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Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 8 - Purely Coincidence

Chapter Summary: Cat starts classes at Midtown High, where she recognizes a certain someone.

Chapter Warnings: None

Notes: This is for everyone wanting more Peter! Let me know if there is something else you want to see too! Updates are slow as I’m on vacation right now but I’ll try to crank out what I can!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

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March - One week later - Rosewood Elementary

“You’re gonna be taking classes at the high school?” T.J. said incredulously.

“Yup.”

“Are you a genius or something?” Lance demanded.

“Pretty much,” Cat said. “But I’m still gonna be coming here, only Mr. Radd from the office is driving me to the high school for a couple of classes a day.”

Lance’s eyes were wide. “Whoa.”

To her surprise and slight pleasure, Cat had slotted in well with her table group. T.J. came off as sweet and quiet, but Cat found out that he had his share of eye-rolling and wry side comments. This was especially present during Chelsea’s long rants about the most frivolous inconveniences, like how she found the school’s water fountains “disgusting” and “unseemly” for a person “of her stature.”

Lance had been right about Chelsea. Seriously, the girl thought she was a big deal or something. Most everyone at the school was well-off— Cat didn’t know why Natasha had chosen to enroll her in such a preppy elementary school— but Chelsea’s parents were dripping in wealth, a fact that Chelsea liked to shove in everyone’s faces. They dressed her up like a doll, in frilly, pastel clothes and matching shoes. Coupled with her auburn curls and doe eyes, she looked like a princess. A spoiled, smack-talking, evil-hearted princess.

Every time Chelsea made a Chelsea-like comment, Lance and Cat would lock eyes and exchange a series of silent mocking, which made her presence bearable. Meanwhile, Lance and Cat got along like a house on fire. He was the class troublemaker— a position that Cat both respected and was vying for. However, Cat’s quick wit and cutting remarks balanced them out.

Their table group was located at the furthest corner of the classroom, making it an ideal location for hushed conversations during boring lessons. Currently, Mrs. Reynolds was lecturing the class about negative numbers. The worksheets they’d been given were things Cat could’ve finished in her sleep.

“How are you so smart?” T.J. asked.

Cat tapped her head. “Perfect memory. I can remember stuff like that.” She emphasized the last part of her sentence by snapping.

“That’s not even possible,” Chelsea dismissed. “There’s no such thing as a perfect memory.”

Cat turned on her. “Explain to me how I have one, then.”

“You don’t, obviously.”

“I so do.”

“Don’t!”

“Do!”

“Cat, Chelsea,” Mrs. Reynolds warned from the front of the class, stopping mid-lecture. Half the class turned to look at them. This was a common occurrence. “Are you paying attention?”

“Sorry, Mrs. Reynolds,” Chelsea simpered, widening her eyes innocently. Her entire persona had changed in less than a second. “It won’t happen again.”

“Suck-up,” Cat muttered once Mrs. Reynolds had turned.

“Least I’m not a liar,” Chelsea fired back.

“I’m not a liar. I can prove it.”

“Don’t bother. It’s ridiculous, anyway,” Chelsea said, crossing her arms. “You’re just trying to get attention.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Which high school is it?” T.J. intervened smoothly, like he’d done a hundred times.

“Midtown School of Science and Technology,” Cat replied, throwing Chelsea a smug smile.

Lance perked up. “My sister goes there! It’s a really fancy school.”

“If it’s called a ‘School of Science and Technology’, don’t they only teach science and technology there?” Chelsea asked. “How’re you gonna learn math and social studies? You’ll be so behind.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Cat retorted scathingly. “Obviously they teach math, too. Just because it’s a science and technology school doesn't mean—”

“GIRLS!” Mrs. Reynolds yelled tiredly from the front of the classroom. “Don’t make me separate you two!”

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

March - that day - Midtown High

The boy in her chemistry class was definitely staring at her.

Actually, half the class was staring at her, due to the lovely introduction Mrs. Whatsherface (Cat hadn’t caught her name) was currently giving her.

“Class, this is our new student, Cat. She’s only ten years old and she’s going to be attending Midtown High for the rest of the year. Now, you’re all responsible high schoolers. I expect all of you to welcome her warmly. I don’t want to hear about any mistreatment going on behind my back…”

Cat zoned out. She’d heard a similar speech given in her Algebra and English classes. Here’s the weird freaky-smart fourth-grader, please don’t eat her alive. So she was used to the staring by now. That didn’t mean it had stopped freaking her out. She wasn’t going to lie and say she wasn’t intimidated by the high schoolers. They were so much taller and older than her. They felt like giants. They talked about things that she didn’t know the slightest about.

