leap of faith

by tzushi

Summary:

For the past seven months, Mira and Zoey have been obsessed with the idea of getting a clear photo of Spider-Woman, Seoul’s very own superhero. In the beginning it was for their university photography course, but every photo they managed to take of her was a blur. Ever since then, they’ve devoted themselves to getting at least one good photo of the hero.

The only issue is: Rumi is Spider-Woman. Has been for two and a half years, and Mira and Zoey’s infatuation with getting a photo of her is really starting to stress her out.

or: rumi is spider-woman. mira and zoey find out.

Notes:

inspired on this and this

sorry i wrote this in the span of like 3 hours and then slowly lost interest. my unmedicated adhd takes me places i wouldn't go with a gun. might add a few more chapters but who knows. it's up to god now

tw for blood + injury + injury care + rumi self-loathing

Chapter 1

“I don’t understand,” Rumi says, idly poking at her tteokbokki. “Why do you guys want a photo of Spider-Woman so much?”

 

Mira and Zoey, Rumi’s roommates - and best friends - of two years, perk up across the dining table. Or, Zoey perks up, and Mira scowls.

 

“Because she’s cool! ” Zoey exclaims.

 

“I have a grudge against her,” Mira dryly states at the same time. There’s a pause as they all process that, and then Zoey turns to Mira with wide eyes. 

 

“You have a grudge against Spider-Woman ?” she repeats, sounding bewildered.

 

“Yeah,” Mira sagely nods. “At first I just wanted to take a picture of her because I thought her suit design was sick, but the photos kept coming out blurry. Now I have to take a clear photo of her or I’ll kill both of us.”

 

Rumi blinks, the corner of her lips quirking up in amusement. “I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

 

“Me neither,” Zoey snickers. She nudges Mira with her elbow, grins up at her cheekily. “You’d never be able to lay a hand on her, by the way. She’s Spider-Woman .”

 

“I can take her,” Mira says. Rumi believes her.

 

For the past seven months, Mira and Zoey have been obsessed with the idea of getting a clear photo of Spider-Woman, Seoul’s very own superhero. In the beginning it was for their university photography course, but every photo they managed to take of her was a blur. Ever since then, they’ve devoted themselves to getting at least one good photo of the hero.

 

The only issue is: Rumi is Spider-Woman. Has been for two and a half years. Two years, seven months and eighteen days, to be precise.

 

Rumi is Spider-Woman, and Mira and Zoey’s infatuation with getting a photo of her is really starting to stress her out. They’ve lived together for two years -  ever since Rumi’s friend Jinu told her about how friends of a friend were looking for a roommate and she desperately needed a place to stay.

 

They’ve lived together for two years, so it’s suffice to say that if they get a clear shot of her as Spider-Woman, they’ll probably piece together who she is. Once they get a good look at her, they’ll realize that the mysterious times she goes out match up perfectly with Spider-Woman’s schedule, and then she’ll be screwed.

 

(She’s kind of surprised they haven’t already, given the purple braid that she can’t contain behind a mask, but she’ll happily take what she can get.)

 

She hadn’t meant for it to turn into this whole situation. She didn’t even know they were taking photos of her until she came home from patrol one night and they started complaining about how the photos they snapped of Spider-Woman swinging over their campus were just blurs of white and purple. And then it kept happening, and Rumi started purposely trying to avoid their cameras, and then they kept coming home and complaining to her about it, and — well, now they’re here.

 

“Besides,” Mira dismissively waves her hand, “she’s a vigilante. We could probably sell a good photo of her to the newspaper and make a ton of money.”

 

“Do you think Celine would buy them off us for wanted posters?” Zoey curiously asks around a mouthful of food.

 

“I’m not giving anything to the police,” Mira says. Zoey hums in agreement, nodding her head. Rumi remains silent, her appetite suddenly gone.

 

Rumi wants to tell them. She does , more than anything, but…

 

But she’s a coward. That’s the truth: Rumi’s nothing more than a coward.

 

What if she tells them and they’re freaked out? What if she reveals her identity, and they decide they don’t want to deal with her, with the stress her little job brings?

 

Rumi knows the reputation that she has across the country. With Celine as the local police captain, it’s hard for her not to.

 

Spider-Woman is a vigilante. She’s a threat. She can’t be trusted. Just because she’s saved the city from peril countless times doesn’t mean she’s good . The police have a warrant out for her arrest and a bounty on her head.

 

What if Mira and Zoey believe that?

 

(They don’t. She’s heard Zoey ramble about how cool Spider-Woman is, has seen the way Mira perks up whenever she comes up in conversation despite trying to remain collected.

 

Rumi knows they don’t view her like that, but what if? )

 

Besides, Rumi’s been Spider-Woman for two and a half years now. If Mira and Zoey were to find out, wouldn’t they feel betrayed? Wouldn’t they be angry at her for lying? Lying by omission is still lying; wouldn’t they hate her?

 

She knows how Mira feels about liars. Her family was always lying, always keeping secrets from her. It’s just one of many reasons she finally cut them off. And Zoey is always so honest, so open. When they realize Rumi’s been keeping something like this from them, how could they not grow to resent her?

 

It’s safer this way. It’s for the best, even if it makes Rumi’s insides squirm with guilt every single day, even if it makes her stomach churn with nausea.

 

It’s safer, she lies. I’m protecting them .

 

(All she’s doing is breaking them apart.)

 

---

 

Rumi’s patrol was going well. That should’ve been the first sign. Her patrols are never this easy. She usually has to stop a robbery or a mugging at least once every patrol; Seoul is a big city, and it’s just as dangerous as any other.

 

But today, her patrol was going well . Today she hadn’t seen any weapons pulled, hadn’t heard any alarms blaring. All she did was help a kind elderly woman carry her groceries to her car and point a group of tourists towards a popular neighbourhood in Itaewon.

 

Days like this are rare – Rumi can count the number of trouble-free patrols she’s had over the past two years on one hand.

 

So, yeah. She should’ve figured it would’ve gone downhill.

 

It started with shouting. Loud and angry and panicked, three different voices rising above the noises of the nightlife of Seoul on a Saturday night. She dove from her perch on a building and swung towards the noise, finding herself stumbling upon a secluded alley. Two men had a woman cornered at the end, one of them holding a knife and the other gripping the woman’s wrist tight enough to bruise.

 

Rumi stepped in, alerting them to her presence with a shout. It worked sufficiently, their attention immediately falling onto her.

 

“Shit,” the one holding the woman hissed, immediately releasing his grip on her, “it’s Spider-Woman.”

 

Rumi waved her hand in a friendly greeting. “You’ve heard of me.” She brings a hand to her chest, emulates Zoey as best as she can. “I’m honoured.”

 

The one brandishing the knife didn’t give her time for any more pleasantries; he came running at her without hesitation, and Rumi steeled herself for a fight.

 

Growing up with Celine as her guardian prepared her for situations like this - which is kind of ironic considering how deeply Celine hates Spider-Woman, but thinking about that too much makes it hard for Rumi to breathe, so she moves past it. Celine taught her self-defense from a young age, taught her how to protect herself in any situation.

 

(“So she didn’t hug you, but she taught you how to throw a punch without breaking your thumb,” Mira comments when Rumi shares this information with them.

 

“She hugged me,” Rumi defends. She remembers, because she treasures the memories. Celine’s affection was few and fleeting, so Rumi tucked every single one away in her brain to be reminisced upon whenever she was feeling too down.)

 

Before the man could even get close to her, Rumi shot a web to his foot. She tugged on it and he slipped almost cartoonishly, landing on his back with a thud that surely knocked the breath from his lungs.

 

Rumi shifted her focus to the other man, who stood stock-still and stared at her with wide eyes. He remained rooted to the spot, the woman behind him curled in on herself as her gaze darted between Rumi and the man.

 

“You can run,” Rumi told him, and he immediately shot off. His shoulder brushed against hers as he passed, and just before he could escape the alleyway, Rumi shot a web at his feet and tripped him similarly to the other one. She webbed his feet to the ground while he was down so he couldn’t escape.

