Chapter Text
When Michelle was a little girl, she’d loved Peter Pan. She’d worn out the video cassette that had belonged to her mother, singing along with the Rasinettes commercial before the feature presentation, her face glued to the screen as Mary Martin chased her shadow around the nursery. She liked to consider it her first foray into feminism.
She always wanted to fly. And when her mother would drink too much, she’d curl up in the corner of her room, plugging her headphones into the old tv, closing her eyes and thinking about soaring above the trees, escaping this place.
Life wasn’t a fairytale.
Somewhere around the age of 7 she’d realized that her general after school activities consisted of hiding in her room unless she was summoned to make a drink for her mom that she’d memorized. The therapist she’d been sent to after her mom disappeared made sure she understood the value of writing down her feelings. At that point, she’d been an angry kid. Her dad was a prolific writer, a professor. She was quick with words, quick to learn anything, really, but most of all liked to draw other people in crisis so she didn’t have to think about her own. She catalogued her days, too- journal after journal of drawings, scribbles, venting.
He traveled a lot. But she was fine. She’d always been fine. They had an understanding. Her aunt was nearby, although Michelle rarely visited her. Michelle was better at taking care of herself because that’s what she’d learned to do.
So it was fine. Everything was fine and she would be fine.
Up until a few weeks ago.
“You remind me of Peter Pan”
“Wrong Peter,” He’d whispered against her lips, and she smiled against him.
“You can fly,’ she said softly, lacing her hands with his.
“Not away from all of this,” he’d said, twirling her around the rooftop. The stars were out.
’”If you could, would you take me with you?” She’d ventured, and he smiled against her shoulder.
“I’ll never leave you by choice,” he assured her, brushing a stray hair out of her face.
“How fatalist of you,” she said quietly, leaning her head on his shoulder.
The sky was darkening, the color fading from the scene like a burnt piece of film. He wasn’t there.
Why was she there? It was so cold, and so dark, she didn’t remember going up on the rooftop.
She woken to her father staring at her, annoyed, asking again if they’d found any drugs or alcohol in her system. Was she in a hospital? Of course he would think she was drunk, of course he would. Worst case scenario William.
“Your daughter was seriously injured, Mr Jones,” the doctor said.
“Mmnot Drunk," she slurred, angry with him, her eyes narrowed. Her back hurt, her sides hurt, her ribs were aching. Before he could even count all the injuries in her head, the pain was replaced by panic, clawing away at her chest. She had to get out of here. She had to get, somewhere? Why was she here?
“How does someone just turn up at Captain Liberty? It’s not even open to the public yet-“ he responded, his voice softening, as she closed her eyes tightly, wondering why everything was so hazy. Why did everything feel so dim? Was it the drugs? She noticed an IV next to her and decided that must be it, because life wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It certainly wasn’t supposed to look like this.
“Doctor Strange found her and her classmate at the base…he didn’t know why they were there…he couldn’t answer any of our questions, actually…he portalled them into this hospital…and…left?” The woman said finally, turning to stare at Michelle, her head tilted to the side.
“The Avenger,” Her dad clarified, and the woman sighed, looking out the window for a moment.
“Well I don’t think he necessarily considers himself an Avenger-“ she mused, looking back over at Michelle when she sat up suddenly, ignoring the pain blooming across her chest. What the hell had happened to her? Why couldn’t she remember? Something was wrong.
“I have to get out of here,” she insisted, under her breath, “I-“
“Michelle, you have a fractured tailbone, two fractured ribs, and are showing signs of a concussion-“Well that would explain the pain. But what about everything else? It had to be the drugs, but if she could just get out of here, get off them, maybe she’d be fine? It didn’t seem like a solid hypothesis, but it was all she had. The panic was taking over again.
‘I have to go-“she stressed to them, panicked, “I have to find-“
“To where, exactly? Ned’s fine, he was in better shape than you. I just talked to Lola” her dad responded, his hands on his hips. The more she tried to think about it, the more her temple throbbed.
“I don’t-“ she wanted to kick at the drugs trying to hold her back,”Dr Strange?”she asked her, staring at the doctor. The doctor seemed to understand that something was off, and ran a hand through her hair.
