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Peter Parker was shivering. It was a cold and dreary November night in New York City. Sleet was falling in icy sheets and the wind whipped in his ears. Peter pulled off his mask to wipe his streaming nose with his sleeve. He was perched atop a building, staking out a Chase bank just below that he suspected would be robbed by a group of local thugs. Peter took a deep sniff, attempting to stem the flow from his nostrils, but instead reduced himself to a coughing fit. Worrying he may have revealed himself with all the ruckus, he hastily pulled the mask back over his face, snatched up his backpack, and swung to the next rooftop.
“Karen, what time is it?” Peter whispered to his AI.
“The time is 12:47am,” she replied.
Peter sighed. Why did crime always have to happen at night? He had to admit he was tired. He had been on patrol most nights that week, having received regular tips from his informant, Aaron Davis. Plus, he had a Spanish quiz in the morning. Peering over the edge of the rooftop, Peter saw that the streets below were deserted, whether due to the time or the inclement weather he was not sure. Regardless, there was no sign of the thugs. He propped his backpack up on a large AC unit sticking out of the building’s roof, and settled himself against it, resigning himself to keep watch until morning, just to be safe.
***
Peter was awoken by sirens. His eyes snapped open and he sat up, startled. The sun was just rising over the east, and from the same direction, 3 police cars were moving fast towards him. Peter scrambled to the edge of the building once more, and to his dismay, a scene of wreckage met his eye. The glass windows had been shattered, shards littering the street below. The ATMs, it appeared, had been torn from the walls, their contents gone along with the thieves themselves. But how? Peter could not have been out that long… but then, there was the sun…
“Karen, what time is it?” Peter gasped. He was only just becoming fully aware of his predicament.
“The time is 6:50am. Good morning, Peter,” she answered in her calm, cool voice.
“How… how did I sleep through a robbery? I would’ve heard the glass shatter, or the burglar alarms,” Peter reasoned with himself. His voice was hoarse and strained.
“There were high wind speeds and freezing rain last night. Perhaps the noise of the storm prevented you from hearing the burglars,” Karen suggested.
The police cars were pulling up now, forming a ring around the bank.
“I should get out of here,” Peter said, “I don’t have any information for them and… I have a Spanish quiz,” he remembered suddenly, backtracking to where his book bag lay against the AC unit. It was soggy from the night spent in the sleet, but the contents inside were mostly spared. He fished for the clothes he wore to school the day before, which he had shoved in his bag when he changed into his suit for patrol. He was searching for a place to hide and change back when Karen spoke again.
“Peter, you have 2 missed calls from May.”
“Oh gosh… Karen, text May, tell her I’m okay and… I just fell asleep on patrol.” But as he finished, Peter was forced to conclude that he was not exactly okay. A pounding headache beat against his skull, and a sharp pain stabbed his throat with every swallow. He sniffed, trying without success to stop his running nose.
“Sent. Peter, your body temperature is low. Would you like me to activate the suit’s heating element?” Peter clapped a hand to his aching head. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
“Um, no, it’s okay, I have to change for school. Thanks anyway, Karen.” He crouched low behind the AC unit to be sure no one could see him, then stripped off the sodden spider suit, and replaced it with yesterday’s jeans, socks, and hoodie, which were mercifully dry. Next he stuffed the suit into an inside pocket of his back pack, and located his phone. It was on 6% battery. Sure enough, there were two missed calls from May, and about a dozen texts from her, Ned, and MJ. There was no time to respond now, though; the sun was rising fast and school would be starting in half an hour. Deciding he could not swing across town on webs in his civilian’s clothes, Peter slid down a poll to a narrow alley between the skyscrapers, and shuffled down the street to class on foot.
***
“You look terrible,” Ned said baldly as Peter arrived in class, sweaty and out of breath, just minutes before the morning bell.
“Thanks,” muttered Peter. “Hey, will you text MJ for me? Tell her I’m here and I’ll see her at lunch.” His phone had died on his way to school.
“Yeah, but Peter, what happened to you? You’re pale and your voice sounds like you smoke 6 packs a day,” Ned remarked.
