2015

"Honestly, I'm just surprised they managed to convince anyone to come in for a fundraiser game. Especially last second."

The school's newspaper office is really more of a large storage closet. Granted, it's much nicer than the actual storage closets, and definitely comes equipped with just enough equipment (that's just close enough to being 'up-to-date') that we can actually turn out a decent product.

Plus, they have AC. AC that's running.

So yeah, "I don't mind so much. It's not like it's hard. Snap some action shots, write up half an article, composite the whole thing into a passable 'Summer Newsletter!' that can be sent out to all the good little boys and girls who were kind enough to subscribe." I spin around in the comfortable office chair a few times. "Where it'll promptly be dumped into the trash-bins of at least five different email providers."

The chair jerks to a stop as MJ plants a scuffed basketball shoe on the arm. She smirks down at me from her perch on the desk in all her exhausted, post-game glory. "Keep talking like that, Tiger, and I'll start to wonder whether you've got any school spirit at all."

"So hey, looks like those photos are done transferring, isn't that great? I'd better get back to it."

"Uh-huh."

I turn back to the computers, but don't get a chance to do anything before a blur of blonde and black barrels through the open door, shoves my chair bodily to one side, and disappears under the desk.

"Uh, What?"

MJ looks about as confused as I feel, folding in half to get a look. "Hardy? What the heck?"

"I'm not here."

Wait, that was-that's Felicia? "Is there a particular reason you're not hiding under a desk?"

I hear more than see as she moves, edging further back. "Don't worry about it. Just be cool."

MJ catches my eye, tipping her head curiously. I shrug. And, as I roll my chair back into place, she shifts closer to let her legs hang a little further over the edge. By the time I've got the editing software up and running, footsteps echoing up the hall turn into a figure in the door.

The campus police officer, actually. Which is a thing.

"Hey, Officer McNab." I offer a vague wave, keep most of my attention very firmly on my work. "How can the wannabe-reporters club help you tonight?"

"Just checking in, Parker." McNab smiles, but it shifts quickly enough into his 'stern cop' face. "Have you two seen any other students in the last few minutes? We had a bit of a kerfuffle down at the gym and I need to speak with everyone involved."

"Whoa." MJ leans forward, entirely attentive. "Guess I missed out on that. What happened?"

"Nothing bad," he assures, waving his hands disarmingly. "Just need to check up on things."

Yeah, that's vague. 'Nothing to see here, citizen, move along'. I make a show of thinking it over before shaking my head. "A few people have passed by, I guess?" Very true, what with all the people vacating the premises now that the game's over. "But I didn't get a good look at anyone." Also true, technically. "MJ?"

"No, yeah, I've been trying to get Mr. Sportsball Enthusiast here to actually pick a decent shot for once."

"Hey, nobody's ever complained about my photos before!"

"Not to your face, maybe."

McNab laughs, and waves us off. "Alright, well, I'll get out of your hair then. Don't work too hard, you two."

"Good luck with your manhunt!" MJ waves after him as he leaves. Shoots me a Look, before nodding pointedly at the door.

I give it another few seconds, then propel myself over to the doorframe with a careful kick. A quick check of the hall shows it's empty in all directions, but I still close the door as quietly as possible.

"I always wondered what harboring a fugitive would be like."

Felicia snorts as she extricates herself from under the desk, fitfully sweeping flyaway hair from her face. Like MJ, she's still in her uniform.

Unlike MJ, she's got the makings of a nasty shiner on her face.

"Jeeze, how's the other guy look?"

"Worse than this, Red." A faintly bloodied smile. "Marcie should really learn not to run her mouth so much."

Yikes. "You, uh...want to stick around for a bit? Lay low?" I scoot back over to the computer. "Give a third opinion on the layouts for this thing?"

Felicia hums, thoughtful, and moves to peer over my shoulder. "Well, I do owe you two for the save…"

"Oh, helping him is one thing." MJ lets out an ominous laugh. "A favor from Felicia Hardy? That's something I'm gonna hold onto."

Well hey, everyone's getting along. Awesome.

(And, actually, it's not bad. Maybe it's something that can keep happening.)

2017

There's been a lot of change, the last few years. A lot of life throwing one curve after another.. But Sunday morning on the J line to Manhattan? That's a constant. Something I can really depend on.

Truly, I'm living the dream.

Okay, so it's not actually that bad. I've got a seat to myself. I've got my gross energy drink. And there are people on my morning newsfeed that are surprisingly ambivalent to the whole 'vigilantes still running rampant in the streets' issue. Legit news-people, too! Not just the lovable wackos that follow NYCWallCrawler.

