It starts out small.
Gabi misses dinner once.
That was fair; that was okay. That was fine.
She’s shocking spider-2100, for Christ's sake. She’s fifteen and she’s saved the city more times than Miguel can count on both sets of hands and toes and talons, and she’s very responsible and she knows what she’s doing most times.
Gabriela flapped her hands at him and said some things about homework and soccer and being tired and Miguel is inclined to believe her, because like he said, she’s old enough now to come up with truths for herself, and lying isn’t something they do to each other, not anymore, and so Miguel eats dinner by himself.
That’s not true. Lyla is there, texting Lleo and trying to keep him entertained, and in a desperate attempt to alleviate some of the mild tension they both talk about soccer tickets in Stadium 99 very loudly, loud enough so that a certain someone would hear and stick her itty bitty sort of freshly sixteen-year old head out of the door and say, “daddy, you wouldn’t happen to have tickets, would you?”
Five minutes in, Gabi’s shower starts running and it doesn’t stop, and Miguel trails off and goes back to eating his enchiladas in silence.
He makes it through one and a half of them, and then he gives up.
Gabi comes back for family dinner the next night. They make sopita and talk about nothing too-spiderman related, and Miguel likes that because work was stressful on good days and Ben existed on the worst of them.
She tells him about school, about her friends. He tells her about buildings across town, tells her about what she’s missed.
She tells him that Miles and Gwen have gotten engaged. He’s not all that surprised.
Miles is twenty and Gwen is twenty-one and they don’t even live in the same dimension, yet you would have to become God yourself to take them away from each other.
Gabi doesn’t ask about the soccer tickets even though he knows she heard him hear her eavesdropping, but that's fine! It's okay! Miguel goes out and buys them anyway, and he tells Lyla he’ll keep them as a surprise.
Lyla tells him that’s a great idea.
Things go back to normal. They go back to their routines. They have dinners together, and Gabi never misses a single one ever again and that’s a lie.
Gabi misses another dinner two weeks later.
She shows him her stack of holotexts and homework pamphlets, and Miguel nods and laughs it off and accepts it.
He doesn’t set the table for two, not that night, but he does sing quietly and Lila’s got Mexica jazz going on the background, and he doesn’t burn anything, and when he’s done cooking almost an hour after he starts– arroz con pollo, Gabriel style– he loads her plate up with though food to feed Miles Morales at nineteen years old, grabs a fork and a spoon and a knife and a glass of water, and knocks on her door.
No one replies, and it’s quiet.
Too quiet, and Miguel thinks for a second that she’s fallen asleep, and he chuckles a little at that mental image. Gently, he pushes the door open, and lo and behold, he’s right.
Gabi is slumped over at her desk, face flat on the table, papers and holos strewn here and there, pencils and pens scattered around. Her hair is messy and she’s got text from wet ink marked into her cheek, and she’s out cold and despite everything, and that makes his heart go gooey and melt in all the right places,”
“Hola, mija,” he murmurs, voice incredibly soft, and he sets the plate down on the nearest empty spot. “Tired?”
Gabi doesn’t respond, and he laughs a little because of course she didn’t.
Out like a light.
Miguel whisks the sheets down from the bed, fluffs up the pillows and arranges the blankets, and then he turns back.
Gently, he reaches over and slips his hands under her arms and legs and picks her up, and her head falls into his chest and her legs dangle because she’s so much bigger now, and he stares at her for just a little bit and thinks about that time he did exactly this and what it means for him.
Gabi is not going to disappear in his arms this time.
Miguel moves forward, steps towards and over the bed, and very, very tenderly, places her down and tucks her in, smoothing the hair out of her face and her eyes, and he leans over and kisses her forehead, just because he can.
“Buenas noches, Ella,” he says, and there’s a smile in his voice and on his face and he’s very, very happy. “Sleep well.”
Miguel leaves. He leaves the plate of food in her room and turns off the light and he goes out, and he spends an hour cleaning and then he takes a shower and goes to bed.
And he does not know this part and he never will, but the moment he stepped in her room, Gabi had woken up, and she was awake that whole time.
Miguel leaves. He does not know this part and he never will, but Gabi dissolves into tears the second he closes her door.
She does not, in fact, sleep well.
