Chapter Text
You woke up dry heaving again. After all, you had gotten well acquainted with your bathroom floor the past month and a half, finding yourself wishing you had purchased memory foam bathroom mats more than once.
Morning sickness hit you like a truck all at once. The first few days, you swore it was food poisoning, a fair assumption, but when it didn’t subside, you dropped by a clinic.
You expected some anti-nausea pills. You were handed a pregnancy test instead.
You didn’t lie to the doctor and didn’t sob when the doctor told you that you were pregnant. You knew that finding out at barely 6 weeks wasn’t typical. Your period had always been irregular, and you didn’t even notice when you missed it. Your job was stressful, and stress could cause a myriad of things, an irregular cycle being one of them.
In just your bra and sleep shorts, the cool tile of your bathroom floor was a comfort. You were drenched in sweat, the lower part of your rib cage bruised from bending over the toilet seat, and your lower stomach aching. Maybe you should put on some kind of podcast or go through your voice messages to listen to as you puked up bile, at least it would have made the time more productive.
It was nearing seven in the morning - you needed to get ready for work. Shower, take care of your hair, get dressed - not fall asleep on the floor. The thought of taking the train made your head spin and thinking about the smells on public transportation made your stomach twist in a way that threatened to make yourself puke again if you thought about it any longer. Maybe it would be better to use your car, but that meant dealing with Nueva York morning traffic, and you didn’t have the patience for the idiots on the road.
You rolled onto your back with a groan, placing both of your hands down on your stomach.
“Please be a good baby. Don’t be colicky,” you mumbled as if the embryo could hear you.
Your baby brother had been plagued with colic as an infant and despite being a teenager when he was born, you were up most of the time with your mother trying to soothe him. The second you could change a diaper, you became your mother’s main support to your five siblings.
At least you could say you had experience, and that was more than most (basically) single mothers who…unintentionally baby trapped their bosses.
You wondered if Miguel had any family. His words gave the implication that this was his first child. You assumed he was nearing his early forties, maybe. It took effort not to imagine what Dana was like. She had to be beautiful and successful in order to lock down a man like Miguel.
Well, who she assumed Miguel to be.
You whimpered as you sat up on the floor, elbows on your knees, waiting for another wave of nausea, but nothing came.
So, slowly, you rose to your feet.
You washed your face in the sink, pulling your hair into its usual bun. You dressed in your usual uniform – slacks and a dark button up. You took a moment to stare at the empty place on your counter where your coffee maker used to be.
You remembered crying after you googled what you couldn’t have during pregnancy. No processed meat or raw fish was easy.
Coffee? Not nearly as much.
The pregnancy itself was already enough of a disruption in your perfectly curated routine. Now one of your few comforts was gone too.
You drove to work. Nueva York’s traffic wasn’t awful. It wasn’t great either, but at least someone didn’t run in front of your car today. Small victories!
You got into work, timed in and headed to your personal office. Lucky, you needed to write reports before suiting up and heading into the lab. It was the most boring part of the job. You wondered if Lyla wrote Miguel’s reports. They were always clinical and organized, lacking anything that indicated a human had written it.
A shadow passed by the frosted glass of your office, large and imposing – Miguel. For a moment, you considered calling him into your office, but after yesterday, that was probably a horrible idea.
You kept working.
You went to lunch; Amara talked your head off over her white bread sandwich. Dr. Yoshida was wearing the tie that you had gotten him - you acted like you didn’t notice. You still hadn’t opened the book that Miguel had gotten you, at this point you weren’t sure that you would even want to read it. You might as just have shelved it, it’s not like you would have time for reading anyways when the baby was born.
After lunch, you prepped to go into the lab, not noticing Miguel stepping up behind you.
“Hey.” His voice caused you to jump, tossing the safety goggles in your hands up into the air, scrambling for them as they clattered for the floor.
You spun around, taking him in. Miguel stood in his dark slacks and silvery shirt, lab coat – glasses. His eyes were brown.
They were always brown, right?
“Y-you scared me.” You placed a hand on your chest and swallowed.
“I’m having Lewis do the tests again, you can head back to your office,” Miguel continued with professionalism dripping off his words.
“I- He ran them last time and messed them up,” you pointed out, crossing your arms.
“Don’t care. I don’t want you throwing up in the lab,” Miguel’s voice grew hushed, words meant only for your ears.
For a moment, you were quiet – maybe even offended. He wasn’t wrong – but you had gone without issue. You had gotten pretty good at holding it in and the last thing you wanted was to be a burden.
You were many things, a perfectionist, awkward, and intelligent. You were not a damsel; you were not delicate. You didn’t need a man to coddle you. Especially not your shitty baby daddy who wanted to keep your child a secret like it was some horrible scandal.
It was a scandal, but you were too angry to care or think rationally right then.
You groaned as you picked up the discarded glasses. Shock - back into the sterilizer they went.