Some of the nice ones tried to befriend her, but these occasions were more awkward than not. They tended to talk to her like she was their five-year-old cousin at Thanksgiving dinner, which did not make a strong friendship foundation. Cat just stared at them until they backed away slowly. And so the staring continued.

But the boy wasn’t staring at her in the judgemental, why-are-you-here way she’d grown accustomed to. Instead, he looked confused. His brow was wrinkled as if he wasn’t sure which item to order off the menu at a restaurant. His gaze followed her as Mrs. Whatsherface gestured for her to take a seat at the same table as his.

A Filipino kid next to the boy gave her a friendly smile. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Ned.” He glanced at the boy and nudged him.

The boy started. “I’m Peter.”

He looked away then, but Cat was aware of his frequent glances towards her as Mrs. Whatsherface started the lesson. She ignored it, instead focusing on scribbling down notes in the lab notebook as required and writing observations in the worksheet that had been passed out. She had never learned the material before; it was all very interesting. Still, Peter’s staring was getting a lot less subtle.

Cat’s head finally snapped up, returning his gaze with an unblinking stare of her own. “What is it?”

“Sorry,” he said immediately, head falling back down to his work.

When his eyes found its way back to her less than a minute later, she hissed, “What?”

“Sorry,” he repeated, looking away. “I just thought I recognized you.”

As he spoke, Cat thought she might’ve recognized him too.

Ever since she was little, Cat had been able to recall the exact pitch and inflection of any voice she’d ever heard. That statement, and the sound of his voice, triggered something in her memory. The boy’s voice was a lot more subdued and quiet from when she’d heard it last, but her memory had never failed her before. It only took her thirteen and a half seconds to correctly match the voice to the person.

Spider-Man.

Cat had to physically restrain herself from gasping and yelling something out that wouldn’t be appropriate in a school setting. It took an impressive amount of self-control to bite the inside of her cheek, give the boy a weird look and shrug as nothing had happened, and turn back to her work. But instead of writing down the answer to number 5 on the lab worksheet, Cat stared blankly at the page, an internal turmoil whirling inside of her.

She trusted her memory, but she couldn’t help thinking, Seriously? This high schooler, of all people? This is… Spider-Man? No— more accurately— Spider-Boy .

When she’d met him, she’d guessed that he was young, but she hadn’t thought he’d still be in high school. That was… young, right? Or was that normal? Cat thought back to the Avengers she’d met— Hawkeye had for sure been older than a high schooler. He’d looked about the same age as Trevor. Cat knew Natasha was kind of young, which made sense. You couldn’t fight aliens and robots if you had aching bones and stiff knees.

But still— a high schooler? In the grand scheme of things, that was barely older than her. How old were high schoolers again? Fourteen to eighteen?

Cat risked a look up at him. Peter was scribbling on the page, almost done with the problems on the worksheet. He had brown hair with a slight curl to it, and eyes without the slightest hint of malice in them. He wore a crewneck sweatshirt over a collared shirt. He dressed like a stereotypical nerd, but Cat noticed he was built athletically and had a slight, yet muscular figure. Despite this, he didn’t look anything like what she’d expect a superhero to look.

For example, Cat could tell just by looking at Natasha that she was an Avenger. Even out of her Black Widow garb and dressed in civilian clothes, she was strikingly intimidating and gave off an important, self-assured air. Peter looked like any random high schooler. Not even any random high schooler— a high schooler who was made fun of by bullies.

Like a lightbulb turning on, Cat recalled something interesting that had taken place outside of class. She’d been on her way to class, when a preppy-looking boy— Flash, his friends had called him— rolled up in an expensive car, jeering at Peter. They yelled out names at him. One had stood out to Cat— “Penis Parker.” The insult was neither funny nor creative, but it made Flash’s hoard of goonies roar with laughter. Peter had ignored them, but it was clear he was used to this kind of charade.

“Now you’re the one staring at me,” Peter/Spider-Boy said, and Cat realized with a start that she’d been caught.

“Yeah, uh,” Cat stalled, still frazzled by the realization. “I think I recognize you too.”

At this seemingly innocent statement, Peter's eyes widened, and a look of wild panic passed over his face. He started stammering. “Uh— wait, really? That’s, um, that’s so weird.”

He suddenly launched into a coughing fit, bent-double over the table. Ned clapped him on the back, hard. Peter lurched forward and his lab goggles came off. In one swift, fluid motion, he swiped them before they could smash onto the floor. Mrs. Whatsherface hurried over to make sure everything was okay as Peter’s coughing subsided. While this happened, Cat couldn’t help but feel a bit unimpressed with him. Was he really this bad at disguising his reactions? If Cat hadn’t already figured it out by then, she would have certainly been suspicious of his actions.

“Dude,” Ned muttered, “you good?”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good,” Mrs. Whatsherface said, relieved. She looked over his worksheet and smiled at him. “Done already? Keep it up, Peter.”

