Chapter Text
Everyone knows how the story begins. In Seattle, Max Caulfield was eighteen when a radioactive spider bit her and she became Spider-Girl, the friendly neighborhood superhero.
Or well, maybe not everyone, because that would go against the double life, the dual identity she’s been living, maintaining, and fighting for years.
Blah, blah.
Would people even care to know that their great hero is nothing more than a failure? A girl barely twenty-two years old who can’t even balance her personal life with her alter ego?
The same hero who has let the city’s buildings collapse on top of them and—Max doesn’t want to keep thinking about the past. On the mistakes that could have been— that have cost innocent people their lives, and for which she will never forgive herself.
She doesn’t want to go over every single thing that’s gone wrong in her life. From the spider that ruined her life to her inability to truly be the hero she wanted to be for Seattle.
Not when this is probably the end for her.
Max barely has enough strength to lean against the wall near her apartment building, her suit nearly torn open across her abdomen, her hand covering—almost uselessly—her oozing wound as blood continues to run down her suit. Her head touches the wall, her ears ringing and her gaze unfocused.
Is this really how she’s going to leave this world? Alone, hating herself?
As she begins to feel herself fainting, a tear falls from her eye before the world goes black.
- - -
Max opens her eyes suddenly, overcome by panic. In her field of vision, she recognizes the ceiling of her bedroom.
She frowns immediately, turning her head to one side toward her bedroom window—her usual entry and exit point for fighting crime. It’s closed, though the curtains are drawn back and rays of sunlight stream in to illuminate the room.
She feels confused. The thought of being on the brink of death still lingers in her mind. Was it a lucid dream? Or a nightmare that felt all too real? Because she can still hear the echoes of the bankers crying and begging for help, she can feel the knife piercing her flesh, twisting uncomfortably until it leaves a large wound, she can hear the tearing of her suit and the gasps of the bankers as they see her so defeated.
Max brings a hand to her face and sits up, the sheets swirling around her stomach. Immediately she feels intense pain in her abdomen, as if she were being stabbed all over again. She lets out a small cry of pain, letting herself fall back onto the bed with a thud. She doesn’t have enough energy to curl up into a ball.
She hears hurried footsteps in the hallway before her bedroom door is violently thrown open.
There’s a gasp. Max turns instinctively, though she immediately regrets it when the pain returns.
“You're finally awake. Fuck, damn it, Max, you have no idea how fucking worried I've been about you,” Chloe Price almost sobs, stepping closer to her bed.
Max blinks, studying her. Chloe looks much paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes—eyes that are red and swollen as if she'd just been crying.
Max’s heart aches, and she tremblingly reaches out her hand to Chloe, who meets it halfway with a firm grip.
“Hey, hey, I’m, uh, relatively okay. I’m still alive,” Max tries to reassure her. But what is she supposed to say? That she’ll try to be more careful? Because that would be a blatant lie. They both know that once she’s recovered—or even right now—she’ll put on her suit, climb out her window, swing from buildings on her web-shooters, find “evil” people trying to destroy the city, fight them, get hurt, and barely make it back to her apartment. It’s a routine. Chloe should know that by now.
Chloe had insisted a couple of years ago that it wouldn’t bother her, that she was coming to terms with the danger that constantly lurks around Max. That she wanted to be there for her, that she wanted to take care of her.
It’s never too late for her to back down, right?
Max expects it every day. That Chloe will eventually give up on her, that she’ll realize that taking care of Max is like a low-paying- no-pay job with too many hours.
Max is destined to be alone, and she’s already made peace with it.
Chloe crawls a little closer, tightening her grip. Usually, Max wouldn’t feel it, but now that she’s still weak and disoriented, she’s surprised to feel it.
“You decided to wake up two days later,” her best friend still looks scared. “I was thinking of taking you to the hospital.”
Max grimaces. She’s never had good experiences at the hospital. They remind her of endless nights waiting for news about her grandma’s condition, of uncomfortable doctor’s appointments for her growth issues, of sporadic visits due to her clumsiness.
She’s lucky to have woken up in her own bed.
Then something clicks. Two days.
She was out for two days.
Max immediately sits up, not caring about the pain the sudden movement causes her again.
No.
The physical pain is nothing compared to what she’s feeling inside.
“Oh fuck, two days?!” Max runs her free hand over her face. “Amanda—”
“I already told her you were hurt,” Chloe interrupts, raising a hand as if to calm her. That doesn’t help Max at all.
“What, what did you tell her?”
