An hour later, a group of people in black suits knocked on the building's door.
They were Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Peter didn't recognize any of them, so he didn't mention that he was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. himself.
The agents helped clean up the scene, loading the remains of the Doom Robots into their vehicles.
The Fantastic Four didn't stop them, though Sue watched them the entire time to make sure they didn't steal or tamper with anything belonging to the Fantastic Four.
The agents soon left, and everyone agreed to call it a night.
"It's okay, Aunt May. I'm really fine. I wasn't anywhere near the top floor at the time."
Holding his phone, Peter muttered helplessly.
On the other end, Aunt May launched into another long string of worried reminders.
"Don't worry, Aunt May. I'm doing great. But I might get home a little late today. I need to stay and help clean up the lab. Is that okay? Okay."
She finally agreed.
Before hanging up, Peter wished her and Uncle Ben a happy New Year.
Back in his own lab, Peter finally took off his helmet.
He walked over to the workbench and looked at the almost intact Doom Robot on it, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
He had secretly stashed this one away.
Doctor Doom was a madman, but he was also a genuine genius.
A thoroughly insane genius...
All right, perhaps there was still more madman than genius in him.
But Peter couldn't keep tinkering tonight.
It was already very late. Tonight was New Year's Eve, and he had somewhere to be.
Peter walked up to the Doom Robot and carefully felt around it. Once he found its power core, he quickly cut the power.
Doctor Doom could very well send a signal from the other side of the dimensional portal, remotely activating this robot to rescue himself.
...Why couldn't he?
This was a comic book world, after all.
Peter put his mask back on, pushed open the lab window, and leaped into the night.
Only thirty minutes remained until midnight.
Perfect.
He swung over to a cake shop that was still open and bought a slice of cake.
Standing at the counter in his suit, waiting in line like an ordinary person, felt indescribably strange.
The customers in the shop took out their phones, posed for photos with him, and posted them on social media.
Peter quickly paid, grabbed the cake, and rushed into the night, heading straight for Felicia's apartment.
Peter landed outside her window and tapped lightly on the glass.
Felicia looked up from her bed and smiled when she saw him.
She came over and opened the window with a lovely smile.
"Well, this is a rare visit."
"Hello, ma'am. I received a tip that an extremely sexy lady urgently needs someone to hold her as she rings in the New Year tonight. May I come in?"
Felicia stepped back to let him in, then rolled her eyes.
"Dork."
"Your dork."
Peter took off his mask, wrapped an arm around her waist, and leaned down to kiss her.
Felicia gave a soft hum, then slowly pulled away.
She looked at the box in Peter's hand, her eyes curving with her smile.
"Is that for me?"
"That's right! And you'll never guess what it is!"
Peter teased her deliberately.
"You bought me triple chocolate cake with icing."
There was a hint of mischief in Felicia's smile.
Peter froze.
"How did you know?!"
"Twitter's blowing up."
She laughed and tossed Peter her phone.
Peter looked down. The photos he had taken with strangers at the cake shop had already spread all over the internet.
The comments below were full of:
"Who's the lucky girl?"
"Fuck, someone gets to enjoy that body on New Year's Eve, and I get nothing?!"
"So is he single?"
"Keep eating cake, and those pants won't fit anymore, Spider-Man."
Peter gave a wry laugh.
"Fuck, I should've seen that coming."
"So... where's the cake?"
Felicia tilted her head.
"You like cake, right?"
Smiling, Peter set the cake on her desk.
"I like cake, but I think I like you more."
Felicia wrapped her arms around his neck, kissed him again, and pulled him toward the bed.
She quickly rolled on top, slowly tracing the lines of Peter's suit with her fingers. Then she stopped kissing him and grumbled with a frown:
"I fucking hate this bodysuit of yours. Always hiding the good stuff inside."
Peter laughed.
"I feel the same way whenever you wear anything."
He pressed the release switch and quickly slipped out of his suit.
"So, what's your New Year's resolution?"
"Hmm, I do have one."
Felicia muttered:
"My New Year's resolution is to make sure my idiot superhero boyfriend doesn't get himself killed."
"Relax. How bad could it get?"
Peter said with a smile.
"That's exactly what you shouldn't be saying, Little Tiger."
Felicia's tone immediately turned irritated.
