Snip to Chapter 41

(Symkarian Embassy)

Spider-Man waits patiently in the regal office of the foreign embassy. He had arrived on the rooftop and was immediately surrounded by armed men. He of course told them he was there to see Sable and was escorted inside after they radioed in to her and she gave him the all clear. They even gave him some coffee.

It pays to know the boss. 

Now he sits in a leather chair, his leg bouncing nervously as he waits. The coffee on the desk before him has gone untouched, steam no longer rising from the porcelain cup. He's been rehearsing what to say for the past twenty minutes, and each iteration sounds worse than the last.

"What am I doing?" he mutters to himself, adjusting his mask for the fifth time. "This is insane."

Yesterday's conversation with MJ and Felicia replays in his mind. How casually they'd suggested this course of action, as if asking two deadly, beautiful women to join their already complicated relationship was as simple as ordering takeout.

"‘Just ask them out she said’," He mutters again, "Easy for her to say. She’s not the one here with sweaty palms, waiting to ask an international mercenary out on a date. While also planning to ask out another dangerous former Russian assassin later."

Honestly, he is having a hard time figuring out who is more dangerous (I.E., who he’s more afraid of) between the two.

His spider-sense tingles faintly—not danger, just awareness—as the sound of footsteps approaches from the hallway. He straightens, trying to look casual and failing miserably.

The large doors swing open with by her servants. Silver Sable enters, her silver hair catching the light streaming through the tall windows. She's dressed in her signature silver-white tactical gear, pistols holstered at her hips.

"Spider-Man," she greets him, her accent more pronounced than usual as the servants close the doors behind her. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

He's suddenly very aware of how ridiculous this must look—him in his tattered costume, fidgeting like a teenager. "Silver," he manages, his voice coming out higher than intended. He clears his throat. "Good to see you."

She moves to her desk with measured steps, gesturing for him to sit again. "Likewise. You are always welcome here. Though I must admit, your timing is curious. The diplomatic channels have been... tense since the Mt. Rushmore incident."

"Yeah, I can imagine," he says, lowering himself back into the chair. "I’m guessing there are some people asking why you were there.”

Silver nods, “Yes. Many of your politicians are even going so far as to accuse me of being behind the bombing with you.”

Spider-Man grimaces in sympathy, “Sorry about that. Being associated with me tends to bring trouble.”

Silver waves off his apology, “It’s alright. The Avengers and SHIELD have already established that it was Norman Osborn who was responsible for the bombing and death of all those people.”

Spider-Man feels a pang of guilt in his heart at the thought of the death of the Order of the Shield. If he had been faster or done something different when he confronted Osborn, he could have prevented all that needless carnage.

"Still," Spider-Man says, his voice softening, "I'm sorry you got caught up in it."

Silver studies him, her piercing gray eyes searching for something beyond his mask. "You didn't come here to apologize for American politicians, Spider-Man." It's not a question but a statement of fact, delivered with the precision that marks everything she does.

"You're right. That's not why I'm here," he admits, his fingers drumming nervously on his knee. "I wanted to talk about something else. Something more personal."

Silver raises an elegant eyebrow, her expression revealing nothing. "Personal?"

"Yeah. About us." He winces beneath his mask. "I mean, not that there is an 'us' exactly, but..."

He trails off, cursing himself silently as he has a quick flashback to when they talked back at the mansion. Maybe that wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t stellar either. Silver remains perfectly still, waiting for him to continue with a patience that somehow makes him even more nervous.

He really should have rehearsed this more.

He takes a breath to calm his nerves and steels himself, "Let me start over," he says, reaching up to pull his mask off entirely, revealing his flushed face. "I need to do this properly."