Chapter Text
Something was different.
Something was different about MJ, and as Peter watched her talk to Ned about MIT, he wondered what it was. He’d seen her in this uniform before, of course, but this time… this time, it was different. Then again, why wouldn’t it be different? Everything else was different. He’d moved out. The universe had become the multiverse. May was dead.
May was dead.
“Peter Parker? Peter Parker?”
Peter snapped to attention.
“Your coffee.”
“Right,” he said, and took his coffee. “Thank you.” Glancing up furtively, he searched for a shred of recognition in her eyes and found none. “Are you… uh… excited for MIT?”
Her brow furrowed, and Peter’s stomach dropped. I’m a creep, he thought, dismayed, and resisted the urge to spin around and make a run for it. I shouldn’t have been able to hear her and Ned.
“Oh,” she began, slowly, a little cautiously, oblivious to his inner turmoil, and Peter nodded, trying to look encouraging, even though he knew that probably wasn’t necessary. “Uh, right. Yeah. Yeah, actually… I am excited, which is weird. Because I don’t really get excited about things.” She glanced down, then up again. “I kind of expect disappointment, because –”
“Then you’ll never actually get disappointed. Right?”
She tilted her head. Squinted. Peter’s heartbeat throbbed in his ears. “Yeah,” she said, eventually. “Right. It’s just… um… I don’t know. It just kinda feels different this time for some reason.”
Everything Spider-Man touches comes to ruin.
Peter bit the inside of his cheek and reached for his wallet. “Right, um… let me pay for that.” Their fingers brushed against each other as he passed her the cash, and Peter grimaced inwardly as she tucked a lock of stray hair behind her ear, exposing the band-aid over her right eye. Before he could stop himself, it jumped out: “You okay?”
MJ looked up, surprised, and he gestured at his forehead.
“Doesn’t really hurt anymore.”
Everything Spider-Man touches comes to ruin.
Peter’s heart stuttered, skipped a beat. He could hear her heartbeat, he realized. And he could hear Ned’s heartbeat, too. There were three other heartbeats in the store. There was Morty, MJ’s boss, and the old guy whom she’d been chatting with when he’d come in, and the waitress in the back, who doubled up as the cook on occasion.
Except that wasn’t true.
Apart from himself and MJ, there were four other heartbeats in the store. The fourth heartbeat was soft, and barely detectable, a little thump-thump-thump sound, inaudible, and it was…
It was coming from MJ. There were two heartbeats.
There were two heartbeats.
Peter’s vision blurred. His fingers – clenched tightly around the scrap of paper that he’d laboured over for hours – tightened, then relaxed. It’s not worth it, he thought, swallowing violently. It’s not worth it. He repeated the words to himself until they had lost all meaning, and then he looked up. MJ was still staring at him, oddly concerned, her eyes large and confused. There was no familiarity in her gaze, and that was a good thing. She seemed a little less tired, and her eyes were a little brighter… and she was happier. Happier without him.
And that was it. There was nothing else that mattered apart from that. If she was happy, he was happy. If him re-entering her life made her miserable, then he’d make sure not to do that.
“Is there… anything else?”
Peter smiled. This time, it was genuine. His vision was getting even blurrier. It’s better this way, he thought, squaring his shoulders, and answered as loudly as he dared, not wanting his voice to crack. “No,” he managed, stuffing the paper into his pocket, and shook his head again, trying to look decisive, trying to look as though he wasn’t coming apart at the seams. “Thank you.” For everything.
“No problem.” It was a polite enough response, but it made Peter feel like his heart was breaking all over again. I can’t stay here, he thought, body tightening. I can’t. I need to go. I must. I must.
He turned to look at Ned, still scrolling on his phone like he’d always done, and as he did, he noticed that the other boy seemed happier, too. Just as MJ seemed happier. He hadn’t realized how much of a burden he’d been until today. Well, he, Peter Parker, wasn’t going to be a burden to them any longer. Ned was safe, now. And so was MJ. They were all safe. And Happy, too – all four of them. I lost May, he thought, inhaling deeply and trying to stop his breath from hitching. I’m not going to lose you, too.
