and so you fall
He never knew his heart could outrun his own footsteps. For each sprint and sharp turn down numerous hallways, it felt as if his heart was already ahead of him, pounding away just a few paces in front of his own feet. The lights were beginning to blink out, flashing on and off as the building continued to sway and creak.
It felt like a cheap horror movie, the screeching sounds of medical equipment crashing into each other like bad jump scares and the blacked out rooms lining the hallways beckoning cruelly with long and dagger like fingers.
Peter passes by a few open doors, passes much too quickly to truly examine inside them, but he thinks he sees people still in their beds. Still sees IV drips attached to some frail arm. Still sees parents and children huddled together and holding hands as they wait beside the ones in the cots that are too sick and injured to be moved.
Peter feels his stomach clench, his throat convulsing like he might throw up again.
This disgustingly selfish desire of his will not let him stop and help.
“There are people still inside,” he says aloud, speaking into existence the terror and sorrow that shrouds the darkenings routes. “They’re in the trauma center, and can’t leave. They need help.”
He’s muted his comms, not wanting the rest of the Avengers’ shouting and frantic energy to consume him further, but he knows they can hear him at least. They’ll know what to do. He’s notified them.
Spider-Man can’t help the victims. They can though. They have to.
Checking the map Karen pulled up, Peter feels his pace pick up as he gets closer and closer to the bright blue dot that is his aunt. When he reaches a door that requires a key card to be let through, Peter punches his way through, the metal hinges snapping away at his strength and desperation. And isn’t that what this mad dash is all about? Desperation?
“May!” he screams until his voice runs raw, whipping his sights around madly to find her. He’s right on top of the dot, and all there is in front of him are rooms down a single hallway. Each door is closed and secured with a passcode, but that doesn’t stop Peter as he pries open each one, screaming at anyone inside to ‘ Get out, run!’ while still calling for his aunt.
He’s reached the second to last door, feeling as if his heart is no longer in his body when he hears her.
“Peter?”
The relief is instantaneous, waves upon a receding shoreline, and he nearly collapses in exhaustion as he stares at her, fully dressed in scrubs and not a care in the world. There’s an old man beside her, lying on an examination table. He’s fully knocked out, a mask over his face, and a slowly beeping heart monitor next to him.
May pauses in whatever she was doing, rushing over to him as she fiercely whispers, “What are you doing here? You can’t just break in while I’m-”
“Elmhurst is coming down. You have to get out. Now. ”
He’s tugging on her arm, already facing the door for their escape, when he is stopped and pulled back. Bewildered, Peter turns around, watching as emotions flitter over his aunt’s suddenly pale face. Disbelief. Fear. Concern. Panic. More fear.
“I didn’t feel anything though,” is all she can muster out, eyes creasing as the situation fully settles in. “Are-Are you sure? There was no alarm, there’s been nothing over here and….”
She’s shell-shocked and stunned. For good reason, of course. Their worst nightmare has become a reality, and she wasn’t even aware of it.
“There’s no time! We have to go. ”
Peter, for all his struggles and all his constant worrying and stressing, is practically on his knees, pulling desperately at his aunt’s arm. She won’t budge, feet rooted to their spot, and Peter is tempted to just pick her up and go right then and there, regardless of what was going on in her mind at that moment.
But he should’ve known better. He had to have gotten his habit of self-sacrificing bullshit from someone in the family, and if not by genetics, then it was purely by influence.
“I can’t leave him here,” May says, the tremor in her voice the only sign that she is absolutely terrified. “Help me move him, and we’ll take him with us.”
The whine in his head is telling Peter that they really don’t have time for this, that the ticking timer that’s getting closer and closer to zero is still going, but does he have a choice? If it gets his aunt out , he’d do just about anything.
“Fine,” he rushes, already taking quick steps to the old man on the table.
May begins to carefully pull out the needles in his arm, a solution of some sort dripping out the ends as it pulls away from the frail skin. “You have to be extremely gentle with him,” she warns, struggling to sit him up to put in Peter’s arms. “He’s a 98 year old man with heart problems.”
Peter wants to scream, right then and there, that they have slightly bigger issues than an old man, but he does what he is told, awkwardly cradling the old man like a child. He is still passed out, whatever had been in the drip keeping him completely oblivious to the situation they were in.
