Drunk Girl
Peter walks into the apartment he shares with Ned in the earliest hours of the morning. Empty. He must still be out with the others. Or gone home with someone. Or crashed on the couch of one of the other guys' couches. They weren't exactly close to home by the end of their evening…
Well, good for him, Peter thinks. He deserves the night out. Finals had taken it out of everyone, not to mention the time they spend working as Spidey and Guy-in-the-Chair. He'd check in with him in the morning. Or afternoon. Not everyone is as morning oriented as Peter. Particularly after a night out at the bar. Fortunately, hangovers have never laid a finger on Peter.
They don't go out like that often. In fact, last night had been an occurrence few and far between. Last time had ended in borderline disaster. This time had gone smoothly. It had been…really good actually. Not at all the way Peter expected, definitely not how Peter could've planned it. Better, somehow.
Not that he would actually admit to that. He is still a 21-year-old boy after all. And admitting that what little happened was better than "going out" and "getting some" might seem a bit off. Even for him. Which is saying something.
They sat in their booth in the far corner of the bar, watching. Each waiting for anyone who seemed interested in any of the four of them. A rarity, given the energy they put off tended to send people in the other direction.
Not that the four of them weren't all relatively attractive. On the contrary, they each had their own place on the spectrum of physical appeal. Shaw was dark and well built, if a bit brawny. Ned was downright adorable, with the most approachable charm. Tyler was an angelic thing, all pale and golden with his perfect teeth and small stature. And Peter himself, though he's always felt himself a bit plain, doesn't have anything particularly off-putting about his appearance. Fit, trim, lithe muscles, rather than the "in your face" kind like Shaw. He has always been rather fond of his hair, the color suiting his decently pale complexion, with just enough of a wave in it to make it easy to style into an effortless swoop.
No, they make for a decent picture together, certainly. It's the conversation piece that always gets the better of them. They were all social outliers to some degree, not necessarily bad at socializing, but not needing much to fill their quotas. Inexperienced. Happy to go to their classes, hang out between, do their schoolwork, go to their various jobs, and repeat.
There was a strong possibility that it showed.
Still, there was every type represented in their little band, something for everyone, boys and girls alike. They really should have pretty bomb prospects, all things considered.
Peter scanned the crowd trying to decide if it was even worth the effort of trying to find someone. He's not exactly a "hook-up" kind of guy and, finding anyone looking for more at a place like this- well, let's just say less than likely.
Peter is jarred from his memory by Aragog, the dog, whining his protests at being left in his kennel while there is clearly a human home. And said human is holding human food he could be begging for. Peter heads over to let him out of the kennel. He had his own food and water dishes in the kennel with him, of course, along with a soft bed, a couple small blankets, and his favorite toy, a plushie Spiderman. It has a squeaker built into both the head and the rather stout torso and Ned had thought was so hilarious he had gone and purchased the thing before Peter even got the chance to try saying no.
It is already missing an arm, which is a bit disconcerting, seeing your likeness missing a limb. It was brutally torn off by the exuberant two-year-old at the time mutt. He is now three years old going on four, roughly 80 pounds, and still just as excitable as a puppy. Sweetest dog ever though.
"Hey, Petey," came Ned's voice, using the frustrating nickname he always reverted to any time he gets further than one drink in. "Isn't that…what's-her-name?" Did he mention Ned was pretty far gone? "From high school. Decathlon captain, person you almost had a thing with that one time? Shit, name with the letters..."
Peter did his best to follow his friends, admittedly glazed-over, and potentially unreliable, gaze. Sure enough, in the doorway, getting her hand stamped, was Michelle.
MJ.
Peter felt his mind and heart both freeze simultaneously.
Peter takes his takeout meal from the 24-hour Mexican place up the road and sits on the futon in the living room. It's not great food, but at…Peter looked at his watch: 4:13 in the morning, beggars can't be choosers. And with Peter's metabolism-calories are calories, and food is food.
As Peter sits and eats his stuffed breakfast burrito and large order of taquitos, he heard their neighbor out on the balcony. The one to the right of them when you come up the stairs, who has a smokers' cough like you wouldn't believe. Hasn't killed her yet, so naturally she can still be found smoking at all hours of the day and night (like 4:13 in the morning).