"You know something's going to happen the second you say that, right?"
"Oh, come on, Xiaomaomi. How could-"
"Felicia, I'm home!"
Peter looked into Felicia's eyes, and she was glaring right back at him.
"My mom."
She spoke in a hushed voice.
Peter swallowed.
"Okay, I really didn't see that coming."
"Out. Now!"
Felicia growled as she pushed open the window.
Peter grabbed his suit and tried to put it on, but it was already too late.
The sound of the doorknob turning was clearly audible.
He flipped out the window, quickly climbed up the outside wall, and crouched in the cold, snowy night.
"Felicia, sweetheart, happy New Year!"
Her mother's voice was full of joy.
"Hi, hi, Mom. I didn't expect you back."
Felicia sounded distinctly guilty.
Peter sighed and quickly put his suit on.
Fucking world.
"I came back early so we could ring in the New Year together! Come on, I booked that Italian restaurant you like. Remember to wear something nice."
Only after the door closed again did Felicia poke her head out the window and look at Peter.
"I'm sorry. I really didn't expect her to come back today."
"It's okay. My fault. Me and my big mouth."
Peter sighed, leaned down, and gently kissed her forehead.
"Go on. Have fun. We'll get together another time."
"I'm sorry, Little Tiger."
She apologized again.
Peter waved to show he was fine, then leaped off the building and swung into the night.
Fine, then.
He was already in his suit, so he might as well do some good.
And so Peter went straight into night patrol mode for the rest of the night.
First, he stopped a robbery. Then, in Hell's Kitchen, he intercepted a gang of thieves trying to haul away an ATM.
But as he swung above the streets, he noticed a group of homeless people wrapped in tattered clothes, huddled around a burning oil drum.
There were men and women, young and old.
If they stayed outside like this tonight, the risk of frostbite and hypothermia would be extremely high.
Peter called the police and waited on a rooftop until they arrived.
The police soon took the homeless people to the nearest shelter.
But as soon as the police cars left, Peter saw the group being kicked back out.
That wasn't right.
Peter dropped from the sky and landed at the shelter's entrance, just in time to see the crowd being driven out.
Everyone fell silent the moment they saw him.
The man in charge of the shelter was an overweight man in his early thirties, and his face was now filled with fear.
"What's going on here?"
Peter demanded in a low voice.
"Why are you kicking them out?"
"W-we've run out of funding. The money from city hall just isn't enough to support this many people."
The overweight man swallowed.
"Who's responsible for your funding?"
"C-City Councilman Nick Daves..."
Even the man's fingers were trembling.
"Fine. How much does it cost to house them for one night?"
Peter's question stunned everyone present.
"F-five thousand dollars?"
"Take them back inside. I'll find the money."
Peter growled, shot out a web, and swung into the night.
He found an ATM and withdrew the cash.
Peter had opened a bank account long ago so Sue could transfer money directly to him instead of giving him cash or checks every time.
He had enough money on hand to provide shelter for these people.
Afterward, Peter searched the city again, persuading more people sleeping on the streets in the freezing night to go to that shelter.
By the time he returned, the number of people he had brought back was almost twice the original group.
The overweight manager's face immediately turned ashen.
Peter walked up to him and slapped ten thousand dollars in cash onto the desk.
It was his entire salary for the month.
"If I find out that even one dollar of this money wasn't spent on food and lodging for these people, I'll hang you upside down and use that belly of yours as a punching bag. Understand?"
"Y-yes, sir."
The overweight man nodded frantically.
Peter got everyone settled inside and made sure everything was safe before swinging back into the night.
Whenever he came across anyone else sleeping on the streets, he brought them to the shelter he was paying to keep running.
That night was particularly long.
By the time Peter got home, it was already past three in the morning.
He took off his suit, collapsed onto his bed, and pulled out his phone.
Peter was a little curious about what people online were saying about him now.
But the moment he opened it, he was stunned.
He was trending again.
This time, someone had somehow dug up his visit to the shelter.
There were photos online of him grabbing the fat supervisor by the collar and yelling, along with all kinds of memes.
Someone had Photoshopped him into a Santa Claus outfit, while someone else had made an image of him standing in the sky, raining down money.
Some people had even started discussing his new suit.
