Webs We Weave



Chapter Twenty-Four

DISCLAIMER :: This tale blends together aspects of Peter Parker/Spider-Man and Gwen Stacy/Ghost Spider/Spider-Gwen from Marvel Comics, Marvel Television, and Marvel Studios. Fanfiction? Sort of. The world and characters are mine, but they may seem familiar.

Author's note: Slight trigger warning for a firearm being utilized in the scene. Also, trigger warning for those of you whose fathers were not that great.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RUi54JTgL5s ))

Sitting on the roof where I’d spent countless nights when I was sixteen the first time was quite the mind game. The scene of Crown Heights and Bedford-Stuyvesant around me wasn’t much different than I remembered. The towers of Manhattan were still barely over the horizon. The air smelled the same. The light pollution created the same night sky I could barely make out. The New Moon had happened the night before and the waxing crescent was barely visible in the sky.

I was stalling. Most of my mind was screaming about how I could find Chispa and Lowkey without my dad’s help. A small part of me knew that wasn’t true. He had connections. He had infrastructure. The look on his face from almost two months ago still haunted me, though. I could use him, but he also deserved to know the truth. We hadn’t spoken in ten years.

‘This is going to go swell,’ I thought. ‘Your kid’s wanted for a cornucopia of federal crimes, Captain Parker. Surprise, it’s a girl.’

I rolled my eyes dramatically and let out a heavy breath.

Climbing down the fire escape becomes a completely different experience when one can manipulate Van Der Waals forces to climb sheer surfaces. I stayed away from the windows of the other apartments as I moved down to the apartment I’d grown up in. The light appeared to be off. I had to make sure he wasn’t home. Maybe he was in bed?

Carefully, I lifted the kitchen window that always seemed to stick about halfway up. It didn’t open quietly. These old buildings always made noise in one way or another. I’d been ignoring the tingle running up my spine and into my head for a couple of minutes. Quietly, I climbed into the kitchen over the sink like I had done hundreds of times in the past. When I turned around into the room, the light flicked on. Sitting at the small table against the far wall that we had shared hundreds of meals at was my father. He was holding his police-issued pistol and it was aimed straight at me. His clothes showed that he probably got off work about an hour prior. He wasn’t wearing the shoes, but he still had the formal socks, slacks, uniform shirt, and tank top undershirt on. The uniform shirt was fully unbuttoned like he was trying to relax after a long day.

His accent came out strong. “Who da fuck are you and what’re you doin’ in my house? Do you know who da fuck I am?”

I hadn’t bothered with the voice modulation. “You’re Captain Gregory Micheal Parker out of the Seventy-Seventh Precinct. You walk to work every morning because you haven’t owned a car since the 1980s.”

He pulled the hammer back on the pistol. “You’re gonna tell me how you know dat. You been followin’ me? Stalkin' me?”

“No, sir, I have not.”

“Then how the fuck do you know what you know?”

Swallowing a lump in my throat, I slowly raised my hands up to my head. Seconds stretched into hours as I reached up to undo the snap of my hood to lower it. After that, I released the snaps on the mask and lifted it over my head. His eyes nearly bulged out of his face.

“The girl from the cemetery.” He deduced. “You’re the one the feds are lookin’ for.”

“They haven’t seen my face.”

“I have. Tell me who you are. Now.”

In the face of everything, I actually stood a little taller after I straightened my posture. “My name is Saoirse Maxine Parker.” I swallowed a knot in my throat. “You’re not going to shoot me, are you… Dad?”

The last word out of my mouth hit him like a ton of bricks. It only seemed to make him angrier. “You ain’t my kid. My kid’s in his thirties and a lot taller than you. He’s a stupid kid with his head in the clouds. B’sides, I ain’t never had no daughter. You’re a teenager dat’s been to Comic Con one too many times. Who da fuck are you to call me dat?”

“How much evidence would you like me to give you? You were born September 9th of 1967. You grew up in Flushing. You married the sister of your best friend, Lieutenant Benjamin Stacey, that you had known since middle school. You’re self-conscious about a mole on your left foot and always have been. You’ve shaved with the same safety razor your dad gave you almost forty years ago. Am I getting any warmer?”

“How the fuck do you know—”

I couldn’t stop the rush of tears. “I’M FUCKING PRESTON! YOUR KID ISN’T MISSING! SHE’S RIGHT HERE IN FRONT OF YOUR STUPID, STUBBORN FUCKING EYES!” Sobs enveloped me.