Miguel wakes up the next morning, and he overslept just a little, but neither Lleo or Lyla woke him up and so he’s kind of pissed.
He scowls down at the two of them, raises a brow, asks, “Where’d Gabi go?” and both of them look at each other.
Lleo shrugs, palms upturned. “To school,” he says, looking out the windows. “She told us to tell you that.”
“You know how she is,” Lyla laughs. “Our Gabi, so bright and cheerful and energetic and ready for every new day!”
Miguel blinks at the two of them. “It’s Saturday?”
Miguel does what he does when he’s got even the slightest twinge of worry in his body– he compartmentalizes, he computes, and he cleans.
He scrubs the kitchen counter even though he did that last night. He washes the sink and the oven and the microwave so hard he can see himself reflected in his own eyes. He gets to work in the fridge, sorts out all the old food– of which there’s not much to begin with– and he’s just preparing to dump it when he opens the trash can and he sees–
Gabi’s dinner.
Miguel stares at it.
It’s Gabi’s dinner from last night, the same one he put on her desk to eat before it’d gotten cold, the arroz con pollo that Gonzo made better than Miles did and sent him the recipe years ago for, and it’s in the trash.
Gabi’s arroz con pollo, in the trash.
Miguel lets the lid fall shut, places everything right back in the fridge, and goes for a walk.
Gabi comes back later that day, so late he’s almost worried, so late he is.
Miguel stares at her for a very long time, long enough that she gets mildly uncomfortable, long enough that she asks, “What?” and then he drags her to the kitchen with him and they cook and drown their feelings in mole and pimiento, and Lleo and Lyla play music loud enough to drown out the sounds of their steadily growing problems.
Miguel drives the hammer down. Makes dinners mandatory, no matter what, no matter how loud Gabriela complains and groans and says that no one else does that anymore, dad, so why are you acting weird?
He doesn’t care if she’s fighting the president himself, and if that’s the case, he’ll march over and stop the fight and sit them all down and they will eat fajitas, shock him.
They eat dinners, and that’s where it stops.
Gabi spends most of the day saving the city.
When she’s not doing that, she’s in her room.
When she’s not in her room, she’s training.
When she’s not training, he’s got no idea where the shock she is.
Gabi excuses herself early more often than not.
Miguel finishes his food alone more often than not.
They go on like this for a while, and after four weeks of stilted conversations and days facing Gabi’s locked door, Miguel goes to visit the one person that might have a scooby-doo about what's going on.
Hobie doesn’t know.
Hobie doesn’t have a clue.
Miguel sits in his boat on the couch and tells him about her, and he nods very seriously and actually listens to him, and he does not have a response.
“I just don’t know where to go from here,” Miguel mutters, running his hands through his hair. “Got her to eat, sure, that’s fine. She won’t do anything else, though. Won’t open her door, won’t talk to me, won’t even go out with me anymore– Lord, what the hell am I doing wrong?”
Hobie is restringing his guitar. Apparently, he’d gone and chopped someone’s head off with it again, but now, he threads the wire between his fingers and looks up. “You tried talking to her?”
“Every day for a month.”
“And she’s said nothing?”
“Hobie, I don’t even see her half the time, and the other half the time she’s just not having it.”
“Hm. Where does she go?”
“I don’t know,” Miguel mutters, looking away. “I honestly thought she’d been visiting you.”
Hobie shakes his head, ponytailed wicks bouncing. “She hasn’t been around here in weeks.”
Miguel swallows. “Really?”
“Really,” Hobie says quietly, looking away, and the string goes over, up, and down. “She texted me once, asked if she could stay here for a night. I said sure, come on over, but she never showed.” He sighs, almost. “Had half a mind to go looking for her, but changed it.”
An eyebrow ticks up. “Why’s that?”
“I dunno,” Hobie says, and something about it is almost sad, almost. “I got the vibe she didn’t want me to.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much on your end,” Miguel replies, and it’s not as snappy as he would normally be. “She’s still got that older brother thing going on with you.”
Hobie looks up. “Am I not?”
“Shockin’ hell no, Brown,” Miguel laughs. “Hell no.”
There’s sort of a smile on Hobie’s face, sort of. “For real? Last time I checked, my hand got me into your apartment…”
“That’s because I don’t want you portaling in like a freak,” he scoffs. “You can use the door like a normal human being.”
