There She Goes Again

Weaving between vents and electrical boxes, the rooftop provided little shelter from the wind and giant clouds rolling in, threatening to drench your pink peacoat. You could feel your hair brushing across the pilling wool. Your eyes, scanning the roof, looking for someone. Reaching the ledge and looking over, the feet below and bustling of the city was soothing. There was something meditative about seeing the distance between yourself and the ground, floors apart. Inhaling a deep breath and closing your eyes, a wash of acceptance rolled over. Almost a "giving up" feeling but not negative.

A loud thump behind you shocked your system as you turned over your left shoulder.

"Hi, baby. Sorry I scared you."

Your arms wrapped around his shoulder and neck. Taking in his scent. Ozone, men's cologne... gasoline?

"You're here now." You feel your voice say, a comfort to him or yourself, you're not quite sure. A soothing smile creeping up the corners of your mouth.

You pull back to meet his face...

Damn it. You can never hold on long enough to register his face. Not enough to discern him or identify him if he walked past you on the street. This was the most frustrating part.

He took up your whole life only 4 years ago. You began to theorize that something major had happened in the time just after high school graduation. You wondered if he was consumed with these memories too, reaching toward them just as you do. Does he cling onto these same memories as you do, hoping to remember enough to come find you?

He left you with a beautiful son that he likely has no idea about. He would have been a part of his life if he knew. You were sure of it. Weeks worth of memories made you certain of his character. Maybe he would have left you alone if in real danger, but a son is something different entirely.

Now, you had to piece together his appearance from your son's small traits.

He was probably energetic and kind, just like James. He had curly brown hair and likely had big brown eyes, though that ran in your family too. He was strong and athletic.

The problem was James was his own person. He didn't inherit all of your traits, there was doubt that he'd be his father's carbon copy. If he did, your mystery man would have a Spider-Man obsession heavy enough to enact whole fights in your living room. That'd be ridiculous.

Everyone was grateful for Spider-Man, but you worried that fostering this idolization of him to your son could put him in danger. What if James grew up and stumbled across a dangerous crime, deciding to take it into his own hands?

A car honk shook you out of your own thoughts.

MJ and Ned had finally graduated MIT and were moving home. You had been looking forward to this since that first August without them. Though Ned came home every break, minus a study abroad summer and a research job in Australia one winter, MJ avoided coming home at all.

You knew she had grown up in a shaky home that offered little stability, but you tried not to ask her too much detail in your 8 years of friendship. As a result, though, she only came and visited a handful of times over the past few years. She had stayed with you in Lissie and Ty's apartment once, but only for a day or two.

Instead, you would attempt to wrangle James in his car seat for the drive to Boston once or twice a year. It was hard to socialize the same way, though. You'd visit their dorms and apartments with an especially active small child and couldn't join them when they went bar hopping or smoking with friends. Often, it entailed lunchtime hangouts and outings across the city. You couldn't keep up with their venting about heavy classes or stories of their partying. They tried their best, though. It'd be significantly easier now that they were back in the city too.

You had kept busy in a nursing program. It wasn't the biomed focus you had dreamed of at 18, but you filled your cup helping sick people either way. After graduating with an online ADN associates and an accelerated BSN straight after, you still felt confident in your achievements.

The job you had lucked into while starting your bachelors offered very predictable hours for a single mom, too. Daycare and preschool time always lined up, so James wouldn’t need to be taken care of by somebody else. And your work was close to the preschool, located in a practice within the hospital building, the preschool only a block away.

All had worked out and you wouldn't trade it for anything. You can't imagine your life as a research student, let alone without James.

On mornings like these, pushing James in a toddler stroller to get to work, the breeze from the trees and the rising sun between the buildings gave you time to think. James had been in a good enough routine at this point, where he didn't give you nearly as much trouble as in previous months. What an energetic boy.

Finally reaching the converted firehouse that the preschool had taken over, James practically rushed out of your sight to his little friends. You had to intentionally catch him to kiss his little face goodbye. The stroller, now stowed in a closet, a deal you had made with the preschool principal.

Taking one last look at the little boy, beaming toward his friends while picking out their toys, you pushed the handle of the door to leave.

His eyes were laser-focused on his computer, occasionally furrowing his brows and sticking his tongue out to spur his brain to work more effeciently. As if sensing your presence, his head reared over his right shoulder, eyes softening as they met yours. That same slow-motion glow overtaking him.

He looks like a carbon copy of James in these memories. These ones you let float away from you, just letting yourself enjoy the fleeting presence of him and the peace he brings. No good in tainting that memory by stressing further. Some of these ones are to be cherished in that little box in the back of your head. It never gave any extra identifiers as some of the others, so the enjoyment they gave you could just be left as is. A small gift to brighten your day and ground you to real life.

A bell rings as the door opens, your uniform non-slip shoes carrying you out the door and back into the bustle of the city.

Peter hollers from stories above the ground, swinging between apartment buildings and skyscrapers, "Whoop!"

Web,

hold on,

swing,

bring legs forward,

gain momentum,

release...

He didn't think he could ever get over how fun it was just to do the act of swinging.

And the pride it gave him to keep his city safe, unbeatable.

"X-P-four-zero-T... a transporter of explosives has been hijacked and is speeding down 20th heading east." the police scanner sounded out through the suit.

"Hey E.V., track the motion of the transporter. That's getting close to the hospital."

"Sure thing, Peter." E.V.'s robotic voice responded.

He picked up his swinging pattern, now cutting a sharp left at the next open street. He didn't usually feel much anxiety when swinging to face the next villain. On most occasions, he'd spend his swing mentally preparing himself, almost pumping himself up to lead with confidence.

This time, however, he felt a pit form in his stomach. Explosives driving down streets in transporters were not the biggest fish to fry. He had fought a slew of multidimensional villains and a universe-snapping purple behemoth.

Something felt off.

A huge crash interrupted his thought process. The massive transporter truck grazed the size of a brick building, hurling through the bodega. As he swung by, Peter assessed the damage: any civilians? any animals? The owner!

"Hey, sir, are you okay? All good? Okay, see ya! Stay safe!"

The truck regained the road and barreled down it, passersby fleeing the streets. The truck was hurling at huge speed for a metropolitan road, it was a challenge for Peter to keep up.

After webbing to the back, his whole body was being dragged along the asphalt. He pulled himself up, climbing to the roof, then crawling to the windshield

"Hey buddy! Whatcha got back there? Woahhhhh, you've got some pretty big bombs back there huh?"

