CHAPTER THREE
Working For The Knife

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THE HEADPHONES OVER Cecelia's ears managed to muffle most of the sound coming from the ever-bustling NYC, but occasionally, pieces would still make it through the barrier. Sirens blaring on the streets below, the whir of overhead helicopter blades, or the honk of a particularly close car all drew Cecelia out of the state of concentration she'd been attempting to maintain, and eventually, it became clear that tonight just wasn't her night. Her eyes were stinging, red and raw, her foot was cramped from where it had been balanced over the floor, and her stomach growled, reminding her that dinner had been hours ago. There weren't enough Cage The Elephant songs in the world to keep those discomforts from, well, giving her discomfort.

For the past three hours, Cecelia had been at her desk, obsessively working on a piece of machinery she was technically not supposed to have brought home. She'd been told over and over again by her uncle that Chitauri tech was for the warehouse—so many times, in fact, that it had practically been tattooed on her brain—but she didn't see the big deal. Sure, dismantling bombs in her Queens apartment would have been a big no-no, but this tiny little piece of glowing purple the size of her pinky? It was nothing.

A magnifying glass propped up by a water bottle and a copious number of rubber bands zoomed in the area at Cecelia's desk. For once, her lamp was on—Eva had gone to her friend's house for a sleepover, which meant that Cecelia had the whole room to herself. It cast a sickly yellow glow over her current project: a modification of a miniature laser. Well, the jumble of parts that would become a miniature laser in the end.

She'd come up with the idea months ago, figuring that something that could be wrapped around your wrist and disposed of easily would sell for tons on the market. And, surprisingly, when she'd pitched it to Toomes and Uncle, they'd agreed with her. She'd built the prototype a week later, but, though it worked, it was nowhere near good enough to be sold yet. Hence the modification process.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like she'd be getting it done tonight. With a sigh of finality, Cecelia pulled off her headphones and let them hang around her neck. A yawn split her mouth open, and she finally put pressure on her numb foot, wincing at the pins and needles that jolted through it.

Three hours, and little work had gotten time. Either her lack of focus had been a symptom of leftover tiredness from last night's mission, or today just wasn't one of Cecelia's better days. Honestly, it could be either one. Especially after what had happened at AcaDec practice today.

She pulled open one of her desk drawers, which was innocently filled with empty notebooks, old schoolwork, and stationary. It was such a hassle to either remove all its contents or grope around underneath that she did neither; instead, she concentrated and sank her hand through the supplies. Once she was certain her hand was in place, she let it come back into solidity. Ignoring the irritating sensation of a notebook sticking through her wrist, she grasped the hidden catch and pulled it open.

Her hand became intangible again as she pulled it out. The top half of the drawer was now pulled to the side, revealing the hidden layer underneath—the layer where Cecelia kept all things alien. There weren't many items in here, now (she only stole on rare occasions, when she was sure she wouldn't be caught); just a few tools and a hunk of raw material contained within glass. Cecelia slipped the unfinished laser into a similar casing and slotted in the magnifying glass. Once that had been taken care of, she slid the top half back on and closed the drawer.

It was only then that she looked at the clock. 4:26 AM. Creator. Mom was going to kill her for staying up so late again. Her alarm was set to go off in just two hours.

Her stomach growled again, loud and persisting. She really should just go to bed now and enjoy the two hours of sleep she had, but she doubted she'd be able to do so with her hunger pains bothering her so much. Which was really her own fault. She'd been so desperate to get to her room and rest earlier tonight that she'd merely pushed her dinner about on her plate until she'd been dismissed.

Dumbass.

Cecelia took in a deep inhale through her nose and headed towards one of the back walls of her room. Her bed was pressed up against it, but there was a wedge right between it and her bookshelf that she'd discovered was the sweet spot.

It just happened that Mom and Dad's bedroom was right across from hers, which meant that every time she left her room during the night, they knew. Cecelia swore her mother had super-hearing—it would certainly explain why she woke up to the softest of footsteps.

Fortunately, there was an advantage she had that Mom didn't know about: the kitchen was right behind Cecelia's back wall.

Between one breath and another, her entire body tingled, becoming weightless. Looking down at herself—it was strange that she still seemed so solid—Cecelia stepped through the wall, becoming promptly buried waist-deep in one of the cabinets. She waded her way out of it like a particularly stubborn mud puddle, then became whole again.

