Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

  Both Michelle Jones and Midtown School of Science and Technology are, to the naked eye, as normal as normal can be. Sure, Michelle’s wicked smart and talented and sure, Midtown is a science school for nerds but at a glance they’re nothing more than what they say on the tin. What you wouldn’t expect however, is that Midtown has a bubbling criminal underground and Michelle Jones, as normal as she appears, is that criminal underground.

  “Thank you so much, Michelle. I absolutely cannot thank you enough. Like, at all.” It’s some freshman, she’s forgotten their name. Really, it doesn’t matter. All they are, all they need to be, is a job and monetary figure in her notebook. They were an easy case. Chem essay and Spanish test, $40.

  She doesn’t bother looking up from her book. “Your cash is thanks enough. Goodbye.” The freshman nods awkwardly before shuffling away. Thank god. Michelle knows she’s an open secret of the school, doesn’t mean she needs to be brought into public attention.

  Ned, who’s sitting a few seats away, coughs. “That uh...another one of your jobs?”

  She bores into him. “I don’t know, were they?”

  Peter shifts uncomfortably. “We just...you’d never do anything illegal, right? As your...friends, we’re just worried.” Nine weeks later and she was still wondering what on Earth had possessed her to say that (though there was a part of her, buried deep, deep down, that was glad she had).

  She sighed. “No, Peter. I have never and will never do anything illegal. Against school policy, maybe, but not illegal.” At least, nothing very illegal. Her eyes flicked up from her book. “And I trust you won’t snitch?”

  They both shake their heads furiously. “No way.” scoffs Ned. “Face your wrath? No thanks. I saw what you did to Flash when he went all ‘Penis Parker’ on Peter the other day. I would never have guessed you were that adept in martial arts.”

  Peter laughs. “Are we that surprised? MJ, you could tell me you were an undercover CIA agent and I would totally believe it.” He averts his eyes suddenly, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “And uh...thanks again. For telling off Flash. I appreciate it.”

  She lets herself smile. Lately, Peter’s been making her do that. “All good, Parker. But if I hear you talk about this CIA business again I may or may not have to make you disappear.” He grins back, and dear God she hates how it makes her feel.

   That’s been happening a lot, and it’s starting to worry her. She likes Parker. She likes him a lot. He’s nice, he’s smart, he’s a great friend. What she doesn’t like is how he makes her forget what she’s saying, or reconsider if her side job is entirely without moral reprehensibility, or how she now has exactly 27 drawings of him in her sketchbook (only 9 of which she can justify with even semi-reasonable explanations).

  Peter’s about to open his mouth when Betty drops herself beside Ned. “I come here to warn you guys. Flash is totally mad right now, and we think Peter’s the reason.”

  The alarm on Peter’s face was rather funny, and she makes a note to sketch that. Ned sighs. “What is it now?”

  Betty pulls out the video app on her phone. “Well, we don’t entirely know for sure, but thanks to my exceptional journalistic skills we have a rough idea.” The video clip is a livestream from Flash’s youtube channel (to MJ’s knowledge it’s mainly pranks and other general douchery) where the aforementioned douche is calling out to Spider-Man, who’s currently helping a lost kid find his mom.

  “Hey! Hey Spider-Man!” He yells, and though it’s almost imperceptible, MJ notices how the red-and-blue clad figure flinches. He helps the kid over to the distraught mother before jogging over to Flash.

  “Uh...hey. You’re the kid whose car I commandeered, right?”

  MJ can hear the excitement over being recognised coursing through Flash’s voice. “Uh-huh. It’s cool though, Dad’s car insurance covers vigilantes. Will you stay for a quick interview?”

  Spider-Man nods, though if MJ had to guess, he looked a little uncomfortable. “Yeah, uh...sure.”

  “What’s it like being the coolest, best superhero?” God, she can practically taste the ass-kissing.

  Spider-Man scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, I wouldn’t go that far. Iron Man’s pretty cool. And Captain America. Y’know, b-before he was a war criminal.”

  “IMO, they’re overrated and way too old school. You’re the superhero for our generation! Next question, opinions on Black Widow? Hottest Avenger, definitely.” 

  MJ very much considers whether finding Flash and punching him in the face is worth the effort. Spider-Man winces. “Uh...she’s cool. I don’t know her but she seems cool. With the spy stuff.” He's pretty clearly looking for an out to this conversation. “I-uh...probably gotta head off soon…”

  MJ can tell Flash is unsatisfied with this answer, but he’s clearly too enamoured with the superhero to really care. The camera flips to him and he smirks. “Don’t worry Spidey—last question. Do you know a Peter Parker?”

  Ah, of course. MJ flicks her eyes towards Peter, who is watching with bated breath. Spider-Man freezes, and a few moments of silence descend. He turns his head, like he wants to just leave without answering. He finally sighs and moves his hand to his head as if to run his hands through his hair, only forgetting his mask at the last second. “Yeah, I know him. Look, dude, can you just leave him alone?” The camera’s only showing a portion of Flash’s face, but it’s enough to show how he’s reacted to this. The video ends, and Betty shoves her phone away. 

  Betty’s countenance tells MJ she didn't know Peter wasn't lying. Ned looks unsurprised though, more concerned than anything. Michelle keeps her face smooth. She was one of the few who had believed Peter; he wasn't the type to lie. She amends this since that's blatantly untrue, he's a massive liar (“Yeah Peter, I’m sure your dog died. The dog who’s died three times in the last seven months.”) but he's certainly not the type to lie for attention.

  “He deleted it, like, almost immediately but Charles downloaded it before Flash could wipe it from everything. So uh...yeah, he’s pretty mad. I mean, I’d be humiliated if the kid I teased relentlessly was actually telling the truth about knowing your idol, and then said idol goes out and tells you to clear off.” She puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder, who’s currently decided that the ground is a very interesting place to look at. “It’ll be okay, Peter. Maybe finally Flash will, you know, chill the hell out.”

  Peter coughs. “It’s uh...it’s fine, Betty. Thanks for telling me. I’ll stay out of his way.”

  Betty smiles sympathetically before her watch beeps. “Agh, gotta go. We still on for tonight, Ned? Great.” She’s off as quick as she came, and the air is think with tension.

  Ned clears his throat. “So uh...hmm.” He shoots a concerned look at Peter. “You’re okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. So. Betty, huh?” Peter smiled weakly, his deflection working exactly not at all. “Is that the real reason you cancelled on movie night?” 

  Ned turns a brilliant shade a red. “Peter, don’t change the subject.” MJ doesn’t miss how Peter’s eyes focus on her, and he and Ned have a silent back-and-forth. 

  After what feels like years, there’s a sigh of exasperation from Peter. “I’m gonna go hide from Flash. Have fun with Betty, Ned. See ya, MJ.” He’s gone without another word, and the sinking feeling in MJ’s chest makes her curse herself. She shouldn’t care about him. She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t, she’s Michelle Jones.

  Ned echoes Peter’s sigh. “Sorry about that. Um...I should go. Check on him. Y’know, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  MJ rolls her eyes. “Go ahead.” Ned runs off, and Michelle tries to fight off the disappointment. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care. 

  She can’t get attached.

  But she is attached, and she realises this as she sees Flash yelling something at Peter. She can’t make out what they’re saying but it’s obvious enough. Peter looks disinterested at most but Flash certainly isn’t and there’s a small crowd growing.

  She moves to step forward, get a closer look and hear what Flash is saying, but Peter catches her and mouths a very distinct no from where he stands. He’s distracted though, just for a moment, and Flash shoves him against the lockers. That gets a gasp. Flash has never done anything physical to Peter. Verbal, absolutely, but he’s never thrown hands.

  Peter doesn’t seem very phased though. If anything, it’s like he expected it. Michelle gets that feeling again. That ugly mess of concern and compassion and caring, and before she can stop herself she’s walking towards the fight. People step aside for her, of course they do. She’s an open secret, they all know what she can do, what she’s willing to do. She’s about to step in front of Peter and face Flash when some teacher walks around the corner and before you can say Penis Parker the kids have scattered and Flash is long gone.

  She turns to Peter stiffly. Fuck, she hates this. She just wants to leave, forget him, forget all of this. “You okay?”

  Peter nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Flash...I think his pride is hurt. I don’t blame him.” He looks away. 

  She shoves her hands in her pockets. “‘Kay. I’m gonna go. I have some psych test answers to steal. See ya.” She turns to leave, before spinning back around with finger guns loaded. “By the way, AcaDec practice after school. Harrington’s on my ass about your attendance so if you’re not there I’ll be pissed.”

  He’s not there and she’s pissed. Though, pissed is the wrong word. Annoyed apathy perhaps, but with a pinch of intense frustration. At herself mainly, but at that idiot Parker too.

  Despite her side job, she doesn’t pry. Observes, sure, but never pries, unless it’s a case. She knows Parker’s got some shit. Dead parents, dead uncle, the whole shabang. What she does know is a) she doesn’t give a shit and b) she gives a lot of shits.

   It’s all very contradictory. Fuck emotions.

  “Okay, okay. I think we’ve got a real shot at Nationals this year. Cindy, read up some more on Latin, and on Econ. Sally, get through that reading list I sent you. Make sure you finish the French stuff, and not just Dumas and Hugo. Ned, I sent you the trig sheets. Abe, stop abusing the bell. Charles, brush up on the Napoleonic wars and on the Neolithic. Flash, keep outside drama outside of this group. You’ve been complaining and whining all lesson and it was annoying as shit.” Flash scowled and mumbled under his breath. Michelle sighed. He wasn’t worth it. “Okay, you can all go now.” They did as they were told, Ned apologising once again for Parker’s absence.

   She hates how much she cares about Parker. How much she wants to find out what the fuck is up with him, how much she wants to help him if something’s wrong. Michelle Jones doesn’t help people. Michelle Jones is hired to do things for people, but she doesn’t help people and prying into Parker’s private life is definitely falling under that.

  Parker is studying his AcaDec catch up in the library and Leeds is with Betty, so she sits alone with her notebook at lunch the next day, surveying the crowd. She’s still got a couple jobs to do. Hack into the security system and cut off the cameras in room E12 for the last period block so Jake Dorman and Ronda Kramer can have at it for an hour, steal back a pair of Yeezys for C.J. Vogel from Stanley Stackmeyer and then steal back the same pair of shoes for Stanley from C.J. She’s in the middle of planning how exactly she’s supposed to fulfill the last two requests when Flash storm over.

  “Jones.” He growls, slamming his wallet on the cafeteria table. “Find out who Spider-Man is, and find out how Parker knows him. You have a month”

  She thinks for a half-moment. That’s longer than she’s ever considered a deal. “500, Thompson, and I want a new camera.”

Chapter Text

  “Five hundred? And a new camera? Fucking bullshit, Jones.”

  She slams her notebook down. “Do you not know how this works? Five hundred and the camera, or fuck off. Minimum wage in this country is what, 8 dollars an hour? You give me a month? that’s like, 15 dollars a day on average. Therefore, five hundred dollars.” He gapes. “Or, alternatively, I can spread the Spider-Man clip of him shutting you the absolute fuck down so far across the internet that that’s all you’ll ever be remembered by.”

  Flash gulps before composing himself, and returning to a scowl. He stands stupidly for a few seconds. And then of course, he’s pulling four fifty dollar notes and sliding them across the table. That’s always how it’s goes. “I’ll give you the rest when you get me what I want. Text me what camera you want.” He death stares her. It’s quite amusing. “But nothing over one-fifty. Final offer.”

   “Flash, I’m really beginning to think you don’t get how his works. I say when something’s the final offer. But yes, that should be sufficient.” She tucks the cash away. He doesn’t move. “Go away, Eugene. Or perhaps my spread-the-clip offer can return to the table.”

  This didn’t count. She wasn’t finding out Peter’s whatever to make sure he’s okay, she’s finding out his whatever for a job. That’s okay. That’s not personal, just business.

  She can do this. Of course she can.

  She starts her investigation with Spider-Man, since she loaded Peter with enough Decathlon practice to last him a lifetime and there’s no information to be gotten from him when he’s studying. Also, the idea of watching Parker study sounds super fucking boring, no matter how annoyingly obsessed with him her brain has decided to make her.

  She finds him easy enough. She’s pulled up exactly 26 Spider-Man update accounts across Tumblr, Twitter and Instagram, plus she’s regularly checking the r/spiderman, r/queens and r/supersightings subreddits and refreshing youtube every so often. Not that she needed all that really, being Queens’ (really all of New York’s) favourite swingin’ superhero means you draw a crowd with pretty much everything you do.

   She’s been tracking him for a while, an hour or so. Mapping out his routes, sketching his gait and his mannerisms. She could record it all digitally, but she trusts her eye better than a lens. If she’s finding out who Spider-Man is, she’s going to need her own perceptions. When she gets the camera she’ll record everything too, but you can’t trust anything more than yourself.

  There’s a roar from a few blocks away. It’s loud, so loud there’s a slight rumble. Spider-Man, who is currently perched on the roof of Delmar’s eating a sandwich, reacts to the noise before it happens. He jumps down, hands the sandwich to Delmar after an inaudible back and forth, and swings off.

  She follows him as discreetly as possible, slipping amongst the bustling population. She needn’t bother, crowds always form whenever there’s a superhero fight. The antagonist, a rather unappealing, unexciting villain, stands opposite the red-and-blue clad hero. He has a rather funny bowl cut and has some kind of device attached to his throat that she assumes is what is increasing the volume of his voice.

  MJ notes down the way Spider-Man reacts. First, to civilians. Next, to the surrounding area. Third, to his sparring partner. The man, who MJ dubs Roarer the Explorer (it’s hilarious, shut up), yells something incomprehensible before screaming so loud Spider-Man stumbles back. The way he blinks and pulls back is peculiar. He’s testing something out and he’s trying to mask his reactions. MJ is good at seeing past the mask, however. It seemed Roarer has deafened the hero.

  It’s a quick fight, but it’d be quicker if Spider-Man had his hearing. He’s lost his balance, keep shooting his webs a little to the wrong side, miscalculates where he needs to land. He does his job though, and pretty soon Roarer is webbed up and his mouthpiece is smashed on the concrete. Spider-Man checks the crowd to make sure no one's hurt, and there’s a peculiar moment where it’s almost like his gaze lands on Michelle an extra few seconds. Odd.

  She follows him as he leaves. She wouldn’t normally follow someone on the first day, but clearly he’s off balance. If she could catch him…

  She stops. Should she? Finding out who he is would be a major breach of privacy. What is Flash even going to do with the information? She wouldn’t put it past him to blast the guy’s information all over social media. Her actions could get a human being, one who has done only good for the community, arrested and locked in the Raft. Spider-Man never signed the Sokovia Accords.

  But then again, five hundred dollars is five hundred dollars.

  It takes a while to finally track him down. Ironically, it’s her apartment building. She has to parkour her way up to the roof though, and it isn’t fun. Those douchey parkour videos on youtube blow the whole thing way out of proportion. She finally finds him curled in the corner of a roof, his arms wrapped around his head. She realises he’s hyperventilating and she rushes over, instinct taking hold.

  “Holy shit dude.” She kneels down. “Okay, um, look at me.” She takes his hands and slowly removes them from his head. Spider-Man jumps back when he sees her, but doesn’t stop. “Look at me, listen to my voice. You’re safe.” Spider-Man blinks and squints like he’s trying to make something out, and she realises he probably can’t hear her. She tentatively places a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch, instead it’s like he melts into it.

  “I’m...I’m okay.” He says finally, coming back down. “I’m...okay.” He stands up and knocks the breath from her lungs. “Sorry! Sorry M—ma’am. Th-Thank you. Sorry.”

  She shrugs. Fuck, it would be easy to just reach over and pull off...no. Not yet. “It’s fine. You feeling okay?”

  Spider-Man nods. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks. Sorry you had to...um, see that. Just got a bit muddled.”

  The sun is beginning to set, and it casts a glow over the superhero. “I uh...saw. That guy looked like he did something to you.”

  “Was it that obvious?” MJ can’t find a reply, and he sighs. “I have sensory problems. It’s gets all...intense. He knocked out my hearing, it kinda screwed with me.”

  “How can you uh...hear me?”

  He scratches his neck. “My um, my suit. Has an AI function. It’s...subtitling this for me.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He catches her look. “D-don’t worry! It doesn’t record. Well, it used to do it automatically but I had a friend knock that out for me. It only records when I want it to. Which isn’t now, I promise! Wow, I sound really creepy.”

 She smiles. “It’s chill.” No it isn’t, no it isn't, no it ISN'T...no. No, it doesn’t matter. Not important. Her hand is reaching out now, squeezing Spider-Man’s arm with reassurance. “We’re chill. Hope you uh...get over this.”

  Spider-Man nods, before his eyes narrow. “Hey, how did you know I was here?” His eyes squint. “Are you a fan?”

  Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. She snorts. “Nope. This is my apartment building.”

  He blushes. Or, she assumes he blushes. It’s kinda tough to tell. “Oh, right. Yeah. I forg...ma—makes sense. Right. I’m gonna...I’m gonna go. Leave you to your...apartment building.” He stands a little longer, like he wants to say something, but he backflips off the roof and he’s gone.

  Step One, foster a connection and bring the idea of trust.

  A small part of her, miniscule really, so small it barely registers as more than a whisper, tells her she’s being a terrible person. That she’s being manipulative. It echoes.

  No. No, she can do this. She has to do this.

  Male, almost definitely (gender is a social construct, but it’s important in identification. She can set aside her ideals for now). Young, she’d put the age range at late teens to early twenties. Probably some kind of enhanced senses. Losing your hearing would affect anyone, but it affected him in a very specifically weird way. The webs aren't biological, that’s for sure. She inspected his wrists when she detangled him during his panic attack, and she’s 99.9% sure they’re not from his body. None of this is new information, but direct confirmation is still good.

  She knows logically, rationally, that what she is doing is wrong. She knows it and yet...a case is a case, right?

  “Michelle, where have you been?” Gayle scolds as she steps through the door. Kids’ toys are scattered across the ground, there’s a new box of medicine by her feet and Gayle stands with her hands on her hips and a dish towel over her shoulder.

  “A job.” She pulls out the money from her pocket and hands it to her sister. “The deposit. I’ll get the other 300 when it’s done. And I’m getting a new camera too, so you can do your photography side thing.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Grumbled Gayle. “I said I didn’t need it. We’ve got enough to keep us afloat and freelance photography is a difficult business. I’d have to take time off keeping this goddamn family alive.”

  “God Gayle, you’re so dramatic. Anna’s got the new job, that should cover Mom’s stuff and rent, and I’ve got groceries covered still.” She’s totally lying, they’re negative broke, but she is too tired for this.

  “Yeah? And who’s doing the shit around the house? Who’s cooking? Who’s cleaning? And who’s paying for Kev and Tommy’s clothes, huh? What about bills? We’re behind on water, and unless you want to go through winter without heat—”

 “What are we even fighting about!? All I did was bring cash and a free camera!” She watched her sister groan and sit down at the dining table. She massaged her temples.

  “You’re right. This is stupid. Not going to get anything done like this. The two hundred should keep us through groceries for the week, plus part of the water bill if we stretch. And thanks for the camera MJ, I know you were just thinking of me.” Gayle starts to cry, and Michelle tenses up. She’s never been one for this, at comforting people, at sympathising and understanding. Normally she’ll fill emotional gaps with acerbic sardonicism, but instead she scoots over to her sister and awkwardly pats her shoulder.

  “We’ll...we’ll get through this, Gayle.” 

  Gayle chuckles a little as she wipes her eyes. “You’re not very good at that, huh?” Michelle let’s herself smile. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just...fuck, I’m stressed. Everything with mom...it just piles on. I’ll leave you to your job.”

  Her bedroom is tiny, built for a kid but used by both Michelle and her sister. Their beds line the walls, and a cheap computer and desk sits between the headrests. It’s depressingly empty.

  She slumps down on the bed, pulling out her notebook. She reads over her notes, linking what needs to be linked and cross-referencing on the internet. She’s not the first to investigate Spider-Man, far from it. She’s read through all the forum threads, and no one so far has been able to pinpoint him properly.

  General consensus is young, probably white male in his early twenties localised in Queens (though known to branch outwards— he floats around the New York boroughs and his appearance in Washington proves as such), probably funded by Tony Stark or Norman Osborn or some other one percenter with too much time and money, he was a part of the shady Avengers/Winter Soldier business in Germany, though his suit is clearly pretty high tech a lot of his powers seem biological and he’s apparently a fucking nerd based on his quips.

  Twenty year old nerdy white male in New York. That narrows it down. It does however, make him knowing Peter make sense. They both have links to Tony Stark; Peter through his ‘internship’ and Spider-Man through whatever happened in Germany and the fact Stark might be his fairy godmother.

  She briefly considers the possibility of them being romantic partners, but dismisses based mainly on age, the fact she majorly doubts Parker could snag freaking Spider-Man and also on Parker’s very extremely overt feelings towards Liz Allen-Toomes that don’t match up with the timeline.

  Current theory is friends, probably having met through Stark. She’ll have to investigate that internship and sponsorship.

  She won’t follow Spider-Man again though, not this week at least. She can’t seem like she’s actively looking for him or suspicions will arise and having some spidery weirdo (who also might know fucking Iron Man ) suspicious of her is not on her bucket list. She’ll focus on Peter instead.

  She’s already garnered some connection, and they have at least some trust. So step two: infiltrate, find information. She’ll start tomorrow.

  Peter is not at school the next day, or the day after. Her camera is though (Thanks to Flash’s Amazon Prime), and so is the job, so after school on Friday she makes the trek over to his house. “Parker!” She calls, knocking on the door. “Parker, open up. It’s MJ. I swear to God—”

  She is not greeted by Peter, but by an attractive woman in maybe her mid-to-late forties. She is a remarkably happy person, wears comfortable and breezy clothing, and is hiding something. “Hello. You must be Michelle, from Peter’s school.”

  MJ nods hesitantly. “Yeah, probably. You must be Aunt May. Hi, Ms Parker.”

  She smiles. “May is fine, sweetie. Is there something you needed to speak to Peter about?”

  Suspicious. “Um, is he okay?”

  May smiles. “Yes, yes. Sorry to worry you. He’s just been under the weather. Migraines, you know. Is it something to do with Decathlon?”

  “Uh...yeah. Can I talk to him?”

  Her face is one of concern and she’s silent as she taps her foot. “Give me a second, sweetheart. But do come inside, it’s rather cold in the hall.” She steps through, immediately surveying her surroundings.

  This is her first time in Parker’s home, and it’s not really what she expected. It’s cleaner than she thought it would be, filled with more photographs and just generally nicer than she’d presumed. Some thumbed magazines scatter the dining table, but other than that it’s very tidy. May ducks into what Michelle presumes is Parker’s room. There’s some back and forth, she’s hears her name mentioned, and then May’s back out with a smile.

  “Just go through. Call me if you need anything. Peter’s talked about you and it’s wonderful to finally meet you.” She shimmies past MJ, gesturing to the door which MJ enters.

  Yep, this is more what she’d expected. Clothes are strewn across the ground, there’s Lego sets arranged haphazardly on messy shelves, books and homework are displayed in a clutter across his desk. Peter himself lays on his bed with an ice pack on his forehead.

  “Hey, MJ.” He says, though it’s closer to a mewl. “Everything good with you?”

 “Uh…sure.” She replies, stretching the word longer than necessary. “You?”

  “Headaches.” He replies. “Stress related.”

 A smile breaches her defences. “You blaming me?”

 He sits up with a shocked expression but it’s quickly replaced by pained winces. “No, no. Just...everything. Sorry I dipped on Decathlon on...Monday? Yeah, Monday. The thing with Flash...I think him pushing me into the locker gave me a concussion or something. Then um, then it just got worse.” That’s bullshit, 100%. No way Peter got a concussion from that, and no way has it left him incapacitated this whole week.

  “Oh. Sorry about that.” She wonders who’s speaking; the MJ who wants to be friends with Parker or the MJ who’s manipulating him for five hundred bucks? “Well, I came over for remedial Decathlon, but if you’re too ill…”

 “No! No, you can stay. If you want. Ned was gonna come over, work through the homework with me.” He bites his lip. “Sorry, that was a dumb idea. Totally boring.”

  She sighs, dumbing her backpack on the ground and settling herself at the end of Peter’s bed. “Might as well stay, nothing better to do.” Yes, yes . Says some Gollum-like voice in the back of her head. Stay. The job is too important.

  Study Sessions w/ Leeds and Parker is more amusing than she’d predicted. It’s a lot less boring homework and more putting-math-equations-into-the-Star-Wars-universe, but it’s like there’s a whole bunch of versions of her. One is trying to observe, one is trying to infiltrate, one is scolding her, one is trying desperately to be a part of this group because fuck she’s lonely, one is slapping that one, one is trying to prime Parker up for the inevitable Spider-Man conversation and that’s just the ones she can keep track of.

   “So MJ, when Mount Vesuvius is no longer erupting in my brain, do you wanna join Ned and me for a Firefly marathon? We’re gonna rewatch all the episodes and then cry because of the cancellation.” Another smile breaks through, and she knows it’s not because of the job.

  “Sounds great, Peter.” And somehow she genuinely means that.

Chapter Text

  “MJ, there you are. How was your friend’s?” Smiles Anna as she chops carrots. Tommy and Kev wrestle on the ground, and Michelle gently nudges them with her foot to make them stop. They poke their tongues out before Naruto-running to their room.

  “Was great. Finished my homework.” Michelle dumps her bags on the coffee table, before hurrying them to her room after a disappointed look from her Aunt. She hurries back, pulling her sleeves up and helping Anna prepare dinner. “Is um...is mom well?”

  Anna pauses for a second before nodding. “Yeah, yeah. She’s doing better, I think.” MJ can tell from her face it’s a farce. It angers her.

  “She’s still refusing to take proper treatment?” She’s cutting the potatoes too furiously, the cubes jagged and uneven. She’s being petty, she knows, but...it’s difficult to not be petty in her situation. She flinches as Anna places a hand on her shoulder.

  “MJ, you know your mother is trying. You know she took the chemo treatment, you know it didn't work. You know where it put us, you know what she thinks about it. I can’t force her to go to the hospital, neither can you. God knows I’ve tried, but your mother is the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. Well...second to you.” Anna’s hand moves from her shoulder to her cheek. Sometimes MJ wonders what it would have been like if Mom had always been with Anna instead of with Dad at the start. Maybe then she could finally strip that title from him, maybe then he could just be some guy who happened to be her father.

  Anna’s face is softer than Michelle is used to. “Look, MJ. I know it’s difficult. We all do. But we have to stick it out. We can’t wallow, we’ve just got to keep on living.” She pinches her cheek playfully. “Go talk to your mom, MJ. It’ll make her happy.” But will it make me happy?

  She follows her Aunt’s suggestion though, pushing open the door to her mom and Anna’s room. “Hey Mom.”

  Madeline Jones smiles weakly. She does everything weakly. “Michelle. Come here, sweetheart.” She stretches her arms out, and MJ tries not to wince at how thin she’s becoming. “How was your day? You went to a friend’s house, right?”

  “Uh...yeah. Peter’s.”

  She watches her mom smirk. “Peter, huh? He a nice boy?”

  MJ rolls her eyes. “It’s not like that, Mom. And isn’t it kinda heteronormative—”

  “Michelle. My wife is not even ten feet away.” Madeline sighs happily. “Well, I’m glad you’ve got a friend. I know you like to be an edgy teenager who goes against the system and—”

  “Mom!”

  “—and I love that about you, but I’m glad you’ve got friends. Really, sweetheart.” MJ wishes she could focus on her mother’s words and not on the thin hair or pallid, loose skin. Madeline is tearing up now, and MJ tries so hard not to focus on the bloodshot nature of her mom’s eyes. “You’re a good kid, Michelle. You do good. I wish you weren’t so burdened by all of this. You shouldn’t have to have a job, you shouldn’t have to live here like this. I’m so sorry baby.” Michelle embraces her mom, and pretends she doesn’t notice how her mom is getting thinner by the day.

  She leaves after that, and sits with her head between her knees in her room. She’s not a good kid, she doesn’t do good. Her mom knows she does odd jobs at school but to her knowledge it’s just tutoring and the like. What she doesn’t know about is the extremely lengthy list of rules Michelle’s broken for said job.

  Cheating (She’s lost count of how many times), theft, breaking and entering (She’s a very accomplished lock picker. Also, teachers’ offices are a lot more interesting than one would assume), harassment (Technically she’s only ever done that in cases where a bullied student wanted help, but still. Wait, that's a lie. Depends on one’s definition of harassment), assault (Last month’s beatdown of Flash over Penis Parker probably counts as that and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t gotten physical with people who refused to pay her for her services) blackmail, forgery and also all those times she’s snuck into the security networks, accessed student files or the other miscellaneous hacking jobs.

  And that’s just from the top of her head.

  She knows it’s bad, she knows what she does is wrong, but that’s not important. None of its important when her mother’s probably months from death at this point, not when her little brothers need to be fed and clothed, not when her sister had to drop out of uni, not when Anna has to pull double shifts every day of the week, not when the water or heat gets shut off or when the landlord’s harassing then for payment. What matters is the cold hard cash she can bring in, what matters is the bills and groceries she can cover. That’s what’s important.

  Dinner is simple. Talking at dinner is not so simple. Michelle planning how she’s supposed to figure out Spider-Man’s identity without him using whatever freaky powers he has on her, Kev and Tommy are misbehaving as usual, Madeline is missing, Gayle’s trying to talk over the budget and Anna’s trying to keep everything under control. It’s not working.