Neither one of us said anything for a period of time that seemed like forever. The weight of emotion put me on my knees as my body continued to be wracked by sobs. I could hear the sound of metal gently impacting wood. He breathed heavily in and out several times.

“Preston’s been gone since—” He started to say.

“April 29th.” I finished his statement with a subdued voice. “Haven’t you had weird occurrences at the Precinct since then?”

“No,” He shook his head, but his voice wasn’t so sure. “I mean, there was this one girl a uniform brought in after a robbery that had finger prints matching a rape case. Alarms went off that night in the holding cells and we found the door iced over. The girl was gone. That was weird. Couldn’t explain that one.”

“That happened after the 29th, right?”

“Two weeks ago, yea.”

“Teenager or older?”

I could hear his clothes react to his shrug. “We thought about 19 or so, but I ain’t the best judge of age anymore. Kids look a lot younger dese days.”

“The interstellar energy distortion that passed through the Earth on April 29th did a lot of things. The event horizon created an EMP-effect that knocked out power and disrupted electronics. The trailing particle rain created a very different outcome. Most people weren’t affected. Some people were.” I opened my eyes to look at him once again. “That girl had ice powers. She’s the one that froze the door of the holding cell and broke out. That girl in Chicago didn’t come out of nowhere. We’re seeing things like that all over the place now. I have powers.”

“You ain’t gonna breathe fire on me, are ya?”

“Not part of my skillset. How old was the suspect in the sexual assault case?”

He shook his head and waved a hand as he threw out a number. “In his forties or somethin’. I ain’t sure anymore. The detectives have all that information.”

“She wasn’t dressed like a typical nineteen-year-old from the neighborhood, was she?”

“Nah, she looked like she raided her dad’s closet or somethin’. Didn’t act like no girl I know. Didn’t talk like one, neither.”

Finally, I started standing back up. “Put together: You had a nineteen year old female robbery suspect in custody with fingerprints that matched a rape case involving a man in his forties. She didn’t behave or speak like most young women you’ve come in contact with on the block. Her clothes resembled more of an assortment a much older man would choose to wear. When the night shift replaced day shift with fewer numbers, you found a holding cell with an icy door and no suspect present. What are the possibilities that the two are in fact the same person?”

“Impossible to make that connection. One’s a teenage girl and the other’s a man in his forties.”

Taking in a deep breath, I resolved to tell him everything. “I was running a delivery down near the waterfront. I had that Trek bicycle that I bought for the pizza place I worked for after college. It needed a new chain and the break lines were so corroded that replacing them was necessary too. I was making money fixing other people’s bikes but never had enough for my own. I kept going. I’ve never been a quitter. That wave hit and I was knocked out. Hours later, something happened. I could sense things I shouldn’t. I had this really bad headache. In the span of ten to fifteen minutes, the thirty-three year old male exterior melted away and was replaced by…” I motioned to my body. “...well, replaced by this.”

The tears came again. “Every dream I’ve ever had for myself was realized in an alley next to a dumpster full of rats.” My eyes focused directly onto his. Tears came more freely. Years of suppression dissolved. “This is the me you would never see! This is the me you would never allow to exist! This is the me that Mom knew before I had words to describe it, then some fucking drunk tore her out of our lives forever and turned you into a fucking monster! This is the me you pushed away! I was never going to be good enough for the great Greg Parker! That tough cop couldn’t possibly have a fucking sissy for a son! That was never going to be acceptable!”

My voice lowered from enraged roar to quiet declaration. “I’m right here. You just never saw it because you chose not to.”

Silence enveloped the room. He seemed frozen in time. He didn’t move anything. I don’t think he even blinked. He just stared at me.

Eventually, he did speak. His voice was low and soft. “Dat’s uncalled for.”

Tears still streamed down my cheeks, but my face contorted with rage. “Is it, though?” I wanted to spit. I scoffed instead. “You used to be my hero, y’know. After we lost Mom, you turned into my bully.”

“Don’t you ever suggest this was your mother’s fault.” He growled.

“I’m not suggesting that. It’s yours, Dad. It’s your fault. Own up to it. Take accountability for once in your fucking life.”

He slowly stood, waited a second, then slowly crossed the room toward me. His hands rose and cupped my face. His eyes bored into my own. There were tears that finally fell. “Why do you look like her? Why do you look so much like my Lizzie?”

“Because she gave birth to me. Genetics are funny that way. Kids look like their parents.”

“Preston looked like Lizzie, too.”

I knew he was starting to get it. I gently placed my gloved hands on his upper arms. “Yea, except a little man-ish. Testosterone does that.”