 

She looked back to the woman, unharmed except for the darkening skin on her wrist where the man had grabbed her. “Are you okay?”

 

The woman nodded rapidly. “Thank you - oh, thank you,” she murmured, moving closer. She grabbed Rumi’s hands and squeezed them gratefully, and Rumi did her absolute best to not flinch away. Physical affection is something she’s still getting used to.

 

She offered a smile, painfully awkward, despite the fact that she was wearing a mask and it couldn’t be seen. “No problem. Uh - be safe on your way home,” she said. “Would you like me to accompany you home? If it’ll make you feel safer–”

 

A sudden buzzing in the back of her head alerted her to a sense of danger, a wrongness, something bad about to happen. She spun on her heel and grabbed the man’s wrist before he could plunge his knife deep into her abdomen.

 

She had forgotten to incapacitate him. She had forgotten to deal with the first, more dangerous man. How stupid could she be?

 

She twisted the man’s wrist until his hand jerked, the knife clattering to the floor, and she hit him under the chin with her free hand. He crumpled, collapsing to the floor - fine, but unconscious - adrenaline pumping through her veins.

 

How could she be so stupid? If her sixth sense hadn’t warned her, that could’ve been bad. Rumi could’ve been stabbed, or worse – this innocent woman could have been hurt, could’ve been killed .

 

God, she was an idiot. She was lucky. She needed to be more aware of her surroundings.

 

She turned around, glancing at the woman with wide eyes. “Sorry - sorry. Are you alright? Do you need company getting home?”

 

“Um,” the woman murmured, eyes locked on Rumi’s stomach, “are you alright?”

 

Rumi glanced down, and she saw it: a gash in her stomach, blood weeping from the wound and soaking into her suit. “Oh,” she murmured. Looking at it now, she was starting to feel the pain. She hadn’t noticed before. She brought a hand to it, wincing as she prodded it. She looked back up at the woman. “I’m fine.” The woman didn’t look like she believed her even a little bit, so Rumi offered a weak thumbs up. 

 

She saw the woman off, keeping a hand pressed over the wound in an attempt to stifle the bleeding, and decided to head home and patch herself up - another thing Celine taught her.

 

Unfortunately, that’s when things went from bad to horrible . See, before Rumi left for patrol, Mira and Zoey said they were going out on a date.

 

“We’ll be out late, so don’t wait up for us!” Zoey called as they left, and Rumi watched them go with a smile and a strange ache in her chest that she couldn’t quite identify.

 

We’ll be out late, Zoey said, so Rumi was under the assumption that they would - y’know, be out late .

 

Which is precisely why things immediately become horrible as she climbs into their apartment through the living room window, trying not to touch anything with her blood-soaked hand, only to hear the faint buzz of voices on television.

 

As she shut the window behind her, her heart is in her throat. She slowly, carefully turns around, heart jumping into her throat at the sight that greets her.

 

Mira and Zoey are sitting on the couch in the living room, staring at her with wide eyes and gaping jaws.

 

Oh. Oh no .

 

Zoey takes in a long, stuttering gasp. “Spider-Woman found out where we live and she’s going to kill us.”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Mira mutters. “She’s here to break our cameras. Then she’s gonna kill us.”

 

“ Oh ,” Zoey mournfully wails, “my camera…”

 

Rumi doesn’t know what to do. Should she just… leave? Crawl out the window and pretend this never happened? It’s really hard for her to make a decision when her mind is just blaring the words I’m so screwed over and over again.

 

It turns out she doesn’t have to say anything; the blood leaking out of the gash in her stomach speaks for her. She knows they’ve noticed when Zoey jumps to her feet, hands on the sides of her head.

 

“Spider-Woman’s bleeding out in our apartment!” she exclaims.

 

“She’s gonna frame us,” Mira murmurs.

 

Rumi rapidly shakes her head side to side. Zoey rushes out of the room, and Rumi can only watch as she goes. She slowly looks back at Mira, who’s now on her feet and clutching a ramyeon cup like it’s a weapon. It could be with her, Rumi thinks.

 

There’s a heavy silence. Rumi really, really doesn’t know what to do. Her life is kind of shattering into pieces in front of her very eyes.

 

Zoey comes stumbling back into the room with a first-aid kit in hand. “Please stop bleeding out,” she says, like Rumi can simply will the blood to stop flowing.

 

“Stop,” Mira warns before Zoey can get close to Rumi. “She could be dangerous, Zo.”

 

“She’s bleeding ,” Zoey points out.

 

“Yeah, but she’s in our apartment ,” Mira retorts. She takes slow steps towards Rumi, and Rumi matches her and steps backward. “Listen, I don’t know why you came here, and I’m sorry you’re hurt, but you need to get out. Go find help somewhere else. I’ve heard what the media says about you - we both have.”

 

“Mira,” Zoey worriedly murmurs, “she’s hurt.”

 

Rumi’s back hits the wall. Mira closes in on her. “I just want to keep my friends safe, okay? Our roommate - her family’s reputation could be ruined if anyone sees you here. I just want to protect them.”

 

It’s sweet, Rumi thinks in a fleeting thought, and it’s true. With Celine being police captain, if Rumi or Mira or Zoey are even associated with Spider-Woman, Celine’s reputation could tank. She could lose her job. Her life could be ruined.

 

Mira has Rumi pressed to the wall, and Rumi’s heart is pounding in her throat, her whole body wracking with each thump .

 

“I know the police captain,” Mira warns, eyes sharp and dangerous, “and trust me, she can be a real bitch. So if you don’t back off, I’ll have her here in five minutes to throw you in a cell.”

 

She’s not bluffing. Rumi is well aware of that. She raises her trembling hands in surrender, Mira’s eyes catching on the one stained red with her own blood. Something in her expression falters, but only for a moment.

 

Slowly, carefully, Rumi moves a hand to her own neck. Mira tracks the movement with a scowl but doesn’t stop her. Her hand scrabbles to get a grip on her mask, bloody fingers finally hooking underneath it. She pulls it up inch by inch, fingers leaving wet smears on the skin of her neck as she slowly unveils her skin under her friends’ watchful gazes.

 

As she lifts the mask up past her lips, she sees something click in Mira’s gaze, her eyes snapping up to meet Rumi’s still masked ones. Confusion and betrayal crosses her face, but she continues to stare as Rumi lifts the mask higher, up to her nose, sliding past her eyes, until it’s completely off and held loosely in her hand.

 

“Oh my god,” Zoey whispers, clapping a hand over her mouth. “ Oh my god! ” she repeats, though it’s muffled.

 

She knows she fucked up. The dread settles fast and deep in her bones, and she knows she’s completely and utterly screwed. They’re going to kick her out. They’re not cruel enough to do it now, no – they’re incredibly kind, they’ll still be kind even though Rumi lied to them, but once she’s safe she knows they’re going to get rid of her. Why wouldn’t they?

 

Mira looks like she’s seconds away from throttling Rumi. She holds herself back, though — maybe because Rumi is in the process of bleeding out.

 

“We are so talking about this later,” she hisses. Behind that anger, Rumi almost convinces herself she sees concern. She can’t be sure - not after she fucked everything up so bad.

 

“Yeah,” Rumi murmurs, because there’s not much else she can say.

 

Zoey rushes forwards, grabbing Rumi’s clean hand. “Can you please stop bleeding now?” she asks, shaking the first-aid kit in front of her face like keys in front of a baby.

 

“I’m trying,” Rumi weakly replies.

 

“Let’s get you to the bathroom,” Mira huffs, but when she places a hand on Rumi’s lower back the touch is gentle and light, careful as she begins to guide her across the room.

 

The bathroom is small - certainly too small to fit all three of them - but they manage to squeeze in anyway. Mira pushes the toilet lid down and makes Rumi sit, gingerly accepting the first-aid kit from Zoey, who worriedly hovers behind Mira with wide, wet eyes.