“I can try talking to Steven tomorrow,” the doctor offered, finally, and Michelle squinted at her.
“Steven?” She questioned, and winced again. Her head felt like it was being put through a meat grinder.
“My name is Doctor Palmer, we’re going to give you something stronger for the pain, okay?” She shook her head, “It’s going to make you a little loopy for a bit, but you’ll be able to rest.”
She felt warm and liquid again, her eyes starting to slide shut even as her body tried to stay awake. What was going on?
“But I have to go-“she mumbled, her eyes sliding shut.
Waking up at home, a few days after she was released from the hospital, she felt the warmth of dreaming melt into something more….gray.
This was her room, painted dark purple, sketches pinned to the walls, soft Christmas lights aglow. A bottle of muscle relaxants sat on the side table, mostly used up at this point. Her body still ached, but the pain had started to fade, In its place was something she could describe as a hollow. Like someone had taken a scalpel and carved something out of her being. She felt raw. It wasn’t unlike the feeling after her Mother had left, but she couldn’t assign the void. It was just..there, sucking the life out of her existence.
Why was her phone yodeling. When had she changed her text alert to a yodel? Why was her phone on loud? She slapped a hand over it, flicking the switch. She’d text Ned later. Her clock told her it was 7am.
That must have been what had woken her up. She was annoyed. She put a hand over her eyes, squinting against the vertigo that had hit her upon trying to sit up. A moment later, she opened her eyes cautiously, and frowned. Everything was still dull. Lackluster. Cold, Dull, and not just because it had been cloudy for days. It was something else. Everything was just…it was like she was looking at a still life painting. She reasoned that looking at her belongings, at her room, at her house, at herself even, should give herself some sort of emotion, but there was just a lack of feeling. A lack of color.
Her dream had been bright, colorful, saturated. Her temple throbbed steadily as she squinted, trying to hold onto the last threads of the color. She was warm, her eyes closed to the bright sun. She had been outside, on a roof maybe?
Her hand was clutched around someones wrist, her fingers pressed to their pulse point. It beat much faster than she recognized as normal. Why was that comforting to her? She was pressed against their side, her free hand laying across their chest. She felt safe.
“My dad found a spider in the kitchen and told me to take it out” she’d joked.
Why was she laughing?
“Did you tell him you were already dating a…Ouch!“
She remembered jabbing the person in the side with her finger, and squeaking when the person pulled her closer, spooning behind her with their head resting on top of hers.
“I don’t want to go back down there. I want to stay up here with you,” he said, as the warning bell rang, replacing their moment of calm with one of anxiety.
She tried desperately to turn her neck, to see who it was, but she couldn’t.
The dream had melted away before she could grab onto it, like water in her hands.
Maybe she should start writing things down. Maybe that would help? Michelle was almost positive she’d never cuddled with anyone. She played with the necklace around her neck, trying to get some sort of emotion from it. Nothing. She was content to lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, moping about something she couldn’t recollect, when a voice carried up the stairs, catching her off guard.
“I’m here to talk to you about your daughter,” she frowned, forcing herself to get to her feet even though walking through the hallway felt like she was seeing through fish eye glasses. Concussions sucked.
A smartly dressed woman, her strawberry hair pulled back in a low ponytail, sat with her father on the couch. They didn’t see her, sitting cross legged at the top of the stairs, listening.
“I don’t understand, “her father said, his forehead furrowed, “What does this have to do with…” The woman cut him off.
“Your daughters things were found at the scene of an attack-we haven’t been able to piece together exactly what happened, but I do know that some of Tony…my late husband….his equipment was involved in the incident at the Statue of Liberty. I wanted to make sure she had her things back- and also that she was able to carry on with life without any repercussions for her involvement. I’ve made sure her name was kept out of any pending litigation,” the woman said softly. Pepper Potts? Why was she here? What litigation?
“Michelle doesn’t remember anything from that night,or the days before, so I’m sorry if you were hoping to…” Pepper cut him off again.
