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He needs me again. He always needs me when he’s having trouble with another girl. Might be the redhead again. She and him haven’t been together for a while now, but that doesn’t mean he’s not pining for her. Anguishing over what he can’t have. I can relate.
We’ve done this song and dance before, so I figured we could at least change up the venue. Something a little less formal, that doesn’t require a little black dress or blue spandex.
Spider says he knows just the place. Says its the best burgers in the city. This is about the seventh place he’s said that about. He’s usually right, though.
He’s 20 minutes late. Guess that’s on me for showing up on time. For one, I know that 5pm in superhero time means more like six-ish. For another, I’m supposed to be the one showing up fashionably late, but I went and go here early just for a damn burger. I don’t even know why I’m so eager to see him. I know what this is. I know where this is going. We’ll eat, have an awkward conversation or two, then he’ll come back to my place. Then I won’t see him for another six months. Rinse and repeat. So why am I even here?
And then he shows up, and I remember why. I see his face. Not the face I fell in love with. Not the face of a hero. This is the face of a 30-something loser who still can’t grow a decent beard. I suggested something causal so I could see this face in the first place. So that, hopefully, my heart wouldn’t do that stupid thing. But the second I see that smile? That stupid, sheepish, “sorry I’m 20 minutes late for a date that we both know is going to end with us sleeping together and then not talking again for months as I get caught up in superhero shit or get involved with a girl who’s not as pretty as you” smile? My stupid heart does the stupid thing. And I remember why I’m here. Why I’ll always be here.
He’s “dressed up” by Peter Parker standards. Jeans and a blazer, a t-shirt with some anime crap I don’t understand peering out from between his lapel. I’m dressed down, by my standards. Which of course means it took me hours to choose just the right fit. I guess it does something for him, because his eyes fixate on me after he’s done making his apologies and excuses for being late.
“Peter, I’m in the tights business, too,” I remind him. “You don’t gotta make excuses to me.”
“Haha, right. Reflex, I guess.”
After we sit down to eat I notice where his eyes keep lingering. Not on my green eyes, framed by the best cat eye you’ve ever seen. Not on my lips, painted black because I can’t stand the thought of wearing red around him. Not even on the girls I propped up with my best bra! It was frickin’ expensive, dude. Show some appreciation!
“Like the headband?” I ask, acknowledging his fixation with the cheap little thing I threw on to complete the outfit. This was supposed to be a casual date, so a little black headband was just the thing to tone down my hair color. I almost look like the girl next door, if the girl next door was drop dead gorgeous.
...Shit. It hits me before he even says it.
“Just reminds me of someone. That’s all.” He says it with that forlorn smile. The kind of smile that makes me bust out a word like “forlorn.” And it just… pisses me off. I pull the headband out of my hair. “You don’t have to do that,” he says.
“When’s the food getting here?”
“I’m really sorry, Cat,” Spider speaks up once we’re headed down a quiet street. We don’t know where we’re going. We’re just wasting time. Putting off the inevitable.
“You didn’t do anything,” I admit. I’m being a bitch. I know it. “You seemed happy, thinking about her. Like when I think of my father. So, I’m glad.
“Are you sure it’s okay? You were really upset.”
“I know. I know.” I come to a stop. I try to muster up the courage to talk about my stupid fucking feelings. “She meant a lot to you, huh? You don’t talk about her to me. But I’ve seen the pictures, and even Red felt like she couldn’t compete sometimes. So what the hell chance do I have? I’m not your first choice. I’m not even your second. I’m your rusty bronze metal. I’ve known that for a while. So…”
So why does it hurt so damn much? I know what this relationship is. I know what it’ll always be. I’m a coping mechanism. A drug. Something to dull the pain. And once Spider finally kicks the habit, it’ll be over for us. That’s what hurts more than the endless cycle of bumping uglies, breaking up, him running into another woman’s arms, and me drowning my sorrows in champagne and cat videos. Knowing that there is an end. That one day, I’ll be tossed aside one final time.
“Cat…”
“Don’t tell me its not true.” My voice cracks. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, damn it.
“I was going to say bronze doesn’t rust.”
“Oh.” Well, forget about crying. Now I’m pissed. “Thanks, science nerd.”
“No, that’s not...” He pauses and looks over my shoulder. I glance back at the alleyway that I’d stopped in front of. “Stay here.”
“What? Running off to do superhero crap?”
“Just trust me, okay? Do you trust me?”
I sigh. “For some fucking reason? Yeah.”
“Thanks. And no peeking while I’m getting dressed, Ms. Hardy.” Before I can ask him what he’s yammering about, he gives me a quick peck on the lips and rushes into the alleyway. A quick change later and I hear that familiar thwip of his web-shooter, and next thing I know I get scooped up by the waist. I grab onto his shoulders and I see those big, white eyes.
“Spider!”
“Got your grappling hook?” He asks as he web-swings with one arm. His years of practice pay off as big swings bring us up several stories within a matter of moments.
“Always.” There’s a laugh in my voice as I catch on to what he’s planning.
“Still trust me?”
“...Always.” The word leaves my lips softly this time. He loosens his grip on me, and I do the same. Soon he’s grabbing my forearm, and I’m holding onto him in kind.
“Get ready for some high-speed swinging!” At the apex of his swing he tosses me like a horseshoe. I launch my grapple and use the momentum of Spider’s throw. The grappling hook my father made is perfect, but it was made for ascending and descending. As fast as it could deploy, it could never swing me as fast as Spider or any of the other webs-lingers But this? This is a glimpse of how they live every day.
Spider catches up soon enough and grabs my arm again. He times his throw to launch me further and faster forward. I hoot and holler as the wind stings my eyes. My line pulls on my shoulder in a way that I know is gonna ache in the morning. Everything worth doing hurts a little in the morning.
Spider only plays with me for a few minutes before he’s not willing to test the limits of my body or my line any further. He catches me like I’m a fair maiden and brings us down safe and sound on top of a building. I roll my shoulder. Oh, forget hurting in the morning. I’m already feeling the best kind of sore.
Well. Second best.
“Bronze is a man-made alloy. Not like gold or silver, which are chemical elements. As such, it has a lot of unique properties.”
“Dude, are you you still playing Bill Nye the Science Guy over there?”
“I prefer Beakman’s World. Anyway, bronze was used widely to make tools dating back to 4600 BCE. There’s a whole age named after it. That’s how important it is. Bronze is unlike anything else.”
“...Oh. Oh! You’re doing a thing.”
He laughs. “I never could have done something like that with Gwen. Or MJ. Like you said, we’re both in the ‘tights business.’ That makes what we have special. You’re not worth less than them. You’re not a leftover. And you’re not a consolation prize. You’re you. No one’s like you, Cat. And I’ll never love anyone the same way I love you.”
“Pfft. Corny.”
“You love it.”
I do. I really do.
It doesn’t change anything. Even as I let myself step into his embrace, I know what our relationship is. I know how this night will end. And when he leaves my apartment tomorrow morning, I won’t know when we’ll talk again. But for a moment, I want to believe him. I want to believe that, to him, I’m special. That I’m truly precious. Irreplaceable.
I’m not the kind of sentimental girl who falls for sweet words. I know the kind of trouble that sort of innocence gets you into. But when it comes to my Spider, this stupid little thing called “hope” just won’t stop bothering me. And for a brief moment, as I raise his mask and kiss his lips, “hope” has me tied up in its web.
The one thing I can’t steal is a future with Peter Parker. All I can do is hope.
“So you’re admitting that I’m your bronze medal.”
“How many thefts am I going to have to look the other way on to get out of this?”
“We’ll see how generous I’m feeling in the morning~.”