Chloe sighs, letting go of her hand and letting it rest in her lap. “I told her you had a little accident. She came to see you yesterday; she was really worried. I also notified your workplace. Owen was pretty angry that you hurt yourself again.”
Max presses her lips together and clenches her fists, frustrated with herself. She can’t get Amanda out of her head—how she’s let her down again. “Fuck. Fucking shit. Oh, she’s going to hate me.”
“Hey, hey,” Chloe places her hands on Max’s shoulders, shaking her gently. Max makes a small grimace. “She’s not going to hate you, Spider Max.”
“You don’t know that.”
Chloe raises an eyebrow, shaking her again just to annoy her. Max can’t help but smile slightly as she rolls her eyes.
“Try me.”
Max bites her lip, nervously fidgeting with her hands. “What if… what if I told you this isn’t the first time I’ve stood her up?”
Chloe immediately gasps in surprise, her eyes wide. Max feels guilty for keeping it from her.
“What?”
Max sighs, running her hands over her face before beginning her story.
- - -
1.
It’s been a busy week.
Max has been awake these past few nights—maybe even for months, years—suffering from terrible insomnia that leaves dark circles like purple bruises under her eyes.
She’s so exhausted that more than once she ends up sleeping in the alley behind her apartment building after barely managing to take off her tight-fitting suit. Chloe always ends up either calling her on her phone or finding her.
The crime and violence rate in Seattle has skyrocketed since a new gang of criminals, "henchmen" of the Green Goblin, has started taking over the neighborhoods and their businesses. How have they even managed to replicate the weapons?
Oh, the Green Goblin.
Max still feels the regret, the sickening dizziness that washes over her every time she remembers that moment.
How Mark Jefferson appeared before her in that abandoned building, wearing the suit of the most maniacal enemy she’d ever had to fight.
How his own glider accidentally impaled him to death, when it was actually meant for Max, to kill her, to finish her off once and for all.
How she had to face the police, then the press, pretending she didn’t know what had happened, what she’d witnessed.
Max almost trips over a lamppost in her rush to zip up her jacket. Her backpack hangs from a single shoulder and nearly falls off as well.
She grunts under her breath, running a hand through her hair to try to fix it, to look more presentable.
For now, for just a moment, all that matters is getting to the Snapping Turtle, a bar downtown that’s pretty popular with college students. But Max—who, as a result of being Spider-girl and barely having time for a personal life, has had to give up her dream of studying photography—isn’t there because of academic stress. No.
No.
Her reason is… personal. Kinda.
Or rather, a little embarrassing.
She goes to see—whenever she can—the bar’s owner, the beautiful bartender Amanda Thomas. Who, from the very first second Max laid eyes on her, has had her smitten.
Max couldn't help it. To her, Amanda is like the sun, a magnet. A painting in the Sistine Chapel. An angel.
She and Amanda don't actually talk that much, but... after many conversations with Chloe and Safi, Max has finally decided to ask her out.
That’s why she’s spent a fair amount of money on a nice outfit (which she’s been arguing with Safi about, because she insisted on more accessories and Max could only feel her wallet crying out in pain). All to impress her.
If not now, then never.
Max adjusts her backpack on her shoulder, sighing when the bar’s sign finally comes into view. She hurries across the street, frantically looking both ways, left and right, until she feels slightly dizzy.
She bumps into a few people while crossing the street; they shove her hard and almost knock her off balance, and she barely manages to steady herself. She can’t even get upset; she’s too focused on going over it again, practicing how she’ll ask Amanda out, how to stay calm, and how not to mess it up with some silly thing, like making a gun gesture with her index fingers in the middle of the conversation, or making some corny comment (oh God, what if she ends up saying something like 'I could eat you under the table' or something like that?). Spending hours going over what she wanted to say to Amanda with Safi and Chloe has to be worth something.
... It’s not like she’s a loser or anything for asking her closest friends for help, right? Because that’s what ordinary people do... right??
Max sighs as her hand trembles when she places it on the doorknob. Upon entering, her gaze is immediately drawn behind the counter, where Amanda stands sideways; instead of her usual signature buns, her jet-black hair is pulled back into a bun, and she’s wearing a tight-fitting black T-shirt that highlights her beautiful skin. She has a dish towel draped over her shoulder as she stands with her arms crossed, chatting animatedly with a customer, a faint smile on her face—the kind that lights up her eyes.
Max can’t help but smile like an idiot. She longs so much to be the reason for her smile, to hold onto a piece of that happiness of hers.
