Chapter Text
“EDITH, lights on.”
The fluorescents statically winked to life. Peter pulled the red and black mask free from his face, and tossed it on the cluttered metal work table jammed in the corner of the room. He rubbed his weary eyes and padded across the cold, concrete floor to his narrow bed. The sheets needed a washing, but he hardly cared as he collapsed on the bed with a thud.
He stared at his ceiling and began to quietly catalogue his night. Patrol was harder to do effectively in shadows. Peter reached for the handle of his half-empty mini-fridge that partly functioned as his bedside table and grabbed his last soda. He cracked it open and took two long gulps. It was more frosty than flavor, but, after the night he braved, the fresh cold was welcome.
“EDITH,” Peter rasped, “Give me a status report on subjects Jarvis, Springtime and Capital M.”
The AI materialized a data screen on the wall opposite his bed. EDITH notified him, “Compiling personnel reports on subjects Jarvis, Springtime and Capital M.”
Peter lumbered to a sitting position and took another drink of his too cold soda, as he anxiously waited for his daily reports.
Finally, the data screen displayed blurry security footage. It looked to be from Rocky’s Pizza, just three blocks from the library he used to frequent with his friends. And, if he strained to listen, Peter could just make out the taped conversation .
“Two slices of cheese with extra cheese, please,” Ned said, yanking some cash from his Velcro-wallet.
The boy behind the counter sniffed, “Is that all?”
“Uh, and two cokes. One for me and--,” Ned turned to look at someone, but there was no one there. His friend shook his head, “Just the one coke. One coke.”
Peter tried to blink away his exhaustion. “EDITH?”
The AI clicked, “Yes, Peter?”
“Is that the only update on Jarvis?”
“Subject Jarvis, alias Edward Leeds, is currently at home building LEGOs. Would you like to see?”
Peter rested his soda on the top of the mini-fridge. “No. No, uh, that’s okay.”
The image of lonely Ned in the pizzeria faded. Peter felt something in his chest pang.
EDITH continued to populate the next search.
Next, the screen showed a grainy, cellphone video of May on the steps of City Hall. She was shouting something he could barely discern in a blue and red megaphone. She was surrounded by other protestors, equally sporting some variation of blue and red.
The person recording was not a professional. The camera violently shook and he only saw May in the brief moments the camera was steady enough to focus on her.
“Yo, dude,” the camera-man laughed, “that’s that weird Spider-Guy’s Aunt.”
A second voice chortled, “Nah, no way.”
“No, trust me. Fuck what is her name. It’s something—Something Parker. Trust me,” the camera-man insisted.
Peter muted the stream, “EDITH. Do we not have any clearer video?”
“I’m sorry, Peter. There were no official reporters at today’s demonstration.”
He felt his throat restrict with unwanted tightness. The video continued to play on, muted, and Peter sat quietly on his bed, scrutinizing all of the footage. Finally, the spotty camera-man managed to stand still and Peter hastily instructed, “Pause that.”
EDITH did as she was instructed. The shaky video froze and, even in the pixilated state of the stream, Peter could detect the telltale line that only formed between his Aunt’s eyes when she was viciously angry. She did not look upset anymore, like she had the day she held her press conference begging him to come home. She knew he didn’t kill Mysterio, she had said. She was going to compile a team of lawyers to prove her nephew’s innocence. But please, she had pleaded, May just wanted Peter to come home.
He didn’t. And she had moved beyond the hurt and defeat and worry. Now, she was angry. The little line between her eyes was not the only clue. She was being reckless with her safety in every, exhaustive effort to bring him home.
Sometimes, when he was at his weakest, he wanted swing by their crappy, post-Blip apartment and tell her to stop the demonstrations, to stop fighting for him. She was putting herself in danger by being his loudest and strongest advocate. He would not lose her to his enemies.
He never called. It was a gamble, but he was certain May was much safer without him in the picture.
Peter ripped his eyes away from the frozen image of his aunt with the megaphone locked in her grip. “EDITH, status report on Capital M.”
The image of May faded and, in her place, the most clear recording yet occupied the screen. MJ was bent over one of the lab tables at the freshly rebuilt compound upstate. She was scratching more notes on the same map he had seen her slave over for weeks. “God damn it, Peter,” she huffed. She lifted her head from her diligent work and scowled at the security camera. “Why are you making it so difficult to find you?”
He felt his heart arrest. The last nine weeks, every night—after his patrol, when he still tried to protect his neighborhood, when he had EDITH compile her status reports on his loved ones— Michelle spoke directly to him. It did not matter if she was upstate at the new Avengers compound. Or if she was sitting in her bedroom in Manhattan and talking to the blinking camera of her at-home computer. Or if she was looking into the camera on her phone. Every night she left a message for him.
She knew him, she said a few weeks into her routine, and, if she was right, which she knew she was, the Peter Parker she knew would absolutely use his billion-dollar Stark tech to check-in on everyone. To see if they were safe. To see if they were alright. His eyes had glistened over with tears that night.
She frowned and crossed out another row of blocks on her map of New York City. “Honestly, you might be the worst boyfriend in the entire world.” Peter mistily laughed. “Most girls would think their boyfriends were avoiding them if they kept this disappearing act up for as long as you have.” He inched forward to the edge of his bed and pressed his hand against the transparent image of her face. The pads of his fingers connected with the solid structure of the wall and not the soft warmth of her cheek.
Michelle rubbed her eyes, willing whatever emotion was welling up behind them away, and he, crippled by his anguish, rested his forehead against the wall. The video did not stop. The recording of her continued to talk directly to him. “I know you think you’re protecting us, protecting me, but this isn’t fair, Peter. I miss you. I miss you so much.” Her voice hitched, “It isn’t fair. I only just got you. Come home. Please.”
He knew she could not hear him. He knew she was not talking to him now. He knew this was a recording from hours earlier and, likely, the real MJ was asleep in her bed. But he could not help but reply, “I miss you, too.”
Peter lifted his head from the wall and looked into the holographic echoes of her eyes. “When I eventually find you, Peter Parker, you are in so much trouble. You have no idea.”
Her face faded. He grasped for the dimming image. She was gone.
EDITH indicated, “Recording ended.” Peter sucked in a harsh breath. “Do you need to see anything else?”
“No,” Peter scraped, shaking his head. “Thank you, EDITH.”
He succumbed to the heavy weight of his body and fell back into the arms of his bed. Peter curled in on himself and stared at the wall where the images of the people he loved once screened. He stared at that wall for quite some time, until sleep mercifully claimed him and dragged him headfirst into welcome dreaming where he was with them, again.