Merry Christmas, all~ Hope the fics you follow have gotten updates this week/month, and that some of the goals you've set for yourself this year have been accomplished. This will be the last chapter for this Act, and I'll be taking a two month break to build up a bigger backlog, among other things.
Until this evening, Cindy thought the worst smell in existence was an entire lab room filled with formaldehyde preserved cadavers. Now?
One of Pete's candles crackled and popped regularly as it burned away, its wick specifically designed for the audial trait. The scent of lavender did its best to infuse her room, but all she could smell was the pungent stench of iron.
She'd done dissections before as part of general science studies. But that was years ago. Here and now, when she had to fight against the trauma of knowing she was digging inside her brother's body? It was a task made all the harder by the knowledge that he was actively healing with every passing second. Fibrin and collagen had to be actively pulled or cut away to make sure she had the clearance she needed to scoop out the bullet— attempts to pull it out via forceps were impossible because of said healing. Peter took it all with the grace of a statue, but she could see how tightly his fist was clenched. Could see the tension in his jaw and neck as he tried not to squirm or whimper in pain.
She dabbed away another rivulet of blood before diving in once more, holding her breath as she could feel the tip of the bullet neatly fall into the loop of the curette. With slow, steady movements that reminded her so very much of working with a microscope, she pulled out the bullet, catching it in the same bloodied fabric she'd used to make sure Peter's skin was clean.
As one they let out a slow, heavy breath.
"Stay strong, Pete," she murmured, changing out her gloves and preparing some sutures. Were it anyone else, she was pretty sure she was supposed to stuff the wound with some gauze, but with Peter, such an act would have only resulted in him healing over the material and needing actual medical attention instead of her back alley ministration. Her work was by no means professional grade, but it kept his skin together, and with as many layers had been damaged by the bullet, anything to aid the healing process was better than nothing. It was only when she set her materials aside and threw away her gloves that they both sighed and slumped back. Peter in her chair, herself against her bed.
A hundred and one questions all ran through her mind. None of them immediately useful. The moment was over, and Peter likely wanted nothing more than to eat and fall asleep. An interrogation could happen later when they both had time to settle from the horror of a family member stumbling home with a bullet wound.
Cindy closed her eyes and gripped her bed sheet. The scent of vanilla, a scent she knew she was going to grow to hate for the next couple months. The crackles of the candle. The scent of iro— the ticking of the analog clock she kept in her room, for no other reason than because Peter had picked it out for her a couple years back. "You're sleeping here tonight, Pete," she said quietly.
"Yeah," he whispered back.
And that was that.
/ - /
Forty-eight people. That was how many people showed up to the funeral, including us. Forty-eight lives touched by one single person, and I could only name about a dozen of them. Uncle Ben seemed to recognize more, and Cindy around the same amount as me. It wasn't exactly the traditional style, and I felt a little bad about how Cindy and I essentially strong-armed Uncle Ben into doing so, but the dress code for the funeral was 'colorful'. It was only a couple days left until Christmas, and the gang war was starting to fully die down. Beyond one final explosion of— well, explosions, the only real crimes that had happened the past 48 hours were B 's and the usual muggings/bar fights/etcetera. Nothing that required Spider-Man's presence for more than a couple hours.
I idly pressed my hand against my side as Cindy brought up a funny story, doing my best not to bodily laugh. The extraction Cindy had performed had technically gone well, but my side was still a little sore whenever I moved too far, from both injuries. Phantom pains from that first day, really. Even after all this time of being an enhanced human, sometimes my mind still thought I was a regular Joe. 'Landed wrong during a trick', was the lie Cindy and I had told Uncle Ben. He hadn't bothered to check, we hadn't bothered to tell him otherwise. Just another thread in the tapestry of lies I was weaving around myself. I gave Cindy a small smile as she sat down. Where I squeezed her hand in support, Uncle Ben placed a hand on her shoulder. After another moment, I stood up, a couple of notecards in my hand.
At the end of her story, forty-eight people showed up, from all walks of life. At the end of mine, how many people would arrive? How many people would show up to pay their last respects? When all was said and done, would my tale end as someone normal? Or would my time as Spider-Man have the entire city show up, one by one?
"I didn't know Aunt May as a person," I started, gently sliding one of my cards around on the podium. "I look out at the forty-seven people currently sitting in this hall, and I can only recognize eighteen. That's twenty-nine people that I have no clue where they came from. Twenty-nine people from Aunt May's life whose connections I have no idea. I knew her as my Aunt. As my caretaker. As the mother figure who taught me to be kind, to be gentle, to be homely."
I pursed my lips, feeling the tears start to well up. "I knew her as the person who first taught me how to mend clothes; how to properly do laundry; how to spot the best fruits and vegetables in the store. But there was so much more to her than that."
I took another breath and glanced down at my cards. "A lot of what I wanted to say has already been said by my uncle and my sister. And some of it bears repeating. Because we all know only parts of who Maybelle Parker was, and hopefully by the end of today, we can all leave with a more complete picture."
