.ೃ࿔*:･𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐯. the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color

𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊, but each tick of the clock seemed to stretch on endlessly. Her eyes were heavy, struggling to stay focused on the numbers that danced before her. She sighed deeply, her breath shaky as she blinked rapidly, trying to force her vision to clear. But no matter how many times she did it, the problem remained. The neat rows of equations began to blur, smearing together into an indistinguishable mess.

Her mind was a whirlwind, spinning out of control with thoughts she couldn’t seem to corral. Peter’s face—or rather, his mask—flashed through her mind. She still hadn't seen his face, she realized with a pang of something that felt like disappointment. The memory of him swinging around New York, his grip firm around her waist as they soared through the city, left a strange, hollow ache in her chest. There was something so freeing in those moments, yet here she was, tethered to her desk by the weight of her own thoughts.

And then there were the Sokovia Accords— God, how those two words haunted her—twisted and turned in her thoughts like a knife. And Tony’s words—his sharp, cutting words—echoed over and over until they were all she could hear.

Ingrid let out a frustrated, almost anguished groan. The sound filled the room, a harsh contrast to the silence that surrounded her. Without thinking, she hurled her pen across the desk, watching as it clattered to the floor, rolling until it came to a stop by the door. Her hands flew to her head, fingers curling into her hair as if she could somehow pull the thoughts from her mind. She dug her nails into her scalp, seeking an outlet for the tension that was coiled so tightly within her.

Why couldn’t she just focus? Why was everything so damn hard? Tony was right—her dad would be disappointed if he saw her like this, spiraling out of control over something as trivial as homework. The thought alone made her chest tighten with a mix of guilt and shame that was almost unbearable.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but it was too late to stop the tears from forming. A single tear escaped, sliding down her cheek before falling onto the page beneath her, the ink of her messy handwriting bleeding and smudging where the tear landed.

"You need any help with that?" Natasha’s voice cut through the silence, gentle yet somehow commanding, as she leaned against the doorframe of Ingrid’s room.

Ingrid didn’t bother to turn around. She heard the soft creak of the floorboards as Natasha stepped in, but her eyes stayed fixed on the closed notebook in front of her. “No,” she replied sharply.

Natasha approached her carefully, the way one might approach a wounded animal. She perched on the edge of Ingrid’s desk, her movements slow and deliberate. “How are you holding up?” Her voice was soft, almost soothing, and it made Ingrid’s heart ache. How did Natasha always manage to be so patient, even when Ingrid was being difficult?

Ingrid forced herself to look up, crossing her arms defensively. She hoped that the tears that had fallen earlier weren’t still visible, that her eyes weren’t as red as they felt. “How do you think I’m doing?”

Natasha’s gaze didn’t waver. “You look tired,” she answered instantly, not missing a beat.

Ingrid scoffed, the sound laced with bitterness. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“I’m serious.” Natasha’s voice shifted, firm and unyielding now. There was no room for argument in her tone. “You should get some rest.”

Ingrid felt Natasha’s eyes on her, the intensity of her gaze almost unbearable. She turned away, not wanting to see the concern that was surely written all over Natasha’s face. “I don’t need to rest,” she mumbled.

Natasha ignored Ingrid’s deflection, her focus unwavering. “When did you get back last night?”

“Late,” Ingrid answered instantly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil that had been churning inside her since she walked through the door. But as her eyes met Natasha’s, the concern she saw in those familiar green eyes sent a shiver down her spine. There was no escaping it now. “Really late,” she added, her tone softening to a near whisper, almost as if she were apologizing.

A heavy silence settled between them. Natasha’s gaze lingered on Ingrid, so full of understanding and care that it made Ingrid’s chest tighten. It was that look, the one that said she could see right through Ingrid’s defenses, that made Ingrid want to pour out everything she’d been holding back. And before she could stop herself, she did.

“I don’t want to retire, Nat,” Ingrid confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. She paused, her voice breaking slightly as she continued. “But... I’m stuck. Even if I wanted to sign those bullshit Accords, I can’t.”

Natasha’s expression remained neutral, but there was a hint of something in her eyes, something that made Ingrid feel like she was being seen in a way she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. “Would you really sign them if you could?”

“No,” Ingrid admitted, her voice filled with resignation. “But it’d be nice to at least have the choice.”

Natasha nodded, her eyes finally breaking away from Ingrid’s as she crossed her arms and licked her lips, a nervous habit Ingrid had come to recognize over the years. “I hope you know why we’re doing it, though,” Natasha said, her voice steady but tinged with a seriousness that made Ingrid’s heart ache. “That kid in Sokovia… it could’ve been you.”

Ingrid’s response was immediate, the words bursting from her with a force she hadn’t intended. “But it wasn’t,” she stated firmly, her voice rising in intensity. “I can protect myself.”

“I know, but all it takes is one accident, and you’re gone. Forever,” Natasha said, her voice carrying a weight that made the room feel even smaller. The silence that followed was thick, each second stretching out longer than the last. “We’re just trying to protect you. All of us, even Tony.”

