From all the way up here Henry Sullivan finally felt as though he had found peace. Below him he could hear the usual sound of traffic, daily life, people going on about their business and, if his hearing wasn't failing him, at least one man screaming, but that was New York for you.

"Oh my god! If that guy jumps he's gonna be a smear!"

Tourists.

He'd been up here for close to an hour now and finally police had arrived on the scene, clearing away the rubberneckers and probably making their way up to the roof, the edge of which he stood on, swaying in the wind. It's no use, fellas, I've made up my mind. Hope it doesn't ding your metrics too badly. Was that a thing? Did cops have performance metrics? He did. Had.

Then the company was bought out and management started timing everything from reading your emails to taking a dump, they had the stopwatch out. His performance anxiety did not help matters, it was hard to take a dump when Sven was standing outside the stall counting down the seconds and making those awful tsk-tsk noises that he loved so much. That's assuming the man could love anything, Henry wasn't so sure.

That was why he hadn't taken the Nestea plunge just yet, all of these people were just standing there, watching. Waiting.

THWIP-THWIP

Henry turned, looking for the source of the noise and saw, to his great dismay, the web head standing there, rolling his shoulders like an aging golf pro at the end of his career. He sighed, this was exactly what he needed right now.

"Man, I keep telling myself, stretches. Are. Key. And what do I do every single time? I just… Start. I'm not twenty anymore but I keep pretending I am." Spider-Man stopped the shoulder roll and crossed his right arm over his chest and grabbed it with his left hand, stretching. "You ever feel that way?"

"I swear to God! You take a step over here and I'm going over! I'll do it!"

He switched sides, stretching his left now, not very impressed with Henry's threat. "Okay, okay, no need for dramatics, pal. I'm just asking a question."

"You're not going to… Stop me or anything?" That was what these people did, right? Saved babies from burning buildings, stopped muggers, grabbed people jumping out of windows and stuff. He read about it all the time in the papers, another relic from a bygone era just like he was.

"Well, I'm not saying I won't, but right now I figure you're a big boy, you still have time to save yourself if you want to. So I'm just up here talking." Now he was doing toe-touches. "Today's my errand day and believe me: I need the breather."

A gust of wind snapped up, not the hardest he'd felt up here, but Henry decided he'd play things up. See if Spider-Man was as full of crap as everyone else in his life lately. He tottered, swayed, bent forward a little almost as though he were on the verge of toppling over the edge. He could see the wall-crawler's head snap upwards, but sure enough his feet didn't budge. As much as he appreciated that Spider-Man wasn't going to actively stop him he had to admit that he felt just a bit insulted.

"So what's got you up here? Tinder date gone wrong? Bad day at the office?"

"What am I, some kind of firebug? Only bug around here is you."

Spidey's raised his hands defensively, "First of all can we not with the personal insults? And secondly Tinder is just a dating app, like spark something off with someone kinda deal." The guy didn't look that much older than him, although Peter had to admit he wasn't up and up with the latest dating apps himself. He hadn't been looking while divorced and his neighbors in the apartment he lived in had tried to point him in directions that were probably more suited toward people about 5-10 years younger than he was. "So alright, if it's not a date gone wrong then what about option two: Work trouble?"

"Yeah. Work trouble." He suddenly whipped a hand out, waving his middle finger, "And how's that for your personal goddamn insults?"

Well that's just rude. "Hey, I get it."

"No! You don't get it! They timed my shits! They timed my shits! Every time I locked my workstation to go to the bathroom there was a timer on display so everyone knew exactly how long I took a crap! Who does that to a man?!" His eyes were dry but they were still moistening a little bit at the memory of The March 7th Incident. Almost an hour thanks to the old Applebee's he'd let sit in the fridge for a bit too long, the sarcastic, half-hearted applause as he'd returned to his seat, the missed lunch because of it.

"Wait, that's a thing? They really timed how long you… You know..."

"Yes! And then they fired me for it! Twenty years I slaved away at that place! And they fire me for not having enough fiber in my diet!"

"Wow. That is just… Wow. But hey-"

Don't you say it.

"If you think about it…"

Don't you dare say it.

"It could always be…"

He's actually gonna say it.

"Worse."

That was it! To hell with Spider-Man and to hell with all the little ants down there! He was-

"At least you don't live in Jersey."

Thinking about it. He was thinking about it. Sure, he'd just lost his job, his wife had left him two years ago for the 22 year old who delivered his paper in the morning and smelled like his dorm had in college, his dog had run off last week, and he had a sneeze that refused to come out right now… But he most certainly did not live in New Jersey, he didn't have it that badly. And if that were the case then this is what Marilyn would have referred to as an acute crisis, not something chronic, he was just having a bad day. And here he was considering a permanent solution to just a temporary problem. It wasn't like he couldn't get another job, and the coffee at his old place had sucked anyway.

