IIn Which A Double Take Occurs

Catherine held her charcoal up to her paper and watched the end shake. Black dust dribbled from the point and then she pushed it down, smearing it and crumbling it against the tooth of the paper.

Her head pounded from the talk with Peter earlier.

She shouldn't have pushed him so far. They should have come up with a more substantial plan before bringing him in. She had grabbed him too. What had made her think that was a good idea? The look he had given her, the surprise and betrayal that had appeared. It withered her as it was thrown back in her face time and time again.

Her father would have called it a case of the "shoulda-woulda"s. Damn that man for knowing more than her.

She took a deep drink out of the soda can. It was a poor substitute for something much stronger. She was had to be sober sometimes. The apartment was dark beside the strong light on her still life. It was the final for her class.

It wasn't due for six more weeks.

The clock neared midnight. She needed to go to bed but sleeping didn't sound remotely possible and she hadn't eaten yet. Opening her fridge had done nothing. All that was in it was healthy stuff.

She took another look at her composition. It was a mug, a couple books and a plastic flower. It wasn't good enough. She reached over to the actual still life, adjusting the mug, moving it so the line of the handle curved the eye back towards the flower.

Better.

Maybe not good enough but better. Perfectionist, her mind lashed out at herself. She took another drink.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She ignored it. She wasn't working.

The phone buzzed again.

She rolled her eyes.

It was Peter. No one else texted her. She didn't have friends and most old ones called on Saturday nights when they were drunk in LA.

Hey. Can I ask a favor? I'm here.

She would have ignored the message had it not been for the second one, rapid fire after the first one.

Please don't hate me.

She groaned and stared up at the ceiling.

Coming. She answered.

She didn't bother with the lights. She went into the bathroom and snatched the kit that she kept under the sink. He was probably bleeding on the roof, something larger than a few inches if he's coming to her. It was the only reason that he would be here now, after everything that had happened.

Or perhaps the fight hadn't been as bad for him as it had been for her.

They had just told him to take it easy. All the sore muscles in her back to tensed again. Here she was going to help him like the good nurse practitioner she was.

She shook her head as she grasped the keys on her kitchen counter and unlocked the front door.

The intercom panel by the entrance lit up and chirped out of the corner of her eye.

Odd. She closed her door.

She tapped it and it connected down to the concierge and security downstairs.

"Yes?"

"Hello Ms. Crow," Robert's voice sounded soft, "Sorry to bother you at this hour but I've got a kid here. He's insisting that you know him? He's off the street. Just say the word and I'll get rid of him."

What?

She almost let her response go too long but she caught herself with a rapid question. "Who is it?"

"What's your name again?" Robert asked half into the microphone. "Peter Parker?"

Peter never came through the front. He always on the roof. She sucked a breath through her teeth. This was different.

"Yeah, I'll come down. I know him. Thanks, Robert."

She almost followed that up with was he bleeding from the head but she stopped herself. Pulling a coat from the rack, she left quickly with her kit just inside the door.

What was he doing here? He should have been arguing with Aunt May or being Spider-Man at this hour. There was no reason for him to be here. Her shoes clicked against the tile. She caught a look at herself in the mirror and looked away. The bags under her eyes told too much of a story. The elevator opened up to the lobby.

Robert was standing on the other side of his desk, a physical barrier between Peter and the rest of the apartment.

Not that Peter looked like he was going anywhere. The kid stood like a scarecrow, all his limbs barely attached and loose against his body. Water had soaked through most of his clothes and a backpack was slung over his shoulder. His fingers interlaced through the strap, pulling it tight against his body. His hair was stuck across his face.

He met her eyes and he tried an awkward smile but it didn't work out for him so he went back to studying the floor. He took a step towards her and Robert put a hand on his shoulder.

"Not an inch closer buddy."

"It's okay, Robert," she walked towards the human puddle, "he's my Little."

The lie was so easy. It didn't even feel like one anymore.