  Gayle huffs angrily. “Honestly, Anna, I know this isn’t a hot take at this point but overall a hospital would be a lot less expensive than whatever it is Mom’s doing. The medicine, the energy bills...in the long run it racks up a hell of a lot more.”

  Anna looks like she’s about to explode. “Gayle, you know that’s not fair! We don’t get to think long run right now. We have to go day by day, week by week. Chemo and radiation therapy payment would…” She lowered her voice. For whom, MJ couldn’t say. “It would put us out of this apartment. We’re in enough debt and Kev and Tommy and MJ have enough to deal with.”

  Michelle rolled her eyes. “Oh, am I not important enough to be privy to this conversation? I guess I’ll just dump myself in the trash can with the rest of the chopped liver.”

  Anna lay her head in her hands. “MJ, Gayle, please. I know this is all difficult, especially for you two. But we need to stay calm and rational. You know your mother is trying—”

  MJ’s spoon clatters on the tiled floor as she turns to her aunt. “Anna, what I know is that Mom’s going to die if she keeps this bullshit up. Her homeopathy natural vegan bullshit isn’t going to cure her fucking stomach cancer . What she needs is chemotherapy, and a real hospital. Not her fucking pills made of God knows what or her fucking detox bullshit. You’re enabling her delusion, Anna! That’s what I fucking kno-”

  “Michelle Jones! You do not speak to your aunt like that!” Her mother’s voice snaps, quick and sharp like a gunshot. She shoots a look to the boys, who have since gotten the gist and rush to their rooms. “We have had this argument too many times. Chemotherapy isn’t going to cure me. We tried that, we tried Radiation therapy. We tried it all, and it drained our finances. We are in massive debt now. That’s not a fun place to be in, especially not a family with four children.

  “I am trying to live , MJ, trying so hard. For you, for Anna, for Gayle, for the boys. But I am not going to waste away in a hospital with drugs that sap your college fund. I know this solution isn’t perfect, but it’s got me past what the doctors said my life expectancy would be.” This might all hit a lot harder for MJ if her mother weren’t emaciated and in a wheelchair. Madeline Jones wheels herself closer, taking Michelle’s hand. “MJ, I know this is hard on you. None of this is fair. Everything that's happened in the last decade — more than that even — has been unfair. Your dad, this...I don’t blame you for feeling this way, but it doesn’t excuse the way you spoke to Anna. You’re going to apologise. Now.”

  There’s speechless, and then there’s speechless where the words are ripped from your throat and curbstomped. MJ turns to Anna, who does not look very impressed. “I’m sorry, Anna. I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the better of me. Thanks for dinner. I’ll be in my room.”

  She does go to her room, and then out the window and then crawling up the drain pipe and hoisting herself up to the roof.

  It’s quiet. Not quiet as in totally silent (the hustle and bustle of the city echoes in the background; cars and children and shouting and barking) but it’s quiet in that way that calms. Like the wash of ocean water on damp sand, or squirrels scampering and birds chirping at Central Park.

  She watches the dead leaves rustle as they scatter aimlessly in the low breeze, and she half wishes she’d had the foresight to bring a jacket. God, she just wants to forget all of this. Just disassociate from the bullshit going on three floors down.

  The job. Yes, the job. She can do that. She needs to do that. She has a reputation. She’s never failed a job before, even that time she had to steal Morita’s phone. She’s not going to let her stupid emotions ruin that.

  She pulls her knees closer to her chin. Fuck . Firstly, because this is The Worst. Secondly, because this job is proving to be more emotionally taxing than anticipated. Thirdly, because she’s crying.

  There’s no real definitive reason as to why humans emotionally cry. MJ buys into the theory that it’s a way to a) relieve stress and b) signal to others that one needs help. It seems the universe has decided the latter is the reason she is crying, as before she knows it good ol’ Spider-Man picked up the signal and is kneeling in front of her. She flinches when he tries to comfort her, and he steps back awkwardly.

  “Are you okay M—Ma’am?”

  She smiles weakly, wiping her tears but not bothering to hide the fact she was crying. No point now, might as well try and use it to illicit some clues from him. “Aren’t I a little young for ma’am?”

  Spider-Man scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, you’re right Mish—Miss. You uh...you okay?” 

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Just...stuff gets overwhelming.” Just enough of the truth, but as the waves of emotion return she just feels tired. Tired of being some stoic bitch who doesn’t care about people The urge to tell this total stranger everything is so strong she has to look away from him. She’d vent to just about anyone at this point.

  “Oh. Um, do you wanna talk about it?” In the way he takes a sharp inhale of breath, she can tell Spider-Man is wincing. He’s very expressive, even with that dumb suit. “That was cringy. I sound like a middle aged school chaplain.”

  Opening. “How do I know you’re not a middle-aged chaplain? For all I know you could be an extremely scrawny one.”

  “Hey!” He whines. “I’m not that scrawny.”

  “You’re that scrawny.” He gestures to the space beside her and she nods. He sits down, and she turns to him. “So how old are you really? I’d like to know you’re not some adult preying on me.”

  Spider-Man’s eyes look horrified. “No! Gods of Asgard…no!” He pauses for a minute, looking out at the sunset. “I’m...mid-to-late teens.”

  She smirks. “What, scared I’m trying to unmask you?”

  He scratches the back of his neck. It’s like a tic. “Uh...in a way.”

  “Huh.” Well. Still some verbal confirmation of her guesses. He could be lying through his teeth but she very highly doubts that. “I get it, it’s chill. So...what brings you to this side of the borough?”

  Spider-Man shrugs with a smile. “Just swingin’ by.” He picks at the lining of his suit. “Okay, I was...looking for someone.”

 “Oh? Whom?”

  “Um...just someone. N-not you! Just...I don’t know what. I think I wanted to tell them something.”

  This is new information. Good information. She nudges him. “Girlfriend? Boyfriend?”

  She wonders if he’s blushing. “N-no. Just a friend.” He looks down at his feet.

  Hm. Not very illuminating. “Well, don’t let me keep you.”

  He gives her an odd look. It’s too intense, and she’s hit by another wave of emotion that she does her best to suppress. “No, it’s fine. It’ll be fine. Now’s not the time.” He stands up, holding out a hand for her. She takes it even though she’s considering just living here for the rest of her life. “Not to get all middle aged chaplain again, but if you wanna talk to me you can.”

  “Yes, let me spill all my problems to the ‘mid-to-late teens’ stranger.” Spider-Man looks down at his feet before nodding.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re uh...yeah. I’ll just...go. I should go. It’s getting dark.” She marvels at how quickly day turns to night. She understands it theoretically, scientifically, but there’s something quite beautiful and indescribable about the passage of time.

  Fuck. All this emotion is making her sappy. Go back to the job. “Hey, I still haven’t told you my name. Michelle Jones.” She sticks her hand out. He takes it, and she assumes he’s grinning. It’s quite hard to tell, but his mouth moves under the mask.

  “Spider-Man.” He nods. “Though I answer to Spidey too.”

  She smiles. “Okay, Spider-Butt. Go, before this gets weird.” He stands there a few more seconds and then he’s off, lit against the sunset.

  She’s not growing attached. Of course she isn’t.

  It’s late when she hears Gayle come back, nearly three. MJ’s not sure which job she’s on at this point. She’s always got at least 2.5 at a time and she cycles through them so quickly it’s a bit worrisome.

  Gayle slumps on her bed groaning. “I know you’re still awake, don’t bother trying to hide it.” She rolls over. “You doing okay?”

  Michelle groans in response.

  “Yeah.” Laughs her sister. “Yeah, sounds about right.” She sighs. “But you’re okay? Like...from that stuff at dinner?”

  She groans again, before looking up to face the ceiling. There’s some of those cheap, tacky, glow-in-the-dark stars. She’d put them up there years ago, never bothered to take them down. She wonders if they’ll just stay there, frozen in time forever. Right now, that’s the state they’re stuck in. Unless she gets up and pulls them off they could conceivably be there for the rest of eternity.

  3am makes Michelle a bit delirious.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She finally replies. “I just...this is the worst .”

  Gayle doesn’t laugh this time. “Yeah, it is. I’m sorry you have to go through it, it’s not fair on you.”

  “You say that like it’s fair on you .”

  She watches her sister shrug in the dim moonlight that streams in from the window. “I’m older, I can handle it.”

  “Fuck off, you’re only six years older.”

  “And six inches taller, shortstack.” They lull back into silence. “We haven’t talked in a while, have we? Y’know, sister to sister. School talk, boy talk. All that.”

  Michelle pretends like she can’t feel tears welling in her eyes. “Yeah. It’s been a while.”

  Gayle props herself up on her elbow. “So? Talk to me. School. Boys. All that.”

   Michelle rolls her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “Okaaaay. Who was it you were hanging with today?”

  Goddamnit. “Peter Parker and Ned Leeds. Nerds from AcaDec.” Gayle pounces on this.

  “Oh! So, which one’s your boyfriend?”

  MJ stifles a laugh. “Neither. Like, ever.” She neglects to mention she’s going to their Firefly marathon. She does not need Gayle’s judgement. “What about you? You seeing anyone?”

  Gayle sucks in a breath quickly before exhaling. “Yeah, kinda.”

  “ Oh? ”

  “Don’t act so surprised, shortstack. But yeah.”

  “How’d you meet?”

  Gayle rolls her eyes. “Coffee shop. They’re my barista. Total cliche, I know. Though usually it’s a college kid and the cute barista. Does college dropout-because-I’m-broke-and-my-mom-is-dying-from-cancer and cute barista work? Whatever. And before you ask, this isn’t a case of misinterpreting the niceness of baristas. They gave me their number. We’ve been chatting, it’s been nice.”

  “Awww. My sister’s all grown up.” Gayle throws a pillow at her. “But seriously, I’m happy for you Gayle. You deserve it.”

  “Who killed my sister and replaced her with someone with actual human decency and emotion?”

  “Shut up.” She laughs, throwing the pillow back. Fuck, this feels nice. Just hanging with her sister like nothing matters. If only. “So, do I get their name?”

  Gayle hesitated before nodding. The Jones family has always been one to keep emotion to their chest. “Yeah. Timothy. Maybe you’ll meet ‘em one day.” She smirked wickedly, shadows cutting across her face like diamonds as she did so. “But only if I get to meet your Ned and/or Peter.”

  “Looks like I’m never meeting Timothy then.”

Chapter Text

  The camera shutter clicks and she notes down the way Spider-Man seems oddly familiar with Principal Morita, whose kid he’s just rescued from the top of the tallest playground slide. Hm. Based on his discomfort she’d almost guess he’s a Midtown student.

  She snorts with amusement and takes a sip of her iced coffee. 

  She is currently seated in one of the park trees. Spider-Man’s hanging around the park today, saving the kids of overly distracted parents. It seems he’s also attending a kid’s birthday party. The kid, a little girl, smiles with more delight than should be humanly possible as Spider-Man hands her a rather messily wrapped present. She opens it like a feral animal as her mother protests, eager to reach its contents. It’s a box, one with a wig on the side. The mom looks like she’s gonna cry and embraces Spider-Man, who scratches the back of his neck. He’s going to score it raw if he keeps doing that. He waves a final time before swinging away from sight.

  She’ll follow him later. She’s still got plenty of time on this investigation, and her tree setup is surprisingly comfy. A few seconds later any need to move is removed as Spidey scampers through the branches to sit beside her.

  “Hey Michelle!” He says gleefully. “Whatcha doin? Stalking me?”

  “Nope.” She lies with a smile, like a lying liar. “I’m drawing.” The falsity rolls off her tongue easily. “And my brothers are down there.” That’s half-true, Kev and Tommy are playing soccer on the field but technically it’s Gayle watching them and they don’t know she’s here. So...a quarter-true.

  He gives her an oddly intense look. “Are you feeling better?”

  The sentiment itches. It feels so genuine. Bleugh. “Uh...yeah. Yes, I am. Can we...not talk about it? I just...I don’t know.”

  His hand hovers like he wants to comfort her, but instead he nods. “I can do that. Or...not do that. Do that? Yeah, that’s right. I will not bring it up.”

  “So, what are you doing?” She asks before silence can rear its ugly head.

  He shrugs. “Hanging out. You’d be surprised how much happens at parks. Kids running off, kids getting hurt, kids losing toys, kids getting stuck in trees. Sometimes the occasional purse-snatcher.”

  “Hm. Am I one of your kids stuck in a tree? That why you came to say hi?”

  He laughs. “Nah. Can’t I just say hi to my number one fan?”

  “The day I become your number one fan is the day I become a republican. Who’s that kid?” She asks, pointing at the girl who’s party he’d been attending.

  Spidey smiles. Or does he? It’s kinda hard to tell. His eyes upend in a way that implies smiling. “Oh yeah, Daya. Officially cancer free since last week. Best birthday present a kid could ask for. Sometimes I uh...go to the children’s ward. At Metro-General. A lot of the kids do that Make-a-Wish thing and ask to meet me, only since I've got a lot of grey area when it comes to the law they’re not really able to officially fulfill the requests. I have a backdoor entrance with some of the nurses though.”

  She raises her eyebrow. “Oh?”

  He bolts upright with a horrified expression. “Not...no! Jesus, Michelle.” She elbows him playfully and he smiles. She really needs a different word for that. “But yeah. It’s nice to meet them and I think it makes them happy to meet me, if I do say so myself.”

  “Wow fuckin’ piece of shit, you think sick kids who idolise you are happy to see you, who saves Queens on a regular bases? ”

  He laughs. “Aw, come on Michelle. It’s only...semi-regularly.”

  She wonders if just asking him outright if he knows Peter would be to obvious. It’s only been what, a week since Flash asked? Be a bit suspicious. “Hey, you okay? From that fight with that guy on Tuesday. I didn’t get the chance to ask you yesterday.”

  He nods. “Yeah, I’m better. The uh...healing powers knocked it right. Wicked headaches for days though.” He smiles in a way that feels like it’s an inside joke. “But yeah, I’m chill.”

  Opening. “Healing powers, huh?”

  He hangs his head in embarrassment. “Uh...yeah.”

  “You ever actually read the Sokovia Accords?”

  He winces but nods. “Yeah, I have. I’m very illegal, apparently. But...the powers things hasn’t been totally confirmed yet, so...maybe don’t tell?” He laughs. “What am I saying, I trust you.” You shouldn’t, she wants to say, but she has nothing to replace it with. Something flashes across his eyes and he jumps up. Saved by the bell.

  “Crap. Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. I am...wow, I gotta go.” Michelle checks her own watch. 16:37. Crap indeed.

  “Me too.” She says, trying to get up without falling out of a one hundred foot tall oak tree. As stealthy as she can be, she is not a mutant superhero like Spider-Butt beside her. “I have a Firefly marathon to get to.”

  He perks. “Oh?” Well. The nerd thing checks out.

  “Uh huh. Now can you move? I can’t climb down if you’re standing there.”

  “Oh! Oh, right. Makes sense. I’ll just...go. Now. Bye, Em—Michelle.” He leaps through the leaves and through the foliage she watches him swing away.

  “MJ! You came!” Peter beams as she steps into the apartment. He’s looks near imperceptibly breathless but it’s very much there, plus his hair is messier than usual and his clothes look thrown on.

  “Peter.” She remarks as if it’s a sufficient reply. “Are you...okay?”

  “Uh huh!” He nods. “Just uh...working out. Yep. That.”

  She raises and eyebrow but sighs in defeat. She’ll look into that. “Jeez, Parker. You really gotta work on your excuses. Hey Leeds.” Ned’s lounging on the ground on a mountain of pillows and comforters.

  His head pops out with a smile. “MJ! How’re you doin’?”

  “Great.” She drops herself on the sofa. “So, Firefly?”

  She falls asleep in the middle of the forth episode. Not that it’s bad, it’s pretty good if she’s being honest (not that she’ll admit that to Ned and Peter. No way is she giving them the satisfaction) but more likely because she’s barely slept in past 48 hours and she’s been pulling <5 hour nights for the past...while.

  She wakes in a dark to someone dropping her onto an unfamiliar bed. She whips out her back-pocket knife (uncomfortable, but she never leaves home without it) and brandishes it perhaps a little too wildly.

  “Jesus Christ, MJ!” Whines Peter, having catapulted to the other end of the bedroom. “Did you have that on you the entire time?”

  She does not tuck it away, preferring to keep it pointed at him. “Where am I?” It’s dark, too dark, the curtains are drawn. “What time is it?”

  “I’m sorry, I thought I could get you over here without waking you up. You fell asleep, like, ages ago and you looked like you needed it. Not that you look, um, tired! Just...I’ve backed myself into a corner.” He says, from the corner. She shoves the knife away, locking it closed. “And uh...ten to midnight.”

  “Sorry.” She replied. “Sorry, I’m a bit...jumpy.”

  Peter laughs awkwardly. “Yeah, I can see that. If you don’t want to stay here, I can ask May to drive you home. I just thought it was kinda late and uh...you know. Ned usually stays over too, I didn’t think it’d be different. Sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed.”

  She closes her eyes and breathes, before shrugging. A night away from home sounds fucking amazing. “You mind if I stay? I can take the couch—” Peter shakes his head profusely.

  “No way, it’s fine. And it’s a bunk bed anyway.” He points above her.

  “Oh. Right.” She lays down and Parker climbs to the top. “Wait, is Ned still here?”

  Peter laughs quietly. “Nope. He left an episode after you fell asleep, Betty called him and it turned into a whole long chat. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re still talking.”

  MJ lets herself smile. It’s dark, no one will know. “Are they a thing yet or still skirting around each other?”

  “Nope, not a thing yet. I keep telling him to ask her out and he keeps saying it’ll quote unquote ‘ruin their friendship’. Maybe I should hire you to ask her out for him. If only I weren’t broke.”

  “Aw, I’ll give him the friends discount.” They laugh a little before descending into silence. She counts the seconds, counts Peter’s breaths, counts the ticks of the clock. She wishes she were one of those people who could fall asleep on command. She is not though, so she sighs. “You still awake?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She sits up, shoving herself so she’s against the wall. “Might as well do something then. Come down.” She hopes he doesn’t protest, and she lets out an inaudible sigh of relief as he climbs down. He sits beside her stiffly, a distance away. She rolls her eyes and shuffles closer to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He flinches slightly at contact before softening.

  He gulps. “I’m...I’m glad we’re friends, MJ.” His voice is quiet, so much so if she weren’t sitting nearly on top of him she might not hear.

  “No need to be sappy, Parker.”

  “No, MJ. I want you to know I’m glad. I...I know you...you’re not a big fan of interacting with people, no offence, and I’m just...I’m glad we’re friends.”

  She smile at his attempts. It’s endearing. “I’m glad I stopped being loner trash and sat closer to you and Ned.”

  He looks down at her, half in horror and half in denial. “You weren’t loner trash!”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t talk to people outside of, like, occasionally insulting them. Plus my job, which includes doing some pretty terrible things. Hence, loner trash. Well, I guess I’m still trash then.”

  “Don’t put yourself down so much, Michelle. You’re like, the smartest person in our grade.”

  “Doesn’t stop me from being loner trash.”

  He pauses. “Okay then. You’ve stopped being a self-proclaimed loner. If you think your job makes you trash, why don’t you stop?” Fuck, Parker. If only it were that easy. If getting the job of manipulating you didn’t make me stop, maybe I just can’t . She doesn’t say that though, because once again she thinks of the cash she brings in and she just...can’t. Can’t stop, can’t blow this Flash case.

  “I have to.” She finally says. “I just do.”

  “Why?” God, he can be stubborn.

  What can she say, what even is there to say? “I’ve got stuff.” She negotiates.

  “Stuff? Stuff that makes you...specifically makes you have that job?”

  “What else can I do? Get a job at some fast food joint? I’m good at what I do, I get paid well at it. Why change?”

  “Because it’s...it’s not a good job, Michelle.”

  She wrenches herself from him, crossing her arms and turning away like some annoying brat. “And what do you know, huh? I got stuff, Parker. A whole lotta stuff. And it sucks shit, but it means I gotta do shit about it. And that sometimes means going against ethics and morals and rules and getting shit done.”

  His surprise hurts her for some irritating unfathomable reason. “MJ—”

  “Parker, I just—” She realises too late that her eyes are welling up. Peter seems to notice them too somehow, even in the pitch black. “I have so much stuff, Parker. So much. Too much. Maybe what I do is bad. No, it is. I know it. But sometimes you just have to do things for the people you love.” Fuck, fuck, fuck . That’s too much. She can feel it on him, its too much. Her body reacts before her mind and she shuffles back beside him, her head finding the crook of his neck.

  “I have stuff too.” He says finally, breaking the silence. “And I do stuff about it too. I—I get what you mean.”

  She wipes her tears, attempting her usual sardonic smile. “What? Perfect Peter Parker has his own stuff?”

  He nods. “And what I do about it...I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if it’s the right thing to do.”

  “What on earth is that?”

  He pulls his knees up. “I...I can’t say. Not yet.” She detaches herself and unsuradly watches the outline of him pull together like a roly-poly bug, his knees to his chin and his arms around himself.

  “Oh. Vague.” She curses her bluntness. Then she curses the fact that an idea pops in her head. Then she curses the fact it does, because it’s thick with the realisation that it’ll get them closer. “My stuff...it’s my mom. Mainly. I mean, it’s a whole heap of other shit but a lot of it is Mom.”

  “Oh?” His voice cracks, and she leans back towards him.

  “C-Cancer.” She wonders how long it’s been since she’s actually said that word without an ugly tone behind it. “My mom. It sucks.”

  “O-Oh. I’m...I’m sorry, Michelle.” He seems to catch himself. “I mean...I know you get that a lot. I know it gets annoying. But I’m sorry.” He pulls himself in. “I’m not going to say what my... job is, but...my stuff is the whole being orphaned and dead uncle thing.” He gives a humourless laugh.

  “Sorry you got that dumped on you. That sucks.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, yeah it does.” He half-laughs, half-scoffs. “I guess we both got our stuff, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “Sorry for being nosy and judgy about your job.”

  It’s her turn to sigh. “I mean, you’re right. I should stop, but I just fucking can’t. I have to do it; a part of me enjoys it. I’m good at it. I’ve never declined a job, never half-assed, never failed. I’ve done so much stupid shit, Parker, but I do it well and I like doing it. Do you know how many teachers’ passwords I have memorised? How many janitors I’ve befriended? How many school blueprints I’ve studied? You don’t put effort like that in something you don’t like doing. I just can’t stop.”

  Her outburst is met by a temporary silence. “What’s the worst thing you’ve done for you job?” He asks quietly.

  Easy. Manipulate the greatest friend she’s ever had (who’s also the greatest guy she’s ever known) and work towards outing a really great person who works for the community as a criminal, an act which could get him locked in one of the worst fully legal United Nations human rights violations of recent years because a bully’s ego felt attacked all for $500 and a new camera.

  “I don’t know.” She whispers, the lie slick on her tongue like cyanide. She remembers every single case she’s done. “Ethically? Probably blackmailing Jennifer Hardesty with the knowledge of her drug addict brother for Carl King.” She feels the way Peter recoils, can see how shocked he is despite the only light coming from a sliver in the curtains. “300, start of sophomore year. Carl was failing his...I don’t know, one of his classes. One of the teachers had asked Jennifer to tutor him, she’d declined, said she didn’t have time. He hired me, had me find dirt on her and then blackmail her into tutoring him. Jennifer did it for a while but ended up talking to the teachers about it. She got help for her brother, Carl got suspended. He tried to rat me out too, but I had a favour from Joey Gastone and Carl backed off.”

  She wishes she’d never said anything. Now Peter’s disgusted by her, now he hates her, now she’s really fucked up. Peter’s a good kid, she’s not. She’s a bad person who’s more worried about how Peter fucking Parker is taking this information and not how she fucking blackmailed a poor girl who didn’t deserve it. Fuck, she hates herself.

  Parker swallows. “You feel bad though, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know, Parker.” It’s probably the most truthful she’s been all night. “Maybe I do, but I’ve long learnt to pretend that feeling doesn’t exist.” The tears are coming back. Fuck. Peter’s apparent innate fucking sense of knowing when she’s crying returns, and she feels him soften against her.

  “Michelle...I don’t think you’re a bad person.” He says finally, his voice even. “I think you’re misguided, I think you’ve done bad things, but I think you know they’re bad. I think you have other stuff going on that I don’t know about that make this all very morally ambiguous.”

  She whirls around to face him, her tears angry and obstinate. “God, Parker. Just say I’m a bad person, I know you’re thinking it.”

  “But you’re not a bad person.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.” She wants to tell him, wants to confess, wants this stupid case off of her. Yet even after confessing all that, she knows she’s not going to drop this case. Peter places a hand on her arm.

  “Michelle. I’ve seen bad people. I’ve seen people who’ve gone all the way, crossed that line you don’t come back from. You’re not one of them.” She’s openly crying now. This is too much, too emotional. She barely knows Parker, really. How long have they been friends, if that word even applies? Two months maybe? What does he know of her, what does she know of him? That she has some stupid fucking crush on him, that he doesn’t know how awful she is?

  She tries to save face, tries to pretend she’s the snark-filled smartass who sits ten feet away from the two closest non-familial people she’s ever known. “Too emotional, Parker. Can we pretend this conversation never happened?”

  Even in the dim light Peter’s face is soft and pretty. “Okay, Michelle. But...you can talk to me. I really consider you a friend. I want you to know that.”

  She pulls back into herself. “How are you so good, Parker? So freaking nice?”

  Peter laughs a little, and his blush is almost audible. “Aw, come on. No-not that good.”

  She hits his chest. “Shut up, you’re the best. ‘Cept Ned, maybe.”

  “Yeah, Ned’s pretty great. Really great, really. But you’re really great too.”

   Stop, MJ, the voice in her head nags, don’t say it . “Peter Parker, you’re pretty damn great.” Her smile echoes on his face, and holy fuck she wants to kiss him. They move closer, so incremental she’s 99% sure she’s just going insane. Holy fuck. The feeling is so monumental it’s almost astonishing herself. She stops herself though, because he doesn’t like her that way. He shouldn’t feel that way. She knows he never will. She pulls back, and Peter coughs awkwardly.

  “So, um, we should sleep. Now. Because it’s late. Very late.”

  “Yeah. Uh...yeah.” Peter entangles himself from the bed, climbing up to his bunk. She falls asleep to his low breathing, wishing she were braver.

Chapter Text

  She wakes early, before anyone else is. She lays in the bed, wondering if her younger self would even be able to conceptualise the events surrounding this current moment. She checks desperately for her phone, swearing when it shows up as no charge. She plugs it in quickly and jumps back as Peter leaps from his bed just as the phone dings.

  “Christ on a motorcycle!” She yells, Peter frozen in place.

  “Creative expletive.” He compliments after a pause, still not moving. “I totally forgot you were here, holy crap. Um...sorry?” There's an odd sense of familiarity in the way he leapt from the top bunk.

  Weird.

  He scratches his neck. “So...good morning.” She tries not to notice he’s shirtless. It’s very difficult.

  “Good morning.” She echoes, still locked in place. There’s this weirdness floating between them, a shadow of whatever the fuck happened last night.

  “So I’m gonna, um, get dressed.” He practically sprints out of the room, grabbing his clothes on the way out.

  She calms after a few seconds, slumping down against the wall. Why does she feel so awful? Not sickly awful, just...awful. Like she’s Atlas and the weight of the Earth has fallen on her shoulders.

  Peter’s back before you can say Peter Parker is a dork loser and she considers just leaping out the window instead of having to deal with Emotions. “So. Um...do you want breakfast or whatever? I can make, like, pancakes or something.”

  “Uh...yeah. Sure. Sounds good.” Pull yourself together!Scolds a voice in her head. She stands up, adjusting her awkward slouch and putting on her signature half smile, half scowl. It seems to relax Peter, as his shoulders loosen and his natural happy countenance returns.

  The kitchen is still a mess from when they’d raided it last night. Remnants of buttery microwave popcorn, now-empty bags of candy, lone pizza slices that were left uneaten. To MJ, its residue of a real friendship she gets to be a part of, the beginnings of her first taste of self-indulgence in...years.

  “Betcha I can chug this entire bottle of lemonade.” Laughs Ned, already on a sugar high even though they're barely into the third episode.

  “No one is asking you to do that!” Cries Peter through laughter.

  “Do you dare me MJ?” Asks Ned, egging himself on.

  “Ned, literally no one is saying you should do that.” She tried not to let her grin show. “Once again my assertion that you two are total dorks proves true.” She takes a sip of her tea. Ned and Peter had been horrified when she’d started making it, protesting that English breakfast tea was hardly a marathon-y drink, but she’d flipped them off and the matter was settled.

  Peter smiles. “Aw, but MJ, if you’re hanging with us that makes you a dork by association.”

  “Yeah, Michelle.” Gargled Ned through a mouthful of Sprite. “You can’t escape the dork.”

  She doesn't remember the rest of the conversation, but she remembers the warmth she’d felt. She hasn't had friends like this in years, probably not since the early years of middle school and even then she’d never fit in well. Here? It's like they’re a three piece jigsaw game where her puzzle piece fits perfectly, where without her it wouldn't look right.

  She misses that feeling. That feeling’s always been marred by home life, but here she feels like she can forget all that. Here she feels like she can have that feeling without needing to apologise.

  Peter knocks her from her reverie as he tucks their rubbish away. “Hey Em, could you get the milk and eggs from the fridge?” It turns out Pancakes with Parker is kinda fun.

  “Peter!” She yelps. “You’re gonna break the goddamn bowl if you whisk like that!” She wonders if he’s realised quite how strong he apparently is, or if the pancake batter on the wall or the dent in the bowl will clue him in.

  He scratches his neck sheepishly. “Can you tell I haven't done this in a while?”