The driver took a pistol and narrowly missed his shot as Peter dodged his head to the side.

"Alright, this has been fun. How do you feel about pulling over and we can settle this man-to-man?"

The driver turned the wheel, crashing into more buildings and crushing Peter against them.

He groaned for a second,

"I take that as a no?"

Took a second to breathe, then webbed the brakes down, slowing the tank very slowly

His jaw almost met the barrel of a huge gun, but swiftly moved away from it, allowing his hands to grip it and web it to the side of the van, out of the driver's reach.

As the transporter slowed, the driver once again scraped a building, then bounced off and rammed into a wall across the road, dividing two buildings: a small converted firehouse preschool and an office space.

Peter moved quickly. He knew this guy was dangerous and trigger-happy.

"Alright, let's move, move! Everybody out, head to the hospital, police are meeting there.”

He saw some younger workers leading small children out, a few carrying crying toddlers out.

He met eyes with an older woman. Her nametag showing she was the owner.

"Ma'am! Do you have rosters or attendance sheets? I don't want any little ones unaccounted for."

"They should be sitting in a folder case at the back desk. Thank you, Spider-Man!"

He manuvered with his webs across the rubble. Dust and rocks decorating rainbow carpetted floors. He remembered his years at daycare. He loved the carpet with the roads on it, always taking his tiny cars and seeing how efficiently he'd be able to drive.

His eyes rifted upward to that back desk, a child hiding under it, griping the leg of the desk and turned away from him. A tiny knit jacket over little denim overalls. A Spider-Man emblem embroidered on the front pocket, which revealed itself when the little boy turned to him.

"Hey buddy... you okay?"

His eyes looked up at him, wide open. He let go of the leg of the table with one arm and looked down at his hand, his tiny fingers not yet coordinated enough to form the web hand on his own. He took his other hand and pushed his middle two fingers down and held them out at the superhero.

Peter did it right back at him, smiling wide under the mask.

"What's your name, little spider?"

"My name's James", he replied through a lisp, making his J sound more like a "dzz" sound.

Peter's heart softened.

He focused a little harder on James' face. His ears and nose looked like his in his childhood photos. He thinks his aunt had the same picture, once.

A creaking door swung open, the villain finally finding the strength to get out of the transporter.

"Stay here, James. I'll get you out soon."

Peter assumed position to fight, the newfound motivation of a trapped civilian now running through every vein.

"Alright kaboomy, let's fight this out."

A web throwing him closer to the villain, encircling his body in web.

The man, now clad in giant vests and a huge helmet, lacked in agility, but had a massive destructive threat.

They tossed around, almost disarming the other, then being overtaken the next moment.

Peter was thrown across the preschool floor, hitting a bookcase and being covered in books

"You guys should really mount these bookcases; that's quite a hazard with little kids around," he groaned.

Then something was thrown his way. He took a second to register. A grenade!

"Woah woah woah!!" considering throwing it back to the attacker, but had enough judgment that it could cause a massive chain reaction. He webbed over it instead, filling the whole building with the sticky, strong webs.

It was enough to slow the attacker and web his hands behind his back and wrap him against a front pillar, the police swarming behind him.

James!

He knelt down to the little guy and inspected for damage, "You okay?? You were really brave out there!"

James locked around his shoulders, "That was so cool!"

He swiftly carried him out of the building and into the streets, which had been barricaded off. A nurse emerged from the crowd, weaving through the police. "James! Oh god, I was so worried, baby."

His face found hers.

The world slowed to a halt. A fuzzy, warm haze covered his vision.

It was you.

4 years, he had spent leaving you to live your life.

Was this your son?

Oh god, wait. How does that timeline line up? How old is James? Like 2? 3?

Before he could reel more, your eyes locked, even through the opacity of the white in his goggles.

Your eyes were just the same, without the sparkling reflection of your tears overflowing them and spilling down your cheeks.

Was he holding his son?

James reached out to his mom, "I helped Spider-Man, mama!", making a sound to emulate the shooting of webs.

Your eyes softened, processing the whole situation.

"Thank you." Your voice wavered as your words stumbled out.

"You have a beautiful son. He did very well."

"He scared me half to death. Thank you for protecting him." A small, nervous laugh joined your crying.

The world seemed to speed up when an officer called him over. By the time he had finished this conversation, you had disappeared.

Holy shit.

He closed the window of his tiny apartment behind him, throwing off his suit in anger.

For a second he tried to calm himself down with a cleansing breath. Then, rushed to the kitchen, grabbing the first glass he could find and running it under the tap to gather water. He leaned down and rested his head on his bent arm. Every nerve in his body was buzzing. every breath awoke the cells at every endings in his lungs. Absolute terror and panic was pouring into his body, as if filling him from the feet, to the torso, to the neck, through his throat, finally spilling out through his eyes as the glass in his hands overflowed.

He threw the cup down into the sink, not caring how many shards of glass he'd have to pick up.

He had spent 4 years trying to give you space, let you live your life. He had convinced himself that he was giving you a gift by leaving your life. You could finally have sleep and free time and friendships. You would be able to walk down the street without fear of being targetted.

Instead, he had left you with a baby to raise and abandoned his son.

Every night he spent crying, convincing himself not to stop by your apartment, every anxious thought when a crime would happen close to Lissie's apartment, every rooftop pep talk he would scream at himself...

It had only ever been hurting you.

He turned his attention to his suit, now discarded on the floor.

The goggles, laying on the top of the pile, staring straight into his soul.

His son's birth

First steps

First day of school.

Christmases

Birthdays

...

A proposal

Maybe even a wedding.

His anger only tripled. Every thought, fueling exponential growth in his anger.

Absolute distain for what that terrible spider had brought into his life.

Disgust with what that suit represented. He had missed his son's life. He abandoned the love of his life. Aunt May had been killed. To others, that suit was a saving grace. To Peter, it was a life sentence.

The spell was supposed to fix it for everyone. Nobody could be hurt for knowing Peter as Spider-Man again.

He felt cursed. He felt betrayed.

He threw the suit across the room, then picked up the closest thing he could find to hit against the nearest wall.

Crash!

Shattering glass.

After taking a second to focus his mind, he looked down at the fallout.

A picture frame upside down, surrounded by broken glass.

No. Oh no no. No.

Peter knelt down beside it.

