There's a little bit of plot development finally getting into the story. Yay, but still no action until a few chapters, boo~!

Someone asked about possible pairings, but I honestly haven't really thought about it, too much invested in trying to get a feel for the story, how "Anemone" is processing in this new world she is in, so she really has no time to be looking for love interests. And honestly, in her situation, I'd think she would regard the people in this world as "characters" because that's all we saw them as when watch the movies, right? Actors playing a scene that it convinces us they're almost too real, but now that she's here and really breathing in the same oxygen as them, she sees that as these faraway people, so romance is not in her view (until MUCH MUCH later!)

So far, she's doing okay, right? Not to easy, working a bit, learning stuff here and there, and there's still much for her to learn because so far she's been relying on her webs and reflexes. You know what's bothered me a bit in all of the Spider-Man movies? Like, they don't anger me, they just leave me in a state of confusion.

Like, how the hell did some nerdy kid learn how to fight like he's a martial artist who moves like a gymnastics champion? In ALL the movies, Peter just suddenly moves like he's been fighting for years without so much picking up a boxing glove in his life! Like, in the first Spider-Man movie, the one with that actor Tobey Maguire, everything moves slow motion when normal people attack him, I can understand that part in just sidestepping out of the way, but doing kick flips and awesome blocks and killer punches, that a bit pushing it in the realm of possibility, no? Sure, I get that anybody bitten by a radioactive spider become all flexible, super strong, fast as hell, and get spider senses, but how does that help you require fighting like a pro?

So yeah, this chick here ain't taking the easy road. She's got one advantage already (well, two, if you count her powers), and that'll come up later in the story in her journey to become a stronger person who can rely on herself to fight back when the danger comes knocking on her doorstep. Anyway, enjoy the next chapter, I hope you guys like it!

Warning: Language, Violence, Adult Content, possible Triggers (there will be heads-up for these things), and whatever comes to mind.

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ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴀ sρïdєя-ωσмαη

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Miguel said I was fastidious.

Jerry said I was nimble.

Marco said I was efficient.

Sonya called me an overachiever.

Two weeks in the Dinin' Dash Shack, there was very little business because of it being new to the locals, and people weren't sure what to expect from it. But with Miguel, Jerry, Marco, and Sonya working in the kitchen to serve food, it was up to me and another girl, Leslie, to help cater to the needs of the hungry customers.

Leslie just graduated out of high school, being the same age as me, so she was looking to earn money to use as her tuition fee for school.

Speaking of payment…

As I had feared, Miguel started asking questions which resulted in me lying. I didn't have any papers or ID on me, just the clothes, toiletries, and USB in my suitcase. But because I was being a paranoid freak about it, I made up a believable story that explained why I didn't have a bank account or credit/debit cards on me. Thank God for always watching those documentary shows on the telly.

A stalker ex-boyfriend was the story to go with because it was the most real thing any woman could go through when it came to horrible relationships. My imaginary ex-lover was abusive asshole who was controlling, demeaning, threatened me, and had connections with the law to prevent me from seeking out help. Funnily enough, this story wasn't actually all that made up considering my situation. I truly was being hunted down by people seeking to experiment, control, and erase my existence by reforming it to their cause. I had to change my appearance, talk in another accent, and avoid anything that worked with the law that could link itself to the organization.

Miguel took my issue very seriously as I hoped. With the promise to give my payments in cash since I couldn't trust myself to create a bank account in fear it could lead the organization straight to me in some way they only knew how, my troubling circumstances of lack of papers was almost immediately dropped. The others were sympathetic to my plight; Leslie even confided to me when we were both cleaning up a table together that her older sister had nearly been pulled into a toxic relationship with her abusive girlfriend had it not been for their protective mother.

So, with just two waitresses and four cooks, we all had a lot on our plate.

I worked behind the cashier, wrote down orders from the menu displayed beneath the glass on the table counter, and alerted the cooks of the customer's order. Leslie went around cleaning tables, writing down other orders when customers wanted to go for another round of food, and running back and forth to bring extra plates and utensils for people who needed them.

Not one to stand idle, I pushed in doing other chores: I served drinks, I refilled packets of mustard/mayo/ketchup in their designated buckets for customers to reach in and pick up, I went back in the kitchen and scrubbed the dishes and utensils clean when it was slow, and I prepared the cleaning supplies when closing time drew near. I also went on quick runs to get more supplies by a local food supplier store Jerry hooked Miguel up should he run short on clean cut meat and ingredients.

