Chapter Text
01
Saturday morning, a diner in Queens.
Peter cut the pancake into four pieces and pushed the plate across the table.
The little girl across from him had a pair of noise-canceling headphones hanging around her neck, comically too big for her. She looked down at the plate and pointed at the bottom left piece.
"That one's bigger."
"No, it's not."
"Bigger."
Peter shaved a strip off the edge, ate it himself, and pushed the plate back.
The girl looked again. "Now it's smaller."
Jean sat next to Peter, scrolling on her phone. She didn't look up, but made a joyful sound.
"Don't laugh," Peter said.
"I'm not laughing."
Peter sighed and swapped the plate for his own untouched pancake. Only then did the girl pick up her fork.
He was still learning this whole kid thing.
"The man at the next table is pretending to read the newspaper," the girl said through a mouthful of pancake. "He's actually been looking at Jean. Six times now."
Peter turned his head. The middle-aged man at the next table instantly lifted his newspaper higher, blocking his face.
Peter turned back. Before he could say anything, the back of his neck prickled.
Jean's thumb stopped scrolling.
"The black car outside," the girl said, setting down her fork. "There are four people in it. They're saying my name." She thought about it, then added, "They have four guns. They're loading them."
Peter and Jean exchanged a look.
"Maggie," Jean said quietly, "put your headphones on first."
Four men in cheap suits got out of the car. Their eyes went straight to the table by the window.
"That's her."
Jean set down her phone and looked up.
For reasons nobody could explain, every employee and customer in the diner took cover at the same time. The cashier ducked behind the counter. The mother with the stroller scooped up her baby and ran into the bathroom. The man at the next table took his plate of eggs with him under the table.
"Why is everybody moving at the same time?" the girl asked.
"They've had practice."
"Do I have to move?"
"Not yet."
The girl thought about it and nodded.
The four men drew their guns and burst into the diner. Before they could even raise them, the guns flew out of their hands and came apart in midair, piece by piece. Magazines, slides, springs, all lined up in a neat row.
"What the f—"
A glob of web sealed his mouth shut.
Peter was already over the table. Three seconds later, of the first three men, one had his face pressed against the counter, one was webbed to a pillar, and one couldn't talk.
The fourth one ran for the kitchen.
Peter raised his wrist, but before he could fire, a small figure shot past him.
The girl caught up with the man at the swinging door. One punch.
The man flew into the kitchen along with the door. Well, along with part of the door. There was now a very clear, man-shaped hole in it. From the kitchen came a tremendous crash of pots and pans, and a long, high-pitched scream.
Peter walked over, looked at the hole, and crouched down.
"Maggie. What did we agree on?"
"No punching people through windows."
"Right."
"That was a door."
Peter opened his mouth. Her expression was completely serious. She wasn't talking back. She was just correcting a mistake.
"...Okay. No punching people through doors, either."
The girl solemnly committed this to memory. Then she looked up.
"What about walls?"
"No."
"Can I punch them into a wall but not through it?"
Peter thought about it. "...I can live with that."
Jean came over and straightened the girl's crooked headphones. "Do your ears hurt?"
"They're ringing a little. That man screams like a teakettle."
"Why don't you listen to some music, then? It might ring for a while."
The girl put on a song for herself. Her shoulders dropped all at once.
Jean stood next to Peter and glanced at one of the men on the floor. Those four had come for this kid. The thought left her a little shaken. But the three of them had worked together so smoothly just now that she also felt, somehow, that it wasn't so bad.
"Fisk's people. He must've really taken a hit this time."
"Good thing we were here."
Peter gave her lower back a light squeeze.
The girl stood between them, studying her fist, completely oblivious.
By the time the police arrived, no one in the diner knew what had happened. Everyone thought they'd just zoned out for a second.
A young officer crouched beside the table by the window, facing the little girl, who was now on her second pancake.
"Hey there, kiddo, that must've been scary, huh? Your mom and dad are pretty amazing!"
The girl slid one side of her headphones off and pointed at Peter and Jean, who were over by the counter talking to an older cop.
"They're not my mom and dad."
"Then they're..."
"They took me away from my mom and dad." She thought about it, decided that wasn't quite clear enough, and added, "My mom wasn't really okay with it."
The young officer slowly turned his head.
Peter happened to be looking this way. He started waving both hands frantically.
"No, no, what she means is— Jean, help me out here—"
Jean had already turned away and was humming cheerfully to herself.
The girl put her headphones back on, looked down, and went back to her pancake.
02
One week earlier.
The doorbell rang at Peter's apartment.
Three people stood outside.
Matt Murdock stood in the doorway in his sunglasses, his head tilted slightly.
Jessica Jones carried a duffel bag big enough to fit a grown adult. She was wearing her leather jacket and the same expression as always, like she'd come to collect on a debt.
