Miguel didn't try to schedule another training session with you. Not as though it mattered. Even if he had tried, you wouldn't have come. 

You avoided the strong, brooding set of his shoulders. You coldly ignored him, pretending he didn't exist. Except for when he swept into training room like a northern wind. How could you not notice when everyone shifted toward his presence like planets orbiting the sun? 

Miguel ignored you as well, probably deeming you a lost cause and keeping you here only to humor Jessica. He didn't treat you with the commanding interest he showed in the other recruits. He'd bark corrections and nod encouragements at their technique. But to you, he offered nothing but his utter disregard. 

"You know, he's not so bad." Arachnida shrugged after you'd finished a rant. "He knows what he's doing. You could learn a lot from him, (y/n)." She was sitting cross-legged on the ceiling. You all were, huddled around the flickering chandelier like it was a tea party. 

Your training unit had become inseparable. You, Hobie, and Arachnida explored the colossal training complex every night after curfew. It felt illicit and thrilling, crawling along walls and slipping through tinny vents. Noir cringed at the very suggestion of breaking the rules, but occasionally Arachnida's peppy enthusiasm and you and Hobie's prodding grins dragged him out along with you. 

You and Hobie were the troublemakers. Arachnida lived for the fun of it. And though Noir wouldn't admit it, he hated to be left alone, shivering in the shadow of his own thoughts. 

"Think of this as spider boot camp!" Arachnida continued, her voice a husky whisper. After curfew, the cavernous rooms were usually empty, but it never hurt to be careful. 

"Spider boot camp?" You skeptically raised your eyebrows. You didn't like the unappealing direction she plunged towards. 

"As much as you hate Miguel, take his advice and better yourself. Then, when you get to go home your time won't have been wasted; you'll be even more able to protect your city!"

"Hey, she's not wrong," Hobie easily nudged your shoulder, his eyes amused when you scowled back. He was such a traitor. "And Miguel's got a point. About the multiverse. He's been explaining stuff to me."

"He's been explaining stuff to you?" You flatly repeated, trying to shovel the betrayal out of your voice like unwanted snow on a driveway. You didn't want to play the annoying girl who nursed a grudge and controlled who her friends were allowed to talk to. 

"Yeah," Hobie brazenly declared. He kicked back his head, sending his thick locks tumbling back. "I think I'm going to join his team." 

"What?" You and Arachnida shrieked at the same time. 

"Gee, somebody needs to go back to stealth training," Noir muttered, holding his fedora in his lap like a halloween pumpkin. 

"What?" You hissed again, quiet and urgent. 

"Listen, me old china," Hobie drawled with a tinge of annoyance, his cockney accent heavy. "You have a huge chip on your shoulder. And maybe that chip's deserved, but you should toss it, alright?" 

"Grudges are meant for keeping," Noir argued, staring back at you with the earnest, blank eyes of his suit. Noir never took off his mask. Even around friends. He took the secrecy of his identity quite seriously. 

"I'm with Noir. I think I'll keep my grudge." You cuffed Hobie over the head to show him there were no hard feelings. He rolled back with a grin. You popped to your feet, your feet tapping across the plaster ceiling. You gave a relaxed, three-fingered wave. "See you guys."

Even though it was only 4 am, this morning you'd felt a sudden inspiration to try out the complex's gym. It was open to all recruits, but you doubted anyone would be lurking around the machines this early. 

You slunk across the ceilings, navigating the twisty corridors. You liked the morning quiet that glistened over the metal. It felt like endless possibilities and serene freedom. When you reached the gym, you dropped from the ceiling from your hands, your feet softly thumping onto a padded mat. 

You set towards the squat rack, finally alone. But suddenly, your spider-sense pinged like a warning alarm. You rolled out of the way just as a massive brick, the size of a house, careened toward you. Heart thudding with adrenaline, you pounced to your feet. As quickly as the brick thrust toward you, something drew it back. Out. Back. Out. Back. Like waves washing against a beach, your heartrate subsided. Someone was just using it to work out. 

