Chapter Thirty-Four
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TWO WEEKS LATER

It was alarming how easy it was for everyone to fall back into a normal life.

When I finally went back to Midtown, it was like nothing had changed. Sure, wardrobes were starting to lighten up, a lot of kids had new tans and new haircuts — Flash kept showing off the new gold watch his father gave him — but nothing about actually being in school changed. I had imagined, even expected, kids to be talking about the SHIELD leak, about Captain America and the battle over the Potomac, but even that was not as popular a topic compared to the upcoming spring dance, the basketball season, and the latest form of torture known as homework.

It was… actually kind of nice.

Sitting with Peter, Ned, and MJ at lunch, I kept my eyes and ears out, trying to get the lay of the land. The cafeteria was warm and voices echoed in a loud din; the windows were open for the first time this season, letting in a cool breeze. Everything was just business as usual, even though the nation's capital was still in complete turmoil. In high school, the fate of the known world didn't matter one goddamn bit when you had a low GPA to grapple with.

I'd only been back for a week and a half, but I still felt a little awkward. Just drifting about, not really engaging with anything, still trying to find my sealegs. I'd only gotten a few questions about what had happened so far, although the looks I got were far more numerous.

Aside from the healing bruises and the few visible stitches I still had, the weight I lost was still visible, as was the pallor in my skin and bags under my eyes. Even though I had improved a lot over my week of recovery, I was still hollow-cheeked and haggard. I did my best to hide the worst of it with baggy clothes and long sleeves; hair? Loose and unkempt, if at least clean. I did not have the energy to embrace any sense of style outside of Depression Chic. I knew I looked different, but there was nothing I could do about it.

For now, I just ignored the stares; it wasn't any more than what I was already used to. No point in getting distracted by it. My friends were my anchors, and listening to their conversations was a nice distraction to the thoughts in my head.

For their part, Peter, Ned, and MJ had done their best to make me feel like I was normal, that nothing was wrong. I didn't engage much but it was nice to just be around them and listen, occasionally laughing at a funny joke or offering a side comment when I had one.

Ned was dominating the conversation, as usual. "... So I did a whole search on my family, and you're not gonna believe this, but I was the only one who had a file in the SHIELD leak! Can you believe it? I can't wait to tell Flash…"

Perhaps the most relevant talking point so far were people comparing how much SHIELD knew about them. In the brief span between the dropping of the leak and now, several search engines had been built by indie developers to help people see if they or anyone they know about were in SHIELD's database.

Ironically enough, the more people you knew on the database, the cooler you were.

"And so are the rest of us, dingus," MJ said with a roll of her eyes. "And only because we met Captain America once. And you already promised you weren't going to tell, so don't even think about telling Flash unless you want him to know about Mia, too."

My attention was focused on the cafeteria TV, hand on my chin and idly eating fries, but all at once I felt everyone's eyes turn on me. My eyes cut over to meet the other three pairs, apparently waiting for a response. I just shrugged my shoulders, and looked back down at my tray. "It's alright. Just say you ran onto him in the street or something. Not like Flash is gonna look up my name in the leak."

Ned just pumped his fist in victory; MJ rolled her eyes again, shaking her head in disgust. But it was Peter who made a noncommittal sound with his throat that caught my attention. I frowned at him. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Peter said, suddenly very interested in his half-eaten burger and carton of milk. "I just wouldn't count on Flash not looking you up."

"What? Why?"

Ned snorted, and covered his mouth before he broke down into more laughter. MJ threw her head back and issued a loud groan. Even Peter was struggling to smother a smile and I just looked between them all, growing more and more confused. "What? What is it? What aren't you guys telling me?"

"Mia, honey," MJ sighed, placing a hand on my shoulder with the kind of gravity one would when telling someone their dog just died. She looked me dead in the eye and said, "Flash has a crush on you."

That was the wrong moment to be drinking apple juice.