"Holy crap, you're right. I don't live in Jersey. Could you imagine? I don't think they've ever even seen a half-decent bagel th-" One of his problems chose that moment to resolve itself as he let loose a sneeze, spraying spittle a good five feet, more with the wind carrying it. In doing so he also lost his balance, screaming as he pitched backwards over the precipice.

With no input from his conscious mind Spider-Man's legs leapt into action, propelling him off the roof after the jumper… Faller… Whatever. In no time at all he'd caught the man by the back of his dull grey suit jacket and shot a web at the building they were hurtling downwards from. There was a rip from the jacket as it split along the shoulders but it held as Spider-Man brought them to as close to a gentle stop as he could manage. He repositioned his grip and made his way over to a nearby open window where two NYPD officers were waving their hands at him.

"He jump?"

Peter recognized the one cop, he'd been on the force almost as long as Spider-Man had been web-swinging. "Nah, sneezed."

"Hey what the hell is this?!" The second cop, a stranger to Spider-Man, had helped the jumper remove his jacket to replace it with a blanket. The guy was staring at the large tear along the shoulders and his face was twisting in fury. "You ripped my- How the hell am I supposed to interview without my best jacket?! You couldn't catch me underneath my arms or something?! You friggin'- You're paying for this, pal! I know a lawyer and he is gonna take you for everything you own!"

Spider-Man was silent, staring at the man in disbelief when the new cop chimed in. "Oh wow, yeah I know the brand, this ain't cheap. You got good taste, guy."

"Damn right I do, 'cause I don't live in friggin' Jersey. But by the time I'm done with you, Spidey, it's the only place you'll be welcome! You wanna just gimme cash or you wanna do this the hard way?"

Spider-Man remained silent a moment, then, "Neither. Bye now!" And with that he leapt neatly through the window. Before he'd even started to swing away he could hear the new cop trying to comfort the jacketectomy victim.

"Yeah look, don't worry, everyone knows Spidey's a dick, it's why nobody likes him. Listen, I got some jackets right around your size, we'll see if we can't find something for you once you're out of the hospital, okay?"

Ah, gratitude. It never got old.

—-

Spider-Man had surveyed the building for a while but if Devereaux had an office with a window then he either wasn't in or had the blinds drawn. So much for the element of surprise.

He swung in towards the entrance that alternately gorged on and vomited up passersby and landed with the grace of an olympic gymnast and the popping knees of one as well, one that had retired early due to injury. He'd be breaking out the old heating pad tonight. Glad that nobody had been able to see his face contort in pain on landing, he strode towards the entrance, waving casually to the various onlookers gawking at the big guy in flashy tights entering the stream of plain-suited businessmen heading in.

"Are you going to save someone?!" A little girl, no older than 7 waved while shouting at him before she was quickly shushed by her mother.

He waved back, "Nope, not today, just the movie industry." She smiled and hid her face behind her mother who was glaring daggers at him. Oh well, couldn't make 'em all fans of you.

That fact driven home when, on crossing the threshold leading inside the mass surrounding him suddenly dissipated. Oh they were still grouped up of course, all headed towards the security checkpoint standing guard in front of the elevators, there was just a noticeable gap between him and the nearest person of about six feet. Just enough for the grave he wished he could sink into right now. Sure he was used to sticking out like a sore thumb, it was kind of the whole part of the color-scheme he'd chosen, but there was a stark difference in moods between leaping into action to save the day and calling the elevator with the lunch crowd.

"Hey, workin' hard or hardly workin'?" The security guard, who was named Frank according to his name tag, was unimpressed.

"Do you have an appointment?"

Okay, tough crowd. "Well, not an appointment as such, but I spoke to Devereaux yesterday, he asked me to sign some contracts." He leaned in, whispering, "They're making a movie about me." He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Now don't go running to TMZ with that…" He leaned in, double-checking the guard's name tag, "Frank. I only let you in on that because you look so darned trustworthy."

His face didn't so much as move, were these guys robots or something? Had LMDs made their way to the civilian sector already? "Name?"

Oh, come on! "Uh…" Really?! "Spider-Man?" He felt his face, making sure his mask was still in place, heaving a sigh of relief when he found it where it was supposed to be. "Yes. I'm Spider-Man."

The guard's eyes drifted back to the screen but didn't do the typical side-to-side scanning you'd typically expect of someone reading. Holy crap, he really is a robot, isn't he?

