Chapter Text
“Hey, Peter.”
It was a subtler this time. Instead of a violent shuddering, there was a slight straightening of the spine. Less of a sharp intake of air, and more a quiet gasp. If his Spidey-Sense wasn’t making his ears ring, Peter might not have noticed at all.
As he watched though, he caught the minute inconsistencies in MJ’s posture, the curve of her mouth, and the widening of her eyes.
“Jean?”
MJ shrugged her shoulders at him, “In the flesh. Kinda.”
He knew this was all going too well. MJ had finally accepted his offer for casual coffee. It was one of the few times she felt comfortable hanging out without Ned there as a buffer. It almost felt like the old days–the two of them trading easy laughs over stupid jokes, or friendly advice about shitty coworkers or escaped villains. It felt…normal. Too normal, apparently.
Thanks, universe.
Peter shot Jean-as-MJ a flat look, gesturing vaguely at his possessed ex-girlfriend. “Dude.”
She winced, glancing around the coffee shop. “I know, sorry. I need your help, and this is the only way. I would’ve called, but I don’t exactly have your number.”
“Wait, seriously? You were in my head for how long, and that never popped up?”
Jean rolled her eyes in a very MJ-way. It was actually kind of charming.
“I was a little busy at the time.”
Peter swallowed against the memory of monitoring equipment beeping in his ears, and the press of an oxygen mask against his face that rose, unbidden, to the forefront. “Fair enough. Have you been practicing, by the way? This time looked…different.”
“Different?” Jean cocked her head.
“Less whiplash-y, for one.”
“Whiplash-y?”
“Yeah, you know. Less–” he made a quick, jerky movement to the side that earned him a long look from the waitress “–And more..I dunno, mellow?”
“Right.” Jean hit him with a deeply unimpressed stare that looked so natural on MJ, Peter had to tamp down a swell of nostalgia. “Well, I have been practicing. It’s less of a take-over and more so sharing the driver’s seat.”
“Sharing? You mean that MJ’s–”
“Here? Yeah. I asked this time, by the way. She said it was cool. Or, she’s acting like it’s cool, but I think she’s freaking out a little. I dunno, she’s a bit of a tough read.”
Peter’s jaw clenched. MJ still shuddered a bit when she talked about her possession, and Peter didn’t enjoy the idea of her sitting side-saddle in her own mind. “Why don’t you just jump into my head then? Gotta be more efficient, anyways.”
MJ’s nose wrinkled. “Yeah, no. Your mind is…itchy. It’s a lot easier when you're unconscious, but it still feels weird. Like I’m wearing a wool sweater over a sunburn.”
“Hang on, ‘unconscious’?” Several nights of sleep suddenly interrupted by sitting up in bed, senses screaming as Peter tried to shake the inescapable sensation of being watched, were brought into startling clarity.
“Have you–” Peter broke off, leaning across the table to whisper furiously, “Jean, have you been watching me sleep?”
There was an uncomfortably long silence before Jean finally admitted, “A little.”
Peter stared. “That is such an insane breach of privacy that I don’t even know how to react right now.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to extend my range, and it’s easier when I have a connection with someone, and sometimes it’s nice to check in and–” Jean cut herself off with a deep breath. “We really don’t have time for this right now.”
Peter leaned back, crossing his arms. “I feel like we can make some time.”
“Peter, please.”
“Fine, but we are having this discussion at some point. Also, what did you mean by ‘extending your range’? Where are you right now?”
“Westchester.”
Peter blinked. “Jean, that’s like, thirty miles from here.”
“I’m aware.”
“When–how–why are you in Westchester?”
“I met someone–someone like me. He’s been helping me figure things out–helping a lot of people like me, actually.”
“People like you?”
“Mutants.”
Curiosity officially piqued, Peter opened his mouth with a barrage of questions locked and loaded, only for Jean to hold up a hand.
“Look, I’m kind of short on time here, can we talk about all this later? If they catch me doing this, I could be in trouble.”
“Trouble?” Peter narrowed his eyes at her, protectiveness sparking in his chest.
