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Miles was extremely nervous to meet Peter's lawyer.
He heard many things about him — but not from Peter, weirdly enough; the best compliments he had received about him was from other people in New York.
Apparently, that lawyer had an apartment in New York, and an office in Hell's Kitchen. Miles remembers the expression that was on his own face every time he cringes at the mention of Wilson Fisk, who was working like a brute not so far from there.
He's very sure that if a lawyer like that could've managed to deal with the splash zone that was Hell's Kitchen during Kingpin's reign, he sure can prize fight with anything Peter might throw in his way.
Just please let me be right.
But first, Miles had a chore to finish up before reaching Peter.
There was a problem with the transit system, nearing to the Harlem station; Ganke has assured him it was nothing significant, but he's also the one who didn't know Miles was the only Spider-Man currently available.
Miles decided to swing by, but at the last minute ultimately changed his mind, instead, and refuted to reveal the secret to Ganke. But it wasn't really a secret, right? Almost everyone knew about Peter's trial. Hell, even his mom, who was always busy with election stuff, turned on the TV for just 5 minutes to catch on up with the trial when he was away. So, it's okay — Ganke will realize it soon enough.
Once Miles got to the Harlem train station, it was bustling with people; wall to wall, floor to — almost-celling, they were shrouding a few circles around specific radiuses around the yellow lines and behind it. Miles pushed himself politely between a tangle of arms and chests, excusing himself to every new face.
Once he reached the first yellow line, he asked a bystander, "Did somebody fall in?"
Then, the bystander shook his head. "We're just waiting around," he shrugged.
Is this what it's about?
"For... the train?" Miles's brow furrowed.
The man chuckled, scoffed in the typical New Yorker standoffish way, "No, Spider-Man — the cops said they are about to burst through the tunnel. One of the railway cars disconnected off the rest of the way. The driver just cleared the tracks."
Miles's eyes went wide, then narrow again — "What?! Are the people okay?!"
The bystander shrugged again, "You tell me."
New Yorkers are a different breed, man.
So, Miles sighs and jumps down to the tracks. He notices out of the corner of his eye, a yellow graffiti on the inter wall deeper inside the tunnel. He approaches it carefully.
"The Flame Burns Eternal In The Land Of Roaches"
"Sure," Miles drags after reading it aloud, which makes it sound much more stupider. "So… the Flame did this."
He stared at the end of the tunnel; a hollow trail, darkened by the lacking steel interior, empty of light. The celling cast a silver shine across the rest of the railings that were tapered to the curbs, where Miles was careful not to slip over in the darkness.
Another graffiti shone golden in the distance. Miles walked up to it.
"Enter The Fuel, If You Must"
"If you must."
Interesting choice of words there.
Miles continued on walking.
The Flame seemed to treat their actions like martyrdom. A divine duty — like something they must participate in, like a ritual. As if it's not their choice.
BUT in a way, if you work in a tradition when setting people's trucks on fire is called justice, you really wouldn't find anything wrong with it if it's everywhere you look. There's a big propaganda issue at NYC, but this level is already a new low. Even for a crime club cult-of-sorts...
Miles promised himself that the second he gets out of that tunnel, he'd pick up a call to his mom to finish up in the subway. Who knows what a group of criminals can achieve when they have the option to set up an entire root-down of brainwashed homeless people to do their dirty work…
But there's no cell network down here, and no homeless people, too, fortunately.
Miles picked up his pace. The station behind him has faded long ago to just a dot of white, whizzing jet of pale light at the end of the tunnel. As he looked back, his chest pumped a bit. Even being impossible to kill and all, the concept of being underground where the only exit is to the face of a train, is… not so comfy, basically.
Swinging would be dangerous down here. Miles could seriously hurt some important equipment if he's not careful enough, which he's mostly not. Most of the time.
With jogging turned into running turned into sprinting, Miles went miles-upon-miles in the minute-quo, before the graffiti started turning into a running motion of blurry shapes and fonts — and a new station was up ahead.
A new station…
Miles zipped to the celling and crawled onto the top of a crane.
The Flame.
"Pick up the pace, you slack piece of shit!"
A Flame member hit his coworker on the spine before smugly disappearing behind a corner. A bunch of machinery — old-timey, abandoned, rust-and-dust askew machines — stood shut off to the walls. Some tiling was smashed to bits; then, their wooden insides burned and ragged, like a flesh torn out of a bite-ridden beast.
Miles squinted. His wrist pointed down and his spiderbot went into designation.
But just as he was about to —
There was a large thud.
"What was that?"
Silence.
Miles' senses didn't pick up on anything.
So instead he sprayed the lone flame member and squatted in order to leap for a different platform, now stationed in an angle that's much more narrow-focused on the hallway.
There, the other Flame member stood around a table-map, one hand on his chin and the other bracing the elbow.
Miles squinted; the eyes of suit narrowed down even more.
A few more members are around him, standing with him to create a circle. A primary member was pointing and talking about something Miles couldn't see from up here.
Miles sighed to himself, but was still careful to not let that breath go loud. Not safe, he reminds himself.
Just as Miles was still questioning whether or not risk the option of getting closer —
Another thud.
Both Miles and the member turned around to the same direction — the opposite end of the hallway.
THUD
"What was that?"
"What was that?"
