Chapter Three: Front Page News
"You sure know how to make headlines, don't you?" Tony asked him through the phone, the sound of newspaper crinkling in the near distance. "How did your aunt react to this?"
"Oh, you know," Peter said, pressing the pack of frozen vegetables to his cheek. The place just above his jawline had turned purple from where he smacked his face against the building. "She got mad at me for standing so close to the edge of a five-story library. And after taking away my computer privileges for a week, she said she was proud of me for doing the right thing."
"Fifteen years-old and you still get your computer taken away from you?"
"Sixteen in August. And…yes."
It had been two days since Aliyah's near-death at the New York Public Library, and it was all the media seemed to be talking about. 'INCREDIBLE SPIDER-MAN SAVES GIRL FROM FIVE-STORY FALL' the front page said. Aunt May saw it while she was clipping coupons. Peter didn't know what surprised him more, the fact that she bought a paper, or that you could buy twelve rolls of Charmin Ultra Soft for only $1.99.
"She's really not letting you off easy with this whole 'fighting-crime' thing, is she?"
"She just wants me to be safe, is all," Peter reassured him. He purposely left out the part where he'd missed nearly half an hour of school so he could respond to the distress signal. Because that was another reason he'd gotten his computer taken away. But Mr. Stark didn't need to know that.
"Well as long as you're in one piece, kid, I'd say you did a good job."
Peter straightened from where he sat on his bed, his face widening into a grin. And then:
"I can hear you smiling. You know that, right?"
He rearranged his face into an almost purposeful frown before saying, "Sorry, sir."
Peter never turned a blind-eye when it came to press coverage. In fact, a part of him was proud of seeing his good deeds splayed on ink by the New York Times. But often times it felt like he was celebrating alone. It was only when one of the adults in his life (or Ned, for that matter) acknowledged and validated his actions as Spider-Man that he felt he was on the right track.
For a rocky few months, he couldn't get one foot out the door without feeling a sharp surge of guilt. Tip-toeing around Aunt May was like holding his breath, but leaving her with that severely disapproving look on her face was even worse. She and Peter rarely ever fought, but when she caught him in the suit the day he got it back, she saw not its grandiosity, but all the dangers it presented.
"I don't want you leaving this house for a month!"
"But May, there are people out there who need me—!"
"Fifteen year-olds don't belong on the front-lines, lest of all my fifteen year-old! Did Mr. Stark put you up to this?! Because I swear—"
"No May please, don't blame this on Mr. Stark! It's not his fault!"
"He clearly thought it was fine to go behind my back and have you throw yourself in front of every danger imaginable. I feel like I'm trying to hold on to you Peter, and the fact that you kept me in the dark about this…" She was shaking her head at this point, blinking back tears. "That day of the ferry boat? I kept asking myself if I was going to lose you. Now I feel like it's a matter of when. I don't like that feeling, Peter. No one with a child should ever, ever have to ask themselves that."
It was hands-down the most brutal argument they'd ever had. And as most arguments went, there was no clear right or wrong by the end of it. Peter wasn't going to relinquish his duties as Spider-Man, and Aunt May wasn't going to throw her full support behind him, either. An icy tolerance was their only resort aside from complete verbal annihilation.
Nearing the third week of their dreaded stalemate of a fight, Peter had crept out of his room in the middle of the night to nab a snack from the kitchen, only to find his aunt sound asleep on the couch. The side lamp's orange glow was almost as serene as her expression, the lines of distress on her face gone as she slept. A collection of newspaper sheets and magazine clippings surrounded her on all sides. They all had one thing in common.
'DEATH-DEFYING FIGURE SAVES ELEVATOR FULL OF STUDENTS IN U.S. CAPITOL'
'ADRIAN TOOMES, 46, ARRESTED AND TAKEN INTO FBI CUSTODY'
'ACTIONS OF A FACELESS HERO: WHAT WE KNOW OF SPIDER-MAN SO FAR'
It was her effort to understand, or at least fill in the blanks of her nephew's hidden identity for the past year. Peter didn't know how to return the favor other than promising her he wouldn't die, which was a standard for most people already. She'd have a much larger field to cross before coming to a begrudging acceptance.
He found Aunt May in a similar position when he emerged from his bedroom that morning, her hand resting over the spine of a book. Careful not to stir her, Peter removed her glasses and the novel and set them both on the coffee table. He draped her in a blanket before leaving.
"See you after school, May," he whispered, and locked the door behind him.
"How'd you earn that nasty thing?" Michelle asked him on the way to class. She wrinkled her nose at the pack of sodden vegetables lying limp in his hand. He forgot he was still holding it.
"I…fell on my face."
It was more convincing than saying he got into a fight. With a concrete wall. Thankfully, she didn't question it, just mumbled something about falling a little better next time before continuing on.
