Chapter Text
Peter Parker’s apartment was small.
A small couch, a small bed, and walls that were so close together it felt more like a cage than an apartment. It was the small, cramped hole that New York’s great hero crawled into night after night. It was where he nursed his wounds and ate cheap chinese food before monitoring the city at his computer station. Everything from the furniture to the floors was run down or sterile. It looked unlived in. No pictures hung from the walls, nor was there a coat hanger to greet them at the door. Not even so much as a magnet on the fridge.
It was woefully inadequate for occupants of two.
I’ve stayed in nicer motels in the slums.
The first night, she arrived through the way Spider-Man always came in through the window. She was bleeding again. A stitch had ruptured two blocks from his apartment. The pain had been sharp and overwhelming. She got more blood over her clothes and all over his floors. Jean felt as if she was dying all over again. Somehow, it felt worse than when she tanked a .50-caliber bullet, as if her body was stretched so thin that it had come undone at the seams.
Peter had stapled it together so deftly that Jean figured he had plenty of practice closing large cuts. He placed her on the bed while he took up the floor. Sleep attacked her so quickly she couldn’t even say a word of thanks.
Jean woke to the sight of a tired worn out face with deep dark sags underneath his eyes staring back at her. A guilty face with caring eyes. His mind was likely the same. I know it is. Light flooded in through the slight gaps in the shutters. It was Tuesday morning and a brand new day.
Only problem was, they had left the hospital on Sunday.
Apparently, she had stirred to life on occasion but said nothing ate a little and fell back to sleep. Her clothes had been changed into soft pajamas she never owned, and her bandage was reapplied over her lower stomach. Peter had apologized.
“Sorry.” His voice was sheepish. “I had to change your bandages and throw your clothes in the wash.” They were folded neatly at the foot of the bed.
“Why? You did nothing wrong.”
It still made him uncomfortable. Jean didn’t need to read minds to see that on his face. Not that she read his thoughts. Even if she wished to, Jean was far too weak to do so. A bothersome fact. Her body didn’t care about bothersome facts. It confined her to bed. Her powers had kept her alive and were helping her heal, but that unfortunately had its limits.
The next time she woke up, there was a new couch and a curtain wall erected around the bed, though she had not asked for the latter. Peter took to the couch and Jean remained on the bed reluctantly. It seemed wrong to kick him off his own bed, and yet the gaping hole in her stomach held up by stitches, disagreed.
Her body won.
Jean still slept on that same bed.
Her body had grown a shade healthier. She could now walk throughout the apartment without feeling winded. Yet the pain lingered and flared up in the quiet moments. It gnawed at her with irksome persistence when she shifted wrong in bed or turned too sharply around a corner. Jean bore it by biting her tongue or driving her nails into her palms lest she cry. Sometimes she cried anyway.
The only other persistent presence had been Peter. He made her food to eat, forced strong medicine down her throat that left her sleepy. He cared for her. Never leaving to be Spider-Man when he had done nothing else for four years. It left her unsettled. She couldn’t decide if it was friendship or pity that motivated him. Could it be both?
Jean feared the answer.
His mind was closed to her. Even if it wasn’t, Jean had no right to any of it. Not to Aunt May’s warmth. Not to his deepest thoughts or hopes. The disappointment he showed when she talked to him through the nurse bore into her still like some aching wound that wouldn’t heal.
Jean didn’t belong in his mind or this apartment.
I’m little more than an interloper or an unwanted house guest.
Though Peter pretended otherwise, and occasionally she did too. He made it easy. Worry. Buckets of guilt. Care. Peter radiated all of those things as if he was a friend tending to her needs and wants. The feeling was as foreign as the apartment around her. The last person in her life like that was Sara.
Her heart beat a little faster.
Jean didn’t like it.
The sooner I can leave the better.
Where could she go? Her life was Sara, and now what did she have? Peter. I have him. The boy who was willing to take a bullet for her. He carried me to the doctors, sprinted me away when I asked, and blamed himself when I tore my stitch as if it was his fault.
None of that mattered.
It wasn’t enough to stay.
This was his apartment and his world.
Jean needed to find her own.
In another week, maybe she would be well enough to go to a train station. Maybe to a lake? There were lakes upstate. She could find a nice cabin to hold up in. She liked the idea of hiking trails and talking with the animals and, once it grew warmer, swimming in cool water.