Between them stood a little girl with black hair, wearing a loose striped top and wide-leg jeans. She was holding a gray stuffed rabbit. The rabbit was missing an eye.
"Come on in," Jean said.
"Long time no see!" Matt stepped inside and gave Peter and Jean each a hug. Then he stood still for a few seconds, listening. "Your fridge compressor's about to go."
"...Thanks," Peter said.
"And the window on the left side of the bedroom is a little loose."
"Matt," Jessica said.
Matt closed his mouth and shrugged.
Jessica tossed the duffel onto the couch. The couch sank several inches.
"Clothes, enough for two months. Headphones, two spares." She unzipped the bag and zipped it back up as she talked. "She doesn't eat celery, she doesn't eat mushrooms, she doesn't eat anything that looks 'slimy,' and she decides what counts as slimy. Bed at nine. She needs a story before bed. She might tell you she doesn't need one. She does."
"Okay," Jean said.
"She got my strength, but she doesn't know how strong she is. Probably don't let her help you open jars."
"Okay."
"Her hearing is good. Too good. When there's too much noise, it gets to her, but she usually won't say anything. You'll have to notice for yourselves. Watch her shoulders."
"Okay."
Jessica paused. She looked at Jean like she was waiting for her to ask something. Jean didn't ask anything.
"One more thing," Jessica said. "Jean, come here a sec."
They went into the kitchen.
Jessica leaned against the counter, looked at Jean, and lowered her voice.
"You don't go in her head."
Jean said nothing.
"Not for any reason. If she gets hurt, no. If she lies to you, no. If she wakes up in the middle of the night from a nightmare and you want to know what she dreamed about, still no."
Jean nodded.
"I know you're a good person, I know you wouldn't mess around, but I really don't want her to go through what I—"
"Jessica, I get it. I won't." Jean pulled her into a hug.
Jessica didn't look entirely used to this kind of thing, but she hugged back, a little stiffly.
"Thanks," she said finally.
In the living room, Peter crouched in front of the little girl, trying to find something to talk about.
"You're Maggie, right? I'm Peter. What's your bunny's name?"
"Bunny."
"...Great name."
Maggie looked at him, then turned and looked around the room.
"Is it just the two of you here?" she said. "I've never seen so many fridge magnets."
"We've been to a lot of places."
Maggie thought about it. "Can I go too?"
Peter patted her head. "When you're a little older, definitely."
"Thank you for agreeing to look after Maggie." Matt came over and shook Peter's hand. "Frank and Karen wanted to help too, but her strength isn't very stable right now. We were worried they might not be able to handle it."
"It's nothing. As long as you guys don't mind that we don't have any experience." Peter smiled. "Jean's been wanting to spend more time with Maggie. She loves kids."
"She can hear things three floors away," Matt said. "Plan accordingly."
"I know what sensory overload feels like. I'll do my best to help her." Peter nodded. "And we'll try not to argue in front of her."
"Thanks. But she's actually pretty used to that. What I meant was..." Matt turned toward Maggie, and a hesitant look crossed his face. "Never mind. It's nothing."
The elevator arrived.
"Jessica," Matt said, "the elevator's here."
"I know." Jessica stood in the doorway and didn't move. "Oh, and she's scared of thunder. She'll tell you she isn't, but she is."
"Okay," Jean said.
"And when she takes a bath—"
"Jessica."
"I know."
Jessica pulled out a hardcover notebook and pressed it into Maggie's hands.
"Your school wants you to keep a summer journal. Write in it every day."
Maggie took it and flipped through it. It was blank. "What do I write?"
"Whatever you want. If there's stuff you don't want to tell people, try telling the paper."
Maggie studied the notebook seriously. "Does the paper talk back?"
"...No."
"Then it's kind of like talking to you."
Matt turned away to hide the curve of his mouth.
Jessica opened her mouth, ended up saying nothing, and turned and walked into the elevator. Matt followed her in.
The doors started to close.
"Mom," Maggie said, "you forgot to say goodbye."
The elevator doors stopped. A hand forced them apart from the middle.
Jessica strode out, crouched down, and pulled Maggie into a hug. She hugged her hard, so hard the rabbit in Maggie's arms got squashed flat.
"I can't breathe," Maggie said.
"Deal with it."
A few seconds later, Jessica let go, stood up, walked back into the elevator without looking back, and waved over her shoulder.
The doors closed.
Maggie stood in the hallway holding her flattened rabbit, watching the elevator doors. The numbers counted down, floor by floor.
"Mom's heart is beating really fast," she said.
Jean crouched down beside her and didn't say anything.
"I think she's crying. In the elevator," Maggie said. "Dad's comforting her and pretending he's not crying."
Jean gently put a hand on her back. Maggie didn't pull away.
July 3.