“Fine,” you muttered, admitting defeat. Miguel seemed pleased. This chauvinistic asshole , you thought to yourself. Maybe you were finally losing your crush, good – too bad you were pregnant with his kid.
You returned to your office, but within thirty minutes you were dashing to the restroom and vomiting up your lunch. You felt pathetic, laid out before the toilet in a stall. Luckily, Alchemax was clean - at times, almost too clean. Dazed, you brushed fallen hair from your face and wiped the spit away from your lips, cringing at the taste of bile in your throat. You found yourself wishing you had brought a water bottle to work with you today.
You slowly stood, clinging to the walls of the stall for support. When you left the stall, the massive mirrors showed off how awful you looked. You pinched your cheeks, desperate for color. Slowly, you made your way to the sinks to wash your hands. You wiped your face down with water. Next, you took your hair down and put it back up, far neater this time.
You’d get some petalite and a good water bottle on the way home from work.
You returned to your office, back to work. Report finished, you sent it over your holotablet and picked it up. Quick strides across the R&D floor took you to Miguel’s office.
The door clicked open. You saw Miguel was sitting at his desk, phone in his hand and a small woman’s hologram call - her hair was cut blunt and her voice was sweet.
When Miguel’s eyes saw you, tablet in hand he paused, dark eyes widening.
“Dana, I have to handle something.” He hung up quickly without a goodbye. You frowned, stepping over and handing over the report.
“She sounds nice,” is all you could think to say.
He simply looked over the report.
“When are you going to tell her?,” you asked, voice nervous.
Miguel paused his reading.
“Not yet," he said firmly. "I need time to figure out how to tell her without… without losing everything."
You scoffed, shaking your head.
"Right. Wouldn't want to ruin your perfect life," you muttered bitterly.
Stung, Miguel looked up, his grip tightening on the tablet. “That’s not what I-“
With a frown, he placed down the tablet and stood, slipping around his desk. He went from Dr. O’Hara to Miguel in a matter of seconds, posture losing some of the tension and stress.
“S-sorry, it’s been a rough day.”
The pang of guilt hit you hard, and you raised your hands, brows knit in apologetic discomfort.
Just then, a wave of dizziness seemed to hit you and you swayed on your feet. Miguel caught you by the elbow, steadying you. Concern furrowed his brow as he took in your ashen face.
"You okay?," he asked, voice laced with worry. "Is it morning sickness again?"
You nodded, letting out a groan. “I-it’s awful,” you mumbled, unable to stop the feeling of pure uselessness that seemed to settle on you like a blanket. “I puke up anything I eat.”
“If you want to start working from home I can arrange it.” His voice was soft, reassuring.
“I much prefer working in my office,” you replied quickly, placing your hand on your forehead. Miguel released you and stepped back slowly, prepared to catch you if need be.
“But thanks.”
Attempting reassurance, you forced a smile as you readjusted your blouse, fidgeting with the buttons. He opened his mouth to form a response, but you were already on your way back to your office, the formal awkwardness subsided alongside some of your discomfort.
The rest of the day went so normal it was almost mind numbing. More filing and organizing notes, more test results that needed to be read over and checked. You spent a good hour sitting with the juniors and interns troubleshooting a 3D printer. If one of the interns - Zack - called you ‘dude’ one more time, you swore you’d smack him.
Thankfully, no stupid men were smacked and you managed to keep an entire granola bar and sandwich down that you secretly ate in your office. It was embarrassing just how proud you were at that little fact.
You managed to avoid Miguel when you left; truthfully you’d had enough of him for the day. In that moment, you were sure you’d be okay with never seeing his stupid handsome face again. The audacity of that man…Dana sounded nice , and the guilt that overtook you was intense, heavy .
Maybe you’d call your sister Franny and ask for advice later, she and your other sister Sophie were masters of Facebook and social media snooping. But then again, maybe Facebook stalking her would only make you feel worse, and you really didn’t feel like crying over your phone as you looked over pictures of the woman whose life you’d ruined…
Besides, telling her about what had happened would only put you harder at odds with Miguel, and the likelihood was if your pregnancy stuck, you’d be forced around him and his stupid, handsome face, for the rest of your life.
No thanks.
Maybe starting it with instantly going against what he asked and begged you to do was not a good idea. As much as you wanted to scream at Miguel for demanding you keep your pregnancy a secret, maybe he did have a point to it, at least for now. So you packed up your things and checked the weather on your smartwatch.
It was supposed to be sunny - you decided that maybe you’d try walking home. Get some energy out, enjoy the rare warmth in February. Fresh air was good for you and the little one, right? You made sure to check the air quality - A , which was almost amazing for Nueva York. Then again, Uptown was usually fancy and spotless and clean , especially compared to Downtown, all whites and silvers and big massive ivory towers that made Alchemax’s personal playground look like a verifiable paradise.
You headed to the ground floor and strode out of the main doors, your hair whipping around your face as the biggest city on the east coast roared around you.