Jean sighed.
More isolation wasn’t the answer.
I need a plan beyond that.
Nothing came to her. Jean melted into the soft cushions, hoping to dream of some place where she belonged.
“Miss Grey.” The AI assistant known as EV cut through her drowsiness. “Peter has asked me to make sure you have taken your morning medicine.”
Jean turned with a sigh and rose from bed. She went to the kitchen counter where it stood waiting and swallowed it. It tasted as awful as the first time. She washed it down with some tap water. She shot the machine a rude smile that it failed to notice or catalogue.
“Very good, Miss Grey. I see your vitals continue to improve. I’ve updated your expected recovery timeline. Would you wish to see it?”
“Later. How’s Peter?”
“Peter’s vitals are within optimum range. He’s stopping a robbery in progress. Would you wish me to contact him? I’ve been instructed to give you authorization to contact Peter for anything.”
Her response was prompt.
“No,” Jean said. “That’s unneeded.”
She walked to the fridge and saw the container with a handwritten note in Peter’s neat writing. It was labeled:
Breakfast: Chicken noodle soup.
There were two more containers in the fridge for lunch and dinner. Thoughtful. Unneeded. Typical.
Jean smiled despite herself.
She placed it in the microwave and simply stared as it slowly warmed up. It was a long two minutes before it mercifully beeped. Jean ate her breakfast at the kitchen table with her blanket still wrapped around her shoulders. It almost felt like a hug. She took a bite. It burned her tongue a little. Only silence greeted her small yelp of pain. Not the sound of footsteps or a voice asking if she was alright.
Jean tensed and put down her spoon.
Peter’s apartment felt even smaller and more empty than before.
Today was the first day he left as Spider-Man since she arrived. The police scanner had been turned off though Jean caught him glancing at it once or twice. He never said anything. In the end, it had been her who told him to go out.
“Go out. You want to. I really don’t need you.” Her voice always sounded harsher than she wished.
Peter argued against it.
He lost.
Jean felt no satisfaction for winning.
She finished her breakfast.
To prove her point, she focused on lifting her spoon to the kitchen sink. It landed with a satisfying clang. The container followed as she opened the door of the refrigerator simultaneously. The motions were jerky and would have spilled soup over the floor if the lid wasn’t secured. It wasn’t her best, but it was better than yesterday.
Jean smirked.
It faded quickly as the silence strangled her. Jean tapped her fingers against the table.. She marched over to Peter’s workstation, jumped into the chair, and swirled a little. The screen radiated a light blue light before an interface of New York City popped up. She leaned back with her feet resting casually on the table.
“So EV tell me about upstate New York.”
EV proved talkative and long winded as her creator, as she highlighted potential hideaways and suggestions of evasion it quickly took them past lunch.
“What are my chances of detection if I choose the cabin close to Lake George?” She bit into a roll, leaving crumbs all over his workstation. Jean would clean it up later.
“Extremely low,” EV replied without hesitation. “Department of Damage Control is less efficient than me.”
Jean snorted. “I could believe that.”
“Stick to the plan we agreed to. Unforeseen circumstances would be your only true worry. I’d place detection at two percent from government forces. Other forces unknown. Beyond my parameters.”
Jean frowned.
“Well, it’s a viable start.” No place was truly safe.
“Miss Grey, I’d also recommend increasing your circle of allies. Would you like me to generate a list of suggestions?” It hurt thinking of the future, and making the plan seemed to make it real.
“How’s Peter?” she asked.
“Peter’s vitals are slightly elevated. He is recklessly pursuing a gang trafficking stolen alien tech.”
Of course he was. What else was new.
It was proving a busy day for him. Three robberies, four muggings, and now this. Jean supposed his absence had made criminals emboldened. If Spider-Man was around, they could move with almost impunity, only contending with the hapless police who were hopelessly outmatched.
“Miss Grey, this is the fifth time you’ve inquired about Peter’s vitals. Clearly, you are concerned about his well being. Calling for you.”
Jean’s mind took a second to process that.
“What? No. Don’t!”
It was too late. The call connected. Jean could hear the wind whipping around as Peter was swinging. She was thankful he couldn’t see her embarrassment.