He slowly shook his head. “Always got somethin’ to say, eh, kid?”

“Only when I’m really scared, anxious, overstressed, or the moment feels too heavy. It keeps my brain from short-circuiting. It’s always been about coping.”

His lips formed into a very slight smirk. “I thought you was taller.”

“I was two months ago. I shrank and turned into a teenage girl. It’s my second chance, Dad. I’m not wasting it.”

“What d’you want from me?”

“My dad.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

With his hands, he guided my face toward his chest. He then wrapped his arms around me. Something broke. My arms wrapped around his torso. One of his hands was behind my head. The other was on my back. First there was heat in my eyes, then the dam broke. My entire body convulsed in sobs. It was the Dad Hug I’d needed for a very long time. He didn’t say anything for a while. He just held me.

“I’m not gonna pretend it ain’t weird, kid.” He said finally.

“Tell me about it. I’m falling for a guy half my age that goes to the same school as me.”

He jolted. “Excuse da fuck outta you?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later. Right now, it’s not important.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “What’d you say your name was again?”

The hug released and I looked up into my dad’s eyes. It was a challenge with him that close. “Saoirse Maxine Parker.”

“Dat ain’t a name anyone in this family would’a given you. Where’d it come from?”

“‘Saoirse’ is Irish for ‘freedom’. It was suggested and I took it after mulling it over for a couple of days. I chose it when I visited Mom after everything happened. ‘Maxine’ comes from Mom. It’s Irish tradition—”

“...to give a child the name of a deceased loved one. Yea, I know dat one. You stuck with ‘Parker’, though? Wasn’t you afraid somebody would figure it out?”

I rolled my eyes. “Dad, throw a stick in Brooklyn or Queens and you’ll hit a hundred Parkers.”

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Okay, dat’s true.”

“When did you figure out I was telling the truth?”

He hung his head. “When you called out your lump of a father. Not for nothin’, you was right. More than ten years since we last talked and I couldn’t admit it ‘til you went missin’ and I had to tell your mom about it. She would’a kicked my ass from here to Jersey if you’d joined her in Heaven and I hadn’t made it right.”

“She knew I was okay. I visited her a day or two after everything happened.”

“And you wore dat dress on Mother’s Day for her?”

“I did. I’d already told her everything.”

“And you didn’t come to me because…” He breathed heavily. “Obviously.” He slowly shook his head. “Kid, I ain’t gonna be winnin’ any medals in parenting any time soon. I know dat. I can’t promise I can be any better goin’ forward, but I promise to try.”

Tears welled up in my eyes again. “That means a lot, Dad.”

“It’s the bare minimum, Pres—I mean, Saoirse. I should’a done better by you. I can’t take none of it back.”

I shrugged. “Eh, well, that’s why therapists make the big money in this city.”

He rolled his eyes. “Right.” Taking a quick breath, he motioned toward the suit. “So, you gonna tell me why you came to my house in that get-up or not?”

“Did you hear about last night? Apparently, I’m famous.”

“There was some chatter from the First Precinct boys who was told about some girl in purple and black that beat up a lot of federal agents. Somethin’ about breaking some doors, a wall, a window, and some guy’s hand. Looked like there was some spider webs in the building or somethin’?”

“Yea… that was me. I go by Silk Warden when I’m in the suit.”

“Some whack-a-doo Sergeant outta the Tenth was bent outta shape about that name. Kept sayin' she was dangerous.”

I scoffed. “Only to assholes and fascists.”

He gave me a look. “Frankly, I was wonderin’ when she’d cross the East River and give us a hand over here. Three boys back in May got their asses handed to them by some girl. There was webs and stuff on the scene. Uniforms didn’t know what to make of it back then.”

My body shuddered. “They did not have the best of intentions. I taught them a lesson.”

“One of them boys had three broken ribs.”

“It was only a couple of days after everything happened. I hadn’t learned to pull my punches, yet. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“So, you’re admitting to a Captain of the NYPD that you broke into a federal building at night when they got fewer bodies, beat a few of ‘em up, tore off some doors, busted a wall, broke a whole window pane, and aided in the escape of eighty detainees from Department of Homeland Security custody? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?”

“No. I’m telling my dad I rescued a bunch of innocent people from inhumane conditions—two of which were residents of a youth shelter in The Village and United States citizens that were racially profiled.”

“What ain’t you sayin’?”

“ICE took four people from that shelter Wednesday morning. Two were transferred out of 26 Federal Plaza. Is there any way you can find out where they were taken? Any logs you can access?”

