Peter could say he was a paranoid person.

Even before the mask and the roster wheel of villains, Aunt May used to say he was a skeptical little boy. Always asked questions, always had an eye on people he didn't like, and got concerningly attached to those he did. The day his parents died, was the day he lost a little bit of trust in the world around him. After meeting Skip, that trust was torn into so many pieces it took years to put it back together.

It didn't help when it came time to don his Spider-Man mask. His life became a rollercoaster of paranoia and second-glances, accompanied nicely by a danger sense that gave him more anxiety than what he started with. He got used to looking over his shoulder and examining everyone through a critical lens. Once he started dating Deadpool, some would expect that paranoia to grow.

But it didn't. It lessened, in fact.

Yeah, Peter was surprised too.

Yes, being around Wade brought a lot of new danger, but it brought something new to the table too. For both of them.

People (and by people, he meant the Avengers and SHIELD mostly) assumed that Wade would be more "controlled" in his relationship with Spider-Man. Which first, fuck that. Peter wasn't his handler and Wade was his own person. And while yes, he was a lot more careful with his weapons and targets, he was still himself.

But it changed how people viewed him. They regarded him less as a dangerous, insane mad-man, and more like the superhero/vigilante he was trying to become. He's gotten along with the police more, and his team-ups with other hero's didn't end with him face-down in a gutter with his intestines trailing after him anymore. Well, not as much, at least.

Spider-Man, on the other hand, had slipped down the other end of the spectrum. Peter wasn't being regarded as a fear-mongering lunatic out for blood, but criminals and villains have gotten a lot more antsy around younger, softer Spider-Man he'd been when he was 15 might've been appalled at the idea of being genuinely feared , but 10 years later and Peter didn't feel so bad when it was rapists and murderers who cowered away from his shadow.

The time that marked his change in the eyes of the criminal underworld could be traced back to his associations with Deadpool. Maybe it was because Deadpool wasn't as forgiving as Spider-Man, and with him tagging along it wasn't as much of a risk they were willing to take. Or maybe it was because Spider-Man had gotten rougher, a little more aggressive, on his patrols. Caused a few more broken arms and bruised jaws than what he was known for.

Either way, it earned him a weary reputation among the criminal underworld and not many of them wanted to pick a fight anymore. Even when he wasn't accompanied by Deadpool, they started giving up. Just like that. Not even a crowbar to his face, or attempt to run away. They simply dropped their weapons and surrendered.

And honestly, it was nice. Sure it took some of the fun out of beating up bad guys, but it really picked up his patrols and gave him more time to spend on work, and finishing up his degree, and spending time with family. Besides, he wasn't going to complain about Spider-Man becoming a crime deterrent. It was the greatest thing he could hope to achieve as Spider-Man.

But it was Peter's compliance with this new way of things that became his downfall. He's become too relaxed. Too mitigated with his paranoia. He's stopped looking over his shoulder, and started relying on his and Wade's new reputations.

Maybe this is why he didn't see it coming. Why the sudden disclosure of this stalker shook him so badly. He's grown complacent and comfortable in his little box, and now that someone had come up and stabbed a hole into it, he was left ineligible. Vulnerable and unprepared.

But that's not going to be a problem anymore, he told himself. Because his paranoia was back and more skeptical than ever, knocking him into old habits that had long since kicked the dust.

He didn't swing to work today, too worried that someone would be watching.

He walked instead, keeping his head down and his ears open. His work clothes - slacks and a button up shirt - didn't feel nearly as incognito as he liked and he regretted not grabbing one of Wade's hoodies on his way out. They were big and comfortable, and it might be cliche, but he would feel a lot more inconspicuous wearing it.

But he made do by hunching his shoulders, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and walking quickly. Not fast enough to make him look suspicious, but quicker than your leisure walk. He just wanted to get to the Daily Bugle and back home as quickly as possible.

Now that his skeptics were back over his eyes, it felt like no matter where he turned, someone was looking at him. The barest tingle over his skull (the same one he's been feeling for days but hasn't addressed) that makes him fight to urge to keep looking over his shoulder. He isn't brushing it off anymore and now he's beginning to notice things.