“No, it’s alright. That’s not why I came. I looked into your background, and realized she’d been rejected from MIT. I’m sure you’re aware the Stark Foundation gives scholarships and grants to MIT through the September foundation. I’ve pulled some strings for both of them…I know helping Spiderman wasn’t showing them in a positive light..Tony was…” Pepper trailed off finally, wringing her hands. She looked like she was hiding something. she looked like someone in crisis. And Spiderman. Where had he been? She hadn’t seen him since Europe, right? Her temple exploded with pain, and she pressed at her brow bone, trying to massage away the migraine that was developing.
“Why would you do that for two high schoolers you have never met?“ her father asked. Pepper looked to the left, swallowing. She was lying. Michelle was sure of it.
“Because Tony would have. Tony and Spiderman were…close…”She squinted, and Michelle frowned,”He never got the chance to mentor students like your daughter, and he won’t get to see his daughter grow up. He believed in second chances, and if Mr Leeds and Michelle did the right thing, they should be granted one,” Pepper said, meeting his eyes.
She took a large envelope out of a briefcase, and handed it over to him.
“The acceptance information is in that packet, as well as my card.” she left in a rush after that, her father sitting on the couch, staring at the envelope in front of him, clearly as confused as Michelle was.
It was the first of many perplexing things in the coming weeks. She should be happy, thrilled even. She was aware she probably shouldn’t have listened in on the conversation. But all she could think about was the void where the last week should have been, and the dream. Bits and pieces kept coming back, but they didn’t feel right. They felt forced, like putting a round peg in a square hole.
The feelings continued to follow her, ever present, invisible to seemingly everyone but her. In the lunchroom when she was allowed back at school, at decathlon practice, at Neds dining room table. Ned, always willing to overshare in times of shared anxiety, was a non-stop talking machine in the weeks after the event. It broke through the bubble of gray, lifeless existence the Michelle had decided was her new normal.
Expect disappointment and you’ll never be disappointed.
Ned didn’t have a concussion, and he couldn’t remember anything either. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t seem to be impacted by the void as much as her. Either that or he was so good at hiding the impact. She did catch him staring at her far too often, and had threatened to end him unless he stopped pitying her.
Ned was too, bouncy to be upset. Confusion would drift across his face every so often, but unlike Michelle, he was able to shake it off. Even as it followed them everywhere.
It followed them to Delmars, where she insisted on ordering a sandwich she’d never asked for in the past, asking for it to be smashed. Asking for pickles. She’d never liked pickles before. It was a good sandwich. She was unsure why she was so determined to eat it. It followed her when she was at the corner store, where she bought a churro once a week at lunch to eat on the roof at school, and to a Vietnamese restaurant in Brooklyn she’d never been to before but had been determined to visit.
It followed Ned when he couldn’t find Lego sets he’d sworn were built and in his room, and when he insisted on watching Star Wars monthly, and when pictures he swore he had taken were gone.They didn’t know how to address the gap, so instead they focused on the solid, non-confusing things in their lives. College, school, working.
At least for her, it felt something was building. It was like anticipation, but like a rubber band about to snap. Something was fighting to get to the surface of her consciousness, pushing against the dim, the hollow feeling in her chest. Every time she wanted to write it down, something stopped her. Every time she tried to draw it, she just drew the flower from her necklace.
And then it came to a head.
She was falling, her mouth open in a silent scream. Someone caught her, and the impact knocked the wind out of her. He was crying. She was more concerned about his hunched shoulders than how her body ached. They were talking, but. It was fast. She couldn’t make the words out.
Blurs of Red, Blue, Gold? Green? There was relief, and then despair, and then she was falling again.
It felt like her consciousness was tumbling like Alice down the rabbit hole, splintering Except this time, there was no one to catch her. She stumbled for purchase. She didn’t want to fall, she didn’t want to go, she didn’t want to forget…
Her father was there when she woke up, screaming, sobbing, in the middle of what her therapist would later tell her was her first panic attack. He helped her count down from ten, find things she could hold, things she could see, things she knew were real. But none of this felt real.
The day of the panic attack, Ned had bounced into school on a cloud, announcing that he’d been visited by a wizard. His excitement outshined any nagging insistence she had to tell him. She knew he saw gaps too. But it was like he was insulated from the impact. He seemed to be sleeping fine, eating, and having a much easier time at putting things back together. Betty had run into him earlier in the week, and the two were slowly moving back towards being a couple.
