Happiness is not something Miguel O’Hara deserves. His right to it ran out the second Gabriella and her universe did. The event forever burned into wine-coloured eyes. He remembers it well, the screams of panic, but most of all confusion, underlined by collapsing buildings all around them. It plays like a sadistic symphony in his mind, always there.
As time passes, and after much trial and error, he finds a way to drown it out— by keeping busy. It is by no means a perfect solution, but it works well enough. And well, if he has to brute force his way past physical and mental limits alike to keep a semblance of sanity, that’s his secret to keep. Extra shots of venom and frequent trips to the coffee machine help him through the worst of it.
After all, someone has to keep the Arachnoid Humanoid Poly-Multiverse afloat and Miguel had decided long ago that someone would be him. Back when it was just him and Lyla. There was no election then, just Miguel. Miguel who spent nights on end sitting on the hard wood floor of an undecorated apartment, trying to find a way to solve the seemingly unsolvable. Alone. As it had been before, and it will always be. Just Miguel.
A quiet — yet increasingly annoying — voice in the back of his mind reminds him that he had elected himself to be leader for not entirely unselfish reasons. He knows the words ring true as soon as they appear in his mind, though he would never care to admit it aloud.
When the spider society was but a puny thing, when contact had not yet been made with any of the other universes, he imagined overseeing the whole thing might yet offer him a sliver of redemption. That if he worked hard enough on it, kept at it long enough and tinkered with the web just right, the stings and aches that had made his body their home long ago might yet lessen. And perhaps, if he was lucky he’d be granted forgiveness by whichever sick and twisted cosmic entity resided over them.
The pains never did truly leave.
He tries his hardest to push it down, shove it away to a place full of all the cobweb-filled memories of a life long since past. A life before anomalies, before any of this. When the sun would routinely leave its warm and gentle kisses on his tan skin, creating clusters of freckles wherever they touch. When he’d found his purpose in the smile of his daughter. Or, well, the girl whose father he’d replaced after his untimely death. Her smile was so bright it used to be the centre of his universe. One that would, now, only find him in nightmares.
For that very reason, he only allows sleep to come once he can no longer resist heavy eyelids fluttering closed. Dreams don’t tend to find him then. It is only the void that greets him.
In spite of his self-appointed rule, Miguel does find small shreds of joy in tiny things. Missions going off without a hitch, a freshly brewed cup of coffee and a new gizmo working as it was intended to on the first try. All of these give him a semblance of happiness, small enough that he lets himself indulge in them. Yet not small enough for guilt not to find him again.
It serves as a harsh reminder to never get complacent.
He brushes it away once more, attempting to delve deeper into the unending work before him. Yet it seems the other spiders have most of it handled. His eyebrows draw together, accentuating the lines edged into his forehead once more. Shades of orange and blue dance across his face as he looks at his hovering screens, deciding to do what he arguably does best. Work.
Its return would, unfortunately, be inevitable, especially on a day such as today. For she would be ten today. She should be ten …but she won’t be. Forever frozen in time, while the years pass by and the multiverse moves on. Seemingly forgotten by everyone, except him. The only evidence she existed at all was found only in small glimpses of the memories he managed to capture and save to the database.
A tired sigh escapes past chapped lips as Miguel rubs at ruby eyes. Sufficiently distracted by his traitorous mind, he chooses to abandon his work for now. At this point, he wouldn’t be able to get anything done the way it should be.
His eyes roam his office — lovingly dubbed the Batcave by Jess — for a moment, quickly finding what he was looking for. A plastic bag, carefully webbed in place against one of the support beams, is hidden away. It’s far up enough that if anyone were to bother him today — which, they did — it would remain out of their sight.
“No time like the present…” Miguel mutters to himself, moving to un-web the bag. It falls into his hands with a quiet thud, and he quickly makes sure its contents remain intact. Thankfully, they are. Inside a fitted cardboard box sits a cupcake decorated with pink buttercream, and a sage green candle in the shape of a 10 lies next to it. Before continuing, he forces himself to focus on his breathing to will away the claws that involuntarily had decided to appear.
