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“But what I’m saying is that how did the DODC know how to synthesize the web fluid—”
“What, you don’t think it’s possible for some sketchy government department to just take a sample?”
Ned stops his furious typing and swivels in his gaming chair. “Obviously everyone’s been taking samples.”
“You included,” says MJ casually as she continues to look down at her lap.
“And you think anything related to the government is sketchy,” counters Ned.
“You gonna argue that it’s not?” She raises a single brow. He nods, conceding this.
“I’m not rich enough to analyze the samples, though,” continues Ned.
MJ’s pencil scratches against the paper. Shorter lines now. She must be doing detailed work. Her base sketches usually have a lighter touch. What is she drawing now? “You just used MIT’s state of the art tech that was funded by unethical billionaires.”
“And I couldn’t make sense of it there, so how did they?” He kicks his feet out. “It dissolves too fast for any real tests.”
“Yeah, well, you had to haul ass to Cambridge. The DODC has several buildings in the city.” Her pencil stops as she frowns. “Probably more hidden ones, too. And it’s not like Spider-Man cleans up.”
“Dude.” Ned comes to Spider-Man’s defense. “It literally dissolves. What’s there to clean up?”
They dissolve into a well-worn argument, punctuated by graphite on paper and the soft roll of wheels on hardwood. Four years and they still sound the same.
Peter, unmasked, lays on the floor of his best friends’ apartment and is more at home than he’s been for years. LEGOs are strewn across the coffee table, the Death Star he knocked over when he crashed into their apartment and tried to immediately help rebuild until MJ smacked his hand away. His phone is blessedly silent. The knife slash on his torso’s already healing. The bandage MJ fitfully placed on him already stopped bleeding a minute into walking into their living room. He didn’t pull away from her, though. Didn’t tell her that he doesn’t need the bandage, probably just a few butterfly strips to keep it closed up. He just wanted her hands on him for a little while longer.
He’s working on not being an antisocial guy, all right?
Twenty minutes ago, Peter landed on their floor, winded, and they tried to get him to their sofa, but it looked clean and MJ had already been sitting on it, so he waved them off, saying hoarsely, “Don’t sweat it. The floor’s my favorite place in the world.”
After getting over the shock of his bleeding existence, they stumbled into their normal routine, Peter adding his own two cents every so often, and everything is…good.
It’s really good.
Absent-mindedly, Peter thumbs over his wound and accidentally reopens it a little. He hisses and sits up, not out of pain but about the mess he’s making. “Oh, shit,” he says.
MJ and Ned stop bickering and look at him with concerned eyes.
“Nah, I’m fine, but I kinda bled onto your floor.” Peter rubs his forehead. “Sorry, guys.”
MJ sets down her sketchpad and kneels next to him.
“I’m fine, MJ,” he tells her softly.
She ignores him. “Ned, can you grab the hydrogen peroxide and paper towels.” She phrases it like a question, but it’s really more of a demand. “Mix some water and dish soap, too.”
Ned shoots her a thumbs up and leaves.
“Peter.” She chews on her bottom lip. “You have to get out of the suit.”
He laughs nervously. He kind of wishes that his mask was on so he can avoid her gaze. “There’s really no need—”
“Peter Parker,” MJ says, narrowing her eyes. “I literally don’t care that you’re bleeding on my floor, but I do care that you’re bleeding. Take off the suit.”
He debates with himself. Take it off, or make an excuse to leave again. He doesn’t know why he’s afraid. He’s already unmasked himself with her.
“Dude, we don’t have any more hydrogen peroxide,” Ned yells from the next room over. He pops in and drops off the other things. “I’m just gonna grab some from the store really quick.”
“Okay,” MJ says back. “We’re running low on gauze and bread.”
Ned nods and looks at him. “Pete, man, you want anything?”
“Oh, uh,” Peter starts, faltering. “I’m good.”
Ned squints at him. “I’m getting you some food.”
