Chapter 1
She is in the middle of drawing a mind map for her molecular biology test when she senses Peter Parker’s presence.
“-way home. Sorry I forgot. I’m fine, almost there.”
She rises abruptly. Looks at the clock. 1:14am. She’s in her small studio apartment, blackout curtains drawn, window closed, can lights on overhead. She hasn’t tested out her new suit yet. Her first suit. But Parker’s nearby and when she strains, she can hear the tell-tale sound of heavy SUVs roaming the streets. Five of them. Almost leisurely. She closes her eyes. His steps are light, he’s setting a brisk pace. When he walks, soft denim brushes denim. He isn’t wearing his suit. Fifteen blocks north. What’s he doing in Manhattan without his suit?
Her decision is swift. Impulsive. She pulls the curtains back and opens the window, yawns and stretches, rubs her eyes tiredly. Pulls out her phone and turns the overhead lights off.
She grabs the suit out of the hidden drawer beneath her desk and retreats to the corner to change. Out of sight of the nearby cameras she ID-ed when she first moved in a month ago. Armed with her newly minted discs – shit, it’s a test run for them too. She blinks, feels a familiar tremor run across her skin, then looks down at her hands and sees nothing. Perfect. She’s got cloaking down to a T. Small miracles.
Quick taps on her phone and she’s switched her bedside lamp on. The bed’s purposely sandwiched in the furthest corner. Best sightlines, totally obscured even when looking straight into her window from the rooftops of every nearby building. Anyone watching would best assume she’s doing some late reading.
She treads lightly to the window and crawls out of it, sticking to the brick. It’s cold, even for the fall. TV says it’s been one of the coldest years this century. She looks down and her head rushes with vertigo despite it being a) only five stories up, and b) her umpteenth time doing this. Heart thumps hard. Ears ring. Fuck. When did she think she would be ready for this? Does anyone ever change their life feeling absolutely sure? Because she’s 100% terrified.
But she peels her hands off the wall all the same and crawls to the rooftop. Without pausing for breath, she takes a running leap and is soon darting through all the shadows across campus, keeping her senses open to a Parker she knows is in danger.
Keeping count in her head. Parker’s alone. He’s walking in circles trying to lose the SUVs. So he hears them, unable to shake the tail without his suit. Five cars approaching in a spiderweb formation. No leaping above ground without giving them evidence. He’s still got a half-mile radius, that’s more than enough leeway for her to help. Underground it is, then. She can do it. Her body’s mapped out this area dozens of times. She knows every physical defense, every camera placement, every manhole cover. Can draw the visual coverage of this neighborhood in her sleep. She can do this.
When she’s two blocks away, she slides down the fire escape and crouches in the top stairway. With a whisper detectable only by ears like theirs, she whispers, “Peter Parker.”
She feels him tense for a split second. Grins. Attention procured.
“Follow me.”
This is the moment. Is she ready?
She leaps off the landing, throwing her arms out at the last second. Her webbed wings open soundlessly and she’s off, gliding through the air. A true ghost.
Her mind sparks with excitement but too soon, she’s grounding herself in an alleyway across from Parker. She quietly pulls open a set of wooden cellar doors that lead into BluGraz Café. Stares at his figure intently. Then descends the stairs, allowing the softest of whispers as her boots meet concrete.
He hesitates only slightly before following. Same pace. Hands in his jeans pockets, one earbud in, no music, no call.
She leads him through the backstage area of the Café, numbness chilling her bones. This is all home and with one fell swoop she’s leaving it. She’s leaving this life behind.
Out through the narrow passageway and, just as quickly, back into the non-functioning subway tunnel she wouldn’t have discovered had Harry not gotten so drunk that one time. Dumb luck.
She’s careful to leave an audible trace at every turn for him to follow until they’re just a block away from her apartment. Subway tunnel to a dirty bus stop, alleyway to the backdoor of a looted department store that stayed looted after the Blip.
Finally, they’re at the building next to hers by the garbage chutes she knows best. Her ears prick one last time for the SUVs. She’d taken a roundabout route that cut diagonally across the street patterns so often, underground, that they’d been forced to widen their radius to two miles. Too far away. She smirks and considers it their tactical retreat.
Hands and legs up the side of her building until she’s squatting roughly on the fifth floor. She stares down at Parker as he glances up, then quickly reveals herself. The shock on his face is staggering. Then she’s throwing one of her discs down, hoping like hell he doesn’t bat it away, mentally projecting trust me, trust me, trust me…
It lands on the sleeve of his hoodie and immediately she re-cloaks herself, extending the mechanism to the disc. It works. Small fucking miracles.
She waits as he looks down at himself and sees nothing. Just street and dirt. He climbs up the wall and she lets him touch her ankle. Then they crawl over to her open window.
“Wait.”
She climbs in, pulls on long-sleeve pajamas, and uncloaks herself, making sure to keep her tether to Parker’s disc. A stretch, another yawn like she’s getting up from bed. She carries a worn copy of Great Expectations to her desk and pushes her open window higher. Peter Parker crawls in, brushing his back against hers once fully inside, and she slides the window shut. Checks the soundproofing. Rubs her eyes once more, uses her phone to switch the bedside lamp off, and pulls the curtains closed.
Spidey sense.
She swings around, electrically recalling her disc from Parker’s bicep, and catches his fist before it’s even curling to reach her head. It lacks force. Just testing the waters, then.
She nods at the bed. “Sit.”
He does. She pulls up her desk chair, turns it around, and straddles it. Lets out a soft sigh. Head resting on her elbows to show she’s no threat. Besides, it had been a stressful half hour.
When she looks back up, he’s taking stock of the room. Bare furniture. Tiny closet. A drum kit. Soundproofing pads on steroids. Punk posters on the walls and her one childish indulgence, glow-in-the-dark stars, smattered on the ceiling. He takes in her suit – black, a unitard, incredibly well-sewn leather boots, no mask. She sees the questions rise in his eyes.
“Who’s backing you?”
She shakes her head. “No one.” His eyes narrow. Then, with a sharp inhale, she says – “I was bitten by a radioactive spider at the Oscorp conference last spring.”
A tense silence between them. Peter looks stunned beyond belief. His eyes start to redden. She knows she can’t even begin to understand the pain he’s been through, swinging around Queens alone, losing his secret identity, Avenging.
A leap of faith. That’s all it is, isn’t it?
“I’m Gwen Stacy. I’m just a student at ESU. I’m not trying to be Spider-anything, but I know Ross is after you, Peter Parker. And I need to thank you for saving the world from Thanos.”