Chapter Text
Mike Ross hopped off of his bicycle, propping it against the wall of his grandma's house. He raced up the steps, flying into his room as he discarded his clothes. He snapped his mask over his face, flexing his padded fingers cloaked by the cherry-red suit. He sent a spiderweb to the window, covering its persistent creak with a, "I'm going out, Grammy! I'll see you in a bit!"
He paused, waiting for her reply with one leg out the window. "Don't cause too much trouble, Mike. Stay safe," she finally echoed back in her grizzly, aged voice, and Mike yelled a guilty reply before slipping from his room and swinging away. I'll tell her soon. I just need to get back on my feet. Or back in with Trevor... no, I won't.
The wind hugged his face as he flew from building to building, checking his phone for any police reports in his area. "God—these guys again? I thought I told them to stay away," he muttered, squinting at the "grocery store burglary" article.
"Hey!" he shouted, laying his Queens accent on thick as the masked men turned their heads toward them. The leader snatched a gun from one of his men, sending a bullet Mike's way. He huffed, flying to the side of the building as he rested his foot on a ridge. Half—the slightly smarter half, Mike would say—fled, while the other division of the group fired away. He made quick work of them, stringing them all up in a hanging web. Their limbs were all entangled as he scolded them, leaving them with, "This is your last warning, ya know! I can't keep webbing you all day. I've got more important people to save!"
And he did. He just didn't know it yet.
His knee was bouncing on the edge of a rooftop as he swiped through his crime detector. "Kitten in a tree? They're considering that a crime now?" muttered Mike.He froze, his thumb hovering over the article that read, "Spider-Man: New York's Biggest Threat?" He groaned into his palms. The police would be looking for him now—he couldn't stay in one place like he was used to doing. The damn Daily Bugle.. how'd they manage to win everyone over? he wondered sourly. And, with the thought of the Daily Bugle came thoughts of Trevor. He mashed his teeth together, shaking his head to rid himself of T-word thoughts.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket, balancing on his feet as he watched the bustling scene of New York. He made up stories about them in his head, assigning each a quote from books he'd read recently.
That woman's a librarian volunteer at her local middle school. She has to put up with three dozen troubled tweens every day, and, though she won't admit it, it's taking a toll on her. "Sometimes, we want what we want even though we know it's going to kill us." The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt.
That hotshot lawyer is working at the biggest law firm in Manhattan, and—Oh, shit. That taxi's not going to stop.
He acted without a moment's hesitation, swooping from the rooftop as he took the lawyer in his arms. "Shit!" the man exhaled, using the rest of the breath he thought would be his last.
"Where're you headed?" asked Mike, clutching the lawyer's blue folder with his forefinger and thumb and swinging with his remaining fingers.
"Just set me down. I'll get another cab—one that won't kill me," he requested, and Mike did as he was told. He brought the pair of them down to the sidewalk, flicking through the legal papers he had already memorized and setting them in proper order.
Hotshot Lawyer retrieved them from Mike, skimming through the papers. "Hold on a sec—did you rearrange my papers?"
His voice had an edge to it, and Mike winced. Shouldn't have done that, Mike. You're not a lawyer. You know that, and now, so does he.
"Sorry, sir. Force of habit. I've got some legal experience."
Hotshot Lawyer huffed. "Legal experience? Spider-Man has legal experience? Bullshit."
Mike laughed wearily. "Yeah. Not any that I could put it to use, what with the day job and all, but it's... handy."
He merely chuckled, waving a hand and calling his next taxi.
Mike watched the yellow car blend into the sea of traffic, his heart pining for that lawyer's spot. If only we could trade. I'd be working at a big firm, and he'd be in the slums of the city, his closest friend working for the people that tipped him off to the police.
Later that day, when his grandmother asked Mike why he was so quiet, he didn't say anything. He had no idea about all of the not-so-far-off inferences she was making in her head—that Mike broke up with Trevor, and they really had been together all this time. He didn't look up to see her self-satisfied smirk. That boy was never right for my Mikey anyway, she thought as she watched him turn the television on.
He let the feel of the cool air whipping by him distract him from his ache, his head subconsciously recounting pieces of media that he'd consumed lately. It wasn't until he was halfway to a crime scene that he felt his phone buzz. His brows furrowed from within the mask, but he pulled out his phone nonetheless.
We need to talk.
Mike snorted. If Trevor thought that Mike would step within five feet of him after what he'd done, then he really was going crazy.
Please. I know you don't want to, but I'm at the office right now, and I'm on a lunch break. I can't live with myself for what I've done to you. All I want is to sit down and chat.
His stomach began to churn. Trevor always helped Mike whenever he needed him, and the least Mike could do was return the favor. Even if it meant hearing Trevor out after their explosive fight.
He shot himself to the roof of a building, pausing only for a beat to type a reply.
Fine. Only because I owe you. I'll be there in 5.
Mike shook his head at his all-too-familiar inability to tell Trevor no. He continued to shame himself, all the way to the back of an alley where he found Trevor waiting for him. He kept the mask on; both as a promise to himself and to send the message that he was only doing this out of necessity.
"Mike, I need you to listen to me," began Trevor, his voice gentle and alert all at once. He was treating Mike like a wary animal on the brink of whisking itself away, which wasn't entirely inaccurate.
"Trevor, I listened back then, and I heard all that I need to. You don't have any loyalty to me or any respect for what I do, and I've always known that you were jealous of me. Of my powers. And, frankly, I don't care. We're done. So, unless you have anything else to say that'll change my mind, which you don't, I'm leaving. I've got a city to protect—even a city that'll have its police hunt me down."
Trevor flinched, gnawing on his bottom lip. Mike waited for him to speak up. He didn't catch the way Trevor looked directly behind him, or the glint of the handcuffs in Trevor's eyes. The second Mike heard a, "Hands in the air! On the ground! Now!", he registered the guilty hunch to Trevor's back. Because, why would Trevor ever feel guilt?
He got to running immediately, side-stepping the police officer rushing up on him. She yelled into her radio, and Mike was just close enough to hear her order the five airborne helicopters to be on alert. So, they've got police in the sky for me now?
He knew they'd start tracking him if he returned to his grandmother's house, and he swung to the top of the building where Trevor's desk was. He crashed into the window at full momentum, not stopping for the gasps and shouts and the loud, buzzing alarm. He snatched Trevor's spare suit and briefcase, fleeing back out the way he came as he swung to the hotel across the street. He darted in, not stopping until he reached the hotel restroom.
He shoved his Spider-Man suit into the briefcase, smoothing his hair and fastening his tie as quickly as he could. He strolled out, lifting his shoulders and parading confidence as he sauntered into the room filled with identical-looking men.
They didn't bat an eye at his appearance, and his heart settled briefly. I'm in the right place. I'm not going to be apprehended.
"Excuse me? Are you Rick Sorkin?" said the redhead standing behind the counter.
"Er... yeah," replied Mike, swallowing. God, I hope my instinct is correct.
She smiled sharply, analyzing him with her piercing chestnut eyes. "You're five minutes late. What makes you think I should let you in?"
Mike, breathless and heady with adrenaline, said, "Look, I'm just trying to ditch the cops, okay? I don't really care if you let me in or not."
By some bizarre miracle, this seemed to please the redhead. She turned her head, winking at the unseen man behind the next door. "Mr. Specter will be right with you," she said, and Mike could've cried from relief.
He walked inside the lavish hotel room, freezing up.
Holy shit. It's Hotshot Lawyer.