Your prom photo. The solo one May had requested to get a full look at your dress. Your makeup was beautiful. Your hair pinned back in big curls. A big smile that missed slightly behind May's camera. You had been looking at him in the last second before the picture was taken.

It was his absolute favorite photo of you, though you thought it made you look dorky.

He slowly began to pick up the shattered glass, placing the picure frame delicately on his huge desk. Then, swept, mopped, and looked around.

He walked toward the suit, folding it back up and putting the mask on his stand.

Lastly, Peter gathered the broken glass from the cup in the sink, tossed it, inspected for smaller shards, then plopped himself on his bed.

He wrapped himself in his blankets and allowed his mind to wander off, cooling off his seething frustration from just moments ago.

He found himself at a crossroads. Attempt to organically fall in love with you... a few holes already. What about the little boy? That wouldn't cover why he was his twin. Or, find you and tell you straight up, risking your anger at him.

Does he start with Spider-Man right out the gate? Does he have ot go through a second reveal?

He took a second to take a breath in, toss himself to the other side of the bed, then finally exhale.

What if it wasn't black and white. You could start as friends, then tell you. He could maybe wing it from there. If you were raging mad at him, he could still check on you and keep both of you safe.

He didn't think he had it in him to pretend. It might overwhelm him again. Make him freeze up.

He bet you had moved in with Lissie. It was worth a shot to check that old apartment building he had seen you crying in all those years ago.

You had been running. A panic had crept up to the edges of your neck, lingering by your ears. The crumbling beneath your feet, not yet noticable to you, but growing increasingly obvious to him. You didn't even feel when the huge chunk of cement from the bridge began falling, slowly sliding toward the water below. Mysterio, still focused on fighting the monster on the other edge of the bridge.

He watched in slow motion as your foot slipped, knocking you to the ground. The ground that was extremely unstable, only held to the bridge by friction, but threatening to plunge into the frigid water below at another stomp of the monster.

Just then, you felt the ground move below you, jerking you to the right and scraping up your elbows on the jagged rock.

Air beneath your feet. Nothing was keeping you stable. Your limbs reached out for any rock nearby to cling to, but had been knocked off at the force of the monster's heavy punch to the bridge. Your hair blew in front of your eyes. Was it an act of mercy to not see the water below, or a way to make you more docile when the water enevitably caught your body.

Before you could even keep up with your inner monologue, a gentle hand was keeping with your pace, then supporting your head and pulling you upward, catching you at the very bottom-most point of a swing.

Setting you down across the road from the mouth of the bridge, he frantically grabed to your face, searching to see any visible injuries.

"Are you okay?? Hey, can you hear me? Are you hurt at all?"

When your focus pulled back in, his face came into view. He was covered in a Spider-Man mask.

Wait that's not how that memory should go.

A loud thud outside your bedroom window woke you from your dream. Memory? Your whole body shot up in fear and surprise, jolting befor you could even register the end of the dream. Where you would normally be reeling trying to hang onto the memory, your brain couldn't process anything at all, making your eyes dart to the window before even registering danger.

Your blinds were a sheer off-white and were covering the window with a dreamy haze. A slight wave made them move like sails. Behind the creases in the waves of the curtains, an uncertain flash of red was hidden out of sight.

Though you felt unease, it was the same feeling you had felt at prom, when you had to make yourself trot downstairs in your flashy gown and makeup. It was the sense that this situation couldn't be avoided, but had to be marched into with courage.

Your legs threw themselves off of the bed, allowing your feet to slowly meet the carpet and bring your body upright.

James.

The scene from Tangled flashed in your mind. A mysterious figure wrapping your baby up and taking them out the balconied window.

Your panic was soothed seeing the sleeping boy in his tiny bed, tucked into the closet, his makeshift bedroom. His tiny snores tucked into the pillow, his little eyelashes resting on his round cheeks.

Your attention turned back to the window, where the figure was now facing you, kneeling just outside on the fire escape.

Your body began moving without your permission, as though it felt it knew better for you. As though you had done this a million times.

Peeling back the sheer curtains, an overwhelming somberness crept up your body like a vine.

Your eyes locked with white goggles, then quickly scanned his figure, red and blue. Spider-Man?

Your first thought was danger. Spider-Man fought danger and was only attentive to individuals when an active threat was nearby.

But he was so calm, even as you slid the window open.

His head tilted slightly and froze, staring at you.

It could have been seconds or minutes you stood like that, peering slightly upward to meet his face.

Muscle memory kicked in again, pushing off of your hands onto the windowsill and onto the fire escape.

Slow motion as your manuvered yourself onto the cramped sheet of grated metal and crouched to meet him.

You felt him almost snap out of it, realizing he had been lost in the situation, frozen with his eyes locked on you.

Your face had a new maturity.

Not wrinkles, but age. Your eyes looked much more tired. Not from lack of sleep, but hard work.

Your hair had been cut shorter. Peter wondered if it was one of those "mom cuts" he had heard about. He wondered if baby James had gripped his fingers in your hair one too many times, finally spurring you to keep it short.

Your nails were now short and unpolished, too. You used to occasionally get them done, then neglected them until they were chipped and bitten away. Now, they were well-groomed, almost. Filed, maybe. Smooth around the edges in a way they never had been.

"Spider-Man?" Your voice frayed at the edges, cracking slightly toward the end.

He froze for a second again. He took in the sound of your voice, the way your teeth shone, the worn-off chapstick on your lips. Mint? You still smelled like your same conditioner. A hint of that green apple detangler Aunt May used on him as a child. Back when Aunt May let him grow his hair longer, then decided to cut it, by the little knots next to his ears that just wouldn't let up. You used that on James, didn't you?

"Hi..." in an exasperated sigh.

Your brows tied together.

"Is something wrong?"

A warm tear fell down his face, gathering at the bottom of his goggles.

"Your son's name is James?"

"Uh, yeah. James."

"Is he..." his head gestured toward the window "...in there?"

You nodded.

Anxiety was moving up your chest, beckoning, gathering tears.

He let out a deep sigh. An attempt to soothe his system. It didn't help much, though. He pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning his head down.

Your face, similarly tilting downward to try to find his eyes.

"It's you, isn't it?"

He felt like his heart had stopped. You continued,

"I have these flashes of memories, but I have no idea who it is. I don't know where they are. It has been killing me not knowing."

A beat.

You tried again, "I've been so scared. Did something happen?"

His hand reached out to your arm. You let him. His fingers met your pajama top.

An oversized shirt. A band shirt.

