Under the bright light of the full moon, the snow-covered rooftops glowed bright and white, and looked as if they belonged to a distant world.

From their perch high on an icy ledge, Black Cat and Spider-Man surveyed the scene below.

"What is it about the holidays that agitates some super-villains?" Spider-Man asked. "The abundance of cheer? The smell of delicious food? The music?"

"Definitely the music." Black Cat answered knowledgeably. "Most people can listen to only so much Holly Jolly before they snap."

"Maybe the Raft needs to update their Christmas playlist."

"Perhaps, but then this may not have happened." Cat gestured below. "And, in a way, it is kind of pretty to look at."

"Pretty?" Spider-Man laughed. "You really think so?"

"I think some people might consider this an improvement."

"Yeah, well, 'some people' would need psychiatric evaluation then."

A Christmas tree, eight stories tall and weighing at least twelve tons, was hanging suspended over the city streets. Flint Marko, the Sandman, had picked the tree up from Rockefeller Center and thrown it in a perfect spiral down Fifth Avenue. It would have destroyed the street and hurt many passersby if Spider-Man hadn't caught it in dozens of thin, silver webs that glinted from the tree now like tinsel.

As it was, a storm of glass ornaments had fallen like fresh fruit and smashed to dust on the sidewalks, mixing with fallen tree limbs, green needles, snow, and ice to glitter colorfully across several blocks. No one was hurt, not even Sandman, who they had incapacitated shortly after.

Water was the trick with Marko. Spider-Man had lured him over a fire hydrant, which Black Cat had cracked, dousing Sandman until he was reduced to gloopy puddles of mud, which hardened quickly in the cold. Specialized response crews were carefully shoveling Marko into the back of an armored truck, destined for the Raft again, and even from on high Black Cat could still hear him cursing and raving all the while.

"I say we've earned ourselves the rest of the night off." Cat purred. She dusted some snow from her shoulders. "How about a drink? I know a place close by that sells the best hot chocolate. We could warm ourselves up."

Spider-Man shivered, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth. Cat knew he had to be freezing in his spandex, a problem she didn't have with her magic suit.

"That sounds great, but I've got plans tonight." He lamented.

"A holiday party?"

"Something like that."

Ah.

That made sense. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

Spider-Man definitely had family and friends (real, non-super friends) that he would be spending the night with – people who knew his real name, recognized his face, had bought him gifts, and could sit down to real meal at an actual dinner table and not the windswept exterior of a skyscraper.

"And here I am without an invite." Cat said, mustering a teasing lilt to her voice. "Don't you have too much fun without me, Spider."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Spider-Man said, stretching. She heard him breathe a deep yawn. "Are you free the day after tomorrow? We could do something then, if you want."

"It's a date."

He scoffed at that, but nodded. He threw his arm around her, a friendly hug that left her heart racing.

"Don't stay out too late." He said, waving as he went. "And Merry Christmas, Cat!"

"Merry Christmas."

She watched him, tracking his graceful movements closely as he swung away into the night. Eventually, he crested a corner and disappeared from sight, leaving Cat feeling suddenly cold and with a hollowness in her chest.

She didn't go back to her dorm.

MJ was out of town, having fled winter to visit some friends in Miami. She had asked Felicia if she wanted to come along, but she had declined. Felicia had always liked spending Christmas in New York, and besides, it wasn't as if Black Cat could take a holiday. She couldn't imagine leaving Spider-Man to protect the city alone, it would feel like she was shirking her duties, abandoning a part of herself.

It would be, actually… kind of.

Black Cat's soul existed in three pieces. One was inside her, another was with Spider-Man, and a third was locked in the Raft deep in the heart of the East River, inside of one Quincy Beck.

Thought of the Raft naturally conjured thoughts of Black Cat's father. The Raft would not be accepting visitors until the first week of January, so even if the ferry was running at the late hour, visiting her father that night was out of the question.

Black Cat leapt from the eaves of a snow-dusted brownstone, an aging building reminiscent of the Sanctum Sanctorum and she wondered, despite herself, what Wong and America Chavez might have been up to.

Did they have anyone besides each other? It was hard to picture Wong and America going their separate ways for the holidays and leaving the Sanctum cold and empty and dark. They would probably consider any and all holidays to be a distraction from their 'sacred duty' guarding the realm of men – or whatever it was they claimed to do.

Black Cat supposed she could get a drink out herself, maybe something stronger than cocoa, but the thought of going to a bar alone didn't sound very enjoyable. She didn't feel like trying to socialize with strangers.