Mom and Dad went to Europe to fight a bad bald man. Starting today I'm living at Uncle Peter and Aunt Jean's house. Uncle Peter smells like a park in New York. Aunt Jean smells like blankets that dried in the sun.
Mom said she won't miss me. But she cried in the elevator. I heard.
03
There was a new chore chart on the fridge.
It was pinned between the magnets from Prague and Iceland: Breakfast — Peter. Lunch — Peter. Dinner — Jean. Bedtime story — take turns. Bath time — Jean. "Emotional check-ins" — Jean.
The last one Jean had added herself, with a little heart.
There were five parenting books stacked on the coffee table. Peter had finished two, Jean had finished three, and both of them felt ready.
On the first morning, Peter lay on the floor, putting corner guards on every piece of furniture in the living room.
Maggie stood nearby holding her rabbit, watching.
"Who are those for?"
"For you." Peter peeled off a new strip. "The book says kids your age bump into stuff a lot."
Maggie looked down at the corner of the coffee table. She reached out and gave it a light squeeze.
Crack.
The corner of the coffee table broke off and dropped onto the rug.
Maggie looked at the piece of wood in her hand, then at Peter. "...Sorry."
Peter looked at the corner, then at the corner guard in his hand.
"It's fine," he said. "I guess we don't need this one."
He got up, turned to get the trash can, stepped on the broken corner, and sucked in a sharp breath.
At lunch, Peter made sandwiches. Ham, cheese, lettuce, crusts cut off, sliced into two perfectly identical triangles.
Maggie finished hers and pushed the plate back.
Peter sat across from her, trying to act casual. "How was it?"
Maggie thought about it seriously.
"Nine."
"That's not bad. That's almost perfect."
"Out of a hundred."
Peter's face must have looked pretty bad, because Maggie paused, as if she'd realized she should say something. She thought for a long time and finally found something comforting.
"My mom's are a seven."
In the afternoon, Jean came home from the Institute, put down her bag, and sat on the couch next to Maggie. Peter was in the kitchen washing dishes and humming.
Jean had done the reading. The book said to ask open-ended questions and let the child express themselves.
"Maggie, how was your day?"
Maggie put down her rabbit and gave the question serious thought.
"This morning I was hungry, and Uncle Peter made me a sandwich." She counted on her fingers. "The dog downstairs was barking all through lunch. The man on the third floor was singing in the shower, and only one line was in tune. The lady next door was on the phone saying she didn't want to go to her mother-in-law's house. For half an hour."
Jean nodded and smiled.
"Mm-hm. And how are you feeling in here?" She pointed to where her heart was.
Maggie looked down, put her hand on her chest, and was quiet for a moment.
"About eighty-two beats per minute?"
Jean opened her mouth.
"Kid's gonna be better at math than you," Peter said from the kitchen, back to them, and went back to humming.
"Wow. That means so much coming from you." Jean didn't turn around. The bowls Peter had just washed suddenly floated into the air and started spinning themselves dry, splashing water all over him.
On the third day, Jean had to go to the Institute, so Peter took Maggie to the park.
Maggie stood at the edge of the sandbox for a long time without going in. A few kids around her age were running up and down the slide. She just stood there watching, her rabbit tucked under her arm.
Peter sat on a bench and didn't push her.
Later she got thirsty and went to the park's drinking fountain. She pressed the button. Nothing came out. She pressed it again. Still nothing.
She gave the side of the fountain a little smack.
The fountain fell over.
A column of water shot into the sky, scattering in the sunlight and soaking half the sandbox. The kids on the slide screamed. Somebody was laughing. One boy pointed at her and yelled, "Monster!"
Maggie stood in the spray, hesitated for a second, and ran.
Peter spent ten minutes dealing with the broken pipe and another five apologizing to the park manager. By the time he got back to their building, the stairwell was very quiet.
He found her between the fourth and fifth floors.
Maggie was sitting on the stairs with her headphones on, knees pulled up to her chest, the rabbit squashed between her knees and chest. She was soaked. Her hair was plastered to her face.
She knew he was there. She could hear him. But she didn't look up.
Peter sat down two steps below her.
"Your noise-canceling headphones," he said. "You can adjust how much they let in, right?"
It took Maggie a while to answer. "Yeah."
"When it's too loud around you, you turn it down."
"Yeah."
"So what's it like turned all the way down?"
"I can't hear anything," Maggie said. "It's really quiet. But that's not good either. It's scary."
"And all the way up?"
"Everybody's sounds come in." She hugged her knees a little tighter. "It's really loud."
Peter nodded. "Your strength has a knob like that too. You just have to find it yourself."
Maggie finally looked up at him.
Peter held out his right hand, palm up.
"Squeeze it. As hard as you can."
Maggie looked at the hand and didn't move.
"It'll break."
"It won't."