“Hey, you coming in or not?” someone asks from behind her, and Max blushes slightly, awkwardly stepping into the bar, her head slightly bowed.
She can’t help it. Amanda makes her forget the rest of the world, as if only the two of them existed and no one else.
She shakes her head, straightening up, her hand gripping the strap of her backpack tightly before approaching the bar with a determined stride.
Amanda doesn’t recognize her right away, still focused on the customer’s conversation. Max tries not to be disappointed; after all, she’s working.
Max tries to look relaxed as she leans against the counter, awkwardly sitting down on one of the stools, making enough noise to catch Amanda’s attention. Amanda first glances at her out of the corner of her eye before apologizing to the customer and only then turning her full attention to Max.
Max’s heart leaps into her throat. Once again, she feels as if the world has gone out of focus, as if only Amanda exists and matters.
Her brown eyes.
Oh.
They’re so beautiful.
They remind her of the chocolate candies her grandma used to give her when she picked her up from kindergarten when she was little.
They remind her of the hot chocolate her grandma used to make for her in the winter, tucking under warm blankets. Of quiet afternoons drinking it with Moses and Safi while they study or watch a movie. Sometimes, when they’re in the mood, they add a little alcohol to bring out the chocolate’s flavor.
They remind her of the coffee Chloe makes for her on tough nights, usually accompanied by a Pain Au Chocolat—Chloe always laughing at her terrible pronunciation, even though she isn’t much better herself—and a good movie marathon or catching up on their shows.
Brown has always meant home and comfort to Max. And she wouldn’t mind if Amanda’s eyes eventually made her feel that way too.
As Max looks at them, she loses herself in them even more, focusing on the tiny details in her irises.
Amanda tilts her head, smiling at her as she always does.
“Hey Max, can I get you the usual?” she asks casually.
Max lets out a soft 'mhm' before reacting properly, sitting up straight as Amanda raises her eyebrows, clearly waiting for an answer.
“Y-yeah, the usual,” Max nods more times than she should, more than she’d practiced with Safi. If her best friend were there, she would have already shaken her head while facepalming, running her hands over her face.
Amanda doesn’t seem to mind, humming to herself. “Right away,” she says before walking away to start making her drink.
Max takes advantage of the fact that she isn’t looking at her to rest her forehead on the counter, sighing silently. Great. There goes her attempt to look unfazed.
She rests her hands on the counter and lifts her head. Her eyes focus on Amanda’s back; she watches how elegantly she grabs the bottles and how confidently she begins to pour, effortlessly measuring out the exact amount Max likes.
Could that be a sign that she’s thinking of Max? That she’s important enough for Amanda to remember her?
A small smile escapes her; she rests her elbow on the counter and presses her cheek against her open palm, looking at her with such absolute adoration that she should be embarrassed.
Amanda is a feast for the eyes—what can she do?
Before long, she comes over again, raising her eyebrows when she notices Max’s intense gaze. Oops. Too obvious. Fuck.
Max tries to hide it, lowering her arm as she clears her throat, trying to look indifferent.
Amanda lets out a little chuckle as she hands Max her usual drink, shaking her head slightly. “Here you go, tiger. Enjoy.”
Max smiles at her, her heart racing after making her laugh. “Thanks, Amanda,” she says in a sincere, soft, almost vulnerable tone.
Amanda’s eyes soften. Max notices it in the way they brighten and how she flashes her a small smile.
Even though she likes having Amanda’s attention on her, she can’t help but feel a little nervous. Her hand trembles as she grabs her glass to take a sip.
It’s fucking silly. She fights crime, against people who literally want to kill her all the time, but she still gets nervous over a girl?
... Did Shakespeare feel nervous over a girl too and still keep writing? Did her man diCorcia feel nervous over a girl and still keep taking photos?
Because, wow, Spider-girl feels nervous.
Amanda clears her throat discreetly, catching Max’s attention again.
“So, isn’t your girlfriend coming?” she asks, almost disinterestedly, as she rests a hand on the counter near Max, who gets goosebumps at the closeness.
Max then frowns slightly as she takes in her words. “Uh, girlfriend?” she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head slightly, incredulous, unsure if she’s serious or teasing.
Amanda blinks, tilting her head. “I’m talking about Chloe,” she clarifies, and Max nearly spits out her drink.
“W-what?” she asks haltingly, giving her a quick nod as Amanda leans over the counter to check on her. “No, no. Chloe—no, no. She's not my girlfriend.”
