Alter Ego Troubles
Takes place during the (wonderful, incredible, mind-blowing, outstanding…) Amazing Spider-Man film, set during and after the scene where Peter comes to Gwen's room after his fight with the Lizard. My take on things, mainly from Gwen's perspective. I own nothing.
Read and enjoy and leave me a review if you feel like it.
Gwen's hands are beginning to ache from typing. She's been messing around with her homework essay for over two hours now and it's just not coming to her. A friend keeps sidetracking, trying to catch her attention over chat but she's gotten to the point where she's ignoring it.
History was never her strongest subject mainly because there are no fascinating experiments involved and really, what they study is only a recollection of what has already happened. She's more interested in the future, in discovering the unknown and understanding the most intricate details of life.
That sums up exactly why this analysis about the Civil War is not getting anywhere.
She's just about to let her mind float to academically unrelated things, maybe grabbing a snack from the kitchen or succumbing to the ever-present temptation of watching one of those genetics documentaries she's been recommended, when a sound catches her attention.
It's a dull, barely obvious thud of an object hitting against glass and it's close enough to let her know exactly what it is. Unless she's mistaken and a pigeon has managed to crash-land into her window.
She swings her head around and catches sight of a dishevelled brown head outside. Her lips curve upwards. It's almost involuntary by now. Every time Peter Parker shows up in her life, she finds it a reason to smile.
Especially when he pulls this stunt of appearing outside her room at outrageous times.
For god's sake, she needs to come to terms with the fact that she's already fallen for this boy. Far more deeply and overwhelmingly than she'd planned.
She is nonchalant about it though; swivels back to close up her work while she tells him to come in. The scrape of the window behind her tells her he's obeying. It's strange. Slightly weird when she thinks about it, the ease with which she secretly let's him into her bedroom. Not that she's dated dozens before but he's definitely the first to prefer the fire escape to the escalator.
But it's also exciting enough for her to go with it and push away second thoughts.
In her regulated life of study and work and family, a bit of the extraordinary is everything she could ask for. The boy has definitely revealed himself to be full of surprises. Whatever she thought of him at the start of the year has given way to a lot of revelations. She still hasn't figured out whether her reaction to his biggest secret is positive or negative.
Her thoughts on the topic of him having an alter ego are nowhere near organized yet. She tries not to think about it too much.
Gwen shakes the train of thought away. The here and now is more important and the reality is that Peter is in her room, well, almost, and she is definitely interested as to why. She can't remember him mentioning an evening visit.
"You should maybe consider coming in through the lobby," she suggests, half-turning back to catch him shifting through the window frame. He laughs at the statement and again, it's just natural to laugh along because this chuckle is probably one of the most contagious attributes he has.
Just to see him grin at the statement, she adds, "Also, my father is under the impression that you require psychiatric attention"
Another laugh. "Really?"
His amused question sounds tired and she focuses properly on his movements. They're entirely different to the last time he snuck in. In fact, he's sluggish enough to almost knock her things off the windowsill as he drops onto the carpet. The tall body is hunched over as he steadies himself on her armchair.
Her good mood gives way to alarm and she's beside him before he can say anything else. His name rushes past her lips and suddenly she is flooded with the need to be in control, to help, to make everything better because something is very, very wrong here.
It's then that she realizes, in that split second he stumbled inside, that the situation even slipped so precariously out of control.
"What happened?" she demands, moving to support him by the arms as he sways forward slightly.
So close, she can easily see the blood staining the suit and feels the familiar panic rise inside her. She's pictured this scenario a hundred times before but the main role occupied by a different man.
She can't even take time to admire the skin-tight outfit that is rough under her fingertips and does nothing to hide the muscle underneath. He nearly slumps into her as he switches positions, flopping onto her armchair. His sense of humour doesn't deplete though and he still smiles, albeit wearily, when he tells her, "You should have seen the other guy"
The mother in her wants to hit him over the head and tell him he has serious things to worry about. The woman in her wants to just take the time to revel in the scenario of a man, in a body hugging suit, in her room. The girl that's in love with him wants to respond to his casual banter as though having superhero problems is no different from other relationship struggles.
She never imagined inner conflict could get so confusing.