“Karen,” he huffs, stepping out into the already barren corridor. “Find the closest windows.”
A blue light scatters inside his mask, and he motions for May to follow as they travel down the hallway. His aunt raises her eyebrows at the mess Peter had made trying to get to her, twisted door handles and broken down security bars a clear indication of his flight. He does not acknowledge her terror, the old man’s breath in his face rank and the constant blare in his head keeping his mind elsewhere.
Finally, they come upon a bridge of windows, connecting two hallways that face the outside parking lots. There are no latches, the windows going from the floor to the ceiling smoothly. Peter carefully sets the old man on the ground, shaking out his hands and flexing his fingers as he readies himself to break through.
The first punch lands solidly, a resounding thwack erupting from the glass. The lights are continuing to flicker, almost matching the blackness on the other side. The second punch lands just like the first, glass cracking delicately beneath his force. Peter’s knuckles are stinging, and he’s sure there’s a better way to get out of the already collapsing hospital, but he’s not looking for efficiency. He’s looking for an exit and there are none as readily available as a broken window.
At last, the third punch goes though, glass shattering beneath his fist as he pulls away. There are shards embedded in his gloves, nicking his hands, but he continues to pull the glass away until a sizable hole has formed enough for two people to make their way out. They have an escape now.
Turning back around, Peter’s first instinct is to grab May and swing out as fast as he can and get her somewhere safe. He’s already stretching out an arm for her to grab when he’s met with the frail body of the old man. May’s huffing as she tries to lift him into Peter’s arms, and all Peter can do is sway on his feet. The building is fully shaking now.
It’s like a cradle being rocked by an overzealous mother, the movement jostling rather than soothing.
London Bridge is falling down.
Reality has never felt more dream-like than now, the hallway no longer illuminated, the sounds of screaming people accompanying the trance. It’s all background noise, muffled beneath the roar of blood as it pounds in Peter’s ears. All he can do is watch his aunt, trying so hard to remain brave, even as she loses her footing and stumbles with the rocking. She’s saying something, adjusting her glasses and pushing back her hair in panic, as she tries and fails to give Peter the old man over and over.
“Just take him, goddammit!” May yells. He thinks he can see tears gathering in her eyes, but there is not enough light to truly tell. “Take him and give him to someone, and then come back for me. It’s too dangerous to take us both at the same time, and you know it.”
Falling down.
“I could! I could take you both, it’s not that hard-”
“Peter, just take him and get out of here!”
“I’m not going to leave you! This whole building is going to come down any minute, and I can’t leave you here. I came in here to find you! Not him!”
“You’re wasting time!” She screams, voice shrill and raw and terrified. “Get out of here!”
Falling down.
And Peter realizes three things at once. 1) His aunt is right. He is wasting time. 2) She’s too stubborn and too goddamn good to go with Peter first. She will always put others before herself. And 3) He’s almost out of time. He can’t remember exactly how much time has passed since the building first began to shake, but it’s been long enough. It’s been too long, and all he’s done is whine for his aunt like a child amidst the chaos.
“I’ll be back,” he breathes, finally taking the oblivious old man from her trembling grasp. “I promise.”
“I know.”
Peter flies, the darkness engulfing his figure. It’s awkward, holding a fully grown adult in his arms bridal style whilst still trying to maneuver safely to the ground. He gets there though, swinging in the middle of the parking lot. The impact hurts his ankles, a less than graceful landing resulting in him falling to his knees. There’s no one around to help him up though, the parking lot devoid of people and only occupied by numerous cars.
“Karen, is there anyone close by?”
In response, she turns on the heat signature camera in his eye lenses, and Peter is starkly terrified to see no one around. No one is in their cars. The lot is devoid of all people. How? How can that be?
“Where is everybody?” he asks aloud, the panic from just moments before resurfacing through the pitch of his voice. “Karen, wh-where did everyone go?”
“Most of the people who have made it out of the hospital are currently being sectioned off in another building to prevent stragglers from getting in the way. The police have set up a quarantined area to block entrance into this parking lot.”
“Show me where they are. Now!”