Flash's eyes, however, were swimming with questions when he saw him. But he wasn't about to put himself in the position to ask, and Peter would rather wreck the other half of his face before answering him, anyway.
Of all the things Yael had hoped to gain when moving to New York, a man who talked in his sleep was the last of them.
She shook her hair out with a white towel, long ringlets of ivory black dampening her only clean work blouse as she watched, in dismay, the conversation unfurling before her.
"No ma'am, I am not a Mets fan…" Marty mumbled in between snores, his rear end up poised in the air like some doleful dog. "What do you mean you have no bok-choy left? I swear…if I see it gone one more time—"
Yael pitched the rag towards his sad figure and watched as it hit him in the back, sending him into a series of confused spasms. He was a security guard with more muscles than his personality gave him credit for, and Yael had told herself on multiple occasions that she would end it today. Needless to say, today had not yet come.
"Get up. I made coffee already," she told him, fastening her earrings. "And wash your mug this time. I'm not your mother."
"…I didn't think you were," he replied sleepily, turning over on his back so he could see her. She gathered her bag and coat and headed for the door without a moment's hesitation.
"Lock up when you leave?" she asked over a shoulder as she crossed the threshold.
"Did you want to grab lunch or—?"
But the door was already shut. Her coworkers told her that maybe if she were a little nicer to the people she dated, she'd find someone who actually wanted to remain in ties with her for more than three weeks. But that was not how Yael enjoyed her relationships. She was one for instant gratification; if they couldn't tolerate three weeks of her being her natural self, then they didn't need to stay. Never in her life had she ever accomplished anything by being sweet. It wasn't how she got her job. It wasn't how she got permission from her mother to leave home. And it wasn't how she was able to secure her writing for the front page of the New York Times.
She readjusted her shoulder-bag away from the wailing toddler on the subway and clutched to the only available pole in the car that morning. Another reason she had been so hasty to leave was because today was her department meeting with Clyde Hansen, their executive editor, to strategize and pitch ideas. Everyone was eyeing to steal their fair share of topics: the upcoming World Cup, foreign affairs, whether South America would conquer malaria or not. Yael would need to ensure she didn't get stuck with something completely monotonous, like the five topmost reasons to go trail hiking in June. Health-conscience as she was, she doubted her compilation caught the eyes of information-hungry Americans.
Thanking the doorman on her way in, Yael took the stairs two-by-two and felt her adrenaline kick in with each step. Despite the almost palpable stress in the building, she enjoyed its high-energy and open spaces. It was designed for free, creative thinking, and she credited the quality of her writing to the tall picture window that stood outside her cubicle. The amount of times she gazed out that window in search of words was enough for an outsider to think she wasn't doing her job. But daydreaming an integral part of the process.
"I sometimes wonder if there's anything other than coffee in there," Eugene said by way of greeting when she arrived, jutting his chin to the silver Yeti in her hand. He was already sitting across from her in his tailored vest and polo-style shoes, his stylus parallel to the tablet that sat ready and open to go for the morning's meeting.
"Do you have a breathalyzer on you, too?" she accused dryly, taking her seat directly across from him.
"I'm just saying that you never drink the coffee here at work," he replied, taking a compulsory sip from his own mug. "Does the idea of a communal pot bother you?"
"Did you make it?" He nodded. "Then there's your answer."
"Okay, let's get started," Clyde announced on his way in, a Starbucks already at hand as he took his place at the front of the room. "I've got another meeting to attend to at nine, and I'd like to keep my punctuality in check."
The remainder of the people who had lingered out in the hallway now filed in, taking their seats and getting their last words of conversation in before the meeting started. The room fell quiet not a moment later.
"I'd first like to congratulate Miss Boschwitz on her front page debut yesterday," their editor began with a pointed look at Yael. It was difficult not to smile as the room broke out into a polite applause. "'INCREDIBLE SPIDER-MAN SAVES GIRL FROM FIVE-STORY FALL' sold three-thousand copies and counting. People love a good success story, and you certainly delivered, Yael. Good work."
The young journalist didn't know what surprised her more, the fact that three-thousand people had read her work, or that her executive editor had actually remembered her title word-for-word. To say she was hungry for praise may have been an exaggeration, but she certainly didn't mind being under Hansen's spotlight a moment longer. Tomorrow would belong to another person, but today was hers.
"Just doing what I was paid to do," she replied humbly, nodding to everyone in thanks. The way Eugene's mouth twisted in disdain told her how much he wanted to mock her right now.
"Well, another day, another edition, so we need to continue publishing content that will keep everybody on their feet," Clyde said, unbuttoning his blazer before sitting down. Everyone's cue to pick up their utensils and start writing. "So? Ideas? None are bad, but some just may embarrass you."