“I’ll see you around,” he said, thickly, turning away so she wouldn’t see him cry, and lunged for the door, fingers clenched tight around the cup of coffee that she’d made for him. He’d drink every last drop, even though he usually didn’t drink coffee without a crazy amount of sugar and milk. He’d make it last for as long as he could. He’d take one mouthful every night, and if he got food poisoning, then so be it. He’d fight through it. He’d been fighting since he’d been bitten by that spider, anyway. He’d survive. He’d heal. He’d be fine.
I’ll be fine, Peter thought. I’ll be fine. He repeated it to himself even as people started to turn, staring, drawn by the sound of his sobs. He ducked into an alleyway, folding into himself, and lifted the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply. It smelled like MJ. It smelled like home. It smelled like –
Peter tore off the cap and chugged it. It was piping-hot, and scorched his tongue, but he drank until his throat ached and the whole cup was empty. His tongue would recover. His heart wouldn’t, but it was a small price to pay. It was worth it. It had to be. It would be worth it. Fumbling, he pulled the scrap of paper out of his pocket to squint at it, leaning against the side of the alley even as his coat grew damper and damper. With a loud sniff, he crumpled it into a ball and threw it to the ground, stomping on it until he was sure that it had been buried by the snow.
On his way back to his apartment, he looked down at the cup again. We are happy to serve you, it said. His vision went blurry for a moment; Peter squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the tears to subside. Then he opened them.
“Yeah,” Spider-Man whispered. “I’m happy to serve you, too.”
He threw the cup in the trash on his way up.
//
Ironic, Sasha thought. My first time back at work in weeks and this happens.
Michelle retched again, and Sasha patted her back sympathetically, doing her best to comfort the other girl. She could feel the boy staring at her. He’d followed her when Michelle had pulled back from the counter and sprinted into the back, the back of her palm pressed tightly against her mouth. “Hey,” she called. “Buzz off, kid. Employees only.”
“He’s my friend,” Michelle managed, her voice echoing oddly off the toilet bowl.
“I’m her friend,” the boy said.
“She said employees only,” Morty growled, from behind him, and the boy yelped. “What’s going on in there, Sasha?”
“Michelle vomited,” Sasha called. “I think it’s food poisoning.”
Morty groaned. “Great.” A pause. “I’ll take the counter, but I’m going to pro-rate your pay by half an hour. Both of you.” The boy yelped again. “And you – wait in front. This is the third time I’m saying this. Employees. Only.”
Rolling her eyes, Sasha turned back to Michelle and frowned as she took in her general demeanour. “You look terrible,” she observed. “Are you okay?” She didn’t look okay. She still seemed queasy, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Had she been crying? Mood swings and nausea… not a good combo.
Michelle coughed wetly. “I’m fine.” A sniff. “I’m fine.”
Sure you are, Sasha thought dubiously. Sure you are. She waited until Michelle was on her feet before helping her to a nearby table and sitting her down with a glass of warm water. “I’m going to relieve Morty before he has an aneurysm,” she said. “Give me a shout if you need anything, okay?”
The boy was still waiting outside, Morty’s glare all-but-burning a hole in his broad back. “Is she okay?” he asked urgently.
Sasha shrugged.
//
“Do you ever feel –”
“Like a plastic bag?”
MJ punched him.
“Ow,” Ned whined, rubbing at his sore bicep, and MJ smirked. She’d curled up on his sofa and was steadily working her way through his box of tissues. He didn’t know why she was crying, but he was pretty sure that she was just as emotionally confused as he was. It was probably something girl-related. Ned was dealing with it. “You’re feeling better, though. Right?”
“Do you remember how we became friends?”
