Peter might have felt guilty about abandoning Jason, but in the moment he was consumed by curiosity and the need to follow.
The green was back, brushing across the Web just as he'd noticed on Saturday night. Whatever it was had outsourced this time, and the purslane wrapped around his forearm bloomed and tugged with the insistence of an obstinate child. The wind generated by Peter's swinging tore off the delicate yellow flowers, but they were swiftly replaced with more. Who knew where it was getting its sustenance from, though. Certainly not him.
Crap… he hoped it wasn't getting it from him. Peter tugged a little at the roots woven into a tight mesh on his wrist but — no. No freaky stuff going on. Or — okay, the sentience was certainly freaky, but it wasn't parasitic freaky and wow had Peter's standards lowered significantly.
He had his suspicions about it all. Of course he did. And yet despite said suspicions, when he swung past a sign for the botanical gardens, Peter was somehow still surprised.
Surprise made him hesitant and hesitance had him realise Jason was shouting furiously in his ear.
Peter swung up to flip and land on the top of a lamp post. "Hood."
The irate and elaborate threats abruptly cut off, only to restart almost immediately. "Spider-Man, I swear to fucking God, if you don't get back here right now, I'll—"
"What? Ground me, daddy?" Peter drawled. Really at this point, he should be used to this.
"I'll fucking spank you, you little shit!" Peter giggled, which probably wasn't Jason's intended outcome but that was what he got. "Where the fuck are you?"
"I'm…" He paused. If he told Jason where he was, Jason would immediately follow and no doubt drag him away. "… I found something interesting."
"Interesting," Jason repeated flatly. "Care to share with the class?"
"Mm… no."
"Spider-Man—!"
"It's nothing dangerous." Probably.
"Bitsy—"
"I'll come find you when I'm done."
"I swear to fucking—"
"Just trust me?"
Jason was quiet for a long time. Long enough for Peter to wonder if he'd somehow given the man an actual heart attack. And after all their talk of growing old and getting cancer. Boo.
Finally, Jason spoke again. "You're safe?"
Peter studied the weed still blooming prettily. The little fleshy leaves shivered beneath his regard… he got the impression it was… flirting with him?
"As I'll ever be."
A heavy sigh. "Fine. But you keep this frequency open, you hear me? And a thirty-minute check in. Shit could still go tits up tonight."
"I know."
"Do what you need to do, slacker." And then Jason tapped the comm, effectively hanging up. Peter did the same, leaving it unmuted but inactive.
He grinned. It felt good, being trusted. Probably undeserved, given he'd run off again. But good all the same.
"Well, it's just you and me now." He flicked lightly at the heart of the rosette and the leaves twitched happily in response. "Really shouldn't be personifying you."
Another yellow flower popped open in response. Peter tapped deeper into the Web, trying to chase after the greenness attached to his wrist. It was strange, but not. Alien, but not. Not a part of that reddish web of life he'd found himself attached to, but not not a part of it. The worm to the plants, the bird to the worm, something something circle of life.
Peter couldn't follow it like he could the Web — it was like trying to grasp onto a rope covered in butter — but he felt its benign invasion all the same. When he brushed against the green strands, the purslane twitched and strained, pointing off to the north. Like Dog, when told to stay even though she was desperate to run.
Peter grinned. "Alright then, lead on."
— + —
He followed his strange compass through Park Row and into Newtown. All the way there, his journey was preceded by small pockets of thriving plants where no green should be. Not on the first day of November.
A thicket of saplings dancing in the wind along a traffic island. A blanket of wildflowers exploding out of cracked pavement. Battalions of moss swarming down drainpipes and roof tiles. Each glowed bright to Peter's sensitive eyes, a beacon of new life in the grim concrete, brick and stone backdrop of Gotham.
It was nearing ten o'clock at night but there were still plenty of people out. The block parties were winding down, replaced by less organised packs of the most stubborn, drunk and foolish. Peter's presence didn't go unnoticed: excited greetings and inebriated catcalls met him at the low point of every swing. His body prickled with the glancing weights of their attention. Ignoring them was no easy feat but Peter would admit to no one that he started showing off, flying into showy flips and bounces off buildings.
