Tick Tock

Chapter Fourteen

The two spandex-clad figures landed on the gravelly roof, one falling to his knees, the other staggering to a halt. 

"Costa, what's the damage?" Charlie asked, her green gaze flicking down to the piece of paper, still wedged stubbornly in her skin. 

"The maximum depth of the shrapnel is one centimeter. No internal damage detected and blood loss is minimal." Costa reported back, then continued. "To remove the shrapnel with minimal pain, you need to lift your arm and have Mr Parker pull it out."

Charlie looked at Peter, who had looked up from the ground. He had pulled his mask up to rest on his nose, and his large eyes were wide with fear. "Wha- no. I c- I'm sorry. I- this is a stretch. What if I, y'know. Mess up. I-"

"Spidey." Charlie spoke, keeping her voice calm. He stopped his rambling. "I know this is a stretch, but if I wait any longer, I'll heal with it still inside. You heard Costa. I can't take it out. If I could, I would've done it by now. I trust you," she paused, looking around to make sure there were no cameras or people nearby. Once she was sure there was no one else there, she continued, albeit quieter. "I trust Peter."

Peter shakily nodded, watching Charlie kneel down to his level and raise her arm. He held the edge of the paper delicately, then pulled. Charlie's only response was a small flinch. 

She exhaled deeply, then looked at Peter. He was still looking at the picture, now with one of the edges covered in a thin strip of blood. Blood that was leaking onto his glove. "Spidey?"

His lip began to tremble, and Charlie quickly gathered him into her arms. His quiet sobs racked his lean frame, and Charlie's heart ached for him. She felt him lean into her, how his arms wrapped around her, and watched the picture drift down to the gravel surface of the roof. Costa quietly began a facial analysis of the image, which was of a woman wearing the NYPD uniform.

Peter shifted against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His arms tightened their hold, not painfully but noticeably. After a while, Charlie spoke up, lightly rubbing his back.

"Wanna talk about it?"

At first, there was no reply. She noted that his crying was getting quieter, so she stayed silent. "I saw my uncle die."

"Were you close?"

"He was like a dad to me. He got shot by a thief. I never saw it happen, but it felt like I was there." Peter mumbled against her neck. "I thought I would be over it by now."

Charlie sighed, feeling the memories of her parents coming to the surface. "You can't get over stuff like that." She admitted. "I lost my parents. They were driving me back from Mammoth Mountain. We just stopped for gas, so neither of their seatbelts were on. All it took was one patch of black ice. Our car hit a pine tree. Help came in 2 minutes, but by that time, they were gone."

Peter smiled a little. "I guess we both know what it's like then." Charlie nodded.

"Photo identified. Officer Catherine Cunningham-Herder. Born April 18, 1980, died January 24, 2017. Death caused by a bullet shot in her hip, causing internal bleeding from multiple ruptured organs."

"Thanks, Costa. Peter, I'm so sorry you had to experience that again. I hate for you to go through that because," she paused, gathering her courage. Peter was still sniffling, though he seemed to be waiting for her to finish the sentence. 

It's now or never, Charlotte. Tell him.

"BecauseIloveyou. I've been meaning to tell you." She spat out, the first sentence in a complete rush.

She waited for his response.