The rain grows heavier. I step closer to Miguel, head turned to him. He avoids my gaze as he recounts his past, eyes trained on the sidewalk full of walking shoes before us.
"Three years ago, I was the lead scientist for Alchemax, spearheading a program to replicate the powers of the original Spider-Man," Miguel begins. "But it went wrong when a human test subject died after being injected with the serum."
My eyes widen. Questions pop up on my tongue but I force them back, not wanting to interrupt him. Miguel notices and gives a half-smile.
"I didn't want to go through with it. It was too early, the serum too unstable, but Tyler Stone's the hardest of hardasses." Miguel shoves his hands back into his pockets and frowns deeply. "He brought in a criminal with three life sentences. Mr. Sims." Miguel smiles ruefully to himself. "I don't even know what his first name was. Isn't that awful?"
I watch a leaf float down the street's gutter. "Why didn't you just walk out?"
"I wanted to," he answers. "God, I wanted to. But if I left, then Sims wouldn't have had a chance - not with people like Aaron and Tyler. If I was there, he'd at least have a shot." He glumly shrugs a shoulder. "Hoped he did, anyway."
"What happened?" I carefully prompt.
Miguel lifts his chin and stares at the clouds. Rain drops splatter onto his face. "When we opened that pod, it wasn't a man that came out. It was a monster. He attacked me. He didn't even last thirty seconds." He closes his eyes. "He died."
I turn my head away. My Miguel worked for Tyler Stone, too. Is he just as awful as this Miguel's boss? Did he force Mig to battle his morals, experiment on people before they were ready? The more I learn, the more I realise just how much he kept from me.
"And then?" I whisper.
"And then I quit," Miguel says. "Or I tried to. Tyler's a son of a bitch on his best days." At my questioning look, he elaborates. "He slipped rapture into my drink."
My blood runs cold. Rapture - I know rapture. Everyone in Nueva York knows what rapture is. A hallucinative drug that's fatal if you try to quit. If you fight it, it makes you see things. Bad things.
"But that didn't happen to my Miguel," I murmur, but now I'm suddenly unsure and frightened by how much I don't know. I look up at him. "Did it?"
"It did."
My breath shutters. "How didn't I notice?"
"Remember when he left suddenly on a work trip?" Miguel asks. "He didn't even have time to say goodbye to you or Rosa in person."
I think back to three years ago. Rosa would've been only nine, I was still only an assistant at the Daily Bugle. I remember it - getting the weird phone call, and the two weeks he was absent thereafter.
"Yeah," I murmur.
"He did exactly what I did," Miguel continues. His expression tightens, folds into grief. "Except I- I told my Y/n what I was doing. If I knew- if I knew what would happen, I'd... I'd do things differently."
"You wouldn't have told her," I say quietly.
"I wouldn't have told her," he echoes.
He suddenly stops walking. I reel backwards and look at him questioningly. He nods his head to the side and my eyes follow, finding us outside the cafe Mig and I used to frequent.
My gaze shoots back to Miguel. Again, I'm stunned by how much he knows. These parallel lives are really starting to turn me in circles.
He holds the door open for me and I squeeze past, sliding back my hood and appreciating the cozy warmth of the bakery immensely. Miguel follows after me. His size draws stares.
My mind is buzzing as I order two hot chocolates. The rain starts coming down harder, pelting the pavement and the cars on the road with thin bolts of water. A haze settles over the harbour.
Miguel and I wordlessly agree to continue our conversation in the shelter of the cafe. I find us a semi-private booth in the corner while he waits for and brings over the drinks. My jacket is slung over the corner of my booth. It drips on the floor.
"What happened then?" I ask when he places the drinks down with a clink of ceramic.
Miguel eases himself into the seat opposite me. The rain pounds against the glass and the coffee machine squeals, creating a cacophony of background noise. I automatically scoop my marshmallows up and dump them into his drink. I only realise what I've done when he lets out a startled laugh.
"Sorry! Sorry." My ears are burning with shame as my fingers jump through the air, unsure how to proceed. The mallows are already beginning to melt out into his milk foam. "That was instinct, I swear-"
"Y/n." He catches my hands with his own and slowly pushes them back towards me. "It's fine."
