The cosmos, while never being totally calm, were relatively quiet at the moment. Carol Danvers figured she deserved a break from the general hustle and bustle of saving the universe time and time again. You know, girl time.
She chose to spend her vacation on Earth. She wasn’t totally sure why; compared to many of the places she’d been, Earth wasn’t exactly on the top of the universal list for Best Quality of Life.
Maybe it was the beautiful, diverse landscapes. The imperfect people, their imperfect families. The mental innocence they all carried. Not a single one of them truly knew what was out there, what lay beyond their atmosphere. Many didn’t seem to care, and that gave Carol peace. Knowing the fate of dozens of worlds wasn’t on everyone’s minds helped, well, bring Carol back down to Earth. Mentally and physically.
Carol knew she couldn’t lead a perfectly normal life, not with everything that had happened, but she tried making each day as purposeful as possible. Eventually her mental to-do list grew in complexity and length, and she’d fallen into a sort of routine.
She trained with any Avengers who were actually in the compound on Mondays. The physical training in itself was more for them than her, but Carol enjoyed it nonetheless. Her Tuesdays were empty for the time being; she often used them to sleep in or explore New York City. Check-in with Shield and Nick Fury was on Wednesdays. Whether “checking in” entailed drinks at Fury’s favorite bar or a mission in Dubai depended upon the week. On Thursdays and Fridays Carol often watched Morgan Stark, something Pepper had been reluctant to allow but eventually warmed up to.
“I’ve got nothing else to do,” Carol had said. “And you look like you could use some alone time.”
Pepper scoffed. “You don’t know the half of it.”
Morgan was an intelligent girl, constantly surprising Carol with her witts and quick-thinking. It seemed as if every time they were together, the girl had picked up a new hobby or talent. Her knowledge of everything from plants to English literature was extensive and endlessly impressive for someone her age.
Recently, she’d been on a bit of a Spider-Man kick. Carol had taken her to the public library numerous times in the last few weeks. (She’d recommended Barnes & Noble, but Pepper insisted that Morgan would change interests by the next week and the money spent on books would have been wasted.) Baby Stark checked out numerous books on spiders as well as Spider-Man himself, many full of colorful pictures. One of Morgan’s favorites was “Spider-Man, Spider-Can,” which depicted the hero completing minute tasks around the city such as picking up trash and helping the elderly cross the street. She had the entire thing memorized word for word, and would often recite it aloud in moments of boredom.
This particular Friday, Carol and Morgan had driven into the city early (Pepper won’t let Carol fly with her yet), parked at Avengers Tower (which Carol didn’t know existed until a few weeks ago) and walked hand-in-hand to an ice-cream parlor down the road. Morgan had originally wanted to go to one in Hell’s Kitchen, mentioning an “awesome man with red horns,” but Carol vetoed the idea. Anywhere with a man like that was automatically a place Morgan didn’t need to be.
“What do you want to do after this?” Carol asked her, not paying much attention to how Morgan’s ice cream had melted and was dripping onto her hand.
“I wanna go to Queens,” she said simply.
“Seriously? Why? That’s, like, all the way across town.”
“Spider-Man is there!”
Does Morgan actually know where he lives? Who he really is?
“Are you sure about that?”
“That’s where the man on the news says he is a lot, so I wanna go there.”
It was a little past noon, early enough that Peter Parker would likely still be in school. Carol didn’t know that for sure, but his baby-face and small stature hinted at him being younger than he’d probably like to admit for a hero with his reputation.
“He may not be out today, M. Why don’t we just go to a museum or something? There’s a ton of those, right?”
“Miss Danvers, I’d really like to see my Spider-Man.”
My Spider-Man. She’d started talking about him possessively about two weeks ago, and ever since then Spidey hadn’t been New York’s, he’d been hers. Carol thought it was adorable.
“Alright. Fine. But you can’t be mad if we don’t see him. Where’s the nearest train station? We gotta hop on the-“
Someone outside the ice cream parlor screamed. The chorus of honking horns in the street outside was momentarily louder, as if something had suddenly gotten in the way and everyone had become angry about it at once.
“Stay here Morgan.”
“Okay, Miss Danvers.”
