Identity Crisis 01: in the Closet

NOTES: Amazing Spider-Man and Venom take place in the same universe. Venom taking place in California while Spider-Man goes on in New York. This happens after No Way Home meaning that all characters involved are safely over 18. With Peter Parker/Spiderman being 25 and Eddie Brock being 32. The symbiote is an adult for its species and is well over 18 years old. I'm using 90s era Val Kilmer as a faceclaim for Eddie but all events of the Tom Hardy films are unedited.

CHAPTER ONE: IN THE CLOSET

The streets are busy in Queens. The hustle and bustle, brushing shoulders with Eddie and his constant companion. Each time sends a chill up the human's spine as Venom traverses under his skin, ready to defend. The car horns give Eddie a migraine courtesy of Venom. With a box of cubicle knickknacks and the jaded attitude of someone twice his age, Eddie steps into the building.

It's one of those older skyscrapers. The ones that house twenty companies, leasing out half a floor to each. The first floor is the general receptionist's desk, an open lounge and building management. Eddie nods to the girl at the front desk and gets no response. He forgot that much about New York. Everybody acts too busy to give a shit. A general apathy for others hangs in the air like a cloud.

He looks at the information board on the wall. 'The Daily Bugle - 5a'. Eddie steps onto the elevator with a tired expression. He's never been a fan of Daily publications. The Bugle was always a joke to him, seemingly more interested in making people mad than reporting any actual news. Maintaining an edgy brand reputation all about 'exposing the truth no one else is brave enough to show'. Which is probably the only reason they hired Eddie Brock at all. So they could brag about taking the blacklisted rebel reporter who's not afraid to get his hands dirty. Something along those lines.

Just before the elevator door closes, a young, fluffy-haired man in a blue flannel comes running towards it. Calling out for it to hold. Eddie sticks his foot between the door, holding it open. Flannel boy jogs in, letting out a "Thank you" in a sort of sing-songy voice.

"What floor?" Eddie asks, slipping seamlessly back into the New York attitude.

"Five." Flannel boy stiffens up, also taking on a very New York attitude. He quickly breaks character, glancing to the side as Eddie struggles to press the button. Raising an eyebrow as he leans over to press the button for the older guy. Eddie looks like a thirty-something that's seen some shit. Probably because that's exactly what he is. "That's a lot of stuff you got there."

"It's not heavy."

"You new? You don't seem like you're from around here. I'm Peter by the way." Peter awkwardly fumbles over this social interaction. He knows he's seen this guy before. He can't remember where from.

"From the Bronx. Left New York for a long while. It's meaner than I remember."

"Everybody says that but I dunno. I've never lived anywhere else."

"California is mean too. New York turns a blind eye, keeps walking. California can't mind its own business. Mean because they care."

Peter squints at the blonde before making the connection. He saw this guy on TV a few years ago. It's hard to recognize him without his rugged leather jacket. Seeing the guy in a tie and dress pants is kind of alien. "Are you Eddie Brock?"

Eddie knows by now that most people who know him by name don't think too highly of him. "No, that's some other asshole." He lies. He looks around the elevator as if searching for an exit. The elevator has a door on two sides. One for the a and b sections of any given floor.

Finally, the door opens. The notorious J. Jonah Jameson is having a one sided shouting match with what Eddie would assume is the editor. Eddie can't help but flinch at the noise. Jameson stops his tangent in his tracks. "Mr. Brock! Where have you been!" The man is still shouting but Eddie can at least tell the guy is joking around, "I needed you in here years ago!"

Yup, Jameson isn't mad. He's just an old man making an old man joke. Eddie jokes back "I can leave and come back if now's not a good time."

"Bah" Jameson laughs in surprise. Peter blinks like deer in the headlights as Jameson pulls Eddie aside with a pat on the shoulder. His volume lowers dramatically. "Really, I am excited to have you on board, Edward. Saw your work with the Cletus Kassidy case and I gotta say, I'm impressed. Being a daily publication, we don't normally do investigative journalism."

"I noticed '' Eddie feels Venom's discomfort with Jameson touching him. The use of his birth name really dialing up the fear response from the symbiote. It feels like he's pissing his pants but the piss comes from every pore in his body. Wait... that's just what sweat is. "And it's Eddie."