Eddie is always up to talk. She remembered.

He reminded her of that fact often, usually when he caught Felicia between classes or dropped by her dorm to check in. Eddie was friendly and easy to be around, and he had taken a liking to her after Flash's party that was altogether too obvious to ignore. But as she cut a winding path across the rooftops, it occurred to Black Cat that that Eddie was very likely busy with friends and family, along with everyone else she knew.

She was just about to resign herself to a night wandering the rooftops alone, when movement in the street below caught her eye.

She wasn't sure what made her stop, but she touched down on a ledge and crouched low, watching as a familiar head of messy hair traversed the sidewalk below.

Peter?

There was no mistaking him. He was carrying a tower of boxes and bags. They leaned to the left and right as his sneakers skidded over the sidewalk, dangerously close to tumbling out of his hands, but never actually falling. He was the only soul navigating that particular side street and Black Cat watched him idly, wondering what errands he was out running at this hour.

As Peter passed the mouth of an alleyway, two shadows peeled from the darkness and fell in step behind him. Something about how close they followed him made the hair on Cat's neck stand on end and when one of them spoke, their jeer echoed all the way up to where she crouched.

"Hey, boss." One said. "What do you have in there?"

Peter ignored them.

"Looks like presents." Said the second.

The two strangers picked up their pace and positioned themselves in front of Peter, blocking his path. Peter's voice, calmer than one may have guessed, was carried up to Cat with the wind.

"You can't be serious." He sighed, exasperated. "Listen, guys, you don't want to do this."

"And why not?"

"Because it's the season of giving. Also the most expensive things in these bags is a box of spaghetti, which I'm pretty sure you don't want."

"Let us see then and we'll decide that."

A fire erupted inside of Black Cat. She moved without thinking, stepping from her ledge and plummeting earthward like a falling star. She landed nimbly beside Peter, startling the two strangers.

Their faces paled at the sight of her, eyes bulging and mouths falling slack, but she didn't wait to hear anything they may have had to say. The first one went upside-down into the nearest dumpster and the second was sent spinning across the snowy street like a hockey puck, only coming to a stop when he bounced off the far curb.

Both would-be robbers were on their feet again in a matter of seconds and then they were off, running in opposite directions. Black Cat glared after them, fists clenched and teeth bared (she may have been growling too) until long after the men had disappeared.

When she turned to Peter, he was staring at her – a shocked look on his face that melted quickly and was replaced with an odd smirk, almost like he was close to laughing.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"I'm fine. Totally fine. You- you didn't have to do that."

"What are you talking about? They were going to take your things!" She reached out and straightened one of the bags in his arms. The stack was so tall it hid some of his face. "Those thugs are lucky I didn't rip them to pieces."

Peter did laugh at that.

"You wouldn't." He chuckled. "Not over me, surely."

"Why not? We're friends, aren't we?"

His eyes widened.

"Friends?"

"Yes. Or did you forget our little trip to Oscorp?"

"How could I." Peter shifted, lifting his cargo a little higher as if to hide his smile, but Black Cat could still see the glint in his eyes. "Well, thank you for rescuing me, but I won't keep you any longer. I'm sure you've got places to be tonight."

He gave her a polite nod and started down the sidewalk again, his packages wobbling as he went.

"Let me walk you home." The words were out of Black Cat's mouth before she could stop them.

Peter nearly slipped and had to scramble to keep from dropping some of this cargo. He slid to a stop and craned his neck back to her.

"Why?"

"Because you were almost mugged. Seriously, it's the least I could do," Then, before he could argue further, she had sidled next to him and plucked the topmost bags from the stack in his arms. "What kind of superhero would I be if I let you wander off alone? Now lead the way."

He seemed to want to protest further, but after chewing his cheek for moment, eventually shrugged and relented.

"Well… If you insist."

It was a short walk to Peter's apartment and they spent the trip mostly in silence.

Black Cat had been to Peter's apartment twice before, but had used the front door only once. The building's entrance and hallways were still rather shabby, approaching run-down, but in comparison, the inside of Peter's apartment was well-kept and cozy.

The light fixtures still had not been repaired, but the multitude of candles Cat remembered had been replaced with lamps that lit the apartment well enough, their glow soft and warm. Peter turned them on, set his boxes on the dining table, and then took the bags from Black Cat.

She hesitated in the threshold, watching him as he set the boxes down in the small kitchen. When he straightened, he found her lingering.

"Do you… um, want to come in?" He asked, watching her uncertainly.

