Eddie Brock's Office
Eddie Brock didn’t like to work from his office very much. He enjoyed his position as a detective— it was a natural evolution for him from a journalist after he joined the post-blip police force, Anne would say, but his new office was lonely, and the silence didn’t aid him in any way. Eddie needed white noise. Nothing overwhelming, just sights and sounds sufficient for filtering out the junk in his mind for him so he could think, so he could focus.
“Why don’t you just work from home? We could get a desk for the couch, somethin’ comfy,” his wife said, gentle hands on his shoulder while he sat at the dining table. He shook the newspaper in his hands, he loved tangible ink and paper beneath his fingers, none of that scrolling shit, but he did use his laptop for work— everything had its purpose, and typing was more efficient. Anne placed a coffee next to his toast before she slid into the chair opposite him, phone in hand.
“Nah,” Eddie answered, and he tapped his cigarette into the ceramic ashtray Anne’s mother gifted them three Christmases ago. “I can’t bring it home that much, or there’ll be no escape”
Anne lit her own cigarette. “I thought you were in the zone all the time. Every waking hour.”
“I am. But that wouldn’ be fair to you, so I don’t. I ain’ crazy yet.” Eddie laughed as he slid his feet around under the table in search of hers.
“It wouldn’t, I would leave you in a heartbeat if you neglected me, I don’t have time for that.”
She didn’t, and Eddie loved her for it. Anne kept him from losing himself to whatever he was pursuing that moment, and he kept her from— well, he didn’t know. He couldn’t explain it. But every morning, without fail, they would share cigarettes over breakfast. They would start their day right and come back home feeling alright as a result, no matter what had transpired in between. Anne was a waitress because she had insurmountable debt before they married, but that was alright with him. Too many Americans in their thirties were burdened with that level of debt, even after the blip. His father would have berated him to the ends of the earth for it if the man cared enough to be involved. In the evenings, Eddie would massage her legs and she listened as he machine gunned whatever theories he had about his case so far, she actually listened, and would ask questions of her own.
Anne had an afternoon shift, and Eddie was hellbent on working somewhere outside of his office, so they enjoyed their morning with no rush. Anne had opened the kitchen window as usual to let the smoke drift out despite the bitter winter air, and the sun was noticeably warm where it landed on his hand as he held the newspaper. It draped over Anne entirely, illuminating her murky blonde hair and aquiline nose, and the smoke was visible as it caught dust and swirled around her in the light.
“So no work from home, and no office,” she said, absently waving the cigarette in hand as she scrolled her phone. She looked up at him, unfazed by the sun in her eyes. “What now?”
“I dunno, fuckin’, Starbucks? They got wifi.” Eddie squished his cigarette into the tray and rose from the table, but Anne remained.
“You wanna use public wifi like that?”
“I’ve got enough encryption,” Eddie said as he shrugged on a button down. He may not go to the precinct’s office, but he needed to be dressed for work, especially if he was going out. It was proper. “If not Starbucks, then somewhere else.” He layered his thickest sweater over his dress shirt and tucked his badge into his navy bomber jacket. The weather in November had been brutal, but December was somehow even worse, so he couldn’t work outdoors either.
“Alright,” Anne called from the table. “Love you.”
“Love you.”
Anne had been right about Starbucks. It was too crowded, and the noise was distracting instead of helpful. All Eddie needed was caffeine and an internet connection, so he would find a place eventually, he didn’t mind the trial and error. He’d settle when it felt right.
There were more pressing things on his mind, and he let Anne know one night as they sank into bed after his third failed attempt to find the right office-away-from-office.
“Somethin's brewin' in the Bronx, Annie. Somethin' bad.”
“The Bronx? Why’re you stickin’ your nose in the Bronx?” She reached over him and clicked off the bedside lamp, only for the room to be cast in an all consuming electric blue light— their neighbor across the way had an impressive lava lamp collection, and Anne insisted on leaving the curtains open at night because she liked them.
"My buddy called me," Eddie said, solemn. “I think we’re findin’ patterns of a serial killer.”
