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She’d always thought it was kind of funny, the way the saying ‘life flashes before your eyes’ gets thrown around almost carelessly. One slip on the ice and your life flashes. One freak out over late bills and your life flashes. One heartbreak from your first real relationship ending before it even started and your life flashes.
It’s over-dramatic. It’s overused. When she thinks back, thinks about her life, the last thing she wants her final thoughts connected to is when she slipped on ice or freaked out over bills or nursed a heartache with a bottle of wine that she certainly wasn’t old enough to drink.
Michelle crumples back in her seat, the smell of burning rubber clogging her senses until everything starts to fade in the background. She thinks about how life and loss have always been intertwined. She thinks about how if her life were to flash before her eyes, she’d want her last thoughts to be of the people she’d be leaving behind, or of the people who had already left.
The familiar colors of red and blue are illuminating the sky, and she can’t help but smile at the sight as the ache of pain has started to fade now, darkness shrouding her vision until she can no longer feel anything at all.
golden hour.
Michelle’s had fleeting things for what feels like her entire life. She likes to think it started with a boy from elementary school whose name was Harry Osborn. He would always slip a Valentine into her cubbyhole with a package of candy hearts and a little sticker that read ‘you’re so sweet’ . Immediately, she thought he was going to be her crush forever.
She likes to think it continued in middle school when she had a beautiful friend, borderline girlfriend named Gwen Stacy—who always complimented her hair and let her eat the fruit cup off her lunch tray lest she got hungry afterwards. Michelle thought she was in love every time they linked arms and brushed noses. That wasn’t love but it was as close as she got until him.
Freshman year of high school, there was a boy whose glasses she nearly stepped on while swerving her way through the unfamiliar hallways. It was the same boy whose glasses she’d returned with a small smile, the same one who looked at her with owlish eyes like she was unfamiliar territory.
It was him who sat with her at lunch on the first day, along with his close friend Ned, and him who remained attached to her hip throughout their high school careers—even as they grew. Even as he became someone that the city of New York depended on after a field trip, and some days she could barely remember what it was like before when it was easier to be friends with him—though not any less worthwhile. Even as she tried to depend on him less so as to take more weight off his shoulders and helped herself grow in the process.
And yet, just when she thought things were getting easier, he left. Not out of the blue but it certainly felt that way then. She remembers his identity getting outed right as they’d finally made it on their first date after a terribly planned Europe science trip because he apparently really liked her. But that was all it took for him to leave with nothing more than a damp goodbye letter that smelled of salt.
Michelle recalls the all-nighters because she hadn’t been able to sleep, wondering how someone as kind-hearted and empathetic as he was could leave just like that. So carelessly and cruelly. She remembers thinking of him and then thinking fuck him and that’s all her thoughts going forward coincided as when she wasn’t missing her best friend.
She didn’t manage to distract herself from the situation for the six months that he was gone, though she acted as if she did when he returned once everything was back under wraps. She tried not to care and left when he showed up at her doorstep with a single black dahlia.
But then he’d caught up to her, caught her with an argument that nearly ended with Michelle wanting to throw something at him. She was out of sympathy and couldn’t bring herself to pity someone who’d willfully made the choices he had.
“Yeah, okay, Peter. Sure,” Michelle exhaled with a soft breath, scrubbing at her eyes until they burn, red from irritation or from tears she isn’t letting fall. “Look, I don’t want to do this back and forth thing, okay? I don’t...I don’t have the time or the patience or the stamina if we’re being honest. It’s been months, and I haven’t just been waiting around for you—”
“Are you with someone else?” His voice sounded fractured, and the audacity of him to even think that was beyond her.
“I haven’t just been waiting around for you because you knew well and good how I felt about you—and you left anyway, so what the fuck am I supposed to do with that? Protecting me is absolute bullshit. I’ve known you for years.” She’d inhaled sharply, her eyes stinging. “There’s nothing you can protect me from that I haven’t already seen. So cut it out, or I’m leaving you .”
“Okay. Okay,” he said wetly, nodding, taking a small step forward.
“Okay...what? You either want this or—”
“There’s no ‘or’. There’s never been an ‘or’ with you, Em.” Peter licked his lips, looking away, his throat bobbing. “I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I should’ve known...and I can say it again—I can say I’m sorry. But I’ve never stopped wanting this.”
Michelle had crossed her ankles, hands twisted behind her back as she stared at the ground rather than him. “Am I supposed to just believe you now?”
“You don’t have to. But everything I said six months ago...everything I said on the bridge—it’s all still true,” he said quietly, finally stepping close enough for her to count the freckles across his nose. “It’s your choice. Even if you don’t believe me or forgive me, I just wanted you to know. And now you can tell me to fuck off, or whatever’s going on inside your head because I can never tell when you look at me like that—”
Michelle didn’t cut him off. He just stopped talking when she wrapped her arms around him, his breath a shuddering thing. His lips found her hairline immediately, Peter keeping a tight hold on her as he whispered the same thing over and over again. That he was so sorry and that he missed her endlessly.
“You don’t have to fuck off, or stay away. But three strikes and you’re out, Pete. As long as you keep me in the loop without running, I’ll keep you around,” she responded with a half-smile, and he nodded slowly, eyes searching her face for signs that she could be lying. When he didn’t find any, he matched her half-smile until they made something whole.
That was six months ago, though Michelle remembers it far too well for someone who can’t keep track of anything for the life of her. She could blame it on him, seeing as he’s the one distracting her after all—pressing kisses to the nape of her neck as if they weren’t sitting on the roof of his apartment building, trying to enjoy their last date before going off to college.
She smiles into her arm, feeling the warmth of the humid evening seep through the fabric of her sweater. Peter’s humming the tune of a song she’s had on repeat, playing on her headphones all day—though that apparently didn’t stop him and his immaculate hearing from tuning in.
“Not such a bad day after all?” he murmurs against her shoulder, his hand sweeping her hair to one side of her neck. “Hey, I know you were moping around like a grump all morning. Heard it from May who heard it from Anna. But this...you’re having a good time right now?”
“Fishing for compliments? Fine, I’ll concede. Perfect lunch. Perfect view. Perfect afternoon, so yeah. I am having a good time,” she tells him, her tone sincere even if her words sound teasing. He cracks a grin, even more so when she laughs at his poor attempt to kiss her, Michelle ducking her head away. “Nice try, Pete.”
“Why not?” Peter asks, gaze flicking down to her lips, and she uses her forefinger to tilt his chin back up. He smirks slightly. “Dare I repeat myself?”
“Dare you,” Michelle says with a hushed laugh, his gaze softening. His thumb grazes her bottom lip before he leans forward, kissing her in the way he’s wanted to all afternoon. Maybe she’s been holding out on him. Maybe this moment made it worth it.
“I love you,” he mumbles quietly. Reverent. Habitual. “I’m gonna be beside myself when you’re gone.”
“Oh, shut up, asshole,” she huffs, but he shakes his head, eyes crinkling around the corners, lips pressed together in a curve.
