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Spider-Man is a legend.
Bad ass, wise cracker, a marvel to behold as he swings effortlessly through the skies. Ten year old Timothy Mathews has only seen him in shaky footage on a television screen; always telling his siblings to shush, eyes wide, drinking in the sight of his favourite hero. To think of Spider-Man is to think of crime fighting, life saving, justice serving. To think of Spider-Man is to think of web slinging, wall climbing, avenging. To think of Spider-Man, really, is to think of the farthest thing from ordinary.
But here he is. Red-and-blue wonder, buying groceries at the store.
He has a bag on his back and wears a jacket over his suit (could Spider-Man get cold? Timothy always assumed that he was immune to extreme temperatures. That seemed infinitely cooler than thinking of Spider-Man, superhero, shivering on the roofs of buildings in the winter) and is scratching thoughtfully at his temple as he studies the many cans of soup stretched out in front of him.
Timothy is absolutely rooted to the spot. Star struck. Could he ask for an autograph? Would that be rude? Surely Spider-Man has other, more important things to do. But...he is here, in this grocery store after all. Maybe this is his day off.
A pleasant, poppy song plays quietly over the stores speakers and Spider-Man nods his head along to the tune. It is just the right kind of humanising, familiarising activity that eases Timothy enough to approach him.
"Um," he says, voice shaky. "Spider-man?"
The eyes of the suit stretch and shift, widening in surprise as Spider-Man faces him.
"Hey, kid," he greets cheerily, giving him a little friendly wave. "You don't happen to know where I could find some vegetable soup, do you? I can't see any here."
Timothy takes a look at the shelf beside him, feeling stiff and nervous. There's a can right by his head, he grabs it quickly.
"Here," he says, finding his voice. It's a little odd not being able to see his facial expressions, but Spider-Man seems to radiate a friendliness that slowly calms him down.
"Thanks, buddy. You really saved me," Spider-Man says, when Timothy hands it over. Timothy flushes with delight. "I need this for my girlfriend. She's sick."
Timothy's eyes widen in surprise. "You have a girlfriend?"
"I know, it's pretty shocking, isn't it?" replies Spider-Man, in jest.
"Is she...is she a superhero too?" Timothy blurts, excitement suddenly coursing through him.
"Yeah," says Spider-Man. "She's super smart, super funny, super good at everything she does. She's probably gonna run for President one day, you know, and that'll save the entire country. I'm just out here trying to micro-manage New York."
Timothy grins. "But does she have super powers? Like you?"
"You don't need superpowers to be a superhero," says Spider-Man. He pulls out what looks to be a shopping list from his jacket pocket, and the eyes of his suit narrow as he studies it. "But," he tucks the shopping list away, "she has finished an entire, very large book in just under two hours before. Which, was pretty impressive. I watched her do it. Can't remember what the book was called, though. I'll have to get back to you on that. Also, she's saved me more times than I can count."
"I once came first in a spelling bee," says Timothy, almost stumbling over his words in his eagerness to impress him. "And I once saved a bird that was hurt on the side of the road."
"Well, would you look at that." Timothy can't see Spider-Man's smile, but he can hear it in his voice. "You're a superhero too."
Peter Parker is an idiot.
It hits him as he swings to Michelle's house, bag of groceries clutched tightly in one hand, that he had forgotten the tea she had asked for.
She had called him during one of his usual Saturday afternoon patrols, voice croaky over the speaker, and asked "could you maybe come over and nurse me back to health?"
It was a cold and quiet day (those two things often seemed to go hand in hand) and Peter was chilling on a rooftop, eating snacks out of his backpack.
"Of course," he had said. "Anything for you."
"Lame," had been her response, which had made him smile like an idiot. (They'd been dating for a little over six months, and Peter wondered if there would ever be time where his first response to nearly everything she did would not be smiling like an idiot).
"Do you need anything?" he had asked. "I can drop in at the store on the way over."
And so she had given him a small list of things and he had pulled out one of his school notebooks from his bag (he really should get another backpack, so he doesn't have to use his school one for everything) and scribbled everything down. Chicken soup, chocolate (the nutty kind), a heat pack (if he could find one), some bread (this wasn't a sick-related request, she just knew that they'd run out yesterday), a brain ("That one's for you, Peter." "Very funny.") and, most importantly, tea.
He'd gotten distracted, that's the unfortunate thing about doing things other than crime-fighting in his suit. That kid had seen him as Spider-Man and once they'd started chatting they couldn't stop. Peter liked to watch the little glint in his eyes, liked the way the kid smiled so wide his face almost split in half. It was one of the best parts of the job.
But Michelle really is gonna kill him about the tea. And he should just go back to the store and get some. But he lands, stuck to the wall by her bedroom window, and he kinda doesn't want to do anything else but see her.
And he's an idiot.
Michelle Jones is, for lack of a better word, dying.
Wait, correction: really fucking dying.
