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1.
He's acting like those old, annoying teachers who insists on staring at a student after asking a question, drilling into their eyes until they get the answer right. Accusatory. Insistent. Clearly disappointed.
And apparently all of your answers so far have been shit.
"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" If he says that a few more times, the repetitiveness might start sounding like a melody.
You smile, though, trying to look appeasing. "I'm fine, Parker."
"Yeah? I mean, you just– you're looking a little pale over there."
You can't help but sigh; you like Peter – shit, he's one of the few people you'd definitely have been friends with in any dimension, superhero shenanigans be damned – It's just that, well, he can be such a dad sometimes. It's handy when it comes to the younger spiders, but not when it comes to you, for god's sake!
Your smile widens. "Can't catch a lot of sunlight with this on, am I right?" You gesture to your mask, hoping the typical spider-humor will convince him of how definitely not-sick you are. Absolutely tickety-boo.
Peter doesn't seem impressed. "Right." His expression shifts into the same grin he always flashes whenever he has an idea. He beams. "You know what? I'm gonna go grab a snack and take a little break with Mayday. Wanna come with and maybe…I don’t know, chill a bit?"
You don't understand why he worries so much. Sure, you sneezed a couple of times today while the two of you were training, but those are just allergies! They're not enough to keep you from doing your job.
He thinks you haven't noticed how extra careful everyone has been with you since your uncle died.
Considering it was something most of the spider members had already gone through, all of them were eager to help and support you through it, but you really didn't want to talk about it with anyone. Honestly. Especially when everyone seems to be expecting you to break down at any moment, tissues and shoulders to cry on at the ready like that has been their mission from the very beginning.
You weren't nearly as enthusiastic, though.
It had been a few weeks since he died, and you still hadn't come back to your home universe, choosing to just crash in your friends' dimensions or sleeping at the HQ instead.
Your home wouldn't feel like home without him in it, anyway.
Besides, you were doing a good job here; it kept your mind occupied, and the fact that all of your efforts were directed into saving people was somewhat comforting. At least you could save them. Maybe the pain of losing him had been destined, a piece in the tapestry of all of the spiders' shared history, another link in your web. That gave his death purpose, made it holy, made it worth it.
Plus, at the moment, you really want to keep training for a little while more, so you decide to ignore Peter’s disastrous attempts at gentle-parenting you. "Nah, I'm cool. I'll catch up to you later, though."
"Are you sure? You're turning kind of…green."
You swallow back your lunch. "I'm fine." You repeat, a little out of breath while you bend over with your hands over your knees for support. Absolutely right as rain.
He opens his mouth to say something, but is fortunately interrupted when both your gizmos start beeping in alarm, calling for an emergency meeting. Thank god for the villain of the week.
"Come on, Parker!" You shoot a web and jump ahead before he can reply, praying to god you don't throw up in Miguel's office.
2.
The good news is you didn't throw up.
The bad news is that your mouth tastes like shit.
You can barely listen to what Miguel and the others are talking about, because you're trying your damn hardest to suppress a cough. It scratches your throat stubbornly until the whole area begins burning up from the inside; to make matters worse, a headache has been forming behind your eyes for the last hour. It's making you begin to feel a little dizzy.
Fortunately, you tune in the conversation just enough to understand what the gist of the mission is, as Miguel lays out his carefully crafted plan before you and a handful of other spider-people. He has dark eye bags under his eyes, and you know for a fact he hasn't slept for eight hours straight in months.
His hair looks particularly soft today though. You have to resist the urge to climb up the walls to run a finger through them. Would it be curly if he decided to let it grow? Are his eyes the same color of his blood if it dripped down to the floor? Are his fangs as sharp as his talons? Are–
– everyone is suddenly rushing towards an open portal, their movements for some reason blurry. When did that get there?
The recruits must have been given the command that it was time to go. You straighten up to move towards the same direction as the others, but Miguel raises a hand before your chest to stop you. "You stay."
You look at him in bewilderment as everyone crosses over the portal. It closes up before you, leaving the two of you alone in his office.
You're sure there is another word for the room other than 'office', but you can't seem to remember it. Maybe your mind is still a bit foggy. "What's up, boss?" The question comes out a little hurriedly. You want him to spill whatever he has to say now so that you can get going!
He shakes his head, seemingly reading into your intentions. "I'm not sending you to this mission. Go home and rest."
