Peter couldn't help but feel unsettled all the way to work.

He was caught in a loop of wondering if he should've followed the teenager to make sure she wasn't up to anything, or if that would be totally creepy and only end with him scaring the daylights out of a young girl. If she did turn out to be some kind of bomber, he wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing he'd let her off that train.

But, his spider-sense hadn't been nearly strong enough to suggest anything as dangerous as a bomb, and it was fleeting as it was. Sometimes his sixth sense went off when people stared at him. Just a small tingle that let him know when someone was paying a little more attention to him than usual. Normally, it was soft enough to ignore.

Peter shook his head and ran a hand through his hair to comb out the worry. He stepped out of the elevator and into the main office of the Daily Bugle. The smell of paper, ink and spoiling dreams took the subway stench from his nose and he collapsed at his desk with a perpetual sigh as he booted the computer.

It was almost a shame there were no epic villain battles happening right now. When there were no pictures of Spider-Man to sell to a dying newspaper industry, Jameson had Peter doing an actual job as a website manager. It was his job to fix any bugs in their program software and keeping the Bugle website groomed and maintained. Honestly, the only reason Jameson still accepted his pictures in an age of cellphones and candid photos, was because he still used his expensive camera designed to capture fast-paced action. It took years to fully develop his skill, but he could snap pictures of Spider-Man, or any hero really, without it coming out blurry and worthless. But give it time. Sooner or later he would be swept under the rug by the next swashbuckling kid and their phone with a built-in 135+mm.

As the computer dragged itself back to life, a small package nestled behind the monitor caught Peter's attention. It was small, not even the size of his palm, with a shiny blue bow perched on top. He frowned as he shimmied it out.

This would be the 2nd gift this week, not counting the other 4 he'd received over the past month. Just like it's successors, this one had a clean white note taped next to the bow with the words "To: Peter Parker '' typed in its center.

Inside was a little toy camera. Not exactly cheap looking, but nothing expensive either. He weighed it in his palm. It looked exactly like the camera currently slung around his neck.

"Another one?" Ben Urich said, leaning over from his desk so Peter could get the full experience of his quirking eyebrows. "What kind of doohickey is it this time?"

Peter lifted the doohickey helplessly, "Yeah, this one's a camera. Not gonna lie though, it's kind of cute. I like it a lot more than the ceramic hotdog I got last time," he chuckled a little, "You know, if this had my name written on the bottom it'd looked exactly like my...oh, it does...well, look at that."

Betty peered above her computer, which happened to be stationed directly in front of Peter's, and pursed her lips. Behind the wire frame of her glasses, her eyes narrowed. "You know, I thought it was cute before, but aren't these gifts getting a little...weird?"

Peter shrugged, but couldn't disagree as he slipped the mini-camera back into its box.

"And you still don't know who's leaving them?"

"Nope," he sighed, "And I'm guessing you still haven't caught who it was either."

Betty eyebrows knit together in a determined scowl that not many people enjoyed being at the receiving end of, "I've been watching your desk all day. No one left a gift there, I swear."

"Well, it wasn't there when I left for lunch."

Betty growled under her breath, and Peter didn't need to see her hands to know she had them wrapped around her pen in an iron grip. "Ben, did you see anything?"

Ben shook his head, "I've been watching too. Didn't even notice it was there until Peter grabbed it."

Betty groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Whoever's doing this, is good."

"Yeah, maybe a little too good," Ben muttered, leaning back into his chair with an arm against the armrest, "I mean, these gifts all seem kind of...personal. Personal to you, that is, Peter. They even have your name spelled out on the camera."

"To be fair," Robbie interjected as he walked by their desks, "Peter's left his camera around enough times for most of us to know that." At his presence, they all snapped back to their desks, but Robbie Robertson wasn't about to let them off the hook that easy. He pointed the folder in his hand at each of them in turn, "You can discuss office gossip later. Jameson wants that political piece within the next hour, Betty, and he says he wants an update on those robberies, Ben."

"I'm getting it, I'm getting it," Ben crowed, turning to rummage through the papers on his desk.

"Oh, hey, can I get a copy of that too?" Peter asked, "Jameson's been hounding me about getting pictures, but it must've slipped his mind that I can't magically teleport places. I want to get a good grasp of these robberies so that if I need to photoshop something together it'll look believable."

"Jameson will have my head, Parker."

