I stared at the screen before me and rubbed my forehead. "This doesn't make any sense."
"You're telling me," Reed grumbled. "When you asked me to help I didn't think...this doesn't make any sense, Peter."
"I know. I just said that."
"Have you tried UV?" Sue asked from the computer, typing away at an email.
"Yes, it still doesn't show any difference," Reed grumbled. "This is impossible. How does something like this even happen? It should be impossible!"
"And yet here I am, standing before you, completely possible," I told him, raising an eyebrow.
"Your blood is impossible, Peter — that's the only word for it," Reed said, zooming in on the microscope we were using to examine my blood at a cellular level. The screen displayed a single cell and its genetic properties — the DNA helix rotating slowly on its axis.
"It looks like it somehow absorbed spider-like qualities into itself, but only the beneficial ones," Sue hummed. "Like it picked and chose what it knew would be useful."
"But it can't do that — it isn't alive!" Reed exclaimed. "God damn it, Peter, this doesn't make any sense!" He grabbed his notes, threw them in the air, and stormed out of the lab in a cloud of frustration.
"Don't mind him — he just doesn't like not knowing something," Sue sighed. "It's an ego thing. Understandable, really; he's a physicist, not a geneticist."
I hummed. "I see. Do you think you could take a look?" I asked.
"Let's see," Sue got up and approached the screen, scanning my DNA. "Did you analyse the genomes?"
"Yup. Here — though I can't make head or tails of it." I handed her a data pad with the relevant information.
Sue looked through it quickly, making notes alongside each sequence. It took a while, but once she'd worked through the full run she set the pad aside and sighed. "Reed's right. This shouldn't be possible. It's almost like...your DNA adapts itself to foreign material. It somehow assimilated the spider genes into itself, giving you access to their abilities."
"So that property existed in my blood before the spider bit me?" I asked.
"It looks that way." She pointed at a specific strand on the screen. "See this? That strand was already primed to make you agile and strong in a way reminiscent of a spider — and it has nothing to do with the adaptive response against foreign objects."
One eyebrow went up. "So are you saying I'm a mutant?"
Sue shook her head. "No — the mutant gene is clearly marked and identifiable. If that were the case, Reed wouldn't currently be in the kitchen eating an entire tub of ice cream." I blinked. "Yeah, he does that when he can't solve something."
I chuckled. "Damn."
"Anyway — your blood, your DNA...it's something more. Something that's mutated into a category all its own. Not quite mutant, but definitely not baseline human."
"So...a metahuman?" I asked with genuine wonder, using the term I knew from the DC side of things.
"Yes...I suppose that's as accurate a term as any," Sue nodded. Her mind was clearly still running though — she slipped into a near-trance state, staring at the data with intense focus. I knew better than to interrupt her.
I drifted over to my workstation. On it sat the Doom Bot I had quietly helped myself to, disassembled into its component parts. I'd been studying everything I could from its design. Doom's engineering was, frankly, fascinating.
As I continued cataloguing the machine's internals, my SHIELD-issue smartphone buzzed. Several thousand notifications had piled up across Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat — several thousand each, that is. There was absolutely no way I could respond to all of them. I did what every celebrity eventually does and switched off the notifications. Instagram was easy — mostly follower alerts — and so was Snapchat. Twitter, though, was a problem. I needed to keep an eye on what people were saying about me, if only to catch anything damaging that needed addressing.
While going through the feed, I also began inputting the Doom Bot's schematics into my computer. No idea when that information might come in useful, but better to have it.
After that, I turned my attention to my other ongoing project: Councillman Nick Daves — the man responsible for the funding shortfall that had put homeless New Yorkers on the street in the middle of winter.
On the surface he looked clean. Too clean. But a little digging turned up not one but two beach houses in the Hamptons and a summer home in Greece.
I used Peter's modest hacking skills to get into Nick's personal laptop — not difficult, given that he logged in from a public network every single time he came to work. I went through his files. First observation: the man had a staggering volume of stored videos — well over four hundred gigabytes' worth. Second observation: nothing immediately incriminating anywhere in sight.
I stared at the screen and sighed. Maybe it was time to do this the old-fashioned way. Follow him until he did something dirty. A tracking chip might help — the kind Peter would eventually develop on his own. That sounded like the right move. I'd do that.
