Third Person POV
Miguel sat next to his wife, tears streaming down his face. He clutches her left hand, careful not to disturb the IV needle in her forearm or the pulse oximeter on her finger.
"My love..." he chokes out. No amount of "I'm sorry" could possibly express his guilt.
"I wasn't there for you"
It snowed for the first time since February today. Miguel and Y/n should have been walking around the Central Park, holding hands and drinking piping hot coffee, enjoying each other's presence. It was their tradition to go out during the first snow of fall or winter.
They should have been out and about.
Where did the time go? When did everything spiral like this? When did things get out of hand?
All of the questions Miguel asks himself are silenced by the beeping of a heart rate monitor. He kisses the palm of her hand, and the heart rate monitor increased its beeping.
Upon noticing this, Miguel breaks into a sobbing smile. His love is alive, but not well. It's almost comedic, his touch still making Y/n's heart race. Like two lovebirds who never left the honeymoon phase. Oh if only...
But he couldn't help but wonder... was it distress? Last time he kissed her, she broke down, fleeing almost immediately. She constantly seemed nervous nowadays, like she wanted to say something. Like she was going to burst.
Over the course of a day, Miguel had witnessed Y/n break down, learned why via a very pissed Hobie Brown, almost lost her without a chance to say goodbye, and was the last to learn she'd be okay. A cocktail of emotions strong enough to make anyone break was inside Miguel, and break he did.
Sure enough, the stoic and cold Miguel O'Hara was now weeping. Large, hot tears fell from his face and stained the white sheets below him. Through his shaking, strained voice, he begins to speak. "Y/n... I am so, so sorry." His voice falls to a whisper. "I don't know if you can hear me, but..." he trails off, unable to continue talking. He kisses the top of her hand, holding it up to his cheek. Her hand was cold, like ice, and it made Miguel shiver.
His gaze rested on her face, trailing down her neck, and then he noticed something... a new scar. The edges of it trailed up her neck, flowing down to her chest... a Lichtenberg figure. Just as people say, it looked like fern leaves. Miguel thinks back fondly to when they found a Sensitive Fern at a plant store. Cue them touching every single leaf, staring in awe and smiling like idiots at the leaves closing.
The good times.
Miguel couldn't help but cry. This was all his fault, down to the moment Y/n got hit by Electro.
Survivor's guilt is a bitch.
He sobs for a good long while, until his eyes were sore and his head hurt. He wanted to give his apologies and beg for her forgiveness. He would do anything, anything for it. She wants the sun? He'd make it into a lava lamp and conquer the entire solar system while he's at it. He'd make the entire world- no, the multiverse bow to her if it meant her forgiveness. He'd betray his own ideologies for her, whether he knows it or not.
Eventually, he brings himself to leave her. Not for long, mind you, but to grab a few things. He was going to stay by her side until she woke up, visiting hours be damned. Miguel went to the nearest restroom and splashed cold water onto his face, patting it dry. He then exited towards the penthouse to grab a few things.
Meanwhile, Hobie and the rest of the spiders are throwing a "let's calm down" party in the Spider-hotel room Y/n was in before the mission. Each person was enjoying her favorite foods and drinks left behind, celebrating that she will be okay. Listening to music and laughing and dancing.
Unsurprisingly, Miguel was not invited.
Miguel knew of this, and was okay with it. He knew word of his treatment of Y/n would get around, especially through Hobie if he's angry enough. Miguel wasn't upset about this. In his eyes, he deserved all of the ire he was bound to recieve and then some. No amount of shame from the society would be enough to match his own self-hatred.
Entering their home, Miguel took a long look at it. It looked... unlived in. Unloved, untouched. Like it was a furniture showroom. Only two spots looked lived in: her side of the bed, and her favorite spot on the couch.
Memories came flooding back to Miguel of life here. Her grin as they made breakfast together, the way she'd lounge on the couch in her free time, the way she'd roll over to face him in the morning. Her smile as she took her first sip of coffee in the morning. Her concentrated stare as she read her to-do list for the day. The occasional harassment from Lyla which always made her giggle.
