Disclaimer: I only own the plot and my OCs. Anything you recognize as not mine belongs to Marvel Studios, Disney, and/or their otherwise respective owners.

Author's Notes: I have no idea why this chapter is so fucking long. It took me a few attempts to write it, and then when I was done I looked at the word count and surprised myself. Don't expect chapters this size in the future; this is probably going to be the longest chapter in this story, and fuck knows why.

Also, kudos to anybody who can figure out the reason behind Penny's suggestion to Steve before the end of the chapter. You're a real one!

Chapter title comes from Everywhere by Fleetwood Mac, btw.

Until next week,

~TGWSI/Selene Borealis

~primis, omega, superhero, genius~

~somebody to love~

~chapter 7: everywhere~

A month later, Penny saw another of her (mates) fellow Avengers again.

Her evening of patrol had started off pretty normal for her. In the weeks since her run-in with Stark, the city had returned back to most of its normalcy. There continued to be a few hiccups, alien technology being found here and there where it didn't belong and some people acting like another alien invasion could occur at any moment. But she was almost entirely back to her routine of stopping petty criminals, helping old ladies across the street, giving tourists directions, and etcetera, and she was glad for it.

It was what she was good at, after all. It was her duty.

Responsibility.

Whatever.

She was flipping through the air when she saw it at nearly eleven o'clock at night, a flicker of blue on the rooftop of a low-rise. It stood out against the backdrop of the night, and the grey, brown, and red buildings.

Usually, she wouldn't have cared about such a thing, but something in her tonight made her swivel her head. Perhaps a subconscious realization of who it was.

Captain America. Steve Rogers.

He was sitting on the ledge of the roof, dressed in a blue shirt lighter than his jeans. She knew he could see her, because his equally blue eyes were staring right at her. Not in a bad way, she didn't think – but he definitely wanted to talk to her. There was a distinctive quirk to his mouth, almost as if he wanted to say, "Hey, Spider-Woman!"

Like with Stark, she debated on what to do. She knew she didn't really want to have anything to do with either man, but she was curious about Rogers at the same time. He hadn't irritated her that much before or during what was now being called the Battle of New York; he had reminded her of a lost puppy, but that was only because of how new he was to the twenty-first century. He'd accepted and respected her authority when she'd explained to him her history and had started giving orders, although technically he'd ranked higher than her in the situation as a non-civilian.

He was also at a disadvantage: if he wound up trying to do something like Stark had pulled, she could simply jump off the building and go literally anywhere else in the borough, not only to her apartment. He wouldn't be able to follow her.

Making her decision, she thwipped over to where he was and perched herself on the ledge a good fifteen feet away from him. His scent washed over her, the scent of oak and honey, but like with Stark it wasn't enough for her slick to produce. "Captain Rogers," she greeted him, pulling her legs up crisscross-applesauce in style.

"Spider-Woman," he replied. He jerked his head towards the sky. "Beautiful night, isn't it?"

Briefly, she glanced up. "Yeah."

Apparently, that wasn't the right thing for her to say. Rogers looked down at his lap, and it was only then she saw something was resting in it. A sketchpad. Despite the distance between them, she could see from the way it was tilted that there was a partial drawing of...somebody on the open page. Light eyes. Dark hair. Prominent cheekbones. A sharp jaw.

...Bucky Barnes? she guessed. His childhood friend, who died during WW2?

She didn't voice her theory.

"There used to be stars," Rogers said, his tenor wistful. "Back in the day. Not a lot, but some. My friend Bucky and I would sit on top of our apartment building and watch them. Later, during the war, we'd sit at night and look at them in the countryside in Europe. Without the light pollution, there were so much more. We saw the Milky Way once or twice."

...Right. What was she supposed to say to that? Penny had never talked much with old people, not in-depth.

Not that Rogers was old, per se, but he definitely came from a different time period. He acted like the kind of person you would meet in a nursing home.

And no, she totally wasn't excusing herself for her thoughts about him.

Totally.

"I'm sorry," she decided to say at last.

He smiled. "Don't be. It's only been months for me, but I know it's actually been decades. I'm coming to terms with it."

She knew what that was like. Maybe not all of it, but, you know – never mind.

"So, Mr. Good and Righteous," she said, trying to diffuse the awkwardness which came with talking about people who were dead. "What's an old man like you doing out at a time like this?"

He huffed, not quite a peal of laughter or a chuckle, but not a sigh of exasperation either. "You're tying for Stark there with the nicknames, Spider-Woman." Her nose wrinkled at the reference to his fellow alpha, and she thought he might've noticed this through her mask. He cleared his throat. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that," she quipped dryly. "Like you said, there aren't exactly any stars to gaze at anymore."