He groans as he eases into the plush hollow and she can see the pain on his face but still he says, just for good measure, "The other guy, in this instance, being a giant mutant lizard"
She settles beside him on the edge of the chair, mentally already trying to conjure a priority list of towels, bandages and painkillers. She can't see much of the actual injuries but judging by the tears in his suit and the amount of blood on his chest, it's not to be taken lightly. She's good at this, has taken part in several first-aid courses and emergency simulations thanks to her father.
Speaking of which…
"Hey, Gwen, honey you want cocoa? Howard's making some cocoa"
The call comes from the hallway, approaching her room. As much as she'd have gratefully taken the offer ten minutes ago, now is really not the best moment.
"Shit," she mutters, leaping up towards the door.
She hopes Peter has the good sense to get out of sight just in case her father decides to poke inside to check on her. She steels herself for some horrible lies because she's really not good at improvising. Mainly because she's never had to. Not at home in front of her Dad anyway, who is basically a professionally trained lie detector.
There's only one way to go with this – offensive.
She sticks her head through the door and maybe it's the stress, maybe it's that she's really just freaked out by the amount of blood she just saw, either way, she snaps, "No, Dad, I do not want cocoa. Honestly, I'm seventeen years old"
Too late to take the words back now.
Sheer surprise reads on Captain Stacy's face and he backtracks slightly with a smile, not buying the story just yet, "Okay, I just thought I remembered somebody saying just last week that her fantasy was to live in a chocolate house, so…"
She regrets saying that now.
"Well that's impractical," she huffs before disappearing behind the door. On second thought, she opens it for another moment to add, "And fattening"
Closed again, she lets out her breath, only to have Peter mouth the words 'chocolate house' at her from the armchair. He's actually adorable with his head just visible over the side. Despite the bruises, despite the swelling and everything else she's worried about, he still manages to try and be funny.
Even if he's mocking her.
Not that he should have heard any of that. She rolls her eyes at him. Then she remembers that her father is still outside the door and she just yelled at him for no good reason. She opens the door again and he's right there, looking like he's trying to make sense of her attitude just as much as she is.
She puts on an apologetic expression, frantically trying to fabricate a believable excuse. "Sorry Dad, I just, I can't…um…have cocoa right now because I'm working…I'm doing this…"
Wow, Gwen, even a five-year-old can do better than this. She scrabbles to find something that will spare her more questions. "I have…I've cramps"
Good one. Awkward time of the month conversation. She feels like a genius when she sees the change in her father's posture that tells her he's trying not to engage on the subject anymore than she is. Her confidence returns immediately.
"Yeah, I feel kind of pukey and just sort of…I don't know, like emotional, I keep crying. It's brutal. You don't want to know, trust me. It's…yeah"
He's already backing up, sending her a reassuring smile. "I uh…got it"
She throws him her best grateful smile, which feels even cheesier on her face than she imagined. Well, no problem looking like a complete idiot when she already feels like one. She only hopes this is worth it and he won't send in her mother anytime soon. "Thanks, Daddy"
His footsteps head back towards the kitchen and Gwen's forehead rests against the door for a second. She can't believe she just pulled that off. Looking over at the unmasked vigilante standing beside her favourite reading chair, she has a notion that that was only the beginning of a difficult night.
She gestures for him to head to the bed while she goes into the bathroom and gathers everything in reach. She soaks a cloth in warm water, grabs the small first-aid-kit she always has under her sink and a packet of Tylenol because that's all she has in here.
He's already peeled halfway out of his suit when she returns and instead of marvelling at the bare chest, she nearly blanches at the extent of the wounds. They sure don't pass as scratches. It's a severe gash. Three or four of them she can spot under the coat of blood. They're already crusting over but the sheer size of them shocks her.
He looks at her with apology written in his eyes but she just shakes her head, forcing herself to be practical about this before her emotions get the better of her.
"Sit on the floor, yeah?" she instructs, carrying everything over.
He follows without comment, easing himself down with his legs stretched out. She sits beside him and begins the gruelling cleaning of his chest. She gives him another towel to hold against a seeping injury while she removes the blood so she can see the extent of the damage.
Every time she brushes over an open gash, he winces. It's a pang inside her as well but no matter how careful she is it will hurt him. She ponders absently how he even made it all the way to her apartment like this.