"The fountain broke."
"I'm tougher than a drinking fountain," Peter said. "Seriously. Try it."
Maggie hesitated for a long time. First she set her rabbit on the step next to her and straightened it. Only then did she reach out and take his hand.
At first she barely held it, like she was afraid of hurting him.
"Harder."
She squeezed a little harder.
"Harder. All of it."
Maggie bit her lip, shut her eyes, and squeezed with everything she had.
Peter's finger bones gave a very faint creak. There was no expression on his face at all.
Maggie opened her eyes and looked at him.
"Your heart's beating faster."
"...No, it's not."
"It hurts."
"A little," Peter said. "But it didn't break."
Maggie looked at their hands for a long time. She was still squeezing, and his hand was still there. It hadn't cracked, hadn't snapped, hadn't fallen over.
She held on for a few more seconds, then slowly eased up a little.
"Okay," Peter said. "If that's a ten, give me a five."
She thought about it and let go by half.
"Three."
A little more.
"One."
Her fingers were barely resting on his hand now. She was frowning, her whole face scrunched up with concentration. She looked adorable and ridiculous at the same time.
"That's a one," Peter said. "For a drinking fountain, a one's all you need."
Maggie looked down at her hand like she was seeing it for the first time.
"How long did you practice?"
"A long time." Peter shook out his right hand. "When I was fifteen, the first week, I broke four doorknobs. The guy at the hardware store started to think my aunt was making excuses to come flirt with him."
Maggie thought about it. "You didn't have a knob either?"
"Nope," Peter said. "Nobody told me back then. I figured it out one doorknob at a time."
Maggie didn't say anything. She picked up her rabbit and held it again.
"That boy called me a monster."
"I know."
"Did people call you that too?"
"Lots of times."
Maggie thought about it for a while. Then she gave Peter a hug.
Peter was a little surprised, but he quickly hugged her back.
"I want to go get a drink again."
At the park, the new drinking fountain hadn't been installed yet. The manager had set out a temporary water jug where the old one used to be, with a stack of paper cups hanging beside it.
Maggie walked over and pulled the top cup off the stack.
She paused, fingers slowly easing their grip on the cup. Down to a one. Then a little less.
The cup didn't bend.
She filled it, drank, tossed the cup in the trash, and glanced back at Peter.
Peter sat on the bench and gave her a thumbs-up.
Over by the sandbox, a smaller girl came down the slide, landed on her butt, and sat there crying. Maggie watched her for a moment, then walked over and held out her hand.
A one.
The little girl grabbed her hand and stood up.
July 6.
Today I knocked over the drinking fountain at the park. A boy called me a monster.
Uncle Peter said my strength has a knob too, like my headphones. I squeezed his hand with a ten. He said it didn't hurt.
His heart sped up. He was probably lying.
But his hand really didn't break.
04
On Maggie's eighth day, Peter kissed Jean in the kitchen.
No particular reason. Jean was kneading dough. There were chopped vegetables on the cutting board and something in the oven. Peter walked past behind her, brushed some flour out of her hair, and then kissed her.
Jean put down the measuring cup, turned around, and rested her hands on his shoulders.
Maggie walked in holding her rabbit, passed right between them, opened the fridge, poured a glass of milk, drank it slowly, put the glass in the sink, and passed back between them again. She didn't look at them once.
At the doorway, she turned around. "Uncle Peter, the oven's smoking."
Peter didn't even turn his head. "The vegetables aren't even in yet—"
"The tray that's already in there."
Peter turned around. The oven was smoking.
Jean pushed him aside to turn off the oven, and at the same moment the fire extinguisher came flying across the room.
Maggie was already gone.
The tenth night, eleven thirty.
Someone knocked on the bedroom door.
Three knocks. Very soft. Very polite.
Peter and Jean froze at the same time.
"Uncle Peter, Aunt Jean." Maggie's voice came through the door, wide awake. "There's a weird bumping sound in your room."
Jean buried her face in the pillow.
Peter cleared his throat. "...It's the window. Your dad said the window was a little loose."
A few seconds of silence from the other side of the door.
"I'll fix it for you."
"No, you don't have to—"
The door was already open.
Maggie walked in wearing pajamas covered in carrots. She didn't turn on the light, just headed straight for the window. Under the covers, Peter and Jean didn't move a muscle, like two statues.
Maggie felt along the window frame and found the loose side.
"A one," she whispered to herself, and gave it a gentle push.
The whole window came off the wall, and was suddenly caught by two strands of web, hanging in midair.
Wind rushed in. The curtains flew up to the ceiling.
Maggie looked at the window dangling in the air and thought about it for a while.
"...Maybe I should've used a half."
In the morning, Peter video-called Matt from the balcony.
Matt was on a rooftop in some European city. There was wind and sirens in the background. He listened to Peter's whole story and was quiet for a long time.