Aragog runs to the window that leads to the fire escape, (presumably to defend his home against such evildoers as an older lady with worse-for-wear lungs) while Peter is digging into his food. He hasn't eaten since early the night before and while he is starving, he doesn't have much of an actual appetite. And it has nothing to do with the alcohol consumption.
He was on his feet before Peter even realized he was moving. He froze before his body could do anything more without his permission. It was at this point that Ned looked across the table at him with the biggest "wtf" face Peter had ever seen.
"Dude."
That was all it took for Peter's senses to come back to him. "Sorry," he answered immediately. "Bathroom." And he was off before anyone could question him further.
The bathroom was in the corner farthest from the door, opposite the corner booth they had taken up residency at. They came to this establishment pretty regularly. It was directly across the street from Shaw's apartment. It wasn't a bad place by any means. Tyler preferred a gay bar in the middle of town, and they did frequent there as well, but they were looking for something a little more lowkey tonight.
As luck would have it apparently.
Peter hadn't spoken to MJ since high school. Since before they graduated actually. And he was never sure why. No real falling out had ever occurred. She just kinda…stopped.
They had become something like friends. Not really close friends, although they were decently close. More like what Peter had assumed people would be like before they started dating. Everyone had expected it, of course. They didn't necessarily interact all that much, but they did have a rather parallel existence, they lived alongside one another, peacefully moving in their own directions, never really touching, always just out of reach, but always there. Always in the other's periphery.
Even Peter had eventually seen how odd it all was. But only now, looking back at how things hadn't panned out.
Hindsight.
Although none of that had ever quite been able to clear up what happened between them. If Peter had to guess, he wouldn't have been able to. The closest theory he had found was an alien invasion, somehow mind controlling MJ, or a demonic/ghostly possession. Which given his life for the better part of the last decade- it may not be all that far-fetched. Cut him some slack, it wasn't often he couldn't figure something out. He was really smart at a lot of things, okay?
As it turns out, he was also smart enough to know anything relationship-wise was not in the list of those things.
Being an "enhanced individual," even without an appetite, Peter scarfs down his food. His phone died on the way home. Between bites he had gone to grab a charger, feeling entirely too disconnected from everything, cut off like that. No way for the Avengers to reach him, or Aunt May. The Avengers not being able to reach him could mean the end of the world, but Aunt May not being able to reach him might be worse.
Nope, scratch that. Definitely worse.
He resettled himself in his seat after plugging the block into the wall. He fumbled with getting the chargey end into the charging port in the limited light. He hadn't bothered with the lamp in the corner of the room behind the futon, rather allowing the light from the street to filter into the room to set a more mellow, natural tone for his meal. The semi-darkness seemed fitting considering the large side of reminiscing accompanying his meal.
Peter had gotten himself into the bathroom with only a few missteps. And those could've been due to the decently inebriated crowd rather than just Peter's own massively distracted thoughts.
Yeah, that sounded fair. We'll go with that.
Sequestered in a stall in the, thankfully, empty bathroom, Peter finally stopped and let his thoughts and emotions crash together unchecked. The mix was dangerous in the best of situations, but add in a little alcohol- recipe for disaster.
All of the what's and why's and how's and wants intermingled with the hurts and the angers and the failures and fears. Peter was left swimming in all the long-buried insecurities that, turns out, weren't so far buried after all.
"Come on, Parker, you're not a teenager anymore, this is ridiculous!" Peter breathed into the open, trying to center himself a bit. All the rambling did was prove exactly how rattled he was by the sudden reappearance of MJ in his life.
"Wait, reappearance? She literally just walked into the same bar. That's it! Nothing more! That's it. Not even gonna talk to her! Probably not even gonna look at her! Yeah, that's the plan. Yeah. She is just another girl in the bar! Nothing more!"
And with that Peter turned back to face the door, slammed out of the stall, stalked to the door, and pushed through with gusto.
Perhaps too much gusto. As his next step took him nearly crashing into-
Ned. It was just Ned. He had come after him, curious as to what had caused such odd behavior in his friend.