She's tempted to let him do it himself so she can look up whatever fiasco took place. But since her father is still home and obviously unconcerned, it seems his fight wasn't a public thing. No wonder he snuck in from the back.
It takes several trips to the bathroom and rinsing of the cloth before she has a full view of the wounds. It's incredible how fast they are scabbing over. Any normal human being would need many hours before the blood clotting could cover the whole abrasion.
Any other day she would just enjoy their closeness but it's torturous for her to be sitting here, patching him up this way. He's helping of course, not wanting to be babied but it's obvious he doesn't actually know much about cleaning severe wounds. How could he?
Again, Gwen is scared for him. She doesn't understand this drive. Sure, he's got incredible physical reflexes and skills. He can swing from webs through the city. He is full of good intentions…but how can he be cut out for this?
Special powers don't make someone a superhero. If she only imagined taking on that kind of task herself, she knows she couldn't do it. She can't put her life at stake the way he is. Maybe it's a guy-thing, maybe that's why there are more men depicted as superheroes than women but she can't be that kind of person.
If it makes her selfish, she doesn't care. People like her father, who swears himself to upholding law and order; those are the heroes she knows. It's not safe but it's not as recklessly deadly as what Peter is doing.
Another groan sends her out of her reverie into the present. She's already made him down some painkillers but obviously they're nothing compared to the extent of his injury. She bites down on the inside of her lip, concentrates on at least ensuring an infection-free healing process.
He notices her quiet after a while and his fingers brush over her exposed calf. It's not an overly intimate gesture but rather a touch to get her attention.
She raises her head a bit. Just enough to meet his eyes.
They hold hers steadily and she could just look at them all day and forget everything else. They're open and honest with her in the way that completely opposes how Peter has difficulty expressing everything with words. They're brimming with emotion as much as hers probably are.
She knows she's no good at hiding her own feelings most of the time but she tries to smile anyway. She wants to reassure him but really it's an attempt to convince herself there's no reason to be worried. Apparently today is the day of lies.
They're good enough that others can believe her even when she can't believe them herself.
He's leaning in and although her logic tells her to push him back so she can start bandaging everything, she doesn't. It's too nice to be able to think, for these few heartbeats, that the world is still a beautiful place where only good things happen.
His mouth is barely touching hers, ever so gently and her smile slowly becomes genuine. She can't resist telling him, "Easy, Bug Boy"
"What d'you call me?" His reply is a breath of laughter against her lips. She wants to capture them, shut out everything else but she knows she can't. Where he says he has his responsibility, she has decided that hers is to make sure he stays grounded.
It's probably too easy to lose track of his own mortality when he's racing through the city with nobody stopping him. Nobody that matches his abilites. She seems to be the only one talking sense into him. Then again, she's also the only one who knows both sides of him.
He's closing the distance again and his hand is on her neck. The warmth seeps into her but she remains adamant. She doesn't want to push him away when she could easily aggravate the wounds but she can't go along with this either.
She's amazed how he can brush off his predicament the way he does. It's as though his chest hasn't been sliced by huge talons.
"No"
"Yes," he whispers back. His lips aren't even an inch from hers. A single movement and her denial will be washed away.
"No," she repeats gently but with conviction, pressing against his hand to put some distance between them. Honestly, do boys always mistake this word for its opposite? Her forehead brushes against his shoulder and she glimpses the red, torn flesh that stretches downwards from there. It reminds her that she has something to say. "I know what this is"
He tilts his head sideways, drawing back just enough to meet her eyes. The question of what she means is no more than a whisper. She's trying to find the right words to say it. She doesn't know if he'll understand.
Her story comes out as a murmur too. She can't speak louder. Her throat feels strange, like she should be spilling tears but she can't because really, nothing has happened. There's no tragedy. Only the one she knows could happen, any time, any moment.
"Every day for as long as I can remember, my father has lived every morning and put a badge on his chest. And strapped a gun to his hip. And every day for as long as I can remember I haven't know if he's going to make it home"
His gaze has cleared now that he sees her so serious. He can't seem to stop touching her though. His hand comes up again, hovers indecisively, and then carefully cups her face. She doesn't move aside this time and the contact is so comforting, it's has something warm is growing inside her chest.
