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He’s three days out of the hospital when his phone buzzes loudly out of the blue and for all his enhanced senses, it takes him completely by surprise. He jolts hard and the coffee in his mug sloshes dangerously right above his obscenely expensive keyboard.
An unknown number, a cryptic text.
how are you feeling?
His first instinct is to ask who this is. Then again, very few people have his number.
DeWolff, Frank.
Scratch that. Only two people.
Against all reason, hope blooms in his chest, fluttering its frail wings. What if…
definitely been better
was sorta expecting you to say you’ve been worse
except you haven’t, have you?
well…
He leaves it at that. He has been worse. Dead, for all intents and purposes, although “disintegrated” might be a more accurate word.
The three little dots appear and disappear and then appear and disappear again and it goes on for a while, long enough that his heart starts hammering in his chest.
He has an inkling of who he might be talking to but hope is a terrible thing and he stifles it mercilessly, lest he ends up crushing the shards of his heart into a fine dust.
do you think we can grab a coffee at one point?
only if you’re up to, of course
He stares at the screen.
His skin is burning. His throat is dry. His heart is threatening to burst right out of his chest.
yeah, I’d like that
a lot, added almost as an afterthought and sent before he can second-guess himself.
this is Michelle, btw
I know, he types, then immediately deletes it. He knows so many things that she doesn’t and it’s such an unfair imbalance.
I figured, he writes instead, then deletes that, too.
anyway, text me when you feel like meeting up
how about now? gets deleted instantly.
And then, another afterthought.
thanks for checking in
of course
The dots don’t appear anymore after that but he still spends another couple of minutes locked in a staring contest with the screen. Just in case. He saves her number, stubbornly typing “MJ” instead of “Michelle”.
And then, before he even has time to fully process it, he jumps into his suit and all but throws himself out the window. Too many complex feelings and nervous energy to burn and so many high-rises to swing from until his body thrums with exhaustion and his mind gets as close to blank as it possibly can.
In the evening, he rereads the conversation and sends a message before he has a chance to chicken out.
I could do tomorrow?
She leaves him on seen. Five minutes, ten. Twenty.
This was a bad idea. Too soon. Too hasty. Too much.
wanna come by in the morning?
He lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and it comes out as a wet sort of chuckle.
sure
around 10?
sounds good
This time he can’t help the tears, so he buries his face in his hands and just lets them flow freely.
---
Her text had been crystal clear: “come by”. And yet he still does a double-take when she opens the door wearing sweatpants and a hoodie and gestures for him to come in.
‘Make yourself comfortable, be right back with the coffee,’ she says without any sort of preamble before turning on her heels and heading for the kitchen. It doesn’t leave any room for negotiation, so he closes the door behind him and plops down on the couch.
‘Milk, sugar?’ she calls out and there’s suddenly a lump in his throat that he barely swallows past.
‘Neither,’ he calls back, the first word he’s uttered since he arrived.
‘Yeah, I figured,’ she says as she comes into view, carrying two steaming mugs. She puts them on the coffee table and goes back to the kitchen, this time returning with two glasses of water. She puts those on the table as well and kind of throws herself on the couch, leaving enough distance between them for it to sting.
‘Yeah? How so?’ he asks and he shifts on the couch to face her.
She just shrugs but there’s a particular look on her face that he knows all too well. Resolve mixed with apprehension. He narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the left, debating whether to push it or not.
‘How have you been?’ he asks instead, a weak attempt at levity.
‘Yeah, we’re not doing this.’
‘What?’
‘The chit chat.’
‘No? I thought this is what people grabbing coffee together do. Although it’s been so long for me, I might actually be behind the current etiquette.’
He chuckles. She doesn’t. Just looks at him intently, almost as if studying him and he has never felt more like a bug in a jar as he’s feeling right now. So he scrambles to find a safe topic.
‘Where’s Ned?’
‘Sent him away.’
‘What?’
She takes a deep breath and turns sideways on the couch as well. He can’t help but notice their knees are almost touching.
‘Look, there’s a reason I asked you to come over instead of meeting at a coffee shop and that same reason is why Ned isn’t here. I wanted privacy.’
‘Privacy?’ he asks weakly.
‘Yup. There’s a looong talk ahead of us, buddy and I don’t’ want an audience.’
‘O..kay?’
‘I broke up with my boyfriend.’
He stops breathing. Alarms start blaring, flags of all sorts of colours appear out of nowhere and the stupid muscles on his face are intent on twisting his mouth into the most excited grin. He fights them valiantly and somehow manages to win.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says carefully.
‘No, you’re not.’
‘I–’
‘Peter.’
And just like that, he’s rendered speechless. He realises a second too late that he’s instinctively leaned into her space. Her eyes widen and she leans backwards. It hurts more than it should but he knows he deserves it.
‘I remember everything.’
He inhales sharply and goes still. Then he waits. For what, he has no clue.
Actually, that’s a lie.
Sometimes, when he has trouble falling asleep, he likes to design scenarios in his head. In some of them, through quite frankly impossible sequences of events, the spell gets undone. Somehow. The logistics are irrelevant. In most of them, though, the spell just wears off and Ned and MJ rush to find him and they all hug and cry and MJ probably hits him in the chest for being a self-sacrificial idiot. She kisses him afterwards and he tells her he loves her more than anything in the world and she just smiles that soft smile of hers that is reserved only for him and then they ride together into the proverbial sunset.
Reality, it seems, has nothing to do with imagination.
‘How?’ he whispers.
‘Jean. It kind of works backwards, I guess? When we were frozen in time, that memory of the three of us saying goodbye kept playing in a loop.’