 

“Take your suit off,” Mira instructs, cold and clinical, and Rumi’s entire body burns hot at that. She stares at Mira with wide eyes, then at Zoey, who’s staring back looking equally stunned. Mira rolls her eyes, hangs her head back as she groans. “Do you want to keep bleeding out?”

 

Rumi feels a bit light-headed, but she slowly begins to strip her suit, sliding her arms out and carefully pushing it ‘til it settles at her waist, the wound now exposed to the bathroom.

 

“Oh, wow,” Zoey murmurs breathlessly.

 

“I’m sorry,” Rumi instinctively apologizes. “It’s - I can handle it myself. I’ve done it before.”

 

“No!” Zoey immediately exclaims. She clears her throat, pulls an indifferent expression upon her face. “No, it’s fine. We want to help. I wanna be your moral support. So, we’ll stay.”

 

Mira snorts despite the situation, and Rumi suddenly feels like there’s something she’s not quite grasping. She shakes her head as she examines the cut before sparing Rumi a short glance - barely there, like she can’t handle looking at Rumi for too long. Rumi can’t blame her.

 

“I’m gonna have to suture it,” she informs. Rumi already knew that, but her heart still drops a bit at the information.

 

“Do you… know how to do that?” Rumi hesitantly asks.

 

Mira scoffs, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder at Zoey. “Who do you think takes care of that one when she eats shit while skateboarding?”

 

“I don’t anymore,” Zoey quickly adds, like it’s important for Rumi to know that. “I haven’t fallen off my skateboard in at least six months. I can hit an ollie like a pro. I’m basically Tony Hawk.”

 

“I don’t know who that is,” Rumi apologetically says.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Zoey shrugs. “I’m better.”

 

Mira uses Rumi’s distraction to press a warm cloth against the hole in her stomach. Rumi hadn’t even noticed her grabbing it. It chokes the breath out of her and she squeezes her eyes shut, sucking air through her teeth.

 

“You deserved that,” Mira says as she gently cleans the blood away.

 

“I know,” Rumi agrees.

 

“I’m holding this against you forever,” Mira adds.

 

“That’s fair.”

 

“Ugh,” Mira groans as she pulls the now-red cloth away, “being mean to you is like being mean to a pathetic stray cat. Like, a stray cat that fell in a puddle and is sopping wet and sad and pitiful.”

 

Rumi blinks. “Sorry.”

 

“ Ugh ,” Mira says again. She tosses the cloth into the sink and pulls out the suture kit, threading the needle with ease. Rumi briefly wonders just how many times Mira’s done this, how many times Zoey and Mira have been in a situation like this, considering neither of them really flinched at the sight of blood.

 

As Mira pokes the needle through her skin, Rumi scrunches up her nose, looks away in hopes that it’ll alleviate the pain. Her eyes find Zoey’s, and despite everything she still looks so kind. She shuffles to the side, past Mira, so she’s squatting down in the small space between Mira and the wall. She grabs Rumi’s hand and squeezes it.

 

Rumi bites down on her tongue so she doesn’t wince as Mira sews her wound shut. She doesn’t want them to know it hurts, doesn’t want them feeling guilty over it. 

 

But Mira and Zoey know Rumi; they have for two years. It’s a strange thing, to be known so well, but Rumi can’t complain as Zoey begins to chatter away about turtles and bioluminescent sea creatures, as Mira mutters occasional apologies under her breath, barely loud enough to hear but still there.

 

By the time Mira’s finished, Rumi’s so enthralled by Zoey’s fun facts about vampire squids that she doesn’t even notice until Mira stands up with a sigh to wash her hands. Zoey beams at her, pats Rumi on the shoulder.

 

“Good job,” she says, and it makes Rumi’s stomach do flips. She ignores it, looks down at her now-bandaged torso. It still stings, still aches with each pulse of her heart, but it’s lesser now.

 

She swallows past a lump in her throat, idly running her fingers over the gauze. “Thank you,” she says, eyes glued to the floor. “Both of you. For – all of this. And, I’m sorry. For… for all of this.”

 

Mira huffs out a sigh. Rumi can’t look at her. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she asks, and there’s anger in her voice, but something else as well. “Why didn’t you trust us with this?”

 

Zoey, still holding Rumi’s hand, gives it a light squeeze. “It kinda sucks that you didn’t say anything. Especially when we’ve been talking about her - or, you , I guess - so often.”

 

Rumi curls and uncurls her free hand, dry blood sticking to her skin. “I thought… made you’d be freaked out. Or maybe, you know – with Celine and the police and my reputation, I thought…” She sighs, rubs the back of her hand against her forehead in frustration. “I thought you might hate me for it. And then the time kept passing, and the longer I kept it a secret the angrier you would get, so I just… didn’t say anything.”

 

A gentle hand curls around Rumi’s wrist. Her eyes dart up to find Mira staring at her, lips pursed, a clean cloth in her hand. She’s tender as she wipes Rumi’s hand clean, getting the blood from between her fingers and under her nails.

 

“There’s no chance in hell we’d ever hate you ,” Mira mutters.

 

Zoey nods in agreement. “You’re kind of impossible to hate, Rumi. You’re, like… the best .”

 

Rumi blinks, baffled. “I’m a liar.”

 

“Yeah, and I’m pissed about that,” Mira says, “but we’re not going to hate you for that. We’re friends , Rumi. We, like… we love you, or whatever.”

 

They’ve said it before. It’s nothing new. Zoey is always telling them how much she loves them, at least once a day. And Mira, though she barely says it as often, still murmurs it when she’s had a rough day and seeks Rumi and Zoey out for comfort. Rumi says it too, because loving them comes so naturally, but–

 

But this time it feels different. It feels heavier. The words come out and it feels like something has shifted, something Rumi can’t quite grasp.

 

“I love you too,” she says, slowly, carefully. “But… I still kept it from you. It was cruel. I’m cruel.”

 

“No, Rumi,” Zoey cuts in, looking at her with big, soft eyes, “ we love you .”

 

Rumi is confused. She briefly wonders if she got a concussion. “I… love you too…?”

 

“Oh my god ,” Mira groans with a roll of her eyes. She grabs Rumi’s face - gentle, always so gentle despite her tough exterior - and presses her lips against Rumi’s.

 

Rumi forgets how to breathe. Forgets how to do anything, really. It’s as if her brain completely shuts down, as if nothing except that single point of contact between them exists.

 

Mira pulls away faster than Rumi wants her to, leaving her in a daze. Her skin tingles where Mira’s hands just were.

 

“Um,” she says, face suddenly feeling hot. Her eyes dart to Zoey - Mira’s girlfriend - who’s staring back at her with a toothy grin. She offers a thumbs up, and Rumi’s stomach does about a billion flips, like she’s free-falling off Namsan tower. She’s suddenly overly aware of her undressed state, of her suit pooled around her hips and nothing but a sports bra and new bandages hiding her body from their view. “What?”

 

“Are you kidding me,” Mira grumbles. She looks helplessly at Zoey, who cheerily swaps places with her.

 

“Rumi,” Zoey smiles, placing her hands on Rumi’s shoulders, “we’re in love with you.”

 

Rumi blinks. She blinks again. A few more times for good measure.

 

She must be hallucinating from blood loss. There’s no other explanation. In reality she’s probably passed out on the living room floor, Mira and Zoey staring at her unconscious body with disgust and repulsion.

 

Maybe she’s dead. Maybe this is the afterlife — but no, Rumi wouldn’t go to a good place like this if she died. She’s not that kind of person, not like Mira and Zoey are.

 

“Is she awake?” Mira asks.

 

“Are you awake?” Zoey repeats, like Rumi suddenly can’t hear Mira.

 

“I’m awake,” Rumi murmurs, but her voice comes out all breathy and distant, so she’s not sure how convincing it is. “I’m… processing.”

 

“Oh,” Zoey tilts her head. She offers Rumi a grin, smaller this time, wavering a bit, but no less genuine. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I promise.”