Miles zipped to the origin of the noise: it was large hallway, with more room to the sides rather than a straight path; the dedicated decoration reminded him of Temple Run, with the branchy vines and the wild flora, green-mudded walls and tree-like fabric plastered upon everything —
Oh, yeah.
Definitely not a Flame HQ.
This is Kraven's.
KRAVEN.
Then —
THUD
THUD!
THUD!!
Over and over, again and again; not louder, just faster, and quicker — Miles was getting sick of this. So while the Flame members ran to the direction of the thuds, flamethrowers drawn and masks pulled down for face-coverage, Miles hopped to the ground, looking back, and ran to the other direction.
While this is may be Kraven's place, the thuds are definitely not. If they were, the Flame would be soon-gone from this world yesterday. No. This is another art at work.
Oh, if only he could call Peter right now for information…
Wait.
Ah-oh.
Miles stopped.
Information.
"That's it."
Then, Miles — swinging in only a shape a spiderman could — started chasing those Flames.
Once they reach the other room, Miles catches a good angle from above before enhancing his hearing and listening closely.
A few frantics of the group ran wall-to-wall to search along them, looking up and down and all around but ultimately finding nothing. Miles tried to analyze what they were staring around for; he found nothing of concrete evidence. He would need to stay up here for at least a few more minutes, to gather more about what's going on, before blowing it all to hell. He would need Peter.
But now, he needs to hold on his own.
The key member, obviously a leader of somewhat of a rank, sprung to a wall after a member dived under a statue of rubble and called him down. The other four went down with him as he disappears; a fifth one runs from the other hallway to the one Miles's currently in to tail after —
But he zips him down, hears his muffled screams and webs his mouth shut so his nostrils get to breathe free. Miles glances down at the rubble station. It leads down another abandoned subway station.
Three minutes later, kept up of springing and jogging, Miles zipped to a wall; and that's because the tailing member (now the group was only 6, forgetting the other member long gone) shut the new gate-doors by pilling down a cliff from the celling to block their back.
"Where are you going?!"
Miles looks down in narrow focus; his eyes can barely see anything in the shadowline he hides in. He preys slower towards the other corner in the room.
A junior member — a teenager, Miles unfortunately guesses — starts moving towards a graffiti-ridden den in a nearby wall. Miles noticed a strange light emanating from its depths. But he couldn't see it clearly enough to know exactly what it was. He stalks towards the point in the celling where its most lined-above.
"I was just —"
"Just what? Not listening to my orders? Listen to me, right now. There's a spider around here that's looking for your head."
Miles stops.
"If you do the wrong move, leave a track at the wrong trail, he'll know, and he'll come for you! All of you!" He added to the other flames. Then, turned to the one he yelled at. "Now, you go to the other hall and close it off. Anything happens, you yell."
The flame nodded before walking away to exit the hall. Miles followed him.
He knew he really shouldn't; there was a lot of business still left undone in the current room, and a lot of information he was in the risk of missing — but he's also interested in solving the question of the escape: if they blocked off the gate behind them with giant, heavy rocks (that obviously only Spider-man can web through), how are they planning to exactly get out?
Miles followed the webs of the walls; the Flame didn't exactly run, not exactly walked — something hurried, but also panicked was in his steps, similar to a way someone would cross the street if they were late to their office job — very politely hassled, but also trying to hide a sort of supplementary pressure; extra ache. He's hiding something. That's for sure.
And Miles is gonna know what it is in just a moment.
He keeps his eye on opposite scenes; first, the hall, where the action is about to commence — and the hallway, where the other Flame is just about to reveal the Flame's biggest scheme. There was this thing — whenever someone chased through and through to the Flame, somehow, just around the next corner, they'd be gone. Swallowed from the face of the earth. Maybe that's a sweetly common tactic of theirs. Miles surely isn't about to let that opportunity go.
So, he started following the straying Flame.
It was only until the seventh tile, about two-thirds of a mile deep into a pipeline trail that was holing through the system of a vine-infested tunnel, or something close to a underground trudge stream (for stops of food and water, and the alike) before Miles get a perfect-timed chance to get a clean shot from a high angle and zap! the guy up to him, removing his mask and webbing his mouth slightly, only so thin as fabric.
"Hey, hey, hey — relax," Miles hushed to the barking Flame, "I'm not gonna hurt you."
The man kept screaming; so much so, his bodyweight began to shift and rotate with the wind of his breath — Miles caught it in time and spun him back gently.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"Could ask you the same question," the guy muffled; although of the labored dialogue, it was clear he was angry. Like, crazy-bull angry. The only available skin to the light was his upper face, which furrowed ugly with the scowling grimace corrupting his brown eyes.
Miles paused for a moment before saying, "Alright. I'm Spider-man. I'm here to make sure you aren't connected to the subway system that is being used by civilians. It's not far from here, y'know? Only 20 minutes on foot."
He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes to scour the Flame's expression, now hanged upside down. "Now..." he decrees, in a low voice of warning.
"I'm gonna ask you a few questions. And you're gonna answer every single one of them. Understood?"
The man looks him up and down (down, and... up?), but doesn't scream anymore, or look angry. Now, he's just confused. Blank, at most. Baby steps.
"How are you here?"
"Subway system," the man answers, hesitantly, after an uncomfortable moment of silence. "We snuck through from the surface, hidden in plain clothes, and got in through the sewer."