This too felt good. To be appreciated again. And he was glad, too, that he'd finally remade his mask because he knew for sure that there were about to be a whole lot of (hopefully) blurry pictures of Spider-Man plastered all over social media by the night's end.
The closer he got to his end point, the more curious Peter became. He'd never been to Newtown bur resolved to return when the streets were sober. Maybe with Jason; definitely with Dog. What kinds of people chose to remain here, in a pocket of the city that was warring against nature itself? Was it fear they usually walked through the streets with? Or was it an openness, a friendliness, that came only when one felt safeguarded from harm? Was the emerald kingdom Peter's guide was leading him to a balm, or a threat?
There was no need for signs to tell Peter he was close to the gardens. Green massed like an invading army on the Web. He slowed then stopped on another lamp post, right on the threshold of the gardens. His arrival at the border of this strange world had the feeling of inevitability, and Peter surveyed the green, throbbing heart of the city with a newfound nervousness.
An ocean of enormous trees, perched right on the cusp of autumnal splendour, swelled before him. The smell of fragrant and fruitful things fattened the air, filling the streets with the promise of abundance. A profusion of flowering vines clung to the surrounding apartments and shops and offices. Though mostly winter-bare, fruit trees burst out of the sidewalks, unclaimed and out of season apples and oranges and stone fruits littering the concrete at their feet.
The stubborn roots of plant life, dug deep into brick and mortar, were probably one of the few things holding back the onslaught of gentrification here.
Below, vines had begun to creep up the lamp post while the green snaked through the Web towards him. Peter's guide tugged insistently.
Impatient. Peter didn't think he'd ever have thought a plant could be impatient, but there he was, struck again by the image of a child tugging at his sleeve, eager to drag him along and show off some wonder.
There was a trio of young adults across the street, staring openly with their phones out, but they made no attempt to approach. Maybe it was because he was a new entity. Or maybe they knew to leave well enough along when the plants started acting strange. Peter waved and sent them a peace sign, and the group burst into enthusiastic chatter. One even had the guts to wave back while her friends took who knew how many pictures.
The purslane squeezed yet again. Peter chuckled. Steeled his nerves.
"Alright, fine — fine! I'm coming."
Straightening from his crouch, Peter slung himself down from the lamp post and ignored the excitement across the street. Whatever was waiting for him was something to be met with both feet firmly on the ground.
Almost immediately, the Virginia creeper climbing up the metal changed course, flopping over to brush eagerly against his ankles. Peter veered away, but he felt settled and resolved in a way he could never have been that first time Gotham's green world showed an interest in him. He'd come to terms with a lot of things since that visit to the zoo.
Character growth, May would have called it. Resignation, MJ would have rebutted. Acceptance, Ned would have countered. Peter liked that word. Acceptance… It felt like it could promise him peace. He was certain there'd be more for him to accept and move on from as time passed. Following a few sentient plants? Kinda tame, really.
Shoulders squared, Peter marched onwards.
The once grand entrance to Gotham Botanical Gardens now sagged beneath the weight of enthusiastic growth tangled up and around the black wrought iron. Upon his approach, the greenery writhed. Slowly, laboriously, the gates dragged themselves open.
On the other side stood a woman. More plant than woman, more woman than plant. She stood tall and straight, bright gaze severe. Her body was wrapped in a cloak of matted plants that bloomed intermittently, petals falling away in soft clouds of fragrant confetti. Climbing through her long red hair, a few intrepid vines nestled and tucked themselves against her cheeks and brow like zealous advisors, whispering secrets for her ears only. Peter was, admittedly, a little bit in awe.
So this was Poison Ivy.
"It's about damn time," she said.
He bowed, not in mockery but not in reverence either. In the moment, if felt like nothing more than the right thing to do.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting."
The woman twisted on her foot and walked away. What had been a tapestry of greenery behind her parted upon her approach, opening into a tunnel of seething green. With a healthy dose of fear caution, Peter followed.
His senses faintly hummed, in the way they did when they registered something capable of being a threat. As he stepped past the gates the tingle ramped up, the hairs on his neck and shoulders prickling with unease. Like walking into the steaming maw of a great beast. He recognised the tunnel for the threat it was: this woman, with her cloak of roots and flowers, was dangerous. Enhanced physiology or not, she could — and would — destroy him if she wished. Break him down as a pitcher plant did flies. Turn spider from predator to plant food.