Anne planted her head on his chest and stared into the blank wall as she thought about what he said. “What kinda patterns?”
“Y’know, signature styles. It’s on purpose. Not someone kiddin’ around.”
Anne was tall for a lady as it was, but Eddie was even larger, so a king sized bed was the only one that would work for them. Their room was entirely too small for it, but Eddie kind of liked how the room was practically one huge bed, even if it blocked the sock drawer. He faced the wall as well and watched her unmoving shadow while they spoke.
“You gonna go to the Bronx?”
“Nah,” Eddie answered as he tucked both arms under his head. “I’m helpin’ from over here. ”
“Good.”
Anne was asleep not a moment after that, and Eddie ticked off a checklist of local coffee shops in his mind as he waited for sleep to come. No Starbucks, no Sweetleaf, no Espresso 77. He’d figure it out.
Morning cigarettes, “love you”s, and biting cold weather came day by day, but Eddie eventually found himself in front of Peter Pan’s Donut & Pastry Shop. There was a booth right by the front with an outlet, natural lighting, and coffee. It was never too busy, and Eddie remained.
Even when some asshole decided to disrupt the peace by fucking with one of the girls from the front counter and her friends, Eddie could not be driven away. He’d searched long and hard for this spot, and he wasn’t going to give it up.
“Do you think he can hear us?” The chubby kid whispered days later, obviously gesturing to Eddie in the corner.
“I don’t think so,” the other with brown hair responded, the one who seemed to be suffering the brunt of that freak’s antics. “But let’s talk in the kitchen, just in case.”
And he had been right, because Eddie couldn’t hear them once they’d moved behind the counter to speak, but that was alright with him. It sounded like they had a handle on things, and if that man tried anything again, Eddie would exert authority if he needed to. That idiot had no idea that the law was actually in the room with him the entire time, but Eddie liked it that way. He didn’t want the kids to feel threatened by their technical illegalities of stepping behind the work counter while not being employed and all that. If the owner hadn’t called it out from the security cameras, then it was no big deal and they shouldn’t feel unsafe.
Eddie would’ve liked to know if the boss had anything to say about the bathroom doorknob, though, but it isn’t his business. Maybe there were no working cameras in here at all, or the owner didn’t care.
Eventually, it didn’t matter, because those kids handled the perp all on their own. Eddie was sufficiently shocked by the news of Steven Westcott’s arrest, he had missed the paper that morning of all mornings to take a phone call from his buddy in the Bronx. He’d told Anne all about the strange happenings at the donut shop as they unfolded day by day, and she bought a bottle of cheap wine to celebrate someone else’s victory that night, because that’s just how she was.
“The kid’s name is Peter,” Eddie said as she poured him another glass. “His friends were in Europe when all that shit went down last summer.”
“I saw the perp walk this morning,” Anne said as she tucked herself into the opposite side of the couch from Eddie and swirled the glass in her hand. “You don’t think Spider-Man’s a murderer, do you? I don’t, but I know you know this shit way better than I do.”
“No, I don’t, ‘cause there’s no reason for it.” Eddie grunted as he waved away her question with his hand, while his other arm was tucked around the back of the couch. “Spider-Man doesn’t display any signs of trippin’ on his power, he stops car crashes and shit. Saves people. And the Daily Bugle ain’ fucking journalism, that’s for sure.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Anne laughed as she clinked his glass across the sofa. “Cigarette?”
Spring was more than welcome when it arrived, and oddly enough, so was the werewolf, if that’s what that thing really was. Eddie didn’t really care, because he was caught up with his serial killer case, and when the werewolf appeared, the killings stopped. As long as the werewolf wasn’t killing anyone in order to make up for the serial killer’s disappearance, it could destroy as many buildings as it wanted as far as he was concerned. It gave him time to study all the cases that piled up from all the fucking murder, and there was plenty to go off of. The goal was to actually catch the motherfucker, not wait for his next clue to drop like they were playing in an escape room. The killer was combing through Manhattan, and if there was one thing for sure, it was that Brooklyn was next.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Eddie clicked open a new tab on his laptop.
