Frostbite

Shades

Of course his Parker Luck would strike when it came to this. Yeah, he'd put on the necklace knowing what he was getting into, but—but he didn't expect her to show up literally three whole hours after he left the apartment.

When Peter first went out to help Mrs. Watson-Price, he'd noticed the black haired customer down the bar. She was a pretty older woman who looked like a CEO who ruled her company with an iron fist. She sat alone as she sipped her drink and observed the rest of the bar with this sort of high class that everyone else definitely didn't have. He thought it was weird she was here, but his spidey sense never went off so he let her be and helped Mrs. Watson-Price with everything that needed to be done for in-person requests for Gold Cards.

He'd felt her gaze on him a couple times and he chalked it up to her own curiosity. The age thing threw a lot of new patrons in for a loop, but once they got past it they usually ignored him or got used to him being Ferret: Dish Boy Extraordinaire.

And the least he could do while working there was to get to know the regulars at Sister Margaret's and make the newcomers feel comfortable, so after he handed over Mrs. Watson-Price's case over to Mr. Weasel, he walked down the bar to ask the lady if she needed anything. Because why would anything go wrong because of that.

"Peter."

His name wasn't uttered loud enough for anyone else to pick up, but hearing it felt like a lightning bolt striking through him and his mouth went dry. The woman's eyes were sharp and green and sad, and he held onto the edge of the island table to keep himself steady.

"Do you remember me?"

His eyes darted around the bar. Mr. Weasel and Mrs. Watson-Price were talking, the mercs were settling down after the brawl, half of everyone here was either buzzed or well on their way to it. No one was paying attention to him. Them.

"N-No." Quieter, he added. "I'm sorry."

She waved a hand, fingernails deep green and pointed. "Never apologize, Pe—"

"Ferret," he interrupted. His cheeks heated at how rude he must've sounded and offered a small smile when she appeared more amused than offended. "I mean, um, I'm called Ferret here. Kind of like an alias? Like, half the people here don't use their real names, so..."

"I see. Ferret, then," she accepted. The way she sat reminded Peter of a princess or a queen, and just being near her made him want to stand up a little straighter. "As I was saying, there is no need for your apology. The only one here at fault is myself and, well... I suppose this is far from the ideal place for us to have this conversation." She swirled the glass in her hand, her face crumpling ever so slightly. Her eyes were only partially on him and avoided his gaze before slowly meeting it again. "Will you allow me a moment of your time? I know I am the least deserving of it, but would you be willing to listen?"

Sometimes Peter thought his heightened senses were the worst part about the bite. The heartbeat in front of him was just as loud as the whispers at the back of the bar and the clinking of glasses ground against the sides of his head with every scrape against wood tables or with the slam after every shot. Vaguely, he noticed Mrs. Watson-Price walked towards the door with her measured breaths and the scritch-scratch of fingernails against the metal buttons of her jacket.

He also heard the safety click off Mr. Weasel's pistol.

"I really want to," he admitted. Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "But I work until closing and that's not until two a.m. Um, I can't stop and chat that much during my shift and I don't think my break is long enough for us to talk about everything—"

"Very well. I will wait until your shift is over."

"H-Huh? You don't have to! It's only like nine thirty and I don't want to waste your time—"