“Not sarcasm, though you do rub off on me more than you think.” Peter hugs her tighter, smiling into the fabric of her sweater as she tries to flick him in the face. Doesn’t work out in her favor—she just gets a glimpse of his expression. Flushed and in love. “You’re going to miss me.”
“Oh, am I?” Michelle waits a beat to see his very predictable pout, his counter of ‘ I'm going to miss you, it’s only fair ’ “Hypothetically, yes, I’ll miss you. In practice, I’m sure I’ll be blocking your number and telling you to get out of my face by the end when you clog my email with memes.”
“As if you haven’t used that calculator one as your lock screen,” he huffs, but she opens her phone for him to reveal that no, it’s still a picture of the three of them. Peter, Ned, and Michelle—the way it should be. “Can’t believe you’re still using the one that’s got my bad side. Ouch.”
“Overruled. Ned and I’s good sides trump your bad side.” She puts her phone away, ignoring Peter’s lovesick expression that she sees seventeen out of twenty four hours. Her heart is kind of hammering in her throat when she says, “I’m not going to be that far from home. Just a few hours. We can visit often.”
“I know, I know,” he exhales, the shadow of something sad in his expression as he sits back before standing up. “It just won’t be the same because it only takes me two minutes to get to your place...and now it’ll take, like, two hours.”
“So what you’re saying is I’m not worth the trip.”
Peter’s eyes widen, stricken with panic, and he immediately steps forward, shaking his head. “No, no, of course that’s not what I’m—”
“You would think you’d know when I was messing with you by now, loser,” Michelle snickers, him taking her hands, probably her whole heart too as he pulls her to her feet, huffing in her ear with a fond annoyance. She memorizes the warmth of his touch, the way his breath fans against her cheek when he holds her like this. She loves him—can’t imagine losing that now.
“Sometimes I’ve got a thick skull. It varies day by day,” he mutters quietly, dusting light kisses against her skin. When he pulls back, she can see the way the sun dancing behind him outlines the silhouette of his head like a halo. She thinks he looks beautiful but he steals the line right out of her mouth. “God, you’re so beautiful, Em.”
Michelle squints slightly due to the yellow glow of the light in her eyes, raising a hand to shield her face—yet warmth still blooms in her cheeks. She smiles and her face hurts but her heart is doing so well. “I think of you the same way.”
“You wanna spell it out for me? Thick skull, remember?” Peter jokes, tapping his head with that stupid cheeky smile of his.
“Don't push it, sunshine,” she teases, dropping her head on his shoulder, and his arms come around her waist. It feels like they’re swaying, but maybe the earth is just moving for them. “I do love you though.”
“Well, my life can’t get better than that, can it? I’ve hit the jackpot,” he says with a snicker and serious eyes. She flicks him on the nose, files their afternoon in her brain as one of her favorite memories, and thinks that maybe she can imagine her future looking something like this.
The whirring is a constant thing. His voice is not. Her memories are not. Everything feels like it’s fading in and out and away.
“Michelle Jones, twenty-seven years old. Blunt force trauma to the head, chest, abdomen. Multiple contusions. Persistent hypotension after two bags of saline.”
“Pulse is thready at 130. I need four units of blood.”
“Bad MVA. Had to be extricated. Positive loss of consciousness at scene. She’s poorly responsive.” A beat. “Can you hear me, ma’am?”
“Possible bleeding in the brain. Her pupils are equal and reactive.”
“She’s got a flail chest in the right. I need a 36 French tube right now. Still hypotensive and tachycardic. Up to two fluid boluses.”
“She could be bleeding in her chest. Hang two units of blood on the infuser.”
“I need a trauma panel and x-ray, and cross her for four. And for the love of god, someone page surgery again!”
The whirring hushes into a dead silence.
sunset.
The evening glow that shines through her windows has started to sink below the horizon line, Michelle massaging her temples as she glances out her dorm window for the umpteenth time. Her neck is sore and her back is stiff and it feels like she’s aged decades within the entirety of a week because finals are killer.
She exhales quietly, pulling an earbud from one ear as she takes another sip of her ice cold glass of water. The clock switches from 5:59 to 6:00 in the evening, and thankfully, she doesn’t have any classes tomorrow, but she’s so exhausted for as early in the night it is.
Pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, the burn of them fading ever so slightly, she snaps her laptop shut and flops back onto her pillow, staring at the ceiling. Figures she’s wasting time, but if she looks at another study set, her brain might combust into little pieces that she can’t collect.
She closes her eyes, knows she’s calling it a rest when it might as well just be a nap—considering her phone is what wakes her up an hour later. Her computer nearly topples from the bed as she tries to reach her phone that’s lying facedown on the rug.
Without having to get up, she manages, blinking tiredly and not registering the caller ID before answering. Her voice is thick and weary and she hates the sound of it. “You rang?”
“MJ?”
“Did you buttdial or what? Why do you sound so confused?” she grumbles, pushing a hand through her hair as he breathes out what sounds like an amused sigh. He doesn’t say anything though, so she takes it as a sign to sink further under her sheets and hang up on him. “Send me a postcard. Goodbye—”
“Wait, wait, wait.” He’s laughing now, and she feels more awake. It’s fine—whatever. “Good morning to you, I guess. Sounds like you’ve been sleeping...very on-brand of me to wake you up. My bad.”
“It is your bad, yeah. I’ll forgive you just this once.” Michelle hides her smile in her pillow anyway. Maybe she’s missed him, and maybe his daily texts haven’t been as fulfilling as one phone call is to her—just to hear his voice. Scratch that, no ‘maybe’. She’s definitely missed him if admitting this to herself is enough to think so. “Are you calling because you’re bored?”
“I was calling with the sole purpose of leaving you a voicemail. I didn’t think you were going to pick up,” Peter tells her, humming to himself. “Only because it’s exam week and you always keep your phone on silent. But I had a few things I wanted to say to you, not over text.”
“Tell me,” she mumbles, propping her phone against her pillow and putting him on speaker. He laughs and it’s sheepish, almost shy now that she’s waiting expectantly. “I promise I won’t make fun of you if it’s cheesy or something.”
“I appreciate that.” Peter releases a breath, taking his sweet time. “I dunno, I just wanted to say something along the lines of...I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’re taking care of yourself and resting because I know how much pressure and stress you endure during finals week. I hope you’re drinking your water and listening to your podcasts and not worrying about ghosting me every once in a while. You come first. This is just...a love letter to you, I guess. A reminder that I adore you and that I miss you all the time.”
“Pete,” Michelle whispers, smiling into her arm, and he exhales a quiet laugh. “I love you, and I’m really glad I answered the phone. You spoil me with your words. They mean a lot.”
“You deserve all the words. I love you,” he murmurs, a reminder that’s out there simply because it can be and not because she truly needs to be reminded.
“I’ll be coming home soon.”
“There’s no rush, Em. I’ll wait for as long as you need.”
“I’m coming home to you, Peter,” Michelle tells him with a smaller smile, feeling an unprecedented tightness in her chest. He inhales slowly, a beat of silence on his end, and she’s about to ask him what he’s waiting for. But his answer cuts her in half for reasons she can’t process right now.