That was his shirt. An old Tears for Fears shirt. You once had joked about how silly they had looked in the album cover.

He didn't fight the tears anymore. Instead, "Can I hug you?" in a very small, broken voice. You had never imagined Spider-Man to have ever shown an ounce of fear-- or sadness, whatever this was.

You pulled him in before he could keep up with what was happening.

You didn't hold him too close, though. You kept that same distance on late nights when he'd come in really hurt. When black, gnarly bruises were latching onto his ribs.

You held him by his shoulders, pulling his head to rest in the crook of your neck, not yet allowing his chest to meet yours. The crouching position you both were in probably didn't allow that either way, though.

A few minutes passed, with tears falling between the two of you. Quiet sobs in each other's necks. Both of you were losing awareness of the sleeping boy inside.

A little snore, louder than the rest, pulled you both out of it, darting your heads to his bed.

The wind blew through the sheer curtains, only allowing small flashes of the bedroom inside. You noticed Spider-Man's breath hitching seeing James sleeping inside.

"Can I?" You could tell he was fighting back a full collapse of himself, cutting off his sentence before he could lose all control.

You gave him a little nod, using his hand to gesture him inside.

After he pulled himself inside, you held onto the sides of the window for support. While trying to get your footing on the windowsill, you lost your grip. Though you certainly could have found your way down safely, Spider-Man caught your hips before you could realize you were falling.

Rubble had fallen all around the taxi, your body safe in the backseat, but only having sunlight pour in through a small hole above. He had rushed to your side, talking you down from your panic. After minutes of encouragement and breaks where he would try to chip away at the rubble, you had finally gained the courage to attempt to crawl out, despite the groaning of pressure from the boulders of concrete. One step at a time, one hand, one foot. It could only be less than 10 feet, but it became evident you were running out of time.You could see his mask and outstretched red glove from the small crawlspace, finally pulling you out. He grabbed your hips on the way down, pulling you into his body. "Oh thank god, thank god. You're okay, my love, it's okay.", he had mumbled into your hair.

It was him.

You held the back of your hand out and felt the ridges of black rubber on his mask.

Bump, bump, bump

"I knew it." Your eyes looked up at him in wonder.

But you both turned back to the bedroom, the little boy only a few feet away.

You led him by his wrist to kneel down to James' tiny bed. Silent sobs shook his whole body, your head resting on his shoulder as you both faced your son. Your son. His son. His tiny boy.

"I'm so sorry I missed this. I had no idea..."

"What happened? Why can't I remember you?"

A pause.

He leaned closer to you, his hand finding the edge of James' bed to keep him close.

"My identity was revealed. It threatened your school, MJ and Ned’s, too. All of these villains came into the universe angry at Peter Parker..." he took a breath and continued. "My aunt died. I couldn't risk it... I had Doctor Strange cast a spell so nobody would remember me."

You held his face, urging him to continue.

"I saw how free your life became in the days after. You didn't have to watch your back for angry journalists or stay up late for me anymore."

The anger at yourself. You had fallen asleep again, and he needed you. You groggily reached for the first-aid kit.

He continued, “I wanted you to have a better life. I didn't want you in danger. But I didn't know about him; I swear I didn't! I would have come to you immediately. You never would have done this by yourself."

He reached back to your hands, holding them as if that would convince you. As if you needed convincing. You knew him... even if you didn't remember him.

"I need to know who you are." You began. "I can't keep living without knowing."

"You will know, I promise. I will find you. I don't want to risk association with me and Spider-Man. I will come find you soon."

It disappointed you to hear this. You had always pictured him running to you and immediately confessing his identity.

He turned his head back to James before you could process a response.

"He's so beautiful, baby. You did so well with him. I'm so sorry I wasn't here"

You both spent the next minutes or hours sitting like that, admiring your son.

A crime notification popped up and shook him out of it. He let out a frustrated sigh, leaning his head on yours, kissing your hair as he spoke, "I'm so sorry, I have to go. This is a big one."

You sniffed.

He looked you dead in the eyes with a determined, almost intimidating gaze. "I will come find you, I promise. We will do this right." A beat, "and I'll keep an eye on you both."

He pulled you in for a deeper hug than before, not quite how you both remember, but enough to sense change.

"I love you," just as he had before.

Weeks had been spent between then and now.

You had tried to find his face in every person around you. Bodega workers, taxi drivers, policemen...

But he said he would find you.

On a few occasions, you would find your favorite bag of chips sitting on your bed, gummy bears sitting on James'.

Though you would, in any other situation, be uneasy with a stranger finding their way into your apartment, he has immediately gained your trust. You had felt guilt not telling Lissie or Ty about this. You wondered if they would understand if they knew who he was.

He was late for Thanksgiving dinner. His aunt agreed to join your family's dinner this year. Aunt May! That was her name. Another step closer. Lissie even came home from college for it, too, a rarity during that time of year, when she was still in school. It was so exciting to have everyone together. Everyone but him. He finally barreled through the front door 30 minutes late, kissing May on the cheek and hugging Lissie...

They were close.

You were close to trying to trap him, just to talk to him. It had been so long; you were starting to wonder if this would be forever. Just waiting for him to leave presents on your bed.

After finally wrangling James into little sneakers, you were able to load him into the stroller and head out of the apartment building, leaving a note for Lissie and Ty that you were stocking up on preschool lunch items.

It couldn't be more normal on a day like today. New York had a slight overcast and a little breeze running between the buildings.

You still lingered your eyes on every man with brown, curly hair you passed. It had become a habit at this point. Eventually, you both reached the small store.

Milk, cheese, bread, snacks.

Your eyes ran between items, while James slept. He had been totally wiped out from an earlier tantrum over candy. Okay... found milk next aisle. You turned the corner, eyes catching a red masked vigilante.

"Hey... do you mind helping me with this? I feel pretty confident in math, but these elements are really giving me a hard time." Your eyes were low and batting eyelashes at him. He looked nervous. "Uhhh, yeah. Yeah! Of course!" You had been playing this game for months. You would tease him just enough to make him flustered. It always took him a second to finally flirt back. When would he finally ask you out?

An idea popped into your head. "Oh, hey Spidey." Your eyes only flickered on him for a second, then turned to the food in front of you, unsuccessfully holding back a smile that was creeping up your lips.

"Hey." An uncharacteristic certainty decorated his voice. You don't think the game ever went this way.

He turned his body toward the food, as well, pretending to inspect the groceries with the same determination you did.