I choked. Spit my drink onto Peter sitting opposite me and started to cough. Peter recoiled, grimacing and throwing his hands up while Ned just laughed harder. Still coughing, I spluttered, shaking my head, trying to find the logic in MJ's statement. " — No, no, no way. C'mon, I know you guys are just messing with me — "

"We're really not," Peter said, making a face as he wiped down the front of his shirt.

"I'm telling you, he's got it bad," MJ said, and she too seemed to be having a hard time not smiling. Her lips were pressed thin and her cheeks were reddening, eyes twinkling with glee.

I looked between them again, and despite the hilarity Ned found in all of this, everyone else seemed completely serious. Oh no. A hand clapped to my forehead. "Oh, you can't be serious — I thought he liked Betty — ?"

"Please, he was just going after Betty to make you jealous." MJ snorted.

" — I was supposed to be jealous — ?"

Peter just shrugged. "That's just how Flash is. Sorry, we thought it was obvious."

"Well, clearly not —" I just waved my hands, stopping myself before I could get any further. I couldn't believe I was actually encouraging this theory. "No, no, it's not obvious because it's obviously not true."

MJ just tsked, pursing her lips in resignation. "And denial is a river in Egypt."

Unbelievably, Fate would prove the other three correct, much to my chagrin.

Later that day, in Art Class, I was working on a very crude charcoal sketch next to MJ — doing a life study of an arrangement of taxidermy, vases and fake flowers set out before us. Students were arranged in small circles around other sets of still lifes, chatting idly, others listening to music. Mrs. Hammond was very chill and offered a relaxed classroom setting, and warm afternoon light streamed in through the windows behind me. I wasn't a very good artist, but I did enjoy the calm atmosphere, and was now very thankful that I had chosen this class last semester.

It was normal to get up and move around, to see what everyone else was doing and learn from different techniques. MJ was, of course, doing a remarkably better job than me, and I was distracted studying her sketch when someone came up on my other side. I didn't notice them right away until I heard someone clear their throat, and jolted a little. Jerked my head around.

It was Flash.

"Uh, hey," he started awkwardly at my curious look, straightening slightly. "Just wanted to say I'm glad you're back. You know, from the hospital. A-after the car accident…?"

Maybe the look of confusion on my face had given Flash reason to doubt himself, before I remembered what he was referencing. Oh right. That was the story that we had; a car accident during my trip in DC — that's how I ended up missing the first week of school.

"Oh, yeah," I said after a moment, trying to smile but probably failing. Suddenly feeling stupid for not remembering my cover, I pushed some hair back from my face. The movement was awkward with the brace around my wrist. Even though the bones had mostly healed already, I still wore it as a way to maintain the sense of normalcy. It was more annoying than anything else, and I couldn't wait to take it off in a few weeks.

I offered Flash another wan smile — distinctly aware that MJ was now listening in, if the movement out of the corner of my eye was any indication. "Thanks. It's nice to be back. Familiar faces and… all that."

Flash just nodded once and gave me a big smile, just stood there. He didn't say anything and I didn't say anything. I just wanted him to leave. It got awkward fast.

"Right!" Flash seemed to realize that the ball was in his court, and finally took a step back. "Well, I'll just, uh, leave you to it. See you later…?"

I just gave him a tiny, half-hearted wave as he shuffled off.

Smooth.

Behind me, I heard snickering. Without looking, I swept my hang back and cuffed MJ on the shoulder. "Shut up."

"I told you!" She hissed, rocking with silent laughter. I turned back around in my seat to cut her the best scathing look I could muster, but that seemed only to fuel MJ even more. "He's been like that since you had your glow-up."

That made me cringe internally. "Please don't say it like that. Makes it sound like I went to the spa."

"Well, if it helps take your mind off of future romantic prospects — " MJ grinned as I started to fake-gag. " — I have a proposition for you. Of the entrepreneurial kind. And I know you're really beating yourself up about losing the bracelet I gave you, so this is a way for you to make it up to me."

I slumped over, leaning on my knees and threw her a curious look. "Didn't ask, but okay."