“Hey, Jean. Enjoy lunch?” he asked. “I tried my best. Might have left it in the oven a bit too long.”
“It was fine. I enjoyed it.”
“Really? Only fine? You must have hated it. I’ll do takeout next time.”
Jean played with a strand of hair. “Where?” she asked, leaning further into the chair.
“Don’t know. What do you like? It’s for you, not me.” The sound of a punch landing cracked as gunfire rained in the background.
“As long as it’s not chinese food. I’ve had enough in my life.”
“That really narrows it down for me. Only a few hundred options to pick from.”
Jean laughed. “Surprise me.”
“Surprise you?” Peter asked incredulously. “Are you setting me up to fail? Not nice, Jean.”
“Are you making dinner plans right now?” came an indignant voice over the microphone.
“Look, father of the year here is lecturing me.” Peter quipped and must have shot webbing at him because he quieted. “Everything alright with you? Almost done with these jokers. Hell’s Kitchen isn’t sending her best today. No doctors or engineers here. Not even an accountant. Entrance exams must be getting harder.”
“I’m fine. Just me and EV.”
There was a brief pause and a loud thud in the background. “I could cut this short,” he offered.
And Peter meant it. He could stop and pick something up. Maybe a milkshake? She could go for one with extra sprinkles. Her mouth watered at the thought.
Jean wanted to say yes.
“Don’t,” she told him. “There wouldn’t be a point. Wouldn’t make me heal any faster.”
“You sure?” Peter asked uncertainly.
“Yes.” Jean’s cheeks were hot. “I’m going back to bed. I’m tired.”
She took a breath and her voice softened. “Just try not to get hurt. You get hurt a lot for a hero.”
Peter chuckled. “That’s the job. Terrible health benefits. Don’t even get me started on the copay.” He joked, followed by a grunt of pain that wasn’t his own. “Alright, sweet dreams. Call me if you need anything. You know you can call for whatever.”
“I know Peter.”
The line went dead.
She waited in the chair for a long moment thinking before returning to her bed to get some sleep. Maybe when she woke she would remember good sense. Jean doubted that. I don’t have a good track record for good judgment. I need to make the right one here. Ever since Sara’s abduction, she judged every choice by how quickly it would reunite her with her sister. No matter how much mayhem it caused or who got hurt. Jean saw how destructive it had been for herself and others driving the tank through the prison’s walls.
I won’t let myself lose control like that ever again.
Jean found herself slipping.
The universe wanted to torture her with an old nightmare as she was back at the park with Sara. Jean never hesitated and threw her arms around her older sister strangling her half to death. “Alright, what’s that for?” Sara asked, grimacing in a way only an older sibling could do. “Cut it out.”
It was a beautiful day filled with families having picnics or children playing games of frisbee. A perfect day for some ice cream.
“Do you want some?” Sara asked. “Let’s get your favorite.”
“Nothing is going to happen,” Jean swore. “I’m not going to let it.”
“We know how this plays out.”
“It doesn’t have to.” Jean begged.
Sara shot a knowing look. “It does.” She smiled. “And you are moving on. I want that for you.”
Jean flinched.
She tried to deny it with tears in her eyes.
Her entire body locked up. A feeling that she hated above everything else because she knew what came next. Soldiers swarmed them with rifles and black vans, and Jean was powerless to save her sister from Damage Control. She woke up alone. It hurt as badly as the first time.Her entire world lay shattered in a blink. Bring her back! Bring her back!
Jean screamed.
Her hands were no longer free and were bound to that device at Damage Control. The more she struggled, the tighter her restraints became. It dug into her skin as his voice echoed all around, infuriatingly calm. She wasn’t a person but an object to study and experiment with.Her body jerked violently. Above her V-Max, the last thing Sara saw taunted her. Director Metzger kept talking. She had heard enough of his voice. He was going to speak through a body cast. “Jean!” he said, his voice booming over the telecom. He sounded worried. She had enough of his games with her.
“Enough!” Jean screamed.
Director Metzger went flying through concrete and stone.
The cold room vanished in a blink.
She wasn’t in Damage Control and was back in Peter’s apartment. Jean’s breath came out hard and ragged. Her eyes widened in horror at the sight. Peter was crumpled on the ground six feet from the bed, rubbing his shoulder. It dawned on her what she had just done.