‘That was two weeks ago,’ he blurts out without meaning to. She purses her lips and raises a single eyebrow.
‘Astute observation.’
‘MJ–’
‘Don’t. It’s taking all of my willpower and self-restraint – and god knows I don’t have much of the latter – to not start hitting you right now.’
He tries to smile but he knows it ends up being distorted. The hands folded neatly in his lap slowly start to shake and his throat feels scratchy, as if he’s swallowed a bucket of sand.
‘Totally deserved,’ he rasps.
She hums vaguely and gets up off the couch, looking down at him without saying a word. A cue if he’s ever seen one.
He sighs and makes to get up as well.
‘Don’t even think about it!’ she snaps and behind the controlled tone he can sense the simmering anger. ‘Long talk, remember?’
He bites his lower lip and nods slowly. She lifts her chin defiantly and lifts both eyebrows.
‘So talk,’ she finally says as she crosses her arms and fixes him with an icy glare.
‘What do you want me to say?’
Wrong question. Very wrong. He barely finishes before she literally explodes.
‘You fucking promised, Peter! You looked me in the eye and promised me you’d come find me and explain everything. We were going to figure things out together. You and me, a team. You made a fucking promise and you fucking broke it and I’m so mad right now, I can barely look at you! So you’d better have a damn good reason why you went back on your word and I’m just dying to hear it. How about we start there, huh?’
She finishes with a mock-smile and suddenly, he’s back on that rooftop, hearing Jean talking in MJ’s voice.
He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep, shuddering breath.
‘I’m sorry.’
Nothing more than a whisper and for some reason, he hopes she hasn't heard him.
‘You can do a lot better than that and we both know it. Or should I get you a piece of paper?’
It's the taunting coldness of her tone more than the words but it hurts nonetheless. Like a stab to the heart with a white-hot knife.
‘Come on, Peter, talk to me,’ she pleads after a couple of moments of silence and the dam finally breaks.
There's an ugly sound, like that of a wounded animal and he barely has time to register that it came from him before a violent sob wracks his entire body and he breaks down. He rests his elbows on his knees and his hands on his head and he cries like he's never cried before, fat tears rolling out of his eyes as he gasps for air and each stuttered breath accompanied by a little whimper.
It's horrible and it hurts so damn much and he wishes he could just curl up in a ball and forget about everything.
At one point, after what feels like hours but it’s probably no more than a minute, the couch dips next to him. There's MJ's warmth seeping through his clothes and her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back and instead of making him feel better, it just sends another wave of sorrow crashing through him.
‘I'm sorry,’ he chokes as more tears spill from his eyes.
‘I know,’ she says quietly and pulls him towards her.
He goes without protest. Lets himself be cradled in her arms, face buried in her neck and fingers twisted in the fabric of her hoodie and just holds on to her with the desperation of a drowning man to driftwood.
---
‘I did come.’
His voice is scratchy beyond recognition. He reaches for the water but she beats him to it.
‘When?’ she asks, passing him the glass.
He takes a sip, puts it back on the table next to the long-gone-cold coffee and clears his throat.
‘A couple of weeks after,’ he says. ‘At the coffee shop.’
She hums and frowns. ‘Why don't I remember that?’
‘It was four years ago,’ he replies, trying his best to ignore the murderous glare he gets in response. Instead, he focuses on her small hand nestled between his own and pushes on. ‘Ned was there too. Believe me, MJ, I wanted to tell you then, so badly! But you both looked so happy and carefree and I just couldn't bring myself to turn your world upside down. It took everything in me to just walk out the door,’ he finishes with a sniffle. ‘Cried myself to sleep that night,’ he whispers after a couple of moments.
And many nights after.
‘You're a fucking idiot.’
But it's soft and fond and to his horror, fresh tears threaten to spill.
‘Yeah,’ he chuckles wetly as he plays with her fingers. Black nail polish. Always his favourite.
She doesn't say anything else and he doesn't either, too afraid to burst the little bubble they're both in. They can't stay like this forever, though and he sure as hell can't take it if she has to tell him to leave because their little coffee date is over, so he reluctantly decides to take the wheel.
He takes a deep breath to steel himself. Opens his mouth, closes it without making a sound. Takes another deep breath.
‘Just say it, Peter.’
‘What now?’ he finally pushes the words out and struggles to hope for nothing.
‘Now we make up for the lost time.’
She says it matter-of-factly while looking straight into his eyes and yet he's still afraid to let hope spread its wings and take flight.
‘I'm not sure I know what that means.’
‘It means you start wooing me, Parker.’
He huffs in amusement, then sniffles and uses the back of his right hand to wipe his nose. As suave as ever.
‘Not a word I thought I'd ever hear you use.’
‘You don't know me that well anymore,’ she says, not unkindly but not sugarcoating it either. It's the breath of fresh air he hadn't realised he'd been missing. ‘Just like I don't know you,’ she carries on in the same no-nonsense tone. ‘Four years is a long time, Peter. We have a lot of catching up to do.’
‘No, you're totally right. About everything. And I have so much to tell you, I– I missed you so much!’
And finally, finally, that soft smile he’s been dreaming about for the past four years. His smile.
‘I missed you too.’
He smiles back, heart suddenly mended and as light as a feather. Without even realising he starts leaning in, eyes trained on her lips.
‘Nope, not happening,’ she says as she leans backwards. It doesn't hurt this time, though.
‘Sorry.’
She just rolls her eyes, grabs his mug and basically shoves it into his hands.
‘Just shut up and drink your coffee!’