“Normal is overrated.”
“And in my opinion, you’re under-hated,” Miguel says, rolling his eyes and pushing himself to his feet. “And I know you’re not going to use the door anyway, you bum, so do us all a favor and show up on time?”
“Depends on what dinner is,” Hobie drawls, twirling a tuning fork between his fingers. “And dinner is…?”
“Not for you,” Miguel bites back, and he taps open a portal and sets it to home. “You’re twenty-one, Hobie. Go get your own food.”
Hobie grins, as sure as a cat who knows he’s won. “So, six o’clock,” he laughs, tossing the metal up in a lazy arc. “I want extra peppers on whatever you’re making, and one of those coconut cinnamon drink things.”
“It’s rice,” he snaps. “And the answer is no.”
Gabi is happy Hobie is back. Miguel is happy Gabi is happy. Hobie is happy because of the food.
Hobie doesn’t help cook, but he most certainly does help eat, and, much to his self-inflicted annoyance, Miguel has to wash three horchata cups that evening.
Miguel knows Hobie and Gabi talk. He doesn’t listen in, though, because that would be wrong, but he can hear laughter coming from Gabriela’s room and Hobie strutting around in those stupid white and gold or blue and black socks of his and he writes out an invoice for damages he will never charge him for.
Hobie struts out of Gabriela’s room at eleven P.M., and Miguel looks up from the couch from his screen, and the two of them lock eyes, and Hobie nods once.
Miguel breathes a small sigh of relief. “She’s asleep?”
Hobie nods again, moving over to throw himself across the other couch very dramatically. “Like a baby,” he says mystically, rolling over on his back. “She had a lot of talking to do.”
“Anything I should know?”
Shaking his head, Hobie stares up at the ceiling. “Not really. I think it should be easier to talk to her now, though.”
“I wish,” Miguel murmurs, gazing at the dark hallway. “I keep forgetting how hard this is.”
“You’re very welcome for offering a saving hand,” Hobie drawls, tone only slightly mocking. “You owe me.”
“Letting you put your stinky feet on my pristine couch is payment enough.”
“Did you know that I actually smell amazing?”
“Did you know that I do not care?” Miguel asks flatly. “If you wanna crash, the guest bedroom is over there.”
“Now, where did I say I wanted to crash?”
“And just like that, it’s time for you to go!”
Hobie does not go.
Miguel rolls his eyes and throws a stack of pancakes at him the next morning, just because Gabriela tells him to be nice.
Things are fine for a couple of weeks after that, and then they are not. Gabriela goes right back to where she was before, and Miguel doesn't know what to do about it.
Gabriela shuts him out just enough that he can’t nag, but not enough so that Miguel can’t tell something is wrong, and here’s the deal: something is wrong.
Gabriela is fine, technically. She smiles and laughs and talks when she is supposed to, she eats her food and washes the dishes by hand like she normally does, and she goes to school and does her homework and trains and she is spider-man, and here is the thing that is wrong–
Gabriela isn’t getting enough sleep.
Miguel notices it when she wakes up some mornings more sluggish than usual, movements slow and unsteady, but she usually drinks an energy drink and says she’s fine, and Miguel wants to believe her, but then she upps her caffeine intake to two black coffees first thing in the morning, and that’s when he decides to take the machine away from her. Never mind the fact that it was his coffee– that much of anything wasn’t good for a growing child, and so he stops buying it, and the worst part about that is that Gabriela doesn’t even complain– she just goes about her day like everything is normal and fine and Miguel knows that it isn’t.
Miguel finds her dozing on her desk more nights than not, face covered in letters from keyboards and holos still running, and every time, he picks her up and puts her in bed and kisses her forehead and turns off her lights and lets her sleep.
Gabriela isn’t getting enough sleep, and Miguel knows this because one late evening when he’s getting a glass of water from the kitchen– because what if Gabi needed one in the middle of the night – he pushes open her door very quietly and goes in and Gabi is not there.
Gabi is not there.
Gabi is not in her bed and she’s not in her bathroom and she’s not in her closet and she’s not in her room and she’s not in their shocking house, and Miguel is filled with such complete and total fear he stops breathing.
Lyla pulls up Gabi’s tracker, tries to comfort him.
