Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1

"The Chameleon"

"La Cantarella; a supposed poison of the Borgias, described as delightful yet deadly,"

She did not know how it came to this…

Felicia sits in a plastic row chair, her head dipped low, and her eyes squinted with confusing thoughts running rampant. Looking down at her slightly shivering hands, traces of Gwen Stacy’s crimson blood still clinging to her skin despite the scrub earlier in the restroom, she grimaces at the residue tinge of iron invading her nostrils.

A bunch of hospital staff walked past her in their rushes, some glances at the tactical catsuit she got on and at two of the hospital’s guards keeping their eyes on her. Saving the police captain’s daughter’s life does not guarantee leeway; apparently.

At least they got her a nice, warm, cup of cocoa. Good for them.

“Gentlemen, you would be so kind as to give us some privacy?” Captain George Stacy showed up with his badge in his raised hand and a look of deep contempt, understandably. The guards inspected the badge for a moment, and as well as noticing the presence of officers behind the captain, they relented and guided them all to a vacant room, and leave.

“Officer Drake, guard the entrance,” Captain Stacy ordered, then turned toward another one of his escorts. “Watch the window, Watanabe,” and the female officer did. George Stacy wanted to kick the operation door in and be at his baby girl’s side as much as any father in their right mind, but the presence of the alleged association of Wilson Fisk in front of him had to take priority. “What happened?”

“Can we sit?” Felicia, still a bit shaken, inquired with her brow furrowed and exhaled when the policeman nodded his head. She led him on a short trip to a set of chairs and took a seat. “I found her bleeding on the floor; had to improvise,” she referred to the ruined underwear piece she used to apply first-aid.

“Any possible identification?”

“No. Sorry, captain,” Felicia delivered with the sympathy she rarely shows, yet the situation seemed appropriate. “But I didn’t hear a gunshot. If that helps?”

“A professional, then…” George Stacy mumbled to himself, scribbling down his pen to his note; Felicia found it curious.

“…kid, wait!” Drake exclaimed as the door almost yanked out of its hinges, revealing Spider-Man who was sporting a set of narrowed white lenses on his mask.

“Get out, Spider-Man.” George Stacy calmly said, looking intently at the vigilante / his daughter’s boyfriend. “This is an official NYPD investigation.” George noticed the object of Spider-Man’s glare to be that of the platinum-haired woman he currently having a conversation with.

“Come on,” Officer Drake put his hand on the vigilante’s shoulder firmly, demanding the younger man to heed his words. But struggle as Spider-Man was adamant to stay in place. “Listen to the Cap’N, kid.”

“I’ll stay,” Spider-Man said monotonously, easily peeling off Drake’s hand from his shoulder, “What did you do?” Peter demanded accusingly at Felicia, who sported a very displeased look.

“Excuse me?!” Felicia became defensive and hissed at him.

“Spider-Man, I will ask you again; Leave.” George Stacy got up from his seat and stood like a stone pillar between Black Cat and Spider-Man, then he turned his voice into a whisper “I know you are angry, son, but acting like this won’t help anything.”

“She knows something, I’m certain,” Spider-Man replied, glancing away at the Black Cat.

“If that’s the case, I’ll find out.” George placed his hand on the man’s shoulder to give it a firm squeeze “You get change and wait for the doctors outside, deal?” George asserted authority, which took Spider-Man a moment to register.

Peter kept silent and retreated from the room, his parting glare only irritated her even more.

“Jerk.” She grunted when the captain retook his seat across from her.

“Miss, what were you doing there?” Captain Stacy opens his notepad.

“Miss Stacy’s relatives?” A nurse popped her head out and called.

“Yes!” Peter sprung up from his seat.

“Name and relation, sir?”

“Peter Parker, I’m her boyfriend.” Peter noticed the look of uncertainty on the nurse's, “Her father entrusted me while he’s interrogating a witness, please?”

“Very well, follow me.”

Peter shadowed the nurse through a hallway leading to the inpatient wing of the building and a room numbered 616. The nurse knocked and opened the door after a moment, revealing the interior of a standard hospital room and another nurse assisting a doctor at Gwen’s bedside, checking her as they should.

Peter situated himself in the visitor area and waited patiently for the medical staff to finish their work. He sees Gwen’s tired and pained eyes looking at him, trying to brave a smile on her pale lips, thanks to the wonders of modern medical treatments. Peter sported one of his own, yet he can tell it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Rest and don’t move too abruptly,” the doctor wrapped up his inspection with a reassuring smile. “We need to regulate check-ups every two hours if that’s alright with you?” Gwen nods weakly in affirmation.

“Is she going to be okay, doc?” Peter speaks up as he reaches the unoccupied side and takes Gwen’s paler-than-usual wrist in his hand, looking up at the doctor while the nurses excused themselves.

“Positively,” the doctor went through his tablet again “the caliber of the bullet was small enough that it didn’t rupture any vital organs. She lost some amount of blood, but we’ve already transfused semi-blood into her system, and she should be recovered in about two days.”

“That’s good to hear,” Peter said to the doctor, but his eyes never left Gwen’s.

“Anyway, it’s the contusion at the base of her skull that might pose some concerns. Scans showed no signs of internal hemorrhage inside the brain, but we might have to wait for a bit for it to be noticeable.” The doctor finished, looking up at the couple with a reassuring smile “The odds are quite low, though.” He alternated between them and started making his way to the entrance.

Peter stood there, caressing her cheek absentmindedly while studying the weak state she was in.

“…not a fan…” Gwen muttered quietly, leaning into his touch.

“What?”

“…being…shot…” she clarified with an attempted smirk, which managed to elicit a tiny chuckle from him. Peter bends and places a soft kiss on her forehead.

“That makes two of us,”

“I don’t know…Pete…you seem…to be owning it like a champ…” Gwen teased, weakly raising her hand to caress the side of his face, enjoying the rough stubbles he had going on lately.

“How are you?” he dragged a chair to sit at her side.

“Feels…like shit…” she started, letting out a wheezing cough, “and thirsty.”

“My, my, Miss Stacy; now’s not the time to be naughty.” Peter playfully chided her, while reaching for a glass of water that one of the nurses might prepared earlier. Slowly and carefully helped her through an entire glass.

“…I hate you…” Gwen let out a sigh after the water settled in her stomach with a sense of fulfillment. Peter chuckled at that and placed his head on her palm, letting the tender flesh caress him.

“No return policy, sorry.”

“Dang it…” Gwen smiled weakly.

“Get some rest, Gwen.” Peter incited her and planted a soft kiss on her palm. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“What the hell was that in there?!” Felicia hissed at him after pushing him inside a dark corner, disregarding the others looking at them; she concealed her hair in a loose beanie and draped a shade over her eyes while modifying her makeup just enough to dissuade unfamiliar eyes.

Peter exhaled with mild irritation, and squinted his eyes at her betrayed emerald orbs, after he was sure that no one was near, he started “Is this someone you know? Fisk’s? Hammerhead’s? Maybe Lincoln’s?” the accusation in his voice hammered into her, making Felicia faltered a bit, then another wave of anger surge within her.

“What are you saying?”

“Did you tell someone who I am?” Peter pressed on, intending to get an answer.

“What?”

“Did you tell someone I am Spider-Man?”

Felicia recoiled from him, a look of disbelief and hurtful plays across her whole body and face. She might’ve been more rightfully angry with him if not for the secret she’d kept of her own.

She can’t be trusted; she has made that much clear to him.

Still, the wrongful and shallow accusation struck like a burning rod, nonetheless; something snapped inside, and Felicia bundled the collar of his flannel shirt into her fist forcefully.

“You did not just accuse me of betraying your secret identity to crime lords who want your death, did you?” she sported a sarcastic and mirthless grin across her crimson lips. “And also, I hope to any deity you believe that the question did not insinuate that Stacy’s attempted murder stems from such nonsense.”

“I don’t know, Cat,” her nickname bared of any amusement it usually brings “Maybe it was like a tease to you, maybe you just want to see me squirms—” her palm slapped across his face quite forcefully; she still has residue enhancer in her systems, so the slapped make an impression on the superhuman.

“Fucking asshole.” Felicia drew it out, intended for him to hear every word spoken with venom and resentment, then stormed off.

Peter, fueled by the elusiveness and the stings on his cheek, rushed after the woman, intending fully to continue the interrogation.

“Felicity!” he called after her but saw no sign of acknowledgment. He gains more speed as her back becomes bigger and bigger as the distance lessens. “I’m not done talking!” he was tempted to just flick his web-shooter at her and reel her in like a fish but settled to just trapping her wrist in his unnatural grip.

Felicia cursed in frustration, struggling in vain to pry her wrist off the Sticky Spandex’s hand. “But I am, adieu!” Felicia grunted furiously, struggling still to the point where her wrist tendon started to ache. She whimpered a bit when Spider-Man seemed to increase the pressure just a smidge.

“Don’t make a scene,” Peter advised.

“Talking to a mirror?”

“Answer the question…” Peter offered, calmed down a bit as the numbness on his face dissipated.

“What are you, my college teacher?” she spat.

“I just need to know, please.” Peter offered again, the fire inside him reduced to just a pile of embers, loosened his grip.

“I didn’t,” Felicia said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, retreating her sore wrist after being released. “Thought it’d be a bit better; the way you saw me.” She finished that and got away from the miracle of Spider-Man shutting himself up.

Felicia walks in a foul mood, huffing at the absurdity of Peter Parker’s accusation of her screwing him over so carelessly.

She saw herself as cold-hearted, but never heartless.

To think that he thought she’d be so malicious as to announce a deadly secret like his to any dimwitted morons she came across. It was such a ridiculously moronic thought from someone so smart.

Her eyes fell upon a dirtied and abandoned Spidey plushy ahead of her, and without much thought, stepping in to kick it away in a fit of frustration directed at the owner of the likeness “Homme stupide!” she growled lowly, casting the final glance at the abused doll, and kept walking toward her destination.

