The one-on-one tests with MJ were nothing like Peter expected. Mind you, Peter didn't really know what to expect, but when he found himself dead lifting the back-end of an 18-wheeler in the local trucker stop, he knew this wasn't it.
At first Michelle had actually been taking notes, scribbling vigorously and without pause in her little black book of secrets. But after a few minutes of note taking she resigned herself to simply watching, staring, one could say admiring and that one person would be Peter. All in all, from an outsider's perspective, it really did look like Michelle had taken a scientific interest in Peter and Spider-Man alike.
But Peter was looking for a bit more than that.
He couldn't really explain the feelings he had for MJ, or where'd they come from, or how Liz fit into the equation or why he only now was thinking about her or really why he was thinking about anything other than the Avengers right now but anyway! it was all very confusing for him, so for the most part, he just focused on lifting the truck.
"That truck is eighty-thousand pounds and you're lifting it like a sack of potatoes," Michelle commented. Her tone came off as disinterested, but Peter sensed there was some genuine arousal—wait, whoa, wrong word, who wrote this? Disgusting.
Anyway, Peter shot back with his own quip just in time: "Yeah well those potato sacks were too heavy for me before."
…
Look no one said his quips were any good.
After a few more minutes Michelle had him drop the truck. Despite only being a few feet in the air the back-end of the 18-wheeler landed roughly on the pavement, shaking the earth beneath their feet like a small earthquake. It only served to emphasize Spider-Man's strength even more, and Michelle had to stop her mouth from hanging open.
"Not bad, Parker," she said when the drool had cleared up.
"Not bad? You said that thing was eighty-thousand pounds."
"You've done more impressive things than lift a truck, Parker, chill."
Peter would've continued arguing if MJ's last sentence hadn't implied that she knew a lot more about Spider-Man's exploits than she lead on.
In fact, in the weeks prior to this dead-lifting experiment, Peter had learned that MJ knew a lot more about Spider-Man than she lead on. Sometimes that took form of small allusions to some of Peter's bigger action pieces like the Airport Fight, but it also took the form of vast background knowledge regarding Peter's Internet notoriety; Michelle wouldn't admit it, but before she'd even considered the notion that Spider-Man might be a scrawny teenager from her school, she watched his YouTube videos religiously. She would always argue it stemmed from her fascination with evolutionary human biology, but Peter liked to theorize other viable reasons.
Regardless, it was inarguable that Michelle had a vested interest in Spider-Man, whether that interest be scientific or...otherwise.
§
Since Peter didn't have a license (for good reason) and Michelle didn't have a car, they walked home. The local truck stop was about ten miles from Michelle's apartment, so they had plenty of time to talk.
And of course Peter, ever the initiator, had started the conversation off softly with his interpretation of the new Star Wars films.
"I think what people don't realize about Episode VIII is how it connects back to Episodes I through III. Like, The Last Jedi completely vindicates those movies, and not only that, I think it enhances the experience retroactively. Everyone said those movies sucked but that's only because they just didn't get them at first, you know, they didn't really appreciate what George Lucas was trying to do with that trilogy. So then Episode VIII comes along, right, and it looks back at these movies and says 'This is what they meant' and you're like, Oh! That makes sense now. I totally get it. And that's also something I think speaks to the broader, like, concept of movies, you know? Not like movies in general but, like, franchises. A franchise—for example, Star Wars—or really just any franchise you want, maybe even a superhero franchise or whatever—so take that franchise, and watch the movies with that franchise in mind, right? If a movie is, like, say, the nineteenth movie in a franchise, you can't watch that movie without the first eighteen and the coming three and say 'Oh well it didn't make sense', because the reality is that these movies are like puzzle pieces in a bigger picture, and you need to wait for the puzzle to be finished before you can appreciate the whole thing. You know?"
Michelle looked at him with such a dispassionate expression that Peter's soul nearly almost ascended from his body and entered a new plane of existence where he screamed.
"No, I don't know," she said soberly.
Peter continued undaunted, "Movies are like books, right?"
This caught Michelle's attention, enough to merit a response. "Wrong."
"Well, like, movie series," he corrected.
"Movies are not like books."
"Hear me out."
"Nope."
They walked in silence for a few minutes after that. The cold wind was harsh in the outskirts, but Peter was sweating enough to fill a shallow bucket...a very shallow bucket.
Michelle on the other hand was staving off hypothermia, ineffectively. She rubbed her frozen arms through the thin material, generating as much friction as the laws of thermodynamics would let her.
"Do you remember what the third law of thermodynamics is?" she asked, trying to get her mind off the frigid temperature.
"Do you mean the actual third law or the titled third law?" Peter retorted, grinning inwardly. He had very few chances to prove his intellectual prowess to her, and he reveled in the few opportunities provided.
"Never mind."
Or nah.