He's contemplating her words, looks away for a bit.
His thumb against her cheek and although now would be the right moment to shed a tear, her eyes are still dry. She hopes they're beseeching. She wants him to know that this constant worry she's carried around all her life has extended beyond her own family. She's worried for him.
She needs something to hold on to, some security and her hand rises to circle around his wrist. Ironic really, when he came to her for protection tonight. Their gazes are locked and she doesn't want him to leave. She just wants him to stay out of trouble even though she has a sinking feeling that's impossible now.
He's mumbling something that sounds like, "I've got you," but it's so quiet she can't distinguish the words. The warm thing inside her holds her motionless; she can't tear her gaze away.
He holds her face between both hands then and she has to blink against the heat. It's too late though. She sees the resolution in him. The guilty but determined decision he's made that she couldn't deter him from no matter what argument she comes up with.
She knows it and he knows that he has to tell her, has to disappoint her hope.
Gwen tries to turn her face away but now his hands become a resistance. He turns her head back to him, not forceful but not pleading either and when she raises her eyes back, his are solid. It's somewhere between desperation and stubbornness.
"I've got to stop him though. I have to. Because I created him"
Even though his words are rushed, tumbling over another almost, he's steadfast. It's not an apology. More of an explanation. She thinks she'd rather not hear either. Something catches her attention though. I created him…
"What do you mean?"
"I gave him an equation," he starts and the guilty look is back full force, "It made all of this possible" His head shakes in useless denial. He's talking about things Gwen has no idea of but she tries to piece it together as much as she can. "It's what my father had been working on, you know. Secretly. Now I realize why he kept it a secret"
She could intervene, tell him he is not to blame but she doesn't. From what she can tell, he's made up his mind. If anything it looks as though this is something he could not be more certain of, no matter the cost. "Whatever this is, it's my responsibility. I have to fix it"
His fingers ghost along her cheek again and she leans into his palm. She finds solace in the firm weight of it even if she knows it's only for a few hours. Tomorrow this hand might be busy fighting off a genetically out-of-control villain.
She twists, grazing a kiss against his skin.
She doesn't know what to say anymore. She can't persuade him to give up this mission he's set for himself but she can't bear to watch him jump to his death. She's not even afraid. It's resignation now.
Her head feels heavy with the thought and she lets it drop, staring at the floor.
This time, he doesn't let her shut herself away. "Hey," she feels the ridges of his knuckles under her chin, pushing, coaxing her back up. Back to him. The smile has returned to his face and that glint when he's cooking up something mischievous, "Let's get out of here"
She throws back the smile when he repeats himself with a wild shake of his head. The image of a dog shaking water from its pelt comes to mind and she almost laughs. It's so childish and utterly random compared to the seriousness before that she finds herself loosening up. He's doing his best to save the mood but she can't join yet. It's still too much.
He butts noses with her, "Just for a minute. Can we?"
He's creepily similar to her younger brothers begging for an extra cookie when she's made some. Worse, his charm is working far better than their persistence. Or perhaps it's the way that the close physical contact is making her resistance crack.
He's trying so hard; she really doesn't like to reject him. But this goes beyond his paranormal issues. This is breaking her father's house rules. "No"
He's quick to counter that and she is close to laughing at the déjà vu she gets here. "Yes"
"No"
"Yessss," he drags on the last syllable as though that's all it takes to trump hers, "Yes"
Stubborn as a mule. It's as though the unusual jumpsuit has given him the confidence to commandeer everything. Not that he didn't try before. She is vaguely reminded of the manner in which he acted during family dinner. She can be inflexible too when it comes down to it.
"No, if my parents see me leaving, I'm dead"
At that, a slow smile spreads over his lips. He gives her that look for a while before he grins and promises, "Your parents are not going to see you leave"
She's not convinced and raises an eyebrow. If he wants to treat this like a joke, fine, but she's not the type to be pulled into crazy sneak outs. "Don't tell me you actually believe that's the greatest problem. You're a wanted man, Peter Parker. My father has five hundred officers looking for you"
His expression does morph into the briefest of surprises, then he chuckles again. "Five hundred? That does seem a bit excessive"
She has to break into a smile. It completely defies her argument but she can't stop herself at the quirky innocence on his face even though she should be knocking rationality into him. This isn't what she bargained for when she agreed to a date. But it looks like having a pizza or going for a movie at the regular kind of time isn't available in the Peter Parker Package.
