Seventeen

M: Noir was silent, staring at Peter's face. Then, he sat down on the floor, still behind that goddamn invisible line, facing Peter. He was now beneath Peter, literally placing himself under him.
Peter shuffled his chair around slightly to face Noir head on.

"Noir? Why did you-" Peter's voice cut out, and he cleared his suddenly too thick throat before continuing, "why did you leave me?" And he can feel tears coming on and he just didn't have the strength to hold them back anymore.

Noir took a steadying breath, wringing his fingers over one another, an old habit that popped up whenever he was nervous.

"It's... it's a long story." Noir began, "I had been tracking an undercover organization, I thought they worked for green goblin. But, well, it went so much deeper than that. I was poking a nest thinking it was full of bees, but it was full of wasps."

"Someone, I don't know who, managed to figure out I was watching them. It didn't take them long to figure out my nests, after that. They were planning to take me out, after they had... tortured you in front of me. I," noir looked up at Peter's face, desperate. "I couldn't let then hurt you. So I had to vanish. I had to keep you safe."

R: "Torture?" He asks, voice a quiver. Noir had been going undercover and they were going to retaliate with torture? Break him down in front of Noir? Make him watch as they made him bleed and scream and cry and - he shivered. Blood. Always too much blood

After a moment he shakes his head. "But you didn't have to go like you did. Didn't have to make everyone, make me think you were dead!" He sounds on the tinge of hysterics

"You left me and I mourned you! I mourned you!" He says, anger now taking over in his voice as he wheels over and jabs Noir in the chest with his finger. Noir let's him

"I cried so fucking much. Thought my world fucking ended. I had lost my best friend, the love of my goddamn life! Do you get this, Noir? You were my second chance at love and happiness after MJ, I thought I had something with you! I thought "hey, this is someone I'd like to spend the rest of my life with" only to find your side of the bed empty and you never came home and I didnt even know if there was a body to bury!" He sobs, angry and sad

Noir just sits there as Peter screams and cries and he wants so badly to hold him, needs to hold him, hut he’s already been selfish enough

R: Peter is bent over as he cries, always an angry crier MJ had told him

He grabs at his arms and sobs, his face looking red and splotchy and his wails were everything except beautiful. And Noir sits.

"I'm sorry Peter...I'm so sorry." He says though there's not enough sorry's in the world to make up for this kind of hurt

"I know it was stupid. To think that if you didn't know, they wouldn't hurt you. But I just... Peter I thought about you every day. Every goddamn minute. I tried so hard to stay away. Keep you safe from me but just. I couldn't."

M: "Do you know how I found out you were dead, Noir? Do you?"
Noir didn't answer.
"I found out when I tracked down your phone, and found it shot to pieces and dripping in old blood. You didn't use guns, anymore. Or at least, I thought you didn't."

"You wanted to protect me? You're the one who hurt me the most, Noir. Thinking you were dead was worse than any-" Peter gestured at his legs, "physical pain they could have ever done to me."

Noir shook his head. "You're alive, Peter. That's all I could do for you. I wanted to vanish, to never see you again, but I had to stay to make sure they didn't come after you anyway. See if they fell for it. See if they would leave you alone."

"If I had told you I was going to vanish, you would have never let me." Noir's voice was shaky, "and it is better to have you alive, hating me, than dead loving me."

R: "But I almost did die loving you!!" Peter screams and it's like everything stopped. Like the world outside stopped and all Noir can hear is the harsh breathing of Peter panting and body shaking

"Do you know how much I wanted to fucking die without you? How much I wanted to know where you went and I wanted to see you there! I thought about it when I went to bed, when I woke up, when I did fucking anything Noir!"

"If not for the kids and not for me being a coward I would have! I would have gone to try and find you and see you on the other side. Don't you fuckign get it no matter what I was going to be dead because I can't stop loving you! And it's killing me!"

Tears are pouring down Peter's cheeks and he's trembling in his wheelchair and all of a sudden, he feels every bit of bone crushing loneliness he had felt during those months along all crash down on him at once

"I drank because I needed to feel or not feel, I took too many pain pills, I started losing fights, started losing weight, starting losing . I was losing me, Noir, losing myself," Peter breaths, and it's the first time he's ever said it aloud. "When you died a piece of me died too and the rest of me was just waiting to catch up."