Easy as that.

The kitchen was nearly pitch-black at this time of night, but Cecelia had done enough late-night excursions to know where she was going. She groped her way through the thick shroud of darkness over to the snack cabinet, then pushed her hand through the closed doors to grip onto a handful of granola bars. This wasn't for convenience or laziness—it was because this door in particular squealed like a kicked puppy whenever it was opened. And, because of Mom's super-hearing (sometimes, Cecelia swore she was a mutant, too), this was certainly unideal.

Missions and adventures into the kitchen for late-night snacks. Both of them required her powers. Only one of them really had any consequences.

Come here, Cecelia. You deserve this, you know that?

She always did.

Cecelia unwrapped a granola bar and shoved it into her mouth before stepping through the wall again. Her side tingled, a memory, and she ignored it. Instead, she sat on the edge of her bed, chewed her granola bar, and listened to the city that never slept.

WHEN CECELIA'S PHONE buzzed with a text early that morning, she knew who it was before she even turned it on. Alex was still asleep, and even if he had woken up, there was no need to text his sister about something he could just tell her in person (okay, yes, he did it all the time when he was too lazy to get up, but this was the morning, where he knew seeing Cecelia was a guarantee, like it or not). Christine didn't even turn on her phone before eight in the morning (something, something, studies that said you shouldn't look at your devices right when you wake up), so it couldn't be her, either. Eva and Jules, lucky bastards, were still asleep.

That left one option.

UNCLE: Don't take the subway today. I'll drive you to school. There's something we need to talk about.

That was never a good sign. Why couldn't people ever just say what they needed to talk about in their texts? Like a book being flipped through at lightning speed, possibility after possibility darted through Cecelia's mind. Something had happened. Something had definitely happened. Was she in trouble? Had Uncle found out about the piece of Chitauri tech she'd brought home? Was he dissatisfied with her work? Was he going to kick her off the team?

Had someone died?

Deep breaths, Cecelia, she reminded herself. Four things you can see, three things you can hear, two things you can touch, one thing you can smell. It's okay. It's okay. Everything's fine.

Everything was definitely not fine.

She popped the cap off of her daily Fluoxetine and shoved a pill into her mouth. Swallowing dry had always been a talent of hers, but this morning, she took a sip of the lukewarm water on her nightstand regardless. Her mouth was so dry that mustering up enough saliva to swallow would be a miracle.

The bottle of Xanax bulged tantalizingly out from the front pocket of her backpack, but Cecelia ignored it. She'd already taken one yesterday, and she needed to learn to calm down without the help of a drug pumping through her system. Plus, she was pretty sure there was a rule about taking Xanax right after taking another medication.

It's fine. It's fine. It's fine.

As to be expected, she was exhausted—even more so than yesterday, if that was even possible. She barely paid attention as she got dressed, then realized the mistake of that when she attempted to put a T-shirt on as pants. Dousing her face in cold water—which killed two birds with one stone by waking her up and temporarily alleviating her anxiety—Cecelia scrubbed at her skin, hands tracing over the pimples that littered her forehead despite her best efforts. Christine had once tried to explain her skincare routine, but Cecelia vehemently refused to take part in something with more than three steps. It was a lot to ask of her morning self.

When she emerged from her bedroom, being careful not to wake Eva (why did middle schools start later than high schools? Shouldn't it be the other way around?), she nearly bumped into Dad. He was wearing a bright purple bathrobe (it belonged to him—Dad wasn't one to believe colours had a gender), fuzzy monkey slippers Jules had gotten him for his birthday last year, and his reading glasses. A cup of coffee was in one hand, steam curling from the liquid, but his other hand was free to ruffle Cecelia's hair.

"Morning, pumpkin," he greeted. "You in there? Or have you been replaced by a zombie version of yourself?"

He stretched out his unoccupied hand and groaned for the full effect. Cecelia huffed.

"I'm okay. Well, I will be, if we're not out of Monster Energy."

"We're not, but we will be soon if you keep gulping it down every morning. I honestly don't think it's healthy for a fifteen-year-old to be drinking so much of it, Lia."

"Well, I'm not dead yet, so I think I'll be fine."

