"When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation with her, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr Darcy, who took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what she did, she accepted him." - Pride and Prejudice, ch. 18
It's the third day of Flash's stay when some interesting mail arrives. Not prosaic letter-in-the-mailbox mail―for privacy's sake, the compound isn't on any postal carrier's route, so they don't even have a mailbox―but something special, brought right to their door. When Pepper opens it and greets the Maximoffs, she has to joke that Wanda's trying to one-up her; where Pepper only hand-addressed Wanda's invite to the benefit, Wanda has hand-addressed and hand-delivered the Starks' invite to her open house. Pepper received an electronic version the day after Vision and Peter came home from the Park, but the physical copy is a nice touch as the date of the event approaches, and she compliments Wanda on that.
Vision dithers about intruding on Pepper's audience with the Maximoffs until Peter grabs his brother by the arm and hauls him over to the visitors. Peter's determined that nothing as stupid as a fear of interrupting should keep Vision away from Wanda when he so obviously wants to see her. He'd also point out that it's way less creepy to actually talk to her than to listen longingly from the next room... if they weren't already in front of Wanda and her brother.
Both Maximoffs are thrilled to see Vision and talk about their separation in exaggerated terms that, from Brad, seem phony and, from Wanda, seem deeply personal and intimate. The way she looks up at Vision's public, human-esque face and softly says, "It's been too long," has Peter wondering if he should leave the room. As Wanda and Vision stare deeply into each other's eyes or whatever, Peter watches Brad, wondering if he knows about Michelle. Ultimately, observing the guy put a hand on his sister's shoulder, he decides that Brad's too protective of Wanda to stand by and let her become closer and closer friends with Michelle if he knew what she's done. Peter has to conclude that Brad's just an average jerk.
It takes a long minute, but Peter's eventually politely acknowledged by Wanda and ignored by Brad (dick―but good riddance). Tony has to be up to something somewhere because he doesn't put in an appearance, nor do the other Stark kids. Peter still has a feeling that his dad's plotting something Flash-related.
They don't stay more than ten minutes because the Park's apparently in minor chaos ahead of the grand opening, plus Wanda knows the Starks have a guest staying with them. She says all the right things to excuse herself and her brother without rudeness, all the considerate things, and yet it's Brad who's out the door first, clearly pushing his daily quota for time spent pretending not to be an asshole. Peter waves to Wanda from the doorway and it's fortunate his brother's beside him doing the same thing because otherwise, he'd be flipping Brad off when Wanda looks away. Ah well, maybe another time.
The reminder of the Park's open house is just what Peter needs. And what Vision needs. And what Tony needs. And what― They're all looking forward to it for different reasons, ranging from spending time with the hosts to a chance to thrust the duty of babysitting Flash into the hands of a stranger, if only for one night of sweet, sweet freedom. All of their eager anticipation combined probably adds up to more than Wanda's own, but they're trying to be chill about it. Except for Tony. Tony's looked at the event from dozens of angles and decided that, in a way, it's for Vision. That Wanda likes Vision so much that she's engineered an entire evening for the excuse of spending time with him. It's what Tony would do to get Pepper's attention, and therefore plausible in his mind. The fact that Wanda brought the invitation herself supports his theory.
Vision, very privately, is hoping the same.
Meanwhile, when the invitation circulates to Peter's hands, what he's most interested in―scanning past the tasting menu and mention of a DJ―is the allowance of bringing a plus one. Before he can overthink it and realize it's impulsive and premature and presumptuous, he takes a picture of the invite and texts it to Liz Allan, asking her to come with him. Now, he doesn't use the word 'date,' but he's optimistic that she likes him as much as he likes her and will therefore want to be his plus one.
Even as he pictures himself introducing her to people and seeing her soft smile again, something detracts from the fantasy. It's Michelle. Of course she'll be there that evening. Peter has to wonder if, now that he knows the truth about her, he'll be able to read her heartlessness in her face and body language. Very quickly, he's thinking more about Michelle's presence at the Park than Liz's. But while Peter's ok with investigating other people's backgrounds, lately, he's hesitant to spend time dismantling his own thought patterns. Escape is outside his own head.