 

Rumi’s eyes shift to Mira, who nods her agreement. “We just wanted to let you know. Figured it was about time.” She shrugs. “Secret for a secret, or something.”

 

“I do,” the words spill out of Rumi’s mouth before she can even process them. “Feel the same, I mean. Like, a lot.”

 

“You do?” Zoey asks, eyes lighting up. She bounces on her feet. “Yay! Oh, I’m so relieved. We were starting to think you weren’t interested, ‘cause, like, we’ve been flirting with you for so long , and–”

 

“You’ve been flirting with me?” Rumi repeats. Mira stares at her with an unreadable expression.

 

“We invited you to go on a date with us. Today ,” she says. “We told you we were going on a date and asked if you wanted to come.”

 

“I thought you were just being nice!” Rumi says. “Wait. Is that why you guys are home? You didn’t actually go on a date?”

 

Zoey pouts, and it makes Rumi’s heart twist. “We wanted you to come with us. When you said no, we decided not to go.”

 

“Ah,” Rumi whispers. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay! This is our date now,” Zoey grins. “Isn’t this romantic? You, all hot and sweaty and bleeding, us patching you up… It’s like a movie!”

 

A strangled noise escapes Rumi’s throat as she crosses her arms over her chest, face burning so hot she’s sure she’ll catch on fire.

 

Mira snorts. “This date kind of sucks.”

 

“Hmm, you’re right,” Zoey nods. Her eyes twinkle with mischief as her grin widens. “Rumi, why don’t you go get changed, and then we have a movie date? We can all cuddle on the couch and watch something!”

 

“We do that every week,” Mira points out, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips. “How is that a date?”

 

“Because I say so,” Zoey retorts. She catches Rumi’s eyes and winks. “You up for our date, Rumi? It’ll be really fun, promise.”

 

“It won’t. I’m picking the movie. We’re watching a slasher,” Mira adds.

 

“A slasher? I hate those!” Zoey whines. “I’ve seen enough blood today to last me a lifetime. We just lived our own slasher.”

 

“Too bad,” Mira shrugs. “Guess you’ll both have to cuddle into my side when things get too scary. How unfortunate.”

 

Later, when they’re all in their pajamas and huddled together on the couch, a slasher movie playing on low volume that none of them are really paying attention to, Rumi finds herself feeling more relaxed than she has in years. Sitting in between Mira and Zoey - on Zoey’s insistence that she gets ‘the most cuddles today’ - she finds herself glad that her secret is out, that she doesn’t have to keep quiet anymore.

 

The events of the night kind of sucked at first, but now, between the two of them, she’s almost glad for what happened.

 

“I still have a grudge against you,” Mira murmurs.

 

“We’re still gonna try and get a good photo of you,” Zoey adds.

 

Rumi smiles, leans into them, lets the comfort wash over her. “I’d like to see you try.”

Chapter 2

Notes:

once again not beta read because i love to rawdog it. And as per usual this was written in the span of like 3 hours because i dont have any . sorry my brain is frying right now i can't remember the word. youre just going to have to guess what i was going to say. Anyway this one is less about spider-woman and more about polytrix being stupid and embarrassing because im fond of them. i was going to write from miras pov but unfortunately i resonate with zoeys adhd and the way she's so down bad speaks to me on a personal level.

enjoy yay:)

“Oh, oh, I see her!” Zoey exclaims, bouncing on her feet as she points at a purple blob in the distance. She tugs on Mira’s hand until she looks up from her phone and follows Zoey’s finger.

 

“You’re like a dog waiting for its owner,” Mira mumbles, but she tucks her phone away in her pocket and straightens up as Rumi continues to approach, just as excited to greet their girlfriend as Zoey is.

 

This is their new Wednesday ritual: Zoey and Mira both have classes in the same building. Zoey’s class ends half an hour before Mira's, so she waits for Mira, and then the two of them hang out at the park or in the cafeteria on campus. Then, forty minutes later, they head across campus to meet Rumi when she gets out of her afternoon class. The three of them walk back home together, sometimes stopping for bubble tea or fried chicken or wandering around in the local ARTBOX for a while. It’s simple, and it’s nice, and Zoey loves every single second of it.

 

Rumi is closer now, looking impossibly cute in an oversized red hoodie that Zoey knows belongs to Mira, because she also likes to steal it. Zoey waves her hand over her head and she can make out the faintest smile on Rumi’s face as she waves back. Jinu’s walking with Rumi, and Zoey smiles and waves to him, too. He’s Rumi’s life-long friend and he’s nice to Zoey, like, seventy-three percent of the time, so she likes him well enough.

 

“Hey,” he greets as the two of them finally reach Mira and Zoey. “Zoey,” he nods in greeting, a polite smile. He meets Mira’s deadpan stare with a smirk. “Mira. What’s up?”

 

“I had a dream I killed you last night,” Mira states.

 

“Oh,” Jinu nods, “so nothing new, then?”

 

Mira shrugs. “Guess not.”

 

Rumi’s eyes shift between the two of them, the corners of her lips pulling up in an awkward half-smile, like she’s not sure whether to laugh or intervene. Zoey thinks her heart might start pounding out of her chest cartoonishly as a wave of cuteness aggression washes over her. She wants to pinch Rumi’s cheeks so bad. Her hands twitch at her sides, but she keeps them in place.

 

“ Well ,” Rumi steps in, moving from Jinu’s side to stand between her girlfriends, “I’ll see you on Saturday, Jinu?”

 

Jinu replies with a finger gun as he starts walking backwards. “Have fun, you three~!” he waves. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

 

“I hope you fall into a ditch,” Mira calls after him.

 

“I’ll try!” comes Jinu’s reply, and then he turns the corner and is out of sight. 

 

Zoey turns to face Rumi, grasping her cheeks in her hands and pressing a big kiss to her lips. Rumi’s face flushes a pretty pink, and Zoey swoons.

 

Mira, always a tad bit shier about PDA but still equally as pathetic as Zoey, slips a hand into one of Rumi’s and raises it to her mouth, pressing a kiss on the back of her palm. Rumi, who they’ve been dating for just over three weeks now, still flusters at every touch - but Zoey catches the line of her shoulders relax just the tiniest bit under their attention.

 

Zoey clears her throat. “Hello, beautiful lady,” she suavely says, “can my wonderful girlfriend and I walk you home?”

 

“I don’t know,” Rumi replies, “something about the way you said that feels kind of creepy.”

 

Mira hums her agreement. “Yeah, there was definitely something strange about that.”

 

“Huh?” Zoey blinks. She furrows her brows in thought, rolls her shoulders out. “Okay, okay, how about this?” She winks, and revels in how Rumi blushes. “Can we follow you home?”

 

Rumi snorts, covering her mouth with her hand as she laughs loud and prettily. It sounds like music.

 

“That’s worse,” Mira immediately states. “You do know that’s worse, right?”

 

Zoey shrugs. “It made the pretty lady laugh, so.”

 

“You have to stop calling her that. You sound like a fifty-year-old man.”

 

“What, you don’t think I can pull it off?” Zoey turns an imploring gaze to Rumi. “Can I pull it off? Hmm, pretty lady?”

 

Rumi offers her an apologetic look. “In your defense, I don’t think anyone can pull that off.”

 

Mira smirks, all sharp and gorgeous and breathtaking. “You sure about that, pretty lady?” And she’s not even talking to Zoey, but Zoey still feels something flutter in her stomach.

 

“Okay, whatever,” she mutters, crossing her arms. She grabs her girlfriend’s wrists and separates their hands, worming herself in the middle of them so they’re both holding her hands instead. “Let’s go home. Couch is calling me. I think he misses me.”

 

Mira smiles - softly this time - and she presses a kiss to the back of Zoey’s hand. On Zoey’s other side, Rumi gently squeezes her hand, and the three of them head home.

 

---

 

Zoey thinks that if the couch just swallowed her whole one day, she’d be fine with that. She’d be content. What a way to go, doing what she loves. Mira clearly echoes her sentiments, sprawling on her stomach across the couch with her face buried in the cushions, her feet thrown over Zoey’s lap.

