Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Saturday, January 4
MJ is rethinking her dress, leggings, and boots, mostly because of the windchill, but also because dates are not her thing. It’s not that she hasn’t been on one before.
Okay, so she hasn’t been on one. Ever.
But Peter doesn’t need to know that, right?
She fixes her knitted scarf and tucks a loose strand of hair beneath her matching knitted headband before she opens the door.
Peter’s in a dark pea coat and red gloves that nearly match his cheeks in the cold. There’s a hoodie beneath his coat and the hood is up to cover his head and ears, a scarf sealing the gap between the two, but MJ thinks that despite the layers, he still looks seconds away from becoming an icicle. He smiles when he sees her, his eyes lighting up as he grins, and MJ blushes, steps out onto the stoop and closes the door behind her.
“Are you a carbon sample?” Peter asks, his voice shaking. He tightens his grip on the straps of his backpack. “Because I wanna date you.”
“Oh, God, that was so corny,” MJ says, laughing in that way where she scrunches her nose, and Peter smiles back at her, which makes her stomach flip. “Please tell me you didn’t practice that the entire way here.”
“Maybe?” he jokes back, shrugging.
“Anyway, we’re already dating, loser,” she says.
“We are,” he says with a nod and it’s sweet, innocent almost, and he can’t stop grinning like an idiot.
“So, where to?” she asks, bouncing on her heels.
“Well, I had originally planned for us to go ice skating, but it’s too cold and my lungs still suck, so I figured we’d start with a short walk to the N and go a couple of stops downtown.”
“Oh, a mystery! I like this already. As long as it doesn’t become a murder mystery, you know?” she laughs nervously as they head toward the subway station.
“I’m…not a murderer?” Peter’s giving her the look she gets a lot, the one where she knows that what she’s said is not socially acceptable and she’s freaking them out. He realizes she was joking and recovers. “B-but I mean, if you’re into mysteries and stuff there’s this thing where you pay to be part of an escape room, only it takes place all over the city and there are these actors who you meet along the way and further the plot-”
“Peter.”
“What?”
“I was joking about the murder mystery. I know you’re not a murderer.”
He shrugs. “Yeah. Yeah, I knew that.”
“Did you?”
“Look, I’m really nervous, MJ,” he explains, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s whining. “I just want you to have a good time tonight. I’m sorry if I’m being super awkward.”
“A good time, eh?” She raises an eyebrow.
“Not like that! Ugh!” He closes his eyes and exhales, deflating. “I really really like you and you spent most of your break sitting with me while I did treatments and coughed up gunk. Not exactly fun. I wanted to do something nice for you. Something thoughtful.”
“I’ve liked sitting with you while you did treatments. I’d call that a great winter break. Plus, we didn’t get through the Star Wars saga yet and we haven’t made cookies, so I have no issue with more days spent on the couch.”
“We’d burn cookies, MJ.”
“We’d still eat them! That’s what counts.”
And Peter feels himself swoon as they descend below the streets of New York City, because MJ always has a different perspective than anyone he’s ever met and it always makes Peter laugh, makes him feel like he shouldn’t take himself and this crazy world so seriously. He needs this night out with her, has been craving the freedom to just be with her without Tony and Pepper popping in to make sure he’s still breathing.
They swipe their MetroCards, and of course, Peter’s turnstile asks him to please swipe again.
“You’ve lived here how long?” MJ jokes once Peter’s finally through.
“Since birth? We need the N,” he says, leading her toward the downtown signs.
“You know we could’ve taken the M from my house, right? Or an Uber??”
“I have trust issues with the BDFM after getting stranded underground on a crowded oven of an F train for over an hour last summer. And anyway, we aren’t going in that direction. Also, Uber’s are expensive.”
“Your first mistake was taking the F, so, sorry not sorry, you got yourself into that one.”
They go down another set of stairs and walk toward the middle of the platform where there’s less people. The LED sign says the next downtown N train will be arriving in 2 minutes and Peter groans internally because his lungs are already starting to burn from the cold and the walking even though he did a treatment right before he left. There are benches, but he’s refuses to even entertain the idea and focuses his attention on MJ.
“I mean, you live near the S,” she’s saying, “which literally goes nowhere anyone needs to go, so…”
“Not the proper use of literally,” Peter argues lightly, “and people do take the S, just not…us.”