For being strong enough to stop a bus, Peter was careful as he walked around Robert. While she had gotten used to him being on the roof, being in the building felt different. The kid had stepped into another world that she wasn't used to seeing him in. She kept checking to make sure she knew where she was.

"Hey Ms. Catherine, I was wondering…um…if I could talk to you in private?" Peter's eyes wouldn't meet didn't look to be anything physically wrong with him. The worry increased.

Robert gave her a look. This one said that he was willing to throw the unmasked Spider-Man onto the street in a second if she asked.

"Yeah, come over here." She turned towards the elevators and commented to Robert. "We're okay. Alright?"

Peter quickened his pace until they stood outside the steel doors to upstairs.

She crossed her arms and waited for him to start.

"Are you still mad at me?" He whispered and looked up at her.

Such a simple question broke down every preconceived idea she had about this conversation.

Her arms fell to her sides. "No Peter, I was never angry at you. I'm afraid for you. We both are."

He nodded emptily, avoiding her gaze. His voice was colored with pauses as he talked as if the words were hard to get out.

"Aunt May and I, we fought, we like really fought, and I'm a mess. I know I'm not supposed to and it's late and it's probably all wrong to ask but can I come up just for a little bit?"

Robert was watching from a distance. He was back behind the desk but studying them closely.

He took a breath and continued, "I can't go to Ned's. His mom doesn't know and…she'd be concerned and call May and I don't want her to worry anymore…I've got nowhere else to go."

He rubbed his face and lapsed into silence. A couple cars drove past. Rodger's keys clicked on his belt.

He studied his shoes again. They were converse as always. Water dripped off his hair and fell to the tile.

Shit. She took a shaky breath and her stomach twisted in on itself. She looked up at the ceiling towards her dark apartment trying to keep his emotions from overwhelming hers.

He was her patient and a superhero. She kept repeating to herself that she had a work life separation. She knew boundaries. She knew how to keep herself out of anymore trouble. Peter shivered in the air conditioning and worked his fingers up and down his backpack strap. What funny lies she liked to tell herself.

"Come on. I don't have any hot chocolate so don't get your expectations up."

"Thank you ma'am." A smile broke across his face before disappearing as she swiped her entry card and called the elevator. She waved a hand at security one more time as they got in.

The ride up was quiet. Peter wasn't trying to push his luck. Instead he was attempting to be small, not looking anywhere and tucking his limbs close. Yet, under all that, she could see a little buzz of excitement in him. He was finally getting what he wanted. He dripped on the tile and she looked at the puddle.

"Did you walk here?"

"No. You're a couple blocks from my subway stop and I didn't bring an umbrella."

"You didn't come the other way?" There was a camera in the elevator. Peter had spotted it as soon as he had walked in and turned himself slightly away from it.

The question caused him to squirm. "I didn't feel like it tonight."

It must have been quite the conversation with May.

They entered her hallway and it was even stranger to see Peter follow her. The door came up and she paused outside it. The inside was so different to his house. No family photos, no house plants, no warmth.

"I don't spend too much time here. I don't entertain. Nobody comes in here or anything," She said, popped the door open and snapped on the lights.

Catherine couldn't even consider it modern. It was just empty. Besides the bare minimum of furniture, there was nothing. The couch sat without side tables. The coffee table didn't have anything on it. Catherine had pan on her stove. That's as far as she had ever tried to go with decorating.

He took a couple steps into her living room and stopped unsure. His eyes wandered around. Peter shivered again. It was like someone cut and paste him into her apartment. The kid felt like he had an outline around him, stating that he didn't belong in here.

"It's a nice place you've got here, Ms. Catherine." Peter's eyes looked everywhere. He was being polite. The apartment was suffocating. The blank walls reminded her of a hospital.

"Yeah right." She tossed her keys on the counter, acutely aware of the dishes in her sink.

