HAPPY ANNIVERSARY OF THE DAY US AMERICANS CROSSED THE DELAWARE RIVER AND KICKED THE BRITISH FORCES ASS IN THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR! (Well, the beginning of the anniversary, anyway)
And you thought I was going to wish you a Merry Christmas…
Apologizes to any and all British people reading this; us Americans are slightly obsessed with patriotism, winning, and gloating. A wonderful combination, right? ;)
Thank you to all those who followed/favorited!
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The silence was becoming unbearable.
After about an hour, Michelle took out her newly returned sketchbook and started drawing something with thick, bold strokes, alternating between a charcoal stub, a graphite pencil, and a white tool Peter had never seen before, which she used to shade everything together. Her focus was so intense that Peter spent nearly ten minutes looking at her work without her noticing. And then he looked at her.
He had learned to recognise when she was in deep concentration. This, as one of her friends, was a crucial skill to have, because it was more that once that both Ned and Peter had interrupted her, only to have to hastily dive out of the way as a book was thrown at them for breaking her focus.
The signs were easy: eyebrows drawn together; brow furrowed; shoulders hunched and head bowed over her project; dark brown eyes that were so focused you wondered why they didn't glaze over after such concentration.
"Eyes on the road," Michelle said pointedly.
He realized that he hadn't looked out the windshield for a long time; it was only thanks to his unintentional usage of his spider sense and a lot of luck that they weren't in a ditch already.
She spoke only after his eyes were fixed ahead.
"That woman back there...the one on the news. Did you know her?" Her voice was uncharacteristically gentle.
Peter shook his head. "I don't even know her name."
"So you're not upset?"
"...No."
She raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because most people's regular reaction to seeing the news doesn't involve sprinting to your car and driving to the Avenger's Compound."
"That...is a very good point." Peter tried to laugh, but it came out more as a breathy cough. "Look, I don't know her. I'm not sad or anything. I mean, sure, it sucks that she's dead and everything, but I'm just…" Confused. Questioning. Wondering if his stopping her last night was somehow connected to her death.
Peter pushed the thoughts away. There was time to worry about that later. Instead, he asked, "Are we going to talk about the elephant in the room?"
"We're in a car."
"Another good point, but you know what I mean." When Michelle didn't respond, he turned to look at her. She was staring straight ahead, but not like she was focused on something. It was more like she was trying to find something, anything, to look at besides him.
"You don't have to explain," she said, her eyes still darting around. "I get it. If I were you, I would have done the same thing. And it's not like…" she trailed off, leaving Peter wondering what she was going to say.
"I want to explain," he said. "Listen, I know you're really pissed about me not telling you, but I was trying to do the right thing. It's kind of hard to be a secret vigilante when everyone knows your identity."
It was a long time before Michelle spoke. When she did, her voice was flat. Disconnected. Guarded.
"Does Ned know?"
"Yeah," Peter said, blowing out a breath. "Yeah, he does, but that's only because—"
"Wow," she interrupted, "I'm really tired. Wake me if the car crashes, okay?" Without another word, she bunched up one of Peter's sweatshirts—one of the many littering the floor—put it behind her head, tucked her knees up, and closed her eyes. Within minutes her breathing was slow and even.
Peter wasn't fooled.
"We're here."
Michelle's eyes opened immediately. She sat up, looked through the window, rubbed her eyes, and then looked out again at the cracked concrete walls, slick with moisture. "This is a dump," she said bluntly.
Peter laughed. "It's an underground parking lot from the old building. You know, before they built the compound. It's pretty nice when you want to slip in and out quietly."
"You do this a lot." It was a statement, not a question.
"Eh. It's nice to have somewhere official to go to make my web fluid, do upgrades, the likes. You know."
"I don't," Michelle said, "but thanks for reminding me."
"Um...the elevator's this way."
He opened his door and led them to a pair of tall elevator doors, their stainless steel doors in stark contrast to their surroundings. Inside, after swiping a key in front of a sensor, he called out, "Private Labs!" and braced himself as the elevator shot up.
Michelle stumbled, grasping hold of the handrail for support. "Sheesh," she gasped, "Are we blasting off to space or something?"
"It's awesome!" Peter said. "It's even better swinging with webs!"