As before in the hospital, a blue line is placed in his peripherals, and Peter runs along it. It takes him out of the parking lot, and Peter feels his heart clench for each step that takes him farther and farther away from May. There’s so much to think about, so much to process, and after a full day of doing nothing but patrol, coupled with the absolute lack of food, Peter is starting to lose steam. It’s pure adrenaline that’s keeping him going now, his breathing coming out dangerously fast and heavy. The old man’s acrid breath does nothing to help, increasing the nausea he’d felt since the start of this horrific day.
‘There was no alarm, there’s been nothing over here and….’
He doesn’t know why he thinks of May’s words so suddenly, the sentence tickling his brain. There’s something so inherently wrong about it. Something repulsive. It’s the exhaustion that makes Peter take so long for it to register, but when it does, he almost trips and falls.
There was no alarm.
The very first thing he heard was the fire alarm when he announced that the hospital was going down. Was it possible that it didn’t even go off in the east wing? How could it be that it would just suddenly turn off? How could there be no alarm?
It’s just like the other hospitals, Peter realizes, shocking him to his core. No one knew because something stopped the alarms. Someone cut the alarms. On purpose.
He doesn’t allow himself to fully comprehend those last thoughts, picking up his pace as he finally comes across the flashing blue and red lights of the police. Finally there are people. Finally help.
There’s a lot of yelling, sirens going off, patients and gurneys and stretchers covering every inch of space. Even on the outskirts of the chaos, Peter can tell that no one knows what's going on and that they’re frightened. The old man in his arms struggles a bit, eyes opening as he becomes aware for the first time. When he sees the wide lenses of Peter’s mask, he screams and gurgles, pushing weakly in an attempt to get away.
“Excuse me! Please, can anyone help?” Peters calls into the crowd, searching for a face that was willing. “Please, I need someone to take him!”
People turn at his voice, and when they see Spider-Man, the noise only grows louder.
“Where were you? I had to leave my daughter in there!”
“Oh, Spider-Man, please! You have to help my grandmother!”
“How could you leave us like this? My mom is as good as dead now!”
“Why haven’t you stopped this madness?”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?”
“I thought you were supposed to protect Queens!”
“We trusted you.”
There are so many voices. So many cries. He meets their eyes and all he can see is fury and pain and hopelessness. There are a few who even refuse to turn in his direction, their shaking shoulders and muffled sobs all he can focus on. He sees officers and firemen and doctors and nurses with their gaze directed towards the asphalt, fists clenching and unclenching with emotion they aren’t willing to share.
They had trusted him. Put their faith into him. They had stockpiled all their prayers and hopes and given it to him, wrapped neatly and tied with a bow made of wishes. And what had he done?
He’d thrown it out the window.
“Please,” he begs weakly, knowing he is undeserving of their help. Knowing he has failed them all. “Please, someone take him. I need to….”
The plea dies on his lips, watching as people turn away. The world feels like it's crashing down on him, the wailing lights dimming and blurring as his eyes fill with tears. He’s so tired and exhausted and frustrated and angry and so many other things. His legs are shaking, his whole body swaying like the building behind him, and the adrenaline that had been fueling him earlier is slowly being replaced with grief.
The timer is so close to zero. And he’s so far away from May. His entire being has never felt heavier.
Suddenly, someone taps on his shoulder and he is met with the sight of a middle aged woman, covered in dust from head to toe, hair wild and streaked with dirt. It appeared as if she’d been inside one of the buildings as it collapsed.
“Give ‘im here,” she whispers, holding out her arms. “Go ‘n do what you’ve gotta do, sweetie. We’ll be okay. You’re doing all you can.”
She takes the old man from him so gently, handling him as if he were made of thin paper, and all Peter can do is stare at her numbly as his arms are relieved of their burden. She glances at him and must notice the absolute defeat in his posture, because she smiles at him with sympathy in her eyes.
“You haven’t failed us yet, Spider-Man. Queens still needs their hero; you’re young ‘n strong. You’ve got this.”
Her encouragement is just enough for him to feel like he’s not suffocating anymore, the first and only tear he’ll allow himself to shed marking its trail down his cheek. The world comes back into focus, and the noise of the crowd he’s in returns with full force. Once again, he is reminded of the clock that’s still going.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he croaks out, swallowing past the dryness in his throat. “I’ll do my best.”
“We know, Spider-Man.”