“Fell asleep on patrol. And I think I might be sick,” Peter croaked, rubbing the front of his neck. The soreness in his throat was no longer only an issue while swallowing, but a constant knife-like pain. The classroom felt cold and he put up the hood on his sweatshirt, shivering slightly. Ned’s eyes were still on Peter, betraying his concern. He opened his mouth to speak, but Peter stopped him.
“I’m fine Ned, seriously.”
“Yeah but Peter, there was a robbery last night! You’re telling me you slept through it?” Peter sat up, eyes wide.
“How’d you know about that?” Ned held up his phone in response. It displayed a news break article discussing the robbery of several Chase ATMs. Peter snatched the phone from Ned’s hand, reading quickly. Apparently the burglars disabled the bank’s alarm system, but passersby saw the broken windows and sent an alert to the police station around 6:30am. No one was hurt. Peter’s shoulders relaxed when he read that part. At least his impromptu rooftop nap hadn’t allowed anyone to be injured on his watch… or lack there of. He handed back the phone to Ned, sniffling and clearing his throat. Ned wiped his phone on his shirt as the bell rang for class to begin.
***
Peter made it through the first half of the day with difficulty. A thick fog seemed to have settled over his brain, causing him to mix up “volver” and “devolver” on his Spanish quiz. His nose dripped relentlessly, and created quite the distraction for both himself and any students within ear shot of his sniffling. It was with relief that he made it to lunch, collapsing into a seat next to MJ.
“Hey,” she said with her usual indifference, “you wore those clothes yesterday.”
Peter said nothing, but pushed his lunch tray - which bore a slice of limp cafeteria pizza - away from him. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on top of them.
“Hey,” she repeated, “what’s up?”
“M’sick,” Peter mumbled.
“And he slept through a robbery last night,” Ned supplied, sliding into the seat across from them with his own tray. “Are you gonna eat that?” He added, indicating Peter’s pizza. Peter gave his head a weak shake, and Ned pulled the tray closer to himself.
“It was a burglary, not a robbery,” MJ said flatly. “There was no one in the building.” Ned shrugged, apparently indifferent. MJ dismissed him with an eye roll and reached a hand over to Peter, pulling back his hood. She had begun to stroke his messy brown hair when her fingers froze on the back of his neck.
“Peter,” she said softly. He raised his head to look at her, flushed and glassy-eyed.
“You’re warm,” she said, now pressing the back of her hand to his rosy cheek. “We should go to the nurse, have May come get you.” Peter shook his head, grumbling something that sounded like “fine” and “got school.” MJ shook her head, unconvinced. She stood up from the lunch table and held her hand out for him to take.
“C’mon,” she said. Peter blinked at her. Her expression was tender, but stern. He knew there would be no arguing.
With difficulty, Peter extracted himself from his seat, and took the hand MJ offered him.
“Later, Ned,” he croaked, and allowed MJ to lead him down the hall.
***
In the nurse’s office, Nurse Deb wasted no time in thrusting a thermometer into Peter’s mouth. He was sitting hunched on the edge of a blue, paper-covered examination bench, surrounded by thin white curtains. Only one other bench was taken, by no less than Flash, who was faking a stomach ache to get himself out of running the mile in gym. MJ sat beside Peter, her feet dangling off the edge of the bench, her hands folded in her lap. The thermometer beeped and Nurse Deb removed it. She winced, reading the numbers.
“Good lord, Mr. Parker, 103.2. I’m calling your aunt.” She walked briskly from the room, calling over her shoulder, “and you should be getting to class, Miss Jones!” MJ didn’t move, but gazed at Peter with concern.
“103,” she repeated.
“It’s my increased healing factor,” Peter explained. “I hardly get sick anymore, since the bite, but when I do I get-“
“Really sick, yeah,” MJ finished, brushing a lock of hair out of Peter’s eyes.
Suddenly, Peter shifted away from her, leaving her hand to fall back to her lap.
“You should stay away from me,” he said hoarsely, “I don’t wanna get you sick.” MJ shrugged.
“I’m not worried about it,” she said. Nurse Deb reappeared then. “Your aunt is on her way, Mr. Parker. And Miss Jones, I thought I told you to go to class.” MJ slid from the bench without reply.