  “Yeah, the fact we very narrowly avoided you adding three cups of sugar tells me that.” They complete the mixing with little issue and a lot of trying-not-to-bump-into-each-other-in-the-tiny-kitchen and also pretending-they-don’t-notice-when-they-do, but It's fun, Michelle realises, working in a team. Whipping cream, adding icing sugar to strawberries and juicing lemons while Peter fries and flips the pancakes because Shut up MJ, I totally can!

  “So why on Earth would you make pancakes if you’re so bad at it?” She asks through a mouthful of lemon, sugar and rather abstract looking pancakes (despite the fact the pan is literally round, Peter apparently cannot make a circular pancake for his life). Peter’s is heaped with cream, strawberries and blueberries, because according to Mr I Have The Body of a (Minor) Greek God the healthiness of the fruit cancels out the unhealthiness of, like, everything else. How this kid is a whiz at chemistry or even math is lost on her.

  He shrugs. “I remember you said you liked them once.” his smile is sweet. “I can remember you saying your favourite breakfast food from some dumb get-to-know-you from like, freshman year but I can never remember to wash my su...separate lights and darks in the wash! Anyway, I think you said you and your sister used to make them together.”

  Key words: used to. Back when they had actual time in the morning, when cream and strawberries weren’t a factor on whether they could pay bills that week. When cheap name brand cereal or the more commonly practiced choice of nothing at all were the default options. Before everything.

  Suddenly she feels quite sad.

  He seems to sense her mood change and winces. “Crap, that was stupid, wasn't it? I’m sorry.”

  She looks back up at him, staring into his puppy-dog eyes. She wonders how she - or anyone - could ever be mad at him.  “It’s fine, it’s nothing. Really. It was thoughtful, Peter.” He smiles when she says his name, blushing as he goes back to his pancakes. Or, his cream and berries with a side of pancake. His metabolism must be in fucking overdrive.

  They lapse into silence, unsure of what to say, of how to interact after the night before, of where they’re at. MJ can’t think properly with the Parker-shaped blob that occupies her mind and her peripheral vision. She wonders if its the same with him or if this whole annoying emotional dump is purely hers. She remembers why she stopped talking to people.

  “So, um, do you wanna stay and keep watching Firefly?” Asks Peter in a rapid voice, slightly more high-pitched than usual. He sounds like he genuinely wants her to stay. Yes. Fucking yes. Just say it! But of course her mind moves to Flash and the job and then she's hunching inward and she can see he notices and she can see he's freaking out at her not answering and she's such a terrible person and he shouldn't want to hang out with her—

  “Uh...I’m...I just…” Fuck, she can see his disappointment so clearly. “I feel kinda weird doing it without Ned, y’know?” No, she should be saying yes. Say yes, you’re supposed to be manipulating him, not shielding him, you’re supposed to not care—

  “Oh, yeah.” Replies Peter with a blush. “Yeah that’s um...right. Yeah.” They’re saved from further conversation by May poking her head in.

  “Michelle, good morning!” She yawns. “I didn’t realise you’d stayed over.” May’s slight head inclination and raised eyebrow towards Peter do not escape MJ’s notice and Peter’s notice does not neglect it either.

  “Yeah she, uh, fell asleep. I didn't want to wake her up, then it was too late...I'll make sure to tell you next time.” MJ also does not overlook the fact Peter says next time, and she feels like there's a second layer to this conversation that she's not privy to.

  “Mmm.” Nods May with a smile, but there's something in her eyes that MJ can't decipher, one that Peter seems to. She’d usually assume this is another adult-making-assumptions-about-teenage-male-female-relationships (to be fair it's totally present, at least on her side), God knows she’s death stared enough of her adult relatives whenever they get that look, but this doesn't feel like that. This feels deeper, something MJ should be looking into—

  Right. The Flash thing.

  That heavy feeling returns, and the urge to confess fucking everything right then and there is so strong she stands up faster than one can say Fuck Trump . Her plate and cutlery clatters and Peter deftly catches the maple syrup bottle that throws itself off the table. “You okay Michelle?” He asks, his eyes full to the brim with deep worry. Fuck, why does he have to be so good?

  “Yeah, yeah, I just...thank you for inviting me to your home, Peter. I appreciate it. And you too, May. It was stupid of me to stay over.”

  “No sweetheart, not at all.” Concern is etched into her face. “Our home is your home. Are you feeling alright?” Holy fuck no.

  “Yeah I uh...I have to leave. My uh...my Mom.” She feels guilty using her as an excuse, but as the words leave her mouth she realises that might be an actual problem. “I totally forgot to text her last night, she’s probably freaked.”

  “Do you need me to drive you sweetheart?” She usually despises pet names from adults, but somehow Ms Parker makes it work.

  “N-No, I'll be okay.” She can't stand this any longer. The air is so thick with concern and wistfulness and guilt and regret that she can barely fucking breathe. “I just need to go.” She practically flees the apartment, that awful feeling running after her Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom style, only this type in runs over her as she slams the front door.

  She's totally going to regret this later.

  She slides down against the wall, head in her hands and all her life choices and deeply held personal beliefs absolutely obliterated at her feet. Thats slightly dramatic, but Michelle’s a dramatic person, especially when it concerns emotions and equally irritating nuisances.

  “...what...happened?” May’s voice is muffled by the wall, but it’s thin enough she can decently make it out.

  “...don’t know….” Is the reply, unmistakably Peter.

  “Have you told...yet?” May speaks in hushed whispers and it’s difficult to make out full sentences

  “Not yet.”

  “ Peter .”

  “I know, I know, It’s just...its a lot.”

 “...clearly important...communication is important...if she’s...you have to tell her…”

 “...probably already knows...smart—”

 “Smart, pretty...I know...you’ve said...doesn't matter...have to tell.” And with that she runs out of the building like the fucking apocalypse is nigh. She shimmies up the drain pipe, hopes no one will call her in for breaking and entering, clawing her way up to the roof. God knows this is the only place she can think straight.

  Well fuck. She should definitely be analysing all this right now; is this about her? What is this thing Peter hasn't told her? Is she the ‘clearly important’ or is that shameless wishful thinking? Where the fuck did pretty come from—

  And here she is again, totally veering off any semblance of The Point. Why is this even happening? How come she can't just turn this shit off? She used to be great at that; at pretending emotions and feelings and all that trash didn't exist and now here is this stupid dorky white boy who really she barely knows (they've been friends for what, two and a half months?) taking a fucking baseball bat to everything she's ever worked towards.

  And maybe that's okay.

  No! No, it can't be okay. He didn't mean anything he said to her last night, he barely knows her. For the past week she’s done nothing but manipulate the shit out of him.

  But maybe that doesn't matter. Maybe she can just stop, maybe she can be good. Not just for him, but for her. Maybe she can do good, real good.

  God what is she, fucking Smeagol?

  She breathes in, she breathes out. She's okay. Of course she’s okay, she’s Michelle freaking Jones. She can do anything.

  Except calm down, apparently.

  This is proved unnecessary though, because of course Queens’ own red-and-blue lands beside her. “Hey Em—Michelle. You uh...okay?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nods, too high-pitched. His expression is unchanged; that of an unconvinced concern. She relents. “God...I don't even know. I'm just stressed. Do you know what that's like? It’s like those stupid clickbait hydraulic press videos on youtube. When everything just...weighs on you.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, I get what you mean.”

  She sits on the edge of the roof, wondering what it would be like to fall backwards. She's not suicidal (though she’s familiar enough with the feeling), but she wonders if that release, the let-go of everything, would be to her like cocaine to a junkie. “I’m not good with friends.” She says quietly, swallowing. “At all. I am that stupid cliche of ‘girl who doesn't want to get close to people because of her tragic backstory’ except I’m kind of in the middle of the tragic backstory.”

  He doesn't reply, instead fixing her an intense stare. She continues. “I want to. God, I want to. I want friends, I want all that bullshit. But I’m not a good person. I cant burden people with that, not for such selfish fucking reasons.”

  The silence is less of a silence than a lack of knowledge of what to say. Its quiet, the wind of birds and bustle of the city below the only sounds surrounding her. “That's not selfish, Michelle.” His voice quivers and she wonders how on earth she’s supposed to expose his identity in the midst of this conscience crisis.

  She can't do it— but she has to do it. Integrity, pride...call it what you will. She's worked for the respect she’s given by her classmates, she can’t just not do this. And the money…five hundred isn't a lot, not in the grand scheme of things, but to her family that’s food, that’s rent, that’s bills, that’s livelihood. If she doesnt complete this stupid fuckinbg case no doubt Flash’ll make her pay it back, plus the camera she knows Gayle needs. God knows what else he’ll do.

  Her only reply to Spider-Man is silence. He sighs as he sits down cross-legged on the concrete at her feet and she wonders at how vulnerable and small he looks. “I-I wish you wouldn't feel that way.”

  “Why do you even care?” She shoots back, less angry than she is actually desperate for an answer.

  He averts his gaze. “Because I’m…because I...I...damn it.” He swears, his head in his hands. He looks up at her again, his eyes filled with conflicted...everything. “I’m a person, Michelle. Under the mask. And I care about you because...because I'm human. Because you're my friend.” He says it like there's a meaning behind this she cant understand, a layer she can't see through her stupid eyes that can’t decipher this enigma.

  He looks down. “There's someone, Michelle. Someone I need to...explain this all to. All...this. This side of me.” He laughs without amusement. “And I don't know how.”

  She doesn't understand this, how his words and meanings connect, and she hates that. Why cant her idiot brain just make sense of all this? “Who?”

  He takes a breath. “A friend. A really good friend. I really like them. So much. Only, I don't think they understand how much I care about them.”

 She let out some spasms of laughter, delightless and self-deprecating. “Someone like me.”  

  He looks back up. “I want to tell them how freaking much I care. Just how much of a friend they are to me. I just...I can never get the words out.” He sighs again. “Maybe you don't know me, Michelle, but I care. Maybe I don't know everything about you. But...I need you to know that you’re not selfish. That you’re a good person. You’re allowed to do things for yourself.”

  She swallows his words. “Sure.” She doesn't know what else to say, if there even is anything else she can say. The sharp cut of a text message alert startles her so much she loses her balance, but Spidey’s grabbed her arm and pulled her off the edge before she can fall to her rather untimely death.

  “Oh my god, are you okay?” He implores, pulling her up.

  It takes a few seconds to level her heartbeat. “Christ.” She breathes. “You sure do have some damn good reflexes.”

  He chuckles. “Uh...yeah. Kinda do.” He extends his hand out, and she realises he’s holding her phone. “The reason I came to find you. Um...you…” He sighed, before shoving it in her hand. “Peter told me to get it to you, apparently you left it at his place.” His voice is strained, though it doesn't sound like lying. She’s someone who's devoted a lot of time to learning body language, and it sounds like...like a lie by omission. There’s more to this.

  “So you really do know him, huh?” The words are out before she can stop them. Why can’t she just stop?

  He scratches his neck. “Um...yeah. In a sense.” His tone tells her to stop and she does, even though she so badly wants to question him. She’s surprised by that though. Normally she’d jump at this chance. Right now though?

  She gives a small smile. “You got here quick, I only left like...ten minutes ago.” Her phone finally restarts, and holy god does she have a lot of notifications.

  Spidey shrugs. “I was uh...in the area.” She unlocks it, and nearly falls back off the building for the second time in as many minutes as she checks her call logs. Missed calls from Anna and Gayle but its the one missed call from ‘unknown number’ that makes her heart drop, because she recognises that number. She hasn't gotten calls from it in a long while, has never answered them but they haunt her. That stupid sequence of digits makes her want to catapult her phone into the Hudson.

  Spidey notices her discomfort. ‘You okay?”

  “Yeah, I just...I need to take this.” No she doesn't, she doesn't have to, she should be strong enough to ignore it, to not let it control her.

  “Oh. Right. Yeah.” He doesn't move, but she's too distracted by the ten too-emotionally loaded numbers that scream back at her to reply. “I…” She looks up finally, and he looks like he’s straining to say something. “I hope you know how much Peter cares about you.”

  That is not what she’d expected. “Um. Okay.” She replies with narrowed eyes, inwardly scolding herself for her callousness. Spidey looks a little miffed at her answer, so she gives a small smile. Its annoyingly genuine, she hasn't been this pleasantly surprised in quite a while. “Tell him thanks for me.” I care about him too.

  Spidey perks up. “You do?” Oh. So she said that part out loud.

   Yeah, I do. A lot. Unfortunately her unconscious mind decides not to say those words without her knowledge, and instead it comes out a lot less nicely. “What, did he enlist you as his wingman? If he wants that conversation he can come to me directly.”

  Spidey’s taken aback, but there's a playful expression on his face. “I’ll tell him that.” There's a beat of silence before he gives a wave. “Well...see ya.” She watches him fall backwards off the roof, hyper aware and hyper annoyed at the fact she’s smiling. It disappears as she looks back at her phone. One voicemail message.

   “Hey Shells. It’s uh...it’s Dad.” He sounds exactly the same, maybe a little wearier, but it still sends a chill down her spine, a whole decade later. “Gayle told me about what happened with your mom yesterday and I’m...I’m sorry, kid.” Her heart drops. “That’s uh...that’s scary. I know i’m not your favourite person, I know you’ve got reasons. I ain’t calling for forgiveness. Just...just want you to know you can talk to me. I still love you, kiddo. You’re still my daughter. Anyway...call me if you want. Love you, Shelly.” She doesn't even have time to hyperventilate and overthink that, because she's desperately scrolling through her other voicemails.

  “MJ, it’s Gayle. Where are you? Mom’s just...fuck, I don't know. I found her passed out on the floor, I've called the ambulance, Anna’s on her way, where the fuck are you? Get over here. Please. I’m freaked out.”

  “MJ holy fuck, can you get over here? Where are you?”

  “Michelle, this is Anna. Please call back. You said you were going to go to a friend’s house, are you staying over? Need to know if you're okay. Bye.”

  “Pick up your fucking phone MJ."

      “If you care, we’re on the way to Metro-General. Anna, I will speak to Michelle any damn way I want—”

  “Michelle, it’s Anna again. I need you to call back. Your mother fainted, we don’t know much else yet. The doctors said something about blood sugar and heart rate but don’t worry, okay? I just need you to call back. Love you.”

  “We’re at Metro-General. Mom’s fine, no thanks to you. Well...she’s alive at least. Call back.”

  “Sweetheart, it’s Anna. Your mom hasn’t woken up yet, but she’s doing okay. I just need you to text me.”

  Michelle wonders if perhaps throwing herself off the roof is a feasible solution. She dials Gayle, who picks up on the first ring. “Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw, she’s finally reared her ugly head. What the fuck was that, MJ?”

  “Holy fuck, Gayle, my phone died. Chill the fuck out.” She regrets her words immediately.

  “Chill the fuck — wow Michelle. Go absolutely fuck yourself. I haven't heard from you in what, 15 hours? When you said you’d gotten to your friend’s place? Fuckin’ ace, Michelle, fucking ace. Mom got fucking hospitalized, Kev and Tommy were crying half the night because they thought their goddamn mother was going to die, Anna’s been worried fucking sick and what have you been doing? Willfully fucking ignoring us? Thanks a lot for that, MJ. Real big fucking thank you.” Every syllable is a stab in the gut.

  She can feel tears welling. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “I’m sure you're real fucking sorry MJ but that doesn't fucking cut it right now. We don't get sorries in our situation. We’re at Metro-General still, if you even care enough to check up on your cancer-ridden mother.” The silence after Gayle hangs up is think like blood.

 She remembers how she felt last night. It feels like so long ago but its so vivid, like she’s in sepia Kansas and last night is the lost technicolour dream world of Oz. She remembers laughing and stupid wry remarks and Ned and Peter planning five, ten, fifteen more movie nights for all the nerd culture they obsess over. She remembers how surreal it felt; like she was living in some other body, not having to freak out about every facet of her life for the first time in, well, her life.

  She had friends. Real, genuine friends. Friends who talked to her. Friends who she could talk to. Friends who cared about her.

  And what does she have now? What did that get her? A dying mother and family who she forgot when they needed her.

  She runs down, not caring about the tears streaming down her face. She bangs on May’s door, hyperventilating as she tries desperately to calm down. May pulls open the door, a shocked expression splayed on her face. “Oh my god, Michelle, are you okay?”

  “I-I-I n-need to go to Metro-General.” She gets out between spasms of breath. “Please, it’s my mom.” May’s already grabbing her keys.

  “Of course, sweetheart. Give me one second.” She rushes in, and MJ wonders which wrathful fucking bastard of a God made crying a thing. What a bitch move. May’s back in less than a minute, coat on and Peter in tow. He’s frazzled and becomes even more so when he sees her.

  “MJ, oh my god—” He stands like he wants to do something, hug her or put a hand on her shoulder. May rushes past him, ushering the two out.

  “Michelle, can you tell me what’s going on?” She asks as they whisk down the stairs.

  “My mom.” She answers as she attempts to wipe away the waterfalls of tears from her eyes. “Cancer. My sister—she says Mom fainted or something and she got hospitalized last night. I hadn't realised…” She can’t say anything else, too overwhelmed by the absolute everything-ness of the world. “Thank you so much, Ms. Parker.” She finally hiccoughs out as they climb into May’s car. “I’m so sorry to disrupt your day like this—”

 “Don't you dare apologise, Michelle. Please, you have nothing to be sorry for. And there’s some tissues under my seat, sweetheart. We’ll be there in a half-hour.” May turns around to face her. “It’s going to be okay, Michelle.”

  Peter turns to her. “Really, MJ. It will.” He reaches over to her, perhaps to reassure her, but she flinches and he stops. Michelle can’t do this anymore; this new friendship thing. It's too distracting, by far. Her family is what's important. She can’t let herself be swayed by a pair of too-kind brown eyes.

Chapter Text

   There are no words to describe what it’s like to see your mother laying near lifeless on a hospital bed, fluorescent lights beating down, your brothers red-eyed and sniffling, your Aunt deflated, your sister void of brightness. There is no emotion even close. Fear? Misery? Apathy? Disbelief? Bitterness? It’s indescribable.

  She doesn’t remember much of the hospital. Her mother was fine, if you can call it that, by the time she arrived. Anna...Anna just looked broken. The disappointment she could see her aunt trying to hide hurt the most. At her mom? At the world? At God? At her?

  They leave a couple hours after MJ arrives. The doctors look at them like they’re mad, insisting treatment is what’s best for Madeline. Madeline, as usual, insists its not an option. A part of MJ wishes they’d just hold her mother down and force whatever chemo drugs she needed into her.

  Instead they sit in their beat down car, Gayle and Anna arguing how on earth they’re to pay for that hospital visit, how much Obamacare covers, how they’re going to survive these next few months. MJ feels much younger and naive than she used to. She’s just sixteen. Sixteen year olds aren't supposed to have to deal with this. Sixteen always felt like such a big number. Now she just feels small.

  Fuck, it’s torture.

  The house is silent. It hasn’t been silent in years, not since the diagnosis. Her mom and Anna’s room is locked and they’re speaking so quietly MJ can’t even hear the distinctive muffled voices she’s grown so used to thanks to the apartment’s cheaply shitty thin walls. Kev and Tommy are huddled with Gayle and for once she wishes they’d be their usual boisterous selves. What she wouldn’t give for them to start yelling about Pokémon or TMNT or whatever the fuck it is they go on about.

  She wishes Gayle would say something. Her silence is worse than anything. Even reprimand and rebuke would be better than the sharp, deadly dagger of soundlessness she’s stuck in MJ’s neck.

  Dinner is leftovers, so bland and plain it feels like an insult. It sticks in the back of her throat like that lump when you cry and when she leaves early no one protests.

  She lays in bed, thoughtless, for hours. She doesn’t even have the energy or willpower to cry. She counts the stars on the ceiling. She doesn’t remember putting them up anymore. They’ve just always been there.

  She wonders if she’s always had such awful morals, or if she grew into them.

  She doesn’t sleep. She just stops being awake. Is that what death is? Just stopping. Maybe that would be a nice change.

  She doesn’t go to school. Anna doesn’t make her. Gayle’s not there when she wakes up. Her mom’s door’s locked. She wants to talk to her but it doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right anymore.

  She gets an email from school. Hello Ms Jones, blah blah blah, we have been informed of your mother’s medical emergency, blah blah blah, we are working to help you feel comfortable in this trying period, blah blah blah, please reach out if you need help, BLAH BLAH FUCKING BLAH.

  Ned calls her. She lets it go to voicemail. She deletes it. He calls again. She lets it go to voicemail. He calls again. She blocks his number.

  Peter calls her. She declines the call. She blocks and deletes his number from her phone.

  May texts her. hey sweetheart, you don’t have to talk to me or anything, just want to make sure you got home safe and your mom’s okay xx. She replies with a factory standard answer she forgets the moment she sends it.

  She doesn’t go to the roof. She’s not sure what she’ll do if she does.

  She goes to school the next day. Home is too much. Gayle’s silence, her mom’s low breathing, Anna’s poker face. It all combines into an awful place to live in. Harrington pulls her aside when she enters the school and says he hopes she’s doing okay and that to alleviate unneeded stress he’s temporarily handing AcaDec duties to Cindy. Michelle nods noncommittally.

  Class is a ravine. She has first period with Ned. He tries to talk to her. She ignores him. He backs off. She has second period with Flash. He tries to talk to her. She cusses him out and threatens physical assault. He backs off.

  Lunch is an abyss. Ned tries to talk to her. She ignores him. Peter tries to talk to her. She ignores him. Peter gives her that stupid puppy-dog eye look. She ignores him. Ned tells her that they care about her, that she’s their friend, that they just want to help her. She ignores him. Peter begs her to just say anything. She tells him to shut the fuck up and leave her alone. They leave her alone.

  Home is a void. She thinks about the multiverse theory. Why the fuck is she the Michelle who had to fuck up every step of the way? She wonders about the other Michelles. The Michelle who kept emotion out of her case. The Michelle who didn’t fall asleep and was at home for her Mom. The Michelle who can actually deal with her fucking life. The Michelle who’s a good person.

  Haha. Funny joke. Everyone laughs. That doesn’t exist, not in any of the infinite universes.

  She goes to school the next day partly because some Freshman contacted her about knocking out the bathroom smoke detectors and because Cindy says she wants an unofficial AcaDec meeting at lunch and she’ll be damned if she lets any of this stupid shit get in the way of winning Nationals.

  Lunch rolls around, and she sits at the end of the table beside Sally. She’s been avoiding Ned and Peter all day and her current plan is keeping her eyes trained strictly on her book..

  Cindy shuffles her papers. “Okay so I have assembled you all here because I need to organise this week’s meeting but whenever I try without us all together it’s really confusing and Flash won’t shut up about his fucking Canc ú n trip and it’s like you've all got literally no time off anything. So, what days are you all free?”

  “I can’t do today, tomorrow or the weekend.” Pipes Charles. “I can do Friday though.”

  Flash leans back. “Can’t do Friday, that’s the day we fly to Can — ”

  Cindy looks like she’s going to explode. “Say Cancún one more time, Flash. See what happens.”

  “Friday’s that staff development day thing, right? That’s my only free day.” Says Betty, who had replaced Liz as their ninth team member at Ned’s suggestion. “Only not the morning, I’ve got something on then.”

  “Same.” Nods Ned. “Morning’s off for Friday, but I’m free the rest of the day. Can’t do tomorrow though, or Saturday.”

  “Oh?” Smirks Abe. “Both of you of on Friday morning, what a coincidence.” He continues before either Ned or Betty have time to protest. “Friday’s free for me, plus Sunday.”

  Sally shakes her head. “I got Church on Sunday, plus youth group, plus riding lessons. But yeah, Friday’s free for me.”

  “Um, I can’t do Friday.” Says Peter in a quiet voice, breaking his relative silence. “I have my Stark Internship.” Perfect time to investigate, before chiding herself and then shelving the idea in her head. She’ll think about it.

  “So we’ve all decided he’s telling the truth about that?” Flash rolls his eyes.

  “Shut the fuck up, Flash.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Fuck. Everyone turns to her, and she trains her eyes on the Christine de Pizan’s 15th century prose. Excluding some words with teachers, it's the first thing she’s said all day. She desperately resists the urge to look up at Peter.

  “Since when were you Parker’s —”

  “Shut up Flash.” She repeats, and as he cowers she’s grateful of her reputation. The silence is excruciating though. “I’m free whenever.” She says finally, filling the gap in conversation. “That might change though, I’m not sure.”

  “Okay.” Smiles Cindy with the care of someone calming down a wounded but dangerous animal. She’s pretty sure Harrington told Cindy the exact reasons why he’s temporarily forfeiting MJ’s captain status which is just fucking perfect. “So Flash, what time’s your flight to the place that shall not be named?”

  “Like, 10 in the evening.”

  “When does your internship thing end, Peter?”

  “Maybe noon? I can, um, talk with Mr Stark about it.” Flash snorts, but ceases after a glare from Michelle.

  “Great. So...does afternoon Friday sound good? You all seem to be free for that time. And since its Staff Development, we should still be allowed to have the practice at school.” Everyone agrees, and the second the meeting’s done MJ’s off. She marches down the hallways in direction of the library, the only place she’ll get any damn peace and quiet.

  “Michelle!” The voice makes her heart both swell and drop. If she walks fast enough maybe he’ll get the message...and he’s in front of her. “MJ, please.” His eyes, his voice, everything about him is begging with her.

  “What do you want, Parker?”

  He looks so hurt by her words and she has to beat her compassion into submission. “I just—I want to know if you’re okay.” Why did he have to be such a good person?

  “I’m fine. Can I go now?” He stands stubbornly where he is.

  “MJ...you’re my friend. Maybe you don't want me to be your friend, but you’re mine and I care about you and something’s going on.”

  Curse him and his kindness. “What’s going on, Parker, is none of your business. Get out of my way.” He relents after a stern staring contest, sighing angrily like an upset puppy before walking away. She resists the urge to look back and watch him go.

  She dangles her legs against the walls of the building, watching the tiny people below. There is a detached beauty in being so dissociated from the world. A woman in a red cardigan’s eyes linger on a man in a navy sweater who does not notice her. Michelle wonders if the two know each other, or if they will never meet again and she and the woman are the only two humans in the world who will ever remember this. A little girl in a yellow raincoat runs after her mother. It’s not rainy weather, there must be some sentimental value to that coat. She wonders if the girl will remember the coat when she’s older. An old man and and old woman sit on the bench, sharing a newspaper. She wonders how many newspapers they've read together, if they remember what the stories were.

  Her phone rings, and she’s too tired to care about the number that blinks up at her. It rings dully like white noise. It goes to voicemail, and she opens it without looking away from the ground below.

  “Hey, Shells. It’s me again. I want...I’m calling because I want to reconnect, okay? I know shit’s happened, I know you have your reasons to hate me. But...with the stuff with your mom...I want you to talk to me again. We’re still family, Shells, always will be. What’s the saying? Blood’s thicker than water? Look—whatever. Just...call me back. I love you, Shelly.”

  His footsteps aren’t as quiet as MJ assumes their owner thinks. “I can hear you.” She says, not bothering to turn around. “Stop being a stalk-y freak.”

  “Damn, and I was trying so hard.” He deposits himself beside her on the ledge, his red suit bright in her peripheral. “You okay?”

  “I assume you heard that?”

  “Yeah.” He replies sheepishly. “I’m sorry, that was super invasive —”

  “It was. But whatever.” She pulls her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. It’s probably stupidly dangerous, but he’s quick and she trusts him. As much as she doesn’t want to, much less admit it, she knows she does.

  “You okay?” He repeats.

  “I don’t know.” She sighs. “No, I’m not.” She feels his hand hover over her back, like he wants to comfort her, but ultimately it falls back to his side. She wishes he’d done it. She’s starved of human touch.

  He coughs awkwardly. “You know...being a superhero doesn’t mean I just have to help people, you know, physically. I can try to help emotionally too. You can talk to me, I’m not going to blab or anything.” It’s not what she’s worried about.

  “Superhero, huh? Someone’s got a high opinion of himself.” She can’t help herself and it feels nice to smile, no matter how weak.

  “I take offence to that. I have superpowers —”

  “Hulk has superpowers, doesn’t make him a superhero.”

  “Hulk is totally a superhero!”

  “Oh, you take down one mutant freak and suddenly we all forget Harlem was totally destroyed?”

  He holds his hands up in protest. “Not trying to debate the nuances of the definition of superhero. Just...I have superpowers and sometimes I save...okay, help people. Doesn’t that qualify me at least a little bit ?”

  She smiles. “Yeah, yeah it does.” She fumbles with a curl of her hair. “That what you’re here to do? Save me?”

  He shakes his head. “You don’t need saving, Michelle. I came because I care about you. You’re my friend.”

  She snorts. “How many conversations have we had? Like, four? Five? You don’t know me. I don’t know you.”

  “I think you’d be surprised.” His voice is levelled and somber, but he perks up. “Okay then. Help me know you.”

  “Yeah, let’s spill the beans of my personal life to, let’s be perfectly real, a total stranger.” She doesn’t feel that way, not truly. There’s too much of a familiarity with him.

  She turns her head so she’s facing him. He looks like he’s straining for an answer. “I’ll...I’ll go first then.” He pulls his legs in and their mirrored positions remind MJ of two peas in a pod. “My parents died when I was a kid. Plane crash. I don’t really remember them. Then uh...when I was a bit older, I got these superpowers. Then...then someone died, and it was my fault. I didn’t kill them directly, before you ask, but death by inaction...that's still a death on me. And then I became Spider-Man.”