Amanda looks genuinely surprised. Max really can't blame her. She's probably noticed how close they are, and the fact that they're always together.
If only she knew that Chloe only tags along to give her emotional support and make fun of her terrible attempts at flirting.
“Oh, so it’s Safi, right?” she asks cautiously, as if she’s having trouble remembering her name.
Max coughs, nearly choking on her own breath. “What? No, no, not- uh, she’s not my girlfriend either.”
This isn’t how Max had expected their conversation to start. Oh boy. In a way, though, it makes her happy that Amanda thinks she’s capable of getting a girl interested in her.
Amanda tilts her head, a look of mild surprise on her face. “Wowser. So you don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend?”
Max shakes her head, letting out a small, incredulous laugh. “I’m, uh, pretty single. Like, since the days of the cavemen—” Max stops, her eyes widening at the stupid thing she just said.
Amanda giggles. “Hey, me too,” she raises her hands in a teasing gesture that calms Max’s panic. “Trying to date these days is… shit, you never even know what criminal is about to make your life hell,” she shakes her head.
Max knows this all too well. Her poor, patched-up costume knows this all too well.
She presses her lips together, nodding briefly. “Yeah, I get it. The, uh, streets don’t feel safe.” That’s one way of putting it.
“Hey, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the effort our neighbor Spidey puts in, but people—” Amanda shakes her head. Max can’t help but feel a little smug. “It’s just… unsafe, like you said.”
Max softens her gaze, torn between compassion, disappointment, and shame. Sometimes, she can’t help but feel it’s her fault that so many maniacs are on the loose, taking out their anger on the city. That, no matter her good deeds, someone always ends up paying with their life.
Amanda taps the counter with her fist gently, just enough to snap Max out of her self-pity.
For a moment, they just look into each other’s eyes. Max can’t even blink, completely lost.
She never wants to look away. In fact, she’d die happy knowing that the last thing she’d see would be Amanda’s eyes.
Could this be her chance?
She forces herself to take a sip of her drink to calm her nerves before sighing as she sets the glass down on the counter.
“Amanda,” she begins, almost shuddering just at the sound of her name. The girl in question raises an eyebrow, urging her to continue with a small gesture. “I, uh, I was wondering if, uh, you'd like to, you know, uh, go out sometime.”
She can hear Safi's groan and Chloe's laughter in her head.
Couldn't the universe have given her some useful power for situations like this, like rewinding time or something?
She has to hold back her urge to back out, to bang her head against the counter, to run away.
Luckily, Amanda smiles at her, almost beaming.
“I'd love to. You know, I've been wanting to go to that restaurant with the singing waitresses that just opened.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard good things about that restaurant.” Max pretends she knows what she’s talking about, but in reality she has no fucking idea. A little white lie won’t hurt anyone, right? Especially since Max will have to look up the restaurant’s address anyway. “Ugh, I can’t remember the name.”
“Me neither.”
They both giggle.
Max keeps her silly smile even as Amanda walks away for a moment to grab something. Max is content just watching her from behind, sipping her drink and humming cheerfully.
Amanda returns, holds out her hand, and Max, confused and hesitant, extends hers in return. Amanda turns her hand over with a teasing smile, exposing her scarred palm. Max watches as Amanda’s gaze traces the irregular lines on her palm before leaning slightly and using her other hand to jot something down with a marker.
Max bites her lip, her gaze shifting between Amanda and the numbers appearing on her skin.
555-0139...
God, even her handwriting is beautiful. Does Amanda have to be this perfect?
Amanda nods to herself, straightening up before gently and slowly letting go of Max’s hand, lingering in the touch. Still, it ends too quickly for Max’s liking; she feels the absence of Amanda’s warm hand almost immediately, and her own hand is left tingling.
“Text me. Let's, uh, meet up soon, okay?” Amanda puts the cap back on the marker, looking as if she’s proud of herself, as if she’d won the jackpot.
Max nods suddenly, a little dazed. “Yeah, yeah. Of course. It’s a date.”
She smiles nervously at her as Amanda walks away to attend to another customer.
Max looks back at the numbers in her hand and can’t help but feel her heart flutter with excitement.
Oh fuck, it’s a fucking date.
- -
The week drags on. Max finds herself drumming her fingers on every surface she touches, constantly checking the date and time on her phone or watch. She’s had to buy a watch just so she can be on time for her date—and not because Chloe has asked her repeatedly over the past four years (she would be pissed off if she ever find out).