"Hey, man." Ned was bordering between tipsy and drunk. It was usually a rather entertaining mix. Tonight, it was less than helpful as it brought out even more of his naturally curious nature. "You good? One second we were talking and the next you were just up and gone. There wasn't like, a "Stark emergency" or anything, was there?" Ned refused to talk about Avenger business or Spiderman happenings while in public, a reflex after so many years that thankfully carried over even to their most drunken exploits.
"Nah," Peter played it cool. Or tried to at least. "Just needed to move for a bit, you know? Sedentary lifestyle and all that." Okay- WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT FOR AN EXCUSE?! COME ON PARKER!
"Oh. Rock on dude" was all Ned had for a response before heading into the bathroom himself.
Suddenly Peter was questioning how he usually came across to people, if that kind of response could be considered normal for him.
Not the time to question your life choices, man. We can revisit that whole thing later.
Focus.
Peter's eyes immediately zero in on MJ.
Not on that!
Ugh, this is gonna be a long night…
As Peter made his way back to the table he tried to not look in the direction he had decided to not look.
He really did try. Just maybe not his hardest.
And he certainly was not successful.
Peter looks over as his phone starts the exhausting process of turning on. You'd think as far as technology has come, someone would've come up with a way to cut down on the dramatics that came with starting a phone. He'd have to mention that next time he sat down to actually speak with Mr. Stark.
The sight that caught his eye every time his gaze drifted was something else.
Nothing that would've been out of place in the bar/club scene. Given it was a Friday night especially. Just another beautiful girl, in the middle of some kind of celebration, if her hand was anything to go by.
There were at least three different stamps on her hand, marking that she had paid a cover, or was cleared to drink, in at least three establishments prior to this.
Her hair had obviously been put together earlier in the evening, although this late it has taken some serious abuse. She appears to have had at least a drink in each of the places she had been before, if the color in her face was any indication. Her cheeks are flushed an alarming shade of red. It's surprising, given what he knew of her from before but the look is, admittedly, not unattractive. Her eyes seemed to be unfocused as she danced by herself on the front edge of the dance area.
MJ had claimed a corner about 10 feet from the music platform, tonight run by a DJ. Much quieter than when they have live music. She seemed to be alternating between actual dancing, bouncing around like a teenager, and swaying to the music, apparently lost in her own head. Not necessarily a bad thing, except the look on her face. Her eyes were closed, scrunched slightly, belying the image she otherwise presents of a girl with not a care in the world, looking to have a good time on a Friday night.
The only thing that was a little off about it was the fact she had come in alone. Most girls- ladies, women even, Peter mentally tried to correct himself, considering if they were in a bar they were over legal drinking age, making them adults obviously. Then again, MJ just didn't have that vibe. She didn't come across as a woman or a lady. At least not the way those words felt. MJ was young yes, but more importantly, youthful and free and innocent and strong, uncaring about what society said about expectations and appropriateness and propriety and-
Whoa there Parker, getting off topic again bud.
The only thing off about her appearance in the bar was that she seemed to be there alone. Usually females navigated the more alcohol-rich scenes in pairs or packs. Some brought guys along to act as their protectors, barriers. Ridiculous that they may need such a thing in this day and age, but the "boys will be boys" mentality is still alive and well among certain groups…
Point being, to have been to that many bars or clubs and then still be out alone was risky at best.
Peter finished his food and went to his room to change into- well, anything softer and looser than his skinny jeans and button front. Not that they were uncomfortable, he just was ready to pass out and knew from experience the sheer level of chafe that accompanied using them as sleep clothes.
Been there, done that. NOT doing it again.
Once he got sat down, his companions, having just returned from ordering their next round, attacked.
"What was that?" "You good Parker?" "You never wander off like that." "You looked like you saw a ghost."
Peter took pity on them. "Just saw someone that I haven't seen in a while. One of those not sure what happened kinda things, you know? Was a shock is all." Peter kept his explanation short and as impersonal as possible.
And just like that, they were back to their debate like nothing had happened. Something about whether the color you wear to a club has an unspoken meaning or not.