Sonya once said to me I worked like I drank an entire pack of Monsters because of how tireless I was, and not finding anything to say to her, I allowed everyone to assume I did. I was like a robot; I was always cleaning, scrubbing, mopping, waiting, and serving for every customer that walked in hungry and left the shack sated.

Miguel was ever thankful about how much effort Leslie and I were putting to make it easier for him and the others to spend their time in the kitchen and cook hot meals. It still didn't hurt to hire some extra hired hands when the restaurant started to grow in the number of people that were very pleased with our fast but well-cooked work.

Eventually, two people came to Miguel with job applications, and Miguel interviewed them both for what they could offer before they were hired.

Joshua and Gabby, teen cousins, were quick to catch up on the routine Leslie and I made when switching places to make it easier for us both when one of us was tired (which was mostly Leslie, but I pretended because I needed to be seen as normal). Joshua, Gabby, Leslie, and I rotated with one having to work the cash register, two taking orders, and one quickly cleaning up the tables before heading back to the kitchen to clean some more.

Tips were collected off the tables, people came and went, Miguel's restaurant was becoming a place for regulars to come and greet you like they were old friends, and I never got tired of looking beyond the boardwalk and towards the beautiful beaches were there was surfing and swimming and playing.

It made me miss the California beaches (and it made me miss home; my real home).

Slowly as the two weeks passed when it made the rest of us get accustomed to the routine we developed to make it seamless for everyone, I finally got the chance to go inside the kitchen and ask Miguel if he could teach me how to cook.

He was a little surprised by the request, but he agreed to it. I had been helping his business by taking great effort in cleaning, catering, and keeping things in order, so he saw no reason in denying me a chance to learn.

Things started out a little difficult, me being one of those lazy children who relied on her parents or chefs from other restaurants to cook meals, it made me regret not paying attention when my they had been trying to teach me.

I wrote down the recipes that Miguel gave, watched carefully, took specific notes on those, and then observed a customer eating it with delight. And then it was my turn to try it.

It didn't come out as decent-looking as Miguel's, but the person who ate it gave me a thumbs up for my trying efforts.

From steak, to fish, to shrimp, to pasta, to chicken, to pork, to turkey, and to dough, I slowly learned various recipes by watching them come to life by Miguel's professional hand. Even on the weekends, which were slow days at certain times, I took opportunity to experiment under Sonya's careful eyes because the weekend was where Miguel counted money and prepared paychecks for his workers.

The tips left behind on table tops were from generous people who liked the polite attitude service I instructed the waiter and waitresses to use. Jersey people were a tough crowd to deal with, especially for an English like me who was often told to keep it proper when around people, but everyone and myself had to endure the whole kerfuffle that occasionally broke out. Through the whole thing, the staff behavior greatly affected the customers because instead of a couple of dollars waiting on the table tops as we cleaned, there was five to ten dollar bills rewarded to the waiter and waitresses.

Outside of a few spats, things were mostly alright on my end. Miguel and the others, however, expressed some concern when they noticed how I never took a day off from work, like, ever. Because business was still new, everyone was busy to keep it growing as a new trend in the neighborhood, but every now and then people took some time off to relax for a day before returning. The need to drain away the exhaust from constantly working in the kitchens or dealing with unruly customers for long hour shifts was tiresome, but because I wasn't exactly normal, I was never really bothered by the stress that came from work.

My increased stamina was a new talent, something of which I took great appreciation in helping me get myself out of dire situation that required a lot of outrunning from the dangerous people chasing after me. Three days without sleep, days without food, and my body was still going at it like an unstoppable locomotive train at full speed. The threat of danger always keeping me on my toes, prepared for the inevitable.

A few hours every day of the week was not going to put me down, even at my laziest state of mind.

I was getting paid in the proper way, something I hadn't done since Spain, I barely visited seedy bars to collect more money, I was growing accustomed to the use of makeup like a young girl getting used to wearing bras, and I was also learning how to talk like a local. The further away I was from my nationality, the more better off I would be without it.

Almost three months later, everyone finally had enough and forced me to drop from work, all of them ganging on me together and demanding I took a much needed break for myself. In Sonya, Jerry, and Gabby's helpful words, "Get your scrawny ass out in there!"

