CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sorry For Me

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ON THE SUBWAY RIDE HOME, Uncle called Cecelia a total of six times. She declined each one, satisfied at the act of x-ing out his face, but he was persistent. In fact, the constant trill of Nocturnal Me by Echo & The Bunnymen coming from her pocket began to annoy the other passengers, who glared at her as if she'd just kicked a puppy. Given the strangeness of the NYC Public Transportation system, Cecelia thought this was a little unfair, but she turned off her ringtone, regardless. Then she sat there, headphones over her ears, trying to let her favourites playlist drown out the roar of her thoughts.

Toomes and Schultz had left her. They'd seen what was happening, seen the ferry split into two, and they'd flown off anyway, knowing her boots were jammed. Even if they hadn't picked her up and carried her along for the ride, there were still multiple things they could have done, and they hadn't. It had only been because of Peter that she hadn't drowned.

And Peter... that was another can of worms. Everything was slowly sinking in, now, and yet, Cecelia's mind was still supremely boggled. The vigilante she'd spent the past few weeks fighting was the same dorky boy who stuttered his way through every sentence and wore punny science T-shirts. And now... now, he'd figure out that she was Phantom. She'd practically given it away to him.

Fortunately, as long as she knew who he was, he couldn't do anything. Cecelia wasn't above leaking his identity to the public if he turned her in. Spider-Man's identity was a gold nugget of information; ever since he'd come swinging into Queens, people had wanted to know who the man behind the mask was. A blog Cecelia followed called Are you Spider-Man? compared random pedestrians to the vigilante, comments on Instagram and Twitter often cried for a reveal, and even the news outlets had touched on it a few times. All of them—plus the several criminals Peter had locked behind bars—would have a field day with Cecelia's information.

Nothing like that would happen with Cecelia's identity. Solely because she'd been out of the public eye for the five years she'd been active.

Still, even if she didn't tell everyone, she should probably at least tell Uncle and Toomes. Peter had been screwing with them for a while now, knocking nearly every deal they did into the dust. If the company knew who he was, then they could take care of him. He wouldn't be a problem for them anymore.

Yet, the thought of selling Peter out like that made Cecelia squirm. She didn't owe him anything—even though he had saved her life—and, besides, he'd been a big pain in the ass to her, too. But... Peter was just a kid. He was the same age as Cecelia. And he was still fairly new to the whole crime-fighting business, too. The idea of him going against Toomes—really going against him—and his weapons... well, all Cecelia could see was Brice, dissolving into ash. What if that happened to Peter?

I'll keep it a secret for now, Cecelia thought. Her leg bounced up, down, and up again in an attempt to release the pent-up energy building inside of her. If she didn't check herself, she was soon going to fall into another panic attack. At least until I talk to Peter again. If I get even a hint that he'll tell the authorities who I am, I'll spill the beans right away.

The robotic voice piping through the speakers announced that Cecelia had arrived at her stop, and she stood up. The subway doors slid open with a whoosh, and she exited, melting into the crowded platform. This was preferable, sometimes. There were too many people milling around to pay real attention to her. She just became another face in the sea.

She mounted the stairs and emerged into the late afternoon light. Her eyelids drooped. After an exhausting day, all she wanted to do was fall into her bed.

When she arrived at her apartment, she nearly pitched right through the door before reminding herself to keep things subtle. So, she opened it the normal way, then settled her shoes on the rack. The air smelled like spaghetti, and, as per usual, a movie was playing on the TV. Mom and Dad hustled about in the kitchen, humming Somewhere Over The Rainbow from The Wizard of Oz as they made dinner. The heavy metal music pumping down the hallway signalled that Alex was in his room.

Jules's face popped up from behind the couch as Cecelia entered the living room. "Lia!" he shouted. "We're picking a Disney movie. Which one do you want to watch?"

"What, the Studio Ghibli marathon is over?" Cecelia asked, stretching out her back. As much as she loved her siblings, she really didn't want to deal with any of them right now. Her bed was calling her name.

"We're taking a break tonight, since Alex had to do homework," Eva explained. She was kneeling at the coffee table, putting a coat of purple polish on her nails. "It's Castle In The Sky tomorrow, then Porco Russo."

"I voted for Hercules," Jules said. "Eva wants to watch The Princess and the Frog. What about you, Cecelia?"

"As long as it's not Pocahontas or Peter Pan, I don't care." Cecelia hung her backpack on the designated hook and crossed her arms. "Also, I don't think I can watch tonight. I've got homework to do, and the internship really wore me out."

