All of my knowledge on serum stuff comes from that one episode of tmnt 2012 teehee (my science knowledge is bad)
TW: paralysis, injecting/injections, mentions of blood drinking & death
I wish I could tell Miguel to stop talking.
He's sitting before me, having just had his fill of my blood, and he can't stop apologising. He's apologising as if there's a quota of apologies to say. Like if he doesn't reach this far off number, it'll be the difference of me hating him forever or forgiveness. It was sweet at first, but it's quickly turned grating.
And I'm still paralysed, so I can't even tell him to shut his trap.
This is more painful than the actual bite.
"Lo siento. Lo siento, mi cariño," he keeps on repeating as he soaks up the blood leaking from my puncture wounds with his sleeve. His guilt is so thick and palpable that it's almost a physical thing. He's got my blood smeared at the edges of his lips. "I never wanted to do this to you."
Miguel's convulsions have stopped, which is a relief. He doesn't seem to be in any more pain. Though his eyes are still red - maybe even a darker shade of it, now - and his talons still keep emerging despite his attempts to keep them down. He makes sure their sharp edges are well away from me.
The sluggishness of paralysis slowly begins to recede from my fingertips. Miguel exhales with relief when they begin to twitch.
He begins his next spiel of apologies. I mentally groan.
As I slowly regain control of my body and block out the sound of Miguel's voice, I attempt to reassure and rationalise my earlier thoughts. No, I didn't like Miguel biting me. I'm probably just... an adrenaline junkie, or something. Anything to convince myself against what I'm terrified is some kind of personal awakening.
I want to weep from delirium. If only Mig could see me now.
I manage to move my arm up to yank his hand away from my neck. It's aching like anything and him patting his sleeve against the wound only makes it worse. I replace it with my own hand and press down on it firmly with a hiss of pain.
"Fuuuuck." I curl over myself and moan. My hand grows slick and hot. "Owww."
Miguel sighs, deeply upset. I'd feel bad if I was capable of thinking about anything but the way that my head's growing light and fuzzy with blood loss. He rolls back onto his heels and stands.
"I'll get the first-aid kit." He sounds defeated. I press my forehead to the floor and close my eyes.
The solitude gives me the opportunity to let a few pained tears shed before sniffling them back and throwing on a strong facade like the big girl I am. This is for Rosita. This is all for Rosita. Everything I do is for her. No matter how fucked up it is or how hurt I get, I'll grit my teeth and bear it as long as she's blissfully unaware and happy.
Miguel returns with a cloth and the first-aid kit from the kitchen and kneels back before me. He rifles through the unorganised mess of supplies slowly, stoic and, finally, silent. When he finds what he's after, he uses the backs of his fingers against the line of my jaw to urge me up.
"Head up, sweetheart," he says lowly, resigned. I let him gently guide me upright.
He doesn't meet my eyes as he carefully replaces my hand with the cloth. It dampens immediately, soaking up the leakage, and I wince with each swipe against my skin.
"Sorry, mi vida," he murmurs, a less frantic apology from before. His eyes - the same shade as the blood he's mopping up - doesn't leave his job. "I never wanted to hurt you."
I glance at him. He's not only referring to the bite. But he doesn't elaborate, and I don't say anything.
A big, ugly plaster is pressed over my neck. He's quick to retreat, corralling back as he busies himself at his lab table. I watch him for a moment; his stilted movements, the frustrated edge of his face, the mutters of sharp-tongued Spanish when his talons would re-emerge. He the physical embodiment of regret.
I stand, staggering only a little. I swallow - unsure to be nervous of this not-quite-man before me, or to just feel pity. Was this what my Miguel went through alone? The more I think, the more my head spins, filling with more and more assumptions and questions that'll never be answered.
I just don't understand. Didn't he trust me with this? Did he ever trust me? Did he think I couldn't handle it? Were there other things he kept from me, too? I trusted him. I trusted him with every fibre of my being... but maybe that wasn't reciprocated.
Or... or maybe he was like I am now. Trying everything he could to keep Rosa and I blissfully unaware.
The more I learn from this Miguel, the more I grow confused. The more my heart breaks.
"I'm going to get ready for bed," I say quietly. "Are you going to be okay?"
Miguel's hands, flying over his worktop as he sets on making a new batch of his serum, stop their task. A single nod is his only response.
