A/N: There's more Peter in this chapter, I promise. ;) This has been such a stress relief to write. I don't edit at all. I just expel onto a blank document and post it for the world. It's like marriage- for better or worse.
Chapter Six: "Everybody Likes Pizza"
Songs for this chapter:
"Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Malia J
"Bloom" by Matilda Mann
-O-
The sun dipped below the horizon when Maren left the building. She rubbed her eyes, tired from staring at screens all day. Barton and Banner had also set up camp in her new office. Clint was still reclined in a chair with his feet on her desk, drinking coffee straight from the pot when she left.
She kicked a piece of trash away from her feet. Normally, she didn't mind the arctic wind blazing through the Manhattan canyons, but tonight, the cold froze her joints, slowing her steps beyond exhaustion. She wove in between two financial bros, ignoring their perturbed glares at having their conversation interrupted.
Clint's last questions refused to leave her.
"So you're a mutant, right?"
Her lips pursed, "Yeah…why?"
"No judgment. In your file," Clint began, and Banner looked between them carefully, "it said that you were a telepath,"
"Again, yes," Maren smiled, a nervous energy tapping through her leg. "What're your thoughts?"
Barton tossed a desktop knick-knack into the air, catching it. "So technically, you could reach out, see if they're alive?"
Ice gripped her heart. She tried not to show it on her face. Memories of being forced onto an operating table in restraints, watching the bleeding eyes of her captors, forced through the walls she built. It was all SHIELD needed to have another Jean Grey situation, if just for the fact they would have no Charles Xavier to help them until it was too late.
"Sorry, dude. Not that kind of psychic." she lied. "I do cool party tricks like making things float,"
A purple hue surrounded the little glass frog Clint had been tossing. His eyes widened. She had jerked her hand back. The trick entertained the both of them enough to leave the topic alone.
Maren realized she was blocks away from her loft when she entered Central Park. She sat at one of the fountains near the entrance. She left her phone, tablet, and earbuds in her bag. Listening to the roar of the city, she watched dog walkers and families stride past her. A street musician set up shop on the opposite side of the fountain. She liked "Strawberry Fields" and hoped he would play it. He seemed to like the acoustic side of the 60s.
The Phoenix saga had been at the top of warning stories told to all the psy-mutants at Xavier's. The tale never horrified her. In fact, it inspired the opposite; domination tasted a lot like courage to the powerless. Without the Phoenix power, she and Jean had come to a draw during the simulator training. She remembered the warm pride on Xavier's face when she emerged.
Only after Cornelius did the Phoenix become a warning, not because of her power, but because of the attention brought on by the bright flames.
She could peer into their minds, sense if the kids were alive. But images of bleeding eyes had seared themselves into her mind, ready to remind her of the damage she could inflict without meaning to. The rough scar on the back of her neck itched. She wrapped her coat more tightly around her when the wind picked up.
Tossing a few dollars into the musician's guitar case, she smiled at him. He plucked a familiar melody as she walked away.
-O-
The Daily Bugle's new digital billboard flashed in gaudy blues and greens. Maren paused underneath a hot dog cart umbrella, two blocks from her loft, ordering her standard two hotdogs and one large Coca-Cola. As the vendor prepared her order, she turned, watching Jameson yell into the microphone; he illuminated the New York City night in the worst way. But even she had to admit, the man knew how to sell. He could have made bank as an Avon consultant.
His voice echoed against canyons of steel and glass. "This Spider-Menace is spreading like a disease. Anyone can plainly see-," he bellowed, and Maren peered around the hot dog stand to get a better view of Jameson's blood pressure skyrocketing. Two parallel videos played in the bottom corner of the screen. Two Spider-Man- one in Boston and the other in New York- swung into camera view, both waving at the cameraman before disappearing into the skyline. "That the lack of police action in this matter has led to a spread of vigilante infection! One in New York City wasn't enough for these Spider-Freaks! As we can clearly see from new sources in Boston, a new Spider-Man has begun causing havoc to the innocent people,"
The vendor asked if she was paying by cash or card. She handed over a couple of crumpled bills and told him to keep the change.
She leaned against a lamppost, shoving one of the hotdogs in her mouth, watching Jameson continue on his tirade. She almost turned to continue to her apartment when he said,
"But in other news," he collected his papers, stacking them neatly.
Maren stopped because she didn't realize that Jameson recognized such a concept.
He interlocked his fingers on top of the desk. "We have a special guest here with us today. Mr. Osborne, thank you for joining us today,"
Norman Osborne sat next to Jameson, quickly shaking the man's hand as a crew member adjusted Osborne's microphone. She had the urge to send a nasty malware into the Bugle's servers. Instead, she watched.
"Thank you for having me, Jonah. It's been some time since we've last spoken. Although, I believe your airtime has been taken up with a worthwhile story,"
Jameson clapped Osborne on the shoulder. "I knew I liked you, Osborne. But from what I've understood in some reports, Spider-Man has caused some sizeable damage to your company property,"
Osborne gave a charming, sharpened smile. "The damage costs had reached into the millions the last time I checked. But warehouses are easily replaceable,"
She started on her second hotdog muttering, "Yeah, because they were weapons warehouses, you little bast-,"
"But that's not what we're here to talk about," Jameson said. "Now, is it correct that your annual charity gala will be tomorrow?"
