Chapter Text
Peter Parker had grown accustomed to Jean Grey.
She had somehow managed to wedge herself into his life as if she had always been there. Like a phantom limb that had been stitched back into his body, like a wound that had disappeared after years of bleeding sporadically.
She had made his life better, in a way he had forgotten about.
It hadn’t been easy at first, for neither of them. She had appeared at his doorstep one night, staring straight into his front door camera. She was completely drenched from the storm raging outside, still wearing the same clothes he had last seen her in.
Two weeks after being discharged from the hospital, there she was again. Alone, sad, and…
And damn it if he didn’t see himself in her; the tired eyes, the shaky hands product of anxiety and not the cool, the hunched shoulders from carrying the weight of loneliness… she was him, years ago, forced to live in a world where no one cared for her.
“Hey.”
She jumped a little at the sound. She looked at him with eyes wide open, as if surprised he had decided to open the door for her; as if she had expected him to not want anything to do with her.
“Um.” She hugged herself, a strand of her wet hair falling over her face. “Hi.”
A beat of silence. Peter stood there, looking down at her, and smiled. He stepped away from the door, offering her the option to enter, and she did after another look into his eyes.
“Are you…” She stood in the middle of his apartment, looking around it as if she hadn’t been there before. “Are you okay with me being here?”
Peter closed the door and gave a small smile, walking over to his made-up kitchen to warm up some water. She was shaking like a leaf; she needed warmth fast.
“Can’t you read it in my mind?” He asked. It was meant to come across as a joke, but she physically flinched as if she had been hit.
“No,” she said, harshly; the anger wasn’t directed at him, though, but at herself. “No. I— I’m trying. To… to not do it. It’s… it’s bad, that I did it before. To you, and to…”
Peter nodded. “It was… a poorly timed joke. Sorry.”
“I, um…” She looked to the side, and Peter’s chest tightened at the sight. She looked so… young. “I wanted to know how you were. If you were still hurting.”
Right. The bullet.
He smiled and grabbed two cups that were dusty from the lack of use. He hardly drank anything other than coffee at one of the Deli’s around his apartment, and it wasn’t like he had anyone to invite over. So, yeah, the cups were dusty, but he just rinsed them and turned to look at her.
“It never really hurt,” he admitted. “It did at first, but then…” He shook his head. “You took my pain.”
Jean looked down, as if embarrassed. “It was the least I could do.”
“Thanks.”
She pursed her lips and turned around, not wanting to look at him out of shame. “I… I hate that you did that.”
The water in the kettle started to boil. He waited for her to continue talking, but she didn’t.
“Why?” He asked.
“Should’ve let me take the bullet. Would’ve made things easier for everyone.”
Well that was just fantastic. Was there any book around about powered teenagers who are suicidal because they feel alone? He would have to check the public library.
May would have probably known how to deal with this.
“Why are you here?” Peter asked, softly. The last thing he wanted was for Jean to get spooked and run off again.
But she was starting to get defensive. He could tell from her stance, one leg ahead of the other and hands tightened into fists.
“You can shower,” he amended. “In the, um, bathroom. To your left. You can grab some of my clothes over in the closet. We can get you new ones tomorrow.”
An offer, a metaphorical extended hand; stay if you want, I won’t judge or kick you out.
She took it. He made some tea that smelled good and tasted like a watered down fruit salad.
His clothes looked big on her. The shorts she had found from god knew where had to be tied tightly so they wouldn’t slip down her legs. His shirt sat awkwardly on top of her shoulders, as if it knew she wasn’t its owner.
Her hands held onto the mug as if it was the only thing anchoring her to the world.
All things considered, it probably was.
“Do you like the tea?” He asked, if only to make sure she was still awake.
“It tastes like shit,” she said, but she raised the mug to her lips and drank. “I like it.”
Peter chuckled, amused by her antics. She reminded him of Ned a little, with her unique personality and boldness.
“I…” Jean started, but cut herself off. She shook her head and opened her mouth once more. “I went back to my foster home. It’s on the seaside. Sara got me out of there one night and told me to run with her, and I did. I was so happy she had found me.”
Peter waited for a beat. The first tear fell, and she wiped it aggressively with the back of her hand, as if frustrated with herself for still having too many emotions gathered in her chest.
“They didn’t take me back in. When I showed up, I mean. I…” She let out a humorless laugh. “I forgot. I was so busy trying to find Sara that I forgot.”
He looked at her, eyebrows frowned. “Forgot what?”
“My birthday,” she said. “I turned eighteen a few days ago.”
He closed his eyes, cursing to himself. “Jean…”
“They wouldn’t take me back in. Said I was no longer their responsibility. That I was an adult now and had to fend for myself. I wanted to go into their brains and make them cry. I was so angry…”
“Did you?”
Jean looked at him. “No. I almost did, but I just smiled and walked away.”
“Why?” Peter asked, trying to coax her into opening up. Just a little, just enough to understand her a little bit better.
“Because I knew that’s not what you would’ve done,” she admitted. “And… and I don’t wanna be what I was before. In that room. I don’t want to hurt people. I want to help, like you do. Or… at least not cause trouble.”
“Well,” he smiled at her. “Seems like New York got itself a new vigilante.”
“Do you think I can be that?” Jean asked him. Her eyes were staring intensely at the half-drank mug in her hands.
“Be what?” Peter asked. He wanted to reach over and grab her hand, but he wasn’t sure if the touch would be welcomed.
She looked up, her eyes burning into his, as if daring him to lie. “Be good.”
Peter smiled, and finally cut the awkward tension with a hand squeezing her shoulder.
“I think you can be whatever you want to be, Jean.”
Jean put a hand on top of his, still holding her shoulder firmly. They were small, and still freezing despite the hot shower she had taken.
“So you think I can be that? A vigilante?”
“Why not? Hell’s Kitchen has a blind lawyer that beats people up with batons at night.”
Jean frowned at that. “What?”
“Nevermind,” he shook his head. “The point is that anyone can be whatever they want to be. If you want to help people, you can.”
“I think I want to,” Jean said. She held onto his wrist and pressed her thumb into the back of his hand, feeling his pulse. Alive, thanks to her; almost dead, also thanks to her. “I think I owe them, after what I did.”
“We all make mistakes. What matters is that you learn from them.”
“I mean, it’s not like I can get a job,” Jean went on, moving her free hand awkwardly on the table. “I didn’t even graduate from high school. Sara said there was no point in that. And I’m pretty sure I’m a wanted criminal.” She made a face. “That’s why I came here. I… I don’t really have anyone else. And I didn’t want to use my powers and force people to give me free food and let me live in their home. It felt… wrong.”
“You know you’re not alone, right?” Peter asked, in the same soft tone May always used when he came home crying after being harassed by bullies. “I meant it when I told you you have me.”
“Spider-man aligning himself with a criminal.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “What a role model.”
“Kids love me,” Peter declared. “And about your… past.” He gave her a meaningful look. “I think I know just the person who can help you,” Peter said.
“Who?” Jean asked.
“Do you like saunas?”
Jean thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to one.”
“Well, tomorrow’s your lucky day, then.”