"The sewerage system, huh?" Miles turned to him. "Alright. Tell me more. What are your plans around here?"
"Weapon storage," the man started stuttering. He might be just scared enough to the point of shaking, too. This was not Miles's intended goal.
Miles nodded, once; "What kind?"
"I dunno. We came here to check. Got a note about something Kraven hid around here. As a trap for another recruit."
"You know about Kraven's recruits?"
"Yes."
"What do you think about it? What does your boss know?"
"We think he's trying to recruit one of us. Threw together a bunch more stations underground, in abandoned subway stations. We're trying—"
"To get his attention," Miles interrupted him, lowering his sight at thought. "Yeah," he glared up again, staring at the swinging Flame. "Thought so."
Miles's gone suddenly quiet; focused. His spider senses were tingling — far away, laser-aimed, feeling...
Presence. Of something.
Miles slowly twisted to face the upside-down Flame, quietly saying —
"If I ever see you again, your veins will be replaced by webs."
He frees him at the same time he swings to the other side, letting him take the hit of a blindsighting fall as he disappears from his view, escaping the tunnel vision he so crudely hated.
Miles got back to the main hall. He now was truly sick of it; he leaped to the ground floor, panning around to look — but nobody around waited for him. Encountering no human soul, Miles took path to the other hall.
Empty, too.
Now, to the first base room.
Empty.
This is getting extremely weird.
"Weird, huh?"
Mile's spider senses didn't pick up on that — he turned around just at the same time the figure — entity, work of man, whatever, threw something narrow and pointy at him; too thick to be an arrow, lethal enough to still convey an actual weapon.
Miles ducked it out of the way, obviously — but that still didn't change the fact it made his heart drop so fast it might had actually given him cardiac arrest for like, a solid second.
"Woah, woah!" Miles yelped at the man as he took another step to attack him, "I'm not a Flame!"
Now, he truly saw him; revealed to the light from the dark, a man with a coated upper-face (a black, fabric-made ribbon covering the entirety of his eye-forehead field), a pair of fitted trousers and a sweater-like shirt with a white dress-suit under — stared at him from under the yellowish orange halo of the underground base.
Well, not exactly stared...
Miles wasn't sure what he was exactly doing, actually. Both literally and... well, literally.
"Who are you? What are doing here?"
"Could ask you the same question," the man responded, now with a smirk added on.
"Jesus Christ, man," Miles took one brave step further, still terrified and basically shaking in his boots, "I almost didn't see you there!"
"Neither did I," the man answered, as if this was a question.
It's weird; he seemed to treat his responses as answers to things Miles didn't even get to question him about.
"Well, nice to meet you."
Miles stepped forward while holding his palm sideways, opened-up.
"I'm Spider-man."
The man cocked his head to the side with a pause. "You don't exactly... sound like Spider-man, dare I say."
"Well... yeah. I'm the other Spider-man."
"Other Spider-man," he absently amended, but still — didn't shook his hand. Either out of refusal or pure ignorance; Miles saw him sort of stare to the side (if he can even see through the black headband; it was thick as a winterly scarf). "Nice to meet you, too, Spider-man. I'm Daredevil."
Daredevil.
"Oh, I heard of you. You're that ninja guy who took down the Russian mafia a few years ago, right?"
"You make it sound like history."
"Well, it sounds like you made history. It was one of the largest mafias in New York, it's insane you even gotten up to them without getting killed!"
"Yeah," he says, somewhat arrogant; with only the lower half of his face, jaw-to-nose, visible, it's hard to imagine that he didn't think that'd be the first thing people would notice when his smile is a smirk. "It's a skill issue, more than anything."
"So, is it sort of like the same consequences like you ended up here?"
"Sort of," Daredevil says, "Although, I do have another thing I got to do. Something for my job."
"Your job? Wait — you work here? In New York?"
"Yes. However, it's also a very urgent matter. I just... came around because I heard tales about this place. A subway that's connected not too far from here, with lots of people and terrorists running their errands while recklessly playing around with lighters and flamethrowers."
"So you just... came down here to check it out?"
"I guess so."
"Who did you hear it from?" Miles asked. Only now did he start to notice the scattered bodies of unconscious Flame members. "Like... did you go down here, or did you, just... broke through a wall and started blasting?"
"Got down," he answers. "My job's up the surface, mind you."
"Oh," Miles forgot it pretty fast, "Right."
The two of them started a conversation as soon as they exited the station; Miles called the cops and his mom to inform them of the event, but Daredevil tensed up and said that, as a roundabout quote-unquote:
He isn't too good with cops.
Alright, Miles accepted that. So, they started hiking through the path, stepping on the railing of the train as they walked to the other side, the light at the end of the tunnel.
Miles enjoyed the silence with Daredevil. Even if he's dressed pretty intimidatingly, he was a nice guy (or rather whatever Miles could see of him was a nice guy). He could kick ass and he was pretty strong, even for a normal guy. All of that, with his eyes covered! Dude's almost like a real-life magician. Like, if Houdini didn't turn to magic tricks and instead started fighting crime. Which is still a pretty funny image to think about.
"So," Miles said after about almost 10 minutes of walking, "What's your job? You know, up the surface?"
"I rather not tell," Daredevil answers back to him. "But I could promise you, Spider-man, it's probably not too far from you're doing."