Peter didn't join in. If his friends noticed or thought it odd, they were courteous enough to not mention it.
Scanning the floor and the bar, Peter took notice of how many men there were who seemed to be there alone (just for the sake of awareness, he was an Avenger, honestly, it's what is expected, not for any reason relating to a certain loose-haired beauty in the corner, no, absolutely not). How had he never noticed that before? Is it always that way? Just a million guys with only a handful or girls- if that? He counts-one, two, three- four girls in the whole place, not including MJ and the one female bartender. Seems unfair.
For the girls. Not for him. Nope. Just the girls. All kinds of unwanted attention, for sure.
Peter decided instead of ignoring the presence of his high school "whatever she was" that he would keep an eye on her, something she didn't appear to have this evening. Not that he was the only one who seemed to have decided that, judging by the sheer number of bodies angled her particular direction.
Huh. Not sure what that uncomfortable feeling was but if it could just STOP, Peter would seriously appreciate it.
Peter got changed then ended up sitting on the futon again. He grabs the blanket that someone had wadded up at the other end of the seat and tosses it over himself and Aragog, who had decided the neighbor probably wasn't going to come in and take his home or kill his Peter-person.
Either way, Peter ended up with half a lap full of furry companion.
After downing his new drink in two swallows, Peter tried to see if there were any other girls that caught his eye.
No, if there ARE ANY girls that catch his eye, period. Not other girls. That implies someone has caught his eye which, no. Not going there.
Michelle was still in her corner, although she was well on her way to having company judging by the increasing number of people on the floor around that side of the bar. She still had her eyes closed, and she looked comfortable, though no more peaceful than before.
One man in particular seemed to be edging his way towards her space. When the song changed he must have said something to her because suddenly her eyes were locked on him although she didn't appear to be too caught off guard by his appearance in her little world.
She was always pretty unshakable though.
She responded to whatever he had said and then made for the bar, not waiting to see if he was following. He did, of course.
Michelle got a shot from the bar and a mixed drink of some sort. She drank the shot at the counter (like a champ) then took a large gulp of the drink before moving away from the bar, seeming to be heading back to her corner. She was blocked however, by the man who had followed her to the bar in the first place.
He wasn't overly large, definitely larger than she was though. Peter still wouldn't have an issue knocking him on his ass if he got out of line. The thought put him at ease.
And maybe made him smile.
He didn't stop to examine why that was. Safer that way.
They stood at the bar talking for a while. Peter didn't exactly sense discomfort coming from either of them but MJ was no longer giving off vibes saying she was comfortable. The man put a hand on her arm where she had let it rest on the bar and MJ stopped speaking instantly. She glared hard enough the man moved it away. He had obviously been trying for casual but missed and instead hit on mildly abashed but somehow like he was into it?
Oh, please don't let that be the case. People taking a refusal as a challenge was probably 50% of what Peter stopped as Spiderman.
Peter just kept praying that wasn't the case this time.
MJ went to head back to her corner of the floor by the DJ stand, having finished with both her drink and the conversation.
She got away because the man was in the middle of chugging the remainder of his drink. He realized she was gone though, and promptly followed her out on the floor.
Peter picked back up on his table partners conversation as he followed MJ's progress back to her area. Ned had returned and the conversation had turned to someone who got a job at the library cause they couldn't find anything else. Probably an easy job according to Tyler, although Shaw disagreed on the principle of "Children. No."
The man had gotten up close with Michelle again and Peter was watching like a hawk. He very much believed she could handle herself under normal circumstances but throw in alcohol and its anyone's guess. Makes everything unpredictable. Peter is not quite comfortable with that. He stayed in his seat though. Not his place.
Until it is. The man had gotten up in her personal space, trying to dance with her. MJ was trying her best to move back from him, not seeming concerned yet, just mildly irritated. The man had obviously had a fair amount to drink, not unlike Michelle herself. She brushed it off and continued as she had been.
Then he moved closer again. He was working on cornering her. In the two steps backwards she had now taken away from him, she had gotten backed almost against the wall and about two steps from the actual corner of the establishment. Michelle was just figuring that out too, judging by her facial expression.