"A statistical approach on who'll win the World Cup this year," someone said further down the table.
"Good. I want a list of credible resources on that article for approval before you start writing."
"What if we write a list of preventative measures on wild-fires, targeting our audience in California?"
"Or we could just, you know, leave it to California," the one next to him replied. The rest of the room sniggered. Yael tapped her pen on her blank legal pad and tried to concentrate.
"The intention is there, but see how many articles have already done something similar and get back to me, okay?" Clyde said, and that was that. "Next."
"Something for health junkies to indulge in," Eugene said as introduction, raising his hand and pushing his black swoop of hair with the other. "An international study on the various health habits of people around the world. We can compare standards, eating patterns."
The room murmured in intrigue. Yael drew in a sharp breath in an attempt to sound curious.
"Interesting," Clyde began, folding his hands atop the desk. "And how do you expect to gather your information?"
But Eugene was already one step ahead of him. He propped up his tablet and swiveled it around for everyone to see.
"I've already made my list of potential interviewees. Credited blog owners from each continent, nutritionists practicing in different areas. I just need a thumbs-up and I can begin making calls to schedule online interviews."
Sounds of impressed approval came from the reporters around them, Yael scratching the back of her neck with her pen as she tried not to let the sounds of her coworker succeeding feed her inherited supply of envy. Why she had to be the only person in the room with a brilliant idea, she didn't know. Perhaps it would get her mother to finally admit that she was proud of her. Maybe she was just a stupidly selfish person.
"Quite a list you have here," Clyde murmured over the rim of his spectacles. "Very prepared indeed. How quickly can you have this ready?"
"I'd need about a week," Eugene replied matter-of-factly. "It's been a project of mine for a while now, and everything's lined up and ready to go."
"Well if you need no other preparations, then I give my consent for you to begin your research," he said, flashing him a quick smile. "To stem from that, you could even do a follow-up piece on subjects who are willing to integrate these habits into their day-to-day life—"
"Uh, Mr. Hansen?" Yael blurted, not knowing what she was doing as she shot her hand up in the air. All eyes looked to her as she lowered it and tried to cover the blank page of her notebook as much as possible. "I actually have my own project that I've been working on."
"Oh?" he asked, his attention from Eugene dropping like a fly. Her gut twisted, alongside her coworker's expression from across the table. What was wrong with her this morning? "Do intrigue me."
Yael tried not to falter under the expecting eyes of everybody in the meeting room. Could they tell she had nothing prepared? Could they sense the need to one-up her coworker from her pressed clothes and plastered smile? Thinking back to her headline from the day prior, she said the first thing that came to mind.
"Spider-Man Unmasked."
The room fell silent this time. Someone laughed from somewhere in the back.
"You're going to catch Spider-Man?" Eugene challenged dryly, crossing his arms. "What are you going to do? Request an interview with him? Ask him politely?"
Ignoring his snide comments, she said, "I know it's a large premise to follow through with, but people live for this kind of material. Tony Stark. The Avengers. This city has been through hell and back time and time again, and everyone's looking to the same group of people to save it. Isn't it time they finally knew the face behind their newest addition?"
"He's on Neighborhood Watch," Eugene retorted dryly. "Hardly an Avenger."
"Even better. Everyone loves a fledgling superhero."
"The appeal is certainly there," Clyde cut in, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "And how will you go about your research? You'll need to provide the public with a name and a face, or else the story loses its purpose."
"I'm aware of that," Yael promised him. "We'll send out an advertisement in search of information. We'll track his movements, follow the crime alerts throughout the city. He's bound to respond to one of them."
"No one will buy it if you can't find out who the kid is," Eugene told her.
"And everyone will buy it if I do."
"It's an ambitious undertaking, but I'll permit it, under the condition that if you fail, you have a backup piece ready for edit and publication," Clyde told her strictly. "I'll give you three weeks. Is that sufficient time?"
"Yes sir," she reassured him, ultimately unsure if she just got her big break or committed herself to digging her own grave. Perhaps both. You've already made the front page, she reminded herself. If you can make it once, you can make it again.
The meeting continued. New ideas were brought to light. But Yael remained in her own little world, carried from her surroundings by the wind of her own ideas, the words she sought to write plastered on the front page of every kiosk and stand in New York City. She could already see the headlines.
'SPIDER-MAN UNMASKED: THE FACE OF AMERICA'S YOUNGEST SUPERHERO'
It had a nice ring to it.
A/N: And so the plot thickens! I didn't expect this story to include this many original characters, and while we will see through Peter's eyes through the bulk of it, I think it's important that our opposing side be represented as well. I just got back from traveling and am jet lagged beyond words, but writing all the more with the free time! I hope you've enjoyed this chapter; have a lovely day. :)