"Yes. The primary charity for this year's gala is the New York-Presbyterian Children's Hospital. The doctors and other scientists there have been making great strides in cancer, MS, and genetic abnormality research. Several of these wonderful doctors, nurses, and patients will be in attendance. I think our only option to ensure a continued hopeful future for these operations is to present them to the public and to give as much as possible,"
"This, folks, is what a true American hero looks like. I think it's fantastic the steps you're taking to ensure that ethical medical research is being conducted-,"
Maren stopped listening. She pushed away from the lamppost, resuming her walk to her loft with more purpose. She fumbled for her phone, dialing Barton. She didn't wait for him to say hello. "You were looking for an in. I think I found one. What do you know about the charity gala at Oscorp tomorrow?"
-O-
The walk to her building felt like it was longer than normal. Her stomach growled, the two hotdogs not even beginning to satiate her hunger. The wind blew the hood from her head. She reached back to fix it when she sensed a presence lingering at her back. She slowed her strides, giving opportunities for the other person to pass. They matched her steps. Dread sank into her stomach. Looking from side to side, no one else was walking this street this late in the evening. Her skin crawled. Being a single woman in the city wasn't all Miranda and Carrie had made it out to be.
In the silhouetted shadows in front of her, she saw the shadow reach for her shoulder. She wouldn't give them the chance to attack first, she decided. She spun first, her hand outstretched, a purple band wrapped around the stranger's throat.
"Maren?" a voice choked. "It's m-me,"
She gasped, covering her mouth, "Peter!" the energy dissipated, and he landed on his knees, barely hanging onto Ray's pizza box. She lunged forward, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Are you crazy? I could have hurt you. I still should, to be honest,"
He finally looked up, and his eyes glittered as he smiled. "Promises, promises,"
Her brain short-circuited before she had the inclination to be irritated again. She pulled on his arm to help him to his feet. "What are you doing here? Stalker doesn't match your vibe,"
"Or maybe I'm just a really, really good at my stalking hobby,"
A grin broke across her face. "You're so lucky we share the same humor,"
He scratched the back of his neck. She glimpsed the blue and red costume underneath his shirt. "Really, though, I didn't mean to scare you?" he held out the pizza box. "Peace offering?"
Feigning skepticism, she flipped open the box. Skepticism didn't work as well when she was this close to drooling. A steaming Margherita pizza lay inside.
"...I love you…" she murmured, stealing a slice. Peter's witty retort cracked in his throat. She arched a delicate brow, taking a bite. "I was talking to the pizza,"
His bravado returned, but a pink flush crept up his neck. He snapped the box closed when she reached for another slice. "Hey, hey, hey. Save some for the delivery guy,"
She scowled. If he knew how hungry she was…
Peter chuckled, and her scowl deepened.
"And what's the delivery surcharge here?"
He rocked back and forth on his feet, shoving his other hand in his pocket. "Maybe just some company,"
"Some company?" she repeated dubiously.
He shrugged. "Yeah, yeah." he let out a deep breath, loosening his muscles. He looked younger than she remembered him being last time. "If you're up for it,"
It felt like more than a casual pizza hang-out. She forgot about being hungry. "Like a date?"
"You said it first,"
His head swiveled, eyes focusing in the distance behind him. The energy around him changed; his shoulders went back as he shifted himself more fully in front of her. She peered over his shoulder, a warm opalescence surrounding her hand.
She let go of a breath when she saw a single man with the red bandana around his mouth and nose dash around the corner with a Berkin bag in hand. Peter's eyes moved quickly, calculating an invisible solution Maren couldn't understand. She heard a police officer, yelling, "Freeze!" Peter moved his arm, pushing Maren back further.
"Excuse me for a moment."
Amused rather than concerned, she grandly motioned that the stage was his. When the man dashed into Peter's proximity, Peter tossed the pizza box in the air, aiming with one of the web-shooters. A web caught around the purse snatcher's feet. Maren winced when his chin made contact with the pavement. Peter flipped into the air, catching the pizza with a flourish and without dropping a slice.
The robber cursed the air blue, reaching for the gun in his pants. Peter stepped on his wrist. "How you guys don't shoot your own ass off is beyond me,"
Maren flicked her hand, thrusting the gun into the air. Collapsing her hand into a fist, the gun crumbled into a mottled mess. Peter caught her eyes, delighted, before he shot another web, securing the man's hands.
"I wouldn't piss her off. She's testy when she's hungry," Peter patted him on the cheek, narrowly avoiding being bitten. Hard strides of police boots hitting the ground drew closer, and Maren realized Peter wasn't wearing a mask. Peter reached for her hand at the same time. "Now is probably time for our dramatic exit," pulling her into an alleyway. He shot a web into the air, pushing the pizza box into her hands. He motioned her to hurry.
"No, no, no. Nope. I don't do heights, Parker,"
He shook his head. "No, it's fine. You've got the pizza, I've got you." he motioned again. "C'mon." he grabbed her around the waist before she could protest again. She held onto his neck when her feet suddenly left the ground. She stifled a scream.
"I didn't say the pizza was afraid of heights! I said I was!"