Felicia discretely snatched an OsPhone from one of the coffee tables when the owner wasn’t paying attention; she needed to contact her client as soon as possible. Felicia applied a ‘trick’ she learned from some street kids to unlock the advertised ‘most secured smartphone money could not buy’, because Norman Osborn was so generous to compensate everyone who was affected by the Siege with one, free of charge.

She finds the notion laughable and such a shallow scam; nobody does anything for free…well, maybe one exception, but alas.

Punched the number, called, and waited for about three rings before the other end answered. “Zenith, 1030 PM, order an apple Martini.” She waited exactly half a second before disconnecting and crushing the phone between her hands, tossing it away into one of many dark alleys.

She landed softly on the balcony of her penthouse, retracting the specialized hook line into the shooters on her wrists. Walking inside, she draped the borrowed hospital gown over a cushioned chair in front of a full-body mirror she used for dressing and applying cosmetics; full-body, as in two feet taller than herself. Deposited her visor on the nightstand, Felicia casually undressed the panther suit and piled it on the floor near her fluffy bed. Stretching her athletic body to chase out the knots in her muscles and relaxes a bit just before taking a shower.

‘Who would want to kill Gwen Stacy?’ the question runs in her mind while the torrents of cold water bombard her body. ‘Her father’s enemies? But taking a hit on a police captain’s family is just a funeral service to oneself in terms of carelessness,’ she lamented, recalling the panic she felt as the smaller blonde woman lay bleeding in front of her.

Definitely not Wilson Fisk; the man was too much of a shadow broker to do something so brazen. He’d even positioned himself outside of the city just before the Siege to create his own albeit.

Lonnie Lincoln, on the other hand, holds a potential motivation to do so; but Tombstone always plays his cards so safely that something like this is borderline uncharacteristic.

A hit like this was more inclined with the Maggia’s vintage charms, yet, it was not spectacular enough of an execution for any of the Dons; to be honest.

A new player? Somehow the notion of another addition to New York’s fabulous circus of criminals and crime lords sounds boring as hell for her.

Felicia finished the shower and got dressed in her ‘uniform’ for a Zenith bartender; since the end of the Siege, Kingpin had taken over Hammerhead’s businesses while the mafia himself was on the run. All according to plans, her employer would have said proudly.

Felicia was not as privileged to the overall chess game that Fisk and Osborn played together as much as she’d like, but she could tell that they got what they wanted in the end.

“Yes?” Felicia picked up her phone after checking the contact to be one of her colleagues at the club.

“Are you coming tonight?” Isabella, a red-haired girl who works as her bartending partner, asked with her usual cheerful tone.

“Are you calling to let me know you want the tips all to yourself, sweetie? Because I can just be lazy here at my place if that’s the case?” Felicia teased.

“Oh, please! I don’t have to do that; I’ve already got 12% more than yours; I am a delight,” Isabella replied with a chuckle.

“If by ‘delight’ you mean the almost unfit-to-be-a-dress you wear every time? Then, yes you are.” Felicia retorted with a smirk.

“It’s an advertisement, Leesh,”

“Apple Martini,” A man in his thirties, dressed in a white shirt and a vest, sits in front of her and orders without even a pleasantry. Felicia looked up from cleaning a flute to look at him; noting some things and checked her wristwatch before replying.

“Very punctual; I’m impressed,” Felicia commented with a corporate smile, quickly preparing the requested beverage as well as slipping a note to the man.

“A code?”

“For the combination keypad of the cache I dropped for you,” Felicia said while leaning close to him and sporting a flirty façade as usual. “Give me your phone,” she demanded with a faux smirk, masking the business transaction as a casual hook-up for others to see. He handed her the device as requested and Felicia quickly punched in a set of numeric combinations, then returned it to him.

“A coordination?”

“Look it up,” Felicia dived in to complete the play as she planted a light kiss on the man’s cheek.

“Lucky guy, huh?” another drinker, with a bun of auburn hair with blonde streaks, took a seat after a moment, casually checking her out. “Nice hair; dyed?”

“Natural,” Felicia answered without a care; she’s used to it.

“It’s a rare color, I’ve seen it once or twice.” The man commented, fishing out a bill and putting it down.

“Really?” Felicia inquired with a bit of intrigue at the man’s words, “Where?” she asked while putting the bill into her pocket and serving him a shot of whiskey.

“Symkaria; it’s a kind of inheritance trait among some of them.” The man replied with a smile, sipping the beverage with a sigh of satisfaction.

“A traveler?” Felicia leaned forward a bit with an inquisitive look.

“Just here and there, I like getting to know people.” He replied and leaned in closer, taking in a whiff of fragrances on the bartender, “Let me guess…Lilac?”

“Close, but not quite,” Felicia giggled a little, then shot her hand forward. “Felicity,”

“Richard,” the man with a bun replied, shaking their hands a bit before release.

“So, what are you doing here, Richard? Business or pleasure?” Felicia asked while tending to the bar.

“A bit of both, I hope,” he smirked at her, and Felicia chuckled.

“Good luck with that,”

Felicia saw Richard taking a seat with another man, a glasses-wearing middle-aged with a mob of blondes, after a while; observing them casually as both engaged in a conversation. She saw a glimpse of the other man’s ID card dangling off his shirt and recognized the logo of Ravencroft Institute.

“Currently on patrol, Sue, I’ll be back soon,” Peter replied to another blonde in his life while clinging to the concrete.

“Don’t be late for dinner. See you later, Peter.” Susan finished the call and hung up.

Peter sighed to himself and dropped from the ceiling silently, listening to any sound that might betray an occupant of the archive. When assured that he is alone, Spider-Man stalks the vault of Precinct 19^th like a sneaky spider (lame pun, he knows) and relocates himself to the recent section of evidence and crime scene data.

“Let's see…got it!” he exclaimed quietly as his eyes fell upon a box labeled ‘Oscorp / 1600 / Stacy, Gwen’ and opened it just as another presence invaded his Spider-sense.

Peter quickly propelled himself upward to stick to the ceiling again, flattening himself as much as possible by using his back as a sticky pad. A figure dressed in all black made an appearance after a moment, masking themselves in a very cool-looking helmet, and with a barely visible saber insignia in the middle of their back.

‘SWORD agent? Nah, doesn’t make sense,’ he thought as he observed the individual making their way to the same section as he did, and reaching for the same box of evidence. Peter descends from his position on top of the newcomer using his webbing and dangles silently as he watches the cool-helmet ninja taking an item out for inspection.

It's a kind of polymer composite mask; very similar to what he saw in Mission Impossible franchises. The individual carefully inspected it with a familiarity that piqued his interest.

He decided to drop down onto the floor, and the slightest sound his soles made with the concrete seemed to set the ninja off as they quickly executed a spin kick backward, aimed at his body. Spidey was faster as he grabbed the limb with one hand and yanked, reeling the individual when a punch breeze passed the side of his face.

Peter weaved and got the Ninja in an arm lock where he kept the pressure on their elbow from behind; the person was relentless as they took out a concealed weapon from…somewhere and fired several shots of concussive blasts in his general direction. Some of the spontaneously compressed air knocks into him and manages to make him lose focus. Peter involuntarily let go of the arm and received another blast dead on his face, making him dizzy for a moment.

Out of pure dictation of his Spider-sense, Peter flowed with the attacks rained upon him from the person, punches, kicks, knees, and some decorative concussive blasts accompanied the little dance between them.

Inside the NYPD’s archive.

Where neither were permitted to enter.

Peter got kicked in his face but his sticky hand managed to unveil the helmet from the stranger; he faltered a little at the silvery bob framing a beautiful face revealed, and that was enough for her to shoot three more blasts into him.

“Can we have a time-out?!” Peter inquired with a hand signal, but the silver-haired woman kept pressuring him, “Look, missy; let's talk this out, okay?”

“Hard pass, vigilante,” the silver-haired Eastern European retorted with a serious face.

‘I think I’ll go with Broody,’ Peter thought to himself. He utilized the unnatural flexibility of his body and muscles to contort with uncanny visuals and webbed her up after a short struggle. He shot a line into the ceiling and hauled her struggling cocoon above the floor. “Oh, please, I insist.” Spider-Man shot another line of webbing to bring a mask to his hand. “Now, let’s chat.”

“Get me out of this, now!”

“Hard pass,” Peter crossed his arms, looking at the woman with expectancy “Who are you, and why are you looking for this?” he shakes the unnervingly organic-like mask in his hand at her face.

“It’s none of your business,”

“Wow, great attitude,” Peter sarcastically retorted.

“You are making a mistake, Spider-Man. Let me down, right now!” she struggles in vain; his new formula can withstand a full-speed Rhino charge with its elasticity, theoretically.

“Live and learn, amirite?” He teased her as he crouched to level their faces, “You are trespassing MY city, broke into an evidence locker, and being vague,” Peter delivered slowly, with a lowered voice as his lenses squinted, demanding. “Now, I’d say you got about…a minute or so before you lose consciousness from this position; I can cut it short if you would have just answered some simple questions, it’s not a college exam or anything, so relax,” he playfully pushed the cocoon around, inciting more vertigo for the webbed woman.

After she felt like vomiting, the woman pleaded to get somewhere private so they could talk. Peter hauled her, still webbed, onto his shoulder and made their way out of the building.

Felicia took the trash out back and her eyes fell upon a dead body tucked inside a dumpster; of the same man that she saw having a conversation with that Richard guy earlier.

What set her off, was a piece of a skin-no, a mask-near the body that bore the likeness of the man who introduced himself as Richard.

She quickly called 911 about the murder.

“Welcome, mister Johnson,” A guard greeted her, and Teresa walked with a façade she wears into a section reserved for the most dangerous of the inmates here, where her father was held.