Poison Ivy had the power to do these things, Peter realised with unsubstantiated certainty. If she wished, she could shut the proverbial door on Peter and let the Earth take over.
Even still, Peter followed.
Call it stupidity (Jason definitely would), or curiosity, or something indefinably else... Peter still followed.
They passed through in near darkness. Pockets of the night sky seeped through the arching boughs of trees and strangling vines but offered little guidance. Several times, it was only Peter's enhanced senses that saved him from embarrassing himself. The maw didn't lead into an oesophagus, but into a maze, branches breaking away to be swallowed by a dark that was no doubt more than happy to eat a spider. Time and time again, Peter opened his mouth to speak, only to shut it before he could say something inane that might have Ivy change her mind about him and leave him to the labyrinth.
Only as they reached the end — and who knew how far they'd travelled… Ivy could have led Peter in circles and he doubted he'd have realised — did she speak.
"You know who I am, I suppose."
Peter dragged his gaze away from the orchids that had just burst into bloom over her shoulders. They were a bright yellow, tinged with burnt orange, and reminded him of the golden epaulettes on fancy military dress. He swallowed and pushed away thoughts of this woman leading a merciless green army.
"Yes. I know who you are, Miss Ivy."
She paused. Twisted to send him an amused stare. "… Just Pamela. Or Pam, I think. From you."
From you. Emphasis on the pronoun. Why? Why was she even interested in him: Peter was new but in the scheme of things — to Gotham at least — he was nothing special. But she offered him a familiarity he doubted most of the Bats were allowed.
For once, Peter wisely chose not to push his luck and question the boon.
Finally, they escaped the green maze, to be welcomed by a fiery technicolour of open forest. Whereas most deciduous trees through Gotham were dressed in their full autumn regalia by now, the ones before him were only just turning. Even at night Peter could see the seep of yellows, orange and reds into the green canopy. Perhaps Pamela's influence was preservative.
He stepped cautiously. The wet smell of life — of rotting leaves and damp earth — was cottony thick. Peter's lungs expanded deeply, an unconscious reaction to the clean air, airways filling joyfully with oxygen stripped of Gotham's usual pollutants.
"Wow," Peter murmured, and earned himself another amused look.
Plants rose to greet Pamela as they walked through the forest, children eager to meet their returning mother. Peter wanted to get up into the trees but thought it would be rude and potentially viewed as a threat. So he kept both feet on the ground and was only tripped up twice by the trail of thriving wildflowers and weeds that spasmed to life in the wake of Pamela's footsteps.
She led him to an enormous bower — like the ones that those Australian birds made[1], only people-sized and woven with flowers rather than scraps of blue plastic. A clear stream trickled straight through, gathering into a deep pool that turned into a mirror of dark matter in the night. Thick moss carpeted everything; spongy and damp underfoot, it climbed up the remnants of human structures, pillowing over concrete benches and tables to climb stubbornly up the rotten wooden facade of a building at the bower's far end. It might have been a cafe, before Poison Ivy's hostile takeover, but now the roots of a vast tree dripped over its hard edges to dig new foundations stubbornly into the earth and cracked concrete.
Over everything lay a soft green light from flowering tobacco plants. Peter brushed a hand over one in awe. He'd never heard of plants capable of bioluminescence before[2]. The light trickled up the stem, concentrating in the fleshy parts of the leaves and particularly the white flowers.
Pamela noticed he'd stopped and joined him.
"They lost their scent with the adaptation," she said mournfully. "Try as I might, I couldn't bring it back."
Peter gave them a sniff. Sure enough, the flowers smelled of nothing. "You made them?"
"I've a doctorate in botanical biochemistry," she drawled and — yep. Guess that would do it.
"This is really cool."
Her smile — which had until now bordered into condescending tolerance, warmed incrementally. Peter took it as a win.
As though realising what she was doing, Pamela began to walk again. "Are you hungry?"
He shrugged, though it went unseen. "I'm always hungry."
And then, determined to verify his claim, Peter's stomach growled. Pamela laughed at him and beckoned to follow her inside. "Come along then, Child of the Red."