Ingrid’s expression darkened at the mention of Tony’s name, the sadness in her eyes hardening into anger. “Don’t act like Tony gives a shit about me,” she snapped, her voice laced with bitterness.

“He does, Ingrid. He just… has a messed-up way of showing it,” Natasha said, trying to sound reassuring, though she knew how difficult it was for Ingrid to believe.

“That’s an understatement,” Ingrid muttered.

A small, almost sad smile briefly crossed Natasha’s face before she became serious again. “Look, he didn’t mean what he said yesterday.”

“Did he tell you that?” Ingrid asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she searched Natasha’s face for any sign of doubt.

“No. It was implied, though,” Natasha replied, her tone calm but resolute. Ingrid couldn’t help but feel a pang of frustration. The idea that Tony and Natasha had already discussed her, probably behind closed doors, made her feel nauseous. But she pushed that feeling aside, deciding she would ask Natasha about it later. Now wasn’t the time to get into that.

Natasha must have sensed Ingrid’s unease because she quickly added, “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. So is Bruce, wherever he is.” Natasha reached out, ruffling Ingrid’s hair in a gesture that was both affectionate and comforting.

Ingrid’s heart twisted at the mention of her father. Hearing that he was proud of her, even if it was just Natasha’s opinion, meant more than she could put into words.

Natasha’s hand gently cupped Ingrid’s cheek, lifting her chin so their eyes met again. “We’ll get through this. Together, remember?”

She smiled, a genuine smile that Natasha was sure she hadn’t seen in months. It was small, but it was real, and it made Natasha’s heart swell with relief. “Thanks, Nat,” Ingrid said softly, her voice carrying the warmth of her smile.

Natasha got up, giving Ingrid’s shoulder a gentle pat. “Now get some rest, okay? Homework can wait.”

Ingrid hesitated as Natasha began to move toward the door, a thought surfacing that she couldn’t quite push aside. “Actually,” she called out, stopping Natasha in the doorway, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Natasha turned back, curiosity piqued. “What’s up?”

“Can I go out tonight?” Ingrid asked, her voice cautious but hopeful. Her eyes met Natasha’s with a look that was equal parts pleading and determination.

Natasha looked into those eyes, weighing the request carefully. She sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “Only if you get some sleep first and promise to be back by midnight.”

Ingrid’s face lit up, the spark of excitement and relief making her look more like herself than she had in a long time. “I promise,” she said, the sincerity in her voice unmistakable.

.ೃ࿔*:･

Crouched on the rooftop of a building, Ingrid surveyed the bustling streets below, her eyes sharp and focused despite the cool night air. The city sprawled out before her, a maze of lights and shadows that seemed to pulse with its own rhythm.

Down on the street, Spider-Man had just wrapped up an intense scene. A group of criminals lay sprawled on the pavement, their attempts at escape thwarted by the webbing that bound them. Spider-Man hovered nearby, making sure the area was secure before he would disappear into the night.

Ingrid wasn’t entirely sure how she had tracked him down. Her initial plan had been to wait at the bridge where they hsd first met. But as the hours passed and he failed to show, she’d decided to take matters into her own hands. Her search had led her through the city’s labyrinthine streets, across alleys, and finally to this rooftop. It was a stroke of luck— or perhaps fate —that had guided her here.

As if he could sense her presence, Spider-Man’s head whipped around, and with a swift movement, he used his webbing to swing up to the rooftop next to Ingrid. He landed gracefully, catching his breath as he straightened up.

“Hey. I didn’t expect to see you here,” Peter said, his voice filled with surprise and a hint of relief. “I mean, it’s nice... It’s really nice to see you.”

Ingrid couldn’t help but smile at his words, a small, genuine grin spreading across her face. “It’s nice to see you too.”

They stood in a comfortable silence for a moment, the city lights casting a soft glow over them. But Ingrid soon noticed that Peter was staring at her with a peculiar look.

“Is something wrong?” Ingrid asked, breaking the silence and raising an eyebrow at him.

“No, no, no!” Peter stammered, his hands waving in a dismissive gesture. “Just... Is that a new suit?”

Ingrid glanced down at her attire, realizing what Peter was referring to. She had recently updated her suit with new gadgets and weapons, making it look slightly different from before. “Yeah. I mean, it’s the same suit, just…” She trailed off, her fingers smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in her pants as she considered how to explain. “Wait, how did you know?”

Peter’s response came quickly, almost as if it was a reflex. “I keep up with Solar Flare.”

“Weirdo,” Ingrid joked, a playful smirk on her face as she approached the edge of the rooftop and sat down, her legs dangling over the side. Peter followed, settling beside her.

“Also, nobody calls me Solar Flare,” Ingrid added with a light laugh.

“A lot of people do. It’s all over the internet and news,” Peter said, glancing at her. He noticed the way her gaze seemed to drop, and his concern grew. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Ingrid muttered, though her tone was far from convincing. “Why do you ask?”

“I mean, I’ve only known you for a day, but I can tell you’re not fine,” Peter said, his eyes meeting hers with an earnest expression.