She kicked off the sheets. He was still wearing his Spider-Man suit, save for the mask which he had taken off.
“Peter!” she cried out.
Tears threatened to come out.
He groaned. “Some nightmare, huh?” He quickly jumped to his feet. “You hungry? Brought dinner.” He sounded so nonchalant.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, her eyes looking him over from head to heel. A few tears did stream down her cheek. “I didn’t mean-”
“Jean, it’s fine. It was an accident.” Peter’s voice was consoling. “I’m fine. I’ve been thrown far worse, honest.” For him it was completely normal. Just another Tuesday.
It was too much.
She rubbed her face violently.
Jean went for her shoes and threw them on despite the blinding pain from the sharp movement.
“Jean?” Peter said, standing abreast between her and the door. “Calm down, please. What are you-”
“I’m leaving.” she declared. “I’m not staying any longer.”
She wriggled into her hoodie and just grabbed her jacket, too angry to try putting it on. Peter was talking, but she was ignoring him. She would get a motel and then find a bus in the morning. Her thoughts raced and jumbled together.
Webbing struck the doorknob.
“I can’t let you do that,” Peter said.
Jean twisted back, flaring. “Are you an idiot?” she snapped. “You can’t keep me here. I’m stronger than you.” She could feel his mind. Jean couldn’t quite overpower him at the moment, at least not easily. His pesky mind was stronger than normal humans and she wasn’t one hundred percent. But she could feel his emotions on the surface.
“Don’t,” she hissed.
“Like the hospital,” he pointed out. “You’re still hurt! Think, Jean! Think!” Peter shouted.
“I’m not going to stand back and allow you to get hurt again because you gave me a bruise!”
Both of them were shouting, their cheeks growing redder by the second until they were inches from each other. “I’m not some little girl in need of protection, hero,” she spat.
“The stitches and staples say otherwise.”
Jean laughed a bitter sound. “You promised I could leave when I wished.”
“When you were healthy!” Peter’s voice climbed higher. “What sort of friend would I be to let you leave like this?” I don’t need to get in his mind to beat him. She had done it before.
“I thought you of all people would understand. If you had hurt Ned or MJ, would you want to stay near them?”
Peter’s eyes widened.
She felt a little smug. Got you!
“Then I’ll go. You can have my apartment for the week.”
Suddenly, she was on the back foot. Jean had not considered that. “I’m not kicking you out of your own apartment, Peter.”
“You’re not,” he insisted. “I’m giving it to you for the week.”
The offer was infuriatingly selfless and heroic. Just like when he tried to protect her from a bullet or when he fought the Hand to prevent her from making a mistake. Putting everyone else above himself. It was making things more difficult than they needed to be. Jean’s cheeks warmed as her hands curled into fists at her sides. Her nightmare lingered in the back of her thoughts.
“Stop being so heroic! Be selfish. I’m not your responsibility!” She shoved him, not with her mind but her hands. He didn’t budge an inch, like hitting a wall of muscle.
“You have me. I meant that, Jean.”
And that’s all he needed to say.
It’s all he ever needed to say to make her weak.
“I don’t want you to go,” Jean admitted.
“Then I’ll stay.”
Jean found no relief only a growing sense of bitterness and dread. She felt as unbalanced as when she woke up to Peter’s sprawled form on the floor.
“Peter…” Her voice trailed. “You’re special. Like me. Why do you do it? You don’t have to do anything for them. Nothing. This city doesn’t deserve it.”
She needed to know.
Peter didn’t hesitate.
“Our powers don’t make us special. Only what we do with them. That’s our responsibility. To ourselves. May believed that, and I do too.”
“People aren’t good Peter. They aren’t you.” Her breath was loud and labored.
She could still hear the director’s calm clinical voice echoing in the back of her mind. It left her hot and bothered. When she held him under her thrall, Jean saw all of him, and he was so banal and mundane. She thought the murderer of her sister would be especially cruel. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t exceptional in any way. Humans masked their depravity behind their walls and their fake smiles.
Peter shook his head. “I’m not that special, Jean.” He insisted. “Anyone could do what I do if they were bitten by that spider.”
She scoffed. “No one would live like this.” Her tone was biting. “Give everything for them. They would enrich themselves, kill.” She placed an angry finger against his chest.
