Friendly Neighbour
Peter grabbed a large thick and fluffy sock and folded it in half before shoving it inside his larger tennis, gently patting down on it to secure it to the bottom. "There. Like a cushion for your feeties."
Gwen let out a short raspy laugh.
"Alright." She took the tennis shoe from him and tried it on. "Good thinking."
"Better, then?"
"Yeah. Hand me the other one."
Peter folded another long winter sock and stuffed it inside the shoe before tossing it up towards Gwen. She fixed the sock in place before trying to get the tennis on.
"How’s it feel?" Peter added.
"My feeties have never felt so looked after before."
She tied the shoelaces and got up, using Peter's head for support. Then made a face as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, Peter standing up beside her, ready to help her back down onto the couch in case the pain suddenly became too much. Or catch her, in the event she decided to pass out again and swan dive nose-first into the uncarpeted floor.
Luckily, she did neither.
"It'll have to do."
Or, did she?
She made a tentative step forward and suddenly dipped down, a shaken gasp urging Peter forward to grab her. She quickly caught herself, sprinting her other foot underneath her, steadying her body as she snickered.
"I'm kidding. Kidding." She said, sloppily padding forward, chuckling her way to the kitchen area. "This guy."
Nope, she didn't. He sort of wished she had.
He saw her go for the definitely not thick enough light blue coat she'd discarded the day before on their way there. The one he'd left on the coat hanger next to the door.
"Hold up, it's way too cold for that this morning."
He had a few she could borrow. He went into his room and came back under a pile of clothes. Underpants, a few long-sleeved shirts for her to choose from, a sweater, a hoodie, a winter puffy jacket, a red scarf he didn't even know he had, a beanie, and gloves. She could NOT get incapacitated again. Gwen wasn't gonna be catching a cold on his watch.
He heard her laugh from the kitchen when he reached the living room area as he dropped the small mountain of clothing items onto the couch.
"Didn't I mention I'm sort of used to the cold?" She said, lowering herself from one of the stools they'd been sitting on earlier that morning, placing a half-eaten Oreo onto a little plate before starting his way.
"I don't think so, no." He mumbled, a bit embarrassed now that he remembered her indeed saying something about coming from Canada. And crossed. She was eating his Oreo. "It's pretty cold, and it's not like you're from Greenland or anything."
"True." She dipped her hands in the pile and fetched the underpants, pulling them out and outstretched in front of her, and hummed.
"I'll go to my room." He announced, before striding up to the kitchen island and getting his Oreo pack. Then, proceeded to walk back to his room to wait for her. “Let me know when you’re ready.”
He got dressed as well. Thermal Spidey suit over his briefs like a winter union suit, a pair of joggers, a somewhat clean long-sleeved shirt, and sweatshirt. The Spidey gloves went to his pockets and the mask was folded and shoved in the inside pocket of his own puffy jacket. He put the working airpod on and placed the radio inside his backpack.
He hooked the web-shooters he had inside one of the wardrobe lower drawers onto each wrist and checked his stock of web fluid cartridges. He had about a handful left, but without a way to get into a lab, he couldn't really make more. He decided to pack them all just in case. Maybe, he could use Gwen's momma to be status and convince Midtown High’s own Principal Morita to give them a tour of the facilities or something. Maybe casually run into Ned and MJ while they’re at it. You know, looking out for the bundle of joy's future.
He picked up the bouncy real-tennis-ball-looking ball from the floor and bounced it around the room with one hard throw as he skipped and let himself fall backwards onto his bed, the mattress making old cricketing sounds in protest. The ball went flying from wall to wall, to the roof, the floor, back to a wall, and so on, forming dashing blurry green lines Peter didn't seem to care for other than maybe using the padded sounds of the ball repeatedly hitting every surface as white noise while he waited and let his mind roam. He’d absentmindedly reach up from time to time to catch it only to throw it again once the thuds became too spacious, and the trajectory of the ball too curvy and airy for his liking.
He had cleaned up after Gwen's incident with his faulty web shooter; wiped up the drawer, picked up the books and the old Family Game console he'd been trying to fix; which, although it did look pretty bashed when the client first brought it in, he had to admit, now it was just an assortment of jingly parts that would be a nightmare to sort through and find the salvageable ones. Maybe he could try to convince the owner to sell him the busted thing, see what he could make of it. Hopefully, the nice man was willing to give him a reasonable -reasonably cheap price, God have mercy.