"You're not on the list, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Are you kidding me? I just talked to the guy yesterday, he asked me to-"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave now or I'll have to call the authorities."

Spider-Man raised his hand, index finger pointing skyward as though he were about to make some dramatic point, but instead he threw his hands up in resignation and turned to leave. There was no point in arguing with a robot, they could only abide by their programming.

As he began to step away the phone at the security station rang and was quickly answered by FR4-NK, on the handset Spider-Man could hear loud, frantic yelling even from this distance. "Of course, Mr Devereaux. My apologies, Mr. Devereaux. Yes, his name was on the list." There was a pause, "Because it struck me as highly suspect, which led me to assume… Yes, sir, I'll send him right up."

Spider-Man had already stopped his exit as soon as he'd heard Devereaux's name mentioned. Now he waited. The guard cleared his throat as he hung up the receiver, "Sir?"

He turned, arching an eyebrow even though he knew it wasn't visible beneath the mask. He typically tried not to be too petty but this was a situation where he'd allow himself the pleasure.

"I'm sorry about the mix-up, Mr. Devereaux asked me to send you right up to his office on the 37th floor."

"Glad to hear it, hope my highly suspect nature didn't blow your mind or anything." Frank remained silent, but his cheeks did take on a slightly rosy hue as Spider-Man walked towards the bank of elevators against the wall. Okay, so he could blush, but that didn't mean he wasn't a robot. Arnie probably could have blushed too with his rubber exo-skin, didn't mean he wasn't a killer cyborg from the future.

As he approached the elevator he saw that the call button had already been pressed. He stood near the back, waiting his turn in line like an adult, but when the door opened so did the crowd. He was Moses, they were the Red Sea, but unlike Pharoah they didn't give chase when he slowly, hesitantly made his way to the front and into the elevator car.

"Are you sure, guys?" He held a hand out to stop the door closing, "I mean there's plenty of room in here." All very pointedly not looking at him, the group didn't budge. "I don't bite, I promise." Someone in the crowd cleared their throat as another started tapping their foot impatiently. "Alright, fine, I can take a hint." He let the doors slide closed and stabbed the button for 37, illuminating a red circle around it and starting the box's upwards journey. He was tempted to whistle but knew anything he tried would clash with the soft bossa nova being piped in and would totally throw him off his game. He was a damn fine whistler if he did say so himself and he wouldn't let the small flashing camera in the corner catch him off his game. He tried not to pay too much attention to the tabloids but he just knew they'd have a field day with it. 15 Super-Fails You Just Won't Believe. Number 7 will literally kill you in your sleep.

And he would definitely be number 7.

Eventually the elevator reached the 37th floor, coming to a stop so smoothly and silently that Spider-Man didn't even realize it had reached its destination until the doors slid silently open to reveal the one and only Bo Devereaux. He wore the toothy smile of a hungry predator that just spotted a wounded animal and a half-smoked stogie tucked behind his ear.

"Well look who it is! New York's favorite do-gooder!" That was debatable. "Come on in, come on in. You and I, we've got business to get to!" He reached in and grabbed a handful of bright sleeve and pulled Spider-Man out of the metal box. "And that mook down at the security desk? Don't even worry about him, he'll be gone by tomorrow. I want you to know that I consider you a good friend of mine, and Bo don't let nobody disrespect his friends like that."

Peter could have resisted, stood fast and let the little man tug uselessly at him, part of him wanted to put this puffed up windbag in his place by doing just that. But it wouldn't get him anywhere, would only drag this whole thing out longer than it had to be.

"There's uh, there's no reason to do that, I'm sure he was just doing his job. I mean I'd probably be a little sceptical if someone looking this ridiculous walked in off the street too."

"You're right! Absolutely right! That get up is pretty wild after all. A raise then, we'll give 'im a raise. You can never be too careful these days and that Frank? He's a careful one."

You didn't need to agree so emphatically. He rubbed at his temples, this whole situation was starting to give him a headache. The sooner he could get this done and get out of here the better.

"So how does this work? I don't exactly have a photo ID to prove that it's me handing over my rights or anything so…" He trailed off. How exactly would this work?

"Glad you asked, Spidey. Lemme tell you I had the suits in legal figuring that one out and uh, well, best they could tell me since you were so insistent on keeping your identity from little old me was to have you do something that only you could do. Shoot some webs or walk up the walls or something. We'll get it all on video, take a sample of the webbing, have a notary on hand to verify what happened, and have you sign on the dotted line. They were a little apprehensive, but I told them we've got the best lawyers in the world, unbeatable guys them, surely something like this wouldn't even make 'em break a sweat." He opened the door to the office and gestured for Spider-Man to enter first, the blinds were in fact closed. "Besides I told 'em, I got a good feeling about you, you're an honest guy, you wouldn't try and jerk us around or anything, right?" He didn't even wait for an answer. "Right! So you make yourself at home, I'll pour us some drinks and have Lizzie get all the right people up here to get the ball rollin'."

