CHAPTER THREE
Breaking News

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CECELIA'S BOOTS were about to wear through the floorboards of F.E.A.S.T's back room, but she couldn't help it. In literally five minutes' time, she was going to go on stage in front of at least three-hundred people. Oh, sure, she was going as Phantom, not Cecelia, and all she had to do was give her thanks after May had finished her speech and take a few photos, but it was still as nerve-wracking as an AcaDec competition. This was the first time Phantom had ever made a public appearance, after all, and the whole world—or all of New York, at least—would be expecting something big. News reporters would undoubtedly be present, and if Cecelia stuttered or forgot her lines or, Creator forbid, accidentally revealed anything about her identity, that would be the front page of every newspaper in twenty-four hours. Shit, The Daily Bugle would probably milk it for months.

See, the public knew even less about Phantom than they did Spider-Man. Pre- and Post-Blip, Cecelia had become a sort of local icon to New York. It had been her team-ups with Peter that had launched her into the spotlight, but after a few months of headlines like SPIDER-MAN'S NEW SIDEKICK SAVES CHILD FROM BURNING BUILDING, people finally started seeing Cecelia as a vigilante of her own right. SPIDER-MAN'S NEW SIDEKICK became simply PHANTOM, and Cecelia developed a fanbase that rivalled Peter's. The Instagram account Phantomsightings exploded in popularity, the people she rescued begged her for an autograph, and once a group of pre-teens had actually fainted when she'd found their lost cat.

But while Phantom turned into somewhat of a public figure, she still remained an enigma. Even after almost two active years of vigilante work, no one even knew her gender. People like to assume she was a man—probably because this was a) the default, and b) the expectation after the Avengers, who only had one woman officially among them—but no one could ever be certain. Her race was another matter, too: Cecelia doubted most people saw her and immediately thought Native American. Both of these came in contrast to Peter, who literally had MAN in his name and had torn his old suit often enough to reveal his complexion.

So it was safe to say that everyone was going to be trying to put a few of the pieces together. And while Cecelia had uploaded a voice-changer into her suit and triple-checked to make sure the crowd couldn't even get a glimpse of her forehead, she still couldn't help the panic swelling up inside her. There was a real chance that she could mess up out there, letting the secrets she'd been so desperately holding onto come into light.

Also, she really hated public speaking. So that was another reason to be nervous.

Cecelia, in her Iron Phantom suit (Mr. Stark had come up with the name) but without her mask, turned, walking the length of the back room once more. Her boots clanked with each step, which was probably annoying, but she was too anxious to care. She twisted a fidget cube in her gloved hands, trying to fight down the bile rising in her throat.

"I don't think I can do this," she said.

Peter, who was leaning against the wall, tracked her pacing. He was a little green at the gills, too. "Yeah. Um, I'm starting to have second thoughts."

"Oh, sweethearts," May said, looking up from the paperwork she'd been double-checking. "You're going to do great. There's absolutely nothing to be worried about."

Cecelia shook her head. "There are about a thousand things to be worried about. Howl, name one thing that could go wrong out there."

A pause. Then, through Cecelia's earpiece: "Aliens?"

"I mean, I was thinking more along the lines of being trampled under an angry crowd and being unable to turn intangible in time, but yeah, aliens work, too. It's not like we're strangers to them anymore."

"I see. Adding 'crowd mobs' to my list of possible concerns."

Howl spoke directly into Cecelia's ear, but Peter's freaky hearing picked up on it, anyway. "You made Howl make an actual list?" he asked. "Seriously?"

"Sometimes I run through it so I can be prepared," Cecelia replied. "Or if I want an excuse to get out of things. This is definitely the latter. Hey, May, what if aliens do attack? I might be better watching the door just in case—"

"Oh, shush." May stood up, made her way over to Cecelia, and planted her hands on her hips. "You're going out there, Cecelia, and you're going to be fine." She eyed Peter. "You both are. And I think you know that. I mean, you're the ones who agreed to this in the first place."

"I don't know what I was thinking." Cecelia buried her head in her hands.

"You were thinking that you wanted to help garner attention for a good cause," May said. "Because you're a hero, and that's what you do. And you can do it. I believe in you."

"Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Sure."

"Oh, come over here, Cecelia." May opened her arms. After a moment, Cecelia fell into them. May smelled like the springtime of her name, and the familiar scent managed to calm Cecelia, at least a little. "Come on. I believe in you. I never would've asked you to do this if I thought you couldn't."