He had money. Just not to spare. He had for food and that was about it. Sometimes, and he wasn't proud of it, he would use his Spider-Man status to snag some free pizza slices on this one very Spidey-friendly pizzeria, 'The CoWeb'. He would swing by and the owner would personally come out to greet him, a bulky short Turkish man with this recently shredded kebab musk that was always so welcoming. The smell was welcoming, the guy was honestly a bit intimidating, but he never failed to shove a small meatball pizza box in his hands and proudly claim "On the Coweb House, Spider-Man!". Every time. As in, every time he directed a comment at him he'd end each sentence in 'Spider-Man'.
He caught the ball with a lazy stretch of his arm upward as he sensed Gwen on the other side of the door. Half a second later, he heard her softly rap her knuckles on the doorframe.
"Are we about ready?"
"Yeah, we are." He dropped the ball on the messy cluster of sheets and pushed himself off the bed with a groan.
He exited his room and crossed the living room-kitchen area, picking up the keys and striding directly towards the front door before Gwen’s unusually soft tone stopped him in his tracks.
"Thanks for the clothes, by the way." She said in her Peter Parker costume. She'd opted out of the gloves but had the beanie poking out of the jacket pocket and was fiddling with the red scarf in her hands.
"No, don't mention it." He tried to dismiss.
It was the least he could do, since he wasn't sure he was gonna be able to do much more himself to help her and get her back to her, well.. actual life. It was the baby steps he could afford while he pondered on how valid an idea it was to take her straight to Strange. He had mixed feelings about it.
"I don't want you to think I'm taking it for granted. Any of it." She said with an odd weak smile.
"It's fine."
"It's just, you're being very patient and hospitable. And I know I've been, you know.. a bit trying."
It seemed as if she'd talked herself into having this conversation with him, like she knew she just had to extend her gratitude before her willingness to be kind towards him dissipated. As if she could already tell this would be one of the very rare few, if not the only moment of armistice they'd get in their mutual need to pick at each other's nerves.
"That's a way to say it." He couldn't help quipping to himself.
"So," Her left eye twitched "thank you."
"I know it's not your fault, it's okay." The whole situation was beyond them.
"Okay."
"And I think I know how to get you some type of transportation."
It took them fifteen minutes to go down the two stories that separated them from the fourth floor of Peter's apartment building because someone refused any and all help another someone was growing tired of offering. Once they reached a door next to the silvery labeling plaque that read '4C' Peter pressed a light-switch-like button that turned out to be the apartment's doorbell and waited, fixing his hair nervously, purposely ignoring Gwen's side-eye.
As soon as the door started to open up Peter blurted out a barely intelligible "Mrs. Taylor?", but they were met with nothing on the other side. Not at eye level at least. Their eyes sank to the bottom half of the door and found a small raven-haired girl bulging under a suit coat, too big and heavy on her frail frame, testing her balance precariously standing on a pair of black stilettos.
"Oh. Hey, Mrs. Taylor. Is Gracie around?"
"Peter, it's me!"
The girl's ocean blue eyes widened theatrically. Her mouth -not necessarily her lips, mind you- was hidden under several layers of smudged pink paint. Could've been lipstick once, he wouldn't know. He heard Gwen stifle a chuckle behind him.
"Yes, Mrs. Taylor. Could I talk to Miss Gracie, please?"
"Peter! Peter, I- it's me!" She pleaded, her whines coming from somewhere between amused irritation and genuine worry.
"Who's this businesswoman, Pete?"
The small girl scoffed. Then proceeded to hurriedly climb off the heels and let the suit coat slide off her and drop around her feet with a 'huff', then proudly stretched both arms out as Peter feigned a scared gasp.
"I am Grace!" She proclaimed with a smile so wide her eyes couldn't have stayed open even if she tried.
"Gracie! You trickster."
"She's a shapeshifter!"
The kid laughed and rushed to push Peter at the knees as hard as she could and off her doorstep, then cackling when Peter leaned down and tickled her off him. As they disentangled from one another, Peter noticed Gwen’s wide grin, which quickly disappeared once she caught him staring.
"Did you really think I was my Mom?" She giggled, happily skittering inside the apartment while beckoning Peter to follow behind with a wave of her tiny hand.
"You got me so good." Peter smiled down at her with a toothy grin as they all moved forward deeper inside the messy room.