"Oh, no," Miles laughed. "Probably pretty far."
Daredevil's teeth cricketed together in hiss of laughter, "Alright."
When they finally escaped the narrow tunnel system, they were met with a crowd of people which were standing in front of the yellow lines, looking at them. Most of them clapped and cheered, but a lot just stared at them. Miles knew that most of their eyes were aimed at Daredevil, but most nearly of all, to his bloody mouth. Miles only noticed it when he spoke; even with a non-smile, some blood was still visible.
"Alright," Daredevil suddenly says, "I better start going."
"What?" Miles picked up; "Already?"
"Yeah." Daredevil paused. "Still," he added a second later, beginning to just smile, and not so much as smirk; "It was an honor to take down bad guys with you, Spider-man."
Then, he shook his hand.
Miles zipped to the entrance of the subway station as Daredevil took off to the other, and they both left the station in opposite directions.
Miles showed up to Peter's house 2 hours later, clean of dirt and without spiderwebs on his face anymore. He talked to his mom on the phone on his way there, hearing the internet crackle with every inch further away from his home; the call was short because of it, unfortunately, and after he hanged it up for convenience, Miles took a turn by looking around at the view of the neighborhood.
The houses were floored beautifully; the grassy gardens were bright green in the sunlight, so much so to the point Miles's eyes hurt — and it was quiet, extremely quiet and calm. Unlike anything of the dense rest of New York.
Miles showed up to Peter's door on the same afternoon, sooner than he expected.
But just when he was about to use his finger to press the doorbell, the door flung right open.
"Hi, Pete!"
"Miles!" Peter patted Miles on the back as he got into his house, "Hey! How are you doing?"
"Good, how are you?"
"Great! Hey, Miles."
"Yeah?"
"Uh... my lawyer is supposed to arrive here sometime this afternoon. To discuss the details of the case before we go to court. You could stay here if you want to, but you have to promise to not tell anyone about it. Not even your mom. Is that alright by you?"
Mile's expression only shadowed shock, confused over the idea that Peter, out of all people, would think so much so to let him say whether or not he'd be trustworthy enough to do it. "Yeah, sure!"
Peter grins. "Alright, that's great. I'm going to make us some food. There's Chinese in the fridge!" he added as he sprinted to the garage, probably to pick up the soon-to-be-made food.
Miles folded his arms together and looked around the place; there are boxes everywhere, some empty, but most completely flooded to the brim with the most expensive and dearly-kept stuff.
A lot of furniture was still left in the house and was yet to be upped to the pick-up trucks, so Miles took comfort in that fact and leaned down to sit at the couch. Once he looked ahead, he sighs —
There was no TV on the cabinet.
Typical, he says to himself, but doesn't dare to complain.
Miles got up from the couch by mimicking a jolt of electricity and starting to walk around the living room some more. He blinks at the sunlight that steams through the curtains, only to realize — it's because they aren't any. There aren't any curtains. The windows are basically naked.
Once his eyes struggled against the sun but compensated with the hurt, he saw something, sitting on the sill of the window.
The thin ridge was mostly cleared, except for a red phone. One of those old ones, who'd look like they'd have a British accent and a dry throat if they were human. It didn't ring, just sat in silence. But it still somehow managed to fascinate Miles.
Then it started ringing.
Miles jolted back and stayed away at first sight, but after settling down, he took a closer look.
Unfortunately enough, just as he stepped a few inches forward, the red phone stopped ringing.
Back in its idle state, Miles froze in place.
Then shrugged and started slowly pacing towards the kitchen.
Miles' eyes dug through the cabinet, searching through the sink and garbage disposal engraved in it; he gloomed over the wrapped jars and the tied-up boxes filled with groceries to the brim. Miles thought it kind of weird, at first glance — why would Peter and MJ need an entire cabinet of freshly-bought food if they're moving out in just a few hours?
But.. then again… Miles never really got through the experience of moving houses himself. He never got to face the dilemma of meat and vegetables at the dawn of his voyage. Maybe Peter, in his wicked seventh spider sense, just really likes apple-juice and stale bread. Maybe. Yeah, that's valid.
Miles debated himself whether or not to climb the flight of stairs leading up to the second floor. After a quick brainstorming with he, himself and whatever else he got on, he ultimately decided not to. Peter was supposed to be back any moment now, and his lawyer still didn't come by the house.
Wait. Maybe that's the red-phone caller?
So maybe Peter doesn't just like haunted vintage stuff, huh?
Miles looked back. There, at the sill of the bright, well-lit windowpane, the sill stood still with the red-phone on standby. Miles could hear birds chirping outside now. The greenery out in the free neighborhood view sparkled in the distance.
Miles wondered if Peter was ever gonna be back, any time soon, or just excused himself to watch the park for one last time.
He's gonna move away, but still... not that far.
However, still, Miles found himself to think that if he were to move away, were it even a block further, he would still stay awhile on the roof to watch the view. He just wouldn't decide to compare it to Peter and MJ's neighborhood, that's it.
Alright, Miles is getting bored by the minute.
He looked at the door leading to the garage. To his relief, he heard some rustling back there; he heard MJ's voice, muttering sequences of words to a tall, Peter-resembling shadow. It held a bunch of stuff, a bundle of tools or an all-out shed, between its two crossed arms.
