Work Text:
Her heartbeat was almost deafening as she lay on the bed beside Peter, pounding in rhythm with the throbbing of his skull. It took Peter all of the willpower in the world not to just lay his head against the table and hide and just allow the pain to completely wash over him.
But alas, he was Spider-Man, and Spider-Man didn’t do breaks. Especially not now, when he could easily lose control and hurt someone else. The police office was one thing, MJ… Peter couldn’t think about that, unease curling in his stomach as nausea reared its ugly head. Bile collected at the back of his throat, but Peter forced himself to swallow it down. He did not have the time for this, Jean was wreaking havoc across New York, and Peter was stuck here in Frank’s safehouse like a sitting duck.
Jolting away as a spark nearly hit him square in the eye, Peter blinked away his train of thought as he focussed back on the inhibitor beeping faintly in front of him. The inhibitor was coming along fine, not amazingly but that was an issue for future Peter. For now, he only had to concern himself with actually assembling the device, testing whether or not it would overheat heat again was further ahead in the process.
His spider-sense buzzed faintly in the back of his mind, feeling slightly like a mild case of pins and needles. It was nowhere near painful, allowing him to relax slightly into the cold backrest of the brittle chair Peter sat on. It was far from comfortable, but he really shouldn’t complain; Frank was doing him a favour, after all.
MJ's soft breathing helped ever so slightly with his anxiety, the soft but deep breaths providing all the reassurance Peter needed to remind him MJ was alive. Not necessarily safe, but he had kept her alive.
However, it didn’t stop the image of MJ’s panicked scrambling as she fell closer and closer to the path underneath from materialising suddenly in Peter’s mind, ceasing the breath in his lungs and tightening his throat. A shiver wracked his body as he dropped the micro tool he had been using onto the desk beneath him, the sound of it clattering dull as his panic increased, his breaths escaping in thin puffs.
Faint shuffling could be heard as MJ moved on the bed in the corner of Peter’s vision, clearly in search of comfort. Unknowingly, this was Peter’s saviour, the ruffling piercing through the static, clear and unmistakable. A soft sigh, the sound of muscles relaxing, it should’ve been jarring, but the mere fact that MJ was finally so close again brought a crashing wave of relief. He could protect her like this, with her just over an arms reach away – Jean couldn’t get her here, it wouldn’t be possible.
Earphones clicked as MJ plugged them into a socket on Peter’s phone, he’d given it to her in case she wanted to listen to music or something as he worked. She hadn’t asked about calling anyone, not yet at least. Peter was grateful for that, regardless of how logical MJ is. The thought alone of turning down her request was enough to spike his nerves yet again.
Using his phone would be safer, that much they had both agreed on. Even with Jean knowing his identity, his complete lack of online presence and the literal erasure of his identity couldn’t possibly lead to her figuring out where Peter could be. Hopefully.
They should be fine, Peter reasoned. He had his own cyber-security measures in place regardless, the usual and the defences he had built or installed into his phone. An anti-tracking device just barely scratched the surface of what was installed onto his phone.
Peter rubbed his eye as he yawned, the days without proper sleep finally catching up to him. He was exhausted, running on fumes and Frank’s shitty chilli – the very same he advised MJ not to eat. Maybe that was hypocritical, but Peter was superpowered and had radioactive blood, it wouldn’t get worse for him. It was not the same for MJ.
He shrugged regardless, shaking the tiredness from his body as he picked up the tonal probe, leaning forward in the chair while re-adjusting the light to shine on the inhibitor.
Sitting in a comfortable silence, Peter resumed his work, humming slightly to the music he could hear blasting through the earbuds MJ used to listen to her music. It was a familiar song, something by William Bell, if he wasn’t mistaken. It lulled him into a deep focus, the soothing tone of the melody and lyrics taking his mind off the previous stresses of the day.
