Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He took a drag of his cigarette — Peter knew how bad they were for him, yet he really couldn’t find it in himself to care. He blankly observed the world around him, not flinching as his vision tinted green and a disapproving Harry Osborn lookalike appeared. After thousands of years, Peter wasn’t surprised by what the Stones could do anymore.

He exhaled heavily, watching the smoke pour past his lips and float into the air. “What do you want, Time?”

Time shifted uncomfortably, an expression so odd on the face of his sure-footed and confident best friend that Peter couldn’t help but allow the corners of his lips to twitch upwards in the ghost of a smile.

The cool air on the balcony whipped his curls, mussing them up like a lover’s touch, as Peter moved to cross his arms over his chest, raising his eyebrows. “What? Spit it out,”

The edges of his sight turned from green to an orange-yellow, as Soul appeared in the body of Mary Jane. She wore a flowy tan dress with a light brown leather jacket. Peter could almost find how the two articles seemed to clash amusing but instead, he took another drag, ignoring Soul’s disapproving look. If Peter cared what others thought, he wouldn’t be in this business. He waited until his lungs began to burn before he breathed out, watching the smoke disapparate. 

“Peter, you need help,” her eyes glowed softly, and she stepped towards Peter, but he just turned away with a grunt. “Humans are meant to have a pack, connection. You haven’t talked to anyone since the 90s,”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Sue me, Soul I fought in two wars I deserve a decade or two alone,” He bit back, smoking the cigarette once again. He puffed out some smoke, sighing.

Soul sighed in response, leaning against the rickety railing, brushing a little of her auburn hair from her face. “I’m not saying you don’t deserve a break, Peter. But, this —” She gestured vaguely to his sullen form, “ — isn’t healthy.”

Peter sighed in exasperation, as if he was once again a moody teen being scolded by Aunt May. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you think I should be doing? It’s not like Danvers will be showing up again anytime soon, and Stark isn’t going to be doing anything for another decade,”

His vision tinted — god, he’s sick of that — purple, this time, Power appeared, her smug grin on Gwen’s face. A flowy purple robe reached down past her ankles. 

She flicked her hair back, raising an eyebrow as a bunch of folders and files appeared in her arms. Peter didn’t know what was inside, but he could recognize the logo emblazoned on the side anywhere. 

“Power,” He said tersely, “Why is SHIELD’s logo on those files?”

She grinned mischievously. “Would you believe that we have a plan for you?”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “What would this plan entail?” He was curious, sue him. 

The wind whipped Power’s white-blond curls and she ushered Peter back into his small apartment. He could technically get a better one, but he didn’t need much to survive and figured that somewhere small was more inconspicuous. She spread out the files — which Peter now realized were his files from the organization — on the hardwood floor. Peter didn’t even want to know how she got them.

She flicked one open, tapping it. “Seems like we’ll be having a visitor tomorrow,”

Peter furrowed his brows, sitting cross-legged next to Power before plucking the file from her hands. He absorbed the information at a superhuman speed, raising an eyebrow curiously. 

“Huh,” Peter said, scratching his cheek. “So they’ve tasked Romanoff with bringing me in?”

“I mean you’ve been evading Fury for a decade or so,” Power shrugged, “Widow’s the best of the best. It’s a smart choice,”

Peter sighed, hanging his head, “ Why do I have to have a stupid ‘moral objection’ to mind-wiping,” He griped, using his spare hand to massage his temples. 

“Well, that’s the reason we chose you to wield us,” Power pointed out in an annoyingly sensible fashion. “Even after several millennia, you don’t let the abilities go to your head,” 

Peter gave Power a disbelieving look. “Didn’t I quite literally use you guys to pay for my sandwich the other day?”

Power huffed with amusement, clarifying herself: “I mean, you’re not a bad person Peter. You use your powers to help as much as you can without disrupting history, and you forget,” She raised her eyebrows pointedly, “We’re all in your head, we know how much it  hurts you to stay on the sidelines,”

Peter looked away, an embarrassed blush coating his cheeks. He knew that they were always there, and even though he had been disturbed by it at first, Peter had gotten used to it.  Still, sometimes he tended to forget they could read his emotions — not his thoughts, he had all but barred that, but it did still feel weird, even though the Stones had been with him for centuries. 

Power furrowed her brows, tilting her head like a confused puppy. She awkwardly reached out a hand to put on Peter’s shoulder, the ghostly touch somewhat comforting despite being lighter than a warm breeze on a summer’s day. 