Miles averted his eye to walk carefully over the tapewire of the door, and —
Then, the doorbell rang. Miles looked back at the same time two heads snapped to the same place.
"I got it!" he yelled out to MJ, who began walking towards the house, while he's running to the door and struggling it open with a strong twist of his wrist; "Hello…—" and his voice died down.
"Hey there," the man said, smiling. Miles perceived him within a corner-of-the-eye peripheral; he's a bit shorter than Miles, has extremely dark black hair, and red-tinted glasses, like the ones the Pope has. He has a faint stubble crossing from each of his lips, which are sharp and calm as he's grinning. He has a suit on. The professional kind of cut.
"May I get in?"
Miles's head swirled as he nodded enthusiastically, "Oh, sure!"
He cranked the door a bit more; but as the man started to walk in, Miles started hearing strange knocking sounds. He distractingly searched for the sound, noticing MJ walking in with Peter tailing her step — now empty-handed — but was careful to not turn his eye away from the lawyer to be polite.
Unfortunately, it seems like the lawyer didn't mind putting up with the same mindset. He just turned his back away to Miles and didn't even want to acknowledge MJ — and Peter, his own client!
"Hey, Miles," Pete says; both him and the man froze up. "Can you close the door, please?"
Miles's brain was too juiced-up to think fast; taking a frank moment to translate the words in his head, he started closing the door shut, slowly grazing it back to place, but not too fast and immediate, to not accidentally pinch it down on the lawyer's…
Oh.
Miles really resisted slapping himself at the moment.
Oh.
"Very nice to meet you now, Peter," the lawyer says in a warm tone Miles really hated to judge him for, like, 3 seconds ago. "You too, Mary Jane."
They both take turns shaking his hand.
"Who is the one that opened the door for me?"
Miles's head still didn't translate words to respond back to.
"That's Miles," Peter says, as he and MJ notice his utter lack of unwavering charisma at the moment. "He's my best friend."
The lawyer turned back to him with a swift and smooth turn of wind that Miles feels he only saw models do in advertisements on billboards. The same smile, now a smirk, was still plastered up true and whole on his face.
"I'm very pleased to meet you too, Miles."
Then, he put up his hand.
"I'm Matt Murdock."
Now, there's three possible reasons why Miles feels so suddenly nix right now. 1: he realized he judged a blind guy for not being able to see. Stupid. 2: he may be so slow and stupid right now, that Matt might think he's still actively judging him. Dumb. Or 3, and the worst of all —
This lawyer guy feels very, very... familiar.
Like, not in a friend-way familiar. More like a newspaper guy, familiar; something he's walked by and didn't notice much, so now his brain is beating itself to it, trying to remember a name and match it to a barely made-out face.
But the thing is, Miles just met him; and Matt just said his name. His full name. Twice.
Miles really doesn't know what's going on with his brain at the moment. He realized it's may just be the time to let Peter take the lead on this matter and just handle this business with MJ, and MJ and him alone. Maybe it's just better if he stayed there and stayed quiet, looking stupid so he won't accidently, potentially, fuck this whole ordeal up again.
So Miles finally gave in; he shook Matt's hands (noticing how much detail was added to his brow at the moment), and went to sit by the windowsill while Peter led him to the garage, and MJ walked up to him, flicking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her shoulder.
"Miles?"
"Huh? Yeah?"
"Are you good? You seem a little... pale."
"What?" Miles almost laughed. I'm going crazy. "I'm fine."
"You look like you're slowly going crazy."
Slowly? "No, not at all. I guess it only looks like that, because... I'm really stressed."
MJ crossed her arms together. "Well, I guessed that."
Miles's blood stopped flowing. "What—?"
"Regardless, you should have a day to take your mind off things. Relax. Have a cup of coffee."
Miles almost sighs, "I hate coffee."
"Is tea any better?" MJ raised a brow. Miles thought, then nodded.
"But don't make it for me now," he quickly said when he noticed MJ starting to walk behind the kitchen island.
"Alright," she accepted. "Why, though?"
"I… I already told you. Lots of stressors. I also have a meeting today," he quickly added, just to not seem to completely dismiss everything MJ has said up to this point. "With Hailey."
MJ's smile grew a bit wider at that. "Oh, alright," she said in a humming tone of voice, "At the Graffiti corner, I assume?"
"Well... sorta," Miles retorted, hiding a small half portion of his face by turning away a bit. "It's... Spider-Man related stuff."
"Stuff?"
"Yeah…"
"Or shenanigans?"
Miles sighed and put both of his palms together as if in a downward prayer. "Both?"
MJ nodded, "Alright, I'm starting to get it now."
"You do?"
"It's not a date, correct?"
"Right," Miles responded.
"And it's not a crime-fighting mission, or whatnot," MJ now less asked, more obviously stated.
"Guess so," Miles retorted with a small tilt of his head.
"Alright — so you two are just talking."
"Yes."
"About...?"
"Well, she asked me something about... needing help with a few kids. But it's NOT doing anything Graffiti, or scandalous."
"Scandalous, huh? Surprisingly proper words for a boy such as yourself."
Miles tugged away laughter to get up. MJ took a step back as they started to walk more in the direction of the garage. As they stood at the doorway, beginning to talk, Miles — out of the corner of his eye — noticed Peter and Matt, as shadows casted upon the sidewalk's pale concrete.