Another half-sigh, half-laugh.

She adjusted her legs' position. "What do you want to talk with me about?"

"I wanted to check in with you," he answered. "See how you were doing?"

Penny lifted an eyebrow, nonplussed. "Why?"

"We fought together," he said simply, as if it was the only answer in the world. "We saw things no one else has ever seen before. I know you have some experience in that department, but this has to be new, even for you."

Not as much as you might think, she thought darkly.

Silently, she wondered if he had been this way back in WW2, with the Howling Commandos. Probably. It was a little weird to think about, the idea of Captain America acting as a mother hen, because it wasn't something most of the alphas she'd encountered often did to people who weren't (knowingly) their mates. But he seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, just like she had up until somewhat recently.

Out loud, she spoke, "I'm fine. There's worse things to have nightmares about." There's only one thing I ever have nightmares about.

The puppy look to his features returned, sad but sympathetic. "I'm sure. Do you have anybody to talk about it with?"

She shrugged. "Never needed anybody." At this, his mouth opened. Her gut rolled at the thought of hearing any further sympathy come from him (no it didn't, it rolled at her being offered kindness by one of her mates them, and how much her instincts wanted her to accept the proffered olive branch), so she cut him off with, "No offense, Cap, but why the sudden interest? It's been a month and a half since everything went down, and you haven't tried to talk to me before."

His form deflated some, defeated.

Why did you do that? a voice cried within her.

But, "You're right," he allowed. "I do have somewhat of an ulterior motive. I'm going on an extended...road trip." The term sounded strange on his tongue, as if he was still getting used to saying it.

"...Oh?" she responded. As nonchalantly as possible, she tilted her head. "How long?"

"Six months," he said. "Stark suggested it. A lot's changed in the past sixty-seven years, he thought I might want to see what the country looks like now."

"No shit," she deadpanned.

Now, he laughed. Right and proper. "I was wanting to let you know I would be gone for a while, in case you ever wound up wanting to talk. And...I was wondering if you had any suggestions for where I should go."

His order of priority was not lost on her. He cared about her thinking he had gone missing or something first, her suggestions of what he should see second.

This, combined with the sound of his laughter, almost sent butterflies into her abdominal cavity.

Quickly, she looked away from him. "I've only been out of the city a handful of times, but...have you ever heard of Monterey, California before?"

She heard him shake his head.

"They have an aquarium there, I think you'd like it. Also something called the Fisherman's Wharf." The corners of her mouth moved upwards. "But if you go there, you gotta promise me something."

His curiosity seemed piqued. "What?"

"You'll have to buy this album called Homecoming by America." When she said this, he rapidly pulled a small notepad out of his shirt's chest pocket and flipped it open to a few pages in. And oh, she could only imagine why he had presumably gotten it, how many other people had told him things he needed to "catch up on" after his time in the ice. "There's this song on it, called Ventura Highway. The Ventura Highway is actually...you know what, it doesn't matter. You just need to listen to it, that song specifically while you're there. If you figure out how to work an MP3 player, you ca buy only the song for that. But if not, get the CD of the entire album. The rest of it is pretty good, too."

"Got it." His gaze drifted over his notepad. "Thank you, Spider-Woman."

"No problem." She stood up. "See you around, Cap."

"See you."

Of course, if she had it her way, she would never see him again.

But she rarely ever did.

A handful of hours of sleep. The fall of a man's boot on her ceiling.

(Rinse. Wash. Repeat.)

In August, her twenty-second birthday came around.

It was her first birthday where she was truly, truly alone. There was no Uncle Ben or Aunt May to come into her room and quietly sing her Happy Birthday until she woke up, no Ned or Gwen or MJ to bombard her phone with texts of the same message, no Harry to cuddle her and kiss her face as many times as she was turning before they had morning sex. That was what he had done the previous few years, after they'd gotten married. Before he'd died.

Penny remained in her bed after she woke up that morning, gasping, allowing herself to fall back into her pillows. The ceiling of her apartment was cracked, the popcorn texture peeling in some places. It looked, in essence, like how she felt: coming apart at the seams.

But, she couldn't stay in bed for too long. She still had to work today. Bélen had offered for her to have the day off, but she already hated the two days a week she did.

Then again, that was only for the diner. As Spider-Woman, she never had any.

"'Morning, Penny," Jason greeted her as she came up to the backdoor, him once again being in the process of unlocking it. Tired recognition came over his face. "Wait, it's your birthday, right? Hap – "

"Don't," she said. Softer: "Please."