It takes you a moment to process what he's saying; the words still sound distant, like you're underwater.
You finally let out an incredulous laugh. "Boss, I'm fine! I don't know what Parker told you-"
"Peter didn't have to say anything, spider-woman. You fell asleep twice during the meeting."
"I was just resting my eyes!"
"You were drooling."
You touch the corner of your mouth. No wonder it felt dry.
"Well, I guess I didn't sleep that well last night. Doesn't mean I can't help."
"It means the others might have to take care of not only themselves, but of you, too. I'm not taking the risk."
You breathe in, frustrated; he's right, of course he is. But you don't like his righteous tone, and you definitely don't like being cast aside either.
You look down at your feet with a sigh. "I'm not sick, though." You utter, knowing you're just being stubborn now, but still not willing to admit you're wrong.
He stares down at you, but doesn't say anything. You wipe your runny nose with the back of your hand, and he sighs. "Lyla."
The AI materializes in front of you, and you have to remind yourself she's real (well, as real as artificial intelligence may be), even as your mind is certain she must be a mirage. "Yes, Miggy?"
"Please don't call me that."
"Sure thing, Mimi."
"Can you just– could you keep me updated on the mission reports for the next couple hours?"
Lyla looks over to you, and then to him. She seems to reach some sudden conclusion, because she claps her hands together with a sharp smile. "Sure thing, Iggy!" She disappears just as quickly as she had appeared.
Miguel turns back to you with a sigh. "Come on."
"Where are we going?" You skip behind him, curious.
"You need to rest."
That makes your eyes widen in fear. You jump up in front of him, walking backwards while he stares ahead, seemingly seeing right through you. "Woah, woah, come on, boss! There's no need for all of that! Look, I get that I shouldn't go on this mission, really, but surely you can find something else for me to do! I can help!" You cough again after doing your best to repress it. "Sorry. What I mean is– well, all hands on deck! Maybe I could help you monitor the situation, or maybe there's some minor mission-"
He calls out your name, stopping on his tracks and pinching the bridge of his nose. You stop too, a little surprised. You can't remember the last time he said your name. "Could you just listen to me, just this once?" He finally opens his eyes, softening a bit as he looks at you. "Please."
That's another surprise. When does Miguel O'hara ever say 'please', unless it's Lyla annoying him into it?
It reminds you that, maybe, he's also up that list of people you would've been friends with in any other universe. Superhero shenanigans be damned.
"Ok. Ok, I'll lay low and rest for a bit." You give in. He stares for a moment, briefly looking surprised before staring ahead again and resuming his walk. You try to keep up, but man, are his legs long. He must be at least a foot taller than you.
You trip on one of the HQ steps, unable to regain your balance as you tumble head-first directly into the ground. Miguel raises his arms instinctively, however, grabbing you mid fall. If he wasn't the most muscular person you've ever met, you'd be scared of bruising him with how hard you're grabbing his forearms for support.
"How long have you been feeling dizzy for?"
"Oh, um-" You pause, your mind suddenly scattered. "Since a little before the meeting, I guess. It's fine though, I can walk."
As if trying to prove it to him, you release his arms and march ahead. Your mind betrays you and starts spinning again though, making you stumble off to your side before Miguel holds you one more time, grip a little firmer this time.
He raises an eyebrow. "Can you admit that you're sick now?"
You groan in response. By this point, all the energy you had left has been completely drained from your body, and you happily dig your nails into his skin for support. "Yeah, ok. I'm tired."
He breathes out. "I know."
You use the proximity to rest your head on his shoulder, body slumping after an entire day of pushing it to its limit. You raise your hands too, wrapping them around his neck and burying your face on the tilt of his neck. Miguel stills.
You don't think about how inappropriate it might be that you're basically hugging your boss in the middle of the spider-people HQ, but only because you are too exhausted to care. "Do I need to go to the infirmary, though? That place is cold and smells like rotten eggs."
"You just made that up."
"Do I look like I'd lie to you?"
"Yes. You've done so several times."
"Only 'cause I know you won't believe me, so it doesn't count."
"That is not how lying works."
"Oh, 'cause you're so smart."
You can feel him chuckle beneath your grip. Then, the unthinkable - Miguel O'hara pulls you closer, squeezing you lightly and resting his chin atop of your head, as if being hugged by him was as natural as the night sky outside.
Have you ever hugged him before? You can't seem to remember. When was the last time you were hugged at all?