Ned was going to start learning from someone named Wong, and Michelle was happy for him, she was. He had outlets. She had a job at the worst donut shop in Queens, and decathlon, but not much else.
So She never told Ned about the dreams. He was so excited about MIT and about the lessons, and even though she knew he was noticing how bad she was sleeping, dark circles under her eyes, her sarcasm more biting than usual, it remained the elephant in the room. She would just re-direct to the latest Star Wars news, to questions about Betty, to questions about magic.
She wondered if getting away from Midtown would make things simpler. Away from New York. If she could just hold on, maybe the change in scenery would help. At least that’s what her therapist said. Everything felt blank, dark, muted, like a picture where the color saturation had been turned down too low. Faded. Hazy. But she was trying to do what the therapist said. Keep Busy, Read, see her other friends. And that’s what led her here, to her favorite bookstore the week before Thanksgiving, waiting for a friend she hadn’t seen in a while. She was trying.
The tight feeling in her chest started as she entered the shop, attempting to smile at the cashier.
But then, as she rounded the corner to the historical biography section, a whisper flew past her like a breeze, and she saw color at the end of the row. She followed it, even though she knew it was a bad idea. She could hear it before she saw them, and she froze.
“Flashpoint: How I missed a secret identity that was slapping me directly in the face.”
His soft laugh echoed in her ear.
“I wouldn’t say slapping,” he’d laughed.
That sentence didn’t even make sense. And there was that voice again. He whispered the words against her neck as she started at the shelf, his hand skimming her waist.
“This okay? Consent is important.”
He’d kissed the side of her ear, his voice teasing.
“I can see the headlines now,” she’d responded lightly, her right hand lacing with his as she looked at the shelf in front of her. His Chin rested on her shoulder, looking with her.
Warm. Safe. Colorful
“Persistent parasite philanders Prey in Public,” his voice was filled with mirth, and she scoffed in mock-horror, closing her eyes when his lips met her neck again.
“Willing Woman Wonders Why she got caught in Web,” she snarked back, leaning back to kiss him, their lips meeting unhurriedly.
Someone coughed, and they broke apart.
“The scandal,” He’d whispered against her lips, grabbing her hand to pull her down the row, past where Michelle was standing. It was like she was watching ghosts .
She’d whipped her head around, confusing a couple behind her, before her cheeks turned pink, her face hot with embarrassment. She felt dizzy. She almost felt his lips against her ear, his slightly curly hair tickling the nape of her neck. Her hand came up to touch the back of her neck, where her baby hairs were standing on end. What the hell?
She turned back towards the bookshelf quickly, pretending to be interested in the plethora of Avengers and Shield biographies on the shelf. Iron Man, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, and a whole shelf dedicated to Bucky Barnes and Captain America. This was the first time she’d heard something while she was awake. She must really be losing it. She braced her hands on the shelf, staring, unfocused, at the titles in front of her.
Why did it feel like there was something missing? She wasn’t one to forget things. She was remarkably observant, which is why the dull, hazy version of life around her bothered her so much. When she tried to think about why, her chest tightened. Her head hurt. Her doctors told her it was the concussion. Her Dad, concerned, had only just let her leave the house again on her own, even though it had been weeks since the incident.
She was looking for something real. More historical non-fiction. Real stories seemed to ground her when everything felt like it was moving too fast. History couldn’t change. She never remembered feeling as though time was moving too fast until recently. Mr. Harrison, Ned , Betty, and even Flash told her it was because a chapter of their lives was coming to a close. Why did she feel like she didn’t know the name of the Chapter or the Book they were in. Why did she feel like there were pages missing.
She fingered the jagged petal of her black dahlia necklace. Had she broken it during the incident? A sharp prick of pain bloomed across her temple, and she winced. The black glass felt smooth against her thumb, and was calming as she pursued the books and waited for Betty to show up. She didn’t remember relying on Betty as much, but since Ned and Betty were dating again, they had become semi-close.
Betty came speed walking up a minute later, her hair slightly windswept, and an apologetic look on her face. She turned, prepared to put on a facade she’d been putting on for Ned, waving her over.