Lleo shows him some videos, tries to reassure him.
Miguel tries not to die, and succeeds, but just barely, and he stays up until four in the morning when she comes back, and he hears her fall into bed and fall asleep, but he does not.
When Gabi plods out of her room the next morning, he’s sitting at the kitchen table with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, purple eyebags under his eyes so dark they rival her own.
Gabriela stares at him. Blinks. Says, “Huh?” and Miguel somewhat loses it.
“Gabriela Maria O’Hara,” he growls, voice lethal and dangerously sharp. “You mind telling me where the shock you’ve been going?”
Gabi stares some more. Looks from side to side. “Um. I dunno what you’re talking about…?”
Miguel’s fingers curl into his forearms. “Damn well you do, young lady,” he hisses. “You know exactly what the shock I am talking about.”
Gabriela swallows nervously, tries to laugh and fails. “Oh! Are you talking about the midnight thing?”
“Like HELL I AM!” Miguel cries, and he’s trying really, really hard not to scream at her because he’s very, very worried. “What the FUCK?!”
“You don’t have to yell at me, dad,” Gabriela says flatly, crossing her arms. “I can hear you just fine.”
“You can hear,” Miguel laughs, shaking his head. “But can you– can you shocking SEE, Gabi?!”
Gabiela stares at him. “Yeah. I can do that, too.”
He’s about to be mad. “No– no, I don’t think you can! Why the shock are you leaving your room in the middle of the night?!”
“I’m spider-man,” Gabriela says, and something cold seeps into her tone. “I save the city at night. It’s my job.”
“No, it fucking isn’t! There’s no reason you should be losing sleep because of that!”
“I’m not losing sleep,” Gabriela replies, looking away. “I’m fine.”
Miguel gapes at her, incredulous. “You’re joking– you’re joking, right?”
Gabriela doesn’t even spare him a glance. “Yeah, dad. I’m a stand-up comedian in my free time.”
“Don’t you get an attitude with me, Gabriela,” he says lowly, leaning forward. “You don’t do that.”
Shrugging, Gabriela walks over to the kitchen cabinets, opening one or the other and pulling out a box of cereal, and Miguel stares at her as she does, amazed by her audacity. “I just did.”
Miguel breathes a laugh through his nose, but there’s nothing funny. “Mija,” he says softly. “What the hell is wrong with you today?”
“A lot of things, Dad,” Gabriela mutters, swinging open the fridge. “I’m a piece of shit.”
“Ay, you don’t say those things in this house, Gabi,” Miguel snaps, pointing a finger at her. “You don’t get to say that about yourself anywhere, for that matter. Am I clear?”
“Boo-shockin-hoo,” Gabriela mumbles, and she finds the milk and slams the fridge door closed. “I’m a piece of shit.”
“Gabi?” Miguel grits out, eyes narrowing into thin slits. “Seriously? Knock it off.”
“But it’s true, daddy,” Gabriela sing-songs, and she shoves her hand into the box of cereal and wrenches out a fistful, dropping it into her bowl. “I’m all messed up on the inside, papa.”
Miguel’s brows twitch. “Who the shock told you that?”
Gabriela stops mid-uncapping the bottle, turns around slowly, and looks at him for so long that he feels bad.
“Look at me, dad,” she laughs, all empty and hollow. “Why don’t you take a shockin’ look?”
Miguel can feel his blood turn to ice. “First of all, Gabi,” he says, and he’s trying to stay very, very calm. “Don’t cuss at me. Second, you’re not messed up, not more than anyone else, and third, mija, this attitude of yours this early in the morning has got to quit–”
Gabriela yanks open the door of the fridge, practically throws the milk back in. “Sorry, daddy,” she mocks, grabbing her cereal bowl and spoon and stepping out of the kitchen. “It will probably happen again.”
Miguel stares at Gabriela for a long, long time, but she breaks eye contact with a scoff, turning around to go back to her room, and he finally unfreezes and opens his mouth.
“Gabriela,” Miguel says, and his voice is dangerously quiet. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“My room, dad,” she drawls, and she doesn’t even bother turning around. “Where else?”
Miguel’s eyebrows inch higher. “No, you’re not.”
Gabriela takes a step forward. “That’s what I’m doing, dad.”