She’d risked everything when the news of her father’s defeat reached her during a mission with the Wild Pack and effectively deserted herself from Silver Sable’s ranks to deal with this debacle.

“Please clear the room,” she demanded through a hidden modulator that imitated the mask’s voice. Soon, there is only her and Doctor Octopus.

“Good afternoon again, Mister Johnson,” Richard Parker greeted, looking intentionally at the camera at the corner of the cell. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want to continue with the discussion of your rehabilitation and return to the outside world.” Teresa delivered each with purpose, hoping the HYDRA defect would get the hint.

Richard Parker contemplated the strange familiarity in the doctor's demeanor for a while and sported a satisfying smirk.

"Please, I would love to."

Chapter Text

2

"Ghosts"

…earlier at night…

“We’ll take care of this, girl,” Officer Monroe, one of many corrupted cops that Fisk planted inside the NYPD, reassured her after he and his partner, Officer Yang, loaded the body of the Ravencroft's employee into the backseat of their unlicensed car for later disposal. “Is there anything else from the scene? We can’t leave anything behind for the Pigs to sniff about.”

Felicia contemplates, thinking about the weird skin mask she found, but dismisses them with a shake of her head. Both corrupted cops leave the back alley of the Zenith Club soon after, leaving her alone with the faint thumps of the blaring EDM inside the building.

Felicia fished the body-horror-inducing object out of the back of her jeans, inspecting it thoroughly, and came up with a mild headache. “Maybe Mason knows what to do with it.” She mumbled to herself, fishing her phone out next and dialing Isabella’s number.

“Bella? Something comes up, I gotta run.” She tucked the object back into her back pocket and started making her way out of the area, heading for the warehouse where the bootleg tinkerer of the criminal world resides. “Sure. See you later.”

“Do you have to keep me in this?” The silver-haired woman demanded with an annoyed tone, while the vigilante crouched in front of her cocoon body with squinted lenses.

“You are cuter when you are not punching me, so, yes.” Spider-Man bopped her nose a bit in teasing, “Now, talk.”

She sighed deeply, accepting the humiliation of it all, and started answering his question “I am in pursuit of a defector; one of my soldiers, simply put, betrayed us and fled to this city.” She offered, as vaguely as possible, and Peter was disappointed. He tuts at her elusiveness and lack of elaboration, wiggling his finger while doing so.

“I’ll have to give you a D or at best C for such a low-effort essay like that, miss,” Spider-Man said, “Who is this defector? Why are they here? And what is this Ethan Hunt’s mask?”

“What’s it to you, Spider-Man? I am here so that I can take care of the defector before she can do any damage to YOUR beloved city and its denizen; there’s no reason to meddle in matters that do not concern you.” She reasoned, but the vigilante was having none of it.

“It concerned me because your defector had already hurt an innocent,” Peter hissed lowly, creeping closer to her with seethed malice “This thing was found in the crime scene where your girl shot someone; someone who didn’t deserve any of it.” Spider-Man offered her as much as he could without giving away the connection between Gwen and himself in the matter, “So, either we work together, or more innocent people suffer,”

They kept a moment of silence between one another stretched for a while until the woman agreed with the conviction of NYC sentinel. “…We called her the Chameleon within our ranks. Specialized in infiltration and espionage.” The woman explained, “Recently she was to dissolve a conflict over the Symkarian and Latverian border, until out of nowhere she deserted without an explanation or notion in advance. Dropped off the radar, until I heard about that mask inside the police’s evidence locker; I know it was her.”

“I thought the conflict was solved years ago?” He had, from time to time, caught up on the international news like everyone.

“That's what the public knows about; in actuality, Doom never left us alone in peace as he has constantly incited civil wars and slaughters to strengthen his power.” She clarified his confusion. “Symkarian government did nothing to retaliate, allowing Doom and his forces to destroy and rob the lands from our children; steal their futures.” She spoke with a burning passion, her teeth grinding against one another at the mere mention of the Monarch’s name. Peter still remembers the smug air of superiority the man exudes when they first met.

“I could not see your face, but somehow I sensed a doubt in your…posture.”

“Can you blame me? You just told me that a warlord runs rampant, and nobody knows about it; I mean, this is a huge rock and all, but at least, the World Council should have been aware of something like that.” He countered, referring to the authoritative figure of the UN that has been controlling the Avengers since the formation of the Sokovia Accords in 2017.

“Information and influences, Spider-Man, is the currency of power; it can make a person more powerful than any superhero.” He knows, even if he hoped that at least the World Council would be different in this regard. Victor Von Doom might be a small country’s monarch, but no one can confidently claim to know the extent of his reach in the shadows.

“Okay, back on topic,” he convinced himself and his conversation partner “This Chameleon, who is she? And do you have any idea why she left your crusade to be here?” Peter sat down to drop the dynamic of superiority he’d impose on his captive, throwing a shocker at the cocoon to dissolve it while doing so. The formula required a specific tuned electrical discharge that differed from the one that Doctor Octopus managed to get out of and almost killed him.

“All I know was that she escaped from a HYDRA facility at a young age and wound up under my father’s care. She has no name, or at least did not feel compelled to let us know.” She started with a bit of returning comfort and her limbs could move again. “I enlisted her in a service to my country, as one of my elite soldiers,” she then gestured her head instead of her still webbed hand to the mask between them, “that was a technology she’d been utilizing; some kind of polymorphic polymer film that can be molded into the likeness of others.”

“Huh, neat,” Peter commented while inspecting the object again with more general knowledge about it now; he might need to take it back to the lab, there are some possibilities to be explored about this kind of technology. “Mind if I keep it?”

“I’d rather you don’t—”

“Thanks!” he tucked the mask into himself with a thin spray of his webbing. The woman scowled at him for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “Now, the motivation?”

“Not many would deter a person from their duty,” she concluded after a while, having stretched out her knotted muscles, and pacing around while Spider-Man kept his watchful eyes over her; he started admiring her strong and athletic figure, clad under layers of black did little to hide it.

If there are Lucy Lawless’s Xena the Warrior Princess cosplayers out there, this woman would be the de facto IRL one.

“Maybe it was a family affair?” She offered and Peter shrugged in reply.

“Possible; I would have booked it home from ongoing war as well if my family needed me,” not that he got any left to do a comparison, but still.

“Hmm…I can’t recall any relatives of hers, but there was a man who visited her once in a while.”

Peter perked at the information “Oh? You know who he is?”

“No,” she lamented for a bit “He comes and goes before anyone outside of the Chameleon can interact. I’ve overheard their conversation once; it sounded like Germanic.” The woman shrugged, at the end of her rope.

“Don’t tell me he wears a trimmed mustache,” Spider-Man joked, eliciting an amused chuckle from the serious woman.

“No, he did not.”

“…thanks, buddy. Take care of her for me, okay?” Peter said into the phone to Howard Stacy at the other end, locking the door to Susan’s apartment after himself. There’s a sound of something sizzling on a hot pan accompanied by a strong scent of aroma seasonings and cooked beef greases. “Hmm? Oh! Yeah, I’ll be there tomorrow…Yes, Gwen, I remember…Ha ha, funny…Love you, too.” He hung up after reaching the proper area of this luxurious apartment of his girlfriend/colleague/boss/lab partner.

“Oh, you are a bit early!” Susan’s voice came from the kitchen, and he navigated his way through the area to reach her from behind and gathered her into an embrace, burying his nose into the bundle of gold donned into a messy bun. Susan giggles at the tickle spot he discovered there and melts into his strong arms. “Gwen seems to be recovering fast.” She said, referring to earlier that she visited the younger blonde at the hospital.

“Thank you for checking up on her,” Peter said after planting a soft kiss on the side of her exposed neck, he enjoyed watching the meal preparation while resting his chin on the crook of her neck. He leaned into her touch when Susan withdrew a hand from cooking and placed it lovingly on the side of his face.

“She is my girlfriend as well, now, isn’t she?”

“We can work with that.” Peter smiled and kissed her shoulder one last time before detaching himself from the mature blonde. “I’ll set the table,”

“Don’t bother, dear. I was planning for us to eat on the sofa anyway,” Susan turned around for a bit to inform him.

“Oh? Alright. Guess I will take a shower, then,”

“How are you feeling, truly?” Susan looked up from laying her head on the constant rise and fall of his chest, relishing the warmth of his arms covering her as both lounged on the furniture with a quiet Doctor Who episode playing on the TV.

“…a bit angry…” he shrugged it out after a while, gathering her body a bit tighter.

“A bit?” Susan pressured, wanting him to fully understand the emotion within himself in this type of situation. Her hand plays with his knuckles tentatively, soothingly.

“…I’m pissed,” Peter admitted through a heavy sigh, burying his nose into the crown of Aurum on her head as if to center himself using her scent. “I want to find the person who did this as fast as I can, but so far I came up with nothing,” he added, and Susan shifted her body a little to get comfortable. She said nothing for a while, analyzing his admission while calming his nerves with her weight on his body. Looking over to the object of a disturbing sight he deposited onto the coffee table between the couch and the TV; an uncanny mask that almost perfectly resembled human skin.

“If your visual observations are correct, this kind of technology is exclusive and specific in origin. We might be able to isolate isotopes of particles within to identify possible locations it had been at?” she offered with a high brow, watching his expression turn from excitement to confusion.

Peter sported a confused grin before speaking, “We can…do that? That sounded a bit too advanced for my brain,”

“Quit selling yourself so short, Peter; but yes, we can. It might prove to be a long shot, yet having half-baked options is better than none, don’t you agree?” she beamed at him, and contended in the kiss placed on top of her forehead.

“I adore you, Doctor Storm.”

“The feeling is fully reciprocated, Mister Parker.” She reached up to capture his smiling lips, delving into their warmth and texture.

