It seems like it's going to be another uneventful night spent blearily staring at your ceiling while trying to force your body to sleep. You've been practicing some breathing exercises lately in hopes that it will calm your body down enough to feign sleep for a few hours.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Your room feels hotter than usual.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Your body starts to gradually calm down. After a few more deep breaths and exhales, it feels like you're floating. Weightless even. After the rollercoaster of emotions you've experienced today, it feels so nice for once to just simply exist, for once free of anxiety, insecurities and jealousy.

Just beyond your modest home walls, the city breathes in life despite it being so late. Truly the city that never sleeps. Nueva's constant noise is a comforting lullaby that makes your eyelids feel heavy.

This may be the quickest you've ever fallen asleep and somewhere in the back of your mind you're positively elated. Giddy even, to slip off into a quiet nothingness for a few hours. You'd make a good joke about getting old if you had the energy for it. Maybe even laugh hysterically.

You manage to reach a state where you're teetering on the edge of unconsciousness but just barely awake. You're damn near passed out before it's cruelly ripped away from you.

Should have known, it was too good to be true.

A quiet knock sounds at your door. The knock sounded like whoever was on the other side knocked just loud enough for you to hear if you were awake, but still quiet enough to be missed if you were sleep. You know it's not your daughter, it's too hesitant, too unsure. Gabriella would've burst in, emergency or not. Your child never believed in being delicate. Miguel is outside your door and it only heightens your stress. You can hear the floorboards creak underneath him as you assume he's shifting his weight every so often.

All at once, your body is on high alert. Your mind sharp and focused now. You flip over on your stomach, scrambling for your weapon under your pillow. Your hands shake as you wrap them around the handle before shucking off your sheets in a irritated huff.

You're rife anxiety as you debate whether or not you should ignore it in hopes that Miguel thinks you're passed out.

After some internal debate, you decide to get up and quietly pad to your door. You turn the knob, gun tucked safely behind your back as you listen quietly just beyond your door. For a man so large, he really could be quiet when he wanted to, because it was difficult even picking up signs of his breathing.

You crack the door open, peering through to find Miguel standing there. He's looking everywhere but at you while he scratches the back of his head sheepishly. A nervous tick, you've come to realize. He offers you a small placating smile, but it does nothing to make you relax or feel at ease. Your mind is too full of distrust and you know logically it shouldn't be, but when was emotions and feelings ever logical? You owed this man nothing, the same way he didn't owe you any loyalty. He says he wants to protect you and your daughter but you've been on your own just fine. He could very well just be as rotten as the man you buried 6 feet under.

"Do you need something?"

Your own voice is foreign to your ears. Curt, no nonsense, tired, straight to the point. You give nothing away, staring neutrally with a half lidded gaze at the man through a tiny crack. Your body poised to spring at any sudden movement. Your breathing picks up to match your pacing heartbeat, and Miguel can unfortunately hear it all. It doesn't make him feel good to know that he is the reason why you can't relax and feel at peace in your home. He wanted to change that, hoped that maybe eventually you'd come around. Rome wasn't built in a day, and he could be patient and wait for however long it took you to get acclimated to the idea of him being around. Help you go to therapy. Hell, he'd even pull some strings and get you weekly sessions with Spider-Therapist if it meant that you could get past this trauma.

Originally his plan had been to just get you comfortable enough to the idea of him before suggesting separation and co-parenting. Now though? Those cards were off the table. He kept telling himself that this was all for Gabriella, how she needed structure with a two parent household filled with stability, and the more he sees you simply unsettled by him, the more compelled he feels to actually make this work.

It's still too early for Miguel to say whether or not he feels something for you, but when he looks at you, he feels a painful twinge in his heart whenever you try to hide your hurt. Always the observant one, he saw it all yesterday. First with the way Gabi kept rebuffing your offers of help, and then with his own mother not letting you contribute to dinner or buying groceries. It's obvious you've been on your own for so long, independent, not used to anyone else's help.

It's always just been you and Gabi, hasn't it? Thrust into an unjust world, fending for yourselves.

Constantly being alone with your child, you had to rely on yourself to always the problem solver. You were probably never afforded sick days or days to yourself where you could just relax and have someone else take care of everything. Miguel wanted to do that for you, hell, he felt that you were owed that. But how could he slip past this impenetrable fortress you've built around yourself? You were so guarded and wary, (for good reason) but still difficult to break past your defenses.

The only way to get anything done was by extending an olive branch.