You began across one of the pedestrian walkways, a small strait beside the massive highway that went towards Babylon Towers.
It was a twenty minute walk at a good pace, but only five minutes from the subway, maybe ten by car? You never counted.
It was about ten minutes into your casual walk you heard the whizz of something above your head - snapping upwards you saw a Private Eye Flyboy, then another.
When somebody screamed behind you, you whipped your head around, searching for the cause of the sudden chaos.
You saw a streak of silver tangled in a red string, and had no time to react as it hit the ground, tossing you off your feet onto your ass. You yelped in pain and rolled onto your side - hand to your stomach without thought. At first you just saw smoke, then sparks as you crawled back from the impact of - was that a Flyboy? What the hell just happened?
The smoke clogged the entire walkway, forcing a painful cough from your lungs. Did you just witness that Public Eye officer die ? You tried to stand but your legs failed you, a pained yelp left your body as you reached out for your ankle.
A shadow appeared in the smoke, your eyes widened as it practically dashed across the causeway, ignoring the dozens of random pedestrians and the massive smoking machine.
Was it the officer? As the figure drew close you realize it wasn’t; it was Spider-Man himself.
He was massive, gigantic. seven feet tall? Taller? Maybe he wasn’t really human. He certainly didn’t look human, not like this, imposing and looking like he was cut from marble like an old statue. Maybe you couldn’t blame the spiderites for their worship of him - he looked like a living god.
You found yourself tensing as he scanned the scene, his head turning towards you and stilling.
“I-I’m not a Public Eye!”
It came from you in a tumble of words, tension and anxiety leaving you all but shouting them at him. He approached, the white markings of his mask widening in surprise, before he offered his hand, reaching out for you. Your gaze flicked to it, taking in the almost hawklike talons, the red palms, the strange texture of the suit…
You didn’t take his hand.
“Are you alright?,” he asked, voice sounding tinny and strange behind the mask. You nodded - eyes blown wide, eager to convince this terrifying figure that you were fine. At that moment, you wished you had read through your baby brother’s Spiderman comics. Maybe they would make him less outright intimidating.
Before you could answer, the whirl of more gunshots and the buzzing machinery of the Flyboys made you tense, body curling in on itself as a dozen other pedestrians screamed. You heard the shots hit something robotic. Glancing between your arms you saw the faceless vigilante standing before you, bits of his suit glitching from the gunshots.
He ran forward towards the assailant - another Public Eye Flyboy. You watched the red web fwip from his wrist as he shot it, the sticky webbing latching onto the flying vehicle. The Flyboy didn’t seem to notice the extra weight as Spiderman hitched a ride. He wasn’t even on the damn thing for a full thirty seconds before he swung out of sight, more Flyboys following his trail.
Your head turned to the smoking pile as you saw a few random citizens pull a very stunned and bleeding - but alive private eye officer from the wreckage. You weren’t sure if that made you feel any better. You rolled yourself onto your knees, crawling with a gasp of pain from your ankle.
You felt someone grab at your jacket and help you up, gaze meeting an older gentleman with a weathered face and kind gray eyes. He hoisted your arm over his shoulder, half-carrying you away from the crumbling walkway.
“Spider-Man just saved your life!” A woman with bright magenta hair called out to you as the older man gently propped you against the wall, away from the immediate danger.
“They wouldn’t have shot at her if he wasn’t right there,” the man groaned as he straightened.
Now dozens of Private Eye officers were convening on the scene.
You were dazed, hand reaching to rub your twisted ankle as the woman and the man discussed the masked vigilante. You found your attention drifting to the dozen or so officers as one of them began first aid on the bleeding officer.
After a few minutes, a few of them were called off, back on their bikes to chase after Spiderman. Wincing ,you forced yourself to stand, careful on your injured foot and hand absentmindedly over your unborn child.
A Public Eye officer walked through the crowd, finger pointed at you.
“Stop! We have some questions for you,” he barked, making you flinch. You went to rummage through the outer corner of your bag and pulled out your Alchemax ID
“I- I work at Alchemax.” You stumbled nervously over your words, it seemed to settle the officer for a moment.
“You do?” He took your ID, holding it up to your face as you forced the same smile on your ID. He seemed satisfied and handed it back.
“Do you know who that was?”
“Spider-Man?”
“How do you know it was Spider-Man?”
“Officer - he’s been all over the news for months now. I don’t know why he approached me. I was just near the wreckage, alone,” you tried to explain, shaking the image of his blood red talons from your mind. “With that kind of colorful costume, who else would I think it was?”
You mentally kicked yourself for the tone, but you were too exhausted to care about the possibility of being lectured by the Public Eye. All you wanted to do was go home and proceed to throw up on your bathroom floor compared to this.
The officer looked you up and down, studying you almost. You had to force yourself to not make a displeased snarl at him, did he think you were stupid? Probably, most cops thought everyone but themselves were stupid.