“I’ll always be here for you to come home to. But you’re in no rush,” Peter responds, and his voice is tender. Like he knows something she doesn’t. “You still have time. I don’t want you to waste it.”
“What do you mean?” Michelle thinks he’s talking in riddles as if coming back to him as soon as she’s able to would really be so bad.
“I mean...I want you to get some rest. I want you to be healthy and thriving and confident for the rest of your finals because that’s what’s important to you right now.” His breath stalls on his end of the call before continuing. “Do you want me to stay on the line until you fall back to sleep?”
“Okay,” she murmurs, forgetting about his evasive answers and letting her eyelids droop slightly, her face half smushed into the pillow. His gentle tone lulls her to sleep as he talks about his day, recounts his morning and evening patrols, his classes in between. But in the end, it’s his steady breathing and silence that she hears in her dreams.
The silence is too much without the sound of his breathing to go along with it. She wonders if her brain is simply being cruel to her in already cruel times. It’s not fair, the ache all over, the way her heart could be doing better. She wishes she could speak this to them.
“I’m ordering a head CT. We don’t know the extent of her head injury.”
“Look at the ultrasound.” A pointed pause. “She’s bleeding into her belly. We don’t have the time for a CT. She needs to go straight to the OR.”
Their voices fade in and out like a broken record. She just hears him, again and again, but she knows it’s only in her head—the only place his words echo now.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
Don’t sleep just yet, but rest.
You’re in no rush.
twilight.
“Always one to make a scene, aren’t you, Em?” Peter teases into her hair as his arms wrap around her tighter—acting as if he wasn’t the one who picked her up, the one who hadn’t spun in clumsy circles with her around his waist. It’s been that long. It’s been too long.
“Let me have my moment with my baby girl now, you fiend,” her mother grumbles, swatting at his shoulder. He’s sheepishly apologetic as he drops Michelle’s feet back to the ground, lets her fall into her mom’s open arms. “It’s no competition, but I’ve missed you more than he did, and that’s final.”
“Love you, Mama,” Michelle murmurs against her mother’s neck, feeling the kiss planted on top of her head. The last bits of warmth of the evening sun have faded beyond the horizon, leaving them with only the light purple glow of the sky. “Sorry I got home after dinner.”
“No worries, Meesh. Nothing good in the pot anyway.”
“I was gonna cook,” Peter pipes up, and her mom hushes him. He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck, Michelle wanting to laugh—so she does. The sound ricochets against the brick walls of their apartment building.
“Come over here,” Michelle says from over her mom’s shoulder, Peter’s face very owlish as he blinks. He eventually joins their hug, smushing her in the middle like a sandwich between two perfect slices of bread. “I’ve missed you guys. Halfway done with college now.”
“Halfway,” he murmurs against her shoulder before pulling back. They exchange stupid smiles, and it suddenly feels like she’s a teenager again, feeling the same adrenaline rush she’d gotten back when sneaking glances at him weren’t allowed. “Ned said he’ll be over tomorrow to visit. He’s made some memes he thought you’d appreciate.”
“Oh, goodie,” she hums, Peter smirking as the three of them head back into her apartment building. They all crowd into the elevator and then into the familiar living room that she hasn’t been in for months. Her heart stutters, which she ignores. “You got more plants, Mom?”
“Had to get something to fill this empty space. Anna told me to get a dog and when I didn’t, she went out and got one herself. Maybe you’ll wanna pay her a visit one day,” her mom says with a slight smile and a roll of her eyes. “Now I know you two are dying to get out of my face. Scram.”
Peter opens his mouth like a fish, probably about to say something completely irrelevant, but Michelle tugs him towards the hallway and into her old room where they’ve spent at least fifty percent of their childhood. The other fifty percent was in his, though those memories consisted of more blood and bandages, so she likes to think of them less frequently.
They don’t get further than the door when Peter has her pressed up against it, his lips skimming the sensitive skin of her neck. She exhales contently, her heartbeat spiking as she hears his words of affection littered all over.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he mutters incoherently, though she’s heard him say that enough by this point to guess.
“You know you could’ve always visited more,” she murmurs as a reminder, cupping his jaw and leading his lips to hers. His arm wraps around her waist until there’s no space between them.
“Classes and Spider-Man wouldn’t let me. The city never sleeps, you know,” Peter utters, lying her back against her mattress as she’s left to stare up at him. He’s reverent and soft with his gaze, but she thinks they’re too tired for anything tonight, so she coaxes him down next to her and they lie back to front.
“And apparently neither do you, Mr. Eyebags,” Michelle continues, hearing his petulant huff against her skin as he rubs circles along her back lightly. “But it’s summer again, so I like to think we’re both going to get some rest.”
“We should do something this summer.”
“Something like what?” She twists her body so that they’re lying face-to-face, his fingers tracing patterns against her arm. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, lost in thought, and it gives her a chance to drink him in, absorb the changes she’s missed in the few months they haven’t seen each other.
There’s not much, but his hair is a little curlier. His jawline is slightly more defined. His freckles are a little more prominent, and so are the frown lines and bags under his eyes. She brings her thumb up, traces it alongside his cheekbone, him leaning into her touch with a relaxed exhale.
“Something spontaneous, maybe. Something a little stupid?” Peter doesn’t really elaborate, and she has no idea where he’s getting at when it feels like every idea they’ve ever had seen being teenagers bordered spontaneous and stupid. “This might sound completely out of the blue, and I’m...sorry, I guess. But I’ve been thinking a lot while you’ve been gone.”
“That’s dangerous,” she whispers conspiratorially, her lips quirking as she tries masking her confusion. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking anyway.”
“What are your thoughts about...jewelry?”
“You know I love jewelry,” Michelle says with a small laugh, fingering the chain around her neck that feels as permanent as a tattoo. It’s just as broken as it was years ago, but it’s just as beautiful as it was then, too. “Why are you nervous?”
“What are your thoughts about rings?” he blurts out, and she pauses, her mind taking its sweet time to buffer. His face is red enough in the meantime, and he starts speaking before she can answer. “See, May has this really beautiful ring that Ben had given her...and she offered it to me a while ago. Said I could give it to you any time I wanted.”
“I like rings.” She coughs slightly, clears her throat, plasters a nervous smile on her face. “But I don’t know whether or not to be offended that you think giving me a ring would be stupid or concerned because we aren’t supposed to be lumped with the dumb youth who get...”
“Engaged during college?” His smile is small but steady. “It was an engagement ring, if I didn’t clarify. And I don’t think giving you this ring would be stupid. It’s just that I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and I’m not even sure if this is something you’d want, so I’m sorta flying by the seat of my pants…”
“Well. Tell me what you want and then I’ll tell you what I want.”
“I...well, I want a lot. With you. I know I bought you that dahlia necklace in Europe before we even had one date. I realized after only our third year mark that I don’t think there could ever be anyone else for me but you. Maybe that’s cheesy of me, but May’s always said when you know...you know. And we’re only in college, but it feels like I’ve loved you since we were, like, two years old—”
“We only met in freshman year. I nearly crushed your glasses, you nerd,” Michelle reminds him and wonders if it’s just her who’s getting teary-eyed because she can’t see his face all too well.
