Chapter Text
Today, truthfully, could go suck a lemon. Two patients had thrown up on her, one had ripped their stitches being foolish, and another had berated her, grabbing her arm and trying to stop her continuing CPR on his room mate so she could freshen up his water. The rain was bucketing down, and her umbrella just died, the fabric catching in the wind and rolling gracefully away. Her comfortable new shoes, the only treat she'd allowed herself in years, would be destroyed in all the puddles.
May Parker, if pressed, wouldn't say that her life was going well.
Oh, the important things were wonderful, and most days, that was enough. Peter was healthy and happy, she kept a roof over their head and food in his hyper-metabolising body, and he was doing brilliantly in a good school. After the loss of Ben, she'd worried that the boy she loved like her own son would be damaged, having only one member of the family left- let alone one he didn't even actually share DNA with. But he had flourished, building a family and small circle of friends who adored him. She could even forgive the vigilantism.
It's just that, while Peter's life was going from strength to strength, hers very much wasn't. Aware that she was already running late, she shrugged off the urge to linger and hope the rain would pass, and the urge to just get a cab (god knew she couldn't afford one this week), May strode into the downpour, hurrying to the station and trying not to slip as the sidewalks began to flood. What was an unplanned cold shower gonna do, ruin her mood?
She worked. She came home. She tried to cook and failed miserably before giving up and ordering something in (but dammit, she tried to give Peter good, healthy meals). When possible, she spent time with Peter, though the days she didn't even see him were getting more and more common. And then she went to bed, got barely any sleep, and did it all again.
It had been years since she'd had coffee with her own friends, and her last holiday had been with Ben and Peter. Peter had been nine. And while the regular dinners at the Tower were nice, she knew it was more about making Peter happy than any real interest in striking up a friendship with her. Who'd want to be friends with a poor, bitter old nurse anyway?
Beyond those dinners, it had been months since she'd had a day off, or even time enough to settle in and watch a movie with Peter. She'd tried to be a good mother figure, but it was hard to make ends meet on a nurse's salary in New York, and even harder to do so with a son with mutations causing him to need to constantly be eating. Every extra shift she didn't take took them one step closer to falling below the poverty line (she tried hard not to think about how close they truly were already), just like every single day brought her closer to the awkward conversation about college.
She huffed out a sigh that turned into a cough as someone shouldered past her roughly, and fought the sudden, mad urge to kick the back of their knees in retaliation. Generally, she tried to be like Ben, or Peter. She tried to be kind and remember that most people were rude because they were hurting, and hurting them more wasn't likely to improve their mood. Some days, kindness was easier than others.
Between her and Ben, they'd squirrelled aside a little money to help pay tuition, but that money had gone on funeral costs and increased rent. Peter was a genius, literally. Given the right opportunities, he could easily be as great as Tony, perhaps even better. She just... couldn't afford to give him those opportunities. Chalk up another parenting failure.
She barely managed to throw herself into the train before the doors closed, made her peace with standing and dripping while some barely legal asshole decided he needed to put his jar of protein powder on its own seat (as the aunt/mother figure of Spider-Man, she knew she couldn't just throw the container aside and sit, even if the smug look he'd shot her deserved to be slapped right off his stupid head). She hadn't planned on heading home before going to the Tower, but the idea of them seeing her looking like a drowned rat was more than she could stand. She'd grab one of Ben's umbrellas, dry her hair, change her clothes, and be back on her way. It was only a few stops. As nice as it would be to sit, she'd been standing all day, and half an hour more wasn't likely to break her.
Still, she was gratified to see an old woman hurry on at the next stop, eyeing the container before snatching it up and tossing it out the still-open carriage door. She didn't even bother hiding her laughter when its owner launched himself from the train, the doors closing before he could get back on. The old woman waved to him as the train slowly departed, before offering May the chair beside her with a grin. They made the sort of friendly chit-chat expected in those kinds of moments, but May was relieved when she said goodbye and hurried from the train. The rain wasn't quite as bad now, at least, though the world seemed far too dark for so early in the day. Though perhaps that was just her current mood?
She'd barely closed the complex door behind her when Mrs Delia was waving a page in her face, huffing and sputtering in rage. 'Have you seen this?' Her accent was worse when stressed, and it took a moment for May to translate.
'No, Ma'am, I haven't.' She fought the urge to remind the woman that she'd just watched May get home, knew it was pointless to share her mood around. Be like Peter. Be like Ben. 'What's wrong?'
'He wants more money! Third time this year! Who can afford this, hmm? Does he really think rich people want to live here, with the thin walls and the constant repairs needed?'
May winced, hard. She could barely make ends meet already. She couldn't afford another rent increase. Hoping like hell it was just another one of Mrs Delia's moods, rather than an actual problem, she went through the motions of reassuring the woman that it would all be okay, scooped up her own mail (when was the last time she got something that wasn't a bill?) and joined Mrs Delia in the slow climb to their respective floors.
The second the door was safely closed, she hunted through until she spotted the envelope.
An extra hundred dollars a fortnight. Not a lot in the grand scheme of things, but enough that they couldn't afford to stay.
Knowing that Peter was already with his newer, better family, May let herself collapse into the nearest chair and cry.