Judging by the response so far, the suit was very popular, hailed as "the coolest gear since Iron Man's armor."
There was also a video online of his conversation with the fat supervisor.
He had no idea what technology the person filming had used, but the audio had been amplified with extraordinary clarity. Every word of his threats could be heard.
The comments below spanned two extremes:
'This guy is basically Mother Teresa with webs!'
'A freak in a costume openly threatening working people? Has society really sunk this low?'
Every opinion in between was represented, too.
Peter realized something.
From this moment on, he would live on the internet forever.
And that gave him an idea.
On New Year's Day, Peter helped Aunt May and Uncle Ben clean the house.
That evening, he went to Felicia's apartment and finally got to eat the cake that had been kept all this time, untouched.
But before he had been there more than a few hours, his superhero duties came calling again.
Peter had to leave to stop a bank robbery two streets away.
The next day, life returned to normal.
That morning, Peter arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D.'s underground base to continue training with Natasha.
Natasha seemed to be checking whether he had slacked off during winter break.
Come to think of it, Peter had never known S.H.I.E.L.D. even had such a thing as "winter break."
On second thought, though, that was probably just because he was still a student.
"Do anything fun over the break?"
Peter dodged a kick aimed straight at his stomach as he asked.
"Nothing worth mentioning."
Natasha's reply was flat.
"Aw, come on, Red. Don't be so cold."
Peter grabbed her arm and threw her over his shoulder.
Natasha landed steadily a few feet away, then instantly sprang up, sweeping a kick toward his head.
"Focus."
Her command was cold.
Peter rubbed his aching jaw and darted aside.
"Okay, okay, okay."
Muttering, he assumed a judo stance, then suddenly lunged forward, seized Natasha's collar, and threw her over his head.
But the instant Natasha's feet touched the ground, she countered, grabbing Peter's belt and trying to flip him over.
Peter landed on his back and thrust both legs out, kicking Natasha away.
Before she could get up again, he swiftly pinned her down, locking his arm around her neck.
"I win."
"It's a draw."
Natasha spoke softly.
A concealed dagger was pressed against Peter's vulnerable spot between his legs.
Peter hated this woman from the bottom of his heart.
But looking down from his current angle at the impressive view deep inside her neckline, he felt he could forgive her.
"We agreed on no weapons."
Peter growled.
"I lied."
Natasha's expression was cold.
Peter released her and pulled her to her feet.
"You're picking up judo faster than I expected. Next, we'll start learning Krav Maga. Have you finished the homework I assigned?"
Peter rolled his eyes.
"You mean memorizing The Art of War? Already done."
"Good. Then write a twenty-page book report and hand it in within a week. No negotiations."
Natasha headed for the door as she gave her instructions.
"This feels less like training and more like school."
Peter followed her out of the training room.
"Maybe that's exactly what it should feel like."
Natasha replied.
"Hmm... hey, Natasha, do you think S.H.I.E.L.D. could give me a way to use social media safely?"
Black Widow stopped and turned to look at him.
"What did you say?"
"Hasn't S.H.I.E.L.D. been tracking my online activity? Sightings, people talking about me online, that sort of thing?"
"Yes. And?"
"A lot of the time, I don't get a chance to speak for myself or explain my actions. If I had an official account online, I could do that."
The two had reached the area near the showers.
"I see... I'll talk to Fury."
As Natasha spoke, she grabbed the hem of her top and pulled it off, revealing her impressive figure encased in a snug sports bra.
Peter's eyes widened for a moment.
Looking at that body, so hot it practically smoked, he swallowed hard.
Natasha tilted her head toward him and gave him a look that was almost a smile.
"Want to join me in the shower?"
Peter's Adam's apple bobbed.
"Uh... I don't think Felicia would be happy about that. See you, Red."
He turned to leave, but before he went, he couldn't resist sneaking another glance at her chest.
No, wait.
He thought he had also seen the corners of Natasha's mouth lift slightly at that very moment.
The next morning, a package appeared outside Peter's front door.
There were no markings on the package, only a sheet of paper inside that read:
Untraceable.
Don't post nudes or any other idiotic content, and don't do anything that could endanger you or S.H.I.E.L.D.
Everything you post must first be submitted to our public relations department for review before it can be published.
-Fury