"You come here often?", your voice said, echoing back to his ears like water in a desert.

"No, no. I followed a beautiful girl in here. I've been having a hard time reaching her."

"That's sweet, Spider-Man.", your hands picking up some grocery item, checking the label. As if you ever cared enough to do that.

His voice dropped to a whisper, and he leaned his head to the side, still facing the food. "Did'ya think I forgot about you?"

"I don't know, I think I'm entitled to a few more visits. Maybe a few kisses too. A date night with wine, maybe." A giggle was shared between the two of you.

"You just wait, love. I'm working on it." his head nodded with a twinge of embarrassment.

You moved the stroller around him and started walking around him. You missed this game. This was fun.

"Where are you going, miss?" Smiles crept up both of your faces, though you felt more vulnerable as the only unmasked one.

"Oh, I don't know... I have someone waiting at home for me."

"Oh yeah? Is this someone okay with you being walked home?"

"Hmm... I'm not too sure; are you equipped to talk to a very mysterious, physically distant guy?"

"I think I can manage that."

Your hair fell in front of your face, then was tucked behind your ear with your hand.

You were absolutely addictive.

After a mostly silent walk home, with a few pedestrians stopping and paying attention to the amazing Spider-Man, you reached the apartment building and spoke.

"This is us. Sorry our walk was so short."

His voice was significantly lower than before. "4 more days, I promise. I'll find you. We can do this the right way."

Despite the flirty game you had just been playing, you started to get choked up, small tears forming at the corners of your eyes. You didn't want to have to wait any longer.

"I know, honey. Please don't cry." He wanted so badly to reach out and touch you, but he didn't want to risk anything above a low whisper.

You sniffled, "Can I have a code word or something? So i know its you."

"Of course, sweet girl. Uhh, how about..."

"What was the first thing I said to you?" You interjected.

He took a second; you could tell he was smiling beneath the mask. "You asked what LEGO set Ned and I were working on. I'll ask you that when I find you."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

That was familiar.

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@4ria790 @lauranehme @yagurlannastasia

Wake up, worry over him, watch him on the news, patch him up, warn him to be careful, go to sleep. Rinse. Repeat.

How many months had you spent doing that? Years, maybe?

A fuzzy haze of nights spent scrolling replacing it. Nights of his breath on your neck, band-aids on bare skin, the feeling of his stubble again your shoulder, all replaced with fog.

No memories of that at all.

You had no memory of your giggly first encounter, teary night spent when he ditched you at prom, heart racing guilt and fear when he told you he was Spider-Man…

Coffee shop first date, meeting May, making out on your rooftop, intimate nights together sneaking from the parents.

At one point, he was the first thought in the morning and the last thought at night. You knew his whole schedule, you could tell someone anything about him.

All gone.

———

The view out the window was uncharacteristically serene. The bustle of the city was a welcome soundscape against the rustling green leaves and light pattering rain. And just outside your window, on a neighboring building, Spider-Man crouched in the shadows.

He wasn’t watching you, per se, or so he told himself. Just yesterday, his life was flipped upside down, the spell that brought the universe to him, killed May, and tore apart the memory of Peter Parker from the minds of all his enemies, had also ripped away his love.

What could your life be like without him?

Who would keep you safe?

But your bedroom, clad in lights and posters, was taunting him. You looked so peaceful. Most nights, you’d be up waiting for him to tap on your window for medical aide (cuddles and kisses, mostly). He can’t recall the last time he’s seen you in bed so early.

Meanwhile, you’d been sitting with the feeling of restless anticipation for no clear reason. The same feeling in your youth when summer would come and no homework or studying was waiting up for you.

There was too much time. Too much free time.

His eyes glazed across, watching your brows furrow, looking for something to do.

Had you done that every night before he would crawl over your windowsill?

His throat tightened up, aching his tongue and watering his eyes.

Your hair

Your pajamas

The sound of your heartbeat

A deep intake of oxygen when you finally gave up

The click of the switch

He shook himself out of it, turning his head to take a moment to breathe.

Breathe. Breathe.

His hands brushed against his thighs and shook themselves out, the ridges of the black rubber lines scratching against his glove. He could hear the beat of his heart in the heat of his ears.

Thwip!

Maybe it’s for the best. How many hours of sleep had you lost for him? How much anxiety built up watching the news?

He made a deal with himself.

She can be loved from a distance, for now. If she’s in danger, you save her, as you would anyone else. She can know later.

Every Christmas, you had watched Its a Wonderful Life in your cozy pink bedroom, cuddling against the fluffy throw pillows on your bed. It was through he was George Bailey, watching his life move on without him. He could picture himself running to you, screaming your name, getting dragged away as a mad man. He was speeding down his old streets in terror, just the same. Something unnerving settled over him in this thought: Instead of the world falling apart without him, he saw the world soothe.

A new calm was settling over his old life.

The rough seas you had endured as a toll for loving him, completely quiet.

All those hours of stress… hell, your college career was on the line last week. That guilt had been unbearable on him. Your world was turned upside down. You would be a biomed major in a month. You’d need those hours to sleep, not stress over his wellbeing.

It’s for the best.

Puffy eyes beneath the white sheer goggles. Shaky breaths. The pull of gravity from feet below him.

She will be okay.

———

Bzz! Bzz!

The 5 minute timer finding its way to your eyes, alongside a news article notification:

“Spider-Man saves subway riders from flood!”

Here we go.

The world around seemed to slow down, finding a new importance. The kind of physical reaction where you can sense the forking of two roads. The sense that after this moment, there is no going back.

Hesitation in the tingling of your fingers.

Before you could even process your own movement, your fingers found the side of the tub, flipping the blue cap and rolling the test to its side, at which point you could grab hold.

What am I doing?

Flip

Pregnant.

…

The world around stopped. Your upper arms heating up and tingling, panic setting into your throat before your brain could process.

There’s that feeling. The feeling that you are in no control whatsoever. Monumental, life changing moments are passing and you are out of control.

Your ears. Warm and obvious.

Your tongue is dry. When did you open your mouth?

Your cheek has a rushing, sobering tear cooling it before you even realize you are crying.

Oh god.

Oh god, oh god.

When did this even happen? You have no memory of having sex.

Flashes of stubble in your hands.

Had you had sex? When was the last time you drank? You couldn’t have been that drunk.

Had something happened with a man you never knew? How could you not remember this.

No.

This is a mistake.

Come on. Getting yourself all worked up over a false positive? You’re better than that.