So here he was, trying to extend that branch in hopes that you give him even a little leeway. Just something to work on and work towards.

...Maybe trying to have this talk at 3:12 a.m. wasn't the brightest idea, but Miguel and Lyla spent the past two hours in the guest room hyping himself up to do it.

Miguel clears his throat awkwardly and tries to relax his posture in hopes that it'll put you at just a bit more at ease.

"I wanted to uh, speak with you."

"...If it's all the same with you, I think I would rather sleep."

"Hey wait-"

You move to shut the door but Miguel is quick to wedge his stupid fat meaty foot in between the opening. It sours your already shit mood and you genuinely debate slamming it and causing him injury.

Your eyes narrow but your face otherwise remains neutral. You're scheming, debating on if it's worth it trying to be amicable or not after this man just came in, disrupted your peace, and going the extra mile by disturbing your sleep.

"Look, I'm really tired." You ground out, trying for amicable neutrality in your own way. Under normal circumstances, you think you would've just shut the door. You mentally pat yourself on the back for remaining civil. Little victories.

"I just really want to talk. Please." He adds in a last ditch effort to get you to open up.

You bristle a little, defenses heightening. You're prickly, unable to fathom why on earth he would be here at this time of night to talk.

"What is there to talk about?" Your voice raises incredulously but then you remember it's the weekend and Gabriella might still be awake and lower your voice.

"We don't have anything to talk about."

"I think we do. I'm sorry if we hurt your feelings today-"

You interrupt him with a snort.

"My feelings huh? I'm not sure how delicate and sensitive you think I am, but I guarantee you my feelings are not hurt."

Miguel groans softly and cards his fingers through his hair in exasperation while he tries to find the right words.

"No- look that's not what I meant."

"Then what the hell did you mean? You think I'm so poorly held together that a little day of doing nothing is going to send me spiraling?"

"No, no! Por favor stop putting words in my mouth. That's not at all what I mean."

"You haven't answered my question, what on earth could we possibly have to talk about?"

"Look, I'm sorry."

You pause and your breathing stutters. Your fingers tighten around something metal and you remember that you were holding a gun behind your back. You had forgotten all about it the minute Miguel opened his mouth and started word vomiting some poorly pieced together attempt at talking to you.

"You're sorry?" Your voice rises in pitch.

Miguel only nods, lips pursed together. For once, all his focus is on you instead of refusing eye contact. He's looking at you with this stupid pitying kicked puppy look that makes your teeth hurt.

"For fucking what?" You're stumped for once. Every way you thought this could have gone, him apologizing was the last thing you expected out of him.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I think you needed to hear it."

"...So now you're just telling me shit that you think I want to hear? Really?"

"Yes! I mean no! That's not- look, I just wanted to say it, okay? I don't know how else to express it, but I think that you needed to hear it. Not because I'm trying to just tell you stuff that I think you want to hear, but because no one else knows or could even grasp even a fraction of what you're going through and I'm probably the only person who can and I think I'm the only one who can say it. I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me but that doesn't change the fact that I think you need to hear it and I'm sorry. You were stuck with a man who abused you. Gave you a child and then neglected you both. I'm apologizing because I'm not that man. I'm not the Miguel who did all those things to you, nor will I ever be him. I'm here apologizing because I hope that it will show you that I don't want you to think of me like that. I would never-"

Your fingers tighten around the door and you swing it open. Miguel only has a millisecond to react, dodging backwards to narrowly avoid being slammed in the face with it.

"You would never what? Do that? Abuse me? Hit me?" Your voice rises in pitch every time phrase a question.

"You think I haven't heard that before? You think that's not what he said to me when the abuse started!? You fucking prance around my home with this stupid fucking do-gooder act like you're here for anything different. Like some magical parental bond you apparently have with my daughter is the reason why you want to make whatever the fuck this is work. Don't feed me that bullshit, you're just like him deep down- a fucking liar! The only difference between you and him is that at least he knew what he was. You still try to hold on to this belief and convince yourself that that isn't you. You have absolutely no ties to my daughter and I, you come from some fucking universe where we've never even met, but you want me to believe you and trust you at face value when you look fucking identical to the man who hurt me!? You want me to just believe you when you appear out of thin air on my doorstep and think I'm supposed to trust you overnight!?"

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and you dash them away angrily with a swipe of your hand before taking a deep inhale.