He chuckled. "So, you're a morning person, but not a birthday person."

"I'm not an anything person," she remarked.

"I wish you luck with Bridget, then," he told her. "You know how she gets."

She sighed. She did.

The first hour or so of her shift after opening went relatively okay. She easily fell into the routine of taking orders and bringing out food, as she always did, although there was a hint of...melancholy to her actions that wasn't usually there. A deeper sadness than the pervasive one she was used to.

"What's going on with you, bella?" one of her regulars asked her at fifteen minutes until eight, peering at her worryingly over his toast.

She flashed him a smile. "Nothing, Fred."

"You seem...triste."

"Well, I'm not." She adjusted her hold on the coffeepot. "Now, do you want a refill, or not?"

"Alright, alright," he said.

Two minutes before eight came in Helen, an older beta who had been working at the diner ever since it had opened fifteen years ago. Two minutes after, Penny heard a squeal which almost shattered her eardrums as she was working on getting drinks for a four-top. Exhaling softly, she turned around –

– Just in time for two arms to be wrapped around her neck.

"Happy birthday!" Bridget singsonged.

"Thanks, Bridge," she replied reluctantly.

Her fellow omega let her go and rolled her green eyes. "Oh, come on. None of that now," she complained. "It's your birthday! You only get one of those a year! And you only turn twenty-two once!"

"You're right."

Bridget didn't notice the blankness in her statement – or maybe she did, and was simply choosing to ignore it. Opening up her purse, she pulled out something and handed it to her. "I got these for you," she explained. "You're always wearing those scrunchies of yours and I thought you might like some different ones."

Penny laughed as she saw the designs of the scrunchies, but it wasn't one of genuine happiness or amusement. The scrunchies – they were Avengers-themed. There were seven of them: one red and gold with miniature arc reactor designs, one blue and red with Captain America shields, the other blue and red one with webs, and etcetera.

She'd known they'd been making Avengers-themed stuff for a while now, practically ever since June, once the dust had settled, but she'd been stealthily avoiding the paraphernalia until now.

"Thanks, Bridge," she repeated. She coughed, her way of keeping back the scream of frustration which wanted to come out, and deposited the packet of scrunchies into her apron. "But, uh, I – "

The other omega clapped a hand to her forehead, almost comically. "Right, you were getting drinks, and I need to clock in," she realized. "I'm sorry!"

"It's fine."

Except no, it wasn't. The rest of her shift, Bridget was poking and prodding. "We should go out tonight," she suggested, oblivious to Penny's discomfort. "Get some drinks. Sing some Taylor Swift. You need to live a little."

"Uh..."

"Hey, Helen! You wanna come with us to the bar tonight?"

"Oh, you wouldn't want me there," Helen said airily. The beta woman was fifty years old, and Penny was sure the idea of "living a little" for her was watching old reruns of MASH or spending time with her grandchildren.

Granted, it wasn't like she didn't do the same thing with House.

"Pilar?" Bridget asked. "What about you?"

The second beta looked between the two omegas nervously. She opened her mouth.

Penny took this as her opportunity to ask. "Bridge, thanks, but I can't," she spoke. She hoped she sounded more apologetic than she was. "I gotta go to my second job tonight."

Bridget gaped at her. "You work a second job?"

"I've gotta pay the bills somehow, don't I?"

"No, no, I get that!" the other omega rushed to say. She placed a hand on her hip, the other holding a tray full of drinks. "But, like, they made you work today, too? Your birthday?"

She scoffed. "Nobody made me work today, Bridget. Bélen offered to give me today off, but I wanted to come here. And I want to go work my shift at my second job tonight, too."

Bridget held her free hand up in surrender. "Okay, okay, Pen. I get it. But, if you wanna hang out later when your shift there's over, you call me, okay? You, me, and Aidan – " Aidan being her omega boyfriend " – could have a lot of fun."

For a moment, Penny's insides twisted with regret. She forced out a hum. "Yeah, sure, Bridge. Maybe."

To Bridget's credit, she did plant an idea. After four or so hours of a lackluster patrol, Penny had a desire to do...not something fun. Different, was a more apt choice for a word. But she didn't feel like going back to the apartment to change out of the Spider-Woman suit.

"You're here like, a week earlier," Weasel noted with a raised eyebrow as she took her usual seat at the bar. "What, did you lose your pill packet or something? Flush it down the drain, then got cold feet?"

"No." She held out two hundred dollar bills to him. A rich older lady had given them to her earlier that night, after she'd stopped her purse from getting stolen. Old ladies were always too nice like that. "How much can this get?"