It’s become an annual thing, buying the pastry and candle on her birthday. The only thing that ever changes is the number carved out of the wax.
“Lyla, deny everyone access to my office for the coming thirty minutes. Only allow Jess access in case of emergencies and notify her of this,” Miguel orders, running through his mental list.“Please.” he adds quickly, right as the AI materializes. She nods, pushing her pink heart glasses up before typing away on a small computer she just glitches into existence.
“Wow, didn’t even have to ask for a please. You’re learning Miguel, I’m so proud!” she chatters away lightly. Miguel simply sighs, shaking his head lightly.
“Not today Lyla.” He pleads groggily with his assistant. She salutes him before continuing. She likely had the day and its meaning marked on her internal calendar.
“There, it’s done. No one will bother you, boss,” She says after a few more moments, glitching so she’s now sitting on an invisible chair. “Anything else?” she inquires.
“No that’s all, thank you,” Miguel replies, the hint of appreciation coming through as he does. The small woman nods again before disappearing from view.
Now alone once more he finally removes the items from the bag. With shaky hands, he carefully places the numbered candle atop the pink buttercream. From a secret drawer beneath his desk, he grabs a worn lighter and a picture frame. Inside it, a photo of him with Gabriella sitting atop his wide shoulders, both smiling brightly, without a care in the world, stares back at him. A sinking feeling he can’t quite place yet knows intimately settles in Miguel’s stomach. He looks at the cupcake again, swiftly lighting the candle.
“Happy birthday Gabbie,” Miguel sighs, llowering his head onto his arm, not looking away from the food. “I- I’m sorry that you’re not here mija. If I had known-” He takes a breath, desperately trying to blink away any moisture from his eyes. “I miss you,” he whispers so quietly he can barely hear it himself. “Life has- it’s not been the same since…” A tear rolls down his cheek regardless of his attempt. He ignores it. “If we meet again, I- I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive your old pops.” A bittersweet smile dances on his lips as he continues. “I hope by then I’ll- I’ll have done enough to earn it. I’m sorry mi sol,” He lifts his head off of his arm to blow out the candle. “Happy birthday.” He sniffles near quietly.
A warm and soft pressure settles on the arm he was previously lying on. It doesn’t feel too dissimilar to a child’s hand pushing and grabbing at someone’s arm. Miguel doesn’t dare move, unsure whether or not this is his mind playing tricks on him due to several days of no sleep. Yet, the pressure doesn’t leave. It’s almost… nice. Comforting.
One tear becomes many after that, and Miguel is too exhausted to do anything about it. In the safety of his lab, with only himself filling the space, he allows himself to truly feel. For just a moment.
Walls built years prior upon the shaky foundation that is Miguel O’Hara, at last, begin to crumble. He stopped attempting to patch the rifts lining the walls long ago. His head finds his arm once again, resting against it in a poor attempt to hide himself away.
That is how Peter B Parker finds him hours later. Hunched over his desk, with dark hair fanned out chaotically and his shoulders in a seemingly constant tensed-up state. The hues of honey and tangerine that fill the space behind Miguel as Peter steps through the portal don’t move him. If he notices his arrival, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Heyyy Miguel, how’re you holding up buddy? How’re you doing big man?” Peter tries carefully, to test the other’s current mood. Miguel doesn’t stir from his place. The shorter man bites at his lips while idly bouncing from one leg to the other, pink bathrobe gently swaying as he does. “Hey listen, MJ is making one of her famous casserole recipes, you know the one I’m talking about. The.. Uh… Shoot what’s it called again? The chicken and noodle one!” he rattles on while slowly but surely making his way to the desk. Miguel’s carved-out features reveal themselves more as he does. He drinks in the entire visage before continuing. “Anyways, uhm, she’d really like to meet you! You know you did promise me you would meet her sometime and I think now, or well, today is the perfect time for it!”