Peter paused upon the threshold. "The Red?"
Pamela turned back and blinked slowly. She blinked as if it were muscle memory. A fragment of her humanity that was no longer needed but performed all the same.
"You don't know yet?"
"Know what? Constantine said something about the Red, too, but he didn't explain—"
"Constantine?" Pamela's lips curled with disdain. "What were you doing with that charlatan?"
Peter chewed on his words carefully before he spoke again, "We thought he could help me get home."
"Home," Pamela scoffed. She stepped lightly off into a kitchen space — the stainless-steel benchtop confirmed Peter's suspicion this had once been a cafe. "Well, that was an exercise in pointlessness. You should have come to me earlier, child." She levelled Peter with a stern stare. More of the glowing tobacco plants were scattered throughout and they cast her face with an eerie glow. "This is your home. Gotham's dug her roots in deep. Can't you feel it?"
Peter didn't want to answer. Wasn't sure if he was even prepared to do so. So he kept his mouth shut as he hesitantly hopped inside. More moss carpeted the floor, but there was a firmness beneath that had him suspecting he'd find tiles if he were to dig through. Off to the right was a sunken bed of leaves and Peter cautiously lowered himself into it when Pamela told him to sit. He worried it would be damp, but the space was dry and warm. The leaves rustled with his every move and shattered into pieces when he scrunched them in his fists.
"How can you tell?" Peter asked cautiously after he'd settled. Constantine hadn't exactly been forthcoming. If anything, he relished in their ignorance. Jason's assertion that he was a grade-A asshole wasn't entirely unfounded.
"I can feel it." Pamela shrugged as if it was somehow a suitable explanation and Peter held back a groan of frustration. She smirked anyway. "I don't feel people like you do, child. But Gotham's more than just a collection of humans. She's the ground and the trees and the glass and the concrete… and everything else that fits somewhere in-between."
"I see…" Peter lied.
A vine snuck down to Peter and offered him a passion fruit. Pamela smiled in approval when he looked up for her permission.
"Uh. Thank-you?" he told the vine, feeling a little foolish as he did so, but the vine rustled with the praise and offered him another.
Had he somehow wandered into a Disney movie? This was… it was so far out of Peter's realm of understanding it was laughable. Maybe Peter should have said something to Jason, just so he could have been warned about the strangeness of it all.
Peter felt the full weight Pamela's gaze return to him. Even that was different, tinted with the lush of wind through dry leaves.
"You make friends quickly," she observed.
"I've a winning personality." He tugged up the edges of his mask, just enough to expose his grin. The passion fruit was bright and fragrant as he carefully tore it open.
"Yes… You won the attentions of the Red Hood easily enough," she mused.
Peter snorted. "What, like it's hard?"
"It is for the Batman."
He slurped at the fruit. The sour-sweetness was a kick to the teeth and Peter's lips puckered at the tartness. Hell. When was the last time he'd even had a passion fruit? He honestly couldn't remember. Maybe when Ben was still alive…
"Well, there's a history there."
"The broken Robin, yes—"
"Don't."
"Pardon?"
"Don't. Don't call him that." Peter set the emptied passion fruit on his lap to glare ineffectually at her. "Hood's not broken."
"But he is angry." Pamela leaned against the 'kitchen' bench as she regarded him. She wasn't apologetic, but Peter was relieved to see that she wasn't about to blow up for his 'cheek', either.
"So? Aren't you?" His arms crossed defensively. "You're still labelled an eco-terrorist, you know. From what I hear, your track record is far worse. You don't get to say Hood's broken just because he's 'angry'… not unless you're willing to tar yourself with the same brush."
Pamela was quiet. Her placid expression was unnerving: Peter had no idea what she was thinking but he felt like an insect, pinned to a display board. He was afraid he'd overstepped and she'd sicc her plants on him, but his Tingle remained at the same low vibration as earlier. It was the only thing that kept him rooted where he sat.
Then she smiled and the feeling broke. "Tea?"
Without permission, his shoulders relaxed. "Will it be poisoned?"
"Only if I really like you."
Peter laughed. "If it's herbal. Caffeine and I don't mix."
