Tearing Up New York

01

Hank’s lab was one floor underground, and it was even bigger than Peter had imagined.

One whole wall was glass cabinets full of all kinds of equipment. Peter figured he knew how to use about half of it. In the corner, an old record player was playing classical music. On the desk at the very back sat a computer, its screen still on.

Peter wasn’t in the mood for a tour. Ever since Jean left, he’d been pacing between the door and the lab bench. He’d lost count of how many laps.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Hank said without looking up.

Peter stopped, looked at him, and kept pacing.

Hank sighed, set down his test tube, took a glass bowl from the cabinet, filled it halfway with water, and crouched to set it in front of Peter.

“It’s clean,” he said. “I promise. It’s never held a single chemical.”

Peter eyed the bowl for a moment, then lowered his head and drank. The water was cold. Only then did he realize how thirsty he was.

Hank didn’t go back to his experiment. He stayed crouched there and watched Peter drink, big blue hands resting on his knees.

“Miss Grey doesn’t ask people for help very often,” he said. “She’s been here over two years now. This is the first time.”

Peter looked up.

“When she first came, she wouldn’t let anyone near her. She ate alone, and at night she sat on the roof alone, too.” Hank pushed his glasses up. “For a while, I thought she was going to keep herself shut away like that forever.”

He stood up and brushed off his knees.

“So whoever this person is that she’s gone to find,” he said, “I hope he’s worth it.”

Peter lay down and rested his chin on his front paws.

He couldn’t say whether he was worth it. The person she was looking for was lying on the lab floor right now, drinking out of a bowl, unable to go anywhere.

02

That night, Hank didn’t go back to his room.

He stayed in the lab until midnight, peering into his microscope and chatting with Peter. Well, “chatting.” Really, Hank did all the talking. From mitochondria to gene expression, Peter could actually follow along. There were even two spots where he really wanted to jump in and discuss, but right now all he could do was wag his tail. Then Hank started reciting poetry.

“‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold,’” Hank recited, then took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Of course, when Yeats wrote that, I doubt he was thinking about gene expression.”

Peter had never heard of Yeats. Halfway through, his mind drifted off to wondering where Jean was right now.

She’d said she had a bunch of places to go. The first stop was probably his apartment. Did she have a key? …Actually, she might. He’d given her one when she was staying with him, and he wasn’t sure she’d ever given it back.

But there was nothing at the apartment. Even EV, his AI, was down for maintenance.

Next, she’d probably check his patrol routes. When she was staying with him, he’d come home every night and tell her about his day: which rooftop he’d fought someone on, who had sworn they’d kill him next time.

Peter’s heart sank. She might know where all his old enemies were.

“Get some sleep, little guy.” Hank switched off the overhead light, leaving only a small lamp on the lab bench. “She’ll be back.”

Peter lay by the door and stared at the thin line of hallway light leaking under it until morning.

03

Day 5 · 2 days to go

At eight in the morning, the lab door burst open.

“Hank!” Bobby rushed in, hair still sticking up, phone held high. “You’ve gotta see the news!”

Hank shot up out of his chair, glasses nearly falling off. “What news?”

“The Daily Bugle livestream! There’s a new masked hero in New York, and she’s been fighting villains all night!”

Hank pulled up the page on his computer. J. Jonah Jameson’s face filled half the screen, beet red.

“Ladies and gentlemen, New York has yet ANOTHER freak in spandex!” He slammed his fist on the desk. “From eleven last night to this morning, she picked fights with three supervillains, one after another! By the time the cops showed up, she was long gone!”

The feed cut to shaky phone footage from a bystander. Late at night, on a street in Queens, two figures stood under a streetlight.

One of them was the Scorpion. Mac Gargan: shaved head, a scorpion tattoo on his neck, his mechanical tail raised high behind him. He was an old acquaintance. Back when Jean was trying to break into Damage Control, he was the first villain she ever used. The first thing he did after getting out of prison this time was announce that he was going to kill Spider-Man, and whatever bastard had dared to control him.

The other was a woman in a green costume with yellow trim, a yellow domino mask, and red hair loose down her back.