Peter, Cat thought. The name echoed in her head. Peter Parker.

She knew Spider-Man’s real identity.

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Cat was not stalking Peter Parker.

She just happened to be walking in the same direction as him when she saw him leaving campus. And followed him when he turned a corner. And idled on the same street when he stopped to pay a vendor for a hot dog. And… okay, maybe she was stalking Peter Parker.

But Cat was curious. Questions had been springing up in her head all day. Had she gotten it wrong, or was Peter Parker really Spider-Man? And if he was, how did he do it all— manage school and Spider-Man-ing? When Cat wanted to find something out, there was nothing she wouldn’t push out of her path to get to it.

She was careful to stay a few paces behind him, but he seemed to know someone was following him. His strides became longer and hastier, and he frequently cast looks behind his shoulder. He never saw Cat— she was too short to be quickly picked out from the crowded sidewalk, but she could tell he was wary.

Eventually, he stopped. He crossed the street and headed into a library. Cat lingered at the steps of the library for a few moments, waiting to see if he would come out. When it became clear that he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon, she followed him in.

A rush of warmth hit her as she came in through the doors. She hadn’t been in this particular library before. It was small, colorful, and cozy. She did some exploring, wandering the shelves while keeping an eye out for Peter. There were beanbags and bright stuffed animals in the children’s section. A row of computers lined a table. There was a section of tables in the corner of the library. And finally— there!

Spotting a head of brown curls, Cat crouched behind a shelf of books and watched him. He was sitting alone at an isolated table, scribbling in a notebook. Earbuds were hanging from his ears, and his head was bobbing to the beat. There was a laptop open in front of him. Every now and then, he would punch numbers into a calculator. He looked like he was doing his Algebra homework. Not doing any things that screamed, Hey, look! I’m Spider-Man!

Cat looked away, disappointed. Her gaze fell on a small nub of an eraser lying on a table. She got an idea. Palming the eraser, she walked closer to Peter’s table, positioning herself so that she was perpendicularly behind him. The section of tables was mostly empty. There was only a sprinkling of people, none seated near Peter’s table, all so concentrated on their work that they paid her no attention.

Cat rolled the eraser around in her fingers, peering at the boy. Her aim was usually dead-on— she had an uncanny knack for darts. She lined up her arm to her target, and lobbed the eraser at Peter. The eraser had barely left her hand before there was a flash of movement. Cat, expecting it, saw it as if it happened in slow motion.

The calculator dropped onto the table with a clatter. Peter spun around in his chair, almost faster than Cat could comprehend, and caught the eraser inches before it hit his face. His eyes flitted across the room, searching for the thrower. It didn’t take him long to find her. It wasn’t Cat’s intention to hide— and even if it was, there was hardly anything to hide behind. She looked right into his eyes, and saw the suspicion replaced by startled confusion.

She walked up to him. He was a lot taller up close. He looked at her, clearly expecting an explanation for randomly chucking an eraser at his head. She was instantly seized with a bout of anxiety. Perhaps she should have prepared a speech. What was she planning to say to him? She fumbled for the right words. It had to be the right combination of intelligence, humor, and comprehensiveness. She couldn’t mess this up.

“Hi,” she said.

Nailed it.

“Hi,” he responded reflexively.

“I’m Cat. We have the same chem.”

“I know.” He glanced behind him, towards the doors of the library. A frown came over his face. “I’m confused. Did you follow me here?”

“Kind of. Maybe. Well, yes. Nice catch, by the way,” she added.

He held up the eraser. “Did you—”

“I did, yeah.” Now what? “Listen. I know you’re Spider-Man,” she whispered impulsively, in a volume so low that she could barely hear herself.

Peter seemed to have heard her as clearly as if she’d just shouted it across the room. He jerked away from her like she told him that she had a contagious disease. His mouth opened, then snapped shut with a close. His head snapped from side to side, his eyes darting across the room again, making sure no one had heard.

He leaned in closer, and Cat could tell he was about to deny it. “That’s not—”

“And there’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind,” she said hastily, talking over him, “because I’m completely sure about it. And you know me, you said yourself you recognize me, because you saved my—”

He made a series of frantic waving motions with his hands, eyes bugged out of his head. “Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa! SHHHHH!”

In the stillness of the library, his wild movements and volume caused a series of heads to swivel towards them to see what all the fuss was about.

“Sorry,” Peter whispered, and they all collectively turned back.

“Very smooth,” Cat murmured.

He looked around nervously. “We should go somewhere else to talk.”

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“I like your backpack,” Peter said, once they were both settled into the furthest part of the alley. “It’s very—”

“Ugly and pink. And don’t try to change the subject! It won’t change the fact that I know you’re—”

“Okay, okay, okay!” Peter raised his hands up hastily, then lowered his voice. “Could you maybe not say those words out loud?”

