Hawk stood with his hands in his pockets on the edge of the Times Square rooftop, speaking in his usual calm tone.
To Peter, it looked like Hawk was just showing off.
But then—Peter thought it through. He understood why Hawk had stepped in so suddenly.
And Gwen figured it out too, later that night, when Hawk drove her home while Peter and Mary took the subway.
She turned curiously toward him.
"If it hadn't happened in Times Square… would you still have stepped in?"
"..."
Hawk thought about it seriously, then shook his head with a wry smile. "I don't know."
Because it was Times Square.
The place burned deepest into his memories.
Back in September 2009, he had lost Anya—his sweet, clever little sister, born with a weak heart—right there in Times Square.
So when Electro appeared, tearing apart that place, it was like pouring salt on an open wound.
Times Square would never allow him to carry that pain again.
So Electro had to die.
No other reason. Just that.
…
The next day, headlines blared across New York: Spider-Man battles Electro in Times Square!
Hawk flipped open the Daily Bugle. The front page featured a crystal-clear 4K shot of Spider-Man twisting midair.
"Peter's photography skills I can't judge," Hawk said dryly, "but his selfies keep getting better."
From the kitchen sink, Gwen let go of the sprayer hose and walked over, glancing at the paper. "Mary said that photo got him a five-hundred-dollar bonus."
Hawk's eyebrows shot up. "Five hundred? That cheapskate actually paid that much?"
"Mary swears it's true." Gwen chuckled, then remembered something. "Though, Peter ditched her again last night."
Hawk frowned. "Why?"
"He said with Spider-Man in the spotlight again, he had to grab more photos and cash in while he could."
"...Makes sense," Hawk admitted. He set down the paper. "Ben's gone, and Aunt May's struggling with bills and property taxes. Peter's not like me."
"How so?" Gwen asked.
"He's actually good," Hawk said simply. "Most people with powers like his would've cashed out by now."
Gwen studied him quietly. "That's why you offered to cover Peter's trip to London?"
Hawk smirked. "I can afford it."
"You're kind too, you know," Gwen said softly.
Their eyes met.
Then Gwen smiled, clapped her hands, and turned toward the backyard. "Alright, kind sir, clean up breakfast and meet me outside. We've got a lot to do."
Her dream had always been to one day have a home with a garden. Now, she was already planning how to fill it with flowers.
Hawk stepped out to the back patio a little later, watching her dig with a small trowel.
"Sorry, I might have to bail on yard duty."
Gwen looked up. "Why?"
"Harry called. Asked me to drop by the manor."
"Harry?" Gwen blinked, surprised. "He actually has time now?"
Since Norman Osborn's death, Harry had been buried in Oscorp affairs—he'd even skipped prom and graduation.
"Are you and Harry that close?" Gwen asked.
"Close enough."
"Then go."
"You're not coming?"
"No. I'll work on a layout design for the yard. You'll love it."
"As long as it's from you, I'll love it," Hawk said with a smile before heading for the garage.
…
Two hours later, Hawk pulled up at the Osborn estate.
At the gate, he spotted a familiar face.
"Peter?"
"Hawk."
Peter perked up and slid into Hawk's car.
"You got called too?" Hawk asked as they drove up the long path.
"Yeah. This morning."
By the time they entered the manor, Hawk already had a hunch why.
Sure enough, after the greetings, Harry dimmed the lights and played a video pulled from Oscorp's research archives—footage about the spider serum.
Hawk wasn't surprised.
What puzzled him was why he was here.
If Harry wanted Spider-Man's identity, Peter was enough. Everyone in the city knew Peter was Spider-Man's exclusive photographer. He was the one with the contact.
But then Harry slid a photo across the table.
Hawk picked it up. Peter leaned over his shoulder.
The image showed Times Square the night before—Spider-Man swinging in the air, and Hawk standing beside him on the rooftop.
Hawk raised a brow at Harry.
"You had me followed."
"No," Harry corrected, settling into the sofa. "I hired a private investigator to follow Spider-Man. You just happened to show up."
Hawk passed the photo to Peter and walked away, uninterested.
Harry leaned forward. "Peter, you know him. Tell me how to reach Spider-Man. Please."
Peter hesitated. "Harry, why?"
"My family has a genetic disease," Harry said quietly. "It killed my father. It's killing me. Spider-Man's blood might be the cure. So either give me his name—or a way to meet him."
Peter's mouth went dry.
But Hawk cut in first. "Last night was a coincidence. Ask Peter—he's Spider-Man's photographer."
Then Hawk strolled toward the manor's side hall, distracted by a faint, familiar smell in the air.
Harry's gaze fixed on Peter. "Well?"
Peter swallowed, then forced a nod. "I'll text him. Ask him to meet you."
Harry's face lit up with relief. "Thank you."
Peter's smile back was tight and strained.
…
Half an hour later, Hawk gave Peter a lift out of the estate.
On the road, Peter finally spoke. "Harry wants Spider-Man's blood."
"So?" Hawk asked casually.
Peter frowned. "I've seen my parents' research logs. The spider serum fused with my DNA. My blood only works on me. If anyone else tries it… it could kill them."
Hawk glanced at him.
"Remember what I told you with Dr. Connors down in the sewers?"
Peter blinked. "…What?"
"Whether I give it or not—that's my choice. Whether he dies or not—that's his."
Peter fell silent.
…
(End of Chapter)
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