"Maybe some oral, depending on what part of the city you get your hooker from," he said smoothly.

She scowled. "What, do you think I'm a lightweight?"

He rolled his eyes. "I think two hundred dollars' worth of alcohol would be too much for most people. Not unless they were an alcoholic, which I know you're not, or – "

"Enhanced?" she guessed. "Yes, that's me. I'm enhanced. Enhanced strength, enhanced senses, enhanced metabolism."

"I'm not serving you that much," he tried to insist. "I have morals, you know."

She made a show of looking around the room. "Funny place to be workin' at if you do."

He wasn't amused. "That's rude."

"You run a bar for mercenaries. You expect me to think you have morals?" she replied. Sighing dramatically, she crumpled up the dollar bills in her hand. "Listen, if you're not gonna serve me, I guess I'm just gonna have to go somewhere else. And we," I, "all know how – "

He pried the cash out of her grip. "I'll serve you," he said through gritted teeth. "God, you're just as bad as Wade sometimes."

She laughed silently.

Where do you think I got it from? Who do you think succeeded in getting me drunk for the first time? Murdock spent an hour giving him hell for it. Told him if he did it again while I was still underage he'd castrate him.

Two hundred dollars, it turned out, bought her the rest of the Roscato bottle reserved for her, as well as several drinks with a much higher alcohol content she never usually cared for. Plus, a greasy burger from down the street that he made one of the newer mercs go get for her.

She tried to protest this, but his glare shut her up quick. "I don't care how good your metabolism is. You expect me to give you that much alcohol when, can I mention, you're on meds, you play by my rules."

At least the burger wasn't that bad. The fries were delicious; for once, she silently bemoaned making her current suit the way she had, because it just felt...wrong to be eating such delicious sticks of potassium with gloves.

She digressed.

When Penny was finished with her food and had drank enough she was somewhat tipsy, a man sat next to her. He had a kind, laidback smile. Auburn hair. Green eyes. A face that was easy on the eyes.

She took one whiff of his scent and felt her eyes widen.

"Holy shit."

Too late, it occurred to her she'd spoken. Her cheeks flushing something awful, she turned her head away, hearing the man's quiet chuckle.

"Hey, Lance," said Weasel. "You want your usual?"

"Yes, please," was the response. She could feel his eyes on her.

Oh God, she thought, her toes curling and her face practically aflame. She hadn't been this socially awkward around someone in ages. A part of her – a large one at that – wanted nothing more than to tell Weasel to give the rest of her drinks to the other patrons, or put her remaining money on her tab, or something so she could just leave. Preferably never see this man again.

After a moment, he – Lance – spoke again. "Color me surprised, Weasel. When you said that Spider-Woman came in here every once in a while, I didn't believe you."

Cautiously, she peeked over at him. He was still smiling. At her. Weasel was eyeing both of them...something glinting behind his glasses.

"Yeah, she likes to drop in from time to time," Weasel muttered, making what appeared to be some sort of cocktail on the rocks. "Likes to annoy the hell out of me, like Wade. Can be irresponsible like him, too."

Lance ignored him, choosing to say, "Nice to meet you."

"...Sorry," she apologized, the words coming out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I – I didn't mean to offend you, if I offended you. It's just, I've – "

"Never met a male theta before?" he supplied. His smile widened, becoming a grin. "It's okay. I'm used to it. Lots of people consider me to be a spectacle when they first meet me. Then again, I'm sure the same can be said for you, too."

"Yeah," she replied hesitantly. Breathlessly.

He took a sip of his drink, then swirled it around in its glass. "Tell me," he said. "How did one of the seven Avengers start coming to a bar meant for the vermin of the city?"

"Hey," Weasel spoke up. "I take offense to that. We're filth, not vermin."

She giggled. Actually giggled.

Mortified, Penny took a sip of the drink she was currently on, as if it would somehow make the situation better and not worse. "Don't you know, Mr. Lance," she said afterwards, setting down her cup. "Not all questions come for free."

"Oh, I'm counting on that," he responded. "I can tell you have your own. Most people do. You answer mine, I'll answer yours."

This was a bad idea.

A really bad idea.

But, fuck: she was twenty-two, living in a world where nobody remembered her. Maybe she could afford to live a little.

"A friend brought me here," she told him. "When I was seventeen."

She had the pleasure of watching him guffaw. "Seventeen? Why on Earth would they bring you here at seventeen?"

"That's another question," she reminded him.

He made a noise. "Right, your turn. Ask away."

"How do you buy clothes?" was her immediate question. Because it was easy for her, as a female omega masquerading as a female beta, but. "Do you, like, shop in the male alpha department, the male omega department, or...?"