 

“I think Couch should be our bridesmaid,” Zoey suggests.

 

“He’s going to be my best man,” Mira mumbles in response, voice muffled. “I already asked.”

 

“Greedy,” Zoey mutters, flicking Mira’s foot for extra measure. Mira doesn’t react, and Zoey can’t be sure she didn’t pass out from lack of oxygen.

 

A door down the hall opens, and Zoey quickly turns her head to greet their girlfriend, but her throat is suddenly dry.

 

Rumi comes out of her bedroom in a sleeveless turtleneck, and Zoey immediately feels lightheaded. Her eyes zero in on Rumi’s biceps within milliseconds - all big and muscular, like she could pick Zoey up with one hand - and as Zoey definitely doesn’t drool over it, she realizes with a start that — oh, Rumi isn’t wearing sleeves!

 

Because Rumi has never, ever worn short sleeves before - not in front of Zoey and Mira. Zoey always just assumed she was modest, or that maybe she had full tattoo sleeves that she regretted, or scars that related to some tragic backstory that she never wanted to get into, so she never minded Rumi’s shyness.

 

Now, though…

 

“Thank you, God,” a now-upright Mira, not religious even in the slightest, mutters. Zoey nods her silent agreement.

 

Rumi stretches her wonderful, breathtaking arms above her head, and Zoey thinks she might have a heart attack. She glances at Mira from the corners of her eyes, a silent ‘are you seeing this?’ , and Mira shakes her head with disbelief.

 

“I have to head out soon for patrol, but I wanted to spend some time with you before I leave,” Rumi tells them, all sweet and innocent and soft. Her eyes are bright and hopeful, and Zoey thinks she may be mere seconds away from bawling her eyes out over how cute her girlfriend - her girlfriend!!!!!!!!!! - is.

 

“Sounds good,” Mira cooly says, because she spent her entire childhood putting on a facade to fool her parents, so she has the gift of dignity.

 

“I like your arms,” Zoey says, because she spent her entire childhood being too much, too Zoey , and she never had any dignity to begin with.

 

Mira snorts. Zoey elbows her in the ribs, which only makes Mira laugh louder.

 

“Oh,” Rumi says, her hands absently rising to cover them, to hide her skin from view. Zoey mourns the loss. “Sorry, I - I know they’re kind of… ugly ,” she murmurs, and that statement feels like a punch to the gut, because what? “Celine says scars are unbecoming, and I have - I have a lot more now, ever since I became Spider-Woman, but I thought — I don’t know what I thought. Sorry. I can go cover up—”

 

“No!” Zoey exclaims. Rumi minutely flinches and guilt swarms Zoey’s gut, but then she levels her with a look of confusion and Zoey’s mind is immediately distracted. “Don’t cover up. That’s - don’t do that. Please. And thank you.”

 

Because yeah , Rumi’s arms have scars, but there’s nothing unbecoming about them in the slightest. She’s already seen a lot of them anyway, back when they had to patch her up - though none of them were particularly focused on them at the time. Zoey’s always thought that scars tell a story, and the marks stretching across Rumi’s skin are like a novel. The most interesting novel to ever be written, probably. 

 

Zoey reaches out, making grabby hands, and Rumi huffs out a quiet laugh. She approaches the couch and allows Zoey to tug her down so she’s sitting between them, somehow looking graceful the whole time.

 

Her arms are even better up close. For a moment - just a brief second - Zoey is jealous of the criminals that Rumi fights, picturing her putting them in a chokehold. Maybe she should pick up a life of crime. It’d be so worth it in the end. What’s a couple decades of jail time if she gets to have Rumi’s biceps around her throat?

 

There are scars of various sizes stretched across her skin; from jagged gashes to thin slices to uniform lines on her shoulders. Zoey presses her lips to those ones as she takes it all in, as she regulates her breathing so she doesn’t pass out.

 

She watches a shiver run down Rumi’s spine as Mira runs her finger over a mark that stretches from her shoulder to her collarbone, the rest of it hidden underneath the fabric of her shirt.

 

“You really are beautiful,” Mira murmurs and Rumi flushes a darker red.

 

She is. She’s so beautiful it’s honestly insane. Zoey can’t even begin to fathom how she got so lucky.

 

She lets out a small breath.

 

“I want you so bad,” Zoey says.

 

Rumi blinks. “What?”

 

“What?” Zoey echoes. “Did you hear that? Who said that?” Rumi looks at her with something akin to concern.

 

“Oh my god,” Mira groans. “I can’t believe I’m in love with both of you.”

 

“I didn’t even do anything,” Rumi frowns, and it’s adorable. 

 

“ Awwww ,” Zoey coos, slinging an arm over Rumi’s shoulder, “Mira loves us~! That’s so embarrassing, baby.”

 

“I know,” Mira dryly says.

 

“What? You’re not supposed to agree !”

 

“You’re the one who said it.”

 

“I have to go patrol,” Rumi cuts in.

 

“It’s barely been five minutes!” Zoey frowns.

 

Mira snickers. “She might burst into flames if she stays any longer.”

 

“That’s not true,” Rumi unconfidently denies. “I just…  need to go. Protect the city. Now.”

 

“Do you haaaave to?” Zoey bats her eyes with a pout. “Pleeeease, baby? Just a little longer?”

 

Rumi hesitates, but then Mira snorts and Rumi jumps to her feet. “You’re dangerous,” she says, jabbing a finger at her.

 

“You’re a workaholic,” Zoey retorts.

 

“And the city thanks you for it,” Mira solemnly says, a hand over her heart.

 

Rumi, predictably, flusters once again. “I’ll be back,” she mutters before rushing back towards her room, leaving Zoey and Mira in a comfortable silence.

 

“... I like your arms ,” Mira mocks. “Did you seriously say that?”

 

“ I panicked !” Zoey whines, throwing her head back not at all dramatically. “Did you see them? Did you ? Was I just supposed to ignore them? It would be criminal not to say anything. Criminal , Mira!”

 

“Oh, ‘cause you definitely don’t want to be a criminal when our girlfriend is Spider-Woman.”

 

“I’m not listening to you anymore,” Zoey says, clapping her hands over her ears.

 

“Rumi! Hi,” Mira greets, and Zoey immediately turns her head to face Rumi’s bedroom door. Rumi’s bedroom door, which is still closed, no Rumi in sight – just a snickering Mira.

 

“I’m breaking up with you,” Zoey lies, crossing her arms petulantly. Mira only laughs, closing the space between the two of them and wrapping an arm around Zoey and letting her lean her head on Mira’s shoulder.

 

When Rumi does come out, only a minute later, she’s in her purple Spider-Woman costume. It still makes Zoey breathless to see it, to know whose face is underneath the mask.

 

It strikes her again, just how strong Rumi is. How brave she is, doing what she does every day without fail. Zoey’s known that Rumi is the kindest person she’s ever met since they first interacted with each other, but each reminder is still startling. She didn’t think it was possible for such a kind soul to exist.

 

Rumi heads over to the living room window and stretches her arms out in preparation for the night. Zoey wishes she wasn’t wearing sleeves. Or her costume. Or anything, really, but she’ll keep that much to herself. Zoey and Mira get to their feet and walk over so they can see her off.

 

“Don’t stay out too late,” Mira lectures, the same words she says every time Rumi heads out. “And be safe. Don’t get involved in anything too dangerous.”

 

Rumi tilts her head, and Zoey can almost see the small smile that is surely on her lips. “I know. I’ll be careful.”

 

“We’ll have to check you over for injuries tomorrow,” Zoey says with great sobriety. “In the shower. Preferably with as little clothes as possible - just so we can see everything.”

 

A strangled noise sounds from the back of Rumi’s throat and she turns her back on them to open the window, climbing out without another word.

 

“Wait! Come back,” Zoey whines. Rumi, already out the window and sticking to the wall outside, hesitates. “No goodbye kiss?” Zoey asks, and she throws in a pout and her best puppy eyes for extra measure. Rumi falters, and Zoey knows she’s got her. “Not even for your favourite girlfriends?"