"So this is what you were trying to tell me that day?" Peter said. "Round-the-clock super-hearing surveillance?"
"I told you," Matt said. "Plan accordingly."
"You could've been a little clearer!"
"My daughter was standing right there. How clear did you want me to be?"
Jessica's voice came from off-screen. "Tell him to get a white noise machine."
Matt turned his head. "Didn't Maggie take the white noise machine apart? She said it was too loud."
Two seconds of silence from Jessica. "...Oh. Right."
Matt turned back. "That won't work."
"So what did you guys do?"
Matt opened his mouth. There was a very loud cough off-screen.
"We're in Europe," Matt said. "The signal's bad."
The picture froze. Matt's face stuck at a very unnatural angle, the corners of his mouth turned slightly up.
Peter waited ten seconds. Behind his sunglasses, frozen Matt blinked.
"...I saw you blink."
The call ended.
On the thirteenth day, Jean decided to try her own approach.
She stood in the bedroom doorway, closed her eyes, and used her telekinesis to press down on the air around the room, layer by layer. No sound could get out. No vibrations could get out. The whole room was like it had been sealed inside a soundproof dome.
"She won't feel a thing," Jean said to Peter. "I'm not touching her mind. I'm just making the sound disappear."
Peter looked at her with something close to worship.
That night, the bedroom was incredibly quiet.
So quiet that neither of them heard Maggie knocking.
She knocked for a long time. Nobody answered.
The back of Peter's neck suddenly exploded with pain. His spider-sense, and a strong one.
"Jean, stop—"
He only had time to pull the covers up.
The bedroom door fell inward, crashing onto the floor. Maggie stood in the doorframe, one hand still out from the push.
Jean immediately let go of the field.
"Uncle Peter! Aunt Jean!" Maggie's voice was wobbly with tears. "Your room suddenly didn't have any sound at all. Not even heartbeats. I thought you were dead."
Peter and Jean looked at each other and waved her over.
Maggie came over, and both of them hugged her.
"We're okay." Peter patted her head gently. "Aunt Jean was just practicing her powers. Did we scare you?"
"I wasn't scared!" Maggie wiped her red eyes. "I was just worried about you."
"I'm sorry we worried you." Jean kissed her forehead. "We promise it won't happen again."
Peter nodded mechanically. His soul seemed to have left the room.
On the fifteenth day, the forecast said there'd be a thunderstorm that night.
Peter and Jean exchanged a look in the kitchen.
Thunder was loud. Thunder would cover every other sound. And Jessica had said Maggie was scared of thunder. She'd put on her headphones, curl up under the covers, and not come out all night.
At ten thirty, the first bolt of lightning struck, and the whole apartment lit up.
At ten thirty-one, the thunder cracked. The windows shook.
At ten thirty-two, someone knocked on the door.
It opened a crack. Maggie stood there holding her rabbit, headphones on, one pajama sleeve rolled up to her elbow.
"I'm not scared of thunder," she said.
Neither Peter nor Jean said anything.
"I came to see if you guys were scared."
Another flash of lightning. Maggie's shoulders flinched, then quickly straightened again.
Jean sighed and lifted a corner of the blanket.
Maggie walked over, climbed onto the bed, wriggled in between the two of them, set her rabbit on the pillow, straightened it, lay down, and closed her eyes.
The thunder rolled again. Under the covers, her hand felt around, grabbed Jean's sleeve, then grabbed Peter's sleeve.
With a one.
Peter turned his head and looked at Jean over Maggie. Jean was looking at him too.
"Our plan..." Jean mouthed.
Peter looked at the two small hands holding onto their sleeves and smiled.
"Next time."
Outside, the rain came down hard. Maggie's breathing slowly evened out.
Just when the two of them thought she was asleep, she mumbled, eyes still closed:
"I'm really not scared of thunder."
July 19.
Uncle Peter and Aunt Jean's window makes bumping sounds at night. I fixed it for them and it broke. Uncle Peter webbed it back on.
A few nights ago their room didn't have any sound at all. I thought they were dead. I knocked the door down with a ten. I didn't cry.
Last night there was thunder. I'm not scared. I went to see if they were scared.
I think they were a little scared, because they kept sighing.
05
"One day," Peter said. "Just one day."
Kate Bishop leaned against the doorframe, one hand in her jacket pocket, half a folding bow sticking out of the side of her backpack.
"I have one condition."
"Name it."
"My Christmas party this year, you come in the suit. I want everybody to see the real Spider-Man. I want pictures. Lots of pictures. And you have to do a peace sign."
Peter hesitated for a second. Behind him, Jean nudged him half a step forward with her telekinesis.
"Deal."
Maggie came out of her room with her little backpack on, the rabbit clipped to it. She stood in front of Kate, looked up at her, then at the thing sticking out of her bag.