"Right!" MJ clapped her hands together. "So you know how I got kicked out of the AV club for quote-unquote abusing their equipment, even though that's a total lie."

"You dropped one of their cameras down an empty elevator shaft in a derelict hospital," I said, gesturing forward with my hand. "But yes, continue."

"Well, I was thinking, why not start our own club? With the recent SHIELD leak, I've got a whole bunch of new material to work with, and there's definitely an audience for it. We can call it Midtown Conspiracies…" MJ held out her hands, spreading them out in front of her like she was looking at a TV screen. "First episode: Nick Fury, Where Is He Now?"

"MJ." I stared at her. "He's dead."

She wrinkled her nose at me, not appreciating the feedback. "How do you know?"

Because I watched him die in my arms. "Uh, b-because! No one survives the Winter Soldier."

"Maybe that's just what he wants you to think," MJ said to me in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in and tapping the side of her head. "I bet you twenty bucks right now that he faked his death."

I sniffed. Easy bet. We shook hands on it. "Ha. Deal."

"So you're in the club, then?" MJ asked, grinning, and before I could answer her, she thrust both fists in the air. "Yes! Midtown Conspiracies is a go!"

There was no point in arguing with her: Michelle Jones was a force of nature, and I had no power to stop her. This was also one of those rare moments where she actually looked genuinely excited and happy about something, and I didn't want to ruin it. For the rest of the day, she had this big, happy, evil grin on her face and I had to admit, it made me starting to feel a little excited, too.

(I also needed extracurriculars on my transcript; something to spend my extra hours on, to keep me out of trouble.)

Despite the uncomfortable revelation regarding Flash, MJ wrangling me into a prospect I wasn't sure I was going to regret or not, and the literal shit-ton of homework I had, today had been a net positive.

Not once was I caught up in thinking what had happened to me. Not once was I distracted by some errant noise that sounded too much like a gunshot. I was finally caught up in problems that were only mildly annoying and strenuous and gave me a headache.

It was, quite possibly, the best day I ever had.

So, naturally, it was going to get worse.

I had made the executive decision to walk home that day — from the closest subway stop in Queens, at least. Close enough to get home but not staying forever in a racing tube of death. I couldn't stand being underground for any longer than I had to these days, and the fresh air didn't hurt.

"Wanted to congratulate you, by the way," Peter said, not looking up as he flicked through his Instagram feed. "On your new date with Flash. When is it?"

"Between the hours of Never and Gonna Happen," I said, right before I grabbed him in a headlock and gave him a noogie.

"Hey, hey!" Peter squeaked and writhed, trying to break out of my grip. It didn't take long — stronger, smaller, wily, he jumped away, rubbing the top of his skull and and fixing his messed up hair. "I'll take that as a no, then."

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you, Maverick?" I asked, both amused and aggrieved at once.

"Are you kidding, Goose? This is the best thing that's happened since sliced bread," Peter laughed, holding out his arms as if he were king of the world. "I finally have something over Flash; next time he calls me a dickhead? Gonna ask him about you. That'll get him to shut up fast. It's like a big red self-destruct button, just waiting to be pressed."

"Well, it's nice to see you're embracing your inner super-villain."

"I promise I'll never use it on you."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"Okay, so I gots a question," Peter said, walking backwards in front of me as we went along the sidewalk. I frowned at him, wondering how he didn't run into anything or anyone like that. Must be that weird Spider Sense/Tingle/Whatever he had. "Why are we taking a different route every day when we walk home?"

"Oh," I said, screwing up my lips to one side. Abject paranoia seemed like a bad answer to give. No routines would just sound suspicious. "I just… want to keep things different. You know. Take the scenic route, enjoy the sunshine."

"Uh-huh," Peter said, and glanced up towards the sky. It was overcast, dim and gray, with the threat of possible snow on the horizon. I hoped it would rain, instead. "Yeah, that's fair."