  She doesn’t know what to say. She’s not usually speechless, but now? She has no idea how to respond. “I’m sorry.” She says finally, wishing society had created a better acknowledgement of pain than that. “That sucks.”

  “Sucks.” He ecoes. Silence descends, coating them both in a cloak but of nothing.

  “The guy on the voicemail’s my dad.” She says finally, watching the ant-people go about their day. She wonders if any of them wonder what the two are talking about. “He’s...he’s not a good person. In fact, he’s kind of a fucking bastard. He’s in jail.” She holds the tears back. “Domestic abuse charges, I’m sure you can figure that out. Well, domestic abuse plus some drugs stuff and some priors I don’t have the care to look into.”

  “Michelle, I—”

  She continued. “The catalyst was him finding out about Mom’s affair with his sister Anna. I was only four, I don’t really remember the big fight. Called her a dyke, I remember that. Anna came to the house in the middle of it. Called the police. Gayle, my sister, she was nine or ten at the time. She’d been documenting the abuse in her diary and had photos. It was a slam dunk case, he was put in prison — 20 year sentence — and we were free.” There are tears in her eyes now. That’s been happening a damn lot lately.

  “Mom married Anna — or, civil unioned I guess — and she gave birth to my twin brothers... oh yeah, she was pregnant too. Great fucking guy, huh? Beats up his pregnant wife.”

  “MJ—”

  “And then when I was ten, Mom got stomach cancer. Stage three. Basically a death sentence, really. Twenty percent chance she’d live the normal five year expectancy, and that’s on all the cancer drugs. We’re nearly on the...six year anniversary now. Yeah, six. She quit the chemo and everything around year...three point five? She said she was wasting away in the hospital, that she’d prefer to live out the rest of her years with us than die in an uncomfortable bed away from us. Now my mom’s wasting away at home and we’re in crippling debt. And just three days ago we had a scare. She’s dying in front of my eyes, Spidey. So no, I’m not okay.” She doesn’t protest as he pulls her into a hug. The suit’s fabric is weirfly softer than she’d presumed, and she buries her face in his chest.

  “MJ, I ...I don’t really know what to say.” He’s pretty much whispering into her hair at this point. “I’m so...I’m so sorry.” She detangles herself from him, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

  “Sorry about that.” She hiccoughs. “Dumping all my stupid shit on you.”

  “It’s not stupid, at all.” His voice is stronger, more determined than usual. “You have nothing to apologise for.” She leans her head on his shoulder, letting her tears fall onto the scarlet fabric.

  She’s already said all that, might as well go all out. “I...I’ve said before that I’m not a good person. You said I was, but I’m not. I do bad things. I...I’m like a — a mercenary, but on a dumb high school level. And someone’s...someone’s hired me to do something awful.” God, she’s a fucking coward. “And I can’t just... not do it . Too many strings.”

  “Oh.” His voice is careful, like one surveying a battlefield. “What is it you have to do?”

  “I...I…” Just SAY IT! “I have to...I have to find out some things about some people I care about.”

  “You say you have to...why?”

  “$500 and my reputation, that’s why.” She takes a breath. “It sounds shallow, I know. But...but the money I bring in from my job is hugely beneficial to my family. We’re in debt, Mom’s medical stuff costs a small fortune, Anna and Gayle have been struggling in this shitty job market, rent’s going up. And I’m not just, you know, desperately trying to excuse my shitty actions with lies. Without my income, we probably wouldn’t be able to pay bills. On average, not counting big cases, I get a job every other day and if I average out my income it’s about $120 per week and again, that’s just an average. That’s food for the week, that’s my brother’s being clothed — God, you’d be surprised how quick they grow out of clothes.

  “And my reputation? I’ve worked hard to be respected amongst my peers. I’ve never said no to a job before, ever. If I do that here, with this person, on this case...I’ll lose that. I can’t lose this job.”

  He’s quiet. Not speechless quiet or angry quiet, the kind where your blood boils and you bubble with rage, but a thinking quiet. A processing quiet. An anxiety-inducing quiet. “That’s a conundrum, MJ.” He says, his voice barely above a breathy whisper. “But I still think you’re a good person.”

  She whips her head around to face him, not caring when her hair hits him in the face. “How? How can I be? How can I be when I’m out here doing horrible, awful things for a quick buck?”

  “But you’re not.” He says it like its some simple answer. “You’re doing it to help your family. Yeah, I think you’re totally misguided and I don’t think this is at all a good way of going about business, but I also understand you’re in an awful situation and you’re trying your best. Morality is nuanced, MJ. Good and bad isn’t some clear cut thing, but I believe in the goodness in people. The goodness in you.”

  “Fuckin’ Confucius over here.” She grumbles. “ Fuuuuuuuck .” She lays her head back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He tentatively places a hand on her head and when she didn’t protest he combed his fingers through her hair. She usually despised when people were in even the general vicinity of her hair but this felt nice. This felt right.

  “I’m…” His voice hitched. “I’m not going to say this gets better, or that...I don’t know, this’ll all be over soon, because that’s probably not true and I know personally how much it fucking sucks getting told that over and over again. I just want you to know that I think you’re a strong person, MJ. Really. I think if anyone could get through this it would be you.” She feels...safe. For the first time in a while. He’s been doing that a lot, bringing those ‘in a whiles’ out.

  She looks up at him and wonders for the first time, without any traces of the stupid case, who is under the mask. He’s watching the sunset and she wonders how on earth she’s going to sketch the soft sunset sky colours that reflect against his eyes. “What do you think I should do? About the job?”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Short term or long term?”

  “Short term.” She hasn’t had the liberty to think long term in a long time.

  He considered for a few seconds. “Hm. I think...I think go down the path of least harm. Do what is right, but still attainable for you. You’re, like, the smartest person I know. I know you’ll find a way to...to at least feel comfortable and safe in your job. Is that okay?”

  She looked up at him, their eyes locking. “It’s kinda infuriating how goddamned... balanced you are.”

  A smile stretched across his face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Don’t.”

  “But I’m gonna.”

  “You’re the worst.”

  “Awww, you love me.” His breath hitched slightly. “I mean-”

  She couldn’t help but be slightly amused. “Yeah, I do.” He made a sound like a dying squirrel.

  “Huh.” Was his only coherent answer, and she smiled at the way his heartbeat quickened. “Well. Um, if you’re good then uh...I should get going. To my...house. That I live in.”

  Why were dorks so endearing to Michelle? She moved to detangle herself from him, only to squeak in a rather un-Michelle-like as her hair refused to move with her. “What the hell?!” She yelled, searching through her hair to find what the hell was going on, finding only Spidey’s hands.

  “Oh my god, I’m sorry!” Yelped Spidey. “I’m so sorry, holy shit, this happens sometimes.” She tries to turn and see what the hell is going on, only to screech as her hair pulls harder.

  “What the hell is happening?” She hyperventilates, practically falling off the ledge to the roof, Spidey close in tow.

  “I’m so sorry, holy crap I...okay so my fun spider powers kinda have this I-can-stick-to-stuff thing and — God, I’m so sorry — sometimes when I’m nervous or emotional or whatever it kinda just… oh please don’t stand up yet, I have super strength and if you tug too hard I might rip all your hair off—” She stopped her freakout, breathing in and out as calmly as she could. Realistically, this is hardly the weirdest thing to happen to her.

  “Okay.” She breaths. “Okey-dokey. We can uh...we can fix this. You—nervous you said? You just gotta relax.”

  “Easier said than done!” He cries as he tries to pry her locks from his fingers. “That’s kinda freaking difficult when I’m near you, MJ!” Don't overthink, don't overthink, don't overthink— “Plus, oh yeah, my freak superpowers might mean rip out all your hair!”

  “Just...just breathe, okay? You’re okay, you’re going to be okay. Everything will be okay, just breathe.” She tries to think back on her old therapy sessions, from before she quit when she realised how much they were costing her family. “Focus on my voice. Feel the breeze against your skin. Or...your suit. God, what else is there? Um...imagine an ice cube in your hand. Feel the cold. Feel it melting. Feel the way it drips down your arm.”

  She stays as calm as she can as he slowly disentangles his fingers from her fucking octopus hair. “Sorry.” He says again as he pulls the last few strands from his hands. “Like, so many sorries.”

  “It’s chill, Spider-Butt.” She smiles, pulling her hair up with a hair tie. “You just got nervous, it’s fine. When I’m nervous I flip out emotionally, you get weird spider-power fuck ups.” She finally turns around to him. If total embarrassment were audible, she’s pretty sure there’d be a screech emanating from him.

  “I’m sorry.” He repeats, scratching his neck. One of these days she’s going to rip his arm off if he keeps doing that. “I literally cannot express in words how sorry I am. I hope I didn’t fuck up your hair.”

  She’s probably grinning like an idiot. “Spidey, seriously, stop apologising. It was an accident.” She pauses. “Thank you.” She says finally.

  He’s taken aback. “For what? I nearly just scalped you.”

  “Firstly, it’s genuinely fine, you can stop freaking out and secondly, for earlier. Before the hair debacle. You...you helped me, a lot. I appreciate it.” He melts a little, and she tries to muffle her smile at his relaxing.

  “I meant what I said, MJ.” He says it with such earnest conviction. “I really believe that you’re good, that you’re strong. Because you are.” He steps a little closer. “MJ, I—” He averts his gaze and she can feel her heartbeat quicken. “I—” Her phone rings, and they both jump back.

  Damn that Situational Irony bitch.

  “I should, um, take that.” She stammers.

  “Yeah. Yeah, and I should...go…” He gave an awkward wave. “See ya, MJ.” She watched him swing off, finally groaning as the ringtone’s continued beeping didn’t stop. She checked caller ID and groaned. Fucking Flash.

  “What do you want?” She asks with a huff as she accepts the call.

  “Jeez, Michelle. That how you talk to all your paying customers?”

  “No, this is how I talk to douchebags. What do you want?”

  There’s a long sigh on the other end of the line. “I want to know what you have so far. You’re nearly halfway to your deadline.”

  Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She thinks back on Spidey’s words. She’s not gonna do it. No, she isn’t. Fuck it. “Look, I wanna make an amendment to our agreement.”

  “What?” He chokes. “More money or something?”

  “No.” She massages her temple. “I want...fuck. I’m just gonna say it. I’m not giving you Spider-Man’s identity.”

  There’s silence. “You know who he is?”

  Nope, but fuck is she beginning to genuinely want to. “Doesn’t matter if I do or not. I’m not giving it to you.”

  Silence again. “This isn’t how you normally operate. Aren’t you a no-questions-asked kinda hire?”

  “Dude—fuck off. I’m not some fucking assassin or some shit, and you’re not some Godfather crime boss. I’m not giving you Spider-Man’s details . I’ll...I’ll still find out how he and Parker know each other, but I’m not going to fuck around with any secret identity shit. Not with him.” She hangs up on that, not bothering to listen to his protests.

  She did it. She actually did it. She can barely believe it. She just did the one thing she’d all but sworn she wouldn’t do. And Spidey...goddamnit. Looks like he’s really gonna be a problem.

  She can’t say she hates this prospect.

  It’s as she’s climbing back through her bedroom window she realises something. He called her MJ. She’s never told him about that.

Chapter Text

  She shelves this new information for now. If she’s worrying and overthinking about that, she’s never going to be able to complete this stupid fucking case. Also, the thought of it is making her feel Emotions and despite her behaviour these recent weeks with the crying and the spilling secrets, that is not something she enjoys. So she does what every other emotionally allergic teenager does and totally ignores it.

  “Hey Clay?” She calls into the phone. She has the number of every single student (and faculty member) in Midtown, to only some of their knowledge. Probably explains why Clayton yelps.

  “Michelle! I—”

  “Your mom works at the New Avengers Facility, right? She’s like, Pepper Potts’ assistant?”

  Clayton sighs with a groan. “Yes, she is. Yes, she’s met Tony Stark. No, she hasn’t met Vision. No, she doesn’t know Captain Ameri-”

  “Yeah, I don’t give a shit. I need to get in. It’s for a case. I hear your mom’s taking you to work on Friday?”

  “Where the fuck did you hear that?”

  “Do you want the answer to that question?”

   He sighs again. “No, no I do not. And yes, I am. But I’m not allowed to use it as some—”

   “Great. Now you remember a month ago you hired me to...what was it again? Jack your uncle’s car for you so you and Polly McKenna could—”

   Clay swears under his breath. “Jesus Christ Michelle, keep your voice down.” She decides not to mention that this is a phone call. “And yes, clearly I remember that. Not something you normally forget.”

   “Uh-huh. Now remember how I quoted you two hundred dollars and how, well, I’ve only seen thirty of that?”

  “I said I’d get it to you—”

  “I will allow the thirty to be sufficient payment if you can get me into the Facility.”

  There’s a beat of silence. “Look, I don’t know. I can tell you it’s got pretty tight security, and Mom’s not about to let me take people there. Plus, I’d prefer me and Mom not get arrested for all the crimes this falls under.”

  “When will you be leaving?”

  “I don’t know, like 8 in the morning?

  “There will be a large, empty black suitcase outside your door in one hour. You will tell your mother you’re keeping your computer or books or or snacks or some shit in there so you don’t get bored at her work. At 7:50 sharp tomorrow I will be at your window. You will then take that suitcase with you to the New Avengers Facility. Once we’re in, I’ll text further instructions. I would advise you treat this suitcase with great care. It may be heavy.”

  “Jesus Fuck.” Swears Clayton. “You want me to take a suitcase with you inside it and sneak you into...Christ. Can you at least assure me you’re not there to, like, blow the building up?”

  “I can assure you, Cole, I am not getting into the Facility for any terrorist-y reasons.”

  “What even is my life anymore. Fine, yes, I’ll do it. And you promise this makes us even?”

  “Yep.” She replies, popping the P.

  Clayton sighs again. “Great. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  She’s usually generally aware of when she’s sleeping; not at a perfect level of lucidity but in that she recognises the uncanny valley. Her dreams have always been annoyingly abstract and symbolic, and tonight they’re even more so.

  Spiders are the main subject of tonight’s feature, much to her irritation. They emerge up from dark holes in the ground, fall from a blue sky made of their kin, crawl out of her mouth in droves, slink up her arms and legs, writhe around in her stomach and lungs and esophagus. She cuts open her torso with a knife made of gold, and she screams as her heart falls to the ground, disintegrating into a mass of spiders.  

  She stabs haphazardly at the ground but with every perforation more and more spiders crawl out. She screeches as the ground falls out from below her, before landing on a white web she cannot escape from.

   Fuck does she hate symbolism.

   God, she asks after she finally wakes, why the fuck did you saddle me with all this bullshit?

  It is, perhaps, not a perfect prayer to start the day with but MJ appreciates the irony of the extremely secular atheist dissing The Man Upstairs at 7 in the morning on a blessedly school-less Friday.

  Her heart is still pounding from both the nightmare and last night’s call to Flash. Working out the plan for today had distracted her, but now she was full-on flipping out. Maybe it’s stupid to everyone else but she really fucking did it. Sure, she expects some repercussions, but she can’t help but feel a teeny tiny ounce of pride.

  She sits on her bed, silent like a dormant volcano. Today is an investigatory day, probably the most difficult one she’ll be pulling off on this case. Or ever, really. She’s broken into places before (usually the school, but a couple houses too), but the New Avengers Facility? That’s going to need a solid plan. She’s pretty sure her’s is good enough for now, but planning for all eventualities is a Michelle Jones special.

  Other than the Coles, she’s studied the Facility blueprints till she can map it perfectly with her eyes closed. The maps were, by the way, acquired totally legally and absolutely not freebooted off internet forum boards of various levels of legality. Definitely not.

  She did get into the servers with, but she barely perused. She’d wanted to check out security footage issues, alarms and other various techno doohickeys that might have proven to make this all difficult but she’s not much one for computers or ‘hacking’ in general. She might have gotten further if she had Ned, but...

  She considered calling Ned to help her but everytime she tried to pick up the damn phone she just could not bring herself to call him. She does not need him hounding her with sympathy right now.

  Since this is, in essence, a scientific study, she has drawn up a quick report:

  Aim: To find out how Spider-Man (Subject S) and Peter Parker (Subject P)  know each other, through observation via sneaking into the New Avengers Facility.

  Hypothesis: It is predicted that Subjects S and P have a friendship brought forth from their shared connection to Anthony E. Stark.

  Equipment:

• One large suitcase
• Clayton Cole + Mrs. Cole
• The Gently Used World-Famous Michelle Jones Heist Bag (only essentials)

  Method:

• Get into the facility w/ the Coles

• ??????
• Profit

  Results: N/A

  Discussion: N/A

  Conclusion: N/A

  Foolproof. Airtight. Perfect.

  “Jesus Christ.” Mutters Clayton as he zips the bag up. “And you absolutely swear this will not result in legal action and that we’re even?”

  “Holy fuck Cole, yes .” And they’re her last words as all light leaves her dwelling. The suitcase is large enough for her to be curled in a fetal position, but not large enough for her to be uncomfortable. But then again, this is hardly the weirdest thing she’s done for her job.

  There was the Teacher’s Lounge Infiltration (She’s not fully willing to divulge all details of that particular case) Food Fight Feud of 2017 (Food. Everywhere. Everywhere. That war lasted weeks. It was extremely traumatic) or That Time In The C-Wing Toilets (Two words: glory hole. She didn’t participate, but spending an hour drilling into a bathroom stall wall really makes one reflect on life choices). Suffice to say, this barely makes the top five.

 Thankfully, Clayton is not rude enough to be spiteful and he makes an effort not to manhandle the case too much. She’s a relatively light person, helpful when one is crawling around the school and apparently also helpful when one wishes to break into the New Avengers Facility via suitcase.

  The drive is long and it is very difficult to stop her mind from drifting to Spidey no matter how much she tries. Who is he? How does he know? She cycles through everyone she’s extended the honour of her nickname to: her family, the AcaDec team, some old middle school friends she’d had before crawling into her hole of isolation and that’s pretty much it. She checks through them all, but none seem likely. There’s no way it could be anyone in her family (majority female, and none of them have the time), the AcaDec team (the whole male thing cancels out Sally, Cindy and Betty, she’s seen Flash and Spidey together and it’s doubtful he’d hire her to find out his own secret identity and Abe and Charles were hanging with her and the rest of the group at Homecoming, giving them solid alibis) and she doubts her middle school friends even remember her.

  She supposes one of them could have mentioned it in earshot of or even directly to Spidey, or maybe she’s misremembering. She can’t be though, she has the memory of twenty elephants combined.

  No, stop. This is distraction. Why does she even care? They’re not friends. They’re just two people who happen to dump each other’s emotional burdens on each other. That’s like, barely acquaintances. She does not care about that twerp Spider-Man. Absolutely not.

  She is granted mercy by the Gods when the car stops. @ security gate, texts Clayton. The outside is relatively muffled from where she lays, but she hears Cole say art supplies when an unfamiliar voice asks about what’s in the bag. They drive forth, stopping again a few minutes later at what Clayton texts is the parking lot. She holds her breath as Clayton pulls out the bag, and she grits her teeth as the suitcase starts rolling.

  She pulls the zipper open ever so slightly (she’d modified the case with some strings so she could open it from the inside. No way is she trusting Clayton Cole with that much power over her) so as to hear what’s going on and to check for any more security guards or metal detectors or anything that might totally fuck this over.

  There isn’t, thank Christ, and the receptionist doesn’t even ask what’s in the weirdly large suitcase. Clayton continues to drag along the case until the reach an office.

  “Okay Clay, you’ll be here. Don’t bother anyone, okay? No leaving this room unless absolutely necessary. The Facility is huge you’ll get lost and I doubt Pepper or Tony will be very pleased to see some teenager roaming it. I’ll be in and out every so often, and I’ll come by with some lunch later. Okay sweetie?” Mrs. Cole grabs some papers.

  “Yeah Mom, it’s fine. See ya.” She finally leaves and Clayton immediately rushes over, unzipping the case. “Okay, I’ve gotten you in. We’re even now, right?”

  “Jeez Cole, yes . We’re even.” She steps out of the case, smooths out her clothing and hopes she never has to do that again. Clayton opens the door for her and she leaves. Well, might as well start searching.

  The Facility, she learns, is huge. She already knew all the proportions and measurements and everything but there's something about seeing it all up close that makes it seem bigger. She combs through the different wings, sneaking into a utility closet and donning janitor uniform. No one questions her presence. When in doubt, act like you belong.

  She’s passing through the laboratories, when a sentence captures her attention. “Pete, pass that beaker.” Bingo.

  The walls are glass, and she prays Peter doesn’t notice her. She probably doesn’t need to, he’s hardly the most observant person. How on Earth she’s supposed to get in, let alone without being caught and close enough to listen into whatever the fuck they’re saying is lost on her. She wonders if seeing if the ventilation shaft is big enough to crawl through would be worth the trouble and inevitable disappointment. The movies greatly over exaggerate how large ventilation shafts are. She blames Die Hard.

  Stark looks up and she nearly has a panic attack, but she keeps her cool. He’s not looking at her. “11:00. When’s your Decathlon thing?”

  “Cindy said 1.”

  “Wanna get some lunch? We can pick this back up later.”

  Peter shrugs. “Why not?” They don’t even notice her as they leave the room in search of food. MJ breathes a sigh of relief. When she’s sure they’re gone she enters the lab, hoping to any God that’s listening that these rooms don’t have security cameras. She can’t see any, but only God knows what nutso high-tech shit Stark’s rigged up. She does though, doubt there are cameras in here. She’s not sure Stark would be stupid enough to film a room that she assumes he does some loco experiments in, especially not in a network so easily accessed. She imagines Oscorp would literally kill for access to footage of Stark’s labs.

  She thinks of hiding in a closet or cupboard, but it’s not guaranteed they won’t open those for equipment. She’s not rich enough for recording equipment she doesn’t need to be present for, so that’s off the table. But...there is one place so fucking stupid no one would bother to look.

  She hangs onto the rafters like they’re a lifeline, which they kinda are. If she lets go she is absolutely fucked. It took a while to get up there too; having to climb up onto a roof without disturbing anything on the benches was a herculean task.

  “...and now I know all this stuff about her but she doesn’t know I do and it feels super manipulative and dishonest but I can’t just leave her alone with all this. So now I’m in this conundrum where I want to talk to her so goddamn badly but I just...can’t.” They’re back, and true to her prediction they don’t notice her. Earth’s greatest defender everybody, can’t even tell there’s a high school girl on his lab ceiling.

  “Jesus, kid. School wasn’t that dramatic even for me.”

  “I was kinda hoping you’d say this is some universal experience.”

  Stark snorts as he peers through a microscope. “Yeah, no way kid. This is entirely a you problem. My only advice: tell her. You’ll feel so much better.” Well damn. Now she’s curious.

  “She’ll be so angry! How does some even broach that topic? Hey Michelle, so Spider-Man is actually—” He is interrupted by her falling from the rafters at the mention of her name. That was not where she thought the conversation was going. It surprised her, you can hardly blame her for it. Peter grabs her before she can crash onto the bench of probably very dangerous chemicals and Stark’s got some kind of fucking Iron Man arm cannon prepped at her face.

  “What the fuck!” He yells. “Who the hell are you?”

  “MJ!” Squeaks Peter, dropping her to the ground.

  “Fuck, Parker.” She whines. “When you go to catch a girl you’re not supposed to immediately let go.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Repeats Stark. “Peter, you know this girl?”

  “Um, yes!” He finally cries, putting himself between her and the arm cannon. “No need to shoot her. Mr Stark, Michelle. MJ, Mr Stark.”

  “A pleasure.” She groans as she stands up. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

  “Why the hell are you on my ceiling? How did you get in here?”

  She furrows her brows. “Yeah, so about that—”

  “Michelle!” Cries Peter again. “How much of that conversation did you hear?”

  Stark sighs in frustration. “Kid, the girl just infiltrated my very heavily guarded Facility and just fell from the goddamned ceiling, is that really important right now?”

  “Yes, Mr Stark, it freaking is !”

  “God, will you two give me even a second to explain?” She cuts in. Stark has calmed enough to lower and put away the arm cannon. He massages his temples before throwing his hands up in surrender.

  “You know what? I’m too old for this. Pete, can you deal with it? I need to go figure how out how in all hell she got in here and fire, I don’t know, at least twenty people.” He storms out, leaving the two in an uneasy silence.

  She clears her throat. “I heard, like, the ending to that conversation. Like, a bit about how you know some stuff about me that I don’t know you know.”

  Peter winces, his face red. “That’s...okay. Well, it's not okay, but okay I understand what you’re saying?” He furrows his brows. “But...Mr Stark’s right. N—not important. How and why did you get in here?”

  She reaches for an answer. “So...it may have included hiding in a suitcase for, like, an hour and a half? Also make sure Stark doesn’t to fire anyone who helped me, Mrs. Cole had literally no idea and if Clayton gets in trouble that’ll just be a huge inconvenience I don’t need right now.”

  Peter has a face of such pure confusion that inspiration for a series of portraits based on his expressions hits her like a ton of bricks. Not now. “I...you...you got Clayton Cole to sneak you in through a SUITCASE!?” So maybe it’s less confusion and more utter disbelief.

  “Yes, jeez. It’s really not that difficult of a situation to comprehend.”

 “YES IT FREAKING IS, MJ!” He flails. “Why then? Why on Earth would you do all this?”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  “Yes you absolutely need a reason! People don’t just sneak into top-secret Avengers facilities just because they can!”

  “Firstly, this place is hardly top secret. I got a good chunk of my information of the layout from Google Earth. And secondly, okay, point taken. But also I totally would.”

  “Yeah, now that I say it out loud you totally would.” He averts his gaze with a sigh. There’s silence again, but it’s longer and more tense than it's ever been between them. “Did you come here because of me?” He asks quietly.

  Yes. “Mighty high opinion of yourself there, Pete.”

  “But did you? Are you still mad at me?”

  “What? I’m not mad at you.”

  He looks like he’s going to detonate. “Not mad...MJ, you totally dipped on me on Sunday! You just left so abruptly, and then...and then there was the hospital thing and then you wouldn’t talk to me for three days and then I tried to talk to you and you were all ‘Go away Parker’ and now you’re hanging from the freaking rafters of my lab!”

  Opening. “Your lab? What kind of work do Stark interns do?”

  “Not the point!” He says hastily. “Point is why—”

  She can’t stand this anymore, and she grasps at a tenuous link of an excuse, but a part of her wonders if it really is an excuse. “I...Peter, I was worried. Like, really fucking worried. Look at it from my point of view. You’ve been fucking weird ever since you got that Stark Internship. Missing school, dropping extracurriculars. You’ve been getting weird fuckin injuries too. So I was concerned, and I stalked you here. Sorry.” She tries to imbue the words with that weird thing that’s been between them ever since last Sunday. Who’s she kidding, it was there anyway. Apparently she can’t control fucking anything in her life.

  He’s speechless. You could hear a pin drop. “You were...worried? About me?”

  “Yes.” Even saying that hurts. She said she was going to do better, didn't she? She’d agreed to go the path of least harm. And here she is, back on her bullshit.

  “You...you hid in a suitcase for hours, snuck into one of the most secure locations this side of the country, hid in the goddamned rafters...all because you were worried about me?”

  “Jesus Parker, am I speaking a different language?”

  “No I just...oh. I didn’t think…I thought…” They’re interrupted by Stark storming back in. Peter moves almost instinctively in front of her, blocking Stark’s view of her.

  “Were you the one who got into the servers last night?”

  She pushes Peter to the side so Stark can see her. “Yeah, probably. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if someone else did too, good god your security is awful. I can barely understand computers, imagine if someone like Ned got into it—”

  Stark turns dramatically to Peter. “Pete. This is the second time one of your nerd friends has gotten into a network I’ve created. You need to keep a better handle on them. And you…” He turns back to her. “My AI tells me there was a human heat signature in my fianceé’s assistant’s son’s suitcase. Can I conclude that’s how you got in?”

  She shrugs. “You can assume what you want. Just...don’t reprimand Mrs. Cole. She had no idea I was there. Also, on that note don’t bring this up with Clayton. Getting him in trouble is a bother I don’t need right now.”

  Tony closes his eyes, muttering something about kids these days and swearing off offspring. “You know what? I’m going to let you off with a warning. Pete, this is Michelle Michelle, right? One you were talking about?”

  Peter turns red and avoids her eye contact. “Yes.”

  “Great. How about we keep this between the three of us. I don’t want to deal with any public repercussions of this. Peter, explain it all to her. Michelle, next time you want to check up on your boyfriend — and holy crap don’t give me any he’s not my boyfriend because I am so not in the mood — just call him. I am begging you both here. I know you’re overdramatic teenagers who can’t think clearly ever, but please.”

  “Noted.” Squeaks Peter.

  “Aye aye, Cap’n.” She replies drily.

  Stark sighs, having aged twenty years in twenty seconds. “Great. Look, it’s nearly time for Peter to leave anyway. I will call Happy to drive you both to the school. We will then never speak of this ever again. That sound good?” His tone says this is not up for negotiation and the two nod, Peter hastily and Michelle with an eye roll. “Peter, you know where the parking lot is. Happy’ll be over in a few. We’ll pick up on the formula this weekend, yeah?”

  “Yes Mr Stark. Thank you again for helping me, I super appreciate it.”

  Stark nods. “Great. Off you go, kid. Nice to finally meet you, Michelle. I had hoped it would be under different circumstances.” He sends a look to Parker, one that makes him blush and one MJ cannot decipher.

  She narrows her eyes. “Hm.” Peter realises this is probably the nicest reply she’s going to give him, and gestures for her to follow him.

  “So.” He begins. “That happened.”

  “It did.”

  “Are we...going to talk about it?”

  “Seemed to me you’re the one who needs to talk.”