“So, what are you up to? Anything new about your mutations?” he asked as Susan straddled his lap, obscuring the sight of the TV. He holds her in place with each hand on either side of her snatched waist, caressing a sensual pattern into the tender flesh. He still questions himself at the sight of this woman and Gwen Stacy wrapped around him every morning.

“Hmm, If I recalled…” Susan sported that cute furrow of her eyebrows, “Mister Richards managed to differentiate the properties of mine and Johnny’s powers,” she did an air quote on that, “They stem from the ability to manipulate electromagnetism, obviously, but Johnny’s was more…limited in utilization than mine, theoretically.” She calls up a thin layer of compressed atoms the size of a notepad and has it hovering above her hand; the faint shimmering characteristic of it was the only visible aspect of the force field as far as human retinal capability is concerned. “It’s quite draining to sustain an applicable sized one, but it is fantastic nonetheless.” Susan smiled and was delighted as she felt the ghost of Peter’s stubble grazing the valley of her breasts.

“So, about that FemField name—” he started with a smirk.

“Not a chance.” Susan shut him up by pressing his face into her mounds. He tries to protest through mumbles, but Susan keeps holding him hostage and despite his superiority in physical strength, he lets her have her way.

...continues…

“Why have you done those things?” Teresa asked, still mindful of the cameras and the microphones planted around the area for monitoring as she directed the question to her father, in chains and on the opposite side of the bulletproof glass.

“Psychologically? Or are you looking for a logical explanation to make a case?” Richard coyly responded; they have been in this type of situation more than once.

Teresa pursed her masked lips to sell the façade and peruse the document that the institute managed about her dad “It says in here that you are inflicted by—”

“Severe scarring around the Hippocampus and nearby areas inside the brain; Yes, I’ve heard. I also find the explanation of my…progressiveness to be a split personality and failed repairment of the brain to be laughable, Johnson.” Richard shifted in his seat to lean forward, “But anyways, let’s chat; shall we?” Teresa nods, falling into a more comfortable posture.

“Why, you ask? Well, I’ve always been a strong believer in the betterment of mankind; whether organically or artificially.” Richard started with a subtle smile, signaling the person underneath the face of a man across the transparent barrier. “You see, Mister Johnson; Humanity as a singular entity has been in a…downward spiral, shall we say, due to our excessive obsession with securing our place as an apex species without competition or obstruction.” He continues “For example, we invented medicines in defiance of natural selection. It breeds a weakened and stunted, evolutionally speaking, genetic pool for future generations to draw upon. A few less fortunate individuals might be saved, stroking our needs of validations and the illusion of virtue, but the chain reaction stemming from that had ruined our chance to be strengthened.” Richard feels like sharing, and he knows that despite the brutality and vulgarism surrounding his words, the truths inside can be seen by many.

“What I have done, Mister Johnson; is preparing for them a step, a leap of faith into what lies beyond the shrouded sight dictated upon many in the name of safety and security. Chaos is the herald of progress; war, famine, pestilence, and death, all contribute as fuel and the weak lay as stepstones.” Richard finished with a malicious smile, seemingly satisfied with himself to prying eyes.

Teresa discreetly jotted down the emphasized words exchanged, disguised them as a psychological profile note as her mask should be doing. “You seem quite familiar with religion or mythology of one, however, I would like an elaboration on that.” She averted her eyes from the notes and to her father’s relaxing form.

“It’s truly so simple, Mister Johnson; God threw a rock at Earth when he wanted a new playground for humanity to thrive,” Richard replied, “And now is the time for the flood to bring about the better humanity, one born from a sea of water to populate the cleansed lands.”

“Did any of that make sense to you?” a warden asked as she was escorting Teresa/Johnson out of the facility.

“Frankly, Miss Hudson; I haven’t a clue.” Teresa shrugged with a sarcastic smirk. “Clearly; the man is deranged, yet his actions and meticulousness suggest a high form of intelligence and sanity. So, it’s hard to definite him to one or the other, technically speaking.”

“Seems to be a theme around here, huh?” Warden Hudson snorted, “One crazy motherfucker after another.” Teresa chuckled along with the woman’s comment. “Well, good luck, Mister Johnson; I hope for a full report soon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Teresa answered and made her way towards the borrowed vehicle.

“Okay, pal, you just need to take a deep breath,” Peter advises the very frustrated Johnny Storm, as this marked the fifteenth attempt to use his power in the testing chamber Reed Richards rigged up after the Siege. Peter himself was in a protection suit; a fireproof, in-development, suit that RAC planned to release in about a year. “Don’t be Book 1 Zuko about it,”

“What?”

“Fire bending came from the breathing, not the muscles.” Peter offered with a nod to himself, while Johnny sported a look of confusion. “I meant; calm yourself down and let it out, don’t brute-force it.”

“You did not just Uncle Iroh-ed me, Parker,” Johnny crosses his arms with squinted eyes.

“It works for my man Zuko.” Peter shrugged with a smirk. “Come on, give it a try!” Spider-Man egged the mutated British man on, “Follow my lead; in…hold it…and out.”

Johnny Storm followed the instructions, feeling his racing heart slow down and clarity formed. Then, he closes his eyes as Spider-Man encourages him to do so and recalls the moment when he first ignites the flame.

After a moment of quietness, Johnny starts feeling the warmth gathering at both of his clenched fists and slowly loosens them while maintaining the sensation.

“The energy exchange ratio is steady, EMF around his body is in fluctuation.” Reed Richards narrated to the occupants inside the chamber and into the recording system. “I will increase 30% of charged particles into the chamber,” the super-genius announced and looked at his new hire, sporting a thumbs up as an acknowledgment. They must experiment with Johnny Storm inside a controlled environment and barren chamber to get an accurate analysis for further study and utilization.

Johnny, with his eyes still shut, feels the increase of energy in the air and how they obey the demand of his body to be absorbed as they rush inside. He felt the heat rising in both his hands, trying to dampen the instinctive fear of fire lest he might have to start again.

“50%,” Reed Richards announced again, and Johhny immediately felt the energy in the air.

“Let it out,” Peter commented as he saw the stunned breathing of the brother of his lover. “Visualize it, control it,” Peter noted the slight glow of both hands; like when you obscured a flashlight.

“90%” Reed Richards skipped a step and got a worried look from Susan Storm. “It’ll be fine, Sue,” he assured her, but his conviction is less than the arrogant curiosity in his voice.

Flickers of flame started manifesting on the glowing skin of the blond, so thin and almost incomprehensible if not for the mirage effect of heated air around them, but they were there. Johnny slowly opens his eyes and inspects them with excitement.

“Concentrate, don’t lose it,” Peter advises and signals Reed Richards to keep going. The Smartest Man Alive complied as he overloaded the chamber with 120% of the average charged particles normally found in an open environment, simulating the ordinary situation the Pyromancer will have to contend with in general. All of them witnessed the flame grow increasingly visible, giving off a hue of red indicating the temperature and energy intensity of it.

After a moment of exposure and constant exertion, Johnny Storm managed to nurse a decent amount of fire from his hands and stabilized it after two more tries.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Peter applauded and gave the man a thumbs up.

“How did you figure it out?”

“What?”

“How to use powers?”

“Umm…” Peter contemplated for a bit, then jumped towards the ceiling and stuck himself to it using the tips of his gloved fingers. He dangles in the bulky fireproof suit effortlessly, alternating between his left and right hands, and maneuvers around in a small circle to demonstrate his super-adhesion power. He dropped down after a while and approached Johnny with a reassuring grin. “Superpowers can rarely be explained in scientific terms, but one thing I know about mine is that the will to do it is the most important thing.” Peter then takes one of his gloves off and uses both hands to tug at the prototype adaptive suit on Johnny Storm to show off his infamous stickiness, “I can stick to any surface that I want to. So, I kinda theorized that it functions in tandem with the electrical signals from the brain; or our thoughts, to simplify it.” Then he let it go from his hands, easily. “I thought that your power might operate similarly to what I know; so, I decided to give it a shot.”

“Interesting observation, Mister Parker,” Reed commented from his station, trying to control the rigidity and elongation of his body while doing so; it proved to be more difficult than just ‘willed it so’ as the vigilante explained, but now he has the foundation to work upon based on the younger man’s words.

“We should start a group meditation?” Johnny Storm teased, half in jest and half in actual consideration.

“Heavens know you needed it since young age, dear brother,” Susan teased her brother after she was certain that he suffered no negative effects.

“Very funny, Sue,” Johnny flipped her off and Susan responded in kind with their identical smirks. “Can we take this further, Reed?” Johnny turned towards the inventor with a curious expression.

“Yes.” Reed Richards replied with a nod, looking through the terminal in front of him again, “I want to see how you absorb fire and maybe plasma in the future,” Reed opened the airlock for Spider-Man to get out and locked it again. “Nathaniel, disengage the hazard control system inside chamber F04,” Reed ordered the AI.

“Any surfaces?” Susan inquired as she helped take the outer layers off him. Peter nods and sporting a confident smirk.

“Glasses. Metal. Concrete. Teflon. Etcetera. I got it all figured out; sometimes in a…non-fashionable way.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. This one time my webs kinda snapped and I plummeted into the Chrysler; I reached my hand out in a panic, and it stuck to one of the windows. Some residents weren’t so thrilled about their cracked viewports, but I learned something that day.” He recalled the early days when he was in that homemade suit, brushing with death too many times.

“Are you certain you don’t want to rebrand as ‘Sticky Man’?” Susan teased him and giggled as his eyes bulged comically with a dramatic gasp. “Karma, dear,” the blonde bombshell smirked.

“Hey, Jules! Hey, Mister Grimm!” Peter announced his arrival as he entered the modified chamber that turned into Ben Grimm’s private apartment. Spotting his senior engineer taking notes while having the stone giant try several types of fabrics on his skin to find the most comfortable option.