 

Rumi mutters something under her breath that Zoey can’t quite catch. She disappears for just the briefest moment, climbing up above the window and out of sight, before she’s suddenly dangling in front of them, upside down. Her braid sways in the light breeze, and it’s stupidly cool and kind of incredibly attractive

 

“Okay,” she acquiesces, and Zoey throws her hands up and cheers. Mira rolls her eyes, but Zoey knows her well enough to know she’s cheering on the inside. Zoey steps forward and pulls Rumi’s mask down just far enough so she can see her pretty lips and the tip of her nose. She can feel Rumi’s eyes burning into her and she loves it.

 

She brushes her thumb over a small scar on the bottom of Rumi’s chin, before leaning in and pressing their lips together. Rumi lets out a quiet sigh into her mouth, like the pressure is a relief, and Zoey’s heart skips a beat or two.

 

Zoey loves kissing her girlfriends. It might be one of her favourite things ever, second only to her girlfriends themselves. Rumi’s lips are so soft and she always tastes like the lavender lip balm that her aunt makes during the summer.

 

They pull apart, and Zoey’s heart feels full. She puts her hands on her hips, nods her head. “That should almost be enough good luck for tonight,” she decides, glancing over at Mira. “I guess Mira has to supply you with the rest of the good luck kisses.”

 

Rumi’s head turns to look at Mira, and moves closer and gently pulls her into a kiss. It’s slow and chaste, and the sight of Zoey’s two favourite people kissing makes her feel warm and giddy. She was worried - months ago, after she and Mira had confessed their crushes on Rumi to each other - that some part of her would react poorly to the sight of her girlfriend giving someone else that sort of attention. She thought some part of her might burn with jealousy to see someone being intimate with Mira in a way that only she has, to see Mira doing with Rumi what Zoey wished she could, but those feelings never actually emanated. Seeing them together just makes a warmth settle in Zoey’s chest, nestling deep in her heart.

 

When they pull away, Zoey can see that both of them are blushing. It’s adorable, how the both of them always get so flustered at any affection – especially Mira, who Zoey’s been dating for over two years, who always acts so cool and collected.

 

She loves them. She really, truly does – and they love her back. And if she thinks about all of that for too long, she’s sure she’ll start crying, so she clears her throat and waggles her fingers in Rumi’s direction.

 

“She’s blushing,” Zoey stage-whispers. “I think she likes us.”

 

Rumi’s hands quickly tug her mask back down so her face is fully covered again. “I have to go,” she squeaks out. “I have to - bye. I’ll see you later. I love you.”

 

With that she’s off, and Zoey watches as she swings away between buildings, effortless and elegant.

 

“Love you,” Zoey repeats, even though Rumi definitely can’t hear them anymore. She just wants to put it out there. It’s important.

 

Mira hums as Zoey leans against her side. The two of them always fret whenever Rumi leaves for patrol; it’s hard not to, knowing what she gets up to out there. Mira presses a kiss to the side of Zoey’s head, wrapping an arm around her waist.

 

“Do you want to watch something while we wait?” she asks, because the two of them always wait up for Rumi. It’s something they silently decided upon that first night Rumi went out after they defined their relationship. Rumi never asked them to - she insisted they didn’t, at first - but it makes them feel better to be there when she arrives home. To welcome her back, to look after her, to make sure she’s okay.

 

So the two of them curl up together on the couch, and Mira lets Zoey put on whatever she wants, and the two of them peacefully wait for their girlfriend to come back home.

Notes:

if you like my writing and you like polytrix.... i have another polytrix fic that's more angsty focused on rumi....... i'm pretty proud of how that one turned out if you want to check it out :) yay:) love and peace 💛 Also please be nice to me

Chapter 3

Summary:

Rumi's third and final mistake is turning her back. Getting too desperate for an escape. She doesn’t hear the footsteps sneaking up on her. Her spider-senses don’t even bother to warn her until it’s far too late, until she hears a gun cocking across the room.

Notes:

my immediate thought when i saw the spider-rumi headcanon was "oh her relationship with celine must be just like gwen and her father's in across the spider-verse" and i really Really liked that idea. but i had so much trouble writing it. i dont know why. im so happy to be done with this. amen

also this isn't beta read. to be so honest with you i am so tired of staring at this word document i think it sucked out all of my life force. so now you can have it. take it. please. Please.

Rumi’s first mistake is getting too comfortable. Getting complacent. Getting too distracted by her happiness to fully pay attention to everything going on around her. If she had paid just a bit more attention, she would’ve known it was a trap.

 

The group of men following that woman weren’t very convincing in their malicious intent, but Rumi assumed they were just inebriated. The woman being followed didn’t seem panicked in the slightest, even though she had looked over her shoulder to see them close behind multiple times.

 

(She just wanted to help. That’s what she does – she helps the people who can’t help themselves. That’s what she does because that’s what Celine does, because that’s what nobody did for her mother.)

 

Rumi was stupid for falling for it. She tried to interfere, only for the woman to pull out a police badge once Rumi subdued the stalkers. So she fled; and that is her second mistake.

 

Now she’s here, trapped on the top floor of this stupid abandoned building with police searching for her and no way to escape except a window that refuses to open. It must be sealed or rusted shut – no matter how hard Rumi tugs on it, it won’t budge. So she’s trapped, and she really doesn’t want to fight the police. She doesn’t want to give them another reason to hate her, despite the fact that she really hasn’t done anything to make them angry to begin with.

 

She bangs her fist against the glass. It doesn’t even crack.

 

“Who makes a window with, like, bulletproof glass ?” she mutters to herself as panic begins to rise in her chest. That has to be against safety regulations or something, right? Maybe? Or is this normal glass, and Rumi’s just way weaker than she thought?

 

She slams the window with the back of her elbow. The only thing it does is send a shock of pain through her arm.

 

It’s fine. She’ll be fine. She can figure out a way to escape this without fighting any police officers, without causing any more problems. She walks around the room on shaky legs, looking for any items to use, but the room is essentially empty. There’s nothing but spray-paint cans and cigarettes littering the ground.

 

Her third and final mistake is turning her back. Getting too desperate for an escape. She doesn’t hear the footsteps sneaking up on her. Her spider-senses don’t even bother to warn her until it’s far too late, until she hears a gun cocking across the room.

 

“Freeze!” a voice shouts, and Rumi’s entire body stops . Her bones lock up, her lungs stop working. The only thing that feels like it’s working is her heart, suddenly pounding in her chest like it’s trying to break through her ribcage. “Put your hands behind your head and turn around. Slowly. ”

 

Rumi can only do as she’s told. It’s like her brain has reverted back to her childhood, like she’s just a kid getting in trouble for breaking something. Her body moves on instinct, following the instructions she’s been given; how could she not do as told when Celine is telling her what to do?

 

The sight of Celine pointing a gun at her makes her feel sick. A wave of vertigo washes over her, and suddenly she feels so small . Suddenly, she’s six years old and standing over a broken vase, irrational fear pounding in her chest as she waits for Celine to shout. Suddenly, she’s thirteen and packing a suitcase for her first sleepover, only for Celine to tell her she’s not allowed to go because they’ll see her scars. Suddenly, she’s eighteen and apologizing to Celine for getting upset over Celine not showing up to her graduation.

 

Suddenly, she’s twenty-three and staring down the barrel of Celine’s pistol.

 

She can’t breathe. She can’t think.

 

“Spider-Woman,” Celine snarls, and Rumi has heard that tone before but never directed at her , “you’re under arrest for acts of vigilantism.”

 

Rumi needs to speak. She needs to defend herself. She needs to say something - anything - but her vocal cords won’t cooperate. All she can do is stare at Celine, at the woman who raised her, now pointing a weapon at her.

 

She was just trying to help. She did help. She’s spent her entire career as Spider-Woman saving people and helping them out. She’s never done anything wrong. But her voice refuses to work, her body refuses to let her explain herself.