  Peter skids to a halt. “I’m sorry, am I the one who just broke into the New Avengers Facility in a freaking suitcase?”

  “What was Stark talking about?” She asks, her words sharp. “He kept saying you should talk to me about..something.”

  Peter gulps. “He...he was...he meant…” He shuts his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.” He starts walking again and she can see how eager he is to get away from this. Not likely. She wants this stupid Flash case over and done, and this is clearly connected.

  “Fine then. What are you to Tony Stark, hm? Because my ass is that an internship. What are you, his protege? His ward? Secret lovechild?”

  “No!” Cries Peter. “He’s…” They’re outside now. “Look, there’s some stuff I just can’t tell you.”

  “That’s hardly very fucking fair. Do you know how much of my bullshit I opened up to you about?”

  “MJ, don’t. It’s not the same.”

  “How can I know that, huh? How am I supposed to be a friend to you, or care about you or whatever the fuck this is if you keep me in the goddamned dark? You think I don’t notice the way you and Ned act around me? You think I’m dumb enough to not tell that something is up with you? Do you know what it’s like, Peter? I’m going through so much fucking shit and in the one part of my life that’s supposed to be seperate from that, you and Ned, you totally fucking ghost me.” Okay. So maybe she’s not entirely in a case-oriented mindset right now. Maybe she’s a little emotionally invested.

  Peter goes quiet and she wishes she could take it all back. Fuck. She prided herself on keeping emotions out of her job and what’s happening now? “MJ, I—” A car pulls up, black and sleek and that kind of inconspicuous that only rich people think is.

  The doors open. “Get in.” Says a gruff voice, and she follows Peter in.

  Peter sighs and bites his lip. “Look, Michelle. It’s...it’s a really delicate situation.” He articulates carefully as the car begins the drive. “I just don’t know how—”

  “Just say it.” She commands.

  “You’ll hate me.” His voice shakes. “You’ll hate me MJ. I...what’s going on...you’d hate me.”

  “Peter.” She whispers. Her brain is yelling at her to stop, to get away, to crawl back into her abyss of isolation. “I could never hate you.” The words come out like they’re a fact, like they’re an absolute truth of the universe and she realises — they’re right. She could never hate him.

  “You would.” She can barely hear him, his voice is barely above a breath. “And rightfully.”

  “Tell me, Peter.” She implores. “Isn’t that what relationships are all about? Familial, platonic...it’s important. Please tell me.”

  Peter looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “MJ...it’s dangerous. If I tell you I put you in danger.”

  “Is Stark hurting you? I swear if he is—”

  “It’s not Mr Stark, Em. He’s...he’s helping me, actually.” Peter groans into his hands. “I’m just not ready, MJ.” He says, not making eye contact.

  She thinks back to the times she spoke about what was going on, to Peter and to Spidey. They’d both been supportive, right? Told her to talk when she needed to. Let her say what she wanted. That’s what she needs to do. “Okay.” She says finally.

  He looks up at her with surprise. “What?”

  “Okay. You don’t have to tell me now. I’m...I’m sorry I snapped at you. You've been nothing but nice to me.” And I’ve been nothing but a manipulative bitch . “Talk to me when you’re ready.” She hesitantly reaches out to where Peter sits beside her, taking his hand tentatively. She hopes he doesn’t react like she had.

  He takes her hand. “Thank you, Michelle. I’m...I’m glad we’re friends. And I’m sorry I made you worried and keep keeping you in the dark.” He cracks a small smile. “I’m sorry I made you think breaking into my place of work in a suitcase was the only course of action.”

  She wants to smile. She wants to think it’s just a joke, that she didn’t do it because she was hired by a bully to invade Parker’s personal life for no other reason than said bully’s broken ego. She wants to think she did it for him. A part of her, small and squashed in the back of her head, tells her she’s being stupid, that obviously she did it for him. She has become very good at ignoring those parts of her head. “Yeah.” She says quietly, letting go of his hand.

  Peter gives a concerned look. “I’m not trying to make fun of you—”

  She rolls her eyes. “Like I care. It’s just...whatever. Other stuff.”

  “Is...is your mom okay?” He asks, trepidation clinging to his words.

  “Yeah, she’s okay now. As okay as she can be.”

  “I’m sorry for harassing you about it yesterday.” His voice hitches.

  “Harassing? What, in the hallway when you asked how I was? I’m sorry for getting angry. You were just trying to be nice.”

  Peter shakes his head. “I—yeah. That. Still, sorry. You didn’t want to talk, I should have respected that.”

  She made a face. “Can we dispense with the apologising? It’s getting repetitive and emotional.”

  Peter smiles. “Whatever you want, Em.” He fiddles with his sleeve. “So...so we’re good now?” She echoes his smile as she leans back, watching him and wondering how she could ever have let him dig into her like this.

  “Yeah Parker. We’re good.”

Chapter Text

  Happy drops them off at the school without having ever spoken during the ride and honestly MJ respects that but she does not quite respect how he was very clearly listening into her and Peter’s conversation, probably to report back to Stark. There’s a note from Mr Harrington tacked to the front entrance doors telling them to head to the gym so they’re not in any of the staff’s way.

  After a few swift knocks from MJ Cindy pulls open the gym doors with a smile, one that melts into one of surprise before Cindy can take control of her poker face. “Peter and MJ! You’re here! Together!”

  Michelle rolls her eyes. “Yeah, Cindy, it’s called carpooling.” She realises she should probably pull down the instinctive snark barriers. “Sorry for our tardiness by the way. Something uh...came up.” Fell down, more like. She looks past Cindy. “Everyone’s here?”

  Cindy nods. “Yep. Everyone ‘cept you guys and Flash. Come in.” She pulls the two through. “Flash is being fashionably late because apparently being a dramatic dickhead is more important than, you know, winning nationals. MJ, I do not envy your job as captain, but it’s been a great learning experience. I’m just gonna head out for a sec and call Thompson and verbally assault him. ” She gestures for them to sit at the podium at the two empty seats to Ned’s right before hurrying out. Michelle does not miss how Betty is sat at Ned’s left, or how their hands are intertwined under the table.

  “How was your date?” She asks to Ned, dropping herself beside Peter. Ned goes tomato red, but Betty smiles.

  “How was yours?”

  It’s Peter’s turn to turn red. “Oh my god Betty no."

  She smiles playfully. “Touche, Brant. ‘Twas great, I really fell for him.”

  It takes a few seconds for Peter to recover. “Michelle, did you just make a pun? ”

  “Nope. And if you ever say I did I’ll sue you for slander.” She feels a renewed sense of...happiness? Is that the word?

  Betty furrows her brows. “Wait, were you actually on a date?”

  “I don’t know, were we?”

  “No, Betty, we were not.” Sighs Peter.

  “Damn, I was so sure it was going well.” She replies, elbowing Parker’s ribs. It’s nice slipping back into friendly banter, the kind of talk they had before all this crazy stupid shit.

  Abe leans back in his chair to get a better view of the conversation from where he sits. “What’s this about MJ and Peter and a date?”

  MJ smiled. “Peter hired me to ask out Amelia Hopkins for him.”

  “I did not!”

  Charles leans back. “Who’s asking out Amelia Hopkins? You all know I like her.”

  “No one is and also you should ask her out.” Piped Sally. “Peter and MJ stopped dancing around each other and went on a date.”

  “Oh really? Finally, I thought you two would just keep going round in circles.”

  “Oh my god, we didn’t go on a date.” Groans Peter as he bangs his head on the table.

  “Ouch Parker, and I put in so much work. The candles, the roses, the hotel room—”

  “Michelle, I’m begging you.” Peter’s saved from further embarrassment by Cindy dragging Flash in by his sleeve.

  “Fuck, Cindy! I’m like, not even ten minutes late.” Cindy hauls him up the steps and dumps him in his chair.

  “Flash, you act like we can’t see everything you post on Snap and Insta. What was that Starbucks cappuccino caption from fifteen minutes ago? Avoiding AcaDec? Fucking ace, dude. Least Michelle and Peter had an actual excuse, making out in Tony Stark’s labs or whatever it is they do with their time.”

  Michelle dings the bell. “I resent that statement.”

  Cindy is glaring daggers at Thompson. “Well, I resent Flash. Can we start now?” Michelle catches Flash’s eye and the implication of his expression, his unsaid words, the way he stares her down...it’s enough to totally destroy any semblance of a good mood she’d been in. Peter notices the way she slumps back in her chair and gives her a concerned look. He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by Cindy starting practice. MJ thanks any higher power listening that she doesn’t have to engage in that.

  Flash glares at her at every interval he can during practice, and every time MJ sinks deeper and deeper into overthinking and irritation. She just wants this over, but she has to finish or she’ll never get paid and her reputation will be ruined and only God knows what else what.

  She’s jittery throughout all of practice and she wishes handing captainship to Cindy would have alleviated all her stress.

  Practice ends and before she can run home and properly compartmentalise all this bullshit, Flash storms up to her. “We need to talk.” He says stiffly, jabbing his finger at the gym equipment storage room. She weighs the possible options:

1. Calmly go with him
2. Punch him and run
3. Pull out her pocket knife on him
4. 2 and 3

  She’s going to pick 4 but paranoia sets in and the thought of having to explain that situation or God forbid Flash just totally telling everything makes her a little wary. So she picks 1, like a fucking normal person.

  “What do you want, Thompson?” She sighs.

  Flash’s eyes narrow. “What the hell do you think, Jones? Maybe because you, I don’t know, fucking rang me up and said you were gonna back out of our agreement like it was nothing and gave me no goddamn reasons?”

  “I have no obligation to you.”

  “Excuse me, you have $350 worth of obligation to me.” He huffs. “My request was simple. Find Spider-Man’s identity and find how he knows Parker. You quoted me $500 for that. Overpriced, but whatever. I can understand. You are now telling me you want to drop half of what I asked you to do and what, I guess you still want that other $200? And what about my deposit, huh? Is $350 worth something as simple as figuring out how some spandex freak knows some loser freak?”

  She steps closer, and a sick part of her likes how Flash shrinks backs. “Hey, asshole. If it’s so goddamned simple I’d like to see you try.” She took a breath. “Parker is, against my better judgement, a friend. Try deceiving and manipulating the one good part of your life while your mother dies before your eyes. And I’m doing this for at least two to three hours a day, with my entire budget being probably what you spend in an hour. And you know why no one’s figured out who the fuck Spider-Man is? It’s because he’s got a fucking secret identity. Do you know what that means, Thompson, or do I need to google it for you? It means his identity is a fucking secret. It means I have to fucking work to find out who the fuck he is. This isn’t me looking through a phone book, this is me having to manipulate someone with fucking spider-powers, someone who has the backing of Tony fucking Stark . Now I don’t know if you’ve figured this out yet, but that’s kind of fucking difficult to do.

  “And now, having spoken to him, I’ve realised this person does not deserve his identity taken from them and given to you, dickwad. So that, Flash, is why I’ve dropped that side of the case. Is that understandable to your excuse of a brain?”

  Flash is speechless, like she’s verbally knocked his voice from his throat. She does not have the capacity right now to relish this, because her words have brought up some emotions she had oh so wanted to repress. Flash finds his tongue. “Fine.” He says quietly. “Fine. But still, that price is not fair.”

  She groans. What has she become? “Fine. Fifty off.”

   “Fifty? Fuck off. Two hundred.”

   “65.”

  “170.”

  “80.”

  “150.”

  “100, or I drop the case entirely and send that video of Spidey humiliating you—”

  “Fine!” He yelled. “Fine. $100 off.”

  “Great. Are we done now?” Her skin itches, like even it wants to get away from this. Flash taps his foot with annoyance and honestly it’s the most irritating thing she’s seen all day and she has had a very, very long day.

  “Fine.” She rolls her eyes at him before pulling open the storage room doors.

  Her heart stops. Her stomach drops. Her blood runs cold. She can’t feel her legs. Finding a ledge to jump off suddenly becomes an extremely attractive idea.

  Peter is silent. Hell, the entire AcaDec team is silent. It’s clear they didn’t hear much, but they’ve probably figured the gist. Peter though? Peter’s always worn his heart on his sleeve. Peter’s face tells her he heard everything. Every fucking thing she’s been desperately keeping from him. Every sordid secret that’s been killing her from inside. Every single word she just spoke looks etched into his face, along with betrayal, confusion, disappointment, anger, despair, disbelief. It’s all there. The disappointment hurts the most.

  “C—Cindy. I’m...Th—thank you for organising the meet. I’ll make sure to, um, brush up on all the stuff you said. I’ve got to go.” He practically bolts out, so fast he’s barely a blur. Or maybe she’s tearing up, she’s too paralysed to know.

  The AcaDec team are just as frozen as she. Michelle realises how disconnected they really are from her. How much do they really know her? “M...MJ? Are you okay?” Sally’s the first to speak. She can barely register the words.

  “I—I have to leave.” She whispers before pushing her way past Betty and Ned to the door. She runs out into the hallway, where she only catches the last glimpse of Parker as he sprints out the building.

  Her phone rings so offensively loudly that she nearly flings it across the hall. She wants to run after Peter and explain everything and to beg forgiveness but as she checks who’s calling her heart drops even further than it already has.

  Gayle’s crying on the other end. “Michelle, oh my god Michelle—”

  “What’s going on? What happened? Is it Mom?

  “It’s Mom. Mom she...it’s not like last time. Fuck, she’s bleeding and there’s bruising and there’s ambulances and I don’t know what they’re saying, I think one of them said coma....Em, I’m on her way over, you’re at the school right?”

  “Yeah, Decathlon just finished. Oh god...are Kev and Tommy okay?”

  “They’re still at school, I’m gonna pick them up too...MJ, I don’t know if Mom’s gonna make it—”

  “Don’t say that, Gayle. We don’t...we can’t think like that.”

  “MJ, we have to. Mom’s not in a position were we can’t.” Gayle’s voice shakes and sends shocks through Michelle’s brain.

  “Look, we just have to stay calm. Just concentrate on the road, okay? It’s going to be okay.”

  Those last five words ring through her head like a maniacal laugh.

Chapter Text

 The sound of Pac-Man dying makes her want to laugh, but that’s probably super insensitive. The screen of Tommy’s DS lights his and Kev’s faces and she can see their red eyes. Crying? Sleep deprivation? Probably both.

  Her mother looks especially small on the hospital bed. Thinner too. The head wound’s fixed up now. Turns out fainting and then subsequently falling onto the edge of a dining table means you need exactly eight stitches. Wild. Medically-induced coma, they’re saying, until they can fix her.

  She pulls out her phone for the umpteenth time just that hour. She looks at his contact, moves to press the number...and she just can’t. He’ll hang up, he doesn’t want to hear her apologies, she’s being selfish for caring, she shouldn’t be hung up on that when her mom’s like this, she doesn’t deserve forgiveness, she doesn’t even deserve to explain.

  To say she’s in emotional turmoil is somewhat of an understatement.

   The nurses pulled in some chairs for them to sit in, those plastic-y chairs with cheap foam inside and rips that make the foam spill out like organs out of a dead body. Pleasant.

  MJ finds herself realising that despite the chaos of the past few weeks she’s experienced more pregnant pauses than she probably has ever before. Gayle hasn’t spoken to her since the car ride to the hospital and MJ’s not sure if this means their fight is over or if it was just a temporary truce. Anna’s rambling about something or other, MJ zoned out a long while ago.

  Her mind’s on Peter as is too often has been of late.

  She hates herself for still obsessing over him when her mother’s literally in a goddamned coma but she just can’t help it.

  His face is seared into her memory now. She can recall every minute detail of his face, every single line and curve and slope. How could such disappointment even be possible? The utter betrayal was think and pure as sticky maple syrup.

  Classic MJ. Anything good she’s got to ruin it.

  She holds her mom’s hand for a long while. It’s cold. Cold not like ice, but like the stiffness of wind in a rainstorm. Death has always been such a theoretical concept to her, like black holes. Like yeah, obviously it exists but her measly human brain just cannot comprehend the idea of a life just...ending.

  Visiting hours end, and the car ride home is stilted and full of silence. She watches out the car window for the ride, waiting, perhaps, for some kind of proof that the world exists outside of the dingy Honda Accord. At one point she catches the unmistakable red flash of Spider-Man. His appearance both quickens and wrenches out her heart. She’d been so close to maybe... really considering him a friend. Hell, there was that whole MJ thing she keeps trying to ignore.

  She doesn't deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it. For opposite reasons.

  She expects Peter’s told him by now. That’s what an actually good person would do; tell their friends the truth. Don’t manipulate them or emotionally fuck with them. You’d think it’d be simple.

  She stares at the off-white walls, following the cracks as the ticking of the clock drives her further and further into insanity. She’s both consumed by her thoughts and empty of them; wanting to go back to the hospital, wanting to make up with Gayle, wanting to call Peter, wanting to find Spidey, wanting this all to end yet she’s so devoid of the motivation to do so.

  Her phone rings, and for an insanity-fueled five seconds she thinks (hopes) it’s Parker but of course, no such goddamned luck.

  “God, Phillip, what the fuck do you want?” The words lash and slice like the crack of a whip, the tone surprising even her.

  “Shelly.” Her breath hitches at his voice. “So I’m just Phillip now? No more Dad?”

  “You were never Dad, Phillip.” Phillip Jones pulls out a dramatic side of her she’s almost kinda proud of. Also this is the first outlet for her to vent emotionally and she’s going to milk it for all it’s worth. Maybe once her father will actually be worth something. “Dads don’t beat their wives or their children.”   

  She can hear him controlling his breathing. “That was a long time ago, Michelle. I was drunk and angry, it was one time.”

  She laughs coldly. “Twelve years locked up and you still can’t just admit it.”

  “Shells, I’m not calling to dredge up old memories.” And what a fine job he’s doing. Daddy issues is just another problem she needs right now. “I want to mend things.”

  That actually makes her stop. He’s never said this before. It was always that they had to mend things with him. “You do, do you?”

  “Yes.” He sighs. “Yes, Shells. I’ve lost twelve years with my family, do you know what that’s like? I’ve seen my sister four times in all that time, I last saw you on your what...fifteenth birthday, I get to see my boys not even once or twice a year, last time I saw Philippa was three years ago—”

  She saw red. “Her name is Gayle, Phillip. Not Philippa. And your boys? I’m sorry, did you raise them? Or did Mom and Anna raise them?”

  “ Shelly .” His voice is commanding and her blood runs cold. She was only four when he left, but that voice will never leave her. “I want to mend things.” He enunciates every word with conviction and suddenly she’s a little girl again, hiding behind her big sister as the sounds of smashed plates and anguished cries fill the house.

  She doesn’t have any fight left in her. She’s just tired. “Okay.”

  She can hear her dad smile gratefully through the phone. “Thank you, Michelle. I know I’ve messed up, but I’m going to do better.”

  “Okay, Ph—Dad.” Gayle, who’s walking past the room, pauses. Fuck, she should have closed the door. “I’ll talk to you later, I guess.” She hangs up, self-hatred and shame filling her veins and eating her from the inside.

  “You’re talking to Dad.” Says Gayle simply.

  “Yep.”

  “You’re...talking to Dad.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re talking...to Dad.”

  “Yes Gayle, Jesus fucking Christ.” She explodes. Gayle’s eyes narrow.

  “After what he did to us?”

  “Gayle, he’s been calling me for ages, I’ve been letting it go to voicemail. I just...I got angry hearing that ringtone for the fiftieth time this week and I picked up. No big fucking deal.” She pulls the bed covers over her head, only for Gayle to pull them off.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” She mocks. “And you’re calling him Dad, you never do that.”

  MJ springs up. “Shut up, Gayle.” Gayle promptly does so, stepping back. “Do you wanna know the fucking week I’ve had? Mom had her cancer scare and now she’s in a goddamn coma, I got therapy from fucking Spider-Man, I actually dropped part of a case, I broke into the New Avengers facility in a fucking suitcase, said case blew up in my fucking face and now my only two friends probably hate me, oh! And that whole time I was emotionally manipulating my closest friend and having a bitch fight with my sister! So will you please, for the love of God, leave me alone?”

  Gayle’s face was that of shock as MJ spoke, but fuming anger replaced it quickly. “You think you’re the only one with a shitty life right now? My mother is dying, my abusive father is trying to reconnect with me and totally screwing with my life, the one real romantic relationship I’ve ever had is falling to pieces because of my insecurities and my family’s bullshit and I’ve been fired by not one but three jobs in the last two weeks. You need to step the fuck down and realise we’re all going through shit.”

 “Go absolutely fuck yourself.” Michelle whispered like the flicker of a flame. “This is always how it goes, huh? I do or say one little fucking thing and it’s like I’ve committed a war atrocity. And I’m sorry, did I miss the memo where I’m the adult here? Because last I checked you’re the twenty-two year old dropout, not me. Sorry that maybe I’m a little fucking emotional right now—” The door flung open, killing whatever she was just about to say,

  “Gayle and Michelle!” Yelled Anna. “It is midnight! Be quiet! Do you want us evicted?! Kevin and Tommy do not need this right now. Hell, I don’t need this right now. You will treat each other with respect or you’re both grounded, you included Gayle. Now go to sleep, for God’s sake!” She slammed the door shut, leaving the two sisters in a silence lit by moonlight.

  Michelle dreams of darkness.

  They get to to the hospital an hour before visiting hours, leaving them to mull about the lobby as they wait for the clock to hit 10:00. Michelle hates hospitals. The smell of too-clean floors, the scratching of pens, the crying of babies, the screaming, the shouting, the crying, the children.

  She’s trying to block out Anna who’s begging the secretary to just let them in but it isn’t working, she can hear every word echoed a thousandfold in her head, swirling with all her already overcrowded thoughts. She stands up abruptly and marches over to the freestanding water dispenser. She watches the water whirlpool as she presses the catch for cold water. She wonders what would happen if she didn't pull her finger back, if she let the water run and run. Would someone stop her? Could she conceivably continue to stand there until intervention? Would human instinct kick in?

  “Michelle?” Calls a voice, causing her to jump. “Crap, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She spins around, careful not to spill her water.

  “May.” She’s in uniform holding a clipboard. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  May smiles “Yes. Part time, but yep. Mainly pediatrics but I occasionally wander to the oncology ward.” She pauses. “C—Can I assume you’re here for your mother?”

  “Y—Yes. She uh...they brought her in yesterday. They’ve put her in a coma.” Before she’s even finished her sentence, May’s pulled her into a hug. Normally Michelle’s averted to physical affections, especially from adults or people she doesn’t know but there’s something about May that makes it feel okay. She feels her eyes well up.

 “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She says, pulling away. “I hope you’re doing alright though. I know it’s annoying when adults say this but you can always talk to me, okay? I’m a medical professional, I can answer any questions you have or even if you just want to talk about anything.” The words make her cringe; she’s heard the same script from so many people. The way May’s face falls somewhat makes her melt. Damn the Parkers and their inherent genuine goodness.

  “I’ll...I’ll keep a note of that. Thank you.” May beams, a mixture of pride and empathy. How can someone be so nice? That’s, like, medically impossible.

  May rubs her shoulder reassuringly. “I’m here for you, Michelle. I know you don’t know me very well, but any friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine.” MJ can’t help the way she flinches and she can tell May catches it.

  “Did—did Peter...did he tell you…?” She can barely get the words out. “Is he okay?”

  May presses her lips together in a half-smile. “Peter was pretty distraught when he came home, couldn’t really tell me much. Ned filled me in on what he knew. Michelle…” She pauses. “I don’t know all the details, but I know enough to know this has two sides. From the little Peter has been able to tell me it seems you had... have your reasons. It’s not my place to judge you, or to even insert myself in this situation. I don’t want to be that mo—aunt that fixes her kids’ problems for them, no matter how much I want to.

  “I just hope you two talk this out. I said the same thing to Peter; nothing’ll be fixed if you just avoid each other.” She swears under her breath as she spots the clock on the wall. “Damn it. I’m so sorry Michelle, I have to dash. But I’m serious, okay? Talk to me if you ever need to, and talk to Peter. He needs it. I think you do to.” She gives her shoulder one last squeeze before hurrying off, leaving Michelle by the water cooler even more conflicted than before.

  “MJ!” Calls Anna, interrupting Michelle’s train of thought, her voice rife with relief. “Come on, we can go through.” All of the previous conversation leaves her as they enter the room. The heart rate monitor beeps annoyingly loudly, somehow exacerbating the silence of everything else.

  “Hey mom.” Says Gayle quietly after a few moments. “Apparently when people go into comas they can still hear. I mean, this isn’t a normal coma so...I don’t even know. ” She trails off. “This is so stupid.”

  Anna places a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not stupid at all. Boys, do you want to talk to Mom?” Too much. This is too much. This reads like they’re at a gravestone and talking to her dead body. Hell, she looks dead. The only thing really telling MJ she isn’t is the ever so slight rise in her chest and even that is slow and weak.

  “I can’t do this,” She says quietly. “I need...I need to go.”

  Anna’s face falls. “Em, we just got in—”

  “I just need some air,” She interrupted. “I’ll be back soon.” She left without another word, hyperventilating once the door closed. Fuck .

  Roof — she needs one now. She could calm down there, above all the bullshit, where she can calm herself with the slight chill and the soft squawks of the pigeons.

  She slips past the security with a head held high and purposeful strides; the best disguise is to act like you belong (no matter how much you feel you don’t). Then it’s the stairs and the only alarmless fire escape in the entire Metro-General and then she can finally breathe the polluted and smoggy New York morning air. Ah, bliss.

  Bliss that is of course immediately interrupted by her phone blaring. She considers just flinging the rage-inducing hunk of metal over the ledge. It has done literally nothing but continuously fuck her over for the last two weeks.

  BLOCKED CALLER.

  Those two little words scream up at her louder than her ringtone or the crazy pigeon that’s flapping haphazardly a few feet away does. There’s only a few people that can be. Fucking might as well, how much worse can her week go?

  “Leeds.” She says simply.

  “Michelle.” She can’t help but breathe as slight sigh of relief. Boy would it be awkward if it hadn’t been him. She scolds herself silently. Here she goes again, totally not addressing very important events in favour of ignoring them. She should probably work on that.

  “What do you want, Ned?” She sighs. What the hell is she on about, of course she knows why he’s calling. She’s just rubbing salt in the wound, isn’t she? God, she can’t do anything right, can she?

  There’s a groan on the other side of the line. “Crap. I don’t even really know.” He laughs humorlessly. He sighs. “I’ve been putting off my fear of confrontation and honestly you totally scare me. But...but Peter’s more important.

  “I know I’m not close to you like you are with Peter. I know we probably wouldn’t be friends if it weren’t for him. I know I never really said how much I really did value you as one. I know I’m risking getting my ass beat or...or my locker being set on fire or my books being dunked in sewage but Peter’s worth it.

  “Peter’s my best friend, Michelle. My only friend for a long time. Since we were in elementary we’ve been friends. And you...you really screwed him over. I know you’ve got a whole lot going on, I know there’s two sides to this story. But Peter’s holed up in his room refusing to talk to anyone, even to May.

  “I’m not calling you to guilt trip you or make you feel awful because as much as you hide it I know you’re an extremely empathetic person. At the very least you are when it comes to Peter. I’m telling you to...to fix this. To talk this all out with him and apologise. And I know Peter’s done some stupid stuff too. I...I don’t know how much he’s told you but he’s not blameless in this either. I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. Just talk to him, MJ. You need to. For him.”

  She swallows his words. She wonders what old Michelle would have said, the Michelle before this whole mess. Probably would have interrupted and shut him up before he could finish his first sentence.

  “Okay,” She whispers, barely above a breath. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Ned sounds beyond surprised. “What, really?”

  “Yes, asshole.” She snaps before clamping her mouth shut. “Sorry. Yes, okay. I’ll talk to him. Ned…” She sighs. “I’m sorry, Ned. About...everything.”

  There’s silence. “Thank you. And...I hope things get better with your mom. But seriously. Peter deserves better, MJ.” He hangs up hastily and she can imagine the way he sighs in relief. She, however, does not. Instead she starts sobbing. She’s going to rip the glands out of her weak eyeballs when this is all over.

  She doesn't bother fighting back. She always tries; she pulls back and she holds her sleeves to her eyes and she thinks happy thoughts of Wonderland but she doesn’t bother this time. What’s this, her fifth time in these past two weeks? Sixth? She’s lost count. Why does she even care? None of this matters. None of this will change anything. It won’t even make her feel better. That’s what tears are supposed to do, right? Release emotion?

  Fuck that.

  And of course, if her week couldn’t get any goddamn worse, that familiar red-and-blue flashes across her vision. She tries to get up and leave but he’s already spotted her. She watches as he freezes mid-air. Fucking perfect. He swings down hesitantly, landing a few feet away from her.

  “H—Hey.” He squeaks, his voice barely above  abreath. “Wh—wha—what are you doing here? Oh! Right. Y—Your mom?”

  She tries not to glare. “Your investigatory skills are unmatched.” She drawls. Goddamnit. She’s not in the right here. “What are you here for anyway?”

  He coughs. “Some guys were harassing this kid. I got them to stop but he was injured, I thought I’d bring him here.”

  “Well aren’t you a good Samaritan.” She mumbles, burying her face in her hands. She looks back up after a few seconds of silence. “Why are you still here? I’m pretty sure I can readily assume you know what I did.”

  His lack of a face is ungodly irritating. No matter what, he has the advantage. He can see every curl of her mouth, every upturn of the eye, every twitch of her nose. He, on the other hand, is a blank slate. Those eyes are expressive, but they’re still a mask. She thought she could tell when he was smiling or frowning, but maybe she’s never known. Maybe she’s been framing every single one of their conversations in a light so incorrect it’s pitch black and blinding.

