Chapter Text
Michelle Jones is not anti-social. She shifts uncomfortably when she sees Betty’s reaction to her mini-spiel because honestly, it’s not like she’s trying to be holier-than-thou. It’s just that things feel like they’re falling into place (and she’ll deny any claims of superstition) but Michelle doesn’t really want to jinx anything. Internally, she’s cringing because this whole narrative of success where women have to sacrifice every facet of their lives to their work seems so overplayed. As her best friend and roommate, Betty is fully aware of this. So it comes at no surprise when she throws it back at Michelle.
“Going on one date isn’t going to derail your whole career MJ,” Betty says, throwing her a look of concern. Michelle can only shrink in her seat as Betty keeps one hand on her shoulder as the other lightly dusts rouge on her cheeks.
“Is it…y’know…still…because of Harry?” Cindy asks, struggling to choose her words carefully, as she peeks over from her place on the couch. Michelle swears under her breath because of course everybody believes that the only reason she refuses to date is because of an ex-boyfriend from once-upon-a-time ago.
So she’s been single for 2 years. So what? She’s so close.
The apartment is in a state of disarray just the way she likes it. Cindy is sprawled across the couch, almost hanging upside down as she scrolls mindlessly between songs on her “Ready. Set. Go” playlist on Spotify. A variety of Top 40 bangers blast from the speakers sitting in the middle of their coffee table as the girls busy themselves for a well-deserved night out.
After a handful of sleepless nights and a series of interviews, she finally received her offer to the oh-so-coveted internship with the Daily Bugle, and yes, this was it. So it’s not like she can’t deal with feelings. They’re just not part of the plan. Why complicate the simplicity of this routine that she’s near-perfected?
It’s been two years and she’s extremely focused and she refuses to attribute any of her success to overcompensating just because of a break-up.
“No Cindy,” she sighs. “Would it be sufficient to leave it at…I’m not particularly impressed with the pool of candidates that are available?”
“That pool has been limited to the dweebs in your seminars and less than half the staff on the Spectator,” Betty retorts. “Which is why, in the name of female empowerment, and yes that’s the case that I’m making, you should download this app and expand your options.”
She’s not against online-dating. It’s the twenty-first century and everyone is entitled to find love in a hopeless place. Rihanna wouldn’t lie to her like that. It’s just that she knows herself too well.
At best, subscribing to Brant’s feminist argument means taking on a social experiment deconstructing the merits of female empowerment on these dating apps. It’s appealing for like a second until she realizes that pursuing said experiment means actually engaging with a number of hypothetical strangers on what could possibly be a set of awkward first dates.
“And then what?” she asks, blowing a stray curl out of her face. She watches Betty’s eyes light up at the possibility that she might just entertain her suggestion. The interest from the couch piques as Cindy stands up to join the two by the mirror.
“Then we have fun! Downloading the app doesn’t even guarantee that you have to go on a date,” Betty carefully argues.
“Yes! It’s just in knowing that, like your career, there is an endless sea of opportunity…and fish,” Cindy laughs.
“Waiting to bone,” she deadpans, cocking her eyebrow. Betty laughs at the insinuation.
“It doesn’t have to be so serious MJ!” Betty says, waving her arms in protest. “We aren’t talking about forever here.”
It’s not meant to sound like an insult. It’s not even a critique. She knows that they’re concerned. Not the biggest fan of crowds, Michelle had enjoyed the company of her childhood friends. Consequently, her social circle had been smaller - intimate and familiar. It had meant less to worry about; she would have even less to lose.
“I’m not saying yes…but I’m not saying no either,” she says slowly, confused by her own willingness to participate. Michelle watches the way Betty’s eyes widen at her answer, internally cringing at her own response.
“Too late,” Cindy retorts, stretching her body away from the couch and reaching for the black phone sitting face-up in front of her. “Betty, what’s her password?”
“Nineteen-Eighty-Four,” Betty gleefully screams from across the room. Michelle twists in her seat fighting to stand up. Cindy jumps on top of the couch holding the iPhone triumphantly. Betty wraps her hands around Michelle to try to keep her in place. For a moment, it feels like they’re fifteen again, goofing off in the comfort of her bedroom back in Astoria on a Friday night.
“Jesus Brant. Where the hell did your superhuman strength even come from?” Michelle squeals as she struggles against Betty’s hold.