Cecelia sucked in a breath. "Okay. Okay. You're right, you're right. I just need to—let me just catch my breath."

"Of course, sweetie. We've still got—" May checked her watch, "—Three minutes. Do you want a cup of water?"

When Cecelia nodded, May went and retrieved one for her.

May Parker was a member of the very small group of people that knew Cecelia was Phantom. After she'd discovered Peter was Spider-Man—and reacted by storming into the compound and screaming at Mr. Stark in a now infamous incident—it hadn't taken long before she'd also discerned that Peter's new partner and the girl who was constantly at his apartment were one and the same. Cecelia hadn't actually minded this, because it meant that she could always use May to explain away Phantom to her parents. And, plus, she liked Peter's aunt. Sure, she was a horrible cook—which Cecelia had learned the hard way after she'd tried some of her meatloaf—and often overprotective, but she was also funny, nurturing, and sweet. She always treated Cecelia like her own daughter when she came over to hang with Peter.

Recently, between juggling double shifts as a nurse, May had started volunteering at F.E.A.S.T. Soon after the Blip, F.E.A.S.T—a non-profit organization that sought to help the homeless—became overrun. It became clear that Blip Shelters did not do enough to help those the Blip had displaced, and most, upon being discharged, still had nowhere to go. Which was why F.E.A.S.T was initiating a support shelter of their own, free of charge, that would house individuals as long as they needed. No questions asked.

Cecelia had loved the idea when she'd first heard about it, so when May had called her to ask if she wanted to guest-speak at the fundraiser, she hadn't hesitated to say yes. If going as Phantom was what it would take to get more people to donate for the homeless, Cecelia would suit up every time.

Which is why you're here, she thought. May's right. This isn't about me. This is about helping out the little guy.

"There you go." May deposited the water in Cecelia's hand. "Drink this and take a few deep breaths. You've got this."

Cecelia downed the water in one gulp. "Thank you."

May just smiled.

Peter took in his own shuddering breath. "All right," he said to himself. "All right. Come on. I'm Spider-Man. I've fought Thanos. This? This is gonna be a piece of cake."

"Yep," Cecelia said. "Piece of cake."

Much to her dismay, her last three minutes of freedom passed in the blink of an eye. Before Cecelia knew it, May was nudging her. "Come on," she said. "It's time."

Cecelia nodded and pulled on her mask, becoming Phantom in an instant. Across from her, Peter did the same. Now, instead of two awkward teenagers who hadn't even finished high school yet, they'd turned into New York's most beloved vigilantes.

And, to the eyes of the crowd, that was who walked on stage after May.

Immediately, Cecelia was accosted by a thousand blinding flashes and a cacophony of delighted screams. It took everything inside of her not to flinch away, to flee, to duck right back behind that curtain. Instead, she waved, telling herself again and again that she was Phantom, she was Phantom, she wasn't Cecelia today. It only helped a little.

Thankfully, when May raised a hand, the crowd went quiet. It was dark in here, smudging most of the audience into watercolour blurs, but she could pick out a few Spider-Man and Phantom masks in the sea. That made her smile underneath her own.

This is why you're here, she told herself again.

Fortunately, when May launched into her rehearsed speech, Cecelia had a moment to take a breather. She inhaled slowly through her nose, held the air in her chest, and blew it back out. You're fine, she told herself. You're fine.

Finally, her heart rate—which had previously been running marathons in her chest—slowed down to a more reasonable pace. Standing up here wasn't so bad. She could practically fade into the shadows.

"When I Blipped back to my apartment, the family that was living there was very confused," May was saying. "The wife thought that I was a mistress." The crowd chuckled at that. "The grandma thought that I was a ghost. It was—it was really a mess. Thank you all for coming out to support those who have been displaced by the Blip. And, of course, thanks to our very own Spider-Man and Phantom!"

...Or the attention could be brought right back to her again.

As the audience burst into applause, Cecelia gave them a wave. Then she practically shoved Peter toward the microphone in a completely un-subtle attempt at getting him to speak first. The lenses of Peter's mask flared, but he reluctantly approached the microphone and cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Miss Parker, for having us," he squeaked. His voice was about ten octaves higher than normal, and Cecelia would've teased him if she hadn't been so nervous herself. "And thank you, you guys, for having us." He shot the audience a shaky thumbs-up.

Cecelia expected him to say something else, but Peter just stepped back again. Which made it Cecelia's turn to speak.

She took another deep breath. In front of her, the microphone might as well have been a feral, rabid animal. Something to be approached with caution.