"Thank you, Ben. You're my hero."

"You better not be photoshopping your pictures," Robbie said, giving Peter an extra stern point with his folder, "Besides, the website's main page has been glitching all morning, how about you get on that."

"Sir, yes sir," Peter saluted, swiveling back in his chair, and ignoring Ben's insistence that Peter can get his own damn reports on the robberies. He slipped the gift into his bag and within 10 minutes, forgot about it completely.

{LINE BREAK} 

Peter webswung his way home. Screw the subway, he wanted to get home in time to eat the last packet of ramen before going on patrol. Of course, traveling by web was never a bee-line from destination A to destination B, but there were only two muggings he came across and a small detour to help an old man whose bags had ripped and scattered his groceries on the sidewalk. But within 30 minutes he was home.

He throws the ramen in a pot of boiling water as he rummaged around in his bag for the notes he had successfully pestered out of Ben. In his rummaging he came across the gift and added it to his growing collection on the dresser. Most of them were little knick-knacks and trinkets that anyone could get from a street vendor selling merchandise.

Peter stared at them, chin in his fingers. Not going to lie, he'd been flattered by the first few gifts, but Ben and Betty were right. This was getting weird. All they knew was that it was some "flabgabbit secret admirer hoodlum" - Jamesons words , not Peter's - and that they've been sneaking these gifts to him out of nowhere. He didn't even know who it was. And yes, the trinkets were cute. And yes, maybe he liked them a little. But whoever was doing this, Peter wanted to see them face to face before he accepted anything else. He'd speculated that they were from Wade, but Wade liked to flaunt his presents. He wanted you to know he got you something, and that he'd been thinking about you. Enjoyed seeing the person's reaction. So Peter found it unlikely that he wouldn't sign a single one of the gifts, or hint that they were from him.

Sighing, Peter tossed the empty box in the garbage and went back for his ramen. With a steaming bowl in hand, he settled on the couch to look over the case notes. He tried not to let his frustration bleed onto his tongue because, frankly, these noodles were too good not to enjoy.

It was a trial he failed because in no time, Peter was hunched over the coffee table and kneading his forehead with the papers spread around him. These robberies were driving him up the wall - pun absolutely intended. It was bad enough that this person hasn't been caught yet, it was worse that no one was sure the robberies were even connected. There had been no witnesses, no evidence of a break-in, nothing on video-cameras - stuff just ended up missing the next morning. And the big fat cherry on top of Peter's sloppy sundae of frustration, was that he didn't even hear about these robberies until after the crime had been committed.

He's gone on patrol, working the streets close to the targeted areas, but he still hasn't heard a peep from a single one. Whoever was doing this, was doing it right under his nose, and it was starting to piss him off. Like the world's biggest 'HA-HA in your face, loser' joke.

"Come on," Peter murmured, roaming over each report for the third time. But if there was a connection, he wasn't seeing it. Animal sedatives stolen from a zoo, a moving truck hijacked and off the grid, a convenience store robbed of food (not money, just food.). If Peter didn't know any better, he'd say Kraven was out hunting on a budget. His only counterpoint was that Kraven also happened to be locked up in the Raft, and he'd probably eat his own toes before robbing a corner-store for cheap chips and salsa. So, Peter went ahead and crossed that off the list.

Besides, Kraven wasn't exactly subtle. He liked the hunt, and liked it a lot more when his prey knew he was on the prowl. Made it more interesting, or so he's monologued at Peter.

But whatever was going on her, Peter knew they had something in common. Animal tranquilizers, a truck, food - either something was being transported, or something was being exported.

He sighed, dropping the notes for the zoo case onto the pile and pinching the bridge of his nose. It wasn't so much as finding the connection, than it was finding the person who was committing the thefts. It was becoming an issue of pride. It's been a while since he's come across a string of robberies he couldn't catch after more than a few days. This has been happening for the last few weeks, and it was grating on every last one of his nerves.

Scrubbing his face with his hands, Peter gave the mess a final once-over, rolled his eyes, stood up, and downed the rest of the noodles in one go. He wasn't going to find answers in between sentences, he'd find them on the streets. He tossed the hoodie he was wearing over his suit onto a chair and pulled on his boots. It took a moment to find his mask - it was hiding underneath the kitchen table - but once it was secure on his face, he felt Peter Parker step back and Spider-Man take the reins.