“It would’ve been love at first sight if I wasn’t as blind as a bat back then,” he teases before looking down again. “But I guess my point is that I want a life with you, and it doesn’t matter when or how. Just...in my experience, I do know that there’s never a lot of time to waste, so I wanted to get it out there.”
“I think we want a lot of the same things, Peter.” Michelle stares at her ceiling and watches as the shadows move. “And if I’m honest, I don’t have as much against being lumped with the dumb youths as I probably let on. Like, why not, right? If you know, you know.”
“You only live once,” Peter echoes in a quiet voice, and she smiles slightly, resting her head against his chest as his arm curls around her.
“So why wait,” she says with a light laugh, and his expression softens. He doesn’t do much else other than cup her jaw, bringing her closer until their lips touch and her heart beats in rhythm with his.
“This summer. This summer, I’ll surprise you. You’ll never see it coming,” he murmurs against her temple, pressing one more kiss there before the two of them drift off into the silence.
“My daughter, where is she —”
“She’ll be going into surgery really soon, ma’am.”
Her mother’s voice is muffled, but there are enough sharp gasps and pained sobs that she doesn’t have to hear what she’s saying to know what she’s saying.
Michelle is glad that her eyes are closed so that she can’t see her worst nightmare of fading in front of her family. She’s glad that her heart is already aching so much that it can’t possibly hurt any worse.
She lets her mind wander, and she wonders how bad the brain bleed must be if she’s imagining him there as well. Standing over her, smoothing her hair back.
You’re going to get through this, Em. You will. I love you.
She wants to sob. She wants to ask him one question.
Don't you miss me?
dusk.
“Fuck, I can’t see my toes,” Peter says with a slurred laugh, Ned joining in, and it takes the two of them to cap the bottle of vodka back up. Her fiancé lies next to his best friend on his back, the picnic blanket that they’ve set up a few miles away from his apartment wrinkling slightly. “Good idea, or—or bad idea?”
“Aren’t you supposed to have a higher tolerance to alcohol?” Michelle asks as she swallows the last bit of her wine, exchanging a look with Betty who seems as giddy as she does smug. “You know what, let ‘em go off.”
“They’re clearly having a good time,” Betty murmurs as an aside, snorting when Ned sharply pokes Peter right in the cheek with his forefinger, receiving a clumsy slap in return. “Cat fight.”
“Hey, Ned,” Peter speaks up, managing his first coherent sentence in a while, twisting his head to the left. “Did you know...did you know the next time you see me—I’ll be a married man?”
“Knew it all, buddy,” Ned replies with a hearty elbow to Peter’s ribs, him wheezing in return. “That’s why we’re here, hmm? To celebrate—!”
To celebrate. Michelle can’t help but feel giddy at the prospect, the idea that this was meant to be their informal bachelor and bachelorette parties before they go to the courthouse. And yet, this is infinitesimally more fun than anything she could’ve imagined with a big party.
Engaged just last summer—Peter sitting in May’s bathtub with his suit half peeled off and Michelle perched on the ledge, cleaning his remaining cuts and bruises from patrol. That’s when he produced his aunt’s ring out of nowhere. It was unconventional and a surprise to both of them at that moment, but he seemed so sure with his words and especially with his eyes.
“Yes,” she’d answered, blinking back tears. One splashed into the water of the tub, and he bit his lower lip to stifle his own.
“Yes, like...you wanna marry me?” Peter was smiling something with the undertone of awe and disbelief as if he didn’t already know her answer. She wanted to respond with ‘how many definitions of ‘yes’ are there to you?’ but instead, she simply wiped her eyes. And she said yes again.
They’re going on to their last year of college, which means Michelle will be moving back to New York soon enough after years of long distance. She considers this a milestone, and her heart might just implode at the idea that she has no idea what’s coming after the end—or if there’s even anything after the end for her. She hopes so—she didn’t get a degree for nothing.
“Hell to the fucking yeah,” Peter hums with a cough, Michelle watching on in amusement. That’s when Ned makes grabby hands for Betty, and her fiancé turns to her with big eyes and kissy lips. “Come celebrate with me, baby. C’mereee—”
“Shh,” Michelle hushes with a stifled smile, pressing the pad of her thumb gently against his lips. He falls silent, blinking owlishly at her, one of his hands grasping her wrist featherlight. “You’re being loud.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“You’ll scare the birds,” she continues in a softer tone even though the incessant chirping in the background is not ceasing to a stop, and his eyes fall into somewhat of a love-drunk state. Or, maybe just a plain drunken haze. But either way, he tugs her into his side, smothering a sloppy kiss to her cheek. “Pete—”
“Em,” he counters with a lazy grin, resting his forehead against her shoulder. Despite how relaxed he seems, his voice is unsteady, and she wants to tell him to take a rest there. “Michelle Jones. I’m so fucking lucky, don’t you think? You make me feel like I’ve won the jackpot every goddamn day, and I…”
What she doesn’t expect is for his voice to wobble or for him to start crying, and she’s woefully unprepared, a concerned frown tugging at her lips. She glances over at Ned and Betty who are lost in their own world, giggling something reminiscent of high school, before looking back at Peter. Her thumb traces his cheekbone, the salt of his tears stinging the cut on her hand.
“Sunshine,” Michelle whispers, almost teasingly slow. Lighthearted.
“Sweetheart,” Peter retaliates with a violent sniffle and a trying smile. He laces their hands together, uses their knot to dry his face. “I’m sorry, I think I drank too much. I just wanted to say that I’ll love you forever, but you make me super emotional and I’m getting snot on your sweater instead. Rain check?”
Michelle laughs despite herself and kisses his knuckles that are a little bruised from earlier in the evening. “You can tell me you love me tomorrow, if you’d like. Or really...any day after. We’re getting married.”
“Oh, my god. We’re getting married.” He’s smiling again.
“I’ll love you forever.”
“That was my line, you—” Peter plants a few kisses that are damp from his tears to the juncture between her shoulder and neck. “You menace. I’ll love you forever and then some.”
“Sounds like a promise,” Michelle hums quietly before turning her head straight again, her cheek coming to a rest atop his head. There’s a line of trees right across from them, silhouetted by the darkening shades of color that signals how far the sun has set. “Look at the sky, Pete.”
“It’s purple.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. It is.” His voice is low as he speaks, but she doesn’t know how he can see the sky when he’s tucking a curl behind her ear, the reflection of her the only thing in his eyes.
“Ma’am, we’re going to sedate you soon so we can secure your airway, alright?” The doctor is speaking, and while she’s glad to know what’s happening, the way the sentence tapered off as a question felt cruel. As if she could respond.
Her eyelids are just so heavy. Strength failing, head swimming, heart aching. She wants to cry, and she wants her mom.
But her mom is already there and she can’t do anything, so maybe that’s what makes it worse.
“You’re going to be fine, Miss Jones.”
You’re going to be fine, baby.
She can’t tell if it’s her mother’s words or his words floating around in her head like that as their voices are starting to get jumbled up now, echoing and hitting dead ends painfully.