Carol hopped out of her seat and stepped through the door. At the moment nothing interesting (or concerning) was within view, just the usual sights and sounds of New York City.
Something rattled and crashed to her left. By the time Carol spun around, a man wearing a ski mask was webbed to the wall of the ice-cream parlor. Several tables had been knocked over. A chair had somehow been flung into the street, and drivers were honking at it angrily (did they know it wasn’t sentient?) before swerving and continuing on their way.
“Oh my god,” someone said breathlessly. “You couldn’t have let me catch you, like, a borough ago?”
Spider-Man had jumped off a nearby building and was now leaning against a light post with his hands on his knees.
Whatever the criminal was saying in retaliation became lost behind his mask, the woven fabric and street noise muffling his voice. Carol couldn’t hear a word, but the eye slits of Spider-Man’s mask narrowed as if he’d understood the entire shpeel with perfect clarity. “ Not my business? You tried to kill me a few city blocks ago! You made it my business!”
“Miss Danvers, it’s my Spider-Man!”
Morgan had run out of the shop and was now tugging on Carol’s pant leg. She chose to ignore the chocolatey handprint the child left on her thigh.
“Wha-? Oh! Uh, hello.” Peter waved at Morgan in an awkward, endearing sort of way. “Miss Danvers? What’re you doing here?”
“Hiya, P-“ Carol had to stop herself mid-sentence. She’d almost called him Peter. There was a good chance no one on the sidewalk would have even heard her, but Stark 2.0 was close by. Danvers didn’t want to risk Morgan hearing something. She was probably trustworthy, but was young and a blabbermouth nonetheless. Her gauge for secrecy most likely wasn’t fine-tuned just yet. “Spider-Man. A little out of your neighborhood, no? What brings you to Manhattan?”
“Oh! Well, I saw this dude,” he motioned to the webbed-up criminal, “running down the street with a huge duffel bag. He dropped it and a fat stack of cash fell out, but he must not have noticed because he just picked up the bag and kept running. Some cops were chasing him as well, but they lost him, so I just kept following him and man, this dude can run forever, he kept taking alleys I couldn’t swing down or get to before he’d go down a new one-“
“So, basically, you’ve been chasing this probable bank robber,” Carol gave the criminal a once-over, deciding he wasn’t nearly impressive enough to rob a bank, “ ATM robber, all the way from Queens.”
“Yea.”
“And why didn’t you catch him until now?”
“Because he shot me in the leg.”
Carol rolled her eyes at first, the severity of the situation not truly registering with her. “Because he shot you in th- he shot you in the leg?”
Peter shook his head a little bit like he’d said something wrong. “I mean, yea, but not really. Seriously, it’s just a graze-“
That’s when Carol noticed the bump on the outside of his right thigh, the protrusion caused by a thick layer of what looked to be hastily placed webbing temporarily bandaging his wound.
“Are you okay, Spidey?” Morgan had stepped out from behind Carol’s legs to address Peter. She tried tugging the child back, but the girl simply wiggled her shoulders to evade her grip and kept walking forward.
“Absolutely. I’m solid gold, just look at me!” Peter struck several ridiculous poses that made Morgan giggle. Carol didn’t miss the way he favored his right side.
Morgan slapped Carol’s hand several times. “Can I please please please get a picture with my Spider-Man?”
“Oh honey, I don’t know if he’s up to it-“
“Of course you can! Hop on over here. What’s your name?”
Peter didn’t know Morgan’s name? Carol figured he would have recognized her right away with how close him and Tony had been.
Had been. Carol didn’t remember who, but one of the Avengers had told her that Peter was one of the ones who was dusted. It had happened in Tony’s arms, and Stark had mourned him for the following five years.
Peter was gone when Morgan was born, trapped within the soul stone with the other half of the universe. Then Tony died, and Pepper didn’t keep in touch. Parker had no idea that this was the child of his dead mentor.
That made the picture much more depressing, but also have so much more meaning. The physical and metaphorical lifeblood of Tony Stark, all wrapped up in one photo. He’d left behind quite a legacy with these two.
Morgan squealed as Peter hefted her into the air and onto his shoulders. “I’m Morgan.”
“On three,” Carol said, her cellphone poised for the shot.
“Alright, Morgan, say webs!” Peter shouted.
