The conversation was over. As the three of them rose and said their goodbyes to Mrs. Snow, the fragile alliance of the counselor's office dissolved. Gwen, ever practical, turned to Hawk as they stepped into the hallway.
"The Bio-Electricity department is on the other side of the campus. Do you need me to show you where it is?"
"No need. I'll find it," Hawk said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He gave a short nod, slung his bag over his shoulder, and walked away without a backward glance. He was on a tight schedule. Afternoon classes were looming, and his non-negotiable post-workout shower was waiting.
Peter, however, remained rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on Hawk's departing back. It wasn't a casual glance; it was an intense, analytical stare, as if he were trying to solve a complex equation with his eyes alone. His newfound senses were still a chaotic storm of new information, but the signal Hawk gave off was a deafening roar amidst the static, a potent mix of danger and something else… something strangely familiar.
Gwen, who had been secretly observing both of them, saw the look. She broke the silence, her voice sharp and clear.
"Peter!"
"…Ah!" Peter flinched, startled out of his trance. He looked at Gwen, his eyes dazed for a second before his pupils quickly refocused. "Gwen?"
She smiled, a disarming gesture that didn't quite hide the sharp curiosity in her eyes. "Nothing. I was just going to ask, are you going to the grade dance this year?"
Peter's newfound confidence seemed to evaporate, replaced by his old, familiar awkwardness. "Sorry," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "I probably can't make it."
The reasons for their absences were different, yet the same. Hawk wouldn't attend because he lacked the money and, more importantly, the inclination. If he had wanted a date, his chiseled looks and the formidable aura honed by years of training would have made it an easy task. Peter, on the other hand, couldn't find a date because the only one he wanted was the one he couldn't have. He was still hanging himself on the singular, beautiful tree named Mary Jane Watson.
Everyone in their grade knew about Peter's hopeless crush on his next-door neighbor. Everyone, it seemed, except Peter himself. No girl was willing to be a placeholder for his dream girl, and Mary Jane, whose ambitions were aimed much higher, had no intention of accepting his invitation. Gwen knew this for a fact. As MJ's friend, she had been there when Mary Jane had excitedly submitted her and her date's names for the dance list weeks ago: Harry Osborn. It was a perfect match for MJ's long-standing criteria for a boyfriend: handsome, popular, and wealthy.
Gwen didn't say any of this. She just gave Peter a sympathetic nod and turned to leave. But after a few steps, some instinct made her glance over her shoulder one last time.
Peter was still standing there, staring intently down the empty hallway in the direction Hawk had disappeared.
A few days later, a joyous roar erupted from the halls of Midtown High as the final bell of the semester rang. Vacation had arrived.
"L, what's the plan? Summer itinerary is a go?"
"Yep. Hawaii, baby!"
"Tom and I are hitting up Slovakia."
"Slovakia? Dude, did you see that travel warning? Some tourist went missing there last week."
"Fake news. Besides, we're strong. What could happen?"
The school emptied in a torrent of youthful energy. Students chattered and laughed, their minds already on flights and beaches. Car engines revved to life in the parking lot, and within minutes, the once-teeming campus became a ghost town, the silence broken only by the whisper of the wind.
And by a single, rhythmic, relentless sound. The heavy thud of fists meeting a bag, echoing from the old, forgotten gymnasium.
Ten minutes later, the sound stopped. Hawk stood in the center of the gym, his breathing deep and steady, as he unwrapped the worn bandages from his hands. His fists, hardened by millions of strikes, wouldn't even redden if he punched steel now, but the ritual of wrapping them was a discipline he refused to abandon.
As he was tucking the rolled bandages away, his sword-like brows raised slightly. He had a visitor.
A voice came from the doorway. "They're really turning this place into a swimming pool next semester."
"…Peter." Hawk turned. Peter Parker stood there, his hands in his pockets, looking far more solid and confident than he had just a few weeks ago. "It's not 'said to be'," Hawk corrected him. "It's true."
Peter just gave a small, enigmatic smile and said nothing. This was one of the reasons Hawk preferred this version of the hero. Compared to the talkative nature of the others, this Spider-Man was introverted, his talents hidden beneath a quiet exterior. Much like himself.
Hawk tucked the bandages away and looked at Peter. "You didn't come all the way here just to give me an update on the school's construction plans, did you?"
Peter shook his head quickly. "No."
"Then what is it?"
"Uh…" The words seemed to catch in Peter's throat. He opened his mouth, then closed it, hesitating. He was a teenager grappling with a world-changing secret, desperately searching for an anchor, for someone who might, just maybe, understand.
Hawk watched him struggle, and a flicker of something akin to pity passed through him. But he had no desire to be drawn into Peter's chaotic new life. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and started for the door. "Happy summer vacation, Peter."
"Wait!"
THWIP!
The sound was sharp and distinct, like a spider spinning its silk. Hawk, already at the door, didn't even turn. His body reacted with pure, lethal instinct. As the white, sticky strand of webbing shot towards his shoulder, his right fist had already shot out to intercept it.
Peter's Spider-Sense screamed. He threw himself to the side in a desperate, instinctual dodge.
Hawk's punch, meant for the source of the projectile, missed Peter by inches. It did not, however, miss the heavy wooden rest bench that was behind him.
BANG!
The sound was like a small explosion. The thick, solid oak bench didn't just break; it disintegrated into a cloud of splinters and dust.
Peter stared, wide-eyed and breathless, at the wreckage. The air smelled of ozone.
Hawk, meanwhile, calmly plucked the strand of webbing from his backpack. It was incredibly sticky and resilient. He had to shake his hand a few times before he could finally fling it away.
Peter had recovered, his gaze now fixed on Hawk with a mixture of fear and dawning comprehension. "Hawk," he breathed. "You too…"
"I'm not," Hawk cut him off, his voice flat and cold. He met Peter's gaze. My power comes from a thousand days of hell, from an iron will and relentless effort, he thought, conveniently downplaying the role of the system. This was his, earned through blood and sweat.
He didn't need to say more. He let his eyes do the talking, a silent, unmistakable command passing between them. We do not talk about this. Not here. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Peter, his enhanced senses now attuned to more than just physical danger, understood the message perfectly. He swallowed the rest of the words he had been about to say.
Hawk's expression softened almost imperceptibly. He gave a short nod. "Happy summer vacation, Peter. See you next semester."
"…Okay. See you next semester."
Hawk turned and walked out of the gymnasium, the tension of the confrontation still fresh. He stepped out into the bright, empty courtyard.
And stopped dead.
Leaning against the exterior wall of the gym, her arms crossed, was Gwen Stacy. Her expression was an unreadable, complex mixture of shock, curiosity, and something else he couldn't quite decipher.
Gwen: "…"