstrating the new technologies we have been developing.
I hope to meet you in person soon.

Best wishes,
Norman Osborn

“Shit…” you hear Miguel say under his breath.

You turn to him.

“Do you think he’s going to show the watch?” you ask.

“It’s a possibility,” he replies, rubbing his chin. “We won’t know until we’re there.”

There’s a small card attached to the letter that lists the reservation made for you and Miguel.

“And now this dinner…” you mutter, reading over it. “We have to go, O’Hara. If we don’t, we could risk getting kicked out of this VIP thing, which could be our chance to strike.”

Miguel flits his eyes down to the card, then to you.

“You don’t know that.”

You raise your brow.

“Look, if there’s anything I know about rich people, it’s that they’re petty as hell,” you fold the letter and card back up. “We want to be on his good side as much as possible.”

He doesn’t respond, an unhappy frown on his face as he crosses his arms.

“It’s just one dinner.”

He still doesn’t say anything, the argument from before still hanging heavy in the air.

“Look, we’ll keep talking about this in the morning, ok?” you wait for a second, hoping he'll say something, make a snarky remark, anything to break the wall between you. But he doesn't. You sigh. “...I’m going to bed.”

You spin around and walk towards the bedroom, gently closing the door behind you.

Miguel just stands still as he watches you go. His feet once again feel like they're stuck to the ground. After a minute, he manages to pry them off and drag them on the floor, taking himself to the bathroom.

Miguel glares at his reflection in the mirror as he steps in.

You messed up, he thinks to his reflected self. Again.

Lyla appears with a grin, halting his brooding.

“So you guys going on a date now?” she teases.

“Lyla,” he groans, running a hand through his hair.

“Just be ready for tomorrow, Miguel. You never know what could happen.”

She blips away with a giggle.

Miguel grumbles, his suit sliding off his body, and turns the shower on.

Miguel stares up at the chandelier as he lies on the couch, waiting for sleep to claim him.

He still hates chandeliers. They’re too giant and sparkly and inconvenient.

His thoughts wander back to you. You’re still mad at him, he’s smart enough to know that. Maybe he can make it up to you with one of those giant bagels. Or bubble tea. Whatever that was. He’s still confused by the concept.

He feels his eyelids go heavy, exhaustion catching up to him.

He should probably get you a bagel. With a fried egg again.

And cheese.

His eyes shut.

It’s dark.

It’s so, so dark.

Miguel knows where he is.

He’s back here again.

No!

Chapter Text

You wake to the sound of a scream.

It’s sudden, cutting into the dream you were having and shaking you awake.

With a panicked breath, you quickly reach over for your mask on your nightstand, putting it on to see in the dark. Your eyes scan the room and find nothing. You take your mask off and sigh.

It’s probably just your imagination.

You place it back on your nightstand and pull the covers back over your body, ready to go back to sleep.

Then you hear it again.

It’s louder this time, almost pained.

It almost sounds like-

Miguel.

You hurriedly sit up in bed you grab your claws concealed in your bracelets, throwing the covers off of you and silently slink to the bedroom door. As you crack the door open, you unsheathe your claws, ready to take on any perpetrator who might have entered. But as you look around, you once again find nothing except-

Except for Miguel on the couch.

You take one last glance around the room, then back to your bedroom. With a sharp inhale, you slowly begin to approach him in quiet steps. As you get closer, you see the blanket thrown on the ground and couch cushions that have been torn into. And then you see Miguel. His whole body is shivering, his sharp talons going in and out of his fingertips, quietly muttering something you can’t quite hear. He’s gradually shredding the pillow in his arms into ribbons, seemingly unaware of the damage he’s causing.

You return your claws to his bracelet and move to his side, examining him. His face is scrunched in discomfort, mouth slightly parted with his fangs poking out. His chest heaves heavily, and his body is slick with sweat.

His bare back is facing you, littered with freckles and scars that connect like constellations. You put your hand on it and gently try to shake him awake.

“O'Hara,” you whisper-shout, not wanting to wake him up too aggressively.

No response. His talons come out again, creating another shred in the pillow. He lets out a strained groan, curling further into the couch.

“O’Hara,” you try again, shaking him harder.

Still nothing. He’s locked in deep sleep. You almost want to give up, you mean, you're still angry from the fight you had and he's a grown man who can handle one nightmare, and you don't even know what time it is and why you're losing sleep over-

You freeze with wide eyes when you realize what he's been muttering this entire time.

Your name.

He keeps repeating it, over and over, voice desperate and calling to you.

He says it with a helplessness that you can't seem to turn away from. It tugs at that part of your heart that can't let him go, drawing you closer to him, no matter how hard you try to press it down.

You take one last scan around the suite, hoping, praying that you're able to find an excuse to leave him alone and return to your own bed with peace of mind. But you don't.

You sink down to your knees next to the couch, next to Miguel. You close your eyes, preparing yourself for what you're about to do. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, before opening your eyes and placing your hand on his back once more.

“Miguel.”

The name feels foreign on your tongue, like it belongs to a stranger. But at the same time, it feels right at home, with a familiarity you wish you could forget.

“Miguel,” you call again softly, shaking his back. “Wake up, Miguel.”

His back stills its shivering. There's a slow shift in his body, before he's quickly rolled on his side to you.