 

“If you try to resist I will have no choice but to use force,” Celine continues, moving closer. With each step Celine takes, Rumi feels like the room is closing in on her a bit more.

 

Do something, she’s screaming in her mind, but her legs are locked in place and her lips refuse to part. She manages to make a noise, but it gets stuck in her throat and refuses to come out.

 

Her hands, still behind her head, twitch. It feels like her arms weigh a hundred pounds as she hesitantly moves them. If she can just take off her mask, then–

 

The sound of a gunshot makes her jolt. Celine’s gun is aimed just to the right of Rumi’s head.

 

It was a blank. It was just a warning shot. Still, the realization that Celine shot at her has her throat growing tight, her lungs straining as she suddenly can’t get in any oxygen.

 

Through the smoke escaping the muzzle of the gun, Celine’s face seems to contort into something different. Darker. Scarier.

 

All her life, Rumi’s just wanted Celine to look at her ; now she is, but it’s with repulsion. Disgust.

 

“I said freeze ,” Celine says. Rumi’s hands are shaking. Trembling. She couldn’t be still if she tried.

 

“Please,” the word slips out without Rumi even processing it, cracking midway through. “ Please ,” she repeats, like it’s the only thing she can say.

 

To Rumi’s surprise, Celine falters at that. Her gun lowers just the tiniest bit, her brows furrowing.

 

“Please,” Rumi whispers, moving her hands once again - slow, cautious, terrified. Celine’s eyes harden, her finger twitching towards the trigger, but she doesn’t do anything. Rumi doesn’t take it for granted, her fingers gingerly slipping under the bottom of her mask.

 

Celine’s eyes widen as Rumi slowly lifts her mask. Horror crosses her face. The noise she makes when Rumi fully pulls it off sounds warped, broken. The silence that follows makes Rumi’s ears ring. She still can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything except stand there with her mask loosely hanging from her hand.

 

Rumi doesn’t know much about her parents. She only knows what Celine has told her, and that’s never been a lot.

 

She knows that her mother is dead. She knows that it’s her father’s fault. She knows that when she was two years old and newly scarred and all the dust had settled, her mother was six feet under, her father was in prison, and Celine had devoted her life towards becoming a cop and keeping people safe.

 

(Rumi doesn’t know much about her parents, but she does know that sometimes, Celine wishes Rumi was someone else.

 

It’s okay. Sometimes, Rumi wishes Celine was that same person. That’s just the cycle of grief that they’re stuck in.)

 

Rumi wonders what Celine sees now, across the room and staring her down. She wonders who she resembles more; Ryu Miyeong, who everyone has told Rumi she looks like an exact replica of; or her father, who Celine would accuse Rumi of looking like with contempt when she got too upset, when Rumi messed up too badly.

 

Rumi wonders if maybe - just maybe - Celine actually sees her .

 

(The gun is still pointed at her; if Celine is truly seeing Rumi and still pointing that weapon at her, isn’t that a bad thing? A double-edged sword? Does Rumi actually want Celine to be seeing her right now, or would that only make the hurt worse?)

 

“No,” Celine murmurs. Her head minusculely shakes side to side, more of a twitch than anything. “ No . Rumi…”

 

Rumi’s eyes burn. Sting. Ache. Her throat is dry. “I’m sorry,” she manages to choke out. “I’m so sorry, Celine, please …”

 

She doesn’t know what she’s pleading for. Forgiveness, maybe? For Celine to put the gun down? A chance to escape? 

 

She doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.

 

“Not you,” Celine says, begs. “Anyone but you.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Rumi repeats. The words barely make it past the lump in her throat.

 

“ Rumi ,” Celine whispers mournfully, “it can’t be you.”

 

It is. It always has been. Rumi figured that Celine would find out one day, but she always hoped it would be years from now. She always hoped the impact would be lesser.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You know that the police want to see you behind bars,” Celine says. “I’ve complained about Spider-Woman more times than I can count to you, and - and you still did this? You’re still doing this?”

 

I’m sorry , Rumi thinks, but her vocal cords have gone back to being useless. There’s no point in saying those words anymore, anyway. They’ve probably lost all meaning.

 

The radio on Celine’s hip crackles. “All units report in. Does anyone have eyes on Spider-Woman?”

 

Celine stares at Rumi. Rumi stares back. Nausea churns in her gut. Slowly, Celine lowers her gun. Rumi wants to feel relieved as it gets tucked back into its holster, but all she can think about is how long Celine pointed it at her despite knowing who Rumi was.

 

“Go,” Celine whispers, so quiet Rumi almost doesn’t hear it.

 

Rumi blinks. She hesitates. Her lungs are still working overtime, her skin feeling too tight. She’s light-headed and dizzy and her vision is blurring from either the tears of the hyperventilating.

 

“ Go ,” Celine repeats, this time as an order. “Get out of here, Rumi. Now .”

 

Her feet are rooted to the ground. Her brain is a jumbled mess of incoherent, half-formed thoughts. She feels like she’s dying.

 

Celine unclips her radio from her hip and brings it to her mouth with a trembling hand, sorrowful eyes remaining on Rumi’s face. “Calling all units,” she speaks into it, tone wavering only once, “I have Spider-Woman cornered on the third floor. Requesting back-up.” The radio crackles. Voices reply in affirmation. Celine drops it to the ground.

 

Rumi doesn’t have it in her to feel betrayed. This is Celine’s job, her promised duty. Celine swore to protect her city ever since Rumi’s mother was killed, and she knows how important that vow is. She wouldn’t break it just for Rumi.

 

Celine takes in a shaking breath, lips twitching downwards. “You have to go, Rumi,” she says, defeated.

 

Rumi has to go. She knows . Celine is giving her a chance, a headstart, and Rumi needs to take it. But her feet are stuck and her lungs ache and her head is spinning, and all she can do is stare.

 

Celine’s eyebrows furrow, crease her forehead. She looks like she’s holding back tears, but that can’t be true — Rumi has never seen Celine cry. She certainly wouldn’t cry over Rumi of all things.

 

“ Please ,” Celine begs, broken and desperate, filled with far more emotion than Rumi has ever seen her express, and—

 

And Rumi moves. Something in that plea breaks her free from whatever was holding her in place. She backs away on weak legs, stumbling over nothing like a baby deer. She tugs her mask back down over her face, and her back hits the wall. Her eyes shift to the window that’s sealed shut beside her, then back to Celine.

 

Her ears pick up on the sound of stomping feet rapidly approaching. Celine tenses at the sound, and Rumi watches as her face shifts back to one of stony silence.

 

The room is still spinning. Rumi’s ears are ringing. Her skin crawls and itches and aches.

 

She turns away, and throws herself through the window. The glass shatters around her as she quickly drops into a freefall. Her stomach drops, and she’s grateful for it; it’s a change from the fear, from the numbness that had been beginning to encroach upon her fingertips. She catches herself last minute, a second too close to the ground, and begins to swing home as fast as she can.

 

Sirens are still wailing. She hears voices shouting. People wave as she passes, but she barely notices them. In her mind’s eyes, all she can see is Celine and her gun.

 

She doesn’t feel like herself. She barely feels human. She can’t feel the wind on her body, can’t hear anything as the ringing in her ears grows louder. It feels like someone has her lungs in a vice grip. The world is spinning too fast and she’s far too slow, unable to keep up. Her life is being squeezed out of her and she can’t do anything to prevent it.

 

Celine knows. Celine knows . Celine pointed a gun at her. Celine shot at her.

 

The little amount of breath she has is knocked out of her lungs as she lands hard on the floor. Her vision is blurry as she scrambles to her knees. Something is blocking the air from getting into her lungs. Her throat aches . Her entire body is buzzing like a live wire, pins and needles prodding every inch of her skin.

 

A pair of hands wrap around her own, gently tugging them away from her neck. The warmth snaps her back into her body. Two black and pink blobs hover in front of her, and oh , Rumi is home. She doesn’t know how she made it here.