“It’s called the gym Jones,” Betty laughs, wrapping her legs around Michelle’s waist to pin her down. “Do you surrender?”
“Are we five?” Michelle protests in between attempts to wriggle her way out of Betty’s grip. She pauses for a moment, taking in the scene playing out in their living room. Three of Columbia’s finest academics, duking it out playground-style over Michelle’s phone. Cindy stands victorious atop the couch frame, holding the device in the air like a flag as her friends roll around on the carpet beneath.
Technically speaking, her best friends were right in the sense that no, she most definitely did not have to go on any dates. She most definitely did not have to fall in love. And if it interfered with any of her long-term plans, she could easily delete the app from existence including any and all traces of the social experiment that it would leave behind.
“I surrender,” she yells, holding a hand out, gently shoving Betty off to the side. Smoothing her dress, she sits against the coffee table, tilting her head allowing her curls to spill all over the surface. Cindy jumps down from the couch to join the two on the floor, tossing the phone onto Michelle’s lap, leaning her head on her shoulder. Betty grips at her side, roaring in laughter until the sound of the buzzer prompts her to jump from her place and run towards the door.
“Liz is here!” she announces from across the room. Cindy reaches over for her own phone, fiddling until the smooth vocals of SZA fill their apartment from corner to corner. Michelle busies herself, fingers hovering over the screen in confusion.
“What am I downloading exactly?” she asks, biting her nails out of habit.
She hears Liz before she feels her, plopping down and laying down on the floor, head on her lap. As expected, Liz is dressed to the nines and raring to go.
“But why am I not surprised that no one in this apartment has their shit together?” Liz jokes, grinning up at the her as Betty and Cindy dump a pile of clothes in the middle of the coffee table. Michelle eyes the lump of sequins, glitter, silk, and mesh before sticking her tongue out at Liz.
“We’ve been too busy with matters of the heart dear Elizabeth,” Betty quips with an accent, slipping herself into a leather skirt. She plucks a top from the pile as Liz opens her mouth in question.
“Bumble,” Cindy states, stepping out of her room, swiping a coat of gloss across her lips. “To answer you both. Bumble.”
Liz sits up from her spot, knocking the phone out of Michelle’s hands before asking, “Pray tell, which lovely lady is gracing the screens of Manhattan’s finest?”
“I’d hardly call this Manhattan’s finest,” Michelle snorts, picking up the phone from its place next under the table. “It’s for a social experiment.”
Cindy can’t help but grin, finally smacking her lips together as an indication that she too, was ready for the night. Heels in hand, she sits plants herself across the two with a knowing smile painted on her face.
“MJ!” Liz teases, slapping her shoulder playfully. “The Bugle and Bumble all in the same day? You truly are a woman of the city!”
“Betty? Are you anywhere close to ready?” she barks, rolling her eyes and knocking her shoulders against Liz’s.
On cue, the blonde steps out, sleek and straight hair framing her face. She leans against the doorway, struggling to slip into a worn pair of stilettos.
“Social experiment or not, you need a profile MJ,” she notes, grabbing the wine bottle sitting on the kitchen counter.
“I can’t do this,” Michelle surrenders, dropping the phone from her hands, burying her face in its space.
Picking up the phone from carpet, Liz shakes her head exasperated. “I’ll do it. You can veto whatever we choose.”
Pouring wine into their glasses, Betty peers over her shoulder, biting her lip in concentration. Cindy stands behind the three, hovering for a glimpse of the screen.
“Unbelievable,” Michelle comments. “I can’t get you to edit any of my personal essays but this you’ll willingly take on.”
She takes a sip from her glass, leaving her friends to watch the lights flit outside their window. Closing her eyes, she listens to the sounds that hum on the streets, and for a second she’s anywhere but home. Brought back by the faint sound of snickering behind her, Michelle opens her eyes lets out a sigh of defeat.
“Done-” they chorus together, crowding around the screen, awaiting her approval. She doesn’t really know what to expect. They leave her with the phone, busying themselves with clearing the table, allowing her to assess their work.
They had been covering the march for the Spectator when Betty had spontaneously whipped out her camera and snapped the photo. Her face is tilted away from the camera, head dipped with her mouth open ever so slightly twisting to form half a smile; a slight dimple gracing her left cheek. Snow falls in the background, dusting her nose ever so lightly. She’s holding up a sign in front of her, resting her chin on its top, as she cradles it tightly in her arms. If she squints hard enough, she looks like her mother, all smiles amidst tension.