“Look at that!” Bobby pointed at the screen. “A new hero! That look! Total retro vibes!”

Hank studied the screen for a moment. “…A very brave color scheme.”

He kept watching for a while and didn’t say anything else.

Peter knew that costume. Jean had complained to him about it.

Not long after Jean got to the Xavier School, she told Professor X she wanted to go out and be a hero on her own. With great power, she said, came great responsibility. Charles was against it: the X-Men had only just been formed, and Jean wasn’t ready. But Jean said she’d already trained with the best hero in New York, and threatened to quit the school if he didn’t let her go. After some careful consideration, Charles agreed. Then he designed this costume for her, along with the name Marvel Girl.

Jean made her strong objections to both very clear, but on this one point Charles refused to budge. If she wanted to be a hero, it was this suit or nothing. Want to change it? Sure. Once this place becomes the Jean Grey School.

As it turned out, that might have been Charles’s plan all along, because once Jean had the suit and the name, she never used either of them. Not once.

“That bald jerk!” Jean fumed over the phone. “Just you wait! This school is going to be mine one day! When I’m headmistress, I’m hiring you as a guest lecturer, Peter. Same salary as me!”

“Haha, okay. I’ll be waiting for Headmistress Grey to take over.” Peter had his phone in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other. “So does the Jean Grey School provide staff housing?”

“Of course! And if it can’t come out of the school budget, I’ll personally take care of it as headmistress!” Jean promised grandly.

Peter shook his head and came back to the present.

The audio was terrible, but you could still make out what she said.

“We meet again. Tell me where Spider-Man is.”

“I don’t know you, lady! Who the hell are you?”

Jean was silent for a second, like she was gritting her teeth. “…Marvel Girl.”

Scorpion froze, then burst out laughing and swung his tail at her.

Jean didn’t dodge. The tail stopped half a meter from her, like it had hit an invisible wall. Then it started bending back, tighter and tighter, until it had tied itself in a knot around the lamppost and left Scorpion dangling in midair.

The person filming let out a curse, and the camera shook wildly.

Jean glanced up at Scorpion hanging from the lamppost, then turned and walked away.

His revenge list was probably getting “Marvel Girl” added to it this time. Not that the headcount would change.

04

Jameson’s show played one clip after another.

“Marvel Girl!” Jameson laughed so hard he nearly slid off his chair. “Ladies and gentlemen, what is this, the fifties?!”

Bobby laughed until he got the hiccups. Peter didn’t laugh, but his tail started sweeping the floor. Jean had always thought the name was way too childish; she’d complained to him about it on the phone for a solid hour. To him, though, “Marvel Girl” was just the right amount of cute, exactly like the way she’d gritted her teeth and forced those two words out just now. Adorable.

Two a.m., Harlem, Tombstone’s nightclub. Security footage showed Jean walking in the front door. Ten seconds later, two bouncers came flying out of a second-story window and ended up dangling from the neon sign, flailing. Right after that, Tombstone himself, along with his mahogany desk, slid out the front door and came to a stop on the sidewalk.

Jean stood over him and asked the same question. “Where is Spider-Man?”

Tombstone looked completely baffled, then went blank for a few seconds.

Jean studied him for a moment, then asked one more question. “What about Black Cat?”

Tombstone finally snapped out of it. He rubbed his head and growled, “That cat? She left for Europe last month. Something about stealing a painting. Can you people in spandex leave me alone already?”

Jean turned and walked away.

Bobby blinked. “Black Cat? Wait, isn’t she… Spider-Man’s rumored girlfriend?”

Peter buried his face in his paws. She even checked up on Felicia. Good thing Felicia’s in Europe, or God knows what would’ve happened.

Four a.m., Tarantula.

This clip was so short it was almost funny. Tarantula had just dropped down from a rooftop and struck his signature kick pose, the steel spikes on his boots glinting under the streetlights.

“Where is Spider-Man?”

Tarantula kicked. The next second, he went flying backward, spun three times in midair, and landed headfirst in a dumpster with nothing but his two spiked boots sticking out.