"So," Michelle said once she regained her balance, "What the hell are we doing here?"
Peter didn't think twice before telling her. Michelle was the smartest person he knew, and if there was anyone that could help him figure this out, it was her.
"At twelve last night," he started, "I was at the store for...stuff."
"Peter, it's not a crime to say you were grabbing tampons for your aunt."
"What? No, I was—why would you think I was getting tampons?"
She blew a curl off her face. "Because you're not the type to buy condoms."
Choosing to ignore the comment, Peter continued. "That woman, the one on the news, she was there. She ran in, waved a gun around, and told the cashier to start loading the money up. I stopped her before she got away, but there was something off about the whole thing. She was scared. She kept apologising and saying she didn't have a choice."
"She probably didn't," Michelle said. "Desperate people do desperate things."
"I know, but her eyes—"
"Private labs," a monotone voice announced as the elevator doors opened.
The three hour drive was worth it to see Michelle's face. Eyebrows at her hairline, eyes twice as big as their usual size, jaw dropped to the floor. He knew the feeling. Calling the private labs an upgrade from a high school science room was the understatement of the century.
"Impressive, huh?" he said.
Her mouth snapped shut. "Eh," she said, attempting to smooth her face over. "I've seen better."
He gave her a sideways look. "Yeah, right."
"Peter!" a pleasant female voice spoke. "What a lovely surprise!"
"Hey, FRIDAY," Peter said, walking in and tossing his keys and phone on one of the long counters. "What's up?"
"The sky," she said matter-of-factly. "Are you aware that a teenage girl has followed you into the private labs? If she is a threat, I would be happy to use the build in security system to terminate—"
"NO!" Peter yelped as Michelle tensed. "No, definitely not. She's a friend, FRIDAY. A friend."
Michelle glanced at him. "What?" he said defensively. "Even if I am on your kill list, I still consider you a friend."
"A kill list?" FRIDAY said. "Peter, this activates my scan protocol."
"Scan—wait, no!"
"Scan complete: Michelle Jones, age sixteen, with a height of 5'10 and a weight of 130, currently living—"
"Shut up!" Peter and Michelle both yelled at the same time.
"Command followed. You are certain she isn't a threat that needs to be terminated?"
"Positive," he said firmly.
Still looking suspiciously at the speakers on the wall from where FRIDAY's voice was coming, Michelle dumped her backpack on the floor and dropped into a swivel chair. "My death threat count is up to three today," she said. "A new record."
"She only threatened to blow you up twice."
Michelle rolled her eyes. "I know, I...whatever, loser. Forget it."
"Ookay, then. Listen, Michelle, do you want to work on one of your inventions you drew? I've got to have FRIDAY run a search for me."
"You seriously think Stark is okay with a random teenager getting into his stuff?" she asked.
"Good point. We'll have FRIDAY loop the cameras."
She shrugged and said, "Works for me," before wandering off.
"Okay, FRIDAY," Peter said. "I need you to bring up today's news reports."
Dozens of hologram screens appeared as FRIDAY began listing them off. "Stray cat rescued by firemen; family found dead of gas poisoning; mold discovered in elderly man's testicles; Angie Phillips dead in street—"
"Stop!" Peter said. "That one, yeah!"
"Mold in testicles?"
"No, not the—god, that image is disturbing—FRIDAY, the one with Angie Phillips."
"Story by Queen Reporter." Nearly all the holograms flickered and disappeared, leaving an image of the dead woman—Angie Phillips—lying in the street, eyes closed.
"Pull up everything you can on her."
More holograms flashed by as FRIDAY spoke. "Angie Phillips. Head nurse at Queen's most renowned hospital, aged thirty seven, no extended family, frequent hiker, lives in apartment seven B—"
FRIDAY rattled on as Peter examined the holograms. More pictures taken from hikes, a hospital room and scrubs, a medium sized apartment with leather couches and dark paneled floors. And the eyes. In the pictures, always brown. Not the sheer red hue of last night.
"Was she sick?"
"I cannot find any files suggesting so. There are no traces of terminal illnesses in her family records. All immunizations are up to date, including the flu shot she received two days before her decease."
Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. Something missing, something missing, something...