She swipes up to find another photo of the four of them standing outside her favourite coffee shop armed with popsicles and their hands wrapped around each other. Her curls fall around her face, spilling out of the bun sitting at the crown of her head. She’s smiling at Liz, fingers red from the popsicle melting in her hand.
Her heart stops as she scrolls to the last image. It’s ironic really. Drop-dead gorgeous, he had exclaimed, just minutes before the shot. She’s so young, her face vibrant with hope, love, and naivety. She’s dressed in a deep red gown that fell straight to the floor, hugging her figure in just the right places. They had attended one of his father’s last galas, in honour of yet another breakthrough for Oscorp. It was the last time she would see him.
“You looked so stunning,” Cindy murmurs. “We couldn’t not include it.” She nods automatically, as if she understands. As if it’s okay.
Clearing her throat, she probes, “So how does this thing work?”
“Right for yes,” Betty offers. “Left for no. It’s simple really.”
Michelle mutters a thank you before she’s ushered out the door, stumbling down the stairs in Cindy’s heels, an inch too high for her already statuesque figure. Looking up at the stars, she whispers a silent prayer, hoping that the night will take them away. They sprint into the darkness and Liz lets out a squeal of delight.
“Cheers to Michelle!” they sing in tandem, as she covers her ears in embarrassment. A couple across the street throws them a stern look and Michelle can only return their steeliness with the shy warmth from her own smile.
Tonight was about celebrating firsts and she feels a rush of laughter explode from her chest, as she tightens her grip on Liz’s hand, skipping down the street. For the first time in a long time, Michelle inhales the air of the night, letting it sink into her chest as she lets go of herself. This, she thinks, can only get better.
-----
A week later she sits at a cafe on her lunch break, watching the door, waiting for Liz to make her appearance. Putting down her book, she pulls out her phone with the intention of shooting her friend a gentle reminder of the merits of being on time, as preached by Liz herself. Instead, she finds her fingers hovering over the yellow block.
She's been cruising on autopilot. Her social experiment has yet to yield any results worthy of making it on her blog. After swiping left on yet another budding venture capitalist, she recognizes the next photo that falls on her screen.
He's standing in front of Stark Industries with a sheepish smile, one hand shoved in his pocket and the other grabbing the curls that flop against his forehead. She snorts at the cheesy pun on his shirt, "I Got My Ion You". Scrolling through his photos, she smiles at one of May pinching his cheeks. It's a photo she's kind of familiar with. They had grown up together-ish. He's always kind of been there one way or another.
The phone is brutally ripped out of her hands as she looks up to find Liz seated comfortably in front of her.
“Peter Parker is pretty cute,” she teases. “I thought he was at MIT?"
“You're late,” Michelle notes, ushering them in line. “I was just going to text you.”
“Obviously,” Liz replies, smiling at the younger girl. Handing the phone back, she adds, “It’s a match by the way.”
Fighting the heat rising up her chest, Michelle turns away to look at the menu board - messy scrawl on a chalkboard, a vain attempt at hipster chic no doubt.
“Lattes on me?” she asks, cringing at her less than obvious attempt to change the subject. Liz nods, humming to herself as the two stand shoulder to shoulder in line.
“How's your first week?” Liz inquires, optimistic as ever.
“Not what I expected,” she muses. “But it's only the first week.” She brings her hand to her lips, absentmindedly swiping across its rough ridges. “I'm stuck on Spider-Man duty,” she adds.
Cocking her eyebrow, Liz grabs the two lattes on the counter as the two walk out before finding a platform to sit on.
“What does that even mean?”
“He's been back in the city for a week now and everyone's kind of going crazy,” she sighs. “So that means wherever he goes, I'm there too.”
“Can you ask him why he's so MIA like the rest of the year?” Liz quips. “How ever am I supposed to walk these streets without his guidance?”
Michelle cracks a smile, remembering the man in the red and blue swooping in to save Liz from a fall from Harry’s balcony at a party one summer. “Saves your life once and all of a sudden he's a personal hero.”
They swap water cooler stories comparing their experiences and moan about the never-ending workload. Michelle almost forgets the time when her phone begins to buzz.
“Shit. I have to get back. Meeting in half an hour,” she rambles.
“I'll see you on Saturday morning then?” Liz nods, wrapping her arms around her shoulder, giving them a light squeeze. “Say hi to Peter for me!”