“Why? What’s gonna happen? Is a lightning bolt going to strike me out of the sky?” Cat looked up at the clear blue sky and held up her arms, fully expecting this exact scenario to happen.

“What? No! I just don’t want people to know who I am.”

“So you admit it? That you’re…” Cat leaned in closer to him, so that her mouth was inches away from his ear. “Spider-Boy ?”

He sighed in defeat. “Spider-Man.”

“Hardly,” she dismissed, pulling back. “You’re barely older than me.”

“Hey!” Peter protested. “I saved your life.”

Cat felt pleasantly surprised that he’d really remembered her. “You remember?”

“Of course. You were the girl being mugged in an alley by those jerks. You had a cute little beagle.”

“Her name’s Taco.”

“Looks like your eye healed up all right.” His eyes scrunched up. “Didn’t you say you were homeless? How are you in school? And why are you at my school? And why did you follow me?”

“It’s a long story. And it’s purely coincidence, I promise. I’m not, like, a crazy stalker or anything. I was just curious.”

“But you did stalk me to the library,” he pointed out.

“That’s besides the point.”

“So what is the point?”

“The point is, Spider-Boy—”

“Peter,” he interrupted. “Don’t call me that. Call me Peter.”

“Fine, Peter. The point is, I’m awesome and I figured out that you’re…” Cat leaned closer for a second time. Dramatically, she whispered, “ Spider-Man .”

He cocked his head at her. “Right, that. How did you figure it out?”

“Your voice. All high pitched and squeaky. Kind of hard to forget.”

“Hold on.” He put his hands up, stopping her. “You recognized who I was… by my voice?”

“Don’t be too flattered. I’ve remembered every voice I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Remember that thing I told you about the voice modulator? You should really get on to changing it, because someone super smart like me could figure you out just by hearing your real voice.”

“That’s crazy,” Peter repeated. “This whole thing is crazy. Your memory must be nuts. Is that why you go to Midtown? Are you a child prodigy?”

“I mean, I don’t want to sound too boastful, but… yeah, basically.”

“That’s… kind of awesome.” He shook his head. “But this is so weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

There was a moment of tense silence where they just looked at each other. Cat wasn’t entirely sure what was going on. Was there anything going on? She’d nearly revealed Spider-Man’s real identity in a public library, dragged him to an uncomfortable hiding spot, and forced him to admit the truth to her. She felt a little bad about inconveniencing him. But now what? What had she been planning to do after capturing his attention?

“Sorry if this was creepy,” Cat blurted. “Is this creepy?”

“It’s a little creepy,” he confirmed. “But not bad-creepy.” He considered that for a moment. “Also not good-creepy. It’s more of an in-the-middle creepy.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it’s not. It’s creepy.”

“It’s not that creepy. You know what— let’s just stop saying the word ‘creepy.’”

“Agreed.”

Something shifted about him. He was suddenly wary, nervous. He regarded her carefully. “Hey. You aren’t going to tell anyone about this, right? About me being… you know?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I mean, I don’t get why you wanna keep it all a secret. If I were you, I’d swing around and shove it up everyone’s faces.” She widened her eyes at him earnestly. “But if you don’t want me to tell, I won’t tell.”

“You swear? It’s really important to me that you swear.”

Cat held out her pinky. “I not only swear— I pinky swear.”

He linked his pinky with it. “Just to be clear, this means you won’t tell anyone. Not your teacher, not even your closest friends.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Obviously, because that would fall under the definition of ‘anyone.’”

He went on. “Because this is super important—”

“Spider-Boy!” she yelled at him, a little offended. That effectively shut him up. “Are you doubting my promise-keeping abilities?”

“Yeah. A little.”

“Well, don’t! I am an excellent promise-keeper.”

He raised his hands defensively. “Okay, I believe you! Just making sure.”

After a moment, Cat asked, “I can’t even tell Taco?”

He thought about it. “You can tell Taco.”

“Yay!” She checked her watch, and her mood did an instant one-eighty. “Oh, crap!”

“What?”

Cat grabbed her backpack from the ground. “Crap!”

“What is it?” Peter asked, now alarmed.

Crapcrapcrapcrap. She’d forgotten about her promise to Natasha to meet her at the apartment after school for her first fighting lesson.

“I have to be somewhere,” she yelled to Peter as she booked it out of that alley. “See you in chem!”

“Okay!” he yelled after her. “This was very weird!”

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Notes: Yay for more Peter and Cat! Let me know if there are other things you want to see! And please continue to like/reblog/comment if you’re enjoying the story so far! They motivate me so so much while I’m writing. Thank you!

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