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"You two are disgusting," MJ says from within her book. "I can feel the ooey gooey boyfriend puddles from here."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Peter delightfully responds, head resting on Harley's elbow and Harley's fingers tangled in his hair. He sighs contently. Ba-thump, Ba-thump, Ba-thump, went his boyfriend's heartbeat.
He feels the chuckle through Harley's arm, and his very sweet and very wonderful boyfriend adds on, "Me either, MJ. We're just sitting here," never once stopping the lazy brush of his nails down Peter's scalp.
"It's suffocating," Ned wisely finishes, the thought and the last bite of his lunch. "The ooey gooey aura is a strong one indeed."
The book thumps close, startling all 3 of the boys from their lunch (and ooey gooey) haze. "You guys," MJ gives pointed looks, "Need to wake up and get it back together before Chemistry. Come on, Parker, up-"
"But I'm so comfy," Peter whines. Harley just laughs, and very reluctantly pulls Peter's pillow (his arm) and his massager (his fingers) away.
"There's about 15 minutes left of lunch," Harley points out. "You can still use me as a pillow."
"You are the best," Peter mumbles as he crashes into Harley's sweatshirt again. Everyone laughs, even MJ. She huffs.
"If there's 15 minutes left, then we must do our daily Spiderman opinion fest," she announces. "I have opinions on that talk he crashed with the gunners in Central Park."
"Didn't he go back after they were apprehended to help clean up and even had time with the mic, though?" Ned said, relieving Peter from within the sweatshirt.
"I heard about that!" Harley laughed. "He arrived 10 minutes later and actually gave an insightful piece of wisdom while cleaning the place up– while the news was covering the criminal handoff he did just to get back," he said incredulously. "Iron Lad showed up just for the winning arrest before leaving again," he snickered.
"It was tactless," MJ said. "However, it showed he does care for the people, in the aftermath. I just wish that most times he avoids that source of trouble causing the aftermath." There's respect in her voice. It's a little scolding, certainly not the worst MJ has said about him, but there's a lot of respect there. Peter counts it as a win.
Sighing, he supposes he must contribute to the 'opinion fest' – he really hopes that's not the permanent and official name. "It's the little guy, I think, for him. The crimes of the people, instead of something like aliens or big world problems. I have no doubt he'll help, obviously," he says, pulling away from the glorious sweatshirt. "But I think he just wants to help his little corner of New York. Cleanse it, help it, fix it. That kind of thing. I'm not mad if he makes mistakes, if it means he's saved 10 other lives that day, you know?"
MJ just hums thoughtfully, looking at him. Ned's beaming at him, and Peter thinks his own sleepy doped-on-Harley face is the only thing keeping his secret from the other two.
God, he still hasn't thought of a way to tell Harls.
She's waiting for him inside his room when he gets back from school. His sixth sense spiked an angry flare as he turned the doorknob, and she barely lifted something – his old algebra homework, thankfully – to block the incoming web in time.
"Impressive," she smiled. "I didn't even have time to move."
"Miss Black Widow," he greets in return. "Somehow, I don't think that's true." Peter drops his bag on the floor, standing near the door while she gets off the windowsill and looks around his room.
"Maybe not," she smiles wider. "But regardless, you're faster than most. Most spatial-aware type of combat I've seen. Why do you do it?"
"Do what, lose 4 of my 7 hours of sleep every night trying not to get stabbed?" she hums an amused affirmative. "I- Because I can," Peter fumbles. He's never really had to put it into words, before today's lunch. Everyone he's ever talked to about this either already gets it because they share a similar reason, or they're Ned. "I can help, a lot. And so if I don't– that choice is on me. People get hurt, if I don't step in."
"Choice, huh?" Ms. Romanoff repeats. "So you want to… what, do your part for the world? Make your corner a better place?"
"Yea- Yeah," he says. There's a little more to it, a little less. She hums. If the Black Widow, super spy and infiltrator, has done her research on him, then she probably understands it.
Turning around from the old CRT monitor he scavenged, she faces him and crosses her arms. "Have you had a chance to read the Accords yet?"
