A/N: Spoiler alert for Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Avengers: Age of Ultron, Captain America: Civil War, Ant-Man, and Spiderman: Homecoming.
As always, many thanks go out to CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur for the Beta, and Winter-Soldier-88 and Karina0001 for the brainstorming.
Year From Hell: Season 3, in progress. Please stand by…
Special Note: Thanks go out to "Guest", who found a mistake waaaay back in chapter 5 that shouldn't have been made. Have you ever read something over so many times that you know something's not right, but you can't figure out what? *facepalm* It's been corrected. Oy!
Namaste,
Sunny
"I will come back to you, I swear I will;
And you will know me still.
I shall be only a little taller
Than when I went."
― Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Harp-Weaver and Other Poems
Winter Soldier
And You Will Know Me Still
Chapter 68
The Lewis Home
Orlando, Florida
Afternoon
"Mom hasn't been out here in months." The studio door screeched open on disused hinges making Darcy wince, and Steve made a face. The musty smell of disuse surrounded them, bringing with it hints of paint, turpentine, dried clay, and desuetude. "She always took care of her workplace like it was a palace."
"It is, sort of. It's the place where she feels most inspired. Calm, at peace." Crossing his arms, Steve was the patience personified. "What was her preferred medium? Paint? Clay? Charcoal?"
A hollow spot in the pit of her stomach clenched. The rush of enthusiasm that brought her to the threshold of her mother's safe harbor evaporated, leaving her fearful of violating a kind of trust. From the day they'd moved in, Darcy never entered the studio without permission and never without Mom being present. "Bit of everything." She poked him in the shoulder. "Mom used a classic potter's wheel. Refused to allow anything electric in her sanctum sanctorum, except lights and a hot water heater."
Steve smiled sadly and sighed. "Mom wanted me to do something safe, like work in an office. Someplace where my asthma and other medical issues wouldn't be affected, but I was adamant about enlisting. She didn't want to discourage me, but she also didn't want me to get my hopes up."
"And rightly so, from what I hear." Darcy's gaze dropped to Steve's bulging bicep. "Glad it all worked out for you."
He grunted, in agreement. At least that's what is sounded like. "Ready to go in yet, Darce? I can wait in the house, if you'd rather be alone."
"Um," Darcy looked over her shoulder and back at the vague shapes huddled in the dim light filtering through the dirty windows. But before she could make a decision, her phone alarm went off. She shut it off. "Saved by the ringtone. Time for my appointment with the attorney."
Ducking her head, Darcy left Steve standing in the open doorway as she rushed into the house before he saw the fresh tears stinging her eyes.
~~O~~
Steve watched Darcy nearly run back to the house, slamming the door. He was tempted to take a quick look around, but he couldn't violate her mother's privacy. He closed the door, made sure it was locked, and went to the house.
Down the hall, Darcy was banging around in the other guest room while she changed clothes. He laid the keys next to her purse on the dining room table and took himself for a walk to give her space. Maybe they could try the studio again in the morning after they both had some sleep.
The Home of Antonia Vasilescu
Giurgiu, Romania
After Dinner
Making no noise on the carpet that ran throughout the home, Bucky turned out all the lights, leaving only one small lamp burning. Easing the front door open, he slipped outside, and made his way around to the back alley that wasn't visible from the house. It wasn't a road. Just two ruts worn in the grasses growing along the forested area that edged up to them.
Using the back of his hand, Bucky moved hanging vines out of the way, and slipped into the night. With the moon as a nightlight, he walked around the car to the back. Though of a make and model popular in Romania, the license tag marked it as Andrei's.
"What's it doing here?" he whispered to himself. Bucky tried the driver's door. It wasn't locked, but he didn't want the interior light to be seen, so he left it closed. Nothing seemed to be amiss. It was as if Andrei, or someone else, had purposely parked it here to hide it from prying eyes. With the thick canopy of trees and overgrown bushes, no one would see it. It had only come to his attention by him being in the right place at the right time for the moon to reflect the light.