“Hi, Peter,” Julia replied with a smile, gesturing for him to join them.

“Hey, Spidey,” Ben greeted him, seeming to be more in tune with moving around.

“How are we doing?” Peter alternated his questioning eyes between Grimm and Takeda, and it was the former pilot who answered him with a ‘meh.’

“There are some promising candidates,” Julia indicated to the separate tray of a couple of compatible samples; varied in weave combinations and elasticity to accommodate Grimm’s pseudo-chitin skin. “Never thought I would become a fashion designer with double engineering degrees, but here we are.” Both engineers cackled while Ben just snorted.

“It’s hard to hide all this handsomeness, eh?” Ben Grimm gestured to himself with a masking smirk; the man is resilient and optimistic, but everybody has a limit and his is burning fast judging from the damages shown on the furniture.

Peter ignores the sign of mental breakdown around the room and refocuses “There are some ointments and chemical composites that Mister Richards and Sue came up with, but your…unique mutations might require a longer period of exposure for them to take effects; that’s why Jules and myself suggested to make you a suit to help with it.”

“Like a full body band-aid,” Julia added with a snort, recalling the atrocious nickname that Peter came up with.

“Bod-Aid sounds cooler, I’m tellin’ ya!”

“You should be banned for life from naming anythin’ at all, kid,” Ben chuckled a bit.

“I made one mistake calling them thwippers instead of web shooters, and everybody never let me live it down!” Spider-Man spread his arms dramatically.

“Nope, you made more than a dozen, mister.” Julia snorted mockingly at him.

“What on earth possessed you to come up with FemField? If Sue didn’t like you so damn much, she might have walloped your head sideway for that.” Ben cackled and shook his head in amusement.

Peter and Susan reached the hospital around noon, wanting to spend their lunch break with the injured blonde. As they were ascending the stairs, Peter turned towards the woman who held his hand with a worried expression, which Susan sensed and looked at him with a quizzical expression, “Are you and Mister Grimm close?”

“What brought this about?” Susan tightens her grip a little.

“I’m worried about him; his mental state, I mean.” Peter offered, “I think he needs someone to talk to, but is afraid or refuses to reach out.” He, of all people, should know the feeling of an outcast.

They reached the floor where Gwen’s room was situated, “I knew him through Jonathan and Mister Richards, he was a pilot and one of the first few to invest in the contract with NASA if I recall.” Susan explained and the revelation got Peter a bit excited.

“He was an astronaut?!”

“Two tours to the ISS, and one of the best in the Air Force before that.” Susan elaborated using the information she got from the man.

“Wow, he’s cool!” the excitement died off when he recalled the current state of the affliction on the former pilot, “we have to do something about his condition; humans can only take so much until we break.”

The genuine compassion warms her heart.

“Why are you being mysterious?” Peter crept up from behind Felicia, maintaining a reasonable distance between them as her presence oozes hostility. Black Cat glared at him silently, a barely visible pout adorned her face that was illuminated by the moon.

“Cat…” he started, unsure of how to phrase the apology he had wanted to give her since his conversation with the Symkarian last night “I know I was a jerk.”

“Shocker,” Black Cat cut in sarcastically, making Peter wince at the biting wit.

“Yeah…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said those things to you.” He presented to her a peace offering of a chicken Shawarma, still warm and very aromatic “And I’m sorry for hurting you.” He tugs his mask up halfway to shoot her an apologetic smile. He noted the scrunches of her nose when the salivating smell reached it, but the platinum-haired woman still refused to accept the olive branch.

He kept wiggling it near her, spreading the scent around them until Black Cat tutted with an annoyed look and snatched the wrapped goodness off his hand. She squinted her eyes at him while tentatively taking a bite, Peter rolled his eyes at the overdramatic show of skepticism.

They sat in silence, but the tense air around them was thinner. Black Cat stopped after the Shawarma in her hand got about half of it left and turned her head a bit to look at him, still munching.

“How did you know I am here?” Felicia inquired with curiosity.

“Jingles of the bell?” Peter teased, taking chances to see if she was less angry with him or not.

Felicia sported a look that said ‘really?’ and continued with her rooftop dinner.

“I was actually gonna meet someone else here; that Shawarma was for her, but it’s fine.” He explained while looking at the city lights, and listening to the sounds of traffic and life. He heard a hum of acknowledgment from her direction but wasn’t keen enough to notice a tinge of disappointment within.

“Another addition to the household?” Felicia asked, half in jest, and finishing the last bite.

“Is it a public knowledge or something?” Peter, baffled by the implication of how well-known his private love life is, inquired with his lenses squinted into almost the normal dimensions of human eyes.

“Doctor Storm is a famous name, both for her career and her looks, Parker.” Felicia explained, recalling the small charity event Mayor Harris hosted after the Siege to raise funding and strengthen his seat for the next election, “You two slow dancing and kissing was a very effective way to tell everyone to ‘fuck off’ from her.” Felicia now allowed a smirk to form, “And seeing that you and Stacy are still together, it’s just easy math.”

Peter sighed but regretted nothing.

“So?” Felicia pressed.

“No. We met last night, while I was looking for Gwen’s shooter.”

“There is someone who tolerated you enough to have a second date?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that insinuation, but no, it was…something else.” He is adamant about keeping the fact that he was committing a crime last night away from the conversation.

“…suit yourself.” Felicia lamented with a sigh, crumbled the wrapper into a ball, and dropped it behind her. A silent ‘thwip’ sounded and Peter snatched it into his hand, then threw it with impressive accuracy into a trash can further away.

“Spider-Man?” a voice came from behind, causing both balcony-sitting enthusiasts to turn in the general direction of the newcomer. Peter, having his mask still half-revealed, smiled at the silver-haired woman.

Felicia, however, widened her eyes as if seeing a ghost.

A ghost of a woman that was taken from her.

Hair of the same shade.

Eyes identical.

The shape of ears.

And some unique features on her face.

It is as if her late mother appears in front of her.

“How was your day?” Peter started, gesturing for the newcomer to join him and Cat on the balcony.

“I am not here to exchange pleasantries,” the phantom of her mother replied to the vigilante, “and who is she? I never heard about you having a sidekick before.” The Symkarian inquired with a raised eyebrow, noting the beautiful emerald green of the woman’s pupil where light touches it.

“She’s more like a side cat,” Peter quipped, indirectly at the burping woman beside him on the balcony, who tossed a pebble nearby at his back. “A friend…I think?” Spider-Man shoots a quizzical look at the thief and gets a rolling of her eyes as an answer, “Acquaintances, then!” he announced proudly, a bit deflated but still chirpy.

“Well, are you certain that your ‘acquaintance’,” the older woman made an air quote “should be here as we discuss the matters at hand?” she stopped at the middle area between the two, hands on her hips, and look intently at the beanie woman.

“It’s not like I would listen to what he says, Broody,” Felicia smirked, hearing a groan from Spider-Man at the fact that she had definitely stolen the chance of nicknaming this one from him. She waited for that satisfying twitch of those eyebrows at the name before continuing, “I’m just here, enjoying the night when that webhead showed up. I’m staying.”

The Symkarian made an impressed face, looking at the vigilante, and saw him shrugging his shoulders as confirmation. Then she took out a manila folder from…somewhere inside her trench coat, and let it be yanked away from her hand by a line of webbing. “That’s all I could dig up about Chameleon using my contacts; her records were erased from most of the clandestine agencies, and what was left are crammed in there.” She heard Spider-Man hum along with her explanation.

“Chameleon?” Felicia questioned both with a look of confusion.

“A person under investigation.” The Symkarian answered.

“She’s Gwen’s shooter, maybe,” Spider-Man added the context for Black Cat. His lenses squinted as he focused on the information presented to him. Not long after, a presence drew near, and he caught a whiff of her fragrance then shifted a bit to allow Black Cat access to the document in his hands. “Which one is the real face?” Peter inquired at the page with around a dozen candid shots.

“The center.” The Symkarian answered, eyes scanning the sea of lights and ongoing normal lives; a sight lost to the Symkarians since Victor Von Doom’s coronation.

A picture of a young teen, maybe taken in her 16s at the very least, labeled with ‘Sep 2, 2021: Tarrytown Police Dept, Westchester County.’ With a comment scribbled down as ‘Xavier is dropping charges’ under the photo itself.

She was a short-haired brunette, with eyes the same shade as Peter’s; Felicia mentally noted, and a very disturbingly similar smirk as the Arachnid-themed vigilante.

“She’s almost you; but as a girl, Spider.” Felicia teased him with a smirk.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Peter protests despite coming to the same conclusion regarding the physical features of the Chameleon's true face; he shaved enough time to recognize some distinct features about himself, and some of those appear on this girl as well, which could be a total accident unless he got a little sister he did not know about by his already dead parents.

“No, I’m not. Look at those,” Felicia points at the picture “Those are exactly how I remembered yours back in your 17s.”

“Obsessed much?” Peter squinted his lenses at her playfully, relieved that they seemed to fall back to their usual dynamics around each other.

“Too dorky to not make fun of,” Black Cat grinned.

“Why was she arrested in Tarrytown?” Peter inquired to the Symkarian, noting the shift in her stance a bit at the question.

“A recon mission; gathering bits of intelligence about a secret facility.” That was as far as she was willing to depart with, but Spider-Man chided her with a tut at the fact that a minor was sent to do something dangerous; kinda like when he was illegally recruited by Tony Stark.

They look over the next few pages together, while commenting about the information among themselves; Peter asks her to find some connections with the criminal community of Manhattan while Felicia recognizes some small-timer names associated within.

“This was the man you mentioned?” Spider-Man pointed at a disguised figure covered from head to toe in black coloring clothes, but another glance at the hem of the coat revealed something he wouldn’t be able to forget anytime soon. “You’ve gotta be shitting me…” Peter groaned as he was 75% sure the man in disguise was none other than Doctor Octopus, or at least someone with the same octopi-inspired antics for prosthesis design…yes, this must be Doc Ock.

