First Cause • Spider-Man: Homecoming [Unedited]

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"Do you hear yourself right now? I mean, do you hear yourself?"

"I understand this comes as a shock."

"A shock? Gadea, this is a fully-fledged electrocution. You get you're talking about an assassination, right? Like, murder? And what did you think I was going to say about this—did you think I was going to support this? Maybe talk you out of it?"

"I don't need nor want you to talk me out of this. Why would I? My mind is made up."

"Can you just chill. Out. For one second, please? Jesus Christ. It's been one hell of a day, and we both aren't thinking straight."

"Oh, no. I am of sound mind. I'm surer of this than I've ever been sure of anything." She stands from the bed, walking in a loose aimless circle. All the while, she brushes her thumb over her scarred knuckles and eyes unfocused, her thoughts drift and fast. "I'll admit, it's not the most foolproof plan I've ever come up with. And the margin for error is staggeringly paper thin. There are so many kinks in this armor of mine. But I'll wear it nonetheless."

"You honestly sound like you're out of your mind, Gadea. Seriously!"

"Lower your voice."

"I'm not gonna—I'm not gonna lower my voice. You come in here all crazy-eyed and you're like, you're gonna pull a Rambo real quick. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"I don't... Rambo?"

"It's this really old movie—Jesus Christ, never mind!" Almost as if his disbelief is so all-encompassing and animated, it forces his body into action and pivots him off the edge of the bed. Now, he stands by his open window with one hand on his hip and the other massaging the bridge of his nose.

By the slight light of this chilly night, the discoloration of the skin underneath his eyes is more prominent.

His face has taken on a more pallid tone, denying the flush of blood vessels underneath the surface that would indicate a sign of health, and pairing shadows acquired from the dramatic lighting with the purples and yellows of bruising. The tip of his straight nose, flushing red from the cold, is one of the only indicators that blood still simmers beneath the skin.

The picture Peter paints by that window is one that gives rise to pity. It questions, including but not limited to, her sanity and empathy.

He spoke of the truth when he mentioned the trials this day has laid at both of their feet, and the repercussions of those trials will undoubtedly roll over the whole of Queens by this time tomorrow. They both still bear the physical implications of the day. Mental scars notwithstanding.

Yet here she is, disregarding her better sense to allow him at least a resting period of a day before she comes flying through his window, spewing off strategies and contingency ideas for this grand bump-off she's been planning.