It seems her villains are showing her some mercy, since they haven’t shown up. And yes, god fucking damn it, Spider-girl is worried. But at least she isn’t so injured or so busy fighting that she has to postpone her date.
She swings on her webs anxiously, unable to stop herself from letting out screams and squeals of excitement. In just two hours.
She rushes into her apartment, moving fast enough that if anyone ever happens to see her, they won’t know what’s going on.
Spider-Girl closes her bedroom window and draws the curtains as she always does before taking off her mask.
“Chloe! Are you there?” Max calls out out of habit, as she moves around her room, taking off her suit. Though she still hesitates over whether she should even take it off.
Who knows what might happen?
Max shakes her head. Nope. None of that. She has to trust that the police are capable of doing their job, at least tonight.
She needs everything to go perfectly with Amanda. And she doesn’t mind spending a few hours as Max Caulfield instead of Spider-Girl.
“In the living room!” Chloe replies, and Max hears her shuffling closer.
Max reaches out, using her web to grab her loungewear—a simple white T-shirt and denim shorts. She hurriedly gets dressed, zipping up her fly just as Chloe finally enters her room.
“Wow, you look terrible,” her friend laughs before wrinkling her nose. “And you smell terrible, fuck, Spider Max, what were you doing?"
Max groans, using her web-shooter to open her closet as she moves closer to inspect her clothes, doing a few quick flips in the air. “A cat got trapped with her kittens in the sewer.”
Chloe laughs even harder. “Ah, the great hero using her superpowers to rescue cats! Oh, I’ll never forget that!”
Max makes an obscene gesture with her hand while shaking her head. “Stop making fun of me and help me pick out something decent for my date.”
Chloe hums, stepping closer to her. “Are you absolutely sure you want my help and not Safi's?”
Max turns to look at her as Chloe goes through the clothes in her closet. “Do you want me to tell Safi that I need an outfit that’s elegant but easy to take off in case I need to be Spider?”
Chloe shrugs, pausing to look with disgust at one of Max’s hawaiian shirts. “I still don’t know why you don’t just tell her and Moses. The more people who care about you know, the better.”
Max sighs, resting her head against her closet door, absentmindedly watching Chloe’s hands move from hanger to hanger. “I want to tell them. I mean, Moses could help you set up my web-shooter, Safi could help make my suit, and who knows what else. But you’ve seen how dangerous it is. I mean, how many times have I had to rescue you?”
“For fucks’s sake, Max, it was only twice,” Chloe complains. “Jefferson was a complete lunatic—that has nothing to do with him figuring out your identity.”
“You’re wrong. It has everything to do with it,” Max says, bringing a hand to her face. “If a psychopath could figure it out, who’s to say others can’t?”
Chloe seems to have found what she was looking for, as her eyes light up when she grabs the only two white shirts Max has and hands them to her—an unspoken message to which Max responds by rolling her eyes and using her web to place them on the bed.
“Hey, you’ve even started using a voice changer, and your suit covers you completely,” Chloe points at her while inspecting her pants.
“But think about it, Chloe,” Max insists, blushing as Chloe makes a disapproving face at her wardrobe. “Anyone can see why I’m always late for everything, why I’m always hurt and disoriented.”
“You’re Spidey and you don’t even have a fucking sense of style,” Chloe tells her, clicking her tongue as she starts to walk away. “I’ll bring you some of my jeans that should fit you well,” she says, waving her hand to signal she’s leaving, without even glancing at her, as if she were deliberately ignoring their earlier conversation.
Max snorts, slamming her closet doors shut.
“Don’t go breaking furniture, Max Caulfield!” Chloe scolds her from her room. Max mimics her, shaking her head.
“It was an accident!”
“Yeah, right!”
Max rolls her eyes, heading from her room to the bathroom. The last thing she needs is for Amanda to think she smells bad.
- -
Max sighs as she steps into her room, heading to her closet to grab a clean bra and matching underwear, drying off and putting them on, then walking over to her bed to try on the shirts. The first one she puts on is too short, ending just above her belly button, which makes her look at herself in the mirror in disbelief. She bought it just two years ago. Max grumbles as she unbuttons the shirt, leaving it carelessly on her nightstand while she grabs the other one. This time it’s a little loose, but it doesn’t look too bad.
Max strikes a few poses in the mirror, making sure it fits well. Chloe walks in just as Max flexes her arm.
They look at each other awkwardly before Chloe clears her throat to stifle a laugh and steps forward to lay out three pairs of black jeans.
Max raises an eyebrow at the selection, and Chloe gestures for her to be quiet.