Spider-Man paused outside the window to make sure it was clear of peeping-toms, before sliding out onto the fire-escape and making a speedy dive off the building, propelling himself forward on his webs.

Maybe tonight would be his lucky night and he'd find himself a serial-robber.

{LINE BREAK}

Peter threw his mask against the wall with a frustrated shout.

Nothing. Not a single robbery. He spent the better part of the night and early morning scouring the streets up and down, giving extra special attention to those quiet little shops, and nada.

He stopped plenty of muggings, a few assaults, and even a vendor-thief. But the night was quiet and it ended with him climbing back into his apartment, throwing articles of his suit off his body - not caring where they landed - and collapsing on the barren mattress. Fuck, he forgot he was out a bed too. Why was everything so terrible?

He left Wade a quick message vocalizing his frustration that was more irritable grumbling than actual words, but he felt better after doing it. Enough so, that he was calm enough to catch a few hours asleep. Then again, Peter could be a fuming ball of rage and he would still manage to catch some shut-eye. When it came to the superhero life, sleep wasn't something to be treated lightly.

The morning, however, brought terrible news.

He's long-since given up on waking to birds singing and sunshine-happy days, but even he wasn't expecting the morning report that someone had not only robbed a store, but broke into the Raft.

The fucking Raft. Super-max prison for super villains. Peter was so frustrated and flabbergasted, he turned over in bed and screamed into the mattress.

To rub salt in his own wound, he reread the article several times - just to allow the bitterness to plant and culminate - before dragging himself out of bed. Last night's target, aside from the supervillain prison, was a pharmaceutical store that had been wiped clean of nearly half their drugs. To make matters worse, it had been on a street that Peter swung through several times.

No one was sure what was taken from the Raft yet, but authorities were looking into it. If it was another villain escape Peter was going to be pissed.

To calm down, he helped himself to a shower, but his magic solution didn't work and he felt more riled up by the time he's towel drying and stomping through the apartment for his things. He leaves another voicemail for Wade, one he knows Wade'll find entertaining because he too enjoyed the Parker soap opera, (and because Peter tripped when pulling on his shoes and the angry string of curses over the phone were right up Wade's humor-alley).

But Peter wasn't about to apologize. The voicemails have become therapeutic, and real therapists weren't included in his health insurance. Besides, he likes to think Wade will appreciate staying in the loop.

No, you're just coming off clingy as fuck, the annoying voice in his head stated matter-of-factly, and Peter was tempted to flick his own head. .

Today's his day off, thank goodness. If he walked into work with the attitude he had, Jameson would zero in on it like a sniffer dog to cocaine, and Peter didn't want to listen to Jameson flip flop between the logic "If Spider-Man IS a hero, why hasn't he stopped this person yet?" and "He's a menace and he's probably in cahoots with the robber by turning a blind eye."

Peter almost wished that were true. At least, then, he'd be in on the secret.

But no matter how sour his morning started, Peter wasn't going to let it ruin the rest of his day. He was visiting Aunt May today and she worried enough as it was. He didn't want her to think he was overworking himself, and if he was scowling and dragging his feet on the floor, she was going to sit him in a corner until he spilled the beans.

He made certain the doors were locked this time, and even tested the knob to make sure it wouldn't open for anyone who had anything less than super strength. All his boxes were checked off.

Halfway down the hall, his spider-sense tingled and Peter froze. Behind him, the little boy who lived just down the hall was standing outside his door, backpack looped around his arms, and wide brown eyes staring at him. Peter waved awkwardly.

The boy blinked, and smiled. Now, Peter couldn't say that children smiled at him all the time, but as Spider-Man he's gotten his fair share of happy children who grinned and wanted a ride on "Pidah-Man's" back, but the way this little boy's lips arched over his face. Nothing sweet or remotely childish about it. Far too wide and toothy and...hopeful?

His spider-sense tingled again as the boy waved back, and then like nothing happened, he turned back into his apartment and left. Peter watched the door several seconds after it closed.

"What the fuck," he whispered. He thumped the heel of his hand against his head a few times.

Sometimes, he wondered if his spider-sense could break. Just the other day it had gone off when he stopped to help the old woman who lived across from him carry in her groceries. It was never an alarming tingle, just small ones, as if it were warning him of germs. But he didn't think germs was the problem here. It wasn't enough to warrant painkillers, but it was frequent enough that he wanted to bang his head on the wall a few times every day.