“Fine,” Peter said, shrugging off the hand as he scanned the page once again. “What do you want me to do? Should I move to a different part of Queens?” His fingertip tapped erratically against the page. “They know my address,”

Power shook her head, an impish smirk on her lips. She laced her fingers together, leaning forward as if they were children in a schoolyard telling each other a secret. She shook her head, a smirk growing wider as she said, “The plan, Peter, is to do nothing,”

He opened his mouth to object, but Power put a hand up continuing: “We’ll warn you when Romanoff comes here, and you can surrender yourself to SHIELD — don’t think we don’t remember that little trick you did to make sure that HYDRA won’t be able to infiltrate their ranks,” 

Peter sighed audibly, “I know it messed with time, SHIELD was supposed to be infested with HYDRA and then fall, but,” He waved his hands wildly, “I couldn’t ! So, yeah…” It took a second for Peter to process the first part of Power’s sentence, too hyperfocused on the last bit, but once he did, the curly-haired man let out an undignified sound, shaking his head like a dog out of water.

“Wait, wait, wait, what?” Peter’s mouth was hanging open, eyes wide. “You want me to surrender myself? Why? What’s the point of all of the- dodging- the avoiding-” 

Power’s brows furrowed. “Well, Peter, it was your choice to do all of those things. You thought it wouldn’t be safe because of HYDRA in SHIELD’s ranks, but, they’re gone,” Power grimaced, correcting herself, “ mostly gone. You need to drop a tip about a few of the lower-level recruits who are HYDRA, but everyone else with actual power, they’re good.”

Peter stood up and began pacing. “Power, Maria’s going to recognize me! I was her only other gay friend back in the 80s, fuck,” He ran a hand through his curls, “Do people still use ‘friend of Dorothy’? Is don’t ask don’t tell still a thing? I don’t even remember! Fuck!”

The Jewish man found his spiral stopping when the edges of his sight changed from purple back to the orange-yellow of Soul. His chest was heaving, and his ears were ringing. He felt his shoulder accidentally hit the wall, but Peter jumped as if the Devil himself had stabbed him with his pitchfork. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down as his breaths came out in shattered gasps.

“Hey, hey, Peter, it’ll be okay. You don’t need to do this, we just thought, since you’ve been so lonely recently, well… maybe it couldn’t hurt if you made some friends in SHIELD.” Soul murmured, her touch feather-like against his knee, it wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all he had. 

His eyes felt hot, and he sniffled. Peter’s entire body trembled. The ringing stopped him from being able to hear Soul, but another one of the Stones spoke in his mind. 

“Peter, you’re having a panic attack ,” Mind told him, his voice gentle as he began to guide Peter through breathing exercises. “Breathe in for three. One… two… three… Hold.” He could feel the slight smile in his tone, as he continued: “ One… two… three. Exhale,” Peter breathed out, counting along with Mind. One… two… three… This repeated several more times until it no longer felt like he was flailing uncontrollably in a raging tsunami. 

He could finally see Soul, looking appropriately concerned. “Hey, Peter, you don’t have to do this,” She told him. “Power’s an idiot,”

Peter rubbed furiously at his cheeks, shaking his head. “No, no, it’s okay,” Now that his mind was more clear, Peter could admit to himself that hanging other people — other human beings — sounded nice. He loved the Stones, but they weren’t a replacement for friends. They were more like annoying older siblings. Even if he was going to be sent to a black site, at the very worst, Peter could always teleport away.

“I’ll do it, but only if we do it my way , ” Peter said, much more firmly than expected for having a panic attack quite literally five minutes ago. Soul nodded eagerly, her face lighting up. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Soul said, obviously attempting to disguise her excitement. 

“Yep. But first,” Peter shakily stood up, bracing a hand against the wall. Now that he was back to himself, he felt his fingertips itch. “I need a smoke,”

He felt the familiar weight of a cigarette as it materialized between his fingers — it would’ve been too suspicious to not smoke back in the 50s, but he kept the habit as a kind of … crutch when his mind turned in a too-dark direction. 

The feeling of nicotine making his mind hazy was familiar, it was a type of normalcy he hadn’t had since he was fourteen and decided to become Spider-Man. 

It was routine by the point. Peter went back out onto the balcony, despite Soul’s protests, and watched the front of the cig begin to darken before taking a long, slow drag. He exhaled and watched as the wind — which had become harsher, as if it, too, was attempting to stop Peter — carried the smog into the night air. 

Lights and honking always overtook his senses, living in a densely populated city like New York, but he was calm. Happy, even.