He touches your shoulder. "Do you think you're ready to go back home?"
You shake your head against his chest, burying yourself deeper in it; with your eyes squeezed shut, you could pretend that nothing else existed and nothing bad had happened to you yet. "I just…need a little more time."
He runs a finger through your hair, but stops midway through, pulling himself out of your grasp to press his palm against your forehead. You want to claw him nearer again, feeling like now that you've finally relaxed into someone's touch, you have been broken by it. You need something solid to keep you afloat. Plus, he's so warm, and everything else is so cold, and-
"Jesus, you're burning up."
All self-control is thrown out the window as you press yourself closer to him again. You feel very small, all of a sudden, and you're sure you're going to hate yourself for this when you start feeling normal again.
"Do I really need to go to the infirmary?" You ask again. It feels too vulnerable, to be there in front of everyone - you had been avoiding it like the plague. Miguel seems to think about it for a second, because he goes very still; when you look up, his expression is uncertain.
"You can stay over at my place." He says, adding quickly: "If that’s ok."
"Ok" You don't need to think over your options. Between crashing there or in your own universe - well, one does feel a lot easier. It's not much of a choice. "I can do that."
"Ok." He repeats. You try pulling yourself up and away from his grasp, only to falter again. Your legs feel shaky and weak.
"Come on" Miguel holds your knees with one arm and your back with the other, carrying you over to another direction altogether, though now you can barely pay attention to where you're going.
A rush of shame runs over you; you can't even walk on your own. You feel helpless and pathetic– your two least favorite emotions.
Plus, you're sure Miguel has better things to do than carry you around like this.
"Sorry."
"What for?"
"For…all of this." You shift closer to him, coughing a little. "I promise I'll be strong enough to do stuff again tomorrow."
"I don’t know, I think you're already plenty strong."
You smile weakly, suddenly feeling oh, so sleepy - you can't remember the last time you were this comfortable.
In the gentle rocking of his pace, you close your eyes and everything else disappears for good.
3.
You open your eyes less than half an hour later. Someone is saying something, but you, in your half-asleep state, can't quite place who it is or where you are, and–
"I need to put you down to open the door."
You wake up fully at the command (though it’s not really command) and jump out of his lap. The velocity of the sudden movement gives you vertigo, though, and you have to lean in the walls for balance.
Miguel opens the door. You're pretty sure you are still in the HQ, since you can't imagine him being away from it for trivial, mundane reasons such as "sleeping" or "eating".
The inside of it looks like a small, but cozy apartment. The tables are filled with scattered papers and documents, just like you would expect from a place where Miguel lives. The shelves are lined up with science books that even you, who's more knowledgeable in STEM than the average person, can't fully understand. Or maybe it's just that you're still a little dizzy.
That won't stop you from touching all of his stuff, though.
While he's still closing the door behind him, you climb up the wall and sit up on the roof, scrutinizing the books on the highest shelf. You run your fingers through the spines of a few texts on genetic engineering, before they stop, grabbing one specific edition out of its place.
Miguel looks up at you. "Don't be upside down like that, come on, get down."
"You're such a dork." You say, turning the book in hands to show him the cover of his copy of V for Vendetta. "I didn't know you were into comics!" You put it back, going through the other titles lined up; Watchmen, The boys, The walking dead…
"Well, I don't really read them anymore. Come on, get down before you pass out again."
"I didn't pass out." You complain, obeying anyway and following him into a hallway.
"Sure you didn't." He offers a playful smirk before entering a simple room, with nothing but a bed and (lo and behold,) a dozen or so books scattered on the floor. "You can get some more sleep over here. I have some antibiotics stashed away in the medicine cabinet that you can take, hold on a second." He rushes outside, leaving you alone before the king-sized bed.
When he comes back, you're still standing still before it. He tilts his head. "What's the problem?"
"This is your bed."
"So?"
"So I don't wanna steal your bed!"
He raises an eyebrow. "Wasn't it implied you could take it when I offered you could stay here?"
"Yeah, but.." You don't have any arguments against that; you just don't want to inconvenience him further. You can only imagine the bad mood he will wake up in after sleeping on that stiff couch in the living room. That is, if he even sleeps at all.
"You still have a fever. Lay down." He tries.
When you still don't move, he adds with a sigh:
"The faster you heal, the faster you'll get back into action."