"Peter, you won't believe what I just found," Sue said suddenly, pulling me back into the room.
"What?" I got up and pushed all thoughts of Nick Daves aside.
"Your blood — it's evolving," Sue said, working rapidly on her data pad. "Well, no — evolving isn't quite right. It's morphing. Metamorphosing, to be precise."
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"It's like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly — except instead of spinning a cocoon, it uses stray strands of DNA or foreign material to rebuild and adapt itself. Here — I tried introducing the common cold. Watch."
I watched the monitor. The virus was injected into a small sample of my blood. Within moments it began to be absorbed. My blood cells dismantled it methodically, processing most of it, retaining a few select strands, and digesting the rest.
"Did...did my blood just vaccinate itself?" I asked in disbelief. And somewhere at the back of my mind something flickered — I had seen blood behave like this before. Somewhere...
"It certainly looks that way," Sue nodded. "And if we follow that logic of 'vaccination', we can start to understand how you survived radiation poisoning. Your blood must have absorbed the venom from the spider bite and built an immunity to its effects, then adapted those very properties to its own benefit. Peter — have you ever been ill?"
I reached back through Peter's memories. "Well...once, I think."
"And you haven't been sick since, have you?"
I blinked slowly. "Oh my God...no. I haven't. Not once."
"Then it stands to reason you never would be again," Sue pulled up several additional screens. "I have no idea what your blood actually is, Peter, but I want to find out. This could hold the key to solving disease — virtually every affliction that plagues humanity." She looked at me, eyes bright. "Will you let me research this? Please?"
"Well...alright, I suppose," I shrugged. "Just — don't try to clone me or anything, okay? I really don't want that."
Sue blinked. "Why on Earth would you be worried about something like that?"
"No reason. Just saying." Fighting a clone of myself would be incredibly strange. And I had already put together a rough contingency plan for when the Clone Saga eventually started — because I had. I hated that storyline with every fibre of my being. Seriously. What was even the point? Grr.
I gave Sue a few more blood samples, which she received with barely contained excitement, and then packed up for the day. It was two in the afternoon. Normally I'd work through until evening, but today I had other plans.
I swung out of my lab window as Spider-Man and headed for Felicia's place. I arrived quickly and knocked on her window. She threw it open and smiled. "Hey, Spider. Come on in — I'm almost ready."
"Right," I climbed in and stretched. It was going to be a long afternoon. "Nervous?" I asked.
"No. Why would I be nervous?" she huffed, trying on a jacket, discarding it, and diving back into her wardrobe for something else.
"Because you're biting your lip. You do that when you're nervous," I chuckled, pulling off my mask and web-shooters and retrieving my civilian clothes from my bag.
"Well, maybe I'm a little nervous," she admitted, holding up a long coat and turning to show me. "What do you think?"
I smiled. "I think they'll love you no matter what you wear." I deactivated my suit and shimmied out of it, standing in nothing but a pair of shorts.
Felicia's eyes drifted slowly down my body and she licked her lips. "You know — if you're trying to distract me, it's working."
"Oh, Kitten — you always know how to make a guy feel appreciated." I gave her a small peck on the cheek. "If you want, we can have some fun later, but right now we need to move. Aunt May would genuinely kill me if I were late."
Felicia pouted. "Fine. I don't understand why they want to meet me so much."
"Well, you are my girlfriend," I told her, pulling on my shirt. "Naturally they want to meet you."
"Fine," she grumbled.
"You don't have to be nervous."
"I'm not!"
"Good. Because I am," I chuckled.
Felicia rolled her eyes but said nothing. We walked out of her building and flagged down a cab. It took a while to get there, but when we finally stood outside my front door she quietly exhaled. "Okay. Maybe I'm a little bit nervous."
I laughed softly. "Don't worry." I knocked. "They'll love you."
Felicia swallowed and nodded. Almost immediately May threw the door open. "Peter! Finally! I was starting to worry! And this must be Felicia! Hello, dear — it's so lovely to finally meet you!"
We stepped inside. Felicia managed, "H-hello, Mrs. Parker. You have a lovely home."