The apartment was quiet. Catherine and Peter stood in the entryway staring at the apartment, trying to avoid each others' gaze. She didn't know what to do. What was she supposed to say?

He shivered again.

"Do you have any dry clothes on you?" She asked automatically.

This was a mistake. Was she supposed to leave him alone? She didn't know how to comfort someone outside of telling them it was going to take six weeks for that fracture to heal. She tried to stand causally but ended up swaying back and forth.

He shrugged off the bag and looked inside.

He said emptily, "Oh. Everything is wet."

She sighed and headed to the bedroom. "Just stay there. I might have something that'll fit you."

She came back a minute later with a guy's shirt and sweatpants, rumpled from being in the back of her closet for months. They were probably a couple sizes too big and they still smelled like his cologne but she handed the clothes over.

"We'll toss everything in the dryer. Change into these."

He laughed weakly. "I didn't know you cross dressed."

A joke. Humor was something familiar.

"Peter, you know me better than that. Use that big brain of yours." She pushed him gently in the direction of the bathroom. "Towels are in the closet."

He slipped away and her eyes roamed her apartment. What the hell.

After some awkward maneuvering, they ended up in her kitchen. He sat at her high chair as she finished cooking her "emergency box of mac and cheese". Peter had been quiet as he sat crossed legged on the bar stool and rested his chin on his arms on the counter.

The bruise still hadn't healed on his neck.

It was uncomfortable. It was just her. No medicine. No topic. Nothing to do.

She turned her back to the stove. "So do you want to talk about it?"

His eyes came up to meet hers. "Not really."

"I can't imagine Aunt May kicking you out of the house."

He sat up and pulled out his phone. "She didn't. I…" His mouth switched and he spun the phone on her counter.

The dryer thumped in the background.

She thought about telling him that he really needed to work this out but he knew that already.

"Did you run away?"

"No."

"Okay." She made a note to text Aunt May later.

"Have you gone to see him?" Peter asked non sequentially. She raised an eyebrow.

"In prison, I mean." He pulled on the t-shirt he was wearing.

"No, I haven't and I doubt that I will." She pressed her lips together, stopping the words in her mind that wanted to come out. Andy had hurt her that night, more than anyone knew.

"He's kinda far away being upstate and all."

She didn't correct him.

The guy still haunted her and she knew that the regret was a tattoo in her mind now. It was only liable to fade, not disappear.

She poured them both a serving of food and chewed on a bite before responding. "I will say that it is funny to see you in his clothes."

Andy's clothes hadn't fit right, they were too big but Peter had pulled the drawstring tight and it was good enough. It was like some part of Andy had reentered her life. She hadn't had the heart to put the clothes in the Goodwill pile, so instead they had stayed.

He nodded and worked on his bowl in silence. The was a dab of pasta left in the pot. It was earmarked for Peter. The fake cheese was sickening but it brought her back to what felt like a better time in her life and something very far away.

"This was my dad's fix-all." She felt herself smile and turned around to the pot to refill his bowl. "He always said that mac and cheese could fix anything. My brothers and I never disagreed."

"Brothers?"

She winced at her slip up. "They're all on the west coast, Oregon and Washington State. Before you ask, my mom is Northern Cali but we're not close. Not any of us."

The pot felt cold in her hand as she carried it over to him. She felt herself tense as he easily went for the next question, the logical one, the one that she hated answering.

"Where does your dad live?"

She concentrated on dumping the mac and cheese in his bowl. "In the ground near LA."

His cheeks went red. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, silly." She tapped him on the shoulder and went back to the sink. "You apologize too much."

"Sorry."

She rolled her eyes covering her own emotions. She swallowed but the knot wouldn't go water rushed into the pan and she ran her hands through it. The shock of the cold helping her stay in reality.

She left the pan there, turning back to the fifteen year old at her counter remembering to stand stall and look comfortable. It didn't matter. He was gone again, his eyes staring at her fridge without any focus. The spoon in his fingers slid into the bowl slowly. She leaned against the counter, watching it descend into cheese sauce.

