Author's Notes: This is absolutely, 100% Wicked42's fault from over on AO3. I was quite happily working on Tying Up Loose Ends when she posted the last chapter and first part of the epilogue of Hunting MJ. This started percolating, and then I decided that I needed this.
Maaayyybeee this could fit into the Tying Up Loose Ends series (not that there's much for it to fit around up here yet), but I like this being a oneshot. I don't think I've really written a 'babyfic' yet. So, tada.
Peter had always been afraid of his own strength after the spider bite. He'd crushed his bedroom doorknob just by turning it before he knew anything about his powers. He'd knocked a sink off the wall of one of the bathrooms in high school. He'd left bruises on MJ their first time together (he'd seen them, even though she had tried oh-so-carefully to hide them from him). He'd broken Flash's nose once (rough day and an accidental backhanded slap on Peter's part, surprised both of them).
It was like swinging on a webline really. Complex mathematics of how much pressure he could exert before the metal in his hand would bend. He'd had to figure out all the math, before he could be sure that he wouldn't crumple his Aunt May like paper in a hug. Before he would squeeze his best friend's shoulder without pulling the joint out of the socket, or worse. Aunt May had been so worried at the bruises on his own skin, even though he'd tried to hide them from her. He couldn't very well tell her that they came from his own hands, so that he could see just how much pressure it would take to bruise skin.
It was trusting that MJ would tell him that it hurt, before he broke her arm again.
It was control as precise and delicate as needed to create the circuit boards on his Spider-man suits.
He didn't know the equations for a baby's tender skin. He didn't know how far they could bend before he broke them. (Not far though, he knew. Not far at all.)
So he didn't know what to do when the nurse presented the squirming, red, screaming bundle to him. "Congratulations, it's a girl."
He'd been there to hold his wife's hand, but this…
"Peter," MJ breathed, beautiful even with her hair plastered to her own red face, "say hi to Mayday."
He stared at MJ then, because how could she expect him to hold this little baby when he didn't know the math.
MJ smiled, her eyes softening up at him, and he knew she understood his hesitation. "It's okay, Pete. You won't hurt her. You know, you won't."
Peter wasn't so sure, but he suddenly had his hands full of the tiny, screaming bundle and he had to pull it close to his chest rather than drop it
"All new fathers are like this with their first kid. Sweetie just make sure you support the neck and you'll be fine. Just like that. There. You're a natural."
Peter couldn't move, he couldn't. He might break Mayday if he moved, no matter what the nurse said. He stared at her with wide eyes, at her little fists clenched defiantly against the world, at her tear streaked face and toothless, crying, open mouth. He raised his gaze to MJ and what could he say but, "She's so beautiful, MJ." He leaned over and kissed his wife on the lips, because it seemed the right thing to do at the moment.
"Of course, she is, tiger," MJ closed her eyes and rested her cheek on her palm. "She's got good genes."
He couldn't stop the tears, or the way his throat clenched and closed. "Aunt May always said we'd make beautiful babies."
MJ opened her own teary, green eyes, his pain echoed in their depths. "She told me that, too."
Her hand wrapped around his wrist, a comfort, as he composed himself. Three years to grieve Aunt May was not so long ago, when it took eight to be able to mention Uncle Ben without choking up.
He found himself looking at little May in his arms, and he couldn't resist the urge to stroke a gentle thumb over her cheek. He bent his neck and pressed a kiss to the thin brown hair on top of her head. Whispered 'Hello, little May,' into her tiny ear.
MJ's fingers squeezed his wrist and she let go. "See. What'd I tell you?"
Peter met MJ's smile with one of his own.
Then the nurse came back, and swooped little May away, chattering about checkups and weight and measurements.
Peter didn't even realize he'd jumped up, until he felt MJ's restraining hand on his leg.
"It's okay, Pete. They'll bring her back." She smiled, her lips straining against a laugh. "Yeesh, not even an hour old and you're already overprotective. I feel for her."
Guiltily Peter sat back down. He took the hand MJ offered, but his eyes never left the door where Mayday had disappeared.
He'd always been afraid of his own strength. He looked forward to letting others be afraid of his strength if they messed with his little girl. He looked forward to measuring how much strength he needed to give her the perfect hug. He looked forward to using his strength to take her up to the top of the Avenger's Tower to watch the sun rise, or a meteor shower fall. He looked forward to finding all the numbers he needed to make her happy.
Peter had always been afraid of his own strength, but little May-Mayday Parker-would never have to be.