 

Zoey is holding her hands. Rumi is trembling so severely that the aftershocks are wracking Zoey as well. The world is fuzzy, growing dark at the edges. Dots dance in her vision. Her mask is gently tugged off of her head. Rumi doesn’t look to see where it’s discarded.

 

“Hey, hey,” Mira murmurs, gentle hands cupping Rumi’s face, but she sounds like she’s underwater, “breathe, alright? With me. In,” she takes in a long breath and Rumi tries her best to copy, “and out.”

 

Her breath catches in her throat and she chokes on it. She desperately wants to follow Mira’s instructions, to ease the worry she knows she’s causing them, but all she can think about is Celine’s gun leveled with her head. All she can think about is the thundering sound of the gunshot, the flash of the blank.

 

All she can think about is Celine , the closest thing Rumi has ever had to a mother, to a family , calling for backup even after seeing Rumi’s face. She saw Rumi standing in front of her and she still alerted the others to her location.

 

She let Rumi get away, but she still called for backup. She still knows .

 

Celine knows .

 

Celine has never been the best parent, but Rumi knows she tried her best with what she was given. She knows that Celine never asked for her, that she only felt dutybound to Rumi because she loved her mother, but she still tried . She was still good. She still loved Rumi and took care of her, bought her toys and took her to carnivals, played with her and made her favourite foods just because.

 

But now, Celine knows Rumi’s deepest secret. Celine knows that they’re on opposite sides. Celine knows that Rumi is the person that’s been causing her trouble for years.

 

So how is Rumi supposed to go on? What is she supposed to do? Celine knows where Rumi lives - of course she does, why wouldn’t she? What is she going to do? Is she going to show up at their door and arrest Rumi? Is she going to bring other officers with her? Is she going to break down the door, dragging Mira and Zoey into it?

 

She doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know how she’s supposed to continue on with her life now. She doesn’t know how to breathe .

 

“Come on, baby,” a voice calls, gentle and quiet and so, so far away, “just focus on us, ‘kay? We’ve got you.”

 

It feels like the world is crumbling around her. Her mind just keeps coming back to Celine. Celine, the person who’s stuck by Rumi the longest. Celine, the only connection Rumi has left to her mother. Celine, who loved her because she had to but raised her by choice. Celine, the only person who’s truly loved Rumi despite knowing whose blood runs in her veins.

 

Celine, who Rumi has betrayed. Celine, who will never love Rumi again.

 

And if the woman who raised Rumi, the only person who’s supposed to love her can’t love her anymore, then who’s to say that Mira and Zoey won’t stop loving her too? If the woman who is basically Rumi’s mother can’t love her own child, then who else is supposed to?

 

Rumi is bad . Rumi is wrong .

 

Rumi’s entire life has been ruined in the span of twenty minutes.

 

She hears her girlfriends continue to speak, but she can’t process any of it. She doesn’t know if she wants to. Maybe they’re realizing how terrible she is. Maybe they’re realizing that she’s a mistake. Maybe they–

 

There’s warmth. Wrapped up on both sides, Rumi feels warmth . She feels the thump of two heartbeats in sync reverberating through her body, feels puffs of air through the fabric of her suit as they take calming breaths. Someone is rubbing soothing circles on her back - Mira, she recognizes from the feeling of her palm. Zoey’s hands are still intertwined with Rumi’s, soft and steady.

 

They’re here. They’re still here.

 

Rumi closes her eyes. She tries her best to copy their slow breaths. Zoey gently squeezes her hands and Mira murmurs praise with every successful breath she takes. She slowly comes back to herself, lungs still aching with the strain of before and vision still a bit fuzzy as she opens her eyes. Her hands still shake with leftover tremors, fingers twitching with remnants of her anxiety, but she recognizes where she is now: the living room. She’s on her knees in front of the window, Mira and Zoey huddled close to her.

 

Rumi squeezes Zoey’s hands back. She takes in a long, deep breath, still a bit shaky on the exhale.

 

“There we go,” Mira murmurs, pressing a kiss to Rumi’s shoulder.

 

“There’s our girl,” Zoey smiles, and despite everything, Rumi feels her face flush. 

 

Her heart is still beating faster than normal in her chest. Her breath is still a bit short. She offers them the best smile she can anyways. They grimace at the sight of it, and Rumi tries not to feel offended.

 

“Hi,” she croaks out, and her voice sounds like she’s spent the past hour swallowing glass and sand.

 

“Hi,” Zoey softly returns. She brings Rumi’s right hand to her mouth, pressing a delicate kiss to the back of it. “Welcome back.”

 

Rumi still feels a bit nauseous. If she thinks too much about everything that just happened, the panic starts to build up again, so she tries not to.

 

“What happened?” Mira asks, soft and sweet.

 

Rumi doesn’t know how to put it into words. She doesn’t know how to say that one of her worst nightmares came true. She doesn’t know, so all she says is, “Celine.”

 

“Oh,” Zoey says. “Fuck.”

 

“ Zoey ,” Mira chides, smacking her on the arm, and the way Zoey’s face contorts into one of shocked remorse as she stutters out an apology startles a huff of laughter from the back of Rumi’s throat.

 

“She’s right,” Rumi agrees, voice coming out weak and shaky. “Fuck.”

 

Mira’s gaze hardens as she looks over Rumi, but she can see the sheer amount of worry behind her eyes. “Are you hurt?”

 

“No,” Rumi replies instantaneously. Celine would never hurt her – not physically, not on purpose. “No, I - I’m okay.”

 

“You’re obviously not ,” Mira retorts, “but, if you’re uninjured…”

 

Rumi offers them another smile, weaker, but this one doesn’t make them grimace so she assumes it’s good enough. “Not a scratch.”

 

Zoey hums. “You have a few scratches,” she states, and Rumi looks down at herself.

 

There are some small scratches on her arms, tiny rips in her suit that must’ve formed when she jumped out the window. She didn’t feel them. Still doesn’t, really, but that might be because the adrenaline is still pumping through her veins.

 

“Some scratches,” she acquiesces, to which Mira rolls her eyes. She’s smiling, though, so Rumi takes it as a win.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up before you die of blood loss, or something,” Mira mutters, pushing herself to her feet. Zoey cheerily hops up beside her, and the two of them are oh-so gentle as they help Rumi stand, as they walk her down the hall to the bathroom.

 

They touch her like she’s made of glass. Like she’ll shatter if they use too much pressure. Rumi’s not entirely unsure that's true. They strip her from her suit with gentle hands, clean her tiny cuts with a care Rumi feels undeserving of. They’re nothing but soft and sweet as they dress her in pajamas - a mix of their own clothes, Mira’s too-long pants and Zoey’s too-small sweater.

 

It’s comfortable. It makes her still-racing heart calm down just a little, makes it pound with something other than panic.

 

They stick close to her as they get her into bed, crawling in alongside her. They cuddle close to her side, wedging her in the middle, as Zoey pulls out her phone and starts playing videos for them all to watch. Mira keeps a hand rested on Rumi’s hip, thumb rubbing small circles on her skin. Zoey has her free arm wrapped around Rumi’s waist, head leaning on her shoulder.

 

It’s warm. It’s comfortable. It’s what safety feels like, she thinks. What love feels like.

 

It’s a stark reminder of what she still has. What she’s lucky enough to have. A reminder that despite what happened with Celine, she still has two people in her corner. She still has two people who want her.

 

Rumi closes her eyes as she leans into the warmth of her girlfriends, and she hopes beyond hope that their company will scare away any dreams of what happened.

Notes:

thank you for reading :)

ending is kind of rushed but like i said i got so tired of staring at this. this chapter made me mad. But please be nice to me. pretty please. i'm so kind and pure of heart. i'm so jolly and joyous. i'm going to a con tomorrow/this weekend and i need people to be nice to me so i don't succumb to con exhaustion. Peace and love. have a good day. Mwah<3

Notes:

thank you for reading :) please be nice to me. please. please. Please. it's all i have.