You let out a panicked chuckle.

In a frantic move, as seconds stretched and minutes furiously rushed by, another test processed, blinking like a maddening torture method.

Blink

Blink

Blink

Pregnant.

How?? How??

A sick feeling of violation settles in your bones.

Oh god.

Had you had a drunk hookup? How did you not remember anything?

The bile rises in your throat, threatening to decorate the bath mat.

Fingers in your hair. “You okay?” A kiss on your cheek.

You gripped the countertop, closing your eyes. Deep breaths. Pull it together. In through your nose, out on a straw-shaped blow.

Your eyes meet your own in the mirror, then flicker down in unease, eventually closing.

Warm, comforting kisses on your neck. Firm hands on your hips. The kind that show trust and confidence, not possession.

God, why can’t you remember?

—

The world suddenly came into focus.

“Woah…”

He stopped at the next rooftop and took in his surrounding.

No notifications of crime nearby.

He looked down.

His heart dropped.

A girl, clad in a grey pair of sweats and an oversized hoodie, was bolting down the street sobbing.

His head tilted slightly and his shoulders turned to parallel the road below.

“Sorry… excuse me, sorry…”

She was weaving past street goers in a frantic, manic attempt to make haste.

Analysis… then recognition… then his heart skipped. The world was moving too fast for him to catch up. Was she hurt? Did something happen??

Your flushed and damp face turned away, hair flying to your side, as you rushed faster.

He watched you turn the corner, then took a second to shake himself back to life. He swung onto the next rooftop, slightly above the one under his feet, so he had to climb against the panic beating into his chest.

He peeked around the building and saw you buzz a doorbell.

Your sister’s apartment! Aww sweet Lissie. A nickname you’d given her young, in a story he could Frankenstein together from old memories. She’d finally moved in with that guy. What was his name… Ty! Tyler. He was always so sweet, Peter had poked her to finally open up to him, on more than one occasion. Your sister had the best smile and best personality, but felt too much pressure to protect you and be brave, she never felt vulnerable enough to open up to a guy. A warm settle came over him at the thought that Lissie was doing well.

Then was quickly jolted out as you booked it through the door and up the stairs.

Nope. Nope.

We’re not doing that again.

The more you get involved the harder it’ll be for everyone

She needs her time.

But he stayed. Minutes and minutes pass by of scanning every window. He felt his goggles squint with his eyes.

When time passed and he couldn’t feel any movement, he gave up.

Just one. Just one peek.

He listened intently for your heartbeat.

His brain shuffled through the whole building, finally settling on one he knew well. That heartbeat had been his anchor on many anxious nights. He’d leaned on you and cried when missions when awry. He’d heard that heartbeat leaping when he finally asked you out. It was a dialect he could understand and it was sticking out in the dozens of heartbeats in the building. When he felt it settle slightly, he let out a sigh. A cleansing breath. Intaking trust and exhaling the urge to crash into your life.

And just as a precaution, Peter allowed himself the gift of swinging by your apartment tonight. If you were still in shambles, he’d consider where to go from there. He’d help you. That’s fair! Fair settlement.

She’ll be okay

A crime watch notification ripped him out of his relief. He zoomed into the location, sighed one more deep breath, then

Thwip!

And off he pulled his body to go save the day again.

She’ll be okay.

———

Tears pooled all the way onto the wooden kitchen table, where your cup of calming lavender tea was sitting slowly more stale by the minute.

“It’s going to be okay, sweet girl.”

Your eyes settled focus on the white rings on the wooden table, no doubt where Lissie and her boyfriend had spent mornings with hot coffee, too in love to even consider something as trivial as coasters.

“I can’t remember anything, Lissie. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know what happened.”

“Could it be a false positive?”

“I took two!”

A beat.

A deep breath echoing behind you.

“Okay. So you’re for sure pregnant...” Another tear joined the strings of your hoodie. “There’s only 3 ways this could go, sissy. You could keep it and live with not knowing, you could give it away but endure 40 weeks of anticipation… or you could forget this whole thing ever happened and move on with your life. I’ll support you in whatever you need”

Your heart was pounding. Your hands were still shaking, how was it possible to shake for this long?

It’s not that you were against getting rid of it. That was the logical conclusion you should go to. But there was something sitting deep in your bones. You’d felt more aware in the past few weeks than at any point in your memory. There was a new sharpness. Could it be the little thing in there? Was it heightening your awareness or something?

“You know, bunnies know they are pregnant straight away.” Lissie said to you, her missing teeth shining through her tiny face.

“Really? How do they do that?”

“I don’t know…” she picked up the fluffy little creature from the pen, little fingernails decorated in chipping pink nail polish, “maybe they feel their little souls” You leaned your head toward her, resting against her long, tangled hair, watching Buttercup’s ears twitch against the fuzz of Lissie’s fleece sweater. Buttercup… after Princess Bride.

All those nights you’d spent together curled up watching it. Green hills you’d rolled down together “Aaaaaas youuuuuu wiiiiiiiishhh!” And she’d toss herself down the decline. The little hill in Central Park must have known your hair types to a tee from all of the times you had rolled down it, giggling the whole way down until a mess of little girl limbs sat dizzy at the bottom.

As your little head rested on her shoulder, the fluff of the little rabbit tickled your hands, no doubt covered in dirt from outside playtime.

The need for something grounding was gnawing at you. Why had your memory felt so fuzzy for so long and only now was opening back up? Was it this little thing growing inside you? What would it be like in another life?

You could picture the sweet baby wrapped up cozy in a warm blanket, a tiny hat sitting on top of that chunky face. You could feel the comb running through little curls, as you gather them into a small hair tie.

“Look how cute this is!” A little pink onesie held up in front of him, the comforting, faceless man.

You could see drawers packed full of little clothes. A tiny crib and a little mobile. You’d put glow-in-the-dark stars on their ceiling and their little eyes would jump from star to star.

You could feel yourself shuffle through the folding chairs, finding a seat to watch their first dance recital. Their little face lighting up after finding you in the crowd. A tiny hand waving at you mid-dance, too overcome by excitement to remember the routine.

A little toddler tucked into your side at Christmas, worn out by a long day of toys and stuffed full of mashed potatoes and little nibbles of turkey. The soft glow of Christmas lights and the heat of a little kid snuggled tight.

Your head resting on his chest “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings”, his lips mouthed with the movie line. Your own sweet George Bailey, he’d give you the moon.