"Most omega clothes don't fit me," Lance acknowledged. "'Too tall for them. But not all alpha clothes are exactly...comfortable. I buy as many as I can and supplement the rest with homemade ones."

"You sew?"

"Yes." He fiddled with the bracelet on his left hand. "And now that makes two answers you owe me."

...Right.

She whined. "Not fair."

"Ah, but that's life," he said smugly.

Strangely, the phrase didn't make her feel bitter. Her breath rustling, she played with the wax paper her burger had come in. "My friend wanted to see how much it would take to get me drunk. As you can see," she gestured to the empty wine bottle and assorted glasses next to her, "it takes a fuck ton."

"As it should. The world's best superhero shouldn't be susceptible to alcohol poisoning like the rest of us." Another giggle. Good God, she was being too shameful right now. "Okay, next question: do you make your suits yourself?"

She frowned. "Uh...yeah. Why?"

"No reason," he hummed. "Just...some people think Stark's made them for you. Like he's your secret benefactor."

She choked on her own spit. "What?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought. He doesn't seem like the kind of guy you'd care for."

Oh, you have no idea.

He beamed wryly. "And now, you're back to owing me two questions."

Penny stared at him, before smacking a hand to her still-masked forehead. "Goddammit."

In a nostalgic way, he reminded her of Gwen. It wasn't simply because they were both thetas: he had the same conscious way of speaking she usually did, the same confidence.

It was about half an hour later, though, after easy chatter, that it occurred to her with the force of a freight train that she didn't want him to remind her of only Gwen. It was fine that he did, but – she wanted more.

She wanted to want to lean forwards. Kiss him. Run her hands through his hair. Take him back to her place – or have him take her to his – and have sex with him, because he seemed like the kind of guy she would do that with in another life. From her sample size of one, he seemed to be her type.

She wanted the only reason why she didn't want those things to be her instincts, the tie them she longed to hate. Or, alternatively, them and Harry. In this scenario, the reminder of him and how she never wanted to move on from her husband would've been fine.

But, no.

She just didn't want Lance. Plain and simple.

The concept, not the alcohol, made her dizzy. Glancing down and seeing she was almost done with her last drink, she stood up. Then swayed.

Shit. Okay, so maybe she was drunker than she'd thought.

Lance's mouth turned down. "Spider-Woman, you okay?"

She waved a hand. Tried to, anyways. "Fine. Just...it's midnight, I have work tomorrow."

Understanding dawned on his face. "Right, 'cause even superheroes have jobs, huh?" At her nod, concern flittered across his face. "Do you want someone – doesn't have to be – to walk you home?"

Practically at the speed of sound, she shook her head. "No. My reflexes aren't impacted by alcohol. I'll be fine."

"No shit," he coughed disbelievingly.

"One of the many perks of being me," she informed him.

Lance raised his glass towards her. "Well, it was nice talking with you, Spider-Woman. Maybe I'll see you around sometime?"

She had a feeling he wouldn't.

Still, "Yeah, sure."

Penny felt awful for that abrupt ending, on the way back to her apartment. Shame coursed through her for her intrusive thoughts, how she'd almost broken her promise about not moving on from Harry.

But not as awful as her instincts suddenly made her feel for what felt a lot like betrayal towards them.

Her gut churning, she had to stop on top of a rooftop. Pulling up her mask to her nose, she wrapped an arm around her stomach as she bent over, heaving, retching up all of the drinks and the burger and fries she'd eaten.

So much for her twenty-second birthday.

In October, when Penny arrived back at the apartment after a shift at the diner, she was immediately greeted by a familiar, but hours-old scent.

Something tingling down her spine, she went over to the source of it. Sitting on her kitchen counter was a postcard. Scrawled onto a post-it note on top of it was Fury's handwriting: He was insistent I give you this. -F

Picking up the card, she removed the note and saw the picture side of it was of a whale skeleton hanging from a ceiling. Turning it over, she then saw a handwriting she'd never seen before, but instantly knew whose it had to be from the aquarium symbol on the card, even prior to reading it:

Queens,

I did as you suggested. I can see why you like this town, it's very relaxing. The aquarium was impressive, and the sunsets are beautiful. I've sketched some otters and seals, maybe you could stop by my apartment when I get back so I could show you them. It's in Brooklyn.

Some of the locals have told me why you might've liked this town so much, too, besides the obvious. I've put down Star Trek as something to watch when my trip is over.

Sincerely,

SR

The postcard fell from her hands and to the floor.

A second later, she mirrored it.

Word Count: 4,617

Next Chapter Title: tango in the night