It started small. A smile from someone on the street. A wave from someone who caught his eye. And then it got bigger. The sense that someone was walking a little too close beside him. A presence at his back. A sudden 'good morning' directed towards him. Eye contact from people he didn't know. Sometimes they nodded their head in greeting, and sometimes they just smiled.

And what bothered him was that these were all innocent gestures. There was nothing weird, or particularly alarming about them. Not at first glance. But this was New York, you can get the occasional greeting here, or make eye contact there, but overall everyone minded their own business. The street performers and tourists were a different matter, but Peter can tell who's a local and who's visiting.

And this doesn't feel right.

It doesn't get any better on the subway. Being packed in with so many people might've made him feel a little better, like he wasn't so alone anymore. There would be witnesses if anyone tried anything, right? Even his spider-sense was quiet. His brain repeated these reasons back to himself, but the close pack of bodies and their overlapping presence made his skin crawl.

He didn't like being cooped up in here. There were so many people and any one of them could be the stalker. Peter didn't know and he had no way of finding out. They could be right behind him for all he knew, and that thought alone had him getting off at the next stop and walking the rest of the way to work, even if it made him late.

It was a relief to finally make in the Daily Bugle. He left the elevator behind, still side eyeing those he'd been riding with, and like any other blessed day he was ignored. What a relief. No lingering gazes and random pleasantries.

Fuck, he sounded crazy. Getting worked up over a simple 'good morning.'

"Get it together," he whispered harshly as he sank into his chair and rubbed his forehead. The world isn't out to get you.

"Hey, Peter!"

So startled, Peter jumped, knees bumping up into his desk and disturbing the small pile of paperclips he was turning into a fort in the corner. Ben Urich gave him a long side-eye.

"Too much coffee this morning, huh? Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"No," Peter eased himself back into his chair and smoothed down his shirt. He hoped his smile didn't look as plastered as it felt, "No, you didn't. Sorry, I was just spacing out. What's up?"

Ben was still eyeing him, quite possibly not believing the bullshit coming out of his mouth, but he didn't comment on it."Uh, yeah...I was just wondering if you've seen my folder anywhere? The one with all my notes about those robberies? I had it but," he looked around in a feeble attempted search, "I can't find it. I know you were asking for copies, so have you seen it?"

Peter shook his head, "No, I haven't. Have you looked in your desk? They have these nifty little things called 'drawers.' You can put things inside for safekeeping."

Ben gave him a wry look and Peter thought he might knock him over the head for his sarcasm, "I know what a drawer is. And no, it's not there. I would've remembered putting it in. But I just..." his expression became something hopeless, "I don't know, it's just gone. Jameson is going to kill me if I lost all that information."

"Didn't you copy it all onto digital?"

Ben averted his eyes sheepishly, "I...didn't get around to that, alright. And you all know I work better when I'm looking through a story with my hands and not over a screen. I didn't get a chance to upload it to the computer."

Peter winced, "Oh, yeah, Jameson is going to kill you. What type of flowers do you prefer? I want to bring something nice to your funeral."

The baleful look he got was almost amusing. "Not in the mood."

Peter held up his hands as a promise to stop teasing him. "But hey, if you want, I can lend you back the notes you already let me borrow. After I digitize them, of course," he added with a wry grin of his own.

But the grin fell when Ben went board stiff, "Wait...so you," his eyes narrowed, "so you did take them? Peter, what the hell?"

Peter recoiled in his seat, "Uhhh...what? No, I didn't take them. You let me borrow a few of your notes just before I left the office the other day."

Ben shook his head, quick and hard, and his lips pressed into a thin line. Peter was quickly falling under the impression that something was very wrong. "No, I didn't. You asked if you could look over my notes and I said no because I'm still working the story."

Peter sat up straighter, as rigid as a rod. "No, Ben I saw you just before I left work. You said I could use your notes as long as I brought them back today." Ben still looked confused so Peter reached into his bag and pulled out the folder, holding them out for him to see. "See, you gave these to me just before I left."

It was the way Ben took the folder that made Peter's stomach clench. Snatching it back like he was a child and Peter had stolen a favorite toy. He thumbed through the papers quickly, and instead of the dawning remembrance Peter was hoping for, Ben's eyes went hard and his teeth bared.