M: Noir's gaze meets Peter's eyes, unwilling or unable to look away from whatever he saw there. A broken man, that he had splintered into pieces, stared back at him.
"I wanted to die, Noir. I wanted-" Peter's voice is choking out, and he's gasping out words between gasping sobs. And Noir is still just sitting there, two feet away, but he looks broken, too.

Peter falls silent, unable to speak more without running out of air, and Noir speaks. His voice is rough and pitched, the way it always is before he cries. "Peter, I-" he snapped his mouth closed, digging his teeth into his tongue.

This wasn't about him. This was about Peter. Everything noir did, every decision he had ever made as of 5 years ago, had been about loving Peter, about protecting Peter.
He had hung up his guns for Peter, because he knew he didn't like them, even if he never asked him to. He had made countless decisions based on keeping Peter safe, while doing the right thing. Now, Noir had hurt Peter to keep him safe, but nearly killed him anyway.

But what he had done hadn't been wrong. He knew, he knew that if he hadn't played the game, they would have killed them both.
But Peter had had a right to know the game was happening, maybe. Had he?

R: Even though he had meant Peter no harm, intent doesn't matter, it was the impact that did. He hadn't meant to leave Peter choking under water, weighed down with the weight of it all, but he did, and now Peter was scared of being thrust under again.

He sat there quietly as Peter shook and sobbed, and it was like watching a man only vaguely knew. That was Noir's issue, wasn't it? He thought he knew Peter, all of Peter,  thought with his oh so smart detective skills Peter would get over him. That Noir would be just a memory within the first two months. But two months led to four which led to seven, then nine, and now this. Peter had spiralled in a way that Noir never though he could - at least not again.

It was Noir's fault for assuming he knew the man in front of him. For doubting his heart, his commitment. "I'm so sorry." Peter wiped at red and teary eyes, and he looks to Noir. He looks sad and lost and he looks younger than Noir is, and Noir forgets Peter's been doing this longer than he has at a younger age. He's lost just as much. And now hes lost his home. Peter was just a kid trying to play a man's role in a war that he should never have been forced into

"Did they get you?" Peter finally asks. His voice small and chromed and frightened. "Did they get you out there?"

M: Noir didn't respond right away, glancing away from Peter's eyes for a moment before flicking back.
"They didn't catch me."
"That's not what I asked." Peter retorted, leaning forwards as far as he could manage. Invading Noir's space --offering physical closeness-- demanding --begging-- for an answer. Noir grimaced. "There were some close calls, I got hit a few times, but they never found out it was me. You were never in danger of that."

Noir must have misunderstood the question, thinking Peter was worried about them coming after him, worrying about identifies. No, no, that didn't matter, what mattered was that Noir had said he'd been hit which meant he had been hurt and Peter needed to know.

"What happened to you?" Peter's voice was dropping, concern creeping in over his anger if only or these few moments.
"It doesn't matter. I'm fine. You are the priority, here."

Peter had been so wrapped up in mourning, so cloaked in his own misery, he had forgotten that he had even existed at all.
To be called a priority... that felt wrong. Especially coming from Noir, the man who Peter --loves-- loved.

R: "Benjamin, please." Peter says, and Noir's breath catches

Benjamin was their go to when Noir wasn't enough. When noir couldn't put down the mask and gun for the day, too wrapped up in his own head with all that was going on. Peter would come up to him as Noir worked late hours in front of theory boards, coffee cups and cigarettes scattered around in his attempts to stay awake in his mania. Peter would come up, would slip his glasses off and take his hand. "Come to bed Benjamin."

Noir  looks away suddenly feeling vulnerable like an ant underneath a microscope. "I uh," he licks at cracked lips and fidgeted nervously. He tugged at the skin around his wrists, a habit he picked up after being so used to wearing his gloves, his spider suit was a part of him

Peter rolled forward slightly, pushing himself out of the chair and onto the floor. They sat together. And Noir started to talk

M: "It didn't matter that I had vanished, you know? They weren't coming after you at the time but they were still a threat. I, uh, went after them. It's harder for them to track you if you don't exist, right?"

Noir tried to laugh, but the words came out hard and it sounded more like a plea

They weren't touching, Peter was a few inches away. Noir closed his eyes, and could almost feel the heat coming from his body. Almost.