The tension that floats through the air in the silence that follows is so thick it’s nearly palpable. Miguel’s lips press together in a tight line as he turns to look at Peter. He finds the man still looks nearly the same as the day they first met. A five o’clock shadow still accentuates his face, the same as it had then. The grey streaks emerging at his roots are still there, though now in greater numbers. And of course, his eyes; the same amber eyes looked down at him still as kindly as they had then.
Despite the flippancy he’d often grant serious matters, he is one of the best members they have. Then again, in a society filled to the brim with people who think themselves the pinnacle of humour, it really should come as no surprise. Not that he’d ever tell Peter this; he’d never live it down, and Peter would definitely remind him he’d said it every time Miguel gets annoyed with him.
It is no secret to Miguel that Peter and Mayday had carved a place for themselves in his heart, or what is left of it anyway, long since their arrival.
“Find someone else.” miguel says through gritted teeth. He desperately tries to focus on his breathing to remain at least somewhat composed. He doesn’t want the other man to find out he’d just waltzed in during one of his not-so-finer moments. A warm hand finds his shoulder and for a moment he can’t help but tense up at the sensation. The hand gives a comforting squeeze in response, as if to wordlessly say ‘it’s just me’.
Peter has always been one for casual touches, not just with him. Still, it took a lot of getting used to. The other man had been kind enough not to do it as frequently at first, but as time went on it appears he’d thrown caution to the winds. And, well, he cannot say it doesn’t feel surprisingly pleasant. Especially considering most people are too afraid to touch him at all. Not that he’d want them to touch him, he actually rather prefers it this way. Touch is something he does not allow himself to crave.
“Well, you see, I kinda… can’t do that here. I sorta already said you’ll be coming over tonight.” A sheepish grin dances on his lips as he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. Miguel can only let out a heavy sigh, while muttering a colourful array of Spanish swears under his breath. Peter can’t quite understand them despite his many Duolingo lessons. “Please? C’mon, I don’t wanna embarrass myself in front of her …again.” He pleads with him while massaging one side of his shoulders clumsily.
“I think your wife is used to it by now Parker. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Miguel turns to look at him properly now. Maroon coloured-eyes meet those of polished amber. Any further words he might’ve had die on his tongue, lost in the pools of liquid gold that make up Peter’s eyes. Had they always been like this?
“Miguel?” Peter asks gently. “You okay there bud?” He waves his hand before his face, swiftly snapping Miguel out of whatever trance he is in. He prays to whichever gods will listen that the dark lighting in his office hides the heat creeping up on his face.
“Fine, ‘m fine.” he mumbles, turning back to look at the cupcake still waiting on his desk. “How’d you get in here anyways? I told Lyla to lock the doors.” miguel questions, in an attempt to change the subject. He crosses his arms on the table before him, eyes not leaving the pastry.
“Funny you should ask that. She told me you never disabled being able to portal in, so I just did that. You really should think of that next time, you know? Who knows what I could’ve walked in on.” he jests. A quiet snort leaves Miguel at the implication.
“That’s disgusting Peter.” he says, the amusement in his voice obvious. And if his face warms even more at the ideas now planted in his mind, well that is only for him to know.
“Yeah, yeah I know.” Peter chuckles. The silence that follows is a comfortable one. A sense of peace returns to both men, one that neither has felt in quite some time. Warm hands land on Miguel’s shoulders again and they feel comfortable, as if they are meant to find their place there. His eyes close on their own as he revels in the warmth that stretches through his body. It’s enough, just them.
The soft hitch of breath that happens moments after feels like he’s being drenched in ice water— it brings him back to reality. A reality where Peter has seen the pastry. Miguel makes no move to hide it from him, nor to explain it away. Peter already knows. Hell, the man was there on that fateful day. He’d seen the destruction and chaos Miguel’s choices had created and left in its wake long after the universe was gone. He was at least kind enough never to openly hate him for it.
“It’s her birthday today right?” Peter asks quietly, his hands absentmindedly rubbing circles on the other’s back.
“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He swallows thickly. “She- She’d be ten.” He takes a deep breath. “What a crazy thought huh? It feels like just yesterday when-” He sighs, shaking his head cutting and himself off. If he had any tears left they’d surely be shed now.
