Less than twenty minutes after the ending of the fight, Peter was back in his regular clothes, pizza bag secured, five hundred dollars in his pocket.
They had handed him the price in a wad of tens, sporting the face of a woman he couldn't identify. Ivy took half of the cash as they left the main arena, looking like she wanted nothing more than to be out of the place.
He understood why. The fighting had resumed almost immediately after he had left the cage and the crowd was still wild. They would probably be going until morning, considering how many black uniforms Peter had seen in the changing room. He didn't know how they could bear it, the sound, the smells… He had been there for less than an hour and, already, he wanted nothing more than to leave.
He would have to be back soon, however. His next fight was the very next day, and with a meta at that.
"You're going at one tomorrow," the large man who gave him the money had said. "Delta division."
That last part had been confusing to him, he still didn't understand what the Ancient Greek alphabet had to do with illegal fighting rings, but he nodded either way. Numbness had started to spread through his body and was slowly settling in, making it easy to simply accept what was happening around him without questioning it. He couldn't believe what he had just done.
Not only had he shown his face to every single criminal in the room, but he had also blown his cover as a regular teenager. Now that he had been outed as "the pizza guy", it would be easy to track him back to his regular job. Marco's was, after all, the only restaurant in Gotham to deliver to anyone, anywhere.
And then what? Would they try to recruit him to join their group? Would they kidnap him? Every time he thought about it, the numbness was pierced by a sudden spike of anxiety. It was like a knife stabbing him through the heart, fear rising in a tide.
"Good job." Ivy told him, side stepping the corpse of a large rat as they headed towards the exit of the sewers. "It will never be as easy as this again, though."
Peter frowned, shaking away some of the emptiness to force himself into paying attention. His guide was walking slightly ahead of him, green dress miraculously devoid of any of the grime present everywhere else. His own shoes and pants were absolutely ruined, drenched in sewage water and blood.
There had been so much of it on the ground, before he even started fighting. He wondered if more people had died that night. It made him sick. He was a willing participant to a festival dedicated to violence and death. Him. Peter Parker from Queens.
He had to make it count, had to make sure he got good information off of this, had to use the money properly.
He wouldn't be selfish with the price. He's invest it into what really mattered : Spider-Man. Gotham needed more vigilantes, despite the large amount she already had. They weren't able to be everywhere at once, especially not in times like those. He remembered Crime Alley and the way the streets had degraded since the break-out.
He was needed here.
Ivy turned her head to look at him, a displeased expression on her face. He didn't know what he had done to make her angry, this time around. It was hard to figure out the people of this city, especially the criminals.
"Not asking any questions?" She remarked.
He shook his head. He remembered very well what had happened the last time he had made the mistake of treating her like a normal, balanced person. She was very much extraordinary, both in how she reacted to what he did and in how powerful she seemed to be. That was something she had in common with her girlfriend, with the exception that Harley appeared to rely on weapons and reputation rather than meta status.
He wished he could question her about her abilities but that, too, would have to wait until she warmed up to him, which might never happen. He wasn't even sure if he wanted it to happen, in fact. Harley supposedly liked him and look where that had gotten him…
"Good. At least you can learn." Ivy noted. "They classified you as a Delta. The next time you have to fight a group, it will be a bigger one, and they will be allowed weapons."
He started, surprised that she would tell him all of this. She had seemed not to like him very much so far, why would she try to help? Was this a trap?
Ivy noticed his confused frown and sighed.
"You have potential, child. You are an extremely useful tool."
She said it in such a calm way that it took a few seconds for her words to fully register in Peter's mind. Lovely. Now he had another dangerous potentially murderous woman wanting to use him for her own benefit. Only the second one in a week.
"I don't want you to die so soon." Ivy told him. "It's likely you won't survive what is coming but, in the meantime, helping you is helping the one I love."
She was very careful never to say Harley's name, Peter realized, even now that they weren't in the arena anymore. Whatever was happening with her girlfriend must be serious if even someone this feared in the criminal community was watching her tongue. Did she accidentally piss off the wrong person?
They finally reached the mouth of the tunnel and Peter took in a deep breath. Salt, smoke and sewage mixed together, alongside a sharp, cold, feeling. The blizzard was still raging outside, and the moonlight reflected itself off of hundreds of chunks of ice, floating in the waterway.