"You have a lot of sticks in your bag."
"They're arrows," Kate said. "I'm Hawkeye."
Maggie thought about this seriously. "Are your eyes really good?"
"...They're okay."
"My ears are really good," Maggie said. "So I'm Hawkear."
"Then we're definitely gonna make a great team!" Kate took Maggie's hand.
"Mm-hm!" Maggie agreed happily. She liked the way Kate smelled, fresh and clean, like she'd just come out of a soak at a bathhouse.
The door closed.
Peter and Jean stood in the entryway, listening to the elevator go down. One floor, two floors, three.
Jean turned and looked at him.
Central Park, two in the afternoon.
Kate and Maggie sat on a bench by the lake eating ice cream.
Kate hadn't stopped talking since they left the apartment. She talked about her arrows, about her apartment, about a friend of hers. She said the friend was Russian and very scary, but she made great mac and cheese.
"What's your friend's name?" Maggie asked.
"Yelena."
Maggie licked her ice cream. "Your heart sped up when you talked about her."
"That's because she tried to kill me once."
"It's still fast."
"...Because she might still want to." Kate paused. "How much can you actually hear?"
Maggie thought about the question. "A lot." She stopped and tilted her head. "Like, over there, someone's attacking an armored truck."
A few seconds later, there was a dull boom from Fifth Avenue, and every car alarm on the street went off at once.
Kate stood up, pulled the folding bow from the side of her backpack, and snapped it open.
"Stay here."
Maggie stood up.
"I said stay—"
Maggie was already running.
Kate sighed and followed her.
Shocker was standing on top of the armored truck, both fists aimed at the crowd. Two of his guys were loading money bags into a van.
Kate nocked an arrow, drew, and let it fly.
The arrowhead burst in midair and sprayed a huge glob of pink foam all over the van's windshield.
"What's that?" Maggie asked.
"...That was supposed to be a net arrow." Kate stared at the foam. "I was in a hurry this morning."
One of the guys dropped his money bag and charged at them. Maggie punched him back into the van.
She pulled back her fist, looked at her hand, and said quietly, "A five."
The man lay on top of the money bags. He hadn't gone through anything.
"Nice!" Kate yelled.
Shocker turned around and saw the little girl in the giant headphones. He raised his fist. A shockwave swept across the intersection.
Maggie got knocked back a couple of feet and landed on her butt. Her headphones went crooked, one earcup hanging in front of her nose.
She shook her head, straightened her headphones, stood up, and brushed off her pants.
"His noise is so ugly," she said, annoyed.
Kate fired another arrow. This time it really was a net arrow, and it pulled Shocker right off the top of the truck. Maggie ran over before he could get up, grabbed his gauntlet, and yanked.
A three, a five, an eight.
The gauntlet came right off.
Shocker looked at his bare hand, then at the little girl.
Maggie examined the gauntlet carefully, then looked up at him.
"Do you still want this?"
Shocker wriggled half out of the net, didn't answer, got up, and ran, limping a little.
"We make such a good team!" Kate held up her hand for a high five.
Maggie looked at her hand, thought about it, and gave it a one.
The park got shut down. So did the zoo. Kate called Peter three times. No answer. She called Jean twice. No answer.
"Let's just head home," she said. "I'll get you another ice cream."
The elevator reached their floor. Kate pulled out the spare key Peter had given her and opened the door.
She stood in the doorway and didn't move.
The living room was a disaster. One couch cushion on the floor, one on the dining table. The floor lamp knocked over, its shade half crushed. The coffee table shoved against the wall, the books from it scattered everywhere.
Kate slowly drew her bow.
"Maggie," she said quietly. "Is anybody home?"
Maggie slid off one side of her headphones and closed her eyes.
"The bedroom," she said. "Two people."
"Is it Peter and Jean?"
Maggie frowned and listened for a long time.
"...I don't know," she said. "Their hearts are too fast. It's all messy."
Kate remembered what Peter had told her about that diner in Queens. Fisk's people. They'd come for Maggie.
Nobody picking up. The apartment torn apart. Two people in the bedroom with messy heartbeats.
She pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and slid it back into her jacket pocket, screen facing out.
"Yelena," she whispered, "I might need backup. Just watch for now."
A muffled word in Russian came from her pocket.
Maggie set her new ice cream on the shoe cabinet, stood next to Kate, and made a fist.
The two of them, one on each side, crept along the wall to the bedroom door. The door was new. It had gone up last week. Maggie had knocked the last one down.
Kate drew her bow and held up three fingers.
Three.
Two.
One.
Maggie kicked the door open.
This time the much-relied-upon Peter tingle failed him. The two people inside were very much in the moment, and for the first second they didn't even register what was happening.