They walked for a few more minutes before Peter finally noticed the shivering. It never occurred to him that regular people didn't have heated superhero suits under their normal clothing, especially normal people like MJ. She was shuddering fiercely, no longer bothering to rub her arms after her fingers had locked up from the cold.
"Here," Peter said, stripping off his coat and passing it to her. Michelle, for once in her entire life, swallowed her pride and took the coat without question. The cuffs were a bit far up her arm and the waistline was hiked up to her abdomen, but by God was it ever warm. She had to stop herself from hugging herself to absorb as much as the warmth as she possibly could.
"Thanks," she said when her jaw had ceased clattering.
"Don't mention it."
And mention it she did not. In fact, despite the display of warmth...haha...Michelle found herself at a loss for words. She wasn't used to most people around her being affectionate, let alone her human science experiment.
But Peter did have a hot streak of niceness; maybe she could test for that.
"So what other tests do you have planned?" Peter asked.
"Actually I think I'd like to go out on one of your routes tomorrow."
"What!" Peter swung around, stopping them in their tracks. "That's way too dangerous. I can't bring you along while I stop criminals."
"Stop criminals?" Michelle snorted then kept walking. "Listen, Parker, I watch the news. Spider-Man's daily routine usually consists of helping old ladies cross the street."
"But—"
"And it's also pretty bold of you to assume that I can't take care of myself."
That shut him up.
"Yeah but, like, what are you going to learn from going out with me?"
Oh never mind, he kept talking. I'm omniscient but I can't, like...I'm just the narrator.
"Well first I'm going to be studying your aerodynamics," she explained, "then I want to check out the tensile strength of that web stuff you made."
Peter's ears perked up. "You like my web shooters?"
"They seem rudimentary."
"Well yeah, you know, first draft, prototype, still working on it." Peter laughed airily. He rolled up his sleeve and eyed the shooters. They looked pretty refined. Sleek metal, innovative design, and a hint of YouTube tutorials.
"So what was up with Liz?"
Peter almost tripped. "Whaaat? What?"
"Liz. Your classmate. Decathlon teammate. Girl you stalked."
She's right but she shouldn't say it, Peter thought.
"What about her?" he asked.
"Were you dating her to get closer to her father so you could more easily infiltrate his gang and take them down?" Michelle asked flatly.
"Uhhhhhhh." Peter's brain stumbled. He focused real hard on the answer "No" but really couldn't bring himself to say it. Thinking back on it, with hindsight, going to Homecoming with Liz is the only reason he was able to put the Vulture away. Had he gone with anyone else, including nobody at all, Adrian Toomes would still be running weapons.
"Is that yes?"
"N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n.." It was on the tip of his tongue. Like the bus at the end of The Italian Job, it was just about to tip over the edge and...
"No," he exhaled.
"Well you have to admit it was pretty convenient though."
The air was frigid but Peter was sweating healthily. They still had a long distance to go and this was not the topic he wanted to die on.
"Do you think about this stuff a lot?" he asked, diverting the conversation like Robert Frost Rd.
"Only recently," Michelle replied. "Discovering that you are Spider-Man helped me put a lot of stuff into perspective, and it answered a lot of questions. So yes I've been thinking about this a lot."
Peter's ego nearly burst. MJ? Thinking about him? In perspective? Nice. But it also begged the question that he hated asking: was she actually thinking about him, or was she thinking about Spider-Man.
"When did you know it was me?" he asked.
"What, like when did I know you were Spider-Man?" She thought about it for less than a second. "Easy. Washington. You don't just disappear for a whole day without raising suspicions. Not to mention, that whole I-Know-Spider-Man thing didn't help."
That made sense. Peter originally thought the Washington Monument thing had covered up his tracks, but alas, nothing got past MJ. Her attention to detail is why she replaced Liz in the first place. Replaced her on decathlon team, I mean. Just decathlon. It's not like MJ was filling in for Liz in any other way, especially not in regard to Peter and his personal life...or anything.
§
It was another thirty minutes before they were downtown. The buildings shielded them from the wind so the temperature rose a bit. Michelle was no longer shivering and Peter's body temperature had finally reached an equilibrium. They both walked comfortably in the silence, thinking different things to themselves.
Michelle was the first to break the silence and think aloud, "So is Spider-Man really an Avenger?"
"Well!" Peter started; "Well I mean, not technically no, but I-I-I don't think that's the point, you know?"
"Well the point we are discussing is being an Avenger so yes the point is being an Avenger so is Spider-Man an Avenger?" Michelle glanced sideways.
Peter didn't answer at first. She saw a literal brainstorm forming over his head, raining down different answer-droplets. Which would he choose? Should Michelle guess now? Or should she let herself be surprised, if just for Peter's sake? Decisions, decisions.
"No, he's not an Avenger. But! He's going to become one, soon."
He played it safe; somewhat admirable.
"And when is 'soon'?" she pressed.
"Like, whenever the next alien invasion happens, you know."
Michelle nodded. "The next alien invasion. Right."