His red eyes are watery and puffy and his brow is deeply knitted. His lips are trembling, and only now do you see the puncture marks on his bottom lip, bitten in his sleep. His hair is a complete mess, bangs sweeping over his forehead in a way that makes him look softer, younger. He breathes in shutters, chest rising and falling unnaturally. He's still holding the pillow and his talons are still out, unsheathed in defense for what might have woken him up.

Here, you don't see a man with extraordinary abilities and the intellect of the very best. You don't see a man who can travel to any world he wants as he pleases, who leads a society of others as amazing as him. You see a boy, scared and vulnerable, still afraid of what his dreams might do to him. You see Miguel, the one you once called yours. Your Miguel.

You reach out and hold his hand in yours, despite his talons, rubbing his knuckles soothingly.

“Hi,” you quietly tell him, lips forming a tender smile. God, what are you doing?

His talons return to his fingertips. He holds your hand tight in his. You feel him turning your ring with his finger.

“Did you have another nightmare?” you ask, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.

His response is a slight nod.

You hum.

“Was it about Tyler?”

Miguel doesn't say anything, instead squeezing your hand. He doesn't want to repeat what he saw. He can still see it. You dissolving into nothing. The mixture of laughter and screams you let out as you did. He almost believes that saying it aloud will make it come true, willing you to a perishment of his own design.

You try to read his face, but his eyes are downcast.

“It's ok,” you say. “You don't have to tell me.”

You move to sit on the couch next to the top of his head. With delicate hands, you raise his head and lay it in your lap, beginning to run your fingers gently through his hair. You hear his breath halt, and then relax as you do.

“You're ok, Miguel,” you soothe, combing the knots out of his brown curls. “You're safe. I got you.”

His face is turned away from you. You hear him sniff and feel a dampness where his head lays. You act like you don't notice it.

His large hands hold your left one, still fiddling with your ring.

He feels so warm and strong against you, yet there's an air of fragility about him that makes you want to stroke his hair in light and placid touches. You're afraid of shattering him beneath you, leaving him as nothing more than broken bits you have to put back together.

You spend a few more minutes like that, combing through Miguel's hair as he lays on your lap, occasionally murmuring reassurances to him. You wait for his breathing to slow, for his tears to dry, for his hand to drop yours. When he does, you slowly slide yourself out from under him, placing his hands back around the remains of the pillow he had been grasping at. You observe his face, making sure his eyes are fully closed. They are.

Raising yourself to your feet, take one last look at Miguel's cozy form, and walk back to your bedroom.

But as you place your hand on top of the doorknob, you feel a tug on your nightshirt.

You hear your name called.

You turn your head.

It's Miguel, his blanket wrapped around his shoulders and head like a shield, body dropped glumly. Like this, he really does look like a little boy, if it wasn't for his height. He looks at you with those big maroon eyes that make your heart ache.

“Don't go.”

The statement is short, a simple request only consisting of two words. But it's enough for you to lift the blanket off his head and wrap your arms around him.

“Miguel,” you say into his shoulder.

You feel him stiffen.

“I’m here with you. And I’m not going anywhere, ok?”

Miguel cracks.

His body melts into yours, curling himself so his head rests in the crook of your neck. He hugs you back like you're his personal teddy bear, so tightly that you feel your breath pushed out of you.

You feel hot tears stain your shirt collar. You don't care. You don't say anything; you don't need to. You just keep holding him, running your fingers along his muscular back, tracing every crevice and valley you find as he holds you tight to his chest.

When he's loosened his grip on you, you pull back and take his hand in yours, guiding him into the bedroom with you.

“Come on, big boy,” you tell him, leading him to sit on the bed. You know you're going to regret this. But you still do it anyway.

Once you've got him slumped on one side of the mattress, you hop on the other side and lay down. Almost immediately, Miguel is lacing his arms around your waist, tucking his head beneath your chin. You hold his head, brushing his locks with the tips of your fingers. He feels so natural in your arms, like a perfect puzzle piece to fit your body, filling every dip and curve of you with his own.

“I know something’s going on,” you murmur, the curls of his hair tickling your chin. “You can tell me, you know.”

Even when you were with Miguel, you knew he couldn't outrun his personal demons. But none of that mattered to you. You wanted his complications and flaws, all of it, all of him. You would always be there to comfort him after a bad dream, reassure him when his past came to haunt him. And somehow, you've slipped back into it, Miguel wrapped in your embrace like he never left.

He peers up at you through glassy eyes as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“I don't want to lose you too,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Shock. And to think he was just calling you his partner the other day. It's not exactly the explanation you were hoping for, but it's good enough for you for now. You lean back so you can completely see his face.

“You know I can handle myself. Remember that time with those Alchemax guards?”

Miguel feels his lips lift into a slight smile. How could he forget?

“Yeah. You knocked 'em all out before I even got there.”

You grin.

“I did, didn't I?”

He chuckles.

“You did.”

You're both staring into each other's eyes, wearing identical smiles. But something seems to appear within Miguel's thoughts. His lips drop and he retreats back under your chin. He buries himself further into your arms, clinging to you like you’ll slip from his grasp. He wants to memorize every part of you, engrain it in his memory so he’ll never forget. The lingering smell of your perfume, the feeling of your skin against his. He’ll carve it all into his mind, a sacred oath to himself.