You know, that stuff’s gonna kill you one day. Soul said disapprovingly. Peter hadn’t even noticed how his sight was back to normal. He flicked the cigarette butt onto the floor of the balcony, shaking his head. Peter turned around, his voice carrying as he spoke into the cool night air:  

“As long as I’ve got you guys around, I don’t think anything can kill me,”

Chapter Text

Peter, Romanoff is here. Power whispered, effectively waking up the enhanced man. Peter sat up slowly, stretching his arms above his head as he raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. 

Romanoff was good, scarily so. If not for his enhancements, Peter wouldn’t have even known that she had entered. He could barely hear her footsteps, and the clinking of the lockpick against his windowsill was practically mum. 

His ears perked up as the man focused on the soft footfalls of the intruder. Unlike Romanoff, Peter took no care to disguise his presence. His footsteps were heavy, and the mattress creaked as he stepped out of it, leaving the warm embrace of his blankets (yeah, he was a little annoyed about that).

It was going to be interesting finally meet the young woman. Romanoff was in a similar position to him, the experimental super-soldier serum in her veins slowing her aging similar to how the Stones paused Peter’s body at 25 years old. 

A glance at the clock on his bedside told Peter it was 5:27 AM — oh my god Romanoff are you even human?

Peter scratched his back as he shuffled towards his closet, feeling every bit of the several millennia-old he was. He happily searched through his clothing rack for a suitable outfit to get arrested in. He hummed tunelessly under his breath.

He had just plucked a nice navy crew neck off its hanger when he heard his door creak open. Peter sighed exaggeratedly, rolling his eyes as Romanoff slammed the door open. Her Widow Bites were charged at the ready. 

“Patrick Johnson,” Her voice was terrifyingly calm, and Peter could hear the electricity in her bites beginning to charge. Despite the obvious danger, Peter barely cast her a glance, rather wrinkling his nose at both his terrible alias and the rather dramatic entrance. 

“Ew. I forgot that I used Patrick for this place,” Peter said lightly, snapping his fingers, and his soft blue sleep shirt was now in his arms. He went down onto his knees, searching the bottom of the closet for his least-wrinkled pair of pants. After all, he didn’t want to make a bad impression at SHIELD. He took out two different options, a pair of light blue jeans, or black jeans. 

He slowly stood back up, flicking his fingers in Romanoff’s general direction. Taking far too much joy in how she cursed when she suddenly found her feet glued to the floor. “What did you do, Johnson?” She said tersely, making Peter bark out a laugh at the moniker. 

“Nothing much that can’t be undone, Widow. Now, tell me, blue or black?” He showed her both options, before realizing that he might be acting a little sexist. He grimaced, cutting off Romanoff when she opened her mouth — probably to curse him out (people tended to do that a lot): “Yeah, that’s my fault, blue is the obvious choice,”

Not that we’re not enjoying you messing with Romanoff, Power commented, But maybe you should let her go.

Peter shrugged in response, snapping his fingers. In one movement, Romanoff was unstuck, and Peter was fully changed. He tugged at the sleeves of his shirt, rolling his shoulder as Romanoff glared at him, murder in her expression. Stepping towards her and holding out his wrists, Peter grinned mischievously. “Now can I have those handcuffs I know you’re hiding, I’m surrendering willingly,”

I thought we agreed we wouldn’t show off your powers yet. Soul attempted to chastise him, but the effect was ruined by the amusement in her voice. 

I thought we agreed we could do this my way, Peter countered, raising an eyebrow at Romanoff, who was scrutinizing him as if he was going to pull a machine gun out from nowhere and violently kill her. He tapped his foot against the floor impatiently, sighing. “Come on, Widow, I don’t have all day,” He drawled, which seemed to snap her out of whatever she was thinking. 

She sighed, pressing one of the buttons on her belt, which seemed to melt into a puddle of gold goo before moulding into a pair of handcuffs. Peter raised his eyebrows, mildly impressed. 

“I forgot how good technology tends to be nowadays,” He commented lightly as she snapped the cuffs around his wrists. 

Mind sighed enviously. N othing is as good as Phastos’ inventions. He commented.

Peter tilted his head in acknowledgement. True. He responded with a light shrug. But I can’t talk to the man, we haven’t seen each other since the 11th century. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m dead. 

Out loud, Peter addressed Romanoff. “So, is there some sort of super-secret helicopter you’re putting me on, or will we be hailing a taxi?” Her expression was murderous, but he just smiled obnoxiously in response. Romanoff dragged him along by the sleeve, making Peter hike up several flights of stairs, to a Quinjet parked on the roof of his apartment building.