Her nose is blocked, throat scratchy and sore, head throbbing. All the lights in her room are off but it still feels too bright, and she can't decide whether she wants her blankets on or off. She's hot and then cold and then boiling and then freezing and then everything at once.
She hopes Peter will be here soon. With her soup. And her tea.
A few rhythmic taps at her window tell her he's arrived. (There's really no reason to knock because, despite the closed-off appearance of the curtains being drawn, it's unlocked. He just does it so he doesn't scare her when he suddenly topples in through the window). And a few seconds later, he appears, Spider-Man, holding a bag of groceries.
"Hey," he says, tugging of his mask and approaching her bed. "Don't be mad."
"I'm not. I'm actually really happy to see you," says Michelle. And she is. She makes little grabby hands at him, urging him closer, and he sits down on the side of her mattress, leans over and presses a kiss to her forehead. "You're the best."
"Urgh," he says, pulling away only to press his own forehead against hers. "Don't say cute things now, MJ. I fucked up."
She gets a hand on his chest and pushes him away, mostly because she's contagious and doesn't want him getting sick, but also because she wants him to see the narrow-eyed, scrutinising look she has going on.
"What did you do?"
His expression is sheepish. "Well, it's actually a kinda funny, and really adorable story. See, I met this kid at the grocery store. He was a big fan. And we got talking - I told him all about you. Really chatted you up. He seemed interested. So, if you break up with me after this, you could probably make your move..."
"Get to the point, Peter."
"Well, what happened was...I didn't...I was just too busy being a really great role model to this kid, giving him, you know, amazing life-advice..."
"Peter."
"I forgot the tea."
Michelle's hand, which is still resting on his chest, travels up to his shoulder, hooks around his neck. He is smiling at her apologetically, and moves pliantly when she tugs him forwards. Not too close. But close enough that he gets the full brunt of her scowl.
"You had," she says, "one job."
The apologetic smile slips and Peter seems to scramble for a defence.
"I don't even get what's so great about tea!" he says, and she shoves him away and flops back onto her pillows. "It's just...leaf water. Like, if you were drinking a glass of water outside and a leaf fell into it...that'd be gross! So why's tea such a well respected drink?"
"You can't compare tea to a fucking leaf falling into your drink," she grumbles. It's so dumb that she almost wants to laugh, but she doesn't, placing her hands over her eyes and inhaling deeply. Her head still pounds. She'd just wanted a warm, soothing cup of tea.
Peter sighs. "Yeah, I'm being stupid. Probably because I also forgot to get that brain you asked for."
And, goddammit, Michelle's scowl evaporates, replaced with a smile, and she curses herself for it. Why does he have to be so...lovable?
"Come here, you big goof," she says, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. "I'm guessing you didn't get a heat pack, either, so you'll have to keep me warm instead."
"I actually did get a heat pack," Peter says, but he lets her pull him right up next to her on the bed. He lies down by her side, resting his head and one hand, palm flat, on her stomach. She brushes her fingers through his hair.
They lie like that, in comfortable silence, for only a few moments, before Michelle is nudging him away, murmuring, "it's too hot."
Peter sits up quickly. "It was getting a little uncomfortable lying in my suit, anyway," he says. "I'm gonna get changed real quick, okay?" He ducks in and presses his lips to hers before she even has a chance to reply.
Her hands fly to her mouth.
"You can't kiss me, idiot, you'll get sick!"
"Spider-Man can't get sick," Peter says, rummaging through his bag for a change of clothes. "He is immune to all illnesses."
"You got the flu last year."
Peter straightens, holding a bundle of his clothes in his hands, and tilts his head.
"Did I?" he challenges, raising an eyebrow, with the intent of making her question herself. It is just the type of annoyingly vague response that she, herself, would give.
They spend too much time together.
In the end, Peter makes her a warm cup of lemon-honey water (which is way better than tea, he says) and a hot bowl of soup. She enjoy them both, sitting cross-legged on her bed, while Peter fusses over whether the room is dark enough, and whether she's too hot, and do you have enough pillows?
"I've had enough of you," Michelle grumbles, as Peter tries to draw the curtains even more tightly together and ends up pulling the curtain rods off their hooks. He hurries to fix it as sunlight streams into the room. "Sit down before I kick you out."
He smiles, a big goofy smile, like she had just said something incredibly sweet, and settles down next to her. And then he kisses her. Again. And she calls him an idiot. Again.
"If you end up getting sick, I'm really gonna kill you," she says.
"I'll be fine," Peter says, and he pulls her into his arms and kisses on the top of her head.
But two days pass and he is definitely not fine. He calls her up, his voice just as scratchy as hers had been, and says, a little timidly, "I think there's an illness Spider-Man isn't immune to."
"Yeah," Michelle says, rolling her eyes. "It's called stupidity."
But she doesn't kill him, like she had originally threatened. Instead, she drives over to his house, still battling off the last symptoms of her own sickness (the things she does for him), with the leftover soup, and heat pack he had bought her (which he had dropped, you know, protecting the city to go and get) (the things they do for each other), and she shows him the wonders of tea.