Needless to say, I was going to go against the orders of the people who wielded their serving trays and spatula like swords and shields. Making sure to keep everything stocked, from supplies to preparations for them to clean up, I clocked out and headed back for my motel room.

New Jersey was a place to enjoy the beach, even as it was getting cooler over time, and I thought about taking advantage of it by going out for several miles of running. I needed to stay in shape, I needed to stay focused on keeping up with my strength and agility because who knew when the next run in would be.

So, jogging it was.

Buying some jogging attire wasn't so hard to find, new athletic sneakers helped, and a hoodie jacket not only to block out the cold, but to also help keep my face hidden. There was still people who carried their smartphones on them, and I could accidentally photobomb someone from the background, and my face would send out a signal for all the eyes looking desperately for their missing little science experiment. The best I could do while running out was keep my head down, my hood low, and my eyes up for danger.

Wearing my dark blue shin-length yoga pants, a matching sports sweater with the blue hood over my head, and white running shoes with my shades on and my hair pulled back in a messy bun, I ran down the boardwalk after locking up my motel door. It was starting to get much cooler, and there was less people visiting the beaches which meant Miguel's business would be slower through the fall and winter seasons until next spring would put back up. By then, I didn't doubt Miguel would have more people helping him in the cooking and waitressing.

Miguel was a total flirt, and it annoying to Sonya and me, but he was practically harmless and knew when to back off when we had enough. Anyway, as bothersome as he was, the man was alright in my books. He kind of reminded me a bit of Arturo, always working his arse off to make money and do right for his group (and family, if the phone calls in his office were anything to go by), and he was helping me out of a sticky situation without truly realizing it. It pained me terribly to use him like that, as a shield to protect myself from the bad lurking outside, but it was all I had.

One day, when this was over, I was going to come back and do right by Miguel and everyone in the shack. And not just him, but Arturo as well. It's been so long since I had last seen the young man, and I prayed to God he and his loved ones were safe from harm's way. Yes, when all this hunting was over, when all this hiding in a hole and keeping everything under tight control blew up in the bastard's faces, I was going to return and make things right and better for everyone who had been involved with me since I came to this world.

It was the least I could do after everything I had done. The plane crash was my fault, and there was a little boy grieving for his dead parents.

Should the day come that I cross paths with that boy... I was going to tell him—everything.

It took a long time for me to begin pouring some perspiration, the skin on my legs and collar growing damp that I could feel the liquid slide into my bosom. My hair grew dreadfully sticky, my body beginning to grow hot from the work out, and my breath slowly growing heavy as the long hours ticked by. Even with my attire being mostly covered up, the skin my shins and my hands being the only thing bare, it was apparently enough to be perceived as provocative to the men. Annoyed, I pushed my shades closer to my face, and I inhaled sharply when I saw some of them pull their smartphones out to snap a picture of me. The fucking pervs.

Juts a bunch of losers who would later wank off when they were alone. Ugh.

Tired of the arseholes now beginning to take over the boardwalk, I started running on the sand. It was more challenging than running on solid concrete things. My feet threatened to sink in, the grainy sand slowed me down, and it dared my muscles to actually work for it. I loved it. This was going to leave me sore and tired, but it was just the thing I needed to get better.

I remembered running for my life in knee deep snow, my legs cold and wet but my body on fire as it was desperate to get away.

Preparation was key to my path of freedom.

"Hey baby, wan' some?" a male called out, running close behind me in his sweater and running shorts. "Hey, didja hear me?"

"Go fuck a blow doll, loser!"

My patience with the cat-calling made me spew nasty things over my shoulder, and I bolted the moment I heard the man hiss behind me. Smirking when the idiot tried to run after me, I laughed as I left him in the dust, getting further and further away to hear his explicit insults fade in the distance. A man's ego was so fragile, always crumbling away so easily after their posturing was thrown in their faces, always resorting to physical fights in order to make up for their shattered masculinity. If I hadn't been on the run, if I wasn't trying to be so careful with everything I did and whoever I made contact with, I would have dared that man to actually try and assault me.

I would have dared him to try and him me because I would promised to return the favor tenfold.

Time to change the scenery.

