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greensagephase · 7 months

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Nonviolent Communication - Part Nine

Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader

Summary: You spend the weekend looking after Miguel after his encounter with the Green Goblin.

Word Count: 22,193 (I saw the word count at 16K on Friday and my face was literally the second photo on this post after I remembered saying in the last update that the remaining chapters wouldn't exceed that part's word count. I'm sorry if this hard to read because of the length, by the way. I thought of splitting it and doing two parts (9A & 9B) but... I'm just going with this.)

Warnings: Mention of dry blood; Mention of wounds; Mention of syringe; Bland hospital food; Miguel is a bit grumpy at times but who can blame him?; This chapter really shows how I'd look after Miguel if he was hurt, my simpness for Miguel jumped out a lot in this one

Music inspo while writing:

"First Date" - Bill Conti

"Near Town" - The Amazing Broken Man

"Feels Like We Only Go Backwards" - Imaginary Future (cover)

"Nonviolent Communication" - Metro Boomin, James Blake, A$AP Rocky, 21 Savage

"Mia & Sebastian's Theme (Celeste)" - Justin Hurwitz

Part Nine

Miguel whispers your name, and it takes everything in you to hold back tears as relief washes over you. Your heart races but in a different way than it did hours ago when you were desperately trying to find him. It’s now racing from happiness that he’s awake.

“Miguel,” you whisper with a gentle smile, standing next to him.

Miguel’s eyes flutter close for a few seconds before he opens them again, his gaze meeting yours.

“Calling…” he mumbles. “Me.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion but you nod regardless. “It’s okay, Miguel. You’re doing good. You’ll recover soon, I promise,” you tell him gently. “Are you cold?” you ask, as you look down at the blanket you placed on him earlier after he was declared in stable condition again.

You feel a shiver run down your back as you hear the medical professionals’ voices in your head, repeating that they were losing Miguel. You close your eyes tightly for a few seconds and will those thoughts away. You can’t take it. You open them again and look at Miguel.

“Are you cold?” you ask again, pulling the blanket higher up his body.

“Stay…” he mumbles, closing his eyes again.

You stare at him, heart aching. You swallow the knot in your throat.

“I’ll – I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” you whisper, gently fixing the blanket to cover him. “I’ll stay.”

Miguel nods slowly and in a few seconds he’s asleep again. Tears roll down your face for the third time in only a few hours. You softly wipe them away with the back of your suited hand. You take a step back and release another shaky breath, feeling the knot in your throat grow. You turn away from him, pressing your hand to your mouth as you stare at the wall.

Ever since you woke up, you’ve felt every imaginable emotion in the span of a few hours. You feel emotionally tired, but don’t dare rest, especially after what happened. After losing him.

You take a deep breath as tears flow freely down your face, but you find it difficult to do so for a few seconds. It’s as if you’ve been holding back this entire time and you just can’t hold back the tears anymore, causing you to feel like you’re unable to even breathe. And of course, it’s a familiar feeling. One you’ve only ever felt with Peter’s death. You furiously wipe away your tears, but they keep falling, blurring your vision.

You finally turn back to Miguel, still crying. His relaxed sleeping face brings you comfort, helping you breathe normally again. You sigh deeply as you take a closer step and watch over him again, tears still flowing. You feel the urge to touch him, almost as if to make sure he really is there and it’s not just your imagination playing tricks. You tentatively lay a hand over his arm, layers of fabric preventing skin to skin contact but it still brings you comfort and peace.

Miguel is here and alive. His chest rises and falls softly. His heart rate is displayed on the heart monitor. You can hear his soft breathing. And you can feel his body’s warmth, which comforts you, as you remember how cold his skin felt even through your suit when you found him on that rooftop.

Miguel is alive.

You keep repeating this in your head as you stand next to him, your hand still over his arm. It seems to help you calm down and your tears slow down until they eventually cease, leaving your face feeling puffy and damp but you could care less right now. All you care about is that Miguel is alive.

That your friend is alive.

You stand near the bed for a while. You don’t know how much time goes by. The nurses come in and check on Miguel occasionally, finding you near the bed each time like a guardian. All the while, Miguel sleeps peacefully. He shifts ever so gently but he’s not restless anymore. You eventually take a seat on your chair again, feeling exhausted but unable to take even a fifteen-minute nap. You feel as though you must guard every second. Just in case. You do cover your body with a blanket one of the nurses brought you earlier, warming yourself up as the room is cold. You also fix a pillow they gave you to support your back and then you sit there and watch over Miguel.

You don’t even find it in yourself to use the tablet Ben Reilly brought you earlier. It lies abandoned on the table in the family area of the room. You simply sit there, watching over Miguel and occasionally looking towards the windows. The sky is grey and gloomy, but brighter now. The rain is still there, making you wonder if it’ll stick around all day. The pit pat of rain against the windows is heard through the room along with the heart monitor’s quiet beeping but your ears focus on one thing only and that’s Miguel’s even and gentle breathing.

As you listen to it, while gazing at him, your mind reminds you of the fact that for a few minutes, his breathing ceased. You see his unmoving chest in your mind suddenly; his body was completely still. He was gone. And for the second time in your life, you felt so helpless as you stood there, repeating “No” inside your mind. You remember saying his name, calling out to him. You wanted to take hold of him and beg him not to give up. Not now. You thought of his family, and though you fleetingly thought you had no right to, you prayed that if they were out there somewhere, that they’d tell him to come back because… you couldn’t bear the thought of him dying. You couldn’t bear the thought that this man, with so much life still ahead of him, could really be gone just like that. And then it happened. The medical team resuscitated him. His chest began to move, and the heart monitor started to display his heartbeat again. He was alive. He didn’t give up.

And it felt like you yourself could finally breath again as you thanked his late wife, Gabriel, and sweet Gabriella, for you don’t know what you would’ve done if… you can’t even think about it. What would life be like without Miguel? It’s about to be a year since you joined the Spider Society and so much has changed since then. You never guessed Miguel would be a constant in your life the first time you met him. He was so serious and distant. His mind was far away as he gave you a simple and cold welcome before he walked off, carrying the weight of the multiverse on top of an array of emotions on his shoulders that you could’ve never imagined he was dealing with.

You shake your head softly, almost in disbelief. It’s amazing how much can happen in one year. You went from knowing very little about Miguel to now knowing about his brother and mother, about his short time with Gabriella and his wife, to sharing cake on Peter’s birthday and eating conchas and candy on Dia de los Muertos to designing Christmas ornaments and welcoming the new year at his penthouse.

And it all started that day you felt so unwell due to your period. You find yourself wondering if any of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for that day. And the possibility that none of it would’ve happened makes you thankful for that day, even if you were in pain and discomfort because it led to something you never imagined.

Though you still have no idea how Miguel feels about your interactions, you consider him a close friend. You chat with him and Lyla when you organize the lab. You talk before the meetings start over coffee. You’ve gone on more missions with him than some of the members who joined before you have. You take him lunch sometimes when you head to the lab to organize it, and he happily accepts the empanadas, which you’ve learned are definitely a favorite of his. After the holidays, you’ve made him smile more and even earned yourself low chuckles, both a nonexistent sight and sound for everyone else.

And yet, neither of you have said it yet; that you’re friends. So, it’s up in the air between the two of you for now but you’re okay with it. You know it’ll be a while before Miguel admits it if he thinks of you as a friend, too. And you’ll hold back from saying it for as long as you can for his sake.

You sigh deeply and try to clear your thoughts before you check the time. It’s now past 8 A.M.. When you returned home from Peter and Mary Jane’s universe, you never expected the night to take such a turn. It seems unbelievable.

You went to sleep peacefully, under your warm bed sheets in the same bed you shared with Peter. You were tired and sleepy, and found sleep easily only to be awakened by your spider senses, alerting you something was wrong.

As you stare at Miguel’s face, this simple fact hangs over you. Your spider senses went off because of him despite being in completely different universes. You bring a hand to your temple, wondering how that’s even possible, but you don’t have much time to think about it as the room’s door opens. You turn around and find Jess and Peter. You get up quickly, pushing the blanket off you and turn to face them.

With everything that happened and your emotions a wreck, you never notified them about Miguel’s heart failing but when you look at them, you see it on their faces. There’s pain in their expressions as they scan your face, which shows signs of crying and exhaustion, and their expressions soften.

“Oh Y/N…” Peter whispers softly, before he quickly approaches, pulling you in for a hug.

You let him hold you in his arms and hug him back. You close your eyes for a few seconds, feeling overwhelmed but reassured at the same time now that they’re here.

“The medical team told us what happened,” Jess begins as she watches Peter and you embrace each other.

Peter lets go gently, though he wraps an arm around your shoulders, making you feel comforted. You give him a sad smile. Peter was the second person you were introduced to when you were first recruited, Miguel being the first one. And once you were accepted, you were introduced to Peter, who immediately presented you to his group of friends and well, the rest is history now. There are times in which it feels like Peter looks over you as some kind of parent because of the age gap. And it’s exactly how he’s looking at you right now after learning what you went through on your own.

“Y/N… I’m so sorry you were here alone,” Jess says gently. “I never thought…”

For once, the second in command of the Spider Society seems at a loss for words. You nod slowly.

“I don’t think any of us expected that… He was in stable condition already,” you answer softly as your eyes return to Miguel. “It just happened out of nowhere…” you add trailing off, briefly taken back to those minutes.

Jess nods and brings a hand to her temple, feeling an ache after the long night. The news of Miguel briefly passing away only added to it, but she feels a sense of relief as she joins you and Peter in watching Miguel sleep peacefully. Miguel is alive.

You feel Jess’s hand on your forearm, making you turn. She gives you a pained smile.

“I wish someone else would’ve been here with you. I know it must’ve been – hard,” she says solemnly, knowing about Peter’s death and what a toll it’s taken on you in so many ways from leaving you with no family or friends. She feels a pang in her chest for you, for she never imagined you’d see death again today.

You give her a reassuring smile. “I wish so, too, but all that matters now is that Miguel is in stable condition. He’s been sleeping peacefully,” you say as you take a step closer, motioning for them to join you, tugging Peter along with you as his arm is still around your shoulders. “He woke up a little while ago, it was just for a few seconds before he fell asleep again though,” you share but don’t mention that Miguel asked you to stay.

The three of you watch Miguel sleep quietly for a few minutes. It’s a strange sight to see Miguel O’Hara’s face so peaceful and though no one says it, none of you can help but feel heartbroken that it took this to see it.

Jess clears her throat, nodding and feeling relieved that Miguel is well now. All that is left is recovering from his injuries. She stares at him for a few seconds, feeling a little in disbelief now. She’s always warned him about heading out on missions alone at night, but she never thought something like this would happen. She’s just glad that… you found him. That fact comes back to her mind. The last hours have been spent figuring out how to get the system back in order and then directing members to find the anomalies that Miguel was dealing with, but it comes back to her at this moment when things seem to have settled a bit. She wanted to ask earlier when Miguel was first transported but she knew it wasn’t the time to ask.

She turns to you now, seeing that you’re still in your suit. Your hair is a bit of a mess after the search and the rain when you took your mask off to shield Miguel’s face from it, another gesture Jess noticed on top of you giving him your gizmo. Jess decides to put her curiosity aside. For now.

“You should go home. Change clothes or shower,” Jess says, making you turn.

“Thank you but – ” you start, and she raises a hand.

“Please,” your mentor says softly. “Peter and I’ll stay here while you go. Get a bag ready with clothes and toiletries for the next two days or so. Miguel has some recovery to do, and I trust you to do your duties as my third in command,” she continues. “Which includes sticking around with him while Peter and I lead the Spider Society in his place. If there’s one thing I know about Miguel, it’s that he’s stubborn and he’ll try to wave this whole thing over despite what happened. I think we all agree he’ll need to take it easy, and I trust you’ll help me with that.”

You stare at Jess and finally nod. “Yes, okay… I’ll be back shortly then.”

She nods. “We’ll let you know if something changes.”

You reluctantly leave the room but not before you take one last glance at Miguel.

“Stay…” he said earlier, and you promised you would.

You hurry and leave the infirmary sector, wanting to be back as soon as possible. In about twenty minutes, you shower and dress in normal clothes before you prepare a small travel bag with everything you think you might need. As you’re heading back to the infirmary sector, you notice there are a lot of members at HQ today despite it being Saturday and members having the weekends off, unless there’s some kind of emergency. However, the Spider Society’s HQ is buzzing like it’s Monday, and you connect it to what happened.

You’re surprised once again when you enter the infirmary sector. There are now a lot of balloons, flowers, cards, and baskets with snacks in the waiting area. When you approach the items, a nurse informs you that members have been dropping them off for Miguel. You smile softly as you look at everything, deciding that once you check on Miguel and talk to Jess, you’ll take everything to his room.

When you enter the room, you find Jess and Peter murmuring by the windows. Their conversation immediately ceases before they turn around to face you. You notice there’s now a table next to them with food and cups of coffee. You turn back to them. Peter gives you a nervous smile, making you feel like you were the topic of discussion. You ignore it and walk further into the room, gently placing your travel bag on one of the chairs in the family area of the room, your eyes already on Miguel. He's still asleep.

“How is he?” you ask, walking closer to the bed.

“No change. He’s been sleeping the entire time,” Peter says stepping closer to the bed now, leaving Jess by the windows.

“I had someone bring breakfast,” she says. “I think we all need some food.”

“And coffee,” Peter adds with a sigh, making you turn to see him.

You notice for the first time that your friends also look tired. It really has been a long night for everyone. You yourself feel exhausted now. It’s like your shower made every ache in your body known and as you look at the food, you feel hunger, too.

The three of you take a seat at the table, everyone reaching for a cup of coffee first before anything else. You eat breakfast, stealing glances at Miguel often. It’s like you’re still trying to make sure he’s there and that nothing’s going wrong. Breakfast is silent as the three of you look out the windows, deep in thought.

It's about twenty minutes later that you finish eating. Peter excuses himself to check on Mary Jane and Mayday, stating he’ll be back shortly. He leaves but not before giving you a reassuring smile on his way out, leaving you and Jess alone. The two of you stand by the windows, looking out at the city. You take a glance at Miguel. He hasn’t shifted in his sleep at all, and he looks peaceful.

Jess stands next to you, arms crossed over her chest, thinking. She doesn’t fail to notice your glances at Miguel, much like those during breakfast. And of course, there’s one pending question on her mind. After a few minutes of silence, she finally speaks up.

“How did you know?” she asks quietly, still staring out the windows.

Your gaze lands on a nearby skyscraper as you hear her question. You know exactly what she’s talking about and even though you wish you could pretend you have no idea what she’s referring to, you know neither of you have the time nor energy to play this game.

After a minute or so of silence, you sigh deeply. “I don’t know,” you answer honestly, causing Jess to look at you slowly.

She watches you as you stare out the windows, and she can tell from your expression and tone of voice that you genuinely have no idea. You sigh again.

“I don’t know how I knew… I was awakened by my spider senses,” you begin and tell her everything that happened up until she joined the search.

Her gaze is on distant cars as she hears you explain everything, occasionally nodding softly. It makes no sense.

“You also knew where to find him,” she says after you’re done. “I would’ve never thought Miguel would be there, considering we knew he was injured,” she adds, thinking about how you seemed certain about his location, not to mention the way you reached the building. It was as if your life itself depended on it.

Your gaze is still fixed on the skyscraper as she brings up this fact. “On the first mission I joined you guys, we went there – to get a layout of the city since it was my first time visiting that universe. It seemed that he liked the view. I guess, amid everything, I thought he would like to see it again,” you quietly murmur.

Jess nods, thinking. Your spider senses alarmed you that something was wrong, and it was Miguel, who was in another universe, in trouble. She knows it’s possible, she just doesn’t know how. She remembers the events from a year ago when Miles ended up stranded in that same universe, and Gwen realized it thanks to her spider senses, too. Now the two are a thing. Of course, Jess isn’t thinking that you and Miguel have a thing going on, but it does signify something to Jess.

You and Miguel have a connection, and it’s strong enough that you were able to sense his trouble even across the multiverse.

“It’s unexplainable but it might have just saved Miguel’s life,” she says eventually after a few seconds of silence, deciding to keep her thoughts about your connection to Miguel to herself. Instead, she changes the conversation to the anomalies Miguel was pursuing. They’ve been caught and sent back to their respective universes. She also notifies you that other members will be taking shifts patrolling your universe while you’re here with Miguel.

Jess sticks around for a little while longer before she heads out to attend to her duties. Once she heads out, you take the time to bring everything left in the waiting room for Miguel into the room, placing it in the family area so that he’ll see it once he wakes up. The hours go by slowly, and you eventually grab the tablet Ben Reilly brought you earlier. You reach out to your friends, who have been asking about you and Miguel’s status. You even reach out to Jess eventually, asking if you can help with anything else but she declines, and so you stay put. You watch over Miguel, fixing his blanket when he moves to make sure he doesn’t get cold.

It's until later in the afternoon that he begins to stir once again. You’re standing by the windows when you notice and quickly cross the short distance between the windows and the bed, standing by his side immediately. Miguel’s eyebrows furrow as he moves his head against the pillows gently. He hums softly as his eyes slowly flutter, and you’re unable to stop yourself from finding him endearing and tender in this moment.

His eyes open at last and he looks around the room slowly, trying to place his surroundings until his gaze lands on you. You offer him a small smile as he blinks a few times at you.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Y/N…” he says trailing off, closing his eyes for a second before opening them again.

“How do you feel?” you ask, studying his face for any signs of trouble but Miguel looks in good condition.

“I feel a little dizzy,” he responds, blinking again a few times.

“It’s probably the meds. They’ll wear off soon – let me get the doctor, alright?”

Miguel nods before you use the call button. The doctor and a nurse shortly arrive, checking Miguel’s vitals. Everything looks well and as the minutes roll by, Miguel seems more and more awake. The professionals head out after explaining to Miguel what happened, including his heart stopping, and the extent of his injuries.

Miguel lays on the bed silently, staring down at his lap as he thinks about what the doctor told him. You stand a few feet away from the bed, giving him some time to process what they said. You can’t tell what he’s thinking or how he feels as his face is neutral but, on the inside, Miguel feels a little overwhelmed at the news that he was dead for several minutes. The dream he had, which now makes him wonder if it really was a dream after all, is also on his mind. He looks down at his hands, remembering how it felt to hold Gabi. How she forgave him and told him she would always view him as her dad.

Miguel sighs softly, closing his eyes. He can feel what it felt like to hold them again. He can see all their faces and remember their words about moving forward and having a second chance. And as he recalls their words, he also remembers how they kept telling him someone was calling him. He opens his eyes slowly and looks up at you, finding you in the same spot. Ever since the doctor arrived, you’ve been keeping your distance from the bed, as if you’re afraid that you’ll hurt him by being so close. He swallows softly.

“She’s calling you,” Gabi said.

“You know who,” Gabriel said with a small smile. “You know exactly who.”

You.

It’s you.

Miguel clears his throat softly, finding even that action slightly uncomfortable to do right now. He turns his gaze away from you, feeling heat on his face at the realization. Were you really calling him when he was dying – or rather when he died? Was his dream not a dream but – Miguel can’t even think about it now. He can’t wrap his head around it. Is it possible? Miguel has always been a man of science but as he thinks about it, he has no explanation for it.

You notice Miguel turn away, and for some reason it makes you wonder if he doesn’t want you around. You clear your own throat softly, ignoring the feeling of rejection growing in your chest, and put on a neutral face.

“Jess and Peter are taking care of things, which reminds me… They asked me to let them know as soon as you woke up. Do you feel well enough to see them?” you ask softly, fingers on your gizmo ready to send the message.

Miguel’s gaze turns back to you. He hasn’t even thought about the Spider Society until now that you’ve mentioned Jess and Peter. He thinks about it for a few seconds. He’s still thinking about his dream – he’s just going to call it that from now on – and he doesn’t feel ready to be asked questions or get lectured by Jess after her countless warnings about going solo on missions at night. He shakes his head at last.

“In an hour, please,” he says, and you nod, dropping your arms at your sides.

“Of course.” You feel a breeze from the AC turning on again. You nod at him, noticing the blanket on his lap. “Are you cold?”

