So I felt bored and decided to do that single dad Noir idea based heavily on Bioshock Infinite. Wrote it up in a couple of hours so it's not my best work, but here it is anyway for those who want to read.

Someone before posted an idea of Peni being a steampunk tech character born to Noir and Yuri Watanabe so I based this on that, mostly in the case of the backstory.

"Why do you tremble, little man? My bite brings death only to those of evil intent. I will bestow upon you a greater torment...the curse of power."

Peter sat up on his seat with a flurry of coughs and bit back the bile that rose to his throat. That dream again - the same damn dream he'd been having for the past couple of months since that night at the docks. He leaned back on the old leather recliner and closed his eyes. Always woke up with a headache after seeing that damn thing's ugly mug.

He took slow, deep breaths before eventually opening them again to the sight of his dingy office. The place was small, barely large enough to fit the desk and meager furnishings he could afford. No bed, barely any light (and the night sky outside didn't help) and a desk filled with messy papers and bottles of whiskey and an ashtray with so many cigarettes it looked like a jumped up porcupine.

Wasn't a place for anyone to live, but he'd seen and lived through worse. And it was cheap.

Shaking his head, he grabbed one of the half-emptied whiskey bottles and drunk it all in one desperate gulp. Prohibition barely ended a year ago and even now people drank like it was the end of days. Or maybe it was just the holidays. His eyes blearily turned to the small calendar at his desk. 5 days till Christmas. Just the right time for people to start excusing the things they did. Well, even more than usual.

He slammed the bottle down and closed his eyes again. Booze was the only thing that culd stop the dreams, at least for a while. He checked the time on the wall mounted clock and frowned. Half an hour past 7 PM and no clients all day. Rent was coming up and as sympathetic as Mrs. Millburn was she ran a business. One more late payment and they'd be out on the streets, no exceptions.

He was about to get up and check in on the other room when there was a knock on the door. Whoever was on the other side didn't even bother to wait for a response before she strolled in like she owned the place.

"Sure, come on in..." he muttered. She was an older woman, and well-to-do one by the looks of her. A pristine white coat, a beige scarf and well maintained boots. He couldn't see her face in the dark.

"The sign said you were open." She stopped close to the the side window and faced outside, masking her features in shadow. Peter shook his head and ignored the pounding in his skull. The light streaming in from the ajar door didn't help any, "Besides, you don't look the sort to turn down any work." She gestured idly to the filled desk and shabby floorboards.

"Guess not." He coughed one last time and stood, "What do you need, then?"

"How about we start with a light?"

He walked towards her and she turned to him with practiced ease when he flicked his lighter. Peter pursed his lips and made sure to mask his expression when she grabbed the hand holding onto it and guided it towards the tip of the cigarette, finally illuminating her face for him to see. Her hair was an odd color. Silver blonde and done up in fancy curls. Definitely not someone who lived around here. Too pretty to be anyone but a visitor.

"You got a name, miss?"

"Felicia." She blew a small plume of smoke through crimson painted lips and regarded him with an easy smile, "I've heard good things about you."

"Really?" he asked back dryly.

"Yes. Apparently you have a knack for finding things no one else could." The pounding came back. His sixth sense was a mixed blessing at the best of days. Helped him weed out the liars from the honest joes but it didn't help his sleep much, "I've exhausted every other detective in this and I'm desperate."

"From my experience most of the people who come through that door are." He took a cigarette of his own and quickly lit it, "Why don't you take a seat? Tell me what you need me to do."

He closed the door leading out before taking a seat across from her. She didn't look at him at first, her eyes focusing on the surface of his messy desk and her lips curled into a barely noticeable frown. She wasn't the first one to be disappointed. His work spoke for itself but at least some people thought he just got lucky. After all, who'd trust a teenager who was drinking cheap hooch so he could sleep?

"Who do you want me to find?" With the dames it was almost always a cheating husband. Or someone who ran off with all the money or their kids. Didn't matter. Always a sad story in this line of work.

She pulled a photo out of her pocket and handed it to him. An older man, probably in his 30's or 40's, wearing a shabby coat and hat, "His name's Phil Urich," she said, "He's an old friend of mine. He was supposed to visit me a month ago. I went to his apartment and there wasn't any trace of him."

