Chapter Text
New York was anonymous. Faceless like nowhere else Eddie had been- certainly not San Francisco, not Vegas, not even the barren desert. Even inadvertently, he’d always found some communal misery. But in New York, no one pays attention to anyone. This might’ve been a blessing, if they were still on the run, or- well, if.
Of course, it didn’t have to be that way. Anne had tried desperately to broaden their social circle in New York- they’d go to all these galas and cocktail parties and discuss art like any of them actually understood it. Eddie fucking that up had been a blow to Anne, but he secretly hadn’t cared much. He didn’t like the performance of it all. San Francisco felt real, tangible, from the way the wind chilled him down to his bones to the ache of his fist in the plaster of the apartment. There was no real reason not to return there, but Eddie didn’t want real anymore, couldn’t stomach it even if he wasn’t really running anymore.
And so, Eddie settled in to a quiet, faceless life. No Mrs. Chen at the bodega, a fake email job, and a studio apartment with no heating that somehow always felt damp. The silence was good for one thing- the fact that he hadn’t shaken the habit of talking to himself. He couldn’t stomach silence anymore, and talked out loud all the time. It was easier to pretend someone was listening- filling the silence meant he didn’t have to think about why it was silent.
“We should probably start eating better,” he spoke out loud. “I’m fucking exhausted. A third floor walk up shouldn’t be taking me out like this. God, I’m out of shape.” No response. Why would there be a response? He collapsed onto the couch, let his eyes close. Exhaled heavy.
There was a conversation he’d had once with Anne, back in the days where she thought… right after Riot, where they’d discussed what it felt like.
“I felt hungover for a whole week after,” she said, in some cafe. “Or like I’d gotten over a bad fever. Achy, a little nauseous. It was a little fun in the moment, but when the adrenaline was gone, it just kinda felt like shit.” He looked down at the menu. Venom was still healing then, still quiet most of the time. Venom was never, ever quiet unless something was wrong. But he’d known then, that he was alive. He knew because he felt it. Like…
“It wasn’t like that at all for me. I mean, it sucked when he was eating my organs, but,” he sipped his mocha, “it feel-felt really, really good. I felt alive in a new way. Like a sixth sense, I guess. Or seeing a new color. I couldn’t really describe it. Everything was just… dialed up.” Anne reached for his hand, assuming he was mourning it. Instead, he felt her hand and swore he could feel her pulse all the way to her fingertips, the warmth of her blood coming and going. Sixth sense.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It must’ve been nice to not feel alone.” He wanted to counter, but that was it, wasn’t it? He wasn’t alone.
He felt the cold sweat drip down his neck. Like a fever. Like being all alone. He shuddered.
—
It was November, and it was just getting cold enough that the street vendors were one by one disappearing. Another new development: Anne had started calling. Dan too, though far less and usually prefaced with a text that always started with “Hey, man.” Word had gotten out that Eddie Brock was a free man- he guessed the manhunt would have to be called off, though it was easy to forget about that time, that fear in this new place. Eddie religiously let his phone ring and did not answer. He knew they’d stop eventually, and prayed they’d just forget eventually. It would be easier that way.
Sometimes he wished that they had made a bucket list. At first, it had given him something to do, an excuse to breathe fresh air and stretch his legs. He saw the Statue of Liberty, saw a musical, watched every shitty movie on their Netflix watchlist. Now he had nothing left. The old Eddie Brock got drunk at shitty bars and cried in front of his old apartment. Together, they had lived a life which was colorful, vivacious, never boring- often dangerous, but undeniably a little bit healthier. He struggled to find what this new version of himself did with his nights (and his days, and his mornings, and every goddamn silent minute.)