Satisfied, Grace wrinkled her nose in a dinky smile and continued on her merry way skipping around through the place, chest puffed out filled with excitement and pride.
"You came to see Loras? We had so much fun yesterday."
"Is your mom home, Gracie?" Peter said, stepping around a pile of different sets of sparkly tiny skirts and coats, looking back at Gwen as he caught her picking up the coat and heels Grace had left behind on the entryway to the complex.
"She went to get some milk for breakfast. Loras and I drinked milkshakes last night and now-"
"Please tell me you didn't give a milkshake to Sir. Loras."
"Okay, ” Grace gave him a cheeky look as she let herself drop on the carpet next to the couch, crayons and ripped coloring book pages on display before her. She impatiently picked up a blue crayon making a little tsking sound. “ I drinked all the milkshakes. Loras just sat there. But now we don't have milk for my Cheerios!" She made an exaggerated frowny face to get her point across. Then proceeded to aggressively rub the crayon on the blank coloring page as if trying to erase the drawing she was meant to color in.
"Why did you open the door if your mommy's not here?" Gwen said after a moment of watching the little girl work on her own design for the pre-inked princess on the sheet of paper. It would seem like Grace wasn’t satisfied with the size of Rapunzell’s head.
"Cause Peter rang the bell." She blurted out, concentrated on turning the smiling white face into one big blue balloon.
"But you didn't know it was Peter. It could have been a crazy person, kiddo."
"Are you a crazy person?" The balloon had now big bunny ears. She looked up at Gwen with a quirked eyebrow as she swiftly changed crayons, picking a green one and twirling it in her small fingers.
"Well-" Gwen elbowed Peter before he could speak any further. Peter thought that was answer enough, but decided to elaborate nonetheless. "This is my friend Gwen."
"Hi." Grace offered unimpressed before resuming her butchering of the blue bunny balloon head princess, now adding what looked like grass to the inside of the balloon head.
"I really dig your outfit. Rocking tutu." Gwen tried, earning a small grin and a nod from the girl on the floor as all forms of acknowledgment.
"Ro-cking. Rock-ing." The girl repeated slowly and absentmindedly as if trying the word out herself while Rapunzell’s dull body morphed into a squiggly green stem.
Peter now couldn’t even try to anticipate what thing it was she was about to give life to but he was mesmerized by it, lost trying to catch up. He gently padded towards Grace and knelt down a few feet from her, craning his neck to try and figure out what was on the messy paper.
“Is that a blueberry plant?”
"Grace, honey?!” They heard the door close and some rattling noises before the approaching voice of a woman cut through their awkward silence again. “Why is the door open?"
"Peter came to check on Loras with his friend!"
"Oh, if it isn't dear Mr. Parker!"
A brunette woman in a dress suit and running shoes came rushing, not so elegantly stomping through the place before coming to a halt behind Gwen as if the wind from a storm was pushing her forward.
"And company! Hello there!" Her British accent went about an octave higher at the end.
"Mrs. Taylor. Hi. Is everything alright?"
"The sitter is late. By extension, so am I." She said with a sigh, her hands coming up to rest on her hips before her eyes fell on Gwen again, who shuffled awkwardly and stretched her arm out toward the brit, the folded jacket hanging from her forearm as she offered the delicate-looking black heels.
"Hi. Gwen. These must be yours."
"Why yes, as a matter of fact, darling, they are. Thank you." She said taking the clothing items from Gwen. "We really had to dress up this morning, didn't we, sweat pea?"
"You should’ve seen Loras." Gracie giggled softly. "The milk, mommy. You brought it?"
"In the kitchen, baby. But you're gonna wait for Ange to get here, okay? She'll help you with breakfast."
"-Kay"
Grace let out with a noncommital shrug, picking up a black crayon and starting to scratch angry twitchy lines at both sides of the now buried Rapunzel. Peter decided it was time to give up on trying to predict the direction the drawing was gonna take, but just to calm his own mind about it, he told himself it was unquestionably an alien of sorts. There. Now he could move on. A pair of dull thuds coming from behind him caught his attention.
"Goodness, Todd's bird is a literal angel, isn't he?” She said as she hooked one heel at a time on each foot, her running shoes laying before her as she used the armrest of the couch to keep balance. “Has the patience of a feathered Mother Theresa, I kid you not. Have you seen him yet? I'm Anne by the way." Peter could tell that last bit was directed at Gwen when he saw her lean over and stretch her arm out at her, offering her open palm to the blonde.