"They figured out someone was after them, but they knew I was dead and that you were... struggling." Noir was getting tense. His fiddling got more pronounced. "I snuck into their base, after too many months, took out their top guns, destroyed what I could. But I had never really bothered to think of an escape plan, 'cause I knew I would have had to kill every person in a two mile radius. But i figured I would fight my way out, because I, well," noir's picking at his skin was starting to draw black. "I wanted to be able to come home, to you. But I knew that was impossible. So I just... tried to survive. Got shot... god, what was it, 17 times? One of them had a machine gun and just... kept shooting." Noir's voice was dropping quieter and quieter. "They used so many bullets to kill me."

R: "Seventeen?" Peter asks, incredulous. He looks at Noir like he's shocked he's still here, as if he doesn't believe under the coat and the sweater he's in one piece. His hand shakes and he grabs at Noir’s jacket, tries peeling it off

"Peter," Noir says softly

Peter shakes his head, shaking as he tugs at Noir's lapel and Noir wont let him take it off. "Peter, stop," he hushes, peter shaking his head and shaking and pulling. "Seventeen," he says softly, repeating it and he's grabbing Noir and Noir wants so hard to grab his wrists, to lift them from his jacket so he wouldn't have to see. But he can't touch Peter. Hasn't been given permission. So Peter tugs and pulls Noir’s jacket down, and Noir grabs at the bottom of his sweater, keeps Peter from yanking the bottom of his sweater up.

"I need," Peter says, voice a ghost, a whimper. "I need to see Noir"
"Why?"

Peter shakes and looks at him "I have to make sure you're whole"

M: Noir complies. He didn't have a choice, not really, not after seeing the way Peter's face was crumbling and his hands were getting so unsteady. He could have refused, but he knew that if he did, the last bit of Peter that remained would be crushed into the ground.

Noir lets Peter pull up his jacket, takes off the rest of it when Peter reached down to his shirt.
If Peter wanted to see it, he had the right to see it all. When Peter sees Noir's pale gray skin, he starts trembling, hard, hands landing on Noir's scarred chest.
"I'm alive, Peter." Noir said, almost reaching out to touch Peter's hands but stopping before contact was made. He wasn't allowed to touch him.

Noir had always had his fair share of scars. Long lines and the occasional pocketed scar were scattered across his body. But this... Peter didn't even know what to think.

Perfectly circular holes, marked in a perfect, if slightly diagonal, line across noir's body. Each one looking the exact same as the last. Peter counted them. 12 like that. There were 5 more, scattered around, and they were ragged and sliced at.

"Those ones, the guns didn't have enough power. Instead of going through, they got stuck and I had to....remove them." Noir explained. "See? I'm okay, I'm alive. I'm fine."

"But are you whole? Are you you?"

R: "I don't know what you mean Peter,"
"Don't lie to me." He says, and Noir bites his tongue. "You've lied to me too much, you have to tell me the truth right now, Benjamin."
Noir looked down

He let his fingertips trace the sunken scars, the holes across his skin, let his rough fingertips run across the diagonal line that tore through his body, that had had him bleeding on the ground with nothing but grit and spite to get himself up

He takes a breath and sighs. "When I got shot, I thought I was a goner. They filled me with daylight and I could see a flash of an image, myself in a meat wagon, on the slab in a hospital. Nameless John doe. I should have been dead but I just...I didn't die. And I had to get up. And it hurt. Fuck Petey, it hurt." Noir says, and Peter knows it did. Can feel it in his bones.

He looks back down at the five pot shots marred around his body

"This guy helped me. Dunno his name but just dragged me into his place. I was scared he was one of them but I couldn't fight back. He pressed bandages to my wounds and tried stitching me backup. Was bleeding everywhere, he was a good man to try I musta looked like a lost cause. We weren't able to get the ones that tore in and didn't have an exit out. We had to focus on the bleeders, the ones that were flowing too freely. The five were the least of our worries."

R: As he spoke, Peter saw the way his eyes fogged up a little behind his glasses, the way he got glassy and lost a bit and he didn't know what to do. If to touch

"We got me patched up as well as could be but they just. They tried tracking me Peter. And that guy , that real swell guy." Noir swallows and closes his eyes, turns his head away. "Well...i grabbed what I could from the place when I made my getaway. Got some medical supplies and some rations and I was scrammin. The trigger men were after me and I had to get goin. I hid on a rooftop so I'd have a vantage point and I dug the five bullets out using a pocket knife. It's why the scars are long." He explained. "I think my bloods still caked on the wall of that building." He laughs. And Peter grabs his hand

R: Noir blinks, staring down at their hands for a moment, eyes unfocused. He immediately pulled his hand away from Peter's grip.
"I'm not allowed to touch you." Noir said automatically, "You told me not to touch-"
Peter reached out again, but Noir pulled away. He could see the flash of misery as Noir forced himself not to reach out and grab Peter's hand tight.
"Oh, Benjamin, it's okay. You can touch."
"I- I hurt- I can't-" Noir was stammering over his words. Noir always did that, always seemed to forget how to speak when he felt unbalanced.