Peter was on the edge of his seat, ready. He didn't even notice until he was on his feet for the second time within the hour. The man had moved in again, forcing MJ back into the corner pushing up against her, face in her neck, presumably whispering in her ear- things that Peter doesn't wanna think about.
Particularly not when he's going to have a tough enough time holding himself back already. And he is. Everything has taken on the same look they do in the suit when Karen gets excited and goes for instant kill mode.
Peter thinks he might suddenly understand the appeal. Odd.
MJ shoved off of the wall, though that brought her closer to the man. He seemed to take that as a good sign, though the hands pushing against his chest clumsily but forcefully said otherwise. Her head jerks back away from his face, getting a hand on his jaw and shoving up. He stumbles back then throws his weight forward, pressing her back into the wall again.
She freezes for a moment. Peter surges forward crossing the room in a burst of anger, unable to see straight, the only thing he could focus on, MJ. Truly unfortunate for the man blocking her from his view.
Peter turns the TV on out of sheer restlessness. He is bone tired but has so much energy still coursing through his body. He doesn't need as much sleep as most people due to his abilities, but his brain still needs recharging time. Still, after everything that happened in the last six hours he is sure sleep will evade him.
His body is on alert, not convinced the excitement of the evening has truly passed. He is drained and honestly wishes he could get drunk like everyone else. He isn't as bad as a super soldier by any means, but the amount alcohol actually impacts him is still disappointing. The sheer amount needed to get him tipsy is startling to say the least.
It was one of the most disappointing ways to spend your 21st, discovering that while everyone else will be horribly hung over the following morning, you'll end up the designated driver for the night.
A true tragedy.
Michelle unfroze as she saw Peter coming up behind the man. Peter could see from his new vantage point where the man's hand had drifted, coming up her thigh, readying to brush his hand up and under her dress. MJ felt the movement and brought the knee of the leg that the man was just moving to straddle up sharply to connect solidly with his groin.
Peter watched as the man drew away from the offending limb, preparing to crumple. Before he could however, Peter grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and easily supported his weight. "I believe that means she's uninterested."
Peter then tightened his hold while bringing the man in close to wrap a hand around his throat. He subtly lifted the man so his feet hover just barely touching the floor but with no weight left on them so there is no doubt Peter's strength far surpasses his own. "That means STAY. AWAY."
Huh. He'd never heard that voice before. At least, not from himself. Weird.
The point was made though, and the man skittered away as quickly as his slight oxygen deprivation and injured manhood (and pride, but who's keeping track) would allow.
Peter's attention was drawn back to where it should be by a sudden movement. He reached for MJ as she swayed on her feet. She recoiled slightly before looking up at Peter, having been entranced by watching the man disappear. She fell back against the wall, whether due to the shock at having been so obviously assaulted, the shock of seeing her high school almost-maybe-sorta flame for the first time in years, the alcohol, or some combination of all three remained to be seen.
Peter kept his distance while staying close enough for her to know that no one was going to come anywhere near her without her express permission. Peter reached out a hand to her again, this time palm up, offering it for her to take if she wanted to or needed to.
"Hey," Peter spoke softly, "let's get you to a seat." He wasn't trying to act like she was breakable, but he didn't want to overwhelm her with their shared uncertain past, having nearly been enough to overwhelm him not an hour before.
Michelle just stared at him. She came back to herself after a moment and took a shaky step forwards, away from the wall. Towards him.
She glanced at his outstretched hand, then back up to his face, reaching for his hand slowly, as she muttered a soft, "Peter?"
"Hey MJ." And suddenly Peter had not her hand in his, but his arms wrapped around her as she sagged forward, letting him take her weight without a second thought fro either of them.
Holding her the way he was brought out the tremors running through her body. Slight as she was, gorgeous long lines, soft, subtle curves, all of it pressed against him and all of it shaking.
"Shhh, you're fine, nothing is gonna happen to you, I promise" Peter whispered into her ear, hoping to soothe her even slightly. Her breathing had turned to gasps. Peter stroked her back with one hand, subtly pressing her into his chest and slowing his own breathing in an attempt to calm hers. It seemed to help after a minute or two. Peter just kept up his stream of encouragements, telling her how proud he was of how she handled herself, how scared he was for her, but how he should've known better cause, of course she could more than handle herself.