"You did take them," he growled, pulling the folder out of arm's reach as if Peter might try to snatch them from his hand, "Do you have any idea how freaked out I was? I thought I was going to be fired."

Peter's own frustration was creeping up on him. He kept his feet planted firmly on the ground, but he was this close to bolting to his feet. He said through slow, cautious teeth, "I did not take them, Ben. You let me borrow them. Right before I left work, you caught me by the elevator and gave me the folder."

Ben pointed a finger at him, crinkling the papers in the process, "You know, I never really thought you were the lying type, Peter. Not like this. And if you think I'm going to believe some crappy story like that, then why don't you tell Jameson about it. I'm not getting in trouble over your sticky fingers."

This time Peter did get to his feet, "Ben, I'm telling you, I didn't take them. How many times do I have to say it?"

But Ben wasn't listening. He looked livid. He was the sort to get his pants in a knot if people touched the stories he worked on. He didn't like interference or prodding hands, and Peter understood that. It made sense for him to get upset over someone stealing the building blocks to his piece on the robberies. If Peter was the one who stole them, that is. Which he didn't. But it was clear Ben didn't think so, and it was all the more clear when he stepped towards Jameson's office with fire in his eyes. Really, the workplace could be nothing more than a classroom full of angry children than a professional environment of adults.

"Tell that to Jonah," he snapped, and Peter was immediately at his heels.

If Jameson looked grumpy already, he was positively seething when two grown men burst into his office arguing over each other. Yes, it was childish. The notion wasn't lost on Peter, but quite frankly, he felt like a child. A grumpy, annoyed, child who was being framed for something he didn't do.

With his years of practice in yelling and arguing, Jameson's voice overpowered theirs easily, "What the hell are you two ninnies yabbering on about?" he didn't bother taking the cigar from his lips, and it bobbed over each word, "You think you can come waltzing in here like you own the place. I didn't realize I was running a damn daycare. What do you two bozo's want?"

They both started talking again, words fumbling over the others, and Jameson sliced a hand through the air to physically cut them off, "Nevermind. Shut your yaps, I can feel an aneurysm coming on. Parker, go over there and make yourself a dunce cap and wait your turn. What's this about Urich?"

Urich pointed a finger at Peter, relaying his tale as Peter gripped the armrests of his chair to stop himself from interrupting and getting thrown from the office. Once Urich was done, Jameson looked Peter over, expression critical. His eyes were hard under his thick eyebrows as he took the cigar from his mouth. That wasn't a good sign.

"This better not be true, Parker. Embezzling information won't be happening in my office."

"It's not," Peter said, sitting on the edge of his seat with his hands out as if to physically deliver an explanation, "I asked Ben if I could borrow his file to figure out any possible locations for the next robbery, and before I left for work the other day, he caught me by the elevator and gave them to me. He said I just needed to bring them back, and," Peter gestured to the folder still clutched in Urich's hands, "I did. I wouldn't steal his notes, Jameson? Why would I?"

"I don't know," Jameson's hands moved and the cigar burned a lazy smoke trail in the air. His tone took on that mocking note it did whenever he thought a question was a particular brand of stupid, "Why would you, Parker? I'm not your mastermind. You tell me. You're a photographer on a good day and a shoddy journalist on your worst, why are you playing detective in my printing firm?"

It's not like Peter could say he was using it for Spider-Man purposes. If Jameson thought he was relaying Bugle information to Spider-Man - or worse, put two and two together that he WAS the vigilante - he wouldn't need to worry about being fired. Jameson would string his hide outside the building as a sign of vengeance.

"I was trying to figure out any patterns in the robberies so I could get there sooner in case one came up. To take pictures," it sounded like a half-cocked excuse, and he knew it. Jameson's accusations of playing detective weren't far off, but they were ridiculous when you put them to boring, mundane Peter Parker's name. Jameson's eyes said as much as he slowly put the cigar back to his mouth.

"Ask Betty," Peter added, "She was there. She saw Ben give me the papers."

"BRANT!" Jameson yelled without cutting eye contact, and a few seconds later Betty's exasperated face popped in the doorway.

"Yes, Jameson?"