"Hello—" she tried to say. Her words were overtaken by a screech of static that made even people with normal ears uncomfortable (Peter, on the other hand, twitched in pain). Her face burned, and she drew back from the microphone for a second, trying to recover. Then she leaned forward again.

"Thank you for all of the support you have given this campaign," she said. She was using her favourite voice-alteration option she had—the 1920s radio accent. It just toed the line between male and female, never quite committing to either, and gave her a twang that came right out of a black-and-white film. "After the Blip, New York's homeless population nearly tripled, and there are still far too many stuck on the streets."

And then she proceeded to forget what to say next. For a moment, she stood blinking at the crowd, her chest heaving. The audience blinked back at her.

"With your help, F.E.A.S.T will be able to provide a great number of those people with free, limitless shelter that they don't feel like they have a time limit on," Howl reminded her. She'd fed him her lines yesterday for this exact scenario.

Grateful, Cecelia repeated this. She continued, "Homelessness is a crisis that should not exist in America, but as long it does, we have a responsibility to do something about it. I'm very grateful to F.E.A.S.T for reaching out to me for this campaign, and even more grateful for the work they do. Thanks to organizations like them, the homeless population has gone down by 15% since December. And with the opening of their new shelter, they're hoping to increase that number further.

"Of course, this wouldn't have been possible without your help. So, um, thanks again. Let's see if we can reach the donation goal by midnight!"

Cecelia was already cursing herself for slipping—that um was going to be immortalized forever—when the crowd burst into its second set of applause. A few people whistled, and a little girl in a Phantom mask cheered, "Go, Phantom!"

Something in Cecelia's chest warmed. She smiled, even though no one could see it.

May took over the microphone again. "Thank you, Spider-Man and Phantom! They'll be right back out to take photos and videos. Thank you!"

With the cheering continuing, Cecelia rushed backstage.

Peter followed. He disengaged his mask, revealing shining eyes, and beamed. "That was amazing."

He high-fived May with a clink, and she grinned. "That was great."

"Oh, that was so cool. I was so nervous."

"Sorry I was a little stiff. I felt like I wasn't in the pocket."

"No, I thought you did great."

May tilted her head. "Yeah, well, I actually did think you were a little stiff."

Peter shrugged. "Uh, yeah, I felt that too. I felt that too."

"Cecelia, though... oh, honey, you did fantastic!" May pulled her in for another hug. Cecelia, still in her mask, accepted it. She was shaking a little.

"Really?" she asked. "But I—I forgot my lines."

"You recovered perfectly. Don't worry."

Cecelia was going to worry. She wobbled over to the couch to sit down. "At least that part's over. Shit, I'm not looking forward to the meet-and-greet. When did I become a celebrity?"

"When you started hanging out with me," Peter said, dropping down beside her.

May tsked at him. "Peter."

"What? It's true!"

She sighed. "Did you get your passport?"

"Yeah."

"Mini toothpaste?"

"Yeah, I did."

"He's still got time, May," Cecelia reminded. "The trip isn't for a few days."

May said, "Yeah, but with this one, it's better to be safe than sorry." Peter swatted at her playfully.

Behind them, the door creaked. Peter whirled around and engaged his mask again, hiding his identity just in case some reporter had managed to sneak in. Cecelia braced herself.

But it was just Happy, struggling through the heavy doors with a ginormous, laminated cheque in hand. "Hey, sorry I'm late."

Peter took the mask back off and got to his feet. "Happy. Hey."

"Hey, Mr. Hogan," said Cecelia, just because she knew it got on his nerves.

Indeed, Happy rolled his eyes.

Cecelia had met Happy Hogan soon after she'd become an official intern at Stark Industries. The asset manager (previously head of security) at the company, Happy had been a constant presence in the Avengers Compound. At first, Cecelia had thought he genuinely hated her for what had happened during Homecoming (he'd actually been in charge of the plane Richard and Toomes had hijacked, after all), but it turned out the death glare he gave her almost every day was just what his face looked like. Given the fact that Cecelia was often told she had a resting murder face, she definitely understood this.

And Happy had turned out to be a pretty good guy. When she'd been an intern, he'd sometimes offered to drive her home (though he did grumble about it for at least fifteen minutes). Sometimes he called her during patrol just to make sure she was all right, and he gushed about Morgan like he was his own daughter, and once, on a Really Bad Day, he'd found her lying in an alleyway and taken her out for hot chocolate.

