aFireFist
A Life in Marvel
Chapter 12 - Part 2
"So," George said, cutting into his food. "I hear the two of you have been spending a lot of evenings out lately. Training, you said."
Gwen nodded, keeping her voice casual. "Yeah. Just working on conditioning. Running, calisthenics, that kind of thing. Morgan's been spotting me so I don't overdo it."
George looked between them, his expression serious but not angry. He set his fork down for a moment and leaned back slightly. "I'm not going to pretend I don't know the city's gotten louder. Between the Avengers fighting each other, the Vulture mess at the pier, and half the precinct still talking about powered people showing up every other week… I need you both to be careful. Especially at night. Stick to well-lit areas. Keep your phones charged. And if something feels off, you walk away. No heroes, no heroics. Just get home safe."
Morgan met his eyes. "We will, Captain. We're not looking for trouble. Just trying to stay ready in case it finds us."
George's face softened a little. He picked up his fork again, but his gaze stayed serious. "I always do. Comes with the badge. But the last few weeks have been different. After the Vulture went down, we got a wave of smaller crews trying to fill the gap. Guys with leftover tech, stolen weapons, thinking the chaos means open season. We've had three muggings with energy weapons in the last week alone. Two of them ended with the suspects just… gone. Webbed up neat and clean for us to find, no sign of who did it. Makes the guys at the precinct nervous. Makes me nervous."
He pointed his fork at Morgan. "And you. I've known you since you were a kid climbing the oak tree in our backyard. I trust you with my daughter. Don't make me regret that."
"I won't," Morgan said simply.
Under the table, Gwen's fingers tightened slightly on Morgan's knee. Their eyes met for a second. In that brief glance, the memory of the night before flickered between them.
Last night had been clean. Efficient. Easy.
They had started near the river warehouses after dark. The air was damp and carried the low industrial smell of oil and river water. Morgan had felt the group first—four surface thoughts full of cheap bravado and the sharp edge of desperation. One of them was already thinking about how easy the delivery driver would be. Another was half-wondering if the scavenged Chitauri pistol would actually fire cleanly. Gwen had already been on the wall of the nearest warehouse, silent, waiting for his quiet nod.
When the first mugger raised the scavenged Chitauri pistol at the delivery driver, Gwen dropped from above. She landed behind him with almost no sound, one precise chop to the side of the neck. The man crumpled without a shout. Morgan stepped in from the side at the same moment, energy already flowing through his hands as he pressed two fingers to the second man's wrist. The sudden rush of calm and disorientation hit the guy like a soft wave. His knees buckled and he dropped the knife he had been holding.
The third man spun, mouth opening to shout. Gwen was already moving. She fired a web line that yanked him sideways into a shipping container with a solid thud, then webbed his wrists and ankles in two quick motions. The fourth tried to run. Morgan simply stepped into his path, one hand settling on the man's chest. Another controlled pulse of energy left the runner staggering, eyes unfocused. He sat down hard on the pavement and stayed there.
No dialogue. No wasted movement. Gwen had already secured the delivery driver, checked him for injuries, and gathered the weapons by the time Morgan finished. They left the four webbed and dazed in a neat cluster for the next patrol car, then moved on without looking back.
The second stop came less than forty minutes later in a narrow alley near Midtown. Morgan felt the tension before they even turned the corner—three surface minds spiked with panic and greed. Two men had a woman pressed against the brick wall while a third rifled through her bag. Gwen didn't wait for a signal this time. She dropped from the fire escape above, landing between the woman and the closest attacker. One sharp kick took the first man's legs out from under him. Morgan stepped in from the alley mouth, energy flowing as he caught the second man by the shoulder. The pulse hit and the man's body went slack with sudden, overwhelming calm. He sagged against the wall, eyes glassy.
The third man swung a metal pipe. Gwen caught it mid-arc, twisted, and webbed him to the opposite wall in three precise strands. The woman was already being guided toward the mouth of the alley by Morgan, who kept his voice low and steady while the residual energy from his hands helped settle her shaking. They left the three attackers secured and the woman's bag returned before disappearing back into the darker side streets.
The third stop was a rooftop deal going sour in Queens. Morgan felt the rising hostility from half a block away—two groups, six people total, the surface thoughts turning sharp and violent over a duffel bag of scavenged tech. Gwen took the high ground on the neighboring building while Morgan approached from the stairwell access. When one of the buyers pulled a handgun, Gwen swung across the gap in a single silent arc and kicked the weapon clean out of his hand. Morgan was already among the second group, energy pulses landing in quick succession. Two men dropped to their knees in sudden confusion. Gwen webbed the remaining three to the rooftop vents before any of them could coordinate a response.
By the time the first sirens started in the distance, the six men were secured, the duffel bag was left in plain view for the responding officers, and Morgan and Gwen were already three rooftops away. No civilian injuries. No extended fights. Just quiet, coordinated work.