Bucky made his way over to Antonia's back yard to let her know he'd found her brother's car. He hopped the fence and found himself in back of the shed he'd noticed from the house. Here too, pains had been taken to hide its presence by using camouflage paint.
He walked around the building and found a door, but it was locked. Not a problem. Twisting hard, he broke the lock. Before he'd even opened the door, the stench hit him, making his stomach heave. It was a familiar smell, one you never got used to: the smell of death.
His foot hit something stiff, and knew what he would see. From the smell, the body had been there at least two days, give or take a few hours. He located a set of switches, flipped the first one, and made a near-silent gasp at the sight. Blood had been spattered over the entire room, including the low ceiling.
The body was most certainly Andrei, missing for nearly three days. He was wearing the clothes Bucky had seen him in the night he disappeared, and had been stabbed repeatedly in his upper torso and forearms in an attempt to defend himself. The person responsible had to be insane, because the depth and number of stab wounds indicated a maniacal rage.
Blood had splattered over most of the room with the greatest amount surrounding the body in a dried pool. A long-bladed knife lay on the floor next to Andrei's hand, almost as if he'd done this to himself, which was impossible. Several of the wounds to the chest had passed through the ribcage and into his heart, any one of which would have been fatal on its own. Unfortunately, he had first-hand knowledge of just how much force it took to stab someone through the ribs.
He stood looking down at the body, not relishing the idea that he would have to tell Antonia someone had murdered her brother in a particularly gruesome manner and had left the body on her property for her to find. Perhaps the killer even wanted her to be blamed.
The wind rustled the leaves on the trees, not masking the sound of soft footsteps entering the shed behind him. Bucky whipped around to confront the intruder, his left fist raised to deliver a knockout blow.
The moon's light fell on the right side of the face, giving him the identity of the person now holding the knife from the floor in their right hand down at their side. As she moved into the light, Bucky was taken aback at the woman's identity, though maybe not as much as he should have been.
Keeping his arms loose and away from his body, Bucky moved forward a step and stopped when the knife came up, pointed at his chest.
~~O~~
Examining her reflection in the full length mirror, Antonia skimmed her palms over her slender curves. She loved the feel of satin as it lightly brushed against her skin as she moved, the deep red a perfect match to her complexion, which she took great pains to keep smooth and unblemished. When a man skimmed his hands over her, the sensuousness would nearly send her into throes of ecstasy no matter what part of her body he touched. Just thinking about having Jacob's body sliding against hers sent tendrils of heat sizzling along her nerves to every part of her body, making her throb and pulse in response.
The clock reflected in the mirror told her that he'd been in the bathroom far longer than necessary. Antonia picked up the matching robe, putting on and tying the belt as she went to see what was taking Jacob so long. A moment of dizziness made her stumble as she passed the bed. She sat on the foot of the bed, suddenly overcome with fatigue. Surely, Jacob wouldn't mind if she closed her eyes for a bit.
The Parker Apartment
Queens, New York
May's shoulders went up around her ears and down, matching her sheepish smile. "I was going to do laundry a-a-and, well, it was just hanging there." Peter crossed his arms, leveling a glare he had learned from her. May looked away first. "I just… I wondered what it would feel like to have superpowers, so I put on the suit." Her eyebrows drew together over her nose in confusion. "Did you know that the suit automatically adjusts to your specific body dimensions?"
"Uh, ye-ah. As long as there isn't a significant height difference."
"Oh."
Peter's anger gave way to other emotions: fear, shock, and a not unexpected agitation. "OMG! You didn't go out on patrol, did you?" He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair as he paced from the kitchen to the living room with jerky, fearful steps. "Oh, God! You did, didn't you? Oh shit! You coulda been killed, May! And what if Karen tells Sam and Steve and Natasha? They'll take the suit away again and I'll have to go back to wearing the onesie…"
He halted his tirade and flustered pacing stopped when May yelled, "Peter!"
"What?"
"Relax. I never left the apartment."
