The Butterfly Effect: a Peter Parker Fan Fic

Part 47; Wings

The best feeling in the world is when you look at that special person and they are already smiling at you ~ Anonymous

We were given the night to settle in. Since dad and Rory live and breathe the lab, they slept here, in a small apartment-type place on the top floor. And since there were only two of them, that left only two bedrooms with one bed each. No matter how much we all protested, Rory insisted on taking the single couch in the living room. So that left four of us with two beds.

Cam was still having nightmares and neither Peter nor I would be able to comfort him in case he woke up during the night and besides, mom and I felt guilty if Peter had to wake up to do so. They aren't so closely acquainted. Mom sharing a room with Peter would be a strange combination. So mom and Cam slept in Rory's room and what did that leave?

Peter and I sleeping in the same room.

Of course, this has happened before. At his house when I was kicked out. We slept on bunk beds. This time, there were definitely no bunk beds. Only the one double bed and the floor with no blow-up mattress and no extra blankets. For a while, the two of us sat on the edge of the bed and tried to put two of our minds together to from an alternative idea, one that wouldn't put his relationship in jeopardy and one that wouldn't cause one of us to sleep on the ground.

But alas, there were no such solutions. If I used my selfishness to choose, I would choose the both of us sleeping in the bed. If I used my selflessness to choose, I would choose for Peter to sleep on the bed and me on the floor. Neither seems logical, especially with his stubbornness.

We both fell asleep on single chairs in the living room.

The following morning, the day the lawyer is paying us a visit, Rory schedules a tour for mom, Cam and Peter around the entire lab so that the two of us can catch up in person about everything.

The coffee machine begins to whir and she gestures towards the barstool, "come sit." I obey, never daring to do otherwise to Rory. She rests her arms on the kitchen island and leans over, making the conversation feel more secluded even if there's no one else around here. "So how has everything been?" she asks broadly.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," I respond with a small smile. All of these major events are typical for me now.

She seems to understand the sarcasm and shakes her head in amusement as she hands me a cup of coffee, "are you nervous for today?"

I don't respond, but my facial expressions make how I'm feeling very clear. My eyes focus intently on the brown liquid inside of the mug instead of her question. Am I nervous? I don't know. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I'm just dreading it. This lab is a legacy in our family, but I don't want the lab. I don't want it. I don't want it even one bit. My insides quench at the thought of it.

"It's okay to be nervous. I am too. Just don't--"

"--I don't want the lab," I state firmly.

Rory's face contorts into something between shock and confusion, but before she can even respond, the doorbell sounds. Her eyes lose their focus from me and she glances down at her watch. "It's already eleven?" she gasps and then looks up at me frowning, "I thought that we had more time..."

I shrug it off, "it's okay. We have more time later. For now, let's go and get the lab."

The lawyer resembles the exact stereotype of a lawyer. He's a middle-aged man, his gray-blonde hair gelled perfectly to the side. He wears square glasses and a crisp, black suit, no wrinkles present on there... but there are some on his face, signs of him aging. And of course, he carries a brown briefcase with him. Sometimes I wonder if there is actually anything inside of the ones that important people carry. Maybe they're empty but they carry them just to make them seem important, which it does accomplish on many occasions.