I almost smiled at that. Peter's all-too-casual tone of voice gave away his true opinion, but I wasn't going to begrudge him that. Every day, Peter accompanied me on my long walks home — walks that could easily take an hour if I felt like it. I'd never asked why, and it seemed curious to me now. Why waste his time?

"You know, you can just go out and do some web-slinging and wall-crawling instead of this," I offered, shrugging one shoulder and making a vague gesture to our walk. "Queens must be missing their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

"Really?" Peter said, scratching his head and appearing doubtful. He looked about, at the quiet street surrounding us. Aside from the occasional passing car, there was no one around. Just houses, yards, and the great cemetery across the street. "They seem to be just fine without him for now."

I just made a face, laughing a little. "What, you don't miss it?"

"I can just do it later," Peter said with a shrug, not at all concerned. "It's not like the crime waits for me. There'll always be some moron trying to steal a purse, any time of day."

"You sure you don't want to take the subway? It'd be faster."

Now it was Peter's turn to look at me in confusion. "I thought you didn't want to take the subway."

"Well, no, I don't…" I said, now feeling awkward. The miscommunication had gotten away from me and I now realized I was not on the same page as Peter anymore. Was Aunt May putting him up to all this? "I don't know, I just… didn't want to waste your time, is all…"

"What? You're not wasting my time, Mia," Peter said with a grin. There was a hopscotch chalked up ahead, and without looking, Peter hopped through it backwards. I followed suit, my last jump so wide I ended up overshooting the last two boxes. Peter continued, "I think it's kinda fun, actually."

"O-oh," I said, not expecting that answer. In fact, I was rather touched. "Well, if you're sure…"

The more I thought about it, the more I started to realize Peter was being completely honest. Indeed, he had not once complained about any of this — actually, he'd never even questioned coming along with me. I'd never even asked. He just… he just did it. Because he wanted to.

Every day for the past ten days, I'd gotten off the subway too early.

And every time, Peter walked me home.

I felt a bit of burning behind my eyes. Peter was still ahead, whistling a jaunty tune as he hopped up on a nearby bench and walked along the narrow edge of the backrest, not a tremble in his balance. He saw me watching and grinned, deciding to show off by doing a backflip off the end. A perfect landing, Peter straightened up and held his arms up in the air, like an Olympic gymnast. I chuckled and clapped as Peter bowed away.

I didn't know how to tell Peter how much he meant to me. So I said nothing at all.

The cemetery continued to stretch out to our right. Queens had the largest graveyards in the entire city, and this one stretched out well across the small piece of island the borough occupied. It was where most people in the city buried their dead. It was where our family was buried.

Having walked this path before, I knew where the grave-site was from this position. I happened to have glanced over, wondering if I could still see it from here. The trees and bushes hadn't gotten their full foliage yet, so it was much easier to see further out this time of year.

As my eyes wandered over, I came to an abrupt stop.

Someone was standing at my mother's grave.

I didn't move, staring at the distant form. Checking, double-checking, wondering if it wasn't real. Just seeing things or something. Synapses overreacting in my head. It could be anything. But no, I wasn't hallucinating. There really was a man there. Standing right where my mother's grave was.

I squinted, but the details were hard to make out. A dark coat, hood pulled up, baseball hat underneath. They looked small from this distance and some large headstones blocked most of their body from view.

Peter kept walking, not noticing I was no longer with him until he was halfway down the block. When he did, he paused, spun around. "Mia? What's up?"

But I didn't answer. My eyes were focused only on the man.

"...Mia?"

I took off running.

"Wh — Hey! Where are you going?!" Peter called after me but I was already across the street, feet hitting concrete sidewalk again. The entrance gate was further down the way to my left, but there was no time for that. I scaled the ten-food wrought iron fence that served as the cemetery's boundary in one smooth motion; jumping, grabbing the top bar, lifting myself up and over the spiked poles and dropping down to soft grass on the other side.

I could hear Peter running to catch up, but for the moment my ears ignored it. Having moved, I'd lost sight of the man, too many headstones and statuary blocking my line of sight.