Dammit, so close. He pouted lightly as Romanoff pulled him up the ramp, watching as the other SHIELD agents stood, dumbfounded. He waved cheerily at Phil Coulson — Peter always did like him. Melinda May and Barbara “Bobbi” Morse looked faintly surprised at the lack of injuries on both of them, but before he could say anything, Peter found himself being dragged to a seat near the plane’s emergency exits. 

The flight was unremarkable, Time gave Peter a little assist by speeding it up until they reached SHIELD’s base. He fiddled with the cuffs, noting that they were normal steel, rather than reinforced vibranium. That was good. That meant they underestimated him.

“So, Widow,” Peter raised his eyebrows, “tell me, does SHIELD still have the Helicarrier nowadays or have they changed it up?” 

She ignored him. 

Rude .

Peter huffed in annoyance as Agent Morse patted him down, removing his pack of cigarettes from his pockets, but it was rather boring. Well, until he was led down the ramp by Romanoff, and was greeted by none other than Deputy Director Maria Hill. 

She was good, but Peter was better. He could see the emotions on her expression, flickering at an almost dizzying speed. Joy. Sadness. Confusion. Anger. 

His lips curled up into a smirk.

“Maria Hill,” Peter drawled, “It’s been forever. ”

Chapter Text

Peter stifled a yawn, leaning back against the cold metal wall. He observed the closed door — though it didn’t look like one to the average person. It blended into the wall perfectly, really making the ‘confined in a tiny space with no human interaction for weeks on end’ vibe stick. 

Can’t I just leave, Power? This is boring. His gaze moved from the door to the camera whirring menacingly in the corner. 

Peter felt, more than heard, Power’s shrug. I mean, sure, but, you’re already here. 

He huffed, rolling his eyes as he tilted his head upwards. The ceiling was identical to the floor, minus the bed and single metal chair. And here I was thinking Maria would hate me. 

I don’t think she does. Power hummed. I guess it’s just a lot to take in. 

Peter frowned. Can she take it in faster? This is worse than when the Greeks wanted me to weave a loom. At least then they didn’t care when I sped up the process with Time.

Yeah, but they also thought you were a god. Power, sensibly, pointed out. 

Peter pulled his legs in, before crossing them. His elbow dug into the side of his knee as he lay his chin on his fist. A small smile played on his lips at the memory. I always did enjoy the free food. Thena’s keftedes* back then was to die for. 

If Power was here, she’d be kicking her feet up and leaning against the bed with a smirk. Perks of being alive since the beginning of the Earth. 

Peter rolled his eyes, feeling weirdly bitter for a moment. If this is your way of saying that I should be grateful you guys chose me to be your ‘host’, save your breath. The emotion passed quickly, leaving the Jewish man confused as to why he said that. He appreciated everything the Stones had given him. 

Calm down, edge lord. She teased. You’re not the only one who lived through everything. She exhaled, and her tone turned unexpectedly serious. Billions of years later, and, despite everything, you’ve never sacrificed your morals. 

His insides squirmed uncomfortably at the weird tone shift, and he chewed the inside of his cheek. 

Whatever, Power. He dismissed. Peter, as a way to distract himself, decided to pull his knitting needles and half-finished blue and red scarf from what he called the “never-ending pocket” — there was a long explanation as to how he could do this, relating to the space-time continuum and liminal energy and whatnot, but seeing as he had been fighting in the French Revolution when Soul had told him how it worked, Peter didn’t catch most of it and was too embarrassed to admit he wasn’t exactly sure how his powers worked. 

So, pulling the knitting needles and yarn out of the never-ending pocket, Peter began to get to work, the repetitive motions making him feel calm and content. The soft clinking of the wooden needles against one another filled his cell, until, of course, it didn’t. 

A shrieking sound filled the room, and the previously harsh white lights flashed red above him. Peter scowled in annoyance but deftly continued his work, ignoring the sound. Of course, though, Peter found the door to his cell being kicked open by none other than his (former?) friend, Maria Hill. 

Her gun was at the ready, pointing straight at his forehead, and the several agents behind her, also armed. Until she noticed exactly what was happening. For a moment, she blinked, confusion and slight amusement apparent in her gaze, before it turned cold. Maria sighed, holstering her weapon, and motioned her back up to do the same. 