“Sorry, Michelle! I got caught at the office. I know this internship is supposed to look great on my resume, but the rants JJ goes on about Spiderman…” she rolled her eyes, “If I hadn’t of told him I was having ladies problems, he would probably still be talking at me about the poor guy.”
“It’s good to see you,” She added, giving Michelle a quick hug.
“It’s fine, I was just...” Betty peeked around her, stifling a yawn behind her mouth.
“I thought you said you were looking for historical fiction,” Betty said, peaking around her at the Avengers display, “This is all pretty recent, isn’t it?” She furrowed her nose, a spark of amusement in her eyes, “Did I tell you that Flash tried to write a book about Spiderman, and no one would publish it? He even tried to sell it to the Daily Bugle,” Michelle stared at her silently, trying to force herself to be normal. She could do this.
“What was it called?” She found herself asking, even though she was sure of the answer.
“Flashpoint,” Betty chortled, pursuing the famous females in history display, “He’s such a pompous jerk sometimes, you know? Like, no one knows who Spiderman is, how would anyone expect him to be able to write a book about being his best…” she trailed off, unable to read Michelle’s expression.
Betty opened her mouth to continue the story, but stopped, concern taking over her face.
“Shoot, sorry,…how are you? I know you haven’t been out of the house much since…everything, and here I am rambling about Flash and Spiderman,” she yawned again, and seemed annoyed with herself.
“Looks like JJ is working you to the bone,” Michelle finally said, “…the doctor says I can have coffee again, maybe we can…” Betty nodded, grabbing her arm to anchor her as they left the bookstore without purchasing anything. Neither of them noticed the blonde woman sitting in an armchair by the door, staring over at them, perplexed.
They’d talked about plans for Thanksgiving-Christmas, maybe having a get together at Neds, before Betty’s phone rang. She rolled her eyes, looking at the caller id.
“I should probably get back. We can go back to the bookstore in a few days, maybe? I’m supposed to have Monday night off-“ Michelle watched her leave a minute later, staring at the window as the first flurries of the year started.
She should be going home. She had to work that night. She knew Ned was coming to keep her company. She had to strategize about how to appear normal. Maybe there was some new nerd news she should use to distract from the fact that her life felt like it was spinning wildly on its axis. The unease was chasing her this afternoon. She picked up her pace, walking towards the nearest subway station. Her chest was tight again. She pulled out her headphones, throwing on a classical playlist, and marched towards the corner, intent on just getting home. She could drink some coffee, splash some water on her face, maybe-
His hand again, pulling hers towards his wrist. The staccato uptempo’d beat of his pulse immediately calmed her down.
Close your eyes, I know you hate this
In the present was that the past her eyes instinctively closed, until she felt someone grab her arm. A car horn screeched, and she winced when someone slammed towards her. Then she was flying. Was she dreaming?
And then the flying stopped. She stumbled, catching herself, eyes still closed, shaking.
When someone gently removed her headphones, she kept her eyes shut tight. Maybe this was a dream maybe it will stop what if she starts to fall again what-
The feeling wasn’t going away. She pressed herself back, hitting a wall behind her. Vertigo slamming into her like a bus.
Pleasecatchmepleasecatchmepleasecatchmewhyaren’tyoucatchingmeP-
“Hey, hey, you’re okay….are you having a panic attack?”the woman’s voice was soft, unfamiliar, and she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, nodding sharply.
“Can you open your eyes for me?” The woman prompted, and Michelle cracked an eye open to see someone in a mask, her eyes widening in terror for a moment. Her stomach swooped, and she lurched forward, the woman catching her despite her protests, helping her to sit against the wall.
Were they on a roof? How did they get on a roof.
The woman crouched in front of her, holding her up as she sat, feeling completely unmoored, her eyes sliding open, but unfocused. Why was she terrified. It was like her brain was fighting her, Not right, not right, but something else knew this wasn’t new. She wasn’t not used to ending up on random rooftops after flying through the air. The air. The falling. Her breathing sped up, and the woman noticed.
“Hey, you’re going to be okay, do you not like heights…”pain exploded behind her eyes, and she winced, thinking of not being caught, gasping for breath. And then the woman in the mask grabbed her hand, and put it against her pulse point.
“You’re safe, okay….you want to count down with me?” She whispered softly, looking around her, and Michelle shook her head frantically. What the hell was going on?