"I read a study once, about the effects of caffeine on spiders," Pamela remarked as she boiled a kettle and plucked several stems from a row of pots growing by the sink. "Do you have similar problems with your webs when under its influence?"
The banality of her actions — the kettle, the mugs, her comments about a scientific study — momentarily threw Peter. How did she even getelectricity in here? Was this strange fairy grotto still connected to the power grid? The idea of it was ludicrous, while also being so nonsensically in line with Gotham that Peter giggled.
"What is it?"
"I — it's nothing." He squirmed under her heavy stare. "I — uh — don't make webs. Not like that."
Pamela's eyes drifted down to Peter's wrists pointedly. "That's untrue. You just have yet to try."
Scowling, Peter crossed his arms. "How do you even know?"
"We're kin… of a sort," she said. The kettle clicked off and steam wafted over her face as she poured the water into the mugs. Then she joined him, sinking down into the 'couch'. "Agents of the Green and Red."
"Yeah, about that." Peter took his mug of mint tea and was mildly annoyed that his actual annoyance wasn't communicable through his mask. "What the hell is the Red?"
"It's the elemental force that exists behind all animal life, just as the Green exists for plants." She paused to let her explanation sink in… to moderate effect. Mostly, Peter thought his brain had momentarily blue-screened.
"E-elemental?"
"A cosmic energy. One that gives life to all things that live."
Yep. Still blue-screening. Cool cool cool. "What the hell does that mean?"
"We have access — albeit limited compared to some — to these forces. They give us abilities. Manipulation of that force, to varying degrees."
"I can't control animals," Peter said flatly. "Not like you can with plants."
"I've had years to learn the Green," Pamela said, unconcerned. She blew at her tea and a plume of steam tumbled towards Peter, bringing with it the scent of something lemony and vegetal. "You're new. And yet you've already accessed the Red."
He thought on it. "… You mean the Web?"
Pamela nodded. "It's how I lured you in."
That was mildly disconcerting. "I can… I can sense things through it. People. Animals."
Another sage-like nod. "You've been practising. I don't sense animal life as you do, but I feel you all the same. Though it took a while for me to notice… and only when you stepped onto lands that I'd laid claim to." She smirked. "As much as I enjoy encouraging the belief, I'm not omnipresent."
"So it was you at the zoo. Those plants scared the crap out of me."
"Your presence sits differently in the Green," Pamela confirmed, chuckling. "Just as I'm sure mine does in the Red. I tried to reach out, but there have been other things to grab my attention."
True enough, Pamela's body seethed with green life when Peter tapped into the Web. It was both a repellent and attractant to Peter. No wonder her attentions felt so much heavier than a normal human's.
Human… He swallowed nervously. "Will I… am I going to become like you?"
There might have easily been an insult in Peter's words, but if there was Pamela chose not to see it. "Only if you allow it to. But the Green… it isn't a part of humans, except as a form of sustenance… the change to its agents is far more profound."
The fear that Peter would lose more of his humanity eased a little, until he grasped what Pamela had implied. "But there are others? Like me? Like us?"
"Oh yes. We're not so special." Pamela smirked as if she was telling Peter a mighty joke. "All over the world there are agents acting for the Green or the Red… or both, in some rare cases. Of course, agents should not be confused with avatars, and neither of us can claim ownership to those titles."
"Avatars? Are we talking like the 'Last Airbender' reincarnation type, or the blue-people from space type?"
"Neither." Pamela's green eyes crinkled deeply as she grinned. "They've full control over their elemental force. They're… incomparable. But we can become powerful in our own right. Your connection to the Red is strong enough."
"Can you teach me?"
"No." The answer was swift and disappointing. Pamela rolled her eyes when she noticed. "We may be kin, but we aren't the same, spider. I don't see much point in attempting to teach you the ways of the Green when you've as much hope of understanding its ways as I have yours. They aren't a perfect analogue."
"Then, do you know anyone who could?" Peter didn't know why he was so intent. If he'd met Pamela even a week ago, he'd have been much more reluctant to learn about 'the Red'. Sure, there was the appeal of learning something new and cool, but Peter had figured he was a temporary inhabitant of Earth G… In most ways he still considered himself that way, even if the thought of returning to Earth I held only the appeal of duty. But who knew? Maybe… if he did manage to get back, he'd keep this ability… if there was anything remotely resembling the Web or the Red back home.
