Chapter Text
Winter in New York was not for the weak. To live in the city at any time of year, you needed thick skin, but when the cold months came and darkness fell over the city, when harsh winds struck you in the face, you needed a way to cope.
Olive moved to a small, cramped apartment in the heart of Queens five years ago, opened a cafe-bakery two years ago, and still hasn't made any real friends. At first, she went out to bars, met girls who fed off attention, and guys who left before she woke up. She led the lifestyle of a tourist in her own city and became content with her life.
Monday the 3rd of December -
Olive woke with a spiltting headache - they had become more frequent in the holiday season, due to the increase in bakery orders and lack of staff. Despite living in her Queens apartment for the past two years, she still slept on a mattress on the ground, surrounded by old takeaway containers and various half-read books that she had told herself she would finish one day. Still half-asleep, she searched the surrounding area for advil and found it somwhere near the bottom of her mattress. She neatly pinned her hair up into an updo, then spread her hands down over her long-sleeve, black cotton dress in an attempt to smooth out some of the wrinkles from the previous shift. Over two layers of tights, she pulled up her thick cream socks and laced her Doc Martens boots tight. With one last glance in the mirror, she left the house in a hurry, already slightly behind the bakery’s 8:00 opening.
Olive approached the small storefront on 94th and 52nd, her breath dancing infront of her face, her hand shaking as she fiddled through her keys, eventually finding the one to unlock the frosted blue door. The day went past slowly - morning regulars in for their caffeine fix, the new mothers and their toddlers coming in for a pastry, and six more orders due on Christmas Eve. The little metal bell Olive had installed above the door rang nonstop despite the cold and icy streets, and didnt stop ringing until around three that afternoon. Olive felt her arms and legs growing tired and weary after standing for almost seven hours, her plain apron hanging defeated around her neck. The pain of her headache had subsided but continued low and droning.
The cafe closed as the sun set over the city’s skyline, followed by an hour of cleanup and restocking. By six, Olive was locking up as she walked back into the darkness of the Queens streets.
Peter woke to his empty apartment. Every day was the same - wake up, monitor crime alerts, spend all day and night patrolling and come back to the same empty apartment to do the exact same thing tomorrow. If Peter had anyone to ask how he was, he would say surviving. Unable to live his previous life, and not knowing when he would feel like himself again, consumed his existence. The loneliness he felt was indescribable - an emptiness he had not felt before, a different kind of emptiness from that he had experienced when his mentor passed and again when his aunt followed. Today was Monday, the start of the week, which meant flowers for May. Peter grabbed his keys and jacket, pulling his hood up over his brown curls as he left the cold apartment. Taking his usual route, he passed the bookshop selling second-hand books, the local chinese takeout place, and the cute, blue cafe on the corner that he had always contemplated visiting but put off.
Peter reached for the cold metal handle of the bodega door hurriedly, in an attempt to escape the icy streets. His eyes drifted across the options before him: Lilies? Too expensive. Carnations? Why did they only have bright orange? He eventually settled on a small bouquet of wildflowers. Deep burgundy, soft pink, white and deep green. He paid, haphazardly stuffing them in his bag, attempting to end the awkward exchange between himself and the bodega guy. He’d been coming here for the past four years, only ever muttering a small “thanks” or “that’s all” despite the guy attempting to make conversation.
Nightfall came fast. It always did this time of year. Although night didn’t feel that different to day for Peter at the moment. It was all the same to him, especially with the shorter days and his tireless work from dawn to dusk.
This evening, Peter was taking his usual route home, back past the bodega and rows of stores, almost back to his empty apartment. Peter’s head was pounding. He’d been noticing… changes. constant migraines, sore spots along his wrist veins. The worst was his senses, heightened more than before - to the point that he couldn’t even focus on walking in a straight line. This evening, his senses were worse; he could hear bins clattering from two blocks away - and thats when he heard it - a woman shrieking. Scared and alone.
Olive was walking along the street she had walked along a thousand times before. She knew all the dark alleys - had them memorised - but tonight she was tired, less alert and less aware of her surroundings. She didn't see it coming. Out of the corner of her eye, an arm flew out of nowhere, dragging her back, her feet tripping over themselves into the dark alley. One man pinned her against the rough brick wall by the back of his arm as she struggled against his tight hold. The other man went straight for her purse, emptying its contents onto the wet cobblestones, holding an iPhone torch close by, frantically inspecting the items. In the dim refraction of the light, Olive could make out where she was, and what the man who had her trapped was carrying in his other hand. A small knife, just longer than one of her fingers, but sharp. Raising it to her face, the man made a comment about “ruining her pretty face”, which didn't even register to Olive in her adrenaline-filled fight-or-flight state.
Peter reached the scene in record time, managing to pull his suit on, on the way. The two perpetrators attempted to flee as soon as they saw Spiderman. This was a typical mugging, and the criminals weren’t Peter’s problem. After securing the men with a sheet of webs to a nearby building, he rushed back for the woman.
It must’ve happened during the perpetrators' hasty exit; Olive was pushed to the ground, her head crashing against the hard stone and her vision blurring before being lost completely.
Peter had a dilemma: he knew this woman. well he didn’t ‘know’ know her, but he passed her every day when he passed the bakery. In any normal case, he would take you to a hospital, but you looked so… almost peaceful. And he couldn't block out the assumption that you didnt have a boyfriend. ‘Who would let their beautiful girlfriend walk home alone in dark New York City?’ he thought to himself. Kneeling, he gently picked up Olive, slinding his arms under her bent legs, using his other arm to support her back and head, noting the softness of her hair. He just stood in the street staring down at her gentle face, debating what to do. ‘She must live nearby?’ he thought to himself, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Then, against his better judgement decided to take her home.