I had to lend Gwen some of my clothes since she didn't carry spares while she worked, which was understandable because wearing a backpack while fighting was cringe.
When she returned from changing I couldn't help but give her a toothy grin seeing how oversized the clothes were on her.
Her natural blonde hair curled just before her shoulders, a pair of sky blue eyes glimmering in the setting sun
"What?" She asked, seeing my grin.
"You look good in baggy clothes." I said honestly, finding her very, very easy on the eyes.
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" She asked suspiciously.
I quirked a brow at her. "I think? You're pretty so I guess you'd look good in most clothes…"
Gwen turned her head away, hiding her reaction from my purview.
"Better." She muttered.
I hummed, "Mm. Well, lead the way, your choice after all."
—
Out of all the places in New York she could've picked, I didn't expect a falafel truck on 10th.
"Mmm! This is like-" She said through a mouthful, "-the best damn food in all of New York-" She continued with a swallow, "-I swear, even if I died I'd somehow find a way back to haunt this truck~"
Her legs swung freely as we both sat on the ledge of a ten-story building, looking out at the city that never sleeps.
I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm as she devoured her third falafel. I'll admit it again, I have a serious weakness for this sorta thing.
Kindness — at least, my grotesquely biased version of selfish-altruism was like crack to me. This world, this fantastical reality was so chock full of people who didn't deserve to suffer and while I wasn't the kind of guy to go outta his way to help each and every one of them, indulging like this filled a certain hole in my heart.
"I can tell, three falafels? Color me impressed Gwen."
She gave me an embarrassed smile, turning away to finish her falafel.
"Were you hungry?" I asked, even though it was clear that she was.
She gave me half-nod, wiping her hands clean against the coarse stone we sat on. "Always… I don't really have time to eat, you know—between all this spider stuff and school stuff." She admitted, swinging her legs as she spoke.
I hummed, "Yeah? I guess I get it."
"Talking about school… I know we don't talk a lot but even then, you sure skip a lot of classes."
I chuckled, "Yeah, I got caught up in a lot of... stuff."
She tilted her head at me, a wry smile on her lips. "Stuff? What stuff."
I couldn't help but smile, "I usually say this ironically—but it's actually classified."
She groaned. "Oh~ you're just sooo mysterious. Mr, I wear a mask and pull up random girls all threatening like—dark & stormy. What are you? A super-secret spy?" She said with dripping sarcasm and mockery.
I had to withhold a laugh, her eyes narrowing at my reaction.
"You're kidding." She said dryly.
I shook my head, waving a finger at her. "Cla~ssi~fied~" I sang to her.
She rolled her eyes at me, but there was a hint of curiosity laced deep in her irises.
"So, Mr. Classified… are you also a uh—vigilante? A hero?" She asked, the latter spoken with an embarrassed whisper.
I shook my head, looking out at the city. "Not my thing, I don't have the sense of justice—only my own, nor do I think I could hold back like a hero should."
She gave me a short hum of reply.
"I get that, but I feel like you're a good guy?"
"You think?"
She hummed, shrugging her shoulders. She suddenly leaned backwards, her arms stretching to the sky before she slumped onto her back. Eyes locked onto the faint light-polluted stars above her.
"Hey Riven?" She asked without taking her eyes off the sky.
"Yeah?"
"Why'd you show me your face? You didn't have to… I couldn't land a single hit on you no matter how hard I tried, you could've just left."
I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, before looking back down to the streets below. My eyes traced the roads, following cars as they cruised through the night. It was peaceful up here, distant from the woes of the world below. It gave me the sort of feeling you'd get staring out of an airplane window, a nostalgic—almost wistful feeling.
"You were crying Gwen." I said, causing her to cover her face with her arm.
"Ugh… I know—please forget that…" She muttered into the crook of her elbow.
I smiled, "Nothing wrong with it, just caught me off guard—but to be real? Its because I know you won't do me dirty."
She glanced at me from under her arm. "How do you know that?"
I shrugged, "I don't. I just do."
She shook her head, splaying her arm back to the floor. "That doesn't make any sense…" She huffed.
The silence between us stewed for a moment, the faint cacophony of the world below us filling the quiet night.
"Thanks…" She muttered.
"For the falafels?"
She chuckled, "That too, but that's not what I meant." She titled her head over to me, just barely enough for me to see both of her eyes. "I mean thanks, for not running away from me…"
Her voice drowned away as the words left her mouth, our eyes met for a second that stretched into a minute—an eternity bottled in a single exchange.