He pointed at Ben, "Did you see Urich give Parker his file on the robbery story he's been following?"

Betty raised an eyebrow as she looked over the two men with more interest than she came in with. But she said, "Uh, yeah, I saw Ben give his notes to Peter. Why?"

"Thanks. That'll be all."

Betty's lips pursed and she looked like she wanted to pester, but Jameson had a habit of firing people on a whim, and she must've decided she liked her job more than a few minutes of satisfying her curiosity. Besides, it's not like she couldn't get the details from either of them later. So she shrugged and left.

"Jameson, I swear I didn't give them to him," Ben insisted, "You've known me for years, why would I lie to you about this?"

"I don't know, Urich, it's not like I asked you to drop your drama on my lap. Brant says you gave Parker the notes."

"But I didn't."

Jameson pinched the bridge of his nose, and for a moment Peter feared he might simply fire them both and save himself the headache. Instead, he fixed them with a hard glare and shuffled the papers on his desk.

"Well, there's something rotten about this whole thing," he stated, "One of you are lying, and it's too early in the morning-"

"It's more afternoon actually-"

"It's morning! And it's too early for this. Urich, stop sharing information if you're going to whine about it being taken, and Parker keep your grubby hands to yourself, and stop treating my work place like recess. Now get outta my office before I chuck the both of you out the window myself."

They returned to their desks without looking at each other. Ben was still pissed and gave Peter a withering glance before sliding into his chair. Peter stewed in his own frustrations as he plopped back at his desk and furiously began his work. But as he clicked at the computer his thoughts took on less steam and he was able to think without red tinting his vision.

Ben wasn't the type to lie. He was a fairly honest man, according to what Peter knows of him, and he's never accused Peter of something like this before. What was the point in blaming him for it in the first place? It made no sense.

Then again, there had been something off about Ben when he gave Peter the folder that day. The way he smiled at Peter, a bit too largely. The way he handed the papers to him, a bit too eagerly. The warmth in his eyes. They've always been good work friends, and he's even asked Peter if he wanted to join him and a few other coworkers for a drink a few times, but never with such geniality. Like he wanted to give Peter a firm hug and a pat on the back.

Unless...that hadn't been Ben.

Peter's fingers stopped moving and his chest hitched. It was an irrational thought. One that held no real substance and was born out of his own refurbished paranoia. Why would it not be Ben? Who else could it be?

His brain was a whirlwind of thoughts trying to make a hazy connection. But like a jigsaw puzzle without all the pieces, he couldn't see the bigger picture. It was right there, if only his brain could fill in the gaps.

A flutter of movement drew his attention to the small package left on the corner of his desk. It was simpler than all the others he'd received, it didn't even have a bow on it, and it definitely hadn't been there a second ago. Peter twisted in his chair, half-way out of it already as his eyes caught the figure casually walking down the isle of cubbies and desks. He couldn't see much of them. Just the back of a grey blouse, black slacks, and a bobbing brown ponytail.

"Hey, wait," he said, but instead of turning around she sped up. She was already close to the open elevator, and closed the gap in seconds. Peter lurched to his feet just as she pressed the elevator button.

He was too late. The doors closed around her and the only thing he could see from her turned down face was a large toothy smile.

Peter stood frozen. What the hell was going on? Who was that? If she was the admirer, then why was she so enamored with him? He looked down at the gift still in his hand, having grabbed it as he stood up. With a hammering heart, he slipped the top off, and what was inside made his skin run cold and the color drain from his face.

Inside, nestled between pieces of white tissue paper, was a small plastic Spider-Man. The kind of figurine you could find with any street vendor pandering to tourists. Tucked beneath it was a folded note. He opened it with shaky fingers.

Your secret is safe with me. Next to the words were two hearts, one red and the other blue. A picture slipped out from the opened note, and if Peter thought his heart couldn't race any faster, he was sorely mistaken.

It was of him. Last night - or this morning technically - before he woke up and saw that person standing outside his window. He was wrapped in the same blanket from the closet, expression light and peaceful as he slept. The picture wasn't even taken outside. The quality was dark, but there was no glare from the window. No glass separating the photographer from his subject. There couldn't be, because they had been in the room with him the whole time.

A/N: 

Oh no...