“What do you take to school?” MJ asks.
Peter produces his neon green student MetroCard from the back of his phone case. “The 7 from the Tower, but when I come from May’s, I take the B or F. Mostly the B. For obvious reasons.” They both laugh in reference to Peter’s F train experience. There’s a sudden whoosh of cool air into the already cold station and Peter looks up in expectation of the train arriving.
“These cars look full,” MJ says as the cars pass, elbowing Peter as he puts his MetroCard away. “Come on.” She slides her arm through his and pulls him into a slow jog down the platform until they’re nearing the end. The train slows, screeches to a sudden halt, and the doors open.
“Your chariot,” MJ says, but Peter nudges her in first.
“Should be…my line,” Peter says breathlessly as they sit, legs touching.
“Stand clear of the closing doors, please,” the automated voice announces, the doors whirring closed a moment later.
“What stop?” MJ asks, looking over at Peter as the train pulls away from the station. He seems winded and it hits her that she’s made him run, didn’t even ask before she pulled him down the platform. She knows Peter isn’t going to tell her if he’s not feeling well tonight, would rather suffer in silence than bring attention to himself because wasn’t his passing out in chemistry class testament to that very fact?
Her first date, and she’s nearly killed him because she isn’t thinking.
Okay, so maybe she hasn’t nearly killed him, but she’s making him wheeze and that might as well be the same thing.
For someone so smart, you can be so stupid sometimes, echoes in her head.
“It’s a…surprise,” he says with a smile, but his obvious struggle and even more obvious attempt to hide the fact that he’s wheezing slightly is breaking her heart because it’s her fault.
“Fuck. I wasn’t thinking when I made you run, Peter. I’m sorry.”
“Just need a minute. I’ll be okay.” He tips his head back, takes a deep breath and then another one as he slowly rubs his hands up and down his legs.
“We can go home and start a new series, burn cookies,” she offers, face wrought with guilt.
He shakes his head and looks over at her. “What? No.”
“But you’re wheezing!”
“M’always wheezing,” he jokes, laughing. MJ bites her lip and looks down. “Hey,” he says, taking her hand in his. “I’m okay. And I’ve been planning this…for days. It’s gonna be great. Just gotta trust me.”
“You have to tell me if you feel like you need to go home. Promise me.”
“Promise.”
“Pinkie promise?”
Peter laughs. “What is this, kindergarten?”
“Pinkie promise,” she prompts, putting her pinkie up, and Peter has to admit that he finds it kind of adorable. He links his with hers and smiles.
“I pinkie promise.” Peter thinks it’s silly, but he finds that he doesn’t want to let MJ’s pinkie go, so he pulls her hand into his again and holds it between their laps, finishes catching his breath and tries to keep his heel from bouncing in excitement.
MJ feels the need to fill the silence between them. “I thought you’d bring me somewhere super touristy like Rockefeller Center and-” she says, stopping when Peter’s face changes. “Oh no, you were planning that? For later? Shit. I’m already fucking this up! I keep fucking this up! Fuck!”
“You’re not!” Peter insists, and there’s that smile again, that sweet goofy smile that is making her heart melt ten times over. “I did think about it, thought maybe we could have our picture taken, but I worried you would be too cold and knew it would be crowded. It’s kind of touristy and, I don’t know, I was afraid you wouldn’t find it cool.” He shrugs. “I thought you’d want something a little quieter.”
MJ’s been to see the tree in Rockefeller Center before. She tends to avoid anything touristy on principle alone, but her cousins from Chicago came last year during Christmas break and she’d been forced to endure Times Square, the Empire State Building, and the Museum of Natural History.
She loves the Museum of Natural History, but that visit had been torturous. She hasn’t been back since. There’d been that application for their summer program, except all of that stuff had gone down with her parents, and by the time it would have started, she realized she hadn’t heard back.
“This is us,” Peter announces, standing just before the train begins to slow.
“This stop is 14th Street, Union Square,” the automated voice announces.
Peter surfs as the transfers are listed, doesn’t fumble or need the pole, and MJ does the same, though she has to hide a slight blunder on the last sudden hit of the brakes by grabbing Peter’s arm.