I meekly glance up at him, cheeks hot. "I guess you also have a sweet tooth."
Miguel gives me a crooked kind of half-smile that both breaks my heart and stitches it back together. "And I guess you also don't."
My eyes widen. I pull my hands back to myself and lay them in my lap, where they twist and pull at the hem of my shirt. I wonder how he felt when he first saw an alternate version of himself. I wonder if he was as unsettled as I am hearing about myself who isn't really me.
Miguel's faint mirth fades as he picks up a spoon and stirs his marshmallows into white-pink foam. He continues his story from where he left off.
"Rapture is a genetical bonder," he says. "I had to get the stuff out of my system before it was too late, but the only way was through the same machine Sims was in before."
My heart drops through the floor. "Miguel..."
"Aaron caught me and tampered with the machine," he continues, though doesn't meet my gaze. "He inputted the Spider-Man serum into the machine's genetic template that was supposed to remove the rapture from my system. He thought he'd killed me, but I used my own genetic code as the base strain for our test serums." He gently taps his teaspoon against the rim of his cup. "I guess something really wrong went right, and I came out alive. My genes got spliced with a spider's DNA. And here I am, drinking marshmallow foam."
"Jesus." I slump back in my seat and squeeze my eyes shut. My mind spins off axis, swivelling this way and that. I feel like I'm experiencing vertigo on flat ground.
Miguel huffs amusedly. "Told you it was a long story."
I run my hands down my face. "You're part spider. How did I not know? Three years of him..."
Miguel leans back and sips his drink. "Your Miguel spent those two weeks learning how to keep his changes a secret. Did you notice that when he came back, he was different?"
"Yeah." I tiredly nod. "He began to mumble and stay inside a lot more." That was around when our outside walks stopped, but I just chalked that up to being overworked. He said he was overworked.
Miguel taps the edge of his eye. "His vision changed. Bright light gave him migraines."
I shake my head and lower my voice, despite our relative privacy. "I never saw him drink anyone's blood, though."
"He got off lucky," Miguel says. "He missed that part. Venom only."
"'Venom-?'" I crumple myself into a ball on the seat and dig my head into my knees. "What the fuck. What the fuck." I slowly shake my head in despair. "He really didn't tell me anything."
"... that's the only reason you're still here," Miguel says softly.
I peek up at him. He's got his head resting against the booth's back, red eyes looking out at the drizzling street. The broad line of his shoulders are slumped and weighed down with a past that drags behind him.
He looks tired.
I look down at my drink, at the swirling chocolatey sugariness, and suddenly feel that I should've brought a black coffee, instead. It would suit the dark mood better.
I tilt my cup to turn the chocolate, just to have something to do. "Do you think... now that I know, I'll..?"
The question hangs in the air, lingering between us. Miguel lets it settle over him for a few seconds before he reacts, exhaling low and resigned and slumping further. His eyes drop from watching the world outside.
"I don't know," he admits. "Maybe because you know how the other versions of you died, you'll know what to avoid." His finger taps the plate beneath his cup. "I've only ever watched my other realities. I've never... interfered."
I stop turning my drink. "If I do-"
Miguel closes his eyes. "Don't."
"If I do," I firmly repeat. My gaze flicks up to him. "Don't tell Rosa that we knew it was coming."
Miguel releases a heavy breath. "Yeah." He drinks the rest of his hot chocolate in one gulp. He probably also wishes it was something stronger.
I look out the window again. The world outside feels so tiny now, like I can cup it in my hands and it wouldn't even spill over the side. Neuva York used to feel so massive, an ever expansive concrete jungle that only ended when the world did. Now I feel like I'm suffocating.
"What are the other realities like?" I ask.
Miguel inhales deeply and turns his gaze to me. "Interesting."
I manage a small smile. "Yeah?"
"It's hard to explain." He leans forward on his arms now that the conversation has taken a lighter turn. His eyes jump to mine and he shrugs a shoulder, nonchalant. "Maybe I'll show you one day, give you a tour."
"I have always wanted to go abroad," I hum, and I feel myself lighten when he chuckles. "Do you also get migraines?"