Her gasps of breath eventually evened out and turned to hushed, barely audible words. Only Peter's senses had a chance at hearing and actually understanding what she was saying. Eventually he caught a full "go home" in what had devolved into gentle sobs.
Peter's brain raced ahead, figuring out how to make that happen with as little stress on MJ as possible. She seemed to be closer to sober than she had been before the incident so he could probably get her address out of her. He didn't have a car, but he was pretty sure he had enough money to pay for a cab to get them to her place safely. And then he could manage getting himself home fine from there. Yeah, they'd be fine. He'd make sure she was fine.
"Okay, come one. Let's get you out of here," he tried to gently guide her towards his table with the intention of telling his mates he had to go, but she refused to be led.
"I'll stay here."
What? "But you just said-" "No, I'm not going anywhere with you." Okay, wow, that struck a nerve. Peter tried not to take anything too personally, after all, she had just experienced quite the trauma.
"Yeah, okay. That's fine. We can just go out and get you cab and you can head home yourself-" "No. I'll stay here." She repeated adamantly.
What the hell?
Peter finally saw his phone switch to his home screen from the startup screen. 5:07. Huh. Good thing he didn't have plans the next day.
Peter stayed up for a while, having found his longtime favorite movie playing on the family channel. He left it on mute, sound being a touch overwhelming to his already fried brain. One less super-sense to contend with.
"MJ, I'm obviously not sure what just happened, but you can't honestly want to stay here after something like that." Peter was sure that couldn't be healthy.
"It's fine. I knew him. We went on a couple dates a while back. That's just…how he is." She finished the thought kinda lamely. She knew very well how that sounded. He had been there when she had talked a friend in high school out of a similar situation, a borderline, if not actually, abusive relationship.
"It's not like what you're thinking. He never…nothing like that. We were friends and then we weren't and then senior year…" she trailed off, probably knowing he would pick up the thread.
Senior year was when they had fallen out. They had been, and then they hadn't been.
"Let's go get you in a cab to go home. He's already gone anyway, and you're here alone, right?" Peter didn't wanna push anything but her tremors were back and he didn't wanna let her fall apart completely at a place like this if that's where this was heading. "We can talk on the way to your place. You can explain whatever you want. But let's work on getting you home. Is that okay?"
As MJ nodded, Peter puts his arm around her shoulder and his other hand on the upper part of her arm to keep her turned slightly in to him, tucked away from eyes that didn't need to see.
After making their excuses Peter ushered MJ out the door of the bar. It was near enough to closing time there were a couple of cabs waiting out front. The pair got into one and MJ mumbled her address to Peter with just a bit of coaxing. She still had a bit of the drunken swagger going, so he kept his hold on her. Although if he was honest, it may have had something to do with him not wanting to let her go. He had wanted her in his arms for going on six years now, and it had finally happened. Now he was not looking forward to when it would end.
Peter repeated the address to the driver and they were headed out. It would be about 20 minutes is all. Peter could keep her distracted for 20 minutes.
"So what were you saying in there?" Peter prompted. "Something about senior year?" He was trying to be gentle, but this was something he had been waiting literal years to find out.
MJ looked uncomfortable with this new conversation. And rightly so probably. Oh well. That wasn't what was important right now. Time to think of something else.
"I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that if you don't wanna answer it. I just…always wondered, ya know? Like, what happened, I guess? Cause we- you and I- we were always…us? But then we weren't anymore?"
"I don't know Peter." MJ sounded as lost as Peter felt, which was uncomfortable for him. She was always so self-assured, knowledgeable of societal expectations enough to live just the right distance from the line, crossing it when she could but not in ways that were excessive. She walked the line perfectly, balanced herself with ease. So this new waiver in her voice was crushing.
Peter reached across the seat between them to gather her back into his side and gave in to the desire to bury his face in her neck. Her hair had come further undone from its styled appearance and now she now looked as though she had been through an ordeal. Which she had, he acknowledged. No matter how big or small it seemed and how big or small she had made it seem, it still happened, and it still had every right to impact her however it had.