"I doubt any of the Red would want to talk to me," Pamela admitted, smiling wryly over her mug. "As you say, my reputation is far from perfect. But I know the avatar of the Green, and I'm sure they know the avatar of the Red. I will speak with him."
Peter nearly laughed again. Pamela's help had reduced to 'I know a guy who knows a guy' and the silliness of that, when coupled with the profound realisation of Peter having some kind of access to the elemental force of life bordered on the absurd.
He hid his growing amusement and excitement behind a sip of his tea. It was soft in flavour, as many herbal tisanes were, and he sorely missed coffee's sensory punch. But still, it was warm and washed away the cloying sweetness of the passion fruits. He felt it settle soothingly in his gut and heat him from the inside out.
"Thank-you." He frowned in thought as he drank deeply, relishing the burn on the way down. "How can you contact me when you hear from them? Should I give you my phone number?"
Pamela snickered at the offer and he flushed. "I'll find you, child," she promised, then nodded at the purslane still flourishing on his wrist. "You're not exactly difficult to find."
His thank-you was interrupted by the arrival of two someones on the Web, and both Peter and Pamela looked towards the disturbance at the same time. Whoever they were, they were fast approaching and it was only Pamela's non-reaction that kept Peter from panicking.
"Pammy! Look what I found skulking around the gardens!" a loud voice sing-songed as they emerged from the dark, uncertain tunnels of the labyrinth. It was followed by the loud crunching of feet and a quieter pair of boots. Then a woman burst through the doorway, dragging a brightly coloured someone along behind.
The woman was unnaturally pale, with white-blonde hair dipped pink and blue and vivid red lips. Just looking at her bared midriff beneath her cropped jacket had Peter clutching tighter at his warm mug. But it was the person she dragged inside that had Peter straightening and sloshing the remnants of his tea over his gloves.
Black and yellow — more yellow than black, with a white bat symbol emblazoned across his chest.
The Signal.
Or was it just 'Signal'? Why did so many of Gotham's heroes have 'the' at the start of their names? It was truly starting to bug him.
The woman, who could only be Poison Ivy's partner in occasional crime, came to an abrupt stop when she realised there was company, and the (???) Signal nearly crashed into her with the frozen momentum. Bright blue eyes darted between Pamela and Peter.
"Uh," Peter said intelligently. "Sup?"
Harley Quinn squealed with delight and yanked vigorously at Signal's arm. "Pammy, your prize is so much better!"
"Wow. Rude," said the Signal, who Peter was eighty-eight percent certain was Duke. He didn't have a full face covering — though it was still leagues better than the flimsy dominoes of Nightwing and the Robins — and there was a mole to the left of his mouth that Peter had a vague recollection of seeing on the other man.
"Sorry, sugar!" Harley Quinn turned and patted Signal right on the bat symbol. She had a strong Brooklyn accent and Peter's soul ached to hear it. "You're swell too, promise. But Pam's been trying to catch herself this one for a while now!" She whipped back around, incidentally slapping Signal in the face with her ponytails. "Baby, your patience paid off!"
Pamela's markedly calmer response was drowned out by the sudden presence of Harley Quinn jumping into the sunken lounge. She was caught by Pamela's cloak before she could send up an explosion of leaves. It deposited her much more sedately beside Pamela, and Harley Quinn immediately burrowed herself under it, wrapping a pale arm around Pamela's waist and planting a loud kiss to her cheek. Then both women's attention returned to him and Peter tried not to squirm beneath their regard.
"Sooo… is it him?"
"It's him. We had a nice chat."
"That's a relief!" Her free arm shot out, fingers wiggling expectantly, and Peter shook Harley Quinn's hand. Her grip was stronger than expected, but Peter didn't let his surprise show. "Harleen Quinzel, but the only people who call me that are mad or dead — HA!"
Peter shot a glance at the Signal, who'd hung back but chosen not to make a run for it. The other hero just shrugged. What can you do?
"You can just call me Harley, though," Harley carried on, still pumping Peter's hand with manic enthusiasm. "Gee, you're smaller than I imagined. I bet Hood can just pop you in his pocket!"