“No,” Miguel repeats, taking a step to the side. “I said you’re not. You’re not.”
Snorting a laugh, Gabriela shakes her head. “Who lied to you, dad?”
Miguel is tired of this crap. “God, can you shockin’ cut the talking back, Gabi?!”
Gabriela spins around, cereal sloshing. “That’s your fault!”
“How the shock is that MY fault?! Gabi, I’ve been trying to TALK to you–”
“Well, it’s NOT WORKING!”
“That’s because you’re not MAKING it work, Gabi!”
“That’s not my fault!”
Miguel bites his tongue, closes his eyes, takes his voice down a few dozen notches. “You’re being uncooperative,” he says slowly. “You’re being hostile. You’re not even listening to me–”
Gabriela explodes. “Because EVERY time I LISTEN to YOU, DAD–” she cries, “someone gets HURT! I get HURT!”
Miguel feels like shit. “All I’ve been doing is trying to HELP you, Gabi! How am I HURTING you?!”
“You’re YELLING at me!”
“You started it!”
“And I was trying to leave and finish it, but YOU wanted me to sit back down!”
“I’m trying to understand what’s wrong, Gabi!” Miguel begs, and he’s so very aware that there’s a note of desperation in his voice by now. “I want to help you!”
Gabriela stares at him for a long, long time, and Miguel sees the tears well up in her eyes and one slips down her face, and he watches her hands tremble as her fingers curl into her bowl, and he’s just about to apologize and say he’s sorry, and they should move on and forget this, but then Gabi opens her mouth.
She says, “You can’t do that, dad,” and “I don’t need you to,” and oh, yeah, that hurts.
That hurts a whole shockin' lot.
Miguel tries to hide his flinch, tries to his wince, tries to hide the burning in his eyes by blinking too-fast, and he clears his throat and crosses his arms and tries to look much more confident than he feels.
“Wow, mija,” he says, giving her a weak laugh. “You wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?”
Gabriela bristles, eyes dark and angry and wet with tears, and her lip trembles with fury or heartbreak or something much, much worse.
“I woke up on the wrong side of life, dad,” she snarls, and then she’s marching off into her bedroom and the door slams shut so hard his teeth hurt, and he can hear her crying on the other side of the wall, and Miguel stares at the spot she was for at least five minutes, and then he goes into his bedroom and into his bathroom and gets in his shower and tries not to lose his shit, too.
He gets out eventually, though, eyes significantly less red and no lump in his throat, and he strides across the apartment and knocks on Gabi’s door, and just like before, there’s no response.
Miguel opens the door, sticks his head in, and the window is open and Gabi is not there.
Gabi comes back late that night, and in the dark, Miguel is waiting for her, standing by the door as she hops down through her window.
Gabi sees him, and she doesn’t say anything, but her face falls flat and she looks away, and Miguel knows that he’s not going to get any more of a reaction out of her if he tries to talk other than yelling and tears, and so he doesn’t ask her to talk, not yet.
“Holá, mija,” he says softly, and he tries to keep any bad emotions out of his voice. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Gabi takes her goggles off, places them on the desk, and looks up at him with tired eyes. “Dad,” she mutters. “What do you want?”
Miguel raises both eyebrows, but not in a bad way. “To show you something,” he replies. “You wanna see?”
Gabi swallows, hard. “Not really, dad.”
“That’s too bad,” he teases, but it’s nothing but gentle. “I think you’ll like it.”
“I think I’m tired,” she mumbles. “Gotta catch up on my sleep.”
Miguel shakes his head. “You wanna do that now?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s also too bad.”
“It is. Can you leave, please?”
“Nope,” Miguel laughs, standing straight. “Not gonna get rid of me that easily, mija. Come on.”
Gabi stares at him, crosses and uncrosses her arms. “Why?”
“Cause I’ve got a surprise for you,” he says, and he’s way too happy that she’s even listening to him right now. “Let’s go.”
Gabriela sighs. Shakes her head, almost, but she still goes anyway, stepping forward and walking out, slipping past him and moving ahead, and Miguel can’t stop himself from smiling.
The kitchen is dimly lit, only one of the lights on, but that’s good enough. Gabi looks around, confused, and Miguel gestures to a barstool and she doesn’t sit, not yet, but that’s fine.
