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It was an accident. Not on Peter’s part, he was completely innocent. It was Nancy who had the accident. The woman was one of the Bugle’s better proofreaders due to her diligence, but a complete klutz due to her inability to multitask. She was a sweet person, but even without his spider sense Peter could see from almost a mile away she was about to knock her very hot and steaming mug of coffee onto the floor.
Only it wouldn’t have been the floor the hot coffee spilled on because the intern Jessica was about to walk past wearing her strappy sandals, so her exposed feet would’ve been the victim of Nancy’s mistake.
No, Peter was totally innocent—in fact he was the hero! In the time it took to watch Nancy’s hand edge steadily closer to bump her mug off the desk, Peter came up beside the desk, cutting off Jessica’s route, and catching the mug mid fall.
Everything was fine.
And then Nancy went and knocked a picture frame off her desk.
Peter just reacted, shooting his hand out to snag the frame before it could fall and lifting it back onto the desk. The wood frame stuck to the palm of his hand so well he didn’t even have to close his fingers, and with all the attention now on a giggling Nancy—because it was so fun and easy to tease the lady for her clumsiness—Peter’s little stunt was completely undetected.
That was, until he looked up and realized that from across the newsroom J. Jonah Jameson was looking him dead in the eyes.
Crap.
In a moment that felt far longer than it actually was, a hopeful thought passed through Peter’s mind.
“Maybe he didn’t see anything? I can save this!”
That hope was dashed a second later as Jameson’s voice rang out across the newsroom.
“PARKER! MY OFFICE! NOW!”
A pit of horror and dread dropped to the bottom of Peter’s stomach like a ball of lead as he trudged past his bustling coworkers. The jig was up. John Jonah Jameson, despite his hatred for Spiderman knew all his tricks, skills, and abilities, down to some of the most nuanced acrobatic moves. There’s no way Spiderman’s biggest antifan would miss how Peter did essentially the same thing with that grab. He hadn’t even closed his fingers around it! If he had maybe Peter could’ve passed it off as a lucky chance, but now he was doomed.
Stepping into Jameson’s office felt much like stepping into the den of a lion.
Peter thought the sound of the office door closing behind him must be what a closed coffin lid sounds like. Goodbye world. It was a nice life while it lasted.
Peter braced himself for the tirade, the shouts, the inevitable firing, the reveal of his identity, and how dumb is it that in this situation he’s worried about getting fired.
Only none of that happens. Instead John Jonah Jameson settles into his desk chair, rummages through his bottom-most desk drawer, and pulls out a few papers that are stapled together.
In a smooth motion Jameson slides the papers across the desk and says bluntly, “Fill that out.”
Peter looks at the packet in front of him and blinks. He picks it up, and he blinks again because those are the forms Jameson gives to his mutant employees. Forms that have extra contact, medical, and emergency information, details and specifics on what to and what not to do if a mutant has an accident with their abilities—the forms that Jameson keeps locked in his office and refuses to digitize or allow anyone else access to in order to protect the identities and anonymity of his employees.
Did Jameson think Peter was…a mutant? Just a regular mutant and not Spiderman? Did that mean—
“I'm not fired?”
The question slips out before Peter can stop himself and internally he screams, GOOD GOD PARKER! Why is he still thinking about getting fired?
Jameson seems to think the same thing because he spits, “I’m not going to fire you because you’re a mutant, kid! Now fill out the damn forms so you can get back to work.”
“But,” Peter says haltingly. He’s really not sure what’s happening or if this is even real. Is it possible to get a fever dream when he doesn't have a fever? “I—”
“I don’t care how well you’re keeping it under wraps!” Jameson says, his voice raised but not angry, “I care that you didn’t let anyone know!”
Too stunned to do anything else, he fills out the papers. Three signatures, four initials, he needs two emergency contacts but he only has one so he scribbled Aunt May's name in hopes that isn’t questioned, and a description of his powers. Peter blinks when he comes across that question and slowly writes down something about enhanced senses and sticky hands. It’s embarrassing but doable.
Finally Peter hands over the packet only for Jameson to make him stay seated across from him as he sorts through to make sure everything is filled out properly. It feels tense, with the only sound in the office being a shuffle of paper and the ticking of the analog clocks Jameson likes to keep on the wall.
The silence is finally broken when Jameson says, “Good. Update this when you get a second emergency contact.”
Peter waits a moment longer for the other shoe to drop. Seconds tick by and Jameson has taken to squinting at something in the columnist’s latest submission.
Glancing up to realize Peter’s still active presence Jameson snapped, “What are you waiting for? Get back out there and get me more pictures of that masked menace!”
Peter stumbled to his feet at the order, and was halfway out the door when he heard Jameson scoff under his breath, “Sticky hands. Next thing you know we'll have kids killing Santa.”