Black Cat's first instinct was to decline. She'd already followed him home like a neighborhood stray – helping him carry his stuff a few blocks was one thing, but sticking around afterwards felt like asking for too much.

Just lie. Lie and say you have somewhere to be.

"Are you here alone?" She replied instead.

"My aunt got roped into a night shift at the hospital. She's a nurse." Peter explained. "She won't be home until really late."

"Ah. That sucks."

"Yeah, I bet you know all about late nights, huh? Being, you know," He gestured over her vaguely. "A superhero."

She hummed noncommittally.

"Are… are you still on hero duty tonight?" Peter asked.

"Not really," She shrugged. "Just doing some patrolling."

"Are you going to do that all night?"

She shrugged again. If she kept it up, she would end up with sore shoulders and a crick in her neck. Peter watched her for a long while, his face strangely unreadable all the sudden. Cat was thinking of a reply and mustering the strength to leave, when he scratched the back of his neck and, looking thoughtful, abruptly spoke.

"I was going to make dinner. You can help… if you want."

Black Cat blinked.

"Help?" She echoed.

"Yeah… or… or does helping citizens boil pasta not fall under the job description?"

He smiled at her and Cat found herself smiling back.

"Not usually, but it is the season of giving I hear. I think I can make an exception tonight."

It turns out he really had bought spaghetti, as well as garlic, red peppers, olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and small tins of salt and pepper and other seasonings. He pulled all the food goods from the bags and lined them up on the edge of the narrow kitchen counter.

"So you know how to cook?" Black Cat asked.

"Kind of." He replied, then, on second thought added: "Well—no, not really. But I wanted to do something special for May. She's a really good cook and I thought it'd make her feel appreciated if I made dinner tonight. So I found this recipe and it doesn't seem too hard." He pulled out his phone and showed her the recipe he'd saved. "We should start with the peppers. Would you mind washing your hands?"

She did as he bid even if it did feel a little silly holding her gloves under the sink. She had been climbing on rooftops all night though and there was a surprising amount of sand to clean out from under her claws.

The oven was old and when set to broil, it took ages to heat up. Peter showed her how to prepare the peppers in the meantime, cutting them in half, removing the seeds, and then pressing them flat on a baking sheet.

"What about you? Do you like cooking?" Peter was carefully wielding a kitchen knife that was apparently older than him and sharp as sin – one of May's most prized possessions, he'd told her.

"Sometimes."

The truth was that Cat's most notable culinary achievement was the discovery of scrambled eggs and ramen. Growing up, her and her father had dined out more often than not and nowadays most meals were eaten at the university dining hall. She had never cooked like this and she found herself watching Peter's movements closely. His hands were large, with long fingers, but quite dexterous.

She was reminded of the way he'd navigated the Oscorp lab with Doctor Connors – he had worked with a similar precision and care then. A major difference now though, was that Cat was able to help, pulling apart the fat bulbs of garlic and tossing the cloves onto the backing sheet.

Once the oven was hot enough, they roasted the garlic and the peppers, while a large pot with water was set to boil the pasta.

In time, the skins on the peppers turned black and crisp and lifted away easily under Cat's claws, while Peter squeezed the soft garlic cloves from their husks. Peppers, garlic, oils and seasonings all went into a blender and were pulsed into a brilliant orange sauce that Peter insisted she sample with a spoon.

It was tangy and bright on her tongue, maybe not restaurant quality, but in that moment, standing over the blender with Peter – Cat thought it just might be the best thing she's ever tasted.

Her was watching her, waiting, and under his gaze, Black Cat felt her face warm.

"It's good." She said. "Could use a little kick though."

Peter tasted it.

"You're right, but May doesn't handle spice well. Maybe some chili flakes in ours?"

By this point, Cat shouldn't have been surprised to hear she would get a portion of the food herself, but nevertheless, surprised she was.

When the pasta was done, Peter poured the sauce over the noodles and prepared two bowls. The rest, another meal's worth, went into a container for his aunt. They sat at the small dining table together and shared what was probably the strangest meal either of them had ever had.

It was… a little awkward.

Peter was eating fast, shoving food into his mouth as if afraid to be unoccupied for a moment too long. Black Cat was acutely aware that he was looking at her a lot too, stealing glances every second or so. She supposed it was only natural – no doubt she looked extremely out of place, curled up in the rickety chair that was usually reserved for his aunt.

Casting about for something to talk about, Black Cat's eyes fell on the boxes that she'd helped Peter carry home.

"What's in there?" She asked between chews, nodding to the packages.