"Oh, none of that, please — call me May. I don't need reminding I'm getting on," May laughed.
"Ah, are they finally here?" Ben called, stepping in from the kitchen. "Hello there — you must be Felicia. It's a real pleasure to finally meet you."
"And you," Felicia smiled.
"Why don't we all sit down in the kitchen?" I suggested, taking her hand.
"Wonderful idea! I just pulled a fresh batch of cookies out of the oven!" May smiled, herding us all cheerfully inside.
"So, Felicia dear — how did you and Peter meet?" May asked, her excitement at such a pitch that I genuinely worried for her heart rate.
Felicia smiled. "Well, I needed a tutor and I was told Peter was the best. We spent a lot of time together and...I suppose it just happened. He also kind of saved my life at one point."
"Oh yes, the Stark Expo," Ben said grimly. "Terrible business. I don't understand what they were thinking."
"At least no one was seriously hurt," I sighed. "Hammer Industries is basically bankrupt now — small mercies."
"True, true. Now, Felicia dear — when exactly did Peter ask you to be his girlfriend?" May asked, pivoting quickly.
"Well...he didn't really ask. He just kissed me and then looked at me until I gave him an answer," Felicia admitted.
"You did?" May and Ben both asked, wearing identical expressions of shock.
"It would be nice," I grumbled, "if you two could manage even the tiniest bit of faith in me. Is it so hard to imagine I could do something like that?"
"Yes," all three replied in unison.
I knocked my forehead gently against the table. "I hate you all."
"No you don't," Felicia smiled, kissing me on the cheek.
I perked up immediately. "Yeah...maybe I don't."
Ben and May laughed, and just like that we were all talking — though most of the conversation seemed focused on finding new ways to embarrass me.
Felicia had some good material. She brought up the time I spilled hot coffee on my lap and stripped off my trousers on the spot because they were burning through the fabric.
May countered with a story about a young Peter who tried to climb a tree, only to fall — the only thing saving him from cracking his head open being that his trouser leg caught a branch on the way down, leaving him dangling upside down with a spectacular wedgie.
By the end we'd had a genuinely lovely afternoon, and I could see Felicia getting along with May and Ben as naturally as if she'd known them for years. I was glad. I would have hated it if they hadn't clicked.
Soon we had to leave. "Oh, I do wish you'd stay a little longer," May said sadly. "It was so good to finally meet you, Felicia."
"And you, Aunt May," Felicia smiled back — she'd started calling her that without anyone really noticing, which felt entirely right.
"Make sure she gets home safely, Peter," Ben told me.
"No problem. Oh, by the way — I'll be home late tonight. Sue needs me back at the lab."
"That's fine, love. I'll leave you something to eat," May smiled.
We walked out into the city together. I wrapped an arm around Felicia and pulled her close.
"So — what do you think?" I asked.
"They're amazing," Felicia admitted quietly. "They're so warm and kind...like a real family."
"You're not that fond of your mum, are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"No...she's never really there. Always doing her own thing," Felicia grumbled.
"Hey. You've got me," I said, squeezing her hand. "What does your mum actually do?"
"She's a lawyer," Felicia said flatly. "Defends the people who should be in prison while the ones who can't afford proper representation take the fall. All those people I robbed? They were her clients."
"The banker?"
"Responsible for defrauding three hundred families."
"The jewellery store?"
"The owner was on trial for rape. He walked. Mum got him off," Felicia said, her voice going cold.
I groaned quietly. "I see...hey, Kitten — what are you doing tonight?"
Felicia looked surprised. "Nothing. Why?"
"Want to do something fun?" I asked with a teasing smile.
"I think Mum might be home tonight, so we can't really...you know," she blushed.
"What if I promise to be quiet?" I teased.
"You can be. I certainly won't be," Felicia replied. "You always find a way to make me scream your name, Mr. Parker."
I grinned. "Good. But that's not actually what I had in mind — though if you're interested we can revisit it later. I was wondering if you'd like to help me spy on a corrupt suit and see what he's hiding."
Felicia's smile turned sharp. "Now you're speaking my language. Who's the lucky target?"
"Councillman Nick Daves."
"Right, but I thought you had a work commitment tonight?" Felicia asked.
"Kitten," I smiled, "this is my work."