Okay, so maybe she doesn’t hide it, but Peter grins back at her and makes a gesture for her to exit the car first. There’s a band, or rather, a clarinet player and guitarist cranking out Aerosmith’s “Dream On” in the main concourse, and the two share a baffled glance and laugh.
“You confused east and west, didn’t you?” MJ asks as they begin to climb the stairs to the street.
“What?” Peter asks, voice breathy. He slows his climb after the first few steps, MJ matching his speed.
“My address. Did you confuse east and west? Is that why you were late?”
“Maybe?” he answers, trying not to smile. “Does that…happen a lot?”
“What, male suitors getting confused about my address?”
Peter blushes, tries to contain a laugh, but ends up coughing. They’re deep and chesty, sound just as painful as they feel. He rubs at his chest and grimaces; he definitely won’t miss this when he’s feeling better.
“Yeah, it happens a lot with deliveries and Ubers,” MJ continues, as if Peter’s coughing isn’t even happening. “They go to 28 west instead of east. Do you know how many times I’ve had to walk to meet them? It takes exactly six and a half minutes if you time the lights right.” They reach the landing and pull off to the side along the park. “You good?” she asks, Peter nodding, his open mouth creating quick little puffs in the cool air. “You promised you’d tell me,” she reminds him.
“I pinkie promised.”
“You did, but the real question is, are you gonna keep it?”
“Guess we’ll find out, hm?” he jokes, winking. “Toward Whole Foods,” he adds, gesturing.
“You’re taking me on a date to…Whole Foods?” MJ raises an eyebrow. Without missing a beat, she adds, “Aw, Peter. You really shouldn’t have.”
“What?” He looks offended. “No, I’m not…I’m not taking you on a date to… You really thought I’d take you on a date to Whole Foods? What kind of person…” He puts his hands up in defeat. “You know what, never mind.”
“It is kind of the perfect date, if you think about it. Each person can get what they want. And they do have a little seating area.”
“We’re not going on a date to Whole Foods.”
“So, then, where are we going? I’m starving,” she says, and Peter nods toward the crossing, the two catching the countdown just in time to make it across. It’s not until he pulls the door to Max Brenner Chocolatier open that MJ realizes where they’re eating.
Chocolate.
Peter’s brought her to a chocolate restaurant.
For dinner.
“I-I made a reservation?” he’s asking the hostess. “For two? Under Parker.”
The pore over the menu, Peter ordering a burger while MJ gets a pasta dish. They eat and talk about school, decathlon. They drink hot chocolate in hug mugs and have a milk mustache contest, MJ winning when she ends up getting it on her nose. Peter’s sure he hasn’t laughed this hard in months and being inside a place that smells like chocolate with MJ is a welcome break from the cold and walking.
When the waiter clears their table, MJ pulls her wallet out.
Peter grins. “May gave me some money for Christmas, and since I didn’t get you a gift, I figured I could pay for dinner tonight.”
“You don’t have to pay for this, Peter. I brought money. We can split.”
“I kind of already paid?” he says, scrunching his face. “When you went to the bathroom earlier. Don’t hate me.”
“I could never hate you,” she reminds him. “But next time, we split. I like to go Dutch.”
“I thought you said this was you first date?”
“I thought you said this was your first date.”
“It is.”
“Mine too.”
Peter laughs, shakes his head. He loves that MJ’s awkward jokes makes him laugh so hard that his cheeks hurt, that the soft light on her skin is giving her a beautiful glow and he’s falling even harder for her. He’s always had a thing for MJ, but lately, it only seems to be growing bigger and bigger the more time they spend together.
“I have one more surprise,” he says, getting up and reaching out for her hand.
x
The end up at The Strand bookstore across Broadway, spend nearly forty minutes on the main floor browsing poetry, current events, and a display of funny mugs quoting Shakespeare and Chaucer. They make their way up to the second floor and reminisce over the picture books before they share recommendations in the young adult section.
They’ve been at the bookstore for nearly an hour and half when MJ sees that Peter’s leaning against the display table to support him, is breathing a little heavily as he pretends to peruse the stack of young adult books in front of him. His wheeze is present, not in an obvious way, but MJ has gotten used to its presence, knows that it usually means he’s needs his inhaler or a treatment. She doesn’t press or comment, just picks up a book and examines the back cover.