“Excuse me, Mr. Businessman?” Peter and Ned were standing too close to his table and waiting patiently for his response.
“I’m not a businessman,” Eddie chuckled as he met their gaze. “But yes? Can I help you?”
“I was just wondering if I could use the outlet by your head,” Ned said, charger in one hand and dead phone in the other. Eddie nodded and wordlessly took the device from him and plugged it in.
“And I wanted to know your name,” Peter said while Eddie wasn’t facing him. “We’re just all here every week, and I’m pretty sure you know our names? And it feels a little weird to just call you Mr. Businessman all the time—”
“I get it,” Eddie laughed as he faced the two of them. “Nice to make your acquaintance. I’m Eddie.”
“If you’re not a businessman, what are you?” Ned asked.
This was going to be fun. Eddie flashed open his bomber jacket to display his badge, and Ned actually gasped. “I’m a detective,” he said with pizzazz.
“Holy shit,” said Ned. “Do you know anything about the werewolf?”
“I don’ know a damn thing about the werewolf, no,” Eddie responded, shaking his head.
“Well, thanks,” Peter said through a smile. He ducked his head as he turned to leave and Ned trailed behind him. Eddie absently wished that he had answers about the werewolf, just because he liked those kids, but he was never going to investigate it himself.
Anne believed the thing was real, but Eddie wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t particularly diehard about her belief, though. It just seemed obvious to her.
“Aliens are real, why not werewolves?” She laughed as he massaged her calves.
“Fair,” Eddie said, and she was right. She’d sold him on it.
“Maybe Spider-Man’ll take care of it,” Anne sighed as she traded one leg for the other in Eddie’s hands.
“Fuck, I hope so,” Eddie chuckled. “My precinct sure as hell can’t handle it.”
Anne took a long, blissful drag from her cigarette. Night shifts were rough for her ever since the day the werewolf arrived: customers were on edge because of the monster prowling the streets at night, and all anyone ever did at work was snap at her. “You know what kills werewolves?”
“What, Annie?”
“Silver bullets,” she said, pointing straight at him with a cigarette clasped in hand. “A silver bullet would kill that thing dead, I just know it.”
“I’ll tell the boys at the precinct to load up, then,” he laughed as he reached for the cigarette in her grasp and took a drag from it himself.
“I’m gonna light me up one,” Eddie grunted as he rose from the floor. But the pack on the table was empty.
“The fuck? Are we out?”
“Oh, damnit,” Anne groaned. “I forgot, on my way home. Y’know, today was rough.”
“Yeah, I know Annie, it’s okay,” Eddie sighed, but not at her, just at the inconvenience of getting dressed to go out again. He found his slacks on the bedroom floor, he hated leaving the house in sweatpants.
“I’ll be back in fifteen, love you,” Eddie didn’t bother with a sweater since it was spring, but he did slide on his navy bomber.
“Love you,” Anne called, and the door clicked shut.
But Eddie wasn’t back in fifteen.
Or twenty, or thirty.
An hour later, Eddie Brock burst into the apartment, hair wild and a ripped plastic bag heavy with nicotine clung to his chest.
“Eddie? Ed, what the fuck—”
“Annie,” Eddie panted, “Annie, the werewolf—”
“The werewolf? You saw the fuckin’ werewolf?”
“It attacked the bodega,” Eddie’s chest heaved. He flopped onto the couch and tossed the bag across the cracked pleather cushions, and Anne immediately tore open a pack of Marlboros. She lit a cigarette and passed it to Eddie’s shaking outstretched hand before pulling one out for herself.
“Are you okay, baby? Fuck, I can’t believe this, I—”
“I ran into Spider-Man,” Eddie’s smile matched his wild eyes, and Anne’s own eyes widened as she knelt down to meet his face since the cigarettes were taking up the couch.
“You did? What happened?”
“He’s younger than I thought,” Eddie said as his eyes drifted to the ceiling.
“Eddie! What did you say?” Impatient and excited, she jostled his arm until he met her gaze again.
Eddie took a long, satisfying drag from his Marlboro and laughed. “I told him to load up on silver bullets.”