So, yeah, maybe Cecelia liked him. But she'd never admit that. He wouldn't, either.

Now, Happy took May in. "Oh, you look lovely."

"Thanks," May said. "You too."

"Thank you. New dress?"

"Yeah, yes, it is. Is that a new beard?"

"It's my—my Blip beard. 'Cause I grew it in the Blip." He glanced at Peter. "Blip beard."

"I see. Yeah."

Peter nudged Cecelia. His eyes were big, all, are you hearing this? Cecelia nodded, because yeah, she was. And what the fuck was happening?

"Anyway, so, uh, the reason I'm late is because this was misplaced at the office," Happy said, gesturing to the giant cheque in his hands. It was for five-hundred-thousand dollars. "Can you believe it? Because it's enormous." He passed it over to May. "I mean, not the amount, the size. The amount's nice, too. They're very generous. Pepper Potts said she was sorry she couldn't be here."

"Thank you," May said. "I think I'm gonna go change the Sterno under the vegan lasagna. Spider-Man, Phantom, go shake hands."

"Will do." Peter gave her a salute.

"Bye, May," Cecelia said.

When May had pushed herself back through the curtain entirely, Peter whipped around to Happy. "What just happened?"

Happy ignored this. "Heads up, Nick Fury's calling you."

Cecelia's stomach dropped. "What?"

"Nick Fury's calling you. The both of you."

"Yeah, I heard you the first time."

Why the hell would Nick Fury, former director of S.H.I.E.L.D and practical founder of the Avengers, call her?

"Nick Fury's gonna call us?" Peter repeated faintly. "Why?"

"Why? Because he probably has some hero stuff for you to do," said Happy. "You're superheroes. He calls superheroes."

"Well, I mean, if it was really that important, he'd probably call someone else, not us." Then he cast a panicked look at Cecelia. "I mean, um, not that we're not great, or whatever. Just that we're kind of, you know... friendly, neighbourhood vigilantes."

"No, no, I agree," Cecelia said. "We're only Avengers on a technicality."

Just then, Peter's phone buzzed from across the room.

"Apparently not," Happy said.

Peter rifled through his bag and took out his phone. An unknown number flashed across the screen.

"That's it. No caller ID. That's him."

Peter looked up, trepidatious. "I don't really wanna talk to Nick Fury."

"Answer the phone."

"Why did he call me first? Why didn't he go for Cecelia?"

"Answer the phone, Peter."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't talk to him, then I have to, and I don't want to talk to him."

"Well, why don't you want to talk to him?"

"Because I'm scared. Just answer the phone."

Peter hung up.

Happy gaped at him. "You sent Nick Fury to voicemail?"

"Yeah."

"You don't send Nick Fury to voicemail."

"I'm pretty sure he just sent Nick Fury to voicemail," Cecelia said, suppressing a grin. At least, right up until her own phone started to vibrate.

She took it out of her own bag and stared at it. An unknown number without a location took up the entire screen, giving her no choice but to make a choice—hang up, or accept the call. Cecelia's fingers hovered over each of the buttons in contemplation.

Happy noticed this. "Cecelia, I swear to God, you better answer."

Cecelia said, "I don't answer calls from unknown numbers. They're usually scammers."

"Nick Fury is not a scammer! Just answer the damn phone!"

"If what he has to say is so important, why didn't he just text me?"

"Text you? You want Nick Fury to text you?"

"Yeah. I mean, I hate phone calls."

"Nick Fury isn't just going to text you—you know what, I give up." Happy stowed his hands in his pockets. "You two win. I'm gonna have to call up Nick Fury. I hope you're proud of yourselves."

Cecelia shrugged. "Yeah."

Peter took her arm. The contact of his hand—even enclosed within a metallic glove—sent a cool shiver down Cecelia's spine. "Did you hear that?" he asked Happy. "They're calling us. It's—we gotta go." He began to pull her back toward the curtain again.

"You gotta talk to him eventually," Happy insisted.

"I will. I'm gonna call him. I promise. I'm gonna call him. I will."

"No such promises come from me," Cecelia said. "You know, I'd even accept an email instead."

"She'll call him!" Peter insisted. The legs of his Iron Spider suit emerged from his back, parting the curtain for them. "We both will!"

"You do not ghost Nick Fury!" Happy shouted.

"I promise you, we'll call him." Peter pulled Cecelia through the curtain. His legs closed it behind him, and he turned to her, grinning. "After the trip, right?"