"You're no fun." Jules stuck his tongue out. "But at least choose for us. Hercules or Princess and the Frog?"

"Princess and the Frog," Cecelia said, just to spite him. Jules scrunched his nose.

"Fine."

Eva began humming Down in New Orleans as Cecelia entered the kitchen. Mom was mixing the spaghetti sauce, while Dad was letting the water boil for the pasta. Mom's hair was tied up in a bun, with only a few wisps escaping to frame her face. Dad had shaved, for once, his usually prickly chin replaced by smooth skin. They were wearing matching aprons—Dad's said Mr., Mom's said Mrs. Everything was just as domestic as it always was, and, despite the fact that Cecelia usually hated her parents' overly outward displays of affection, today it managed to alleviate her tension a little bit.

Her phone was still a bomb in her pocket, though.

"Hi," she said, announcing her presence. Both Dad and Mom turned their heads, and nearly identical smiles appeared on their faces.

"Hey, Lia." Dad dipped a pinky finger into the spaghetti sauce and put it to his mouth. Mom slapped his hand with the wooden spoon in her hand, laughing. "How was your first day back at school? How was the internship?"

"Fine and fine," Cecelia said. She could barely think about school, so all she said was, "Uncle Rich has got a business trip coming up, so it'll be a little while before I have another session with him."

Take that.

"Ah, okay," Mom said. "Maybe it's good for you, honey. As much as I love that you're spending so much time with my brother, you should be doing more for yourself. I mean, I know you went to Liz's party, but you should hang out with your friends more. Maybe go to the mall with Christine."

Cecelia shrugged. She and Christine had gone to the mall before, but she'd never really seen the appeal of it. She didn't have anything against girls who appreciated fashion, but it wasn't really something for her. Her wardrobe mainly consisted of plain T-shirts and jeans. There was only one skirt in there, and only because she'd worn it to a Christmas party her dad's side of the family had hosted last year.

"You got a lot of homework tonight?" Dad asked. "You don't have to study for Decathlon anymore, do you?"

"Not a lot of homework," Cecelia replied. "Just a bit. And no, not really. Now that Nationals are over, I don't need to be panicking at least until next year."

"Well, we're proud of you," Mom said. "We know how much work you put into it. But maybe it's good that you aren't stressing yourself out so much. You deserve to take a break, Cecelia."

Cecelia nearly snorted. As if.

"I'm going to my room," she announced. "I want to get a start on The Great Gatsby. We're reading it for AP Lit."

"Oh, yeah, Alex told us about that," said Mom. "One of the classics, eh?"

"Yep. Another book written by a white dude."

Dad chuckled. "I've definitely been in your shoes there, kid. Books by white men were the only books I read when I was in school."

"Christine and I are trying to get Mr. Porter to expand the syllabus. I think he's finally going to put a book about anti-racism by a person of colour on there, not just To Kill a Mockingbird."

"Good on you there."

"Well, you can start your book, but dinner's going to be ready in fifteen minutes," Mom said. "Plus, we've got a surprise for you."

"What's that?" Cecelia asked. Mom grinned.

"Tomorrow, I thought the three of us could learn to make Wojapi."

Tears nearly sprung to Cecelia's eyes. She hadn't had Wojapi since the reserve; long enough that she'd forgotten what it tasted like. Unci used to make the best Wojapi, though, and served it with Lakota fry bread when she actually had the ingredients.

"Really?" she asked.

"Of course, honey. Your Dad and I have been trying to remind you of your culture, but we realized it probably hasn't been enough. So, we've decided to start learning as many Sioux recipes as possible. And we thought you could learn, too."

Cecelia wasn't much of a cook, but she nodded, anyway. It was a very rare occasion that she had Native food—one of her foster homes had been a Navajo family, so she'd eaten a lot of Bannock, but she'd only been there for two months—so the thought of having all of these recipes at her fingers now... well, it made her feel a lot closer to her birth family. Unci. Iná. Even Até, who couldn't be trusted to go near a stove without setting something on fire. It was as if she'd just sat down to eat Wohanpi with them.

"Thank you," she said. "That's really... that's really nice of you."

Mom and Dad really did care. They may not have known everything that was going on in Cecelia's life, but that didn't make the love they held for her any lesser. And maybe they didn't do everything right, but at least... at least they were trying. At least they patched her up when she got hurt and didn't tell her she deserved it.