You tuck yourself in at that. Your body is immediately grateful, melting in the comfort of the warm, soft sheets. "Thanks. By the way. You really didn't have to do this."
To that, he doesn't reply, instead filling a cup of water and offering it to you alongside a handful of pills. You take them, no questions asked, and relax into the mattress, only now noticing how sore your muscles felt during the day.
He begins to walk away from the room before you stop him. "Hey, Miguel." He turns around. You know what you're about to say is incredibly stupid, but you go for it anyway. "Um. It's just– you can still sleep in the bed. If you want."
He huffs. "I already told you, you can keep it–"
"No, I know. I mean, like– we can share it. It's, well, it's pretty big, and I'm used to sharing a bed- I did it all the time back home, with, you know, friends and cousins and whatnot–" You stop to try and preserve some of your dignity. Unfortunately, you're too gabby for your own good, so you continue: "Plus, you kinda just– carried me bridal style through the entire HQ. So uh- that line of professionalism is already crossed I guess."
Once you start feeling better again, you're going to use the first opportunity to jump off of the highest building in Nueva York. For sure.
Miguel sighs. He seems tired, and, in the dim light, his eye bags are even more prominent.
He takes one last glance over at the updates on his gizmo and, in the most unexpected turn of events of the day, he walks over to the bed and lays on his side, slumping into the mattress beside you. Even though you were the one to suggest it in the first place, you have no idea how to react to that. You bite your lip.
"I'm sorry you got stuck with babysitting me."
"Stop saying sorry."
"Uh- well, sorry."
He smiles, not making eye contact, but still facing you. You hold in a laugh.
It's probably because he has been vulnerable enough to share a bed with you, but you feel like you have to be a little open too in return; an equal exchange of sorts.
A tucked away secret suddenly comes to mind. "Hey, do you wanna know something funny?"
"Tell me."
"So, some of the younger spiders have this betting pool going on– on who can make you laugh first." You sniffle. "Most of it's on Peter B."
He's silent for just long enough to make you paranoid that he won't find that amusing at all – but then he chuckles. "That's stupid."
"I know!"
He raises a teasing eyebrow. "Did you make a bet?"
"Hell yeah, boss. On my way to make two-hundred bucks!"
Maybe God is real and all of His angels are singing, because Miguel O'hara laughs loudly and clearly, fangs and all. You feel your cheeks heat up, but hope it's dark enough that he won't notice.
His canines shine against the moonlight. "I guess this means you win." You're about to say something to try and make him laugh again (you want to hear his laugh again and again forevermore) but when your mouth opens, your throat seems to swiftly close up. You cough, and for a moment it's like searching for air in outer space.
Miguel's eyes widen, and he raises a hand to cup your face. "Hey, are you alright?"
You recover as quickly as you can, fighting the lump on your throat before Miguel gets too concerned. "Yeah, I'm fine. It'll pass." Your voice is raspy. "Are you alright though?"
He opens a wry smile. "You're asking me if I'm alright?"
You're not gonna give him a pass, though. Not this time. "You look tired."
His smile drops. Miguel curls up a little, avoiding your gaze. "I guess I haven't been sleeping much lately."
You keep scrutinizing him for a moment, deep in thought. "Is the mission over?"
"Yeah, they caught the anomaly a few minutes ago."
"Good. So you don't have to worry about that anymore. Go to sleep."
He looks up, amused for a second before his eyes shift, seeming to stare right past you again. He presses a hand to your shoulder. "You're shivering."
You wave him off with a grin."Stop finding new things to worry about here."
"I'm not, though…you are shivering."
"I'm fine."
"You say that too often for it not to be a lie." You freeze at that, taking in the seriousness in his tone, laced with something else you're too exhausted to place. He continues, a little softer. "I know you haven't gone back to your home dimension in a while."
You laugh, ignoring how forced it sounds. "Tryna kick me out already, boss?" He deadpans, apparently unwilling to give you a pass either.
You sigh, feeling cornered. The words spill out of you now like a waterfall, like rain, like sunbeams. "It just…It all feels empty now, ya' know? Like– like when you go back to your childhood home, but now there's no furniture, there are raccoons living in the bathtub and the garden is dead. It's still the same house, but…it's not your home anymore. If I don't go back home…then that means the good memories of what it used to be like won't be replaced." You feel a lump form in your throat, but for a different reason now. "It's stupid, but I just– I can't go back to another broken house."