Peter looked up from his project, raising an eyebrow at Maria, mild amusement clear in his features. “All this for me, soldier? I’m flattered,”

She glared at him, crossing her arms. “Yeah, that tends to happen when you’re classified as an Omega-Level threat,”

He mock-gasped, putting a hand over his chest. “Me? Omega-Level? That’s so sweet, but I’m not a danger to you,” Peter paused for dramatic effect, smirking, “right now,”

The brunette’s jaw ticked, before addressing an agent behind her. “Morse. Put the cuffs back on, I’ll take him to interrogation,”

Peter stood up, back cracking as he stretched his arms above his head. “ Finally ,” He mock-complained, the project disappearing back to where it came from as Agent Morse approached him. She snapped the cuffs back on his wrists, lips pressed into a thin line. 

The walk to the interrogation room was less of a walk and more of a few steps away from his cell, where he was observed anxiously by the half-dozen people there — a bit overkill, if anyone asked him. 

It was cold in the room, and he sighed impatiently as Morse fumbled with the keys to lock his cuffs to a bar on the titanium table in the center. Peter used his foot to push out the chair, sitting on the rightmost corner as he waited for Maria to enter.

After a little while of tapping his fingers against the table, Peter heard the door open and, there she was, his saviour, Maria Hill. The dark-haired woman’s eyes were cold and calculating as she stared him down.

“Patrick Johnson, Pierre Monet, Jamie Smith, Paul McMaster,” She flicked through an old-looking file, as Peter watched her, a mild yawn building in his throat. “All aliases that lead to dead ends, spanning back to the 15th century,”

“If you say so,” He drawled with a shrug. 

The brunette carelessly tossed the file on the table, old pictures and forms scattering in front of him. Peter raised his eyebrows, leaning back with a huff. Maria sat down across from him, her expression becoming oddly sad.

“Did you ever really care about me?” She demanded, “Were we ever really friends, Peter?”

Peter paused, shifting his gaze guiltily. “Of course, we were,” He defended himself. “I told you my real name, Maria,” 

Maria rolled her eyes. “Yeah, great defence,” She gestured with a huff. “ Friends are supposed to tell each other things, such as being immortal!”

“I told you I used to live in Greece!” Peter shot back. “I didn’t lie to you!”

For a second her lips twitched in a sort of macabre amusement before her expression hardened. “Except about your whole life,”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, like that would’ve gone over well. ‘Hey, nice to meet you, I’m basically a God! Want to get some McDonald’s and talk about mortality?” The chain links were really annoying him now. Peter wanted to gesture to prove his point, but it was nearly impossible without breaking the links.

If looks could kill, Peter would be six feet under. Due to the fact, he had what his friends used to call “the opposite of survival instinct”, the brown-haired man tilted his head with a light smirk in response to her look. Maria went to open her mouth — probably to insult him more — only to be interrupted by the door opening. 

In eerie sync, the duo turned to look at who had entered.

“Director Fury!” Maria’s back somehow became more rigid — if that was even possible. She already looked like she had a stick permanently shoved up her ass.  Her shoulders pulled back as she stood at attention. 

“At ease, Commander,” Fury said lightly, his single eye trained pointedly on him. “I’m just here to talk to ‘Peter’.”

He didn’t like how Fury put his name in air quotes. It was like SHIELD didn’t trust him or something. Peter huffed lightly in amusement as the dark-skinned director dismissed Maria, ordering her to “take a goddamn break for once,”. 

His once-friend left, her gaze sweeping over Peter suspiciously before the interrogation room door closed with a soft click. Though, in the silence, it felt like the sound had been screamed from the mountaintops. 

“Director Nicholas Joseph Fury,” Peter drawled, raising his eyebrows as he leaned forward on the table. “How nice to see you again,”

Fury sat down across from Peter, crossing his legs over one another. The Director’s face had no obvious tell — he was the leader of an international spy organization, after all.

 “It is,” Fury hummed. “Looks like you haven’t aged a day,”

Peter shrugged lightly, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yep. A good moisturizer will work wonders,”

Fury sighed, crossing his arms. “Look ‘Peter’ —” Again with the air quotes. That was seriously getting irritating. — “Why are you here?” He raised his eyebrows. “We both know that you could’ve escaped fifty times over by now,”

Peter lifted a finger. “Key word could’ve . I’m still here, yeah?” He shrugged. “I figured being on your most wanted list wouldn’t be good for my brand,”

Fury snorted, rolling his, well, eye. “You have another brand you’re talking about?” The director commented dryly. “I thought your brand was being a royal pain in my ass,”

Peter shrugged, grinning bashfully. “Yeah, well, I figured life would be easier if I wasn’t being ‘chased’ by SHIELD agents half the time. Plus, it’ll help you focus on actual problems. Win-Win,” He snapped his fingers, creating a small fire, no larger than one you’d see on a matchstick. 