Peter was completely engrossed in his work, his mind barely registering the multiple changes in song as time lapsed and he worked further into the night. Peter barely registered the cramping in his limbs, not until it was too late, his hand spasming painfully as he wriggled his fingers desperately and shook his hand, dissipating the pain. It wasn’t until then Peter noticed that the music had stopped completely, his phone shut off and MJ’s earphones tucked safely back in her pocket.
Fingers toyed with wool, nails caught slightly on loose strands, something MJ didn’t notice but Peter unmistakably did. Glancing over to the bed eternally within his peripheral, Peter noted MJ fidgeting, characteristic of when she’d be psyching herself up to ask a question. That was rare in itself, MJ readying herself to ask a question, her stubborn nature sure of that. Unease twisted within Peter, his mind jumping to a million conclusions.
MJ spoke before Peter could even open his mouth:
“Do you think I could call someone– I… Just to let them know I’m okay?”
Peter’s face contorted before he could stop himself, revealing a pain he’d long thought he’d buried deep beneath the walls he’d slowly built over these four years of isolation. He thought for a moment, perhaps too loudly, before Peter placed his walls back with a practised ease he wouldn’t dare admit to.
“Er– I don’t think it would be a good idea. The call could get tracked.” Peter answered as calmly as his nerves could allow, before adding a hasty but soft, “I’m sorry.”
He watched as Mj’s head shook in disagreement, not with his denial but with his apology, “No, it’s okay. I knew it’d probably be a bad idea anyway.”
Despite the confidence in her voice, Peter could hear the disappointment leaking through briefly. He understood, Peter really did. The amount of times he had picked up his phone to call someone, only to remember he couldn’t, was immeasurable. Peter only hummed in appreciation, fidgeting with the tools to at least have the appearance he was doing something useful.
It was quiet for a bit after that, MJ’s breathing settling into something softer as Peter’s back became stiffer the longer he spent hunched over the desk. He thinks MJ is sleeping, but Peter wouldn’t be able to truly tell unless he looked, and there was no point in that – not really.
Exhaustion weighed Peter’s very bones, but he refused to rest. Not until he had successfully stabilised the inhibitor, and who knows how long that could actually take him? He didn’t have the equipment he had at home, he didn’t have E.V to the extent he needed her. Without her running diagnostics back at base, which would always be quicker, any little issue he ran into was something he would more or less have to face himself. She was installed in his mask, sure, but it wasn’t like Frank actually had all the equipment Peter needed either. It had been hours, it had rained, the smell of water permeating through the metal walls and into the room on the ship he and MJ now occupied, and it had dropped at least ten degrees. Whether his shivering was from the anxiety or the cold, that wasn’t for Peter to figure out.
Out of sight, out of mind – all that bullshit.
Sleep evaded him on most days regardless, and with this new stress over his head that wasn’t going to change. It didn’t help that whenever Peter did close his eyes, the memory of his sobs on MJ’s shoulder resurfaced, Jean’s voice contorting MJ’s into something cold and dangerous. His eyes would snap open before he could even bear to remember what came next. Or what had come before.
Peter stood abruptly, pulling his mask on in record time before exiting the room into Frank’s make-shift kitchen. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, coaxing some form of relief for Peter as he made his way outside to the deck of the ship to get some fresh air.
Pulling his mask up to his nose, Peter breathed deeply. Relishing in the scent of rain and the faint sound of New York, he felt his anxiety ebb away ever so slightly. Though there was always an edge, Peter was relieved that even in this small moment, it would calm somewhat.
Paint peeled off the railing of the ship, leaving a jagged edge to the rail as he trailed his fingers across the metal. It was cool beneath his fingertips, catching slightly onto the material of his suit. Peter didn’t mind, its texture soothing in his conscious endeavour to remain unruled by his mind.
The sound of someone stirring caught his attention immediately, Peter whipping his head back towards the entrance of Frank’s place. It came from the bedroom he and MJ were staying in – she was awake. Unwilling to leave her waking up alone, Peter rushed back inside, but not before he took one last glance at the sun steadily making its way above the horizon.