You sigh.

“But if there's ever a time where I can't do any of that…” You break the hush that has fallen on you and Miguel. “It’s like you said before. That you always save me.”

You feel him tighten his grip on your waist. You begin to twirl his hair in your fingers again.

“So…if I'm in trouble, you come and save me. Deal?”

You hear him let out a soft breath as his eyes flutter shut.

“...deal.”

Miguel still has his hands firmly wrapped around you, showing no signs of letting go. And for some reason, you’re the same, still holding him close to you, not wanting to loosen up. How did it get like this? You’re in bed with your ex, letting him cuddle up with you with a normality that almost tricks you into thinking nothing has changed between the two of you. It feels like you're caught up in a memory with him. Re-experiencing days past with him in your arms. You let your eyes close.

You remember the first time you slept with Miguel, like really slept with him beyond passionate kisses and fleeting touches. It was back in the days of just Spider-Man and Black Cat, nothing more and nothing less.

You had just peeled yourself off of him, rolling to the other side of the bed, still panting and flushed from excitement.

“That was fun,” you tell Miguel with a wide grin. He just looks back at you blankly, his mask concealing the top of his face and any expression he might be making (as per the rules he set up when the two of you first started your arrangement, the mask stays on!).

You reach out to him and run your fingers along his neck and collarbones, which are beautifully covered in blooms of purple and stains from your lips. When you prod at a particular bruise on the crook on his neck, he jumps back in surprise. You giggle and sit yourself up. But before you can jump off the bed, Miguel stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Wait.”

You peek back over at him.

“What, you still want more?” you ask cheekily as you shift yourself to lay on top of his bare chest.

He shakes his head.

“No, not that…” you can sense the hesitation in his voice as his eyes (mask eyes?) keep flicking back and forth from you. “I have something to tell you.”

You rest your head in your hands as you swing your feet in the air.

“Ok.”

He glances off to the side, lips pursed as he takes a sharp breath before he looks back at you.

“Look, I really like you.”

“I really like you too, Spider.”

“And if we're going to keep doing this, I want things to be fair between us.”

“Ok.”

He takes in a heavy inhale, placing his hands on the edge of his mask.

“I already know who you are…but it's about time you know who I am,” he tells you as his fingers creep under the blue fabric. “Here's the thing, I’m…”

He slides the mask off his face, revealing ruby red tinted eyes, brown hair that frames his face in just the right way, and sharp cheekbones that look like they could make you bleed. He’s gorgeous. You think you could stare at him for hours.

“...I'm Miguel O’Hara,” he finishes, choking out the words like they leave a bitter taste in his mouth.

You just look at him with a sweet smile, still kicking your feet in the air.

“Ok.”

A beat.

He blinks, once, twice, not sure what to make of your reaction. You just keep smiling, as if there's some funny joke he's not aware of.

“Shouldn't you be more impressed?” he asks, throwing his hands up. “Like, ‘Oh wow, my boyfriend was actually my coworker the whole time and is also extremely good looking?’”

You snort, cocking your head.

“Boyfriend?”

Miguel’s face warms and he darts his eyes away from you.

“I-I mean, we're not really- unless you want to-”

You shush him with a kiss on his lips. It's chaste and tender, and you cup his face in your hands.

“I already knew,” you say as you pull away, brushing his cheekbones with your thumbs.

He looks up at you, confused and face still warm.

“You did?”

You nod.

“Mhmm. Why do you think I started leaving you coffee? I know you’re out late, Spider,” you quickly poke at his neck with a smirk. “And why else would my extremely good looking coworker suddenly start having hickeys where I left them on Spider-Man?”

He groans in embarrassment, trying to cover his head with a pillow. You swiftly rip it from his hands and throw it to the ground with a laugh, trying to pry his hands off his face.

Once you have, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead against his.

“I wanted to wait until you were ready to tell me,” your voice is gentler, less teasing.

Miguel slowly bobs his head as he looks into your eyes, observing the way they catch the moonlight and sparkle like jewels.

“You're very pretty,” he murmurs, his nose brushing yours.

“You're also very pretty…Miggy.”

He scrunches his nose, tongue sticking out ever so slightly.

“That’s what my brother calls me,” his displeasure is clear. It just makes you grin more.

“Hmm, but you're my boyfriend, right?” you muse casually.

He pauses, something brewing in red eyes as his gaze softens and fills with candor.

“...only if you want me to be.”

His voice is low and he places his hand on the back of your neck, teasingly drawing you closer. You bite your lip in anticipation as he does.

“I do.”

Anyone else would’ve missed the way his face subtly lights up, but you don’t. You know him too well now.

“Then can your boyfriend ask you to spend the night for once?”

“He can,” you breathe.

At your words, he closes the distance between the two of you, his lips colliding with yours. You sigh into the kiss, holding his face in your hands and shutting your eyes. Miguel hums in pleasure.

There’s a freedom that comes with telling you the truth, letting himself bare all of his secrets to you, even if you already knew some of them. He can fully indulge himself in you now, no more hiding behind closed doors or setting up private times to meet. He no longer has to break himself in half around you. He can be whole. He wants to stay like this with you forever. He hopes he can.

“I think I’m in love with you, Miguel,” he catches you whisper between kisses.