As soon as Gwen started to reach out herself and take her up on the handshake, a phone went off all the way from the kitchen. And just like that, Anne vanished in a stormy wind of loud tsking and displeased groaning to the adjacent room, Gwen’s arm limply falling to her side as she let out a short, barely audible ‘oh’ before pressing her lips together in a thin line with a slight nod. Priorities. He smiled at her when he saw her take a deep breath and then stiffly exhale in a huff, clearly uncomfortable as she drummed on her lap with her palms. They heard her pick up the phone, her heels clicking on the floor as she paced around.
"Good heavens, Liam. I will get there when I get there. Now, has the car been dispatched already, or did you sleep on that as well?" Peter and Gwen exchanged a look as the sound of her voice became clearer and, if possible, more passive-aggressive. "Here any minute should have been ten minutes ago." She spat, walking back into view as she shut a flip phone and hooked it onto her skirt with an annoyed sigh. "Ridiculous, that is. Does he expect me to magically appear at the office? Is he joking? I'd lock this tosser up in the inventory vault till next month if I could. I mean it." She mumbled, pensively. “That oughtta teach him how to do his job.”
Peter let out what he initially thought was gonna be a courteous laugh, only to realize how it probably came across more like a scaredy whimper than anything else as Gwen awkwardly inspected the floor immediately underneath her, slightly cringing in solidarity. In a practiced yet mindless motion, Anne flicked her wrist and a delicate silver watch slid down from under her jacket’s sleeve. He heard her mutter something to herself as she read the time before addressing him.
"Peter, dear. Could you stay until the nanny gets here? Name's Angela, said she'll be bringing up pastries and bread. Can't be long, now."
"Sure, Mrs. Taylor." He said standing up, even as he saw Gwen’s sudden frown in his peripheral vision.
"Brilliant. Gracie, my sweet? Be good to Peter, here. He's got my permission to revoke your TV privileges if you misbehave before Angie turns up." She walked over to where her daughter was getting up from the floor and gave her a playful ear tug after ruffling her hair.
"Mom!" She whined, her little hands furiously working her raven strands back in place and dropping onto her rear once more before her crayons. “Peter’s not the boss of me!”
"No, don’t be throwing wobblies, now.” Anne strutted back out of the room “Gwyneth?” she called out, causing Gwen to perk up “I trust you to be the mature one, alright love?"
"I-yes, ma'am. Absolutely."
There were some shuffling and rattling noises before the phone went off again. They all heard her spit out some heavily accented colorful sounding words as the door closed shut with a click, her fading voice echoing through the hallway for a few more seconds before they felt safe to assume she was finally gone.
“Oh God.” Gwen breathed out loudly, her shoulders sagging as she padded towards the side of the couch and leaned back on its armrest with a sigh.
“Right?”
“So intimidating.” She half-whispered at Peter.
“Scary. Outright scary.” He countered with a chuckle.
Grace smirked up at them at that. Dropping the crayon she’d just picked, she stood up with a light jump and a tiny excited shriek and approached Peter hurriedly.
“Let’s go see Loras! Now!” She demanded tugging at his sleeve relentlessly.
They quietly walked into a radish-colored room -that was honestly the only way Peter could describe that color. He was sure that if he were to look it up on a décor painter’s catalog, that’s the exact name it’d be filed under: Ripe radish. Peter knew it to be Grace's room, if the rainbow and half-torn unicorn stickers next to the small glittery billboard with Grace's name on it in big bubbly letters were any indications. He’d never gone inside himself, but every time he’d come visit or to either drop off or pick up Sir. Loras, he’d see her disappear behind that colorful door, a mischievous grin fixed in place before she crawled out with a new costume every time.
He had a hard time finding the bed in that cramped space at first, with the layers upon layers of stuffed toys, pillows, and discarded clothing items that poured out of the open closet door onto every discernible surface, the amalgamation of dozens of different types of fabrics acting as some sort of shielding/ camouflaging cloak. But eventually, once his eyes adjusted to the bombarding of color he’d been suddenly subjected to, he was able to make sense of the room in front of him. In a corner, a few treacherous steps to the right of the half-open window was a big bell cage partially covered with a folded blue sheet to prevent some of the light from filtering in, just as Todd had told him to do as well.