Her scent was soothing, reassuring him that she had indeed handled it, with or without help from him. He really was proud of her for that. He just wished he had been able to protect her from the whole experience rather than her having anything to protect herself from. The less she had to deal with those kinds of things, the better. No woman should have to deal with that kind of behavior. There were few times Peter looked negatively on society as a whole, but in reference to women and having to defend themselves against the opposite gender, that was where he lost hope
He would never let anyone be treated that way by another human. Especially not someone he cares about. And he said so. MJ froze, not breathing for a span of approximately five seconds before saying into his shoulder, "I care about you too…"
She pulled back and looked up at him. Her eyes held hurt and just a flash of want, but above all else, vulnerability. She was only a breath away from him. She leaned in, eyes dropping to her lips.
His breath caught in his throat, unsure what would come next. They had been leading up to this for so long only to be cut off cold turkey. And now with everything right in front of him again, his yearning that he buried so deep for so long came rushing back. When Michelle touched her lips to his, just lightly, testing the waters, he suddenly couldn't get enough oxygen into his body, for his brain or his lungs.
She came back off of his lips briefly, only to dive in again, much less timid this time, though no less precious, no less heartfelt. They stayed connected for several moments, breathing in sync with the other, as though they never needed to part.
The cab came around a corner and began to slow before MJ finally pulled back. There was something burning in her eyes and, if Peter had to guess, he would say he probably had a similar look.
He paid the driver once they stopped and they both got out, Peter helping MJ as she stumbled ever so slightly. His hand on her waist brought her close enough for her to press into him again, taking his lips again in a kiss that had more intent to it than their sweet kisses in the cab moments earlier had.
They got up the first set of five stairs and into the building before they managed to break away from each other. Up the stairs for two more flights, exchanging little, light touches the whole way, just small reassurances the other was still there.
They stopped in front of what was, presumably, MJ's apartment. She had gotten her keys out, got one jammed into the lock with few enough difficulties, and turned the knob. She looked up at him, then down to grab his hand. She looked back up once she had his hand in hers and, biting her bottom lip as if uncertain, pulled him in after her.
Finally, around 7 he was starting to drift off, his eyes, scratchy with exhaustion, lids heavy. Just as he was giving in to sleep his phone buzzed, indicating a new text. He almost rolled over and ignored it but, Peter being Peter, groaned and reached out to see what ungodly creature could possibly be expecting him to be able to communicate at this time of day. Although, 7 isn't exactly unreasonable, provided one hasn't been awake since approximately that same time the day before.
Peter followed. He wanted to. So badly. He knew how she thought this would go. He could see it in her eyes. But he could also see the haze of alcohol, faded from what it was earlier, but still there, dimming her senses. She was putting on a show, being bold, biting her lip to seem coy. It was a trick Tyler had taught him to look for, like a secret used to ensnare men.
But tonight, it made her look uncertain. He stopped MJ just inside the closed door, put a hand to her face, cupping her cheek and gazing into her eyes. He turned them around, her back to the door, and took a step into her space, crowding her ever so slightly back into the door. He pressed against her gently, allowing just a bit of his weight to settle against her body, still looking into her eyes. All of that vulnerability was still there. The hurt, the want, the openness that seemed reserved for him all those years ago, laid out for him to see even after everything that happened, or didn't happen, between them.
Very gently he leaned in, she let her eyes flutter shut and he kissed her, right on her forehead, where her skin met her hair line.
She breathed out, like she had been holding her breath. He hadn't let go of her, or even backed out of her space, but he had made it clear, whatever could happen between them in the future, whatever happened between them in the past, nothing would happen tonight. He was here to see her home safely, take care of her if she needed anything, because she deserved all the care in the world, and then to leave her once he knew she was alright on her own again.
He wondered if she knew she looked relieved. She quite possibly had convinced herself she wanted more. The easing of her breathing and melting of the tension in her body betrayed her though.
Her night had been rough. If he had thought his night was hard to process, he couldn't begin to imagine what was going on in her mind. He needed to let her have that before he could ask anything of her.