"Some stuff for a gift I'm making." Peter said. He pulled one of the boxes to him and opened it to show her. Inside there were spools of thread, a box of needles, and a flat board wrapped in opaque plastic. "My plan was to finish it tonight actually."

"What are you making?"

In answer, he took up the board and peeled back the plastic cover. Once it was unwrapped, Cat realized it was actually a panel of leather, stained a deep, dark red.

"It's going to be a journal." He explained. "I've been experimenting with leather-working a bit and I thought, you know, a homemade gift would be better than anything store-bought."

Cat rested her fork in her bowl.

"So let me get this straight... you're a chemist, a chef, an artisan." She shook her head, a small laugh bubbling from her. "Is there anything you can't do, Peter? Next time I see you, I bet you'll be a blacksmith or a pilot too."

"There's a lot I can't do." He replied, his cheeks turning just the smallest bit pink. "But, getting my pilot's license is honestly on my list..."

"Of course it is." Cat stirred her noodles around her bowl. "So, how does one make a journal from all that?"

Peter stuffed the last his food into his mouth and rose from his seat.

"I'll show you."

He disappeared into his bedroom and when he returned a moment later, he was carrying a sheave of paper and collection of small hand tools. Black Cat lifted her bowl into her lap while Peter cleared the entire kitchen table to make a workspace.

It was an intensive process, Cat realized, and mesmerizing to see. The paper was already cut to size, a high-quality stock with rough edges, the color of eggshells. Very carefully, Peter measured and cut the leather as well, before punching measured holes in the thick material using a sharp, wood-handled instrument. The paper was folded in half and the middle crease was then sewn into the binding with thick thread.

"It would be faster to just glue it in." Peter explained. "But binding it with long stitches like this is more durable and lets the pages lay flat. See?"

Her dinner forgotten for a time, Black Cat sat and watched attentively as Peter worked. The final step was to loop a long strap of spare leather around the book, which held it closed when cinched.

"I may redo some of these stitches." Peter hummed to himself and scrutinized his creation. "But this is pretty much it."

He held it out for her to hold and Cat cradled it as if it were made of glass. No matter how closely she looked, she couldn't see what Peter meant. The book was perfect.

"I'm sure your aunt is going to love this."

"It's not for my aunt."

"Oh. Who then?"

He weighed his words before answering, eyes slipping to the side as he coughed once into his fist.

"Just a friend."

Oh.

Black Cat couldn't help it, a wide grin broke out across her face.

"Must be a special friend." She teased.

"Yeah."

"Dare I say, maybe even a girlfriend? Perhaps?"

Peter coughed again and shifted his chair on the floor beneath him, the legs scraping loudly.

"Well, she's a girl and a friend." He admitted, his face reddening further. "She's not my girlfriend though."

The flushed look on his face, his bashful voice, it was so endearing, Cat couldn't help but want to hear more. Curiosity had taken hold of her and she knew Peter well enough as both Felicia and Black Cat that she felt bold enough to ask next:

"Do you want her to be your girlfriend?"

Peter coughed a third time, even though his throat seemed more than clear enough.

"Maybe." He said, in a tone of voice that clearly communicated 'yes'.

"Well, after you give her this, It's hard to see how she wouldn't be." Cat tapped the cover of the journal lightly. "Could you tell me about her?"

Peter looked at her curiously, apparently thrown by the question. She was sure that he was about to tell her that she was crossing boundaries, but then his face softened and a sigh escaped him.

"She goes to my school." He said, a touch wistful.

Black Cat had expected as much, but that didn't narrow down the possibilities any. There had been lots of girls in the classes that she and Peter had shared, but for all of her lives, Cat could not think of ever seeing Peter show interest in anyone.

"What's her name?" Cat asked, taking another bite of her dinner. "If you don't mind me asking."

After another moment of hesitation, he answered.

"Felicia."

"… Felicia – who?" She asked dumbly.

And of course, Peter answered.

"Felicia Hardy."

The spaghetti that she'd been chewing shot back and wedged itself in her windpipe. Black Cat spluttered and wheezed and in a flash, Peter was out of his chair and thumping her on the back. She spat into her bowl and looked up at him with watery eyes, sucking in a ragged breath.

Peter's behavior, his flush face and pensive tone were no longer so endearing as they were shocking – it was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over Cat's head and woken her to a stark reality. All his effort, his attention and care and time, this hand-crafted gift in her hand wasn't for a mystery girl – it was for her.

A million questions came to Black Cat, but when she found her voice, only one had shouldered itself to the forefront.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you like her?"

