A/N: I had the idea for this story the last time I watched TASM. I noticed that Gwen was reading a Vonnegut book (though I didn't quite read the title on time - I think it was Cat's Cradle, actually). I love Vonnegut, and my favorite book is The Sirens of Titan. This is what came out of it. You don't need any knowledge of the book to read the fic. Please review!
I was a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all.
- Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan
She has a new book with her every day. Peter wonders. He knows she has friends, he's seen her joking around before school, during class, in the halls, after school with various people he vaguely recognizes from 12 years of shared schooling. She's active in clubs – the debate team, the key club, the GSA – and yet when lunchtime comes, she's sitting alone in the courtyard, a book in her hands. Day after day.
He tries to make note of every book she reads, scribbling their titles in the margins of his school notes or else on the back of his own hand. There is no apparent pattern to her choices of literature – one day it's Huxley's Brave New World, the next it's Whitman's Song of Myself, and the next it's an incredibly worn-looking copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. He watches her burn through pages as if it is not enough for her to simply be the best student in their class – no, she has to enjoy it, too.
Not that he doesn't enjoy reading. He takes his list of her books to mind like it's an actual list of recommendations, and in some ways it is. He finds himself enjoying almost everything he reads that she's read.
He doesn't read them all, though. It takes him longer than a day to finish one book, and by then she's moved onto other things: Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye. Some memoir by Margaret Cho. The Hunger Games series. 50 Shades of Grey. (He notices that she hasn't gone on to read the sequel and takes it as a hint not to even bother.)
So while he's still mulling over Vonnegut's The Sirens of Titan, she's already on Catching Fire, pouring over it so quickly he doesn't know how she even has time to register the words.
Reading, for her, must not be an act or a hobby, but a passion.
He considers making it his passion, too, as he reads the closing words of The Sirens of Titan, occasionally glancing up to see her nearing the end of Catching Fire at a breakneck pace. He doesn't identify strongly with the characters of this book in particular but takes comfort in the meaning. I was a victim of a series of accidents, as are we all. He finds Vonnegut's dry tone simultaneously riveting and disconcerting. He loves it.
As are we all, Peter is a victim of a series of accidents. Accidentally born into a gangly body, with a brilliant mind but a stammering mouth. Accidentally born into a family that eventually abandoned him because of an accidental discovery. They then died in an accident, leaving him here to accidentally acclimatize to his environment. Accidentally become extraordinarily normal, which he probably would have been anyway. Accidentally fall for the kind of girl who reads everything she can get her hands on, who sits alone at lunchtime but still has friends as diverse as her reading choices, who looks so pristine with a red ribbon tying her hair back, who will never notice him but is constantly teaching him how to notice.
After everything happens – Peter gaining his powers, Gwen noticing him, Uncle Ben dying, and finally Peter losing Gwen – he comes back to The Sirens of Titan. Rereads it. He wants to go back to a time when dry humor alone comforted him, when he could feel connected to Gwen just by reading the same books.
He finds little comfort in Vonnegut's dry narrative this time. So many more accidents have happened to him, yes, but he's made choices, too. He can no longer blame the world for happening around him. Now he is a victim of himself.
Things still happen to him, and he still falls victim to accidents, but now he bears responsibility to those things.
Perhaps this is why he finally decides to let go of his promise and let her back into his life. Because even if accidentally falling for Gwen Stacy wasn't a choice, staying away from her isn't something he wants to choose.
He wants to prove Vonnegut's wiser-than-thou tone wrong, despite the solace it gave him.
And Gwen's sitting there, looking the other way to avoid looking right at him when he comes into class. The same red ribbon in her hair she'd been wearing when he'd been finishing the book he's rereading now – and he may no longer believe that life is purely accidental, purely coincidental, but some part of him still selfishly believes in the existence of signs. And this must be one.
He stares intently at the ribbon in her hair, trying to stare at her even though she is still turned from him, and when he breathes out that the promise he isn't keeping is the best kind, he thinks he can feel her smile. A blush creeps up the back of her neck, and he knows he is right. Gwen is expressive down to her skin.
She's happy.
So he sits there for half the class, grinning like a fool and not paying attention to the lesson. He doesn't realize that they're partnering up to do group work until Gwen turns around in her seat, a shy smile on her lips, and says, "Partners?"
He should be smooth about it, but the first thing that comes out of his mouth is an unintelligent, "…What?"
And she laughs, her nose wrinkling up, and her smiling widening, and god, he's missed this noise. "We're partnering up for discussion."