It was moments like these that truly tested my character. I'm sure you've had them, a cross-road so clear in their divergence that the only thing standing in your way is yourself.
Action, or the lack there of, both were equal in their results. Saying nothing meant leaving regret to speak for you in its silent wake—I've already lived a life relishing in the fear of my own self rejections—when you get a second chance, especially one as on the nose as this, you better fucking speak your mind.
If a man lives and dies in a forest with nobody to hear his existent screams—did he really live at all?
"Gwen." I whispered, but she didn't reply, didn't need to, our eyes never broke contact.
"If you want—I never will."
She turned away, her eyes returning to the faded stars that seemed ever out of reach.
"Your so… cheesy—god." She whispered to the sky, the scent of fresh baked goods filling the Force.
The two of us stayed above the city long enough for the night to grow cold. Gwen returned home soon after since her dad, George, would be getting home soon from his long-hour shifts with the police department.
He was the kind of guy to assume to worst, that she was out late doing drugs or something—yet he couldn't be more wrong. Though I'd argue that heroism was just as addictive, not to mention far more dangerous.
As I watched her leave, leaping between the rooftops like the acrobat she was, Nex's voice spoke into my mind.
[Riven, there's a sighting of a Spider-suited vigilante in Chelsea stopping a mugging…]
I grinned into the night. "Thanks Nex, also, turns out there's two spider people—with a potential forecast of more soon to come—I just met with Ghost-Spider, she was nice."
[Now there are two of them?]
I chuckled, "Mm. Isn't it getting out of hand?"
[Indeed, what's next? A third?]
"Only a spider knows, Nex. Can you also set a daily reminder for me to visit the falafel truck on 10th, or at least, whenever Ghost-Spider is active and about."
[Sure… can I ask why?]
"Of course Nex, you know that I'll always be truthful with you. She says she doesn't eat well…" I said, my voice trailing off to the direction Gwen had left. "...huh, I don't know actually. I guess… I just want to."
[Thats not much of an answer.]
"I know Nex, I know, but sometimes there aren't answers to things—just actions."
—
I stood high above the city, perched on a ledge like I was some billionaire orphan, watching as Spider-Man—actuallySpider-Man this time—played around with a ski-mask wearing man waving a knife around.
Despite the sheer gap in their physical abilities Peter somehow struggled to apprehend the guy, or maybe he was just fucking around, whatever it was it was taking too long.
Okay, maybe I'm just looking for an excuse.
It was a selfish want. The propellant for most of my actions, I knew what he was destined for, what sorta hellish anguish awaited him—could it be avoided? I'm not sure, but I was sure as hell going to see if I couldn't knock some sense into the guy.
I stepped off the building just as he webbed the guy to the wall, landing with a cratering slam as I gently pulled on the Force to cushion my impact.
My sudden appearance made Peter jump in surprise, his suit's eyes widening as he whipped around to see me.
"Spider-Man." I spoke through my helmet, my voice a digital growl.
"W-what? Uh, yeah—I mean, huh, who are you?" He asked as I strode forwards. I dramatically flipped my arm out, my lightsaber appearing in my hands.
"Do you truly believe this sorry son of a would-be murdering scumbag is going to change his ways?"
Peter's eyes flicked between me and the silvery hilt in my hand. "Huh? Wait is that a--"
I shook my head, igniting my lightsaber. The air filled with a roar, plasma crackling into being and bathing the alley in a crimson-purple glow.
I saw the robbers eyes grow wide as saucers, frantically struggling against his webbed bindings, as I approached.
Peter grasped the sides of his mask. "WHAT THE—IS THAT A LIGHTSABER?!" He squealed, his voice laced with a mixture of excitement and building concern.
"Wait wait wait—dude… that's SICK! But you can't kill this guy—er, mister Jedi sir?" He stammered out with oddly misplaced respect.
I shook my head, then shot a clawed hand towards him and wrenched him up with the Force.
Peter yelped as his feet began to flail in the air, a giddiness in drenched in his every word.
"OH. MY. GOD! THE FORCE?!!?" He couldn't help but shout. His excitement drowning the fact I was threateningly approahing the mugger with a glowing blade of plasma in hand.
"Spider-Man." I growled, giving him side-visor-eye, "You lack conviction." I turned back to the mugger, the fear in his eyes palpable, flicking between me and his spandex wearing captor.
Before either of them could even react I slashed out, carving the brick wall just above his head. Stone melted in the blink of an eye, the hot searing liquid crawling down the wall and branding the man's skin.
