Work Text:
“So let me see if I got this right,” Miles said through a mouth full of reheated pizza, “ You’re going to uber to JFK to pick up your fiance and she’s going to drive you two back home because you don’t own a car.”
“Yes,” Peter snapped from the living room as he lifted the couch cushions for the nth time, “Have you seen my wallet?”
“Countertop by the coffee machine. You know it feels less like you’re picking her up and more like you’re going there and going back for no reason. You know JFK is like, a twenty-five-minute drive right? Twenty if you miss the traffic,” Miles responded drily.
“Uh-huh, sure,” Peter muttered absentmindedly, sliding into the room against the wood floors and snatching his wallet up, “Now get out, I’m already running late.”
“What?” Miles squawked, spitting crumbs halfway across the room, “You can’t kick me out, I’m still eating my lunch!”
“No, you’re eating my lunch,” Peter corrected, “And I told you I was busy today. You just decided to bust in here anyways because you think you own the place.”
“That’s a technicality. My point still stands.”
“ Out , Morales,” Peter said, pushing Miles and his unfinished food down the hallway and out the front door.
“You’re a cruel man, Parker,” Miles tutted. He took another bite of his food before spinning on his heels and walking down the front steps of the porch, “You hittin’ SoHo tonight?”
“Not tonight,” Peter responded, locking the door behind him, “Watch the–”
“Watch the bottom step, I know,” Miles said, “Why’d you buy a house that needs so much work?”
“It’s called a fixer-upper for a reason, Miles.”
“Whatever you say, man,” Miles said, waving as he started down the sidewalk, “See ya, Pete!”
“ Kids ,” Peter grumbled, checking his phone as he waited for his ride.
In Miles’ defense, the house did need a lot of work when they first bought it. So much so, in fact, that Felicia had downright refused to consider it as an option when Peter had first shown her the listing. It had taken a great deal of convincing and many promises that he’d start with their bedroom and en suite so she “wouldn’t even notice it still needed work, Fel, really.” As promised, he’d gotten to work as soon as he could, enlisting Ben’s help to get things done quicker, much to his brother’s annoyance.
After six months of work, he’d finished nearly everything (save for the loose step and retiling the downstairs bathroom because it’d be hell on his back). The house was painted a deep shade of green, with a dark gray roof and white trimming. It had a small front porch with a little awning to keep it cool in the summer when heat and humidity beat down on the residents of New York. It wasn’t unlike Aunt May’s house, to be completely honest. It was cute, cozy and everything Peter loved about Forest Hills. He could almost picture it if he closed his eyes: He and Felicia, two-point-five kids to run around in the front yard, and space to entertain guests when the sun went down and the air got cool.
He flung himself into the car quickly as it pulled up, shaking himself out of his thoughts. He greeted the driver with a short hello and tugged his seatbelt on, the sounds of some pop station mutedly filling the air.
His leg tapped along anxiously and out of the corner of his eye, he caught the driver glaring at him in the rearview mirror. Yikes. He kept his eyes locked on the world outside the window, stilling his leg and tapping his fingers against his thigh instead.
His mouth twitched upwards slightly as the car drove through his neighborhood, his gaze lingering on familiar buildings.
The organic food store Felicia insisted on shopping at because just because Peter was enhanced and she worked out, didn’t mean they couldn’t make healthy lifestyle choices. The Italian place next door that they ordered from twice a week because let’s be honest, they were never gonna follow that stupid diet in the first place.
The FEAST center that Peter had roped Felicia into volunteering at every Sunday with him. Her first day there had been the talk of the town. All day Peter had gotten variations of “She’s just wonderful!” and “Your aunt must be so proud!” and “Why didn’t you bring her by sooner?” Felicia had pretended not to find it too flattering, of course, but Peter knew she soaked up the attention like a sponge.
Peter loved that about Felicia, the way she’d adapted to the way he interacted with the city and the people in it to match him. Even when they were out in costume he saw it, the way she paused to speak with civilians more often or memorized the landmarks he pointed out to her as they swung across the city. He did the same, of course, copying the way Felicia used silly gossip to find information that could help him on his next bust or noting the way she could point out similarities in art and fashion and other things he never noticed or considered as clues before. He found it odd sometimes, the way they both grew up in Queens but were parts of two different sides of the city.
The car rolled to a stop just at the pickup zone, Peter giving the driver a quick thank you and then bounding out of the car towards a familiar head of white hair.
“Felicia!” He called, barely giving her time to face him before he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground.
“Jesus Chris- Peter!” She huffed with fake annoyance, amusement seeping into her tone.
He set her down with a grin, keeping his arms around her midsection tightly, “Hi.”
“Hi,” She smiled, arms coming up around his neck, “You miss me or something, cowboy?”
“Or something,” He said, “Did you have fun on your trip? Thinking of running off to the European countryside for good?”
She hummed, tugging his face closer to pull him into a kiss, “Not really, no. You know I’m a city girl at heart, lover.”
“Damn right,” He laughed breathily, “Let’s get out of here. I want to hear all about your travels, Miss Hardy.”
He grabbed her bags with practiced ease, the honking of horns and the chatter of other conversations a familiar soundtrack as they started toward the parking lot shuttle.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Mister Parker.”