Chapter 3
Gwen is on her way to Queens when it happens. On the outskirts of Manhattan, a pair of hands caress a woman’s body in a dark alleyway behind a bar. The adjacent street is lit neon by its sign. Gwen’s in her suit, completely invisible, launching herself through the air, building by building, testing the strengths and limitations of her bio-electrical powers on the discs she crafted. So far, so good. Months of discipline later, she’s still pleasantly surprised by how natural her new instincts feel, how quickly they come to her, like she’s always had them. Like the bite had only magnified sensations that she was always attuned to, gentle manipulations in the air she was previously convinced were imaginary. Five blocks away and she’s already heard the harsh whispers, pinpointed the exact location.
She lands on the side of the building across the bar. A man trying to rape a woman is nothing she hasn’t heard of before. His stature isn’t even all that larger than hers, but it’s enough. She’s swaying, flushed, her heartbeat beating out too staccato a rhythm. Gwen knows she’s been drugged. It’s an hour to midnight but this neighborhood is all cleaned out. It had been silent for Gwen on her way here – that’s why she’d picked this route and time of day. Nobody else would be around to witness this, nobody else could help this girl.
And yet, Gwen stays still. If she reveals herself, this whole mission would be over. Parker is safe in Wakanda by now and he trusts her to take care of his family. She can’t do that if anyone finds out about her powers. Rumors of another enhanced individual running around New York? This city houses enough vigilantes as it is.
Where are they now? A nasty voice in her head sneers before she can stop herself. Beck attacks London and what was left of the Avengers hadn’t even shown up then. This, this one horrific but isolated little incident, would be beneath a hero’s paygrade.
So she crouches and keeps watch. Minutes pass. Gwen doesn’t take her eyes off the two figures and their furtive whispers, a belt unbuckling, desperate hands, breaths that feel like screams – Gwen chokes along as she watches. It’s dirty, it’s so dirty, why isn’t anyone else around in this godforsaken place-
Her hands fumble down the streamlined fabric of her suit. She never goes out with her cell phone. Her suit wasn’t made to go with anything, not if her aim was to be completely aerodynamic.
Gwen thinks she’s smart enough to understand that in these moments, on nights like these, she’s not Gwen at all but a nameless, faceless shadow. She has to fully commit to the part. Where she exists, Gwen cannot. Two halves that must be separated. If one life ever bleeds into the other, she’d be royally screwed. The world would be after her. Without anonymity, nothing would ever be the same. Just look at Parker. A name and a face and suddenly everyone can compromise him. Fans who don’t know any better. Criminals set on vengeance.
No. Gwen has studied this for too long. The world doesn’t know what to do with power. It’s never about picking a side. Maybe that’s why she can’t name this other part of herself. Save the naming for the likes of Spider-Man, of Daredevil, of whichever other entities keep popping up. This sort of identity, this sort of life, is ill-suited for parameters. The moment she defines it, Gwen Stacy will be done.
Instead, she stays still and watches. Like keeping vigil, her mind spits viciously. Useful fucking support. Then suddenly, a shaft of light emerges from a backdoor and someone stumbles out.
“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Mind your own fucking business-”
“Leave or I’m calling the cops!”
Gwen moves on before she can finish overhearing the scuffle.
She checks up on May Parker first because she is Peter’s closest family. A quick peek through the window shows May downing a cup of coffee at the dining table, books and papers scattered around her.
“Publicity campaign, need to up awareness of Accords.
Ground-up PR blitz re: Blip events?
Deep dive into Jameson fans. See pink”
Gwen reads the scrawl in the nearest notebook and realizes that May’s fighting for Spider-Man. A warmth blooms in her chest, suddenly and without warning. Then she observes the rapid texting May’s conducting on her phone. Addressed to Happy. Photo of Stark’s personal bodyguard.
He’s helping her find a place to move. Smart. Since Peter’s fight with the Vulture, gang members and other weapons manufacturers have been enquiring after Spider-Man’s identity. Gwen wonders if the people at Stark Industries know of Ross. They must. Stark had remained the UN’s primary Avengers liaison until Thanos, now preceded by Col. Rhodes. Pepper Potts must be in the know. It would benefit Gwen to collect this information on Ross herself.
From May, she moves onto Ned Leeds, who appears as normal a teenager as one can be. And then finally to MJ, whose eyes remain on the same page of her book in the fifteen minutes Gwen takes to scope around. Every so often, they dart to the cell phone next to her. Just before Gwen leaves, MJ springs up to scribble something down furiously on a piece of scrap paper, fingers coiled tightly.
“Wakandan immunity – exception to the Accords, if UN-governed why US citizenship?”
Gwen smirks before she can help it. Never let it be said that the partners of supers aren’t just as in tune with the climate.
She settles on thinking through this her whole way home. Between herself and Parker’s family, the people at SI, it’s taking a whole goddamn village to make sure Spider-Man is safe, that Spider-Man has a place in this world. And it’s about time, too.
Then she passes by the bar, the alleyway, and chills run down her forearms. Because it’s so easy to think, in the wake of massively black-and-white incidents, that heroes are necessary. And maybe they are. Standing by compliantly, to be deployed only in an apocalypse, orders to be given by whoever thinks they would ever have the foresight now that SHIELD is gone, Fury dead…
But that’s not how this world operates. Not always on contingency after contingency. Beliefs form and crumble under the weight of the everyday. Those with faith put it in the hands of heroes, pathetically ill-informed about what that could mean for them, about what form heroes can take, while the cynics call it another way to shift the blame. Neither of those will hold. What happens when the illusion gives out? What will happen to all the fear and spent faith and existential insecurity? Isn’t that what’s happening now? A universe lost and returned by a ragtag team now humbled beyond expectation, yet still infinitely more powerful than the average spectator. The chasm is growing wider and people are finally beginning to ask – what for? What was it all for?
When Gwen answers this question herself, she knows the truth. She’s no one’s hero.
--
MJ: Where are you?
Sent 09/16/19 12:08PM
MJ: I know I figured things out, but I’m not always that in the loop you know
Sent 09/16/19 1:13PM
MJ: Are you coming to practice today?
Sent 09/20/19 2:34PM
MJ: We’re still saving a seat for you.
Sent 09/28/19 10:02AM
MJ: Hi, how was your day MJ? Great, thanks for asking Peter. Things have been peachy down here
Sent 09/30/19 6:45AM
MJ: The Hardy-Weinberg equation is used to calculate what in a population?
Sent 10/4/19 11:12PM
MJ: Genotype frequency
Sent 10/4/19 11:13PM
MJ: Great job, Peter.
Sent 10/4/19 11:13PM
MJ: During which stage of mitosis are sister chromatids separated?
Sent 10/4/19 11:55PM
MJ: Anaphase
Sent 10/4/19 11:55PM
MJ: Too slow, Parker.
Sent 10/4/19 11:55PM
MJ: I’m not pining, you know.
Sent 10/12/19 12:44PM
MJ: Which of the following most clearly distinguishes eukaryotic cells from prokaryotic cells?
Sent 10/22/19 1:16PM
MJ: Wrong again, nerd.
Sent 10/22/19 1:42PM
MJ: Wish us luck.
Sent 10/26/19 9:04AM
MJ: Serves me right to ask for that Parker luck, I suppose.
Sent 10/26/19 3:39PM
MJ: Peter, I really miss you.
Sent 10/27/19 2:02AM
Seen 2:07AM
…
MJ: Peter?
Sent 10/27/19 2:08AM
Seen 2:08AM
MJ: To the person sneaking on his phone, this isn’t the 1970s anymore, sincerely FUCK YOU
Sent 10/27/19 2:13AM