There was a big blue bird inside, perched upon a plastic branch, a pink adjustable Bratz doll Santa hat on top of its feathery head. It had slid down and tipped backward, and was now staying in place by the expanding of the ridge of its hook-shaped beak, covering its eyes as it lightly snored.
“What in the Sesame Street type of made-up giant bird is that?!”
Gwen stalked forward a bit, craning her neck to either side, trying to get a better glimpse of the caged blue giant a mere few feet before her. Well, it was a cool bird.
“That’s a Hyacinth Macaw. The largest parrot species there is.” He said.
It might seem dumb, but he felt a sense of pride just by association. He knew the cool bird on the block. That bird was more famous than even some of his teammates around that neighborhood. And he was the guy upon whose shoulder the bird could be regularly found perching when wandering about in the park. He was the guy whose hair had been deemed as the perfect hiding spot for its parrot treats. The kids loved him.
“How- Pete, owning this bird can’t be legal. Where did you even get it from?” Gwen turned to him with an accusatory look. What a party pooper. He rolled his eyes internally, knowing her short fuse wouldn’t take well to the display.
“It’s Todd’s. Loras is very old, so sh’-heet sleeps a lot.” Grace chimed in, giddily skidding closer to the cage.
“Sorry. What was that?” Gwen asked in a beat.
“ Sh’-heet .”
“Bless you, Gracie.” Peter chanced a glance at the child to check whether she needed a tissue, but she seemed as confused as he was.
“No, I think she’s saying ‘shit’ with an accent.”
"That makes no sense. Why would she call the bird 'shit'?"
"Maybe it was an interjection. Like ' Shit!' You know..."
"What's this gotta do with crossroads?"
"No, not intersec-"
“She, he, it!” Grace finally interrupted, stomping her foot down onto the carpeted floor of her little room, clearly fed up by the lack of attention and aimless bantering “I said she, he, it!”
Peter and Gwen sang 'ooh's and 'ahh's of realization and understanding as the crossed girl crossed in turn her arms over her chest with an exasperated sigh.
"Try 'they'. It's easier to say." Gwen offered.
"Why? It's one parrot.”
“Well, but when you don't know whether it's a girl or a boy-”
“It's a boy bird” Peter added, feeling like it could save them some time. Although to no avail.
“But when you don't know” Gwen turned to Peter with a poignant look that very specifically said ‘Don’t interrupt me, child, I have a point to make’. “, it's not polite to assume.”
“That's why I said s h’-heet .”
Gracie seemed to be a bit defensive of her given name for the unknown, unspecified, and ungendered. And Peter thought he sort of understood why. A part of him wanted to let her have this, the name she clearly thought to be the coolest literary invention she had ever come up with. It’s not like a seven-year-old could actually get in trouble for calling someone a sh- no, yeah. She could definitely get in trouble for that. Oh, kid, if you’d only come up with any other name… like Grundle.
“You kinda gotta imagine it's all until they clarify.” Peter tried.
Grace stared at him for a second, then glanced at the snoring bird before turning her attention back to Peter, somehow managing to look even more confused after the parrot didn’t return the stare. Too vague, maybe?
“Like, as long as you're not sure, it's like you put a boy, a girl, and a robot in a room. And you gotta address them to someone. You don't go ‘boy, girl, and robot over there are about to play Uno’. You say ‘ they are about to play Uno.’”
“A robot- …What?” Grace’s eyebrows were knotted together in utter bafflement. Even Gwen looked at him like she couldn’t understand how he got there.
“Okay, nice analogy but…” Gwen said as she put her hand up, shoving Peter and his nonsense aside, and knelt before a slightly distressed Grace. She looked back towards the cage and then at Peter like she’d done something wrong.
“Think of it this way. Loras means many lady parrots in Spanish, right?” To that, the kid hazily nodded, like saying ‘sure, that’s something I know’ “Yet there's a ‘Sir’ in front of the name. Is there one of the queen's knights living in its head or are there a bunch of lady parrots flying around in there? We don't know.” She shrugged for emphasis. “Just in case I'm gonna acknowledge all of them.”
Grace’s mouth opened in an O shape as a switch seemed to get flicked behind her widening blue eyes. “Like in Inside Out?”