The Bay itself hadn't frozen yet, but it was probably only a matter of time before the rivers cutting through Gotham did. He wondered if it would be solid enough to walk on.
Ivy seemed completely unbothered by the snow and the wind despite only wearing a dress. He envied her. Why did he get all kinds of powers except frost resistance?
The obvious answer was because spiders tended not to do well in below freezing temperatures but still. It was unfair.
They stepped up onto the docks and Ivy stopped, turning to face him.
"I will meet you here tomorrow at midnight. Don't be late." She blew him a kiss.
As soon as the words left her mouth, Peter's throat started to swell up. Dark spots flew in front of his eyes and his knees gave out. He gagged, kneeling on the snow, his whole body shaking and burning.
It hurt.
Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the feeling went away, leaving him aching and exhausted, curled up in the snow.
He was not surprised to see that Ivy had disappeared, once he regained his bearings. She probably didn't want him to follow her back to where Harley was hiding out. Not that he wanted to, really. The only thing on his mind right now was a hot shower and-
Ah. Right. Warm water wasn't on this late at night.
A cold shower would have to do, then.
Peter got to his feet awkwardly, still rubbing his chest and throat. It was hard to feel his face and fingers, as the cold had only worsened since the last time he had been outside. They were truly in the middle of winter, now.
At least he had money for a coat.
He didn't know what time it was but he could tell it was late. The streets were quieter than normal, even the usual gangs chased away by the snow. He didn't feel like braving the icy roofs again so he went back to Marco's on foot. For once, he didn't have to worry about being jumped.
He hoped his boss wasn't too worried about him. Maybe he could tell him that the GPS malfunctioned in the cold and he got lost? That he had been involved in an altercation? Those excuses seemed flimsy to him, especially considering the state of his clothes. He just had to pray that the man wasn't too informed about the state of the criminal world.
There was only one building with lights on when he reached the pizzeria's street. Inside of it, Peter could see the shape of a man, Marco, hunched over a table, head in his hands. As he got closer, he noticed the large amount of cigarettes laying at the bottom of an empty beer bottle, as well as a half full jar of what looked very much like hard liquor. Bad sign.
The door jingled as he pushed it, making his boss jump violently. The man looked up at him with surprise, as if he hadn't expected to see him come back.
Crap. He looked disturbed enough that he might actually be aware of what had just happened.
"Uh." Peter stumbled, trying to remember the excuses he had been planning to give. "Sorry I'm late, I-"
"Sit down." Marco snapped, straightening up, a glare slowly starting to form on his face.
"Yessir." He gulped, feeling like a child being scolded. He hurriedly took his bag off and plopped down on the seat he was being pointed to.
Was he going to get fired? He squirmed uneasily, twisting his hands in his lap.
Marco did look angry in a way he had never seen before, his jaw clenched and brows tight. He was also obviously intoxicated, if the smell of his breath was any indication.
"Peter…" The man sighed heavily, rage bleeding out of him in an instant, replaced with something very much like exhaustion. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
"I-uh…"
He didn't understand what was happening. Words clashed in his head but he was unable to turn them into a sentence. Unfinished ideas and raging emotions kept him from doing anything more than stammering.
He didn't want to lose his job.
"When I learned that you were a meta…-" Marco started, "… I was really happy. I thought: finally, a kid who has a chance. But no. The kid's got to be an outsider. Knows nothing about this town."
He was slurring heavily now, wavering a bit in his chair. Peter wanted to reach over and steady him. He didn't, though. He felt frozen to the spot, stuck in his own seat.
Then, the meaning of the words hit him.
"W-Wait… were you at the-"
"Of course not!" Marco snapped, slamming his hand on the table. "I've lost enough people to this fucking death trap."
"Then… how?"
The adult snorted humorlessly, eyes still dark.
"How?" He repeated. "Kid, you showed up to my restaurant with the same boots and gloves that were splattered on every newspaper a few days after. I've known you were a meta since Firefly attacked."
Peter couldn't help but stare at him, mouth slightly open. Marco knew? He had known for days now and…
He was happy that he was a meta? Even after seeing him fight Firefly?