Miguel continues to hold your gaze, realizing that yes, his arms are cold. He starts to move but you quickly walk to him.

“Remember what the doctor said,” you remind him as you now stand next to him. “She said to avoid too much movement for now until tomorrow, or even Monday. I’ll help you. Do you want me to cover you to your chest?” you ask, picking up the blanket gently.

“Right,” Miguel replies remembering the doctor’s instructions. “Yes, please.”

You nod and take a hold of the blanket, lifting it.

Miguel feels your warmth as you stand near him. It seeps into the side of his body, spreading a pleasant sensation that leaves the rest of his body yearning for it. On top of that, he’s unable to stop himself from inhaling your scent as you lean closer to lift the blanket further up. The moment is brief. You’re there at his side one second and gone the next, suddenly standing three feet away from the bed but your scent lingers, filling his nostrils. He feels the loss of your warmth almost immediately. The remaining warmness fades away and it makes Miguel wish there was another excuse to bring you closer, which fills him with great shame even if it's only human nature to seek such a comfort, especially in his vulnerable state.

Not to mention that everything about you is comforting. It always is. Your voice. Your warmth. Your scent. Your laugh. Your movements. Your mere presence and existence.

“Is that good?” you ask, ready to adjust it to his liking, oblivious to Miguel’s thoughts.

Miguel nods. “Yes, thank you.”

Mierda, he thinks as he shifts his head slightly. A few months ago, on Dia de los Muertos, he wanted you to push his boundaries. He hoped you’d ask him questions about his life, about Gabriella and the rest of his family and now he’s wishing you push his boundaries regarding physical touch. Miguel dismisses it as part of the medications’ aftereffects. It has messed up with his thought process enough that he’s wanting physical touch, surely.

He tries to distract himself by looking out the windows. It’s still raining.

“Has it stopped raining at all?”

You shake your head. “No. It hasn’t stopped at all.”

Miguel nods, still staring and listening to it, trying to get himself distracted until whatever it is he’s on fades and he can be back to his normal senses. It takes him a few seconds to remember you’re still standing nearby, while he’s there, lying in bed. He turns his head, wondering if you’ll be leaving now that he’s awake. He silently hopes you don’t.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks gently, his red eyes meeting yours.

And the way it sounds, well, it tugs at your heartstrings. There’s a softness to his tone that makes you realize your impression from earlier was wrong, and that you jumped to conclusions. Miguel doesn’t want you to leave but there’s also a part of him that isn’t used to this level of vulnerability.

For all the moments and time you’ve spent together over the last year, neither of you’ve been in such a vulnerable state regarding health. Sure, there was that day you were unwell due to your period, but it wasn’t to this level, and it wasn’t him. Additionally, Miguel is already apprehensive about being vulnerable with emotional wounds, so you can only imagine how hard it must be for him to be seen with physical ones. And yet, the way he asks if you have somewhere to be makes it sound like he hopes you’ll stay. You remember how he asked you earlier to do so, while the medications were probably at their peak before he fell asleep. He may not even remember it now, or ever, but you won’t forget it, much like every moment you’ve shared with him. You smile softly.

“I’m where I’m supposed to be,” you answer and then realize how it may sound. You clear your throat, thinking you really should take a nap at some point today. You tell yourself to be more careful with your words right now. You don’t want to upset Miguel or make him uncomfortable when this situation is probably already too much for him. “Jess assigned me to be here. I’m to be – kind of like your bodyguard – until you fully recover,” you tell him, and the bodyguard part makes him smile a little.

“My own bodyguard, eh?” he says, still smiling faintly, feeling relieved that you’ll be around even if he doesn’t voice it. And though he showed no reaction to your comment about being where you’re supposed to be, a warmness spreads in his chest.

You smile when you notice his small smile, delighted to see it as always, no matter how faint it is. You nod to the family area of the room.

“You have a lot of gifts from members wishing you a speedy recovery. Would you like to see it?”

Miguel turns slightly. He noticed the balloons earlier, but he was feeling too overwhelmed to even wonder about them. Feeling much calmer now, he nods with that faint smile still on his face. You feel happiness rush through you at his response and nod before you walk over to the items. There are about fifteen balloons and even more flowers and cards along with baskets full of snacks. You collect some of the flowers and cards in them before you take them to him.

Miguel can’t help but feel surprised at the number of items left. If he’s being honest, he didn’t expect to receive so much due to his attitude and behavior in the past, especially the events related to Miles.

“I’ll hold the flowers and cards for you to read, that way you don’t move too much, and you can keep your arms under the blanket,” you say now standing next to him.

You place some of the individual cards next to him on the bed before you show him some of the flowers, gently pulling out a card and holding it for him to read. You do this multiple times with the cards from the flowers. Miguel reads them silently, nodding once he’s done. You go through all the flowers and finally start on the individual cards. You notice there are a few handmade ones from members who opted to apply their artistic skills, like Miles, whose card you show Miguel next.

The only thing you see is the front in which Miles took the liberty of drawing Miguel in his suit. You smile fondly at it, admiring Miles’s art as always. You’ve always loved the pieces Miles has shown you and you’re also very happy that he’s decided to pursue art school again. You watch as Miguel reads the card’s message, his eyebrows furrow softly as his eyes move across the card. Up to this point Miguel has nodded and smiled faintly with each card but you notice Miles’s incites this different reaction. He swallows softly and finally nods, turning away to look out the windows in thought.

You can’t help and wonder what Miles wrote, for whatever the message is seems to have struck something in Miguel as he continues to look out the windows. You close it carefully and put it in the stack of read cards, still thinking as you grab another one to show him but he’s still staring out the windows.

“Do you want to take a break? I can show you the rest later.”

Miguel blinks and turns around to face you. He shakes his head gently.

“No, it’s okay. I’d like to see the rest.”

You nod and show him the next one. Miguel’s mood is slightly different now. He smiles faintly here and there, and there’s no doubt in your mind that Miles’s card is still in his mind. You finally reach the last one and you know immediately who it belongs to. You smile as you show it to him. It has Peter and Mary Jane’s handwriting but Mayday’s artistic skills all over the cover. Miguel stares at it and smiles again.

“Mayday,” he says softly before you open it and let him read the message.

He nods once he’s done, that faint smile still on his face as you put it away with the rest. You carefully pick them up to avoid any damage, fixing them into a neat stack again.

“You also have some baskets with snacks,” you say as you now collect the smaller cards from the flowers. “Would you like me to show them to you?”

Miguel shakes his head. “No, it’s alright. There’s no need for you to carry them here. Thank you though – and thank you for showing me the cards and flowers.”

You nod. “Of course, no problem,” you say as you look him over. “Are you warmer now? I have this blanket as well, if you’re still cold,” you say remembering the blanket the nurses gave you earlier.

“I’m much warmer now, thank you. No need for the other blanket.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“If you need something, please tell me, okay? I’m here to help you,” you say after a few seconds.

Miguel takes a few seconds to nod, feeling a mix of emotions. He feels guilty that you’re stuck here having to look after him because Jess asked you but he also feels relieved that you’re here. Still holding the cards in your hand, you decide to move them to the table in the family area.

“You must be tired,” he comments, wondering if you’ve even slept as his eyes follow you.

“I’m not,” you respond gently as you place the cards down on the table.

“If you want to go home and rest, you should,” he says as he looks down.

You sigh softly, knowing where this is going. You turn around to face him, finding him looking down at his body, covered in the blanket you placed over him. He looks up, as if sensing your gaze on him.

“I’m not only here because Jess asked me to,” you start, standing still. You briefly think about how only a few hours ago you were just thinking about how neither of you’ve said what you’re about to admit to him. You didn’t realize you’d be saying it today. “I’m here because I want to – because you’re my friend and this is what friends do,” you continue, keeping your tone as casual as possible as you hold each other’s gazes, though your tone is full of sincerity. “And you don’t have to feel the same way or say anything right now. Just – just know I’m here for you,” you continue softly, repeating the same words you told him for the first time on Dia de los Muertos night, when he apologized for keeping you up and taking you away from chores. You wanted to say more that night, like how you didn’t mind stopping what you were doing to join him because you wanted to spend more time with him. Except you couldn’t say more that night. It was still too soon, and maybe it still is for Miguel but a part of you wants him to know. That you’d be here regardless of Jess asking you because you wish to be here if he allows it. “It’s not an inconvenience to me, if that’s what you’re thinking. So, please – please let me stick around,” you add much quietly as you hold his gaze. Heat rises to your face, and you feel like wincing at your own words because you understand the gravity of them. You’ve never asked anything of him but here you are now, asking him to let you stay with him. To let you look over him, cover his cold body, keep him company as he recovers, and do much more if he lets you help him because all you want is for Miguel to be well again but you also know that this isn’t easy for him and that you’re asking for something that he might not be comfortable with. Your heart races as you wait for his response.

Miguel holds your gaze, noticing the wincing at your own words but he knows you well enough to know it’s not from regret. No, Miguel knows that you’re always so understanding, so respectful of his boundaries, never pushing or asking and that’s what made you wince; that you’re asking for something from him. Your words and reaction sink in. And Miguel wishes he could reciprocate your words about considering him a friend out loud, but he cannot, not yet even though you are his friend. He can’t risk it, so he nods softly.

“I’d appreciate it – if you did. Thank you,” he replies with sincerity at last, with a small smile.

You smile back, once again happy to see him smile. You don’t mind that he doesn’t say more because with the smile and tone he used, you feel certain he feels the same way even if he can’t voice it right now. You know Miguel has a long way to go in fully letting go. Maybe one day in the future, you think, but for now, him letting you stay while he recovers, is more than enough.

“After you meet with Jess and Peter, would you like to eat?” you ask as you walk to the chair. “You must be hungry. I believe you’re clear to eat now.”

As if on cue, Miguel’s stomach growls and he looks at you with an embarrassed look. For once, it’s his stomach and not yours. You try not to smile and clear your throat quietly.

“I’ll ask the nurse if you can eat while you talk with Jess and Peter, alright?”

He nods, meeting your eyes. “That sounds good, thank you.”

You reach out to Jess and Peter once Miguel tells you he’s ready. You wait for them to arrive before you head out quickly to confirm with the nurse that he can eat now and thankfully he’s cleared. You head back to the room once they tell you they’ll take him food, walking in just as you hear Peter ask how everything happened and so, the three of you listen intently to Miguel as he explains. You can’t help but feel fury as he mentions the Green Goblin twisting his trident into Miguel just before the explosion went off, on top of the fact that he targeted the gizmo once he figured out it was important. You sigh quietly, wishing he hadn’t gone on his own. The conversation shifts to Jess, who briefs Miguel about several things like the system failure and how it’s working again thanks to the work of Margo and other members. He sits on the bed and nods.

“I’ll be thanking them personally but for now – please give them my gratitude,” he says softly. “Everyone – has really stepped up, including the three of you. Thank you,” Miguel adds looking at all of you. “I appreciate it.”

Jess nods and offers Miguel a smile. Peter grins at him.

“Any time, pal. That’s what we’re here for, right? We stick up for each other,” Peter says and Jess nods.

“Peter’s right. We stick up for each other and we’ll make sure everything runs smoothly until you’re fully recovered,” Jess says. “All you need to worry about right now is recovering.”

Peter steps closer to you and quietly mutters, “You heard that, right? Jess agreed with me for once.”

You stifle a chuckle and gently elbow him to be quiet.

“What are you going on about, Peter?” Jess asks with a frown.

“Nothing at all. Just telling my friend that the rest of our friend group has been wondering about her, that’s all,” Peter replies raising his hands in defense and discreetly elbowing you to back him up now.

You nod but say nothing, making Jess shake her head. “Alright you two, if you say so. Well – there’s much we need to do. The system failure messed up some files. Lyla and I are organizing it, so I’ll return to that now. Please listen to the doctor’s instructions, Miguel,” Jess says sternly, and Miguel raises an eyebrow briefly but nods.

“And Y/N’s instructions, too,” Peter adds with a grin. “She’s like your – personal bodyguard.”

You subtly elbow Peter again and he gives you a puzzled look.

“Anyway, we’ll keep you updated. Rest and take the time to recover properly. If you need anything let Y/N know. We all want you to recover and be back on your feet,” Jess says.

Peter and you nod at that, thinking about what you would give to avoid this situation completely.

“Thank you. I’ll do that… Do keep me updated on what’s going on. There are meetings scheduled for this week and the weekly reports are not done yet - ” Miguel starts but Jess stops him, raising a hand.

“We’re taking care of everything. You worry about recovering.”

Miguel frowns but Jess doesn’t back down. “Fine but I want to be updated on what’s happening though.”

Jess nods, satisfied with his answer. “Will do, boss.”

With that Jess and Peter say their goodbyes, promising to return at some point again today to check in. Miguel and you watch them leave even though you want to ask Jess something, but you decide to send her a message later instead. You want to ask her if you can help with the reports as it’s something you can probably work on while Miguel rests, but you figure you should keep quiet about it, or Miguel might try and help you and the last thing any of you want is for him to work while he’s recovering. The two of you say goodbye to them before you turn around to face him.

Miguel still has a slight frown on his face. The commander of the Spider Society is not used to being told what to do. You try not to smile at this.

“One of the nurses said you’re clear to eat. They’ll be bringing in food any time now,” you inform him as you step closer to your chair, picking up your blanket to fold it just as

Miguel groans softly. “What’s wrong?” you ask, putting the blanket down immediately.

“Hospital food.”

You chuckle. “I bet it’s not bad like the typical hospital food.”

“Hospital food is still hospital food.”

“I bet it’s better than my universe’s hospital food.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow at this, looking amused. “Perhaps but it’s still hospital food.”

You grin just as there’s a knock. A nurse comes in with a tray of food, immediately setting it up for him. The nurse asks Miguel if he needs assistance with eating and surprisingly, or perhaps not too surprisingly, he looks at you, not wanting to be fed by a stranger.

“Thank you but I’ll be helping him,” you inform them, and they nod.

Miguel thanks them before they leave the room, leaving the two of you alone again. He frowns as he looks down at the closed containers and you can’t help but find this amusing. You head to the bathroom to wash your hands before you return to his side. You grab a napkin and open it.

“I’m going to put this on your chest just in case something falls,” you tell him, and he nods but he doesn’t look enthusiastic about eating as you place the napkin on him. “Come on, you don’t even know what they brought yet.”

“I can smell it, and it doesn’t smell too good.”

You shake your head softly as you open the containers, putting the lids to the side as you reveal each food item. You stare at the main food. There’s steamed vegetables, chicken, and rice but it all looks a little… bland.

“Hmm.”

“I told you,” Miguel says grumpily.

You don’t say anything and instead pick up a small tub of gelatin that appears to be strawberry flavored. It looks like the most appetizing thing in the whole tray along with the two drinks they provided, apple juice and water.

“You don’t want to give this a try at all?” you ask softly, motioning to the food.

Miguel sighs, frowning. “I guess I have to.”

You grab the cutlery and offer him a steamed carrot slice. Miguel hesitantly opens his mouth, keeping his gaze on the tray, embarrassed. He can’t believe he’s being fed like a child as he softly bites down on the carrot. He chews, trying not to make a face.

“Not that bad, right?” you ask, and he looks up at you.

“Why don’t you try it, and you tell me?” he says grumpily, almost pouting.

You meet his eyes and hold back from laughing. You clear your throat, ready to ask him if he wants to try the rice or chicken now.

“No, I’m being serious. Try it.”

You sigh. “Why don’t you try the rice or the chicken now? We can drop the veggies then.”

Miguel sighs now. “If even the vegetables aren’t good, I have little hope for the rice and chicken… I’m not joking. That carrot wasn’t good.”

“It can’t be that bad. It’s just a steamed carrot.”

“Try it then.”

You continue to meet his gaze and he motions with his head for you to go on. You scoff softly and pick up a carrot with the fork before you slide it off to avoid eating from the same fork. You bring it to your mouth and frown as the scent hits your nose.

“Even the scent is off putting, right?” Miguel asks.

You nod before you chew and wow, Miguel is right. You grab a napkin and spit it out quietly.

“I don’t know how you ate that,” you say quietly. “You want some water to wash down the taste?” you offer, and Miguel nods trying not to chuckle at your response.

You grab the water bottle and notice straws were provided so you open one and slide it into the water bottle once you open it, too. You bring it to Miguel’s mouth, lining up the straw to his mouth so he can easily access it. He drinks for a few seconds before he releases the straw.

“I didn’t realize I was so thirsty” he says before he drinks more. You hold the bottle steady and watch as he nearly finishes it.

“I can get you another one. It’s been many hours since you drank something,” you mutter quietly. You look at the food. He hasn’t eaten anything in hours either and this food is unappetizing. You look at the gelatin. That’s the only appealing food item on the tray but his appetite won’t be satisfied with that alone.

Miguel leans back, releasing the straw again. The water bottle is empty now and he sighs in relief.

“Thank you.”

You nod and put the bottle away, thinking. “Would you be okay if I step out for – five or ten minutes?” you ask.

Miguel raises his eyebrow softly. “Is something wrong?” he asks just as his eyes flicker to your gizmo.

“Nothing wrong, don’t worry. I was just thinking – I can go to the cafeteria and grab you something from there instead. I can bring you empanadas if I can find some?” you suggest and you’re immediately happy you suggested this.

Miguel’s face changes. His eyes lit up and he nods immediately but then he frowns.

“The cafeteria staff showed up today? They have weekends off. They should’ve enjoyed their day off… And it’s not allowed to bring cafeteria food into the infirmary,” he says, and you scoff in amusement.

“They came in because a lot of members showed up to help. And I won’t get caught. Besides, what’s the worst thing the infirmary team can do? Tell the boss on me?” you ask as you start closing the containers.

Miguel watches you as you do this, with a small grin.

“If anything, I think he’d agree that this food is – a crime,” you say and Miguel chuckles before he groans.

“Mierda, that hurt,” he says closing his eyes in pain and you see his hands move under the blanket to his stomach.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you chuckle,” you say as you move the food tray away from him.

“It’s alright,” Miguel mutters with a sigh, opening his eyes again. “It’s fading away now. That son of a – he really got me with the trident.”

“I’m so sorry, is the pain subsiding now?” you ask worried, and he nods.

“It’s fading now, don’t worry,” he says softly, and you nod.

“I’ll go get you food once your pain subsides completely,” you reply, wanting to make sure you’re in the room until he’s completely okay.

After five minutes, Miguel nods. “I’m alright. The pain is gone,” he reassures you.

You sigh softly and nod. “Okay, I’ll be right back. I won’t take long, okay?”

Miguel nods and with one last look, you head out. You walk to the cafeteria quickly, noticing more gifts left for Miguel but you don’t pause to look. Once at the cafeteria, you put together some food boxes, making sure to secure Miguel’s empanadas first before anything else. You fix yourself a box so you can eat since you haven’t had anything after breakfast. Jess offered to take you something for lunch, but you weren’t hungry, so you declined but you realize you’re hungry now. You end up using your webs to secure the boxes together as you remember Miguel saying that it isn’t allowed to bring outside food into the infirmary. You also grab a few water bottles and cutlery, tying everything with more web and swinging the items over your shoulder. You’re about to head back, thinking how you’ll have to sneak into the infirmary sector with the food when you see the coffee station. You decide to grab some as well and when you reach the station you’re met with a lovely surprise.

There’s always only one coffee cup size but today there’s two. It’s double the size, or maybe even larger, than the regular cup. You can’t help yourself and end up ordering two of those. You haven’t slept in a while and you probably shouldn’t have this much caffeine, but you want to stay awake until nighttime as you suspect Miguel might not sleep until then. You pick up the cups and head back, having to sneak past the nurses’ office by sticking to the walls. Thankfully the coffee cups weren’t a problem.

You enter the room at last and find Miguel, still in bed of course, but the TV is now on. As you walk closer, you notice the containers are gone. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion just as Miguel turns around.

“Peter and Jess came by. Peter took the food with him,” Miguel explains, noticing your confusion.

“I hope he hid them as he walked by,” you say as you set the boxes with food and coffee cups on the tray. “Anyway, I got you empanadas and some sides, along with fruit. I also got coffee. There are new cups,” you announce and motion to the cups, larger than the usual ones.