"Would you like me to discontinue?" FRIDAY asked. "This seems to be a fruitless endeavour."
"Her eyes," Peter said. "They're supposed to be brown. They were red last night! Something's not right."
"You're overreacting" said Michelle from across the counter, already with her sketchbook open and dozens of materials spread out. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter, and said, "Just because there was a trick of the light doesn't mean she's going to turn into a vampire."
He shook his head. "No. There's something more—"
"Incoming call from Tony Stark," FRIDAY announced. "Shall I accept or decline?"
Great. That was just what he needed right now.
"Just don't mention me," Michelle said, gesturing to her supplies on the counter. "The longer I stay unknown, the longer I can work without getting shut down by a pissed off adult."
"Call accepted," FRIDAY said.
"No, wait—"
"Kid!" Tony greeted through the speakers. "What's up?"
"I—"
"Listen, FRIDAY said you were at the compound, so I thought I'd give a quick call."
"That's great, but I—"
"Karen's up and working now; she's all yours once I'm back in the States. Speaking of which, I'm planning a huge party for the press. Champagne, pools filled with money, the likes. And you are invited as my intern. Hopefully it'll be a good distraction."
"A distraction for—"
There was a crashing sound behind the counter, followed by a long string of curses from Michelle. She was hopping up and down, holding one foot, and glaring daggers at the offending piece of metal on the floor.
Tony paused. "You got someone there with you, kid?"
Peter was already on the other side of the counter, trying to simultaneously balance Michelle and win a silent battle of wills—communicated through wild hand gestures and facial expressions—in which he pleaded to say that she was in the lab, while she shook her head, bit back another set of curse words, and gestured to the large array of tools on the counter.
"Um…" Peter hedged.
There was a burning smell coming from the floor. Their eyes dropped to it. The piece of metal—which, upon closer examination, was a soldering iron—was burning steadily through the floor.
"Shit!"
"Hey, what's—" The rest of Tony's sentence was drowned out of the spray of the fire extinguisher, activated by FRIDAY, which covered the counter, floor, soldering iron, and splattered Michelle and Peter with white foam.
"Potential fire threat terminated," FRIDAY announced.
"Pete, tell me you're alive or I swear to god I will drop your A.I. over the atlantic ocean."
"Here," Peter said, spitting out a mouthful of foam.
"And your partner to crime is?"
"Michelle Jones," Michelle muttered, trying to wipe the foam off her jeans with her forearm.
"Michelle Jones," Tony mused. "FRIDAY, we don't happen to have a Michelle Jones working for us, do we?"
"No, sir. She's a friend of Peter's."
"Great. Then I don't have to fire you. You have a wonderful vocabulary, by the way."
Michelle flipped off the speakers; Peter choked back a laugh.
"So tell me, Peter and Peter's friend: what the hell are you doing in my lab?"
Peter and Michelle shared a look and came to a silent agreement: Don't tell the truth. Say something, she mouthed.
"There was a—see, we were—" Peter stammered as Michelle waved him on with a 'keep it going, stupid,' look on her face. He scrambled for something, anything, and blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind. "We were kissing."
A large chunk of foam hit him in the head. He didn't have to turn to see who threw it.
"Kissing?" Tony asked incredulously.
"Um...yes?"
There was a crackling sound as Tony let out an exasperated sigh. "Kid, we need to work on your lying skills. It's a miracle your aunt still doesn't know anything about...anyway, just don't break anything important. And Miss Jones? Despite almost burning my lab down, you've scored yourself an invite as Peter's guest. Impressive vocabulary and all. Was there some Italian mixed into that?"
"Sokovian."
"Ah. Should've known. Anway, I have to go. There's another meeting with a bunch of old white guys that I need to pretend to be awake for. Oh, and no unprotected sex!" he added right before the line went dead.
Peter blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. "Well...that was…"
"Humiliating," Michelle finished. "Peter, you douchebag, the only thing you could come up with was kissing?"
"Hey! You were the one who almost burned the building down!"
There was a moment of silence in which they both glared at each other. And then, inexplicably, they both burst into laughter.
"We just lied to Tony Stark!"
"We almost burned to death!"
"To be honest," Peter said once he could breath, "we make a pretty good team."