I went from the beach, to the boardwalk, and towards the wide sidewalk of the small town that stretched across the peninsula of New Jersey. I wanted to simply run without anyone hassling me in clothes that shouldn't be a neon sign for men to think I wanted to have sex (really, how did my clothes give a bat signal on that?). I was running and running—until I almost knocked someone over because something caught my eye.

No longer standing on the sidewalk, I was sitting inside a movie theater with my brother, uncle, and several of my older cousins. My eyes were glued on the screen, ignoring the pack of chips offered up my cousin, too mesmerized by the big screen of the man looking back at me. The audience held their breath it seemed, all of them waiting as he had paused until finally, he said these four infamous words that still stayed with me after a decade,

"I am Iron Man."

A brush against my arm startled me back from the darkness of the movie theater and into the reality of the sidewalk. I was staring at the television screen sitting on the other side of the glass from the store selling electronics and smart telly's. The people who had also paused to watch seemed baffled, not looking excited as I had felt, so giddy like a child seeing a superhero on the big screen. To them, this was Tony Stark making an announcement, looking smug as the reporters all shouted, all demanded answers, all of them wanting a piece of the man who wore the iron mask.

This was another reminder that this man was not RDJ, this was not the actor, this was not the poster boy of a big movie franchise. This was a living, breathing, existing person who flew in an actual suit or armor, and he was going to take on the world with it.

This was a man who said he was not afraid to fight. This was a man who afraid of a challenge.

But I had seen what happened to such a proud and brave man like Tony Stark who was walking off the stage with all the swagger in his stride. I had seen how he was going to walk away from his fights with a limp, how he was going to walk away with a heavy weight on his shoulder than he already did after Afghanistan (after Stane), how he walked away with shame after something he thought he himself created alone brought a city up and crashed it back to the earth.

(yousawamancrawlawayafterhisheartwasbrokenbyashield)

And one day, the whole world was going to show Tony Stark just how serious they took his challenge.

... but what if it didn't have to be that way?

The USB I hid away in the motel room was lying there, waiting to be used once I reached Manhattan. I was literally holding a doomsday button in the palm of my hand, waiting to be pressed to unveil the basket full of hissing snakes hidden away.

But those snakes will bite before people could reach for their weapons. Those snakes will explode and make the fight an utter mess.

Richard Parker said that the USB held all the information of that organization that if I released it, there would be a global manhunt.

But when I clearly looked at it, when I looked beyond the horrific image of the bleeding man that was dying in my arms and I was helpless to do anything to save him, his wife, and the other passengers on board, I thought about it really hard.

What if, in some possible way, the information leak would backfire by exposing everything?

A friend of mine used to watch Agents of SHIELD, and he told me how after the Black Widow leaked high security out to the public, not only did she expose the ones hiding under the public's very noses—she also unmasked the traces of many loyal agents who had previously worked for SHIELD before secretly retiring to live normal lives, or whatever came close to it. And it wasn't just the agents, my friend said, they probably went after the people closest to them: friends, spouses, families.

Everyone was free game.

No longer was I holding a button to destroy the organization, I was possibly holding something that could potentially kill everyone else.

People already died because of me, I was not going to make the same stupid mistake. I may be trying to save my own skin, but I would never put other people in danger if I could help it, and this time I could help them!

No longer able to jog some more, I turned around and headed back for the motel. It was miles away, but the way back gave me time to think properly of my next plan to put in motion. An idea took root in my mind, it was an idea that was so beyond me, but it was the kind of idea that would make it possible for this to actually work. It was going to take so much risk and effort to pull it off, but by the end of it, it had to succeed.

I had to.

The USB was a device used for computers, and there was only one person I could think of right now who was really good at computers. I just prayed that the USB would be to irresistible for them to want to find out what was hidden inside.

There was horrifying possibility that he would throw away the USB without looking into it, probably thinking it was some weird fan or stalker fangirl trying to give him videos or pictures to detail about their obsession... Which meant I had to convey the desperation of them needing to actually take a look at what the USB was hiding inside by a way of something a little extraordinary.

The problem was: how does one get Tony Stark's attention without exposing themselves to the self-proclaimed billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist.

This needed a lot of thinking.

The next day when I returned to work, I was in a sort of autopilot mode. Sweeping the whole floor while Leslie mopped after me, Gabby taking charge of the register while Joshua took care of picking up the dishes after the customers left. I was so unresponsive, too lost in my thoughts, I barely registered the playful insults thrown at me by Jerry or Sonya.