Moving around to where he could see her face, Peter was more confused than ever. "Then why're you still wearing it?"
May nodded at the floor, and that's when he noticed her feet were bound together by webbing. "I, uh, had a little accident with the web shooter things." She wiggled her feet. "Do you mind?"
"Oh, right." Peter snapped the webbing, rolling it into a ball. "How was it seeing the world from the inside of the suit, when it's you seeing the potential dangers?"
She pushed past him, nearly running down the hall and into the bathroom. "Scary, but also a total rush at the same time."
The door closed on the last word. "Now what're you doing?"
"I've been stuck since I sent the text. When a girl's gotta go, she's gotta go!"
The toilet flushed; the water came on and went off again, and when the door opened, May held the mask in one hand. She caught his eyes and looked away. He did the same thing when guilty of doing something he'd been told not to do. It made them both bad liars.
She eased past Peter to his bedroom. He followed, stopping in the doorway with his mouth open. To keep from yelling or swearing again, his jaw snapped shut, and he cleared his throat. "What the hell…?"
His room had suffered greatly from May's intense curiosity. Webs stuck to nearly every surface. Walls, bed, floor, ceiling, desk, windows, and the mirror on the wall were all covered with the sticky substance. "My computer! Ma-ay!"
She fumbled with the web shooter on her left wrist. Thwap! "Whoops."
Peter looked down at the webbing stuck to the front of his shirt and back to his aunt. This role reversal thing they had going on was weird. He raised an eyebrow, "Really?"
"Sorry. How do you get these things off anyway?"
With a long-suffering sigh, he went to her aid, deftly opening first the left then the right, holding them in one hand. May's clothes, one of the house dresses she preferred when working from home, lay on the bed. Her slippers were on the floor. Thankfully, he didn't see a pair of panties, and he mentally sagged in relief that she wasn't commando under the suit.
Peter stepped out, and a thought came to him. Ned would never believe him without proof. He took out his phone. "You know, you're slayin' it in my suit, May. Let's get a couple selfies." Their humor restored, May smiled and posed for several photos. "Now put the mask on." She did so, and Peter snapped a few more. "All done. Um, we're not posting these on social media."
May grinned and shut the door. "Send them to me. Oh, and I talked to Karen the other day. She is so sweet and practical. Completely loyal to you."
"What did you talk about?"
The clink of the hanger on the rod in the closet let him know she'd taken off the suit. "She told me how it happened. How you got the spider powers on your field trip. You were sick for two days afterward, and I thought you had the flu." The door opened on May sliding her feet into the slippers. "All this time, I thought it was my mothering that healed you so quickly."
May's sadness, like always, made Peter sad too. He held her by the upper arms, looking into her eyes so she'd know he was sincere. "May, you're a great mom. One of the coolest mom's in the history of ever. Having you here when I'm sick helps more than you know, especially when you hold my hand and fuss over me." He grinned. "I pretend to be annoyed, but I'm not."
The bright sheen of unshed tears in her eyes made him want to cry too. She brushed the hair from his forehead and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. "Thank you. It was no bother, really. I'll always love you, Peter, and as your surrogate mother, I reserve the right to fuss over you whenever I want." She put a little distance between them. "Now go do your homework while I get back to work. I've got a party to plan."
Abandoned Warehouse
Unknown Location
Rumlow and his top aides watched Zemo from across the room. The Sokovian had been sitting in front of his computer for most of the night and into the morning. The only time he spoke was to request food and drink, getting up only to use the bathroom, locking the computer each time so Rumlow had no idea what he was working on.
Bored and restless, Rumlow and his people needed to work off the excess energy. He issued orders without turning. "Rojas, Stokes, round everyone together. We're headed out to the safe house to run a few drills."
Together they said, "Yes, sir," and were out the door. Rumlow watched them go with only a small percentage of his attention. They were trained by the best, SHIELD, to be the best, and didn't need micromanaging.