“You managed to get two?” Miguel asks, his tone full of surprise.

“Yes, why?”

Miguel scoffs softly. “I can never get my hands on these even though they’re meant for me.”

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen them.”

“Everyone opts to get these instead of the other ones. I have these bought because…” Miguel trails off, meeting your eyes. “Not only do I like coffee, but I also need more caffeine to actually feel the effect. The regular size cups aren’t enough sometimes, but I can never find these when I show up,” he says with a slight frown.

You frown. “Oh - I never realized you might need more caffeine, but it makes sense now that you say it,” you reply as you look at him, realizing that Miguel is a tall man and very built, so of course he’d need more than someone within the average height and weight.

“All this time I should’ve been taking you two cups instead of one then,” you say, and Miguel shakes his head softly.

“Don’t worry about it. It does help me,” he reassures you.

“I’ll see if I can find these for you from now on,” you answer as you fix the napkin on his chest before you tell him you’re going to wash your hands again. When you return to his side, you open the boxes of food you brought specifically for him, showing him the empanadas and everything else before you get the cutlery ready. However, when you look at the empanadas, you realize this is a food that’s usually eaten by hand not with cutlery. You look up at Miguel, feeling silly to ask but you do regardless.

“Do you want me to cut these up for you or…?” you ask.

Miguel looks down at the empanadas.

“I can wrap the end in a napkin and hold it for you?” you offer and Miguel nods slowly. “Okay, I’ll do that then.”

You feel a little nervous. It’s not like you’ve never fed someone in the mouth before with your hand. It’s just that you’ve only ever done this with Peter… or used to. As you carefully pick up the empanada with a napkin and wrap it, you recall those days with Peter. He always liked to share his food with you, wanting you to try what he was having, and this always resulted in getting fed bits and pieces from him. You always reciprocated and found this to be an intimate act as you never did it with anyone else but here you are, lifting an empanada to Miguel’s mouth, who still looks embarrassed by this. You clear your throat softly, trying to dissipate the nervousness between the two of you over this simple and yet intimate act.

“They don’t feel burning hot so I think they should be at a good temperature to eat without burning your mouth,” you say, and he nods.

You watch as he reluctantly opens his mouth and takes a bite. His face quickly displays a pleased look and you’re unable to stop yourself from grinning at the different reaction from earlier.

“Not too hot?” you ask.

Miguel finishes eating, smiling faintly. “No, it’s perfect temperature. Thank you.”

You nod and bring the empanada closer to his mouth again. “If you want a drink, let me know. Or if you want to try the other food. It smells and looks good.”

As Miguel chews you notice a bit of a smirk on his face at your comment. You smile a bit before you look away and pick up one of the coffee cups, bringing it to your lips with your free hand. It seems that the nervousness between the two of you is subsiding now. You look up at the TV, an action movie is on. You turn back to Miguel and offer the empanada again. Each time, you’re careful no mess is left behind as you don’t want him to get food on himself but eventually you notice a bit of food in the corner of his mouth, so you put the second empanada down and pick a clean napkin. You motion to his mouth.

“You have a bit – in the corner of your mouth, here,” you say before you gently wipe his mouth.

Miguel’s eyes are on the food tray, and you don’t fail to notice a slight tint to his cheeks. You keep a neutral face as you clean him, despite wanting to smile as you find the action endearing but for his sake, you say nothing once you’re done.

“So, what exactly is this movie about?” you ask instead, deciding that maybe this’ll help calm him. You can only imagine how this is making Miguel feel, someone who isn’t used to such vulnerability even with you.

“To be honest, I don’t know. Peter turned the TV on, and it was already playing. I’ve never heard of it but then again… I haven’t kept up with movies in a long time,” Miguel admits before he takes another bite of the empanada as you offered it again.

You nod. “I understand, I haven’t either.”

Miguel nods as he eats, for some reason remembering that on Peter’s birthday you claimed you’d be going to the movies with friends from your universe. Except that was just a lie to hide your true plans and there weren’t friends involved either way. He remembers waking up the next day and thinking about how no one showed up. You planned to spend the evening alone and he couldn’t help but wonder. Sure, Jess briefed him on you before she brought you to HQ. She mentioned that you were completely on your own, with no family or friends but he thought there had to be someone, even if they weren’t too close to you but Jess had been right. No one called or arrived on Peter’s birthday. You were really alone in your universe, and he couldn’t understand why. He had wondered, did they abandon you when you needed someone the most or did you cut ties on your own? He just couldn’t and still can’t wrap his head around the fact that you spent three years completely on your own. He can’t help but feel that you deserved better. He can’t help but wish that he had found your universe sooner, so you could’ve had the Spider Society as a support system earlier.

And maybe, just maybe you could’ve been a part of his life sooner, too. Miguel clears his throat as this thought comes to his mind.

“May I please have some water?”

You nod and place the remainder of the second empanada down before you open the water bottle, slipping a straw into it before you bring it to his lips. You can’t help but notice the difference on his face as he drinks. His face is still missing its full natural color, but he has thankfully gained some of it.

Miguel eats all the empanadas and sides, along with the fruit. He also drinks two water bottles and asks for some coffee. When you notice that he seems to be rushing so you can start eating soon, you tell him not to worry, and to take his time. He slightly frowns but nods after you talk to him, his mind still whirling with thoughts. When he’s done, you eat as the two of you continue to watch the movie, not really understanding what’s going on but it has caught both of your attention regardless. At some point you remember you have the tablet Ben Reilly brought you many hours ago, so you grab it and look up the movie.

“This is actually the third installment.”

Miguel turns to you. “That explains a lot.”

You chuckle after you take a sip of your coffee, done eating. “It does.”

You resume watching the movie. It’s about five o’clock in the afternoon. The slow and peaceful rain is still going. The room has a somewhat comforting energy about it with the few lights on as Miguel and you watch the movie. His eyes flicker to you though his glances go unnoticed by you, as your eyes are on the TV. He has an idea suddenly and when he’s about to speak, he remembers he doesn’t have a gizmo. That prompts him to remember that you gave him yours when you… found him. He clears his throat as the memories come to him quickly.

He was out of it, his body felt weak and cold when he heard your voice. It sounded so far away until it became clear. He felt your touch when you cupped his face in your small hand. He remembers saying that you were there, and you thought he referred to everyone. In reality, he referred to you alone, for you were the last person he thought about before he felt his consciousness slip for the first time. Even in his state, he felt like he had somehow called for you across the multiverse because you were there suddenly, kneeled by his side, telling him that he would go home. Then, you slipped your gizmo into his wrist, not caring if you glitched and he wanted to tell you so badly to take it back because he now knew what it was like, and he didn’t want you to experience it, too. He didn’t get the chance to warn you though and you didn’t care. You didn’t care that you would glitch just to protect him from glitching again.

And Miguel’s chest fills with a heavy feeling now. His eyes soften as he looks at you, still watching TV, engrossed in this movie that neither of you understand. He smiles softly at you, his friend, even if he can’t say it out loud. Yet.

“I think we should watch the other movies,” Miguel says breaking the silence, and making you turn to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“The other movies?”

“We have nothing else to do… Why not?” he asks quietly.

You nod, smiling. You haven’t messaged Jess about potentially helping with the reports but you decide to leave it like that for now. You decide to take the opportunity to distract Miguel with the movies, seeing as he’s showing interest in them instead of trying to jump right back into work. Your reaction makes Miguel nod and so he executes the idea he had a few minutes ago. He calls for Lyla.

“Miguel! It’s so good to see you – you look – better,” Lyla says enthusiastically.

“Thanks, Lyla. I need you to do something for me,” Miguel says.

“You’re not allowed to work right now. Y/N, tell him he’s not allowed to work right now. He’ll listen to you.”

Miguel frowns and you watch in amusement. “I know. It’s something else.”

“Oh, then what is it?” Lyla asks with a raised eyebrow, intrigued.

Miguel asks her to buy all the movies available before he asks her to stream the first one on the TV.

“Hmm, this was the last thing I thought you’d ask me to do,” Lyla says with her arms crossed over her chest as Miguel and you start watching the first movie, looking puzzled. “Alright, you two, enjoy the movies! And Miguel, don’t push yourself. Take proper time to heal. It’s the order – from everyone,” Lyla says softly, looking at him with worried eyes.

Miguel faces her, knowing that this is the first time something like this has happened to him and despite being an AI and her attitude, he can tell she was worried. He nods at her. “I’ll be back soon. Make sure you do your job without driving the members crazy.”

She gives Miguel a grin. “It’s part of my personality, can’t help it but I’ll do my job, boss. I might pop by later when the other members are gone. Enjoy the movies!”

She gives him a peace sign and says her goodbye to the two of you before she disappears. The two of you watch the movies for the rest of the afternoon, pausing when the medical team comes in to check on Miguel, and yes, you hid the food boxes amongst Miguel’s flowers and balloons, masking the scent by bringing some flowers to the nightstand next to the bed so they wouldn’t find out until you got rid of the evidence.

A little after ten o’clock, Miguel yawns softly just as the second movie ends. You stand up and stretch, before walking over to him.

“How are you doing? Do you want a drink or maybe use the restroom before bed?” you ask, wanting to make sure he’s comfortable.

Miguel sighs softly, moving a bit. “I really wish I could get up and stretch,” he says. “I’d also like to brush my teeth.”

You nod, thinking. “I can solve the teeth situation but – I’m not sure I can help you get up without hurting you. Let me call the nurses, okay?”

“Let’s try it. Just – you and me. Please,” he says gently, and you can’t refuse with that soft tone of his, so you nod.

“Alright… but slowly. I don’t want to hurt you. Let me get the toothbrush and toothpaste first though,” you say as you go to your small traveling bag. In your hurry to return fast, you opted to throw a new pack of toothbrushes you had and your toothpaste when you were packing. Now you’re glad because you can give one to Miguel. You quickly take both items to the bathroom before you return to him.

The two of you work together to get him to stand up, and you succeed after what feels like fifteen minutes because you wanted to avoid hurting him. At last, however, he holds on to you with his arm wrapped around your waist at your request when you noticed his balance is a little off. Your own arm is around his waist, careful to avoid touching any of his stomach area. You remain like that for a few minutes, letting Miguel get used to being on his feet again. You ask him if he’s okay or if he needs to sit down again but he declines, telling you to give him a few more seconds. Eventually he nods.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

You silently hope this all goes well as you help him take a few steps. Thankfully the action doesn’t hurt Miguel nearly as much as you thought it would since neither of you are rushing. The two of you walk a bit in the area between the bed and the family area, with Miguel taking short steps. You wish you thought of bringing him slippers as you look down at his feet, noticing that he’s wearing standard hospital socks, but you decide you’ll ask for another pair so you can change them out once he’s back in bed. You also decide tomorrow you or someone else will need to go to his apartment to collect some items as he’ll still be here tomorrow.

At last, Miguel stands in front of the sink. He sees himself in the mirror and his reflection makes him pause. He’s never looked this bad and then he remembers, once again, that he died. The possibility that he wouldn’t even be staring at himself right now hits Miguel suddenly. He clears his thoughts and turns his head to you.

“You ready?” you ask softly, looking up at him.

“Yes. I think I can do it on my own,” he replies, and you nod hesitantly before giving him the toothbrush with some toothpaste on it.

He starts lifting his arm, but the movement makes him wince.

“I can help you,” you say quietly and after a few seconds Miguel sighs.

“You already fed me and now you’re going to brush my teeth,” he says but he doesn’t sound angry, he’s just embarrassed.

“And I’ll do more than that if necessary. If you allow me. I just – don’t want you to get hurt,” you say softly. “I know… This can feel embarrassing,” you continue as you take the toothbrush from his hand, guiding his arm down gently to avoid any more discomfort.

At your height, you can’t reach his mouth, so you climb up the counter, resting on your heels, facing him. You grab a towel from a stack and put it over his chest, tucking it gently into the hospital gown’s neckline to avoid getting it dirty. You lean closer and motion for him to open his mouth. He sighs and then follows your order. You start brushing his teeth gently, focusing on the task as you continue to talk.

“I know it can feel embarrassing. I used to feel like that when I got hurt and went home to Peter,” you start. “He took care of my wounds. Helped me shower and dress. Got me in bed and still had the energy to hold me,” you say quietly, your tone full of fondness as you remember Peter once again. “I felt embarrassed even with my partner so I can imagine what this must feel like when I’m just, you know,” you say as you continue to brush his teeth, carefully. All the while, Miguel’s eyes take in the sight of you this close, listening to your quiet voice as you lean closer, even ducking your head to get a good view of his mouth. He blinks when he hears your last words, knowing what you’re saying. That it’s normal for him to feel embarrassed when it’s you, his friend, doing this for him. “But I hope – you allow me to continue to help you so you can recover faster. I don’t like seeing you like this,” you say with a frown, which he notices, as you finish brushing one side of his mouth. You wipe the corner of his mouth softly with the towel. “So, please… if you need help with something, don’t hesitate to ask because of embarrassment. I’m here to help you,” you say as you start brushing the other side of his mouth.

He nods softly after a few seconds while you finish brushing his teeth. At last, you’re done, and you smile at him, drying his mouth from the water.

“Done,” you say as you rinse the toothbrush before you place it on a toothbrush holder for tomorrow. “Anything else you’d like to do before you get back in bed?”

Miguel meets your eyes, thinking about what he’s about to ask.

“Do you mind – passing a towel over my face?” Miguel asks. “My face feels weird.”

You nod, remembering. “I have these reusable cotton face pads. They’re much softer on the skin than a towel. Let me get them real quick,” you say and with that you slide off the counter and exit the bathroom. Miguel stands there, surprised at your offer but he doesn’t have much time to think anything else because you enter the bathroom again holding some round cotton pads. He watches as you climb up the counter again before you open the hot water and pass the pads under it. You squeeze the excess and turn to him at last. “Alright, you ready?”

Miguel nods again. “Yes, thank you.”

You nod, realizing some of his hair is over his forehead. You feel a bit nervous as you think about what you’re about to ask him. “Do you mind if I hold your hair up?”

“Go ahead,” Miguel answers softly, answering almost immediately, which surprises you a bit.

He doesn’t seem to mind, so you nod and carefully reach for his hair. You lift it lightly before you glide the lukewarm cotton pad over his forehead with a tenderness that makes Miguel hold his breath for a few seconds. You wipe his forehead, then his eyebrows. Your movements remain tender, making Miguel feel like he’s some delicate glass object that’s worthy of your gentleness as you glide the pad down the bridge to the tip and sides of his nose. You change pads and ask him to close his eyes before you glide it over his eyelids, moving to the rest of the eye area.

Your face remains neutral as you clean his face though your eyes take in every detail. From the flecks in his red eyes to his eyebrows to the lines on his forehead and under eyes. And when you reach the bottom half of his face your eyes trace his cheeks, jawline, chin, and finally his lips, wiping them softly to make sure you remove any toothpaste excess.

The entire process makes Miguel’s face feel warm, not because of the warmness of the pads but because of the closeness of this moment. No one has ever done this to him. And yet, you seem so unbothered by it. Like this is normal. You grab another pad, damping it with warm water again and repeating the process much faster this time. You let go of his hair and move back.

“Done,” you say softly as you put down the pads on the counter, telling yourself you’ll pick them up later to take home and wash. Miguel watches your movement and for the first time, he notices it. There are light scratches on your hand, and he instantly knows they came from his talons. “Are you ready to head back? Or do you need to use the bathroom?” you ask Miguel, not noticing.

“Your hand,” Miguel says still looking at it. “I scratched you?” he asks, meeting your eyes, sounding extremely bothered by this.

You look down in surprise, remembering that he scratched you a bit when you were trying to calm him down as he grew restless. It was hard not to forget about them, as shortly after that his heart gave out.

“Oh, yes but don’t worry about it. It didn’t hurt that much. I honestly forgot about them,” you admit, making Miguel frown.

“I’m really sorry. I don’t remember – when I did that. Not only must I’ve hurt you but probably ripped your suit in the process as well,” Miguel says, sounding regretful.

You shake your head. “It hardly hurt, really. I even forgot I had these,” you say nodding to the scratches. “And about the suit, I didn’t notice any rips on it this morning and even if there are, I’m sure I can fix it. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“I can have it fixed for you here. Or you can have a new one,” Miguel offers. “Same design, maybe with some updates if you’d like… But you should get the scratches checked just in case. I’m really sorry that I did this to you,” Miguel says quietly, and he truly does feel bad. He doesn’t even remember doing it.

You smile gently at him and nod. “If it comes to that, sure but we can worry about that later. And don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt. They were very light scratches, nothing to worry about. I promise,” you reassure him. “So, ready to head back?”

Miguel is upset with himself over scratching you, but he sees that you want to drop it, so he lets it go, too. For now. He’ll make sure you have a new suit because he’s certain he ripped yours. There’s no way he didn’t and even though he doesn’t know the exact reason, he knows you’re very attached to your suit. He sighs silently and answers your question at last.

“I need to use the bathroom, but I got it, thank you,” he says gently, thinking the last thing either of you need is for you to help him use the bathroom, too.

“Of course, I’ll be outside if you need me. Please take your time so you don’t hurt yourself, okay?”

He nods, grateful to you for everything but still feeling bad about scratching you, before you head out of the bathroom, closing the door after you.

You check your gizmo to distract yourself, noticing several messages from your friends asking about Miguel and his status, and if either of you need anything so they can drop it off. You smile fondly as you read the thread of messages before responding quickly to them, letting them know that Miguel has been doing well and that you’ll let them know if either of you need anything. You finish sending the last message just as you hear the toilet flush and then the water running. Miguel comes out about a minute later. He seems to be able to walk a lot better on his own now but he’s still moving slow to prevent any pain.

You offer to help him and this time he puts his arm around your shoulders, leaning just a bit on you. You successfully get him back in bed, finding the process much easier than getting him out of it. You tell him about changing his socks since he walked on the infirmary floor, but he says he’s fine without them, so you just remove them for him before you cover him again for the night. You bring the blanket close to his chest and fix his pillow to his preference. At last, he lays on the bed feeling much better.

“Thank you for everything,” Miguel says as he watches you fix your chair to sleep, wishing you’d go home so you can properly rest or for there to be something far more comfortable than the fold out chair, but he can already hear you turning down his suggestions.

You fix your pillow before you turn around to face him, giving him a small smile. “Always,” you say softly. “I’m going to use the bathroom. Just call me if you need anything, okay?”

He nods and watches as you pick up your travel bag before you head into the bathroom, closing the door quietly after yourself. Miguel turns away and looks up at the ceiling, remembering. Last night around this time he was in the lab, feeling restless but still working, not even imagining what was going to happen in a matter of hours. He sighs softly now, repositioning his head to get comfortable. He feels tired and he knows he'll fall asleep soon, but he wants to make sure you’re comfortable, too, or at least as much as possible.

You come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, wearing different clothes but not pajamas, though they look far more comfortable than what you were wearing earlier.

“The AC turns on a lot during the night. Do you want me to lift the blanket higher up, so you don’t get cold?”

Miguel meets your eyes and answers yes, his mind now shifting to how caring you’ve been all day, even sneaking food for him. He has a lot to thank you for, and he feels as though nothing he says or offers to you will ever be able to fully express his gratitude. You fix the blanket and even tuck it in a bit for him before you step back, giving him space.

“Is that comfortable?” you ask, and Miguel nods.

“It is. Thank you.”

You nod, smiling at him softly before you turn around and take a seat on the chair, covering your lower body with a blanket.

“You’re not sleeping yet?” he asks, noticing that you haven’t folded out the chair.

“I’m not sleepy yet.”

And you really don’t, probably due to the large cup of coffee you drank but you know at some point during the night you will as it’s close to twenty-four hours since you slept. Miguel nods though he frowns.

“Try to rest,” he says quietly.

“I will. Don’t worry about me. Rest,” you answer as you pull the blanket higher up your body, thinking.

Miguel nods again, closing his eyes, unable to fight sleep anymore. He ends up falling asleep about fifteen minutes later, his soft and even breathing filling your ears as you sit on the fold out chair. You watch his sleeping figure, the sight providing you calmness as you think about the day. Miguel woke up, talked, ate, and even chuckled at your comment about the infirmary food being a crime. You smile softly, staring at him. He’s okay. He just has to recover and soon he’ll be back in his lab, working like normal, a sight you never thought you’d wish for until now.