But she isn’t sure if she should believe either of them.
midnight.
“No, I know what I signed up for. I should be used to this by now, huh?” Michelle asks, and she detests the way her voice crackles and stumbles. She massages her temple, ducking her head, feeling the kink in her neck at how long she’s been at this. “You didn’t see anything?”
May’s exhale is sharp and stilted, muffled like she’s covered the phone speaker. “I’ve been watching the news all night and this is the first time they’ve lost sight of him. But New York has been through worse. Hell, he’s been through worse. This is just a little...out of this world. Literally.”
“Fucking symbiotic aliens,” she responds, closing her eyes, perching on the foot of their bed. It’s a habit, she realizes, the way she twists her wedding ring each time Peter goes out. An instilled fear since they were kids that one day, she’ll be left on the other end of the phone call, stuck only with the words ‘we’re so sorry for your loss, ma’am’. “May, I’m just…”
“You know what, I’m coming over. Yes, I’m aware that it’s late, but neither of us should be...you shouldn’t have to be alone.” But May doesn’t hang up, not as she comes over to the apartment Michelle and Peter have just recently bought—the apartment that barely holds one person, let alone two.
But they’re broke after graduating college. It’s what they’ve got, and she’s more than happy with where they are. She’s happy that she can come home after her shitty starter job and find him cooking her dinner. She’s happy that they’re raising a strawberry plant together. She’s happy that they can fall asleep in the same bed and be assured that the other will still be there by morning.
Michelle’s just not happy being the one who’s left waiting constantly. She bites at her nails, aware that she’d agreed to this when she exchanged vows in the courthouse, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
“The door’s unlocked, May,” she says into the phone, rubbing her eyes.
“Unlocked? In this economy?” May’s smile is slight and weary, the frown lines on her face more prominent than anything right now. But they immediately greet each other with a lingering hug anyway. “I know, kiddo. I know.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Kind of wish Ned was too,” Michelle utters, lower lip between her teeth as she thinks about Ned and Betty vacationing to the Philippines to visit his family. “Like old times. We kinda had a system back then.”
“We’re simply learning a new system,” she responds with a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “He’ll get through this, yeah? He’s working with the police and Sam is down there, too. Coms cut off for us, but that doesn’t mean anything terrible has happened…”
Michelle’s smile wavers at the fact that May sounds like she’s trying to convince them both, so she walks over to the kitchen area and starts brewing some chamomile tea. She doesn’t look up from the pot as she speaks. “Thanks for suggesting to volunteer at FEAST, by the way. I really needed something to do on the weekends.”
“Oh, of course, dear. You’re already a hit with everyone—no surprise there.” May gratefully accepts the hot tea in a mug with ‘I <3 New York’ poorly printed on the side, withered and fading.
Michelle has her own mug with Spidey all over it. Peter hates it, which only encourages her to drink from it every chance she gets. It makes her heart pang slightly now, but again, he’s going to be fine. She shakes her head slightly, clears her throat, voice raspy as she says, “Hey, I knitted you that sweater.”
“That you did.” Her eyes are sparkling.
“Still as ugly and unfortunate as it was two years ago,” Michelle jokes slightly, May snorting, glancing down at the loose threads and fraying ends from too many times in the washing machine.
“Maybe so, and yet—here I am. Comfy as can be. My favorite sweater,” May hums, and the atmosphere suddenly doesn’t feel as heavy. Her hand comes over, covers Michelle’s, squeezing warmly.
Michelle is about to say something, probably along the familiar lines of ‘love you, May’, but the words get caught in her throat when she hears the bedroom window sliding open. She hastily puts her mug down, nearly burning herself with the hot liquid spilling over the edges, though she doesn’t feel it.
“Peter,” she immediately exhales after rushing in the room, taking in the damage—the ripped suit, a cracked eyepiece while the other is missing entirely, bruises mottling the visible skin she can see. He collapses in her arms, and she’s weighed to the ground.
“Em,” he exhales with an audible wince, Michelle pulling his mask off. Her hand comes up to guide his eyes to hers, being greeted that warm brown she’s so familiar with. He squeezes them shut, breathing out through his nose. “M—May’s here?”
“She’s here. We’re here.” Michelle bottles up her questions and her unbridled concern as she helps Peter stand, guiding him over to the bed. Together, they somehow manage to extract him from his tattered suit, which she figures she can throw in the wash before he sews it up for the billionth time.
It’s hard, Michelle thinks, her eyes stinging slightly when his flutter closed, the only sound being water running from the hallway bathroom as May grabs first aid. This has been routine since high school, and yet, her heart remains in her throat each and every time.
“Got it all right here,” May says on cue as she runs into the room, a warm washcloth on hand. She begins cleaning him up, tells him to stop squirming while Michelle bandages his bruised ribs.
“My favorite ladies,” Peter whispers through clenched teeth, muttering ouch! when Michelle puts pressure over a particularly tender area. She apologizes quietly, him shaking his head and finding her hand, her ring. “Always taking care of me and my stupid ass.”
“Your ass,” Michelle hums, smoothing hair from his forehead. He cracks an eye open to look at her, lips starting to curl up. “Is the least stupid thing about you. Learn to appreciate it, Parker.”
“I know you do,” he says with a smirk before wincing again when she slaps the last bandage on. “Ow, baby.”
“Where’s your pain tolerance, hon?” May teases gently, wiping the last of the dirt from his cheek before dropping the washcloth back in the bucket. She takes a step back, arms crossed against her chest in that typical ‘you give me gray hairs’ fashion.
“I think it got punched outta me. Ugh.” Peter closes his eyes again, muscles tense as he moves his head further back on the pillow.
“Did you get the...alien? Or whatever it was.”
“The symbiote? Pretty sure. I mean, we got some metal pipes and banged them together...plus some gasoline and a lighter and we burned it. And yet —” He shifts on the bed, playing with the threads of their comforter. “It’s still alive. But it’s weak and in a jar, so Sam is taking care of it.”
“That Sam. Glad he was around,” May murmurs with a small smile and then gives an indication that she’s going to step out for the night because, well, it’s bordering on one a.m. “I’ll give you two some space now and see you both tomorrow. We’re still on for brunch, right?”
“Didn’t survive today just to raincheck brunch, May,” Peter jokes, and she rolls her eyes to the ceiling before giving him a chaste kiss on the head, whispers the threat of breaking his collector’s edition of the Lego Death Star still displayed in her living room if he ever scares her like that again. “Oh, god. I’ll try not to. Please don’t hurt it.”
“Keep coming back in one piece, and I won’t.”
Peter’s grin softens into a smile. “Thanks for coming to check on me. I know it’s late, so you didn’t have to.”
“I’m always going to, Peter Benjamin Parker. But I didn’t just come for you,” she responds simply, turning to Michelle and opening her arms for a lasting hug. It’s grounding and steadying and warm. Feels like family. “I love you both very much. Take care.”
“Love you, May,” Michelle whispers when they pull apart, receiving a hand squeeze in return before she leaves the room, closing the door behind her. Turning to Peter, she sees him rubbing his lips together. “How do you feel?”