Harley and Morgan are just excited to have an event to go to. And it's not a Stark event! That means no fancy clothes (Pepper immediately tells them they certainly will be wearing fancy clothes out of respect to their neighbour and her career milestone of opening her own restaurant). Harley's restlessness has been creeping up on him and the drive into Albany didn't relieve it; he's looking forward to getting away from the compound again so soon.
Nebula surprises her family by stating that she plans to attend as well, though, since it has nothing to do with SI, she isn't required to go (and even being 'required' is treated pretty loosely―they've never pushed her to show up to anything). They all assumed she'd want to sit it out.
"I plan to make progress on my current project throughout the day," she informs Tony. "I... understand that there are certain duties I must perform―" Tony tries to contradict this, but Nebula continues with a sharp, "Quiet. It's foolish to ignore the sanctuary you've granted me and this is an inconsequential demand on my energy and time. I might as well come with you." She stiffens, afraid she's made herself vulnerable by being too sentimental. "Also, your need to have your entire family with you at all times is pathetically consistent and I do not wish to be an active detriment to your health at this time."
"God, that's sweet. I'm getting that embroidered on a pillow and you can give it to me for Father's Day," Tony says, beaming at his sullen adopted daughter.
"I can't believe you've invented a holiday as a ploy for recognition of your very average parenting abilities."
"First of all, I didn't just make up Father's Day," Tony argues.
He chases her out of the room, one hand kneading the wheel of his chair while the other taps at the tablet in his lap, pulling up the history of Father's Day. With his head down, he doesn't see Nebula smiling to herself at how successfully she's baited him.
Flash's extensive catalogue of Spidey-centric vlogs has kept Peter wary and distant for most of their guest's visit, but Peter's in such a good mood about the open house―Liz texts him back saying she'll still be in the area and can probably come with him―that he's intentionally talking to Flash before he can think better of it. He asks Flash if he's planning to go to the event with them, then, because an affirmative answer seems pretty likely to Peter before he's finished asking the question, if Flash is thinking about networking. The Starks don't know Wanda's social circle yet, but it would make sense that she's invited some of their affluent guests from the benefit, whom she would've met that night.
If Peter had the chance to guess, he might think that Flash would be too intimidated to approach established businesswomen and –men in such a setting, but the guy's response is immediately and unhesitatingly the opposite.
"Hey, if they really know business," Flash tells him, "they'll know the internet's the final frontier and see that I'm quite the savvy businessman myself. I'm sure I can teach them a thing or two." Peter feels the distressed expression on his face and Flash completely misinterprets it. "Don't worry, I'll be splitting most of my time between my real hosts: you guys! I'm hoping to have a long conversation with you in particular, Spider-Man."
Flash winks at him and Peter's standing there. Confused. Then, tricked. Then, like the complete idiot he is. Why the hell did he give Flash that opening? Ugh, moron! He's supposed to be spending the evening with Liz. So, not only will he have less time with Liz, that time will be taken up by listening to Flash―just about the worst substitute he can think of. Because he's Pepper's son, he manages a limp, "Sure, Flash. Sounds great."
It isn't until their brief and horribly derailed conversation is over that Peter can get past his burning regret and feel suspicious. Flash is singling him out. Why would he do that? Sure, he's freaked out about Peter being Spider-Man at least twice a day since he got here, but he's never plucked up the courage to corner Peter with such determination. Such... forewarning. What the fuck?
Tony catches him later in the day and when he brings up Flash in a heavily casual way, Peter feels the trap closing. Something's up and his dad knows about it. Peter doesn't want to confront it now, while he's still annoyed about the prospect of Liz slipping away, or ever, in a just world, but Tony implies with zero subtly that there's a business opportunity about to come Peter's way. Peter plays dumb. It avoids (or postpones―he'll have to wait and see) an argument and helps him continue to live in his favourite state when it comes to thinking about his future: denial. The only addressing of the issue he'll do in the present is fleetingly allow the possibility that there will be no presentation of any business opportunity, so there's no point fighting about it.