Bobby laughed out loud.

Jameson’s face filled the screen again. He leaned in toward the camera and lowered his voice. “Three times. Ladies and gentlemen, three times she asked the exact same question: where is Spider-Man? That wall-crawling menace hasn’t shown his face in three days, and then out of nowhere a redhead starts beating up the whole city looking for him.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “I have reason to believe she is Spider-Man’s old flame!”

Bobby slapped his knee. “Spider-Man has a girlfriend?! And she’s that strong! Just… kind of questionable taste in clothes.”

A head popped out of the wall. Kitty phased in, and Jubilee pushed the door open behind her, both holding up their phones. “You guys are watching too?”

Jubilee stared at the computer screen for a while, then said slowly, “Wait… red hair, telekinesis, went to New York just last night…”

The lab went quiet for a second. Peter’s ears shot up.

Kitty glanced at the neon-green costume on the screen and thought about those two words. “Are you kidding? That yellow-green spandex? That name? Grey would rather die.”

Jubilee let out a breath. “Right. Plus, Grey went to find Peter. Not Spider-Man.”

The two of them nodded in unison, and Bobby nodded along.

Hank pushed up his glasses, noncommittal.

Peter flattened himself on the floor and buried his face in his paws. It’s the same person.

And she’s not my girlfriend either!

…Not right now, anyway.

05

Peter rested his chin on his paws, stared at the screen, and finally put it together.

Jean could have done this the easy way. She could get into anyone’s head in New York she wanted. She didn’t need to face Scorpion in person. She could have sat right here at the school and had them all stroll into a police station on their own.

But she didn’t, and Peter knew why. Three years ago, on Roosevelt Island, she’d had half of Manhattan under her control. If New Yorkers saw criminals walking around like puppets on the news, there was a good chance someone would start digging up the past, and mutants’ reputation couldn’t take that kind of hit.

So she put on the costume she hated most and fought the villains face to face, like any ordinary new hero. She did just one thing nobody could see: she asked, “Where is Spider-Man?” Whoever heard that question would think of the answer first thing. All she had to do was take a peek in that split second.

But Scorpion didn’t know, Tombstone didn’t know, and Tarantula didn’t know either. The answer that popped into all three of their heads was a total blank.

“Telekinesis that strong.” Hank grabbed his coat. “A new mutant running around New York on her own is too dangerous. The Professor and the others aren’t back from their mission yet, so I need to find Scott. We have to get to her before anyone else does.”

“I’m coming too!” Bobby followed, then turned back at the door. “Make sure we recruit her! Even if the name’s kind of lame!” Kitty and Jubilee tagged along, saying they wanted to see how Scott planned to “recruit” her.

The door closed behind them.

That left just Peter in the lab, and the computer with its screen still on.

06

The livestream kept going. Just before dawn, a news drone found that green figure.

She was sitting alone on the edge of a water tower in Queens, hugging her knees, her face buried in her arms, perfectly still.

Peter didn’t hear a single word Jameson was saying in the studio.

He knew that pose. When Jean was staying with him and couldn’t sleep, she would sit just like this beside him by the railing on the roof, hugging her knees, listening to him ramble from the history of the water tower all the way to Star Wars.

She’d searched for him all night, found nothing, and ended up on top of a water tower.

For the first time, he realized what his disappearing act had driven her to.

She was sitting up there all alone, and no one could tell her where he was. Peter stood up.

07

The computer was on the desk. The chair had wheels.

Peter used his front paws to drag the chair over against the desk, then jumped up onto it. The chair spun halfway around and nearly threw him off. He steadied himself, put his front paws on the desk, and got his chin up to the keyboard.

He nosed open a new tab and typed in the email site one key at a time. Typing with his nose was way harder than he’d expected. He made four typos and deleted them four times before he finally got into his inbox.

Forty-seven unread emails, mostly spam. Mixed in were three familiar names.

The earliest was from Ned, sent at 3:05 yesterday afternoon. The subject line was “Dude????”.

Ned: Jean just called me. At three in the afternoon. I told her you were asleep at my place.