Oh god. Marco had seen him in the Spider Suit. He had seen him in the Spider Suit and then had traced it back to him.
That was one too many twists for that night. His head was starting to hurt, he wanted to go back to his apartment already, hide under the covers. He wanted May, he wanted Ned…
He wanted MJ.
"Look, Peter…" Marco sighed, shoulders slumping. "Kids like you are exactly what those people love to break. You're getting in over your head and it is not a good time to do it."
Peter didn't have the energy to defend himself or to explain. Really, part of him agreed with the man. He was being an idiot, getting involved in the underworld.
Issue was, he couldn't really stop. Ivy had been quite convincing when it came to making him not want to cross her. On top of that, he kept thinking about what kind of people he would see during the Christmas Eve fight. If it was as big an event as what he suspected, he might get a glimpse of some of the most important crime lords.
It would give him a good idea of who was active in Gotham or not, which he could then relay to Gordon, whenever the man asked to see him again. That was the whole reason why he had accepted Harley's offer in the first place.
In front of him, Marco was grabbing a cigarette and his lighter off of the table. He then stood up and walked a few feet away, towards the entrance of the restaurant. His leg still looked painful, he was dragging it behind him, limping more heavily than usual.
He opened the front door, letting in a blast of cold air, and leaned against the wall closest to it, lighting his smoke. He looked defeated and old. When he spoke, his voice was sad.
"There's nothing I can do to stop you. It's your choice." He shook his head, took a drag. The silence weighed heavily between the two of them before he started speaking again, more quietly : "Just know, kid… I've made this kind of choices before, and I've regretted it. If you stick to this job, well… It might not be the safest, but I'm pretty sure you could survive it."
As he spoke, smoke escaped his lips, lazily curling into the snowy wind. Peter stayed silent, guilt eating him up.
"This ring," Marco told him, "is known for attracting powerful spectators. Very powerful. Some of them like a challenge. I've seen it before, back in the days. There are only two endings to this for you."
The hand that wasn't holding the cigarette reached up slowly, shaking.
"One." His fingers shaped the number, still trembling. "You lose and get killed." Getting the words out looked almost painful, his face was pale. "Two." He mimed it again. "You survive long enough to attract the attention of someone stronger than you and then you lose and get killed. Believe me, Gotham has some extremely dangerous people living in it."
Peter shuddered. He was already anxious enough at the idea of facing his first meta in this world, and this wasn't helping matters.
"I can't back out." He finally replied, hating the way his voice shook.
"I know." Marco told him somberly. "I'm sorry Peter. Fuck."
He threw the half smoked cigarette out into the snow. He still sounded drunk, his speech lightly slurred. Despite this, his eyes were surprisingly clear when he turned back towards the inside of the restaurant.
"I need you to promise me something." He said, pointing at Peter. "Listen. Carefully." A deep breath, then : "Mgonna do interviews tomorrow. We'll get a new driver by the 26th. Listen."
"I-I'm listening."
"Promise me. Do not. Ever. Get them involved. If you make any money off of it, don't flaunt it to them, don't make them want to try it. Shit, even for non-metas it's a fucking…"
He clenched his fists, visibly unable to go on. Peter felt absolutely terrible. There was obviously something very sensitive about the subject and he had just… Because of him, Marco was…
"I promise." He swore, standing up to face the older man. "I won't get them involved, I swear."
"Good." Marco whispered. "And you be… you be fucking careful. If it gets too bad, let me know. I can get you out of the city."
Although unneeded, this was a really touching gesture. But also a worrying one, since he was now starting to wonder if the pizzeria was actually a front for a criminal organization of some kind. The way Marco had said that last sentence seemed to imply something a bit less… legal than just buying him a plane ticket.
"Than-"
"Don't fucking thank me." The man growled. "It's my fault you're in this situation in the first place. I don't want to have your death on my conscience too."
Silence stretched after that last word, sometimes broken by the howling of the wind or a distant police siren. After a few more seconds, Marco began limping away from the door.
"We're closed tomorrow. No time for cooking. Here's your pay for tonight."
He slammed a couple of bills on the table next to Peter and left him there, without any further goodbyes.
The boy was left alone in the cold night.
He felt like he deserved it.