Michelle still finds it hard to believe. That her soft, cuddle loving, pop-tart eating, absolute dork of a boyfriend is on the run from the authorities because he – what? Saved the world from a psychopath who was planning to kill them all?
It’s this sort of rage – and the memory of how Peter’s lips used to feel against hers, how he’d hold her tight as they swung through the city, how she’d bury her face in the shoulder of his suit and scream until he chuckled and let her down – that keeps her up, night after night, pouring over documents and videos and some weird coding thing that Happy had given her to try and find something – anything – that would prove Peter’s innocence and bring him home.
They’d heard from him a few times – always only for a minute, from a payphone or a pay-as-you-go mobile from a gas station – and he promised he was safe and okay but Michelle didn’t entirely believe him, because his definition of safe seems to differ a lot from hers. She hadn’t slept in weeks, iced lattes from the Starbucks on the corner – black, double shot – and small, half hour naps in AP Chem were the only thing keeping her going.
That, it seems, and May. MJ had burst into Peter’s apartment with him the day of their swing-date when JJ had just – outed – him to the whole world, and helped him pack his things and done everything in a calm, orderly manner, calming him down and grounding him as he fretted about what was going to happen. May had watched them with a bewildered look, trying more than once to reach for Peter and hold him close, but ultimately kissing him once on the head before MJ kissed his lips and he disappeared down the fire escape.
That was the last they’d seen of him, and that had been almost five weeks ago. MJ had not stopped for a minute since, often working with May late into the night, both of them studying police reports and news footage for something they might have missed the first, second, third time.
But there were times like today – times where she’d bombed a calc test (“Only 91%, Michelle, are you doing okay?”) or when she spills her iced coffee on Peter’s hoodie (yes, he’d left her a hoodie, and no, she hadn’t really taken it off) – she can’t do it anymore.
She rocks up at May’s after school, holding her espresso and holding in tears, handing her hoodie (Peter’s hoodie) wordlessly to May, who kisses her head and throws it into the wash. MJ watches her, biting her lip, and goes over to the coffee table near the tv, where their workspace has been set up. There’s a bulky looking iPad that has Happy’s information on it, and so many printed documents that MJ could practically state off by heart, and the tv’s on in the background because otherwise it’s just silent.
May comes back in a few minutes lately, softly telling her that her hoodie’s in the wash and if she wants another one there’s a pile in Peter’s room, or she can borrow his cologne if she wants? But MJ shakes her head – that one he’d been wearing when she saw him last, it smelt like him, like campfires and wood and not tainted with May’s washing powder.
“Okay,” May nods, understanding. “Wanna get thai for dinner?”
MJ nods again, not trusting herself to talk.
May runs her hand over MJ’s curls and squeezes her shoulder lightly, and MJ leans into the touch before she’s back working, working, working.
0o0o0
It’s about 10pm when the TV switches from Modern Family reruns to the late night news, and MJ’s ears pick up and then it’s –
“There’s still no sign of superhero turned murderer Peter Parker, despite –”
And MJ just snaps.
“It’s not him,” she cries, throwing the document she’s reading onto the floor. May looks up in surprise. “It’s not him, you assholes! He’s innocent he’s so innocent why can’t you SEE that –”
She’s up and pacing, angry tears flowing down her cheeks as May watches her carefully. Michelle swipes at her cheeks, swallowing thickly. “It’s so fucking hard, no one else cares and we’ve been at this for weeks and I don’t know what else to do I just – I just want him to come home.” She looks up. “It’s not him, May,” she says dejectedly, and her lip trembles, eyes filling with tears.
May wants to be supportive, she really does. She wants to stay strong and fold MJ into her arms and tell her it’s gonna be fine, they’re gonna get him back, they’ll prove his innocence and it’s fine it’s okay it’s gonna work out and –
But she can’t. She just can’t. She watches MJ – someone she’s come to admire these past few weeks, watching her work theoretically and logically, taking her time to comb through every bit of evidence just to prove her nephew innocent – she watches her break and she can’t help it, she starts to cry too.
The little sound that comes out of May’s mouth shocks MJ somewhat, and she sits gingerly on the couch, sniffling slightly, and looks at May, her face blotchy already because she doesn’t cry much and her body’s not used to it.
May holds her arms out, and MJ – who does not do hugs, let it be known – falls into them, curling her lean body into May, holding as much as she’s being held. They sit there, the news now onto some fire in Seattle, documents scattered around them and the light of the ipad glowing green and black into the dark lounge.
“I just want him back,” MJ whispers, face buried in May’s shoulder. “I just want him home.”
“I know,” May murmurs. “Me too. You’re being so strong, Michelle.”
“You too,” she replies quietly, holding tighter. She feels May squeeze her back, and they stay like that.
0o0o0
Neither of them are quite sure how long they stay there, but by the time they move MJ’s stopped crying and she’s pretty sure May has too.
“Stay,” May says softly. “Stay here tonight.”
“We need to keep-” MJ gestures wildly at the piles of papers surrounding them.
“Not tonight,” May shakes her head. “We’ll work better once we’ve slept. You can have his room.”
“Are you sure?”
May nods. “We’re gonna do this, MJ. Okay? He’ll be back before we know it.”
MJ swallows. Nods. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” May kisses the top of her head, and MJ’s struck by the maternal nature of it, and she must be tired because before she heads to Peter’s room she throws herself at May again and rests her head over the woman’s shoulder and holds her tight.
“Get some sleep, Michelle,” May whispers. “We’ll be back at it tomorrow.”
0o0o0
It feels weird getting into Peter’s bed without him, and she almost starts crying again as his smell envelopes her, but the sheets are soft against her bare legs and if she presses her nose to the pillow a certain way it almost feels like she’s resting against his chest. She lays on her stomach, arms curled around the pillow, and feels something bunched up underneath.
Curiously, she sits up, pulling it out. It’s his midtown hoodie, blue with the atom on front, and she pulls it over her head with a smile, gently pulling her broken dahlia necklace to rest over the top. The sweatshirt’s too big on her, but it feels like a hug and it’s warm and it smells like Peter, not the washing detergent, and as she settles in amongst his doona, she has a good feeling about tomorrow. They’re gonna get him back. They have to.
But first – she needs to sleep.
fin.