All of it. All of her.
Miguel remembered very important something today. He remembered that he loves his wife.
"When did it all get away from me?" Miguel asks himself, running his fingers through his hair. The room felt suffocating with unsaid words. Words that wouldn't be heard by the person who deserved to hear it.
Miguel approaches a drawer in the kitchen, and slips out a little sticky note pad and pen. He begins to write.
_____________
Back inside the hospital room, Miguel brought a large bouquet of pale pink tulips and places them into an elegant white vase. The same vase he and Y/n would fill constantly with various bouquets for one another. It sits with a beautiful pale yellow bow on its neck.
Miguel sits down with Y/n once again. His fingers snaking in between hers. He touches the hand to his mouth once again, holding the kiss there. Like clockwork, her pulse sped up once more.
A day later, Miguel left briefly to put someone in charge while he took a much needed break to spend time with his wife.
"Fuckin' finally" was the general consensus of this action within Spider Society, with Hobie being the loudest of those expressing it.
The Society was always full with gossip. It's easy to get comfortable with one another, even with there being thousands, due to the shared abilities (and trauma). News spread fast when they cared about a topic, and Y/n O'Hara was one they cared about immensely. Sure enough, flowers would be delivered to her office next to Miguel's, since Med Bay wouldn't allow that many in due to the powerful scent. Many sat outside, but Hobie, Peter, and Jess made the effort to bring them inside and decorate her office.
Hobie and Peter took photos of her office each day after they brought more bouquets in. Showing the progression from an office similar to but far less threatening than Miguel's, to an office so covered in flowers they had to make web plant holders from the ceiling in order to still have some space to walk. The smell was sweet, almost nauseatingly so.
On Spidergram, a social media Lyla created to allow the spiders to stay connected (and to allow her to post the photos she not-so-secretly takes of Miguel and Y/n), it became a trend to take photos of yourselves with the bouquet before delivering it, alongside sharing memories and well wishes to Y/n as she recovers.
Miguel, once again, is the last to find out about this. When he does, he's a little weirded out. He can't explain why, but he is. Probably due to how he values privacy. But at the same time, he's happy people love her, his wife, the woman who keeps Spider Society running, the woman he admires the most. He's grateful that people see her strength as well.
He's a little peeved that he's the last to know something regarding the situation twice in a row. But he knows he can't be too upset about it. It's his fault he's out of the loop, after all. Maybe he should interact with the people of the society more.
Miguel scrolls through Spidergram one morning, and he's amazed at all of the posts regarding Y/n. The stories people tell of their missions with her, the way she contributed to their growth as a Spider in little ways such as a piece of advice or a simple form correction when training. Y/n's impact is more than he could possibly wrap his head around. It's almost makes him sick to his stomach.
But this is what he wanted, for her to be loved by all. And damn, it's beautiful to watch. Like a sunrise on a clear and crisp morning.
Miguel decides to go home for the day. He works hard to clean the penthouse for Y/n. Make it feel like less of a haunted catalogue house and make it feel like home. After an insane amount of dusting and vacuuming, opening the windows and airing it out, it still felt... wrong. Odd.
Miguel decides to change the sheets in their bedroom, fluffing out their pillows, even though only hers needed fluffing. It still felt wrong. He changed out the cases on the pillows in the living room. Nope, still felt weird. He reorganized their things. It didn't help.
He was going insane, nothing he did helped the issue. He lit all of Y/n's favorite candles in various spots of the house, but cacophony of smells just gave him a headache. He even asked Lyla what he could do.
"Lyla, is it just me or does this place feel... empty?"
"Uh... boss? I'm an AI, I don't actually feel stuff. I have no clue what you're talking about when you call a space empty." Lyla raised an eyebrow, almost laughing at him.
Asking Lyla for advice was fruitless. Miguel was, unsurprisingly, annoyed. In fact, he was ready to tear his hair out. All of the little details he changed didn't make the place feel less lonely. Didn't make it feel like there weren't ghosts swimming around the air and laughing at Miguel's attempts to finally show his wife that he loves her.
