Chapter Text
Two years ago…
“Spider-man saves the day again, putting the infamous Scorpion back in custody.” the reporter said on the TV screen.
Detective Jean DeWolff sighed and shook her head; the only thing the news reported these days was Spider-man. Spider-man stops a near-fatal bus crash, Spider-man stops the Hand, Spider-man is a public menace (the only one saying that was some old guy at the Daily Bugle) Spider-man, Spider-man, Spider-man.
“Is it too hard to ask for a simple weather report?” she grumbled in between sips of her lukewarm cup of coffee. She checked her watch and massaged the bridge of her nose; her break was over. Time to get back to work.
DeWolff stood up, her cardboard coffee cup in tow. Walking out of the breakroom, she met an officer in the hall, who handed her a file.
“Looks like there’s been a string of bombings at a chain of warehouses,” the officer told her. “Spider-man says he’ll look into it, and that we–”
“Is Spider-man our police chief?” DeWolff abruptly halted and turned toward the younger officer.
“Well no,” she tried to respond, “But–”
“No, buts. We are going to do our job, and investigate these bombings. Spider-man can play the hero if he wants, but he doesn’t have the authority to bench us,” the detective announced before dismissing the officer and making her way back to her desk.
Phones rang out from other cubicles, and chatter about the latest incidents threatened to pull at DeWolff’s focus. She blocked it all out, though, and slapped the file open while sitting down at her desk. Inside were a few pages of the bombings and the warehouse locations: almost nightly for the last week, no common owner between buildings, and almost no suspects to bring in–
“Breaking News: Spider-man is on the bombing case,” the corner television announced, breaking the detective’s concentration.
“Will someone turn the TV down?” she exclaimed, shooting up from her chair.
Several pairs of eyes snapped her way, but one other officer promptly turned the volume down on the TV and quietly went back to work.
DeWolff slumped back down, and she rubbed her temple. “I need to talk to the chief about this,” she muttered to herself, before going back to reading the incident details.
_*_
Present day…
The night air was brisk as Detective DeWolff stepped out of the car and onto the street. Already, there were several police cars and a few ambulances surrounding the scene. A few victims were being lifted into the back of the ambulances: two were being treated with head wounds, while the third had been shot in the shoulder and was being stabilized. No casualties, though. Thank God.
Through the commotion, the detective spotted the reason she was down there, the reason a half-dozen people made it out alive from a store holdup: Spider-man. An EMT stood next to him, looking over a thin gash cutting across his bicep.
“What happened, Spidey?” DeWolff asked, approaching him with a playful smirk. “Someone got a lucky shot on you?”
“Very funny, detective,” Spider-man answered, before briefly hissing at the stitches the EMT was putting in. DeWolff could never get over how young he sounded when he spoke. “But what are you doing here? It was just a store holdup.”
“Actually,” the detective began, her hands tucked away in her coat pockets. “This holdup could be connected to a string of them that have been happening lately.”
“Wait, what?” Spider-man attempted to step forward, accidentally pulling at the stitches much to the frustration of the EMT. “Ow, s-sorry. Detective, why haven’t I heard about this?”
“Well, you were on break,” DeWolff reminded him with half-shrug.
“I could have been researching it–Ow!”
The EMT raised his hands, and backed away. “I’m all done, Spidey. I’m done,” he said, before gathering his stuff and walking away, leaving DeWolff and the vigilante alone.
“Apparently, you needed more rest,” the detective sighed, gesturing to the now stitched-up wound. “Or your creepy senses would have warned you about that.”
“First slip-up since I got back into action, and you’re making fun of me,” Spider-man chuckled with a shake of his head. He rolled his hurt arm in a circle and flexed his hand. “Never change the detective. Anyway, send me the details about the holdups and I’ll–”
“Where are you going?”
Spider-man halted his exit, and he blinked underneath the mask. “I’m going, you know, home to, uh, research the hold-ups.”
“You’re going to swing back to wherever you live with a wounded arm?” DeWolff asked with a raised eyebrow. “You’re going to pull the stitches that poor medic worked very hard to put in.”
“I’ll just take the subway then,” Spider-man said with a quick, dismissive wave of his hand. He began to hurry away, but to his surprise, the detective sighed.
“No, no, no. You aren’t.”
“Wha–what do you mean?”
“I mean you are going to come with me, and join me and my kids for dinner. We can talk about the holdups there.”
Spider-man laughed, waiting for the punchline, but the detective's face remained neutral and dead serious. “Detective, I-I appreciate the,uh, invitation, I really do, but I’m not that hungry and–”
As if on cue, his stomach loudly growled, making him go pink under the mask. “Damn it,” he cursed under his breath, his head dropping and any further argument falling away. He would never admit it aloud, but he hadn’t eaten all day, though he had Evie give him reminders too.
“So?” DeWolff gestured to her car. “You don’t have to completely take off your mask. I’m just asking you to relax and have a proper meal.”
“You know,” Spider-man sighed honestly, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a home-cooked meal. Sounds very tempting.”
“I’m picking up Tai for the kids, so I hope that’s okay with you.”
Spider-man smiled though DeWolff couldn’t see it; she didn’t know how much his heart suddenly ached, how much her simple offer reminded him of easier times. “Thai, huh.” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “How could I refuse that?”