"You can call him for both of us," Cecelia said. If she was being honest, she really was curious about why Nick Fury had decided to just ring her up. Of course, it certainly wouldn't be for an idle chat. Happy was probably right when he said it was for 'hero stuff', but what kind? What did he want them to do? Why, out of everyone, did he want the aid of Spider-Man and Phantom?

Peter rolled his eyes. "All right, all right. Well, you ready to go back out there?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. You're missing something there, Spider-Man." Cecelia reached out, and, before she could stop herself, booped him on the nose. Then, immediately, a swarm of embarrassment buzzed through her. Her cheeks and the tips of her ears warmed, and she looked down, moving her focus to her boots. Why the hell had she just done that?

"What—oh, my mask!" Peter triggered it instantly, and the nanites crawled over his face again. "Whoops. Thanks, Cecelia."

Cecelia imagined picking up her brain and giving it a good shake. Brain juices would slosh everywhere, coating the inside of her skull, but when she returned it to its normal position, it wouldn't possess those weird urges anymore. Seriously, what was that?

"Let's just go," she said. Now it was her turn to take Peter's arm and drag him back out into the greedy crowd.

FOR THE FIRST FIVE minutes, Cecelia was so mortified by her stupid, stupid, dumbass self that she didn't even find it in herself to be nervous while taking pictures with children and obligingly turning intangible for the reporters. On minute six, though, she finally realized that, holy shit, she was in front of all these people, and proceeded to flip out again. Unfortunately, she didn't have the luxury of bursting through F.E.A.S.T's walls, running all the way home, and curling into a ball under her covers, so she had to settle with screaming internally.

The only thing that kept her from falling apart entirely was Peter's steady presence. Always at her elbow (except for the few moments he crawled onto the ceiling to show off for the crowd), Peter's easy, smiling tone and stupid puns were familiar in the sea of strangers. She forced herself to concentrate on the glint of his red and gold suit, the light cadence of his laugh over everything else. Somehow, it made her feel a little bit better.

Which was weird, considering the fact that her stomach was tying itself in knots at the same time. Whenever Peter shot up a peace sign for a picture or pulled a coin out from behind a kid's ear, Cecelia swore that her intestines were starting to resemble balloon animal shapes. Even so, it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. Just... unfamiliar.

Once the obligatory photo-taking was done, though, the reporters started to swarm through the crowd. Honestly, Cecelia was a little impressed that they'd managed to wait that long—then she saw the security guards posted along the back walls. It seemed that they'd finally decided to let loose the swarm.

A thousand camera shutters—at least five times more than during the ceremony—clicked in Cecelia's face, and the hundreds of reporters present all spoke at once, clamouring to be heard over each other. Unconsciously, Cecelia turned intangible, letting the particularly handsy ones slip right through her, but it still didn't prevent the claustrophobia from settling into her chest.

Fortunately, Peter decided to take the lead. "Okay, okay. Uh, one question at a time." He pointed at a woman near the back of the crowd.

"Are you the head Avengers now?" she asked. It was still so loud that her voice was nearly swallowed up entirely. When Peter snapped his fingers, though, the reporters died down. The woman tried again. "Are you the head Avengers now?"

"Uh, no, we're not," Peter responded. He didn't elaborate.

"If the aliens come back, what are you gonna do?" someone else asked.

Peter blanched. "Does anyone have any neighbourhood questions?"

"Phantom, are you a man or a woman?"

Cecelia folded her arms, taking in a shaky breath. She knew Alex would be watching. She could at least do him right by answering this question. "My gender is none of your business," she said. "Also, I could be non-binary. You've got no idea."

"Are you two a couple?"

At Cecelia's side, Peter froze. He let out a nervous chuckle, immediately flustered. "Uh, no. No way, ha-ha. We're just friends. Partners. We're just partners."

That was true, but for some reason, the news stung, anyway.

"Does anyone have a question that isn't stupid?" Cecelia snapped, trying to raise her voice above the burn in her chest. Seriously, was she having a heart attack? Did she need to go to the hospital?

Behind his mask, Peter shot her an exasperated look, but Cecelia ignored it. Instead, she kept her eyes on the crowd, still intangible. She was suddenly reminded of a hoard of zombies, brain-eating monsters that would crack open her skull at the first opportunity. The second she turned solid, they would surely be upon her.

"Sean Winford, Queens Tribune," a man said. "What is it like to take over from Tony Stark? Those are some big shoes to fill."

Cecelia's heart dropped.

This was far worse than zombies.