Over Peter's spluttering, Signal let out a poorly concealed snort. Peter's vicious glare was entirely ineffectual with his mask in the way. Even so, the Signal noticed Peter's ire and grinned. If that wasn't Duke under the yellow helmet Peter was going to throw himself off a building.
Hell, he might do that anyway.
"Harls," Pamela said calmly, and Harley laughed, finally letting go of Peter's hand.
"Sorry, Itsy Bitsy," she said cheerfully, all her limbs once again disappearing beneath Pamela's cloak. Peter resisted the desire to bury his face in his hands. He did not need that name getting around. Jason using it was one thing. Another thing entirely for Gotham's menagerie of lunatics to lay claim to it. "You're just fun sized, don't let it get to ya!"
Peter, who was perfectly fine with being of average height, thank-you very much, sighed heavily. He drained his tea and pulled his mask down, tucking it back into the neckline of the suit.
"Thank-you for the tea," he told Pamela.
She nodded, but most of her attention had already been reclaimed by Harley. "I'll be in touch," she promised.
"Sure."
Rather than attempt to climb out, Peter shot a web onto the ceiling and used its momentum to yank him up and out. He landed with a flip on a wall and Harley cheered appreciatively.
"Neat," said Signal from below. Peter grinned. "Weird. But neat."
Peter dropped down beside him and brushed off the broken leaves still clinging to his suit. A glance back at Pamela and Harley had him swiftly turning around — the two women had begun making out, which certainly confirmed the rumours about the two of them.
Signal dropped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "C'mon. Let's head out while they're still rated PG."
Peter's head bobbed even as his feet took him back outside. Who know where those hands were going underneath Ivy's cloak.
A strangled "Bye Spider!" followed them out, and Peter shot Pamela a farewell in return.
Then it was just Peter and the Signal who was probably definitely Duke, standing by the running stream.
"So, uh, you maybe know how to get out of here?" Signal asked. "'Cause I'm gonna be honest, Quinn pretty much kidnapped me."
"How'd she manage that?" Peter frowned in thought. "Why were you skulking around, anyway?"
Signal coughed, and this time it wasn't to poorly conceal a laugh. "Uh."
Peter stared. It could just be that Signal didn't want to share whatever task he was up to. Or it could be… "Were you trying to follow me?"
"… No?"
The answer was unsatisfactory. "You were!"
"Okay fine!" Signal threw up his hands. Peter hoped the Bats stood up to interrogation better under normal circumstances. "I was curious — usually I'm out during the day so our paths weren't gonna cross unless you're willing to diversify! I heard there'd been sighting of you hanging around the gardens and figured I'd check it out. Say hi. Hope your keeper wasn't hanging around."
"My keeper?" Peter echoed. "You mean Hood? He's not my keeper!"
The Signal shrugged. "Maybe not, but he's told the rest of us to back off."
Peter scowled. Had he? Should Peter interpret that as protective or overbearing?
"People say Batman's territorial, but he's got nothin' on Red Hood. Honestly shocked he even let you into Crime Alley — ah. Park Row. Forget Hood doesn't like it called that." The weight of Signal's attention landed back on Peter.
He had to hide his surprise when he dipped into the Web and noticed something… off about the man's aura. It… glowed. But not in the normal way. Darkness and light pulsated around him, churning in a shimmering symbiosis together. How the hell had Peter not noticed before? Was it new, or had Peter just not been paying attention?
"You must be something special."
Peter blinked as he registered the Signal's implications, then smirked. "Maybe he just likes bugs. Have you tried? You're dressed like a bumblebee. Maybe if you change your symbol, he'll go easy on you, too."
Signal squawked with indignation, as if it was an insult he'd never heard before, which could not be the case. Was Gotham blind or just unimaginative?
"Oh, you're one to talk!" Signal finally snapped back. "What kinda spider do you see in goddamn primary colours?"
"Well, since you're asking," Peter said stiffly, taking a punt at fucking with Duke, if Signal really was Duke Thomas. "It's actually an up yours to the cult that turned me into what I am. Human experimentation. Death by a million spider bites. It's a whole—" he waved vaguely over himself, "—reclaiming the trauma thing. You know how it is."
Signal's mouth fell open. "I do not know how it is. Damn dude. No wonder Hood took you in."
