Chapter Text
The shrill sound of an alarm echoed in an apartment before a hand came out from under a blanket trying to turn off the alarm.
After a few unsuccessful attempts, the alarm was turned off.
With that, the person sleeping finally got up, revealing himself to be an adult man with a tired expression on his face, he had fair skin, messy brown hair with eyes of the same color and large dark circles. This was Peter Parker, also known as the Amazing Spider-Man.
The problem was, he didn’t feel amazing at that moment.
His bones hurt in places he didn’t even remember existed, and every breath felt like it was tearing him up inside, as if even the air had decided to be cruel. He also had a horrible headache from last night’s fight, which made him want to lie down again when he felt something dripping on his shoulder before looking up.
The apartment ceiling, or what was left of it, displayed a new crack through which it had started to leak. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the ceiling that needed renovation, wires hung from the walls like exposed veins, and the persistent smell of mold was a constant reminder that he couldn’t stay there much longer.
One more day…
He dragged himself to the bathroom, where the water only came down if he used his strength against the pipe to align the plumbing and make the water come out of the shower instead of the cracks.
“The water was cold. Great. Maybe this will help me wake up for real…” Peter thinks, holding back a shiver at the temperature.
After putting on a wrinkled shirt and worn-out jeans—most of the good clothes had been sent to a laundromat last week after a pipe problem flooded the apartment… And he had still caused some damage at the laundromat as Spider-Man while fighting Shocker.
He let out a sigh before heading to the kitchen, grabbing a cereal box and pouring it into a bowl. Opening the fridge to look at the milk only to feel his spider sense warning him against it… At least now he knew he had to add milk to the shopping list.
With that, he sat down and started eating the dry cereal, giving a quick glance at the door.
Actually, part of him feared that, upon opening the door, he’d find himself back in that mental captivity, stuck in a loop of distorted memories, hearing the twisted laughter of someone who loved to toy with his sanity.
But he had to try. He needed to look for a job, anything, before the landlord kicked his stuff down the stairs. With that in mind, he quickly finished the cereal and got up, heading toward the door.
Peter turned the doorknob, heart on alert, every muscle tense.
And then... he froze.
Standing outside, in the narrow and poorly lit hallway of the crumbling building, was Emma Frost. A beautiful woman with fair skin, short blonde hair and blue eyes, in high heels, a pristine white coat, and the expression of someone who hadn’t stepped in places like this since birth. The air around her seemed cleaner, colder and smelled of expensive perfume.
“Mr. Parker.” she said, as if it were completely normal to knock on the door of a ruined apartment at seven in the morning.
Peter blinked, clearly confused.
“...Emma?”
“The one and only.” She gave a small smile, but her eyes didn’t smile, looking him up and down disapproving of his current state. “You look terrible. But don’t worry, it’s part of your decadent charm.”
“My charm, what? What are you…?”
She raised a black, thin and elegant folder, and handed it to him.
“You start next week.”
Peter looked at the folder as if it were a bomb before looking back at Emma, who looked calmly at him.
“I start… what exactly?”
“Job. Frost International. New scientific division. Room with a view, state-of-the-art equipment, medical assistance, the basics. I thought you could use some stability. Or at least some real coffee.” Peter felt embarrassed realizing he had probably left the bowl on the kitchen counter.
“I… I didn’t even apply for anything.” Peter stammered, still surprised and embarrassed by her surprise.
Emma shrugged. “You don’t have to. Someone with your brain and background may be a social disaster, but still extremely useful. Consider this a win-win situation.”
She stared at him for a second longer, as if she could see through the layers of pain, exhaustion and confusion that covered every inch of Peter. “Try not to destroy the lab in the first week.”
And then she turned around and left, as if she had left behind a postcard and not an emotional grenade.
Peter stood still in the open door, the folder still in his fingers, heart racing.
Nothing made sense.
With that, he closed the door going toward the counter, opening the folder and looking at some papers about his new job, with many things that really were just topics and experiments he remembered being interested in and studying when he was younger.
At that moment he noticed a small envelope and quickly opened it and took the contents out. As soon as he saw a photo of him and Kitty Pryde as teenagers, hugging and with her kissing him on the cheek, Peter’s eyes widened and he turned the photo around to see a number written with a handwritten message in her handwriting.
“Call me. Spidey.” Peter read before falling silent.
For the first time, in a long time, he didn’t know what to say.