It feels cathartic to finally get that off your chest. You've been angry and hurt for so long. Even after getting rid of one Miguel in your life, how painfully unfortunate and ironic is it that another one sprouts up to take his place. Doesn't help things only got worse with this one around. Your Miguel didn't play with his cards close to his chest. He always wore everything on his sleeve and it allowed you to brace for whatever was coming next. This was unfamiliar.

And god- did you hate the unfamiliar.

You never knew what this one was thinking. Where your Miguel had the most expressive eyes you've ever seen, always filled with malice and hate, this Miguel looked empty in comparison. Devoid. It made you scared of the unknown. Scared and afraid for you and your daughter. Anyone who could look that empty had to have been hiding something deep down.

Miguel could have never predicted this talk going this way. He honestly should've expected push back. He tried to be pragmatic that maybe it wouldn't be this bad. He had went into this with the expectation that you would've gone to therapy and worked some of this out but that was just a silly pipedream he force fed himself without knowing all the facts.

There's a silver lining though. It gets worse before it gets better.

Getting that off your chest was a huge leap for you, even if you don't see it yourself yet. There was still hope that you wouldn't totally shut him out, and he could spend the rest of his days trying to make up for the mistakes and failures of his dimensional counterpart.

A soft sniffle draws his attention back to see you sunk to the floor, arms wrapped around yourself in an attempt to comfort yourself.

"I was doing fine. I was doing just fine on my own. We were doing fine. We didn't need you. Gabriella just came around to the idea that Miguel might be gone. Why'd you have to come and complicate things? Why? Why couldn't you just leave me and my daughter alone. Why did you have to do that?"

Your voice is hoarse and your eyes are glassy and hollow as you stare at Miguel. You're looking right through him. You're speaking to him, but really. He thinks you're speaking this into the air at someone else.

Miguel sinks to the floor with you. His hands twitch at his sides while he looks at you. He desperately wants to offer some form of comfort but it's difficult to do so without disrespecting your boundaries. A hug would probably be the last thing you want right now. In the end, Miguel throws caution to the wind and decides that you need this. He can deal with the repercussions later.

A warm hand settles on your shoulder. It's heavy, but it provides just the right amount of contact from another human being that grounds you just a little.

"Lo siento. Truly." Miguel offers while hesitantly rubbing your shoulder.

"None of this was your fault. I need you to understand that. You're an amazing mother to Gabriella and I'm so thankful she has you. The best she could ever ask for. You just got dealt a shit hand in terms of choosing a partner."

"I'd like to.." Miguel pauses and chews on his words, trying to broach this without earning anymore of your ire, "If you'd let me. The Spider-Society; we have a therapist. He's seen it all. Truly, I think he would be the only one you could broach these topics with freely without having to mince your words. I won't force you, but if you ever want to, it would be no trouble at all to schedule you a session with him. If you hate it, then I won't ever mention it again."

You sniffle louder this time and weakly swipe at his hand on your shoulder. You want to lash out and tell him you don't want his pity or his charity. You want to continue to be self destructive, lumping him into the same category as your old Miguel. Some part of you, deep, deep, DEEP inside of your mind doubts yourself and this misplaced anger. It doubts that any of your ire directed at him is healthy or warranted. Some tiny part of you wants to desperately believe that he means his intentions. The vocal part of you is terrified of being right. You don't think you're strong enough to suffer through that abuse again. You are though. You have to be, for you and your daughter.

You shake Miguel's hand off your shoulder and slowly rise to your feet. Miguel follows suit while regarding you carefully.

"...I'll think about it."

Miguel releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. It's not any powerful admission, but coming from you, it might as well be. It wasn't a yes or not, nothing promised. But it was a start. He wouldn't push you. He extended an olive branch and dangled it. You'll grab it and use it to anchor yourself on your own terms and time.

He gives you a curt nod.

"Try to get some rest."

He doesn't expect a goodnight from you, nor does he wait around for one. He turns back on his heels, striding down the hall back towards the guest room, leaving you alone finally.

You wait a few more seconds to double check he wouldn't come back before you silently step back into your room and shut the door behind you. On your way back to bed, your toe catches onto the barrel of your gun and you hiss quietly in pain. You stoop down, eye brows pinched while you regard the piece of metal resting in your palms. It feels heavy, heavier than normal. Almost like it's weighing you down.

With a huff, you click the safety back on and tuck it back within the recesses of your bedside drawer. Maybe you could work on not being armed while in your home.