His jaw tightened. “Some,” he admitted. “Most simply haven’t had the chance. People would surprise you with how they grow. I made my share of mistakes.”Every stubborn word out of his mouth only angered her further. Peter was so blind it hurt.
Jean’s eyes narrowed. He was making her head throb with his idiocy. “Stop saying that. You are special.”
Peter laughed.
“I’ve fought with wizards and gods. I’m just a kid from Queens.”
He proceeded to name them. Tony Stark. Captain America. Thor. Doctor Strange. Captain Marvel. All of their great deeds, as if his were meaningless.
“Ant-Man, who-”
“Ant-Man? Did you just place Ant-Man above yourself?” She cut him off.
That was insulting. Jean’s eyes rolled.
“He was an Avenger,” Peter said.
“None of them stopped me. You did.”
Peter sighed.
“You stopped yourself, Jean. Not me.”
Jean felt dazed, as if she was struck by Mjolnir. She racked her mind trying to think if that was true. “That’s not…” Her voice trailed.
“I helped a little.” Peter smiled. “But you were just lost like me. You needed someone. But you made that choice.” He said it without a hint of doubt. “You’re a good person and you’ll do great things. I believe that.”
She lowered her head. The silence around them was thick as the floor creaked beneath her feet. Outside, the quiet hum of a city that never truly slept made the tension in her shoulders worse. Jean couldn’t muster up any words. Her tongue refused to obey.
“Listen,” Peter said his voice barely above a whisper. “I like having you here. I know I can’t keep you here, but please stay a few more days for those who care about you. You’re still healing and shouldn’t be out.”
And Peter did care.
She could feel it in his words and his thoughts. It was softer and warmer than any kiss. Jean could drown in it. The sight of Peter’s bruised shoulder rescued her. I did that to him. The next time could be worse.
Still Jean had no answer.
“Good night, Peter.”
“Good night, Jean.”
She had no appetite for dinner.
Sleep offered no comfort. Jean woke tired to fingers of light striking her face and an empty apartment. Peter was gone. His presence was nowhere near the apartment. She couldn’t feel him even miles away. Does that make this easier or harder? What would Sara have done? I have to. She threw the covers off and quickly got dressed. Jean only grimaced twice. She wolfed down her food and medicine, which was especially awful today. Nothing else to pack. All she owned was on her back: her yellow hoodie and green jacket with dark blue jeans. “Order that ticket, EV. We are doing my plan we discussed.” she said.
“As you wish, Mrs. Grey. Would you wish me to contact Peter?”
“No.”
Jean found pen and paper.
Sorry, Peter.
-Your friend, Jean.
It’s all she could write. Would he keep it with the letter he wrote his friends? Or would he throw it away like a meaningless posted note? I don’t care. Jean lied to herself.
She left it on the foot of the made bed.
Her legs felt wooden. She took it all in and said her goodbye. The used couch, the curtains he got for her, the refrigerator with all her meals, and Peter’s handwritten notes. “Take care of him EV.”
“I shall follow my programming, Miss Grey.”
Jean picked herself up and left out the door for the first and final time.
It was hard to get out of the elevator, but she pressed on. It got a little easier in the lobby. Cool air kissed her as she walked outside. It was wet and grey, matching her mood. A chill ran through her as she breathed a cold breath visible in the frigid air.
She slowed her pace as she joined a crowd of New Yorkers heading off to work or school. She had moved the wrong way, and a fresh round of pain stabbed her. Jean pushed through with gritted teeth and waved down a cab.
The cab that pulled up smelled thick with cigarettes. Jean hopped in anyway. The man glanced back. He was missing a tooth. “Where to, sweetheart?” he asked.
“Grand Central Terminal.”
“Traveling out of state?”
“Just drive.” Her tone was as chilly as the air.
The cab driver tried to rope her into conversation before mercifully giving up and turning up the radio. For a brief second, she was tempted to take him over for such a trivial annoyance. As easy as putting on my shoes.
The thought sickened her.
It wasn’t survival, so she did nothing and slumped over to the window. Jean watched cars drive by and read the signs of coffee shops, restaurants, jewelry stores, retail stores, and department stores. The traffic was endless as far as Jean could see. They had caught morning traffic and were packed bumper to bumper. Before she got her powers, she and Sara would play car games with their mother. I spy with my little eye…
She looked up into the sky wondering if she would spy him swinging on by. Would he chase me down to the station and try to stop me from leaving? Heroes did that. “I’ll always stop you.” He had told her when they were enemies.