“Like I need someone to kiss me better,” he says cheekily, puckering his lips, and she snorts, sitting on the edge of the bed. She wonders if her worry isn’t quite as concealed as she would like as his playful expression melts into something more serious.
“Communication cut out. I was about to come save you myself, what with all the dumpsters you got thrown against,” she says lightly, jokingly, yet she knows she would do it if she had to. He knows that too, Peter giving her one of those smiles, fingers playing with her hand.
“My hero always. I love you.” He kisses her knuckles before patting her side of the bed with pleading eyes. She hums noncommittally, and he is petulant and pouty about it.
“I can’t stand you sometimes. Just being honest.”
“I know,” he murmurs, pulling her to his chest when she climbs into bed anyway, dropping a kiss to her temple. “And yet, you’re still here.”
“Because I love you more than I hate waiting for you to come home looking like you’ve been beaten to a bloody pulp. Doesn’t mean I enjoy seeing it, though,” Michelle admits, bringing a hand to his cheek, him kissing her palm softly. “It’s pretty scary not knowing if there’s going to be a day when someone’s not gonna make it home.”
“I don’t know about anyone else, but I’ll always make it home to you. One way or another,” Peter whispers, meeting her lips with his, and she closes her eyes.
“Don't make promises like that.”
He smiles sadly and gives her hand a squeeze, their rings clinking together. She loves the sound. “You and me ‘til the end, then. Whenever that is.”
“Are you two family of hers?”
There’s no hesitation. “Yes, we are.”
“They're with me,” her mother says quietly by her bedside, sounding like part of a lucid dream, but she continues on. “God, I would’ve called sooner but I—I couldn’t just—it’s…”
“It’s hard. Trust me, I know how this feels,” another voice whispers, and it’s May. Her tone is soft, barely audible, and could be broken if she allowed it to be. “But it’s MJ, okay? We know...we know she’ll make it through this.”
“I can’t believe this is happening. First—and now, I—” There’s Ned, and he’s crying. She doesn’t blame him, knows she’d be crying too if she weren’t about to be sedated, about to be on a ventilator. “MJ, if you can hear us, please—”
His voice fades out.
Another voice rings in her ears.
So help me, you are not leaving today, Michelle.
“Her pressure is holding. Maybe we should get the CT scan.”
“Too risky. She could bottom out in the scanner. We need to open her up, find the source of the bleeding,” the doctor says, and she wonders if she could be in worse hands than this. “We have to work fast, people. Let’s set up for an ex-lap. Coming through.”
early hours.
“Hey, what are you doing out here?”
“Sometimes I can’t sleep,” Michelle says with a small shrug, leaning against the wall as she sits on the fire escape. “Unfortunately for me, today was one of those days. And before you say anything, no, I didn’t have too much caffeine.”
Ned laughs softly and holds his hands up in an innocent manner. “I’d never out you and your unhealthy caffeine intake. Though, I guess you’re better than I am since you’ve got tea and I’ve got coffee 24/7. Can I come out?”
“Sure.” She waits until he’s out on the fire escape with her to ask about Peter. “Is he still sleeping? I know you guys, like, passed out at midnight playing video games in the living room, right?”
“Yes, that is totally what we were doing,” Ned says, suspiciously fast. He clears his throat and slides down next to her, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you come out here often? I mean...there’s not much to look at when it’s borderline three in the morning.”
“It’s New York. There’s always something to look at,” Michelle responds with a quiet laugh, elbowing him lightly. He shrugs, grinning, and they fall into a sort of comfortable silence that comes with morning hours like these, the streets silent save for a few loose pedestrians walking home from their night shifts. The stars aren’t visible, but she admittedly does like the darkness better.
The silence stretches in until it doesn’t, Ned leaning his head back against the wall and looking at her. “Hey, are you happy?”
“An odd question, Leeds,” she hums, giving him a look and a half-smile. “Like right here, right now? Because trust me, I could be happier. It’s three in the morning, after all, and my eyeballs are burning holes through my head every time I shut them.”
Ned laughs and then shrugs, a smile playing on his own lips. “Just in general, I guess. I mean, we don’t really talk about these things because I can usually tell without asking, but it’s been harder to read you lately.”
Michelle chews the inside of her cheek as she thinks about the fleeting moments of anger and sadness and frustration she’s felt within the past few months especially. She thinks how few and far between they are when compared to the feeling she gets when she goes over to May’s to bake bread, or when Peter comes back from a patrol unscathed and insists on taking a bath with her, or when she has small talks like these with Ned.
“To answer your question...yeah. I like to think I am pretty happy. That’s how I’d sum it up at least, living the way I want to with the people I love.” She knows that it’s the only way she can imagine her future—surrounded by love.
“I’m happy that you’re happy. We’ve got something good and solid here,” Ned says with a crooked grin, and she knocks her knee into his. “I think it’ll last.”
“Cheers to that,” Peter’s voice calls out, Michelle looking back to see him trying to balance three mugs in his hands while climbing onto the fire escape with them. He gives her a knowing smile, aware this isn’t the first time he’s caught her on the fire escape in the early hours of the day. “Your tea, m’lady. And your coffee, good sir.”
Ned smirks as he takes the foamy coffee, already taking a sip. “Wow, I love having a servant, thank you.”
Peter snorts and then has a seat cross-legged next to Michelle, offering his shoulder for her to rest her head on. She does, cupping the warm mug between two hands, the steam floating up into the air.
“How are we feeling?”
“Pretty good,” she says, feeling his lips brush her hair.
“You don’t feel old? Like you’re gonna keel over and complain about your aching back to me each evening,” he teases, and she nearly spills her scalding hot tea on him on purpose.
“You would know.”
Peter laughs, smoothing his hand over her knuckles. “My joints always ache. I can never tell if it’s because I’m old or not.”
“We’re not old yet,” Michelle huffs with a roll of her eyes, and he hums noncommittally.
“With all that I do for a living, I have the right to consider myself old. You’re young. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” he replies with a tone she doesn’t quite like, but she’s grown so used to it now. Acceptance of the inevitable. “Happy birthday, Em.”
“Happy birthday, MJ,” Ned adds with a wry smile, lifting his mug in cheers.
Michelle hopes yet again that moments like these will last and considers it her one and only birthday wish, raising her own mug as she says, “To twenty-five.”
The three of them clink, and it somehow feels like the beginning of an end.
“The colon’s avulsed. We’ll need to respect and create a temporary colostomy. She’s got a grade-2 splenic lac.”
“Let’s leave it,” the other surgeon says quickly. “Check the four quadrants. Make sure to check the retrohepatic space as well.”
The beeping speeds up. She thought she was meant to be asleep, but her mind just won’t rest. Someone says something about stats dropping, the high pitched humming continuing, almost piercing. It doesn’t sound the same, which makes her wonder if she’s even in the operating room anymore.
“Shit. She’s got a huge hemothorax. We’ve gotta open her chest.” A brief pause, a shuffling of feet. “Thoracotomy tray. Scalpel.”
“She’s still hypotensive.”