Miguel steps over to the fridge, takes his sweet time digging around, and emerges with a single white box, nothing too special about it, and sticks it out in front of him, all puffed up with pride.
Gabi stares at it, at him, makes a funny face. “What’s that for?”
Miguel beams like the sun. “And here I was thinking you’d never ask me, mija,” he laughs, setting the box down, and he moves over to the cabinet and swings it open, looking around for plates. “I was thinking about all of this recently,” he says brightly, “And I wanted to do something nice to cheer you up.”
“I don’t need cheering,” Gabi says flatly. “I need a nap.”
Flipping open a drawer and picking out two forks, Miguel shakes his head, but there’s a smile on his face anyway. “And you can take that after! I went halfway across town for this thing, y’know–”
And he turns around and Gabi’s standing over the table and over the box and over the dark chocolate double sprinkle cake box which is now open, and staring inside like she’s got not a damned clue what she’s looking at at all.
Miguel blinks, confused. “Ay, mija,” he says softly, voice chastising. “Why’d you open that?”
Gabriela drags her eyes up, stares at him, asks, “Why’d you buy me a cake, dad?” in such a hollow, empty voice that it throws him off guard.
He gives her a half-hearted shrug. “Uh. Why not?”
“You didn’t have to.”
“But I wanted to,” Miguel says slowly. “Because it’s a nice thing to do.”
Gabriela lets the cake box drop from her pinched fingers. “And I didn’t want you to, dad.”
Miguel freezes for just a second, readjusts his smile. “And why is that?”
“Because it makes me feel bad,” Gabriela says simply, like that sentence isn’t totally devastating in its existence. “And I don’t wanna feel bad.”
“It’s a cake,” Miguel says, crossing his arms. “What’s bad about a cake?”
Gabriela doesn’t respond to that. She looks away.
Miguel can feel himself start to get irritated. “Unless you open your mouth and tell me, mija,” he says slowly, “I will never understand what’s going on inside your head.”
“You can read my mind,” Gabriela replies. “You can do that.”
“First of all, that's not true,” he snaps, and yes, he's very irritated now. “Second, even if I could, I wouldn’t snoop around your head because that’s an invasion of privacy–”
“Oh, like you don’t do that already.”
“And thirdly,” he continues, “I was trying to–”
And then what she said hits him, and Miguel freezes mid-gesture and the words die in his mouth and he stares at her.
“Hold on,” Miguel says slowly. “Rewind that. I do what?”
Gabriela glares up at him. “You do snoop around me,” she replies. “You do invade my privacy.”
His eyebrow jitters up. “And how the hell do I do that, exactly?”
The glare turns into a scowl. “You’re always asking me so many questions,” Gabriela says, rattling off an invisible list. “You’re always telling me what I should do. You’re always hovering–”
“That’s because I’m worried about you!” he snaps, throwing an arm out. “What are you not getting?!”
“I’m not getting you!” Gabriela jabs a finger up at him. “What are you trying to do, dad?!”
“I’m trying to help yo–”
“No, you’re not!”
“What does it look like I’m doing?!” Miguel cries. “Huh?! What?!”
“It looks like you’re not helping!”
Miguel attempts to take a deep breath. “Gabi, I’m making an attempt–”
“By doing what, dad?”
“Shock you mean what?! I’m trying my best!”
Gabriela stares at him. “This is your best, dad?” she asks, voice low and sharp. “This is your best?”
Miguel literally cannot believe these words are coming out of her mouth. “I’m sorry?” he hisses, and he’s gone from mildly irritated to straight up mad. “What?”
“Give it a rest, dad,” Gabriela mutters, shaking her head. “Stop worrying.”
“You have given me a million reasons to do just that in the past five minutes alone, Gabi,” Miguel snaps, and he knows he’s angry but he doesn’t care. “So unless you can give me a billion more why I shocking shouldn’t–”
Gabriela explodes. “You shouldn’t! You shouldn’t, dad!”
Miguel also explodes. “Well, you mind telling me what the SHOCK I should DO, Gabi?! Since you know EVERYTHING in the whole shock-damn universe NOW!”
“I KNOW MORE ABOUT MYSELF THAN YOU!”