The tears came freely now. Cecelia wiped them away.

At least with her family, she didn't only have worth when she could be useful. At least she wasn't abandoned at the first sign of disaster.

Now, she couldn't say the same about Uncle.

AFTER TWO DAYS, Uncle finally stopped trying to contact her. In that time, Cecelia had done nothing but ignore him—even though a tiny, resistant part of her wanted to block his number and delete his contact from her phone, the larger, still-loyal part of Cecelia (who sounded awfully like the ten-year-old girl in Hello Kitty pajamas she'd been) refused. He called her twenty-three times within those forty-eight hours and texted her about forty. She didn't even give his messages the dignity of reading them. She already knew what they said.

School was weird. Both days, Cecelia passed by Peter in the halls—noticeably not wearing one of those Spider-Man bracelets—and waited for him to turn to her, recognition flashing in his eyes. But he didn't. Despite the big brain he undoubtedly had, he hadn't figured out her identity yet. Maybe it was because he was too downcast to think about it.

After what had happened on the ferry—something the school was buzzing about the morning after—Peter kept his head down. He was probably thinking about how badly he'd messed up; after all, if he hadn't been there, the weapon would have never sliced the boat in half. Still, despite the fact that it was completely, utterly his fault, his kicked-puppy expression still planted a seed of sympathy into Cecelia's gut. Multiple times, she'd had to resist the urge to go over to him, if only to say hi.

Which was ridiculous. She wasn't friends with Peter, and even if she had been, the fact that he was Spider-Man changed everything. He was her enemy. He was a pest. He had been ruining the business. He was... he was...

...Looking really sad in the hallways.

Cecelia tried not to think about either Peter or Uncle, which meant she spent a lot more time than usual focused on her schoolwork, her friends, and her family. If either Christine or Alex noticed the intensive focus she was giving them, they didn't mention it. Jules, Eva, and her parents, on the other hand, were just happy she was putting effort into hanging out with them.

On the third day, though, a few hours after Cecelia came home from school, something both expected and incredibly bizarre happened.

She was sitting at her desk, fiddling with a piece of machinery for robotics club. The Castle In The Sky soundtrack piped through her headphones—after she'd watched it with her family, she couldn't get the music out of her mind. Despite it only being five in the afternoon, she'd already changed into her pajamas, and a pair of dinosaur slippers adorned her feet. Since Eva was out with friends, she had the room to herself.

As An Omen to Ruin switched to A Sea of Clouds in the Moonlight, though, Dad called out to her.

"Lia! Someone's at the door for you!"

Shit. Cecelia looked down at herself. The matching pajama top and bottoms she had on—light blue, patterned with cherries—were not doing her well in the looks department. Nor were the teddy bear socks, or the fact that she'd pulled her hair into a lopsided bun. Whoever was waiting for her—and it wouldn't be Christine, since she could practically let herself into the Olivier apartment by now—could not see her like this.

"One second!" Cecelia called. She stood up and stepped out of her pajama bottoms, jumping into a pair of gray sweatpants. She replaced her top with an oversized red T-shirt and pulled her hair out. While she did it, she wondered if Liz had come to call. She knew her address—maybe she wanted to hang out? It was always a possibility.

When she eventually stumbled outside her room, though, it was not Liz who was waiting for her.

It was Peter Parker.

He was wearing the same shirt he had at school—dark blue, with I make horrible science puns, but only periodically scrawled on it—and cuffed jeans. His hair was a mess, and heavy bags sat under his eyes. Cecelia's heart stuttered at the look in them.

She leaned against the doorframe, trying to play it casual. "Hey, Peter. What's going on?"

Peter glanced at Dad, who was pretending not to eavesdrop as he dusted a bookshelf. "Can I—can I talk to you?" he asked, chewing on his lip. "In private?"

Yep. She was totally found out.

"Sure." Cecelia stepped aside to allow Peter entrance into the apartment. His eyes darted around, taking the place in. He'd appreciate it. He was another scholarship kid—he knew what it was like to not be as rich as everyone else. What the preppy kids would call clutter just made the Olivier household charming to Cecelia. "We can go to my room."

"Okay," Peter said.

"Keep the door open at least six inches!" Dad called out. Despite the nerves currently trilling through Cecelia's gut, she scrunched her nose at him.

"I'm asexual!"

"Still!"