The intense battle came to an abrupt stop. The two people on the bed and the two people in the doorway stared at each other. Peter lunged for the blanket with the fastest reflexes of his life, and at the same moment a pillow came flying at the doorway. It missed, grazing Kate's ear and smacking into the wall.
Kate saw.
"My eyes!" She covered her face with one hand and backed out into the hallway, still remembering to reach out with the other and cover Maggie's eyes. "My eyes!"
Maggie lowered her fist, but with Kate's hand over her eyes, she had no idea what was going on.
"Kate, calm down— why are you guys back?!" Even in a panic, Peter was trying to get the situation under control.
"Shocker happened, the zoo and the park are both closed for the day— put some clothes on before you tell me to calm down!"
Maggie wriggled free of Kate's hand, looked at the disaster in the living room, then at the two people in bed, and came to a very confident conclusion.
"You were fighting."
"...Yeah," Peter said.
"Who won?"
Peter glanced at Jean. Jean buried her face in the pillow.
"I think she did."
Five minutes later.
Peter had pulled on a pair of sweatpants and was standing in the hallway. Kate leaned against the wall, both hands still over her eyes.
"You can't tell anyone," Peter said.
"I didn't see anything."
"Really?"
"Really," Kate said. "I definitely did not see the little birthmark on your left butt cheek."
Peter took a deep breath. "What do you want?"
"Two more years of Christmas parties."
"One."
"Two. Plus Halloween."
"Kate—"
Out of the corner of his eye, Peter caught movement at the bedroom door.
Jean was standing there in one of Peter's old T-shirts, her expression perfectly calm, her right hand pressed to her forehead, her left hand aimed at the back of Kate's head.
"Jean!" Peter lunged over and grabbed her wrist. "Wait! Not yet!"
"It'll just take a second. She won't remember a thing..."
"If she forgets," Peter said, his brain racing, "...who's gonna pay for the door?"
"What door?" Kate asked, hands still over her eyes.
"The one you just kicked in."
"I kicked it," Maggie said.
"...Well, a grown-up still has to pay for it!"
Kate slowly pulled one hand away from her eyes, just a crack. She looked at Jean's hand in Peter's grip, then at Jean's face.
"Wait," she said. "What was she about to do?"
Jean lowered her hand and gave a very gentle smile. "Nothing."
"Were you about to wipe my memory?"
"No." Jean's eyes drifted elsewhere.
Maggie looked up at Jean. "Were you going to erase Kate's memory?"
Jean didn't say anything.
"Then can you erase the drinking fountain from the park manager's head?"
"No," Peter and Jean said at the same time.
Maggie looked a little disappointed.
Kate put her hands on her hips and stared at Peter and Jean. "Three years of Christmas parties. Halloween. And you're fixing the door yourselves!"
"Kate—"
"Also," Kate said, "there might be one more thing I forgot to mention."
The phone in her jacket pocket was lit up. A blonde woman on the screen was chewing on something, looking extremely pleased.
"Hello, happy man and happy woman," said Yelena.
July 26.
Today Kate took me to the park. She's Hawkeye and I'm Hawkear.
We fought a bad guy who was wearing a blanket. I used an eight, and he didn't go through anything. I also pulled off his glove. I didn't get to give it back.
My ice cream fell. Kate bought me another one.
When we got home, Uncle Peter and Aunt Jean were fighting in their room with no clothes on. Kate yelled really loud. I think they fight with no clothes on so they don't ruin their clothes. That's very smart.
The door broke again.
I should learn to knock more.
06
At dinner, Maggie suddenly put down her fork.
"Kate asked if I can sleep over at her house this Saturday."
"Yes." "Of course."
Peter and Jean said it at almost exactly the same time.
Maggie looked at Peter, then at Jean.
"Your hearts sped up."
"Because..." Peter thought about it. "Because you made a new friend, and we're happy for you!"
"She has a projector," Maggie said. "She said the lady on the phone is coming too. I think her name is... Yolanda?"
"Yelena," Jean said, looking down at her soup.
"What does 'for the happiness of happy man and happy woman' mean?"
"It means," Jean said, setting down her spoon, "remember to pack your toothbrush on Saturday, or your parents won't be happy."
Saturday afternoon, Kate came to pick her up.
Maggie stood at the door with her backpack on and went through her things one by one: pajamas, toothbrush, spare headphones, journal, rabbit.
"What time is she coming back tomorrow?" Jean asked Kate.
"What time do you want her back?"
Peter and Jean glanced at each other. Neither of them said anything.
Kate looked at their faces and made the decision for them. "Before dinner."
The door closed.
Peter and Jean stood in the entryway, listening to the elevator go down. All the way to the lobby.
Then they kept standing there.
"...She's probably out of the building by now, right?" Peter said.
"Probably."
"Is she in the car yet?"
