We were just getting ready to leave when Felicia appeared in the doorway of the shawarma restaurant and ran in.
"Kitten!" I caught her as she launched herself at me. "I'm glad you're safe."
"Woah," Tony said. "Who is the impressive individual in the tactical suit?"
"Guys, this is my girlfriend," I said. "Black Cat. And Tony — she's sixteen."
Tony blinked. "I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it," Steve said, with a serene expression.
"Speaking of sixteen," Natasha said, reaching into a pocket. She pulled out a USB drive and tossed it to me. "SHIELD's resource management team. If you need equipment, materials, upgrades — call them. Happy birthday, Spider."
I looked at the drive. I checked my suit's internal display. Then I just stood there for a moment.
"Wait," I said. I looked at the date. "Holy hell. It's my birthday."
"You forgot, didn't you," Felicia said.
"I was slightly preoccupied with the alien invasion," I said. "So...maybe."
"Happy birthday, kid," Tony said, giving me a solid pat on the shoulder. "Sorry I didn't bring anything."
"On Asgard," Thor said, stepping forward with the particular joy of someone who genuinely loves the topic they're about to discuss, "a young man's sixteenth birthday is marked by single combat with a wild beast — and rewarded with his first weapon from the family armoury!" He beamed. I noticed him glance at the destroyed city around us. "I suppose surviving a full-scale alien war does count as a suitable rite of passage. Hm. I shall bring you a weapon from the vaults on my next visit to Midgard."
"Thor, really, you absolutely don't have to—"
"I insist. A warrior of your calibre deserves nothing less!" Thor looked profoundly pleased with himself.
Felicia leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Who is the dream boat?"
"The God of Thunder," I murmured back.
"Damn," she said appreciatively.
I sent a small static discharge through my fingertips into her arm. She startled.
"Eyes forward," I said.
"Spoilsport," she muttered, but she was smiling.
I picked Felicia up and we swung away from the restaurant, promising the others I would stay in contact. As we crossed the New York skyline, the sun was setting — warm orange against the grey-brown haze of a city that had been through something enormous. I sighed into the air rushing past us.
"Is Liz safe?" I asked.
"Yes," Felicia said, arms tight around me. "She got out."
I landed on the roof of a train heading to Queens. We sat together as it rattled across the East River. The water below was calm and indifferent to everything that had happened above it.
"You're hurt," Felicia said, tracing the scorched hole in my suit.
"The armour took most of it," I said. I put my arm around her as she leaned into my shoulder.
"You were extraordinary out there today," she said. "Everyone was talking about what you did. Someone told me your tweet and the Captain America video must have saved hundreds of people from being in the worst of it."
"You're the real hero, Kitten," I said.
"Peter, be serious."
"I am." I turned to look at her. "I have powers and a nuclear weapon built into my suit. You don't have either of those things. But the first thing you did when you thought your friends were in danger was run toward a war zone. Don't tell me that isn't what a hero does."
"I wasn't being a hero," Felicia said. "I just wanted to help Liz."
"I didn't see Liz in the group of people you brought out."
Felicia didn't reply.
"You don't have to save everyone to be a hero," I said. "You just have to save someone. Anyone. It doesn't matter who. And what you did today — that was heroic, Felicia. You're my hero."
"If we weren't already together, I'd think you were saying that to get into my trousers," she said.
"Well," I said. "Maybe just a little."
She laughed — properly, genuinely — and I held her as the train carried us home.
We stopped at Felicia's place first to change into civilian clothes. I kept a spare set there, as a general Spider-Man contingency, and also because occasionally the previous night's clothes were not appropriate attire for school. We took a cab back to my place and I knocked on the door.
Aunt May opened it before I could knock twice. "Peter!"
"Hey, Aunt May," I smiled.
"Oh, we were so worried!" She pulled me inside. "We saw everything on the news and Ben got it into his head that somehow you might have been involved—"
"Relax," I said, "I'm fine. Nothing could happen to me. I promise."
"And if anything tried," Felicia added, "it would have to answer to me."
We found Uncle Ben waiting in the kitchen. He smiled at the sight of us. "See, May? Told you he'd come home fine."
"Oh, hush," May said, swatting his arm. "Don't listen to him, Peter — he was just as worried. More so, if anything. He convinced himself you'd somehow gone off to help people in the middle of all that."
I rubbed the back of my head. "Ha. Me? No. Too brave for my own good." Felicia managed, heroically, not to laugh.
Felicia's phone rang. She glanced at it. "I need to take this." She stepped out, leaving the three of us.
"I'm sorry I scared you, Aunt May," I said. "I couldn't call — the cell towers must have been disrupted."
"It's alright, sweetheart," she said, patting my hand. "We're just glad you're safe." Uncle Ben stood up and wrapped his arms around me. I winced — the ribs — but held the smile. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," I said. "Just tired."
"Not too tired, I hope," May said. She looked over my shoulder and smiled. "Perfect timing, girls!"
I turned.
MJ, Liz, and Felicia were standing in the hallway, smiling at me.
"What — what are you all doing here?"
