Chapter Text
"—and we're looking at another cold front moving into the tri-state area tonight. Heavy rain expected just after midnight, wind gusting up to 30 mph—"
“Shut up,” he snapped at the old television before grabbing the remote and pressing the off button.
It didn't allow him to concentrate on his already shaky stitching. Besides, he despised hearing weather forecast. Knowing it would rain or get windy or unexpectedly cold only brought heaviness to his patrols. Dealing with changing weather was much easier in the given moment instead of waiting for the rain the entire time, knowing you can't carry an umbrella or a jacket. Fighting crime made those impractical. Crime—the only thing keeping him upright.
He realized it was an ambitious undertaking to get the suit ready for tonight. Normally skillful at stitching, Peter's irritation had gotten the best of him. Some psycho with a pocket knife had managed to tear it in a very unfortunate place, and let's just say that if the stitches broke, the Daily Bugle's next story would be about Spider-Man's Star Wars boxers.
The last stitch knotted with his forceful hands before he jumped from his seat at the sudden, loud buzz that caused the entire table to vibrate. It was the police radio scanner. "Robbery in progress, 43rd and Lexington–-suspect fleeing on foot.“
"I'm coming, I'm coming,“ Peter snapped as if he were talking to a person.
There existed times when he had better conversations with technology. Take Karen, for example. She served much better company than the outdated radio scanner that needed repairs every week and required a flat surface to function. He briefly checked the stitch by pulling the fabric up and down, noticing the seam was still a bit loose. He slapped some red duct-tape over it. His ass will not be falling out on 43rd and Lexington tonight. "That'll do it.“
Something else needed to be done before heading out—something crucial. He strained his memory for a moment until he decided it couldn't be that important anyways. Once he jumped to his feet, a brief dizzy spell reminded him. Ah, food, of course. Peter dragged his feet to the fridge, imagining that a burglar had broken into the apartment while he was at work, gotten disappointed with the miserable lack of… everything in his place so much that they'd headed to the nearest supermarket and pity-filled the fridge with actual food. Instead, he stared at the same old expired milk, a jar of pickles, and a pack of instant noodles. He sighed. The decision has been made—instant noodles for the gazillionth night in a row.
A very obnoxious ringtone broke the silence (if you didn’t count the strange noises from the neighbor’s apartment, which Peter hopefully decided were just Mr. Roberts' late-night workout). He forgot all about the noodles and the robbery on 43rd and Lexington. If the old Nokia burner phone was ringing, it could only mean one thing. . .
"Captain DeWolff?“ He picked up immediately, making his best efforts not to sound like someone who's supposed to be worrying about college assignments, and rather as a dangerous, capable, adult vigilante a New York city police chief could rely on.
"Webs. Drop whatever you're doing.” He quite literally dropped the noodle pack on the counter. “I need you at our location ASAP.“
"But I was about to—”
"I know.“ There was a pause, and judging by the sound coming from the phone, Peter assumed the captain was in the process of eating. "I need to show you something first, so you know what you're dealing with.“
"On my way.“
He crawled out by the side of his building, making sure to avoid his landlord's window.
The dead-end street's electricity stopped working, so darkness always covered the rooftop where they meet. He could make out Captain Jean DeWolff's silhouette—her raincoat flapping in the wind, hair slicked into a neat bun with two strands at the sides. Spider-Man barely landed before she promptly turned around, breaking the near-meditative state she'd been maintaining for a while.
“Sure you don't have super-hearing too?”
"Took you long enough.“ Her lips twitched, softening the scolding.
"What do we got?“ Peter crossed his arms after approaching the little station Captain DeWolff had set up.
There was a laptop on a small folding table, a cup of coffee that'd been empty for hours and an umbrella. Captain DeWolff nested in the folding chair, her long raincoat grazing the ground as she sat. She rotated the laptop towards him. Quietly amused, she said, "See for yourself.“
It was grainy security camera footage of a woman—dressed in all black, single-handedly fighting two security guards using what appeared to be martial arts with impressive gymnast skills. DeWolff closed the video and opened another one. It was at the same place, just a different security camera. "It's the Apex Security Solutions, the high tech company. She stole an advanced prototype for facial recognition they've been developing.“ The screen showed the thief quickly sticking a USB device into a computer, looking carefully over her shoulder.
Peter straightened up. “Okay, so it's a thief who apparently went to Juilliard and now she's trying to pay off student loans. Why do you need me?”
DeWolff smirked and slightly raised her eyebrows. “It's not just that. Look at this.” She replayed the footage, now in slow motion. The guards seemed to be tripping over themselves even in the simple act of walking, and both their guns conveniently flew out their holsters at the same time. Peter frowned. “She's embarrassing the hell outta my guys and everyone else.”
"Has she drugged them?“
DeWolff gave a slight, amused shook of her head. "Nope. It's like she's Universe's favourite child. Nobody's that lucky.“
"Looks like she is,“ Peter shrugged.
"Don't be cute. Something freaky is up with that—what do they call her—?“ She snapped her fingers a few times to help herself remember. "The Black Cat? I don't know why you kids are so obsessed with animals.”
Her face gave away the stress that's been eating at her–pale complexion that made the scar above her eyebrow even more visible, dark circles under her eyes. "Anyway. It seems like this type of thing is right up your alley. Last time my guys tried to catch her, they accidentally shot a bullet through an ATM machine, causing money to fall out right in her direction. And they're the best shots on the team. And that was last week, while she was only doing jewelry shops.“
"What did she steal again?“
"A facial recognition device. No idea why she was going for that–maybe she's working for someone? Her only pattern has been theft, theft and theft, almost as if she gets a thrill out of it. This time, it's more serious.“ DeWolff lit a cigarette. "I don't want to interfere anymore because she's making the NYPD look like fools. It'll be much easier if someone handled it quietly. No warrants, no red tapes, no paperwork.“
Peter tilted his head to the side, “I hate paperwork.”
"Do we have an agreement?“ She took a long puff, staring intently at the masked man in front of her.
Peter paused, silently staring at the security footage that kept replaying, not really attentive to it. His silence was significant, she knew that.
Finally, she rolled her eyes in surrenger. “Fine. I'll get you a new phone. My niece is going through iPhones like socks. Just try not to break this one by landing on your ass, okay?“ He winced at the last week's memory.
“Aaand we have a deal,” he chirped, uncrossing his arms. “For the record, I was thinking about a new police scanner.“
“You do realize you can download the scanner app to your phone, right? It's free,” DeWolff deadpanned.
“Not enough memory. I keep a lot of pictures.” He advanced towards the edge of the rooftop, preparing to swing away.
“Oh, and Webs?” DeWolff called out as he turned around briefly. “Maybe wear a sweatshirt. Weather's getting nasty.”