But I knew he had to still be there. I wove my way through the field of graves — unlike the fence, I didn't use the graves as mere obstacles to climb over. I still had a sense of respect, and, well, headstones were a lot easier to knock over than they looked.

My blood was racing. Something about this wasn't right. I'd never seen someone at her grave before.

Maybe I was overthinking this, overreacting. Maybe it wasn't even her grave at all they were standing at.

But my gut said I wasn't mistaken. Someone was visiting my mother's grave, someone familiar…

That thought nagged at me, the recognition. I hadn't seen his face. His back was turned to me. But I'd been struck with a sense of deja vu so powerful I couldn't shake it.

Finally, finally I reached the Parker grave-site.

No one was there.

Panting slightly, I looked around, standing in the aisle between rows and casting my gaze in a wide three-sixty. There was no one here. There was no one anywhere.

The cemetery was completely empty. My hand pressed against my temple as a headache started to form. That made no sense. The gravesite was quite a way into the grounds; it wasn't exactly a quick walk to leave this particular spot. I should've seen someone, some sight of a person leaving.

But if they were here, they were long gone. All in the few seconds it took for me to catch up.

A ghost.

Maybe I was dreaming things. Shoulders slumping, I hung my head. Maybe I was seeing things that weren't there. My nightmares, haunting me.

As I blinked at the ground, chastising myself for reacting to nothing, I noticed something. A flower petal. Then another.

I looked over. On my mother's grave was a small bouquet. Not a real bouquet, like the kind you'd buy in a store. No, these were a wild, seemingly random assortment of flowers. A thin, anemic bundle, stems bent and leaves ripped from being gripped in a hand that was too strong, not realizing how delicate they were.

Daisies, lavender, a single petunia. They looked as if they were plucked — or stolen — from someone's yard.

I knew this wasn't something left by anyone I knew. Aunt May would never buy something so ugly, and even Peter wouldn't steal flowers from someone else's garden. And this was very recent. None of the flowers had started to wilt. I reached down, running my fingers over the bouquet. The stems were still warm from the rough hand that held them. It had to have been from the strange man I saw. A stranger who had mysteriously disappeared as soon as I noticed him.

A threat, whispered a voice in the back of my mind.

Still, I couldn't help but be struck by the clumsy sincerity at this rough-hewn offering. They had nothing, but they still wanted to give something.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I looked up again, towards the treeline where the cemetery ended. For a second, I thought I spotted a shadow moving behind a trunk.

And then nothing.

"I'm here, I'm here…" Peter's wheezing voice arrived as he stumbled to a break at the end of the row. He leaned against a marble pillar to catch his breath, coughing a little as he hung his head. "Can you… please tell me… what's… the emergency?"

I flushed, completely forgetting Peter had been here. "Sorry. I just thought… I thought I saw someone here…"

"And what did your elf eyes see?" Peter picked his head up to squint at me, still leaning. He blew at some strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes. "We should probably leave a note on your headstone, by the way. So people stop thinking you're dead."

"What?" I said, and when Peter pointed, I spun around and saw that there was indeed an object left on my grave, too. I'd been so distracted by the flowers for my mother that I hadn't even noticed if there was something on mine.

Brass. I blinked, surprised, as I picked up the single bullet casing that had been perched so carefully upright on the headstone. It wasn't a small one, either. No, the casing was larger than my finger and easily the length of my palm. A 12.7mm, meant for a specific type of weapon.

A machine gun.

Or a sniper rifle.

"Well, that's not ominous at all," Peter commented lightly, sidling up next to me to take a peek. "Kinda morbid, to be honest. Do you know who it's from?"

Not answering right away, I rolled the casing in my palm. Large, but the metal was thin and hollow. It would've been so easy to crush. No longer dangerous. An echo, a remnant of death. Yet I couldn't shake the chill that had dropped down my spine.

I couldn't look at Peter. My throat was completely dry when I tried to swallow. "No idea."