He screamed against the scent of burning flesh. Flailing against his bindings hard enough to rip his skin free from his hands.
"What the—" Peter muttered in stunned disbelief. Unable to fully process my random appearance and actions.
His love and joy for the reality of a Jedi being real, overshadowed by the muggers suffering screams.
I stepped close to the man, snatching his throat with the Force, forcing him to stare at his own reflection in my visor.
"Tell me… Will I see you again?"
The man shook his head vigorously enough to pop the joints in his neck. Tears of pain welling in his eyes as the image of my helmet branded into his mind.
I stepped back, turning to a befuddled Spider-Man.
"Call the cops, we have things to discuss."
—
Peter followed me to a rooftop reluctantly, his anger, confusion and curiosity flowing through the Force as turned to him.
"Why do you think I did that?" I suddenly asked.
"Because you're crazy!?" He couldn't help yell at me.
I chuckled, "Maybe. But tell me, do you think the criminals you capture—barely ruffling a hair on their heads—will somehow turn over a new leaf?"
"Huh? Uh, yeah? Rehabilitation and all that…"
I sighed, "Do you want to suffer?"
He scratched the back of his mask, confused as to where this was going. "Um… no?"
"Do you want your loved ones to suffer?"
"No."
"Then why do you treat this as a game?"
"I don't—" He began to say until an unseen pressure suddenly crushed him into the floor, crumpling him to his knees.
To his credit he reacted instantly, shooting a web at me the moment I even thought about Force Crushing him.
Yet, to his dismay, I merely caught the web as if I was snatching a fly out the air.
I saw his eyes widen in surprise. Especially when he tried to pull—his arm quivering under the strain.
But I didn't budge, not even an inch. For perhaps the first time in his life he used the fullest extent of his strength only to find it lacking.
"D-DUDE?!" He grunted out.
I stepped towards him, seeing him struggling to crane his neck to meet my visor.
"Peter."
The Force shifted, sheer terror flooding the space around him in palpable waves, and if I could see his face, I was sure he would pale as a ghost.
"Listen to me littleSpider. You have a gift and more grit than anyone should reasonably have. I realize that you are new to this, I realize that you are doing your best—but your best is not enough. You are playing games with people who would stop at nothing to destroy anything and everything you hold dear. You are putting those you love at risk with your reluctance, with your ploy of being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. You are leaving your enemies healthy enough to scheme on your downfall."
I released my hold on the Force. Letting him heave for breaths as my words sank in.
"Stand." I said, but he didn't move.
"STAND!" I growled, using the Force to yank him to his feet. Peter stumbled as he rose, his shoulders slumped in defeat. I let the silence between us stew, and when he finally spoke his voice was demoralized, weak.
"I—I don't understand, who are you? Why are you telling me this? How do you who I am? Why? WHY?!" He screamed at me.
"Because you're a good man, Peter."
He stepped back, taken aback at my sudden coin flip in attitude. I turned, grasping my hands villainously behind my back as I stared into the city. My voice turned casual, almost nonchalant.
"You are toting a dangerous line, man. It's a fucked up world and you can't be letting people get off like you're currently doing. I won't be the last person to figure out your identity, I can promise you that. I won't tell you how to live your life—but I'd be remiss not taking the chance to warn you—"
I turned to him.
"What do you think of batman?" I suddenly asked.
"Huh? Um… he's cool?"
I shook my head. "He's a fucking idiot."
"What?"
"How many times does the Joker ruin his life? Escape from prison and immediately cause untold terror upon innocents, kidnap his loved ones and use them as toys and bait to cause even more untold suffering?"
"Dude that's a comic." He tried to defend.
I sent a Force flick at his forehead, which he dodged. "You. Are. Wearing. A. Spandex. Suit." I sighed, "Do you get what I'm trying to say?"
He took a second, before slowly nodding.
"Yeah… I think? You're saying I'm setting myself up to suffer?"
"Ding ding ding!" I chimed.
"But what am I supposed to do? Hit harder? I'll kill someone man—I can't do that."
I shook my head. "I know you can't, I'm not saying you should, but you need to know when you should beat the fuck out of someone—to send a message strong enough that the person in question won't ever threaten you or your loved ones again."
Peter sighed, looking out towards the city. "That's… messed up."
I chuckled, "So it goes, Peter. As long as you get it. Now, why the hell aren't you taking any Martial Arts classes?"
"Martial Arts?"