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***
Coming home by train because of the flowers — holding the bouquet more carefully than any passenger around seemed to think was necessary — Peter entered the house in silence, closing the door with his foot. He left the flowers on the couch before heading to the kitchen, where, just like the night before, May was working on her recipe book at the table, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose, her tongue lightly pressed against her upper lip, a pen in hand and several notes scattered around.
"I'm home, May," he said, walking up to her and hugging her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Peter!" May dropped the pen and turned in the chair, her arms wrapping around his neck in a hug that seemed to want to make up for all the hours they had spent apart that day. "How was your dinner?"
"All good," Peter replied, burying his face in her neck and taking a deep breath. May's scent always seemed to push away all his problems and responsibilities, giving him, even if briefly, a moment of peace.
"And Harry? How is he?" May asked, still holding him by the shoulders as she pulled back a little to look at him more clearly.
"Much better. He's improving little by little," Peter answered, feeling a pang of guilt for having lied to her about where he had been. But he couldn't exactly say that he had gone to dinner with his sensei — who, by the way, was an adult. May would simply lose her mind over that.
Like when he invited Betty Brant to be his date to the Fall Formal and May went to the Daily Bugle to make the girl give up being his date. 'Uh, remembering that makes me want to move to another city,' he thought, feeling his face heat up.
Peter took a step back and as expected, May immediately started her silent "inspection" — her eyes running over him from head to toe, attentive to any sign of whatever it was she was looking for.
After a few seconds, she nodded to herself, apparently satisfied, and sat back down. "Are you hungry? I can reheat the food—"
"No, no, I'm full." Peter interrupted with a smile, gently grabbing her arm before she could fully sit down in the chair. "Come here. I have a surprise for you," he said, leading her to the living room.
"A surprise? For me?!" May exclaimed, her eyes widening, her voice going up a pitch. She let herself be guided by his steps, but soon frowned, her expression shifting from excited to worried in the blink of an eye. "Don't tell me you spent your money on something for me, Peter. You know you don't have to—"
'I don't deserve you.' Peter thought as he heard the concern in those words — not excitement over the gift, but fear that he might be sacrificing himself for her. It was always like that. She always worried more about him than about herself. "Close your eyes and stop worrying about money for a moment, May. Just for a moment, deal?"
"Oh Peter..." She murmured, but her fingers were already rising to cover her eyes in an almost childish gesture, her shoulders relaxing and her lips curving into a small, shy smile.
"Okay, stay right there. And no peeking!" Peter left her in the center of the room, a few steps away from the couch, and went to get the bouquet. He picked it up and then returned to where May was waiting. "You can look."
She lowered her hand slowly and widened her eyes when she saw the bouquet extended in her direction. "Peter..." May murmured, feeling her vision blur slightly.
"Beautiful flowers for the most beautiful woman in New York."
May let out a small, choked laugh, bringing one hand to her face to quickly wipe away a tear that had slipped out, while the other reached out to take the bouquet with all the care in the world. "I can't believe you did this…" she said, shaking her head slightly.
"Well, believe it." Peter took a step forward and hugged her, being careful with the bouquet. "And get that little heart of yours ready, because starting today, I'm going to give you a surprise like this every week."
"No, you won't. I won't let you spend your money on me," May said with a muffled voice, hugging him tightly with her free arm. "Thank you so much, Peter. I love you..."
'Right, I guess that didn't soften her heart enough to let me pay all the bills... this is going to be a long conversation,' Peter thought, kissing her on the forehead. "Never thank me for something like this. And I love you too."
***
The conversation with his aunt had been, as expected, complicated.
First came the concern—question after question about where all that money had come from. Then, once he managed to calm her down and explain everything, she grew proud, telling him he should save it all for the future. And, of course, the irritation came when he mentioned paying the bills.
From that moment on, Peter needed several minutes—and more than one carefully calculated verbal maneuver—to convince her. It wasn't easy. It never was, especially when it came to May and what she believed was best for him. Even so, as almost always happened between the two of them, they reached a middle ground: he would pay half the bills, and she would take care of the other half.
It wasn't ideal—not even close to what Peter wanted—but it would do for now. He just needed to slowly make her accept that the bills were his responsibility.
Now, two hours later, after Peter confirmed that May was sleeping deeply in her bed, he slipped out of the house silently through his bedroom window. Within minutes, he was already blocks away, perched atop a building, mask on his face and the cold late night wind hitting his suit as he began another patrol. No, not "another patrol," but the first and newest one: the late-night patrol
And, from what he could see… it promised to be quite busy.
'Alright… is that guy just trying to open a jammed door, or steal the car?' Peter wondered, crouched on top of a streetlight. Down below, a hooded man stood beside a parked black sedan, clearly trying to force the door open. 'Let's just… ask.'
Without making a sound, Peter dropped from the post, landing right behind the man. The guy kept fiddling with the door, completely unaware of his presence. "So…" Peter began, in a casual tone, like he was making small talk in an elevator. "Are you a thief… or is that door just really stuck?"
The man froze for a second, slowly turned his head, and then... took off running.
"…Okay, that answers my question." Peter sighed, raising his wrist and firing a web into the man's back. He yanked the web hard, making the man fall onto his back and get dragged across the asphalt until he stopped at his feet, letting out a groan of pain. "Congratulations, you're my first catch of the shift."
***
Wiping blood and other fluids from his hands on a white towel, Wilson Fisk looked at the henchman standing in the doorway. "Clean the floor. And leave the body somewhere it will be found—" He stopped mid-sentence, remembering something.
Fisk slipped a hand inside his suit jacket and pulled out a small card. He briefly glanced at it before extending it. "And make sure this is with it."
The henchman took the card, frowning slightly as he gave it a quick look. [Courtesy of your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.]
***
Disclaimer: This story and its characters belong to Sony Pictures and Marvel Comics (Disney). This is merely a fanfiction written by a fan, with no intention of infringement.