"Thought it was a nickname. Excuse me." Jameson coughs off his mistake. "As I was saying, I know investigative work doesn't happen overnight. So long as I get a story on the editor's desk once a week, I'll make sure it counts the same as everyone else's dailies. Your desk is the one touching the wall in the back."

'We don't like this guy' Venom heckles inside Eddie's head. Eddie nods and goes to set down his stuff. Leaning over his new desk with a sigh. The oozy alarm system goes off making Eddie turn around to the opening of his cubicle. He can see the water cooler from the entryway.

Peter sips on a paper cup of water raising an eyebrow. "Some other asshole, huh?" The boy makes fun of him. "You used to be on TV"

Eddie grumbles "Don't rub it in." He's not thrilled to be here. One week to crack a case is one tight deadline. Looking at Peter he looks a little too young for an office job. Especially in this economy. "What do you do here anyway?"

"Photography."

"Well I don't think you're going to find much to photograph in here." Eddie ever so subtly hints that he wants to be left alone. Turning to unpack his box.

"But I found such a pretty face right here." Peter smiles behind his cup. Eddie stops once more to turn around and look at Peter. Looking him up and down. Narrowing his eyes. "Yeah yeah. Take a picture, it'll last longer. I know... see you around."

With that, Peter leaves. Eddie unpacks his box, setting up his desk the way he likes. Venom hisses in Eddie's skull, 'He likes you?'

"Gee, who'd of thought. Flannel boy likes men." Eddie mumbles under his breath, trying not to get the reputation of 'weirdo who talks to himself'. To say Eddie Brock is a mess would be the understatement of the century. He'd be shocked if he manages to hold down this job for a year.

Every time he thinks his life is finally settling down God comes in with bigger and better plans that usually involve him making a huge ass of himself. Things were going great with Anne until his boss made him do a sponsored interview with one of her clients who he happened to be investigating. If it wasn't for that, he'd still be with Anne and working on TV, no harm done. Unfortunately, that's just not how things panned out. He knows it was mostly his fault for leaking information from her files in a live interview. At the time, he just couldn't stand by knowing people were getting hurt.

Bringing Venom into the picture complicates everything. Breaking up with him and then having to beg him to come back to kill the baby they had with a serial killer really did a number on Eddie. He's too tired to think too hard about anything. The love confession on the island left him confused. As did his brief trip to an alternate dimension. Though, he was drunk off his ass for most of that. He hardly remembers it. Still having no idea how he got back.

Eddie has stopped trying to understand this shit. When Anne called and said she cleared his name, he was more than happy to return to the United States. If she says all he has to do is avoid California so the SFPD can't launch an investigation and bring in the feds, he's not going to question it.

The day blows by him, the sun setting over the horizon as Eddie finishes organizing his filing cabinet. The smog turns the sky a dark red before the city is coated with a natural darkness. Illuminated by street lamps, store signs and the busy road intersecting it all.

It's a blur to Eddie. One blink he's in the office, the next he's stumbling into his front door. He wonders if Venom has anything to do with these gaps of time. Some part of him fears that his blackouts are intentional on the part of Venom. 'You were falling asleep on your own, Eddie.'

"Don't read my mind, dude."

'We live here. Sorry.'

The apartment is a total shithole. One bedroom studio style, the open space divided into three zones by a change in flooring and a well placed bookshelf with a makeshift chicken coop built into the bottom. Even peeking in through the window, the massive conspiracy wall is so easy to see.

The trash hasn't been taken out in weeks, there are feathers and wrappers everywhere. Not a single horizontal surface is safe from being used as 'temporary storage'. The weight bench is being used as a folding table for the laundry. It's a depression mess with a story to tell.

Holes in the ceiling from Venom standing up. The smoke detectors are all gone, the microwave shows signs of tampering. There's claw marks on the walls and a pizza box stuck to the wall in the living room that says 'NO EATING PEOPLE.'

The sign being ironic as it's directly touching the conspiracy wall which seems to serve the sole purpose of deciding who to eat. The smaller, more compact conspiracy pinboard has a bunch of shit about the life foundation. On the desk in the office is a laptop and a mountain of papers. The only visible part of the wooden tabletop is where a ring box and a photo of Eddie and a blonde woman sits face down on top of an invitation to 'Anne and Dan's Wedding'... ouch. The date on the card says it's been over a year.

Chipping drywall, a bathroom sink that doesn't work. The kitchen sink is bordering on a biohazard. Eddie doesn't bother with the key, letting Venom molest the lock into submission. It's faster that way. The door swings open and the chickens scramble about inside.