Gwen’s face remained blank for a beat, repeatedly blinking as she tried to make sense of the seemingly innocent response. Not a reference she would get. Peter could almost see the ‘what’ starting to write itself all over her face.
“Yes. Yes, exactly like the movie Inside Out. Don't wanna offend any of the little parrots in there, do we?” He walked back to Grace as Gwen stood up in her place trying to mask a mild version of that troubled, bewildered expression he’d gotten to know over the past few hours. He’ll take over now.
“I don't, no. Sorry, Loras.” She said as she was escorted out of the room by Peter, Gwen following behind in silence.
“You think all your Gracies in there are girls?” He asked poking the back of her head while they walked back towards the messy living room.
Grace tried to slap his hand away but missed, which prompted her to mischievously take another couple of swings. Peter kept playfully dodging them and going in to poke her head and neck until they finally reached the couch, where she grabbed a cushion and threw it at his stomach. He theatrically fell to the ground making cannon sounds with his mouth while the kid made an effort to contain her laughter, exaggerating an eye roll.
“We can't know if all the parrots in there are boy parrots or not.” He said sitting up on the floor near the forgotten ex-Rapunzel and her crayons. “So it's ‘they’.”
“I thought I had all girl Graces in my Inside Out, but now I don’t know. Am I a ‘they’ as well?”
Peter and Gwen looked at each other. Aren't we all, Peter thought. Great, had it already gotten out of hand?
“Do you like being a girl?” Gwen chimed in with a rather simplistic approach. Peter crossed his fingers. This conversation could get sticky and they were unprepared.
“I do!” She sang, flailing her tutu at her sides, a wide self-complacent grin in place as she swayed lightly before taking a little jump back to sit on the couch.
“Then don't worry about it. You're a she.” Gwen waved her hand dismissively, though Peter had an inkling she was as thrilled as he was that they were able to cut this one short.
“I want to be a ‘they’ someday.” Grace added, distractedly flattening her tutu on her lap.
“You can!” Peter encouraged.
“Oh, totally.” There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between Gwen and himself about not letting there be any stigma surrounding the topic going forward for little Gracie.
“Awesome. I really like their feathers but I want mine to be purple.”
Right. Okay.
That took a turn for the ‘egg on our faces for expecting her to get behind this concept when talking about a bird’ street. Gwen simply pressed her lips tightly into a thin line and nodded while taking a very, very deep breath, pretending this was exactly where they had meant for this conversation to go this entire time. Grace seemed none the wiser.
“Let’s put a pin on it.” Peter offered with a clap of his hands, doing his very best to hide his amusement at the whole misunderstanding and get things back on track. “Gracie, remember your awesome scooter you showed me the other day?”
“Yeah?”
“Could we see it? I think Gwen would really like it.”
The blue-eyed bird apprentice led them to a small utility closet full of brooms, buckets, a slightly burnt ironing board, and a vacuum cleaner, amongst other things. There was a smallish extendable pink scooter folded up and leaning on the right wall, next to a bigger, not foldable black one that seemed to be electric, which caught Peter's attention immediately.
“It goes really fast cause it's pink.” She announced proudly.
“That makes a lot of sense.” Gwen hummed leaning on the door frame, her feet already complaining after almost an hour under her weight.
“Whose's the big one?”
“Dad's. He told me he got it so we could play together in the park.”
“I'm sure that's what he said.” The blonde grumpily mumbled once more.
Grace tried to squeeze her way out of tiny the closet then, pushing Peter's hips aside and nudging Gwen's as she crossed the threshold with a wide step, but apparently, there still wasn’t enough room to walk comfortably given how she tripped on her other foot the second she was out the door. Luckily, Gwen caught her at her side without so much as a second glance, like she could have guessed there was some high percentage of probability that it could come to happen. As if she had been dealing with kids sloppy on their feet her entire life. That’s what it must be like to have younger siblings.
Peter crouched down on the spot Grace had just vacated, resting his chin on his fist while he inspected the scooter. It wasn't that exotic, didn't look that expensive. The likelihood of it getting lifted in the wild-card case they got a bit distracted, or maybe a bit careless while out on the street wasn't as slim as he'd like but... they had places to be. Spider-Man could take on the robbers -only if they were kind enough to give him a minute to find a private enough corner to get changed out of his streetwear and pull the mask on without raising suspicion. Which was, like, not a big deal.
“Do you think he'd let us borrow it?”