She sighs, sits back and gives him a stern look. He grins back cheekily, waiting, waiting…
How does he keep doing this to her?
"You win," she throws her hands up in exasperation, "We're going to bandage you up first though. I won't be responsible for you bleeding all over the place again"
"Nobody will notice," he promises, leaning in to steal a quick kiss from her, "Trust me on this"
She busies herself with the disinfectant and fastening the gauze around his torso. At some point she's leaning in so close she swears she can hear his heart thundering in his chest and she has to hide her smile. She's happy that she isn't the only one of them who is affected by the proximity.
It's the closest they've been since the kiss on the roof.
Every time she glances up, he catches her eye and she comes to realize he's watching her in that sincere way of his. His hand has come to rest on her calf entirely, whether just to provide comfort or to be as connected as possible, she doesn't know. It's a sweet gesture.
Eventually she deems him patched up decently and he shrugs back into the costume. She fingers the mask, running a finger over its contours, before passing it to him but he stuffs it in his bag. Then he reaches out and takes Gwen's hand. He tosses her another grin before leading her to the window.
"You're going to teach me the fire-escape trick?" she quips.
"Don't try and copy it in your free time," he suggests, taking her by the waist and pulling her against him. Well, that's a change. Looking at him now, she can't believe he stumbled in here roughly an hour ago like death warmed up. He seems entirely rejuvenated at the idea of what they're about to do.
She wraps an arm around him just in case he's about to do something reckless. It turns out her instincts are right on the dot. His grasp on her grows tighter and then, without warning, he takes a running jump off the platform. All she can do is concentrate on not screaming as she is thrust forward and plunges downwards with him.
The tarmac is rushing closer and she thinks she can feel the impact in her bones already. Then something lurches as their acceleration is cut short and the world rights itself. She's swinging, she realizes. Peter's swinging and she's being carried along.
Even though the number one rule in these kinds of situations is never to look down, she can't help it. There are cars underneath her like little toys, lined up in various colours and sizes as they string through the city. There are smaller buildings, hundreds of windows like black and yellow squares in the night. There are billboards that flash past her and streetlamps that they bounce off once or twice.
She can't even process that she's soaring at incredible heights in the arms of Spider-Man. That's what any onlooker would see but that's not what Gwen knows is happening here. This is Peter's arm pressing around her; this is Peter's neck and shoulder she's clinging onto.
Fair enough, it's Peter's body in a newly iconic suit and it's him shooting strings of webbing like he's never done anything else, but it's also the lanky boy with the skateboard and the passion for photography she always sees in class. Impossible to explain but he's two people wrapped into one.
She's completely breathless and feels flushed with exhilaration when he lands them on a building that's so high up she can't look straight down over the edge without feeling dizzy.
"Peter…" she gasps as soon as she gets her voice back, "That…I mean…you…this is… what you do?"
"You're missing the crime fighting," he grins, a little out of breath himself but obviously pleased with her amazement, "I don't just play Tarzan for fun" She doesn't answer, keeping her grip on him to remain steady and he nods at the scenery below them, "But the view does have it's perks"
"You don't say," she manages to say, enthralled by the sight herself.
Gorgeous would be an understatement. It's a phenomenal ocean of light and dark in front of her, of geometrical shape and solid lines and movement and flickering. The city is a living, breathing mass spread out below them for miles and miles. She pictures an enormous ecosystem with every link of nature working in flawless synchrony with another. All circles of life interconnected and flowing alongside each other.
It's perfection.
"This is insane," is all she can say, blinking at the panorama, "You're amazing, Peter"
"Amazing Spider-Man is the official title," he replies and the grin is back in his voice, "Haven't you read the papers lately?"
She tilts her face up to his, "Shut up"
Then she kisses him and he's far more complacent than she was the first time. Neither of them can think of anything that can't be said without words. Right here, right now, they're on top of the world and just for tonight, nobody will take that away.