You could see fights over clothes in a store. “You have to get a winter coat, you can’t slump around in shorts in February!” “You can buy me whatever, I’m NOT wearing it!” Growing feet stomping off to another aisle. The emotional apology in the car, the sound of a phone connection playing the new fad music.

Band concerts, basketball games, emails from teachers about your amazing student…

A life flashed before you.

“I can’t do this.”

Your head rested against the wooden table.

She rushed to your side as sobs overtook your whole body, tears falling onto her hair, forever unkempt. A kiss to the side of your head

A kiss to your cheek and stubble catching your hair.

Lissie breathed a sigh of determination and sought out her phone, excusing herself to arrange an appointment for you. Forever the caretaker, that one.

———

3:42am

Peter caught himself against the brown brick of your apartment building, dodging windows and fire escapes as he moved to your room.

He doubted he would ever forget. 6th story, 8th window from the left. He’d spend years doing that routine.

He doubted you’d be awake. The only time you had ever stayed up like this was waiting up for him and his fights. Even then, he’d spend many nights moving quietly inside, finding you passed out (against your own wishes). He’d twirl your hair through his gloved fingers, the ridges of black rubber catching the strands. He’d run the back side of his closed fingers against your cheek and wrap you in his arms from behind, breathing in the scent of your leave-in conditioner.

Without him, you were out cold with all of the lights out.

Your hair, splayed across the pillow, was still tied in a ponytail. You never did that. You cared to keep your hair from damage.

As he leaned in to peek further through your sheer curtains, he spotted your dirty sneakers kicked off on the carpet. Any other time he’d visit, you would keep tidy and tuck them neatly in your closet.

Concern began to infect his brain and cloud his judgment. His fingertips sticking to the windows and sliding it open, allowing him to crawl against the wall and look at you from a distance.

Were you still wearing that same outfit from today? He crawled further up the drywall to get a look at your face.

You were puffy and flushed, even still, but carried a grace that sleep had provided.

His brows furrowed with growing concern.

Just then, your body threw itself flat, facing the ceiling, and in taking a deep cleansing breath. It was enough to spook Peter, as he maneuvered himself back through the window and efficiently slid the window shut.

Through heavy breaths, he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. As his head slid down to look at his hands, the squeal of lycra and rubber against glass stirred you inside and he threw himself against the next brick wall. A dizzying, overwhelming sense of frustration came over him and called him to leave.

With a thwip, Spider-Man swung back into the night, heavy breathing fueling sobs that shook the spider emblem on his chest. Tears gathering in his goggles.

This is unfair to her.

Leave her be.

She will be okay.

Another day.

———

The clinic was a beige cinderblock. One singular line of white moved horizontally, then arched over the glass double doors and back horizontal again. Very 80s. 70s?

“That’s 70s. It looks 80s because it was everywhere by then! A contractor would call that 70s.”

Huh.

As you worked up the courage to go inside, the intimidation of a crowd of maybe 7 angry strangers stood menacingly, mockingly at the door of the clinic.

You didn’t want this.

Did they think you yearned to go here?

An older woman in a white shirt, stark black lettering against it. A huge sign covered in fake blood and more words in her hands. The words looked foreign in your brain, stumbling against the reality of the situation.

A college-age boy. He had a hat with a diagram of a fetus and umbilical cord. You lingered for a moment. Just a moment.

A little boy, the most striking. The maybe 10-year-old clad in a Catholic school uniform. Brown khakis and a green polo with a familiar logo. You’d babysit a set of sisters from there. They’d complain about the teachers nagging them to tuck in their shirts. His was untucked, as though he had rushed straight from school and untucked it. A huge sign covering his head. Was he embarrassed to be here? Was he tired from a long day at school and his arms had gone lazy?

As you walked past, his eyes locked with yours. The sign, still aimed parallel to the street, was held up by a wrist, decorated by a small purple friendship bracelet. Lissie made you one like that after coming back from Girl Scout one year. You’d begged and begged to go, not making the age requirement to even be a Daisy Scout yet.

Little brown eyes and a bowl cut followed your face, then turned back to the blank side of the sign, as you walked out of his line of sight.

In the carpeted room of the clinic lobby, you attempted to catch your breath against the soundtrack of projected yelling from the protesters outside. A frazzled, anxious breath attempted to cleanse your brain of what just happened.

Holding your chest as though to tame it downward, your eyes found the confused eyes of the front desk attendant.

“Uh, hi? Do you need something?”

Your hands shook more at the request for information.

“Uh yeah… I have an appointment.” Your voice seemingly shaking in on itself as the sentence took shape.

“Did you fill out the paperwork?”

“What?”

“We emailed you about your online paperwork.”

“Oh… I’m sorry I didn’t see that. My sister helped me set up-”

“Okay well we need your paperwork.” She interjected.

Panic crawling through every inch of your body. You felt your throat tightening against your vocal cords.

She rolled her chair backward, seemingly toward a printer, with an audible, exaggerated sigh.

When the clipboard of paperwork was finally slid to you with a pen tied to it, your shaky hands reached for it on autopilot. When

*click*

The clipboard was zip tied and attached the the desk, with little wiggle room.

“This is for patient confidentiality. Those guys used to run in and take these to get girls’ numbers and harass them. Just fill it out here.” A sickly smile, laced with accusation flashed at you.

A beat.

“Everyone is spooked by medical stuff” he said. He offered to go first for the blood drive and slipped his grounding hand down your arm as distance grew.

I can’t do this.

Before you could process it, your hands dropped the clipboard and your feet carried you out the door. The cold metal of the handle shocked your nervous system, the boy’s little brown eyes laced with confusion, the thump of the pavement beneath your jogging feet. When did you start jogging?

The ring of the phone was the next thing you processed. You must have turned the corner somewhere back there, because you were crouched down in an ally, hiding behind a dumpster. Looking back at the phone, Lissie was your contact.

You broke down sobbing the second her voice registered in your ears

“I couldn’t do it… the eyes… the lady… so mean… I just” Shaky breaths betraying you, interjecting on your frantic explanation.

“Hey, hey calm down! Can I come get you?”

The jingle of her keys through the speaker.

Bzz. Bzz.

A notification.

“Spider-Man defeats crime ring in Jersey!”

You were going to be sick.

———

You arrived at your apartment with Lissie in shambles.

After walking her through the series of events, her face turned red. You could see her shaky hands reach toward her phone, but her care for you wouldn’t allow her to cuss out the clinic receptionist just yet.