"You really thought we'd forget your birthday?" MJ asked.
"He did," Felicia confirmed. "He actually forgot his own birthday."
"I can absolutely believe that," MJ agreed.
Liz stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. She held it for a moment, and then whispered, "Thanks, Pete. I don't think I'd be here if you hadn't warned me."
I smiled and hugged her back. "I'm glad you're safe, Liz."
"Happy birthday to you," May started singing, appearing from the kitchen with a large chocolate cake, a single candle lit on top. The others joined in and I stood there going slightly pink.
I blew the candle out to applause. I cut pieces and gave the first to May, then Ben, then the girls, and we all carried them into the dining room and settled in around the table, the conversation easy and warm, the city outside still smoke-hazed and broken, and the room absolutely ignoring all of that.
Ben was mid-story about the time a young Peter Parker had climbed a tree and then refused to come down, not for anything, until a firefighter came to get him.
"He kept insisting only a fireman could bring him down safely," Ben said, wiping his eyes. "So Richard — Peter's dad — went across the street and borrowed the neighbour's uniform. The man was a firefighter, so he had the full kit. Richard put it on and stood under the tree, and Peter just — jumped right into his arms."
"Who's Richard?" Liz asked.
Ben and May went quiet. Felicia looked sharply at Liz. MJ dropped her gaze.
"Richard was my dad," I said. "He died when I was young."
"Oh," Liz went red. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Don't be," I said. He experimented on his own child. I'm not sure apologies are owed. But I didn't say that. "I don't really remember him. And as far as I'm concerned—" I reached over and took Ben's hand. "My dad is right here."
"Oh, Peter," May said softly, reaching across.
Ben squeezed my hand back. "Thanks, Pete. But it's not fair to him, either. He's not here to give you a gift. So—" He stood up. "Come on."
We followed him outside and around to the garage. He pressed the door up.
Inside was a car I recognised immediately.
A DeLorean DMC-12.
"Oh my GOD," MJ said. "Tiger, you have a freaking time machine!"
I walked toward it slowly. The body was dented and worn — a working history written on its surface in small disasters and near-misses and at least one incident involving a tree branch, if Peter's deep memories were accurate. I looked through the window and saw the car service kit peeking out from under the front passenger seat.
I turned to Ben.
"This was my dad's car," I said.
He nodded. "Yep. Found it in his storage unit. He owns the space, so there's no ongoing cost — it was just sitting there." He reached into his pocket and held out the keys. On the key ring was a dog tag: Parker, Richard. "It needs some work. It'll never be factory condition. But it was his. And I thought you should have it."
I took the keys.
I stood there for a moment, just holding them.
"Peter," Liz announced, "you are absolutely driving us in that. My dad will completely lose his mind — Back to the Future is his absolute favourite. And I'm driving."
"You don't have a licence," MJ pointed out.
"So? Neither does Peter," Liz said.
"I'm sure Peter can get his whenever he likes," Felicia said, with a small knowing look.
"Yeah," I said, still looking at the car. "I probably can." I looked at Ben. "Thank you, Uncle Ben. This is perfect."
"You're welcome, Peter," he said. "Now — do I need to give you the speech about responsible driving?"
"No, Uncle Ben."
"Good. Because I have seventeen more embarrassing stories to tell and I'd rather do that."
"Does the tree incident have a sequel?" Liz asked.
"Several. Do you want the one about the swimming pool or the one about the supermarket trolley?"
"BEN!" I said, and the table erupted.
Later, after the cake was gone and the girls had finally gone home and the flat was quiet, I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. The girls had kept the evening short — they knew what the day had cost. I was grateful for it.
But sleep wouldn't come. I picked up my phone and scrolled.
The clean-up was already underway. The army and police and homeland security had it in hand. SHIELD had containment teams moving through the impact zones. The Chitauri weapons and technology were being catalogued and secured. A small voice in the back of my head said I should have grabbed some of that tech when I had the chance — but I'd been somewhat occupied.
The social media was something else. Footage, photographs, first-person accounts — all of it spreading fast. The Avengers were everywhere. Tony's sacrifice with the missile, the moment the Hulk punched a Leviathan in the face, Thor calling lightning down on the streets.
And then there was the photo of Felicia and me.
Someone had captured it at exactly the right moment — she was mid-leap into my arms, her disguised dark hair flying back, my hands coming up around her. The city was rubble around us, dust in the air, smoke in the distance. And somehow none of that was what the eye went to.
The hashtags — #SpiderLove and #PowerCouple — were trending across multiple platforms. I smiled. Her face was unrecognisable in the shot. The bandana had done its job. No one was going to connect the Black Cat in this photograph to Felicia Hardy of Queens.
I put the phone down. The ceiling was very quiet and very still. I closed my eyes.
Later — much later, in the small hours — I felt someone sit on the edge of my bed. I looked up. Felicia was there in her Black Cat suit, goggles up, her hair still darkened by the bandana. She took it off, and the silver-blonde came back immediately.
She looked at me for a moment without speaking.
"Liz and MJ thought you were cheating on me," she said finally.