Rojas stood just under six feet, wore a scruffy beard, a sleepy expression that belied his ability to take out an enemy hand-to-hand with minimal fuss. He'd been the first Rumlow had recruited upon receiving orders to take Steve Rogers into custody at the Triskelion. It wasn't anyone's fault that Rogers made them look like a bunch of rent-a-cops, and had done it with nothing more than his strength and a shield. Ironic, to say the least.
I ******* hate irony.
Stokes, on the other hand, looked the part of mercenary. She was African-American, and the fittest woman he'd ever seen, including Romanoff, with short dark hair, a muscular build, and piercing, distrustful eyes. She never smiled, not even when she was amused, which was seldom.
The door cut off the outside light and Rumlow went back to staring a hole in the back of Zemo's head.
~~O~~
Zemo listened to the whispered conversations between Rumlow and his people without really hearing the words. The next step in his plan was nearly at hand. He consulted his notes, typed yet another command into the computer, hit enter, and waited for the encoded message on the screen to sort itself out. Each character cycled through the alphabet and numbers, holding steady when the correct character had been found.
Soon, the random letters and numbers began to form coherent words then groups of words formed phrases. Soon the images stopped moving. Zemo scrolled from one page to another, his excitement growing with each second. He'd done it! After years of work, slaving away day and night, he'd finally decrypted the information that SHIELD had dumped onto the internet the day they'd taken down HYDRA and themselves.
Rumlow and his people-their names didn't matter-left by the back door. His ally had mentioned performing drills at the site far outside the city limits. Good. Then he would be in their hideout alone, and wouldn't have to cater to their egos. Though it was necessary to stay in their good graces, Zemo detested the need for diplomacy, while still understanding that it helped smooth the way for his own agenda.
He heard no footsteps, yet felt the presence of another body coming up behind him, speaking without turning. "You and your people will be gone for a while, Rumlow?"
"Drills. Need to stay sharp for what's comin'." The other man tucked his thumbs into his belt. "What about you? Wanna suit up with us for a live-fire practice?"
Zemo smiled without feeling the emotion. "Not this time, thank you. I have work that needs my attention. Another day, perhaps."
"No worries. Anytime you wanna join us, just say the word."
He nodded once. "I will. And thank you for the offer."
Rumlow spun on his heel, and a moment later, he was out the door. Zemo heard an engine start up and drive away, and blessed silence closed around him once more.
Taking out his phone, Zemo held it in one hand, rubbing the keys with his thumb. Giving in to temptation, he keyed up his voicemail and put it on speaker, once more listening to the last thing his wife said to him before her death.
He asked me again if you were going to be there. I said I wasn't sure. You should've seen his little face. Just try, okay? I'm going to bed. I love you.
The Home of Antonia Vasilescu
Giurgiu, Romania
She lunged at him with the knife, and Bucky defended himself as best he could without hurting her. The hand holding the knife moved back and forward as she stepped into the movement, intent on stabbing him. From the crazed look in her eyes, she had to be the one who'd killed Andrei.
She growled deep in her throat when he deflected the blow at the last second. Bucky backed away, and she followed, still holding the knife out in front of her. He nearly tripped over Andrei's body in his efforts to keep some distance between them so he wouldn't be forced to hurt her. Subduing her wouldn't take much, but he had to know why she'd committed such a heinous act. "Stop, Antonia. Please. I don't want to hurt you."
To Bucky's astonishment, she stopped moving. It was the demented laughter that made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.
"Antonia's not here. I convinced her to take a little nap." She made walking motions in the air with her fingers. "That stupid bitch got scared and ran away again, just like she's been doing since she was a child, afraid of everything."
The woman who looked like Antonia and claimed to be someone else, held the knife up. Looking closer, Bucky spied dried blood on the blade. She's done this before, he thought.
"She's always been a coward, groveling and begging for every scrap of affection from her parents who were too mentally unhinged to love anyone, even themselves. Then, from her adopted parents. They tried, but it just wasn't good enough to wash away the past indignities. When we became an adult, it was men who only ever wanted sex, and we gave it to them."