The dryer beeped in the distance.

"You better get home soon." She checked her watch. "It's almost one."

He snapped back to focus. "Oh. About that. Can I sleep on your couch tonight? I'll have to wake up early to go to school anyways."

"First my food, then my dryer and now my couch?" She asked in a mock anger. "I knew I should have never let you in."

"It's complicated." He squirmed. "It's only for the night and-"

She waved a hand. "I think you would rather sleep on the futon in the guest bedroom."

His eyes went wide."It's okay then?"

"Yeah. Just don't try to sneak out. The security might try to arrest you for theft."

She should send him home but she had needed space when she was his age. This wasn't the street nor was he trying to find more trouble to get himself into. He was at her apartment, safe and sound. She would let Aunt May know as well, putting her mind at ease as well.

"I can clean your floors or your ceiling fans or the tops of your bookcases. I'm good at getting to high places."

She pulled out her phone. "I've got a roomba for the part of that I care about. Just put your dishes in the dishwasher."

Her fingers hovered over the last distressed text conversation that she'd had with Aunt May. She shot her a message, a simple one that said that Peter was fine and that he was sleeping over with her.

"She said the same thing that you did," Peter said quietly. His eyes trained on her screen glassy and unfocused, "but Ms. Catherine, I'm trying but every time I go out there, I get excited, I want her to be proud and I don't pick the crimes, the criminals do. I just respond now. I keep going out there to make her proud…I…I can't think much anymore…"

He caught up with his train of thought and looked away. "May is going out of town tonight for a week for work. She's couldn't wait any longer and…and…she's really worried."

His hand curled into a fist.

"I can handle myself." Catherine wondered who he was convincing but he pressed on. "She said that if I can't do it safety, I shouldn't do it at all. It just comes over me. I want to be Spider-Man. She said it's too much. She doesn't look at me the same anymore. I don't know what I'll do. Every time I try to talk to her, I just make it so much worse."

Catherine leaned against the counter. His words were getting softer and softer in his throat. His eyes searched wildly.

"I need to be Spider-Man. New York needs me to be Spider-Man. I don't know who I am without him." He shook his head. His lip was up and he refused to look at her. Guilt twisted in her stomach. Catherine moved around the island, leaving her phone behind and pulled up the other chair. He shifted in his seat but didn't meet her eyes.

"The house is so quiet now." He went to studying the tops of hands and then his palms. Little scars ran across the surface of his skin. His hands were shaking.

"Peter?"

He didn't look at her.

"Peter."

Something was threatening to burst in him. His chest rose and fell quickly. Her hand covered his so he had nothing to stare at. He was quivering and she squeeze them, trying to get it to stop.

"It's okay."

"But Mr. Stark turned away when I…maybe he's right…maybe I should…I don't know…give up?" He brushed his nose.

She made a face, reached over and gave him a napkin. "Tony is a grouchy old man that knows almost nothing about emotions."

She could see the billionaire drinking alone in the dark, haunted by demons that she was sure were never going to go away.

Peter squinted at her and the movement made the tears run over onto his cheeks. "Isn't Mr. Stark in his 40s?"

"Crotchety and peevish old grandpa who wants everybody off his lawn." She pulled her chair a little closer and wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

He giggled but the sound hitched and changed as the tears started to fall quickly. She pulled him into a hug as the poor kid let it out. She closed her eyes and waited in the remaining silence of the apartment.

She put him down for sleep by two.

She checked that he was truly asleep at three.

She laid in her bed much later than that, trying to work mess out in her head.

A 3k+ chapter? Am I alright? Clearly I am not. Nor is anyone in this story at this point.

"Crotchety and peevish old grandpa" is possibly my second favorite description of Tony.

I really want to give that kid a hug. What do you think?

Thank you for reading as always. - Quin