They were talking very casually, extremely calm and relaxed.
When Miles distractingly shook his head away from the sight to look back at MJ, it didn't take a full turn to notice her head tilting slightly more doubtingly.
"What?" he voices after fully locking eyes with her once more.
MJ's eyes flicked to the ground, then back at him — it was so fast, Miles thought he was just imagining it until she responded, "I think that if you have anything to say about Matt, you should voice it out to him."
Miles averted his gaze to look back at the sidewalk, "The thing is, I don't even know myself what it is."
"What, is it just like… his vibes?"
Miles shook his head, "No, no. It's like... I feel like I've seen him before. But also, not."
"Oh," MJ says, understanding him maybe more than Miles expected. "So it's a spider-sense thing?"
Miles shook his head again, "No." feeling like he's repeating himself. "I don't feel in danger at all. The exact opposite, maybe? Just, like... when I'm Spider-Man," he explained, "There are certain things I feel confident doing that I don't do as Miles. This morning, there was a Flame situation down at the train-station… if you've heard."
MJ confirms she have had with a slow nod, "Yeah, I think so."
"Well, then Daredevil showed up."
MJ's brows went to the moon from surprise.
"Daredevil? The Daredevil? The same guy who took down the—"
"Russian Mafia?" Miles completed, in a vague, same-amount of excitement — although much more suppressed, as he's actively trying to figure it out. "Yep. That's him."
"You seem like a fan," MJ noted. Miles nodded.
"Well, and when he showed up, I felt surprised, but also... anxious. I mean, it's one of the most powerful people to ever walk the streets of New York, and when I met him, I analyzed every single detail of him."
MJ nodded off and said, "And?"
Miles looked away so his brain wouldn't be solely focused on MJ's face, instead trying to tab down the last thought that emerged and train-run through his head —
"And so, when Matt showed up... first, I found myself being completely pathetic, but then, that same feeling came back. Like…"
He trailed off.
MJ's nods gradually notched down in speed, as she took in the words to calculate an answer back. "Like…" she voiced, as if in a thought support beam.
"Like he's not telling me something about himself."
MJ sighed before saying, "I would say that going off of a feeling or an intuition is very risky, but knowing Peter's spider-sense, and knowing your spider-sense…"
Miles nodded quickly in agreement; however, he wasn't so sure in himself as MJ was. There have been too many incidents where being outside of the Spider-Man mask, and still mistaking to use his spider-sense as a legitimate instinct have led to a lot of… awkward slip-ups, to say the least.
Like the one time when he hit a truck on its roof to strife out a kidnapped couple of newlyweds.
(turns out, people in New York just really trust the trend of livable vans).
Or maybe the time he scared a homeless man to death by jumping at him, in the dead of midnight, from the tallest building in New York.
(alright, maybe the New York fashion trends are just a little too much villain-themed).
Listen, what's the point of this is — Miles has made mistakes. He will probably continue to make them as long he's Spider-Man. Maybe even beyond that. All that matters to him now is to make a reformed impression of himself, go on that meet with Hailey, and then end-up in his nice, comfy, warm bed right before sunrise. That's his plan.
Not great, but… better than nothing, right?
And so, Miles decided to search for his confidence back at the garage. He counted every step with two beats of his thumping heart, but nonetheless avoided thinking about anything that would fuel his anxiety. He just needs to do better. Recover his mind again.
When he arrived at the footprint under the big, clunky celling braces of the open garage door, he saw Peter reading-out something off a paperback on a table. MJ got back inside and climbed up the stairs to empty the rest of the former main bedroom, so he was basically just with Peter and Matt. No problem. No problem at all.
"Hey, Pete?"
Both Peter and Matt turn; however, Matt's incline was way faster.
"Yes, Miles?" Peter responds, a bit of a confused smile sparkling readily on his face.
"I…" Miles gulped down. "Is there anything you'd like me to do here?"
Peter's head did slight, blunt movements that showcased his careful thinking.
"Actually, I might need some hand or two," Matt suddenly says.
Miles nodded after a quick thought, swallowing spit again. Then, he says: "Sure. What is it?"
"I was going to ask you, Peter — or maybe MJ, but I didn't want to trouble you. But now, since Miles seems to be a helping hand, I'd like to get that from him. Come with me, Miles. We'll be right back, Peter."
"Alright," Peter grinned at Matt as he, in turn, started to turn away and walk to the backdoor of the house. Miles started to follow him, tailing him all the way to the sidewalk outside, stopping just short from the door on the passenger side.
Matt's car was clean, polished, and extremely beautiful: its plane was of a purple shade, roofless, and looked like something straight out of an 80's action movie. Miles isn't a car guy, but he could understand that.
Matt opened the car door and leaned forward, bending down a bit, to grab something that was out of the corner of his view.
Miles avoided staring for too long, at anything.
"How do you…?"
Matt straightened back up and smiled again. "Drive?"
"Uh… yeah."
"I don't," he casually throws something at him; Miles can barely catch it in time. The keys hit his palm, which sting a bit with the hitting impact. "It's a friend's."
"What kind of friends do you have that can afford this stuff?"
"Oh," Matt met his eye (or, whatever Miles could really see when he peered into his red-tint pupils), "I don't know. Someone who can buy a car?"
Miles chuckled. He hated the fact that it probably sounded as fake as it felt.