/ - /
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. Cars were driving past, and if I looked up, I could see planes flying to and from the airports. "What a terrible day for rain," I muttered.
"That's not alcohol, I hope." Uncle Ben sat down next to me with a quiet grunt, motioning to the small glass of orange juice and sparkling water I had.
"Virgin," I answered, swirling it around for him. "Cindy remembers how some of her younger years went with her friends and doesn't want to let me do the same."
"Good," he answered, taking an almost regretful pull from his can. Nearly a minute of silence passed between us before he spoke up again. "Peter, I've not been the best caretaker," he said slowly. "Between your sister and May, I figured all I had to do was provide money, take you out from time to time, and give advice whenever you wanted it. But Cindy—" he hummed— "your sister, she talked to me. It's not fair to her to have to step up and be the adult of the house, not the way she's been the past few weeks. And now that Long Island is starting to be a little bit better, it's time for me to be better, too. Forgive me?"
I set down my glass and hugged him. "Of course," I whispered. "I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry I haven't been the best nephew in the world. I got so caught up in my own things that I forgot about my family." I buried my head in his shoulder. His. Not hers. Either because I had done something or because that was just how this world was meant to play out, the person I was talking to right now was Uncle Ben and not Aunt May. The past few weeks I had let my fears get the better of me and had paid much more attention to Uncle Ben than I had Aunt May. "It's not fair," I murmured, feeling a hand stroke my back. "It's not fair..."
/ - /
I turned around and held out a hand for MJ to catch as she jumped down after me, smirking as I did the same for Flash. "Either of you hear from Harry, yet?" I asked once we all started moving again. It was the day after the funeral, and the good weather, as cold as it was, was continuing into the day. A perfect time to forget about the world with a hike through the local trails.
"Apparently his dumbass father's trying to get him to sign up for online classes," Flash answered. "If not online, then something within the city. Harry's being a bad boy and rebelling hard though." He grinned in the way that only someone who was doing something wrong and knew it could. It was an expression all of us had shared at some point, on my end mostly for the sake of a picture from an urban rooftop.
"Mr. Osborn's really on that, isn't he?"
I glanced to the side as our noisy passing alerted a small flock of pigeons, the birds making their way through the tree line. "Always has been. Norman never really cared—" I grunted in loose surprise as MJ whirled around and slapped her hand against my chest, an admonition for using Mr. Osborn's first name— yet another tale as old as time, really— "about how Harry chose to go to Midtown with the rest of us plebians. He only wants the best for his son. The most expensive, the most extravagant; shame he doesn't pay attention to what his son wants."
Flash chuckled. "Recipe for disaster, that. Bastard's— oi!" Flash made a face as MJ slugged him in his shoulder, rubbing his arm in minor pain. Honestly made me a little concerned about how she'd behave in future relationships. Something to talk to Cindy about. "Harry," Flash stressed, "s'been starting to hang around the wrong crowd lately. Not my kind of crowd, but the overachieving kind. The kind of kids who take a little bump and sniff to get all their crap done." He laughed once more. "Basically the same crowd at the start of the day, only difference is where we are at the end of it all."
"Flash, I know you aren't—"
I stepped forward, putting an arm on Flash's shoulder and blocking MJ from getting closer. "You specifically aren't, right, Flash?"
He snorted. "You kidding, Pete? Like I'd jeopardize my future scholarship like that. Dude, I'm scared to even take homemade bread from people in case they used poppy seeds. Nah, the most I do is snag a can or two from some parties. Also!" He turned around and raised a finger, turning his gaze to MJ after he noticed her expression. "I talked to Cindy about this stuff and I'm making sure to pace myself and to also eat and drink water so I don't end up drunk or hungover. I have the Big Sis seal of approval!" He moved his hands into a cross formation, an act I snorted in amusement at. "You can't hurt me for this!"
"Hey, can we actually talk about that?" I turned to look at MJ. "I get it might be because we treat you like one of the guys, but even Flash and I don't do that." Flash nodded beside me. "Also I'm proud of you for being strong enough to hurt us, but maybe don't anymore?" I frowned slightly, internally warring between whether or not this was something to nurture in case she had to defend herself or to completely put down because at the end of the day it wasn't okay.
MJ looked between the two of us and let out a sigh. "Alright. I'm sorry."
"No worries, MJ." Flash stepped closer and held out a fist. "Also, you're still fine to get on my case whenever I get too stupid. Gym bro talk and all the hits to the head make me go unga bunga sometimes, so it's people like you who keep me in line."
MJ blinked and met his fist in kind, looking to me for clarification.
I gave her an amused smile. "Long story short: we appreciate you a lot, MJ. Now c'mon, you two. Daylight's wasting."
/ - /
It was almost startling how comforting the act of putting on her lab coat was. That the moment she became wrapped in that right-side-of-snug all her worries about home went away. All she had to worry about was getting caught back up on where all the projects were and whether or not all of her spiders were okay.
