Chapter Text
2017
The first glorious mystery, the resurrection of Jesus – Our Father…
His father had been the one to first explain the glorious mysteries to him.
At least, according to Ben. Peter had only been a baby at the time, so he didn’t really remember, but it had been one of his uncle’s favorite stories: “there was Richard, thinking he could explain the Assumption of Christ to a two-year-old, and Mary trying not to laugh.”
His parents had died shortly after that long-ago Christmas Eve, and Peter wasn’t entirely sure if his vague memories of them were real or just secondhand recollections of Ben and May’s he’d absorbed in passing over the years. He hadn’t thought about them in ages.
Now, clutching the worn rosary beads, he sent up a silent prayer for his mom and dad. Praying the mysteries always brought them to mind, but he hadn’t had the time or energy to do it properly for a while.
But Christmas Eve was always the exception. The rosary had been Ben’s; the shine of the small black beads had been dulled over the decades by the rub of desperate fingers, sending up petitions and thanksgiving – a link between them.
The second glorious mystery, the ascension of our Lord into heaven…
It was one of Peter’s earliest memories, that he knew for sure was real: midnight mass on Christmas Eve. It was never actually at midnight, due to the number of small children and young families in the congregation. Then he would curl up in May’s lap at home afterwards, and she ran her fingers through his hair, and Ben said a prayer for the family before they retired.
Even with Ben gone, it was a tradition he tried to continue. Midnight mass was a bit hard to attend when so many robbers decided Christmas Eve was a good time to be out and about. Confession was kind of complicated when he couldn’t tell the priest exactly how he ended up in half of his scrapes.
(He’d never confessed his part in Ben’s murder; not to anyone but May. He’d contemplated again and again telling a priest, and always decided against it, the wound still too raw, even almost two decades later. He’d only poured out his soul to heaven in private, and clung to the faith that he was forgiven.)
But he still had the rosary, and he thought Ben would have liked that. He said a prayer for his uncle’s soul, even though he was sure Ben had gone straight to heaven.
The third glorious mystery – the Holy Spirit comes upon the apostles.
Hail Mary, full of grace, The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women…
May had her own rosary, passed down from her mother, and she preferred to pray in the mornings. Since she’d moved in, they’d taken to having their devotional time together in the silence before dawn.
This year, at least, he’d been able to take May to midnight service. It was always nostalgic, how the little church never seemed to change – the same stained-glass windows and statuary from his childhood, and now also the site of his wedding. It was hard to believe it had been over seven years already.
It was snowing when they exited the church after the communion. The golden lights from the street lamps and the surrounding buildings made each flake look like it was glowing, framing May’s white hair in a dim halo.
If anyone was blessed among women, it was his aunt.
“Seven o’clock seems to be later and later every year,” she’d remarked jokingly as they crossed the street.
He’d woken up with about a thousand knots in his back, and nothing he did eased them. Even now, the hard ground was sending jolts of pain up his spine. “I know what you mean,” Peter replied ruefully.
“You’re not even 35.”
“I work hard.”
“Yes, I know you do.” She sighed, and Peter heard the weight of every year. Responsibility didn't weigh on him alone. “I’m so proud of you. But I’m sorry…your life’s not been an easy one. I don’t like seeing you struggle.”
“It’s made me who I am.” He helped her across the icy sidewalk. “And it’s not so bad. I’ve got you and MJ. A job I love. You and Ben – you couldn’t have made things any better for me.”
“Thank you, Peter.” She sniffed. “Oh, I always miss him more around the holidays.”
“…Yeah. Me too.”
She’d retired to her room when they returned home, and now Peter said a prayer for her too, signing the cross when he was finished. It was comforting to think that she might be interceding for him too.
Mother of God, pray for us sinners,
Now and at the hour of our death…
2018
“And…eight o’clock. Congratulations, you’re officially a senior citizen,” Peter declared.
“Mm, how original,” Otto scoffed. “I’m sure you’ve been saving that one for ages.”
“Just since noon.”
On one hand, Otto found it hard to believe he’d actually made it this far. On the other, he’d already felt like an old wreck for ages, so putting a number on it didn’t make much of a difference.
There was a certain point where celebrating a birthday just seemed childish, but Peter and Mary Jane had still insisted on coming over, and he didn’t bother discouraging them. It was, at the very least, always nice to see them, especially as he’d been quite busy over the past few weeks. Their company was the perfect warmth on a dark, frigid January night.
“We missed you on New Year’s,” Mary Jane said, echoing his thoughts. Eliot had climbed into her lap halfway through dinner and promptly fallen asleep; he could hear the sleepy purr even from across the table.
“I know, I’m sorry. But at least you got to spend the day with family.”
“You are family.”
“You’re too kind, my dear,” he said fondly. He had Flo remove her empty plate, dusted with crumbs of key lime pie. “I think you get better at making this every year.”
“Because you and Pete get better at eating it.”
“Miles said to tell you hi,” Peter remarked, taking his own dishes to the sink. They’d all seen Miles when he came in for Christmas, but still, Otto missed the boy. Well, not really a boy anymore, but they were all kids to him.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s good. Getting ready for graduation in the spring –“ as if he needed to feel even older – “then jumping right back into it. He wants his doctorate.”
“Dr. Morales. Good for him.”
“Says he wants to teach,” Peter continued proudly.
“I’m sure you inspired him.”
The young man glanced away shyly. “Well, maybe.”
The next hour passed pleasantly. Mary Jane’s show was a week from opening; between nightly rehearsals and work during the day, she had a lot to talk about. Peter always had stories of the kids in his classes. Otto had a feeling they were trying to cheer him up, thinking he was lonely or something, but he didn’t mind. He was content to just listen to them.
Peter glanced at the clock. “We should probably be on our way.”
“Be safe going home.” He took Eliot, who meowed slightly in protest, from Mary Jane and set her gently on the floor. “Thank you for coming.”
“We love you, Otto,” Mary Jane said sincerely. “It’s not a chore.”
Peter nudged him warmly. “Happy birthday, old man. Enjoy those discounts.”