First Cause • Spider-Man: Homecoming [Unedited]

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The next time Gadea sees Peter, the collar of her shirt is rimmed with a sweat stain, and her already calloused palm is rubbed red and angry from maneuvering a broom all day. The muscles in her left bicep protests vehemently whenever she bends her arm a way they don't appreciate. And her right hand, after undergoing another microsurgery to further set the bones, remains in a state of unuse until at least another day.

Perspiration dribbles down the sides of her face and pools in little beads on her upper lip. Her edges are slicked down with the moisture, framing her crumpled face rather poorly. She looks a mess, but Mr. Delmar is lounging at the checkout counter on a lunchbreak when she's the one that's been working since she stepped foot into the deli that morning.

It's a Monday. As was expected, Gadea and Mr. Delmar are the only organisms to breathe the chilled air of Delmar's Bodega, home of the Best Sandwich in Queens. As a result of their lack of traffic, Mr. Delmar figured she could use her free time to get some cleaning done in the store. At noticing her hand still in a cast, Mr. Delmar but plucked a marker from the breast pocket of his shirt and signed on the molded structure: get to work $$$.

She's swept and mopped the floors twice as per his request. Wiped the racks, used a small ladder and feather duster to remove cobwebs netting the high corners of the deli, then stood watch at the counter when asked by Mr. Delmar, as he disappeared into the backroom to call his ex-wife. As soon as the murmuring coming from the room increased into a crescendo of shouts and yells in a foreign language, Gadea decided to take a step out of the store and watch for potential petty thieves from the sidewalk.

That's where she sees Peter. Dressed in a beige jacket over a button-down dark blue shirt, he walks with determination down the pavement. Head down, mind in a faraway place, his jeans make a swish, swish noise on account of his long, purposeful strides.

He looks like he's barely paying attention. This much is proven when he walks directly onto the zebra crossing without checking if it's his turn to pass and a woman on a red bicycle nearly knocks his legs out from under him.

From the front of the deli, she hears his hushed 'I'm sorry's and 'please don't call the cops's as they carry down the asphalt. Taking out her hands from her pockets, she pushes herself off of the glass window panels which she leans on and puts her hands on her hips. A sharp look at the timekeeper on her wrist confirms her burgeoning apprehension.

Time has flown speedily by, working in the deli, but it isn't remotely near to the time Midtown High ends the school day. Why is he ditching class?

She soon gets her answer when Peter catches her eye and ups his brisk walk into a galloping run the rest of the way. So, he's here to see her? That couldn't wait until after three in the afternoon?

Kicking at a stray bubblegum wrapper caught underneath the side of her sneakers with her other foot, Gadea cups a hand over her eyes and peers into the deli's window. Thankfully, the counter is still devoid of life, and she can faintly hear the carrying sounds of Mr. Delmar's over-the-phone shouting match. From the sounds of things, she should be good having a conversation with Peter for the next twenty to thirty minutes, give or take a few hours if the cat Murph is mentioned.