Michelle tilted her head to one side. "You think so?"
They stepped toward each other at the same time. And because of this, they both slipped simultaneously on the foam covering the floor.
They ended up on the floor, covered in more foam, Peter on his back and Michelle landing on top of him with an oof! as the air was forced from her lungs.
"Ow," she groaned. "Dumb gravity."
Their faces were inches away from each other. He had never been this close to her before. Now that he was, he could make out the small details, like the splash of freckles across her face, or the flecks of gold in her dark brown eyes, invisible from farther away.
"Hi," he breathed out.
She opened her mouth, either to kiss him or tell him to piss off, when her gold flecked eyes focused on something behind him. Her weight left his body as she slid off him and got to her feet, her eyes still fixed on whatever was behind him.
"MJ?"
She didn't respond.
Grabbing the counter, Peter lifted himself up, turning to see whatever it was she was so fixated on. It was the holograms. She reached out a hand and pulled one, a medium sized one, away from the others. It was a picture of Angie in the corner of a store, standing next to a teenage boy with tinted sunglasses. Michelle's hand hovered in front of his face.
"Michelle, what is it?"
"You said she was acting scared." Michelle voice was wobbly. "Like she had no choice."
He nodded.
"And her eyes. They changed color?"
Another nod. "Michelle, can you please tell me what—"
"You were right," she interrupted, brushing past him and picking up her sketchbook. When she turned around, he saw that her face was more hopeful than he had ever seen it before. "Something's not right. There's got to be something. An explanation."
"Michelle—"
"FRIDAY!" she called out. "When was that picture taken?"
"Two days prior to her death."
"Michelle!" Peter dodged in front of her. "What's going on? Who is that kid?"
"Peter," she said, "please, just trust me on this. You were right. I admit it, okay?"
Michelle? Admitting she was wrong?"
On the counter, his phone buzzed. Aunt May's number and the time popped up: 8:03.
"Shit," he breathed. "Dinner at seven."
He was dead. So, so dead.
"We have to go," Peter said. "God, she's going to kill me."
"Seriously? We can't leave now, we have to figure this out!"
"I agree with Peter," FRIDAY said. "Studies show that teenagers need eight to ten hours of sleep, and you will not arrive home until eleven."
Michelle scowled. "You're a computer," she said. "You can't make me leave."
"You are welcome to stay," FRIDAY said. "I will be happy to keep you and Peter entertained with the rest of your file. Where did we leave off? Michelle Jones—"
"That's blackmail!" Michelle said. Her face was pale and chalky. "Look, we're going, all right! Just shut up already!"
"Very well," FRIDAY said smugly."Peter, safe travels."
"Thanks, FRIDAY," he said. "Um, I should probably…" he trailed off as Michelle jabbed the elevator button. "Bye!"
"Good bye, Peter," FRIDAY said back. "And good luck."
Whether she referring to the case they had to solve, driving home in the dark, or spending the entire car ride with an angry girl, he had no idea, but it didn't matter. They were leaving with a lead.
AHAHAHAHAHAHA SO MANY SHIPPING MOMENTS!
Reviews:
Guest (B):
Shockingly, I am still alive, despite you referring to me as deceased. As stated in the chapter, Peter wasn't paying attention and was almost bowled over because he's an idiot (I love that spider baby, but it's the truth lol). Not to mention the adrenaline running through Michelle and her fear for Peter would be more immediate than any thought processes about his superpowers. And thank you for the compliment!
Flash scorpion:
I hope you liked it! It was just one avenger for now, but there should be more in the future.
Stark-staffie:
Thank you! I will definitely be continuing this story!
Noirhearts:
I will definitely not lie to you. ;) Michelle is a total badass and it's a crime to think otherwise.
NCIS Obsession:
AHHHHHH the chapter's finally up! I hope you liked the Peter/MJ ride along!
SorryI'mNotPerfect:
Aw, thank you so much! Your review totally made my day! And I agree, I'm glad that she already knows his secret. It works better for the plot of this story.
Lunaterre224:
Thank you! (I'm so glad I'm rewriting it, I actually have a plot this time lol)
Estel Ashlee Snape:
Thank you! (Hopefully I have kept the work good lol)