He smiles before pressing his lips against yours again.

“I think I’m in love with you too.”

You know Miguel is still awake, despite how he tries to hide it. His arms haven’t ceased their tightness around you and his chest rises and falls in a controlled pace.

“...I’m still mad at you, Miguel,” you say aloud into the darkness of the room.

You wait for him to respond.

“...I know,” his voice pipes up.

There it is.

“I want you to be nicer to them.”

“I know.”

“You can’t just order them around all the time.”

“I know.”

You groan. He’s still being a brick wall.

“Look, Miguel,” you huff, pushing him off of you so he can’t hide in your neck. “You’re a good leader. I know you are. But sometimes things don’t go the way you want.”

Miguel doesn’t speak, just staring up at you.

“I mean, that's the thing about life, right?” you continue. “Sometimes, you can want something to work out so badly, but it just doesn’t, no matter how hard you try.”

You pause.

Miguel has a feeling you aren’t just talking about the spider-teens.

“...but maybe it’ll work itself out in the end and you get what you wanted.”

Before he can say anything, you’re already bringing him back close to you, shutting your eyes.

“Let the kids figure things out. They know what they’re doing,” a yawn pushes its way past your lips. “...now let’s get some rest, yeah? It’s been a rough night. For both of us.”

Us.

Miguel finally feels comfortable enough to let himself sleep again.

Tonight, Miguel doesn’t dream of macabre visions coming to jeer and taunt him.

He dreams of light, filling his vision with brightness.

He dreams of warmth, caressing the tops of his cheeks.

He dreams of you, cradling him close to your body as you embrace him with the tenderness and care he longs for.

You and him.

Together again.

In each other’s arms.

Us.

Chapter Text

Something won't stop beeping at you. It's shrill and obnoxious, and you're almost certain that your alarm doesn't normally sound like that.

Refusing to open your eyes and let them get burned by the morning light, you sightlessly pat down the space around you, trying to find the source of the noise.

Only you don't feel the soft silky sheets of the bed or the cool smooth surface of the nightstand. Instead you feel something…firm. Warm. That rises up and down.

What the-?

You open one of your eyes, still too stubborn to let the light blind you.

And you’re greeted by tan skin and rippling muscles.

What the hell.

You snap your other eye open and lift your head up. You then realize you’re laying on top of Miguel’s bare chest, and what you had been patting at before was his pecs.

What the hell?!

You want to bash your head against a wall. You try to push yourself off of him, but something stops you. Taking a look behind you, you see Miguel’s arms, still wrapped around you from last night in a vice grip.

He’s still asleep and snoring lightly, and you see his fangs poking in and out of his upper teeth. You might’ve thought it was funny if you weren’t trapped on top of his stupid six pack right now. As you watch at his sleeping form, regret begins to pool in your stomach. You knew it would. Why did you even do that last night? you ask yourself. You try to convince yourself that you must’ve been delirious, from a lack of sleep or something else. It doesn’t help the heat on your face.

You keep glaring at Miguel as he sleeps, like if that would do anything. Like your anger would subconciously will him to let you go. And that beeping is still blaring into your ears, somehow not waking him despite his superhuman senses. You look around, finding your actual nightstand. Your watch is lighting up in angry orange lights, flashing notification after notification. Stretching your arm out, you manage to grab it, even with Miguel holding onto you.

Sitting up as much as you can on his chest, you slide the device onto your wrist and start scrolling through your alerts.

“Do you even know what time it is?” a familiar chipper voice perks up. You don’t even have to look up to know it’s Lyla.

You press your lips into a thin line as you swipe past multiple missed calls from Hobie and Gwen.

“No, I don’t Lyla. I had a very weird night last night, alright?”

“Wow, ok Miss Grouchy,” she says, putting her hands up in defense. “It’s half past noon. You’re behind, on like, everything. And also- wait.”

You stop scrolling and peek up at her. She has her hands over her mouth and look of surprise on her face. You squeeze your eyes shut and prepare for the barrage of questions you’re about to get.

“Omigod. You and Miguel…?”

You wildly shake your head, telling her no, but it’s no use.

“Omigod, omigod,” she’s fanning herself with her hands and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “My plan totally worked. The honeymoon suite comes to the rescue, all thanks to the best AI assistant in the world- hey, wait! Ugh, you’re just like Migu-”

With a wave of your hand, you make her dematerialize.

You try to collect yourself, calm your burning face. You attempt to free yourself from Miguel again, but he still won't let loose. Great. Then your watch lights up again, showing you that Gwen is attempting to call you again. You answer it, not wanting to worry her any further, and shield Miguel’s sleeping body out of frame with your hand.

“Hey!” Gwen greets, a small hologram of her appearing over your watch. “Me and Hobie have been trying to call you all morning. Is everything ok?”

“Everything is fine!” you blurt a little too quickly. Your voice is a little scratchy, still permeated by sleep.

Hobie butts his way into the call, blocking Gwen out of sight.

“It don’t sound fine,” he says, before Gwen shoves him out of the way.

“Can we meet? We have an update, but it’s kind of a lot,” she asks as she uses one hand to keep Hobie from jumping in front of her again. “I sent you the address of the place we can talk at. If you could meet there in an hour or so, that would be good.”