“One, two, three!”
“Webs!” Both him and Morgan hollered enthusiastically. Carol pulled her phone down to look at the picture. Spider-Man’s face was covered by his typical expressionless mask, but the peace sign he was holding up with one hand made Carol think he really was smiling beneath all the spandex.
He had a hand on Morgan’s leg so she wouldn’t fall off his shoulders. Carol had never seen her smile so big, all of the little gaps from her previous “tooth fairy” visits visible between her lips. Her arms were wrapped around the top of Spider-Man’s head, and she honestly looked like she was never going to let go.
Peter placed Morgan on the ground gently. “Alright, there you go.”
“Thank you Mister Spider-Man!”
“Anytime. I think I’m gonna bounce before the Cops get here and find this guy. The boys in blue don’t like me very much. I’ll see you guys around!”
Just as he was about to shoot a web and swing away, Carol placed a hand on his shoulder. “Get that checked out,” she said quietly, nudging her chin in the direction of his leg. “Promise me.”
“Y-Yeah. Yea, I will.”
A few running steps and he was gone, a blur of red and blue against New York’s silver skyline.
Morgan fell asleep on the drive back to the upstate compound. The excitement of meeting her personal hero must have really taken a toll. Carol also assumed her drowsiness had something to do with an intense post-ice-cream sugar crash; either way, Danvers didn’t mind the silence. As much as she loved the kid, Morgan was talkative. It was sort of exhausting. The more time Carol spent with her, the more she admired and appreciated Pepper and her child tolerance levels.
Peter Parker was on Carol’s mind for most of the drive. Before today, she hadn’t seen him since walking by his apartment weeks ago. Hell, she’d barely thought about him. Her time had been consumed by training, Fury and Morgan with not much of anything else inbetween. She was usually exhausted and crashed early when given the chance, her sleep riddled with images of things much worse than the boy who lost his mentor.
But fate had brought her back into the path of Peter Parker, and she felt like it meant something much, much bigger than any chance encounter usually does. She couldn’t just let this one slide.
So, once a deeply snoozing Morgan was placed within her mother’s arms, Carol ditched the car Pepper had loaned her for the day and flew back to Queens on her own. Between driving Morgan around and traveling via SHIELD vehicles or jets, she’d almost forgotten how fun, and not to mention efficient, flying was. New York City traffic was no match for someone not even using the roads. Dodging helicopters was sort of an issue on cloudier days, but Carol had only had a few close calls so far, so she wasn’t deterred by the risk.
That didn’t matter today, anyways. The weather was great overall, warm and sunny but not too humid. A temperate day before summer really had NYC within its grip.
It took Carol mere minutes to make her way back to Queens. She’d unintentionally had Peter’s address memorized since her first visit. In retrospect, that may have been a bit odd, considering she’d only ever dropped by his home one time. She hadn’t even spoken to him, just stood outside for a few minutes and left. She had no intention of being so flippant now, though.
The doorman of Peter’s apartment building didn’t even look up from his bikini issue of Sports Illustrated when Carol walked into the lobby, just grunted and pointed toward the elevators before she could say anything. Guest protocol here wasn’t exactly tight. Queens itself wasn’t a horrible place, just a little rougher around the edges than the Tower’s Manhattan neighborhood. Regardless, Danvers didn’t think being so lax about strangers just waltzing into the building was a fantastic idea, despite the fact that it made her own plan that much easier.
Peter’s apartment was on the sixth floor and at the end of the hall. It was hard to miss; the door itself had been recently painted, its cleanliness setting it apart from some of the neighbors. There was also a beautiful yellow tulip wreath hanging from a hook. A large P sat in the center.
Carol wrapped her knuckles harshly on the door thrice. No one answered for several seconds, and the only sounds around her were from nearby apartments and the street below. She’d almost decided to walk away, figuring Peter simply wasn’t home yet, when a sudden “ Who is it?” made its way through the door. Carol instantly recognized the voice as Peter’s.
“Danvers,” Carol replied.
“ Danvers?” Peter asked. “ Oh! That Danvers. Hold on a sec.”
There were a few more moments of silence, some heavy thumping noises, and the distinct sound of no less than three separate locks being undone. The door swung inward.