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Nothing. Clothes were still there, door was locked, place looks as good as it normally did." She took a long drag of the cigarette, "At first I thought he was just following up on a scoop. He does that sometimes."

"A reporter?"

"Mhm. He works at the Bugle." His hands clenched tightly. He knew the Bugle all too well, "Sometimes he takes a couple of days to go investigate, but nothing like this. A week in was when I got worried."

"Did you go the cops?"

"Yes, and they were about as helpful as you'd expect." She scoffed, finally letting the placid mask slip for just a second, "No sign of foul play so they think he just went on vacation without telling anyone. Doesn't help that he's a reporter. Police aren't exactly fond of snoops." He could sympathize there. His own relationship with the padfoots wasn't exactly the warm and caring type.

"Every detective I've hired has turned up with nothing." There was that buzzing again. She wasn't telling him the whole story, "Truth be told you're my last resort. If the 'Miracle detective of Queens' can't find him then that's it, whoever took him is gone."

"You suspect foul play. Why? Did this Urich guy have any enemies?"

For the first time since their conversation she hesitated, "He's a reporter. They tend to make lots of enemies." His sixth sense buzzed lightly. Technically the truth, but she was holding something back. She knew, but she wasn't going to tell him, "I heard you're not afraid of ruffling a few feathers."

"You could say that." Being an open socialist tended to rub certain people the wrong way. That and his other little secret, "I can take care of myself, so that's not going to be an issue. First things first. It's been a month, so you know-"

"That he might not even be alive? I'm well aware." Another drag, "I know finding him alive's about as likely as a woman governor, but I'm hoping you're as good as they say you are. If he's really gone then I'll pay for the names of the bastards who took him." There was something in her eyes. Anger and resolve but also a hint of resignation. She knew this wasn't going to end well no matter what.

"If you say so..." He took one last drag of his cigarette then stabbed it into the ashtray, "Let's discuss payment." As much as he hated to admit it the life of a private investigator didn't pay much, least for him. Most of his clients could barely string two coppers together and, as Mrs. Millgram said, he had a habit of taking on charity cases. Something she put down to his socialist roots.

"I'll give you 30 dollars every day plus expenses. You get a bonus when you find him."

Peter raised a brow, "That's pretty generous of you."

"In my experience money's the best motivator. And..." Her eyes flicked to the only other door in the office and he barely kept himself from growling out a warning at her, "Nevermind. Do you agree?"

"More than." She stubbed out her own cigarette and handed him the bills along with the addresses for Urich's apartment and the Bugle. They felt heavy in his hand, "Is there someplace I can meet you if I find anything?"

"I own nightclub not too far from here. The Black Cat."

"Yeah, I've heard of it." Never actually went, though. He could barely afford the roof over their heads and the booze that let him sleep. Last thing he needed was to throw more long green out, "Fine. I'll meet you there." Never seen a female nightclub owner before. Least it explained the scratch she was throwing around.

She nodded and walked out without another word. Peter looked down at the bills in his hand and let out a soft breath. This'd keep a roof over their head for at least a few months. Maybe even make this rat's nest look halfway livable.

He walked to the tightly closed door and opened it quietly. The room on the other end was even more sparse than his own. Nothing but a crib, a basket full of supplies and old, hand-me-down cloth on the ground that belonged to his own dad. Peter took a deep breath and walked to the crib, each step heavier than the last.

"Hey Peni... "

The baby girl looked up at him with wide, brown eyes and reached out a hand towards him. Peter smiled faintly and reached out his right pointer finger towards her, which she grabbed in a loose grip. She didn't laugh or cry when he picked her up. She was always a quiet kid. Didn't make much noise unless she was hungry or needed changing. A quiet kid, a small kid...

His kid.

She was a mistake; at least that's what most everyone who knew her thought. A half-breed bastard, an accident born from one night of passion. Yuri wasn't the mothering type. Wasn't much for anything outside of her job at the Bugle, and even that was shaky. Jameson was the only one who didn't laugh out a foreign dame who wanted to be a reporter. Now he wondered if he should've. Least then she'd still be here.

"Get out here, kid, or your gonna be picking up pieces o' your dame off the floor!"

"Don't! Just run, Peter! Just-"

*Bang*

His hold on the infant tightened and he hugged her close. Those damn docks. Same place he got bitten, same place Yuri got careless and Osborn's enforcers caught her. He replayed that scene in his head night after night. If only he'd been faster, braver, maybe she'd still be here.