“A family?” Felicia noted the closeness shown in the discreetly taken photo, akin to that expressed by normal dads to their daughters or kids.

“It’s possible, but we do not have any possible ID for any of them.” The Symkarian offered with a sigh.

Peter memorized the case number for a moment before connecting a line with The Black Widow. “Yel? Yeah, sorry about interrupting your unnecessary nap time…of course I want something…oh! That’s great...yeah, he tends to overstuff himself sometimes…no, let her sleep, she needs to let the nanites do their work properly…Okay, I need you to look up a case numbered…” he relayed the information to the Russian spy and listened to her briefly perusing the case for a minute before adding, “She goes by the Chameleon…of course, you of all people should have heard of her, Bond with tits,” Peter sarcastically replied, “I want her name…alright, thanks Yel.” Peter ended the call.

“Bond with tits? Seriously?” Felicia asked with a look of mild disgust on her face. Peter shrugged, omitting the history of himself and Yelena Belova’s ongoing shit-talking each other.

“You found anything more on your…mom?” Peter, who had relocated himself and Black Cat to one of the eagle heads on the Chrysler, asked as she adjusted her position.

“Very little,” except the fact that the silver-haired woman from earlier could pass for her mother’s twin sister, “Kraven’s confession just pointing me away from him,”

“It was very noble of you to let him go; you know?” Peter commented, nudging his elbow on hers as they sat side by side.

“It’s the only way to shut you up,” Felicia snorted, harboring a tiny tinge of a smile on her lips.

It was almost calming and peaceful, if not for the truth that she’s a criminal and he’s a hero. The picture itself might look strange to anyone; Spider-Man and Black Cat sitting together, enjoying the night.

“I mean it, Felicity,” Peter turned his face to her, sporting a genuine smile, “I’m proud of you for doing the right thing.” Felicia loved the sound of her name spoken through his voice, even if it was a fake name.

But that’s the problem; he shouldn’t be friendly and supportive with her, not after what she’d done.

He shouldn’t be the one who makes her feel this pang of loneliness all over again, not after years of shutting them off from her mind.

He shouldn’t be the one who she wants to talk with, to joke around, or to enjoy just sitting near him in silence.

Shouldn’t be the one she was afraid to lose.

He shouldn’t be the one who makes her want to lay her head on his shoulder and just close her eyes.

“…thanks…” Felicia trailed off, scooted closer to him, and did what she wanted just like she always had; she slowly covered his flattened hand with hers and lowered the side of her head tentatively onto his tense shoulder, resulting from the sudden show of vulnerability and the uncertainty of the actions. She paused for a heartbeat and fully rested on his shoulder when she felt him relax.

He took their touched hands out front, gathered her closer, and held her hand in his bigger one with a comforting squeeze. Contrasting to the suffocating grip at the hospital.

She was always a selfish cat, and to take his oblivious kindness by withholding a lie made her feel disgusted; but she just wanted to feel loved, again, even just for a night.

“…wanna be friends?” Peter whispered into her ears. He sported a smile when he felt the nod of her head on his shoulder and kept looking over the city beneath them.

Chapter Text

3

"In the Shadows"

“Our place…” Teresa recited to herself as she reached the front lawn of the old Parker house; one that her father claimed to be where he and her mother lived in. He’d always said that she should visit the place sometimes and that she would always have a home here, but Silver Sable had been bleeding the Wild Pack dry lately and she had no time even to leave the countryside of Symkaria to rest. “What was it like?” she whispered to herself as she made her way toward the locked door with realtor info dangling by a sticky nail.

She was born just months before her mother’s death, and years after that she was raised inside facilities where the closest things to her parents were monitors, documents, and utensils. The scientists and agents occupying the same facilities weren’t more than ever-changing faces. One time, back when she was planning her escape, she overheard mentions of Project-X and a brief discussion about ‘hunting him down’ and ‘cloning’; a mention of such would later lead her to volunteer on an infiltration mission involving the said project.

A site of horror, that place was.

Basins of dissolved biomass.

Tubes of underdeveloped or outright deformed fetuses adorning the walls and labeled ‘failed’.

Dissected corpses of defective male subjects; ranging from preschoolers to teenagers in age.

That’s when she disobeyed the first time and burned the facility down against Ernst’s order; leading to the Wild Pack teaching her a lesson about discipline later, but it was worth it.

That was shortly before the dreadful Ernst himself was assassinated by an unknown assassin that got past his guards; one of the first few ‘faces’ she wore. His successor and daughter, Sylvia, never suspected a thing; she inherited fully her father’s obnoxious confidence in the loyalty of the pack to see the truth.

Silver Sable might see them as her soldiers, but they are mercenaries, and some even start to become turncoats as of late. Victor Von Doom’s promises of peace at the cost of surrender touched many of the supposedly loyal soldiers and drove Sylvia even more desperate and ruthless.

She got tired of it all, and the news of her father’s arrest was all that she needed to cut ties.

Teresa navigates through the unfamiliar layout and alien decorations she has never had a chance to enjoy; her father’s achievement trophies, and her mother’s pictures on the walls.

A set of charred framed photos caught her curious, but Teresa ignored them as she made for the back and the pool that was supposed to be there. The pool itself is dirtied and abandoned; signs of life barren from the whole scenery signifying the absence of her father from the place contradicting his preaching. Teresa made laps around the pool, looking for a chain as hinted.

“What are the odds…” Teresa mumbled as focused on the only chain she saw; the one connected to the drain plug; surely an odd choice for a pool. With the help of a long stick, the chain got caught and yanked, draining the entire pool in minutes. She jumped down towards the camouflaged box situated at one corner of the pool, blended visually by the water earlier.

The entire thing is covered in a transparent polymer film, sealing it from the water and protecting the contents inside. She dragged it to the center of the pool and started tearing the film off until she was met with a buttoned digital lock, one with numbers accompanied by dialects. She thought up two options; HORSEMEN or APOCALYPSE from the things her father said.

“Let’s see…” she punched in the latter choice, confidence in the dramatic flair of her father, and it unlocked with a satisfying ‘click’. Teresa opens the lid to find a collection of similar-looking devices and a notebook bound in a leather strap.

“Mary Fitzpatrick…that’s mom’s,” Teresa mused as she read through the first few pages of the notebook after hauling the container into the vacant living room. “…genetic research into the latent mutagenic agent, or X-gene, inside approximately 2.35% of the human population…” Her eyes skimmed and caught familiar words, recalling the hell hole facility, but the notes ended there on the topic; seemingly her mother shifted her interests, but there were names with highlights such as ‘H. McCoy’ or ‘Lehnsherr’ or ‘Howlett’.

She recognized Howlett, there might be some scattered documents inside that hellish facility mentioning this name or something; she didn’t pay much attention to it back in the day.

She perused and landed on a marked page, describing the conceptualizations of her mother’s ambition in artificial mutation through controlled procedures. The topic goes on for almost the entire book until the last few pages change to describing crucial elements needed to bring about such drastic changes inside the body of homo-sapiens erectus.

“A primer will be needed to prepare the body…” she retraced the penned words, looking at the devices that were labeled by her father’s wavering handwriting due to his conditions, spotted one that should be read as ‘PRIMER’ instead of ‘PBIMEB’.

“A catalyst goes in second, to collect the altered cells…” Another device confirmed its purpose with her eyes and a short decryption of the wavered writings. “…and an activator to start the process…and the repercussions…” Teresa finished with a deep thought, contemplating between the thing her grieving father wanted her to do, and what she as a person should be doing.

What she had read from the notes indicated a different kind of a person than what her father depicted her mother as, Mary wouldn’t be wishing for something as sinister and catastrophic as this forced evolution thing her father has been adamant about for four years. Judging from the plans and the highlighted properties, these compounds are hydro-soluble and that’s how you start a nationwide pandemic, even globally given enough sufficient ratio if they are to be duplicated in mass.

“Would mom want this?” she mumbled, looking around while stalking the abandoned house that once must have been like a sanctuary for her parents. The smiles of Mary adorned the walls and desks, drawers with crayon marks all over them like a toddler who has too much in his head trying to ease the mental load off himself. Dinosaurs, horses, bats, trees, planes, a simple and basic math equation that a toddler shouldn’t be bothered with.

“Another kid…P...e...+...e…r...?” Teresa traced the scribble with squinted eyes, confused at it for a moment before it dawned on her “Peter? That’s his name?” She looked at all the photos that got a part of them charred to obscure a person underneath, this Peter, possibly.

But why?

Was he dead and that caused her father or mother to destroy the reminders? That’s why her father never mentioned him before. Her mother, the lovely smiling and caring eyes Mary Parker she saw in these.

Would she want to put others in torture and pain?

Would she want to rid others of their liberty?

Would she want to do this just as Richard, her grieving husband, thought so?

She’d killed, many, that’s the reality of a war she’d been forced to fight in, and even some since she came here to reunite with the only family she had left.

But those eyes were not of the same man she remembers despite the scarcity of them spending time together in the past. He was always busy, this or that to do to actually stay around long enough or to take her with him away from the tyrannical grasp of Ernst; he left her in the care of a man who was consumed by war and used her as a pawn than keeping his words about taking care.

She couldn’t decide whether she should be following his commands just like she did so under Silver Sable and her late father, or not.

There’s a sense of familiarity to this place inside of him, buried so deep he forgot the existence of such.

Peter stopped, or rather Felicity’s car, in front of an abandoned house in the suburb of Queens, he looked over the front porch of the building that Yelena tied to the Chameleon with hooded eyes and a nag in his brain screaming for him to remember something.