"Why do you care?" He countered.

"I- I'm just… curious why you went through all this trouble. I've never known anyone to do something like this. So… What is it about her?"

Peter returned slowly to his seat, thinking.

"I think she might be the coolest person I know."

A peal of laughter escaped Black Cat and she had to cover her mouth to stifle a small snort. Peter, to his credit, chuckled too – more at her reaction than what was said, Cat suspected – and when she peeked at him through her wet eyes, she was glad to see him smiling.

"She is!" He affirmed. "She's cool and she- she's different." And, without further ado, he continued. "From the first moment I met her, she was different than anyone else I'd ever met. She's so smart and kind, and… and even when I can't string two words together in front of her, she's patient. She's understanding. And she can be so funny, but not in a way that you'd think. Felicia is witty and clever and -"

Something about the look on Black Cat's face seemed to make him falter and, turning sheepish, his gaze slid away from her again.

"And I'll shut up now, but you get the point." He said.

But she didn't.

Black Cat didn't understand at all. She was traveling backwards through her recollection of every interaction she'd ever had with Peter and under the light of his confession, they took on new shape. He'd been jittery and tense around her since day-one, but she had always assumed he was just a nervous person, or maybe that he struggled in social situations. Now that she actually gave it thought, however– he wasn't that way with anyone else in class, he wasn't like that with MJ.

He was never that way with Black Cat.

She became aware then that her mouth was hanging slightly agape, so she closed it, and swallowed.

"You never told – I mean, you haven't told her how you feel?"

Peter shook his head.

"No, but I've uh- been working up the courage for a while," He said. "and I figure, once I see her at school again, I can give her that." He nodded to the book in her hands. "A belated Christmas gift. And maybe then would be the time to do it."

Cat held the gift a little more tightly than was strictly necessary. She just had one last question.

"Why a journal?"

"Well, I thought about it a lot. Jewelry is too expensive and kind of… too forward, right? And then flowers or food don't last. A journal though, it's something she could use for school or for work or as a diary. She could put anything she wanted in there."

He was right. A blank journal was endless possibilities

Practical. Timeless. Thoughtful. There was no end to the ways Cat could describe the gift, or the feelings it made well inside of her.

She wished her hands weren't gloved. She wanted to feel the warmth of the leather and the texture of the pages. At the very least she could tell the leather was soft. It was deep red in color and she was tempted to ask why he'd picked it, but she already knew the answer – it was simply a beautiful color.

It reminded her of autumn leaves and warm sunsets. Red was passion, romance. If Peter gave this gift to Felicia, it would be the perfect opportunity to confess his feelings.

But she could offer him nothing in return.

The red reminded her of Spider-Man too.

It was him that Black Cat wanted. She thought of him day and night, she cherished every moment they spent together, she had torn herself apart and magically grafted a part of her soul to him, and she would do it again, and again, and again if needed.

Anyone would be lucky to have Peter's affection, but...

Just not me. Cat thought. Not me.

When she finally handed the journal back to Peter, he held it gently and took the book down to hall to his bedroom for safekeeping. Black Cat chewed her lip until he returned. There had been a notable shift in the air and Cat knew it was all because of her and the fresh turmoil roiling in her belly. Peter didn't comment on it though.

Black Cat had a sneaking suspicion from what he's said, and how he'd said it, that he hadn't told anyone all of that, but had maybe been waiting to. She had certainly given him the perfect opportunity.

He took her empty bowl and cleaned it in the sink. Between dinner and Peter's work on the journal, hours had passed and it was very late.

"May should be home soon." Peter said, checking the clock on the wall. "She'd probably love to meet you, if you want to stay a little longer."

But she was already rising from her chair.

"No, I should go."

Peter offered to walk her down the stairs, but she opted for the window instead. The cold air was mercifully soothing on her face, which had grown uncomfortably hot inside Peter's apartment, as if she'd sitting right at the hearth of a roaring fire.

She had the good grace to turn back to him as she crouched on the sill.

"Thank you, Peter, for everything."

"Thank you." He replied. "Thank you for saving me tonight and for... protecting New York, as you always do. I'm lucky to have you. Everyone is."

His words burned her face all the more and after what she hoped was a gracious and polite goodbye, she leapt from the window and fell into the night – hating the feeling of misery that had settled in the stomach, fearing what would happen the next time she saw Peter, and dreading the moment when she would have to break his heart.


A short intermission before part 3. Thank you to everyone who has read and left kind reviews. Merry late Christmas and a Happy belated New Year!

- Mike