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Spiderman lands quietly on the roof of a building, taking a few steps towards the metal railing fixed near the edge. The cold bites through his gloves as he leans into the metal, his gaze shifting out towards the horizon.
A slight breeze brings the hoodie off his head, exposing the red and blue mask beneath. He takes off the mask and shoves it in his pocket, sighing and closing his eyes as the fresh air cools the sweat on his face. He stands for a few minutes, letting his heartbeat slow, and slowly opens his eyes to the scene before him.
A hauntingly beautiful scene fills his eyes. Rows of skyscrapers fill the ground, stretching high into Gotham’s smoggy air. The sun barely peeks through the mixture of chemicals, pollution, and fog, scattering brilliant shades of orange and yellow into the city below. The light bounces across the buildings, illuminating worn towers and statues and making Gotham's spooky architecture come to life.
Peter’s frame visibly deflates, calm rushing his body as he watches Gothamites drive home from grueling days at work. Something about being so high up in the air, looking down at people who have become no more than ants, relaxes Peter’s soul. It’s as though his problems are so far away they can’t even think about him. So, no matter the time, place, or weather, whenever Peter needs to calm down he finds a high place. In Gotham, he’s called to the tops of the looming yet magnificent skyscrapers.
Despite its harsh atmosphere, there is a hidden beauty to Gotham City. Its arching, dark buildings, and brooding gargoyles strikes something deep within Peter. It’s probably from spending too much time with MJ, Peter thinks, a small smile forming on his face. Peter misses MJ.
Memories of the time they spent together flow through his head as he stares blankly at the warm lights of late night commuters speckling the streets below. He hears her laugh echoing in his ears as they swing through Queens. He can’t forget her glowing style, unfazed attitude, and perfect witty comebacks.He feels her arms, warm against his shoulder as she laughs at his discomfort of horror movies, and hears her encouraging words after a bad day. Most of all, he misses the awe in her eyes, as he tells her about another mission with the avengers, and of all the people he’s helped.
I’ve been away from Queens for too long, Peter thinks. His heart longs for the familiar feeling of Queens, and the pit of guilt in his stomach expands with every day he isn’t there for its citizens. Queens needs its Spiderman just as much as it needs him. I wonder how Mrs. Cornelia is doing? Who will move her wardrobe for her now?
Mrs. Cornelia had always been nice to Peter. Ever since Spiderman helped her cat, Patty, down from a tree, Mrs. Cornelia had gone out of her way to make sure he knew he was needed. Her warm, wrinkled smile radiated comfort, and she was always happy to see Spiderman. She would often create tasks, like moving or rearranging her furniture, just to see Spiderman more often. When Peter brought it up to Ned, he snickered and said it was Peter’s pre-pubescent voice that softened her heart. Once, she had said, “Oh dearie, I know you just moved it, but I just feel like my wardrobe would look so much better in the kitchen!” So, he moved it to the kitchen. He let out a laugh remembering her embarrassed face the next day, asking him to move it back to the guest bedroom (it was blocking her refrigerator).
What he most appreciated about Mrs. Cornelia was that she would always find a way to repay his kindness, insisting through his excuses. She made stew for him in the winter, chatted with him on bad days, and had even helped stitch a rip in his costume. Begrudgingly, he finds his stomach grumbling at the thought of her Feijoada. I wonder if when I'll see her again? Peter worries. Has she noticed I’m gone? She’s probably hired a real furniture mover by now.
“NO! GIVE THAT BACK!” A voice screams below Peter, his enhanced hearing allowing the cry for help to be heard even from his 400 foot rooftop. His eyes snap back into focus, and he gently slaps his cheek.
Peter shakes his head. Ugh. Peter, stop reminiscing. You’re stuck here for now, and Gotham needs you! Thinking about the past can’t change the present. He balls up the sleeve of his jacket and messily scrubs at the wet corner of his eyes. Peter quickly grabs the crumpled mask from his pocket and stuffs his face into it. He pulls the hood back over his face, cinching the neck straps.
Easily hopping the railing, he takes a few steps to the edge of the building and glances over the edge. 400 feet below him he can see a young, rich looking woman protecting her purse and slowly backing away from a man in a dirty jacket brandishing a knife at her. Welp, duty calls! Thinks Peter, as he leaps off the building into the danger below.