Instead, she cuddled you in blankets and brought you soup, turning on a movie in the process.

Through the tears, the TV’s speakers immediately calmed you with the voice of Winona Rider’s Jo March saying, “My sisters and I remember that winter as the coldest of our childhood” Oh, Little Women. Forever the comfort movie for sisters across the world. An immediate calm settled over you.

The panic tears then turned to relief and love as sweet Lissie wrapped her arms around you and pulled you into her shoulder.

Maybe it could be okay.

She didn’t even feel the need to hash it out more. Just soup and Little Women uninterrupted for 2 hours. Enough to reset your system.

Once the movie ended, a new sense of calm washed over you. Clarity opened up new avenues of your brain, your awareness dialed to 11.

A look shared between sisters. Something along the lines of “are we okay to talk now?”

Then comfortable silence, then words.

“Do you want to keep it? We can still give it away, I’ll help you through everything”

Damp, brown curls over you. Heavy breathing. A look down at you and eyes closed in ecstasy. “I love you so much.”

That toddler at Christmas forming more tangible imaginary traits. Brown curls now settling across your chest.

“I think I might want to keep it.”

A beat.

Relief that you had never anticipated felt like it was pouring through every pore of your body. How had you been so tense for so long?

Lissie cleared her throat, “Alrighty. We can do that. Let’s make some plans for you to move in.”

School.

MIT.

God, that was an amazing program.

You were set to dorm with MJ.

“Hey, that’s great! We’ll dorm as double duos! I’m with Ned in that smaller dorm up North.”

“Lissie. School…”

“Okay… what if we look into some online programs. Maybe you could still graduate with MIT. Maybe you could start at community college and move up or something”

In a second of disappointment and silence, the subject was dropped in agreement.

She let out another breath. An exaggerated smiley expression dawned on her face, like a 2000s romcom best friend, in the wake of the big breakup, “What if we run around shopping all day tomorrow. We can get some cute baby things… and we can put together a basket or something for Mom and Dad!” A singsong painted every syllable.

A little laugh escaped your throat before you could register.

She took your hands in hers, brushing over the back of them. “You know what…” a little smile gathering at the corners of her mouth. “We’re going to love this baby, no matter what! I love kids, Tyler loves kids, it’ll be okay!”

You started choking up in a refreshing, relief way.

She continued, “I just hope it’s a girl, or I won’t give it any presents”

Giggles echoing off of the walls of the apartment.

It’ll be okay.

Maybe it will all be okay.

A gloved hand rubbing your back as you cry on his shoulder. You can’t remember what you were crying about, just the comfort of having him there.

Who is this guy?

———

A decision on and a plan had been finalized. In August, you had started full time gen ed classes at the community college, in hopes of getting an associates and a scholarship when the time came.

Moving in with Ty and Lissie was a breeze. He had graciously emptied out his home office, which was really a gaming room undercover. Tyler really was an amazing person. You were so happy that Lissie had finally pushed past her discomforts and let herself find love in him.

Tyler would sit with you and watch all the girly shows. He would run out to get late-night veggie straws when you were drawn to tears with cravings. He protected you like a brother.

Then one night, after on and off braxton-hicks, your contractions had officially kicked up and your water broke.

In your dream world, you'd be doing a peaceful home birth with a midwife, but in the already crowded apartment, it became evident that this plan would not work.

Instead, Lissie filled the hospital room with lavender essential oils, bought you the fancy birth comb for pain, and kept your water bottle full of ice-cold water.

You felt lucky for such a quick labor experience. Your parents had gone to bed that night and woken peacefully to a new grandchild, none the wiser.

Your sweet boy was born at 7:42am the next morning. A head full of those brown curls you had imagined. No wonder your heartburn had been so debilitating.

He outstretched his little fingers the second he was out, like he was excited for all the space in the world. His little scream relaxing everyone in the room. Poor little guy, that was a rough night for both of you. You leaned down at his face, now resting on your chest, with all of the gratitude in the world. How could you be proud of a newborn?

A boy! Lissie had never pictured a boy. She detested it, even as a young girl. She proclaimed that you both would have a coven of little girls only. But when he came alog it all changed. His tiny eyes were so excited to intake his surroundings. Babies’ neck are rarely strong enough to hold up their head, but he would pull his head away from your chest to look up at you. His personality was already taking shape so early.

Though it had been so unconventional, there was only joy brought with him.

There were so many names that had crossed your notes app. Leo, Finn, Ezra... but one look at that screaming baby, so full of life, your brain settled on James.

James.

He fit it so well.

He was a great sleeper. He brought you peace.

And you brought you an achor.

He threw you a life vest in that storm.

You had been riddled with uncertainty. You were consumed by fear. You barely trusted yourself. He tied you to these small flashes of memories.

You couldn't even admit to yourself that they were real. That you had memories at all. They could be entirely false.

But you had seen that smile before. His little chuckle, even as a baby. You had heard that before. It was like remembering a dream. The harder you tried to hold on to the fleeting memory, the faster it left. It betrayed you.

----

Little James was just learning to walk. Clinging to the edge of the coffee table, James lost his balance and toppled to his knees, giggling slightly. His little head turned up to yours.

He hops to the ground, catches himself, and looks up at you. His smile, cheeky almost. He knew what he was doing.

Frantic searching, as you always did. Racking your brain with all your might. Flipping through files in your memory to spark something.

As per usual, it vanishes as quickly as it arrives.

What could incite these. Could you trigger them somehow? Is there an event that woudl rush all of these memories back at once.

Who was this man? You could never find his face. It was like he had features and expressions, but they were impossible to conceptualize. Your brain couldn't recognize it as a face, almost.

You knew you loved him. Once.

He had been a huge part of your life at some point in time.

The world had been changed radically since the Avengers. Ideas of alternate universes, different dimensions... are these some alternate timeline bleeding into your subconscious? No physical anomaly like a baby had been obvious, though. How would that possibly work?

Logic escaped you. This life you were living was a gift, but was still completely nonsensical.

James' giggle pulls you out of your spiraling, gurgling some saliva as he attempts the climb to the summit of the coffee table again.

A smile crinkling his eyes as he found you in the crowd.

Years had passed of this endless inner monologue. Years of uncertainty. Years of foggy memories plaguing your everyday existence.

Even still, life had to go on. James needed a present mom. Your ability to be there for him was top priority. You would have to find a more effective way to cope.

-----