"They really know who you are, don't they?" Eric muttered, leaning over to watch as each spider crawled out of their hiding spots to accept their food. Not to start eating them, but merely to prep them.
"I'm just as surprised as you guys are." She pulled out another insensate grasshopper, gently laying it down on the tiny rock dish of the tank. "It's not like I'm the one taking care of their tanks or changing the decor out. I'm just the person bringing them food that they don't always pay attention to."
"You didn't keep to a schedule or anything?"
"Of course I did," she groused, only partially offended. "With all of the tasks I had to do on any given day, feeding time was as much a break as it was an assignment. Gave me a chance to stretch my legs, check in on everyone." She ignored the tiny conversation her mentor for the day entered with one of the other scientists. If it was pertinent to her, she'd be told. Otherwise, she had to focus on— Cindy winced and slowly straightened her back. Gingerly, she set down her tweezers and reached for her neck. Not a moment later, she felt a set of legs skitter along her fingers and nestle on the back of her hand. "Damn it, 51." With slow movements so as to not startle the spider, she brought her hand into the tank, its lid having been opened just enough for the arachnid to escape.
Technically, she was supposed to report this. Any workplace injury was supposed to be cataloged, and if something happened and it was found out she hadn't, it was on her head. But it was well known nothing came about from these spiders, and no one had made the connection between Spider-Man and Oscorp's research. She certainly wasn't going to be the one to highlight that information.
She waited a moment to make sure the lid was properly secured before she continued with her feeding, mindful of the fact that Eric and— Doctor Perera? Right, a handful of professionals all over the world were working with Oscorp on one thing or another this year. A future boom in science and technology, Doctor Octavius had said. "Doctor Silver? I'm done."
"Hm?" Eric glanced over, giving each tank a quick look over. "Alright. Go ahead and bring everything back, and then head to the regeneration labs. I'll meet with you in a bit."
Cindy nodded, quietly slipping away. It wasn't too surprising that Doctor Silver and Doctor Perera were talking. They both majored in biophysics, though Doctor Silver focused more on specific animal traits that could potentially be induced in humans, whereas Doctor Perera focused more on human diseases such as cancers, Alzheimer's, and various nervous system disorders. The weird part was that Doctor Perera operated at a much higher level than most of the staff at Oscorp; she was at the level that of any of the other scientists she expected Perera to talk to, Doctor Silver was on the third page. Not to throw any offense towards Eric, it was just that Doctor Perera simply was that much further along in terms of knowledge and ability.
The rest of the day went by almost in a haze. She kept notes, performed her usual grunt work, and all in all lost herself in her work. Yet that didn't explain why she felt so tired. Perhaps it was because she finally felt some degree of safety again. The funeral was over, Uncle Ben was stepping up as a caretaker, the gang war was finally done with, and Peter had promised not to get up to anything extreme until after the New Year. She left out a heavy breath and shrugged her backpack to her front, rifling through the front pocket until she found her pain killers. Maybe she needed to make an appointment for a spa day or something. Maybe a massage. Take a page from Peter's book and go zen out in nature.
She pressed the sports cap of her bottle down and slotted it away, grunting as she swung her bag back into place. She was actually starting to hurt now, much in the same way her body ached when she suffered from a fever. Knowing she was losing a battle against time, she removed one of her gloves and opened up her phone, holding down the voice recording button. "Hey, Pete, I'm on my way home. Can you get some food warmed up for me and something for a fever ready? I think my body finally told me 'fuck you'."
The ride home was a struggle. Her everything was starting to hurt by the time she reached the tunnel. She'd started to drive recklessly. Splitting lanes, speeding where she could; anything and everything to get home faster before she couldn't drive any more. When she pulled into the driveway, things got even worse. Like nearing a bathroom when you really had to go, the symptoms started hitting her even more. It felt like every inch she moved was the tail end of a marathon, before you realized you were on the final stretch. Pulling her gloves off? Like she was pushed beyond her limits for a workout. Opening her phone and trying to call Peter? As if she was four years younger and was ten minutes away from being black-out drunk.
Speaking? Like she had woken up from being black-out drunk and had yet to learn to hydrate properly during said drinking binge. What she said to Peter she couldn't recall. She only knew that he somehow managed to simultaneously help her off her bike and get it briefly propped up before escorting her inside and then parking her bike by way of spider-enhanced strength. The trek up the stairs was as painful as she expected, and she was breathing heavily by the time they reached her room. She was pretty sure Peter had helped her undress; pretty sure he had her take some extra strength painkillers like she asked; and was pretty sure he had spent about ten minutes dabbing at her skin with a cold, damp cloth, which simultaneously felt wonderful and horrendous between every other dab.
At what point she fell asleep, she wasn't sure, but it was an oblivion she graciously welcomed.
Next chapter will be released March 5th. Catch you all in the new year!