You nod and try to rub your tiredness out of your eyes.

“Yeah, I can do that-”

“Is that Miggy?”

Hobie has pushed his way back into view, looking off to the side of you with a mischievous smirk.

You frantically raise your hand back up to cover up Miguel.

“No.”

It’s too late. He’s already seen him.

“Aww, it is Miggy, isn’t it?” his smirk gets wider at your flustered expression.

Gwen just stares at you awkwardly with wide eyes.

The hologram the two teens are being projected in shakes as Hobie grabs Gwen’s wrist, pulling it close so it’s zoomed in on his face.

“Oi, Miggy! Rise and shine, would ya?!” the boy yells into the watch, peaking its mic.

Oh no.

You are not about to get dunked on by a teenager.

Just as Hobie is about to shout more, you quickly hit the mute button on the call. Hobie’s face drops, letting go of Gwen’s wrist. The hologram moves back to show her.

“I’ll meet you guys in an hour, ok?” you say quietly, glancing over to make sure Miguel is still asleep. “See you soon.”

You hang up the call before they either of them to get another word in.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you let your head fall back onto Miguel’s chest.

You look up at him again, double checking if he’s still sleeping. He’s stirring, shifting his arms around you and turning his head. You notice his fangs poke out a bit again, but about to puncture his lower lip.

“Don’t do that,” you mutter to him as if he could hear you, reaching your hand up to brush along his bottom lip.

His fangs retract. He murmurs your name. You softly gasp and pull your hand away, heart skipping a beat. He seems to almost smile in his sleep, body relaxing and loosening his embrace around you. You allow yourself to breathe again. Finally. Now’s your chance to leave.

Carefully, you shimmy yourself down off of Miguel’s chest. You grab a pillow that’s been thrown aside and stuff it in his arms in your place. Once you’re off of him, you soundlessly grab your claws from the nightstand and your clothes for the day.

Before you leave the bedroom, you take one last look at Miguel. You think he looks so much at peace in his sleep, like a cat curled up underneath the sun. The corners of your mouth lift a bit.

“Sweet dreams, Spider,” you whisper to yourself before leaving.

You make sure to quietly shut the door behind you.

You don’t want to wake him.

The spot Hobie and Gwen picked ends up being a little diner on a corner, the kind that serves sugary milkshakes and hot breakfast all day with neon signage. The yellow tinged light of the diner beams down on your booth as you watch Hobie slurp up another strawberry milkshake. There’s about three empty glasses on your table now, with Hobie currently working on the fourth. Gwen elbows him as his slurping gets obnoxiously loud. You sigh and poke at your fried egg and cheddar cheese bagel.

“So what did you need me for?” you ask mid-yawn.

“The badge,” is all Hobie says before sliding his empty glass with the others. He waves the waitress over, who seems overwhelmed by the amount of glasses on your table. “Could I get another one of these?”

She quickly nods, writing something down on her notepad before scurrying away.

“These things are nothing like what we got in Old York,” he tells you and Gwen as he knaws on a cherry stem. “Don’t use ice cream in ours.”

You blink.

“Wait. Don’t change the subject,” you implore. “What about the badge?”

Gwen bites her lip nervously, looking back and forth between the two of you.

“You tell her, Hobie,” she hisses to him, elbowing him again.

Hobie tosses the stem into one of the glasses and leans back in the booth, lolling his head off to the side.

“I got the badge back onto the muppet,” he answers with a bit of a grumble.

You raise your brow.

“But?”

“...but I couldn’t figure out who he was. Ran off as soon as I got it back on him, so I couldn’t get a peek at his ID.”

Gwen speaks up before you can slam your head down on the table.

“But! But Hobie was able to get one of your spider-bots onto him. So we can still track him, right?”

She’s wearing an anxious grin. You look back and forth between them.

“...kind of,” you reply, lips pursed. “I can listen in with the bot, but I’ll need to get into a closer range.”

Gwen breathes a sigh of relief, slumping down into her seat. Hobie points to your untouched bagel.

“You gonna eat that?”

You look down at it. You don’t know if you’re hungry.

“I…I think I’m just going to take it to go. Maybe Miguel will eat it or something.”

Both teens perk up.

“...Miguel?” Questions Gwen.

You nod, still too tired to be aware of their reactions.

“Yeah. He thought it was good when we split it yesterday, so…maybe he’ll want it again,” you rest your head in your hands. “I just hope he isn’t mad at me for leaving him. Y’know, his partner system.”

Gwen and Hobie glance at each other with a knowing look before staring back at you.

“Yeah, yeah! Partner system,” Gwen hurriedly says with a wave of her hand. “I’m sure it’ll be fine since you’re with us.”

You nod.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Hobie is peering down at his lap, fiddling with his watch.

Hobie

oi. im raising my bet to 300 now

Miles

wtf hobie

Pavitr

WAIT DID I MISS SOMETHING???

Miguel’s eyes open. Last night was the best sleep he's gotten in a while, and he can't help the slight smile that forms on his lips. He eagerly looks down, expecting to find you resting on top of him, but instead finds himself snuggling up to a pillow.

You’re gone.

His smile drops.

Miguel rapidly sits up, heart beginning to pound.

But before he can panic, the watch on his wrist lights up.

