He rubbed his face, trying to dispel the nerves that were crawling up his stomach and into his throat.

He'd woken to an empty apartment. Wade was gone but had left him a text explaining he had to go to another appointment.

Maybe it was also shame that was making his skin hot as he stood stiffly in the elevator, listening to the sound of the machine as it dragged him skyward and past several different paper departments.

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten home.

Not home. To Wade's.

He remembered taking the pills and then slipping away, the pain as exhilarating as it was agonizing while he climbed to the roof and made his way to the neighboring building. He'd listened to the whooshing wind and traffic before the sounds of a person approaching caught his attention. It had been Deadpool.

He couldn't remember what happened. The man antagonized him over his name. Not saying it but stepping around him in a taunting manner. And then his memory of the conversation melted together.

Pain. He'd seen the Merc with a Mouth in pain. But Peter succumbed to his own desire to not exist before he could investigate the other man's condition and purpose or get to safety.

If there had been a hit out on him that intrigued the merc, he could have been a dead man.

He couldn't even recall how he got back. He'd woken up tucked into bed like nothing had happened. Like it had all been a dream.

He blushed as a fleeting memory of what he'd been doing before he'd gotten up for the night surfaced in his mind. He should be embarrassed. He wasn't proud, but he also couldn't deny that the excitement of the experimentation had taken away from his agony.

He wasn't embarrassed. Not really.

He looked up as the elevator dinged. A beat later the doors opened.

There was a new girl at the desk. After fifteen years Kathy had retired, and now a young girl fresh out of college sat at the helm of Kathy's ship. She looked up and blinked at him blankly for a second as he stepped out of the elevator before recognition passed over her face. "Oh, Peter. I'll let Jameson know you're here," she said quickly, her words blending together as she spoke and looked down to grab her phone. "You can probably just head right in." 'You are and always have been his top priority here after all' went unsaid.

He just nodded and turned toward his boss's office, eyeing the windows to see if anyone else was in there before he knocked at the door. He didn't realize Jameson was already halfway across the room when he did and only a beat later the door opened and he was gestured in with a quick hand movement from the man.

The door was shut and Jameson stepped around him to pull down a blind to the office. "Mind pulling that one too?" The man asked, pointing at the window to Peter's right. Jameson would have to walk in front of him again to get to it so he turned and pulled it down.

He wondered who the privacy was being created for.

His fingers slipped on the string a few times before he was able to grip it enough to give it a tug. His hands were wet with sweat.

"I'm very relieved you came, Peter. After everything that's come out, I think it's important we speak."

Peter could argue otherwise but in the end, he knew the man was right.

"Please sit, you're making me nervous," the man said as he made his way back to his desk. He stood behind his chair and stared at Peter, waiting for him to move first.

Were they going to be here long enough to justify Peter sitting?

He hurt, sitting was good, who cared? Maybe he'd bleed on Jameson's new office furniture and they could call everything even.

He looked down and took in a deep breath. He'd been walking pretty good so far. The pain meds helped a lot and he hadn't done a lot of sitting and moving. Sitting shouldn't hurt too much....

"Are you nervous because I'm standing or because I'm unnerving?" He asked, looking down at the cushion in front of him as he timidly sidestepped, bracing his weight on the arms of the chair with his arms before lowering himself. He held his breath as fire ignited up and down his side, focusing carefully on Jameson. In a few days, this would be much better.

His boss- Client sat as well. "Well," the man stuttered. "The situation is peculiar. You, Peter, have never been unnerving."

But he wasn't just Peter in anyone's mind's eye anymore.

"Are you planning to make any official statements in response to recent accusations?" The man asked awkwardly, clearing his throat. "If so, I welcome you to use our paper as a launch pad for any response you'd like to make. We could set the record straight for you, whichever truth you want to share."

Whichever truth? So the man didn't have expectations for him to confirm, nor deny anything?

Why?

"I appreciate the offer. I will keep it in mind for when I'm ready to make a response," he nodded. He didn't know what he'd say. But he knew he wasn't ready to fight or confirm either option. "Are you going to discontinue my services?" Might as well jump to the important stuff.

"No, of course not. You're my best photographer, one of the best action artists the media has worldwide. If you continue to supply photos, I will continue to license with you."

License. So in other words, Jameson planned to change their relationship? Normally, Peter sold the copyright outright losing his rights to his media. This would be a step up for him.

"I can't say everyone will be vying for your Spider-Man shots forever, but I know right now you're going to be in the spotlight and will have numerous people asking for contracts. Are you prepared for that?"

"Are you trying to help me?" he frowned.

The man sighed sharply. "Parker, I know you think I'm an ass. In fact, most of my staff thinks I'm an ass. I know that. In fact, I am an ass. And I'm inclined to believe that one way or another, you have a relationship in your life external or internal it may be, that complicates your feelings toward me due to the content that I put out into the world about someone you know. But I see you as one of my most prized staff, even if you are freelance. You singlehandedly sell my papers. I know that. People buy the paper because they see your photo and a headline. Not necessarily because they want to read, that's why we summarize the entire article in the cutline." The man rolled his eyes "I can't believe what the world is coming to, that everyone needs a picture in order to read something. Adults are no more than oversized toddlers who can't read these days."

He wouldn't interrupt. But he didn't care about this part of the speech.

"Point is, I need you, Parker. I need your skill, I need your camera, you make me money, and I kinda like you. Don't take this the wrong way," the man frowned and looked down at his hands before meeting Peter's eyes again. "and you're just a kid, really."

Spider-Man was just a kid.

"I know you're twenty-something years old but I remember being your age and feeling lost. I like the way they say it now. Once you're nineteen, you're a one-year-old adult. I think that's a fair assessment of life." Jameson paused "But don't you dare tell anyone I said that, Parker. Can't let people out there think I'm soft."