MJ’s lips curved up in a soft smile. “Not the kind of trouble you’re thinking of, Pete. More like ‘mom caught me sneaking out past curfew’. Seriously, can I get to my point here?”
Peter ran a hand through his hair, sighing hard through his nose. “Fine. Yeah, sure. What’s up?”
“A friend of mine went missing recently around Manhattan. I’m hoping you could poke around? Maybe do some digging?”
“What kind of friend?” Peter raised an eyebrow suggestively, noticing the soft blush dusting MJ’s cheeks.
“Really?” She tried to sound flat, but the blush grew.
Peter grinned. “Right. Sorry. Name?”
“Scott Summers. He went to poke around the orphanage he was raised in–the ‘State Home for Foundlings.’ He’d hoped maybe to hear something about his brother, Alex.”
“And you think he’s in trouble?”
Jean shrugged, fidgeting with the corner of MJ’s sleeve. “Yeah, he was supposed to check in with us every Wednesday, but he missed yesterday’s check in. And the one before that. And before that.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “He’s been missing for three weeks and no one has done anything about it?”
Jean winced. “Scott’s…a bit of a flight risk. He had a really hard time before coming here, and he’s got some trust issues. Most people are saying he took the chance to cut and run, but it feels weird. He wouldn’t ghost us out of nowhere like this–and he definitely wouldn’t be out of my range.”
“You haven’t been able to reach him?”
“No. It’s strange, I keep running into this interference whenever I reach out–like mental radio static, I guess? I’ve never felt anything like it.”
That was strange. Peter hadn’t had many chances to see Jean use her powers, but the few times she did, well…’limited’ was not the word that came to mind. It was one thing for a known runaway to dip off the map, but for a telepath of Jean’s caliber to be unable to reach him?
“Okay, yeah. That definitely sounds odd. Where was this orphanage?”
The tension melted out of MJ’s shoulders.
“Manhattan. Scott and his brother were placed there after his family had an accident, and Alex was adopted out separately. He’d heard from one of the other kids at the orphanage that the headmaster kept some hard copies of the record, and he was hoping for a lead. Be careful, Peter. Scott didn’t really like to talk about it, but it seemed like some bad shit happened to him there. I don’t know what you’ll find if you go poking around.”
Peter softened at the concern in Jean’s voice, and he reached out to place a hand over MJ’s as he promised, “I’ll let Yelena know before heading over. If I find anything, how should I reach out?”
“Just think really hard about me, I think. My teacher calls it ‘projecting with intention.’ I should be able to feel it.”
Peter cocked his head. “Weird, but okay.”
“Thanks,” Jean sighed, placing MJ’s other hand over his to grip it tightly.
“Of course. Hey, Jean?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s really good to hear from you again.”
Jean beamed at him, the sight almost too jubilant on MJ’s face. “You too, Peter.”
Just like that, she was gone, and Peter was left staring awkwardly into MJ’s eyes while she clasped his left hand in both of hers. They both drew back quickly, Peter’s gaze darting to the side to stare at literally anything else, please God.
“So,” MJ started after a moment, “Manhattan?”
“Head down to Manhattan, walk around Central Park, have a few laughs. What’s the worst that could happen?” Peter muttered to himself, the sewage making a viscous sucking noise as he wrenched his leg free. His mock-Russian accent was undeniably offensive, but Yelena wasn’t there to kick his ass for it. “I dunno, Yelena, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t gonna wash out.”
Peter staggered forward down the damp tunnel. He gagged a little as something slimy rolled off his foot and plopped into the murky water.
Of course Yelena got the cushy part of the job, relaxing in her ‘office’ surrounded by clean water in a plush robe.
He was so making her dry-clean the suit after. She owed him for that debacle in Hell’s Kitchen, anyway.
Peter froze as something clacked against the wall of the sewer tunnel at the opposite end, his foot hovering in the air. Pitch-black darkness stared back at him, betraying nothing of the noise’s source.
The sound of rushing water came louder and louder as the source of the noise came closer and closer, sounding almost like a surging tidal wave.
Peter turned to run, only for a sudden, stabbing pain to overtake his mind. He collapsed to knees, and everything went black.