“We are here,” Felicity announced as she cut off the engine, opening the glove compartment as she leaned over his legs to take out a pair of Beretta PX4s and handed one to him.

“…what?” Peter looked at her with bafflement and appalled on his face.

“Precaution? Ever heard of it?” Felicity raised her brows at him with a look of ridicule as if it should be a well-known fact that they should be armed. He politely declined the firearm by pushing her extended hand away and deployed his web shooters on both wrists, then started loading web cartridges in them. “Be my guest,” Felicity shrugged and deposited the extra one back into the compartment.

Both got out of the sedan and stalked to the front together, with Peter instinctively putting himself in front of Black Cat, putting a tiny smirk on her lips that he didn’t see. “What now?” Felicia inquired quietly, relying on the superhuman’s sensitive senses to gain an advantage. She saw him concentrating and listening to any noises inside, and after a minute or so he gave her a thumbs up. Peter elbowed the door to assess the lock, and it struggled but was adamant in its place.

“…I take it you didn’t have a lockpick with you, right?”

“Is that really a question, Parker?” Felicia squinted her eyes at him.

“Well, we don’t know if…anyone gonna buy it later?” he offered with a sheepish and nervous grin.

“Just kick the damn door down,” Black Cat exhaled dramatically with a groan.

“Maybe I can just—” his offering got cut short by Felicity’s boot colliding with the wooden door, which is surprisingly sturdy that it transferred the impact force back into her leg, eliciting a moan of pain from the Cat, “—forced it open. Are you okay?” Peter shot his hand out to catch her arm as she stumbled backward.

“I’m fine…” she whimpered out as the lingering pain still ricocheted in her leg muscle. “I thought it would be like in the movies.” She hissed as Peter sported a teasing smirk.

“Lot to learn, you still have, my padawan,” he commented with a shake of his head and an amused smile, grabbing the knob with his hand, and twisting it with his super strength that was superior to her chemically enhanced one. He gestured with a flair for her to get inside first like a gentleman. “Mademoiselle,” he said with a little bow, deliberately delivering a bad French to tease her.

“Un tel charmeur,” the platinum-haired woman snorted while taking his offered hand and leading him inside. As they stalk the living area, Felicity trips over something, and Peter’s Spider-Sense blares screamingly; following the honed instinct he gathers the still confused Black Cat up in his arms and flings both out through the doorway with web-slingshot as the IEDs planted inside the house triggered. Balls of flames and hyper-compressed heated shockwaves slammed into them as Peter twisted midair and used his back to shield Felicity from the blast that almost knocked him out. Out of desperation to find a purchase, Peter randomly shoots webbing until one latches onto the still-standing pillar of the blown house, making them stop flying abruptly as the momentum or sheer luck turns Peter’s body under Felicity like a cushion for the platinum-haired woman when they landed on the crude asphalts; ignoring his pain and sores, Peter hugs her head in the cage of his arms and hovers over her fetal-positioned frame.

His Spider-Sense came in clutch as it warned him about a huge piece of debris flying his way, among many smaller signals, and he did the only reasonable thing; he positioned his and Felicity’s bodies so that it would only collide with him instead of both.

The decision harbored a risk of broken bones and maybe internal damage, but he couldn’t let anyone else get hurt if he could help it.

And oh boy how it hurts like a motherfucker.

“You okay?” Felicia asked in a worried tone after the fire was a bit tamed and the paramedics released her from their cares, approaching his laying form with a bracer over his left shoulder where the patch of wall slammed into his body. Cuts and blisters on his face and neck are all healed by his spider-powers, as he claimed, but the serious ones might take a bit more time.

He glances sideways at her approaching form, eyes scanning over her with concern despite the bruise he has over half of his face and dried blood in his ears, and lets out a grunting smirk with his usual quippy personality “Tis but a scratch, milady!” it managed to put a tiny smile on her face.

Felicia hesitates a little, contemplating the situation and how she feels about all of this, before putting her hand on his left one on his chest, squeezing it softly to convey her gratitude along with a smile. “Thanks…my black knight,” Felicia said whispery, yet his sensitive ears still picked it up.

Peter widened his smirk into a grin, enjoying the knowledge that she definitely watched Monty Python.

“All right, now mind telling me what were you two doing here?” The senior fireman crossed his arms and looked at them expectantly, squinting his eyes at the brunet who got more injuries and the white-haired young woman. The woman sported a brief look of contemplation before taking the arm of the man in hers, hugging it firmly to show the intimacy between them.

“We are looking to buy the house for a while,” Felicity delivered it so convincingly that even Peter, due to the mild headache, almost bought it. “My fiancé here decided to take a little tour before closing the deal, but I think we’ll have to find a new one now, right?” Felicity has that forced sweet smile on her lips, betrayed only by her eyes, and Peter plays along as he makes a saddened face.

“Shame,” the fireman said, looking back at the charred ruins with a sense of nostalgia in his voice, “the folks that lived here abandoned it a long time ago, didn’t know it was still in the market, to be honest.”

“You knew them?” Peter inquired, seeing the possibility of gaining intel.

“A bit; I used to live in the neighborhood when they moved in, moved out after a while when the station relocated,” he answered with a little nod, “The wife, Mary Parker, was a good neighbor to have.”

Felicia widened her eyes as she felt her faux fiancé tense up immediately at the name; aside from the former owner sharing the similarity in their last name with him, Felicia didn’t know much about the vigilante other than his aunt’s name.

“The husband, on the other hand, got this…chilly vibe around him? Like, you can tell he’s a trouble just by looking at him.” The fireman continued with a snort, “Not that I wanna shit on the man or anythin’, but he made me nervous.”

“Wha—” Peter’s voice cracked a bit before he cleared his throat, “What’s his name?”

“Oh! Uh…” The fireman tries to recall his memories while a thousand questions flow through Peter’s head, “Rick…or…Richard! Richard Parker! Yeah, that’s his name.”

“Parker?” Felicia prodded him lightly, a bit concerned at how detached he’d been since those names were spoken to him. “What’s wrong?” the NYFD cleared the area half an hour ago, and she’d called in an Uber since her sedan toppled over by the blast of the explosion. He became quiet, confused, and sporting an almost permanent grimace.

They sit beside one another on the opposite curb from the destroyed house, the app said their ride should be here in about five minutes; Felicia groaned internally at the added fees for a trip back to Manhattan.

“Say something, please; it’s weird when you are the one who’s quiet.” Felicia pleaded with him playfully, trying to understand the source of his turmoil. She saw him shift a bit, straighten his back, and arched it again like he was indecisive of what he should do.

It took almost two minutes for him to respond.

“…those are my parents’ names…” he whispered with a wavering voice and uncertain notes, confusion plagues his mind, and maybe a fit of panicked terror as well. “Richard Parker was my dad’s, and Mary was my mom’s…but if this was their house, it means…” he slowly brought his hands to the sides of his head, bundled his brunet hair into fists, pulling them frustratingly with a grunt.

‘Oh, shit’ Felicia thought to herself; this house should be one of Doc Ock’s safehouses, and it was also the most recent one he used accordingly what Black Widow dug up for them. She looked at him, attentively, while noting the stress oozing from his being and the seethed anger within.

“…the doctors said his brain suffered severe damage, nothing like they’ve seen before…” Peter mumbled, mostly to himself, recalling the general report of the villain after his administration at the institute. “…I’m no lobotomy expert or anything, but I know radiation damage when I see one; it was on me back when I was bitten by that spider, only much smaller…” he croaked out, feeling like vomiting at the speculation he came up with after knowing this. “…It must’ve been Strange’s spell…fried parts of his brain, turning him into a psychopath or something!” Peter raised his voice, sounding angrier.

“Hey, it might just be a coincidence.” Felicia offered, afraid of touching him in this state, so she opted to just verbal comfort.

“…It’s fucking not…” he practically growled at her, a flash of wrath passes through his usually warm eyes as he whipped his head sideways, and a grimace turned his kind face into a demonic façade. “I know what I saw, Felicity!”

“Look, Peter,” she tried using his name, hoping it would convey to his stressed mind a sense of familiarity, “I understand that what you saw implied, okay? But it could just be a coincidence; that man has been using those arms for who knows how long?” his agitated body seems to relax a little “The mental load of controlling four separate mechanical arms would be deadly to anyone,” she recited what he had ranted about after the Siege when he caught her stealing something again and ended up having another rooftop munching session with El Huerto’s tacos.

He stood in his spot, breathing deeply and heavily to try to calm himself, his brain running on overclocking speed to analyze the data provided to him on this supposed ‘revelation’ of the year.

“Look,” Felicia started again, having enough confidence to approach the distraught man and laying her hand lightly on his arm, “let’s talk when we get back, yeah? We are still a bit confused with the bomb and all that, maybe a drink will help?” she offered with an unsure smile; she had to check in at the club, anyway, might as well befuddled two birds with one whiskey.

Dear God, his lame puns were contagious.

“…you make strawberry milkshakes at your club?” he finally sighed and inquired with a weak smirk, but Felicia took it with a soft chuckle and then squeezed his arm just a bit to reassure him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t let him go like this,” Felicia hissed through Peter’s phone as the man slumped all of his body weight onto one of her shoulders as she dragged him through the reception and into the private lift leading straight up to her penthouse; it would be a bizarre sight for a bartender to have a private suite, but she didn’t befriend anyone enough to care.

“What do you mean?” the other end inquired lowly with a hint of confused anger seeping through the speaker; it was Gwen Stacy’s voice and Felicia just loves to tease the smaller woman whenever she can.

“I’m hauling him to my room, that’s what I meant,” Felicia got a smirk on her face when she heard an exaggerated exhale.

“Get your paws off him, Cat; at least buy me a coffee date and talk it out first before you do anything to him,” Gwen’s words elicited a high brow out of her.

“I didn’t know you were his pimp, Stacy. Way to go, sister!” Felicia teased still, stopping at the door as she fished for her card.