How do I get the USB in Tony Stark's hands?

He was literally the only man who could do this. His father, the late Howard Stark, was a founding member of SHIELD, so the man had to know an inkling of what was going on behind the scenes. I could take my chances with Peggy Carter, but I had no clue where she was, if she was being watched (which my instincts were saying: hell yes she was), and if she could even trust me. So, that idea was way out of my league. Besides, she was back in London, I wasn't going to take another risk after that last disastrous flight. No thank you.

Besides, it wasn't like I could make an appointment with the billionaire. He was pretty busy with his new suit. Flying all over the place, tracking the shipment of his weapons before landing, taking it out of the hands of the black markets and whatever weapon networks people had these days, and just destroying them. If the recall of Stark Industries wasn't enough to get the other people going, Iron Man would hurry the process.

Because I had a lot of money, I used it to purchase a large flat screen telly to install against the restaurant wall. There was a lot of appreciation coming at me in waves from bother the staff and customers. And since I was the one who bought it, I got to pick whatever channel first of what I got to watch.

It was no guessing game what I chose to watch.

With the news on, it was like I created a spark of political commentary when the customers watched Iron Man fly. Pictures from satellite images to shaky camcorders were used in news reels.

Iron Man was spotted in Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Africa, Germany, Italy, and several other parts in the world, destroying every remnant of his weapons.

Where that had been Bill O'Reilly, the bigot bastard, talking trash about Tony Stark's choice to shut down the weapons, now there was more trash talk about Tony Stark being compared to a stingy boy who didn't want to share his new toy with the rest of the children in the sandbox. I couldn't help but flip a finger at the screen where O'Reilly's big fat head was.

God, Americans had such boners for weapons that they'd slut-shame anyone who didn't want to fork over the good stuff.

But just as I was about to hand over the control to Joshua because I was getting real tired of the sexist bastard (had to wait another couple years until his sexual harassment lawsuit came at him), I stopped short when something else was brought up.

Virginia Potts, personal attendant and secretary to Tony Stark, was to arrive to New York for a meeting about the construction of a building about to be erected behind Grand Central Station. Also, she was to prepare for the upcoming, newly revived, Stark Expo.

While the anchors moved to their discussion about Stark Industries moving from weapons towards social improvements in both networks and green energy, I was suddenly overcome with a great epiphany. Gwyneth Paltrow's face, her ginger hair, her smiling red lips, her force of presence which made the inventor stop and stare and call out to his beloved, "Pepper."

She was my chance. She was my one chance to reach him.

I had to go.

I had to pack my things, move out of the motel, and make for the last journey towards New York City.

Too long had I stayed in New Jersey, too long had I waited, and no longer was I going to stand by. I had enough money to get me by for another couple of weeks, if I was careful in how I spent it.

After everyone started to close the place up, after I cleaned the restaurant one last time, I informed Miguel of my plan to head out on the road. Surprised and concerned, everyone asked if it was because of my ex-boyfriend. It was possible, I thought, the people hunting me always found me later on, no matter how hard I hid myself. I played along with the idea, and I felt terrible for the way they stiffen up in fright and anger on my behalf. They tried to tell me to try for the police, but I was quick to shoot the idea down.

My only promise to them was that I was going to find someone to help me take down the person who was trying to hurt me, and that all they could do was wish me the best of luck.

With a sad farewell from the gang, I hitched a ride on the back of an unsuspecting truck that traveled by and headed back into mainland, and then caught another one when it was heading up north.

The night was cold, and while I wasn't necessarily bothered by it thanks to my durability, I still pulled my sweater closer. The wind weaved through my hair, creating tangles and knots that I would have to later brush, but I was more concerned about what I was going to do. I mean, how does one approach a woman like Ms. Potts? She wasn't a Tony Stark, but she wasn't someone you could easily walk up to without being suspected as a suspicious character. She would have escorts, blocking people from her, and the building where she would have her upcoming meeting would be guarded.

Stealth was not exactly my greatest forte, my instincts and spider senses being "eh", but I had to try. God, I wished I was a genius like a couple of certain someones, but I had to roll with what I had.

There was only one option, I thought with a grim resignation.

With my shoddy plan, here was to hoping Ms. Potts won't freak out once she meets a giant spider.