"And then, I broke my guitar on 'is head! It's gonna be hell fixin' it this time."
Hobie was excitedly telling you about a fight versus an alternative of Noir's Sandman. One that didn't die. It made it over to some poor Spiderman's dimension, breaking his hand when he landed a punch. The Spider is currently resting in med bay.
You could hear everything, your coma, much to your surprise, didn't yank that away from you. Granted, it was distorted and weird, almost dreamlike, but you could certainly hear it.
Spider-Noir himself was with Hobie as he said this. While not a part of society, he was visiting in order to give some information regarding his canon and Sandman in particular. Noir was invited to the society years ago due to his combat prowess and incredible deductive skills. However, he declined on the basis that his Earth was about to go to war, and that he needed to be there. He still visits often, however, to see his favorite adopted niece, Peni.
"Well... I'm sorry you couldn't be awake for this, but it was nice seein' ya, Missus O'Hara," Noir said, ever formal and ever so slightly awkward. You and Miguel were secretly hoping Noir would agree to join Spider Society after his universe went through World War II, but it'd be understandable if he didn't. If the experiments his Otto Octavius did on Ellis Island were anything to go off of, Noir was in for one hell of an experience. So instead, he just has a permanent day-pass.
Hobie and the others came in regularly to visit. Telling you about how a mission went, updating you on how the Society is holding up, and many condolences and "wake up soon"-s. You could hear it, for the most part.
What you didn't hear or see, was that Miguel and Hobie would often run into each other. And that each and every time, Miguel would recieve a searing death-glare from Hobie. One that would lessen slightly each time, simmering down to a look of vague disgust. Miguel wasn't upset about it. He felt that he deserved it, and then some.
The entire time you were out, Miguel would say the least out of everyone. He wanted to speak-- and goodness did he have so much to say-- but whenever he attempted to say anything, it would just fall apart into gentle sobs and kisses on your hand.
That was, until one morning, he came in, a little rustling of paper alongside him as he sat down. You couldn't see it, but your husband had wrote a letter. He was never great at expressing the tougher emotions, especially not off the top of his head. "Y/n, my love" Miguel had started.
"I..." he trails off, his voice shaking. "I am so sorry. I've been a terrible husband."
Even with the letter, his throat closed around the words he wanted to say. A feeling you knew all too well was now showing on him. You weren't conscious enough to feel anything regarding his words, not yet at least.
"I know that 'I'm sorry' is far from enough. I know that you may never forgive me, and that you might not even hear me at this moment. I..."
"I know I have a lot to make up for. I am so, so very sorry for the hurt I've caused you, the person closest to me," he manages to say, his voice was nothing but pure guilt. It was like he was choking on his own apology, like the words wanted to spring from the page strangle him itself. He welcomed it.
"I promise to be better, even if it means leaving you be, if that's what you wish for."
His own self-doubt and hatred clouded his judgment. All you had wanted was for him to be present with you. All you had wanted was for him to love you again, and yet he couldn't see that. He couldn't see that you'd welcome him back with open arms, if only he'd let you.
Yes, he had hurt you. Hurt you enough to leave you alone in the penthouse made for two, barely holding yourself together wondering what you did wrong. Hurt you enough to place you atop the Empire State Building, where you cried the moment he showed a simple form of affection. Hurt you enough to make you doubt yourself in a a way not felt since you first became a Spider.
And yes, you would have questions."Why did we grow distant?" was the most prevalent, but you couldn't just ask that. The thought of him cheating certainly lingered, a thought you swatted away whenever it creeped up on you, running its cold fingers down your spine. You did a very small amount of snooping once, wherein you simply checked security cameras around the society. There was nothing, and you weren't going to delve deeper. You were afraid of what you'd find.
You didn't have the courage to just up and ask Miguel either, hell you could barely sit in the same room with him without feeling nervous.
Your second-most prevalent question would be "What brought this sudden change about?" Miguel went from extremely cold towards you to beyond apologetic and caring within a week. Maybe someone yelled at him? Maybe he saw something in the canon-event algorithm? Oh god what if this is the canon event? Thankfully, you weren't conscious enough to think this far.
But if you were awake, the curiosity and dread would eat you alive.
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This was torture. Miguel hated the waiting. Each clock tick made him want to scream. You were so close, yet so far.
Miguel hated that he couldn't stay for longer, but The Society needed him, whether they wanted to admit it or not. Despite the leadership skills Jess and Peter hold, the administrative intricacies you and Miguel had all sorted out were lost on them.
He was bored. He had already figured out what caused the watches to malfunction during your fight with Electro. Turns out, over the years of use, the mechanism that acted as a "buffer" for glitching wore down, like the lead of a mechanical pencil. Miguel figured that out, and fixed the watches of many, many others. It was simple, a quick replacement of the part followed by fabricating more.