A tendril emerges from Eddie's back, opening the fridge and pulling out leftover Chinese takeout. Popping it into the microwave. " So... Peter?"

"What? Do you like him?" Last time Eddie checked, he didn't swing that way.

"No. I meant what I said on the beach Eddie." Venom says it quietly, knowing that Eddie isn't as comfortable with the confession as he could be. He gently pushes the bowl of food into his host's hands. "I love you."

"I- yeah." That makes a lot of sense. The constant encouragement to find someone (usually Anne) to sleep with has gone away ever since he said the words out loud. It hadn't occurred to Eddie that he might have meant it in a sexual or romantic way. It adds up now that Venom wouldn't push Eddie to find a new partner as he's still trying to seduce Eddie himself. "Okay. I don't swing that way- I don't think I do? So don't worry about it... is this gonna be an issue if I find a girl I like anytime in the foreseeable future?"

"I wouldn't mind Anne." Venom's response while not answering the question is very telling. Eddie gets the impression that Venom will decide to be a problem if Eddie seeks out someone new that he doesn't personally approve of. God knows Venom is picky.

"So it's either Anne or you." It's a hard pill to swallow. His mouth goes dry and suddenly he's not hungry. Romance and love were never priorities for Eddie. Something about it hurts. Knowing that he's never going to get Anne back, that in essence Venom is his only option, is depressing.

"You should eat."

"I know"

The week flies by. The city lights glimmer dully under a dark smoggy sky. Asphalt warm and wet underfoot as Peter Parker walks home. Tonight's fight used up all his web fluid, so he had no choice but to change into his civilian clothes and make the trek on foot. He should really start carrying his skateboard with him again.

Tugging his messenger bag along, looking around at the city he's sworn to protect. Taking in the concrete jungle, taking note of the Bugles office lights being on. A short trek to the nearest parking garage gives a solid hint as to what's going on. A black motorcycle, the only vehicle in the lot. Putting the few things he knows about the people in the office together, it's pretty clear who's staying late.

It's got to be Eddie. As far as Peter can tell, the dude has settled in just fine in the two weeks he's been at the paper. Though his work is seriously over-hyped. It's hard to believe he's the guy who cracked the Cletus Kassidy case. Not every story can be a bombshell.

Peter checks the time on his phone. He doesn't actually work at The Bugle. At least not as a salaried employee. Rather, he's a freelance photographer earning commission on a photo by photo basis. It'd be weird for him to stop by the office at this hour. Eddie will probably give him shit for it. Even seeing him mostly in passing, Peter is glad he wasn't successful in asking the dude out. He's pretty to look at, but he's also kind of a grumpy nutcase. Even so, Peter worries for the guy.

So he makes his way to the water cooler anyway. Filling a paper cup until the cold water touches the tip of his finger resting on the brim. Slurping up a long well needed dose of hydration as he takes in the sight that is Eddie Brock in his natural habitat. The man sitting on the floor amongst a mess of papers, research documents, old photos and red string. It's nutjob shit.

He watches silently as the tired blonde beefcake mumbles to himself. Peter Parker feels a little bad that Eddie keeps quiet even while alone. Talking to yourself in front of other people is weird, sure. Even Parker will admit that he talks to himself while completely alone. There shouldn't be any shame in it.

Peter watches as the man is absorbed into his work. So clearly crunching to get something done by a deadline. Peter furrows his brows, knowing that feeling all too well. Juggling three jobs and college at the age of twenty-five, he's had his fair share of all nighters. Eddie stands up to stretch and jumps in surprise. "Jesus- The fuck you doing there?"

"Checking on you." The first part is sincere. The part that follows is a flimsy excuse to stick around. "You'll go mad spending an all nighter here alone."

Eddie's face goes from tired to insulted, his gaze returning to the floor. Eyes clouded over with a haze of shame and embarrassment. "I'm not crazy."

Peter looks comically to the red string roped about and then back at Eddie. "Uh huh..." Peter says, almost skeptically. Pushing himself forward off the wall, he continues. "So, what's all..." he gestures to the mess in Eddie's cubicle, " this then?" Peter tucks his hands in his pockets, awaiting a response.