Cecelia tried to push past her father, but he stood in front of her, imposing. He was only a little taller than she was—fortunately, she'd been blessed with her birthmother's genes—but he was also bulky. Cecelia, on the other hand, was a wisp of a thing—perhaps she'd phased through enough objects that her body had adapted to appear as if one strong breeze would blow her away.

"Nuh-uh-uh. You don't get to slip past me that easily."

"Dad, Eva's sleeping right behind this door."

"She's not going to wake up. That girl could sleep through a hurricane. Remember the fire alarm incident?"

Cecelia grimaced at the reminder—a cold winter's night two years ago when the apartment's fire alarm had been set off. Everyone had scrambled out of bed, putting on their shoes and grabbing their coats. It was only when they met up at the front door that they realized Eva was missing. When Cecelia, being the oldest, went back to her room to check if she was lagging behind, she found her still in bed, snoring contently, one hand wrapped around her stuffed rabbit, Charles. It had taken several moments of shaking before Eva had finally opened her eyes.

It was a good thing there hadn't actually been a fire.

"Okay, what?" she asked now. "I have school. Uncle's gonna pick me up in, like, twenty minutes."

Dad's eyebrows lifted. "Uncle Rick's taking you to school? What about Alex?"

She shifted. "He, uh... wasn't invited?"

Dad stared sternly down at her over his glasses. "Cecelia, I know you love your uncle, but has he been giving Alex trouble? I know it was difficult for all of us to adjust when he came out, but if he's been giving him flack or calling him by his dead name..."

"No! No! Uncle hasn't been doing that, Dad. He totally respects Alex, I promise. I just think he wanted to talk to me about something for the internship and knew Alex would be bored to tears. I swear, it's completely innocent."

"Uh-huh. And you expect me to let Alex get to school on his own today after what happened last night?"

Cecelia's brow furrowed. She hadn't checked the news this morning—she'd just read the text from her uncle, liked a few posts on Instagram (including a picture of Liz and the Homecoming Committee posing with the banner they'd put up yesterday), and put her phone away. There was a television in her room (an old one that they hadn't wanted to give away), but, of course, Cecelia couldn't have turned it on while Eva was sleeping.

"What happened last night?" she asked.

Dad sighed. "There was an explosion at Delmar's Deli-Grocery. An ATM robbery was occurring across the street, but Spider-Man stepped in to stop it. Some kind of weapon went off in the conflict and blew the place up."

"Holy shit," Cecelia said. Then, at the stern look her father levelled at her, amended, "Holy crap. Is everyone okay?"

"Yes—fortunately there were no casualties, but I'm sure the loss of his store is a huge blow to Mr. Delmar. Queens is becoming a dangerous place, even with that vigilante. I don't want you or your siblings to get hurt. That's why we've always had the buddy system in place. You and Alex go to school together; Eva and Jules go together."

"I know, Dad," Cecelia began, "but Uncle's already coming."

Dad sighed again and shook his head. "All right. I'll get your brother to school today, but that's only because I don't have any meetings this morning. Don't make a habit of abandoning him, okay? And tell your uncle that the next time he gives you a ride, the offer better be extended to Alex, too."

"Okay, okay, okay. Fine."

"Good." Dad tried to ruffle her hair again, but Cecelia batted him away. She ducked under his arm and made her way to the kitchen, which looked a lot livelier during the day. Early morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting the area in gold, and a cooking show played on low volume on the television that hung over the fridge. Cecelia grabbed a croissant from the box Dad had recently purchased and shoved it into her mouth. While she chewed, she packed her bag and listened to a group of contestants make creative macaroni and cheeses.

Afterwards, she was finishing up in the bathroom when Alex rapped on the doorframe, then leaned against it. Late as usual, he hadn't even gotten dressed yet. All he wore was an old Batman T-shirt and boxers.

"Oh, my poor eyes." Cecelia shielded her face as she twisted her hair into a braid. "I think I need to bleach them."

"Ha, ha," Alex said dryly. "You're one to talk. Remember the shower incident?"

She shot him a look. "I thought we weren't talking about that."

"Whatever. So, what's this about you abandoning me today?"