Peter stood almost directly behind the door, only the left side of his body visible. His Spidey suit had been traded for a NASA t-shirt and simple grey athletic shorts, but there were still traces of dirt on his cheeks. His hair looked a little dirty and maybe even a tad matted, drying sweat fixing several curls to his forehead.
“Hey, ma’am, um, very nice of you to stop by, really. But if you don’t mind my asking, why are you here? And how do you know my address?”
One of Carol’s eyebrows shot upward. Peter wasn’t being rude, exactly, but she felt like he was hiding something. The fact that he wouldn’t make eye contact was another dead giveaway.
“Can’t a woman check in on an old pal?”
“We’ve only met once, ma’am. Well twice now, but the first time wasn’t exactly under the best circumstances.”
“Can I just come in?” She asked finally.
Peter leaned his forehead against the door, took a deep breath, and slowly walked backward. Carol slipped through the entryway and Peter immediately shut the door behind her, re-bolting each lock he’d undone originally.
“Where’s your family?” Carol asked innocently, noting the deep quiet of the apartment beyond. It wasn’t a big place, a small but cozy living room with a kitchen to the side and a singular hallway presumably leading to the bathroom and bedrooms. The walls were painted a gentle blue, most of the furniture worn-in but still tasteful.
There were a few photos on the walls in the foyer. Most were small and depicted the same three people: Peter, a pretty woman with long brown hair, and a smiling man that looked to be about her age. The three of them looked happy together. Each photo was lively and bright, a genuine sense of family and loving radiating from each one.
“My aunt is still at work.”
An aunt. She must be the woman in the photos. Peter didn’t bring up a man, so Carol didn’t ask.
She motioned to his right leg. “How’s that doing? You get it checked out?”
Peter, obviously trying to hide a limp, made his way to the couch and collapsed with his back against an armrest. “Y-Yea, totally. It’s all good.” His eyes opened like he’d realized something, and he stood again quickly. Carol didn’t miss the wince that came when he put pressure on his right leg. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. D-do you want a drink or anything? Food? May hasn’t been to the grocery in a while, but I think we have some macaroni and cheese or something-“
“I don’t want your food,” Carol said carefully. She didn’t want to seem short with Peter, but she knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
Although, why would he? He didn’t know Carol, not really. She knew his secret, but she didn’t know him. Of course he wouldn’t be comfortable with her right off the bat. Maybe coming by his home was a mistake. The last thing she wanted to do was intimidate him or make him uneasy.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Peter looked taken aback by that. “S-Seriously?”
“Well yea, kid. You said you got shot.”
He huffed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It made Carol wonder if he had anyone that really checked up on him from time to time after a day “at work” didn’t go so well.
Peter’s hand lifted from where he’d been resting it on the arm of the couch and landed gently on his right thigh, tenderly feeling the area. He mumbled something along the lines of “ fucking shit.” The curse seemed terribly out of place coming from someone who still used the word ma’am.
“What is it?” Carol left her place in the foyer, pushed Peter back onto the couch, and kneeled in front of him.
There was blood on Peter’s hand, just enough that Carol could see it shining on the tips of his fingers. “Wound broke open again,” he said. “Glue must not have dried properly.”
“Glue? You used glue to close a gunshot wound?”
Peter grunted and stood from the couch. He disappeared down the hallway and turned into a room on his left, Carol on his heels. There was no way she was leaving now.
“It’s medical glue. I’m not a complete idiot.” Several pill bottles and lotion containers fell from the bathroom cabinet and into the sink as Peter pulled an array of medical supplies out. He stacked some gauze, medical tape, and the glue bottle on the counter next to him and plopped unceremoniously onto the closed toilet. “And besides, like I said, it’s just a graze.”
“Let me see it,” she said, not giving him much of a chance to protest before gingerly tugging back the hem of his shorts and peeling some of the gauze back. “Jesus, Parker.”
He was right, it was just a graze, but a nasty one at that. The wound was about two inches long, wide and relatively deep. Carol could see partially-dried pieces of glue along its edges. That’s what Peter had been using to hold it closed, the gauze simply catching any blood that managed to leak out. Carol tore away the already bled-through fabric and tossed it into the trash bin.
“This needs stitches,” she said.