Miguel is completely furious now. “Oh, really?” he chuckles, and it’s bitter all over. “Oh, REALLY?! Do you know not to sneak out?! Do you know not to throw away your shocking dinner?! Do you know when to give yourself a shocking BREAK?!”
Gabriela’s eyes widen with betrayal, and then narrow with fury. “I do, dad,” she spits, “and it’s not NOW!”
“Then you clearly do not KNOW, Gabi,” Miguel yells, throwing his arms out. “Look at you!”
Gabriela stares at him. “What about me, dad?”
“What ab– what about you?!” Miguel points to her, to the bags under her eyes and her messed up hair and her angry, angry face. “Gabi, you’re a mess!”
Gabriela’s face colors. “And you care why?!”
“Oh my god,” Miguel laughs. “You think this isn’t serious, do you?”
“It’s not,” Gabriela says flatly. “And if it was– which it isn’t– you’re making it worse, not me.”
Something explodes.
“See– see, it’s this stupid, stupid shit you say sometimes, Gabi,” he says, and his voice skips up an octave. “Like, it’s the most absolutefucking bullshittery I’ve ever heard in my whole goddamned life and what the hell are you TALKING about?!”
Gabriela bristles. “What are you talking about?!”
“I am seriously trying not to yell at you right now,” Miguel murmurs, fingers pressed together and held to his mouth. “Do not make me yell at you, Gabi, because you don't want me to do that and I don’t want to do that.”
“Oh, no, go ahead, dad,” she snaps, and she takes a step back in the general direction of her room. “Not like I can stop you.”
“God, what do you want, Gabi?!” he groans, throwing his hands up. “I try everything! I talk! I don’t talk! I‘m here! I disappear! I ask other people for help! I do it myself, and every single time you NEVER change, so what on earth do you wan–”
“I want you to leave me ALONE, dad!” she cries, and her voice is so full of rage and it breaks all over. “So stop shocking talking to me! Shut the shock UP!”
Miguel’s jaw hits the floor.
Gabriela closes hers, and Miguel can see the regret on her face and tears sparkling in her eyes, but he’s so far past the point of being furious it’s not even a joke.
Miguel stares at her.
He swallows hard, licks his lips, and speaks.
“So, you’re grounded,” he says, and his voice trembles with fury. “Starting today.”
Gabriela’s mouth drops open. “What?!”
“I said you’re grounded,” Miguel echoes, leaning in closer. “No spider-man. No fights. No HQ. No nothing, Gabi. Zero.”
“No– what?! How long?!”
Miguel throws his hands up. “I don’t care! A month!”
Gabriela is furious. “Are you serious?!”
“Do I look like I’m joking?!”
Lifting her hands up, Gabriela attempts to take a breath. “You don’t– you don’t understand, dad!”
“You’re absolutely right!” Miguel exclaims, throwing his hands out. “I don’t understand! I don’t get it! I have NO idea what’s going on with you, so why don’t you tell me?!”
“Because– just listen to me, dad!” Gabriela begs. “You’re not even listeni–”
Miguel is done. Finished. He’s done. “Alright, Gabi!” he cries, stepping forward. “You got it! Go for it! Say whatever you gotta say! What the shocking hell do you gotta TELL me so bad?!”
Gabriela’s jaw falls open just a little, and the words look like they’re on the verge of rising out of her throat and tumbling flat on the floor, but they don’t. They can’t.
She looks away, and her teeth clack as she snaps her jaw shut, and that is exactly what Miguel thought she would do, down to the letter.
Gabriela closes her eyes, inhales, exhales. Opens them again.
“Nevermind,” she says, and her voice is incredibly monotonically flat. “I’m going to bed.”
And then she has the audacity to turn around and walk away, and Miguel stares after her as she goes and only unfreezes after a few very, very long seconds.
“Oh, you wanna walkaway?!” Miguel laughs, and it’s almost hysterical. “Fine, Gabi! Go faster!”
Gabriela’s head snaps around, then, and she gives him the most hate-filled look he has ever seen her give anyone ever, and then she storms around the corner and slams her door in his face all over again, and he feels like shit.
He takes another shower.
Cries this time, like it’ll make him feel better.
Checks on Gabi, just because, but doesn’t know why he bothers– her window is open and she is not there.
Miguel stares up at the stars on her ceiling and ignores the stinging in his eyes and thinks about how much of a failure he is as a father.