“Black and white—it can’t go wrong, Max,” she says, crossing her arms and stepping back a few paces to let her pass. She looks closely at the shirt she’s wearing and nods with a look of approval.
Max grabs the nearest pair of jeans, and Chloe rolls her eyes as she turns away to give her some privacy. Max hurriedly pulls on Chloe’s black jeans, which are a little too big for her.
She buttons the two buttons and then zips up the fly. “You can take a look,” she says, as she tucks her shirt into the jeans.
Chloe lets out a whistle. “We’ve got a winner!”
Max blinks, looking at herself in the mirror. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course,” her best friend hums. “If Amanda doesn’t ask you out on a second date, she’s missing out.”
Max smiles, flattered. “Thanks, Chloe. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she says, glancing at her suit on the floor and gently picking it up.
“Can’t you just be Max for one night?” Chloe asks, following her gaze.
She sighs, running her fingers over the fabric of her suit. It’s been with her for so many years. She’s had to sew it so many times; she has at least three more emergency costumes that Chloe had helped her sew.
It’s a Spandex suit that’s brown on the back, sides, lower arms, and from the waist down, except for the area from mid-calf to the feet, which features a white spiderweb pattern on a black background. The pattern also covers her abdomen, chest, shoulders, and head, as well as her hands and arms. On the back is a large light brown spider, and a small brown spider emblem on the chest.
She remembers that, when they finished the sketch, Chloe didn’t seem entirely convinced, suggesting they reverse the colors. But Max had liked how it turned out, and Chloe had respected her choice.
She smiles slightly as she leaves her folded costume on one of the chairs near her window.
“I’ll try,” she says, looking at her over her shoulder. “But if things get complicated…”
Chloe frowns at her. “So what? Are you just going to run off? Are you really willing to stand Amanda up?”
Max turns to face her. “Believe me, that’s the last thing I want. You know how long I’ve been in love with her, but… but if the city is in danger…”
Chloe sighs. She knows full well there’s no way Max will change her mind, that she’ll allow herself to be selfish, not when she has that responsibility, that duty to protect Seattle. “You’ll try to find a balance, won’t you?”
Max nods.
Her best friend points a finger at her while leaning against the doorframe. “Enjoy tonight, Max Caulfield. Spider-girl can save the world tomorrow."
“That’s the plan.”
- -
Max readjusts her black jacket (which she’d stolen from Chloe on her way out), her palms sweaty and her heart pounding frantically. She feels like she’s going to faint at any moment.
It’s really happening.
Oh, fucking shit.
Max glances at the watch on her wrist and sighs shakily, shaking her hands to calm herself.
In a few minutes, she’ll officially have her date with Amanda Thomas. After four years of pining for her.
How incredible is that, right??
She tosses her head back as she lets out a couple of incredulous giggles. Amanda is about to go on a date with her. With Max Caulfield.
She brings her hands to her face as she straightens her back again, surprised to see that a couple of people are staring at her. She blinks, pulling her hands away from her face and clenching them into fists as she turns around, walking down the sidewalk with a blush on her cheeks.
If everyone knew that Amanda Thomas was about to go on a date with her, they wouldn’t be staring at her like she’s some kind of weirdo. She’s been through that in high school, thank you very much.
She glances at her watch again. Oh. Any minute now.
Just a little while longer.
She stops, nervously biting her lip.
Geez, why is time passing so slowly?
Max huffs and, as she looks around again, can only try to imagine what Amanda will look like, what they’ll talk about, what chivalrous acts she can do for her.
Then she feels it. The familiar tingle running down her spine, her hearing sharpening, and how the world seems to have slowed down.
She hears some decidedly sinister laughter mixed with the hum of something echoing from an ATM.
Max instinctively runs toward the source of the noise, already unbuttoning her shirt when she remembers she doesn’t even have her suit—just her mask, which she’d hastily grabbed before leaving, weighing down her pocket.
She curses under her breath, looking both ways before putting on her mask, pulling out her web shooters, and hastily strapping them to her wrists.
She finds a high spot to start swinging on her webs, glancing briefly at her watch.
Fuck.
Well, she still has time. Hm. She could just leave them wrapped in webs and then go.
She lands on the street in front of the bank. Thanks to the glass doors and large windows, Spider-Girl can clearly see three people starting to crouch down while they have one of them standing guard, uselessly looking in the opposite direction from where Spider-Girl is standing. She shakes her head to herself before slipping silently through the door, making sure to close it very quietly before looking back at the robbers.