“Don’t worry, boss-man. She’s with Gwen and Hobie for a debriefing,” Lyla chirps, appearing in front of him. “She probably won’t be back for a while. She’s going out with team two later.”

His shoulders drop, ceasing their tautness. At least you’re with the others. He silently runs his fingers along his bottom lip, where he swore you had graced him with your touch.

Lyla watches him do so with a grin.

“Remember Miguel, tonight’s the night!” she reminds him, little pixelated fireworks erupting next to her as a party hat materializes on her head.

He scrunches his nose, like a feline drinking sour milk.

“What?” Miguel’s voice scratches out, still rough from slumber.

The party decorations disappear. Rolling over dramatically, Lyla groans.

“Date night, Miguel! Remember? You and kitty have dinner at seven PM sharp tonight!”

She says his nickname for you with a giggle.

Miguel pinches his temple. Right. Dinner. It had nearly slipped his mind.

He wonders what kind of restaurant it’ll be. Maybe the fancy kind where they only serve caviar with mother of pearl spoons and are too snobby to have a blender at the bar. Or the kind where they have wine that’s been aged for as long as the spider-children have been alive. Or the kind where people dress up in their Sunday best, only wearing the finest clothing they own.

Hm.

Clothing.

“Lyla, did I bring any suits with me?”

The hologram assistant tilts her head.

“...no, boss. You told me they would be impractical to pack.”

Miguel frowns.

“...are you sure?”

“Yes, Miguel. You told me to only pack you your usual, which is just leather jackets and jeans. Not a very diverse wardrobe, if you ask me.”

Miguel rubs his face before sitting up in bed

“Well, then find me a place where I can get one,” He cracks his back with a low grunt. “Preferably tailored in an hour or less after purchase.”

With a mischievous and giddy expression, Lyla pulls a few screens up in front of her, searching for the nearest men’s outfitters.

“Right away, Miguel.”

As Lyla disappears, Miguel stares at the empty space next to him. He can still see the outline of where your body had been. He lets himself trace the silhouette you left, imagining that you're still here with him.

Miguel thinks he feels a little colder without you next to him.

You’re currently sitting on the roof of some skyscraper, the high vantage point allowing you to see all of Oscorp’s obsidian black headquarters. It’s later in the afternoon now, your egg and cheese bagel now long forgotten after having been devoured by Hobie. He finished it after having another two milkshakes. You and Gwen profusely apologized to the waitress, and you made sure to leave her a bountiful tip. It’s not like it mattered. With Lyla, you basically had infinite funds.

After you paid the bill, you said goodbye to Hobie and Gwen, leaving to meet up with team two, Pavitr and Miles. You made sure to keep checking your watch, keeping track of calls from Miguel. But they never come. It made your stomach churn, but you would reassure yourself that he was fine, he’s a spider-person for shock’s sake. You were going to see him for dinner tonight anyway. He’s probably fine.

“So…” Pavitr’s peppy voice chimes.

He’s leaning over your shoulder as you have a hand to your ear, trying to listen in on the spider-bot.

“...how are things?”

You quickly flick your eyes to him.

“Fine,” you turn to look over your other shoulder. “And Miles. You don’t have to stay invisible.”

“Aww.”

The boy appears out of thin air like a chameleon.

You go quiet again, focusing on tracking down Hobie’s spider-bot.

Pavitr lets out an artificial cough. Miles tugs on the edges of his suit. A breeze blows past, seemingly trying to break the tension in the air. It doesn't work.

“So…” Pavitr tries again. “How’s Miguel?”

Your concentration breaks, thoughts beginning to pile up.

How is Miguel? You keep telling yourself that he’s fine, but you're also kicking yourself for leaving him. How could you leave him when the night before he was huddling into you like a hurt puppy? You hope he doesn't think you're in danger, you don't want him to worry for you like that. But…then why are you worried for him?

“Auntie?”

You’re dragged out of your thoughts by Pavitr. You turn to face him, parting your lips and trying to find your words.

“He's…he's fine,” you say, voice cracking much to your dismay.

Pavitr and Miles share the same look Gwen and Hobie did earlier that day. Neither say anything more to you, letting you go back to tracking the bot.

A cool breeze blows past you, making you shiver. You wish you hadn't left Miguel in such a hurry.

The walls are covered floor to ceiling with shelves stocked with all the fine suits one could imagine- tweed, velvet, wool, silk, and even some tacky prints. The smell of teak wood wafts through the small store, filling Miguel’s senses with musk and amber.

“What can I help you with, sir?” a polite employee shuffles up to him, armed with measuring tape draped on his shoulders.

“Ah, just looking,” Miguel murmurs, eyes trained on the suits as he examines their tailoring.

The employee nods and scoots away to stand in the corner of the store.

As the tall man continues to peruse the rack of clothing, a glint of navy catches his eye.

At first glance, it looked like any other suit jacket. But its fabric had a slight floral pattern when it caught the light at the right angle. Miguel wants to laugh. It's a tad gauche, but what else would a “Stark” wear?

“Excuse me?” he calls to the employee. He quickly shuffled back over. “I’ll take this one. Could I get it fitted today?”

Smiling, the employee takes his tape measure off his shoulders, preparing to scale Miguel’s enormous figure.

“Of course, sir. I'll get started right away.”