(While I'm thinking about it, might as well spread the joy. ' NYBulletin No need to thank me. The track-suits were just too terrible. Those guys needed help. #FashionVigilantes #OrangeIsTheNewGucci')

Really though, last night was productive. Not much commentary from the police, but it looks like there was enough evidence of wrongdoing on-site that those guys are actually going to see the inside of a courtroom. So a job well done on that front. New leads on new problems, though? Oh, that is something to be excited about. Or, well, not 'excited'. Because it's some serious, Capital B Bad Stuff that's going on. But I know about it, now. Which means I can do something about it. On Friday.

This week is going to drag on, isn't it?

I sigh, shoving my phone into a pocket and summoning the courage to take another gulp of syrupy, caffeinated awfulness.

"Bleargh. Why the heck are these things so universally awful?"

"Because they're loaded with caffeine, which has a naturally bitter flavor. So companies overcompensate with artificial sweeteners."

I turn to look at the guy two seats over, with his rumpled scrubs and five o'clock shadow. He looks back at me with a thousand-yard stare. The expression of a man who's Seen Things.

"Thank you, mysterious subway resident."

He doesn't react, and says nothing more. He has embraced death.

Which, you know. Cool.

Man, I'm hungry now.

xxxxxxxxxx

Well, it looks like Jameson finally got his teeth into the story. Not so fast on the uptake as to avoid being scooped, but still, he got his piece in before noon. On a Sunday.

It's the usual hatchet job. Loses a little punch with the lack of photos or first-hand accounts, but it seems like he decided to make up for it by focusing on Cat's involvement. Really pushing the 'criminals fighting each other' narrative. Nothing actually new there, but it's a nice bit of variety. Plus, he only calls me a menace once!

Maybe he's learning?

"...nah." J.J. is too smart to learn. "Lessee." I'll just drop a link, thank JJJamesonOfficial for the glowing review.I'd say something about feeding cats and expecting them not to follow you around, but something tells me that wouldn't be appreciated. And while that's most of my humor (apparently), I have a weird feeling that I won't like the consequences, this time.

"Yeah, I can exercise self control," I say, as I casually poke the bear on social media for the nth time.

Nobody responds, of course, seeing as I'm twenty stories up and sitting on the edge of a rooftop.

Before the whole spider-bite thing, I wasn't great with heights. It didn't come up much, obviously, but it was a thing that I knew about; heights made me dizzy, and the few times I was up higher than ten stories I could swear I felt the floors moving.

As it turns out, powers do more for you than fixing your distance vision and giving you the ability to do a sweet standing backflip. Who needs depth of field when you've got superhuman kinesthesia to help you maintain your sense of balance and spatial orientation? Not this vigilante-man, that's for sure. Spidey's got no time for 'vertigo' when he's got a late breakfast to focus on.

Street food is awesome. So's the view. It's Sunday morning and, technically, I have nothing I need to worry about. It's just...it's nice. A chance to enjoy the perks of the job.

Of course, the moment that thought crosses my mind- that I have nothing to worry about except filling the gaping void that all teenagers call a stomach -that's when some jerkwad cuts across traffic and makes a mess.

"What."

It doesn't look like anyone's hurt? A self-inflicted fender bender isn't technically anything that they need a superhero for. Right? Right.

Horns blare. People shout.

"Oh that's a fistfight." Shoot, okay, food down phone down, jump-

"INCOMING!"

Nobody gets seriously hurt, and clearing the way for traffic is a cakewalk. But, by the time I'm done my kati rolls are cold. So, y'know, so much for that.

xxxxxxxxxx

The little bell over the door chimes when I push it open, and I have to take a second to appreciate that. An actual bell, not one of those electronic tones that goes off every time the wind blows a little too hard.

'Course, then I get out of the way, because people are busy and don't have no time to deal with uppity Spider-men blocking the entrance.

There's not much of a line, seeing as it's still before lunch on a Sunday. By the time I reach the counter, I've remembered, searched for, and found my ticket. A good thing too, because the guy running the place doesn't look like he's in the mood to deal with my nonsense.

"Heya Mr. Emmerson."

"Do you have your receipt this time?"

I hold it up, pointedly.

He doesn't bat an eye, plucking it out of my hand and turning to disappear into the back. A little time passes, quietly and just a little awkward. Faint music from a fuzzy radio, the hum of a fan somewhere behind me. Somebody coughs.

And then he's back, dropping my plastic-wrapped suit over the counter with a huff. "That'll be fifty dollars."

"You're killin' me, Mr. Emmerson." Kind of. In that it's really kind of awkward, paying for things in cash. Almost painful, fishing the bills out. How many kati rolls could I get for fifty bucks? "You're lucky I like the place so much." He snorts. Takes the money, and gives me a receipt before shooting the suit a pointed look. I take the hint, wasting no time slinging it over my shoulder. "Uh, have a good day, I guess."

I'm almost out the door when he speaks up again. "I like this one better than the spandex!"