You stared up at the enormous block, a little impressed. It must have weighed 5,000 pounds. More than ten cars. Enough to crush your bones and pulverize you to a fine powder. Nimbly, you hopped out of the way. 

Between the two monstrosities of bricks sat Miguel, his muscles tight as he hauled in the iron cables with powerful strokes. Miguel released tiny grunts, sweat glistening off his neck and dampening his dark hair.  He wore nothing but baggy grey sweatpants and a white shirt that clung to his biceps. His shirt was way too small. But you assumed he knew that; narcissist that he was. It outlined the solid curve of his chest, the hard lines of his stomach. 

He looked hot. Alarmingly hot. 

And when the thought hit you, it sent a shiver of revulsion through your body. You couldn't be thinking things like that. Not of Miguel O'Hara. 

When he finished, Miguel dropped the bricks with a earsplitting thud that shook the room. His eyebrows seemed impossibly darkened, strong features chiseled into his tanned forehead. He lifted the hem of his shirt to smear the sweat off his face. Defenses down. You squelched whatever girlish part of you longed to linger and fawn over him. Of course Miguel would be muscular, you'd seen how big he was through his suit. Big surprise. Just before you could sneak away and reknit your pride, he saw you. 

Miguel glanced away, feigning disinterest, but did a wary double-take when he noticed the way you watched him. 

Cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment, your mind thrashed as it struggled to decide whether to return his gaze or rush from the gym. 

He didn't seem amused. He didn't seem flattered. His ego didn't flare up like a fire doused in oil. Miguel's feet planted shoulder-width apart in a dominant, defensive position. He hurriedly smoothed back down his shirt, as if caught off guard. As if furiously reassembling his defenses. 

Locked in an impasse, you and Miguel stared at each other. Both embarrassed. Both not wanting to acknowledge the weird energy snapping in the air like a banner in the breeze. 

"There's a curfew," Miguel finally said, his voice careful, like a bear edging around steel-toothed traps. 

"You'd better go back to bed, then." 

Miguel didn't move, narrowing his eyes at your flippant disrespect. 

"What, do you need me to come with you?" You sarcastically shot, crossing your arms. An immediate, sinking horror filled your lungs as you realized what you'd just implied. 

Miguel froze, a wild bewilderment in his eyes. Wondering if you'd meant it as a cutting remark or an innuendo. And considering how you'd just seen him growling like an animal and muscling around weights, how was he supposed to take it?

"I didn't mean-" you immediately stammered, wishing you could shrink into a real spider and skitter away into a crack. Miguel considered you for a moment, an odd expression crossing his features. A mix of disgust and resentment and... hope. 

"If you did mean it," Miguel said, a little harshly. "That would be very, very stupid of you."

"I know." You wanted to implode. 

"Are you a stupid girl?" 

"No," you bashfully whispered. You cleared your throat, stared him in the eye, and firmly repeated, "No."

"Good." Miguel gave you a hard look. He hauled his bulky, dark blue gym bag into the locker rooms. You heard the tinny splashing of the shower head as he turned it on.

By the time you finished your workout, you skin burned, red and flushed. And it wasn't from the cardio. You completely ignored Miguel as he exited the locker room. He'd slipped back into his clean holographic spidersuit and his cool demeanor and his defenses. 

Suddenly, a strange tenor whirling sound, like an engine dying, clattered through the air. Like a poorly directed thriller movie, the lights clanged off, abandoning you in a shroud of darkness. The power had shut off. The complex had lost power. 

Miguel's silhouette flashed behind one of the weight blocks. Hiding. 

"What's your problem?" You called to Miguel with a hot flash of irritation and fear. You stormed around the block, toward him. You weren't sure what ridiculous game he was playing at, hiding from you in the darkness. It made your skin prickle. 

"Wait. Don't come back here." His voice sounded gruff... and a little panicked.