You stay awake for an hour more, watching over Miguel, before sleep consumes you.

Miguel wakes up about two hours later. He opens his eyes and looks around, his gaze stopping on you as he takes your sleeping figure. He blinks a few times, still staring at you. Somehow you manage to make sleeping on the fold out chair look comfortable. The blanket is up to your chest, and you hold the pillow vertically to your body, with your head resting on it and your arms wrapped around it. It looks as if you were laying on someone’s chest while hugging them. And Miguel can’t keep his eyes off you as your soft breathing fills his ears, feeling glad that you’re sleeping at last because he doesn’t know how long you’ve been awake for.

He tries to sleep again but it seems that sleep has deserted him and instead he finds himself thinking about everything as he watches over you now. He was able to avoid thinking about a lot of things throughout the day but now, there’s no escape from his thoughts. You’re not awake, there’s no Jess or Peter, or TV to provide relief from the thoughts that have been on his mind since he woke up. And there are so, so many.

First, there’s the fact that Miguel briefly passed away. It isn’t that he thinks he’s invisible. He has experienced too many losses in his life to know that no one is invisible, no matter how strong, how kind, or how innocent someone may be. Death doesn’t care about those things. He’s also not fearful of dying. It’s never been about the actual act itself. It’s always been other factors. Like how a few months ago he was afraid of the aftermath. About whether anyone would care or even show up to his funeral because of the way he carried himself; distant and detached.

Then, on Peter’s birthday, you led him to lose that fear. Now he feels overwhelmed for another reason. It’s the realization that he feels regret. If he was to look back at his life up until the moment his heart stopped, Miguel realizes he wouldn’t look back with satisfaction when it came to his decisions and way of living. No, he would’ve looked back and seen himself experience loss after loss, heartache after heartache. He’d see himself giving up and turning away anyone who tried to get close, leading to his lonely life with a few lapses of time in which he was happy before he’d lose everything again. His short death has made him realize that he doesn’t want to look back at his life, when he’s older or when he’s gone for good, with disappointment and regret.

There’s also the thoughts about his dream or vision, or whatever the hell that was. Miguel moves his fingers under the blanket, extending his arms out the sides of the blanket so he can look at them. He successfully does this without hurting himself and when he finally sees his fingers, he closes his hands, remembering how it felt to hold Gabriella again. How it felt to hug his brother and wife. The dream comes to him quickly, playing through his mind. A part of him wants it to be real, while another part of him feels that it was real. How could it be otherwise when it felt so real? When it made sense? His family’s words echo through his mind again. Everything they said. They want him to move forward. To take this second chance. To stop his current way of living. Miguel also thinks of the guilt he has carried for so long and because a part of him believes his dream was a real but short reunion with them, he feels relieved. Like a weight has been taken off his shoulders, especially after his variant, his wife, and Gabriella forgave him for his actions.

Another thought plaguing Miguel’s mind is Miles’s card. He tried to act normal afterward but he’s sure you noticed the change of mood in him. He began to read it, expecting well wishes for a speedy recovery or something of the sort, and yes, that was part of it but not all of it. For some reason, Miles felt that it was necessary to talk about Miguel’s actions when it came to their “disagreement,” as Miles lightly put it, even though Miguel wouldn’t dare dream of wording it like that after how he behaved. No, Miguel accepts that his actions and words were disgusting and even though everyone has moved on, he continues to feel shame and regret for everything.

For hunting down Miles across the multiverse, for trying to stop him from saving Mr. Morales, the same man who sent him food for the holidays because for some reason he and Mrs. Morales still have it in their hearts to be forgiving and feel concerned for him, despite knowing that Miguel literally asked their son to accept Mr. Morales’s death as a canon event, not to mention the way he treated Miles. Yet, Miles and his family, and everyone else it seems, have moved on – something Miles made clear in his card. With the way Miles acts around him these days, Miguel kind of knew this already though, for Miles continues to call him “tío” sometimes, a title Miguel hasn’t felt worthy of. On top of that, Miles went on and apologized to him, something else Miguel doesn’t feel worthy of and yet, the young superhero apologized, claiming that he had disregarded Miguel’s fear back then, and that even though his theory wasn’t perfect, Miguel was basing it from what he knew back then, from his own experience. All in all, Miguel hadn’t expected such contents in the card but then again, what could he expect from someone who continuously surprised him. So, there’s Miles’s words, lingering in Miguel’s mind.

Then there’s you. You were the one to say it first, to claim him as your friend. And hell, Miguel wishes he could’ve said it back; that you’re his friend. The one that never asks for anything and has remained the same throughout all these months. Always kind, caring, and understanding. Miguel sighs, wishing. Wishing he could say it, and yet he can’t because he’s afraid. Everyone Miguel has ever cared about is gone, and the losses in his life have led to a fear. A fear that the moment he admits out loud that you’re his friend, too, that you’ll disappear; that something will happen to you and Miguel cannot take another loss. He cannot risk it even when a part of his brain tells him he's being irrational.

Miguel’s thoughts are starting to feel more like reasons. Like excuses. Like signs.

Miguel feels like he’s going backwards. For the longest time, Miguel has believed that the best way to “move forward” was accepting loneliness, the lack of friends and family, and that his life’s purpose is his job – his duty. He also believed he put behind certain hardships in his life like his childhood and how his stepfather treated him, not realizing the truth behind it until he discovered that the man he grew up fearful of, was never his father to begin with but rather the man he worked for as an adult. Or how his mother always placed Gabriel on a pedestal, her words cutting through him each time she told Miguel he would never be anything like him. He never resented Gabriel, but he couldn’t say the same for his mother even after they resolved their issues years later. There are so many wounds in Miguel’s heart and while he believes that he has moved on, or put them behind him, the reality is that all his wounds are still there; open and raw.

But Miguel kept going, thinking the next loss or heartache couldn’t possibly be worse than the last one. It was. Each time. It just reinforced his belief that he was meant for this lonely life.

Now, there’s so many signs, so many reasons… Everything around him, all his thoughts, every part of him telling him to go ahead and get his hopes up again. To let himself go back to a younger version of himself that longed for so much.

For a family. For friendships.

His family told him to try and move forward. His variant told him to seize the opportunity, to find another purpose other than work. Basically, to not let the hardships of his life dictate the rest of it. Then there’s Miles’s card, forgiving him for the way he acted towards him. And finally, you’re here. Sleeping on a fold out chair that he can never imagine sleeping comfortably on, hours later after telling him that he’s your friend. Looking after him in ways he’s never been looked after, treating him like he’s worthy of your friendship. Like he’s deserving of this second chance and being able to call you his friend. So many signs.

Miguel sighs quietly. It feels like he’s going backwards, and there’s nothing he can do about it. And maybe, he doesn’t want to do anything about it, Miguel realizes as he continues to watch you sleep.

He lays in bed, watching you and thinking when his thoughts are interrupted.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Miguel turns to Lyla. “Can’t sleep.”

“So, you’re just watching Y/N instead…?”

“I’m not – what are you doing here?” Miguel asks frowning, talking quietly to avoid disturbing your sleep.

“Oh, don’t even try to deny it. You’ve been watching her for like – the last half hour. It’s weird, please stop,” Lyla says crossing her arms over her chest, frowning back at Miguel.

“I wasn’t… I was thinking.”

“Sureee, if that’s going to help you sleep, then go ahead.”

Miguel’s frown deepens but he says nothing else, his eyes returning to you, and once again, he wonders how you look so comfortable in that damn chair. Lyla joins him in staring at you and Miguel notices.

“Now who’s staring?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m just ‘thinking,’ boss,” Lyla says with a smirk, causing Miguel to roll his eyes. “But in all seriousness, I’m glad she’s finally sleeping. She’s been awake since three in the morning when she realized something was wrong.”

That peels Miguel’s attention from you to Lyla.

“What?”

Lyla shrugs, arms still crossed over her chest. “Yeah, she was awake since three in the morning and hasn’t slept until now.”

“No, the other thing. The thing about her figuring out something was wrong.”

Lyla’s eyes widen and she uncrosses her arms quickly. “Oh, you know, I just remembered that I need to do something for Jess. She wants it done by the time she arrives, so I ought to go because I don’t need a lecture from Jess.”

“Lyla,” Miguel whispers in a warning tone.

“Rest well and don’t be a creep, goodnight!” Lyla says before she disappears, leaving him with questions.

Miguel sighs, feeling annoyed that she avoided the question but now he knows. You were the one that figured it out but how? What were you doing at HQ so late? Miguel decides that he’ll ask you tomorrow, or rather later, as it’s already early Sunday. Miguel continues to watch you sleep until your soft and even breathing lure him back to sleep.

★★★

A few hours later, Miguel wakes up. He finds you sitting on the fold out chair, already dressed in different clothes and looking like you’ve showered. You’re on the tablet Ben Reilly brought you yesterday, eyebrows furrowed as you type into the screen.

“Good morning,” Miguel says, his voice sounding raspy and deeper than usual.

You look up and stand up immediately, leaving the tablet on the chair as you approach him.

“Good morning, Miguel. Did you sleep well?”

Miguel nods, closing his eyes for a second, getting used to the brighter light in the room. The sun is out today, and the sky is sprinkled with white clouds. The rain is gone.

“I did, thank you. What time is it?”

“It’s nine.”

“I slept too much,” he responds, opening his eyes.

“You need as much rest as possible,” you reply, observing Miguel’s face. He looks much better today.

“I guess so,” Miguel replies, looking at you again. “You look ready to start the day.”

You nod and smile. “I woke up about two hours ago and decided to go ahead and get ready for the day.”

Miguel gives you a small grin. “What are you working on?”

Meeting his eyes, you continue to smile. “Well, I asked Jess this morning if there was anything else I could help with around here. She assigned me to work on the report for this week.”

Miguel nods, thinking that’s something he always works on, but it doesn’t bother him that you’re doing it. If anything, it makes him think about something. And the thought grows as you grab the tablet and show him your progress so far. The layout is like the current one, just slightly different and he likes it. With the thoughts from last night still present in his mind, Miguel has the sudden thought that maybe he ought to let members do more around HQ. Maybe he should let someone else work on the report with him. Someone like you. He smiles softly as you show him, nodding. He’ll bring it up later, once he’s fully recovered.

“It looks great,” he says, and he means it.

“Thank you,” you say, saving your progress and putting the tablet away. “So, updates. Jess and Peter said they’d be here in a while. They’re bringing breakfast. The doctor came in and said she’ll look at your wounds sometime today to see the progress. Based on how they’re doing, she’ll decide when to discharge you. She also said you can shower today after she checks your wounds. So, would you like me or someone else to bring your personal items for a shower? You can wear normal clothes now, by the way. You just need to wear a jacket or something of the sort that can be slipped on and off if needed without you having to raise your arms too much.”

Miguel nods. “Yes, please. I really would like to shower and wear something else other than this,” he says looking down at the hospital gown. Thankfully he’s wearing his boxers underneath, but he doesn’t like how thin the fabric is and the AC has been constantly on.

“Alright, then we can ask the doctor to check your wounds after breakfast if you want. And then you can shower, which reminds me, the doctor said there’s a male nurse available. He’ll be ready to assist you.”

Miguel shakes his head. “I can do it by myself.”

You frown. “Miguel…”

“At least the lower half of my body, I can,” he says softly and looks away. “I may need help with my hair and torso but that’s it.”

“You’ll let the nurse help you with the rest though, right? You’ll hurt yourself if you try to do it alone.”

Miguel continues to look away. The thought of a stranger, despite being his employee, makes him feel weird, and not because it’s a man. He doesn’t want a stranger to touch him. He sighs and you know why.

“Would you be – more comfortable with one of us helping you?” you ask lowly.

Miguel’s eyes shift to you. There’s Jess, Peter, and you as his options.

You shrug a bit. “I don’t mind. And I’m sure neither would Peter and Jess if you ask them.”

Miguel nods slowly. “I hate to ask…”

You stare at him, swallowing slowly because you have a feeling that he’d prefer for you to help him, but he can’t ask. You decide to put it out there for him.

“I can help you if you’d like.”

And Miguel nods a few seconds later. “Thank you. I’m sorry – I know it’s too much. You’ve done so much already and I…”

“It’s not too much,” you answer softly. “It’s alright. Let’s just focus on you recovering, okay? Everything else – it doesn’t matter.”

Miguel nods but he still feels odd about this. He’s so used to doing everything on his own, which is how he got here, he realizes. He tries to put his feelings away just as there’s a knock on the door. Jess and Peter walk in, both carrying takeout bags. Peter is talking loudly and saying something about a nurse. Miguel and you frown, thinking that they must have been seen carrying in outside food.

“You didn’t get in trouble for bringing outside food?” you ask.

Jess frowns before she realizes what you’re talking about. “Oh, right. There’s that rule. Nobody follows it,” she says with a shrug.

You turn to Miguel as Jess and Peter start putting out the food on the same table from yesterday. The two of you share a look of disbelief at Jess’s comment before you grin, shaking your head softly. Miguel offers you a small smile in return.

The four of you have breakfast. It turns out that Jess brought breakfast from a diner in her universe, apparently a favorite spot of her husband’s, who kindly sent the food and wished Miguel a speedy recovery. After breakfast, Jess and Peter ask Miguel if they can talk about certain tasks that need his approval. You decide to take this time and collect his personal items. He gives you a quick rundown of everything he’d need and where you can find it before you head out.

It doesn’t take you very long. You retrieve his personal hygiene items like his shampoo, body wash, and deodorant along with his hairbrush. You move to the clothes next. It turns out that Miguel has a large walk-in closet, located in his room that you completely missed when you came to look for him two nights ago as the doors blend with the rest of the wall so much. You pick up two pairs of dark grey sweatpants, at his request, and two jackets, along with two pairs of boxers. You remember to grab some slippers and socks as well, and pack everything into a travel bag before you head out of his bedroom, briefly taking in his space.

Miguel’s room is large, clean, and well organized but you can tell he doesn’t spend a lot of time here. Everything is in neutral colors like his grey bed set. You head to Miguel’s home office next to pick up the last thing he requested. A vial that’s supposed to contain a green liquid and a syringe. You wondered but of course you didn’t ask.

You enter the office, finding it like the rest of Miguel’s penthouse; clean and organized, all neutral colors. You head to the desk, remembering he said you’d find what he needs in the first drawer and sure enough, you find the items there. The squared vials, which contain a neon green liquid, are in a small box meant to keep them from breaking. You pick one up, careful not to drop it, and place it in one of the small storage bags within the traveling bag. The large syringe is also in the drawer, and it’s apparently Spider-Man themed as you notice the injecting needles are designed to look like a spider’s fangs. You slide it into the bag, too. You walk out of the office, ready to head back as the strange vial is on your mind.

When you return to HQ, you find Jess and Peter standing off to the side. Miguel is on the bed surrounded by the medical team just as they’re preparing to remove his gauzes. You stick back with Jess and Peter, still holding the travel bag in your hand as Jess tells Miguel about the different things done to fix the system failure from yesterday. Miguel nods, listening intently as a nurse unties the hospital gown from the back of his neck, gently moving it down his arms to not hurt him and for the first time, you see the extent of his injuries. Most of his torso is covered in gauzes with only a few areas showing his skin and it makes you realize just how much he was injured. Thankfully Jess continues talking, showing no hesitation. Meanwhile, you sense Peter going still much like you. He looks out the window with a soft and thoughtful look on his face while you look down at the traveling bag, both of you feeling stunned by the sight of Miguel’s torso covered in gauzes.

You eventually look up again, noticing that the team is now removing gauzes, revealing Miguel’s injuries. Even from this distance you can see light pink lines across his skin from the smaller wounds. You also notice other things, like Miguel’s physique. You obviously know he’s well-built due to being a superhero but as your eyes respectfully inspect his upper body you still feel… admiration? Surprise? In a matter of seconds your eyes take in his broad and defined shoulders, his collarbone, and the lines of definition that mark his chest and abdomen. And when you look at his arms, you notice his large biceps and the veins leading down to his hands. As silly as it sounds all you can think about is that phrase everyone uses when they talk about a well-built and handsome man. It’s like Miguel was sculpted by -

“Did you get everything Miguel needed?”

“What?” you reply quietly, blinking and turning your head to Peter, startled.

“I asked if you got everything Miguel needed. You okay? You look a little distracted,” Peter says with a little grin.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you nod. “Yeah, I got everything. And yes, I’m fine. Just – it’s been a stressful weekend, that’s all,” you answer neutrally, looking down at your gizmo as an excuse to avoid Peter’s gaze because you sense that he caught you staring.

You briefly look at Miguel, his eyes are on Jess as she continues to talk, thankfully unaware that you were staring at him. The medical team continues to work and at last, all the gauzes are removed. You can see the worst of his injuries now which include the two large cuts on his side and then the one in his stomach from the trident, which needed stitches. The doctor tells you how to go about cleaning his wounds, as Miguel makes it known you’ll be helping him, so you take note of everything for when the time comes.

“Well, that’s everything. The other thing I was thinking about is that we should consider training or at least educating more members on how to work with the system. Y/N had to get Margo in order to get Lyla working again when she arrived at HQ,” Jess says, not realizing Miguel still hasn’t heard the whole story.

Miguel sits on the bed; the hospital gown is draped over his chest now. At the mention of you arriving to HQ and discovering something was wrong, he meets your eyes. Two people have now mentioned you arriving at HQ and being the one to discover something was wrong. Miguel’s curiosity only grows but he doesn’t ask right now with Jess and Peter here. He’ll be asking you soon, even though he notices you avert his gaze. He returns his gaze to Jess and nods.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he says after a few seconds, which surprises Jess. She was expecting opposition. “Let’s put together a list of members that would be interested and suitable for it.”

Jess nods. “I already have a list. These two are included,” Jess says nodding at you and Peter.

Miguel’s eyes turn to you and Peter. “If you’re interested, you’re approved.”

“Oh, thanks, pal! I’m in.”

You nod. “I’m interested, too. Thank you.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll be the first to be trained,” Miguel says softly. “I’ll personally teach you once I’m back in the lab.”

Peter and you nod, giving him smiles.

“Well, that’s really everything now. We’ll go ahead and head out so you can shower. Don’t worry about lunch or dinner. My husband and I are cooking something for you,” Jess says smiling fondly. “He agreed you two deserve a homemade meal now that things are calmer. You know how he is,” she adds with a smile that you only see on her when she talks about her partner.

“Thank you, Jess. Please give my thanks to your husband as well,” Miguel says pausing, taking the moment to look at all of you. “Thank you for everything,” Miguel expresses, with his tone full of sincerity.

You smile at him as Jess and Peter say something, not finding it necessary to tell him anything else. You’ve told him already. Being here and helping him is not an inconvenience to you. He’s your friend, and you want to be here for him.

Jess and Peter head out shortly after, and you prepare to help Miguel shower.

You set his personal hygiene items out in the bathroom, along with his clothes before you help Miguel out of the bed once again. You walk with him to the bathroom and start the shower for him, angling the shower head so that he can wash the lower half of his body without getting his torso wet, as too much exposure to water can lead to infection. You leave towels out, easily accessible for him and head out but not before telling him to let you know if he needs help or when he’s ready.

You also ask him to take his time so he doesn’t hurt himself as the deeper wounds will take maybe two or three more days to fully heal. And Miguel promises he will.

You head out, closing the door behind you and prepare the items you’ll be needing to dress his wounds once he’s out. You also prepare the soap, washcloths, and two water basins the medical team provided to wash his upper body.

You wait patiently for Miguel to finish and as you do, you clean around the room to give yourself something to do. You fix his bed, fold the blankets, and rearrange the flowers and snack baskets gifted to Miguel since you picked up more items this morning while Miguel was still sleeping from the waiting area. Once done, you look around as you take a sip of leftover coffee from breakfast and that’s when you hear Miguel’s voice. You walk over and knock, asking if you can come in and do so once he replies yes.