"It's not that big of a deal." Cecelia's fingers were quick and nimble, making their way down her head in no time. Perhaps it was a leftover from old times. "I'm not abandoning you. Uncle's just driving me."

"And he couldn't spare a spot for one more person? Who's going to the exact same place?"

"He wanted to talk to me about my internship. Super boring stuff. I told him you wouldn't be interested."

"I like robotics too, Cecelia."

"It's not that. It's just—"

"It's just what?"

"It's just that—"

"Go on, spit it out."

Cecelia finished braiding and capped it off with a pink hair tie. "What's your problem?"

"I don't have a problem. I just want you to finish."

"Does it matter?"

Alex let out a huff. "Yeah. You're always spending time with him, but he never extends us the same courtesy. It's just... kind of annoying, to be honest."

"Well, it's not like I asked him to drive me."

"But you're still taking it."

"Yeah, of course I am! I'm pretty sure the woman we were riding beside yesterday was hacking up a lung. I don't want to be near that."

"For God's sake."

"You know, for someone who says you don't have a problem, you certainly sound like you have a problem."

"Okay. You know what? Maybe I do. Maybe I'm sick of being completely ignored by my own fucking uncle. Maybe I don't understand why I can't have a goddamned ride from him when we're going to the same place."

"Alex—" Cecelia started. He scowled.

"And you never say anything. Anything to spend more time with good old Uncle Rick."

"You're being unfair."

"Really? Am I? He takes you out to the diner, like, four days a week. He bought you a new laptop for Christmas and gave me a pair of socks."

"They were good socks."

"It's not funny, Cecelia," Alex snapped. "I get that you're his favourite, but that doesn't make it hurt any less, okay? I used to think it was because I'm trans, but he's always said he's fine with it. Now I just think I'm not good enough."

"You are good enough. I'm just—"

"—Better than me? Better than Jules and Eva?"

"Obviously not. Seriously, Alex, can we drop it? I have to go. You have to go put pants on."

"Whatever. Sorry I graced the great Cecelia Olivier with my presence."

Before Cecelia could say anything else, her brother pushed his way out of the bathroom. As soon as he was gone, her side flared up with an itch, almost mocking her. One hand went to it, feeling the rigid scar there.

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to call Alex back. He didn't understand anything. Because if she was Uncle's favourite...

Well. Things might have been going a lot differently in Cecelia's life.

Alex didn't say goodbye to her when she left. Dad did, of course, and so did Mom, who'd finally managed to get herself out of bed. They both insisted on giving her a hug, and, while trapped in their arms, Cecelia instinctively gave her brother a pleading look. He met her gaze for a moment only to look away.

She gritted her teeth. Fine. If that was how he was going to be.

Cecelia took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped out into the early morning. Sure enough, a black car was idling by the curb, smoke pumping from its exhaust pipes. She went to step inside but had to leap out of the way at the last moment when a little kid on a bicycle nearly ran her over. He wasn't wearing a helmet, and an open backpack was strung over one shoulder, spilling out papers. One slapped onto Cecelia's face, and she peeled it off and crumpled it into a ball. If that was his math homework, then, well, served him right.

Once she was sure there were no more bicycles coming her way, Cecelia slid into the passenger seat of Uncle's car. He was leaning back in the driver's side, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel with one hand and sipping a Starbucks coffee with the other. Sunglasses were perched on his nose, preventing Cecelia from getting a clear view of his eyes. She hated when he did that. She never knew when he was mad at her until it was too late.

"Seatbelt," he ordered, as Cecelia settled her backpack between her legs.

"Yes, Uncle." She buckled it up. It was only when it clicked into place that Uncle shifted the car into gear and drove out into the busy New York streets. Rock music blasted out of the radio, and Cecelia stared out the window, resisting the urge to ask what was going on. Apparently, that was rude, too. He'd tell her when he was ready.

The suspense was going to kill her, though.

Uncle drove down one block, two. They passed Delmar's Deli-Grocery, which had practically been reduced to a charred husk, still smoking. Police lines blocked off sections of the road, which made the traffic even more unbearable, and agents in full PPE roamed the area, collecting evidence. A news reporter stood off to one side, speaking seriously into a camera.

It took five minutes to navigate past the building, but when they finally did, Uncle cleared his throat. Cecelia turned to him expectantly, drumming her fingers on her leg. Tap. Tap. Tap. Creator. Even though she wasn't biologically related to her uncle, she could be a lot like him sometimes.