Miguel nods. I glance up at the cafe's lights, which are low and moody. He realises my question before I ask.
"This kind of lighting is fine," he reassures. "And for sunny days, I have contacts that block out light." He smiles self-assuredly. "My own design."
His smugness calls a part of me to re-emerge; the part that teases my Miguel when he would get too egotistical for his own good. I bite back a grin and look around, purposefully lowering my voice.
"Does, uh-" I clear my throat. "Does Spider-Man shoot webs out of his ass?"
Miguel's smirk is abruptly replaced with an appalled look. "What?"
"I mean, you call yourself Spider-Man, so it's logical to assume-"
"No, no- no, I do not shoot webs out of my ass," Miguel quietly snaps. I snort, and he shakes his head at me. "Dios mío."
"Okay, if your webs don't come out of your ass, then where do they come from?" I ask amusedly.
Miguel tsk's and rolls back his sleeve. I peer closer, folding over the table, and watch as he points out a tiny hole in his forearm - something unnoticeable unless you know what you're looking for.
"Whoa," I whisper. "That's... gross." I quickly backtrack. "I mean cool, but... gross."
Miguel sends me a dry look as he pulls his sleeve back down. "Thanks."
I lift my drink to my lips. "Just sayin' it how it is."
Miguel mumbles something about 'annoying across all universes' to himself.
I eye his arms as he sits back in his booth. I'm trying to play cool, but it's unnerving knowing that the man before he isn't quite all man. And it's even more unnerving that he's an alternate version of my husband, who... had the exact same genetic alterations.
And didn't tell me.
A bolt of hurt strikes me through my chest. I get that Miguel's trying to make me feel better about my whole being alive because I was deceived, but it's still a bitter pill to swallow. If he were still alive, if we lived until we were old and grey like we'd hoped, would my Miguel have ever told me?
I'm starting to think that maybe he wasn't ever going to tell me.
I don't like how that makes me feel. Betrayed? Offended? Upset? It's a storm of negativity that swirls behind my eyes, and I keep them downcast so Miguel won't see. He was my first real love, the father of my daughter, the first face I saw in the mornings. I spoke my vows to him and him to me. And yet...
I clear my throat. This entire ordeal has forced me to take the blows as they come and walk them off. This was just another one to brush aside, right? I can do that, right?
I glance up at Miguel. The look on his face - regret, sympathy - tells me that I didn't have a chance of deceiving him to begin with. He reads me like a book made just for him, and it doesn't matter what I do to try and stop it. The pages just keep on turning.
"So, you can shoot webs from your arms." My voice wobbles despite my best attempts to keep it steady. "Very cool. Anything else I should know about?"
Miguel's sad expression deepens. He falters, like he's pondering whether or not to console me or shuffle us both out of the cafe so I can have a meltdown in private. He goes with the third option instead; following my lead in pretending that we're both okay.
"I have talons," he mumbles. "It's how I stick to walls."
"Talons?" I repeat, voice wet, a forceful attempt at interest so my mind won't keep wandering to darker places. "Wow. Can I see?"
He holds out one of his hands and unleashes his claws for me to inspect. They're each an inch long and wickedly sharp, easily enough so that sticking to walls won't be an issue. I pick up his hand and carefully poke them. He tenses.
"Did he tell anyone?" I'm dangerously close to crying.
"No." Miguel rests his hand in the both of mine and watches as I absentmindedly play with his talons while furiously blinking back tears. "No, he didn't."
My throat grows a knot. "Oh." So, Mig dealt with this all on his own. Wouldn't that have been so lonely? Didn't he ever feel like he was going crazy, keeping such a big thing a secret? "Did he go back to Alchemax? Did you?"
Miguel slowly shakes his head. I release a shuttering breath. Three years. Three years of thinking he worked there.
"Being Spider-Man doesn't leave us with a lot of spare time," Miguel says with a shallow chuckle. "But he had enough in his bank account to support you and Rosa for a long while."
Yeah, well, Alchemax is a pile of dog shit, but it paid its lead scientists handsomely.
I pull my hands back to my lap. Miguel sheathes his talons, but his hand still remains in the middle of the table, weakly outstretched towards me. I don't take it. I can't bring myself to.