"Hey, listen, Miles," Matt suddenly took a step forward, putting an open palm on Miles' shoulder. Miles froze like a deer in truck headlights. Trapped, hunted — in dooming pain.
"Yeah?" he murmurs, wobbly.
"I trust you. But sometimes, you should trust yourself, first."
Miles' brow crunched.
"What does — ?"
Matt's hand dropped from his shoulder, almost slipped. Matt's smirk bloomed again, almost violently; he nodded once, hard, and added: "It was a pleasure to serve with you, Other Spider-Man."
"And, just — please," he continues, completely ignoring any response Miles just might calculate back in his shock. "Learn how to dodge next time. I won't be as slow again."
"Oh — okay," Miles says, cursing in a thousand different combinations in his head, "I just don't —"
"Let's go back inside," Matt throws in; then, just smiles away the response. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, in any case."
________________________________
While not making a total fool of himself, Miles was quite relived of the error in his ways. He made a mistake, but (even if indirectly) fixed it just as fast.
Maybe MJ was right. Maybe he just needs to trust his gut more. And if his gut says the blind lawyer his best friend is defended by, is also a crime-fighting ninja vigilante superhuman, he could just agree and go on forward from there.
That first incident ended with Miles helping Matt transport some big batches of paperwork up the stairs ("Wow, Miles, have you been lifting lately?" Peter had asked. Miles just smiled.) and help lay it out across the table. He also helped Peter shut down the garage door ("Miles, careful. Matt might be watching," Peter had whispered when Miles slammed the door down so hard, it almost broke the sidewalk.)
Again, Miles smiled. But now, it was because it was to go to the second meet.
Hailey's painting have only gotten better with the changing seasons. Her style didn't change as much, which Miles was glad for; it was so unique, he felt like he could just look at it for hours and still be attracted to every detail.
But still, she managed to better herself; her wall paintings have only gotten larger and fuller, more solid in their translation of colors and use of shades between them. Now they began to cover entire sides of buildings, and be seen from much further away.
Miles saw her new one at least 3 blocks away, as he was settled, straddled and knee-caved, on a low-building water tower. He could see the broad strokes of the brightest colors; something pink, some yellow, a white shade flagging some lines.
After taking a deep breath, Miles dove down and fastened his web between the two nearest lamplights to eventually make it faster and all at once.
He landed squarely on the sidewalk, on the emptiest square of people.
Hailey's back was turned to him, but when he finally made a few people squeal and jolt, she turned away to the bolt of attention everyone were aiming for.
Spider-Man!
Hi, Hailey. You called?
Hailey nodded with a brink of growing enthusiasm. Then, she pointed to the wall painting.
Miles could see it fully and clearly now, and it was more beautiful than what he could see before.
The pink was definitely there. The yellow, as well. The white was kind of an obvious, but — wow. The red and the blue were much more brighter than he could guess. Still…
What do you think, Spider-Man?
Miles looked at her. Then, back at the wall.
It's beautiful, I think.
Hailey nodded, but in less of an act of agreement, and more in respectful understanding.
There's another one at the back, if you'd like to see.
Sure thing!
She led him to the back alley of the same building, which was a bit more cramped but a lot taller than the street-facing wall.
Do you know who this it?
Uh, yeah. I do, actually.
Of course Matt got the larger wall painting. That was kind of a taken at this point.
I heard of him. This morning. Did you hear what he did?
Uh, yeah.
Then he broke the news.
I… kinda was there, too. With him.
At the end of that sentence he pointed at the painted-Matt's colorful masked face.
Really? Oh, right! I remembered something about you. But I just thought it was the other one… the blue and red one.
I get it. Don't worry — I get mixed up with us, too.
Hailey chuckled with a silent huff and drew her fingers to cross behind her back. When her hand returned, something thick, made of woodland material, was held in her palm and swinging lightly between her fingers.
Haven't finished it yet — didn't figure out the shade.
Hailey pointed out Daredevil's symbol; on his chest, however detail and realistic, it still laid colorless.
I'll help you. You know, since I know Daredevil so well now…
Hailey stopped, but then shook her head and nodded off an excited grin. She handed Spider-Man the brush to empty her hand, and get out another one — his was a bit thicker, but the grip was solid and the handle was sturdy, so the paint was very easy to maneuver.
Miles guessed she took the broken one, which was harder to handle in a steady manner — but he also knew that she was so good at what she's doing, somehow she'd also do this better than he could ever try to even get close to do.
And as usual, because he took MJ's advice seriously again (and trusting his gut) — obviously, he's right.
He hated how apprehensive his strokes were, even if they were his starting ones.
They took turns at holding the paint bucket, but eventually Miles started to notice Hailey's struggle and decided to keep it close to his chest for the rest of the time.
He only let it go (by gently putting it down on the ground between them and lightly patting his foot against it, so it leans again the wall nicely enough) once the first shade is done. Hailey had still kept going, the pulse of the thumpingly-moving paint canister in her hand keeping her focused in her labor.
That made her notice Miles less and less, which was honestly valid — and thus, he decided to take a step back and watch the painting.
It seems like the colors get brighter every second he looks at it further; the painting's appearance was livid in his eyes, pulsating in the sunlight, and so much more marvelous now that he gets to watch it for longer.