Peter smirked as Fury’s gaze snapped to the flicking flame. “You want to know who I am? What I can do? Why I’m here? I’ll tell you.” The fire disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Peter’s grin became shark-like. “On a few conditions,”

The director’s gaze moved from where the fire had been, to the brown-haired man. Fury narrowed his eyes, but Peter could see the gears in his mind turning like a well-oiled machine. Peter rolled his shoulders back, straightening.

“What do you want?” Fury’s tone was even, overly so. He’s curious. Mind whispered.

Peter tilted his head. “Freedom. I get to do my job without having to look over my shoulder. You get as much information as I am willing to provide,”

Fury’s brows furrowed. “‘Willing to provide’?” He questioned. 

Peter shrugged. “I can’t give you information that will mess up the flow of time, change things that are meant to happen, etcetera. I am not allowed to interfere in those matters. My job is to make sure that the universe doesn’t collapse.”

“So what can you do?”

“Well, that’s up to you. You haven’t agreed to my conditions, yet, Nicholas .”

“...Fine, I’ll agree.” Peter wanted to whoop with joy, but the feeling quickly left with Fury’s next words, “ If you’ll agree to have a handler,”

“What?” Peter stared at Fury, hoping the man was playing some sort of weird joke. “You want me to have a babysitter?”

“In a word, yes.” Fury shrugged noncommittally, “We’ll assign you a SHIELD agent for a few weeks. They’ll be with you at all times and report back to us. If they agree that you are not a threat, then we’ll back off,” His gaze was searching as Peter huffed in annoyance.

“Seriously?” Peter complained. “I don’t need a babysitter. What part of ‘ peacefully surrendering’ says that I’m a threat?”

“The part where you’ve been evading us for a decade,” Fury said dryly.

“Fine,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. If having a babysitter would get SHIELD off his back, he’ll figure it out. It was only for a few weeks anyway. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

Peter was suspicious of SHIELD’s plans. He was brought back to his apartment by helicopter, wearing a blindfold. They then, as if they were not acting like every bad guy in every bad action movie ever, told him that he’d hear from them in the next day or so. 

He decided to act as harmless as possible, holing up in his apartment and cooking. 

Peter was missing his weekly chat with Ajax because of this bullshit. She did get a letter from him explaining the situation, though, with a promise to bring her favourite cookies as an apology.

Space sat on his counter, in the body of Michelle Jones-Watson. Her hair was the most striking difference between the stone and his former best friend. It defied gravity, and floated upwards in the air, a beautiful midnight blue that sparkled like the night sky.  Space hummed under her breath as her feet swung back and forth. 

Peter was more focused on ensuring that the flour mix he was pouring into his dough wouldn’t spray everywhere — but kept an eye on Space to ensure the stone wouldn’t attempt to distract him because she was bored. She tended to be the most childish of the Infinity Stones, and consequently, the most immature. 

He didn’t mind though. Peter thought that this was perhaps her way of looking out for him. 

Peter wondered what SHIELD would think if they were watching him. Peter Parker, making chocolate chip cookies while an otherworldly-looking woman sat on the counter. He snickered at the mental image of their jaws dropping at the casual usage of their abilities.

There was a knock on his apartment door just as the oven beeped. He groaned while Space stared at it with wide, curious eyes. 

“Is that SHIELD?” She asked excitedly. 

“Probably,” Peter said, snapping his fingers. Space disappeared from the room as he went to open the door. Lo and behold, it was SHIELD. 

Maria Hill stood at his door, looking wildly uncomfortable. Her hair was much shorter, a pixie-type cut that was a sharp contrast to the longer hair she had worn in the military. Her face was set into a seemingly permanent frown. Peter’s lips curled up at the sight. 

He leaned against the doorframe. “Hill, as I live and breathe,” He greeted. “Come in. I was about to put some cookies in the oven,” Peter stepped back, gesturing to the black couch in the middle of the room, in front of the TV.

You’re an ass, you know that? Space complained in his head, almost causing him to falter.

Not my fault . Peter shrugged as he guesstimated the amount of dough he needed and plopped it onto a tray. Blame Power for this whole mess.

Hey! Power objected. You agreed!

You’re older than me. Peter pointed out. He had to stifle a shit-eating grin, lest Hill think he was insane. You’re supposed to guide me and all that stuff. Idiot.

Like you’d actually listen. Idiot. Power rebuked, which… fair.