The last thing Mr. Stark had ever said to her was "I know you won't", in response to Peter's cheerful "We won't let you down, Mr. Stark!" Back then, there had been absolutely no clue that he'd die within the next hour. He'd been older, sure, and tired, but he'd radiated with such life. Cecelia hadn't even considered the possibility that that life would soon be snuffed out.

The last thing Cecelia had said to Mr. Stark was please. She'd been begging him to stay alive, begging him to keep the breath flowing through his lungs and to keep his heart—which may have been uneven and irregular from the shrapnel that had pierced it back in 2008, but it still worked—beating. But even if Mr. Stark had heard her—and somehow, Cecelia doubted that was the case—he hadn't been able to answer her pleas. He'd died not ten seconds later, leaving a jagged, bleeding wound in the world and in Cecelia.

Maybe, if she'd been faster, she could've gotten to him before the gauntlet went on. Maybe, if she'd managed to pry Thanos's gauntlet off on Titan, she could've prevented the Blip in the first place. It was her fault. It was her fault. She should've been better. She should've saved him.

There was no way she deserved to fill his role. Not when she'd been the one to take him out of it in the first place.

"I—we're not—" her voice came out small, choked, and pathetic. The reporters leaned forward at this, waiting for the moment she slipped up. Her pain would make the best story, after all. Cecelia could practically see the headlines—BREAKING NEWS! PHANTOM SHOWS EMOTION!—now. "We're not replacing him."

"Cecelia, you seem to be in distress," Howl said. "Would you like to go through your breathing exercises?"

Cecelia shook her head, unable to speak.

Beside her, Peter seemed to have been knocked off-balance, too. He was blinking rapidly, the white of his lens flickering, and his breathing had become ragged. He might be having a panic attack. It also might be a sensory overload.

"We're gonna..." he breathed. "We're gonna go. Thanks so much, everyone, for coming."

He leaped into the air, far above the swarming reporters' heads. Cecelia toggled her boots, blowing smoke into everyone's faces, and followed.

As she burst through the wall and out into the open night, she didn't care about the news field day that was inevitably going to arrive. She didn't even care about her exams, or the way she'd embarrassed herself in front of Peter.

"CeCe—" Peter landed on a nearby rooftop, his chest heaving. "Oh, God."

Cecelia touched down beside him and pulled her knees to her chest. "I'm never doing that again."

"They can't think—they really think we're taking over from Mr. Stark?" His voice wobbled. "Why did they—they can't—"

"It's fucking bullshit," Cecelia bit out. I don't deserve it. "They're so ready to move on. Like he was just—just—" She put her head between her knees. "Creator."

"I had no idea—I didn't think they'd be like that," Peter said. "God. God. You're right. Never again."

Cecelia hated that Peter understood it so well. Understood her so well. But also, he didn't, because if anyone deserved to be the next Iron Man—even though there shouldn't be a next Iron Man, because Iron Man would always be Mr. Stark—it was him. He hadn't been the one to fail so spectacularly. That had been Cecelia.

Suddenly, she didn't want to be around him. She wanted to be alone, to crawl into her bed and let herself be swept away by her emotions. Not with Peter, who knew her grief but not her guilt. "I'm gonna go home."

"What?" Peter asked. "CeCe—"

Cecelia withdrew her head from her knees. "My parents will be expecting me."

"CeCe, wait—"

"I'll see you around, Peter." Cecelia got to her feet, ignoring the tears sliding down her cheeks. She engaged her boots once more and took off, propelling herself through New York's ever-awake streets.

And she didn't look back.

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HAVEN: the first thing i want to say about this chapter is that yes, i know in the actual movie, may volunteers for the salvation army (and switches to f.e.a.s.t in no way home), but i thought it made more sense to just keep her at f.e.a.s.t. plus, i don't support the salvation army as an organization (they're transphobic + homophobic, something cecelia definitely wouldn't have supported, either), so i didn't want to have them here anyway. and f.e.a.s.t is made-up, so there's no chance of it becoming problematic, haha.

also, yeah, we're really delving deep into cecelia's guilt now. i just want to warn everyone that there is going to be a LOT of self-deprecation in her internal monologue, and it's not going to be something that she fixes easily, even with therapy (obviously, she's been keeping this from dr. patel!). however, while i cannot promise you complete healing, i can promise you the beginnings of it. and hope for the other side :)

i hope you enjoyed! we've got one more chapter before cecelia jets off for europe!! get ready for that :))

thanks for reading <333