Instead, she looked at Peter and said “I’ll come over after school and bring you the notes.” Then she gave him a flicker of a smile, before departing for class.
***
Peter was permitted to wait outside for May to arrive. In just a few minutes, a black Audi SUV pulled up, and the passenger window rolled down to reveal May, and in the driver’s seat, Happy Hogan.
“Hey, kid!” Happy called. “Your aunt said you needed a ride.” Peter nodded vaguely and climbed into the back seat. May twisted to look at him.
“Aw, hun,” she sighed, observing his trembling form. “Let’s get you home.”
“Sorry you had to leave work,” Peter murmured. His throat was hurting worse than ever, making talking a real chore.
“Don’t be silly, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” she replied, reaching back to ruffle his hair. “Ooh,” she muttered, feeling his hot and sweaty forehead. “You really are hot. 103 huh?” Peter nodded again, trying to stifle a cough.
“Oh yeah, Tony gave me something for that,” Happy chimed in. He began rummaging in his pocket with one hand while driving with the other.
“You told Mr. Stark?” Peter choked out, mortified. “No, no, Happy I don’t want him worrying about me. I’m fine, really.” It was not a convincing performance. His voice was weak and cracked, and he was shivering more violently by the minute. Peter saw Happy glance at him in the rear view mirror. At last he extracted what he’d been looking for. It was a small, translucent orange bottle, which appeared to be filled with tiny purple capsules.
“Tony had Shuri whip these up for you after last time you got the flu and we couldn’t get your temperature under control. Special meds for spider kids,” he said, rattling the bottle. Peter swallowed thickly. He hated taking medicine, and preferred not to, if he could help it. Normal cold medicine made him feel dizzy and drowsy even before the bite. He couldn’t imagine how extra-strength drugs specially crafted for his high-speed metabolism would make him feel.
“I… I dunno about that Happy,” was all Peter managed to say.
“Hey, doctor’s orders. Or Tony’s orders, I guess. Anyway he said you only have to take them if your fever gets high enough to cause all the proteins in your brain to denature. He said you’d know what that means.” May took the bottle from Happy, examining it closely over the top of her glasses. Peter sank back against the leather bench seat, defeated. 103.2 was pretty bad. He was sure May (or even Mr. Stark) would insist he take the medicine. Soon, they arrived outside the apartment. May took Peter’s backpack for him and he trudged inside, Happy calling “Feel better, kid!” after him as he drove away.
“Go change into something comfy and lay down,” May instructed when they were inside. “I’ll bring you something to take these with,” she added, referring to the pills. Peter did not have it in him to argue. The walk upstairs to the apartment had cost him immense effort, and he felt wobbly where he stood. In his room, he picked out a pair of flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt, then collapsed into his twin bed. May appeared at the door moments later, carrying a tray which bore a handful of saltine crackers, a can of ginger ale, and two tiny purple capsules Peter knew were of Shuri’s invention. May also had a wash cloth, damp with cool water, which she laid over his forehead. Peter sighed in relief. Laying down at last, the full force of his aching body seemed to hit him at once, but at least the cloth felt nice on his head. May set the tray on Peter’s nightstand, and stooped low to kiss him on his too-warm cheek.
“Take those and get some rest. I’ll be up to check on you later.” Peter sat up and opened the ginger ale, but as May closed the door behind her, he brushed the pills off the night stand and let them fall onto the floor to get lost in the fibers of his area rug. Contenting himself that she would be hard pressed to find them there, Peter settled against his pillows and allowed himself to fall asleep.
***
Peter sat up with a gasp. A car alarm was blaring outside his window. His head whipped toward the sound, eyes bleary, and he tore off his blankets, ready to spring into action. His feet had just found the floor when he noticed two hands on his shoulders, pressing him back into his bed. Peter blinked, evidently startled by this development, until his eyes found the owner of the hands standing in front of him. It was MJ, and she looked worried, or perhaps, Peter thought with a jolt, a little afraid.
“MJ?” He asked, delirious. “What are you doing? I’ve gotta go, someone could be in trouble,” he babbled. His wide eyes darted toward the window again where the car alarm was still chirping.
“Peter it’s fine, someone probably just set it off by mistake. And you can’t go anyway, y-you’re sick,” she stammered. Peter appeared not to have heard her.