Peter could almost feel Soul’s migraine from here. Both of you are idiots, okay? She said shortly. Now, Power, leave Peter alone.

But he started it! Power protested.

Peter could almost see Soul’s eye roll. And I’m finishing it. The man smiled a little as he put the cookies into the oven, setting a timer. 

“So, Agent,” He said, “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

The woman was so tense that Peter was genuinely worried he may have accidentally frozen her in time — don’t ask — until she exhaled heavily. 

Maria was holding papers in a white-knuckled grip as Peter jumped up onto one of his countertops, tilting his head. Her gaze was analytical as she stared at him. 

“Nothing,” She said simply. 

“ Oookay ,” Peter drawled. “So, you, the ever-gracious deputy director just decided that I should be graced with your presence for two weeks?” Maria’s expression shuttered, and it almost seemed like she was going to roll her eyes, but stopped herself. She shuffled through the papers, gaze pinned on her lap.

Peter, though, did roll his eyes. “This is such a nice and totally not one-sided conversation, thanks so much,” He said sarcastically, sliding off the counter. “If you have nothing else to say, then I am going to get going,”

“What?” Maria demanded, head jerking up. “Where are you going?”

The Jewish man gave her a smirk as he pulled on a blue sweatshirt. “Friend’s house. Am I no longer allowed to go visit people anymore?” He could see Maria eye the clothing that appeared out of seemingly nowhere with poorly disguised confusion, and Peter grinned.

“No,” She said shortly. “Unless you want Romanoff accompanying you,”

Peter groaned in annoyance. “Seriously? I have a dinner thing tomorrow,” I promised Xialing I’d help her with her grappling moves. Do you know how annoying she’ll be if I miss that?

“Deal with it,” Maria said shortly. “You’re the one who got caught,”

Peter flicked his fingers, speeding up the cooking process for his cookies. “Correction: Allowed to be caught. This is why trusting a sentient space rock is not a good idea,” He chuckled to himself about the joke, before he froze as his brain processed what he had inadvertently revealed.

Maria, observant as always, caught his misstep, but didn’t seem to know what to do with the information. “‘Sentient space rock’?” She muttered to herself, “I do not get paid enough for this,”

“Y-Yeah,” He stuttered, still terrible at lying despite having actual millennia to perfect the craft. “You should really petition Fury for a raise,” He recovered, waggling his eyebrows with a grin.

Maria stared at him blankly, which ouch. He thought he might at least get a chuckle. 

She looked at the pages in her hands. “You will report to Romanoff daily, and we strongly encourage that you move into the rookie bunks until your probation period is over,” 

Her voice was cold and detached, as she stood up. A few strands of hair had fallen into her face. She was turned away from him.

Maria moved to leave, and Peter reached out a hand, before retracting it just as quickly. 

“Hill — Maria, we should talk,” He said, softly. 

“What is there to say?”The papers crinkled in her grip. She turned to look at him, jaw clenched.“You let me believe that you were dead. You left —“

“Maria, it’s not that simple,” He stepped forward, and she stepped back.

She moved to the door. “It’s exactly that simple, Peter,” Maria’s left hand reached for the doorknob. “Goodbye,”

And god , if that click of the latch didn’t feel so final. 

Chapter Text

Peter stared at the door for a while. He didn’t know even how long — five minutes and forty-seven seconds, Time said, his voice unusually tepid in the back of his mind — before he snapped out of it.

“I need a smoke,” Peter muttered, suddenly scouring through his pockets like a man possessed. “Where are my goddamn cigarettes?”

Just as he said the words, a box materialized in his hand. Peter blinked at it owlishly, still unused to being able to summon things at the drop of a hat, before slowly pulling it open, as if he expected it to explode. 

Thankfully, it did not explode, and Peter pulled one out as he made his way to the balcony. 

It was a sad, gray day, which seemed to suit his mood perfectly. Vaguely, he wondered if he may have subconsciously made the clouds appear, before dismissing it. He flicked his fingers, the motion causing the end of the cigarette to light up. 

He inhaled deeply, allowing the familiar sensation of nicotine to calm his addled and guilt-ridden mind. 

He closed his eyes as he felt the familiar ghost-like touch of Soul against his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, rather letting a plume of smoke trail from his lips as he felt her gaze — worried, concerned, kind, much too kind — against his skin.

Peter shook his head, moving away from the Infinity Stone as he let out a breath. His skin itched with the need to leave. Maria was right. He could’ve contacted her at some point, talked to her, said something, but the man was at the whims of the universe. He could not change her history. 