"Yeah and then Mr. Stark'll call me and I'll save the city..or whatever." He said it very casually. Air quotes over "casually". He even scratched the back of his head for added effect.
The boy was truly a walking 80's caricature.
"Well I look forward to observing you in action," Michelle said. "Hopefully the next alien invasion comes soon because I need all the data I can get at this stage."
"I hope that too! That would be so cool."
She laughed slightly at that. His humor was like water on limestone: always eroding you, wearing you down, until you have to accept it, appreciate it, let it take you away in the current. Michelle was just beginning to crack.
When they had covered considerable distance downtown, they came upon an unexpected scene. It looked like an armed robbery currently in progress, with three gun-touting strongmen hustling the cashier of a gas station. There was no one else around, and the setting could not be more perfect.
"Wanna see those aerodynamics in action?" Peter asked, already stripping out of his regular clothes. Michelle watched in somewhat aroused fascination as Peter made quick work of his jeans and jacket, getting completely in-costume—mask and all—in less than 10 seconds. He stuffed everything into his backpack and handed it to her. "Be right back."
And then he was gone. Michelle followed slowly after him, watching him from a distance. He made a show of entering, swinging the front door open with his webs then literally swinging in. Two of the strongmen started firing off shots.
Michelle bit her tongue. Peter jumped and narrowly avoided a 6-inch slug in his gut. They fired off round after round, apparently oblivious to the apartments surrounding them.
Every round came closer to hitting Peter. Every shot they took appeared to miss only at the last second. Michelle could only stand and watch. A few more back flips and a few more near misses later, the two strongmen were out of ammo. While they reloaded, the third one kept Peter pinned.
I need to help, Michelle thought. Peter was fighting close range, in an enclosed area, against shotguns—he was dead. She had to do something.
"Hey!" she screamed from across the street. "Hey guys!"
Screaming seemed to be her plan every time.
She waved her arms. "Hey!" They couldn't hear her over the shotgun. She needed to get closer.
Michelle ran across the street, standing on the sidewalk just outside the gas station. "Hey fuck heads over here!"
The third burglar had finished firing when he noticed the noise outside. Shoving his friend, he pointed out the window. "Take care of it."
The second one nodded and stormed off. The first one kept Peter pinned down.
Peter himself poked his head over the Slurpee counter and ascertained his situation. "Okay, okay, okay, three guys, all armed, cops are on their way after a quick call from Karen, so, just gotta wait 'em out."
"I'm afraid not, Peter. One of the assailants is approaching Miss. Jones with lethal intent."
"Lethal intent? What?" He poked his head up higher and looked past the two remaining strongmen. "Wait where'd the third guy go?"
Karen highlighted an area in his field of vision. It was outside, on the sidewalk, just past the gas pumps. It was Michelle, waving her arms and screaming like she was being attacked by a swarm of bees—but it wasn't bees, it was an armed burglar.
Everything after that happened very quickly. Peter launched like a rocket from his hiding spot, using his webs to sweep across the floor, seemingly out of sight of the other two men. With another web he spring-boarded off the ground and shot himself through the front window, crashing through the glass like a rock and landing outside with a thud, like a rock.
Michelle stood her ground as the third man marched on. He was just about the pass the last gas pump, leaving nothing between him and her. There was no one else walking down the street, no cars passing, no one checking from their windows; she was alone. She was always alone, but now, she was more alone than she'd ever been.
It's not enough to just be alone.
"Wait!"
The man pulled the trigger, but Peter was quicker. The shotgun fired off in some unseen direction as Peter crashed into the man and took him to the ground. They scuffled for a few seconds, but Peter came out on top, sticking the man's hands to the ground with webbing.
"Threat averted," Peter mumbled, standing up.
"Not quite."
Peter's head shot up. Half a second later, the powder in the shell detonates, firing off a hundred or so small pellets, a quarter of which lodge themselves in Peter's shoulder at incredibly high speeds, creating an impact so strong that it puts Peter on his back.
On the ground, Peter fires his web and hits the barrel of the shotgun perfectly. When the trigger is pulled, the entire the chamber explodes, conveniently knocking out both men in range.
"Threat...averted," the hero manages to whisper between breaths. In his head, Karen agrees.
"Oh shit," Michelle reacted quickly, running over to the masked fifteen year old. She dropped to her knees and summoned every piece of media relating to medical procedures that she'd ever absorbed. A shotgun shell to the shoulder, multiple pieces of shrapnel, heavy bleeding, his high adrenaline only pumping the blood out faster.
"You need to calm down," Michelle instructed, her voice shaking ever so slightly. She straightened it out and repeated, "You need to calm down."
"I can't do that, I can't do that, I can't do that," Peter repeated on a panicked loop, frantically looking everywhere but his shoulder.
Michelle ripped off her (Peter's) jacket and laid it under his head. He's shaking. She's kneeling in blood now. The costume is torn.
"Hey Michelle, I don't feel so good."