Why was her pulse the same why did she feel like she was trapped in a memory she couldn’t even…she cracked her eyes open to stare at the woman in the mask, realizing she was in a full on superhero outfit. Oh.
“Who-“she started her voice hoarse, and the woman put a hand up.
“I can take off my mask, would that help?” She finally said, and Michelle nodded jerkily. The woman sighed, and pulled off her mask, kneeling down next to her.
“Can we just try focusing on things that are real?” She asked Michelle, and Michelle stared at her. Her brain knew she didn’t know this person, the unmoored parts of her did too,, But something felt familiar and she just, “What’s your name?” She asked Michelle softly, and Michelle swallowed thickly, trying to control her breathing. The pain was a constant stab now. Why wouldn’t it stop?
“Michelle” but my friends call me MJ Thought you didn’t have any friends Her brow furrowed again, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight again. It felt like her brain was tearing apart.
“Hey Michelle,” the woman said softly, squeezing her hands. She felt warm like he felt warm. Who was she why couldn’t she…,”You can feel my pulse right?” The pain got worse, but she nodded, “Thats real, and the concrete you’re sitting on, that’s real, right?” She nodded. She could feel it, freezing against her legs and back, “I’m going to squeeze your hands to help you breathe, ok? Can you breathe with me?”
Over the next few minutes, the woman walked her through breathing in and out, in and out, and Michelle slowly felt the world come back into focus. It still felt wrong. It still felt off. She felt like someone had boxed her skull.
Her awareness drifted back, and she finally opened her eyes again, staring at the woman, who couldn’t be much older than Michelle, watching her silently,
"Thank you,” Michelle whispered, taking a moment to look around their surroundings. They were on a roof. From the sounds around her, maybe in Soho? She couldn’t be sure. The snow had picked up. It took her a moment to look around, realizing how dark it was.
Michelle’s eyes widened, and she grabbed her phone. She’d missed her check in with her dad, and was supposed to be at work in twenty minutes.
“Shit,” she muttered, checking her phone, texting her dad to tell him she lost track of time.
“Is there somewhere you are supposed to be? I can-“ Michelle gave her the once over, looking at her outfit.
‘You’re not, Spiderman….”she mused, the words tasting like soap in her mouth, and Gwen sighed. Her temple was throbbing again.
“No, I’m not Spiderman,” she said slowly, a sad smile on her face. It was a wistful one. Michelle lost her focus for a minute.
She couldn’t lose her job, even though she hated it. She had to get to work. She swallowed, her stomach in knots. She could do this.
“Can you get me to Peter Pan donuts in twenty minutes?” Michelle asked, rubbing her eyes, and the woman nodded finally,
“Are you okay with swinging? I don’t want to….”Michelle stopped her, holding a hand up.
“I think I will be as long as I close my eyes,” she said finally, and the woman nodded.
She didn’t question when Michelle glommed onto her like a spider monkey who had done this a million times, or when her fingers found her pulse as they went flying through the air. Ten minutes later, they landed in an alley behind the donut shop, and Michelle jumped off her quickly, confused about the experience she’d just had.
“I don’t think this needs to be said, but….”Michelle’s head snapped up, staring at the woman, who was back in her mask, She understood, for some reason.
“People don’t know who Spiderman is and they shouldn’t know there’s a Spider-lady running around?” Michelle supplied, straightening her clothes and her backpack.
“Right,” She said softly, and Michelle paused, staring at her. She looked sad. Lonely. Something in her made the choice before her brain could say no.
“Do you have anyone around that knows you are Spider-lady?” She said, realizing how dumb the question sounded. Gwen looked at her, cocking her head to the side.
“I don’t really have anyone, actually,” Gwen managed, and Michelle frowned.
“Spider lady or not, you still need friends,” Michelle responded, getting a piece of paper from her backpack, and jotting down her number. She pushed it at her before she could protest.
“Thank you for helping me…” Michelle said, and moved towards the door, knowing she probably wouldn’t see her again, but hating how sad she looked.
“Gwen, my name is Gwen,” she heard from behind her. When she turned to say something to Gwen, she was gone.