He didn't know why Yuri kept her. Like he said she wasn't the mothering type and he halfway expected her to tell him she was getting an abortion as soon as she spilled the news. She'd said it casually one day and smiled at the fish mouthed gape she gave her. She wasn't that much older than him at the time - 21 to his 18 - but she always looked like she was in control. Like nothing could phase her.

Maybe that was why he was drawn to her. The first time he'd met her it was when she saved him and May from Osborn's enforcers. Ox hit him the gut and Fancy Dan had his aunt wrapped up like a stuck pig. She flashed her camera and said it'd go on the papers tomorrow if they didn't let them go. Ox growled about a woman threatening him but she just smiled till they slunk off.

That was the start of it. At first he told himself he just wanted to pay her back, but now here he was over a year later. A freak with nightmares and an infant he could barely afford to keep. He didn't tell May and Mary Jane. How could he? Having an affair with an older dame and watching her brains get blown out in front of him before being saddled with their bastard. He didn't know if they'd pity or hate him.

"Come on, let's see if Mrs. Millburn's still got some patience left." He swaddled her in what clothes he could manage then grabbed his coat and mask. Couldn't exactly take her with him and leaving her alone here wasn't an option. Mrs. Millburn babysat sometimes, mostly when she had enough to pity him that day. Hopefully the prospect of future payments would help out here.

He knocked on the door next to his with his spare hand, "Yes?" She asked as soon as the door opened, a sour expression on her face. Mrs. Millburn wasn't young by any means. Her children were long gone and ownership of the apartment went to her after her husband died a couple of years ago. The only reason besides pity she put up with him was because Peni reminded her of her younger years.

"Got a job. Could you..."

She crossed her arms over her chest, "Another charity case?"

"Not this time." He set Peni against his shoulder and flashed her twenty dollars. Her eyes widened in surprise; it was more money than she'd seen from him in months, "Got a rich client today, wants me to track an old friend of hers." He put it on the nearby table.

"Finally putting your skills to good use." She harrumphed and took the baby from his hands. Much as he hated to admit it she made it look easier than he ever did in the months he'd cared for her, "You know you still have-"

"Don't worry. She said she's giving me a 30 dollars a day plus a bonus if I find who she's looking for." Or whatever was left of him, "...Listen, I really appreciate this-"

"Save your thanks. Just remember what's more important. Charity cases might make you feel like a saint but it doesn't put food in her mouth." Peter's mouth twitched slightly. It wasn't the first time she'd given him that lecture and it wouldn't be the last. He couldn't disagree with her, not really. Even May and Ben had a hard time keeping the three of them afloat sometimes when they helped out their neighbors. No one ever said being a socialist was easy.

"Well...thanks anyway." He kissed Peni's forehead then made his way to the roof. The cold, winter air hit him as soon as he opened the door and he sunk lower into his coat. The coat was old and crudely stitched together. It was one of the few things he managed to take from his home before he ran away with Peni. That and the mask and the revolver strapped to his hip.

Peter walked to the edge of the roof and took a deep breath. New York at night - his usual playground. He put on the mask and jumped. Time for the Spider-Man to come out.

I'm considering making this a mini-fic with alternate viewpoints. Odd numbered chapters focus on Noir in 1934 dealing with a film noir plot and trying to raise a daughter by himself. Even numbered chapters focus on a 10-11 year old tech prodigy Peni in 1945 dealing with the Japanese internment camps. The tone between the two segments would be massively different considering Noir is a straight up superpowered brawler and gunslinger while Peni's a fragile child who relies on gadgets and wits to overcome enemies and obstacles.

I'll also do my best to connect both the past and future plots together so neither looks like two disjointed stories. Noir's actions in 1934 should have consequences and villains that Peni might have to deal with by 1945, especially if she's going as a solo kid tech hero rather than being Noir's sidekick.

Anyway, this segment's more focused on Noir dealing with being Spider-Man while also having to take care of a child; particularly due to his young age. Readers of Looking Glass seemed to like the story beats focusing on Noir being a dad to Laura so I figured why not. That and dealing with criminal conspiracies and not knowing who he can trust among everyone telling him half truths and having their own agendas.

Hope you guys like it. Response will determine whether this gets updated or not.