Work Text:
That ever-present tenseness is visible in his shoulders; in truth, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him without it, for as many years as you’ve been working with him. You’ve been working late tonight and could really use a break yourself, but with Jess away for an ultrasound, someone had to stay behind and keep an eye on Miguel.
Perhaps you volunteered for the job a tad too hastily, if the smirk Hobie had flashed in your direction was any indication, but Hobie’s always smirking at things. You’ve gotten pretty used to it.
In any case, even Margo’s signed off for the night. You know Miguel’s the Big Boss In Charge, but…couldn’t he benefit from some chill time?
“That’s it,” you say, yawning. “That’s the last of the logs done. Think I’ll turn in for the night.”
Miguel says nothing. He either is so immersed in his work that he didn’t hear you, or he’s ignoring you - both are likely in their own way.
After a moment’s more of silence, you frown, and web yourself up to his platform. He’s always brooding, that’s pretty normal, but…
Oh, you realize, because you recognize the video footage he’s watching. You’ve never seen it yourself, but you know what it is, where Miguel came from. You know why he is the way that he is.
You contemplate leaving and pretending you saw nothing, but then Miguel turns his head and fixes you with his dark, exhausted eyes, and it’s too late to act innocent.
“Sorry,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You just…”
“What.” He phrases the word as a statement, not a question. “I just what.”
You sigh. “I worry about you, Miguel. I mean, when you first found me in my universe…you were sad, sure, but you weren’t this angry. I don’t know what changed, but if you ever need to talk…”
“I don’t.” His stare is fixed somewhere past your shoulder, his jaw hard as steel. “Nothing changed. I’m fine.”
“Oh, bullshit,” you tell him, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “How long have we known each other? I know when you’re lying to me.”
Miguel shakes his head. He’s been working with Jess the longest and all the Spiders respect him as their leader, but he’s never gotten as close to anyone as he has to you. You know this because he told you so himself, a year ago when MJ was killed and you were stumbling around HQ in a haze, the big empty pit in your stomach threatening to swallow you whole.
We all lose people, he’d told you, his voice the gentlest you’d ever heard it. But we persevere. You’re strong, Y/N. You can survive this.
I bet you tell all the Spiders they’re your favorite, you’d joked half-heartedly, desolate and depressed, sure you were right. But Miguel had given you this look that had told you plainly: I am completely serious. And then he’d started to say something, stopped as if he’d thought better of himself, and swung away.
You don’t know what he’d been about to tell you…though maybe you kind of do. The pair of you have never necessarily been the emotionally vulnerable types, but the connection between you is one that cannot be denied.
“I’m fine,” he’s repeating now, still hiding from the truth. “Just tired.”
“Which is exactly why you should call it for the night. You’ve done plenty.”
“I haven’t done enough.”
“Look, just…” You exhale deeply, pull off your mask so you can meet him eye-to-eye. You don’t miss the slight change in his demeanor when you bare your face, the fleeting look of quick relief. “Do you…want a massage or something?”
He blinks. “What.”
“I asked if you wanted a - “
“I heard you.”
You quirk an eyebrow. “Ok. So? Your shoulders could really use it, dude.”
“I…” You can pinpoint the exact moment he decides to give in, posture slumped and scowl deepening. “…Fine.”
He turns back to face the screens - thankfully, the video from before is long gone. Miguel says nothing for a long time, ‘til he finally snaps, “Well?”
You lay your hands on his shoulders. You’re no trained masseuse, but your Aunt May does a wicked back rub and you’re sure you can replicate her technique, more or less. And so you try.
Are all shoulder muscles this knotted? Or is Miguel just overworking himself per usual? You’re not sure, but you press as hard as you dare, first with your fingertips, then kneading in and out with your knuckles. Miguel is silent as you work. The only sound he makes is the measured course of his breathing, up-down, up-down, up-down. You can feel it thrumming through your neurons, slow and steady.
“What, sorry?” You didn’t catch what Miguel just mumbled under his breath.
“Can you - go harder?” he repeats, practically spitting the words. He sounds as exhausted as you’ve ever heard him.
Wordlessly, you begin to apply even more pressure, and Miguel moans. You’ve never heard him make a noise like that before, and in your shock, you start and almost back away from him entirely. You manage to keep your wits, though, and you press again in the same spot, feeling the knot aching to unravel beneath his skin.
“Y/N,” he groans - but before you can begin to wrap your head around that, Miguel’s body is freezing up under your fingertips, and suddenly, he’s wrenching himself away from you.
“Woah - you ok?” You drop your hands to dangle by your hips, but you can still feel the buzz in your head, concentrated and slightly painful like a migraine, a hit off a cigarette.
“You should go,” Miguel says quietly, his back to you. “This…you should just go.”
“Ok.” You’re finding it hard to breathe, beneath all the spandex and bindings and confusion. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.”
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then what the hell is the prob - “
“GO, Y/N,” Miguel seethes, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. “Just leave me alone.”
You scowl. “Fine.” Pulling your mask down over your face again, you shoot a strand of web over in the opposite direction, pull yourself through the air until you land against the wall and cling there. “Fine, Miguel. Whatever you want. As usual.”
If he looks back at you as you leave, you don’t know. At the moment, you’re too hurt and angry to waste another thought on him.