Is this what she felt every morning?
Miguel ponders this, dragging his hand down his face. How did she not go insane after all this time?
Miguel gets up and paces the room some more, but he accidentally pushes the couch with his leg as he walks by with his tank-like form. Huh... an idea!
Miguel decides to just rearrange the entire house. As he gets started, he soon realizes he has NO clue what he's doing. There's a reason Y/n was the one who set their space up. With a sigh, he calls upon Lyla once more.
"Yeeeees?"
"How much do you know about interior design?"
"...what?"
After a dumbfounded look from the both two of them aimed at each other, Lyla decides to whip out the big guns: The Internet. Due to her information processing speeds, after about five minutes of staring at various screens, she finally pipes up and asks "So, what kinda vibe are you going for?"
Miguel sits there for a moment, unsure of what to say. Lyla picks up on his confusion, and places her hands on her hips, giving Miguel a warm yet teasing smile.
"Uh... warm?" Miguel finally says, uncertain. Lyla pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head, bursting into laughter at his answer.
"That's so incredibly helpful, Miguel. Real specific," she says through laughter. With a quick little glitch, she's changed from her oversized coat to a striped T-shirt and denim overalls. Any stereotypical eccentric art teacher would be jealous of her. She decides to size up to a normal woman's height. "How about this, I tell you where to put stuff, and we go from there?"
Miguel shrugs and nods, a sort of confused and exasperated look on his face. And with that, Lyla takes charge, changing almost everything about the furniture layout of their home... with Miguel doing the heavy lifting, of course. She makes it a point to try and lift a table, only for her hands to go straight through. She giggles to herself, she things she's funny. Miguel is less than impressed.
"Hey Boss? How do we feel about buying new furniture? Not to replace, but to add."
After a moment of thinking, Miguel nods. Lyla places a few orders for what her info is telling her would make the place better. A new coffee table, an island and stools that match to replace the new space since the kitchen table was moved towards the living room, a reading floor lamp that Y/n would probably appreciate, and a few other things.
Lyla looks at the empty wall to the left of the door, and she decides to order a version of what seems to be Y/n's favorite piece according to Lyla's database to frame and hang there, as well as a hall table.
"Y'know, this is pretty fun! I could get used to this!" Lyla exclaims, her hologram standing with her arms folded with a fat grin. Miguel makes a mental note to commission an interior design game for her when she's bored.
After a day of rearranging the furniture, something is missing still, but it's better than before.
Miguel begins to absentmindedly do laundry, needing to put away the sheets he took off the bed, when he spots a little yellow thing sticking out of the second drawer of his wife's nightstand. Being the curious man he is, he decides to open the drawer and push whatever it is sticking out back inside.
He sets the laundry basket down on the floor, and he kneels down, slowly opening the drawer.
Sticky notes. Hundreds of them. All of them with writing on them. His writing. Some say "I love you", some say "I'm out grabbing breakfast, I'll be back soon" with a little heart on it. Some have a hurriedly written "Sorry, anomaly :(". Some just have a simple little heart.
Miguel's eyebrows push together, tears pricking his eyes as his hand flew to his mouth when he gasped. She kept his sticky notes. Each and every one of them. Miguel always thought she just threw them away, which he didn't mind. They are just sticky notes, after all.
But no, she kept them. She kept them right next to where she slept.
Miguel is, yet again, at a loss for words. He's almost starting to get used to the feeling, which he doesn't like.
Pangs of guilt shoot straight through his chest as he realizes just how much he has to answer for. He slowly reaches for the one that was sticking out, stuck to the side of the nightstand, tears of regret streaming down his face.
"I'll never stop loving you," it said.
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AN: Hi everyone! Sorry this chapter took so long. I was having a hard time figuring out what I wanted to do with the story. I decided to give y'all a crumb of fluff as a reward for sitting through over 8k words of angst.
But it can never just be fluff, can it?
Hope you guys enjoyed.