She leans awkwardly against the wall near the entrance, trying to look intimidating.
“Did you forget your PIN?—Oh my, but aren’t you my distant relatives!” she says, smiling to herself as the thieves look at her, wearing poor imitations of her own mask, the crouching ones suddenly jumping to their feet, and the one who was supposed to be on guard pointing a gun?—at her. It’s a strange thing that glows with a blue light. Spider-Girl can’t keep watching and trying to figure out what’s wrong with the gun because it’s seconds away from being fired.
“Hey! How do we even know you're really Spider-Girl? You're wearing formal clothes.” The guard points his gun at her, his finger dangerously close to the trigger. So, with a quick flick of her wrist, she shoots out a web and covers the gun before the bullet—or whatever's inside it—can fire. Spider-Girl has been shot quite a few times in recent years, and it’s one of the worst pains she’s ever experienced. Chloe has had to get her hands dirty to pull out the remaining bullets lodged in her flesh.
“Hey, chill out, arachnid buddy! That’s why we don’t invite you to family dinners!” she snorts, quickly climbing onto the roof and dodging a few blows. “Can anyone other than Spidey climb ceilings? I don’t think so!”
She quickly targets the thieves with her web, causing them to lose their balance and slam into the wall. One of them moves in to try and punch her; seeing that Spider-Girl is on her back, he thinks he can knock her out. Spider-Girl dodges the blows effortlessly, following her instincts.
When she sees the guy is going to keep trying, Spider-Girl raises her hand to block his fist, forcing him to punch himself before shooting a web at him that finally knocks him to the ground.
She has to dodge a few more blows from behind, effortlessly shooting her web to disorient them before climbing down from the ceiling. She feels a tingling sensation again and tilts her head to the right, avoiding a punch. Spider-Girl grabs her attacker’s outstretched arm and thrusts him forward, sending him crashing into his two companions who were just getting back to their feet.
Spider-girl turns her head and finds herself face-to-face again with the guard, who is still holding that strange weapon. She shoots a web to try to grab it, but she’s too slow, and the guard notices, pulling the trigger.
Nothing could have prepared Spider-Girl for what happens next. Instead of feeling the searing heat of a bullet tearing through her skin and grazing her flesh, she finds herself in the air, paralyzed and encased in a sort of bubble with blue edges for some reason.
“This is so weird!” she can’t help but exclaim, surprised to hear her voice distorted, as if she were the lost sister of Alvin and the Chipmunks—but at the same time as if she were in slow motion.
The guard smiles cynically at her as he pulls the trigger again, sending Spider-girl crashing into the entrance wall; it’s so sudden she can’t break her fall. She can feel that her nose has broken and blood is starting to trickle down to her lips. Damn it.
Spider-Girl feels a little dizzy, but she jumps to her feet. “What the hell is that thing?!” she can’t help but ask aloud. Science isn’t her thing—that’s always been Chloe’s domain. All she knows is that this weapon has been heavily modified, and that’s just a simple observation.
“Ha! As if you could understand it!” the guard yells at her, aiming at her again. Spider-Girl is slow again and is already caught in the crosshairs. Instead of being thrown into the air again, the guard amuses himself by lifting her up until she crashes painfully into the ceiling.
“I'm starting—” she is interrupted as she is brutally knocked to the ground. “-To think-” she says, crashing into the ceiling again. “That you are not-” she says, falling again. “-Family!” she finishes, with great difficulty. She tries to clear her mind and braces herself; as soon as the guard starts lifting her again, Spider-Girl quickly plants a hand on the floor.
Her body finally seems to respond to her, as she stays still for a few seconds before extending her other hand, shooting a web behind the guard, ripping a decorative shelf off the wall, and sending it crashing into the guard’s back. He screams and falls to the floor. As he lands near one of the suitcases containing the stolen money, they fly through the air.
Now that they’ve stopped pointing that weird gun at her, Spider-Girl can finally have a fair hand-to-hand fight against the thieves. The walls help her dodge their attacks while she lands her own blows. Thanks to her spider-senses, she isn’t bothered by the dollar bills that keep magically flying around the tiny space. She can’t say the same for her attackers.
Spider-Girl starts to get bored as she leans against the ATM that had been smashed to pieces.
“Well, time to wrap this up!” she announces, as if she were a teacher just minutes before an exam ends. Of course, the thieves act worse than freshman high school students in the middle of a test, not even paying attention to her, still trying to hit her.