“Think I need to sit down,” Peter says a moment later, and when MJ looks up, she sees that Peter’s gone stark white, is panting as he grips the side of the table. “Kind of…nauseous?”
“Yeah, we can sit,” she says quietly, burying her panic as she looks for somewhere that isn’t the floor. “Hey, there’s a place over here.” She tries not to gain attention as she directs him over to a dark green bench that looks familiar in a way that she can’t quite place, makes sure he’s sitting upright rather than hunched before pulling his scarf off.
“S’really warm in here,” he says, unbuttoning his jacket so that he can shrug it and his backpack off. He rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie and tugs at the collar around his neck as he drags in quick, wheezy breaths. “My antibiotics hit me hard…after I eat. And I had to skip a treatment...since we’d be out. I think it’s catching up to me. It’s also…like a sauna in here.”
“What do you need?” she asks, a hand on his shoulder.
He doesn’t answer, just unzips his backpack and grabs his inhaler. He uncaps and shakes it before taking a puff, holds his breath for a few seconds before he takes another. MJ’s rubbing his back, and while part of him is filling with embarrassment, he also feels like he can breathe again, and he’s glad that there aren’t many people around, that none of them have taken notice of his loud breathing. He puts his inhaler back and takes a swig of the water Tony made him pack before he left.
“I can pay for an Uber,” she offers.
“No, MJ,” Peter says, shaking his head. “I’m not letting you do that. Tony said Happy could come pick us up if I wasn’t feeling well. Was hoping it didn’t come to this, but my lungs feel really heavy right now.”
“It was all of that chocolate,” MJ says, and then they’re both laughing, Peter’s cheeks hurting from how wide they’re being stretched. “Oh, I just realized where this bench is from!” she says. “The existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.”
“Huh?”
“The Fault in Our Stars? John Green? Hazel says, “The existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.”
“That’s the movie about the kids with cancer.”
“It’s so much more than a movie about kids with cancer. It’s also a book. A well-written and thoroughly enjoyable, yet sad, book. Anyway, there’s this part where Hazel analyzes the validity of the old adage that “Without pain, how could we know joy?” She unravels it when she says, “The existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.”
“Meaning, you don’t need to know pain in order to know joy?”
“Exactly.”
“Steve said something to that effect to me the other day. About difficult experiences building character, and I don’t know, it felt kind of cheap? Like I think I was a good person before all of this? It kind of made me feel like I deserve not being able to breathe or something. I know he didn’t mean it like that, but it’s how it felt.”
MJ is looking at Peter with narrowed eyes that make him feel like she’s boring into his soul, analyzing every word of his response.
“Sorry, was that too much?”
“Peter, I don’t think you could be too much if you tried. I was just thinking, is all.”
“About?”
“I was thinking that you need to read this book.”
“The Fault in Our Stars?”
“Sometimes books are an escape, and other times they’re therapy. I think that this one is both.”
“Therapy.”
“Is there something wrong with therapy?” she asks, tucking her hair behind her ear, and it’s the self-conscious way she does it, how her eyes shift away from his suddenly, that lets Peter know that she’s either in or has been in therapy at some point in her life.
“N-no, I-I was in therapy, after Ben died, I just…”
“I’m sorry Steve said that to you. I know you look up to him.”
“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging.
“It’s not fine, Peter. I wish people would stop saying shit like that. It’s patronizing. And it blames people for being sick. You didn’t ask for this. No one does.”
“I feel like you’re the only one who’s been treating me like I’m not about to shatter into a million pieces.”
“What do you mean? You said Tony’s been awesome about everything.”
“He has, but he’s also been really tense since I got sick.” He keeps from going into detail about Tony’s situation on the side of the road.
“Isn’t that, like, the frequency he always vibrates at, though?”
Peter thinks of the Tony most people see, the one at Stark Expos and press conferences, how he oozes confidence and vitality. And then he thinks of the Tony in pajamas with a five o’clock shadow who drinks too much coffee and oozes stress, vomits on the side of the road because of his heart meds, and he wonders how MJ was able to see through all of it.
“I’ve practically been living at your house this week,” she reminds him. “I’m observant, if you haven’t noticed. It’s a problem. I’m working on it.”
“It’s not a problem, MJ,” Peter says with a small laugh. “It’s you. I…I like that about you.”