Noir would always get real quiet, real touchy. Sometimes, Peter would be sitting at home and Noir would come back like this. He would stammer out a few unintelligible words, then just go to their bedroom, or sit on the couch, or, occasionally just collapse onto the carpet entirely. And when Peter touched him then, a hand in his own, rubbing circles,  or in his hair, running through over and over, would make him absolutely melt into Peter's arms. Peter reached out again, and this time ignored Noir's hand, and reached straight for his face, gently cupping it and making Noir's eyes focus on his.
"You can touch, Benjamin. You can touch."

Noir crumpled, hands reaching up lightning quick to grab Peter's hands in his own, bringing them down and curling his body over them, holding them close to his chest. Noir was shaking, on the brink of tears but he didn't deserve to cry in front of Peter.

R: For a moment Peter is dragged out of his own head as he watches Noir hold his hands and shake, clutching them like a lifeline. Peter is dragged from his own head out of his resentment and his anger and his frustration and he sits there and he wonders, when was the last time he had touched Noir? Noir had disappeared almost a year ago, gone without a trace. The last time he remembered holding him, feeling Noir's skin was when Noir had pressed a kiss to his forehead the night that he had left, a soft "night Peter, be home in the morning." Peter hadn't even rolled over to acknowledge it, just letting out a small huff as he fell back asleep

He sits and watches Noir hold him and try not to cry, torso bared to the world and covered with scars and cuts, things that no man should have to go through, let alone a man so good.

Noir always had gotten distant after being hurt. It was a coping mechanism Peter had realized, trying to separate himself from others as if being near them would spread the hurt to them, he would sit and dissociate, retreat into his own little world. It had taken a lot of coaxing from Peter to convince him that it was okay to need a touch when he was hurt or upset. Noir was so vulnerable to tenderness, it made Peter's heart ache. And when Noir had finally come to Peter and put his head in his boyfriend's lap, a few hot tears that remained unacknowledged dripping onto Peter's pant leg, he didn't say anything about it. Simply  started to stroke his hair and let Noir shake it out

Noir had been hurt, and he had been hurt bad. He had almost died, and the realization catches in Peter's throat remembering how he had asked if Noir was dead. If they were in heaven. It almost could have come true, he almost could have died and met Noir in the beyond

Peter in all his self loathing and anger and mourning had at least some people by his side. Even if he had denied and yelled and isolated himself from the other spiders, Miles and Gwen still texted him frequently, Peni would send him little animations of what looked like he and her hugging, him smiling, Porker even invited him to a few of his stand up gigs. Peter had denied them all, wanting to simply sit and hide away in his anger and his sadness

R: But Noir had no one out there. Didn't have the chance to have someone comfort him like Peter had. He had gone out into the world with nothing, absolutely nobody with the idea that he may not come back and if he didn't Peter would be better off than being killed for him. Noir had left with the idea that if he died it would be worth it if he could save Peter. And he had been shot, 17 fucking times and nearly died on the couch of some good Samaritan's home only to watch him die just like Peter would have died for being affiliated with Noir. And Noir had to hide, and sleep in the streets, and on roofs, and in motels. He had to dig his own bullet wounds out, and he had to bleed across the pavement while he huddled in his jacket trying to sleep with one eye open

And Noir tried not to cry, and Peter felt like he was seeing the Noir he had seen 6 years ago who was having an attack while hiding in the bathtub of Aunt May's house rambling about colors, and red, and red, and guns, and uncle Ben, and red, so much red. And Peter did now what he had done then, he moved forward, wrapped his arms around him and pressed their foreheads together. And Noir was accumulated to pain, but tenderness, he was weak to. And he cried

M: If Peter was an ugly crier, all loud and wailing and gasping, Noir was near silent. His entire body shaking like a leaf, shoulders always rising to try to hid his face away. His breathing quiet, choking, almost nonexistent, and even his tears themselves never seemed to make any noise at all.
Noir had learned how to cry in silence a long time ago.