"So men can't be trusted," he responded in a calm, unemotional voice, hoping to gain her trust him was to let her believe he was on her side, that he agreed with her solution.
She pointed with the same hand holding the knife, but now the blade was pointed at the floor. "Yes." Antonia's eyes peered at him curiously. "But you… you're… different. No matter how many hints Antonia threw out, you didn't take the bait. Never once tried to steal even a kiss. Why?"
Whoever she was, she deserved the truth, but Bucky couldn't talk about the real reason, so he went with a partial truth. "All women deserve to be treated with respect." The white-knuckle grip she had on the knife loosened while she thought over his response. She'd calmed down some, so he ventured, "If you're not Antonia, then who are you?"
She looked at the knife in her hand, laid it on the floor next to Andrei's feet, and chuckled. "Antonia doesn't believe I exist, so I chose my own name. Maricara. And you're Jacob." She smiled, and it looked strange after the gleam of insanity, like the madness would return without warning. Crossing her arms, Maricara kicked the door shut with her heel and leaned against it. "Oh, she really, really likes you. From the moment she saw you, she wanted nothing more than to get you into her bed." She held up a qualifying finger. "I'd be careful around that one. She bores easily, and once that happens, I have to take over."
"Why?"
Scoffing, she rolled her eyes. "Told you. Antonia's a coward, doesn't know how to talk to men, to dress and behave in a way that attracts them. She thought that just being herself would be enough to attract and keep a man. She's delusions. Wants to be loved, cherished, worshiped, and adored by a man who will marry her and give her children. What she doesn't know is love is the great lie. People use the word way too freely these days without ever feeling it."
Her tone was highly critical, making it painfully obvious that Maricara would never have anything good to say about Antonia. Bucky wondered how there could be more than one personality in the same mind. True, he'd seen Natasha do the same thing on numerous occasions, but that was acting. Becoming someone else when the situation called for it, returning to herself in the end. Like putting on a cloak. She could take it off at any time. With Antonia or Maricara, it was as if two people wore one cloak, and you never knew which it would be until you talked to them.
"I lied before. Antonia's not the one that got bored with the men she brought home. It was me. When that happened, Ihad to take care of them so they wouldn't spread rumors or tell tales. Couldn't have word getting around that we're a parașută. Her parents would be mortified. Might even disown her."
Her anger was threatening to boil over again. Unsure how to answer, or if he should, Bucky kept quiet. That was the best way to learn things you weren't supposed to know. By keeping your mouth shut and your ears open.
"She wanted you so badly, Jacob, but didn't know how to go about catching your attention, so I had to do it for her."
"Meaning?"
Maricara sighed dramatically. "It was me you had coffee with, me you had drinks with, and me you held hands with as we walked along the docks after breakfast that day. It was also me who hired you." She peered at him with a hint of suspicion. "Maybe you're not as smart as I thought."
Bits of information he'd read on the internet while researching his condition at the cabin in Vermont came together in a coherent whole. At a guess, Antonia had what psychologists called dissociative identity disorder. He risked taking a step closer, giving her a lopsided smile. "Is it just you and Antonia, or are there more… people inside?"
Again, she laughed. "Oh, there's more. But I'm the only one with the nerve to fight back, to step up, and get the job done. The rest are all gutless, just like Antonia: hiding when things get a little rough. And if I don't protect us, who will?" Maricara practically spat at him, her voice sliding toward the rage and hysteria he'd seen when this all started. Her anger surged again, and she hit her chest with a fist for emphasis, taking a step toward him, eyes darkening.
"Why did you kill Andrei?"
Maricara's featured showed confusion. "I didn't." They both looked at the body. "I thought you did."
"Found him like this. I've never been to Antonia's home, and have no motive." Bucky's instincts for detecting danger jangled, setting him on edge too. Curving his shoulders inward and bending his spine to appear less threatening, and to get back to the original subject, in an offhand tone, he asked, "Would I be able to meet the others?"
