The Waterspout

In Which Peter has a Bad Day

Monday, Peter woke up to an excited mewing quite close to his ear.

Peter carefully rose, not wanting to disturb Grease, with a laugh. "Hey, girl!" he said. "What time is it?"

The cat pawed at his thigh, her tiny claws ripping into his pajamas.

"Hungry? I'm supposed to feed you at 6:30..." Peter glanced at his phone. 6:56. "Oh crap! Sorry, Grease, I overslept. And there's school today..."

Peter rolled off the bed, and the blanket caught around his ankles to trip him with a thump. "Erg." He pushed himself to his feet more carefully and limped towards the door, saying, "thanks, Grease! I blew my homework off yesterday for patrol," MJ had returned the mask right away, to Peter's gratitude, "and I had to do it all late last night. May's on her early shift Mondays, too; who knows how long I would have slept!"

The cat mewed and pounced on one of his socks, her white-tipped tail twitching.

"You're adorable."

Grease only mauled the sock again.

Grinning, Peter slipped out of his room to prepare the cat's breakfast. On second thought, he prepared something for himself as well, dumping a few eggs into a pot of boiling water to eat on the subway. He'd lost half an hour of prep time, so he hustled to stuff his suit into his backpack, and didn't bother to sort his assignments into their appropriate binder folders; he just stuffed them into the front pocket.

After showering and pulling on his favorite shirt, the one Tony had given him about foiling a plan, and his only remaining unripped pair of jeans, Peter realized he'd forgotten to take his eggs off the burner. Cursing, he hurried back to the kitchen to find his pot boiling over.

"Shit, shit, shit!" He was only half-way able to avoid the scalding water, flipping off the stove but ending up with a quite painful burn across his thumb and wrist. "Shit!" As Spider-Man, Peter had been burned before, and he hated it; his spider-healing never worked quite so fast on the blisters.

He fished his eggs out, but they were too far overcooked to be edible. As the minutes ticked by from when he was supposed to leave, Peter had no time to prepare anything else, ending up with only a plain bagel.

He rushed out of the door with his shoes untied, shrugging on his jacket and backpack and saying a quick goodbye to Grease.

Someone stepped on those damn shoelaces as he sprinted down the steps to the subway. He went sprawling, his backpack flying off to land with a clatter below, and his head cracked painfully on the concrete, his spidey-senses failing him on the crowded staircase.

"I'm so sorry!" the stranger said, grabbing his bag and depositing it beside him. The woman offered him a hand up, and Peter, head still throbbing, took it.

With the wrong hand.

The stranger's thumb brushed across Peter's fresh burn. By tonight, it would have begun to heal over due to his quick healing, but it had been less than fifteen minutes since he'd scalded himself. And it hurt.

Peter fell back with a yelp, pulling his injured hand in close. The stranger looked horrified, and Peter felt awful. He was supposed to be strong, damn it! Where was Spider-Man?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my fault," Peter groaned, standing up and bracing himself on the wall with his other hand. "Just clumsy today, I guess."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, thanks. Gotta tie my dumb shoelaces!" He gave the lady a hopefully reassuring smile, and she took the hint, leaving him alone to slowly ease back on his bag and lean down to tie his shoes.