“I’m sorry Miguel.” peter says sincerely— he can’t imagine he’d be in a much better state were he to lose Mayday. “You, and listen- I really don’t know if I’m overstepping with what I’m about to say, but I read in Spider-Therapist’s book- which is surprisingly good might I add- wait, did you even know he published a book? I didn’t either-”
“Peter,” Miguel warns, though there’s no bite behind it.
“Right, right, sorry.” he apologises. Miguel doesn’t have to see him to know he’s wearing a sheepish grin on his lips. Peter tends to ramble if he’s allowed to, and usually the taller lets him. There’s another soft squeeze on his shoulder. “As I was getting at. We don’t think you should be alone on days like these. Spider-Therapist recommends for someone to rely on their support system in these cases, but well, we don’t really know who that would be for you. We don’t see you interacting with anyone outside of work.” He gestures vaguely to their surroundings. “That’s kinda the uh- the reason I came here in the first place. To try and ‘lure’ you away from your beloved bat cave.” Peter smiles, letting his arms gently slip over Miguel’s shoulders so he’s leaning on him. He says nothing of it, allowing it to happen.
“I can tell you’ve been hanging out with Jess too much again.” He shakes his head, though they both know there’s no bite or anger behind his words. “Lyla, make a note not to send Peter and Jess on missions together for a little,” Miguel jokes, looking up at Peter. The crow’s feet decorating the sides of his eyes as they crinkle with joy feel surprisingly like home. Somewhere deep inside, in a place long forgotten, Miguel longs to be the cause of creation for more of them.
“Hey now- Lyla don’t- don’t do that, please.” peter says, looking around furiously for the AI, who has materialised next to them after her boss’s request. She crosses her arms and stares at the man through her pink heart glasses.
“Yeah, I don’t take orders from you, but nice try!” Lyla offers him a thumbs-up. “Note is added to mission files of Peter B Parker-616 and Jessica Drew-404, boss.” she adds before glitching out of existence again. Peter turns to look back at Miguel, fake annoyance dripping from his face. He sighs, letting his head hang and making it rest against the other’s shoulder.
“This isn’t funny,” he mutters against the fabric-but-not-fabric of the other’s suit. The corners of Miguel’s lips tilt smugly, not that Peter could see it.
“Hmm, I don’t know Parker. I’m actually enjoying myself.” He smirks.
“You’re the worst, you know?” he mutters. “It’s not my, nor Jess’s, fault we’re like a dream team!” Miguel raises his eyebrow at the statement.
“Oh?” Miguel teases. He’s well aware exactly how to make the other Spider-Man nervous. He doesn’t indulge in it often but when he does, he almost revels in it. Peter jerks his head up finding crimson eyes, trying their best to keep up the fake annoyance act.
“But of course, us, we,” Peter motions between them, breaking eye contact. “We are the dream team, naturally.” he splutters. Miguel offers him a little smile; it’s small enough that Peter might’ve missed it were he not examining every movement the other man made.
“Uh-huh, sure Parker.” he says, tone teasing. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and Peter has to mentally restrain himself not to stare. Not that he hasn’t taken peeks and glances at him before, but to do so when it’s just the two of them? Peter is most definitely not that brave.
“But as I was saying. MJ is making some nice dinner and we’d love for you to join us. Of course, that is if you want to. Please don’t feel forced to because -” Peter rattles on, face feeling warmer by the second.
“Okay.” Miguel nods, interrupting him. It stops the other in his tracks, and he takes a second to simply look at his boss. He had fully expected and been prepared to have to beg at his feet or promise him something in return to convince the younger man.
“Okay?” Peter questions, his head tilts unconsciously. The action somewhat reminds Miguel of a cute dog.
“Yeah,” he nods, voice sounding softer than it has any right to be. ‘I trust you.’ He thinks to himself. “I’m not going to get much done at this point either way. Might as well.” miguel explains instead.
“Okay,” Peter repeats, a wide smile adorning his face. It leaves a warm feeling in Miguel’s stomach. One that he can’t quite place just yet.