He pulled away, hands trailing down her arms to her hands, pulling her slowly to her bedroom. The door at the end of the hall was open so he could see the corner of her bed. He led her to her bed, gripped her arms gently but firmly to guide her to sit on the bed. He found a clothes basket with folded laundry, some soft pants and a worn in t-shirt and laid them on the bed beside her. He stood her back up, then knelt down to take her shoes off her feet, then placed each foot into a leg hole in the pants he had grabbed her.
He pulled them up as he stood, slipping them up under her dress, in hopes of preserving her modesty, not wanting to cross any lines. He took the shirt next and pulled it over her head, being careful not to catch it on her hair, still pinned up in places. He let the large shirt drop over her shoulders before reaching behind her to unzip her dress, sliding it down her body, letting it pool at her feet. He was grateful the dress hadn't left an option for a bra because he had no idea how he would've managed that without making things awkward.
He took each hand in turn again and got her arms in the sleeves. He then turned his attention to her hair, removing what was left of the pins so her head wouldn't hurt in the morning from sleeping on the little metal bits. He stroked her curls away from her face and what he saw made his heart ache. There were tears on her cheeks, as she looked at him as though she didn't understand why he was doing this.
To be honest, Peter wasn't sure why. He just knew he needed to show her how she deserved to be treated and he needed to make sure she was taken care of, the way she deserved, even if it was only for this one night.
He stroked his thumbs over her cheekbones, under her eyes, as they closed gratefully. He leaned in again to kiss her head, pausing to rest his forehead against hers and savor the moment of intimacy before pulling away. He got a glass of water from the kitchen, grabbed a couple of pills that would help in the morning when she undoubtedly would be feeling the effects of the alcohol. Before returning to her room, he went and grabbed a washcloth and wet it with lukewarm water.
He put the pills and water on her nightstand. He wiped her face of the sweat and tears, leftover makeup and whatever else had been weighing her down from the day. He sat her down again and pulled the blankets up over her, indulging himself by kissing her forehead one more time. He returned the washcloth to her bathroom, found her phone in her bag and went to plug it in.
By the time he was back in her room she was already well on her way to unconsciousness. He found a sticky note on her desk, scrawled his name and phone number of it and placed it beside her phone. He closed the door behind him.
Walking to the front door, Peter made sure he had his own phone and keys still, then turned the lock so that as soon as he shut the door, it would be locked. Her keys were on the counter where he had placed them after he took them from her hand to guide her to bed. He took a last look around, making sure there was nothing he had missed, then walked back out into the hallway, checking that the door truly did lock behind him.
Once he made it down the stairs and outside, Peter stopped to lean against the railing. It was decently cool out, but he was only a fifteen minute walk to his apartment from here. It would give him time to wind down from the evening.
On his way, he saw bar after bar, all closing down, couples catching cabs or walking home. Singles headed back to their empty beds, some disappointed, others still having enjoyed their respective nights out. Friends acting like idiots with each other, some singing loudly, one group standing around while their friend threw up in a trash can. They all had a story about why they were in those places. Peter couldn't help but hope that he would be able to find out MJ's story, of what had brought her back into his life. Hopefully it wasn't just for that one night. Someday, maybe.
He stopped by his favorite 24 hour Mexican place on his way home. Not the best food, but 24 hour and cheap enough for him to get enough food to fill him. Finally, he reaches his apartment building's front steps. It was a long night.
Looking at his screen, and after being temporarily blinded, he sees a message from an unknown number. It says only one word: Thanks
His phone buzzes again, this time with a heart.
He sends back a thumbs up, a heart, and a little man snoring.
The response: ZZZ.
Peter smiles. They never needed much to communicate, and it looks like that hadn't changed. He does wish he didn't have to leave her. But he also knows it was the right thing to do. She needed him to. And he has decided, in the last six hours since seeing her again, for the first time in six years, that he will do whatever she needs him to do and be happy doing it. Every single time.
He looks back at their conversation, sees the heart. Yes, he thinks as he rolls over, practically asleep before he stops moving, every single time.