Miguel also added a warning system, alerting him go when someone would need a replacement so that the accident from before would (hopefully) never happen again. He also visited your office, adding that repair timer to your computer too. The smell of all of the flowers made him nauseous, he hated it.
But he loved the fact that so many people added flowers.
It had been the first time he visited your office in months. The rest of time, Miguel hid himself away in his office, only heard from by you, Peter, and Jess whenever one of the three needed him. Miguel slowly came to realize something upsetting.
Out of the three, he saw you the least. You were the most respectful of his space out of the three, and while it was nice from a working perspective, Miguel missed being interrupted by you specifically. He was always so cold when you had entered, pushing you away, barely hugging you back and returning the love you had shown him. Over time, you visited him during working hours less and less, until you were just never there.
Miguel felt like an ass, as he should. You would always visit with food and affection. You'd grace him with that beautiful smile that shone like the sun. You'd give him that adoring stare like he was cute. Like he meant something. Your voice would echo through the lab, sending shivers of warmth up Miguel's spine. Your laugh as you brought something funny to show him was addicting, be it a video you saw while you were taking a break, or something odd in a universe you were surveiling.
All of these beautiful things you'd do without even trying, and he pushed it away. His cold demeanor lead your smile to be slightly hurt whenever it'd turn towards him. Your stare would gradually become sadder, heavier. Your laugh would be quieter, until it was like the dying embers of a rained-on campfire. Your light was being snuffed out by Miguel's frigid disposition. Miguel was only now realizing it.
All of this, and you took it like a champion- no, you were an Olympian. You were cut from diamonds, only truly showing how hurt you were the very last day Miguel saw you conscious.
Miguel was irritated at first, wishing you had said something, anything to him about his behavior. But... then he started remembering... you did try to tell him. You tried to pull him aside and talk to him every so often, and just like all of your attempts at mutual interaction, it was Miguel who rejected it. It was Miguel who started sleeping in his office when you had said you were making dinner. It was Miguel who rejected the idea of going on a date, maybe in a universe they had never been to, or to one of the usual spots the two of you had frequented.
It was Miguel who didn't give a damn until it was too late.
Well, almost too late.
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You woke up with a major headache and the inability to move, choking on a tube the doctors inserted to keep you breathing. The hours after you woke up were a blur, doctors coming in and out and talking gently to you becoming a mushy mess in your mind. You were stiff and sore from a lack of movement.
Muscle atrophy begins to occur within 10 days without use when it comes to being in a coma. What would be a terrible fun fact to bring up at a party was your current reality. You were weak, and the extremely fast metabolism that comes with being a Spider doesn’t help your case. You are immediately put down for physical and speech therapy. Unbeknownst to you, the words that made total sense to you as you spoke were complete gibberish to the staff.
It was a long day of trying to move and being fairly unsuccessful, trying to talk and thinking you were successful, and being very, very cold. You were freezing in the hospital room, which would be fine, but apparently you weren't speaking English, nor Spanish, or any language when you begged for a blanket. After a few hours of trying to ask, one nurse finally figured it out. They apologized profusely, tucking you in with the very thin, towel-like blanket. It didn't do much, but it was better than nothing.
You were on a mission to get out apparently, not quite realizing the doctors meant well. Trying to leave the bed and go who knows where. They found you webbed to the ceiling and walls at various points. It was hell trying to get you back in bed.
But that's okay, because after a few days of this, you came to... ish. You needed speech therapy, as well as plenty of physical therapy. You were to avoid going on missions at all costs for the moment.
And as always, Miguel was the last to know.
The others had visited you once you gained some speech back. Hobie brought some terribly greasy food, which you both enjoyed greatly. Jess, Margo, and Ben all updated you on how the fight with Electro concluded once you got some cognitive function back, but looking back, you don't remember what they said. Peter brought Mayday for you to hold for when you got some of your motor-skills back.
Miguel wasn't informed of when you woke up, be it some glitch in the hospital system, sheer fucking negligence, malice, or any mix of the three. He only learned when Peter asked if I said anything to him about physical therapy. He was pissed, naturally, but he didn't care to find out what had caused it.
All he cared about was when he saw you, how your eyes lit up at his entrance. Words were hard for you, and that's fine. Words weren't needed to describe how much you both missed each other. Words weren't necessary to tell Miguel that you loved him.
Miguel, however, used his words to say "I'm glad you're here."
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A/N: WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK
I am so sorry this chapter took ALMOST A MONTH I AM SO SORRY
I wrote myself into a rough spot and wasn't sure how to go about it. After a WHILE of thinking about it, this is what we got. Not the best chapter IMO, but it works
Love y'all <3!