“In that case, the sheer volume of coffee Tony guzzles in a day is disturbing. And Pepper is hiding vegetables in your food. Wasn’t sure if you noticed that, but, she is. And May hasn’t been around much, but it’s obvious that she wants to see and spend time with you by how often she texts. And Tony’s only kind of memorized your med schedule; he programmed everything into FRIDAY, but he does get points for being on top of all of it. It’s a lot, by the way. Like, a lot a lot. He…he really cares about you, Peter. And he’s really nice to me when I come over even though he doesn’t know me from a hole in the wall.”
“The vegetables thing makes a lot of sense,” Peter says with a laugh. “May’s just doing her best. She has a lot on her plate between work and worrying about me. And I had a feeling about FRIDAY and the med schedule. It is a lot to remember. I know he doesn’t trust me yet with everything. I don’t even know if I trust myself with everything yet, but Tony and Pepper have been really good to me.”
“You’re really lucky, Peter. That you have so many people who care about you.”
He thinks she’s trying to open up about her home life, but he isn’t completely sure, doesn’t want to pry or make her feel like she has to tell him about it. That, and he knows he’s lucky, living with Tony and Pepper while May is away, not having to worry about money for shoes or a new backpack; he’s always losing that damn backpack. Not that he asks Tony for money. He knows it’s expensive to feed and house a growing teenager, especially one with expensive medical needs, and May’s made sure he doesn’t forget how hard the last few years have been money-wise. He knows he’s lucky, and yet, in everything that’s happened with his health, he feels like that luck is starting to run out.
“That doesn’t mean the people who care about you are perfect, though,” she adds, and he sees something in her eyes, a kind of acknowledgement that home is about the people but also about the emotional stuff, too. “My parents are great, you know?” And Peter doesn’t know, because she’s never talked about them. “But they’re not great together.”
“That’s gotta be rough,” he says.
“It is and it isn’t. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” he says, though he can’t remember his parents, doesn’t know what living with his parents would be like. May always tries, Peter knows, doesn’t blame her for her shortcomings. And Tony and Pepper feel a bit like parents, he thinks. They would both show up in the middle of the night when he started staying with them and had attacks, which was weird, at first. But Tony would always jump right in, get him sitting and set up with a breathing treatment. There was never hesitation on his part, just a natural, father-like demeanor that Peter hadn’t expected in the beginning. He remembers thinking Tony Stark really does have a heart after he’d called May in a panic, unable to breathe or get to his nebulizer in the living room while she was away on a business trip, when Tony had nearly kicked the door in, scooped him up off the floor like he weighed nothing, and gotten him breathing normally again. He’d barely known Peter at that point, hell, Peter had only just started the Stark Internship, and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t one of the most awkward experiences of his life. That was the first time he’d called Peter Underoos, and while Peter had had to look it up afterwards to figure out what it meant, he knew he’d said it with affection in an effort to get a nearly blue Peter calm and breathing. He’d thought that attack was bad, that it couldn’t get much worse. But Tony being there, holding him up and coaching him, meant more than Peter could put into words. Tony, Peter thinks, is for sure the closest thing he has to a father right now, and he’s suddenly not sure how he’d get through any of this without him.
“You’re still really wheezy,” MJ comments. She looks like she’s kicking herself for even mentioning it, but Peter doesn’t mind. He’s feeling unreasonably tired all of a sudden, like he might not make it down the stairs, to the subway, and home. “Sorry, I feel like I overstepped there.”
“You didn’t,” he says, pulling his phone out. “I can text Happy. Did you want to…come over? Watch a movie?” He feels his breath coming short again and sighs. Definitely need a treatment.
“I love how you think you had to ask,” she says, laughing as Peter texts Happy their location. He bundles back up despite the heat and they take the elevator down to the first floor. They can’t wait in the entryway, because of how it’s shaped, and Peter weighs standing in the crowd versus standing on the street. It’s too warm inside, but it’s also too cold outside. And he feels like his knees might give out any moment.
“Wrap your scarf over your mouth and nose. It’ll help warm the air so it doesn’t shock your lungs,” MJ says, and Peter loves that she’s read his mind. He likes to think that means they work together, that they’re a good fit. The wait outside beside the doorway for Happy to pull up, hold hands and admire the Christmas decorations up and down Broadway as Peter leans in to MJ and plants a kiss on her lips.