  “Well?” She snaps. “What are you going to do? Web me up and stick a note about how I stalked you and tried to totally fuck you over? Or maybe a trusty old uppercut to the jaw. I deserve it, don’t I?”

  He doesn’t reply.

  She rakes her fingers through her hair. “What am I even saying? You shouldn’t care. You don’t care. You’re just a white knight with a martyr complex who came across some weeping damsel-in-distress who was so fucking weak she couldn’t even keep her stupid emotions in check.”

  He’s still silent.

  “Still nothing. Fucking fantastic. God, I don’t even really know you, do I? I thought I did. I thought I knew enough about you. Seems like I fucking don’t! All I know is I’m an awful excuse of human being who can’t even award someone the basic human respect of someone's privacy, especially when a part of that involves the greatest friend I’ve ever had.”

  This time, she doesn’t give him the chance to speak.

  “You know, I really fucking liked him. Like, so fucking much. He was so nice to me. Him and Ned….they were the first friends I’d had in so long. And I had to fuck it up. Just had to ruin the one fucking ray of sunshine in my lonely fucking excuse of a life.”

  “I don’t think you’re weak, MJ.” He says quietly, but her brain’s so wired up she bulldozes right past.

  “And somehow I’m still worried how he thinks of me. I have no right to think that whatsoever. I treated him like utter trash and now I’m paying the consequences and somehow I still care. I don’t deserve to c...wait, what?” She trails, finally registering the fact he spoke.

  “I don’t think you’re weak.” He says a little louder. “I don’t like what you did, but I don’t think you’re weak.”

  She doesn’t know what to say.

  He continues, his voice so much colder than she’s used to. “I think you treated me awfully. I don’t know if I’m ready to totally forgive you for what you did. But...I think I understand why you did it. A little. I’m...I’m confused. Really confused. I understand logically your reasons...at least the reasons I assume. But you still confuse me. It hurt, what you did. It hurt a lot. I trusted you, and...and you did that me.” Hearing him say it hurts more than she thought it would.

  “How’s Peter?” She asks quietly after a long silence.

  Spider-Man doesn’t speak for a few moments. “He’s hurt.” He says, stilted and uncomfortable. “Really hurt.”

  She pulls her knees to her chin and buries her face. “He has every right to hate me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you.” He whispers. “He’s just...he doesn’t know how to feel.”

  She looks back up at him and for the first time, really looks at him. She doesn’t study him or investigate him. She just...sees him. Sees the way he fidgets with his suit. Sees the way he’s hunched and pulled inwards. Sees how his eyes dart. Sees his chest rise and fall with heightened breath. He looks like a kid, like someone she might know. She can almost see the human features behind the suit.

  “I’m sorry.” The words are simple. She wants them to be enough.

  “Me too.” He replies. “MJ, I…” He goes quiet again, like his voice has died in his throat. He swallows. “I liked you a lot too. So much. And you broke that trust. I really considered you my friend, and now it feel like it wasn’t real, even if I want it to be. I’m sorry about your mom, by the way. I hope she gets better. I know your financial situation isn’t great right now, and I don’t mean to sound rude or invasive or condescending when I say that. I can pull some strings if you want. It’s not fair what’s happened to you.” He pauses again. “But it’s not fair how you treated me either. And I...I need some space, Em. Both sides of me do.” He tacks the last part on like an afterthought, and with that he extends an arm and swings away.

  Fuck.

  She eventually finds her way back to her mom’s room. No change, but what else is new? She retreats into disassociation, preferring to pretend like the world doesn’t exist outside the hospital room than navigating how she feels right now. It’s easier, simpler, less weight on her emotional state, but a heck of a lot more guilt on her shoulders because holy fuck she’s still avoiding Peter.

  Maybe it’s better for him if she does. Maybe it’s better for everyone. Better for Peter, for Ned, for May. Just totally withdraw herself from their lives. Go back to sitting alone at lunch and sniping at people and breaking into the school every night to once again rifle through some poor’s teacher’s desk to find tomorrow’s pop quiz.

  But she can’t, can she? Because goddamnit she cares. She cares so fucking much. She can’t even concentrate on her dying mother, that’s how totally whipped she is.

  The seconds become minutes, the minutes become hours and now they’re driving home, silent is ever. It’s so fucking repetitive. Is this what her life is now? Just events happening over and over again as she’s slowly driven insane.

  The five of them pile into the apartment, the lack of Madeline Jones hanging over them like a cloud. And not just any cloud; the kind of cloud that’s mass of rain that hangs over the city right before a storm. Michelle doesn’t bother with dinner, preferring to lay in bed and attempt to compartmentalise and sort her thoughts into an orderly fashion.

  It’s impossible.

  She plays back the last couple weeks in her head, searching desperately for answers. That’s exceedingly difficult when you don’t even know the questions. She tries to treat it like any other investigation; she’s done plenty of those before. Find the clues, connect the dots and draw conclusions. But what are the clues? Where are the dots? How can she draw conclusions when she barely has a grasp on what she’s trying to accomplish?

   “Jones. Find out who Spider-Man is, and find out how Parker knows him.”

  “Michelle, where have you been?”

  “You must be Michelle, from Peter's school.”

  “Look, MJ. I know it’s difficult. We all do. But we have to stick it out. We can’t wallow, we’ve just got to keep on living.”

  “Michelle. Come here, sweetheart.”

  “Do you dare me, MJ?”

  “Love you, Shelly.”

  “MJ, holy fuck, can you get over here?”

  “Don't you dare apologise, Michelle.”

  “We're still family, Shells. We always will be.”

  “This is Michelle Michelle, right?”

  “What the hell do you think, Jones?”

  “M—MJ? Are you okay?”

  “That was a long time ago, Michelle.”

  “I'm here for you, Michelle.”

  “Peter deserves better, MJ.”

  “Sorry, M—ma'am. Th—thank you.”

  “Hey, MJ. Everything good with you?”

  “Yeah, you're right Mish — Miss.”

  “Hey, Michelle! Watcha doin'? Stalking me?”

  “MJ! You came!”

  “I'm...I'm glad we're friends, MJ.”

  “Michelle. I've seen bad people. I've seen people who've gone all the way, crossed that line you don't come back from. You're not one of them.”

  “Okay, Michelle. But...you can talk to me. I really consider you a friend. I want you to know that.”

  “Aw, but MJ, if you're hanging out with us that makes you a dork by association.”

  “Because I'm..because I...I...damn it. I'm a person, Michelle. Under the mask.”

  “There's someone, Michelle. Someone I need to...explain this all to.”

  “MJ, please.”

  “You don't need saving, Michelle. I came because I care about you. You're my friend.”

  “I think you're a strong person, MJ.”

  “That's kinda freaking difficult when I'm near you, MJ!”

  “I meant what I said, MJ."

  “MJ, don't. It's not the same.”

  “You'll hate me, MJ. I...what's going on...you'd hate me.”

  “I don't think you're weak, MJ.”

  “I need some space, Em. Both sides of me do.”

  She sits up so fast she bangs her head on the wall but she’s far too preoccupied to care. Holy fuck. No, it can’t be. Literally can’t. It’s physically impossible. There’s no fucking way.

  She’s so fucking stupid, so blinded by some stupid want for friendship, some stupid crush, than she couldn't connect the two. It's all so obvious in retrospect, hindsight truly is one big  bitch. The stupid excuses, the internship, Washington and the ferry and Homecoming...even the little things. The two being such supreme dorks. The two of them giving her such familiar feelings. The fucking neck scratching habit. Him calling her MJ. How could she have been so blind?

  She knows exactly why. Of course she does, she’s not an idiot, except she totally is because HOW THE FUCK DID SHE NOT SEE THIS EARLIER?

  Holy fuck. Peter is Spider-Man.

Chapter Text

  When she’s finally got a semblance of her wits together, she picks up her phone and dials the number she wishes she’d deleted long ago. It goes to voicemail as expected, no doubt he’s partying it up in Cancún judging by his Instagram posts. “Hey Flash, it’s Michelle. I’m dropping the case. I’ll fully refund the 200 you gave me and the price of the camera. This is not up for negotiation, I am not asking permission, this is not a suggestion. Don’t call me back.”

  She lets out the breath she’s had trapped in her lungs for the past half hour. Peter is Spider-Man. Spider-Man is Peter. This whole time. Every time she spoke to Spider-Man she was speaking to Peter. Every time she was speaking to Peter she was speaking to Spider-Man.

  Holy shit. She was investigating how Peter knew Peter.

  She told Peter everything. Peter knows everything. She sort-of kind-of slightly confessed her feelings for Peter to Peter. Peter knew the whole time. Peter’s seen her break down and cry. Peter knows every detail about her mom and dad. Peter always knew.

  Peter has spider powers. Peter is a criminal. Peter is a hero.

  Fuck.

  How had she not known? It was right in front of her. Literally. All those coincidences, all those hints, all those...everything.

  And what she did...

  He must hate her.

  She considers skipping Monday. Anna says that it's fine if she needs to, that she can take the rest of the week of if she wants. She goes though. She doesn’t really know why. It’s routine, she supposes, and she needs to get out of the apartment. Shutting out her home life is the only solution she can think of right now. She’s got enough on her plate, might as well pretend like her mom isn’t on the brink of death.

  “Michelle!” Cries Cindy, aggressively shoving a piece of paper in her face. “My birthday party’s this Saturday!” Michelle grabs the page from Cindy’s hand before it can paper-cut her eyeball. CINDY MOON’S SWEET 16 is blasted across the top in bright silver lettering.

  “Oh.” Michelle mumbles, all she offers in reply. She’s still quite shaken from the events of the last few days and Cindy’s unbridled enthusiasm is unnerving.

  Cindy beams. “Everyone in the school’s invited, it’ll be huge. Also I have a playlist on my spotify account for it, username’s on the invitation, add a couple songs you like. Preferably, you know, normal stuff though, Sally wanted the entire cast recordings for Les Mis, Wicked, Dear Evan Hanson, Hamilton and Heathers and I had to talk her down to just Candy Store. Also I’m not saying there will be alcohol but I’m not saying there isn’t but like obviously if you don’t wanna drink that’s chill, also I know you’ve done some jobs for Hector C. and could you maybe pretty please get him to come? I would super duper mega appreciate it and also I’ll give you ten bucks.

  Michelle hasn’t been in the vicinity of such positive emotion in days. “Yeah, sure. I’ll...I’ll think about it. I’ve kinda got a lot of stuff going on.” She means her mom, but she’s pretty sure Cindy takes it to mean Peter. It’s probably a little bit Peter. “But I’ll get Cervantez to go to your party. Free of charge, birthday discount.” She doesn’t even realise she’s said it until it’s out. This really is a new MJ.

  Cindy pulls her into a hug before quickly disentangling when she comes to her senses. “Sorry ‘bout that. I’m just...ah! I like him so much. But like...please don’t be too threatening.”

  Michelle gives a small smile. “No promises. But sure.”

  There’s a silence, conversation clearly over, but Cindy remains staunchly standing in front of her. “Michelle, not to get too personal—” She begins, clearly about to get personal. “—but I...I want you to know none of the Acadec team has picked any sides in your thing with Peter. I mean, none of us really know what’s going on so it wouldn’t be fair to do that. Ned was pretty firm when he told us to stay out of it, he wouldn’t even tell Betty what was going on. He just said it was between you and Peter and we aren't to bother either of you about it. I know it’s kinda counter-intuitive to bring it up but...if any of us are weird and silent about the whole thing it’s because we get that it’s not our place to intervene. I just...I don’t want you worrying about that.”

  During this short speech, Michelle wonders what the hell kind of events transpired to make this exact moment happen. Not once in her life would she ever have been able to guess she’d be having Cindy Moon explain to her her AcaDec teammates views on her catastrophe with Peter Parker right after inviting her to her house party. She’s so taken aback she has to take a few moments to compose herself.

  “Right. Thanks. I...thanks.” What else can she say? “I’ll um..I’ll see you later, Cindy. And I’ll talk to Hector.” Cindy nods happily before skipping away to shove more of her invitations into unsuspecting faces.

  She walks to first period and can’t help the way her eyes immediately flit to where Ned sits. She started sitting with him instead of her usual Dark Corner shortly after her idiot brain said they were friends, and she’s a little disconcerted by the way her heart drops as she walks to her old seat. She can feel Ned’s eyes on her the entire lesson. She’s pretty sure Anna alerted the school about Madeline’s worsened condition, because Mr. Del doesn’t comment when she spends the entire lesson reading War and Peace instead of finishing her report on gamma radiation.

  It’s becoming increasingly difficult to just ignore her problems and this is made especially evident when she walks into the cafeteria for lunch and nearly has a heart attack in front of the excuses the school calls food when she sees Peter.

  She wants to walk over. Fuck, it’s all she wants to do. She wants to walk over and apologise and tell him he’ll never have to see her again if that’s what he wants. Is this who she is now? Someone who openly cares? Before all this if she hurt someone like she’d hurt Peter she’d have shoved away the memory and empathy and gone on with her day and god forbid she change her behaviour, especially if it was to pivot in a way for their comfort.

  She moves to the corner table, the one with the broken chairs and always weirdly sticky table, as far away from Peter and Ned as she can.

  She’s going to leave him alone. She’s ruined their friendship and his trust enough. She’ll just fuck him up more if she goes back.

  She pulls up her phone and finds Hector Cervantez’s contact. Be at Cindy Moon’s party - Michelle J, she texts.

  He answers almost immediately. People usually do that with her. um? y?

  Why not?

  is this some kinda joke or somethin? did louie put u up to this

  No.

  are you gonna set me on fire or some shit if i go

  No, I will not. In fact, I was specifically instructed not to threaten you.

  if i pay you five bucks will you tell me the truth

  Dude I’m not lying. Cindy asked me to ask you to go because she’s totally head over heels for you.

  cindy likes me?

  Sherlock Holmes, everybody.

  yo, but seriously? she does?

  Just go to her party.

  is it weird if i ask her out? will she know u told me?

  I literally give no shits, dude. Just go to her party.

  will do ma’am also how did you get my number

 This is all so new for her, doing things for people without incentive. She wonders how Peter does it, how he goes out in his spandex and fights bad guys and helps people, all without nothing in return.

  She’s going to change, she decides. She can’t go back to being the person that would manipulate her best friend because a bully felt slighted. Maybe she won’t suddenly become a good person, maybe she’ll never make up for the bad things she’s done but she can stop the outright harm, can’t she?

  She’d always been able to push away any harm. She didn’t rationalize it, not exactly. She never sugar-coated what she did, she knew it was bad, but she certainly never brought morals into the equation. She certainly didn’t worry about the aftermath of her jobs. And here she was now, witnessing what could happen, unable to pretend it doesn’t exist, unable to push down her conscience to a place the sun don’t shine.

  She’s not quitting her job entirely. She’s still a pragmatist, she needs to bring some income to her family. Even if she drops morally corrupt cases she’ll still be bringing in enough cash. She’ll still help kids cheat, still cut off smoke detectors so the freshmen can juul in the bathrooms, still turn off the security cameras when Vanna Smith and Paul Patterson want a make-out session in the east wing chemistry rooms, but maybe she can stop the Thompsons from using her to torment their victims.

  A regular ol’ Steve Rogers.

  She catches the bus to Metro-General straight as school ends, eager to get away from the stuffiness of Midtown. The entire day’s been so damn surreal she nearly misses her stop and has to endure dirty looks as she shoves her way out the doors.

  She checks in with little hassle and walks tentatively to her mother. She’s still comatose, still barely breathing, still pallid and clinging to life but MJ wants to believe there’s colour in her cheeks.

  She sits in the tacky plastic chair uncomfortably and delicately, taking up as little space as she can. The noise of the hospital mingle together. Beeping of heart monitors, water dripping from taps, hushed whispers, wheels skidding across the hard ground.

  “Hey mom.” She says hesitantly, pulling the chair a little closer. “Um...I’m sorry I haven't really been talking to you much lately. All through these past couple weeks, really. Probably longer. It’s...it’s really difficult mom. Talking to you. I mean, everything’s been difficult lately. I suppose you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about since I can’t for the life of me talk about my problems.”

  Her mother doesn’t reply.

  She averts her eyes. “You always say I’m great. That I’m perfect and I should love myself and I’m a good person.

  “I’m not, mom. I’m an awful person. I do awful, awful things. You know, I helped Joey Gastone set Martin Lawson’s locker on fire. I mean...Martin had been bullying Joey but I knew his family was having financial troubles and that was why he was lashing out and setting his locker on fire with his computer and textbooks probably fucked him up. I mean...he did end up backing off but I didn’t do it to help Joey. I did it because Joey payed me $150 and a future favour.

  “I did something bad, Mom. Really bad. Not—not murder or anything, before you freak out. But someone — scratch that, some annoying, irritating-ass moron enlisted me to investigate one of my only friends, one of the only good friends I’ve ever had. Peter, the one you teased me about. Well, you were right. I like... liked him a lot. So much that I got freaked and accepted the case the moron gave me. I mean, it was that and five hundred dollars. And I manipulated him and invaded his personal life and I made him hate me.

  “Mom, how can I be a good person if I’m willing to do that?” She grabs her mother’s hand, tears prickling the corners of her eyes. “Don’t die, Mom. Please. You can’t...you can’t leave me like this. You can’t leave Gayle or Anna like this. And Kev and Tommy...they’re twelve. They should be worrying about...God, I don’t know, whatever twelve year olds like. Not if their mom is going to fucking die.”

  She wipes her eyes hastily. “I love you, Mom. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear enough. Please just...please stay. I need you.”

  Michelle doesn’t know what else to say. Maybe there isn’t anything else to say. She stands up, only to promptly scream as she sees a familiar red-and-blue figure stuck to the window.

  He desperately gestures for her to shush, which only freaks her out more because seeing her (former) best friend sticking to a window with only his feet while wildly gesturing with his hands is not a very calming sight. He disappears suddenly, crawling hastily upwards, and the ICU door flings open.

  “Is everything alright?” Asks a rather panicked nurse.

  “Y-yeah,” MJ replies shakily, grasping for an excuse. “I just...s-seeing my mom here is a bit distressing.” The nurse’s eyes soften.

  “Of course. You buzz if you need anything, okay?” MJ nodded, giving a small smile to the nurse as she closed the door. She took a breath before turning to the window again, where Spider-Man was slowly crawling back to.

  He pulled a notebook and pencil from his backpack, hurriedly writing something before pressing the paper against the window.

   CAN WE PLEASE TALK?

  HIs face is pleading and as she scans the message. It scares her how his handwriting matches Peter’s. She looks back at him, at the way his shoulders hang and the way he looks back at her.

  She draws the curtains closed and curls up on the armchair.

  She is hyper-aware of Peter during school the next day. It’s Tuesday, which means they share three classes. Yay.

  Gym is first, which is a curse in and of itself, made even worse by the way Ned and Peter stare at her. WIth Ned it’s daggers, with Peter it’s pleading. She ignores them both though, keeping her eyes trained on De Mulieribus Claris as she half-asses Coach Wilson’s activities.

  Shop is second, which is slightly better because they’re wearing ear defenders and that means not having to hear them whisper.

  Lunch isn’t as bad as she thought it might be. Where she sits, their table is obscured enough by Cindy, Sally and Betty’s table that she can’t see them, nor can they her. It still supremely sucks though.

  Spanish is the third, and last period, and the worst. Not only do they have assigned seats beside each other but they also have a partnered task that they’d agreed to do together before all this crap went down.

  Michelle’s in the process of noncommittally describing the weather in Spanish when Peter interrupts her. “Em, you can’t keep pretending nothing’s happened.”

  She finally looks up from the task requirement sheet. “I’m not, Parker. Ayer estaba nublado—”

  “MJ.” He groans, frustration and maybe even anger bubbling under his words. “We need to talk about it. We have to. May said—”

  “Are you in the habit of listening only and exclusively to your aunt, or will you for once listen to me?” She snaps, still in a hushed whisper. “I’m not pretending nothing happened and I’m not going to talk it out with you.”

  Peter narrows his eyes, though they’re filled with hurt. “That’s not fair in the slightest. I have been listening to you. Please just let us talk for even five minutes, for me.”

  She hides the way her heart’s breaking by scowling. “What I’m doing is for you. It’s so you never have to deal with me or my bullshit ever again.” She can’t help the way her face morphs into one of conflicted melancholy. “Peter, I’ll just keep messing up…” Too much, she’s saying to much. She doesn’t deserve the empathetic looks he’s giving her or the forgiveness that’s so clearly in his eyes. Why does he have to wear his heart on his sleeve?

  “Please, Em. If we can just talk this out we can work it out. Please.”

  She sticks her hand up and requests to go to the nurse’s office, something Señora Alvarez readily allows her to do. Having the entire faculty know your mother’s on the brink of death has its perks. She pretends not to notice how Peter’s eyes follow her.

  She stays at home that night, too exhausted to go to the hospital. Maybe that’s selfish. She doesn’t really know how to feel anymore. She’d rate these last couple weeks like 2 stars on Yelp.

  She should probably talk to an adult. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Is this what adults are talking about when they say being a teenager? Probably not this specific situation since she doubts there are many other people who have to deal with a) dying mother b) a horrible, dreadful, awful excuse of a father c) a financial situation so dire they have to turn to becoming a second rate mercenary at their high school and d) having a crush on a guy who hates you because you are a bitch who manipulated him for $500 and also who is Spider-Man. Maybe there are people who go through the first three but all together? Yeah, she’s not gonna be able to find much sage adult advice.

  “MJ!” Jason shouts with exasperation and a hint of fear. She heard him the first four times, it’s just she was having a great time wallowing in self pity as she pretends she isn’t staring at Leeds and Parker from her book.

  “Yes, Ionello?” She sighs, not setting her book down. Jason sits across from her, hands clasped together.

  “Michelle, I need your services.” He says it very seriously and she has to repress the urge to laugh. Amusement is a nice emotion, she hasn’t gotten to feel it these last few days.

  “I assumed that.” She drawls, still not looking up from her book. “What’s your request?”

  He looks around furtively. “I want to hire you for Under the Mask.” Her eyes flick up at him and she regrets it immediately. She can’t let anyone know she has any kind of attachment to that.

  She clears her throat extremely inconspicuously. “And?”

  Jason smiles with excitement. “Look, I have footage of Spider-Man swinging into an alley and not coming back out. I’d like you to follow up on it. Stake it out and all that. If Under the Mask unmasked Spider-Man... ” His eyes flick to Betty for half a second. Ah. So that’s what this is about.

  She tries not to let her gaze turn to Parker. “I see. Will you show me the footage?” Jason nods, sliding his phone over. The video’s filmed in vertical but it’s worryingly good quality and it does show Spider-Man landing in an alley she recognises as one close to May’s apartment and not coming out. Fuck. Why does Parker have to be so damn careless?

  He pulls his phone back. “Look, I’ll pay whatever you quote me. Maybe. How much will you quote me?”

  MJ doesn’t know how to fill the subsequent pause and she spits out the first coherent answer that comes to her head without thinking. “Nothing, because I’m not taking the case.”

  Jason looks taken aback. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Oh. Um...why?”

  MJ shrugs, trying not to show how shaken she is right now. “That’s not Spider-Man in the footage.”

  Jason cocks an eyebrow sarcastically. “Yeah?”

  “Yep. Pretty poor cosplay honestly.” She laces her words with as much persuasion as she can.

  “Huh.” He says, confusion slowly taking hold. “You’re sure?”

  She gestures vaguely to the phone. “Different movements, the costume’s flimsy, height’s off. Probably a copycat, there’s like half a dozen of them out there.” She gestures vaguely to the phone. “Look at the webbing. It doesn’t hold up like it should, kinda just looks like a poor imitation.”

  Jason furrows his brows. “How do you know all this? I didn’t know you were a fan.”

  She rolls her eyes. “As if. Do you think you’re the first person to come to me asking me about Spider-Man? I’ve seen enough of that idiot to last a lifetime and I can tell you with absolute certainty that’s not him.” Jason looks a little downcast. She sighs. “Look, I don’t care, but if this is about impressing Betty or something it’s not going to work.”

  Pink spread across his cheeks. Ah, confirmation. She may be trying to be better but she can’t help but like being right. Her ego needed it. “I don’t like Betty and this isn't about her!” He whisper-yelled, apparently not realising he was still staring at Betty.

  “Uh-huh. Again, I don't care, but I doubt unmasking Spider-Man is gonna win her over.” Teenage boys really are the dumbest. “Firstly, she doesn’t seem like the type to be into that. Secondly, she’s pretty into Ned. Again, I don't care, but it’s probably best to move on.”

  Jason groaned and she couldn't help but feel a little bad. She’d been trying to help, but once again she’d screwed it up because she’s a screw up who can't do anything right. “Fine. Thanks for the talk, Michelle.” He gets up just as the bell rings, and she follows him.

  “Hey. Look, maybe Betty doesn’t like you but, and you didn’t hear this from me, I’ve heard talk about Sally. Just uh...just think about it.” She pats his shoulder awkwardly as Jason’s eyes turn to Sally, who is of course staring at him because she has a crush bigger than Jupiter. Jason nods before walking off to his locker, but Michelle’s satisfied by how he and Sally have a who-can-look-more-like-a-tomato contest.

  She tucks his phone into her pocket, almost certain he didn’t notice her nick it. She’ll return it, she’s made a promise not to keep harming people, but she has to get rid of that footage. Peter deserves his privacy. Peter deserves a lot.

  He deserves not having to deal with her.

  She feels guilty about not seeing her mom yesterday so she heads over. She read up more on comas and she doesn’t want her mom to wake up thinking her daughter didn’t care to visit her.

  Gayle’s there when she arrives and MJ wishes the Jones family was less obstinate. She and Gayle are both oxens when it comes to being stubborn. She wants so badly to make up with her sister but Gayle’s tight lips and her own wounded pride leave her exiting the hospital room after two minutes and aimlessly wandering the halls.

  There is something unsettling about walking past hospital rooms, especially if someone you love is in one. You don’t see them just as hospital rooms. You see people, you see lves, you see families, you see struggle. MJ wonders about the people in them. Are there kids like with moms like her’s, who wait with bated breath for any slip of confirmations their parent might live? She knows conceptually she’s not alone in that, that there are thousands of kids in America going through what she goes through. It doesn’t feel like that though.

  There’s a word for profound realizations that the people around you see and feel and think and dream and worry and hope just as you do. Sonder . A niche word made by a tumblr account, and in MJ’s opinion total romanticised bullshit. There’s no epiphanies about that for her. It's just knowing that people live just as you do and not being able to comprehend how that even works because dumb human brains are dumb and can’t handle anything.

  There’s a slight possibility being here is making her a little crazy.

  Further proof of her descent into madness comes in the form of spotting Spider-Man. Goddamnit. He’s asking a nurse for directions but spots her quickly. She can’t run away, can she? That’d be weird, right? She settles for crossing her arms and standing her ground.

  “MJ.” He breathes after jogging over. How did she not see it before? The two move exactly the same way and if she unfocuses her eyes she can imagine it’s Peter in front of her. “Look, I know this is a bad time—”

  “Bad time?” She laughs humorlessly. “Bad time. Yeah, Spidey. It’s kind of a bad time.” She realises they’re attracting attention and so she grabs his arm, pulling him into a store room. “How did you get in here? Scratch that, why are you here?”

  “I have a backdoor with the nurses, remember?” He says with a sad smile. “Look, Em, we have to talk. This isn’t something I can just drop and pretend never happened. You’re not something I can drop and pretend never happened.” Does he know she knows? He sure does talk like he thinks she knows it’s him. Then again, knowing Peter, he’s probably just forgotten she doesn’t know.

  “I’m not asking that.” She hisses. “I’m not saying you should forget. Hell, I think you should remember. I think you should learn from this and understand I’m a terrible person who shouldn’t be approached with a ten-foot-pole. You need to move on.”

  He groans with frustration. “Em, I can’t just move on. You have to understand that. I can’t compartmentalise like you can. I get you think you’re some awful influence who wrecks havoc wherever she goes but I know you’re not that and I know you want to change. Well, it kinda feels like you’re not changing. You’re leaving me to all of this and you’re refusing to help me here.”

  “Why can’t you understand that I am helping you?!” She explodes. “If we talk about this, tie it up in a nice bow, it just gonna happen again. I can’t make changes like that. I’m not good like you, I can’t just do that. So I’m doing what I can do and I’m removing myself from you.”

  “The only thing stopping you from changing is your own refusal to do so!” He yells back. She can’t help but be taken aback. Peter’s usually so calm, quicker to defusal than to detonation. He seems to realise his outburst and takes a breath. “MJ, I know you can change. Everyone can.

  She can feel tears pricking the edges of her eyes. God fucking damn him to hell. No, damn her to hell. “I can’t. I just can’t.” She shoves past him, opening the storeroom doors to a handful of nurses pretending they weren’t eavesdropping. She sighs as she holds the door open, turning back to him. “I’m going to go see my dying mother. Please just move on. I’m...I’m begging you. I’m just going to keep ruining your life. I can’t deal with this right now, I have too much going on. And you don’t deserve this. Just...just move on.”

  Peter looks like he wants to say something, but who can tell when he has the suit on? His mask doesn’t tell her anything, just what she wants to see. He clenches his fists before expelling a breath of air. “Em, I just...I want us to be okay again. I m—miss you.” He coughs with a stammer, and all she wants is to smile and say she misses him too.

  “I’m sorry.” She whispers. “But I just can’t do that. I’ll just fuck it up again and again and again. You don’t deserve that.” She turns her back and leaves, trying not to feel the eyes of the nurses or worse, Peter’s, as she does so.