“No, but I won't tell. I hope it breaks. He doesn't let me play with it either.” Grace said, distractedly air tapping her little fingers over Gwen's fingernails, never making contact, daring herself to go unnoticed by the tall frowny adult whose hand rested lazily over the tiny closet's door knob. Gwen didn't seem to notice. She looked busy trying not to stare daggers into Peter's soul.
“That was your brilliant idea?”
“Better than the small one you'd have to push.” Peter said defensively raising both his shoulders and hands at the same time, as if he was getting ready for another beat down. Damn, he was on the floor already.
Gwen simply pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. Sighing . Oh, sorry to disappoint, do you have a better idea? Is this not a solution?! What solution can you offer, Gwyneth ?
“How about those crutches? Could we take them for a day or two instead?” She said motioning with her head to a long brown coat, a pair of tin-like long tubes peeking from under it, the rubber ends a clear dead give away.
Peter had… really not seen those crutches. He was the one to sigh now. In his defense, they were hidden! Totally hidden! And for a reason, probably.
“I guess.” Grace breathed out, clearly uninterested.
“But-” Peter whined but refrained himself. He'd continue in the privacy of his own mind. Uhg! The electric scooter is much cooler, Gwen! Live a little -now that you, as luck would have it, happen to be alive again.
“Yeah, we're gonna borrow the sticks.”
This redheaded, fresh out of high school, freckly girl with her buck teeth peeking out and stopping her from fully closing her mouth tiredly dragged herself through the place as she settled in the kitchen with a loud huff first thing after closing the apartment's main door behind her.
“Gracemurfette, momma said you haven’t had breakfast yet. How about some cereal, huh?” She called out, heavily laying her bags down on the kitchen island before looking up, suddenly realizing they had company.
Peter skipped around the kitchen island to greet her, extending his hand out for her to take.
“Angela, right? I’m Peter, the neighbor.” Peter said as she grabbed hold of his hand. “I live upsta-”
“Anne told me, right. How’s it going?” She shook his hand once before letting go and focusing back on her bags.
“That’s Gwen over there.” he said motioning to Gwen, who was seamlessly paddling her way to them, a predatory look on her face as she eyed the pastry bag, her nose turned as she snuffed up the air, the warm smell of sweetened bread strong and inviting filing out of the small kitchen space. Jeez, calm down.
Grace padded loudly from behind her, her bare feet making splatting sounds once the carpet ran out around the kitchen area. With the colorful sheet of paper she’d been working on earlier occupying both hands, Grace went around the island to Angela and handed over the drawing.
“You made Stitch!” Angela chuckled gawking at the doodle, a proud Grace smiling wide and trying to contain her excitement, taking little hops up and down as the redhead surveyed her art. “Guess you were right. His suit should’ve been green instead of yellow.”
Well, Peter thought. He wasn’t that far off. Stitch was an alien. So, he was essentially correct. Yeah, he’d take credit for that one.
“Peter said it was a blueberry flower.” Grace snickered. Peter groaned internally.
“He did say something like that.” Gwen added as she finally reached the island. "Mind if I take one?" She quietly asked, reaching for the bag.
"Yeah, go ahead." Angela mumbled, not bothering to look up at her. Instead, she turned around and stuck the not-plant-ex-princess Stitch overlay drawing onto the fridge door, an ice cream shop magnet doing the job.
She looked down at Grace adoringly with a smirk as the kid clapped her hands with an open mouth grin in place, admiring her doodle on its honorary spot, seemingly proud and grateful for the older girl's recognition. Peter thought it was a nice gesture.
“Alright, row. Breakfast.” Angela said opening the fridge and getting right to her task.
That was their cue to leave. Peter exchanged a look with Gwen, who by the way had half a cinnamon roll stuffed inside her mouth. Evidently feeling caught, she choked on the doughy roll and coughed up a significant amount of chunky buttery clumps, her face reddening. Whether it was from exertion, lack of air, embarrassment, or rage, Peter didn’t get a chance to ask. He was too busy dodging her numerous slaps as he quietly laughed at the whole ordeal, but mostly her face.
“Yeah. We’re gonna head out now, then.” He announced once both their fits -coughing and laughing- had died down a bit, to which Grace simply replied with a small wave of her hand, her own smudged in pink mouth now with milk dribbling down the sides as she loudly chewed on her cheerios.
“Is that winged smurf still sleeping?”