Jean tilted her head to listen, then realized what she was doing. "I can't hear that far."
"Oh. Right."
They stood there a little longer.
Then Jean grabbed Peter by the collar.
Ten minutes later, Jean suddenly stopped and lifted her head.
"What's wrong?" Peter whispered.
"...I thought I heard someone knocking."
They both went quiet for a few seconds, listening to the door. Nothing.
"It's the door downstairs," Peter whispered.
Jean looked at him.
"Why are you whispering?"
Peter blinked. "...You're whispering too."
Jean opened her mouth and realized she was, in fact, talking in a whisper.
She couldn't help laughing. At first she tried to hold it in, then she couldn't, and she buried her face in Peter's shoulder, shaking with laughter. Peter laughed too, laughed so hard he slid off the edge of the bed.
"A month," Jean said, still laughing. "She's only been here a month."
"I check the door now before I sneeze."
"Last week at the Institute I was whispering at Scott the whole time. He asked if I'd lost my voice."
Peter climbed back up off the floor and looked at her.
"So," he said, at a normal volume. "Nobody's home tonight."
"Mm-hm."
"Brooklyn's really far away."
"Mm-hm."
"We could..." Peter thought about it. "Be a little louder."
Jean looked at him, and slowly smiled.
She raised her hand. The bedroom door shut by itself. Hard.
Brooklyn, ten at night.
Kate's living room floor was covered in blankets and pillows. The projector was playing a cartoon on the wall that nobody was watching anymore.
Yelena sat cross-legged on the floor with a deck of cards in front of her. She was already down twenty bucks to Maggie.
"Yelena swallows when she gets a good hand," Maggie said.
Yelena slowly put down her cards and turned to Kate. "This is your 'very cute kid'?"
"She is very cute."
"She is taking my money."
Maggie folded up her winnings, put them in her backpack, and looked up.
"Kate, why did Uncle Peter and Aunt Jean want me to come to your house so bad?"
Kate's expression froze. She opened her mouth and started trying to put a sentence together. "Uh, it's because, sometimes grown-ups just need a little bit of—"
"Because they want to fight," Yelena said, without looking up.
Kate turned and glared at her.
Maggie thought about this answer. "Why do they need me gone to fight?"
"Because if you're there," Yelena said, shuffling the cards, "whoever you help will win."
Maggie considered this carefully, decided it made a lot of sense, and nodded.
Kate covered her face.
The next morning, Jean woke up before Peter.
The bedroom wasn't in great shape. The desk lamp had fallen over and its shade was crushed. The nightstand drawer, for reasons unknown, was by the door. One end of the curtain rod had come down and was hanging crooked across the window. The door was still there, at least, but it wouldn't close all the way.
Jean lay wrapped in the blanket for a while, too lazy to get up. She raised a hand to float the glass of water on the nightstand over to her.
The glass rose, wobbled in midair, and tipped.
She caught it with her hand just in time. Half the water spilled on the blanket.
Jean looked at her hand, puzzled.
Peter rolled over next to her without opening his eyes. "...What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Jean said. "It slipped."
"Too tired from last night?" Peter buried his face in the curve of her neck. "Why did you do that to the lamp..."
"I know what I did to the lamp."
Peter laughed quietly into her neck, his breath tickling her skin.
Jean drank the rest of the water, lay back down, and decided to rest a little longer.
Before dinner, Maggie came home.
She stood in the entryway, put down her backpack, looked around the living room first, then walked to the bedroom door and looked at the door that wouldn't close.
"The door's still not fixed."
"Yeah," Peter said. "The hinges are loose."
Maggie gave the door a push. It leaned out a little. She looked at the curtain rod that was still a little crooked, the lampshade that was now an oval, and finally at Peter and Jean.
The two of them were standing in the living room. They both looked tired, but they kept smiling, a little goofily.
Maggie came to a conclusion privately and didn't say it out loud.
"I'll help you fix the door," she said.
"You don't have to—"
"A one," Maggie said. "This time I'll use a one for real."
That night, after Maggie fell asleep, Peter and Jean sat on the couch. The door was half fixed. The toolbox was still open on the floor.
"It's actually not that hard," Peter said.
"You mean raising a kid?"
Peter thought about it.
"I mean fixing a door."
Jean laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder.
August 2.
I slept over at Kate's house. She has a projector. We watched the movie Bumblebee. Yelena made mac and cheese and lost twenty dollars to me at cards. She still swallows when she gets a good hand.
I asked Yelena why Uncle Peter and Aunt Jean wanted me to go to somebody else's house. She said it's because they wanted to fight, and whoever I help will win.
When I got home the door was broken again. The curtains were broken too. The lamp was broken too.
I think Aunt Jean won this time, because Uncle Peter had lots of red wounds on his neck.
I helped them fix the door. I used a one. The door didn't break again.