Watching her nephew take off into the darkness is possibly one of the scariest things she’s ever allowed him to do. Somehow, even after almost an entire year of knowing this other side to him, May cannot fathom that Peter is a superhero that works with the Avengers. Albeit only occasionally, it still astonishes her when she sees the name ‘ Tony Stark’ pop up on her phone.
Peter will always be Peter to her. For all she could care, Spider-Man is almost an alien to her. The mask, the freakishly huge lenses, the garishly bright red and blue suit, the fancy gadgets and webs. All those things were Spider-Man. Underneath it all was her Peter though. Her nephew.
So, overtime, she’s learned to love Spider-Man almost as much as she loves Peter. She’s learned to slowly accept the things Spider-Man does to Peter, accept all the bruises and cuts and wounds that are inflicted upon him, accept the sleepless nights that are spent waiting for Spider-Man to return her nephew home. It’s almost become normal, even the extent of his food consumption being just another teenage metabolism thing rather than the desperate need for fuel the hero generates within his small body.
It took time. It took many arguments and compromises and broken curfews and trust. But, May was taking it one step at a time. Ben would’ve been so proud of Peter, so in all honesty, she’s just trying to fill the hole with as much support she can give.
So, letting Spider-Man swing away and out of the collapsing hospital without her was both terrifying and relieving. If it meant that her Peter could be farther away from this mess, farther away from the dumb decisions that he was sure to make, she didn’t see a problem with letting the old man go first.
But, she’d married a Parker. That Parker Luck was just a special thing that could decide to bless or curse you at any moment.
The full extent of what was happening was now settling in, the broken glass and flickering lights a small but constant reminder that she was standing in a grave. The rocking had stopped, and for whatever reason, it was dead silent. Maybe once she heard the quick pitter patter of desperate and frightened footsteps, dashing out of doors and down the staircases. Some part of her is telling May that that was exactly what she should be doing too, but another part of her is telling herself to stay put and wait for Peter to return.
With each passing minute, that voice begging for her to flee gets louder. How long has it been? Two minutes? Maybe only thirty seconds? Either way, she would have expected Peter to be back by now, flighty and crazy with stress, but back to her. When another minute goes by, it dawns on May that something might’ve happened to him.
What if he’s been hurt? Is her first thought, fiddling away at her hair as she stares out into the blackness, praying for a sign. Maybe they didn’t find anyone. What’s holding him back?
There’s a loud crash somewhere in the distance, and May flinches, biting her lip in worry. She’s completely helpless here. She’s completely useless. She’s always hated that feeling of doing nothing and just standing still while the rest of the world turns. It’s never felt right to her, the waiting and watching. May has always been a “do-er”. When it comes down to it, she gets shit done and over with. This constant need to move is exactly why she signed up to be a trauma nurse in the first place, the trauma area almost always busy and in need of more staff.
“Hey, lady!” a voice bellows, the sound reverberating across the emptiness. “Get down from there! This whole building is gonna fall soon!”
May squints hard, peering out into the darkness. Just barely she can make out the silhouette of a person, a man by the voice, standing at the base of the first floor.
“Lady!” he yells again, waving his arms in the air. “Get outta there! Everyone’s evacuating to another building!”
“I can’t!” she yells back. “I’m waiting for someone!”
Saying those words aloud only worsens her fear, hating that she can’t decide if that fear is for herself or for Peter.
“Listen, I’ll come up there and get you if you’re stuck, but you can’t stay in there!”
Come up and get me? May thinks, bewildered at the idea. How is he going to do that?
“Who are you?” she asks, confused. “I don’t see how you plan on getting up here from all the way down there. It’s not safe.”
A solid thunk is her answer as something connects to the concrete below the window she stands at. A line of some sort is attached to whatever had hit the outside wall, and before she knows it, she’s staring into the face of Hawkeye.
“I have my ways,” he chuckles. “Now, come on. We’ve got maybe less than ten minutes to fully evacuate and, to be honest, I’d rather not become a pancake.”
It’s obvious he’s trying to be polite despite the situation they’re in, but even with his outstretched arm, why is that so familiar, May hesitates in taking the offered help. This is her chance to escape and be safe, which she’s sure Peter would want for her, but that little nagging part in her mind is telling her that if she leaves now Peter will look for her. He will go right back into the hospital screaming for her, searching for her, and he might die doing so.
No, it’s a chance she’s not willing to take.