“Where’s my suit?” he asked, swatting her hands away and pushing himself to standing. He was shivering violently, and fought to speak through chattering teeth. “I’ve gotta hurry up and g-get down there… if someone’s hurt it’ll be all my f-fault…” he muttered, mostly to himself. He searched the room for his backpack, where the suit had been tucked away, but it was nowhere to be found; May had left it in the kitchen. For a moment, it looked like Peter might set out to find it, but MJ stepped forward swiftly, grabbing his wrist to stop him. As she did so, she felt something crush under her shoe, and looked down to see a fine purple powder below her. Her eyes flickered from Peter, to the crushed pill, and back, and understanding seemed to wash over her. But before she could do any more, Peter’s face drained of color, and he turned and vomited on the rug. MJ was truly alarmed now.
“Peter, you’ve got to lay down, please,” she begged. She could see now that his t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. How high did a fever have to be to induce delirium like this? Not knowing what else to do, MJ began shouting for May.
“No, no, no, don’t call May,” Peter moaned, tears streaming down his face. He wobbled badly and sank back down onto the edge of the bed. “She’ll be so worried, MJ, please.” But it was too late. May had come running at the sound of MJ’s cry, thermometer in hand. She stopped in the doorway, taking in the scene: Peter, pale and tearful; MJ, stricken and panicked-looking; vomit on the rug; uneaten crackers on the nightstand. Her breath hitched and she crossed the room, sliding the thermometer into Peter’s protesting mouth. A strained silence followed, punctuated only by the distant sound of the car alarm, until the thermometer beeped, reading 104.4°. MJ stared at the tiny screen, terrified.
“Ms. Parker, I think we need to take him to the hospital,” she cried.
“It’s no use,” said May in a shockingly steady voice. “Nothing they give him will help. He needs to take the pills Shuri made him.” The words seemed to rouse Peter, who had been gazing blankly up at both of them.
“P-pills?” He stammered. His eyes welled with tears again. “I’m sorry May, I didn’t take them! I don’t like the way they make me feel, and- and-“
“Peter, I need you to relax. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to eat a couple of these crackers, and then you are going to take these pills, okay? However they make you feel, it can’t be worse than this. You understand?”
Peter said nothing, but MJ saw him steal another glance at the window, toward the source of the sound that was causing him so much distress.
“Peter,” she said, bending down in front of where he sat on the bed and placing a hand on his knee. “Everyone is okay out there, okay? And they were okay last night, too. And even if they weren’t, it isn’t your fault. You can’t save everybody. But you can’t save anybody at all if you don’t get better, and the only way to do that is take your medicine and rest for a bit.” She gazed at him imploringly. Then, as if on queue, the car alarm silenced.
Peter sniffed and swallowed. It looked like it was quite painful. But then he nodded slowly, looking only at MJ.
“Okay,” he agreed softly. May let out a relieved sigh and swept from the room, returning with two new purple pills. MJ gave Peter’s knee a squeeze as he downed his crackers, then threw his head back and swallowed both pills with one gulp of ginger ale. When he finished, his breathing was labored and slow.
“Come on, lay down,” MJ urged him. She helped him swing his legs back onto the bed. Beside them, May dragged the vomit-splattered rug out of the room to be washed, mouthing a silent thanks to MJ as she left. Next, MJ spotted the washcloth for Peter’s forehead, which had been tossed aside when he woke up.
“I’ll be right back, okay?” She told him. She ran the washcloth under cool water in Peter’s bathroom. When she returned, she brushed away the hairs that were sticking to his sweaty forehead, then knelt down beside her boyfriend and placed the cloth gently across his eyes.
“That okay?” She asked.
“Mmhmm,” Peter hummed in reply. MJ felt so relieved, she put her hand on Peter’s cheek and kissed the little of his brow that remained uncovered by the rag.
“Don’t,” Peter grumbled. MJ pulled away, stung, but then Peter continued, “I’m sick. Don’t want you to be too.” MJ almost laughed. At last, there was Peter again, returning to himself for the first time since she saw him at school that afternoon. The pills must have been working fast.
“I told you I’m not worried about that,” she replied, kissing his head again. “Just want you to feel better.”