Jean sighed.
It was unfair of her to hold Peter to that standard. He wasn’t coming. Even if a small part of her hoped he did. The taxi started to move a bit faster as the traffic cleared up.
Had Peter returned to the apartment and found it deserted? Jean pictured him reading the letter, and she tightened. It would hurt him. Another wound she afflicted upon him. But he would be fine in the long term. She tried telling herself.
Peter would reach out to his friends. He’s not trying to do it alone anymore and wouldn’t make that mistake again. MJ and Ned would be invited to his apartment, and they would bring friends themselves and would eat and talk the night away. It would be lively and happy.
It would be like I was never there.
The thought made her so still Jean could hear her heart drumming in her chest. I can’t do this again, Jean nearly whispered.
The cabin on the lake was practical and prudent. A safe place away from complications. A nice place to hike, swim, and think.
It was lonely.
Don’t you dare get cold feet.
Jean hardened.
The side door unlocked.
“Alright, we are here miss.” The cabby’s voice cut through her thoughts. “The fare is sixty-two and forty-some cents. How will you pay, card or Venmo?”
Jean didn’t move a muscle.
“Hello? Young lady.” He asked again, frustration creeping into his voice. “Do you not have-”
“Take me back.”
The cabby’s face was flushed. “Like hell I will.” Before he could finish, he was startled by a tap against the glass. A man in a suit and tie held out a card.
“For the young lady’s fare, sir.”
“Do you know her?” The cab driver asked puzzled as he took the platinum card.
The businessman only stared with a stony glare that must have scared clients in the boardroom he worked at. He was a corporate attorney.
“Payment received. Now take her back.” Both of them said it together in unison.
“And step on it,” Jean said glowering.
The cab driver was deathly silent the rest of the trip.
Her worries were unfounded when she threw open the door to the apartment. Peter was still mercifully gone and the note was right where she had left it. She grabbed it with her mind and completely incinerated it better than any shredder and sent the remains to the trash.Her stomach didn’t share her sense of relief and growled. Jean decided to order a pizza for the two of them. If EV was capable of surprise, it was very close to it.
“Miss Grey, was there a problem? Do you require assistance? Police, Spider-Man, or Avengers. I can route them to your location.”
“There is no problem, EV.” Jean replied. “I just changed my mind. Can you order a pizza for me?”
“Oh I can certainly do that.”
EV generated a list of local pizzerias and the pros and cons for them. When they were done, EV added, “And I’m happy you’re back. Peter’s vitals have improved with your company. His lack of socialization has been detrimental to his health.”
Jean left down to the lobby to pick up the pizza at the front desk. When she returned, Peter had returned. He was behind the door.
She spoke to him.
‘Can you get the door? My hands are full.’
There was a loud thud as if he fell off the couch.
‘Jean?’
The door swung open.
Peter was out of his suit and in a brown hoodie and black pants.
“Hope you like pineapple.” She gave him a sly smile. “Kidding. I’m not that cruel.”
Peter brightened. “Yeah, let’s have some. Let me help you with that.” He took one of the boxes. They set them on the kitchen counter and sat down by the rundown table with some cheap plastic plates.
She dug in without waiting and took a large bite, the cheese oozing down her chin which she wiped away.
“How was your patrol?” Jean asked.
Peter shrugged. “Webbed up some criminals. Helped some victims of a car accident. Quiet day, really.”
He was looking at her intently as if he could read her mind if he tried hard enough. EV must have told him. Jean fought the urge to frown.
“You want to say something.”
“Well.” His voice trailed. “EV was telling me you left and you had purchased a ticket to leave the city, and you’re still here.”
“And?” Her voice tightened. “Say it.”
“Why did you come back?”
The question hung over her head. Jean didn’t have a good answer for him.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Is that a problem?”
Peter shook his head.
“I’m sorry about fighting,” Jean offered. “Truce?”
“Me too.”
Peter finally bit into his slice and her lips twirled up in a small smile. I made the right choice this time
Jean floated herself a second helping of pizza.