When you walk into the bathroom, Miguel is standing in the shower. A towel is wrapped around his waist. The end of the towel is tucked in but he still his hand over it, as if he’s afraid it’ll slip off.

“Everything okay?” you ask. “No issues?”

“No issues, I just took a long time,” he says quietly.

“That’s alright. As long as you don’t get hurt, that’s all that matters,” you say. “Let me grab the other items, okay?”

He nods before you walk out and retrieve the items you prepared earlier. You come in again, feeling glad the shower is large enough to fit about three people despite a shower chair and bench being inside. Miguel watches silently, unable to stop himself from feeling embarrassed about the whole thing. He observes you place the water basins on the shower chair before you check the water temperature to make sure it’s not too hot, as you don’t want to cause Miguel any irritation or discomfort to his sensitive wounds. You finally angle the shower head towards the water basins to fill them as this is how you’re washing his chest. You check the soap that was given to you by the medical team when you remember.

“Shoot, I forgot to ask for something else,” you say, placing the soap on the bathroom counter. “It shouldn’t take me long, hold on.”

“What’s needed?” Miguel asks curiously, as nothing seems to be missing.

You pause, thinking how to word your statement. “I’m going to ask for gloves. It might be better for me to wear gloves to avoid – touching your injuries directly.”

You feel satisfied with your response. You didn’t say that you’ll be asking for gloves specifically to respect his boundaries regarding physical touch. All throughout the weekend you’ve done your best to avoid it, only touching him when there are fabrics in between and when it’s absolutely necessary. Miguel looks down at you with a look you can only describe as soft and tender, but it’s so brief you almost feel like you made it up.

Miguel gazes at you, knowing your true reason for wanting to request gloves, which leaves him unable to stop this warm feeling from taking root in his chest. Tenderness. It spreads across his chest rapidly and he tries his best to hide it even when he’s sure it’s too late to prevent it from showing on his face, but he can’t help it.

Despite everything, how tired you may be and how much he’s already asking of you, you’re still trying to respect his boundaries, something he’s always been silently grateful for. He gives you a small smile.

“I don’t mind,” Miguel says at last.

You nod slowly. “Okay – you’re sure, though? I can quickly go get some. The medical team has been wonderful, and they’d get me a pair in no time.”

“It’s alright. You don’t need to get gloves,” Miguel replies quietly but with a reassuring tone.

You nod again and look at the water basins, they’re halfway filled now.

“Okay… Alright, then let’s get you cleaned up. You might start getting cold with the AC continuously running,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the fact he’s okay with potentially feeling your hands on his skin.

You push away your thoughts regarding that and prepare yourself mentally, as you don’t want to hurt Miguel in the process. You wash your hands thoroughly and go through the steps the medical team gave you in your head as Miguel waits patiently. The two of you decide to start with washing his chest first before anything else as you both figure that it’ll take the most time and then leave his hair for last.

And so, after grabbing the smaller shower bench to stand on because you can’t reach his shoulders all the way, you begin. You start from Miguel’s shoulders and make your way down slowly. You do this in parts. Cleaning the areas gently, rinsing the soap away, and then softly patting dry Miguel’s skin to avoid any infections. Your movements are gentle and cautious, and you continuously ask Miguel if he’s alright; urging him to tell you if you need to be more careful. Miguel assures you he’s in no pain or discomfort. He almost tells you he believes it’s impossible for you to be any gentler with him. Your gentleness makes him feel like some fragile object that may break with just the wrong look. Thankfully, his embarrassment fades slowly as you don’t seem to mind this. You look so focused on the task, like it’s your sole mission to avoid hurting him.

You dip the washcloth into the water basin once more before you slightly push the shower bench away, no longer needing it for height right now until you wash his back. You carry on while Miguel stands there, still holding the towel around his waist with one hand softly, staring at the shower wall and occasionally looking down at you briefly. He distracts himself for a bit by wondering if he’ll have some scars from this. He’s certain the trident wound will most definitely leave one behind since it was the deepest wound, but it doesn’t bother him. Miguel doesn’t view scars or anything of the sort like stretchmarks on a body as a flaw or imperfection. He’s just curious if there’ll be a physical reminder of this event on his body.

Miguel’s thoughts are interrupted when he feels the washcloth lower on his body. You’re about to reach the trident wound at last and that means you’re reaching his lower abdomen. He feels a bit embarrassed as the towel is just inches above his pelvic area. He’s afraid that you’ll find this to be too much but when he looks at you, you have the same look on your face. You’re not eyeing him or helping him with hesitation. You’re only focused on his comfort and making sure that the wounds are clean. He does think about the way you were looking at him earlier though when the team was removing the gauzes. He noticed a look of surprise on your face, but he doesn’t know if it was due to the injuries or his body overall. Either way, he didn’t mind.

You finish at last and rinse the last part before you dry the area softly but effectively, as this is the area with the worst of his injuries.

“We’re done. Do you feel any discomfort? Please tell me if you do,” you state with concern.

“No discomfort. I hardly felt anything,” Miguel reassures you. “Really, you can relax.”

You sigh softly and nod, relieved because you can tell he’s not lying. “I’m glad to hear that. I was worried I was putting too much pressure at times because some of the wounds had – you know – dry blood, so I wanted to clean the wounds properly,” you softly reply. You give him a small smile now, glad the most nerve wrecking part is over. “Alright, let’s wash the rest of your body now.”

You wash the rest of Miguel’s body, washing his arms all the way to his fingers. You keep a neutral face even when you hold his wrists so you can wash his hands, noticing the slits on Miguel’s finger pads from where his talons come out. And of course, you’re sort of in awe at how large his hands are. It’s not like you haven’t noticed before but they somehow look larger without the suit. You push your thoughts away, making sure that Miguel is in no discomfort and that you don’t waste time but even then, you can’t help but notice how his skin feels or how warm he is. You silently think about how you’ve never encountered anyone with such body warmth.

The two of you are silent the whole time but it’s a comfortable silence. Neither of you feel the need to fill the quiet and besides, Miguel’s mind is occupied with last night’s thoughts, about the new proposition to educate members on how to operate the system, and on top of that, he’s still wondering how you knew something was wrong. He wants to ask but the fact that you averted his gaze when Jess mentioned it makes him think you’re not ready to talk about it. So, he’ll wait for a few days.

You gently wash Miguel’s sides, his underarms, and finally his back having to use the shower bench again to reach his shoulders. You rinse his body, holding a towel above the one wrapped around his waist to avoid getting it damp. Finally, you pat him dry everywhere again.

You move to his hair at last. For this, the shower chair is used. You arrange it so that you can stand behind Miguel while he sits on it. With everything you need at your disposal, you start by wetting his hair. You pour warm water, making sure that his hair is completely wet before you lather the shampoo in your hands. You proceed to glide your fingers into Miguel’s hair, gently pressing your fingertips into his scalp.

At your request, Miguel’s eyes are closed since you’re worried water or shampoo will get in his eyes. And the moment he feels your fingertips on his scalp, Miguel’s relieved you requested that of him. His lips part slightly in both surprise and delight at the sensation of your fingers in his hair. Fortunately for him, you don’t notice. He quickly closes his lips and bites the inside of his cheek as he continues to feel your fingertips through his hair. His grip on the towel around his waist tightens and for a few seconds he's afraid his talons will come out.

And you, you’re oblivious to all of this as Miguel tries very hard not to let it show. You just continue to wash his hair, noticing more than ever the curls on Miguel’s hair. His hair is silky, and you briefly wonder what it’d be like to glide your fingers through it when it’s dry. It reminds you of the countless times you played with Peter’s hair, something he absolutely loved, claiming it always eased his stress.

Thinking about Peter in this moment leads you to remember the one time you washed his hair. It was shortly after the two of you moved in together. You painted the living room, and he got paint on it, which refused to come out after the first two showers. He ended up sitting on the tub while you sat on the edge, washing his hair a few times until it finally came off. It was the only time you got to reciprocate such intimate act even though he helped you shower on more than five occasions, when you returned home with nasty bruises and cuts, and completely spent from fighting.

Miguel continues to sit still, your hands still washing his hair gently, and he decides to talk about anything to keep his mind occupied and distracted from your hands on his scalp.

“Have you ever received injuries like these?” he asks, keeping his eyes closed.

The question interrupts your thoughts, and it takes you a few seconds to answer.

“To this degree… One time only. I got cut with a sword,” you say, recalling that incidence. “The guy caught me by surprise while I was helping civilians out of the way. I needed a few stitches.”

Miguel hums softly in acknowledgement. “A sword…”

You chuckle. “Yep. Got home afterwards and well, Peter had to help.”

Miguel turns his head slightly at that. “Peter? You didn’t go to the hospital?”

You slow down your movements as you’re now washing the hair near Miguel’s nape. “I was too – precautious, I guess you could say. Paranoid might be the best term here. I feared that the hospital staff would start asking questions or put two and two together about being Spider-Woman. I was afraid that my identity would be revealed. That Peter’s life would be a mess because of me.”

Miguel listens intently, briefly feeling thankful that the conversation is distracting him from your touch.

“So, I refused to go to the hospital. It was a condition I had. Unless it was very, very serious then I’d go but otherwise no. Peter ended up taking a class on wound care and CPR because of my decision, even though he was very against it, but he was always very supportive… Thankfully by the time that happened he already knew how to take care of it. That was the first and last time he had to give me stitches.”

You pause for a few seconds, thinking. To this day you have a slight scar on the side of your stomach, and you carry it with love, for it’s one of the reminders of Peter’s love. You sigh softly and wash Miguel’s hair near his ears now, careful not to get shampoo on them. Miguel sits there thinking about Peter. He never met the man but just from what he’s acquire, he knows Peter loved you. So much, that he took classes on wound care to treat your injuries. Miguel feels grief for you. You had such a beautiful relationship with Peter. He wonders silently if at this point, you’d be married to him. If you’d have a child by now.

You’re almost done washing his hair when his thoughts lead to a different line of thinking. He hates it because he knows it’s wrong and yet he cannot stop his thoughts. Would you still be here if Peter was alive? Or would you be just another member who reached the conclusion that perhaps he was a lost cause after weeks of him ignoring your coffee cups? Would you go home to Peter and tell him about your distant boss, who spends too many hours on his own in his lab? Would you be here? Would you be a constant in his life the way you are now?

Would any of this have happened at all, he wonders. If Peter was here, there would’ve been no need for him to show up to your apartment that day you were unwell. There would be no talking on Peter’s birthday over cake and ice cream. No sharing of pan dulce and Mexican candy on Dia de los Muertos night, no one to watch the Christmas lights or New Year’s Eve show with. There would be no you.

You wouldn’t be a part of his life the way you are but if Miguel had the power to choose between you being a part of his life or you living your best life with Peter unscathed, he’d choose the latter, even if it meant there would be no you in his life.

Even then though, the simple thought that there’s a chance you could’ve never been a part of his life like this, leaves Miguel with a heavy feeling in his chest that rises to his throat. A feeling that he hasn’t felt in a while and it’s one that tells him he has something to lose again. And that’s how he truly knows. He’s been going backwards all this time. Each moment spent with you behind closed doors talking over coffee, or on rooftops gazing at cities across the multiverse, each moment that either of you’ve shared something with the other about your past and loved ones, or each time he thought of you late at night when his exhausted mind wandered off; he’s been slipping backwards all this time and he hasn’t even realized it until now. And despite knowing he’d give this up for you to be happy with Peter, he still can’t help but grief over the thought alone, causing that feeling to grow in Miguel’s throat.

You continue to wash Miguel’s hair and then rinse, laying your hand gently over his forehead to prevent any water from rolling down his face as you do so. You have no idea what’s on Miguel’s mind or what causes him to sigh deeply before he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I haven’t said it but I’m sorry for your loss. Peter – he sounds like he was an incredible human being.”

You smile sadly as you rinse his hair out. “Thank you… He was. I wish he would’ve had more time. I think – he would’ve done a lot of amazing things. He had so many goals,” you share quietly, remembering all the ideas and plans he had, which had remained exactly that. Just ideas and plans. You finish rinsing Miguel’s hair and give him a happier smile now. “We’re almost done here.”

Miguel nods gently, still thinking about everything. For once, his mind isn’t occupied with tasks regarding the Spider Society but with other affairs. As you rinse the bottom of his hair, squeezing out the water gently, Miguel opens his eyes.

“Y/N?” he says, making you pause.

“Yes?”

Miguel stays silent for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling.

“Thank you,” Miguel says softly, heavy with sincerity.

And the way he says those simple words, it makes your lips part in surprise and endearment, for you sense that his thanks extend beyond this moment. Miguel turns his head towards you, his red eyes meeting your gaze. You give him a smile.

“Always,” you reply quietly, and he nods with a small smile of his own before you finish rinsing his hair.

You finish helping Miguel with the rest. You dry his hair with a towel and brush it. You help him get dressed once the two of you figure out a way to do so without him feeling improper. At last, Miguel stands in his sweatpants, still topless as you must dress his wounds. You do this in the room instead of the bathroom, with Miguel sitting on the fold-out chair you’ve claimed as yours this weekend. You sit on the shower bench and tend to his wounds the way you were told to, applying your own knowledge from experience over the years.

The TV is on as you work carefully. Miguel seems unbothered until you reach the trident wound and the two lacerations on his side, wincing silently which makes you stop to give him a moment. At last, his wounds are taken care of for the day. You help him apply deodorant before you slip a beige jacket on, zipping it up so he won’t get cold.

It isn’t until you’re done fixing the bathroom from the shower that Miguel asks about the vial, reminding you about it. You get it out along with the syringe before you show them to him. You know he can’t do it himself and despite your curiosity, you don’t ask questions about it, deciding that he’ll share details about it if he wants. So, you only offer to help, and he accepts. He tells you how to do it and the process is over in a few seconds with a fleeting red glow in his eyes. You don’t say anything and neither does Miguel, who looks down at his hands as you put away the syringe.

As promised, Jess arrives during lunch and dinnertime to bring the two of you food. You help Miguel eat both times and you notice he seems in much better spirits than the day before. It’s about 7pm when your gizmo goes off, alarming you of a new notification, and then another, and then another. Miguel, who now sits on the bed, turns to look at you with a puzzled look much like yours as you check it. You smile in amusement as you see it’s your friends, wondering if you and Miguel need something, and just overall asking about his health. Another one arrives, making Miguel raise his eyebrow as you look up at him.

“It’s my friends,” you say with a soft smile. “They’re wondering how you’re doing and if we need anything.”

Miguel nods, noticing the smile on your face as you talk about your group of friends. He realizes you probably haven’t seen them since Friday after the weekly dinner that Peter and Mary Jane host. Dinners that Miguel has been invited to but has never shown up to.

“If you want to see them,” Miguel starts. “They can come.”

You hold his gaze with a bit of surprise, which Miguel finds amusing.

“There are no rules against visitors this late in the evening, and even if there were – they’d probably be disregarded as well, just like the outside food rule,” Miguel says with a shrug, making you smile even more.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

You beam at Miguel, and nod before you invite them over. Your visible excitement makes Miguel feel pleased with his decision. And, in the span of ten minutes, you and Miguel are joined by all your friends, including Lego Spider-Man, who was apparently hanging out with Noir. Miguel sits on the bed, surrounded by some of your friends as you hang out by the windows with Hobie and Pav specifically.

You watch Miguel as he talks to Lego Spider-Man, who’s held in Noir’s palm. You notice he gives Miguel a balloon and a flower, from his Lego universe, of course. Miguel nods at something the small superhero tells him, and you smile faintly before turning your attention back to your friends.

Miguel thanks everyone as they approach him, not only for the cards and well wishes but for helping around HQ. When Miles approaches him, he takes the time to thank him for his words – for his forgiveness.

“Wait, you guys know what I just realized?” Pav asks suddenly in a surprised tone.

You and Hobie both raise an eyebrow.

“This is the first time I’ve seen Miguel in normal clothes. This is so weird,” he shares frowning at Miguel, who doesn’t notice Pav’s shock. “It’s like – It feels wrong to see him like this.”

Hobie chuckles and you try not to laugh, catching Miguel’s eyes. He raises an eyebrow at you, as if asking what’s so funny. You shrug and mouth “later.” He nods as Pav continues about how strange Miguel looks until he changes the discussion to Gayatri, his girlfriend.

Miguel looks around the room, now filled with chaotic energy. His eyes land on you as you smile and nod at something Pav says.

He sighs quietly. He thinks about the dream with his family, about their words. He remembers Gabriel asking him to try to move forward and live life, and Miguel telling his brother he’d try. He doesn’t know exactly how he’s going to approach this entirely, but he is going to try. And as he continues to look at you, he thinks of his thoughts from earlier; about the possibility of you not being here or being his friend.

He'd give this up if it meant you’d be happy at home with Peter right now. If he had the power, he would but he doesn’t. He can’t change the past. None of it. No matter how much he has wished he could, it’s out of his hands. And so, he has no other excuse to give this up. No other excuse to push this away or catch himself from falling backwards even though he knows it’s too late anyway. He can’t walk away even if he wanted to.

“It’s gonna be alright, tío,” Miles says out of nowhere, noticing Miguel staring at you.

Miguel looks at Miles and nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Thank you… mijo.”

Miles nods with a grin, his eyes light up at Miguel’s response, which the commander of the Spider Society notices.

“Uh – I just remembered I need to tell Gwen something. I’ll be right back,” Miles says, looking like he can’t believe what he heard, amusing Miguel before he walks to Gwen.

Miguel’s eyes return to you. He has a lot to share with you about his life; like his childhood, the situation with his parents, Gabriel’s death, or why he needs to use suppressants among other events in his life. He’ll share those things with you one day, little by little. The same way one day he’ll say those words that his mouth begs him to say.

You’re my friend.

One day, he’ll claim you as his friend out loud, too. In the meantime, he’ll try to show it through his actions instead.

___________ *Translation for italicized Spanish words:* conchas - Mexican bread shaped like a seashell Dia de los Muertos - Day of the Dead Mierda - Shit Tío - Uncle Pan Dulce - Sweet bread; Mexican pastry breads Mijo - My son ___________ Hi, guys! So sorry for taking a while to update. I honestly didn't expect to take this long writing this part. I had a clear idea for this part but got caught up with family events and just life in general. To the anon that asked when this part was going up and I said last Monday - I'm sorry it took me basically another whole week. 😭 I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter though. My simpness jumped out for this one so bad lol. The speakable things I'd do for this man are unreal!! I just want to hug Miguel and hold him and tell him he's worth it and deserving of love and friendships!!! 🥺

Anyway, I hope to return to my regular Sunday schedule this upcoming weekend. I'm also planning on doing some short drabbles for this month because I can't stop thinking about autumn and Miguel and just how freaking cozy he would be. Also, just very quickly! Some readers have drawn fan art for Nonviolent Communication, which I still cannot wrap my head around. I'm so, so thankful that these lovely artists drew art for it. I never imagined that someone, let alone two people, would take time out of their days to do so. Thank you again so much! 🥹 If you're interested to see some of the scenes from the story, including someone's take on reader's Peter (which @sunsetdoodler somehow managed to draw exactly like my personal vision of him??! I still feel emotional. One of their drawings was also the inspiration for the larger coffee cups for Miguel after we talked about Miguel probably needing more caffeine because of his physique lol) then please go check it out, and show the artists some love, please!! It's all linked on my masterlist. Thank you so much for the support throughout this story. I genuinely love reading the comments and asks I receive, and I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story to the end. I'm just really in awe with how wonderful this community is and I'm thankful to my 6'9" half-Irish, half-Mexican boyfriend for it.

I'm off to sleep now as it's 1am and I've been writing and editing all weekend lol. Take care guys and enjoy the spooky vibes this month!! ❤️🎃🍁

-Alondra🍁

Tag list: @loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @rootin-tootin-morgan @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah @mandodinstuff @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea

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chicgeekgirl89 · 6 months

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Fandom: 911 Lone Star Summary: When Carlos receives a late night call from one of his sisters who is worried about the health of his nephew, T.K. doesn't hesitate to jump in and show the entire family why he's worthy of Carlos' love. Thanks to @carlos-tk, @thisbuildinghasfeelings, @whatsintheboxmh, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut, @strandnreyes, @carlos-in-glasses, and @bonheur-cafe for the WIP Wednesday tags. I hope you will accept this instead, belated as it is! A/N: This is my 100th fic on AO3!! 🍾🍾🍾 (Not my 100th fic ever, many of them never made the transfer from ff.net, but still!) I've been sitting on this one for a while and seeing T.K. shine feels like it's worthy of being #100. Also Adriana and Francesca weren't supposed to be in this one, but they literally barged through those hospital doors and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I couldn't love them more!