“I can’t find any lung laceration.” Another beat. “Hilum’s intact. She’s not bleeding into her chest.”
“This makes no sense. We’re missing something.”
Their voices become muffled again, and she feels like she’s floating a bit, not registering the light they’ve shined into her eye. More shuffling, but it’s rushed and purposeful. She doesn’t know if they’re too late or not.
“They’re not too late.” It’s no longer just in her head.
“How do you know?” Michelle asks quietly, somehow managing to sit up from the table, moving away from her body as she sees him standing in the corner of the room. He looks the way he always has—loving, kind, worried for her, and the urge to run to him is strong. “The fact that you’re here tells me everything.”
“I like to think that me meeting you again is the universe rooting for us. But I want to save that for later, after you’ve had more time,” he says with glassy eyes before she hears the sound of the heart monitor flatline.
dawn.
Michelle knew it was coming. She’s known ever since she started leaving her window open as a teenager, and the idea had only solidified when he kept coming to her like she was some sort of home for him, and when she said yes to his early proposal and then their vows. She’s known all this time, and yet, she can’t quite wrap her head around the concept that maybe it’s actually here.
It’s still dark out, but the sky is turning a lighter shade of purple. She doesn’t jog. She runs. All the way out of their apartment, down the street, pushing past people who would have no idea what this feels like, the fact that she’s running toward an end without any clue how to handle it.
The first thing she smells is the smoke, and then she sees the fire. It wasn’t a big explosion, barely even large enough to take down a small home, but it was enough to distract him.
Wheezing, the dirty air burning her eyes, Michelle can’t see much through the thick of panic and fighting. She knows he’s not in the fight anymore, thrown off to the side somewhere, the remainder of the Avengers taking over as if Morlun needed all of them and her husband could only be left to her.
“You’re so—god, you know, sometimes I really hate you. Like right now. Right now, I hate you,” Michelle says with force, kneeling in front of him after she finds him in an alley off to the side as if he crawled there himself. She peels his mask off, not giving two damns anymore.
“I know, baby,” he coughs, his eyes gentle and his lips coated with blood.
“I’ve come to save your fucking ass,” she continues, biting her lower lip hard enough to make it hurt but not enough to distract her.
Peter wheezes, blinking rapidly, his left arm still gripping his torso, and she can tell he’s in pain. But he still smiles for her, the same as it’s been for all his life. “My hero—always. My love.”
“I called Ned and May before I left, so they’ll be here to help me, alright?” Michelle inhales sharply, using her forearm to dry her eyes. Her heart doesn’t feel quite right. “You’re not allowed to die at twenty-six, you know that? Because that’s not okay. That’s rude.”
“I’ve always been a bit rude,” he manages with a weak laugh, eyelids drooping a little, and she sees the blood seeping onto the concrete, staining it red. She doesn’t know what she can do—if anything. Maybe if he wasn’t in such bad shape when she got there, but she got there late because she ran—refused to be the one waiting to hear about it from someone else. “MJ, can I just…”
“No.”
Michelle made the wrong decision. She should’ve stayed home because that would’ve been infinitesimally less painful than this, but then. That would’ve also been saving herself rather than saving him—if this can even be considering saving. Maybe comforting him is the more accurate phrase.
“Em,” Peter whispers, and he tries to sit up, but his face scrunches up in pain. She thinks that’s good, him feeling pain. That means it’s not too late. “I’m so glad I got to marry you early. I’m glad I got so many things with you, and—and I’m sorry—that it wasn’t long enough.”
“Was it good enough for you, at least?” she asks softly, swallowing the lump in her throat, finding his hand. He squeezes hers weakly.
“It was perfect for me. But of course I’d say that,” he wheezes, eyes watering, and she moves closer to him, resting a palm to his cheek as if she’s not shaking. “You’re perfect for me.”
“The ambulance is almost here. May and Ned will be as well. You have to wait for them.” Michelle smiles faintly, her cheeks wet and vision blurry. “So perk up, sunshine.”
“Please.” He heaves a tired breath, not clutching his abdomen so hard, and it hits her how final this is. “I’m not the sun. It’s always been you.”
“The sun’s not even up yet.” The sirens are closer, and he leans his head against her chest, her fingers raking through his matted curls. “Stay with me until it is, okay? Stay with me, Pete.”
Peter doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes her fingers, and she’s glad she can’t see his face. More importantly, she’s glad he can’t see hers.
“Love you, sunshine.” It takes him a minute to whisper, lips brushing her collarbone.
The sun never makes it to the horizon.
“It doesn’t sound too good, Pete,” she says, and she can’t bring herself to look back at the surgeons trying their best to bring her back, but they didn’t have the right knowledge at the start. “I know you hate that I’m here, but I can’t really help that.”
“I hate that you’re here so soon. I’ve been waiting for you, you know? I’d wait for you forever. But it’s barely been any time,” Peter tells her, approaching, and she dries her cheek against his t-shirt when he wraps his arms around her. It’s a weird sensation, like she can feel him solidly but also it would only take one push to go through him. “You need to go back. Please.”
“But if I can’t,” Michelle whispers, and he shakes his head, lips pressed to her hairline. “Pete, realistically, those doctors are trying, but if I can’t ...I’ll have to find a way to be okay with that. And so will you.”
“Yeah. I guess,” he says but doesn’t sound happy. He sounds defeated, sad, every emotion she should be feeling right now. And she is, but she’s also feeling the idea of acceptance.
Her body is fighting to stay alive as they defibrillate her heart, the beating returning sporadically, but they keep trying. She’s just not in her own head right now—as much as she’d like to go back.
“I know you’ve missed me, so stop pouting.” She can feel the way he’s missed her in the same way she’s missed him—still misses him even now, even as she’s started to heal. It’s only been a year, the ache still there, but the hole doesn’t feel as gaping, like there’s a bridge she’s started to cross.
“Of course I’ve missed you. But I’ve been around. I see you, and I see May and Ned and your mother. I see all of you together.” He smiles wetly. “The way it should be.”
“Okay, Casper,” she says with a sharp inhale, hoping crying isn’t an option right now. “Unfortunately for me, I don’t have the luxury of seeing you back, and I’m not...I think about you all that I can because that’s what I have left of you.”
“Em,” Peter utters, broken, cupping her jaw.
“I don’t want to be the one to let go,” Michelle admits, and her eyes sting, a tear leaking down her cheek despite her hardest attempts. “But maybe I don’t have a choice. Maybe it’s just my time. And maybe since you’re here, it won’t be so hard to accept. We all have to die eventually, yeah?”
“We do,” he says with a sad smile, kissing her tears. “You’re crying, baby. What can I do?”
“I don’t know. You can just stay here with me for now,” she manages, her voice failing her, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek. He merely nods, pulling her back into his arms, kissing her head again.
“For how long?”
“A while would be nice.” Michelle hears him inhale slowly, his hand rubbing her lower back, and she thinks about what happened a year ago. She thinks about how he still owes her. “But I’ll settle for until the sun rises.”
sunrise.