Taken aback, Maricara tilted her head to one side, as if she were once more assessing his intellect. "You really do believe me, don't you?" She snorted and went back to leaning on the door. "I'll ask."
Her eyes unfocused and her head turned to the side, listening to something only she could hear. Then, she was back, a dazed look coming over her features. "They've agreed. All but one, but then, that one isn't much of a joiner. Seldom participates in any of our group activities." Behind her back, she grasped the doorknob. "We tire easily when everyone's talking at once, so we'll need to sit down. The lights have to be low too. A couple of them won't come out if the lights are too bright, and definitely won't in the daytime."
Extending a hand, Bucky indicated that she should lead the way. From what he'd gathered in talking to her, the Maricara personality was profoundly cynical, yet she turned her back on him. The act was a show of trust, confusing him. He followed her back into the house. A slinky black nightgown lay in the middle of the living room floor with a matching robe.
Maricara scooped it up without comment, tossed it into Antonia's bedroom and shut the door.
She returned by way of the kitchen, where she poured them each a glass of wine and brought the bottle. After handing one to Bucky, she downed half the glass, kicked off her shoes, and sat cross-legged in the middle of the sofa. "Bear with me. It takes a moment to round everyone up."
Her eyes closed and she breathed deeply in through her nose and out her mouth the same way Natasha had taught him during their meditation exercises.
The Office of Dr. Kyle Moss
Pediatric Oncologist
The office chair creaked each time Kyle turned it while reading Eli's most recent round of test results. He laid the tablet on the desk and sat up, scrolling through them one more time to make sure he hadn't missed anything. "Well, my boy, your numbers are excellent," he told Eli with a smile. "We'll have you back on the soccer field before you know it."
Eli looked at his mother and Kyle with excitement. "Can I stop using the oxygen and the wheelchair?" At Kyle's hesitation, the boy blurted out, "Please? I'm sick of 'em, and don't really need them much anymore."
"Ah," Kyle pounced on the operative word in his declarative, "you said 'much'. That means you're still using them, so, no. I do encourage you to get as much exercise as you feel comfortable doing. Don't overtire yourself. And if you have even a little trouble breathing," he motioned to his nose, indicating the nasal cannula and the attached oxygen tank hanging from the back of his wheelchair.
Reluctantly, the boy nodded.
Kyle had been impressed, and thrilled, at the boy's recovery. If he kept improving, he could retire the detested medical devices by the time summer vacation came around. Best not get his hopes up, just in case.
Eli's disappointment turned once again to excitement. "Dylan's been helping me exercise. I can even climb the stairs without help." To his mother, he said, "He stays with me, just in case."
Christine's arm around her son's shoulders pulled him close for a quick hug. "He's only vomited once in the last couple of weeks, Kyle, and only because he snuck some spicy enchiladas before he was ready."
"Mo-om!" Eli rolled his eyes. He was doing that a lot lately, tired of the constant fussing from his family and friends.
She smiled indulgently. "He begged me not to tell you, and I told him to never keep anything from his doctor, or he wouldn't get well."
Smiling as he got to his feet, Kyle looked Eli in the eye. "Good advice, Dr. Bennett." He escorted them from his office and through the reception area to the door. His receptionist wasn't on duty weekends. "I want to see you again in two week, Eli. Sooner, if you start feeling bad again."
"I won't, Dr. Moss. I can tell. I'm starting to feel like me again."
Kyle pushed the wheelchair while Eli and Christine walked beside him to the elevator. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear." He lightly patted the boy's shoulder. "Take care of your mom, okay?"
The elevator opened and Kyle held the door while they got on. Eli pressed the button for the first floor. "I will, Dr. Moss. Bye!"
When they were gone, Kyle returned to the office where he did a little victory dance. It was a ritual he'd started during his residency each time he and his team of medical professionals scored another touchdown against the enemies injury and disease. "Take that, cancer! You're goin' down!"
Evolve Academy for the Performing Arts
Joliet, Illinois
On the monitor, a young woman danced alone on stage, her movements precise, graceful, elegant, and delicate all at once. The woman, Dinah St. John, moved her head in time to the music, occasionally closing her eyes to let the music flow around her.