“You think I got access to the federal systems?”

“No, but you do have thirty-some-odd years on the force and probably a few friends in federal law enforcement.”

He let out a long, tired sigh. “I’ll make some calls, but it ain’t gonna happen ‘til tomorrow.”

A sense of desperation rose up in me. “The raid happened yesterday morning, Dad! They got transferred before I had a chance to hit the place! For all I know, they’re on a bus or a plane to somewhere else in the country where I can’t get to them!” Tears started streaming again. “They’re family, Dad. They need to come home.”

He reached up with both hands and gave my shoulders a squeeze. “I get it, kid. The problem is nobody’s gonna be in the office until tomorrow morning. Even if I had their personal numbers, callin’ at this time o’ night would look real suspicious. You gotta think this through. Ya can’t go bumbling into it, a’right?”

“They don’t have the luxury of time. This was never gonna be a perfect operation. I never would have thought about assaulting a federal building, but they took my family that hasn’t done anything wrong. They’re just kids, Dad. Kids.”

He let me go and moved back over to the table. Grabbing a pen and small pad from the chest pocket of his uniform shirt, he clicked the pen and looked up at me.

“I need names, ages, nationality, area they were apprehended, and all da rest. We’ll start with names.” He grunted, putting pen to paper.

I sniffled. “First, Hoo-lee-uh Mo-rey-no. J-U-L-I-A M-O-R-E-N-O. Then, Fed-er-eek-o Al-vuh-rez. F-E-D-E-R-I-C-O A-L-V-A-R-E-Z.”

He nodded and started writing. “Julia Moreno. John, Union, Lincoln, Ida, Adam; Mike, Ocean, Robert, Edward, Nora, Ocean. Federico Alvarez. Frank, Edward, David, Edward, Robert, Ida, Charlie, Ocean; Adam, Lincoln, Victor, Adam, Robert, Edward, Zebra. You got ages on these two?”

“Chispa is fifteen and Lowkey is sixteen.”

“I’m guessin’ those are street names? Which is which?”

“Chispa is Julia. Lowkey is Rico. Sorry for the confusion. We don’t really use ‘government names’. They call me Seda, by the way.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re talking too much. Lemme get this straight: Julia, aka Chispa, is a fifteen year old Hispanic girl and Federico, aka Rico, aka Lowkey, is a sixteen year old Hispanic male?” I nodded firmly. “Where was they taken from? What area?”

“Sixth Precinct. Greenwich Village.”

“You been shacked up in the Village for the past couple o’ months? Movin’ up in the world, kid.” He shook his head. “I went to the academy with the Captain over there. I can probably talk to him. Beyond that, we’re lookin’ at gettin’ info from the Southern District. That ain’t gonna be easy.”

“Ahead of time, thanks for trying.”

His voice got soft for a moment. “When your mom was pregnant with you, I promised I’d do anything in the world for you. I lost sight of that for a long time. Maybe both of us got a second chance.”

Tears came again. “I’d like that, Dad. I really would.”

“You got a phone I can reach you at?”

I nodded firmly. “I do. You’re gonna laugh at the number.”

“Yea? What is it?”

“2-1-2, 5-5-5, 2-3-6-8.”

He wrote down the number, then stopped for a moment. He started to laugh. “Sure, kid. I’ll call the Ghostbusters.” He laughed for another moment. “C’mon, gimme the real number.”

“Call it,” I smiled, trying not to laugh with him.

Rolling his eyes, he pulled his own phone out of the hip pocket of his slacks and dialed the number. A second later, Ray Parker Jr’s iconic anthem played. I pulled my phone out of the thigh pocket of my suit and showed it to him. He laughed even harder and we shared the first laugh together since I was a prepubescent child.

“Get outta here, kid, before I put on my badge and arrest you for playin’ me like that!” He continued laughing.

I slipped the phone back in the hip pocket, put my mask back on, and raised the hood once more. “I’ll see you around?”

He nodded. “You’ll be hearin’ from me. Don’t do nothin' stupid, a’right?”

“Did you miss the part where I broke into the federal building?”

He sighed. “You did what needed done, kid. That ain’t stupid. That was brave. You got more balls than me, I’ll give you dat.”

“Funny turn of phrase considering I don’t have those anymore.”

“Always got somethin’ to say… get outta here, for cryin’ out loud. Your old man needs some sleep.”

I gave him a mock two-finger salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

I turned and slipped out the window the same way I came in.