“You come here in the mornings?” Ned asks her, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he squeezes her hand, a comforting move. They’ve adopted a lot of those habits, familial actions. “I usually come in the evenings. Maybe that’s how we always miss each other.”
“Glad we’ve made it a group outing this time,” she replies softly, the two of them walking into the cemetery with only the sound of the mourning doves cooing in the background. “I know I probably woke you up, but today...I don’t think I could’ve come alone today.”
“It’s okay, MJ. My sleep schedule is fucked anyway,” he says with a light laugh, and she manages a small smile. They both duck their heads respectively, her eyes already falling on where he’s been buried.
They managed to get the plot next to Ben, and Michelle’s heart pangs when she thinks about how it was meant to be for May. Whoever passed next, that’s who it was meant to be for, but no one expects their kid to go before them. And all it means now is that he’ll be in between two of the people who loved him most.
Michelle kneels on the grass that’s still dewey and wets her lips, knowing she typically doesn’t plan on saying much. But her hands fiddle with the rings dangling from her broken necklace that dates back to ten years ago when they were sixteen.
“Hey, Pete. Look at us. We’ve finally stopped coming separately,” Michelle murmurs, quiet, and Ned sits next to her, eyes tracing the words engraved on the stone. She thinks it’s the most accurate description because really, all it needs to say is loved. And it does. “Ned and I are going to go visit my mom and May after this. We’re, uh, gonna spend the day...cooking. And knitting. Sounds mundane, but you know. You loved those things, too.”
“I’m gonna knit a sweater for Anna’s dog. MJ’s mom will probably laugh me off, but she’ll say her sister will love it anyway,” Ned adds with a soft smile. “You would also laugh me off, but I know you know that I’m better at knitting than you. And MJ is better than both of us.”
“Damn straight,” she says, looking at Ned to find him smirking back. “Ned wants me to start drawing him—as if I haven’t been doing that all these years already—”
“Excuse me, what now?” he asks, laughing, and she snorts.
“I draw people in crisis, Leeds. Trust me when I say I’ve had plenty of source material ever since high school,” Michelle drawls, his eyes widening comically before he breaks into a grin. “Don’t worry, I always got your good side.”
Ned purses his lips, teasing. “As if I’ve ever had a bad side.”
“You know what, you’re right. That was always Pete.” Michelle’s lips curl up ever so slightly as she nudges the headstone with her foot. “We love you...so much. All of us. But you already knew that.”
“Just came to remind you so your ghost-ass can get a big head,” Ned says, swallowing thickly as he places his hand on the stone, lingering. “Love you, buddy. Don’t be building any LEGO Death Stars up there without me.”
Ned stands up first, brushing his pants off, and he looks at her before nodding, giving her a minute to say her last few words. She doesn’t have much, just closes her eyes and takes a moment to say, “Happy anniversary, loser. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep celebrating enough for the two of us.”
The morning sunbeams start cracking through the trees, shining on the top of his headstone as she stands. The light is in her eyes when she turns around, having to raise a hand to her face to shield it. But she manages a smile as she rejoins with Ned, and eventually, with her mother and May.
Her heart doesn’t ache any less as the weeks and months have passed since that moment, but she thinks that they as a family are slowly bridging that hole he’d left behind, day by day. Just enough for them to cross over to each other again.
The doctors say they don’t know when or if she’ll wake up. They say it depends from person to person, but she’s held on for this long.
“It’s been a while. I don’t know how much more I should be waiting,” Michelle says tentatively as she sits at the foot of her hospital bed, staring at her body, bandaged and bruised. She thinks she could be healing, the neurosurgeon arriving on time and operating like he knew what he was doing, which gave her a flash of hope.
But she’s been unconscious for days, even after they were able to bring her heart rate back, finish the operation. She wonders if it’s that much harder for her loved ones if she’s half-dead rather than fully dead.
“I’m not going to tell you what I think, but I’ll tell you that I have enough hope for the both of us,” Peter murmurs, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles, and she smiles wryly. “And I know they have hope, too. May, your mom, Ned...they keep coming back. And they smile a little wider each time they talk to a doctor.”
“If it’s supposed to be good news, then why aren’t I...you know. Waking up,” she exhales, frustrated and on the verge of moving away from him, but she doesn’t. Although with the way he’s looking at her—as if she should already know the reason—it makes her want to.
“You’re a fighter, but god, you are so stubborn as well,” he says with a small smile, pushing a curl behind her ear, and she snorts. He’s known this about her for years. “I don’t want to say you have any qualms about returning, but you need to want it more than you want to stay here.”
“I do want it.” She swallows thickly, and his eyes are gentle, free of judgement. “I do, truly...but I can't lie and say that it doesn’t feel nice to rest.”
“I’m sorry that you have to make this choice,” Peter whispers, tilting his lips slightly, expression a bit sad as if he wishes he could take her pain, but she doesn’t feel any. That’s the beauty of this. Nothing hurts anymore.
She doesn’t say anything, bringing her knees up to her chest, leaning against him. Her eyelids are heavy, even now, but she watches as her mother comes in with hollow cheeks and a damp smile. The words are whispered to her forehead, her hair smoothed back.
Her eyes sting when she closes them, thinks about her life of twenty-seven years. She thinks about how much she’s lived and hasn’t lived at the same time, wonders if she were to open her eyes again, would anything change or would the cycle remain the same. She thinks it would be nice to find out herself. Loss is a permanent thing, but so is love.
Michelle does wonder briefly if she’d ever find this type of love again, the kind she had with Peter. But then, even if she doesn’t, she thinks that would be okay. She has enough right here to last her a lifetime and then some.
Inhaling slowly, Michelle feels the pressure on her chest start to deflate. She twists the rings in her necklace in her fingers and looks at him, sees his small smile, his expression that says he can guess what she’s thinking.
“Hey.”
“Hey, sunshine.”
“I cannot stand you,” she says, but it’s soft and gets a laugh out of him. He squeezes her tighter for a moment before his grip loosens slightly, and she blinks a few tears with her breathless chuckle. “But you already know how nice it was to see you again.”
“I’d have to agree, or else I’d sound like a shitty husband,” he teases, but his eyes are just as glazed over as hers. “Even in these less than ideal circumstances, you’ve made my life, Michelle. Or afterlife, I should say. We already know both are true.”
“I’ll always love you, Pete,” Michelle murmurs, her tone softening, and he kisses her temple, but she can barely feel it this time, everything about her body feeling more solid by the second. Like she’s no longer floating, but surviving.
“Michelle,” Peter says with a wet smile, cupping her cheek. “I’ll always love you as well. And I’ll still be here when you’re ready. I’m just glad you’ve decided that that’s not right now.”
The beeping of her heart monitor gets steadier, louder as they let go of each other. She glances out the window, the sun starting to peak above the horizon line, before smiling at him once more.
“Thanks for coming through and staying this time.”
And he’s there. He’s right there at the foot of her bed with a soft smile that no one else can see. But he folds his hands into the shape of a heart above his own, mouthing those three words she’s so familiar with, before disappearing from her sight as well.
The sun rises higher in the sky, the start of a new day, and Michelle slowly, but without a doubt, breathes again.