He tried out things, on the nights he could bring himself to stand anywhere outside the studio apartment without collapsing or throwing up (though the nights often ended that way regardless.) Sometimes it was music, the concert venues he’d frequented when he was in college. He stood next to speakers that vibrated him down to his ribcage and he wondered about the frequency of the sound. He tossed himself into the mosh pit with reckless abandon, enjoying how it felt to have his body moved by outside forces. Shoved, punched, knocked into the ground. He left with the taste of blood in his mouth and smiled for the first time in months. The feeling didn’t last. He tried running, taking the High Line and letting the whoosh of the air skating across his skin distract him from the silence. He made it about 3 miles and couldn’t stand up the next day. He was becoming more and more accustomed to the idea that he might just be physically weak for the entire rest of his life, his body having gotten too used to the strength of 2. He tried bars- not the dives of those 6 months alone in San Francisco, but the bars he’d always felt stupidly afraid of. He walked into the haze and closed his eyes, the colors of the strobe blinding him. A voice in his ear- coming from a mouth so close he swore he could feel the wetness- whispered to him.
“Are you here alone?”
Even in the heat of the night, Eddie felt cold. He did not try the bars again.
He wasn’t stupid. He knew the implication of those last few days they’d had together, the way Venom had pushed thoughts of a different, human life his way. A marriage, children, a family. A dinged up van. Venom had been trying hard to convince him he wanted these things, that he’d be better off. His greatest shame was that in those moments, he almost believed it, or at least tried. That sparing himself the chase would be a happier life. Now, the chase was over, and he ached all the fucking time. He didn’t want those things, not alone. The void was not in his hand aching to be held, or in his mouth waiting to be kissed- it was deep within him, in a place nobody could fill anymore.
“What do we do, Vee?” he whispered, quietly into the night air fogging up before him. His phone hummed in response- Anne again. What would Venom do?
“It’s Anne,” said the voice in his memories- the ones he replayed over and over to feel anything at all.
He picked up.
“Eddie!” she said, surprise evident in her voice.
“Annie,” he whispered. He hadn’t spoken to anyone else, with the exception of murmured thank you’s to cashiers and service workers since… since. He was worried that maybe he’d forgotten how, and took a brief pride in his muscle memory. On the other end, he heard Anne breathing. He thought to himself that neither of them were actually expecting to have this call. It made him smile a little.
“God, it’s been… it’s been so long. Where the hell have you been, Eddie?” He closes his eyes. He wondered if he would have to explain it all to her, or if she’d have mercy.
“New York.”
“New York!” she exhaled, breathlessly. “I thought you’d never go back to New York.”
“Things changed,” he said, trying hard to not think too hard about what he had just said.
“I know,” she said softly. “I know that.” They were both silent for a moment. He wondered how she knew, what she knew, and before he could stop himself, blurted out-
“He’s gone, Annie.” He heard her breath intake sharply.
“Well, I-“ she stuttered, “are you sure? Are you sure it’s not like the first time, or that he’s just-“
“No, I. I feel it, Annie. I feel like I’m dying,” he admitted to himself, for the first time. “I think maybe my body doesn’t even know how to work without him. I get tired all the time, and my head always hurts. I think I have a fever always, I think I’m burning to death, Annie.”
“You’re grieving, Eddie. Are you sure it’s right for you to be out there, all by yourself? You could come home now. Nothing’s stopping you from coming back to San Francisco, you could even crash with me and Dan- I’ll make up the guest room. I still have all of the things we packed up from your apartment when you left. You wouldn’t even need to bring a bag.” Eddie shook his head furiously to no one at all.
“Anne, I’m all by myself all the time. I always will be, now.”
“You don’t have to be,” she pleaded, “we love you, I love you. You have friends here. You have a life. You could even have a life there, if you want. Just promise me you’ll leave wherever you’re staying sometimes, get some fresh air. Promise me you’ll stay in contact. You don’t have to answer every call or text, just sometimes, Eddie. Please.” He shuddered, cold all the time. Sweating all the time, dying all the time.
“I’m so tired, Annie,” he whispered.
“I know. I know.” He closed his eyes. Without bothering to hang up, he put his head down and let the fever put him to sleep again. He wondered if he really was dying. The thought made him smile.