"Can we go home?" I whimper.
"Yeah." Miguel stands, and I'm quick to follow, fumbling for my jacket with shaky hands. His expression is unreadable as he waits for me, and I avoid it as I pass by him on the way out of the cafe.
Miguel, again, ends up being the one to collect Rosalina from school.
••🕷️••
"Where's dad?" Rosalina asks between bites of her toast.
It's an innocent question that makes my heart stop. The hand pouring water from the kettle almost slips, and I scramble to save my coffee before it topples over. My heart rate speeds up two times over.
I have to take a moment to reassure myself that she's not asking where her dad is, but Miguel. She doesn't know. She won't ever know.
I wipe away the spilt water and am relieved when my voice comes out reasonably normally. "He had to go into work."
"But it's Saturday!"
I turn around and lean back against the bench. Rosalina's got a look of despair on her face that pulls a sympathetic smile forth. "I know, baby. But he's very busy."
Rosalina slumps in her seat and looks startlingly like her dad when she frowns. "He's always at work. It's not fair."
My smile fades. It'd be nice to tell her the truth; that Miguel had left early this morning due to police chatter about a break-in somewhere deep in the city. It'd be nice to tell her that her dad is busy saving people, busy keeping this city safe for her, but I refuse to.
Normalcy is what Rosalina needs. It's what she deserves, and I'm determined to keep it that way.
"Is your poor, old momma too boring for you?" I tease. I watch in delight as Rosalina's smile washes away the upset on her face.
"No!" she giggles. "Never!"
I smile sweetly. "Thanks, bubs. Now, eat up, otherwise we'll miss that morning market you've been talking my ear off about going to."
Rosalina makes a dramatic display of fitting as much toast as she can into her mouth. I sigh in amusement and turn away. Kids.
Thankfully, the clouds refuse to rain, leaving the streets dry enough to hold the market that happens once a month. An entire street gets blocked off for a long line of booths selling various arts, crafts and treats, and it's Rosalina's favourite thing in the world.
She leads the charge through the crowd, leaving me trailing after her in a desperate attempt to keep up with her quick, little pace. I only manage to catch up to her when she stops at her favourite spot; a booth selling homemade stuffed animals - the reason we're here in the first place.
Rosalina picks through the toys on display while I make polite conversation with the booth's owner. It's an elderly lady who's lived in Neuva York for longer than I've been alive, who's watched an innumerable amount of kids grow up buying her toys from the markets before they inevitably outgrow them.
"Mom! Mom, look!" Rosalina tugs on my arm to get my attention. I cut off my conversation and look down at her. "Spider-Man!"
I follow her pointing finger to the rooftops of the neighbouring buildings. There, crouched on the ledge, is the navy and red suit of Spider-Man. He scans the streets for danger, lingers his gaze on us, before quickly leaping to another building and lithely slipping away into the inner city.
I try to see Miguel in the vigilante, but the only stand-out feature that's similar is his massive build; the broad shoulders, the tight waist, the strong arms, how he holds himself. That, and the way he hesitated when he saw us.
"Did you see? Did you see?" Rosalina asks, words slurring together with excitement. I smile down at her.
"I did see," I answer. I nod to the market booth of handmade toys. "Did you find one?"
Rosalina looks at the booth's stuffed animals and pouts. "I don't want one, anymore. I want a Spider-Man doll!"
I exhale through my nose in exasperation and smile at my daughter. Typical - she was the one who dragged me out to the market to get a new stuffed toy, and now she's changed her mind.
"Okay." I pick up her hand and give it a squeeze. She squeezes back twice as hard, a game. "Let's have a look around for Spider-Man, then."
Rosalina cheers and drags me down the street market, scouring the booths for anything resembling the arachnid-themed vigilante. I let her lead me where she wants, following in her footsteps absentmindedly.
My gaze jumps back to the rooftops more than once. Just in case. I flinch when my phone in my back pocket buzzes.
Miguel
Avoid corner on 3rd
Sent 10:34am
I release a weary exhale. Rosalina squeals with excitement and shows me a Spider-Man phone charm.
Chaos. That's what my life has turned to. Complete and utter chaos.