“It really doesn’t. The glue should have been enough.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“I don’t understand why, though. I heal fast. Like, fast fast. Usually as long as I hold it shut for a while it heals within 24 hours. It should at least be scabbed over by now.”
“You must not have let the glue dry enough and it tore back open. Here.” She dumped some hydrogen peroxide she’d swiped off the sink onto the wound before Peter could stop her, earning her a sharp hey, man, ow! She waited for the bubbles to settle, then dabbed some more of the glue at the edges of the wound. “Wait a few seconds until it gets tacky, then pinch the edges together.”
Peter did as he was told. He bit his lip as his fingers made contact with his leg, and Carol’s heart twinged in sympathy. “Who was that little girl you were with? Morgan. Is-is she yours?”
Carol froze, not knowing how much she was really supposed to say. She knew Pepper wouldn’t mind her saying anything to Peter, but would Peter mind? Telling him he missed out on the birth of his mentor’s child while he was trapped in some freaky soul world wasn’t exactly easy news to break. Especially now, when he was injured and vulnerable. She made a split-second decision to keep her mouth shut. Peter didn’t need to know, not just yet.
“Lord no. She belongs to a friend. I just had her for the day.” Carol eyed Peter’s handiwork, making sure the wound was properly held closed. “Alright. Good. Do you have any regular bandaids?”
“Medicine cabinet. I don’t feel like those are going to do much right now, though.”
Carol pulled down the box and opened two bandages, sticking each one to the far left of Peter’s wound and pulling their opposite edges tightly to the right.
“Ouch- hey!”
“Yea, sorry. But that should hold it closed for a while.”
Peter only stared at his leg for a moment, eyes slightly unfocused. “Wow, I’m an idiot. You’re right,” he mumbled, “simple.” He chuckled; the laugh had no real humor in it. “I should have thought of that.”
Deciding to ignore the boy’s self-deprivation, Carol simply shook her head and trained her eyes on his. “You told me you were getting that checked out.”
“I didn’t lie. I did get it checked out. By me.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Peter stood and pulled his pant leg down. “It wasn’t that bad, I could handle it.” He wouldn’t look at Carol head-on, keeping his head low as he re-sorted the bottles that had fallen out of the medicine cabinet. “With how often I get hurt, there’s no point in telling Aunt May or anyone else if it’s not too severe. I can’t risk a doctor’s office, anyways. Too expensive, and too risky. I get any blood work done, and someone finds out I’m different.”
“And different is dangerous,” Carol said sadly, understanding far too well how some people react when they’re faced with something they don’t understand.
Peter nodded. “Yea. Different is dangerous.”
Carol was slowly putting the pieces together. She assumed not too many people knew who the kid really was. Peter worked alone. He didn’t tell anyone when he was hurt. None of that was him being rude or exclusive. His distance was meant to protect the people he cared about, whether from the physical dangers of being an accomplice or the mentally draining sight of Peter coming home bruised and bloodied every other day.
Carol nabbed a left-behind bottle of ibuprofen off of the sink and tossed it in Peter’s direction. He caught it without looking.
“Take a few of those.”
“Nah, no point. My metabolism burns through them too quickly. They don’t do anything.”
Damn. That’s unfortunate , Carol thought. With how often Peter probably gets hurt, not being able to take anything for the pain must suck.
“Well then take some and tell yourself they’re working. You know, placebo effect.”
Peter snorted. “I’m not sure that’s how it works.” He went back to the living room and stood in the middle of the floor, apparently unsure of what to do with himself.
“Thank you,” he said slowly, as if he wasn’t sure how to proceed, “for checking on me.”
“Any time, kid.” Carol made her way toward the front door. Her hand stalled on the doorknob, mind occupied as she checked her mental calendar. “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
Peter tilted his head. “Tuesday? Why?”
Carol smiled. “It’s the one weekday I have open to come and make sure you haven’t gotten yourself killed. So, like I said, see you Tuesday.”
Peter stepped forward just as Carol began shutting the apartment door. “Miss Danvers, that’s really not nec-“
Carol smiled and began making her way toward the elevator. “Oh, I think it is.”
As odd as it was to admit, she was excited to come back on Tuesday. And the Tuesday after that, and the Tuesday after that…