“I can’t,” she repeats, taking a step away from the open window. “I’m sorry, but I’m waiting for someone.”
A sound like a thunderclap erupts nearby, shattering any form of what would be pseudo peace. It’s long and tumultuous, as if a finale of a grand storm has received an encore. Small clinks like enormous wind chimes follow it, dancing through the air as microscopic shards of metal and glass flow with the sharp wind. It’s like it’s own natural disaster, twirling and spinning as piece by piece Elmhurst falls and crumbles.
The look on Hawkeye’s face is one of disbelief. He thinks she’s crazy for wanting to stay here. Maybe she is. This whole day has been one crazy thing after another, and it’s all been amounting into one giant nightmare that no one can wake up from.
But he sighs all the same and turns back out the window. “I’m not going to try and convince you to leave if you’re adamant on staying here. I’m out here trying to help those that want it, so I really hope that whomever it is that you’re waiting for comes soon. Time won’t stop for them.”
He salutes her, an uneasy smile on his face, but just as he’s about to depart, May grabs his arm.
“Wait. There are some people stuck in their rooms; I saw them earlier. Can you help them?”
Hawkeye winks, trying his best to portray the candid hero that most know him to be. His nerves are fried, he’s so close to trembling at the thought of entering a ticking time bomb of a building, but he’s got a reputation to uphold. He’s a hero. A former Avenger. He has a job to do.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
It takes Peter almost a full minute to run and swing back to the window he left May at. When he’d asked Karen exactly how long he’d left her alone, his heart stuttered when she answered, “About four minutes.”
An entire four minutes. Who knew such a small amount of time would ignite so much fear within a person? Every second was precious and he’d just wasted 340 of them trying to help an old man. He knows that every life matters, that his job is to help as many people as possible, but the dilemma between choosing Queens or his aunt always leaves him struggling. It was an impossible decision, one he’s been forced to debate over many times. He knows what Spider-Man does to her, can see the visible stress as it ages her. It’s only been a year and yet there are wrinkles forming and gray hairs peeking out. The bags and dark circles beneath her eyes tell of how long she waits up for him, but she smiles all the same and takes care of him when she can.
He doesn’t deserve his aunt. She doesn’t deserve the stress and worry Spider-Man puts on her. It is a love-hate relationship, and Peter is almost always sorry to say he wouldn’t trade it for anything else.
The bridge of windows comes back into sight, the surrounding buildings and lit billboards the only source of light now. He panics when he does not immediately see May, worry increasing when he sees what looks to be an anchor-like shaft wedged into the ground attaching it to the fourth floor. Briefly, for one insane and tired moment, he thinks she’s been kidnapped.
But then he hears, “Is that you, Spidey?”
It’s the voice of Hawkeye, confirmed when he slides down the zip-line he’d crafted.
“Where have you been?” he demands, anger in his voice. He’s carrying what looks to be a child, the boy wrapped around his waist. “You know what, I don’t care. Help me bring down these people. There’s a woman up there that’s getting them out of their rooms. Go help her. We haven’t got much time left.”
Clint turns away, setting the child down and whispering something to him before the child begins to run out into the parking lot.
Peter says nothing as he shoots out a web and pulls himself up to the broken window. There’s a line of about six or seven people waiting, eyes wide with fear as they look out the shattered window.
He doesn’t see May amongst them.
“I can take one at a time,” he tells them, the gathered people ranging from a teenager to an elderly woman. “Who’s up?”
When no one immediately comes forth, Peter groans. Sometimes, he forgets that a phobia of heights is a very common thing, but with climbing and jumping off skyscrapers being part of his whole gig, it has no effect on him anymore. “I know it’s a long way down, but I promise you’ll be alright. Trust me, please. There’s no time.”
As if to emphasize his point, the building begins to rock again, tiles cracking as the concrete struggles to remain flexible enough to withstand the swaying. A couple of bulbs burst, sparks showering down and briefly lighting up the otherwise black hallway.
“Let’s go!” Clint shouts, startling Peter as he climbs through the window. “Move it or lose it, people!
Clint grabs one of the adults, a small shriek leaving their mouth as they descend down the zipline. A teenager comes forth, and Peter lets him climb onto his back as they drop down to the asphalt, landing smoothly as his web holds taut. Without pause, Peter launches another web and pulls himself back up to the window. Within three minutes, both Peter and Clint have managed to get everyone down and running through the parking lot. They’re both breathing heavily, out of their minds with exhaustion, but Peter cannot rest yet.