In comparison to Hailey and him, the painting was truly magnificent, just in its mere scale. Its tip bordered at the bare start of the rooftop, and the trails of the cast paint have waded, as a puddle, onto the alleyway ground.
Just as he watched, someone called his phone.
Miles made such a sharp movement he jolted, and that made Hailey notice that enough to turn to him.
What is it?
Miles' head bobbed for a second with panic before he pointed to the phone he's pulling out of the inset patch of his suit, and Hailey nods.
Miles answers the phone with a hesitant amount of ease and turns halfway from Hailey, as she continues to spray across.
"Hello?"
"Miles?" his mom's voice sounds.
"Mom — yeah, it's me. What —"
"I heard what's happened at the station. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?"
"No — I mean, yes — what? Just, listen… I'm not at the station anymore, if that's what you're worried about. I'm completely fine."
"That's all I wanted to hear." Then, he heard a sigh escape between her words. Miles took a beat to refocus himself.
"What are you doing right now, mijo?"
"Hanging out. With a friend. With Hailey."
His mom laughed, and the sound rang in his ears loudly like arena bells. "Oh, alright, then. When are you finished with this? Regardless, make sure you come by as soon as possible. I won't be home, but Ganke's waiting for you."
"Ganke?" However much he grunted and sighed in frustration, none of it was really true. "What does he need now?"
"You'll get to ask him that question again when you're finished with that meeting. Now, don't let me nudge you any longer. Still… you have a job to do. Other Spider-Man."
Miles' eyes widen, naturally. "How did you — ?"
And with three lingering and final beats, the line went dead.
Miles continued to stare at his phone for another moment of shocked, before shoving it away with a reclusive nod and turning towards Hailey again; her back was turned and her aim continued to be precise and focused, narrow as a laser.
He nudged away the thought of tapping her shoulder to step forward and face her instead.
Miles waited until Hailey noticed him to air up his hands to sign.
I need to go, Hailey, I'm sorry.
She smiled and nodded with a fast, all good. However…
Her signs faded as she went for her pockets.
Miles saw she grasped at something that was so thin, it flailed between her fingers in the wind.
It was in black and white, she signed after offering him the sylphlike item, that's why I didn't thought it was you.
It was a newspaper picture, which was obviously cut-out from just out of its position under the main title of the article; he knew it was her making, since the cutting borders lines were so precise.
When he narrowed his eyes to look closer (she was right — the picture was blurry beyond repair), he saw himself and Matt, walking out of the tunnel. In the picture, he could see Matt and himself appearing to talk casually, as a mass of people were busy gathering around them. The picture was snapped from almost directly in-front of them.
When he looked up again, he saw she was eyeing him with a small smile. He repeatedly nods as he offers the picture back, saying:
I agree with you, it is kinda confusing when you look at it.
Of course! But you can keep it.
Miles' brain short-circuits.
What?
You can keep it, Miles. I don't care about the article. I just liked the picture.
His fingers grab the picture automatically — he feels braindead, robotic, as he does so, even while being fully aware.
Alright — thanks, Hailey. I appreciate it. I'll leave on your own for now, so... keep on... painting.
Hailey passionately nods as a response, squatting down and leaning to put away the brush.
And Miles moves away once more, feeling tense like an anvil just fell on his chest. Only once he was in the air, flailing his web to strike stability into his core once, did the ever-confusing understanding of that spiritual spiral was from the fact that his brain just finally calculated that Hailey had actually recognized him as Spider-Man.
And that's because he talked too casually.
Peter's gonna kill me.
________________________________
Miles got back home with twilight. The city's bustling street noises began to fade outside of the window; all he heard was distant and faraway ambulance sirens, and the repeated chirp of wind flailing into his hair.
Miles was still suited, with his face bare against the chill of his altitude; when he looked down the street, semi-kept away in shadows, he saw people beginning to put on hoodies and hats. The streets began to barren just at the same time as the sunlight drained from above him.
Once Miles's first foot was over the window-ledge, he was violently pulled in.
So violent, in fact, he managed to hit his head, pinch his stomach, and gasp in the smell of chocolate dust — all in one move. It was almost impressive… weren't it for the fact it actually took him longer to get up.
And even once he did — still dizzy — Ganke's voice began spasming in his ear, which only sends him into more of a spiral.
"Miles, are you okay?! I've seen the photos; you were with Daredevil — but you said nothing about it?! Your mom was so worried — she thought you were with me, then she said you were with Hailey, but you were with Peter?! And I —"
"Dude."
Miles grabbed Ganke's hands, which were grabbing onto his shoulders.
"It's fine. I'm Spider-Man."
Ganke seemed confused. "I know you are. What — ?"
But he didn’t resist when Miles simply walked off from under his hold, heading to his bed and gracefully jumping unto the messy covers.
"Uh… dude?"
Ganke gently poked his shoulder, which was hot as burning coal stones.
Miles' face was directly pressed into the mattress, and Ganke was sure he couldn't breath like that; and so, he decided to roll him over.
It was hard, but not impossible. Once Ganke succeeded, he saw something taped unto Miles' chest, who was currently snoring like an ancient whale on land. He gently pulled Miles' fingers from it and peeled it off the humid surface of the suit.
Ganke looked, stopping.
"Oh, Miles."
He looked at his sleeping friend.
"You sweet summer child."
Don't be as stupid next time, Miles. From, Hailey :)