A/N : Spiderman/Buffy don’t belong to me, surprisingly enough. Also, this is set sometime after season 7 of Buffy, and between the two movies.
The rain falling down around her didn’t seem to bother her. Even the cold wind that bit at her tanned skin didn’t make her flicker for an instant. She moved like a wild animal, every movement seemingly random but actually well thought out. Her dark hair was almost black with water, and the leather pants she wore had to be sticking to her something awful. But, she hardly seemed to notice.
Six, maybe seven against one…almost impossible odds, theoretically. As Harry watched this dark stranger take on the gang that had attacked him, he was enchanted. Her slim body, high lighted perfectly by the clothes she wore, moved like a tiger’s. It was so graceful, and she was so calm, which was crazy considering the situation they were in. Those…monsters that had jumped him hardly seemed to faze her.
His tired eyes filtered back towards the people she was fighting, and he was once again completely bewildered. They couldn’t be human, they just couldn’t. Their faces…it hurt his head just to think about it. Of course, it could just be the drink slowly messing up his vision. He hoped that it was, because otherwise he had to consider what it meant to be bitten by folks with fangs.
He winced as the dark beauty took a kick in the face, and briefly struggled to get to his feet. He should probably be helping to fight these things off, but his head hurt so badly he could hardly think. Besides, she seemed to be handling everything perfectly well – the man who just kicked her was having his face repeatedly shoved onto her knee.
It was obvious that she had done the whole rescuing thing before, and Harry was just glad that it was a beautiful woman rescuing him instead of a certain super-hero. He wasn’t sure whether he would have been able to survive the indignity of being saved by his father’s murderer.
His mouth formed the words to warn her that someone was trying to creep up on her, but he needed have bothered. Spinning around, she threw the one she was holding into the other, sending them both flying into the wall. Something flashed into her hand, and he watched as her arm flew down towards the male’s chest with a speed he found hard to follow.
What happened next was even more bewildering. As he yelled out, trying to stop her from committing a murder, the disfigured man turned to dust, followed quickly by the next one. The words died in his mouth, and he just stared at the blank spot where a man’s body should have been.
He lived in New York, home of the infamous arachnid, so he was used to some fairly odd goings on. He was used to villains that tried to destroy the town, and the city, and he was used to a seemingly heroic man, who could swung like Tarzan between sky scrapers and murdered his father. He wasn’t used to men disappearing after a woman stabbed them.
His eyes refused to look away, wide and tear-filled, as they almost always were these days. Before, he’d have gone to Peter to talk, gone to the one person he’d been sure he could trust. His best friend wouldn’t have thought him crazy for seeing muggers disappear into dust, or at least, Peter wouldn’t say it if he did. But, his friend had gone now. He’d been snatched away by a cruel man who stole his father, and Harry couldn’t see anyway of getting him back.
The girl in front of him chucked few more punches at random, connecting repeatedly with the remaining men’s faces. She was amazing, Harry could see that even with the alcohol clogging up his brain cells. A taunt and training body that an athlete would be proud of, and a fighting technique that seemed flawless. Harry wouldn’t know, of course, seeing as he’d only ever taken three self-defence classes, before giving up in favour of joining the school’s chess team.
A wild tiger, beautifully free and untamed, and so unlike any girl he had met before. He could tell that just from the confident smile on her face, as she watched her remaining opponents circle her. The easy way she held a wooden knife in her hand, the perfected moves and self-awareness that surrounded her was almost alien to him. She seemed so at home with herself, so comfortable in her own skin…Harry wished that he was like that, that he could appear so unafraid and self-assured.
The sound of fist meeting flesh dug into Harry’s skull, and the fight was over as quickly as it had begun. Dust, that’s all those things were…all they’ll ever be now that this woman had swept in and taken care of them. Harry, once again, tried to get to his feet and, once again, failed to rise.
He could feel her dark eyes sweeping over him disapprovingly, considering whether or not to stop and help him anymore. She’d already done enough, his life was saved, but Harry just wished she would stay. Wished that he could take her back to his apartment, so that she could tell him what was going on, and so that he could fuck her. Loudly. So loud that Peter wouldn’t be able to sleep, so loud that the neighbours would complain, so loud that he wouldn’t have to hear his own pathetic thoughts, so loud that he wouldn’t have to be Harry-fucking-Osborn for one night.
But, she doesn’t wait, she stop to help him onto his feet, she didn’t offer any help. With a disappointed grunt, she tucked her weapon away – down the back of impossibly tight leather trousers – and flicked her hair over her shoulders. Then, there was the sound of her boots clicking down the street, and Harry knew that she was just going to leave him there, out in the cold.