Ned cleared his throat. “Sure. I, uh…”
He racked his brain. Racked it some more. MJ was looking at him, her expression unreadable, and Ned slumped back against his seat, kneading his temples. His head hurt. On the TV, Obi-Wan Kenobi patted his chest as Luke Skywalker stared up at him. Of course I know him – he’s me, he said, smiling beneath his beard, and Ned mouthed the words as he tried to recall when he and MJ had met. They’d done this every year, hadn’t they? Having a Star Wars marathon, blitzing through the original trilogy, whiling away the time between Christmas and Boxing Day. They’d done this since they were kids, hadn’t they? And yet… and yet…
“I’m guessing that’s a no.”
“It was a long time ago,” Ned hedged. He didn’t have any memories of him and MJ before high school, which was odd. Had they met in high school? They probably had. Probably? What sort of… was he losing his memory? An image bubbled up, and Ned made a grab for it, desperate for something. Anything. “Oh. Oh. Wait. It’s coming to me. We met at that toy-shop, right?” He waggled his hand vaguely, unable to remember the exact location. “We both made a grab for the same toy, and I let you have it. Or did you let me have it?”
MJ’s face cleared, but there was still a hint of tension in her face. “Yeah,” she said, eventually. “Yeah. That’s… where we met. Right?”
“Right.” Ned pursed his lips. The memory hung in his mind, suspended in amber, and it was perfect. Too perfect. This had been at least a decade ago; why was it still so clear? Where were the soft edges, the fuzziness? He blinked, returning to himself, and looked at MJ. “Yeah?”
“I’m forgetting something,” MJ said. Her face was determined. Resolute. “I don’t know what it is, but it… it feels like my heart’s been torn out.” She swallowed, voice raw. “It’s… I don’t know what it means. I’ve just been… I keep crying. Not at work, though. And not at school. It’s just… when I’m alone, the tears just come on their own.” She blew her nose. “I don’t know why this keeps happening.”
“No,” Ned agreed quietly. “No, you don’t usually cry this much.” Hell, he cried more than her. Then again, he’d been crying in his sleep. He’d woken up that morning with someone’s name on his lips, grasping desperately for the fading echoes of a half-remembered dream… and then nothing. His pillow was starting to smell.
Come to think of it, he’d been feeling the same way as MJ. As though something was missing. On initial inspection, his memories were all in their proper places, but whenever he looked closer, zooming in on key details, there was just this sense that something was missing. His memories didn’t feel genuine. Had his entire life been a lie? The thought made him shaky, and Ned didn’t like feeling shaky. Fortunately (though he would never let himself say it out loud), the emotional turmoil that MJ seemed to be going through was helping him to keep his mind off his own predicament.
He shifted in his seat. “It’ll be fine,” he said reasonably. “You’re probably anxious about Flash. Or Brad.” He hadn’t expected Brad to be a problem, but if he was going to keep pestering MJ like he’d been doing during their trip to Europe, Ned was going to… well, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he was going to do something.
“Flash is okay,” MJ said. “He’s calmed down since…”
And there it was again.
Ned watched as his friend’s face crumpled. “Hey,” he breathed, inching over as she sagged into his side. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Within minutes, MJ had pulled herself together. See, Ned thought, a little proudly. She’s getting better. Staring at the TV, he tapped at the remote until his Lola hollered at him to turn it down. “Wanna get something to eat?” he asked.
“Yeah,” MJ mumbled, and then, louder, “Yeah. I’m feeling like… pickles.”
“Pickles?” Ned raised an eyebrow. “Wow. Look at you, all adventurous.”
“I’m going to have to broaden my culinary horizons when we move to MIT.” MJ’s breath hitched, but she pressed her lips together and forced it back down, throat working.
“Yeah,” Ned agreed. “Yeah, sure. Why not? I’ll have some pickles too.” He hopped to his feet. “Let’s get some pickles. Yay, pickles!”