One of them grabs the strange weapon again, and as Spider-Girl shoots a web at him that traps him to the wall, she can’t help but move closer, gaining momentum thanks to the space and her balance.
She examines the weapon as closely as she can, marveling at its design. It doesn’t even really look like a weapon, not like the ones Spider-Girl is familiar with.
Then a strange noise forces her to look away, and her eyes widen in horror as she sees another strange weapon—only this one is a pale purple color—rapidly heading toward her and the other thief. Spider-Girl barely manages to utter, “Wait, no!” as she scrambles to get out of the way just in time, still holding the thief in her arms. They end up falling to the floor. Spider-Girl watches as the weapon seems to circle the bench and then heads straight for the shop across the street, quickly setting it on fire. Her heart stops for a second.
Oh, no.
No, no.
She rushes to wrap the thieves in her webs against the ceiling before shooting out through the shattered window, running as fast as she can to make sure the store was empty.
“Hello?! Is anyone here?!” she shouts, trying to sharpen her senses. There’s something behind the counter.
Spider-girl glides over the counter, finding an elderly woman clutching something furry tightly to her chest, trembling.
She reminds her of her grandma.
Oh, how she misses her grandmother.
How much she hates herself for having been indirectly responsible for her death.
If only she had stopped the thief.
If she hadn’t accepted the energy drink, her grandma would probably still be alive.
Max feels tears stinging her eyes as she approaches the woman. “Hey, I’m here to help you,” she whispers, her voice trembling. The woman looks at her immediately, and Spider-girl can see the relief wash over her.
“Oh, Spider-Girl! Oh, thank Lord!” She looks like she’s about to cry with joy. Spider-Girl extends her hand, and the woman quickly takes it, standing up with some difficulty. Max guides her gently but quickly toward the exit.
The woman basically leans against the phone booth in relief as she coughs, the bundle in her arms meowing.
Just then, she begins to hear the police approaching. She looks at the woman, her lips trembling.
“Now you’ll be in better hands, okay? I’m sorry about your shop,” Spider-Girl apologizes, fixing her gaze on the bank. It seems the robbers have gotten away.
Fucking great.
Just what she needed.
“Oh, dear. The mere fact that you saved me is—I can’t even find the right words. But thank you. Oh, thank you so much. I thought I wouldn’t be able to attend my grandson’s wedding. Thank you, Spider-girl.”
Spider-girl smiles at her, though it’s barely noticeable. Saving a life always makes all her sacrifices worthwhile.
“Dear, may I ask where is the rest of your suit?” the woman asks curiously, and Spider-girl freezes.
Her suit?
She looks down at herself. Her black jacket is covered in soot and dirt. Her white shirt is completely stained, and her pants have a few new rips they shouldn’t even have.
Then she remembers.
Her date.
Amanda.
Oh, fuck.
Shit, fuck, fuck, damn it.
Desperate, Max glances at her watch. She’s twenty minutes late.
She can’t fucking believe it.
The fight should have lasted at least five minutes, and rescuing the lady about two minutes—what was she doing for the rest of those thirteen minutes? Trying to get to the bank?
Spider-girl immediately apologizes before swinging off. Oh fucking, maybe she still—
Or maybe not.
Her clothes are a mess, she probably has some bruises on her face... though she could lie and say, uh, someone tried to rob her?
She’s got nothing to lose by trying.
She reaches an alley and takes off her mask, hastily stuffing it into her pocket, and removes her web shooters. She runs until she reaches the restaurant, flinging the door open. Luckily, she doesn’t draw too much attention.
She steps inside, trying to make herself small, looking desperately everywhere, but there’s no clue, no sign that Amanda is there. Max starts to panic as she searches the restaurant.
It’s useless.
Amanda isn’t there.
Which means Max has screwed up in ways she doesn't yet realize, but she wants to face up to it. She's been a complete idiot. Just the thought of an excited Amanda waiting for her for those twenty minutes before giving up and leaving hurts her deeply.
She walks out of the restaurant, letting herself cry out of frustration.
- -
It takes Max a few days to finally track down her enemy, Vulture, who turns out to be Yasmin Fayyad, the mother of her best friend—a woman who has somehow become a mother figure to Max in recent times.
The news of her mother’s corruption and fraud devastates Safi, and Max tries to be there for her. She lets Safi stay with her and Chloe, not caring that it takes more effort than usual to keep her alter ego a secret.
All these days, Amanda hasn’t left her mind. She misses her, and it’s silly.
She hopes she hasn’t ruined her chance with her forever.