Chapter Text

  She stays at home on Thursday because the thought of going to school and seeing Peter is absolutely terrifying, and the fact that it is terrifying terrifies her because Michelle Jones doesn’t get terrified, especially not over a boy.

  She doesn’t go to the hospital either, because she doesn’t think she can stand another minute of that room listening to the heart rate monitor beep the seconds away.

  She’s on her bed planning out Amelia Hopkins’ end-of-year party (an extremely exclusive seniors-only event that Amelia paid her a whopping $700 to organise and which may or may not be happening in the school basements), totally ignoring and compartmentalising the very serious events from yesterday when Anna opens the door.

  “Can we talk?” She asks quietly. MJ nods with a slight sigh, setting aside her sketchbook. Anna sits down on Gayle’s bed, her hands folded awkwardly in her lap. “MJ...I just want to ask how you’re doing.”

  She knows her aunt is just worried. She knows, but that doesn’t mean she’s not exhausted by that question. “I’m fine.”

  Anna smiles. “Michelle.”

  “I’m fine!” She insists, lying her ass off.

  “MJ.” Anna gives a sigh. “Look. I don’t wanna be the annoying aunt that pries into your business. I was a lesbian in the ‘80s, I know what it's like to need to hide things and feeling like you’re alone. I just...I get the sense something is happening outside of Mom.”

  She pulls her knees under her chin, sighing. “Did one of the nurses tell you about me having a shouting match with Spider-Man?”

  She doesn’t even need to answer, her face tells enough. “Maybe yes. But I promise you, I wasn’t — I’m not — trying to invade in on your life. I just want to know you’re okay and uh...you and a spider vigilante screaming at each other in a janitor’s closet worries me a little bit.”

  “It’s...it’s fine, Anna. Really. I’m dealing with it.”

  Anna smiles that smile adults do when they listen to you say something and then they reflect on their life experiences and think you’re super naive. MJ’s familiar with it. “Okay, MJ. I just want to know you’re okay. You can talk to me whenever, you know?” She stands up to leave, halting just as she’s about to close the door. “I know it’s a personal question and you hate those but...are you and Spider-Man…?”

  She catches onto her aunt’s meaning and rolls her eyes. “Ew. No.”

  “Oh. Okay. It’s just...Shirley said you uh...talked about taking a break? Something about him not being able to drop you and forget you never happened?” MJ prays to God no one recorded that conversation. She’s seen what those Spider-Man fangirls on tumblr can do, she does not want to be a part of that.

  She rolls her eyes again, despite the fact that dredging all this up makes her want to scream. “Taken out of context. I’m not screwing Spider-Man.”

  Anna winces. “Great. Cool. Just wanted to make sure. I’ll just uh…leave you to your notebook.” She shuts the door, leaving MJ to groan into her pillow. All those 2006 emos were right. Being a teenager sucks .

  She jacks Jason’s locker and slips his phone in. Hopefully he’ll assume he just left it in there. Afterwards, she overhears someone mention that Flash is back from Cancún. She’s been deleting all the calls and voicemails he leaves her. He doesn’t get to tell her what she can and can’t do. Her reputation, her job, that’s not something that can be hung over her. That’s her’s and her’s alone.

  Cindy comes over and reminds her about the party. She also mentions Flash’ll be there. This time MJ says, wholeheartedly, that she’ll go. Of course she will, Cindy’s her friend. Flash be fucking damned.

  To be honest though, despite her new revelations, she’s still shit scared of Peter and that annoys her. Why can’t she just figure out her feelings? She’s not sure whether to cry or scream or hate him or forget him or make up with him (or make out with him) or force herself out of his life or forever pine or run away from him and god is it infuriating and endlessly confusing.

   No . Her feelings shouldn’t matter. She fucked up and if she doesn’t want Peter getting hurt anymore she should face her consequences and leave him alone. She ruined this, she has to deal with it.

  If only it were so easy.

  “Shelly.” She halted as the voice on the other end slithered into her ear like a slug. She was sat in the school library, not bothering to even try to go to her classes. She quickly heads out, ducking into a secluded corner.

  “What do you want?”

  His voice is angry. “Did you know your sister was a dyke?” The words hit her like ten thousand tons of bricks.

  “What?”

  “Did you or did you not know your dyke sister was fucking some tranny?” His words cut through the air like knives, but they don't cut her. It’s like they cut any semblance of fear she had in her.

  This time, it’s her voice that’s angry. “Fuck you.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Fuck you. You don’t get to talk about my sister like that. Frankly, you don't get to talk about anyone like that.”

  “No, Shelly, you don’t get to talk to me like that. What the fuck do you think you’re—”

  “No. Fuck you. Go absolutely fuck yourself. Call this number again and I swear to God I’ll file for harassment. Don’t fucking try and contact me again. You have no right to me or to Gayle or to this family. Fuck. You.” She hangs up, catharsis dripping off her like a waterfall.

  She’s not scared. She’s not terrified. She’s Michelle goddamn Jones, and that’s not something anyone can change about her. No one can change her.

  Only she can.

  She doesn’t tell Gayle about the call. It’s not her place to. If Gayle hasn’t already told her then she has her reasons. She was raised by lesbians, she’s been taught what a fucked up thing getting outed is and besides that she has at least a little basic fucking empathy so she keeps it to herself. She’s hardly done much to let Gayle trust her these last few weeks.

  She can make out the outline of her sister in the dark. All she wants in that moment is to beg forgiveness and make up and go back to being sisters. She misses it so much, but does she really deserve it? She’s been dreadful these last few weeks.

  Emotions are difficult and she’s reminded of why she so long ignored them. A part of her wants to revert back to the compartmentaliser who refused to acknowledge feeling, but she can’t. Not anymore.

  Cindy’s house is massive and MJ almost regrets coming as she enters the house. It’s literally stocked with people and Michelle remembers why she dislikes social gatherings. It also reminds her that this is the best place to gather intel on her classmates. Not in a bad way. Just in a maybe-someone-will-hire-me-for-something-that-needs-very-specific-information-that-i-found-while-leaning-up-against-the-wall-at-Cindy-Moon’s-birthday-party-and-also-i-have-nothing-else-to-do kind of way.

  She sips punch and settles in the living room, watching people come and go and dance and mingle. It’s almost fun.

  “You came!” Cries Cindy, pulling Michelle into a hug before quickly letting go. “Right! Sorry, no touching. I’m just happy you came!” She yells over the music. “Also thank you for getting Hector to come! He just asked if I wanted to hang out sometime, I literally cannot thank you enough.”

  “That’s okay!” She shouts. “Happy birthday.”

  “I hope it doesn’t sound like I only asked you here because of the Hector thing!” MJ’s going to go deaf if this keeps going. “I really wanted you to come, you’re my friend.”

  “I’m glad!” She yells back, before pointing to where Hector. “You should go hang out with him! Don’t waste your time with me!”

  Cindy frows. “Hanging out with you isn’t wasting time!”

  She rolls her eyes with a smile. Has everyone always been nice and she’s only just now realising? “It’s okay! Go have fun!”

  Cindy finally beams. “I’ll do that!” She hops off to Hector and MJ can’t hide her smile.

  She’s not exaggerating when she says she didn’t hang out with people before Ned and Peter. Her peer interaction was strictly schoolwork or her job. Everyone was a name and a monetary figure in her notebook.

  Now she wonders what it’d be like to properly have friends. She’s not going to bother Peter or Ned again, that’s for sure. She’s ruined that chance, she doesn’t deserve it. But maybe she can start again with Cindy.

  Or maybe that’s hypocritical. If she ruined things with Ned and Peter, who’s to say she won’t ruin things with Cindy? Cindy doesn’t deserve a Michelle Jones nuclear explosion.

  She moves to sullen skulking, the smile finally dropping.

  She still stays. She told Cindy she would. Someone spiked the punch and she helps a few of the drunker girls, making sure nothing happens to them. A couple times Cindy tries to include her in conversations or some round of Truth or Dare or some other such high school-ness.

  She doesn’t really know why she’s stayed. It’s nearly ten now and she doesn’t know what’s keeping her. It can’t just be promising Cindy because Cindy assured her she could leave whenever. It can’t just be escaping home because to her knowledge everyone’s at the hospital, and on that note it can’t be the hospital because she could just be at home. It can’t be because of her job either, though she’s gotten four requests now she rejected two of them (One because it involved acquiring condoms for two very drunk looking freshmen and the other because it involved robbing Cindy’s mother’s jewellry box) so clearly her stupid new morals are getting in the way of that (Not that she’s taking them away again. She’s not doing that anymore).

  She realises as she automatically locates Peter for the fourteenth time that night that it might be about him.

 She doesn’t know why she keeps doing it. Her eyes will just start scanning and find him and she’ll feel this weird feeling and then go back to cradling her fourth cup of spiked punch (though at this point it’s probably more vodka than punch). The weird feeling isn’t easy to categorise. Guilt, relief, hope, melancholy, anger, regret, helplessness, wistfulness, loneliness, hurt. She’s not really sure.

  Her sulking is interrupting by one Flash fucking Thompson. God fucking damn it.

  “Michelle Jones!” He calls out, his voice angry and frustrated. She’s pretty sure he’s a little drunk; his words are a somewhat slurred and he trips on his way over. “You...owe me.”

  “I know, Eugene.” She replied, rolling her eyes.

  “I gave you... five hundred dollars. And a fucking camera!” He laughs. “And...what do I have now? Nothing. Not my money...not what I wanted.” They’ve attracted attention now.

  “It was two hundred dollars and not even your money.” She sighs. “Look, I’ll get you the cash literally as soon as I can—”

  “Was my request that fucking difficult?” He interrupts. “Find out how the fuck Penis Parker knows Spider-Man and find out who Spider-Man is. Not that fucking difficult, M-J.” He uses her nickname so mockingly it infuriates her. He doesn’t get to say it. She remembers how it sounded on Peter’s lips. Now she’s just more angry.

  “Don’t do this, Thompson.”

  “Don’t do what? Get angry because someone I gave a lot of money to is now refusing to do what I asked because she’s got some crush? ” They’ve got the room’s attention at this point. Someone’s turned down the music and it’s humiliatingly quiet, despite the conversation still at a loud enough volume. She doesn’t let herself scan the room. She stands her ground.

  “Look, asshole. Sorry that you couldn’t fucking handle someone calling you out on your bullshit. Sorry that your fucking ego is so goddamned fragile that you hired me to out someone as a vigilante just because he fucking made you feel bad. Sorry that I then dropped the fucking case because maybe I grew the fuck up and found myself some fucking morals, which you apparently can’t do. Fuck you, Flash.” Flash’s eyes flame, and he marches forward. The people near him try to pull him back, but when he stops it’s not because of them.

  It’s Peter. He has his arms outstretched, holding them both back. “Guys, stop.” He turns to Flash. “Leave her alone. Touch her and you’ll regret it for the rest of your miserable existence.” His tone turns sympathetic. “Don’t do this, Flash. Just calm down.” He turns to her. “Em, please.”

  Flash laughs. “It’s Penis Parker everybody, come to save the day!” That makes her see red. She storms towards him, pushing past Peter. She’s about to punch Thompson right in his smug smirk when Peter pushes her back.

  “Em, come on. Don’t do it. He’s just some drunk idiot, he’s just riling you up.” He’s got that pleading puppy dog look again, the one that makes her melt. “MJ.” In that moment she doesn’t care. All she can see is Peter.

  She straightens up with a glare. “I will refund you your money. That I can do, but I can’t and won’t do what you ask and you need to get that through your skull.” His rage is falling down now, and he looks more dejected and defeated than anything. The music rises once more, as does the conversation. Flash breaks free of the people holding him and leaves and Michelle can’t say she cares.

  Peter turns back to her, facing her properly, his arms crossed. “Can we please talk?”

  She doesn’t know how to respond anymore.

  He gives her a look that’s a mixture of pleading and stubbornness. “MJ, it’s going to get worse if we don’t talk. You owe it to me. I get you’ve got some idea in your head that totally removing yourself from me is good but it isn’t, not for you or me.”

  “Okay.” She says finally.

  He looks a little surprised. “Oh. Wait, seriously? Um okay. Right. Let’s um...hey Cindy?” He calls out. She runs over, an awkward look on her face. Great. She heard everything.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Is there a place here that’s quiet?”

  She gives them a look. “Uh...sure. I blocked off the second floor but you two are welcome to chat there.” Peter gives her a grateful look before leading MJ up the stairs.

   “Do you mind if we go to the balcony?” He asks as they walk through the hall. “I uh...I need some air.”

  “Sure.” She answers. He leads her to it, and she notes how he imperceptibly inclines his head, like he’s listening for outdoor noises. She remembers the first time she’d spoken to Spidey, how fucked up he’d been because of his senses. Now that she thinks about it, Peter was gone from school those next few days. She really had been a blind dumbass.

  The balcony door is open and Peter leans on the railing. She moves to stand next to him and he avoids her gaze, instead staring out into the garden. There’s fairy lights decorating the yard, blinking like fireflies. There’s sparklers too. It’s all quite pretty.

  “So.” She starts, unsure of what else to say.

  He ducks his head. “I’ve been rehearsing what I was going to say to you all week, then I was badgering you all week and now I finally have the chance to talk I don’t know what to say.” He’s quiet, muffled a little by the music. His voice is soft, weirdly like the glowing lights below.

  “I’m sorry.” She says finally. “I know...I know it doesn’t make up for what I did, but I’m so sorry. I can’t put it in words, I don’t know how, I don’t know the words to express it.”

  “I know.” He mumbles. “I mean...I...I don’t know. I mean...I know but...but...th—thank you.” He sighs with a groan. “This is so hard. I just want everything to be the same.”

  “I don’t.” She replies briskly. He looks at her with confusion. “I just mean...if it all went back to being the same, I’d still be...her. The MJ who was willing to manipulate her best friend who was the nicest, most amazing person she knew. I don’t...I’m not that person anymore. At least...I don’t want to be her anymore. I want to be different. I want to change.”

  He smiles so widely it makes her heart hurt. “I’m glad, Em.” He takes a breath. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at this. I thought we could just talk but…I don’t really know how.”

  She echoes his smile. “Maybe it’s the wrong scenery. Don’t we normally have all our important conversations on roofs?” She laughs a little before halting. Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. She never had roof-talks with Peter. Only with Spider-Man. Oh fuck.

  He seems to realise this too. His face morphs; confusions, shock, unsurity, fear, anxiety. “You...you...what?”

  “I know, Peter.” Is she talking, or the vodka? “I know. I know you’re Spider-Man. I—I didn’t know before but I know now and I’m...I’m sorry—”

  “I need to..I...I don’t...I don’t understand…” He’s hyperventilating, his eyes wide.

  “Oh God...Peter, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  She reached out to reassure him but he stepped backwards away from her. “I need to go, I need...I need to leave.” He jumped from the edge of the balcony to the ground, apparently forgetting he was Peter Parker right now and not Spider-Man. Luckily Cindy had everyone distracted by cake, and she was pretty sure anyone who did see would dismiss it. She watched helplessly as he walked out with tight shoulders and his hands wrapped around his head like he was trying to block the world and everything in it out.

   She looked up at the stars and wondered if this is how they would end.

Chapter Text

  “Hey mom.” She whispers. “They’re gonna pull you out of the coma soon. Or...I think? I don’t know how it works, I was never good at understanding what the doctors were saying. I just...when you’re out, I wanna talk. Really talk, because everything that’s happened these past few weeks...I don’t know. I feel like I didn’t talk to you enough, even before...this. I just...I can’t lose you. Not like this.” The nurse held up a finger, gesturing a minute, and MJ gripped her mother’s hand.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll be better. I promise. I’ll be...I’ll be genuinely good. The good kid you always say I am. I want you to be proud of me.” She stood up hastily, holding back tears. She left the room after that to stand with her siblings and Anna outside.

  Anna sniffed. “When she wakes up, we’re making her take treatment. I can’t...I can’t go through that again. I can’t have her put you four through that again.” Anna leaves with that boys after that to get the breakfast they missed, leaving MJ and Gayle alone. 

  She hadn’t slept since Cindy’s party last night, so saying she was a little on edge would be an understatement. She’d left immediately after Peter had, walking briskly back home trying to block out the absolute tsunami of emotions and thoughts that washed through her mind.

   This was him finally realising she wasn’t someone to associate with. This was him finally understanding it was best for him to move on. She should be happy, this is what’s best for him. It’s what she’d wanted.

  She doesn’t realise she’s outwardly freaking out until Gayle puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hey. It’s...it’s going to be okay.”

  “No, it won’t.” She replied, the words spilling out before she could reel them in. “He hates me and he has every right to hate me and I deserve this and I should be glad he’s finally realised what a dreadful person I am and—”

  “Wow, wow, wow.” Frowns Gayle. “I think we’re referring to two very different situations. I was talking about Mom. Who’s he?"

  MJ groaned. “Some idiot I manipulated the shit out of despite him being the nicest person I know.”

  “Okay…” Her sister began, moving to sit in the waiting room chairs. MJ followed her lead. “We...I think we need to catch up because I am very behind right now—”

  “Also dad called me and he called you the d-slur and I yelled at him and I want us to be sisters again.” She blurted, leaving Gayle stunned into silence.

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry for not being more alert that first time with Mom. It was irresponsible of me. I—”

  Gayle sighed, interrupting. “It wasn’t your fault. Imsrryforbeingabitch.”

  “Huh?” 

  “I said I’m sorry.” Repeats Gayle. “For snapping at you on the phone. It was a bitch move, I shouldn’t have done that. Or the voicemails. You didn’t deserve it. It was immature of me, I’m an adult, I should have known better-” 

  “I deserved it.” She shrugs. “I was being selfish and stupid.”

  Gayle turns her head so fast MJ flinches. “What? You literally were not.”

  “I shouldn’t have gone over to a friend’s house, not then. It was self-indulgent of me.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Gayle’s tone surprises her. “You think it’s selfish to...to what, have friends?”

  She doesn’t know how to reply. “I was...I was having fun. I should have been at home...I should have been—”

  Gayle barks a humourless laugh. “Michelle, you’re sixteen. I know...I know that you’re shouldered with stuff people even twice your age would find daunting, but you’re still sixteen. You’re allowed fun. You’re allowed escape.”

  She sighed. “It’s not just that. I’ve been so wrapped up in all my...stuff. I’ve been avoiding everything.”

  Gayle groaned. “I’m sorry for everything. Getting mad about Mom and ignoring you and holding a grudge and getting pissed when I heard you calling him and I jumped to conclusions.” She swallows. “Especially the last one.”

  “Was he...was he talking to you too?”

  Gayle nods. “Couple months ago he called me. Obviously I told him to bugger off but...but he...I thought he was really trying to change. I thought about all the stupid things I’ve done and how without second chances I don’t know where I’d be and I bought into his stupid act because I’m stupid.”

   Michelle lay a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not stupid, Gayle.”

  Her sister pulled her legs up onto the seat. “I have a girlfriend. I don’t...I don’t know where I’m at sexuality-wise but I love her so much, Em.”

  MJ frowned. “What about that guy you told me about? Timothy?”

  Gayle winced. “Thea, actually. Timothy’s her deadname. Dick move of me to say that, but...I just wasn’t ready to tell you.”

  “That’s okay. I’m glad you feel like you can trust me now.” She let a small smile. Does she even remember when she last genuinely smiled? It feels nice.

  Gayle sighed. “I didn’t tell Dad at first. I thought we had something good starting, you know? I was scared if I told him he’d freak out. He was making these off-hand comments about Anna and Mom and it was wearing me down. Then I just blew up and blurted it out. I told him everything, then he got really quiet. He asked whether it was Mom or Anna who turned me into a filthy...you know. I couldn’t even hang up, I listened to his entire rant.”

  “Gayle…” She trailed, not knowing what to say. “He doesn’t matter.”

  “Yeah, I know. I know in my head what he said was stupid as all fuck but it felt so awful.” She shrugged. “I think I’m over it now. Well...no, but I’m working on letting it go. Thea helps.” 

  For a few moments there was silence. “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when you were going through that.” 

  A scoff was her reply. “Don’t apologise, pushing you away was totally my fault. And don’t say it wasn’t, you may have engaged too but I started and I should have ended it.” She wiped her eye and MJ realised Gayle was crying. “What about you, huh? What’ve you been going through? You said something about manipulating your best friend and I distinctly remember you mentioning Spider-Man during our fight. Also Shirley the receptionist was telling me you two had a lover’s spat.”

  “Shirley needs to mind her damn business.” She grumbled, making Gayle laugh. It sounded nice. “I can’t...I can’t really tell you everything. But in a nutshell: my best friend Peter knows Spider-Man, Peter is being bullied by this idiot Flash, Spider-Man tells Flash to stop bullying Peter, Flash tasks me with finding out who Spider-Man is and how Peter knows him, I manipulate Peter, I befriend Spider-Man, I manipulate Spider-Man, I start feeling bad, Peter finds out, Peter tells Spider-Man, I avoid Peter and Spider-Man for the own good so I don’t fuck them over more than I have, they both keep trying to talk it out, I think they both hate me now and it sucks because I really like Peter and yeah that’s pretty much it.” She omits the fact Peter is Spider-Man. Doesn’t seem like a good idea to tell. It feels comforting, almost, to hear it laid out like that.

   Gayle looks very taken aback, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging open slightly. “Huh. That’s uh...that’s a real...huh.”

  “Throw the mom thing and the you thing plus the dad thing and yeah, it’s been a little...it’s been a lot.”

  Gayle breaks out into a grin. “I knew Peter was your boyfriend!”

  She starts laughing, the absurdity of everything finally getting to her. the other people in the waiting room give her either confused, annoyed or worried looks. She would be too. “Fuck off.” She finally coughs when her laughing fit wanes.

  Gayle gives a reassuring smile. “Hey. At least you’ve told me now, right? You’ve been holding that in for a while, I’m guessing.” 

  “Yeah, yeah I have.” She gives her sister a one-armed hug.

  “Seriously though? Spider-Man? Isn’t he that spandex-wearing furry dork on Youtube?”

  “Ok firstly, yes. Secondly he’s not a furry. At least I don’t think so.”

  “He’s totally a furry. Or...is it an insect-y? Crawlie? Whatever. But seriously. Anthropomorphic animal with a skin-tight costume? Sounds pretty furry-ish to me.” 

  “Oh my god.”

  “Is it me mentioning the skin tight suit that makes you uncomfortable?”

  “I wish we were still fighting.” She grumbles and Gayle lets out an easy, soft laugh.

  “I’m glad we’re not. You’re my little sister, shortstack. We’ll always be sisters.” Michelle nods off after that, too tired to even try keeping her eyes open. 

  She’s ripped from sleep a few minutes later by her sister shaking her awake. “Hey, idiot. Mom’s awake. Stop drooling on my shoulder.” Ah, the wonders of sisterhood. It jolts her out from drowsiness and she rushes to the hospital room behind Gayle.

  “Gayle, Michelle.” Croaks her mother. She’s propped up on the bed now, smiling broadly. She looks like she’s got more colour than before, but maybe it’s just MJ desperately trying to will her mother healthy. “Where’s Anna and the boys?” 

  “Still at breakfast, I think.” Replies Gayle, taking her mother’s hand. “Do you want me to go get them?”

  Madeline shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I want...I want to talk to you two.”

  MJ furrows her brow with worry. “Is something wrong?”

  Her mother gives a shallow laugh. “No, sweetie, I just want to talk to you. That a crime?” They bother echo her laugh, weak and pleading for a return to normalcy. “Tell me what’s been going on with you two. I feel like...I feel like I’ve missed everything. Not just this week. I feel like I've been missing everything about you guys for a long time.” 

  Gayle shoves a finger in MJ’s direction. “MJ’s dating Spider-Man.” 

  “I am not! Mom, I’m not.” 

  Gayle defensively holds her hands up in surrender. “I didn’t know what to say! How are you supposed to respond to that?”

  “I don’t know, not with secondhand gossip from Shirley the receptionist!”

  “Girls!” Cries Madeline with a cough, which shuts them up real quick. “You’re right Gayle, it’s a lot. I’ve pushed a lot on you, and telling you to just tell me what’s be going on with you isn’t fair. I just...I’ve been thinking a lot. I missed so much from both of you, holed up in my room and such. I’m going to take treatment. Real treatment. Hospital treatment.” 

  It takes a few seconds to settle in. “Really?” MJ doesn’t know if it's she or Gayle who says it but the word hangs in the air like overripe fruit weighing a tree branch down.

  “Really. It...it was stubborn. I thought it helped you guys, but I know it never did. If anything it made everything worse. So I’m going to take real treatment, no more nature pills. Okay?”

  Michelle smiles strongly for the first time all day. “Yeah, mom It sounds okay.”

  “It’s not going to be easy, we all know that. Especially money-wise. But we’ll get through, okay? They’ve talked to me about some new experimental drugs and new technologies. Ones that might actually heal me.” MJ’s speechless and she knows Gayle is too. They’ve gotten these kind of uplifting miracle type deals before and they usually end in crushed hope and disappointment but this feels like it might be the real deal.

  “Mom, I have a girlfriend.” Gayle blurts. Madeline smiles, squeezing Gayle’s hand. “I’m sorry, I’m not good at this.”

  “I’m happy for you, GJ.” The childhood nickname makes Gayle chuckle. “So happy. I want you to know that that’s okay. You do what makes you happy, baby. Not what anyone else says. And you know I’m always here for you.”

  “Thanks, mom.” Gayle replies, her voice cracking a little. Madeline turns to MJ. 

  “MJ...I don’t remember much of the last few days. They pumped a hell of a lot of drugs into me. But...I vaguely remember you talking. First about something bad you did, but also just before they pulled me out when you said you were gonna be the good kid you know I think you are. You are that kid, MJ. You are good. I know you don’t believe it but you are.” She takes Michelle’s hand as well and she resists the urge to cry.

  Anna bursts into the room with Kev and Tommy close behind. The boys crash into a bone-crushing hug with their mother and since the bone-crushing might actually be a problem Gayle and MJ wrench them off. Madeline’s laughing though and pulls them back in.

  Anna’s not so happy. If anything she looks conflicted. “This can’t continue, Mads. I hate to do this in front of the kids but you know this isn’t sustainable. I know we’ve had lots of talks about this, lots of arguments...God, so many arguments. But I’m putting my foot down. The kids don’t deserve this, sweetheart." 

  Michelle watches her mom smile from behind her brothers. “I know, Annie. I’m going to take the chemo.” Anna’s face lights up. This is genuinely the happiest she’s seen her family in ages. Anna doesn’t say anything, just joins the hug. Gayle does too and even though she protests, MJ wraps her arms around her family. Maybe this isn’t the end, maybe there’ll be more hardships, but at least they’ll do it as a family and MJ can even look past how clichè that sounds.

  She goes to school on Monday. Why not? She needs to stop running away from things, right? Unless, of course, those things run away from her. That doesn’t count.

  She walks up to Ned, who immediately drops all his books when he realises she’s behind him. “Hey, loser.” She greets, helping him pick up his books.

  Ned looks up at her with frightened eyes. “Uh...hey MJ. Michelle. You uh...you good?” 

  “I’m sorry about how I acted.” She doesn’t bother fluffing around. “I treated you and Peter like...well, like you weren’t my friends. Like you two weren’t the greatest friends I’ve ever had, and that was shitty of me. I should have talked to Peter when you said, properly. You were right, Peter deserved more. Peter...deserves more. You deserve more.”

  Ned beams, though there’s still a hint of wariness. She doesn’t blame him, she knows what she’s like. “Thank you, MJ. That’s...I know that’s not easy for you. Thank you. And uh...May told me about your mom. That’s really great.”

   “Thank you.” She tries a smile though it probably comes off as more of a grimace. She can work on that. She looks down at the floor. “Did Peter tell you about what happened at Cindy’s party?” 

  Ned cringes. “Uh...yeah. He did.” 

  Her turn to cringe. “I thought so. I know I don’t deserve it but is he...is he at least...is he alright?”

  Ned’s face softens like marshmellow. “I don't know. I think...I think yes, but it’s a lot for him. If he..if he comes up to you to talk it out, will you please listen?”

  “Of course I will, Ned. If that’s what he wants.” She grimaces for real this time. “Ew. Emotional vulnerability time over. Let’s pretend that never happened and if you say it did I’ll sue you for slander. You’re a dork and an idiot and a nerd and I hate you.” She says it all with a barely held-back smile though. Ned beams. 

  “‘Course. This never happened.” 

  Just as she’s about to leave for first period, she swings back around. “Hey Ned? I know we’re...whatever, and it’s kinda weird for me to say this but I really think you should ask out Betty. Take the chance while you can.” Ned nods, confused and red, and Michelle stalks her way to class. Michelle Jones, Midtown Mercenary doesn’t quite fit her anymore. Michelle Jones, Midtown Matchmaker? She’ll try it out.

  Lunch doesn’t feel like the ominous monster it used to be, but it still takes effort to walk through the doors. She can’t keep running though. She’s going to change.

  She locates Cindy pretty quickly: Moon’s 100% the most popular member of the Decathlon team and her table’s always the most packed. Cindy notices her and practically flies over.

  “MJ!” She barrels into a hug and for once Michelle doesn’t protest. “I heard about your mom. I’m really glad she’s doing okay.” 

  “Um..thanks. Yeah, she’s awake. That’s good. Do you think you could still stay as AcaDec team captain though? For a little while? I just...I have a lot going on.” 

  “Duh, of course I can.” She smiles broadly. “Least I can do. Hec asked me out after the party! And I mean, I do enjoy being captain. It’s a great experience and it looks great on my college applications.” 