A calloused hand brings you back to reality, making you blink in surprise. He has never looked so heartbroken before, eyes a little wet and mouth slightly agape. It's an expression far too soft to fit a leader, but maybe he's not a leader right now. "I know what that's like."
You wipe the tears that have finally started pouring from your eyes, smiling despite yourself. "You do, don't you?" Another sniffle, quiet and shaky. "Sorry, didn't mean to cry on you like that."
He stares for a moment. Then, in a swift movement, he pulls you closer, pressing you against his chest once again, chin on top of your forehead; a reminder, perhaps.
"Stop saying sorry."
You sigh. "Ok."
You rest into the touch; you'd stay like this forever if he let you, and a part of you suspects he wouldn't mind that much either.
Or maybe you're just a little needy and the fever isn't fully gone yet.
Either way, the both of you lay there in comfortable silence for moments that stretch over the webs of time like bliss; not the absence of pain, but the calm that comes after its storm. When he speaks, you open your eyes, not noticing you had closed them in the first place.
"The foundation is still there." He says, above a whisper. "Of the house. You can buy new furniture, you can nourish the grass. It won't be the same anymore, but- It'd still be a home."
You don't reply, hoping, in vain, he can't pick up your sobs with his enhanced hearing. With a sniff and a chuckle, you whisper a barely audible 'thanks.'
If he says anything after that, you are too far gone into the waves of sleep to listen.
4.
You wake up to the soft rays of sunlight entering the window.
You notice your muscles feel a lot less sore now, the burning sensation having softened while you slept, and the fact you feel yourself sweating under the sheets probably means your fever has dissipated as well.
But it can also have something to do with the fact Miguel is still cuddling you.
His arm is a weight over your chest, hand resting limply over your tangled hair. He's still asleep, breathing softly; you can feel his warm breath brush against your face.
You study his features, taking swift advantage of the fact he can't sense your scrutinizing. He has freckles, you notice, too small to really see outside of that close circle of proximity. His eyelashes are so long, resting atop his cheeks while they're pressed against the pillow. You are not religious, but there is no way the creation of Miguel O'hara was ever an accident.
"I can feel you staring."
You let out a nervous chuckle. "Sorry."
He finally opens his eyes; they lazily focus on you, still a little groggy. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yup!" You said, voice still a little raspy. "My throat is still burning a little, though."
He touches your forehead, and you notice how big his hand feels against your face; he's almost covering your eyes. "Your fever is gone. That's good."
You motion to sit up on the bed, lifting yourself by your elbows before he stops you.
"Where are you going?"
You smile. "I have to train. We had a deal, bossman."
"Hmm. Just five more minutes, though."
You open your mouth, but Miguel's gizmo beats you to it before you can say anything. It projects the image of a frantic Peter B. Parker, looking off to someone on his side; he appeared disheveled as he paced back and forth, eyes almost gouging out of his face.
He runs his fingers through his hair. "I know, I looked everywhere, but I can't– No, I don't know where she–" He finally notices Miguel, but, unfortunately, not his piercing glare. "Miguel! Thank god. Have you seen-"
"Oh, hi Pete!" You chime in, scuttling a little closer so that the top of your head can be seen by the gizmo's camera.
Peter stops on his tracks; he looks at you, then at Miguel, then at you again with a sheepish grin. "Oh, heyyy, you. There you are."
"You missed me already?"
He keeps staring at Miguel, unable to look any more uncomfortable even if he tries. He forces a laugh. "You could say that…"
Miguel snarls. "One word about this and I'll get you, Parker."
Peter laughs nervously, raising his right hand to his forehead in salute. "Got it, boss!"
He immediately hangs up. Miguel looks as miserable as any other new yorker who wakes up before 7 a.m. in the morning, which makes for an even more comical view than you'd expect.
It almost distracts you from the fact you were just cuddling your boss. In his bed.
God, you were fucked.
You toss the sheets to the side and jump up to the wall, standing up on it. "Welp, it's been great! Thanks for letting me stay the night and also for the meds and also for all the– um, well, you know. Help- your help, I mean! It was great, and I- uh, have this thing in the morning, so…hm- See you later, boss!"
You release a web and shoot your way out of the apartment as quick as possible.
Miguel watches you leave through half-lidded eyes, limp hands hanging down to the warm side of the bed you had just slept on. He still lazily clutches the sheets.
"¿Qué mierda acaba de pasar?"