Michelle tried to pull herself together before walking into work, and sighed at her reflection. She looked like she’d been crying. Heavily. Great. The dark circles looked worse than usual.
She splashed some water on her face before facing the masses. It was Saturday night, and the drunk rush wouldn’t come for a while. Drunk people loved their donuts. Drunk people wouldn’t notice. Maybe Ned would, though.
When the bell rang an hour later and it was Ned, she looked up at him, and he immediately winced. She shook her head quickly when the bell rang right after, and another customer entered the shop.
“Hi, I’m Peter Parker.”
When she looked at his face, taking in his expectant, nervous expression, her stomach spasmed. She faked a smile.There was that feeling again. Like falling down a chasm. Her whole body felt warm, tingly.
“Hi, Peter Parker….”she breathed.
Why was it so bright in here? Ned and Peter didn’t seem impacted. The music was too loud, her clothes felt too tight. Her necklace, usually smooth and reassuring, felt like it was jagged, cutting into her collarbone.
The pain was back, a dull throb at the base of her skull. Everything felt so colorful, it was like, sensory overload. Everything swam out of focus but him. Why was he in technicolor?
He looked like his clothes had seen better days. His hair was a unruly mess of curls, and he looked, lost. He was staring at her earnestly. Their eyes locked. The falling feeling lessened, and then stopped altogether. The pain was still there, but she felt focused, tethered somehow.
“What can I get for you?” She pressed, and he snapped out of the trance, shaking his head.
“Oh, just a black coffee?” he supplied. She nodded, grabbing a donut to hand to Ned while she got a cup. Her vision started swimming the second she turned away from him. She stopped, bracing her hands on the countertop for a moment, before handing Ned his donut. He was watching her like she might fall over at any moment.
“Are you okay?” Ned Mouthed at her. Fuck, she was going to have to explain this later.
“Later” she mouthed back, walking back to the coffee machine, and then to Peter, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet. She closed her eyes tightly, taking a deep breath before turning around. The color was back. Everything else seemed blurry, but he was crystal clear.
“Here you go, Peter Parker,” she tested the name on her tongue again. Saying his name felt right, but her brain was screaming at her.
“Thanks,” He said, staring at her with something akin to hope. He grabbed a five dollar bill from his pocket, holding it out, and when she went to grab it, he held her hand for a moment, staring at her face.
“Are you okay?” He asked, and she spoke before she could stop herself.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she found herself saying softly, wondering why that was her choice of words. His face fell, and his eyes went to her necklace, then back up to her eyes. They stood there, silently, taking each other in. It could have been minutes, she wasn’t sure. She’d handed him his change. He looked, disappointed…and the color started to fade. Why were things dimming again. And there was the pain, crushing against her temple like a battering ram. Ned broke whatever spell they were under.
‘“MJ! The housing emails just came in!” Ned said excitedly. She turned to him, and then back to Peter to apologize, but he was gone, the bell ringing in his wake.
There was a ten dollar tip in the jar. She frowned, bracing her hands on the countertop and closing her eyes. Why did he leave so fast. The last few hours crushed back Into her consciousness like an avalanche of anxiety. This was wrong. Something was wrong. Her breathing sped up.
The countertop is teal, my necklace is black glass, this apron doesn’t fit, nothing fits.
She jumped when Ned put his hand over hers.
“Dude, what was that?” He asked her, and she shook her head, trying to play it off.
“I’m fine, I’m just tired…long day. I saw Betty earlier!” she tried to change the subject.
She felt something wet on her face, and Ned pushed a Kleenex at her face, startling her.
“Your nose is bleeding,” he said, concerned, and she frowned.
When the bell rang again, the moment was broken. Michelle was glad that it got busy. Ned had offered to walk her home, but she’d declined, knowing it would be late. She didn’t want to worry him.
Later, as she walked home, things felt brighter. The colors bounced off Christmas lights, the silence of the city eerie in the pre dawn hours. Maybe it was the snow. The lights twinkled, and even though she had a pounding headache, she felt, safe? It made her take the long way home. She didn’t want the feeling to end, even though she was in pain.
She was trying to delay the inevitable, another night of screaming, another night of crying. And other night of falling. But that night, she didn’t have the dream. Her head hurt, but she slept.