Peter clapped a hand on Signal's shoulder and walked past, out of the bower and back into the forest. "Or who knows, maybe I just liked blue and red?" He twisted back to eye up Signal's uniform. "I'm sure you know all about that."
The maze opened upon their approach. Guess Pamela was aware at least of them even while distracted.
Fortunately, it didn't seem like they were at risk of getting swallowed by the tunnels. More of the glowing tobacco flowers illuminated the way for them (and wouldn't that have been nice to have the first time around). In no time — faster, Peter suspected, than it took for him to pass through earlier — they were out and through the gates which shut soundly behind them.
"Not sure how a bunch of plants can slam the door on you, but I'm pretty sure that's what just happened," Signal said, eyeing the gates dubiously.
Peter snickered. "Should we put a sock on the handle?"
"I aint giving up one of mine."
With almost perfect timing, Peter's comm bipped. "Spider, report."
He tapped at the comm. "I'm done here, everything good?"
"All quiet on the Eastern Front, thank fuck. You heading back then?"
"Mm." Peter glanced at Signal, who was watching intently. "Nah. I've made a friend."
"A friend?"
"No need to sound incredulous. I'm a very friendly person." Signal snorted. "You might know them? Yellow? Looks like a bee?"
There was a pause. And then it was Signal who was answering his comm. Whatever Jason said to him was a mystery to Peter. His hearing was sensitive, but comms were quiet.
"Yeah, we're good." Signal glanced between Peter and the botanical gardens. Do I say? He mouthed. Peter vehemently shook his head and he nodded. "We thought we'd go for a joyride. Get ourselves something to eat. You can hold the fort, can't you Hood?"
Jason went on an unintelligible tirade and Peter held back a laugh as Signal mimed a chatterbox.
"Yeah, yeah," Signal drawled back. "I'll be sure not to feed him before midnight, I can work out the drill."
Peter cut in when his comm bipped again as Jason came back to his side. "I don't appreciate the comparison to a gremlin. At worst, I'm a thorn in the side."
"In the backside, slacker."
"Exactly. You get me."
"Yeah, Bitsy, I get you. Signal's a good kid. You two keep an eye out for trouble, though. And don't go starting it."
"You know I can't make promises like that." Peter glanced at Signal and gave him a thumbs up. He was happy that despite whatever apparent possessiveness Jason had displayed to the Bats, he didn't mind Peter actually spending time with one.
"Yeah, I know exactly what you're like. Go then, have your fun. If you see the Big Bat, give him the middle finger from me before you run off. And just remember to—"
"Be prepared," Peter groaned. "I got it, boyscout. I'll catch you later?"
"Debrief at the safehouse at two. Be there, or I'll be comin' for you."
"I'm shivering in my booties. See ya."
The line bipped back into its prior setting.
Signal badly wanted to say something. Peter could see it in the twist of his mouth.
He didn't let him speak. "Told you he wasn't my keeper."
"I dunno man, kinda gave me 'askin' your dad for permission' vibes."
"Daddy more like," Peter snickered, and was immediately rewarded with more scandalised sputtering.
"Spider-Man!" Signal gasped, hand splayed against his chest like a horrified housewife. "I don't know how they do things where you're from, but in Gotham we keep that kind of language for the bedroom!"
Peter cackled meanly. "Then that's the only level of decorum Gotham's got going for it."
A crack broke through the night and for once it was followed by the fizzing pops of fireworks.
Both relaxed as there were no answering screams or shouts. Peter turned back to Signal. "So… did I hear something about a joyride?"
Immediately, the other hero brightened. Literally. Light powers. Definitely. "Bro, have I got a treat to show you! C'mon, follow me."
And for the third time that night, Peter followed.
[1] Look at that seductive glance over the shoulder. Look at all that blue. C'mon y'all, you know you wanna… ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
[2] While there are some fungi capable of bioluminescence, there are no plants in the natural world capable of doing so. However in 2020 researches "integrat[ed] fungal bioluminescence genes into the nuclear genome" of tobacco plants which caused them to glow. (Source 1; or Source 2for the official manuscript )
Fucking rad, eh? But sorry Mitiouchkina et al, Dr Pamela Isley's stolen your thunder.