By midnight they had put three small crews out of commission without a single civilian getting hurt and without either of them taking a real hit. The city felt a little quieter for it.
Back at the dinner table, Gwen's mouth curved in the smallest private smile before she looked back at her father.
"We're being careful, Dad," she said.
George studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "Good. Because the city's not slowing down. After the Accords and the Vulture, every two-bit thug with a grudge thinks the rules are optional. I've got officers asking if they should even bother responding to certain calls anymore. That kind of thinking spreads fast."
Morgan spoke carefully. "People are scared. When the big names start fighting each other, the streets feel emptier. That's when the small-time guys get bold."
George pointed his fork again, but there was a flicker of agreement in his eyes. "Exactly. Which is why I need the two of you to stay smart. No late nights in the wrong neighborhoods. No taking risks you don't have to. You're both still kids in my book, even if you're trying to act otherwise."
Gwen reached across the table and squeezed her father's hand. "We hear you. And we're asking the same of you. Don't take unnecessary risks either. Promise?"
George's expression softened fully for the first time that evening. "I promise I'll be careful. Comes with the job, but I'll watch myself."
The rest of dinner stayed lighter after that. They talked about school—Gwen's latest molecular biology lab results, Morgan's quiet competence in political theory, a case George couldn't give details on but that clearly weighed on him. The meatloaf disappeared. The potatoes followed. When the plates were finally cleared, Gwen and Morgan stood to help with the dishes.
George watched them from the doorway for a moment, arms crossed, a quiet pride mixed with lingering worry on his face. Then he nodded once. "I'm turning in early. Shift starts before dawn. Lock up when you leave, Morgan. And get home safe."
"Will do, Captain," Morgan said.
George headed upstairs. The soft creak of the steps faded.
Once they were alone in the kitchen, Gwen leaned against the counter and let out a slow breath. "He's worried."
"He's a dad," Morgan said, stepping close and resting his hands on her hips. His thumbs stroked the soft fabric of her shirt. "And he's right. The city's louder. We stay smart. Street level only for now."
Gwen tilted her face up and kissed him.
***
The next day at Midtown the hallways felt almost normal again.
Peter walked with less of the hunched, guilty posture he'd been carrying for weeks. The bruises were fading. The weight of the secret with May was gone. When he reached the lunch table Ned and MJ were already there.
Ned looked up from his sandwich. "You look different today. Less… like you're about to pass out from stress."
Peter sat down and rubbed the back of his neck. "May found out. About… everything."
MJ's eyebrows rose. "Everything everything?"
"Yeah. The suit. The powers. The pier. All of it." Peter let out a breath. "She was pissed at first. Then she hugged me so hard I thought my ribs were going to crack again. We're good. Better than good, actually. I'm just… relieved I don't have to keep lying to her."
Ned grinned wide, setting his sandwich down completely. "That's huge, man. Like, legitimately huge. I mean, Aunt May knowing? That's a whole weight off your shoulders. How'd she take the whole spider thing? Was she freaking out about the webs and the sticking to walls and the danger sense? Did she ask if you could shoot silk from your butt or something?"
Peter laughed despite himself, the sound surprising even him. "She did ask about the powers. A lot. How strong I really am, how the spider-sense feels, whether I can get hurt as bad as normal people. She was scared—really scared—but she wasn't trying to make me stop. She just wants me to be honest from now on. No more hiding injuries or disappearing without saying anything. It felt… good. Like I'm not carrying it completely alone anymore."
Ned leaned forward, eyes bright with that familiar excitement. "See? I told you! Family knowing makes it easier. You've been running around like a one-man show for so long. Now you've got backup at home. That's going to change everything. You can actually rest sometimes instead of pretending everything's fine when you show up with a new black eye. I'm proud of you, dude. Seriously. You handled telling her way better than I would have. I probably would've panicked and webbed myself to the ceiling by accident."
Peter smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing further. "Thanks, Ned. I needed that. It's still scary, but yeah… it's better."
MJ closed her book slowly and looked at him for a long second, her expression softer than usual. "Good. Secrets like that eat people alive. You're already carrying enough on your plate without adding the constant fear of your aunt figuring it out at the worst possible moment. At least now one less person is in the dark. And honestly? Aunt May's tough. She raised you after everything with your uncle. She can handle knowing you're out there trying to do the right thing."
She paused, then added in her dry, matter-of-fact tone, "Just don't be stupid about it. You've got people who care. Use that. Tell her when you're going out. Let her know you're coming back. It's not weakness—it's smart. And you're allowed to be smart about this, Parker. You don't have to be the lone hero all the time. We're here too. Even if it's just for normal stuff like covering for you in class or making sure you eat something that isn't vending machine garbage after a rough night."
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