"Because Spider-Man was seen kissing some cat burglar in the middle of an alien invasion?" I asked.
"Exactly. I had to come over and prove it in person." She reached up and unzipped her suit, draping it over the chair. She lifted the covers and slid in beside me, pulling me close.
"I love you, Felicia," I said.
"I love you, Peter," she said, and found my collarbone with her teeth, just gently. "Happy birthday."
I smiled.
The next day — later than I would like — I got a call from Natasha. Central Park, midday, civilian clothes.
Felicia insisted on coming. I suspected she was not entirely over the morning's events — a man who had almost died for the world at the age of sixteen could expect a certain amount of complicated emotion from the people who loved him. I understood.
We stood in the park while Thor returned with Loki — chained, his borrowed armour back in place, his eyes carefully neutral. Thor looked at us all and nodded. We produced the Tesseract in its containment housing. Thor used it to open a transport, and they were gone.
Tony walked up to me and took off his sunglasses. "So — Peter. You work with Richards and Storm at the Baxter Building, yeah?"
"Yeah," I said.
He looked almost genuinely disappointed. "Damn. Too late." He put his glasses back on. "Just wanted to say — you impressed me. If you ever need anything, you know where I am."
"Same to you, Tony," I said, and we shook hands.
"Oh — and don't worry," he called back, already moving toward the car where Bruce was waiting. "I've decided not to sue you for copying my technology!"
He got in and the car pulled away.
Steve shook my hand next. Then he got on a motorbike and rode away into the kind of morning that looked good for putting distance between yourself and a very large amount of recent history.
Natasha remained. She looked at Felicia for a moment, one eyebrow raised.
"Felicia Hardy," she said. "Should have guessed."
"You didn't know?" I asked.
"SHIELD doesn't catalogue the identity of every thief in New York," she said. "There's too many of them."
And then I understood what I'd done. I had just confirmed Felicia's identity to a SHIELD agent. If Natasha knew, Fury would find out. And if Fury knew—
HYDRA.
I kept my voice level. "Any chance you can keep this between us?"
Natasha looked at me for a long moment. Then she smirked. "You owe me. Starting Monday, I'm back as your handler. Fury's given me proper clearance to actually push you now. No more holding back."
"Bring it," I said.
Felicia and I spent the rest of the day in Queens, trying to ignore the conversations on every corner and in every café about the attack. It was difficult. This was the most significant thing to happen to the city in memory, possibly longer, and the whole neighbourhood was still processing it.
I said goodnight to Felicia at her door, and then swung back into Manhattan under the cover of dark.
Plenty of Chitauri technology was still lying around in the northern and eastern parts of the city where the clean-up crews hadn't reached yet. I did five runs, filling a satchel each time — energy weapons, power staffs, armour plating. On the third run I managed to pry several large armour plates off a downed Leviathan. The material had shrugged off Tony's repulsor beams like they weren't there. It was worth studying.
I stored everything in my lab at the Baxter Building — the security code got me in cleanly.
On my fifth run I found I wasn't alone.
A group of people in military gear were sorting through the wreckage ahead of me — systematically, methodically, with the kind of focus that wasn't looting. This was something more organised.
"Hey!" I called out, landing on a light pole.
They turned. My spider-sense exploded.
I dove clear as a burst of automatic fire raked across where I'd been standing.
"That's not friendly!" I yelled, coming up on a building wall and firing four streams of webbing simultaneously. The guns came off them in one pull. "It's the Spider! Run!" one of them shouted in a military cadence.
"We haven't got anything yet!" a man in a yellow hazmat suit replied.
"I don't care!"
They ran. I stopped them — quickly, systematically — and wrapped the lot of them in a compact web sack. I walked up and crouched in front of them.
"So," I said, dropping my voice to the lower register. "Who are you people?"
The soldiers set their faces. The scientists looked terrified. Good.
"You know who I am," I said, letting one spider arm unfold slowly behind me. "You know what I can do. How simple it would be for me to hurt you." The arm's tip came to rest just below the nearest scientist's chin. "Talk."
"W-we work for—" and then his head exploded.
I threw myself back, arms up, blocking the worst of it.
"What the HELL—!"
"We would rather die than speak!" A voice from behind a collapsed wall — and then a grenade came bouncing toward me. I kicked it clear just before it went off, and watched in horror as the same voice continued firing into his own colleagues.
"NO!" I fired a web line and ripped the gun away before hitting him with enough electricity to stun without killing.
I looked at the group.
They were all dead. The one man who had killed them was the only survivor. I searched him carefully — no identification, no labels, nothing. Except one thing: a tattoo. A stylised skull on the inside of his forearm.
I knew that design. It was vague — old — but it was familiar from everything Steve Rogers had told me and everything I had read. This particular skull, this particular pattern.
HYDRA.
Of course. An event this large, with this much advanced technology lying in the open — of course they were moving.
I photographed the tattoo with my helmet's camera, secured the survivor, and called Fury.
I stood there in the dark and the smoke and the cooling wreckage of a city that had survived something impossible, and I thought: Phase One is over. Phase Two begins now.
I hope I'm ready for what comes next.