“I’m going back in,” he wheezes, ready to release another web and start the search for May all over again. It really doesn’t make sense how he can lose her twice within ten minutes. No sense at all. His heart contracts painfully, his body resisting his efforts in moving swiftly. Peter is at his limit.
“No, we’re evacuating with the rest of them,” Clint tells him, straightening out. “The rest of the team has cleared most of their areas. We’re to meet up with them. You’d know that if you hadn’t decided to go deaf on us.”
Peter doesn’t listen though, firing a web and tensing as it connects to the window.
“If you go back in there,” Clint warns, “You might not come back out. I can’t let you go in there with a good conscience. Stay here, Spidey. Everyone’s out. There’s no reason to go back.”
Peter simply shakes his head though. Clint is right. He might not make it back out. But, he needs her. The need for his aunt is stronger than the possibility that he’ll die. It’s an easy decision. Peter loves May. He’d do anything for her. Even hold up the entire world.
“I’m sorry,” he says, truly apologizing for all the turmoil he knows he’s caused and his selfish desires. “But someone’s waiting for me.”
Realization washes over Clint as Spider-Man disappears back into the crumbling building. He curses before tapping his ear piece.
“He went back in.”
“And you didn’t stop him?” Tony demands, his voice strangled. Damnit, he was so close to reaching their location. The kid was seriously about to give him a heart attack. “This whole fucking hospital is literally going to collapse any goddamn second!”
“I’m wiped out, Stark. I’m not about to go chasing after him just because he’s too stubborn to listen. I’m going to follow the evacuees to the control site. Spidey can handle himself.”
“Barton, don’t you dare walk away from there! Not until you get Spider-Man out and-”
“He has superpowers for christ sake! I am not about to be caught in the collapse zone when I’ve already busted my ass making sure everyone else is out. Like I said, Spider-Man can handle himself. ”
Already Clint has begun a slow jog, putting distance between himself and the window bridge. Yeah, he is concerned for the young hero, but he’s not about to argue when there’s literally no time to do so. He’s got maybe a minute, possibly seconds, before-
It happens in an instant. There’s a snap, like a hundred rods splitting in half, and then the roar of a thousand grains of sand crashing into one another to form a symphony of deafening noise. It grates against his ears, and he can feel the dust and surface wave hit him with full force, knocking him to the ground. He rolls and rolls, the ground scraping against his arms and face as the blast continues to push him.
Finally he comes to a stop, the stinging bite of his wounds temporarily forgotten when he turns around. The dust burns his eyes, and he’s sure he’s inhaling bits of glass and stone, but even still, all he can see is a mound of broken concrete and metal pipes, the likes of a building nowhere in sight. Elmhurst has officially fallen.
There’s cursing in the comms, startled shouts and questions of concern as everyone checks in.
“Roll-call, now!” Steve shouts, frantic authority amidst the calamity.
“I’m circling above; wasn’t close enough to be hit. All good up here.”
“I am with a group of civilians. We got caught with some debris, but are otherwise fine.”
“I’m okay; got scraped by the blast zone, but I’m okay,” Clint groans.
“Tony,” Steve says. “What’s your status?”
“Did he make it out?” Tony asks instead, pure dread pouring out of each word. “Barton, Clint, tell me he made it out. Tell me you saw Spider-Man get out of there.”
“I’m sorry,” Clint replies, honest regret seeping through. “My back was turned.”
The bright lights of his repulsors show his abrupt arrival through the dust as Tony hastily lands into the collapse zone. Clint watches as the suit stands there, Ironman even in such a situation as it scans the rubble. The red and gold have been a symbol of hope and avengement for so many. In more ways than one, they were the colors of strength in the face of destruction. For years, Ironman has been the definition of brave, the man behind the name backing it up with his cockiness and wit.
So to see Tony Stark, the man credited with saving New York, of housing and building up the Avengers, the genius, playboy, billionaire, scream into the rubble and be wrecked with raw and ravaged emotion, was unfathomable.
“Spider-Man! Where are you? Underoos, c’mon, please, let me help you! I’m not mad, I promise. Answer me!”
And yet, his voice was clear.
“Peter!”