I don't hesitate. I don't falter or pause. I'm out of the lab as soon as I get my answer.
Extra quiet to not wake Rosa, I pad up the stairs, head into the bathroom, and turn on the shower. I don't let myself think about anything else. The sight of the bandage on my neck in the mirror catches my attention so I turn off the fan. The steam fogs, shrouding it from view.
When I head downstairs to check that Miguel hasn't gone crazy with thirst again, I find him in the kitchen, pouring a cup of tea. Beside it sits a pack of iron pills.
He turns when I enter. "Black tea and sugar. Supposed to help with the blood loss. Tannins, n' stuff."
That pulls a half-smile out of me. "Very scientific, doctor."
Miguel cracks a weak grin as I take the drink from his offered hand. "I'm sorry-"
"Please stop apologising. It was my decision, anyway." I close my eyes and blow at the steam.
Miguel plants his hands on his hips and stares at me like he's trying to decode my brain structure. I can feel his gaze as I take tiny sips of my tea and grimace at the sweetness. The silence settles between us, uneasy.
"Is your serum finished?" I ask to break the tension.
Miguel looks away. "It's in the centrifuge. It should be ready by now."
I nod. He hesitates, as if wanting to say more, before picking himself up from leaning against the bench and stalking out of the kitchen. I watch him go as his broad frame slips through the door way. His walk is familiar; the weight of his stride and way he holds himself, how he sometimes has to walk one shoulder through a doorway before the other. He is so much like my Miguel - and yet such a stranger.
The persisting dizziness compels me to grab the iron pills and swallow them down with a gulp of bittersweet drink, coupled with a pair of Tylenol. I stare at the remnants of tea particles at the bottom of the ceramic and exhale slowly. My neck still aches, a dull throb that won't cede for some time yet.
I place my mug in the sink and trudge after Miguel.
He's cleaned up the spilt serum and straightened out his lab again. I lean my shoulder against the entrance and watch him neaten up his previously messy workspace.
My gaze drift to the gouges he'd dug into the floor just half an hour prior. I stifle a shiver at the fear of his inhuman strength. How easy it would be for him to completely rip someone limb from limb. How easy it would be for him to completely destroy. But he doesn't.
"I'd like you to carry one," Miguel says, and my attention drifts up to him. "Just in case."
I nod. That's reasonable. It'd make me feel more comfortable, too, to know that I have a back-up.
"Is it always this fast?" I ask.
"No." Miguel shakes his head. "I'm always careful, I have to be." He sighs and rubs a hand down his face tiredly. He's on the brink of what he can handle, I can almost taste the tension rolling from him. "Maybe it's a cellular misbalance due to this world's atomic structure..? I'll have to do some research into it."
The centrifuge dings as it finishes its rounds and pops its lid. Miguel reaches for one of the serums. The talons on the pads of his fingers spring out, and he flinches back before their sharpness can ruin another vial.
"¡Ay, coño!" he growls, and tries to push his talons flat once more. His frustration grows when they don't obey. "No, no, no, ¡ándale!"
"Stop it." I'm at his side and pulling his wrist away before he can give himself an aneurysm. "Let me do it."
Miguel closes his eyes and exhales sharply. When he looks at me, his expression is less irritated. "It needs to be put into the injector."
I'm already grabbing it before he finishes his sentence. "I figured." I slip the vial into the injector's case and look at him expectantly. "Don't tell me it's an ass shot."
A strained laugh slips from his gritted fangs. He pulls down his shirt's collar over his shoulder and taps his deltoid. Before I can chicken out, I stick the needle into his skin and press the injector's trigger. The green serum shoots into his muscle and I release a breath I don't realise I've been holding.
Miguel sighs with relief. His body sags into the chair and I watch with eerie fascination as his talons slowly press back against his fingertips and his fangs retract. He drops his head backwards and closes his eyes.
"Thanks," he mumbles.
"Anytime," I awkwardly say.
I place the injector onto the table and curl my hands into fists against my thighs. The Tylenol still hasn't kicked in. My neck still aches like crazy, and I press my palm against my bandage as if it could elevate the pain. This is gonna suck for a while, pun not intended.
I'm just about to bid Miguel goodnight when he speaks.