The man with her used the remote to shut off the recording before the applause reached the end, and sat there staring at the now dark monitor, arms crossed, one hand on his chin in thought.
"Klaus?" His dark eyes slanted to her and she raised an eyebrow in question.
He sat up in his seat and took off his glasses to polish the lenses. "Enchanting. You were right, as always, mein schatz." With a self-satisfied pursing of her lips, Dinah stood, and Klaus joined her. He replaced his glasses and held her gently, rubbing his strong hands up and down her biceps. "She's perfect."
Dinah placed her palms on his chest, gazing at him with undisguised affection. "I did not base my opinion on just her dancing, of course. During the interview, we spoke of commitment to the art, ambition, and her hopes for the future. She does not have a boyfriend, but there was a boy she had her eye on until he came to a church event with another girl. Strong in body, determined to do well and make her family proud. Of all the candidates, she has the potential to be our crowning glory."
"And the other?"
Stepping out of Klaus' arms, Dinah opened her clutch purse and withdrew a mirror, speaking while applying lipstick. "She's intelligent, yet her mind is pliable, like clay, to be molded into any shape or form we choose."
Klaus appeared in the mirror looking over her shoulder. Their eyes met and he smiled. "Shall I make the call on your behalf?"
The mirror snapped shut. Dinah dropped it and the lipstick into the purse, and closed it. "I have something else in mind."
"Oh? Do tell."
"Let's go for a drive."
Random Rooftop
The Bronx
Thwap!
Peter swung through the air following the black-clad figure he'd seen coming out of a pawn shop on East Gun Hill Road. He'd only spotted the robbery in progress by chance and decided to investigate. These petty robberies were happening all over the boroughs, way too often, and in so many different locations that it had to be a gang, and Peter wanted to stop them in their tracks. What better way to do that than to follow one of the members back to their lair?
Thwap!
Hanging from the spire of a church, he used the HUD feature of the suit to zoom in on the individual ambling along as if he hadn't a care in the world. If he'd just committed a crime, shouldn't he be in a hurry to get out of the public eye? "I'm sure taking a leisurely stroll after committing a felony isn't in the 'How to be a Bad Guy' handbook. I'll never find the Big Cheese at this rate."
A car backfired, momentarily breaking his concentration, and when he returned to his quarry, the man was gone. He quickly scanned the adjacent streets, seeing no one. "Dammit! Karen, are you tracking our perp?"
"I am, Peter. The man you were following went into the third building on the east side of the street. He is now in an apartment on the fifth floor."
"Sweet! I'll just pop in and…"
Karen interrupted him with, "I don't think he's your perp, Peter."
"What? Why?"
Whenever she paused before speaking, he got the feeling that she was either amused at a quirk of human nature or he'd said something borderline rude. As it turned out, neither was the case. "Because he's sitting in front of the television with a container of szechuan chicken with brown rice and a glass of lemonade."
"Shit! How did we lose the bad guy again?" Movement on another rooftop caught the corner of his eye. He smiled in recognition and forgot all about his plan to take down the gang of criminals or the fact that just hearing Karen mention food made his stomach growl.
Thwap! Swing! Thwap! Swing! Thwap! Swing!
Landing on the roof behind the individual, he approached with caution, stopping far enough away so they wouldn't feel cornered, announcing himself with an invitation to flirty banter. "We have to stop meeting like this."
His companion turned around, a cheeky smile on her lips and hands on her hips, not at all surprised to see him, or so it seemed.
"Stalking on this level is a fourth degree class B misdemeanor." She ambled toward him, looking him up and down with that gleam in her eyes and a smile on her lips, as if the world were a joke and only she knew the punchline. She stopped just within his personal space, her eyes never leaving his face. "Good to see you again, Spidey."
TBC
Maricara name meaning: sea of bitterness/rebelliousness
Romanian:
Parașută = slut
German:
Mein schatz = my darling