MJ glanced at her phone. Having come straight to Peter’s after school, it was nearly dinner time now. She was sure her mom would be missing her. Reluctant to leave her boyfriend’s side, she found Peter’s dead phone and plugged it in to his charger by the bedside table.
“I’ve gotta get home. Call me when you wake up.” Peter did not answer. His breathing was slow and even, his chest rising and falling with steady rhythm. MJ smiled and squeezed his hand one last time before gathering her things and departing.
***
The next day, Saturday, Peter slept clear until morning, and this time, was not awoken by anything more than a steady stream of sunlight seeping in through the spaces in his blinds. He cleared his throat and began to sit up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. As he did so, the wash cloth MJ had provided slid from his forehead onto the floor. The sight of it made Peter’s insides twist, as hazy memories of the night before resurfaced in his mind.
“May?” Peter called, as loudly as his raspy voice would allow. His throat was still sore, but less so than the day before. May appeared at once, looking worried, but she relaxed when she saw Peter sitting up in bed in no apparent distress.
“Hey,” she said with a smile, “you feeling better?”
“A little, yeah,” Peter replied sheepishly. May approached the bed and knelt to place her hand on his forehead.
“A little is an understatement. You’ve been a mess.” Peter turned pink.
“May, I’m so sorry about last night. I should’ve listened to you and taken the medicine like Mr. Stark wanted. I never wanted to put you through-“
May silenced him with a shake of her head.
“It’s okay. I’m just glad MJ was there. That girlfriend of yours is a superstar. She knew exactly how to calm you down.”
“Yeah, she is,” Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He reached for his phone then and checked his texts. There was one from MJ:
Hey, I’m going to bed. I hope you’re still sleeping. Sweet fever dreams x
Peter smiled down at his phone.
“I should call her, I think she asked me to last night.” Admittedly for Peter, the whole evening was somewhat of a blur.
“Sounds like a good idea,” May agreed. “But… how about a shower first?” She suggested. Peter blushed deeper red, glancing down at his sweaty t-shirt.
“Yeah, I think that might be a good idea.”
“Good. While you do that, I’ll change your sheets so they’ll be clean too.”
In the shower, Peter inhaled the warm steam into his raw throat and nasal cavities. After a long while, he stepped out, toweled off, and dressed again in a pair of grey sweats and a blue midtown tech t-shirt. However, the shower itself drained Peter, who was still far from feeling fully well. It was with relief that he sank back into the freshly laundered sheets May put on his bed. Once he was settled, he picked up the phone to call his girlfriend.
***
MJ arrived after lunch time. She padded into Peter’s room just as he was finishing the last of the Campbell’s chicken noodle soup May had brought him in bed, despite his insistence that he was well enough to at least walk to the kitchen.
“Hey,” she greeted him, taking a seat in his desk chair.
“Hey,” Peter replied, feeling a little embarrassed. He set the soup bowl on his bedside table and tried to prop himself up in bed. There was a brief silence in which MJ cocked an eyebrow at him, then Peter spoke.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he began. “That was a lot for you to have to handle.”
“No worries. Glad to see you looking better. Are you still hot?” She asked, then blushed. “A fever, I mean, do you still have a fever?”
“102.1,” Peter answered, “but that feels cool after last night.” MJ laughed.
“Yeah, I bet. So do you have to take more of those pills?” Peter grimaced, glancing at the bottle on his bedside table.
“I probably should,” he admitted. “Problem is, they make me really tired. If I taken them I’ll just fall asleep again.” MJ shrugged.
“I could go for an afternoon nap,” she said.
“You… you really don’t mind staying? I really don’t want to get you sick,” Peter said.
“Oh, would you stop worrying about me and move over?” MJ said with a grin. Peter couldn’t help but smile back. He glanced toward the door nervously, as if worried May might come in and bust them, but shifted anyway to make as much room for MJ as he could in the tiny bed. She climbed in beside him, then reached for the bottle of pills, and handed two more to Peter, who accepted them only somewhat apprehensively.
“Okay,” he said, raising them to his lips, “but next time you’re sick I get to fuss over you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” murmured MJ, who was already settling her head against her boyfriend’s chest. “But for now, you just rest.”