"It's-!" It's still actually mostly spandex, because it's a practical material and there's a reason athletes use it for literally everything, but it's also not worth arguing about?

A guy in a suit shoves his way past me through the door. I take the hint. Again. Just hints all over the place today.

"Nobody respects classics…"

Whatever. I need to go find a place to stash this.

xxxxxxxxxx

With my suit secured away, it's time for some heroing. Scheduled heroing, this time. Which is kind of a misnomer, I guess, since it mostly involves swinging around and waiting for something to happen. I'd call it 'patrolling' but that would imply something a little less...I don't know. Haphazard?

"If it's stupid and it works," I twist at the top of my arc, fall into a dive that ends with me skimming the side of a building to fling myself around the corner (and there's a buzz). "Then again-huff-there's gotta be a better way."

Maybe I'll cave and try the police-scanner idea that's been rattling around my head for the last couple months. Might be easier than trying to use my spidey-sense to dowse for trouble. Like, it still sort of seems like a bad idea seeing as it involves ceding the initiative. But maybe having a little direction would be worth it?

"What do you think, maybe it'd improve our working relationship?"

"Guh!"

"Yeah, that was basically what I was thinking too. They don't really like being shown up like that." And that wasn't taking into account the other downside of following the police around; you tended to run into them more. After all, "They're not exactly in love with the whole 'Vigilante' thing, for some re-" Duck-oh, right. "That was rude."

The would-be mugger makes a noise that's probably supposed to be intimidating, but, uh...isn't. Actually, it's more like-

"Hup!"

-one of those videos of lion cubs trying to roar. Only less cute-

"Ahh!" Crash!

-and more pathetic, actually. "Really man, you should probably just stay down at this point. Like, you got moxie, don't get me wrong, but…" No, no, he's getting up again, shaking off garbage before rushing. Again. Like it'd actually do anything?

Spoiler: It doesn't. Because I web his feet to the ground and he faceplants on the pavement. "Yeah. Rhino, you are not." Even if...whew. "You've got the smell down, but that's about it." Oh man, there was something ripe in those cans.

"Holy shit, that was awesome!"

Would-be-mugging-victim is looking much better than his counterpart. A little starstruck, maybe, which is a particular kind of strange that I'm still not used to, even with the recent upswing of public opinion. (Which, you know, hey, only took people two years to figure out maybe the guy going around busting up violent crimes wasn't necessarily planning on terrorizing the city, despite some of his other hobbies.)

"I think this is yours?" 'This' being the wallet I'm fishing out of the mugger's coat. ID looks right... "Might want to call the cops, so they can take care of this chucklehead."

"Fuck off," Chucklehead slurs, obviously dazed from his latest misadventure. "Gonna turn me in for trying to make a living?"

"Um, yeah? Since you're kind of making your living as a violent criminal?"

"Make's you any different?"

Haaa. Well. "Probably this." I shoot for lighthearted, as I toss the guy his wallet. Not a bit of guilt there, nope, what would I have to be guilty about? "Anyway, good talk, such crimestopping, very hero...I'mma go now."

And I do exactly that, hopping from dumpster to windowsill to wall. Not hard to get swinging from there.

It's barely noon, after all. Still plenty of time to get some more Good Deeds in.

xxxxxxxxxx

It's maybe three in the afternoon by the time I make it home to the old brownstone duplex. Actually not late, for once. I think that merits a little mental back-patting. "Wow Parker, way to be a functional human being."

Mister Watson's out front, sitting on his porch like he owns the place. Which, technically, he does, because it's his porch, but also-

I don't wave, pushing past the front door and into the front hall. By the smell of things, May's already got something in the oven. We did always like to do Sunday dinner together, but with just two a whole roast feels like a bit much. "Hey!"

"Hey, Pete!" She's not in the kitchen. Living room? "Just finishing up a lesson. Stir the potatoes!"

That'd explain why I'm hearing halting C major instead of the Ramones.

I head for the kitchen. Stir the potatoes. There's a sticky note on the cabinet nearest the stove with my name on it; May loves these things. Why sticking a piece of paper somewhere important is easier than just texting has to be...well. I guess she'd gotten in the habit with Ben before texting was a thing.

PETER-

SODA IN FREEZER

I can't help but crack a grin, because May got the good kind. From the bodega down the street. Mango-kiwi flavor. And a Dr. Popper, which has to be May's. She loves the stuff.

I grab some plates and get a table set, craning my neck a little to look into the living room. There's a kid I don't recognize on the piano bench, plinking away. My aunt is supervising and, when she catches me looking, I raise my soda in a 'toast'.

She smiles.

Very cool. I find a spot to lean, fish out my phone, and spend a little time browsing. Social media again, though now the focus is a little closer to home.

Looks like there was a party last night, maybe? Instapic says as much. Definitely worth missing for busting up a crime ring. Or, like, a really good rerun. Or even a mediocre rerun, honestly. Flash's inebriated smirk isn't all that interesting.