Noir didn't revel in the warmth of Peter's body, no, nothing so small as that. He tried to drown himself in Peter's arms, crush himself into the smallest space imaginable to feel his touch, cover every inch of himself with Peter because he knew that once this moment ended he may never have it again.

So Noir cried. He cried and shook and tried to focus on Peter's arms around him because if he let go, Noir knew he would fall into pieces. His mouth was moving silently, a plea for Peter to not let go, not let go, but of course no sound came out because Noir never made sounds when he was upset because then they would find you and hurt you and never let them know you're hurt.

And Peter was just holding him, and Noir was shaking so hard he couldn't tell if he was even still breathing anymore, or just choking on empty air and unspoken words, begging for Peter to not let go.

It didn't matter that Noir didn't say anything, Peter knew anyway. He always knew what Noir needed. And right now, Noir needed to be touched, needed to feel, needed to know that Peter was alive and he was here and he wasn't letting go.

R: Peter held Noir close as the detective cried, silent tears sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto their laps. Peter sighed softly, pulling him closer and his hands went to Noir's dark hair, running fingers through the matted mess and he wonders the last time Noir was able to have a shower. To sleep in an actual bed, in an actual room. When the last time he truly slept, truly felt safe, truly felt anything behind this emotional wall he had slammed up

The feel of fingers in his hair had him choking on air and his eyes were closed and he wanted to beg aloud to whatever god, goddess, spider deity, anything, that this could last just a few minutes longer. Noir was never a religious man, but he felt it in that moment

Peter held him as Noir trembled in his hold, and it felt so viscerally familiar to Peter. The warmth of him pressed close, the way he curled up into him, the way that every couple shaking breaths he would suck a breath in as if trying to steady himself. How Noir's hands clenched tight, trying to keep himself afloat and drown himself at the same time

"Benjamin, Benjamin, Benjamin," Peter mumbled softly, forehead against his and eyes closed. He shook his head gently, one hand in his hair, the other on his wet cheek thumbing away tears. "Shh, it's okay Ben, it's okay,"

R: "It isn't okay," Noir said softly, voice a tremble, a poor rendition of how he normally sounded. He was always so put together, so strong. It was so hollow now, so unsure. "I hurt you. Peter, I almost got you killed and I - I, I tried oh god, Peter. Please, I'm sorry I tried so hard to keep you safe and I hurt you and you shouldn't even forgive me I'm sorry I'm sorry I almost killed you," and he's stuttering and he's shaking and peter has him tighter

"Stop that," he says, and Noir's mouth clamps shut because he hurt Peter and he needs to listen to Peter. And Peter sighs, and shushes him, rubbing his cheek and giving a soft apology. Nine months alone and Noir was thrusted back into the past, being that man Peter had met who put the weight of the world on his back and too lost in his head. "I don't want you saying that. Ya, you messed up, but so did I. Ben, it was a mistake. And it's gonna take fixing, but we can do it. We can worry about the anger and that stuff later, okay?"

"But, Peter I - "

"Benjamin," Peter looks him in the face, both of them with watering eyes, and messy hair and fear and nostalgia and hope and trepidation on both of their faces, in their eyes. "Ben, please come home. Okay? Just come home."

M: "Do I... have a home?" Noir choked out, somehow managing to squeeze even closer to Peter than before, curling up so tightly against Peter it must have hurt.
Peter could feel his heart ache in his chest, at the question that was more of a desperate plea, asking, begging, to be let in.

"Yes, Ben. You're home." Peter replied, curling his arms around so that they covered more of Noir's skin, "You're home."

Noir choked out a sob, hands reaching up from where they were digging into his legs to try to keep him from touching Peter, and curling up to touch Peter's chest and face and Noir just kept mouthing words that Peter didn't read but didn't have to. Noir was thanking him. Thanking him for letting him back into his own home.

Peter wanted to stop him, wanted to have Noir understand that it wasn't a gift from him, but he knew that Noir wasn't in a state to recognize it. So instead, he just kept rubbing circles in Noir's matted hair, kept repeating, "You're home" over and over and over again as Noir shook harder and mouthed thank yous that Peter knew he did not deserve.

R: Ugh, emotionally messy sad boys. they gotta go to couples therapy eventually coz goddamn

M: oof yeah probably

R: did we do it? Did we slay the beast?

M: I feel good with it

R: I do too