"I'm guessin' you heard about what happened back there?" he asked, gesturing with a tip of his head. Cecelia nodded.

"My dad told me. There was an ATM robbery that led to an explosion?"

"Not just any old ATM robbery. An ATM robbery using our weapons."

Cecelia immediately sat up straighter. "Are you serious?"

Uncle nodded. "That's what caused the explosion. 'Course, it's obvious that we weren't selling these weapons to people who just wanted to stick them in a collection, but we were hoping to keep this on the down-low for a little while longer."

"But it is," Cecelia pointed out. "The general public doesn't know that it was our weapons, do they?"

"No. Not the public. A single witness."

Cecelia pursed her lips. "Spider-Man."

"Exactly. The news reports say that the blast was fired off during the battle, which makes it clear that Spider-Man was exposed to the weapons and their properties. Now, he's just one guy in his pajamas, but if word gets out about what the weapons do, they could end up being linked back to us. Especially if those guys are identified."

"You think they'll talk?"

"I think they'll do anything they can to get a reduced sentence."

"So, what do we do?" Cecelia asked. "Relocate our base?"

"No. Nothing quite drastic. But we need to prepare for the very real possibility of Spider-Man's return. Which is why I have a job for you."

Cecelia's heart beat a little faster at that. "A job?"

"We've got a deal set up tonight. Brice and Schultz will be in charge of actually selling the merchandise, but I want you there, too. We might need someone who isn't affected by those pesky webs of his."

Cecelia was about to agree immediately, sighing internally at the thought of becoming the Phantom again, but then she remembered something. The promise she'd made to her friends yesterday.

"Are you sure I need to be there?" she asked, wincing at her boldness. Usually, she didn't question the missions, no matter how pointless they seemed. "I mean, Brice and Schultz can take care of themselves. Spider-Man's one guy. He's not even an Avenger, just some vigilante that got famous on YouTube."

Uncle's lips thinned, the first warning sign. Cecelia's breath caught, and she instinctively shifted a little bit to her right.

"He's not just some vigilante," he hissed. "He is a mutant with the potential of ruining what we've worked for. I want you at the deal tonight because, honestly, I don't trust Schultz and Brice to do anything but run away if they come face-to-face with him. But I trust you. Am I wrong to do that?"

"No, but how can you be sure he'll even come?"

"I'm not sure. But both Adrian and I would feel a hell of a lot more comfortable if we knew we are at least somewhat protected." Uncle finally slipped his sunglasses down his nose. It wasn't surprising to see that his eyes were brewing with the beginnings of anger. "What's this about, Cecelia? You've never been so hesitant to go on a job before."

Cecelia looked away automatically, her gaze falling to her knees. "Eyes on me," Uncle snapped. She looked back up again.

"It's just—" she tried.

"It's just what?"

"It's just that Liz invited me to her party tonight, and I told Alex and Christine I was going to go."

The anger in Uncle's eyes deepened. "You want to blow off an important—no, crucial—mission because you were invited to a party?" he asked, disbelieving. "Are you kidding me right now?"

"No, it's just that—"

"Cecelia."

"It's just that I wanted to—"

"Cecelia."

"It's just that I wanted to try it out! I've never been, and Alex and Christine were really insistent, and I just... wanted... to..."

She trailed off when she realized that it was a lost cause. Uncle was practically steaming now, and her argument had been weak, anyway. She ducked her head, and her hands twitched in her lap.

"Never mind," she said quietly. "I'll go."

"That's it," Uncle replied. He reached out and clapped a hand on her thigh so hard she jumped. It stung, but only a little. She supposed that was the point. "See how much easier it is when you cooperate?"

"Yes."

"Good." Then Uncle actually smiled, pushed his sunglasses back on, and turned up the rock station. Cecelia leaned her head against the window, ignoring the tremors, and bit down on her lip. Christine was going to be so disappointed.

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HAVEN: i am an alex defender until the day i DIE so NOBODY better be mad at him for his chapter. he doesn't know the whole story, so he is completely justified in getting pissed at cecelia lol. even if this argument will completely come back to bite him in the ass later :((

thanks for reading lmao