He cycled through options, not that there were many. He was permanently ‘banned’ from China for getting into a fight with the leader of the Ten Rings (don’t ask), but he still went there occasionally to visit Xialing and make sure she didn’t grow up to be as emotionally stunted. Most of the Eternals were equal parts wary and curious of him, Makkari, Sprite, and Gilgamesh being the exceptions. 

The man paused, rolling over each option in his mind like he was inspecting a piece of fruit, before deciding. He took one more drag of the cigarette, calling on the power of the Space stone before he vanished.

He felt as if the world glowed blue for a moment, and then his feet were on the cool floor of the Domo . The cigarette was gone from between his fingers and he looked around, noting the new bits and bobs she had added. He smiled at the site of the thousands of books piling against the walls.

Peter hoped he wouldn’t disturb his friend’s reading, but Makkari was a generally relaxed Eternal and didn’t tend to mind when he dropped by unceremoniously. He wondered if he should get her a phone or something, but he was unsure if the thousand-year-old woman would even know how to operate one. 

He didn’t bother calling out to signal his arrival, but did rap his knuckles against the metal wall, hoping Makkari could sense the vibrations. Thankfully, it seemed like she could, because he saw a brown blur race towards him before she skid to a stop, and Makkari stood there, her hair intricately braided on one side, and a beam on her features.

“Hey,” Peter signed. “How are you?”

She shrugged, fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt. “Pretty good, how are you?”

The Jewish man pursed his lips. “Well…” He paused. “SHIELD finally caught up to me?” He signed bashfully. He smiled awkwardly as the Eternal gaped.

Makkari stared at him for a few seconds, before very aggressively finger-spelling, “WHAT?” 

“It’s a whole thing,” Peter sighed, “I let them catch up to me,”

“What?” Makkari repeated, though this time it was more subdued. “Why?” 

He shrugged. “They’ve been tracking me for at least a decade. It was getting annoying,” 

Peter didn’t want to explain the whole ‘living rocks in my brain basically dared me to do it’, even if she had probably heard weirder. Speaking of, he could totally hear them protesting being referred to as that. 

Her lips twitched. “You are one of the most reckless beings I’ve ever met, you know that?” 

Peter grinned, before shaking his head. “So how is everyone else?” 

“Well,  I know Sersi and Sprite are in London,” Makkari paused, uncertainty written all over her expression, “Kingo is having his fun as an actor, and Ikaris is off doing gods know what. I visited Ajax recently, though,”

Peter smiled, “And how is Ajax? I haven’t had a chance to see her this week,” 

Makkari shrugged. “Same as always. Sometimes brooding, but she makes a good chicken noodle soup,”

The conversation continued in that same vein, always light-hearted questions about hobbies and other irrelevant things. It was a familiar rhythm that he fell into all too quickly. 

He could hear the Infinity Stones in his head, trying to say something, but he ignored them. It couldn’t be that important anyway.

The speedster brought Peter to her main room. It was overcrowded with things from bygone eras, spears as tall as he was, masks painted gaudy colours, and what Peter thought might be at least half of the library of Alexandria. She ran off, and by the time Peter blinked, she had brought an intricately made wooden table with accompanying seats, and a handmade chessboard — though it was not professionally made, as at least a third of the pieces were slanted over like some miniature versions of the leaning tower of Piza. 

“Made these yourself?” Peter asked wryly. 

Makkari ducked her head, her signs jerky as she said: “I was trying something out,”

He let out a chuckle. “They’re not bad. We can still play, at least,”

The woman lifted her head, a small smile on her lips. She nodded, moving her white pawn two spaces. She then pointed to Peter with a smirk, before signing: “Watch out. I’ve gotten a lot better,”

“I’m sure,”

“I have!”

He made his move, leaning back and draping his arms over the back of his chair. The man’s eyes looked over the Domo, smiling slightly. The place was cluttered as always, but papers cranes and chains yellowed with age were taped up around the area, and it was so her that it almost ached.

Peter closed his eyes. She was still waiting to go home. He wished he could tell her everything, about Arishem, about Ikaris, about their true nature, but he couldn’t. She would have to find out on her own, along with the others.

He blinked back to reality as someone snapped their fingers in front of his face. 

Makkari rolled her eyes. “Stop daydreaming, Peter. It’s your turn.”

“Right,” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

As he moved the pawn up another space, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. Good things rarely lasted for him. He knew it. Still, Peter could pretend. He could pretend that he wasn’t falling apart inside. He could pretend that nothing was wrong. He could be happy.

Just this once. Just for today.