Ingrid considered opening up to him, but the words felt stuck. Instead, she brushed off the impulse. “It’s complicated.”

“You wanna talk about it? I’m a pretty good listener,” Peter offered, his tone genuinely supportive.

Ingrid hesitated, then exhaled slowly, the weight of her thoughts making her voice quiet. “Just… stuff back home. Things are messy.”

Peter turned his gaze forward, focusing on the distant lights of the city. The silence stretched between them, but Ingrid felt a subtle pressure to continue. “You ever feel like the world is just kind of… breaking apart and you’re stuck in the middle?”

Peter let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “All the time,” he admitted.

“It’s like everyone’s so wrapped up in their own opinions that they don’t even try to listen to each other,” Ingrid said, her voice tinged with frustration. “But I do! I want to listen, I really do.” She let out a shaky sigh. “But why should I keep putting myself aside for people who won’t do the same for me?”

“I don’t think you should,” Peter replied, his voice firm and earnest.

“Really?” Ingrid asked, a note of surprise in her voice.

“Yeah, really,” Peter said, his voice carrying a warmth that Ingrid could almost feel through his mask. “You’ve got just as much right to be happy as anyone else.” Ingrid’s smile grew, a touch of relief in her expression. “I mean, I get it. Trying to make everyone else happy feels like the right thing, but sometimes you end up losing yourself in the process.”

Ingrid nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling in. “But what if it makes things worse? What if they start thinking I’m selfish or something?”

“You’re not selfish, Ingrid,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Caring about yourself doesn’t make you selfish. It’s about finding balance, you know? You can still be there for others without giving up what matters to you.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Ingrid said, letting out a sigh. “Thanks, Peter.” She smiled at him, a genuine, grateful expression. “We’ve only known each other for a day, but I feel like you understand me better than most people.” She looked at him, but he was focused on the horizon. “But I don’t know anything about you.”

Peter turned to her. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, I already know your name…” Ingrid trailed off, a playful tone in her voice. “How old are you? Just so I know I’m not talking to a 50-year-old man.”

Peter chuckled, the sound light and cheerful. “I look 50?”

“No,” Ingrid giggled. “But you never know.”

"I'm not. I'm turning 15 soon." Peter replied.

Ingrid smiled, her curiosity piqued. “How did you get those powers?”

“I got bit by a spider.”

Ingrid’s laughter bubbled out before she realized he was serious. “Wait, really?”

Peter laughed too, his tone light and amused. “Yeah.”

Ingrid raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And those webs?”

“Oh, I make them myself,” Peter said proudly.

“You make them yourself?” Ingrid repeated, her surprise evident.

“Yeah!” Peter said enthusiastically, then his expression shifted as he realized what she was implying. “I mean, I perfected a formula and then made the fluid. I don’t make them… like that.”

Ingrid giggled, her amusement evident. “Yeah, of course.”

“Do you have more questions?” Peter asked, his curiosity evident.

Ingrid thought for a moment before replying, “What’s your daily life like? What are you when you’re not Spider-Man?”

Peter leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky as he considered her question. "Well, it’s a bit of a balancing act. School, homework, saving people, keeping my Aunt from finding out what I'm up to… it’s a lot. Some days, it feels like I’m juggling a dozen things at once, and I just hope none of them come crashing down."

Ingrid nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I get that. I’m still trying to figure out the balance myself—training, missions, dealing with… everything else.” She glanced at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Though, I still can’t believe you manage to keep all that up. I guess it’s a bit easier for me because I’m homeschooled. How do you even find time for yourself?”

Peter shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t always. Sometimes it feels like I’m just running from one thing to the next. But I guess… I don’t know, I just want to do the right thing, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ingrid murmured, her voice soft. “I think that’s what we all want. But it’s hard to figure out what the ‘right thing’ is when you’re constantly pulled in different directions.” She paused, the weight of her thoughts evident. “Sometimes it feels like it would be so much easier to just burn everything down and start fresh.”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side," Peter glanced at her, a teasing undertone in his voice.

Ingrid laughed, nudging Peter playfully. “Don’t worry, Spider-Boy, you’re safe for now.”

“Spider-Man,” Peter corrected, nudging her back. “And I’ll have you know I’m pretty tough. I can handle a few flames.”

“Oh, really?” Ingrid teased, raising an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that.”

Peter chuckled, shaking his head. “Deal. But seriously, I get it. This whole ‘hero’ thing… it’s a lot of responsibility. And sometimes, I feel like I’m just winging it.”

“Same,” Ingrid admitted, her voice thoughtful. “But I feel like nobody really has the ‘hero’ thing figured out. We’ll be okay.”

“Yeah… maybe you’re right,” Peter said, his tone contemplative.

They sat together in comfortable silence, their gaze fixed on the stars that dotted the night sky. The quiet of the city around them felt peaceful, a welcome contrast to the chaos they often faced.

Peter turned to look at her with a small smile she coukd hear through the mask. “We should do this more often.”

“Deal,” Ingrid said, returning his smile. “It’s nice to have someone who gets it."