What's really amazing, what just blows me out of the water, is that I didn't merit an invite. Ha. Ow.

I manage to stop myself before I get too deep into the scrolling. Try and take a minute to actually think about important things. Like is there anything I actually need to be working on right now? There's a paper due on the history of the textile industry next week. I've kind of been assuming it was some sort of punishment or something, but I guess I should still, you know...do it. At least get it outlined before dinner, maybe.

"Peter."

I startle and unstick my face from the table. When had I moved to the table?

"Long day?" May's looking quizzically down at me. Done with lessons, I guess. It's incredible how easy it is to time travel when you're tired. I swear, I gotta figure out how to harness those powers. "How'd it go?"

'It' being...not swinging around New York and standing on tall things, probably. "It was,uh, good. I think." I rub my face. "Did you get a new student?"

May slides my plate in front of me with a quirked eyebrow, taking her own seat. "Sure did. Apparently I'm getting 5 stars on google. Can you imagine?"

"You do have a pretty slick website." It had been one of the first ones I designed. Pretty basic, but she'd refused to update it since 2012, so… "Guess all that time I spent bribing voting bots paid off."

"Ha!" She throws a balled up cloth napkin. Underhand, bless her. "No need, nephew. I got the whole Ackermann family in my pocket."

And they'd sent what, three of their kids to May? "Can't argue with that." The roast practically melts in my mouth and I lose my train of thought for a few seconds. "Hey, uh-"

It's so good. Holyshit. "Pash the ketchup?" We're gonna have to get more soon. Speaking of, "Thanks for the soda. And uh, dinner. You went all out, huh?"

"Gotta up my leftover game." She spears a green bean on her fork, then uses it to gesture. "You're still growing, incredibly. And somehow I don't see pizza as a vegetable."

She looks pretty chipper. Maybe I can ask. "Hey, I uh, thought you took sundays off?" I know things are tight, I know she's been having to pinch for pennies. She keeps refusing to just let me-

May shakes her head, nonchalant. "Not anymore, kiddo." Brief eye contact. "Just for a little while, until we get used to things."

I sit forward in my seat. "I can pick up a job, I bet." We've talked about it before, and I can see the answer on her face before she says a word. "Just something part time." Something with minimal documentation. That would pay in cash. And that didn't have a phone on the premises so May would never know it didn't actually exist as more than an excuse for why a teenager has money to burn.

"Your job is school, Peter. Do your best, get into a good college, and knock undergrad out of the park." Her tone is dismissive, and a little uncharacteristically tense. "Waste your energy on some pointless gig and you'll miss out on the important things, bud."

Yeah. Pointless gig. Sure.

"Guess so." I pull on a smile, despite the heavy feeling in my gut. "I'd like to help out more though."

"You're plenty of help, Pete." The warmth is back. "How'd study group go this morning?"

Oh, hey, would you look at that, the knife can actually twist a little further. Good to know. "It's good, or uh, was good. Just, you know, got plans together for this presentation."

"Glad to hear you're making some progress. It sounded like a pain in the ass."

What had I told her it was about this morning? Shit, I can barely remember leaving the house. "Uh, yeah. I think the biggest challenge is gonna be keeping the audience awake."

"Might start by keeping yourself awake." May smiles. "Tell you what, kiddo. Go get cleaned up and I'll do the dishes tonight. Catch an early night tonight, maybe?"

"Yeah, that sounds good." It does. But it would have been great if I'd made more than halfway up the stairs before the phone started ringing. The landline. Isn't there a law or something about telemarketers after 5 pm?

"Peter?" May's holding the phone to her chest. "There's someone on the line for you~" If the tone weren't enough, she's waggling her eyebrows. Ugh...who do I know that would call the landline and warrant that sort of response?

I trudge down the stairs and regard the archaic technology with a suspicious eye.

"Hello…?"

"Hey, Tiger." Tha-thump.

"Uhh...hey. What's up?"

"Just thought I'd give you a ring." Ever so casual. She's putting on airs; that faux-casual tone is more grating than endearing, which I think is half the reason she does it.

"Uhhuh. Why'd you call the home phone?"

"Wouldn't miss a chance to chat with May."

"What, you two exchanging recipes now?"

"As a matter of fact…" I can hear her smirking. "Just checking to make sure you haven't forgotten we have plans tomorrow."

"Nope. I'd never plan." Ha. "Unless it were tomorrow. Then I might."

That earns me a sigh. "Alright, well, after school. Plan on taking a few pics and maybe doing something illegal."

"Landline, Felicia."

"Bye, Pete." The line goes dead. I stare at the traitorous phone for a few seconds before setting it back on the cradle and heading upstairs.

Maybe I'd better clean up a little.