"Don't you have a dude in a morph suit to track down?" Eddie huffs. He's forgone the tie, his top three shirt buttons undone. The fabric showing off his pecks nicely. Peter could report this to HR if he actually worked here. Even if he was on salary, he'd keep his mouth shut if it meant the eye candy got to stick around.

"Turns out crazy people in spandex need sleep too. You should try it sometime. I've got a bed if you'd like." The man's pectorals were so distracting he forgot for a moment that Eddie is a total grump.

"You think you're funny, don't you?" Eddie narrows his eyes.

"No. I think I'm really bad at flirting." He hasn't been in a real relationship since Gwen. He's explored a few casual things in college but never anything more committed than friends with benefits. It's the hard part about finding out he likes guys in college. He didn't get to have that highschool dating experience to figure out how to socialize with guys in that way. "You look stressed, dude."

Ask a girl out to coffee and it's assumed to be a date. Ask a guy out to coffee and the dude never suspects a thing. Pickup lines don't fish up people looking to stick around. By now, Peter is pretty used to the nature of his more temporary sexual relationships. He wouldn't complain about a one-night stand with Brock. "I guess what I'm trying to get at is I'd be happy to... help you relax"

Eddie freezes up, going silent. The cogs turning in his head almost click audibly for Peter to hear. Once Eddie realizes what exactly Peter is getting at he sweats nervously. Like he's scared of something. Stepping further away from Peter than he already is. Peter's brows furrow. He's scared the guy.

Peter steps forward putting his hands up defensively. Clarifying "Obviously, I'm not gonna force you or anything. It's just an offer." The lengths he goes to dispel the myth of predatory bisexuality are kinda sad when he thinks about it. Eddie doesn't seem to ease up any. The longer this goes on, the less it looks like homophobia and the more it looks like the dude's got some trauma. "Are you okay?"

Eddie nods, blinking with his brows knit tightly together. Sweat beading up on his forehead. A common symptom of PTSD, if Peter remembers his psych class at all. "I uh- yeah- yeah I'm fine. Meds are wearing off."

"Oh, okay" That's at least relieving to hear. Eddie, being medicated, explains very little yet so much at the same time. With that, Eddie grabs his coat off the back of his chair and leaves. Brisking right by Peter in a hurry. Peter sips at his water. He can't tell if Brock is angry or scared, having no choice but to let it go. He does. "See you tomorrow!"

"Fuck off Parker." Welp. There goes any chance of Eddie giving him a ride.

Class is out for the weekend, the birds are singing and the morning is Peter's to seize. Picking up a copy of the paper on his way into the office, he grins widely. His Spidey pictures made the front page as always. Peter is more than a little cocky about his thirty-day streak with the front page.

Turning to page two, Brock finally got something printed. It's definitely not the man's greatest work. Despite touching on a very important topic, it doesn't make for a very interesting read. There's only so many ways to publish a corporate funding scandal. Peter can tell Brock isn't used to writing. The interviews from the Brock Report were a far more compelling way to convey the same information. The written word just can't do the subject justice. It's not a terrible story. It's just not all that entertaining.

The hair on his arm stands up. A familiar tingling in the back of his head puts him suddenly on edge. Looking around to see what it is, the sound in the room returns to him. It's loud. Familiar shouting from Jameson's office. After last night, the first thing that comes to mind is Eddie. He remembers how he flinched watching another employee getting yelled at. A quick glance to his cubicle says he's got to be in there with J.J. Yikes.

Peter takes a deep breath and walks through the overwhelmingly sharp world in front of him. Standing outside the door to the office, waiting. It's hard not to open the door and intervene. It's not his place to step in.

The yelling stops for only a moment. Eddie is the one yelling now. "Other people in this office do fantastic work and every day they're overshadowed by Spider-Man!" The sound of his voice echoes in Peter's head. In trying to get by Peter hasn't room to consider the financial well-being of the salaried employees.

"Spider-Man sells!" He's tried turning in other photos in the past. It never makes it on to any page at all unless it's Spider-Man. That much Peter can agree on.

"That's pathetic! This is Queens, for crying out loud! There's bigger problems than spider-twit!"

"Pathetic? Need I remind you that you're the one who's currently blacklisted by every TV station in the country? Get out of my office!"

Eddie steps out of the office, slamming the door. Veins bulging on his forehead, his shirt visibly wet with sweat around the neck. Eddie clenches his fists, grumbling about something. His breathing is unsteady and his heart rate can't be much better. Peter's spider sense stops fussing.