"Yes, sir." As if.

His leg was burning, fire shooting up his side through his skin every few seconds. He couldn't quite tell if it was the actual burn or his nerves growing back.

"If you need help sorting through offers and contracts with other news platforms, I'll lend you my hand. I know that deep down if I were going to lose you, you'd have done it years ago over the things I've printed. I don't want to lose an asset like you over something like licensing deals and contracts with other publishing companies. I'm protecting my connection with you by helping, admittedly. But I also feel like I owe you a little loyalty after considering the shit you've put up with." And this attention might launch Peter into some kind of stardom, even if it is short-lived. The Bugle might be able to ride that.

"You believe I'm Spider-Man, don't you?" He asked, feeling a strange sense of... nothing as he asked a question that might have sent him into cardiac arrest a year ago.

The man considered Peter's question a moment, his eyes studying Peter for a moment. "Do you feel the need to correct me?"

He wasn't going to make Peter say it. Maybe he didn't want Peter to say it. Maybe he was clinging to some small shred of hope that Spider-Man was an associate or friend. Maybe a brother. Not Peter himself.

There was power here. Jameson's emotions could leverage Peter. If he wanted to use the man, that is. In the end, all he cared about was ensuring he didn't get sued by the publication.

He let his silence answer Jameson. No. He didn't have anything to correct.

He wondered if that would eat away at the guy.

Would his headlines change?

Was he going to try and justify himself?

What would things look like moving forward?

"In that case then consider it settled. I'll wait until you're ready to do a feature regarding the matter. How about that?"

Peter's cheek twitched in an attempt to smile. He wasn't amused. Imagine that, Spider-Man interviewing with the paper that hates him the most. It's not like Jameson hasn't drawn actual crowds of people who hate him or anything. How wild would it be for him to interact directly? "Sure." That wasn't going to happen.

Jameson nodded, the discomfort he was feeling showing itself in his pursed lips. "We're moving forward with that big photo you sent in. The article prints tomorrow. Do you want to read it?"

"Nope."

"Oh," the man looked down with a nod. "Want to see the t-shirts?"

* * *

He looked down at the white fabric in his hands, toying with it while he stood in front of Wade's door, eyeing the crop out of him flipping off the world. He sighed loudly before he opened the apartment door. "Wade?" he called out, turning the lock behind him as he set down his messenger bag and set it on the floor against the wall and out of the way.

"Yeah?"

"I got you something." He limped toward the kitchen counter, leaning on it as his stomach churned from a mix of things. Hearing the man's muffled voice carry from the bathroom seemed weirdly domestic. It reminded him of Wade's proposal when he'd been freshly wounded and thinking about his reaction made him sick. And then of course there was the fall out from that reaction that was affecting his everyday life. Yet, it hadn't seemed to really affect his personal one with his friend. And that seemed unusual. He wanted to talk about that too, but he didn't. He really didn't but he knew he'd need to.

Wade came out from the hallway, eyes wide like he'd just been pulled away from something extremely unpleasant.

"You okay?" he frowned.

The man cleared his throat and looked away, laughing nervously. "Uh, yeah. Just having a mishap with my medication. The automatic pump isn't keeping up so I have to supplement with the needle and I just really don't like that." Wade offered a strained smile. There was something else there though, fear maybe. But it wasn't quite right, it was something else, he looked kinda... well like he was trying to suppress crazy eyes. He felt a buzz run through his shoulders the longer he stared at Wade. He wasn't in danger, but there was definitely something wrong. Wrong enough that his sense decided to butt its head into the conversation.

"Can I help you somehow?" he asked slowly.

Wade cocked his head slightly and paused before he shook his head. "No, I just need to make another appointment with Kaisen is all. No biggie."

He nodded. He should just listen to Wade. He was in no position to question the man after all the things he'd done. After yelling at him, thinking eroticly of him, stealing his medication. There was no room for him to ask questions without being some kind of prick. "Uh, well here. I got this from work." He offered Wade the shirt. "It was free. Figured you'd probably find it funnier than I would."

The blonde frowned and took the offered fabric, unfolding and holding it up so he could look at it. Wade said he was blonde but he was at a weird stage where his hair was long enough that it looked really light brown. Before it was just pale and hardly dark enough to see. But now it looked brown. He wondered if Wade was actually blonde.

Deadpool said he was blonde. Or heavily implied that he was with his little Nazi comment months ago. Blonde and blue-eyed. Something about he and a classmate being the only two who would survive right? 'Mr. Wilson and Jaden' or something like that.

"What the hell is this?" Wade smiled and turned the shirt around to hold it against his body, sizing it against him before he met Peter's gaze.

Blue eyes.

All the warmth left Peter's body as his stomach lurched down to his toes.

A healing factor, cancer. Wade did odd jobs, like a freelancer but without the starving artist thing. The voice. The voice should have been obvious, Deadpool was known for being fucking annoying, Wade also had a high tone and that same attention-drawing chime to it when he was excited or passionate about a topic. They had the same body, the same frame and shoulders. The height, the quirky body language.

But Wade didn't make him nervous.

Yet here he was, now telling him something wasn't right.

"Peter, you okay?"

He swallowed and glanced down at the shirt the man was lowering and met his eyes again. They were trained on him, brows furrowed as he gauged and analyzed him.

"Did the talk go alright? Do you need to sit down?"

You've got to be fucking kidding.

He raised a hand to his mouth, covering his strangled laugh. The man across from him leaned back slightly, confusion written all over his face. He giggled. Tried to push down the strange mixture of panic, confusion, and genuine laughter but he couldn't. Giggles morphed into laughs and soon he was wheezing, panicked gasps escaping him because he couldn't breathe.

Wade's bewilderment was breathtaking.