Cecelia shook her head. "He doesn't mean it," she told Peter. "He's just playing up the overprotective Dad role. Now, come on, my room's this way."

"You're—you're asexual?" Peter asked. Cecelia released she'd inadvertently come out again.

"Oh. Yeah. Totally sex-repulsed, too."

"Cool," Peter said, then went quiet. He didn't speak again until the two of them were safely in Cecelia's room (with the door closed). Cecelia sat on her bed, and Peter sank onto her desk chair. Then, he said, "I figured it out."

"Figured what out?" Cecelia asked, playing dumb. Peter narrowed his eyes at her.

"You're Phantom. You're—you've been working with the Vulture!"

"You're Spider-Man," Cecelia shot back. "And you haven't been working with the Avengers."

Peter flushed. "Not yet! But I am in contact with Mr. Stark. If I—if I wanted to, I could call him right now and turn you in."

"Yeah, but you won't. Not just because I know who you are, either. It seems like you have questions."

"Of course, I do!" Peter shot out. "Why are you working with the bad guys? You know that makes you a bad guy too, right?"

Creator. No wonder Cecelia hadn't figured out Peter was Spider-Man until now. "'Bad guys'? What are you, twelve?"

"Don't change the subject!" Peter sprung to his feet; jaw clenched. "I've spent the past few weeks fighting you. Why would you... why would you help them? You're just... you're just a kid, like me."

"Well, news flash, Peter, not everyone gets to be the hero," Cecelia spat. "Just because the Avengers are 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes' or whatever doesn't mean that's actually how things work. Did you know that your precious Tony Stark was the reason my uncle lost his job? Did you know that, in this economy, selling weapons is the only thing he can do to keep himself afloat?"

"Your uncle?" Peter repeated. Cecelia froze.

Shit. She hadn't meant to tell him that.

She exhaled. "Yeah. He's the Vulture's partner; he just doesn't run around in a suit."

"Well—well... selling weapons is still wrong!" Peter said. "You saw the news! Those masked guys were using the tech you helped sell to rob a bank! And the weapon that went off on the ferry nearly killed everyone, including you."

"It wouldn't have gone off if you hadn't intervened," said Cecelia, crossing her arms. "We give each and every one of our clients precise instructions on how to use our tech. It's not our fault you went floundering in and messed with things that you had no business messing with."

Peter's nostrils flared. "What happened wasn't—it wasn't my fault!"

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Cecelia.

"Sure, okay, keep telling yourself that."

"I can't believe I thought I liked you..." Peter muttered. Then, louder: "Why did you help me save those people back there, then?"

"Because they're innocent people," Cecelia said. The answer was simple. "They don't deserve to die."

"And the people who die at the hands of your weapons do?"

Cecelia shrunk back. "I... well... I have no proof that that's ever happened!"

Yes, you do, her mind supplied. A crystal-clear image of Brice, dissolving into pieces, played before her. The way Toomes had nonchalantly scoured his ashes from the gauntlet.

"Then you're being naïve," Peter said.

"The pot calls the kettle black."

"I've never used a kettle!"

"Okay, fine," Cecelia snapped. "Do you want to fight? Because we can fight. I bet you have your Spider-Man suit in your pocket. I can get mine out, and we can settle this, once and for all. And this time, I won't hold back."

Peter ducked his head. "I don't want to fight you," he said. "And even if I did..."

"You don't want to fight me? Then why are you even here?"

"Because... because I just wanted to understand, okay? And I want to help you."

"Help me?" Cecelia repeated. "I don't need your help."

Peter set his jaw. "I think you do. You're Phantom, right? You're intangible—which is awesome, by the way. But it means you're practically invulnerable."

"Not invulnerable. I can still be hurt."

"Yeah," said Peter softly, "but not by a mugging."

Immediately, Cecelia tensed.

Uncle's fists coming down on her face, his yells ringing in her ears, you fucking mutant brat, I wish you'd never been born—

"Cecelia?"

The cigarette butt he'd pressed into her side when he'd gotten particularly mad, the time he'd pulled her finger back until it snapped, the lashings on her palms, the whips from the belt across her back, the time he'd strangled her with a rope until she passed out—

"Hey. Hey, Cecelia. Can you hear me?"

Cecelia pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, watching an explosion of colours appear beneath her eyelids. She hunched forward, trying to catch her breath, trying to remember that she was here, and here wasn't there, and she was safe, and everything was okay—

"CeCe?"