"Oh," he says. Then he smiles. "Partners."
For having spent two months ignoring each other, conversation with Gwen is ridiculously easy. Peter finds no trouble in jumping right in – almost as if he's picking up where they left off, only now they have so many things to talk about, so many things to catch up on and touch up on.
Some things that need to be said are not things that can be said at the lunch table, though, so instead Peter watches Gwen reach for the book peeking out of an unzipped pocket of his backpack.
"The Sirens of Titan," she says, cradling the book in her hands as if it is precious. "This is one of my favorite books."
Peter thinks to casually ask her, "Is it really?" but instead what comes out is, "I know. I've seen you read it at least four different times."
She looks up at him, surprised, amused. "You stalk my reading habits?"
Peter shakes his head, grinning. "I just look every once in a while." Every day.
He realizes that this is the first time he has ever seen her eating her lunch with her nose out of a book, and he also realizes that he's the one keeping her from her literature. "I hope I'm not keeping you from your book of the day."
She smiles at him. "Talking to you is more important today."
Peter's heart leaps at the words. She's happy, she's happy, and that's all he needs to be happy. "Just today, though," he says.
She nods, playing along. "Just today."
When they finally get to talking about the things that matter, it's so much less playful and so much less pleasant.
Oddly, The Sirens of Titan makes an appearance in the conversation, albeit not a conventional one.
He is using it as a shield as she throws all her old stuffed animals at him, yelling and crying.
"You – are – so – stupid," she says, throwing beanie babies for every word. A giraffe, a unicorn, a bear, a dolphin. They ricochet off Vonnegut's second work of art and fly waywardly around the room.
"You're so stupid!" she repeats, hurling a pony pillow pet at him for emphasis. "How can you think that staying away from me would be the best thing for me? How can you think that you know what's the best thing for me?"
She's crying, sobbing, as she says this, and he's never seen Gwen this hurt or this violent before. He guessed she might be angry. He had no idea she would be this angry.
He deserves it, so he lets her continue to throw things at him, thankful that she is at least throwing soft fluffy things at him and not, like, cars. (Cars are a bit more painful on impact. He wishes he could say that he doesn't know this from experience.)
"I was wrong, Gwen," he says. He's been saying the right things on and off all night, and he doesn't even remember how things escalated to the point where she started throwing things at him. But he deserves it. He deserves whatever she decides to throw at him.
He realizes that he could stop her easily. He could overpower her easily. He has so much more power in his body, he could stop her, control her, kill her without even trying. This is another reason he lets her wreak havoc all over her own room, all over him. She needs to know that he won't stop her. He won't exert his power or his authority over her. She needs to know that she has power. She has authority.
And if that means that her pristine beanie baby collection is being thrown at him with force he didn't know she had, then he'll let it happen.
"I get it," he says, blocking a penguin as it nears his shoulder. "Staying away hurt you. I didn't want that. I don't think your father would have, either."
At this, she sobs harder, clutching a lion to her chest. "You're so stupid," she says.
"I didn't respect you as much as I should have," Peter says.
He wishes it hadn't taken tonight to get it, but he understands.
He wishes he didn't have to see Gwen in this state, but he understands.
He wishes he wasn't the one to make her like this.
He understands.
She's not a victim of a series of accidents; she's a victim of him, just as he's a victim of himself. Staying away before any of this happened would have saved her, but now it's too late. He's a force in her life. He can make choices that will impact her, but he can't change the fact that she is impacted.
This is why staying away will never work. She is already ruined by him. Either choice he might make – ignoring her or being with her – has the possibility of hurting her.
But he knows now that ignoring her will definitely hurt her. Staying with her? He doesn't know.
He just knows that he can't handle being the one who's causing her pain. And if Gwen were to fall victim to an accident, well then, at least she wouldn't be falling victim to Peter. Not anymore. If she gets hurt, at least he isn't the one hurting her.
He hates that he thinks like this. It's like he's already washing her blood off of his hands.
But as she drops the lion to the floor and lets herself collapse, sobbing, into his arms, he finds it hard to care about anything but her anymore.
He's a teenager, invincible and in love. It's not a good combination, but accidents happen.
A/N: This fic was supposed to be longer, but I think the ending presented itself and was like, "Nope, you're gonna be done here." So unless I get a sudden plotbunny or desire to continue this, I'm gonna go ahead and say this is complete. Reviewing is still encouraged! ;)