She groans in response, rolling her eyes but leaning into the hug nonetheless.
Fishing for her sunglasses, the two exit and part ways, leaving Michelle to power walk three blocks back to her building amidst the lunch hour rush. As she turns into the last corner, she feels a sudden gust of wind as Spider-man swoops down from the sky.
“Sorry miss! Don’t want to get in your way!” he yelps, his voice muffled in the crowd, as he fumbles with his landing. He’s off before she can even ask a question. Squinting into the distance she spots the cloud of smoke from a red brick building 5 blocks north of her location. Just as she’s about to chase him down, she feels a sudden vibration in her pocket.
“Hello?” she shouts, pushing her way through the crowd slowly gathering to watch the man of the hour do his thing.
“Did you-” It’s only Abe relaying information that Mr. Jameson has supplied no doubt.
“Yeah, I just saw him. I’m on my way. I’ll be back in 2 hours tops?” she rushes before hanging up mid-sentence.
Shoving her phone back in her bag, she ties her hair in a bun, tucking in a stray curl behind her ear, following the red and blue blur. Her heart is pounding hard against her chest, threatening to burst out at any given minute. And yet she can’t help but feel the grin plastered on her face. Her brisk walk turns into a light jog and eventually she finds herself sprinting the last two blocks ahead of her.
Stopping just behind the row of police cars and emergency vehicles set up in front of the building, she watches the scene in awe. He’s swinging in and out with an ease she can’t seem to place, bringing civilian after civilian out from the cloud of smoke enveloping the building. The crowd continues to grow with each passing minute.
Sneaking into an alleyway and jumping up the fire escape, she climbs until she’s at the roof across the building on fire. Perching herself at the edge, she sits down and watches the scene unfold in front of her.
She’s watched him enough times to know that he isn’t a fan of public exits and an interview on the ground is much harder to secure than an accidental run-in during his own getaway. So, she leans back on the concrete and waits patiently for the man in red and blue.
Slick and flexible, he twists and turns to glide smoothly through the thick air surrounding him. The crowd cheers below them, chanting words of praise and encouragement. And yet, she laughs remembering a series of broken billboards and leftover webbing decorating the streets of Queens growing up, when Spider-man had made his awkward debut. She catches him slipping from the edge of a window and her breath hitches until he’s caught himself with a web anchoring his weight from free falling. Some things never change, she ponders in amusement.
When the building is clear and everyone that needs saving has been saved, she sits up, smoothing her shirt, walking back to the door hoping to casually lean against it expectantly, where she spots a messenger bag neatly webbed up against the wall.
She feels a thud on the ground, whipping her head to find herself face to face with Spider-Man himself.
“Uh, what are you doing up here ma’am?” he demands, evidently stumbling even on his own words, hands tugging down at the half-lifted mask.
“I could ask you the same thing Spidey,” she chimes confidently, walking back towards the wall. And wow, she can’t believe that her plan is actually working. Michelle plants herself in front of the bag, folding her arms and tilting her head.
His eyes widen in panic and the situation is all too amusing for her to handle.
“The Avengers didn’t give you a locker for your bag?” she teases, watching him approach her cautiously.
“Listen, I’m, uh, in a rush,” he stutters. “Obviously, I mean it’s lunch. And I’m on a break. Or well, like Spider-man doesn’t take breaks. But um, basically I have to go and I kind of need-”
“This?” she asks, voice thick with innocence, pointing at the bag behind her. “Tell you what Spider-Man, give me a quick 5 minute interview, and I’ll walk away.”
He looks behind him at the ledge and then back at her.
“Game. You have 5 minutes. Karen is timing you,” he responds.
“First question, who is Karen?”
---
She steps out of the elevator to find that Abe is waiting at her desk. She gives him a smile, victorious but silent and he knows that she’s struck gold.
“I didn’t know Spider-Man played favourites,” he comments, giving her a smile of his own.
“This is strictly professional Abraham,” she rebuts. “If I’m going to be stuck covering the guy in the suit all summer, I might as well do it right.”
“Never mess with Michelle Jones!” he exclaims to the room of interns. “This woman is not one to be trifled with!” They roar in laughter and cheer as she sets up her workspace in silence, cringing at the praise. 5 minutes had turned into 20 and suddenly she's got all the leads she needs.
Maybe Spider-Man duty wouldn’t be too bad after all.