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“Sooo…never again, right?” Carlos asks.

“Oh my god never again,” T.K. agrees fervently. “Why were the plates so weird? Some of them weren’t even plates at all. And the food was…bad.”

“So bad,” Carlos says. “Tiny and bad.”

“Three hours. We were there three hours,” T.K. says in disbelief as he slows down at a stoplight. “Why did we have to wait like thirty minutes between courses?”

“The menu said it was to give us time to renew our digestive energies and be more present in the dining experience,” Carlos says.

“I didn’t know my digestive energies needed to be renewed.”

“Me neither.”

It had taken them months to get a reservation at the trendiest new restaurant in town and they’d both been excited for the occasion. The menu promised a foodie paradise with unique dishes, creative presentation, and an emphasis on sustainability. They’d gotten dressed up and ready for a fun date night out only to be disappointed the moment they’d walked in the door.

The place had been crowded, they were practically elbow to elbow with the tables next to them. Carlos had learned the intimate details of one couple’s fertility issues and another couple’s trouble with their neighbors.

Then the food had started coming and been a complete disaster. Carlos considered himself something of a foodie, and T.K.’s New Yorker palate had sampled a number of cuisines over the years, but this had been the worst food Carlos had ever eaten. He hadn’t been able to identify a single item on any of his plates and his tongue longed for something with even a hint of flavor. The plate that held a single, lukewarm radish had nearly been his undoing.

Overall it had been three hours of bland food, awkward company, and not at all what either of them had imagined.

“I’m starving. Can we please pick up something on the way home?” T.K. asks, his stomach letting out a gurgle as if to affirm his statement.

“God yes. I think Chu’s is still open, right?”

Carlos pulls out his phone, but it lights up with a call before he can check to see Chu’s hours. “Why’s my sister calling?”

T.K. glances over at him. “Which one?”

“Lucía,” Carlos says. It’s not typical of his sister to call at this hour out of the blue and he feels his internal warning bells activate as he picks up the call. “Luci? Que pasó?”

“Hey Carlos,” she says, sounding tired and stressed. “Sorry for calling, I know it’s late.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re just on our way home from dinner. What’s going on?”

“I don’t—I’m probably overreacting,” she says. “It’s just that Justin is out of town for work and I’m—“

Now he’s really worried. “Lucí, it’s okay. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Sebastian woke up sick a couple days. I didn’t think it was a big deal, both boys are sick all the time from daycare and school, but he wasn’t any better today, so I took him to the doctor. They said he’s fine, likely just a virus or something, but…his fever won’t break and he keeps saying his belly hurts.”

Carlos can hear the deep seated worry in his sister’s voice and it rocks him to his core. His sister is an amazing mom, fearless and sure. To hear her so uncertain is throwing him off.

“I didn’t know if maybe T.K. could just give me some advice or something?” she says, ending it like a question.

He looks over at his fiancé. “What’s going on?” T.K. asks,.

“Sebastian’s sick,” Carlos says. “Do you mind?”

“No, no, put her on speaker,” T.K. says immediately, turning his eyes back to the road as the light changes.“Hey Lucía,” he says loudly so she can hear him.

“Hey T.K.,” she says. “I’m so sorry, I know people probably ask you for medical help all the time.”

“It’s not a problem. Tell me what’s going on,” T.K. says.

“He won’t eat, he’s barely drinking. His fever had been holding steady at around a hundred, but it just spiked up to one oh two. I’ve given him medicine, done cold washcloths, I don’t know what else to try.”

“And the doctor said what exactly?”

“That it’s probably a stomach virus,” Lucía says.

T.K. mulls that over for a minute. “Aren’t we like fifteen minutes from their place?” he asks Carlos.

Carlos nods.

“Okay, Lucía we’re going to swing by, all right?” T.K. says, flipping his blinker on to get them turned around back the way they’d just come.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that—“

“We’re coming Luci,” Carlos says. “We’ll be there soon.”

“Okay, thank you,” she says, relief flooding her voice and loosening the knot of fear in Carlos’ chest.

He hangs up and looks at T.K. “It’s probably just a stomach bug.”

“Probably,” T.K. agrees. “But if it makes her feel better to have someone give her advice it’s worth going over.”

Carlos’ heart goes soft at those words. He’d never imagined he’d be with someone like T.K. Someone so kind and good, someone who would drive to his sister’s house at nine o’clock at night just to assuage her fears. It’s beyond his wildest dreams.

They pull into the driveway of the ranch style home about ten minutes later, T.K.’s ambulance driving having shaved a few minutes off their time and a few years off of Carlos’ life. At least they’re not driving the Camaro tonight so Carlos didn’t have to fear for the safety of his baby as they sped through yellow lights and weaved in and out of traffic.

Lucía opens the door before they even knock and the relief Carlos felt a few minutes ago evaporates at the sight of her worried face. She was holding back on the phone; in person she looks even more terrified and exhausted than she sounded. “Hey guys,” she says. “I’m so sorry to drag you all the way over here.”

“Stop apologizing,” Carlos admonishes her immediately as they step inside. “That’s what family is for.”

Sebastian lays on the couch in the living, looking younger and tinier than his six years, his face pale and drawn. There’s an episode of Paw Patrol playing on the television mounted above the fireplace and he has a blanket pulled all the way up to his chin. Carlos can see Fuzzy, his comfort bear, peeking out over the top.

“Hey buddy,” he says, crouching down and giving his nephew a smile. “Tummy bothering you?”

Sebastian nods but doesn’t say anything, another sign that something is wrong. Usually he’s a chatterbox, happy to talk about school or his friends or soccer. Carlos smiles wider, despite the worry swirling in his gut, trying for calm and reassuring uncle. “Do you remember my boyfriend T.K.? From the party at Abuela and Abuelo’s house?” Carlos asks and Sebastian’s eyes move over his shoulder to where T.K. is standing behind him. He gets another nod.

“He’s going to take a look at you, okay?” Carlos says, standing up and moving back to where Lucía is anxiously hovering behind the couch so that T.K. has space to work.

“Hey Sebastian,” T.K. says as he takes Carlos’ spot. “You know I’m a paramedic, right?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, his voice small.

“Do you know what a paramedic does?”

“Help people feel better?”

T.K. smiles and nods. “That’s right. So let’s see if I can help you feel better, sound good?”

“Mhmm.”

“Awesome. Okay, I’m going to pull down the blanket and take a look. You tell me if anything hurts, all right?”

He gently pulls down the blanket and places his fingers on Sebastian’s wrist, looking at his watch while he does it. He pulls out a stethoscope he had in the car and listens to the little boy’s lungs, then takes his temperature with the thermometer Lucía has on the coffee table. He narrates quietly the entire time, letting Sebastian know what he’s doing as he does it.

“Okay, let’s see that belly,” he finally says with a smile.

He pulls up the top of Sebastian’s Power Rangers pajamas, talking to him softly while his hands palpate his abdomen. “You like Power Rangers huh? Which one is your favorite?”

“Red,” Sebastian says immediately. “He’s the head guy.”

“He is,” T.K. says. “I always liked the Green one though.”

Sebastian winces and makes a noise that breaks Carlos’ heart in half. T.K.’s hands immediately immediately stop. “Sorry buddy,” he says. “That hurt?”

Sebastian nods and T.K. gently puts his pajama shirt back into place. “I’m going to go talk to your mom and tío. You stay right here and make sure this couch doesn’t go anywhere, okay?”

He gets to his feet and nods toward the hallway where Carlos and Lucía follow him out of Sebastian’s earshot. “His pulse is a little fast and there is some tenderness in his abdomen,” T.K. says quietly. “That coupled with the fever and the lethargy is definitely concerning.”

Lucía puts her hand on Carlos’ arm and he covers it with his own in an attempt at reassurance. “So what should I do? Wait until the morning and see how he is? Give him more meds?” she asks.

“Considering his symptoms, I would recommend you take him to the ER,” T.K. says gently.

She blows out a breath as Carlos’ stomach drops. “Okay,” she says. “Okay um, okay. I’ll just wake up Nicholas and…”

“No, no, no,” Carlos says quickly. “No I’ll call Mom and ask her to come be with Nicky. I’ll stay until she gets here.”

“And I’ll go with you to the ER,” T.K. offers. “I can walk you through all the paperwork, field questions from the doctors, whatever you need.”

“Seriously?” Lucía looks teary eyed. “You’ll come?”

“Of course,” T.K. says. “Why don’t you go grab whatever might help keep him calm while we’re there? iPad or a book maybe. It could be a long wait.”

“Okay, right. Yes. Give me like five minutes and I’ll be ready,” she says, rushing off to go gather supplies.

“What are you thinking?” Carlos asks immediately.

T.K. has his neutral paramedic face on, but Carlos has learned to read between the lines. “I’m thinking it could be a number of things,” T.K. says. “Just a stomach bug maybe, but even if it is I think he’s dehydrated. And given his symptoms and the decline, I’m also worried about an impacted or perfed bowel or maybe even appendicitis.”

“How worried?”

T.K. blows out a breath. “Worried enough that I wouldn’t wait until the morning to try and get him some treatment.”

His words unlock a whole new level of fear that Carlos has never experienced before, and it takes a lot for him to stay calm as he calls his mom and explains the situation. Lucía returns with a tote bag full of supplies and T.K. scoops up Sebastian, carrying him out to the car with Lucía on his heels.

“Mom says she’ll be here in fifteen minutes. I’ll be right behind you,” Carlos promises as T.K. sets Sebastian gently in the backseat, pillowing his head on Lucía’s lap.

“Can you call Justin?” Lucía asks, looking like she’s barely holding it together. “He knows Sebby’s sick but I want him to know we’re heading to the ER.”

“Yes,” Carlos says. “I’ll call him as soon as I’m back inside.”

“Hey,” T.K. catches his eye as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “I’ve got them, okay?”

“I know you do,” Carlos says and then the door is shut and they’re gone, leaving him standing in the driveway, his heart in his stomach.

He trudges back into the house and sinks onto the couch, eyes glued to Nicholas’ sleeping form on the baby monitor. He’s not a parent, so why does this feel so awful?

It takes him a minute to emotionally prepare for this phone call and he has to take a deep breath before tapping Justin’s name on his screen.

It rings and rings and then sends him to voicemail, so he tries again. And again. The third time, Justin finally picks up.

“Dude, if this is a butt dial I’m going to kill you,” his brother-in-law says groggily.

Carlos forgot that it’s nearly midnight on the east coast right now. “Justin,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady.

“What’s wrong? Are Lucía and the boys okay?” Justin immediately sounds more awake now that he’s heard Carlos’ voice.

“Everyone’s safe,” Carlos tells him quickly. “I’m at your place with Nicholas because Sebastian’s feeling worse. She and T.K. are on the way to the ER with him.”

There’s a pause, Carlos can practically feel Justin’s panic through the phone. “Okay, um, okay,” he finally says. “Shit, I’m in Atlanta. There won’t be any flights for hours…”

“My mom’s on her way here to stay with Nicholas,” Carlos says. “I’ll head to the hospital and keep you updated, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, um, thanks Carlos,” Justin says, sounding a little hoarse. “Please um, please tell them I love them, okay? And that I’ll be on the first flight out I can get.”

“I will.”

He hangs up just as the front door opens and his mom comes in. “Carlitos,” she says softly and he immediately gets up to hug her. “How is Sebby?”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure. They probably just got to the ER, it could be hours before we know anything.”

“And Lucía?”

“She’s worried,” he says.

“As are we all,” she says, empathy all over her face. “T.K. went with her?”

“Yeah, he said he’d help with things there.”

She smiles softly and touches his face. “You picked a good one mijo. Not every man would drop everything to help his boyfriend’s family.”

There’s a lump in Carlos throat and he struggles to speak past it. “I know.”

“You should get going.”

“Okay. Nicholas is asleep in his crib. I called Justin, he’s working on getting a flight back.”

She nods. “Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

The drive to the hospital is so lonely and silent that it makes each minute feel even longer beneath the glow of the streetlights. How on earth did he go from having dinner with his boyfriend to taking his nephew to the ER? It’s ridiculous. They should be home right now, cuddling on the couch or the bed, watching some stupid show that neither of them really cares about because what they’re actually interested in is making out with each other.

Instead he’s about to spend hours in a hard plastic chair praying that a six year old he loves dearly is going to be all right.

He’s so anxious to get there that he doesn’t realize until he’s through the doors that he has no idea where he’s going. Or even if they’re gong to let him stay. Surely they’re not going to let three adults hang out in the ER in the middle of the night when one would suffice.

He forgot he has T.K. Strand in his corner.

“How can I help you?” the nurse asks when he steps up to the counter.

“I’m here for my nephew? Sebastian Bryant? He came in with my sister,” Carlos says, feeling awkward.

“Oh you’re Carlos,” she says immediately. “T.K.’s boyfriend.”

“I—yeah,” Carlos says, surprised by her familiarity.

“I’m Stella. It’s so nice to finally meet you, although I wish it wasn’t because your nephew’s in here. T.K. talks about you all the time.”

“He does?”

“Oh my god, try getting him to stop. Carlos this, my boyfriend that, and now I see why. You two are gorgeous together,” she says, flashing him a smile. “Here come with me. I’ll take you to them. Darlene? Can you cover the desk?”

Stella takes him down a hall, past the general area of the ER to a more closed off section. It’s not a room, but it’s quieter here, and Carlos can hear T.K.’s voice even before Stella pulls back the curtain to reveal him.

“Found someone who belongs to you,” Stella says.

T.K.’s eyes find him, soft and relieved. “Hey, I was just about to text you an update. Thanks so much Stella.”

“No problem. I’m going to check and see where we’re at with the tests and then I’ll be back.”

“How’s it going?” Carlos asks quietly.

Sebastian is asleep in the bed, an IV in his arm and Fuzzy tucked in beside him. Lucía is sitting in a chair next to him, his little fingers curled around hers.

“They’re going to take him for a CT as soon as one opens up,” she says quietly. “He was crying when we got here, but they gave him some pain medication and he fell asleep like ten minutes ago.”

“Good,” Carlos says in relief. It feels so much better to know that there are people actively working to help Sebastian. “Nicholas is with Mom, he was still asleep when I left. And Justin’s getting on the first flight he can in the morning.”

“Okay.”

Lucía’s face crumples and she immediately puts her hands over her mouth to stifle a sob. T.K. looks at Carlos. “I’m going to go grab us some coffee,” he says, slipping discreetly out of the room.

Carlos squats down by his sister’s chair and puts a hand on her knee. She immediately covers it with her own and squeezes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “He just—he’s so little. He was so scared when we got here, it’s so bright and they put in the IV and he cried and I just, I need Justin to be here, because I am not strong enough for this.”

“He’s coming,” Carlos says. “He’s coming as fast as he can. And until he does I’m here, all right? I’m here with you and Mom is with Nicholas. Sebastian is going to be fine. He’s scared, but you’re taking such great care of him. You are an amazing mom. You’re doing everything right.”

She nods a couple times, clearly trying to internalize his words before taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes. “You know um, T.K. is pretty amazing too,” she tells him, wiping at her eyes. “I thought we’d be here for hours before we got answers, but he called ahead in the car and that nurse, Stella, was waiting for us. As soon as we were in the door they were drawing blood and starting tests. It’s like they rolled out the red carpet.” She nods toward the doorway. “Not everyone would do that kind of thing for someone they barely know.”

“That’s T.K.,” Carlos says, warmth blooming through his chest at her words. “He’s…incredible.”

“You know, I already liked him a lot, but now…” She quirks a smile. “You’d better hold onto him.”

Carlos nods, heart fluttering away in his chest. “That’s the plan.”

T.K. comes back with coffee right about the same time someone shows up to take Sebastian for his CT scan. He’s unhappy to be woken up, but mollified when Carlos promises to take him for ice cream once a week for the next month.

The nurse is incredible, telling Sebastian he’s going to go on a ride in a spaceship, although that does nothing to help Carlos’ heart when they start the sedation and he watches Sebastian’s eyelids flutter shut, his body going limp in a weirdly unnatural way. He’s gone for over an hour, all of them sipping tepid hospital coffee in a desperate attempt not to fall asleep as the clock ticks later and later.

When the orderly returns with him he’s completely zonked out and Carlos hopes he’ll stay that way. It’s not long after that an ER doctor shows up and informs them that the CT scan is indicating appendicitis, despite Sebastian’s slightly atypical presentation of symptoms. Lucía takes the news better than Carlos thought she might, she’s clearly relieved to have an answer and a defined course of action, even if it does mean a surgery they’re told is being scheduled for the early hours of the morning. Someone will be by soon to get them admitted and transferred to a room for the night.

“You guys should go home” she says. “You’ve done more than enough, really. He’s just going to sleep until it’s time for surgery and they’re not going to let you come into the room with us anyway.”

“Don’t worry about them kicking us out,” T.K. says immediately. “If you want us to stay that won’t be a problem.”

She smiles at him. “You’ve done more than enough tonight. I’ll be fine. I promise. Go home and get some sleep.”

Carlos is reluctant to leave her, but she’s right. There’s no point in staying when it’s so late and nothing is going to happen until morning anyway. The moment of crisis is past and now there’s nothing to do but wait.

“I’ll come back in the morning for his surgery,” Carlos says.

“You don’t have to—“ She must catch the look of determination in his eyes because she cuts herself off and nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

He stands and she meets him with a brief hug before she turns to T.K. “I really can’t thank you enough. I don’t think I would have made it tonight without you T.K.,” she says.

“Yes you would have,” he says graciously. “But I’m glad I could help. If anything changes in the night you have my number, don’t be afraid to call.”

“I will.”

Carlos can’t help but notice that T.K. gets a slightly longer hug than he did and the warm feeling in his chest only intensifies. He reaches for T.K.’s hand as they head out into the hall and T.K. gives him a tired smile in return. “Oh, hang on one second,” he says as they pass the nurses station, letting go of Carlos’ hand. “I’ll be right back.”

He jogs over and flashes that winning smile again at the nurse who’s there, not Stella this time, and chats with her for a minute before returning to Carlos’ side. “What was that about?” Carlos asks, interlacing their fingers together again.

“I just wanted to make sure they put Sebastian in a private room,” T.K. says. “They have the space, Natalie says it won’t be a problem.”

“Natalie huh?” Carlos says as they exit the automatic doors and head for the darkened parking structure. “She also falls victim to your beautiful eyes and charming smile?”

“Victim?” T.K. scoffs. “No one is a victim. I have paid for these hospital perks with dozens of coffees and donuts and muffins and even the occasional Target run. This is just good natured southern kindness being returned.”

Carlos laughs out loud. “Right. Not a single bit of it has to do with your innate charm and that smile that brings people to their knees and makes them feel like they’re only person you’ve ever cared about.”

“I mean, it had to start somewhere,” T.K. says, flashing him that exact smile. “But we’ve come a long way since then.”

“Well thank you,” Carlos says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart. “I honestly I don’t how to say thank you enough. My family is…they’re so important to me and I…”

“Hey.” T.K. tugs him to a stop and meets his gaze under the half light of the parking garage. “They’re important to me too.”

The drive home is blessedly short and they fall into bed exhausted at around midnight only to wake up again at five to head back over to the hospital. Carlos tells T.K. he doesn’t have to come, but the look he gets shuts him up immediately. T.K. is clearly invested.

They stop for coffee on the way, real, decent coffee, and some bagels, plus a cake pop for Sebastian after surgery.

He gets a text update as they’re pulling up to the hospital again; Justin is on a flight and should get there by the time the surgery is over. It’s a relief to know his sister will have her support to lean on again in the near future.