Miguel wasn't kidding when he said Oscorp had tight security. It seemed that they had signal jammers installed everywhere, and even your 22nd century technology was having a hard time. You were only able to pick up on small fragments of conversations, like “right away’s” and “yes’s” and “no’s”. Never anything concrete. It was…taking a toll on you to say the least.

Even more so on Pavitr and Miles, who during your time tracking had had enough time to mess around with each other to the point they were napping in a pile next to you. Miles laid his head back against the brick wall of the rooftop, while Pavitr laid his head on the boy’s shoulder.

More sleepy spiders to deal with, you thought to yourself. But who were you fooling? you could feel sleep slowly creeping up on you too. And even worse, was… No, don't think about him! He’s your ex! E-X. It doesn't matter that he's the most attractive man you've ever been with, or that he was the most gentlemanly man you've been with or that he was the biggest-

“See ya, P!”

An unfamiliar voice chimes in your earpiece.

You jolt up from shock, face hot with embarrassment. You got distracted again. Miguel can't keep getting away with this.

“See you, Hal.”

Another voice chimes. It seems to be two young men. You exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

“Wait! You still coming to that party tomorrow?”

“Aw, you know I can't leave my uncle hanging like that.”

“C’mon, P! You've been working hard the entire year, and the gala’s finally coming up! This’ll be our chance to let loose before the big boss squashes up again.”

“...fine. I’ll come. But I’m not dragging you home while you're hurling your guts out again!”

A party? You narrow your eyes. It must be for the workers.

“I'll try, but no promises. See you at the No Name Bar tomorrow at 8?”

You hear the second man chuckle.

“Yup, I'll be there. 'bye Hal.”

Holy. Shit.

You quickly raise your watch.

“Lyla, mark me a new event. The No Name Bar, tomorrow at 8.”

The holographic assistant gleams to life.

“Wow, already planning that second dinner with Miggy?” she teases. “Pretty soon I’ll be hearing wedding be-”

“Just do it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Miguel strolls down the street, a thick, neatly packaged bag in hand. After a few hours of struggling, the tailor finally managed to force the suit to fit him…somewhat. It was a little tight, sure. But it would do for today.

As he continues walking, he spots a young couple, no older than college-age. They're holding hands, one of them whispering into the other’s ear and giggling together. They look at each other with sparkles in their eyes.

Miguel feels his heart sink a little.

As the approach closer to him, one of them pulls something out from behind their back- a single rose. The other smiles and gasps, taking the rose in hand and planting a kiss on their partner's cheek.

Miguel stops his pace.

And as soon as the couple appeared, they're gone, walking past Miguel and whispering sweet nothings to each other.

“Lyla,” Miguel whispers under his breath.

He hears a beep at his watch. Lyla herself doesn't appear. She’s too smart to appear in this archaic time.

“Send me to the nearest florist.”

You're still listening to this “P” guy, as he makes his way back home to this supposed uncle of his. He seems nice enough, if not a bit too nice. You hear him greet every person he knows on the street, to the point where it becomes a symphony of “Hello, Mrs. ___! Hi, Mr. ___ how are you doing?”

You're sick of it. How much of a chump is this guy?

Miles and Pavitr continue to nap next to you, blissfully unaware of the bland dialogue you were witness to. But you need to keep paying attention. You need to figure out everything you can about this man.

Finally, finally you hear the bump and
click of a door. A shuffle of leather. A sweet call of, “I’m home!”

Yeesh. You want to gag. It felt like you were in one of those old shows your grandparents watched.

But then you hear a static buzz in your ear. Then nothing.

“Shock!” you curse, tapping your earpiece. The solar battery in the spider-bot must've died. “Shock, shock, shock!”

“Buh?”

Your swearing awoke the two boys next to you. They rub their eyes in confusion.

“Lyla!” You try to yell as quietly as possible at your watch. “Check the charge on the bot!”

“Jeez! It’s Lyla this, Lyla that, all day long! Can’t an AI catch a break?” she groans as she appears, pulling up a screen.

You bury your face in your free hand, exhausted from today.

“Just do it, please.”

Lyla coos in mock pity.

“It's dead. But you already knew that, didn't you?” she shows you an image of the bot’s diagnostics, with a frowny face plastered over its battery icon.

You're about to lose it. How could this day get any worse?

“And by the way…” Lyla starts. You groan dejectedly in response. “Don't you and Miguel have dinner in like, 30 minutes?”

Your head shoots up.

“What?”

“Yeah, that dinner that Osborne gave you guys. It's starting soon. Shouldn't you be, y’know, glammed up?”

You stammer, wildly jerking your hands in the air for an answer.

“I suggest you get on that, girlfriend.”

“I-”

“I wouldn't keep Miggy waiting. Especially after last night-”

You slam your watch off and run to the edge of the rooftop before Lyla can finish, jumping off with less poise than usual and rushing back to the hotel room.

"Did we just get ditched?" Miles asks aloud as he and Pavitr watch you disappear over the horizon.

"I guess so," the other boy chimes, trying to sound perky despite his tiredness. "but in the name of love!"

Miles snorts as he turns to Pavitr.

"Yeah, in the name of love."

“No, no…that doesn't look right.”

Miguel rubs his chin, studying the flower arrangement in front of him.