"Are you okay?" he asks. He looks at me drowsily from below heavy eyelids. The red in his gaze isn't so bright anymore, not so surreal and poignant. I drop my gaze and shrug my shoulder on my good side.
"A little sore, but-"
"No." Miguel sits up and sends me a stern look. I peek up at him. "Are you okay?"
It's my turn to stare at him. And I do. Bewilderedly. "I'm fine?"
Miguel turns his head away and laughs humourlessly. "How are you like this?"
I'm still confused, but now I'm also slightly insulted. I just stuck a needle into this man like a goddamn veterinarian. "And what does that mean?"
"You!" He stands from his chair to face me with an expression tautly pinched by incredulity. "You're so-!" He groans and covers his face with his hands. "Todo esto es tan jodido..."
I raise a brow. "Do you mind elaborating?"
Miguel chuckles hollowly before sighing. He rests against his lab bench with his head still in his hands.
"I keep fucking up." He shakes his head in disbelief. "You're not like my Y/n. With the shit situations I've put you into... Dios mío, she would've kicked me out and make me beg to come back."
I huff. "That does sound like me."
"You don't act like it." He looks up at me, perplexed and in total disbelief. "Lying to you, what just happened... you should hate me. How are you so calm? So patient?"
I exhale softly and smile. I take the spot next to him and copy his pose, leaning against the lab bench. We both stare at the floor. Him, waiting. Me, realising that he's not seen the change motherhood can do to a person. He knew the type of me before I had a little girl that means everything to me.
"I'm a mother," I remind gently. "There are things that are more important than me. Like Rosa. Like my family."
Miguel's gaze turns down to me.
"I'm not okay," I quietly admit. "I won't be okay for a long while. I miss my Miguel." My throat begins to close, growing thick with grief. "And I'm learning a lot about him that he never told me. It's confusing. It makes me feel like he was never really open with me like how I was with him." I blink back tears and raise my eyes to the ceiling. "But I still miss him. I miss him so much. It's like this- this massive part of me has been ripped out and I'll never get it back. I'll never get him back."
Miguel crosses his arms and contemplates my words. He swallows, brow furrowed with thought and memories and the same grief we share.
"When I lost Y/n, I lost myself," he says slowly, voice barely audible. I wipe away my tears and look up at him, but his gaze doesn't shift to mine. He's watching his past. "I watched her die right in my arms, and it was like my entire world just... vanished with her." His eyes grow glossy and he closes them tightly. "It was awful. She was everywhere. In other people's faces, in the corner of my eyes, in my dreams. But she wasn't. She was gone."
Miguel clears his throat roughly. His grip on his arms tighten, fingers digging into his skin as if that would distract him from the pain inside. It never does. You can hurt yourself and hurt yourself, but that's not how it goes away.
"I grew reckless during my missions. I didn't care if I lived or died. And when I saw that every Miguel lost his Y/n, fuck... there's nothing worse than realising that no matter what I would've done, nothing would've saved her." His eyes finally turn to me and my breath hitches when I notice his tears. "But there was one. One Miguel that didn't fuck it up. He was happy. He had it all worked out."
He doesn't stop himself, now. He doesn't restrict himself. His hands reach out and cup my face, and the warmth of his palms, the roughness, the familiarity of his touch, it makes my tears fall faster. He looks at me with the type of desperation that sends me reeling.
"So, don't..." He trails off to inhale slowly, deeply, smoothening his own rocky voice. "Don't think that he didn't trust you. All he wanted to do was protect you and keep you from worrying. Just like what we're doing with Rosa." He ducks his head closer, insistence strongly colouring his words, and I'm captivated. "He loved you two so goddamn much, Y/n, he did. Does. I'm not just saying that, I know it. Because I love the both of you so much that it drives me insane." He laughs shallowly. "It made me do this, selfish prick that I am."
I'm silent as I let his words sink in. It's not a surprising confession; I know Miguel loves me, just as I love him. It's impossible not to when he's everything that I fell in love with fourteen years ago. But I'm still falling, and my heart still stumbles over itself beneath the weight of his words.
And just like him, I don't let myself hold back. The walls break a little, not all the way, but enough for me to cave and fling my arms around him. I press myself into his chest, so big, so strong, steadfast in his devotion even across the multiverse.