Once they arrive Carlos sits back and watches in wonder as T.K. works his magic. Someone shows up to give Sebastian not one, not two, but three different stuffed toys along with a coloring pack and some Hot Wheels cars. T.K. sits down on his bed and explains the whole surgery in terms a six year old an understand, and when the time comes, Sebastian is whisked off without a single tear.

He’s seen T.K. at work before, but this is an entirely different level of incredible. He knows almost every nurse, every doctor, every orderly that they see, and if he doesn’t, by the time they leave he’s made them feel like an old friend. People can’t seem to do enough for him.

Justin gets there about twenty minutes after the surgery starts, exhausted and haggard looking, his collared shirt buttoned the wrong way and his hair looking like he didn’t even comb it. T.K. somehow procures fresh, non-cafeteria coffee for him, whispering something about the doctor’s lounge, as well as a banana and a granola bar.

Everything goes exactly as expected and soon enough the doctor is back to let them know that Sebastian was a champ during surgery and they expect a quick recovery. Lucía and Justin head back to wait with him until the sedation wears off, while Carlos and T.K. continue hanging out in the waiting room until Sebastian can have more visitors.

When Carlos hears a loud commotion behind him, he knows without even looking that reinforcements have arrived. Adriana and Francesca have shown up with more balloons than a circus, a gigantic stuffed bear, and several bags of god only knows what else. “Oh my god, Cesca don’t let them float away,” Adriana is saying as they try and get through the automatic doors that keep closing before all the balloons can make it through.

“I’m not!” Francesca snaps back. “It’s the stupid doors! You could like try to help!”

“With what hands?” Adriana cries, her arms full of stuffed bear.

“Ah, perfect,” Carlos says weakly, looking at T.K. who is already smiling at his sister and cousin’s antics.

“Carlos! Get over here!” Francesca barks and he stands with a sigh, going to help her get in the doorway.

“Hello, good morning, how are you guys doing?” Carlos prompts as he grabs the brightly colored strings and yanks them inside, the balloons bopping along behind and nearly smacking an elderly woman in the face.

“I mean you’re both awake and have coffee, so I assume you’re fine,” she tells him as she plonks into a seat across from T.K.

“Yeah, geez, way to make our nephew’s surgery about you,” Adriana says with a roll of her eyes.

Carlos doesn’t bother to remind her that technically Sebastian is a cousin to her, not a nephew; labels other than “familia” ceased to have any meaning to them long ago. “So what’s the deal? Is he okay?” Francesca asks.

“The surgery went well,” T.K. says. “Sebastian’s appendix didn’t rupture, so the chances of infection are low. He should be able to head home in a day or so.”

“Phew. Poor little dude. This sucks,” Francesca says.

“But he’s okay,” Adriana says. “That’s what’s important. Everyone is okay. And all his friends are going to be very jealous when he gets back to school.”

She opens one of the bags and pulls out a tray of something that immediately fills the air with the scent of tomatoes and cheese. “Why do you have tamales?” Carlos asks. “It’s ten am.”

“Because Mom told us to go by the house and bring them over,” Francesca says. “She doesn’t, and I quote, ‘want anyone eating that hospital garbage, it will rot their stomachs.’”

“Sounds like your mom,” T.K. says with a cheeky smile as he reaches for one of the tamales.

“We also have…taquitos, mac and cheese for Sebastian, and…arroz con pollo,” Francesca says, checking the other bags.

“Your mom just had this all on hand?” T.K. asks, his mouth full.

“Tía Andrea always has everything on hand,” Adriana says.

Despite his initial scoffing, by the time Justin comes back an hour later to tell them Sebastian is up for visitors, Carlos has eaten three tamales, half a dozen taquitos, and a plateful of arroz con pollo. Apparently hospitals make him hungry. They’ve also fed four nurses and an orderly that T.K. knows, and they haven’t even put a dent in what’s there.

Justin looks a little less of a mess now, he’s clearly spent some time in front of a mirror and his shirt is buttoned the right way now. He’s smiling in spite of the tiredness in his eyes, which widen in delight at the sight of the food. “Oh thank god for Andrea,” he says, immediately reaching for a taquito.

“Hey, how do you know it wasn’t us?” Adriana asks, clearly offended.

Justin fixes her with a look and she shrugs. “I mean, yeah it was Tía Andrea, but we’re the ones that brought it over here,” she says.

“Thank you for your service,” Justin says around a mouthful.

“How’s Sebastian?” Francesca asks.

“Better than Lucía or me,” he says. “He says it barely hurts and he’s very excited to have a cool scar.” He looks at T.K. “Apparently you’ve really made this hospital experience feel like a vacation T.K.”

“I’m just glad he’s doing all right,” T.K. says.

“Can we see him?” Carlos asks.

“Yeah,” Justin says. “Lucí sent me to get you all.”

“Well then let’s get this party moved!” Francesca says, closing up the tupperware with incredible speed built from years of cleaning up house parties and hiding the evidence before their parents got home.

They make quite a parade marching through the pediatric wing of the hospital with balloons and bears and food galore. But then, the Reyes clan usually does. They’re not exactly known for being a calm and quiet bunch.

Sebastian is sitting up in bed eating a popsicle, looking like the happiest human alive even with an IV in his arm and stitches in his side. “Sebby!” Francesca says happily. “You’re looking good there buddy!”

“You brought me balloons?” he asks as Lucía quickly rescues his popsicle, which is in danger of falling to the floor.

“We brought you balloons and a bear and macaroni and cheese from Abuela,” Adriana tells him.

“Can I have mac and cheese right now?” he asks Lucía.

“Let’s maybe wait until after the doctor comes by again,” she says.

“But then I can have it? And the ice cream Tío Carlos promised me?”

It gets a chuckle from everyone in the room.

The women start to fuss, setting up the balloons and bear in the best possible place, but Carlos’ eyes are on T.K. who is not-so-subtly checking out all the monitors and lines, ensuring that things are exactly as they should be. God, he loves this man. He loves him more than he thought he could ever love a human being.

“Well this looks like a party!” A man whose name tag identifies him as Dr. Nguyen, comes into the room, iPad in hand. Carlos assumes this must be the surgeon. “Sebastian who are all these fine people who came to visit you?”

“This is my Tía Cesca and my Tía Adriana. They brought me balloons,” Sebastian says, pointing to them in turn.

“Well that’s very nice.”

“And that’s my Tío Carlos,” Sebastian says.

“Oh, is this the Tío you were telling me about? The one who’s a paramedic and helped you feel better?”

“No, my Tío Carlos is just a police officer,” Sebastian says. “My Tío T.K. is the one who’s a paramedic.” He turns his head to look at where T.K. is standing next to his IV pole. “Paramedics help people feel better. Right Tío?”

T.K. freezes for a second, his eyes locking with Carlos’. “Um, yeah,” he says finally. “Yes, that’s right. Paramedics help people. And then doctors help them even more.”

“Yeah, Dr. Nguyen took my appendix out,” Sebastian says. He looks the doctor square in the face. “My mom says you have to tell me if I can have mac and cheese or not.”

Dr. Nguyen laughs. “I can do that. Let’s give you a little check up and see.”

“We’ll give you some privacy,” Francesca says, which is hilarious given that she hasn’t let anyone have a single minute of privacy since the day she was born.

They step out into the hall, Adriana and Francesca immediately abandoning T.K. and Carlos to go look for hot doctors. Carlos runs a hand through his curls and looks at where his boyfriend is leaning up against the wall. “Well I guess we know who his new favorite tío is,” he says.

T.K. looks up, uncharacteristically nervous. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that. You’re not just a police officer.”

Carlos chuckles. “Oh I’m sure he meant it exactly like that. Tío Carlos is just a tío who wrestles and gives him ice cream. Tío T.K. saves lives. You made an impression.”

T.K. blushes. “I’m glad I could help.” His gaze softens. “I can’t believe he called me tío.”

And despite the fact that no one in the family has ever referred to T.K. that way before, Carlos isn’t surprised in the least. “Is that okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” T.K. says quickly. “Yeah I—as long as you and your family are okay with it. I don’t…I wouldn’t want him to be confused.”

“He’s not confused.” Carlos’ words are soft and he reaches down, intertwining their fingers. “I don’t think anybody is confused anymore about why you’re so important to me.”

T.K. meets his gaze and Carlos feels like he can see all the way into the vulnerability at the core of this man who came here so broken and lost, and is just starting to figure out how vital he is to everyone around him. Carlos leans in and their lips meet, soft and sweet. It’s not enough to really say thank you, he’s not sure he can ever truly find a way, but in this moment he knows he’ll try. Everyday for the rest of his life if he needs to.

The door to Sebastian’s room opens and Carlos reluctantly pulls back, keeping their hands firmly clasped even when T.K. starts to pull away a little. “Bad news,” Lucía says. “Mac and cheese is off the table until tomorrow. T.K., he would like to know if you have any connections that can get him jello instead. But only the red kind. Not the green.”

“Absolutely,” T.K. says, already pulling out his phone to send a text. “Red jello coming right up.”

Carlos shakes his head and smiles as they reenter the room, Sebastian’s face lighting up when he sees T.K. again. Carlos has always thought T.K. seemed like magic. And now everyone else can see it too.

#911 Lone Star #Tarlos #911lsfic #Tarlos Fic #The Reyes Family (My Version)#Adriana and Francesca #Whump of a minor #Appendicitis #Family #Competent T.K. Strand #T.K. shows off his paramedic skills

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 1 year

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Imagine King finding out someone was bullying you

Who's-Who: well, well, it's not King's boot licking little assistant.

The Twins: *giggle and whisper to each other*

You: That infers that I'm the one licking his boots.

Who's-Who: Am I wrong.

You: Yes, it's the other way around.

Who's-Who: Oh gross, he's a sub... But would explain why he's never far behind you, and now that I think of it he always walks behind you.

One of the Twins: What I want explained is what he sees in you? King could do so much better than you. You're so plain looking and have such a bland personality.

You: Excuse the fuck outta me, are you really calling my personality bland? I hate to break it to you, but being a massive cunt didn't count as a personality.

The other Twin: I know right? Like they're so boring, not to mention weak and useless, they're such a burden to the crew. Always in the wrong place and at the wrong time.

Who's-Who: shit, you two are mean, *sees King rounding the corner* we gotta bounce babes, their guard dog has caught up.

You: *watch them leave as you try not to cry in front of them*

King: What did they want?

You: *clears your throat, and makes an effort not to look at him* Nothing important.

King: *senses something is off* ... What's wrong?

You: *The softness in his voice makes tears well up in your eyes*

King: Ooh no, no, no, Why are you crying?

You: I would like uppies.

King: ... Okay *picks you up and tucks you against his chest and under his chin*

You: *wraps your arms around his neck and quietly cry into his shirt*

King: .... Do you want to talk about it, or do you just want to be held?

You: Those catty bitches were trying to bully me, and their insults hit a few tender spots.

King: Such as?

You: they.... they implied that I wasn't good enough for you, and that I'm a weakling that's a burden on the crew.

King: and you care what they think?

You: *shakes your head and huffs* of course not, their words just happened to get under my skin this once.

King: *chuckles* I see, you must have had a tough day for that to happen.

You: I've just been having a tough time lately.

King: I think I have just the solution, how about we get the kitchens to whip something up for you, and you let me pamper you in the bath?

You: that sounds almost perfect.

King: And what would make it perfect.

You: I don't care when, but I'd like you to blow my back out.

King: *laughs* I think I can manage that.

The next day

Who's-Who: *in the infirmary with 1st degree burns*

The Twins: *also injured, but less so* We're so sorry, we don't do it again.

You: what happened?

One Twin: King punished Who's -Who for our behavior yesterday. He said standing idly by while we antagonized you was unacceptable and ordered Who's-Who to punish us. But Who's-Who refused, and fought King instead.

You: sounds like his own fault, but how did you two get hurt?

Other twin: King sent us to Maria to be punished, and she got carried away.

You: *sighs* I'll forgive you as long as you promise not to do it again.

Twins: we promise.

You: alright, take a seat, so I can treat your injuries.

Twins: you'd treat them even after what we said?

You: yes, now pop a squat.

Twins: *see why King likes you*

Coming Soon 5/6

#one piece #one piece x reader #king the wildfire #king the conflagration #one piece imagine #king the conflagration x reader #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #5/6/23 #no beta we die like men

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sunflowersandsapphires · 1 month

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Including Sunlight

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 4

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around.

warnings: swearing, fluff, Frank having unhealthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I'm so sorry that this update is late, everyone! I've had a wacky month and it has completely thrown me off. Huge shout out to @xxdrixx for reminding me (again XD) to post what I'd written, and to my loves @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for helping me plot the upcoming angst arc!!!

w/c: 5.9k

You hadn’t known Frank for very long, but that didn’t stop him from becoming a necessary fixture in your life. Needing Frank was similar to needing light, or fresh air. Sure, you could go without it for a bit, but it would drastically reduce the quality of your life.

Two days into his “business trip” (which you assumed was a cover for some illegal shenanigans because what sort of freelance construction worker has business trips), you were missing Frank something awful, and it seemed like Max was too. Though you’d tried your best to stick to the existing routine Frank had explained to you, the dog would get mopey in the evenings, laying his head on your lap with a dramatic sigh as he stared longingly towards the door.

Frank hadn’t so much as sent an emoji since his departure, a fact that highlighted his already glaring absence. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you refused to go down that path knowing you’d never make it out of that endless anxiety spiral. Hoping not to bother him while he was away, you’d refrained from reaching out. Until Max’s heavy sighs were too much for you to bear.

“I’ll see what I can do, buddy.” You promised, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of his pouting face.

Sending Max’s sulking portrait off to your stoic neighbor, you included a message.

You: I think he misses you. Hope you made it safely. ❤️

You were about to set your phone down, not expecting him to respond, but your phone buzzed immediately.

Frank: Sorry, bud. He behaving for you?

You: He’s being a perfect gentleman. Please come back to us in one piece.

Frank: Cross my heart.

Smiling at the fluttery sensation in your chest, you set your phone down and resumed petting the pitbull taking up residence on your lap.

Come back to us. A poor imitation of your melodic voice played throughout his brain on a loop as he got settled in the motel and began recon. It had been hours since you’d texted him and Frank couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that he could ever stop thinking of you; the only thing that had kept him going through the bland, cross-state drive was the knowledge that he had you to return to.

And didn’t that terrify him. The knowledge that he had forged a connection valuable enough to anchor him on bad days should have triggered his factory reset. Cut all ties, change home and job, never look back. But you made him weak–sapping the resolve out of him with your doe eyes and intoxicating personality. He’d never be able to leave you like that, even if his proximity to you would get you killed.

Gritting his teeth, he began disassembling his rifle for the umpteenth time, hoping the familiar rhythm would provide an opportunity for his mind to claw its way out of the paranoid spiral it was currently parachuting down. Because it would do him no good to imagine the ways this could all fall apart. The high that your genuine care ignited in him was a hard one to shake, and he craved your affection more than any drug.

Frank was no stranger to being forgotten, hell, most days he wished for it. Disappearing into the shadows made his work easier and it had helped him prevent situations like this, like you, in the past. Yet here he was, three states away, feeling desired and significant because of four little sentences of fucking text. You were a goddamn miracle.

Placing the final piece of his weapon back into its place, he drew his hands towards himself, examining them. Given the nature of his work, both legal and less than, the skin was rough and littered with impressive callouses. Streaks of gun oil, dirt, and general grime lingered on the pads of his fingers and under his nails, a testament to the indelicacy of his job. How could he allow himself to touch you with these hands?

How could the universe allow him to indulge in something so pure, after what he’d done?

He’d given you his name, his real one, but there was no way you knew the extent of his crimes against the people in your city–if you did, you’d surely never speak to him again. Before meeting you, he’d never questioned his choices. Wiping the murderous, sex-trafficking and drug-dealing scum from the face of the Earth was his purpose, and he lived it with pride. Pulling the trigger, releasing bullet after bullet into the chest of some criminal douchebag, it was the only reason he had the energy to keep going after the loss of his family.

But the violence, that he’d made peace with, it separated him from the rest of society, kept him from forming attachments with people as delicate as you. Not to mention, you valued an honesty he couldn’t provide, and a stable relationship would require it…not that he was intending on pursuing that with you. Right?

Sighing wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, heart pummeling his ribcage. You deserved to know the truth about who he was and what he’d done, but Frank wasn’t sure he possessed the courage to break that news to you, to risk losing you forever.

Shifting uneasily on the fraying wicker chair, Frank studied a chip in the faux wood of the table he was seated at. Rubbing a thumb over the exposed plastic, he pondered his next move. His short recon session had verified Madani’s hunch that the arms dealers operated after dark, like most criminals, but sitting around the dingy motel room until then was a one-way ticket to insanity.

As if his body was pitying his moment of unprecedented indecision, his stomach growled ferociously. Fuck, he could use a decent meal and a hot cup of coffee. Plucking his keys and handgun from the nightstand, he shoved his arms into a black canvas jacket before braving the outside world.

Digging your glove-covered fingers into the laminated dough, you folded it over itself a few times before placing it back in its designated proofing bin to rise. Taking another lump of the yeasted mixture into your grasp, you savored the pleasant cushiony feeling beneath your hands as you worked, the slightly fermented smell of raw bread swirling around the kitchen as you flipped the mass.

Your heart thumped serenely as you kneaded the dough at a steady pace, creating a beautiful rhythm you were more than familiar with. It was music, of a sort; the pulse in your ears acting as the bass while the cacophony of rattling spice jars and cracking eggshells composed unique melodies unlike anything else.

Life was complicated, but food was simple. Customizing pastries and generating new recipes was an outlet for any emotion you could dream of. Tugging at the strands of dough helped soothe the tension in your shoulders, a symptom of the intense restlessness you’d been feeling since Frank left. Though his text had confirmed that he was alive, you couldn’t help but wallow in a feeling of gut-wrenching regret as you lived without him. If something happened to him out there, you’d never be able to tell him–

Shaking your head fiercely to clear the anxious thoughts from your mind, you raced to the walk-in, once again pouring your jittery energy into a recipe rather than letting your composure erode into nothing. Stabilizing the precarious tower of ingredients you’d stacked with your chin, you tread cautiously over to a clean station, unceremoniously dumping the contents onto the steel bench before popping your head out to the front.

“Stace, you want somethin’ to eat?” You called to the girl, who was currently standing by the register on her phone.

“What are you making?” She barely lifted her head with the question and her ambivalence made you snort.

“Oh, you know, same old.”

With a small shrug, Stacy nodded. “Sure, why not.”

Grinning, you ducked back into the kitchen and popped the lid off of the industrial blender, quickly whipping up two vibrantly colored and impeccably garnished bowls for the pair of you. Passing a spoon to Stacy, you smiled as she dug in eagerly.

“What, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?” You giggled, reveling in the way her eyes lit up as she ate.

“Had a feeling you’d be cooking up a storm today.” Stacy replied, tilting her head at you knowingly. “You tend to do that when you’re mopey, and I’m never opposed to a free meal.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed in defiance. “I’m not ‘mopey’.”

“No?” Your dark-haired friend smirked. “That’s why you’re staring at that stupid bowl like it killed your family?”

Ignoring her pointed look, you angled the bowl slightly differently before pulling out your phone.

“It’s a pretty meal. I wanted to take a picture.” You reasoned, snapping a few photos of the deep violet mixture.

“To send to lover boy?” Stacy snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at you.

“No! I mean, maybe, I guess. I mean—“ You spluttered and Stacy laughed boisterously. “Shut up!!” Pouting, you shoved your phone back into the pocket of your apron and stuck a spoon into your breakfast.

“C’mon, princess, don’t let my teasing interrupt your pitiful flirting attempts. I’m sure he wants to hear from you.” Stacy’s expression was nonchalant, as always, but her gaze softened when your shoulders slumped. “I’m serious. He’s like, embarrassingly into you.”

“I think you might be confused about which of us is ‘embarrassingly into’ the other.” You whined, burying your face in your hands.

“Oh you’re pathetically head over heels for him too, that’s why you have no game.”

Scoffing, you shoved at her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t need to be insulted like this. Get out of my kitchen.”

“It’s not insulting, it’s true!” She chuckled, eating the remaining few bites of her food as you struggled to force her out the double doors.