“I’m good, really.” He’s always kind of hungry, though. Cons of mutated DNA. He’ll eat himself out of house and home if he’s not careful.
“I’m getting you some food,” he says, nodding.
“Ned—”
“Be right back!”
MJ’s little huff of laughter snags his attention. The corners of her eyes crinkle when she’s amused even if her mouth doesn’t fully move. Fuck, now he’s looking at her mouth. So pretty, he thinks. His fingers twitch as if to hold her. Four years and that instinct isn’t gone.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you still haven’t taken your suit off,” she says. Her long fingers run up against the webbed lines. Her nails are short but neat. There’s a smudge of graphite on the inner corner of her middle finger and all along the side of her palm. His breaths feel shallow.
She has a boyfriend, he reminds himself. She doesn’t love you. She doesn’t even remember you.
But his eyes dip to her collar. The broken black dahlia necklace shifting as she moves. If Ned remembered their handshake, that has to mean something. It has to. Jean said there were no thoughts about him at all when she was in MJ’s head. What about feelings? Habitual instincts?
Maybe he’s reading into it too much, causing himself more pain than necessary. He’s happy to be their friend, he really is. MJ calls the girl that Peter loves ‘she’ as in ‘not me’ but someone else entirely. He should respect that. He is respecting that. The dull ache of being near her and not being with her is nothing compared to not having her at all.
Peter’s trying to do right by May. He’s trying not to be so damn alone. He has people who care for him. Ned and MJ. He’s friends with Frank, which is still funny to him. He’s friendly with DeWolff and she’d say they’re not friends, but Peter really thinks they are.
So he’s sitting here with MJ’s face inches away from his and they’re relearning each other.
“Okay,” he whispers, a small, crooked smile on his mouth. “I’m only wearing underwear under this.”
Amusement crinkles on her face.
“Go,” she orders and turns her face away to hide her real grin.
Peter goes into the bathroom and peels himself out of the suit before he steps out into the living room again. MJ’s laying out butterfly strips, the last bit of gauze, and some antibacterial ointment that he probably doesn’t need but it’s nice to have.
Even though his steps are soundless, she turns like she knew he was there. She blinks rapidly and then, so quickly he’d miss it if he wasn’t superhuman, she checks him out.
Peter rubs the back of his neck. Inwardly, he preens. Just a little, c’mon. The prettiest girl in the world is looking at him like that? He’s got to take his wins somewhere.
“You wanna lay down or are you okay with sitting up?” she asks. He sits with one leg crossed, the other spread out. The small blood spill is mostly dabbed away, but he still moves away from it.
“This is fine.”
Her hands are freshly washed. No smudges to be found. He can smell the mild soap that doesn’t have any fancy scents.
She’s laser-focused on his torso. She wipes away the dried blood, murmuring sorry sorry sorry or does this hurt or putting this on now. He told her the first time she tended to him that she didn’t need to keep doing this. He can lick his wounds by himself. Honestly, he prefers it nowadays and still tries to make it back to his own place most of the time. It’s hard to be taken care of.
But they’re close by and their window is always unlocked even though he tells them they should lock it and he misses them even when they’re right in front of him. So he’s here. Being taken care of.
“You dyed your hair,” he finally tells her.
Without thinking, Peter reaches up to touch the ends of her hair. It’s subtle. A dark, dark red. In the light, it gleams. God, her hair’s still so soft. He lets go.
Her movements stutter before picking back up. “Yeah, I started doing it, like, two years ago?” She tucks some strands behind her ears. She starts rambling, like she’s nervous or something. Why would she be nervous? “I don’t know why, it felt like I needed a change, and I really like it.”
“It suits you,” he says.
Her lips curve shyly. “Thank you.”
“This is gonna sound really pathetic,” he says, heart light in his chest. “But I watched all of Ned’s videos he made when you guys were at MIT.”
She laughs. “Glad someone was watching them.”