“Could we maybe add more foliage, I really think the greens would balance this out…”

The poor florist just stares at him, clearly having had enough.

“Or we could add more baby’s breath, she likes those…”

The florist opens her mouth, trying to speak.

“Oh! Or maybe some of those bigger flowers back there? I don't know their name but I think she'd like them…or maybe-”

“Look, buddy,” the florist interrupts, putting a hand up. Miguel blinks. “We’ve been working on this bouquet for like, what? Two and a half hours? Don't you think your girlfriend will-”

“My wife.”

“-your wife will like these? You're already doing better than most guys, getting a custom arrangement like this.”

Miguel feels his face warm and stares down at the ground.

“I- I just want it to be perfect.”

The florist’s gaze softens.

“I'm sure she’ll love it,” she reassures. “She married you for a reason, right?”

He tightens his fists.

“It's- complicated.”

The florist sighs, tossing a lock of ruby red hair over her shoulder.

“Ok, I don't know your situation, but I do know one thing. You're working super hard for this woman, and showing her that you care. Isn't that enough?”

Miguel wants to protest. No, it isn't enough. Perfect will never be enough for you. He wants to show you how much he cares. He cares so much, you don't even know, he’d rip his heart out and give it to you, rip it straight from his chest and bleed out, all to show his devotion to you.

But he can't tell that to some random flower shop owner.

As he parts his lips to respond a beep sounds from his watch. Miguel quickly raises it, its little screen showing angry Lyla faces, all pointing towards a set of words.

dinner with kitty 2nite!!! dress nice ya dum dum

Miguel nearly chokes.

“I have to go!” he blurts.

The florist chuckles.

“Late for that date after all, huh?”

Miguel grumbles at her sass, scooping up the flowers into his arms.

“I’m really sorry, I can't pay for these right now. It's an emergency and-”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s whatever. You gotta impress the missus, right?”

He nods rapidly, eager to leave the little shop. The florist smiles, getting amusement out of his antsy demeanor. When she's satisfied with his jitteriness, she crossed her arms with a crooked grin.

“Well…then go get ‘em, tiger.”

Miguel’s eyes widen at the familiar words.

“What...what was your name again?”

“MJ,” the florist grins. “It’s MJ.”

His shoulders relax and he lets out a chuckle. MJ tilts her head, confused. The multiverse has a way with things, doesn't it?

“Thanks, MJ.”

And with that, Miguel readjusts the bouquet in his arms, dashing out of the shop at a superhuman pace, leaving nothing but a single red petal behind.

You're cursing all the way out of the hotel door, stumbling across the New York sidewalk as you readjust your heels. You barely had enough time to do your makeup, a dark lip messily out on as you rushed out the door. Your hair is pinned loosely up into what could be considered an updo, and you're still messing with it as you try to walk as fast as you can.

People in the street stare at you, confused at your choice of attire. Among the crowds of casual clothes stood you, clad in a mid length backless blue dress. You went for simple silver earrings and a dainty necklace, your trusty claw-concealing bracelets on your wrists as always.

This day had been the worst. First, you wake up on top of Miguel, then the entire spider-bot situation, then Lyla’s teasing, then the bot dying, and now this.

Walking on uneven pavement in five inch stilettos is not ideal, even if you're a trained acrobat.

You cross a street, make a right, and walk straight, waiting to arrive at your destination.

You just want to go back to sleep. Go back to dreaming about something other than your current situation. This mission was beginning to weigh on you. You miss your home, you're aching for something familiar. Giselle’s meows, the smell of your bed. Anything.

You round a corner and your eyes light up. The signage reads the name of the restaurant you're looking for. Finally! You can finally rest easy. You can finally-

Your heavy panting stops as you spot someone- you didn't even realize you were breathing that hard.

At the other corner of the block stands Miguel, chest rising and falling as hard as yours. He’s
clad in a navy suit made out of an expensive material, a bright bouquet of white and blue flowers in his arm.

When you lock eyes with him, his light up with joy.

He’s there.

He’s there for you.

He walks over to you so fast, it could almost be considered a trot. You follow suit, taking slow, nervous steps.

When you two of you finally meet in the middle, Miguel can't help the nervous smile that forms on his lips.

“These are for you,” he says as softly as a feather. He places the bouquet into your outreached arms.

“Thank you,” you take the flowers in your arms, smelling them. “They're beautiful.”

Miguel takes your free hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a firm kiss against it. He brings your hand back down, rubbing the spot he kissed with his thumbs.

You can't breathe until he's let your hand go.

You must be making some sort of flustered expression, because Miguel has a shit-eating smirk that you want to smack off his chiseled face.

“Shall we?” he extends his arm to you.

You clear your throat, and take a deep breath.

“Yes,” you reply, composed and calm. Now, you become Selina. “We shall.”

That wasn't Miguel, you tell yourself. That was Michael Stark. Miguel doesn't bring me flowers. Michael does. Miguel doesn’t love me. Michael does.

But as you stride into the restaurant, holding onto Miguel's arm, that one part of you, the one part that can't let him go, murmurs quietly.

It gets louder as a waiter holds a door open for the two of you, as Miguel smoothly tells your fake names to the maitre de, as Miguel pulls your chair out for you to sit.

He’s here, it cries with fluttering joy. He’s here for me.