It was just a little boy, he scolded his brain. Stop being weird.

He took the stairs instead of the elevator, enjoying the opportunity to stretch his sore legs, and was out on the street in no time. Instead of taking a bus or a cab, he walked a few blocks and detoured to the store that had been robbed. Maybe seeing it from ground level would give him a clue of what to look for.

The store wasn't too far from where he lived, but what did surprise him was the small squadron of police cars parked outside and the group of people that had amassed at the store's doors. Peter expected there to be a crowd, as people were curious by nature, but he didn't think so many would turn up. There were enough of them that police officers were shooing some backwards to make room.

Curious, Peter joined the throng, peering over heads to catch a glimpse of the action going on inside. His heart sped up when a man was led out of the store in handcuffs, sandwiched between two officers, and screaming his head off.

"I DIDN'T DO IT," he was hollering, twisting in the grip of the officers, "I DIDN'T DO IT, I SWEAR!"

And just like that, Peter was missing his nifty little Bugle pass that allowed him closer access to scenes like this. But he'd stupidly left it, and his camera, at home, and he was stuck craning his head like all the other rubbernecks wanting to satisfy their curiosity.

"That's the man who's been committing all those robberies," the man in front of him was saying to his partner, "The one who robbed the zoo, and that other store."

"Oh," his partner gave him a wide-eyed look, "haven't the cops been chasing him for a while now, then?"

"Yeah, for a few weeks."

"I thought they said they didn't have any suspects."

"They didn't, but the guy must've slipped up. I overheard that officer over there saying they found security footage of him last night."

"Really?"

"Yeah, guess the guy's luck ran out."

Peter was going to have to ask Urich about this when he went back to the office. No doubt Jameson already had someone on the way to cover this new angle in the story. If Peter brought his camera, he'd snap a few pictures for a little extra cash. Today was just not his day.

But maybe it was turning. If they caught the bastard who's been a thorn in his side for nearly a month now, then he wasn't going to complain. It was weird that this was how they caught him, though. A little bit of security footage the guy forgot to wipe, after being so careful in all his other thefts.

Peter scowled at the back of the man's head as he was pushed inside a car and taken away.

But that was something to chew on later. If he was late to Aunt May's, he wasn't going to hear the end of it. So, shouldering his backpack, he stepped out of the crowd and hailed a taxi.

But of course, his silly spider brain couldn't just let things go, and thoughts of the robberies plagued him despite attempts to keep it on the back burner. He promised Aunt May that he'd only talk work when they were in dire need of a conversation starter - she didn't like talking about his job, or his business as Spider-Man, or the danger it tended to put in his path. A small-time crook finally caught by the authorities probably wouldn't bother her, but Peter didn't like bringing work to Aunt May's house anyway. It was supposed to be a safe haven AWAY from all the villains, and robberies, and vigilantism. His own little oasis to rest, recuperate, and relax.

Besides, he'd marred his childhood home enough with escapades as Spider-Man in his teen years. Aunt May and the house more than earned a break from his "adventures." Hell, they deserved it ever since the first break-in.

Peter frowned, tapping on the window with his finger. Even after all these years, thinking about the break-in that took Uncle Ben still ached. Not so much because he blamed himself, but more because he simply missing Uncle Ben. No feeling could ever compare to going home and seeing ambulances and police cars parked outside his house. The force felt like a battering ram, crashing into his chest and breaking every bone in his lungs.

The cab pulled down a familiar Queen's street, and time seemed to slow. Every inch of him went numb and his stomach dropped so far, it hit the floor of the cab. He hardly registered the world around him until the cab was stopping and he pulled the door open with shaky fingers. The world came crashing back around him as soon as his feet hit the pavement and that battering ram collided with his chest. He couldn't breathe.

Then he was running. Panic fueled his legs and he knew he was putting too much speed into it, speed only reserved for Spider-Man, but he couldn't care.

Because right there, in a sloppy group were flashing red and blue police cars, and they were parked right outside Aunt May's house.

Also, real quick, if you're one of my readers for "Wade Wilson's Guide to Studying Your Spider", I just want you to know that I WILL be going back to that fic, I just want to have THIS fanfic written and posted by the end of the month. So, no worries. That other fic will be continued around January-February.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think.