“I just wanted to know you guys were doing all right.” A little more than that. It was an addict’s hit. It hurt every fucking time he clicked open a notification, but it was a rush all the same. To see their faces again, growing and changing and staying the same all at once.
It was on Peter for all this, he knows it. It’s his fault. He made the decision to not tell them about himself after Doctor Strange removed the memory of him from the world. He buried himself in trying to do good for his city and he’s been making ground. And even though he aches all the time and there’s always a scrape or a cut or a bruise on him, he’s gotten used to it. Part of the job.
But it tore his chest open every time he saw them thrive. He wasn’t in their lives by his design.
“Stalker,” she deadpans. Her touch is soft, though.
“That’s me,” he agrees.
When he looks down, there’s a neat row of bandages. Her hands linger on him. Tracing other parts he’s been hurt and haven’t fully healed yet.
“Does it hurt?” asks MJ. “Getting hit all the time? I know you heal faster, but…”
His eyes flutter shut. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “I’m not indestructible. I can still feel pain.”
MJ’s gaze snaps up. There’s a crease between her brows. “But you’re always hurt. I don’t think I’ve seen you not hurt once in all this time.”
“You get used to it.” Peter shrugs. “I know how to take a hit.”
There are plenty of punches, kicks, knives, guns he’s weaved his way out of over the years. He’s been Spider-Man for a long time. But he’s not infallible, far from it. He just has to keep fighting through it all. There really is no other choice, except to die. And he’s not doing that too easily.
Peter came close, but Jean saved him.
MJ frowns but doesn’t say anything for a long moment. With a heaving sigh, she leans back. The absence of her warmth is a shock to his system. “Try to dodge more please.”
His lips twitch. “Hey, I’m trying my best here.”
“I know you are.” MJ fiddles with her hands. Then: “We’re friends, right?”
“Course,” he says, sitting up straighter.
“I mean,” she starts and stops. “Like, you knew us before the whole memory wipe thing and we were—you and her were together, and you and Ned were friends, but—”
“MJ,” Peter says, confused.
“—is this a ‘you feel bad and now you’re trying to befriend us again because you feel bad for not immediately telling us that you’re Peter’ thing because I know you’re sorry about that, you’ve apologized, like, a million times about it even though I understand why—”
“MJ,” he says again, but she keeps talking.
“—but you’re—”
Peter cups her face in his palms.
She falls silent.
“MJ,” he says. He hasn’t touched her like this in so long. Bare skin to bare skin. No gloves in the way. He’s unmasked, untethered down to his fucking bones now. His thumbs can’t help but swipe against her cheeks. Her skin’s even softer than he remembers.
“We’re friends,” he tells her softly, “not because I’m hanging onto old memories.”
She looks like she wants to argue, but he’s deadly serious now.
“If I didn’t know you two, I would’ve wanted to be your friend because you guys are cool and smart and funny and just…good people.” Peter lingers for a beat too long before he pulls away. “I just have a little leg up. We’re making new memories, you know.”
She seems more settled now.
“Besides, you guys are nerds and somebody’s gotta balance the two of you out.”
MJ snorts and pushes his leg. “No, I’m not. Ned definitely is, but I’m not.”
“Liar,” he says lightly.
“You’re such a nerd. You literally built a universal inhibitor in Frank’s…whatever he lives in.”
“Which you”—he pokes her arm—“helped me with.”
“Whatever, loser,” which she only ends with because she has no rebuttal for it.
Peter laughs. “C’mon,” he says and stands up.
“What?” she asks.
He holds out his hands. Even though she’s questioning him, she still takes them. Peter pulls her up with ease.
“Ned’s almost home.”
MJ starts, “How do you—Spider-Man, of course.”
They’re still holding onto each other. He doesn’t want to mention it if she doesn’t. He likes these moments. He likes every moment with her. Old and new. He’s pretty psyched to make newer ones.
They only let each other go when the door opens.