He stands there, in line, watching as the other team meets them head-to-head. It was an uneven count.
Until he flew in.
Heartbeat checking had become a regular pastime for Peter, something he learned from Matt on their various patrols together. It was something he usually did to ground himself, giving him something to focus on while the streets of the city that never sleeps bustled on. It allowed him to run the hours without going insane, waiting for crime to happen in his 'district' so he could save the people who couldn't save themselves.
In hindsight, he really, really should have thought to expand his connections. Knowing the Defenders through Matt shouldn't have been enough.
The steady Ba-thump, Ba-thump that reached his ears made him freeze, made him reconsider his life choices up to this point and think where the hell he went wrong and got oblivious.
It was strong and firm yet just a little quickened, a show of the nervous but unwavering confidence the man under the suit has in his team. He wonders if they were both told the same thing, that there’d be no fight. Peter once, could have said the same about himself and that confidence — but that was 5 minutes ago; when his world had decidedly not rocked itself upside down yet.
He swallows.
He makes a decision.
He backtracks. Comes around.
Settles. Backtracks on his decision again.
Fuck it.
"...I can't do this."
Natasha looks at him, narrowing her eyes as the good Captain talked with Tony. "Can't do what?"
He takes a slow step back, still staring at Iron Lad, Harley, who's noticed him backing off. He must say something on their own comms, because sooner or later almost everyone on that side is glancing at him, and consequentially, his own 'teammates'.
"I can't do this. I- this isn't my fight. I can't do this." He's breathing hard, starting to shake his head a little. "You guys told me that it was going to be a peaceful talk. This isn't peaceful. The Colonel's in an offensive battle position and the Black Panther's claws are out. Ms. Maximoff hands' are already red– I can't do this."
"Son," Steve tries, "You said you would, because of the Accords-"
"I'm not!" He all but yells, frantic and panicking, still staring at Harley, "I'm not going to fight other heroes over a piece of paper. I can't–" he looks back to the group, who seemed to have converged by turning back to look at him, now only several paces away. "I'm just here to protect the little guy. Do my own good in the world. Cleanse my corner. Not fight an international fight with tensions that are only seemingly between like, 5 of you."
"Kid, you're flaking out on your own team-" Tony starts, incredulously, but he interrupts him fast and firm, barely even thinking his words anymore.
"Yeah, I am. This is me reconsidering. I can't lose more people." He says that last part, rolling back his shoulders, staring squarely at Harley. Some noticed, most didn't. "Count your numbers. Reconsider what this is all for. I'm out. This isn't what I agreed to, Ms. Romanoff, so reconsider if this even needs to be a fight."
He turns back, not even scared of what shots he might get, fully banking on the surprise of someone ditching a team to get away. He also prays, prays, that Harley would have recognized his words.
He lets out a little breath at the hitch in Harley's heartbeat.
"Well, your kid's right, Cap. He's out, you're one man down. Reconsider your-"
"I'm out too, then."
His eyes close at the confession, and he stops dead in his tracks. He doesn't turn back, not willing himself to hope, not allowing himself to see the possible disappointment of anticipation.
"What- Kid?" Tony splutters and Peter thinks that he would've been staring at Harley.
The dry, southern voice that comes out from the suit behind him almost brings tears to his eyes and he honestly thinks he could laugh from hysteria. "He said count your numbers, old man. You're clearly counting wrong. And he's got a point. I'm not cut out for this either."
And then, something unexpected happens.
He hears the metal retracting.
He hears the gasps from both sides.
He hears footsteps coming closer.
And then, he hears him.
A soft voice reaches him, one he's heard so much before: in the dark of the movie theatre, in the sly comments during class, next to him on the park bench. "Well, guess that's one way to reveal, huh?"
And before he can think, he's turning around, tears burning in his eyes and he yanks off the mask — eliciting another round of gasps, not that he's really caring right now — hugging the other boy tightly, embracing him in a way that says Don't go, in a way that says I'm sorry, in a way that says I love you.