The ball took a while to roll, but eventually everything was as it had to be. The charity they'd settled on was St. Jude's Children's Hospital, a percentage of gross would be making its way to them, maximizing how much the hospital would get and purely coincidentally letting the studio make a larger tax write-off. Fingers crossed the film did well, he didn't get to help in this way very often so he was happy for the opportunity.

Two hours later he was taking the elevator back down to the entrance, this time in a far more crowded elevator. They couldn't send him off alone this time, they were already on when he entered. They still crowded themselves up against the wall, giving him more space than necessary.

Making his way through the building's foyer Spider-Man pointed an accusatory finger at Frank as he walked past, walked through the large glass doors, and launched himself upwards, swinging a short distance away to where he'd stashed his clothes. He had one more stop to make today and he felt it was going to be a doozy.

—

Up Water Street he swung, a blur of blue and red dancing building to building over the crowds, the traffic, the madness of it all.

It did wonders for his commute time.

But like always, he refused to let mere distance leave him disconnected from the people below. His eyes were scanning, his ears were open, and what they took in right now was actually pretty nice. He dropped down, landing on and jumping off of the open-topped doubledecker bus ferrying tourists from one landmark with overpriced souvenirs to the next. For New Yorkers he wasn't a big deal anymore, not cool, who cares about Spider-Man? He's yesterday's news. But tourists? Oh, the cow-people of the midwest started clapping as he'd started swinging up behind them. The tour-guide rolled her eyes, annoyed that she'd have to start her current spiel about the city over again but the people were here for a show. Why not give them one?

Okay that was a bit mean. Growing up here had left him weary of wide-eyed tourists stumbling through the streets, mouths agape and cameras always at the ready, but this little stunt was as much for him as for them. He liked to feel appreciated every now and then.

Not two swings after launching from the bus he'd already started concentrating on other things, a pat on the back was nice but he had more important things to worry about. Had he paid the electric bill? He still had to take the shelving he'd set up at the apartment down and get it packed away, would he be posting it on Craigslist or setting it up at Mary Jane's- No, he corrected himself, their place? He didn't think she'd go for it, she'd spent good money and a lot of time angling for a more bohemian feel to the household decor, and the bare-metal shelves would probably clash with that. On top of all of that he still had to put together a grocery li-

Something was wrong. His spider-sense had been intermittent lately, and weak even when it did feel like working but it suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree. He hadn't felt anything like this before. The typical warnings it gave were akin to a camera's flash bulb: It was obvious and you knew it was there but not exactly debilitating. This new and horrible feeling was closer to being jolted awake at night with a 10,000 lumen flood light.

Keep moving.

He pulled himself forward with all of his might, shattering the window he'd attached himself to and raining glass downwards. He didn't look back, he had to go. Now! Get away!

RUN!

And it didn't matter where he ran because he'd never be safe again because it would always find him. It would never lose him. It would always be one step behind him, the monster chasing him up the basement stairs as a child, the thing that hid under his bed.

HIDE!

He did. He pulled himself upwards, attaching himself to the shadowy underside of a jutting stone gargoyle he held himself as still as he could but his chest heaved and his limbs trembled and his head scanned back and forth for a threat he wouldn't even recognize. Somewhere at the back of his mind what was left of his rationality was yelling at him to stop, take in the situation, find out what was going on, but it was drowned out by a wave of pure animal instinct that left every muscle in his body humming with tension. He knew that no matter how far he ran he would never feel safe again.

Time passed. Whether it was minutes or hours he didn't know, but eventually his head stopped its swivelling and his breathing normalized, but his muscles were still taut and ready to snap into action at a moment's notice. "Okay Peter, you're being ridiculous right now. Let's get going."

Now that he had calmed down he had a sense of time, so he knew that ten minutes had passed and he hadn't budged an inch.

"And now I'll just…" He braced himself, "Jump!"

He did not jump.

As tempting as it was to spend the rest of his life stuck to his incredibly insecure feeling hiding place, he knew he couldn't stay here. He also couldn't bring himself to leap out into the open, anyone could see him there, it could find him so much more easily. This wasn't the first anxiety attack Peter had ever had in his life but it was without any question the most intense.

"And now I will slip away quietly, keeping a low profile on the way to my destination."

Slowly, stiffly, his limbs started moving again.