“Out, out, out!” You panted, finally getting her across the threshold.

The whoosh of air from the batwing doors blew stray hairs from your face, giving you pause. Did it matter why you reached out to him? He seemed to appreciate it…

“Fuck it.”

Frank turned the cheap off-white mug in his hands, letting the quickly fading warmth seep through the material and into his palms as he looked out the streaky window. A gray hue had settled over the rural town he was camped out in, courtesy of the building storm on the horizon. The clouds mimicked his mental state, growing darker by the minute as the world remained stagnant.

A low buzz caught his attention, his hand shooting out to stop his phone from vibrating off of the table. Flicking the screen open, his heart swelled with affection, like a ray of sunshine peeking through the barrier in the sky.

You: *image* It’s official, I’m becoming a hipster. I was more concerned about this photo than eating my breakfast.

Not attempting to hide his smile, Frank shoved his empty cup aside to free his thumbs.

Frank: Well, it looks so good, I might have to forgive you. What is it?

You: A smoothie bowl, very easy to make and quite tasty.

Frank: Never had one of those before. Looks good though, sunshine.

You: Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make you one sometime.

Frank inhaled deeply, imagining that you were nearby and he could smell your soft vanilla soap. The thought of you cooking for him upon his return warmed his heart while simultaneously cracking it in two. He missed you dearly. Drawing his forearms into his chest, he took a picture of his own food, frowning at the grainy quality of the picture as it sent.

Frank: It ain’t as pretty as yours, but I’m eating breakfast myself.

The remnants of a stack of bland pancakes and some tough bacon paled in comparison to the gorgeous, speckled smoothie thing you’d sent him. Why it was in a bowl and not a cup, he wasn’t sure, but clearly you knew what you were doing so who was he to judge? A few seconds passed and Frank briefly wondered if he’d said something wrong. Before he could preemptively apologize, another bubble appeared on the screen.

You: Glad you are able to feed yourself without my help. I was starting to wonder…

Frank: Oh shut up, you goof. I do miss your cooking though.

You: Just my cooking?

His fingers hovered over the glass display, his brain scrambling for a response that didn’t reveal just how gone he was for you. In the end, he couldn’t find one.

Frank: Not just your cooking, honey. I have some work to do, but take care of yourself and Max for me, will you?

You: Of course, Frankie. Have a good day :)

Frank: You too, sunshine.

Clicking the power button on his phone, Frank flipped it over, settling his head against his rough hands and massaging his forehead. Coward.

The shrill ringing of his alarm shattered the remnants of his uneasy slumber. Whipping his arm out from under the sheets, he stopped the piercing noise with a frustrated growl. Sitting up was a process, thanks to the new bullet wounds in his shoulder and hip—a true testament to how sideways yesterday night had gone. Madani’s brief had implied that this would be a cut and dry operation. Get in, confirm the sale, contact her team, leave. He’d been given strict orders to not shoot unless absolutely necessary.

Which was a great plan, in theory. Frank was more than on board with it, even if the whole “no shooting” thing lengthened the process. If it kept him on Madani’s good side, and still managed to get him home before Lisa’s birthday, he could live with it.

Apparently, the rookie member of Madani’s team was not so thrilled with Frank “stealing” so much of the glory. After Frank’s recon session and subsequent confirmation of the sale, the former Marine was about to call for backup when a scrawny 20-something kid darted into the dark warehouse after the arms dealers, holding nothing but a goddamn glock. Anticipating bloodshed, Frank was grumbling and sprinting after him before the gunshots started.

Pulling the kid out by the straps of his ill-fitting bullet-proof vest was a task Frank managed by the skin of his teeth, procuring two moderate injuries in the process. Of course, the knowledge that the FBI was on their tail sent the arms dealers into a frenzy. Frank was sure they’d crossed state lines before Madani was even done screaming. Honestly, he half expected the poor woman to have steam coming out of her ears–she’d cussed at the kid with words even Frank considered impolite.

Not that he could blame her, he was fuming all the same, especially when Madani had explained that he wasn’t off the hook for the mission and should head back to the motel to await further instructions. As if he was reliving it, the conversation that followed played in his head on a loop, their screaming match echoing off the walls of his brain.

“For fuck’s SAKE, Madani, I did what you wanted–why should I be punished for the stupidity of this asshole?”

“Oh, he’ll be dealt with, believe me. But the agreement was to get Roshev and Miller into my custody. Not give my team a half-assed warning and head back to New York scot free.”

“Half-assed–you’re fucking joking. I had to ditch the objective to rescue YOUR DAMN AGENT.”

“Go back to your room, Frank. I won’t ask again.”

“You’re not–”

“That’s an ORDER, Castle.”

So here he was: waking up on a shitty mattress, his skin and hair still streaked with dirt and blood (because the crappy water pressure and freezing temperature had infuriated him to the point that he’d cut his shower short after cleaning his wounds), in pain and in desperate need of a better cup of coffee than anyone around here was capable of brewing.

On top of that, it was his dead daughter’s 18th birthday–a fact that hung over him like a cloud of poisonous gas, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he was powerless to stop it. He wanted to scream, to cry, to grieve for her, to do something, anything–but instead he was fucking stuck here, beneath Madani’s thumb until she tired of him.

It was naive to think that he’d be home today, maybe drinking coffee that you had made specifically for him, bringing flowers to the cemetery, taking Max for a walk, trying to have a quiet day in Lisa’s memory instead of waiting around to deal with two scumbags who got paid to arm other criminals. He should have just shot them.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a rough hand, he stalked to the bathroom to clean up–given that a man covered in blood would probably scare the poor waitress at the diner down the street shitless. As he was rubbing a towel through his hair, his phone buzzed–presumably with a curt message from Madani about something else he’d done wrong. Groaning internally, he braced himself for another argument, but it never came.

Instead, his phone had an unopened message from you. Flicking open the home screen, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he pulled up the photo you’d attached.

It was a beautiful picture of you holding a basket of vibrantly colored cherries in the midst of some sort of farmer’s market. Your delicate features were highlighted by an array of pinks and oranges, courtesy of the sunrise in the background. Your smile was bright, your eyes sparkling as you beamed at the camera.

Your first message was a simple explanation of your morning activities.

You: It’s market day! I bought these gorgeous cherries to make some tarts. I’ll save you one ;)

As he was rereading the message, allowing his general irritation to fade as thoughts of you flooded his brain, his phone vibrated again.

You: Thinking of you today. I’m just a text away if you need anything ❤️

Sinking down onto the motel bed, his throat constricted as he processed the sentiment. He was surprised that you remembered today was hard for him, even more so that you offered to be a line of support. But that was exactly who you were, wasn’t it? Someone who cared so deeply for the people around her, and for some fucking reason that included Frank.

Typing and retyping a response to you, Frank blew out a breath. He felt almost…jittery.

Frank: Thanks, sunshine. That means a lot. I’m looking forward to that cherry tart when I get back.

You: I’ll make you as many as you want, Frankie.

Lips twitching, he imagined you whirling around your kitchen in one of your signature patterned dresses making him a special batch of pastries. His heart squeezed painfully; your absence was taking a toll on him that he had not expected. Before he could consider his next message to you, Madani’s number flashed on the screen, indicating an incoming call. Lips curling into a silent snarl, he answered.

“What, Madani?” He rumbled out.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.” Her response wasn’t meant to dig under his skin, she simply meant it as a superficial jab, but the inclusion of the pet name he associated with you ignited a white hot anger in his gut, feral and hungry.

“The fuck do you want,” He bit out.

“Watch your tone, Castle. Remember who owes whom a favor here.”

Rolling his eyes, he brought out a more polite tone. “Yes, ma’am.”

She huffed across the line, “Fuck you too. We found them. I’ll send the coordinates now.”

“Lookin’ forward to it.” He ended the call.

Stretching your legs as best you could beneath the hefty pitbull, you sighed.

It had been hours since Frank’s last text and you were not handling it well–the image of the little typing bubble on his side of the text chain haunting your every moment. Logically, the presence of those three flashing dots just meant he had started to type something and then forgot or had something else to attend to, but that knowledge didn’t quell the anxiety growing in your chest.

He was out there, doing god knows what, on his daughter’s 18th birthday, presumably alone and hurting–and there was nothing you could do but wait. And cook him a lasagna of course. Which you had, giving your apartment the pleasant aroma of onions, tomatoes, and ricotta cheese as the dish baked.

Your consciousness vibrated with the tenacity of an anxious chihuahua, listless with boredom and concern about your sweetheart of a neighbor. Squirming out from under Max’s head, you chuckled as the sleepy pitbull huffed in annoyance. “Sorry, bubba. I need to move around.”

In the final 30 minutes that you lasagna baked, you managed to throw together some simple pastry dough and pull out the small basket of cherries from your fridge. Popping one of the scarlet fruits into your mouth, you began to pluck the remaining stems off before removing their pits. Once they’d been sufficiently prepped, and your hands were adequately smattered with droplets of maroon fruit juice, you dumped them unceremoniously into a pot to create a compote. It didn’t necessarily pair well with lasagna, but you’d promised Frank a cherry pastry.

Originally, you’d considered making him a cherry basil frangipane, identical to the ones you’d stacked in the bakery’s display case that morning. But, after the day he’d probably had, you figured he’d want something…less intricate. The compliment you’d given him during his first visit to the cafe still held true–Frank was simple and honest. He wasn’t difficult to please, but fancy words and expensive ingredients alone wouldn’t cut it. The food had to be good. So, you pulled out all the stops, making a recipe that you hadn’t made since you lived with Leo: cherry turnovers.

Unlike your wonderful neighbor, the majority of patrons in the city needed a reason besides quality to continue giving you business. Elaborately decorated pastries and unique flavor profiles were what kept the cafe in business, so you hadn’t tried selling a modest dessert like these since your first few weeks at the Rainy Day Bakery. It was familiar, comforting even. You hoped it would bring Frank similar satisfaction.

Trading the bubbling lasagna for a tray of triangle-shaped pastries, you brushed your hands on your hips. Re-covering the pasta dish, you hurriedly cleaned your kitchen, wiping away the traces of flour and sugar that inevitably dusted your countertops after you baked. As you rinsed out the mixing bowl, a high-pitched whimper popped the bubble of silence surrounding your apartment. Sitting rigidly by the door to your apartment, Max’s dark eyes pleaded with you.

“Gosh, you’re right, bud! It is dinner time. I’m sorry, I got carried away. Let’s go get you set up, huh?”

Snatching Frank’s spare key from your counter, you attached Max’s thick leash to his collar and jogged him back to his apartment, adding an extra handful of kibble as an apology for making him wait. Stroking his short fur a few times, you slipped the key into your pocket, scurrying back over to your apartment to grab the turnovers before they caught fire and reduced the building to ashes.

Carefully balancing the pastries and lasagna in your hands, you marched back over to Frank’s apartment. Pretty soon, and with only one close call, the food was lined up on Frank’s countertop to cool. Brushing your hands together, you admired your handiwork.

“Please tell me ya haven’t been sittin’ here with the door open all night.”

The gruff voice behind you made you jump in shock. Whirling around, your fear morphed into pure joy as you took in the ruggedly handsome man before you.

“Shit, Frankie! You snuck up on me.” You practically squealed, rushing to hug him in greeting. He grunted as you slammed against him, hissing as you squeezed your arms around his hips. Eyes widening in realization, you started to pull back. “Oh fuck, you’re hurt, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I–”

Before you could unwrap your arms from his body, his broad hands splayed across your back, muscular arms tugging you back against his firm chest.

“‘M fine, honey.” Came Frank’s soothing rumble. You felt him press a kiss to your crown before he buried his face in your hair. “Missed you like crazy, sunshine.” His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear the darling confession.

“God, I missed you too, Frankie.” You chuckled, your eyes prickling with tears, your body in awe of your own honesty. With his stubbled chin atop your head and his thick arms around your waist, you felt entirely sheltered by his body. He’d created a bubble of safety and serenity for you, as he always did.

Remaining in his arms, you shifted out from under his head to examine him. Though you’d felt it across your scalp, his beard was noticeably overgrown and in need of a trim. His hair greasy and mussed, streaked with grime, just like his face. The skin of his face was tinged red, with blush or sunburn you weren’t quite sure, and the bags under his eyes were deep. In spite of yourself, your bottom lip stuck out, brow pinching in concern. Bringing a hand up to cradle his face, you stroked a thumb gently over his cheek, careful to avoid the sizeable bruise across it.

“Oh sweetheart. What did they do to you?” You asked quietly, feeling choked up as the hulking man nuzzled into your touch, his eyes falling shut with a weary sigh.

“It’s nothin’.” He murmured, his words worn out—as if he’d spoken them so many times they’d lost all meaning.

“Then it shouldn’t take long to get you cleaned up.” You smiled, the gesture not making it to your eyes. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his prickly cheek before unwinding his arms from your waist. He started to retract his arms, to tuck them against his sides, but you caught his fingers with yours, grasping his hands tenderly. “Come sit, sweetheart. You must be exhausted.”

The poor man didn’t argue. Instead, he let you tug him to the couch and sit him down, his lips twitching with fond amusement when you tucked a blanket around his shoulders. “This ain’t mine.”

You shrugged, the hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. “I redecorated.”

“I was barely gone three days.” Frank snorted, rolling his eyes at you.

Poorly stifling a smile as you pretended to be annoyed, you spoke as though it was obvious why you’d done it. “Your apartment is freezing, Frank. Did you want me and Max to get hypothermia while you were gone?”

He huffed a laugh. “Still bossy.” Letting his head tip back to meet the spine of the couch, his eyes fluttered shut. Your cool touch manifested on his cheek once again.

“Do you have a first aid kit, Frankie?”

“Under the bathroom sink.” He answered, his words slurred ever so slightly with fatigue. He received a slight squeeze of his arm in response, your warm fingers leaving a lasting imprint on his skin.

A year ago, he would never have let himself have this—a moment of peace. Time to let his guard down, to trust someone else to ease his pain. But the combination of his aching body, his heavy eyelids, and your fussing nature had him letting go of a tension he’d held for years, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Soft footsteps alerted him to your presence. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear you shuffle into a crouch, your chest positioned at his knees.

Stifling a groan, he straightened his posture, wincing slightly as the motion tugged on his day old stitches. His eyes immediately focused on your adorable form in front of him, your own gaze roaming over the various bruises covering his visible skin. Dipping a washcloth into a small bowl of water, you gently lifted his wrist, washing away the dried blood on his knuckles. As you worked, a small river of dirty water–tinged pink from his scarlet blood–dripped down his fingers and onto your dress.

He watched the trio of droplets fall, time slowing as if to highlight the moment that reignited his anxiety. Splashing across the multicolored fabric, the liquid seeped into your skirt, staining it as you held his hand. Your kindness was endless, and his presence was tarnishing it, ruining it, ruining you.

Jerking his hand backwards, he cradled it close to his chest. “Lemme do this. I’m gettin’ blood on your pretty dress, sunshine.” He started to stand but you shook your head, gently pushing him back into the cushion and taking his hand in your grasp once again.

Looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that you always seemed to carry, your lips curved into a small smile. “Frank, it’s just a dress, sweetheart. I promise it’s ok. Let me help you?” With your free hand, you stroked a wayward strand of his hair off of his clammy forehead.

Despite the fact that your gaze conveyed your desire to continue patching him up regardless of his answer, your tone was stilted–giving him the option to deny your help.

“You’re too sweet for your own damn good, you know.” He sighed, letting his arm go limp in your grip to let you finish what you’d started.

“Well, you’re too stoic for yours. Makes us quite a pair, doesn’t it?” Your eyes glimmered roguishly, your smirk encouraging him to roll his eyes.

“Whatever you say, sunshine.” He snorted, knowing full well that you were right.

You made quick work of tidying up the split skin across his knuckles, moving on to the bruised skin of his cheeks.

“Didn’t know you were growing this out, Frankie.” You quipped, tugging gently on the untamed curls of his beard.

His lips twitched, revealing a glimpse of his teeth as he smiled. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Whaddya think?”

Making a great show of shuffling back to study his face, you tapped your chin. “I like it.”

“You do? Last time it was this long, everyone thought I was some sort of hipster.”

Shrugging, you focused your eyes back on the cloth in your hand. “I always like how you look, Frankie.”

Frank’s breath caught in his throat, unable to quite make it to his lungs. Thankfully, he could blame his lack of response on the fact that you were rinsing the injuries on his face, rather than his own lack of emotional intelligence.

Eventually, you heaved out a breath, looking at him with a raised brow. “Did you want me to look at whatever’s bothering you here?” You asked, gesturing to his hip.

“If I told ya I have no idea what you mean, would ya call me on it?” He grumbles, not quite sure how he’d feel revealing that much of himself to you.

You thought for a minute. Nodding once, you answered. “I’d roll my eyes, but respect your desire for privacy.”

Swallowing thickly, he huffed a nervous laugh. “Fair enough.” With two fingers, he tugged his loose shirt up and over his head, not bothering to disguise his grimace as he rotated his injured shoulder. Pulling the waistband of his pants down an inch, he suddenly felt a surge of fear, not sure how you’d react to seeing his array of scars.

Inhaling sharply, you traced around his stitches with a finger. “Oh, Frank.”

“It’s—“

“It’s not nothing.” Taking his hands again, your intensity returned. “You mean something to me. Seeing you hurt…it’s never nothing, ok? Not to me.”

A lump formed in his throat, he nodded as he tried to swallow it down. “Sorry.”

“No apology necessary,” You squeezed his hands, placing a tender kiss on the raw knuckles of his right hand before grabbing a roll of bandages from your pile of supplies. “I’m not upset that you’re hurt. I just don’t want you to be afraid to lean on someone else for a change.”

You dressed his larger wounds in contemplative silence, your soft skin a welcome change to the rough contact he was used to.

“How’d ya learn to patch people up, sunshine? Playin’ nurse for other neighborhood menaces behind my back?”

You giggled. “You’re my only patient currently. Cross my heart. I’ve just gotten used to first aid after injuring myself my whole life.”

Bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, Frank’s brow furrowed. “Injurin’ yourself? What do you mean?”

Eyes widening in realization, you shook your head. “Not intentionally! I’ve just been a klutz for as long as I can remember.” Chuckling sheepishly, you added, “Takes a toll every once in a while.”

Laughing with relief, he traced a finger along your jaw as he withdrew his hand from your face. “Ah, gotcha. Christ, had me scared there, pretty girl.”

Your face flushed with heat at the new pet name. You tied off the fresh bandages and stood up. “You should be good to go, unless you’ve got any other areas that need to be looked at?”

Blushing as his mind traveled to less innocent places, he shook his head. “I’m fine, honey. Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” You winked at him, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the dirty water and trash. As you rinsed the last of the grime from the bowl you’d used, Frank moaned behind you.

“Holy shit.” His words were mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, the other half of a cherry turnover in his hand. Swallowing with another horrifically attractive noise, he lifted the dessert in a gesture. “Did you make these?”

“Yes, but they were for after dinner!” You scolded, your smile completely betraying your feigned annoyance. “Cherry turnovers. Do you like them?”

“No, they’re awful.” Frank deadpanned, shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth ungracefully. You giggled, uncovering the lasagna before he could reach for another turnover.

“Would you like some actual food, you heathen?” You asked through stray laughs.

“You made me a lasagna?”

“Thought you might want some comfort food today. So I made two of my favorites.”

“Thank you,” Frank spoke your name gravely, as if it was a prayer. “God, sunshine, I dunno what to say.” Your heart ached as his voice cracked around the words.

“You don’t need to say anything, handsome. Just eat, so you can rest soon, yah?”

Frank couldn’t help but let the tension he’d been carrying for days roll off his back like droplets of water, his eyes crinkling with fondness as you puttered around his kitchen as if you had it memorized. You plated two hearty servings of lasagna and took a seat next to him, handing him a fork.

“I’m glad you made it back safely.” You smiled, your gaze more timid than he’d ever seen it.

“Me too, sunshine.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, he speared the fork into the food on his plate, taking a massive bite.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Frank groaned, beaming at you.

Laughing brightly, you took a bite of your own, overjoyed to have Frank to eat with again.

Thanks for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are incredibly appreciated.

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