But he says it anyway.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just thought- I couldn't- and then you came down and your heartbeat and I- I panicked and I and I can't lose you because I just found you and this isn't-" he drops to his knees in exhaustion, dragging Harley down to the pavement with him, still mindful of everyone just staring and watching. "I shouldn't have said yes, I can't do this- I don't want to hurt you, Harls, accords be damned-"
"Hey, hey, it's okay, it's not your fault- God I- I can't lose you either, you know that? I didn't think we'd be fighting either and Darlin', I'm here. It’s gonna be okay."
He brings their foreheads together, touching, and he mutters just for him to hear, "I love you. I can't hurt you."
And he knows Harley mutters back the same words, more along the lines of, "I couldn't either, baby, I love you too," but now he's staring past Harley's shoulders and glaring daggers at everyone in that damn airport. Slowly standing up, he urges his boyfriend to face the others as he grasps his hand firmly, solidifying their resolve.
"This isn't our fight. We aren't soldiers, we just want to do something good in the world. The accords don't take care of robberies and muggings and trafficking rings, we do. We don't fight aliens and cause huge economic damage, you do. All of you. The Accords need to be fixed, but all of you need to be willing to fix it first." He purses his lips, looking them all in the eye and swallowing his fears down.
"Settle your fight by sitting down and communicating." Harley adds. Then he looks at Tony. "Get Ross out. If he's fighting you on the Accords and pitting you against the other team here, then work together. Find the problem. Isolate it. Fix it."
"And- as much as a gift that plan is, why should we just drop all our things and do it?" Sam asks.
"The super soldiers," Steve tacks on. He turns to the other man out of time. "We need to go." Barnes nods and they both run off, the Black Panther following them.
"Because if my boyfriend wasn't who he was, if he didn't have his powers, I could've," He inhales softly as his voice cracked, "Something could've happened to him, to me, and none of us — his family — would have known.” He swallows. “I'm- no, we are willing to put each other before whatever sissy fight you guys have going on." The Are you? rings like a gong in the silence. He steps forward, Peter following him.
"Reconsider what this is all for." Peter repeats, trying to drive it home.
And with that, Harley gives Peter a quick kiss on the cheek, stepping back into the suit, before flying off. Peter looks back to them, fist clenching his mask, and with a sad look in his eyes, he says, "I've lost too many people to focus on worldly things. Accords can be amended. Mistakes in the past can be forgiven. Death, can't be undone. Actions can be regretted. You guys were once family, before this. Deep down, you still are. Don't go 'back' to that, just- just make something new."
He doesn't spare them a second glance before webbing himself over the airport buildings and they watch as Iron Lad comes down to swoop him from the rooftops.
"I can't believe you sussed me out from my heartbeat."
"HARLS."
"Seriously, this would've happened a whole lot sooner if we had just crossed paths once while vigilante-ing."
"Harley James Keener," the other says, throwing popcorn at him. "Please, respectfully, shut up."
He hums, a soft smile gracing his lips as he looks at the smaller boy beside him. "Okay!" And he kisses him.
"And they just left?"
"Yeah, Pep, they just. Alley-oop!" Tony makes a vague gliding motion with his hand. "Gone. Just left us to awkwardly cram onto the second Quinjet as everyone actually considered their words in disbelief. Babies! We were listening to babies!"
"Yes, 'babies' who were also vigilantes who seemed to be more emotionally mature than all of you combined."
"Then there's that! Minors, Pep, Spider-Man's not even able to drive, and he somehow made us stop fighting by having an emotional breakdown-"
"Because he was going to fight his boyfriend,"
"Yes, yes, that, and I- Oh my god, I recruited his boyfriend. But! I didn't know he was his boyfriend. They've been dating for 3 months! They haven't gone to the highest of lengths to demonstrate their love!"
The woman sighs. "So essentially, two teenage vigilante boyfriends who didn't even know each other's identity managed to sort out their communication problems faster than you guys, the adults, did."
"Pepper, light of my life, saviour of my company, my dear and beloved."
"I’m hanging up now, Tony.” She sighs again, and he can hear her close her eyes with patience. “Did you even thank them? Or say sorry, or both?"