Miguel doesn't hesitate at my sudden hug. He returns it so swift and utterly that we stumble back into the bench. The pain in my hip doesn't even matter. I don't even really feel it all that much. Not when everything I am is wholly focused on the feeling of Miguel's arms around me, encompassing me completely and shielding me from the world, just like how they used to.
He's right. This is all shades of fucked up. But I can't help myself.
"Thank you," I sob into his chest where his heart still beats. "Thank you for not leaving me alone."
••🕷️••
My work-from-home day is more like a work-from-another-dimension day. Tired of the my workplace environment, I sent in a request to have one day a week working from home and, to my surprise, Jameson approved it.
I take the opportunity to explore Miguel's dimension a little more - or, rather, spend more time with him. Ever since our heart to heart the other day, we've grown a little closer; a little more friendly, a little more warm. Not by much, but still noticeable.
Though, I say spend more time with him as if he isn't run off his feet taking charge of the Spider-HQ. The spidey that sits beside me is not Miguel, but rather my quick pal Peter B. Parker, and he is fascinated by my working at the Daily Bugle.
"That's crazy," he says for the umpteenth time. We're sitting in the cafeteria for a coffee break and I'm still getting stares from the other spider-men, but I'm growing used to it. "I used to work at the Daily Bugle. Most Peter's did."
"It's a mental world we live in, Pete," I agree.
"Worlds," he corrects, and I roll my eyes with a smirk. "Aren't you hot in your scarf?"
I stare down at my coffee. "No."
Luckily, Peter is so gullible that he doesn't press. He takes my answer as truth and happily changes the subject. I smile with relief and try my best to engage with his venting frustrations about something called a 'Doodad.'
I'm convinced these god-awful names are just some ridiculous, spidey-wide bit that I'm not in on.
Unfortunately, Jess isn't as unsuspecting as Peter.
When I bump into her outside Miguel's office (where I've set up my own corner and eavesdropped, because multiverse happenings are far more interesting than the Neuva York-wide marathon I'm writing about) and I give my same, vague answer, she yanks down my scarf with the same stupid inhuman speed all spiders seem to have.
Her eyes widen, jumping between my face and the massive, ugly bandage on my neck I'd tried so hard to hide. I cover my burning face with shame.
"Did he bite you?" she exclaims.
Well, I can't exactly lie. Why else would I have a bandage like this on the side of my neck? And even if I do lie, I can't come up with a believable excuse fast enough, anyway. Not for Jess. She'd see through it like looking through glass.
"Drank me like a capri sun, actually," I amend dryly.
"Girl-" Jess presses her hands before her mouth. "That's, like, fifth-date level serious. You've known him for a month!"
"Oh, god, Jess, what was I supposed to do?" I complain. "You should've seen him. He was in pain!"
Jess sends me a sympathetic look. "You are too kind for your own good, honey."
"Yeah." I close my eyes and run a hand down my face. "I've gotten that from him, too."
Jess sighs and shakes her head. She begins through the long, dark corridor to the operations station and I follow, keeping pace with a glum frown.
"Y'all are crazy," she pipes up again, clearly still unable to wrap her head around my thought process. I can't blame her. "I hope you know that. Drinking your blood like a capri sun. Jesus, girl." She turns to send me an amused look. "You know I'm not gonna let you live this down, right?"
I close my eyes and sigh. "I know."
She peeks at me again, goes to speak, then thinks better of it. We're almost at Miguel's office when she says what's on her mind.
"Was it hot?"
My cheeks begin to flame like the hellfire I know is waiting for me when I die. I can't meet her curious gaze. "... kinda." Yes.
She laughs loudly and jostles my shoulder. "I knew I liked you."
I giggle weakly and let her pull ahead to present her report to Miguel, who stands before his screens and probably absolutely overheard. If he did, he doesn't acknowledge it, busy talking through the report with Lyla and Jess. Maybe he was so busy before that he missed it. God, I hope he missed it.
It takes me a moment to realise I'm staring. My gaze tracing the shape of him, appreciating the way his suit is body-tight and leaves little to the imagination. I have to rip my head away and close my eyes tightly.
No, no, no. But he's still there in my mind's eye, and I'm still admiring him.
"Ah..." I scrunch my face with disappointment at myself. "Shit."