Where ARE you? I figured some villain had you tied up again, so I covered for you on autopilot. But this is JEAN! You know how sharp she is!!

The second was from Johnny, at 3:12, with a row of fire emojis for a subject line: 🔥🔥🔥

Johnny: Dude, your redhead just called to check up on you. I told her you were fixing my oven and talked my way out of it. Don’t ask why an oven. I was baking cookies at the time.

Also, how is she even scarier than before?

The third was from Frank, at 3:20. No subject.

Frank: She called. I said you’re here.

Peter stared at the three emails, not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Further up were this morning’s.

Ned: Did you see the news??? The one in the green outfit is Jean, right??? She hung Scorpion from a streetlight!!!

Also, Jameson says she’s your girlfriend??? What did I miss???

Peter, are you okay? Where are you? Just reply with one word!

Johnny: She hung Scorpion from a streetlight?? That’s so cool.

Jameson says she’s your girlfriend. When did THAT happen?? Why didn’t anybody tell me??

Seriously, where are you?

Frank: Call her, damn it!

Peter looked at the pile of emails and didn’t know whether to thank them or bite them through the screen.

He started a new email, put all three addresses in the “To” line, and typed it out one letter at a time:

Peter: I’m fine. Don’t ask, I’ll explain later. Thanks, guys. Also, next time, could you get your stories straight first?

Once that was sent, he started another email and typed Jean’s address into the “To” line.

He stared at the empty message box for a long time.

He could tell her. He could type “I’m the dog” right now and hit send.

But she was sitting alone on a water tower after fighting all night. If she got an email right now telling her that the dog she’d poured her heart out to for days was Peter Parker himself… Peter would really rather his beloved New York not get a preview of the Phoenix Force this early. He wasn’t sure the New Avengers could handle it. Not even with Bob…

He would tell her in person. When the seven days were up, he would stand in front of her and answer every single thing she’d been thinking, word by word.

Peter lowered his head and typed it out with the tip of his nose, one word at a time:

I’m okay. Don’t worry.

And stop fighting, okay? You’ve already hit the NYPD’s quota for the month.

I’ll be back in a few days. Wait for me. Rooftop, ice cream’s on me. Mint chocolate chip.

Yours,

P

P.S. Green looks good on you.

Typing those few lines left the tip of his nose sore. He checked it over once, fixed a typo, hovered over the last few lines for a long time, and in the end didn’t delete them. He hit send.

08

A few minutes later, on the livestream, Jean stirred on top of the water tower.

She took her phone out of the pouch on her costume belt, and the glow of the screen lit up her mask. The drone footage wasn’t very clear, but Peter could see everything.

She looked at the phone, perfectly still. After a moment, she lifted one hand and covered her mouth.

She sat there like that, one hand over her mouth, the other holding her phone. The drone zoomed in a little more. The bit of ear peeking out from under her mask had gone red.

After a while, she stood, tucked her phone back into the pouch, and flew off the water tower.

“She… she’s BLUSHING?!” Jameson practically lunged at the camera. “Ladies and gentlemen, Spider-Man’s girlfriend just got a message, and now she’s blushing! Who sent it? Was it that wall-crawling menace?! Stay tuned to the Daily Bugle!”

…It was me.

He watched her on the screen as she flew farther and farther away: the green costume she’d sworn she’d never wear, her messy red hair. She’d even put that costume on to find him.

He thought about all those nights he’d suited up, pushed the window open, looked back, and said “Heading out,” and she’d just said “Mm” from the couch.

She’d been waiting for him to come home every single time.

He didn’t want to make her wait anymore. Next time he went on patrol, he’d ask if she wanted to come along. She wouldn’t have to lean out a window to take pictures of his back. She could be right there beside him.

The lab door opened. Hank walked in and saw the chair pushed crookedly against the desk and a damp smear all over the keyboard.

He looked at the computer, then at the golden retriever lying by the door with an I’ve-been-here-the-whole-time look on his face.

“Bobby must have messed with my computer this morning,” Hank sighed. “Bobby again.”

Peter rested his chin on his front paws and wearily closed his eyes.