For now though, sleep was calling your name. You're so very tired and exhausted. You slump into bed, pulling the sheets up to your nose. The minute you head hits your pillow, you're out like a light.

~

A day passes by under your nose without incident. Then you blink and suddenly it's Sunday, the weekend having flown by.

You haven't said much to Miguel besides the usual civilities. He hasn't pushed for anything more. You haven't really said much in general, putting on your best face whenever Gabriella is in the room. You hoped she hasn't caught on to your mood and just mistakes it as tiredness.

Miguel is out the house today, having left a note on the fridge about work. You know it's not Alchemax but have chosen not to address it for the moment. You can't help but notice that with Miguel's arrival almost a week ago now, coincidentally a certain spider themed crusader has begun swinging across the city and cleaning up crime again.

Everyone in the house has eased up and for the most part, things return to relative normalcy. You're downstairs making Gabriella breakfast when she slumps downstairs and quietly takes a seat at the island. You turn to grab utensils, having finished up her breakfast and you're surprised to see her already sitting there, looking sullen. Her little eyes are puffy and red rimmed, with her nose bright red from irritation. You quickly rush over, setting her plate down and feeling her forehead.

"What's wrong? Are you sick my love?"

Gabriella shakes her head slowly, eyes still downcast while she stares at her plate.

"Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Again, another wordless shake of her head.

You blow air out of your nose in frustration but don't push her. Some part of you harks that maybe she'd be more forthcoming with Miguel and you quickly stamp down that insecurity.

"Well okay dear. But you know I'm here if you want to talk."

You preoccupy yourself with cleaning up your morning mess. Each time you turn, you catch a glimpse of Gabi just picking at her food. her fork scrapes at her plate, pushing things around and taking tiny bites.

Your hands wring nervously, desperately wanting to know what's wrong with your daughter but also not wanting to push or force her to talk about something she clearly isn't ready to talk about yet.

You're scrubbing roughly at some dishes when you hear Gabi's fork drop on her plate.

"Are you and papi getting a divorce?" Her voice warbles with the question.

The question startles you, making you drop the plate in the sink. It clatters loudly, but thankfully doesn't break.

You look up at Gabi and her little lip quivers while she stares down again.

After a tense beat, you sigh and dry your hands on your pants, striding over to her side of the island and pulling her into a tight hug.

"Oh sweetheart. No no no no, we're not getting a divorce baby." You rock back and forth with Gabi in your arms before you pull back and brush her bangs out of her face.

"What on earth gave you that impression?"

Gabriella sniffles pitifully and wipes her eyes.

"A few nights ago.. I heard you and papi in the hallway. I.. I heard you yelling but I didn't hear what you said. When I peered outside my door, I saw papi walking away and and-"

She stutters, huffing and working herself up to another cry.

"You guys didn't hug or kiss or anything and I just got scared because it looked like you had been crying and papi didn't look happy. You guys haven't hugged or kissed and you haven't looked happy since papi got home. He doesn't even sleep in the same room as you anymore!" She practically wails and your heart breaks.

You hug her just a little tighter, shushing her and wiping her tears away with your shirt.

"No my angel, no no, it's okay baby. No, we're not getting a divorce, I promise okay? It's just a little readjustment period from us. Think about it, he's been gone so long and we just got used to not having him in the house. It's a tough adjustment from me again, that's all my love. We're okay. Look at me my love."

Gabriella sniffs and pulls back to look at you with tear soaked lashes.

"This isn't anyone's fault okay? No ones. Not yours, not mines, not your fathers, no one."

It's a strange revelation to murmur out loud but it makes you feel just a bit lighter.

"Do you promise?"

"Yes my love, I promise.

You envelop Gabi, pulling her into a tight embrace while she tries to calm down in your arms. Every now and then her body will involuntarily shudder and she'll let out a little hiccup, but gradually you calm her down. Your hand swipes reassuringly up and down her back while you stare at Miguel's note. Underneath his initial but brisk note is a tiny addendum, hastily written like it was an after thought.

Call me if you need anything.

His number is scrawled out and looks out of place comparatively.

A long suffering sigh leaves your chest.

You never ever wanted to effect your daughter with any of the shit you were going through. That's why you lied and acted like her father was still a good man. That's why when you got rid of him, you told her he left for some space program. You couldn't bear to break your daughter's heart, nor could you stand to see it breaking right in front of you. You needed to change something to keep her from going through this turmoil ever again.

Fuck, you guess you'd have to take Miguel up on his offer sooner rather than later.