The nickname—the one she'd only heard once before, on a bench in the busy New York streets, by a guy in spandex—jolted Cecelia out of her reverie. Air still refused to pump into her lungs at a normal rate, leaving to a little bit of hyperventilation, and her heart still throbbed as if she'd just run a race, but at least she was back in her bedroom. A pair of worried brown eyes stared back at her.

"Hey. Hey, CeCe. You need to take some deep breaths, okay? You're okay."

Cecelia stumbled to her feet and to her backpack. There, she dug out her Xanax, shaking a pill onto her hand. Because there was no water, she swallowed it dry.

Then she sunk back onto her bed.

"Cecelia?" Peter asked tentatively.

"I'm okay." Cecelia stared at her knees, sucking in deep breaths. "I'm okay."

"I'm—I'm sorry," Peter said. "I didn't—I didn't mean to trigger you. That's what it was, right? Something happened."

"No shit," Cecelia growled. Tears burned in her eyes.

"Okay. I won't pry. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

But Cecelia did. Not because she particularly trusted Peter, but because she'd been holding it in for five years, now. She'd made so many excuses. Patched up her wounds alone. Gave Mom and Dad a smile when they asked what was bothering her and assured them she was okay. Pretended not to wince when Christine threw her arms around her and accidentally irritated a fresh wound.

And... because Cecelia had never told anyone, a part of her wanted to know what Peter would say. An outsider's perspective was what she needed. If she told Peter—irritating as he was—he could let her know whether or not she was overreacting. And maybe she was. Maybe this was normal. Maybe that was what you did when you loved someone.

She took in a shaky breath. A stray tear slipped down her cheek. "I'll tell you."

Peter blinked. "What? Really? Don't you hate me?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

"Oh. That's... oh."

"I didn't get hurt from a mugging," Cecelia said. She kept her eyes locked on her knees, knowing that if she looked into Peter's stupidly earnest eyes, it would ruin everything. "And... it wasn't from our fight, either. It was... it was... everything was from my uncle."

She wasn't looking at Peter, but she could see him shrink back in her peripheral. Another tear fell, and she continued, "I wanted to go to Liz's party. He wanted me to come to the deal, to keep an eye out on things. And when you said Spider-Man was going to be there... I don't know. I thought I had nothing to worry about. So, I went to the party.

"Uncle got mad. He called me and told me I'd better come to the deal, and I realized how stupid I'd been. I went to the deal, and you were there, and it meant that I'd messed up. So... he punished me. Like he always does. And when that happens, I have to sit there and take it, because I deserve it."

The room was quiet when Cecelia finished speaking. All Cecelia could hear were Peter's breaths, slow and even, and the roar of her own pulse in her ears. She wiped her cheeks, still keeping her eyes down. She didn't want to know what Peter was thinking.

Then, he spoke. "I'm sorry, Cecelia."

She finally looked up. When she met Peter's gaze, she found that he was completely and utterly serious as he spoke. There was no malice nor mirth in his eyes, like Cecelia had feared there'd be. In fact, he almost looked like he actually cared.

"Is that why you work with him?" Anger tinged Peter's tone. "Because he hurts you if you don't?"

"No," Cecelia whispered. Though she wasn't entirely sure. Was that the reason? She'd always told herself she was part of Uncle's company because she was doing good for him and Toomes. Sure, maybe the activities were illegal, but you had to do what you had to do. Life wasn't so black and white.

"No?"

"I don't know. I... I... don't know, Peter."

Peter exhaled. "Okay," he said. "But... you do know that shouldn't be happening to you, right?"

"I... it's the only way." A sob broke free of Cecelia's lips, and Peter finally stood from his chair. Cautiously, he walked over and... sank down on the bed beside her. He didn't touch her, but just the feel of his weight causing the mattress to dip strangely made Cecelia feel less alone. "I don't learn."

"You're a teenager, Cecelia." Peter's voice was still soft, like he was trying not to rouse a baby from her nap. But it was also filled with so much compassion, compassion that Cecelia surely didn't deserve. "You're not supposed to learn."

And all Cecelia could do to that was weep.

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HAVEN: ahhhh!!! the kids know who each other are, now!! it only took fourteen chapters, but we made it!!

what do you think is going to happen now that they've both figured it out? do you think they're actually going to end up fighting, or is peter going to try and help cecelia? do you think either one is going to spill the other's identity?

well, i guess you'll find out ;) but until then, though, i'd love to hear your theories!

thanks for reading! <333