  MJ lets a smile through. “Thanks. Um...about your party-” 

  Cindy rolls her eyes. “It’s totally fine, Flash was being a douchebag. I may or may not have given him a very firm talking-to afterwards. He’s on thin ice when it comes to AcaDec membership.”

  “Still, pretty awful of me to ruin your party."

  “Don’t take all the credit. It was hardly ruined. Hey, do you wanna sit with us?” Cindy asks, gesturing to her table.

  Michelle may be changing, but she’s not ready for that. “Thanks, but I’m good. I’ve got a book.” She waves it, La Princesse de Clèves. She does not mention she’ll also be planning how she’ll buy cigarettes for Maya Rider now that MJ’s usual Legal Adult has left for college.

  Hey, small steps. Just because her mom’s awake and going to take treatment doesn’t mean they suddenly don’t need groceries. She’ll slip Maya a brochure for battling addiction next time she drops the packs off. She is dedicated to changing.

  Cindy shrugs before bounding off and MJ finds a table by the windows. As she’s scrolling through her list of contacts, a shadow falls upon the table. She braces herself for Cindy’s enthusiasm or another mousy freshman asking for her to buy them a vape pod or maybe even a teacher here to ask if she needs someone to talk to. The voice that comes out, however, makes her jump in surprise.

  “Jo...Michelle.” Coughs Flash. “I— I’m— I just—”

  She regards him critically with narrowed eyes. “What do you want, Thompson? I’m not backing down—”

  “I’m not—” He interrupts before pausing. “I’m not here to ask you to.”

  “Then what are you here for, hm?”

  His face is straining, resentment plastered on but with too much guilt, shame and embarrassment to make her angry. If anything it surprises her even more. “I’m...I’m here to apologise.”

  She doesn’t even try to hide her shock this time. “What?”

   “I’m sorry, okay? It was...it was shitty of me to harass you at Cindy’s party.” He looks like he wants to fling himself out a window. “I should have respected your boundaries. I mean, I stand by asking you to do what I asked but it was still a dick move to go off like that.”

   “Oh.” It’s all she can manage. She swallows. “I’m sorry as well. Well, no I’m not. You deserved everything I said, you were being a prick. But I should have been more upfront with you. I’ll still pay you back your deposit and the price of the camera.”

  “Thanks.” He mumbles. He looks down at the ground, clearing his throat. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your mom. I hope she gets better.”

  Is this the worst moment of her life? Quite possibly. At least top ten. “Thanks. Now how about we stop talking and never speak of this again?”

  “Already on it.” He replies, nodding and rolling his eyes, though he looks relieved.

  As he shuffles off, she sees past him to where Peter is staring at her from his table. Should she go over? He’s sitting with Ned and Betty, would it be weird to go over?

  No, she can’t. Ned said that if Peter went to her she should listen, but not that she should talk to him. What does she even say? So yeah, I know you’re the guy who swings around New York in spandex, the one I investigated, the one I’ve been trying to weasel the identity of from you, the one whose secret identity is viciously hidden, but it’s okay because I didn’t know when I was manipulating the ever-loving fuck out of you.

  Yeah, that’d go well.

  She needs to give him time, she needs to give him space, right? She’d give him all of time and space if it wiped the look he’s got on his face. She’d rip time and space apart if it meant they could be friends again.

   No. She needs to leave him alone till he’s ready. He looks up at her, so imperceptibly she probably wouldn’t have caught it if she weren’t broodily staring at him. Before she can stop herself and knowck some damn sense into her brain, she gives a small smile. The one that echoes back from him makes her heart beat so fast it hurts.

  She swings her legs back and forth as she sits on the ledge of the roof. She doesn’t quite know exactly why her feet brought her here. It’s drizzling lightly and she pulls her jacket, holds the umbrella more firmly over her head. The roof of the apartment’s pretty high up but she can see a couple splotches of blue and red raincoats jumping in a puddle. It’s a sweet rain, a nostalgic rain. The sound of raindrops on a metal roof and the smell of hot chocolate and wet grass, rather than rain beating and gushing down as black-cowled figures stand depressingly over a gravestone.

  Rainy afternoon MJ is more poetic than normal MJ.

  She doesn’t know if she’s waiting for him, or signalling for him, or just plain wishing he were here. She knows, though would rather die than admit, that she’s come up here for him. Like she said at Cindy’s party, they have all their important conversations on roofs, excluding that time at the sleepover, or the aforementioned time at Cindy’s party. She doesn’t really like thinking about the latter.

  She doesn’t know if he’ll come. She hasn’t talked to him or texted him. Hell, for all she knows he isn’t even out tonight. It doesn’t feel right looking up online if anyone’s seen him. It feels invasive. It feels like old MJ. 

  She hears him coming. The rain lands differently; not on concrete but on body. She doesn’t bother speaking. He takes initiative. “Uh...hey. MJ. I um...I brought coffee.”

  She smiles. “You hate coffee.”

  “Yeah, okay, I’m caught. I brought you coffee and I have hot chocolate for me.” 

  She spins around and nearly falls off the ledge. He has his mask off. Right off. It’s in his hand, and she knows she’s only staring at it to avoid looking at his face. When she finally does, she doesn’t know what to make of him. He looks a lot of things. His expression is so raw she doesn’t know how to describe it. She slides down from the ledge, her back against the concrete, wedged onto the corner of the roof. “Are you going to come over or are you going to make me get up?” 

  He laughs softly. “Sorry.” He sits beside her, handing her the coffee cup. He fiddles with his something on his wrist and suddenly he’s a space heater and she has resists the urge to sit against him despite the fact she’s freezing. He rolls his eyes and shuffles closer. “God, Em. Next time you decide to sit on a roof for an hour, remember to bring a warmer jacket.”

  “You watched me sit here like an idiot for an hour?” 

  He looks down into his cup. “I didn’t really know what to say.”

  She sighs, groaning. “Me neither. S’why I’m up here, I guess.” She pulls the umbrella closer down over them so any nosey asshole trying to unmask Spider-Man (cough cough people like her) can’t see his face. 

  “So where do we start?” 

  Where do they start? From the beginning, when Flash recruited her? From when she first began her investigation? From that AcaDec practice from hell? From when she revealed she knew who he was? Or maybe the beginning beginning, when they started talking? Or when she started considering him a friend? From when she started repressing the fact she liked him more than that?

  “I’m sorry.” She settles on. “For...everything. I think you know why I took the job, but...but I still shouldn’t have. Even if you weren’t him, it was an awful, awful, awful thing for me to do. And it was awful-er that I continued doing it.” 

  “I...I do know why. At least I think I do. You more or less told me, right? That time you stayed over, plus that time I, y’know, stuck my fingers in your hair. I probably should have connected the dots?”

  “You should have connected the dots!? I only figured out who you were after that time at the hospital roof.” 

  “I was so sure you already knew.”

  “If you knew I knew why did you freak out at Cindy’s?” She mentally kicks herself for asking. It’s a dumb question. She makes a note to work on her bluntness.

   Peter fidgets with his mask, silent for a few moments. “I don’t know, it’s confusing. Sometimes I was absolutely sure you’d figured it out and that you were going to hate me forever and other times there was no way you knew and I guess we talked so much I forgot you didn’t know and...I don’t even know anymore. This has all been extremely confusing.” 

  “I guess thinking I knew made what I did a million times worse for you.” 

  He takes a long sip of his drink, mellow with silence. “Yeah. I mean, I couldn’t make a coherent thought for days, but a part of me thought you knew and...it hurt a lot.” 

  She draws her legs in and rests her chin on her knees. “If I’d known I wouldn’t have taken the job.” She laughs humorlessly. “Not that that means much. I shouldn’t have taken it anyway.”

  His face melts into one of pity. No, not pity. Empathy and concern. “I forgive you, if it makes you feel better. I forgave you, like, a day or so after what happened. Anyone would have done what you did in your situation.” 

  “No good person would have been in my situation in the first place.”

  “Your situation is entirely out of your control.”

  “Not...that. I just mean...the situation of being in a place morally where that job sounds doable.”

   “Stop beating yourself up like that. Like I said, I’ve seen bad people. You’re not that.”

  “Would you have done it?” She asks haughtily, maybe even spitefully. He’s silent a few moments. 

 “I don’t know, Em. Really. If it were May and doing it would help her...I don’t know.” She doesn’t know what to say and silence descends once more. “I really do forgive you. I need you to know that.”

  “But how can you?” She begs, turning to him. It’s fully raining now so she can’t pull away from him. She should though. Maybe she just doesn’t want to. “How can you?” She repeats, barely above a whisper.

  “How can I not?” He says it so simply it hits her harder than any insult could. She turns to face him properly.

  “How can you not...Peter! How can you not hate me? Look at everything I’ve done these past weeks. You know, during your panic attack that first time I talked to you in the suit I was fully ready to use it to my advantage. Do you wanna know how I took that conversation? I thought wow, isn’t it great I’ve made you have an inkling of trust in me. Or that time I totally avoided you and Ned without explanation. Hell, that’s happened a couple times. 

  “And then that time with the hair, I couldn’t even fucking admit any of it to you. By that point I was feeling fucking dreadful about everything and I was still a goddamn coward. You know, I actually called Flash after that. Told him I wouldn’t reveal your identity. But you know what I didn’t do? I didn’t fucking let the case go, because I’m fucking weak. And after that! The New Avengers Facility disaster. Did that the day after our talk. 

  “Or how, after what I’d been doing was finally exposed, totally ghosted you as if I deserved to step out of that situation. You wanted to talk, you wanted closure, you wanted a simple goddamn explanation for my behaviour and what did I do? Avoided you like the goddamn plague like a fucking coward. And then after I figured out just exactly how much I’d fucked up because of course you’re Spider-Man, I couldn't even just give you the goddamn courtesy of telling you I knew. Then I fucked up Cindy’s party with my bullshit and now here we are, swimming — no, drowning — in all my dumb mistakes.” 

  He’s speechless with his jaw hanging open, perfectly poised in utter surprise like some porcelain china figure. When he doesn’t respond, she continues. She wraps the arm not clutching the umbrella around her legs, pulling them towards herself. “And to make it all worse I did it...I still...I kept going...I...I just...even...I don’t…” She knows what she wants to say. The words are poised in her head. Why won’t they come out? “It was especially bad because...not only were you my friend but...I liked you. A lot. And I still did it. Peter, what does that say about me?” She looks up at him into his soft brown eyes, his wild hair that’s crazed by a combination of the rain and his mask, his mouth curled into an expression she doesn’t have the words to describe.

  “You...you…” He stammers. “You like me? Like-like?” 

  She groans. “Oh my god. I pour my heart out, begging you to realise what a terrible person I am and that’s what you latch onto. Goddamn dork.” The endearment is out before she can stop herself.

  “It’s a lot to give me at once, Em, can you blame me for focusing on the easiest part for me to grasp!” He whisper-shrieks. “Not that this is at all easy for me to grasp!” 

  “Fine, yes, I like-like you. Did I not already say as much that day at the hospital? Jesus fucking Christ, can we get back to the part about me being the worst person on earth?” 

  He’s quiet a few seconds, breaking the silence with a long sigh. “MJ, when will you realise you’re not the worst person on earth? Yes, you did some pretty hurtful things. I’m still...I’m still hurt by what you did, I’m not going to lie. But you’re capable of change and I know you can and I know you will because you’re Michelle Jones and Michelle Jones doesn’t let anyone get in her way, much less herself.” He coughs. “And, um, I like-like you too.”

  “Why?” She blurts, the word painted red with frustration. “I just...I just...I just dumped everything on you! I told you all the terrible things I did to you! And you like-like me?! You’re infuriating!”

  “And you got mad at me for latching onto the like-like thing! Did I not just explain exactly why what you did doesn’t impede my massive world-ending crush on you?!” They’re yelling over the beating rain now.

  “Well excuse me that if from my point of you you’re throwing yourself into a total mess of a person!”

  “A person who is capable of change!" 

  “But how can you still think that? Yes, I want to change. Yes, I’ve been trying to. But what if I don’t deserve your second chance?!”

  “Michelle, do you know how little sense you make?! For God’s sake, for the last three weeks I’ve been telling you over and over again that you’re capable of change because I know you are and here you are finally admitting it to yourself that you can and yet you still beat yourself up for something I’ve already forgiven you for!”

  She doesn’t reply, settling for bringing her cup of coffee so close to her face she can see silk strands of steam rise from the tiny mouthpiece. The umbrella’s large but not large enough and she’s so huddled up against him she’s sure her face must be as red as his suit. “I feel like I don’t deserve you, Peter.” She says quietly. “As a friend, as a...more than that. As anything.” 

  “There’s no deserving, Em. I’m not better than you and you’re not worse than me.” A clap of thunder booms and she flinches. Whether it’s his words or the storm that causes it, she’s not sure. He takes her hand, and she doesn’t pull away. “MJ, please. I just want you to be happy. You keep saying you’re incapable of change, but I know you’ve been trying and you said that you were yourself.”

  “If I start changing...it feels like all the stuff I’ve done will stop mattering. And I don’t want them to. I did bad things and I need to remember that I have, don’t I? Otherwise what was the point?” 

  “The past is the past. You can’t change what you’ve already done. But you can change so you don’t do it again.”

   “I...I know. I’ve been doing that. But you...I feel like there’ll never be a past-is-in-the-past with what I did to you.” She barely knows what she’s saying anymore. She wants to believe him so badly.

  “That’s alright. We can’t fix everything, and that’s okay. We can work through this. That’s what friends do, Em. We help each other.”

  What are you supposed to say to that? She’s never really had friends. Maybe it’ll be okay. “It’s kinda dumb of you to be the one comforting me when I screwed you over.”  

  He laughs a little. “If it makes you feel better, I was moody as hell, like, all week.” 

  “Why would that ever make me feel better?!” She cried.

  “I don’t know! i just meant...I don’t want you thinking you’re weird for feeling upset or confused something!”

  Her smile is one of soft amusement. Why were dorks so endearing to her? “You’re not great at this, are you?” 

  She tries not to melt at his laugh. “Not really.” He looks down into his drink. “So...you’re okay with the whole Spider-Man thing?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, if anyone was going to dress up in spandex and help old ladies cross the road it’d be you.” The antithesis of me, she thinks, but doesn’t say it. She’s not that anymore.

  “I should have told you I was Spider-Man. A whole lot of hurt would have been avoided.” His voice is quiet behind the rain.

  “You weren’t obligated to tell me. I get why you didn’t.”

  “Yeah, but after we started talking when I was in the suit? I should have told you. It was kinda creepy of me to do that and it wasn’t right for me to let you open up like that without opening up myself and letting you know who you were talking to.”

  She smiles. “Hey, is that what you were talking about to Tony Stark?"

  She laughs at his groans. “We are never speaking of that day ever again. Do you know how much Mr. Stark’s been teasing me about you? I mean, I’m almost grateful for this whole debacle because it meant he stopped going on about how I should ask you out. He’ll be back on that in no time.” There’s an underlying statement, that of unless I do ask you out, but Peter doesn’t vocalise it.

  “It’s stopped raining.” He says finally, breaking the silence. “Well...it’s stopped raining enough to walk without literally drowning.” That’s more accurate, it’s still drizzling and the puddles look more like ponds. “Want me to walk you down to your apartment?”

  She does not miss the barely-contained hopefulness in his voice. It’s sweet. “Yeah, why not. Only...leave before I open the door. I already assured my aunt I’m not screwing Spider-Man, I don’t need any annoying questions.”

  His face burns red. “I—”

  “By the way, um...on the topic of screwing and asking each other out...I know we just had our Elizabeth and Darcy confession thing but...I don’t think we should get together. If that’s okay. I think...I think I need to work on me for a bit, you know? Just...work through my problems and our problems and our dynamic and blah blah blah for a bit.”

  He smiles, and though she can see hints of disappointment she can also see he’s genuinely happy. Maybe even proud. “That’s okay, Em. I get it, I’m glad. I think that’s a good idea. And we’re still friends, right?”

  On a whim, a stupid, sappy, sincere whim, she kisses his cheek and slips her hand into his, not even bothering to hide her smile at his blush. “Yeah, Spider-Dork, we’re still friends. Come on, put your stupid mask back on, or do you want literally all of Queens knowing who you are?” 

  “At the rate I’m going that’s going to be a likely outcome.”

   “It took me months to figure it out, you’ll be fine.

  “Yeah, but you like-liked me. It clouded your judgement.” 

  “Shut up.”

  “No take-backs!”

  “Do you so easily forget I carry a pocketknife everywhere I go?”

  “Aw, come on MJ. You love me.”

  “...yeah, I do.”

Chapter Text

  “Can’t you like...I don’t know, smell if there’s a cat under there?” 

  “Did you really just ask me that?” 

  “Or you can listen for it, I’m not picky.” 

  “I don’t even know what cats smell like. Besides, there’s so much trash down there that the smell would be masked anyway.” 

  “What are the purposes of enhanced senses if you can’t use them to find lost cats?” 

  “Jeez, fine. Look, there’s things moving around under there and it could be Leash but knowing New York it’s probably just a really large rat.”

  “Can you lift it please?”

  “What, the building?”

  “No, the economy. Yes the building!” 

  “MJ, I can’t just lift a freaking building.” 

  “It’s barely classified as a building, freaking or otherwise. It’s barely even a shed. Anyway, it’s not even the entire thing! Just like...lift the edge. You’ve lifted heavier stuff. You could probably lift me above your head without breaking a sweat.” 

  “Em, you’re like 120 lbs soaking wet. This is a building.”

  “God, fine. Can you at least rip out the wood and check with your laser vision or whatever? I have to check everywhere.”

  “I don’t have laser vision! But yes, I will do that.” She turns around to make sure no one sees him ripping apart the building. “Nope, just rats. And a raccoon. Two, actually. Oh gross, I think they’re having sex. Hey fun fact, did you know the mating rituals of raccoons can last for days and also include foreplay? Okay now that I’ve said that I realise that was in no way a fun fact. Let’s move on.” 

  MJ groaned. “You know, I’m really beginning to miss the days of setting lockers on fire and Littlefingering everyone into a school-wide food fight." 

  “Firstly, never say Littlefingering ever again. Don’t verberise that name.” 

  “Verberise?”

  “Secondly, who takes their cat to Central Park and then loses it?”

  “Felicia Hardy, apparently, and if you want your five percent cut of the profits you’ll stop complaining.”

  “You do know that 5% of $15 is, like, 75c?”

  She bore her eyes into him. “No, Parker, I had no idea. Thank you for graciously informing me.”

  He smiles. “You really don’t have to pay me. It’s seriously fine. I’d never put a price on spending time with you.” He coos, and she has to look away to hide her smile. She knows Peter sees it though, and she doesn’t quite mind that he does.

  “Shut up, dork. And I feel weird not paying, I’ve never had an assistant before. It’s 75c, just take it.”

  “Seriously Em, you don’t need to pay me. I like hanging out with you.” He coughs. “Gotta make sure you’re not getting up to your old tricks.”

  “It’s a cat, Peter. Even old MJ would have just looked for it like a normal person.”

  “Oh really? Because Billy Connor was telling me you broke into his house at midnight while looking for his lizard.”

  “I had to make sure he wasn’t just an idiot who couldn’t find his stupid iguana!”

  “You broke in through his bathroom window!”

  “I would have asked, all my intel said his family was out that weekend and I thought it’d be a quick in-out job!”

  They’ve both dissolved into laughter at this point, and if MJ’s grateful for anything in life it’s her friends. She gets the hype now; friendship is not in fact overrated. It’s been only two weeks, and she’s already feeling like Old MJ isn’t coming back ever again. It’s difficult, she isn’t going to sugarcoat it, but this time she has Ned and Peter helping her and that’s more than she could ever have hoped to wish for. 

  Their laughter wanes, and for a few moments MJ just appreciates the situation. Peter sighs. “So where do we look nex—” He stops suddenly just before they’re interrupted by a crash and so much screaming MJ’s pretty sure she’s deafened. A figure lands with a boom on the field and if MJ were a betting woman she’d almost say....yep, it’s Roarer the Explorer 2: Electric Boogaloo, only this time it looks like he’s Hulked-out because he’s at least seven feet tall and five feet wide. Still has the bowl cut though. Michelle turns to Peter, who’s practically spasming with the call to action. 

  MJ sighs. “Goddamnit. Go, go. I’ll wait here. Just be quick, our movie with starts in, like, an hour and Betty and Ned said they don’t want to miss the previews.” Peter melts into the trees before emerging a few moments later in the suit. She rolls her eyes again. He’s right, everyone in Queens figuring out who he is is an extremely likely outcome.

  She sits against one of the trees, pulling her sketchbook out, beginning a Central Park Landscape that Charles had slipped her fifteen dollars to do for him. Hey, she’s trying. She made it clear she’d only to do the sketching, Charles still has to do everything else. She really is trying.

  She’s willing Roarer to move slightly to the right so she can see the edges of the lake behind him when her phone rings. Unknown . She, Gayle, Mom and Anna had organised with their lawyer to officially ban Phillip from calling them, so she’s not sure who it could be. Might as well, messing with telemarketers brings her great joy.

  “Michelle.” Says the other end, and she sighs. She knows that voice. If she’s honest she’s been expecting it.

  “Stark.”

  “Tony’s fine.”

  “Stark.”

  Stark sighs and she can almost visualise him massaging his temple. “I see. Well, I call with an offer.”

   “Oh? What is it, sign five thousand NDAs about Peter’s identity and your facility and the fact I snuck in—”

   “Not about that.” He interrupts. “But...can I trust you to stay quiet about that?”

  Duh. Lately she’s been on a one-woman mission to erase as much connection between innocent Stark Industries Intern™ Peter Parker and vigilante/YouTube sensation™ Spider-Man, since Ned and Peter can barely be trusted with a nickel much less an entire superhero secret identity. “I don’t know, can you?”

  “Hostile witness, great. God I hate teenagers. Okay, I’m here to offer you full payment of your mother’s treatment.”

  There’s a beat of silence. “What?”

  “...Full treatment?” He repeats after a pause. “The chemo, radiation therapy—”

  “Why? And how do you know?”

  “Peter told me the vague details. I was able to gather the rest through...alternate measures.” He coughs.

  “You stalked me?” She deadpans, hardly surprised. 

  “Your mom, technically, but yes. In a sense. Look, my company does a hell of a lot of philanthropy. One of those is the...what is it? The Stark-Potts Foundation for Cancer Treatment and Research. S.P.F.C.T.R for short. One of its purposes is helping people pay cancer-related medical bills. Your application has been sent, processed, approved and pretty much just needs your mom’s consent. But...I thought I’d talk to you about it first.”

  “You don’t know me. Why are you doing this?" 

  “If I said the goodness of my heart would you believe it?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Well, if it was financial troubles that drove you to, well, attempting to expose Spider-Man’s secret identity and breaking into my facility I can fix that. And I genuinely don’t want anyone to have to live through the passing of a parent, especially if it’s preventable.” He says the last bit hastily, and for a few seconds MJ allows herself to be compassionate. 

  “Thanks.” 

  “Also, as further preventative measure towards you ever doing anything like this again, I’d like to suggest investigative journalism to you. I have pull at some newspapers. I could write a recommendation letter to maybe the New York Bulletin, there’s an internship spot open with a Ms Karen Page, admittedly an unpaid one—” 

  “Okay, why are you doing this?” She butts in. “I’ve done literally nothing positive to you.” 

  “Look, kid, I read through your files. You’re an ace student. It’s literally no wonder you got bored and started your side hustle. Peter...he’s given me a lot of hope for the future generation.”

  “Do you know how condescending and patronising you sound?”

   “Do you know how unforthcoming and stand-offish you sound?”

  “Absolutely. And um...thanks. I think I might pass on the journalism thing for now. I’ve...I’ve got a lot on my plate. But thanks, I’ll keep it in mind. And thanks for the Foundation thing. I genuinely appreciate it.”

  “When you’re not sniping you’re a real nice kid, you know that?” 

  “Don’t push it. My appreciation only goes so far.”

  “Oh yeah, shovel talk time. I hear you and Peter are considering a romantic and/or sexual relationship—” Mary, Joseph and Jesus fucking Christ goddamnit.

  “How about we never speak of that topic again? Or, come to think of it, never speak together ever again outside of the occasional email?” 

  “Sounds great.” She hangs up before he can. She gets he’s Peter’s mentor and all, but does he have to tell him everything? And it was hardly considering a romantic and/or sexual relationship, it was more if you don’t bring the whole confession up then I guess I won’t either and what do you mean I like-like him haha I’ve never said that and I totally don’t why would I ever like a dork like him oh hey Peter don’t mind me just literally falling over because my emotions for you overwhelmed me so much I can’t even stand upright.

  So maybe she likes him a little bit. 

  Peter’s thrown with a slam into a patch of trees by Roarer, and she has to grip a tree trunk to stop her from running over. She knows she’ll just be in the way and that Peter’s far more well-equipped to deal with this, but sometimes feelings don’t care about facts and all she wants to to drag him from this stupid fight. 

  It’s over after five more grueling minutes of her gnawing her fingers off with worry. Peter coats Roarer in webbing, holding him down until MJ spots War Machine and a bunch of Iron Man suits fly down. Colonel Rhodes fist bumps Peter before having the suits airlift Roarer out of the park. All in all, pretty normal fight. Peter checks the crowd a bit before giving a wave and swinging in the direction of her, only like the idiot he is (and also because it seems like Roarer’s edged his senses again) he miscalculates and crashes into and on top of her. Wonderful. 

  “Sorry!” He shrieks, trying to stand up and desperately attempting to disentangle himself from her. “God, this is the hair thing all over again—”

  “Hey, watch your hands.” She warns, and she’s pretty sure she can see his blushing through the mask.

  “I’m sorry!” He squeaks, trying (failing) to pull his hand away from her hip. “I told you this happens sometimes!” 

  She rolls her eyes but after a few moments of agonised squirming they’re at least standing up. They’re standing incredibly close though, mainly because Peter’s hands are literally attached to her back and her hip and also because she moved closer.

  She slips her arms between his so she can pull his mask up. Much to no one’s surprise he is, in fact, just as red as his suit. “I’m—I’m so—I literally cannot express how sorry I am right now, give me like a minute and—”

  She smiles, tracing her hand across where the edge of rolled-up mask meets his forehead. “Shut up. You’re ruining the moment.”

  He gulps. “Right. There’s a moment happening. Okay. Shutting up now. Yep.” He clears his throat. “You know, we never finished Firefly.” 

  “Is now really the time?”

  “Well, I just thought...maybe we can, y’know finish it. Together. Without Ned.”

  “Yeah, sure. We can do that.” She bit bak her grin. “You calmed down enough to let go of me?” She asked drily, though her tone was still teasing.

  “Nope.” He breathed, trying to tug his hands away. “Not at all.”

  She sighed. “Well, if we’re in this position.” She closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his. For once she did not feel guilty indulging in her like-like of him, preferring to just abandon her brain cells and enjoy the moment. Peter’s beyond surprised at first but he doesn’t pull away, nor does he shove her off him and yell about how she’s an awful person like she’d been half-expecting him to. Instead he melts into it, slowly letting go off her as he relaxes and holding his hands to her face.

  Her phone dings and she groans. “Goddamnit.” She mutters. 

  Peter clears his throat. “Okay. So, um, that happened.”

  “Excellent detective work, Watson.” She muffles her smile as she reluctantly pulls out her phone. She wants to go back to what was just happening, but since the debacle over her mom’s first emergency she’s learnt it’s best to check her phone.

Sally Avril

hey mj, job offer!

my bitch bourgeois aunt stole my grandmas necklace, one she wanted my mom to have and its grammy’s funeral soon and mom wanted me to wear it pretty please would you find some way to retrieve it? it means a lot to me and my mom. i have like $60 in birthday money, would that be enough? ill link address etc if you take the case  

   She reads it out to Peter, who’s silent a few moments. “Hm. Breaking and entering?”

  She sighs. “Yeah, probably.” Peter looks disconcerted, but the electricity bill’s coming up and $60 sounds like a godsend. “Come on! Look, it’s a good cause. We’d be helping Sally and her mom and fulfilling an old woman’s dying wish and we’d be stealing from the upper class.” 

  “Em…” He began with an adjuring, questioning eye.

  She dropped the thin mask of droll, jokey sarcasm. “I wouldn’t be accepting if I thought this would hurt someone. Look, I promise I’ll research into this and make sure we’re not just stealing jewelry from some lady. I promise I’m—” 

  Peter was smiling now, his face hinted with proud kind of admiration. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I just...I want you to do what’s best for you, you know?”

  “I know, Spider-Dork.” She tucked her phone away with a cough. “So, um, before we were interrupted…”

  “Right. So, um...I guess we’re…?” 

  She grinned. “Yeah. I’d...I’d like that.”

  “Me too!” He beamed, before blushing. “I just...it’d be nice…”

  “You’re making it weird, Peter.” She slipped her hand in his with a smile.

  “I’m just...I’m glad.” His expression brightened even more than it already was. “I’m happy for us, MJ. And I’m proud of you. I know none of this is easy.”

  “Don’t get sentimental on me, Parker.”

  “Not even two minutes ago you were making out with me.”

  “Slander. I could have you sued for that.”

  “I’m going with you on the Sally case.”

  “To make sure I stay on the right side of the tracks or to spend time with me?” 

  “Yes?”

  “Ugh, fine. I wanted you to be the Maid Marian to my Robin Hood but clearly you’re just Little John.” 

  “Robin Hood?”

  “Take from the rich, give to the poor?"

  “Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor and then making the poor pay for your services.”

  “I’m wounded.”

  “I’m joking! But seriously, Robin Hood?”

  “Shut up, you love me.” 

  “...yeah, I do.”