“Very funny, Cat,” Gwen mockingly cackled, “Is he okay?” concern laced within the question.

“Just wasted.”

“Since when did he drink alcohol?”

“Since I’m the bartender,” Felicia answered nonchalantly, closing the door behind them and navigating the not-so-heavy body of Spider-Man to the couch and depositing him onto the cushion. “Look, Maxine,” that name sure frustrated the smaller blonde, she knew it, “He’s going through some heavy shits right now, I just helped him relax a little,” Felicia said while shredding her leather jacket off and hung it on the rack, then she kicked off her boots and let her hair down; she cut them short to around the crook of her neck instead of the upper back length as before as they are easier to maintain and tucked into a balaclava.

“What’s going on?”

“…let’s just say it’s world-shattering…” Felicia offered, mindful to leave the explanation to him.

“You do know that we are talking about ex-Avenger Spider-Man, right? A world-shattering shit for him is kinda, like, our doom as well by default?” Gwen groaned, bemusedly, with annoyance.

Felicia looked at the slurry form of the subject of their discussion on her couch with furrowed brows, but her adamant conviction won, “It’s emotional; I’ll let him tell you about it tomorrow by himself.”

“Felicity, what’s going on?” Gwen’s voice turned serious and worried.

“It’s personal, Maxine,”

“Since when did you care about privacy?” The question was meant to be a tease, Felicia could tell by the tone of voice, but it put the inquiry in her mind.

Since when?

“Alright, then,” Gwen relented after a moment of silence, “Make sure he’s okay, please?”

“Yeah,” Felicia answered simply, her heart swelled and deflated all at once.

“Thanks. Now I gotta call Sue, bye!”

Felicia, after taking a shower to rinse all the dirt and grime off her, dressed in her gym clothes and got back to the couch just to find Peter Parker face-down on the floor while the lower half of his body was still on the couch. “Parker?” she prodded, but he kept snoring, “Parker?” Felicia tried again, only to receive an incoherent mumble as a response.

She patted his cheek firmly, hoping he would register it and stir awake; he kept lightly snoring like he couldn’t be bothered by the force that she applied. “Parker!” Felicia vocalized into his ear, and that seemed to do the trick.

“…huh?”

“Get up,”

“…five minutes,”

“Nope!” Felicia ‘pat’ him again on the same spot and that seems to rouse him as she intended.

“Ouch!” he caressed his cheek lightly, squinting his eyes at her with a little pout, “we should be discussing the limits of our foreplays, you know?” alcohol only accentuated his flirty nature, it seems.

“Get a shower, I won’t have a smelly drunk in my house.” Felicia tosses a spare towel at him.

“Wait, your house?” He snapped his head around, taking in the surroundings with confused eyes.

“Get. A shower.” Felicia emphasized and Peter quickly nodded, making his way towards the direction she pointed out for him.

Felicia sat down in front of her dresser, starting her night routine while her mind wandered to the question brought up by Gwen Stacy earlier.

Since when does she start to care about his personal matters?

Felicia was so caught up in her thoughts that Peter started her with a prod of his finger on her shoulder, she whipped her head in his direction and fumbled a bit at the display of his toned muscles; the scars he had only made the map of his skin more defined and picturesque.

“Sorry about that,” Peter got his apologetic smile on and got the towel on his shoulders, “I was gonna say thank you for letting me crash here,”

“Um…it’s fine! Don’t mention it!” Felicia averted her eyes from his abs and pectorals, away from his quizzical eyes as well, but the faint blushes on her cheeks were visible. Peter got a little smirk on as he took the towel off and purposefully stretched his athletic body to chase out the knots and sores from the blast earlier in the evening. He hissed a bit at the discomfort in his shoulder, but they were significantly lesser.

“I hope the couch is comfortable,” Peter mused as he made his way to the furniture, but his wrist got caught in Felicity’s hand. “Cat?”

“…it’s a big bed, and the couch is for my cats; they usually saunter in late at night, you’ll get clawed if they find you on it.” Felicia offered halfheartedly, trying to put on a nonchalant façade at the implication of her statement.

“You sure?” Peter whispered to her, his head being mindful, but his biology reacted as naturally as it was designed to; and there is no way she didn’t see it.

Felicia contemplated for a moment, thinking back to the question, and concluded.

“I am.” She answered with certainty, nodding at him with a look in her eyes that barred any argument.

He stood nearby, letting her finish her routine, and silently took her hand as Felicity led them to the fluffy bed full of cute plushies and a Spidey XXL one. He chuckled a bit at that, while Felicia snorted.

“The Zenith are hiring? If this is what a bartender can afford, I’m game for anything.” Peter jokes quietly with her as both still lounge their backs against the headboard, enjoying the serenity of the night and the moonlight poem on her window curtains.

“A spot for exotic dancers is still vacant if you want.” Felicia retorted with a smirk.

“You saw me in actions, Cat, which should be enough resume.”

“I don’t know…there are some girls there that are waaay flexible than you.” They whispery giggled along as their hands rested quite close, separated by only a small gap of hesitancy.

After a stretch of silence, Peter shift to get into a more comfortable position, “Let’s get some shut-eye; ‘night, Felicity.” He announced and made for a turn away from her.

“…Felicia…” he heard Black Cat whisper into the night, and he stopped himself from turning away from her and settled back in the previous position after scooting up.

“Felicia…” she said with a solemn smile, looking at the play of shadows rather than at her side. “a name for luck and happiness, that’s what my parents wanted it to be.” She continues, feeling his warmth draw near but still at a reasonable boundary in his mindful actions.

“My dad…he was the original Black Cat,” she heard a surprised noise, letting out a tiny smile before continuing “If you think I’m good, my dad did all of it without high-tech gears or indestructible claws or bulletproof suit. He’s the best in the business.” Felicia recalls the time when she discovered her Papa’s gears and costume and put it on just for fun; that resulted in him chiding her quite harshly and banning her from messing with anything relating to his nightly activity.

“He got so mad when I asked him to train me, to teach me to be as good as him; eventually after the Blib I decided to become one anyway, not that he’s still around to lecture me about it.” Felicia got a sad look on her face, and she felt Peter’s hand brush against hers, asking in silence if she wanted comfort. Felicia scooted over closer until their shoulders touched and her fingers slotted between his.

“We became who we are, not because of what our parents were. I chose to be a thief just like my dad, but you became a hero unlike your dad,” Felicia put an air quote around the speculated word, eliciting a small chuckle from the vigilante beside her, “What I’m trying to say, Peter; is that you will always be the Spider-Man, a hero, a symbol of hope, regardless of who Doc Ock is.” Felicia took a deep breath and turned to him, looking into those eyes obscured only by the filtered moonlight. “Don’t doubt that.” She felt his hold tighten, and the hesitant exhales of hot breath washed over the side of her neck from their proximity.

“Thanks…Felicia,” he whispered to her, pronouncing her name so sweetly she was convinced of the meaning tied to it.

“Felicia Hardy, nice to meet you,” she brought their joined hands up and gave it a firm squeeze, smiling a little when he reciprocated the gesture.

“Peter Parker,” he replied.

“Let’s call it a night, Peter,” she whispered after they had been tentatively drawing close and stopped just as the tip of their noses hovering away from one another by an inch.

“Yeah…Good night, Felicia…Fel? Licia?” he smirked as he went through nicknames, and Felicia snorted while pushing his face away playfully.

“Hold your horses, Casanova, we are not that close,” turned away from his to hide a happy smile at one of the names, and present her back.

“Yet,” Peter announced and pulled the cover over her. “I’ll go with Fel, by the way,” he finished with a cackle when she threw a pillow into his face.

Early in the morning, they would find themselves shifted through the night, with Felicia tugging her head under his chin while Peter draped his arm over her protectively.

“What are you doing here?” a maintenance man asked another of his crew when he found her in the area that was not assigned.

“Jimmy wanted me to check something under the floodgate, said it might need more grease in the gears or something.” Teresa, in another disguise, answered as best she could by blending lies and bits of conversation she’d heard since they’d arrived at this water pump station.

“That slacker…” the maintenance man shook his head with a sigh, “get it over with, then come find me and Manny at the substation, all right?”

“Got it!”

Teresa waited until she was sure he was not going to pop back in and assembled the distribution device she hauled from the Parkers' residence with the instructions left by her dad.

During the Siege, as these locals seem to be dubbed as such, her father deployed the primer of the mutagenic agent through water systems and via air particles when the cloaking device exploded, spreading nanite carriers to all the denizens in addition to what they would get from drinking the tap water.

Given the time passed since her father’s arrest, most of the affected population should already have harbored a fair amount of mutagen inside their bodies by now; with the administration of the Catalyst and the Activator should complete the process for those who are susceptible to genetic mutation.

She divided the batch into three devices, one for each reservoir, and the people of Manhattan would know nothing about it or how just simply drinking water would change them. The first went for the reservoir on the north side of the plant, the second was already planted at the east one, and now the last will be set for the south. Teresa looked around again and threw the device as near the center of the reservoir as she could after activating the dispersion system.

“Monica?” she heard the maintenance man voice his surprise and cursed to herself; she should’ve taken care of the face like usual. “But…what?!” Teresa worked quickly to shed her mask and threw it into the reservoir, taking the overall out and leaving the water station through narrow paths. When she was out of the plant’s vicinity, Teresa fished for her burner and dialed the quick call number.

“It’s done, now about Doctor Octopus’s extraction…Yes, I understand…Of course, Mister Essex…I’ll be in touch, be sure about that…the offer is interesting, but I’ll pass.” Teresa groaned silently at the ever-pushing evolutionist. “Please, give my regards to Miss Darkhölme.” She quickly ended the call and destroyed the phone.

‘Better get out of this city.’ Teresa mused internally as she made her way through the night.