A violent snowstorm descends and remains until the day before the grand opening. That event becomes the family's light at the end of the frigid tunnel, preventing them from turning into a bunch of Jack Torrances. Peter thinks it's amazing how he can be in a place as big as the compound and still feel trapped by the weather. Tony just melts the snow in their laneway, so there isn't even anything for Peter to shovel. When she's asked to give a casual mid-exam season presentation at a local college, Liz lets him know, still not offering definitive confirmation on their non-date. The texts become few and far between.
Peter devotes serious effort to getting his hair arranged just right, using the correct amount of the subtle cologne he received for his birthday, and sitting carefully in the car so his dress pants and shirt don't get wrinkled, but it's pointless―when he and his family walk into the finished dining room on the first floor of the Park, he just knows that Liz isn't there. They hand their outerwear into the coat check and, surreptitiously, he checks his phone. Nothing. Peter can't imagine showing up alone to a party where he was a plus one, but he's dangling from the slim possibility that it's a thing Liz might do because she seemed so at ease in the company of strangers.
He cranes his neck, trying to peer through the packed room of generally good-looking under-thirties. She could be here. Maybe she's intimidated by the thought of meeting his dad (people are still like that around Iron Man) and that's why she didn't travel with them from the compound. Peter ignores how the thought of her being scared of his dad but not a roomful of strangers doesn't really make sense, his heart anxiously racing. Harley takes pity on him―Peter must look really pathetic―and goes to investigate, Morgan darting through the crowd after him.
Harley can be as charming as he wants to be, and charm gets results. Regularly, he'd boast about the winding path he navigated to emerge with the truth, but when he leads Morgan back to the spot where Peter's indecisively lingering, his miserable brother doesn't look up to hearing all that. He skips to the end and informs Peter that Liz isn't at the opening. Word is, she had a sudden opportunity that took her away from Albany. Somebody said Syracuse, somebody else said all the way to Pittsburgh. Peter's face falls and Harley goes even farther, hunching to catch his brother's eye and offer an excuse on Liz's behalf―she probably forgot to text because she left in a hurry and she can't do it while she's driving.
While he's speaking, Harley spots one of the Park's residents over Peter's shoulder.
"The other possibility," he tells his brother, "is that the pull of hanging out with you wasn't a match for what might be keeping her away. No offense."
Confused, Peter turns, probably a little too obviously, and sees Michelle. So Vision told Harley Liz's story; he sighs. The sight of Michelle with her back to the wall, taking a breather from the guests and delicately gripping a pale glass of wine, makes Peter's jaw clench. The history lesson Liz provided worsened his opinion of Michelle, for sure, but seeing her in person makes it so much more real. And the timing, with him just finding out Liz won't be coming and that it's possibly (probably) Michelle's fault, heaps Peter's disappointment onto the destructive pyre of his negative feelings. She's unbelievable. Best friend of the host or not, Peter won't be going near her tonight. He puts his back to her and does an unfairly shitty job of congratulating Wanda on her event when she appears in front of the three siblings a minute later.
Ned is his salvation. Hate, anger, grudges―these things make Peter feel physically sick, but his best friend's a genius at noticing when something's wrong and talking it out with him until Peter's ok again. They do their conferring at one of the gorgeously decorated tables, snacking on hors d'oeuvres in between. Since Flash showed up, Peter hasn't enjoyed a lazy afternoon at Ned's place. This is good. They're laughing and joking before long, which seems like the perfect time to bring Ned up to speed on Flash's ridiculousness. They shut up fast when the guy himself grabs the chair next to Peter, spins it around, and sits down at their table. For fuck's sake. Peter tenses, petrified that this is it, Flash's big business proposal, but Flash jumps up again soon enough, saying something about comparing notes with the DJ. Oh god, that's right. DJing is Flash's side hustle. The poor bastard Wanda hired for tonight doesn't know what's coming.
After a minute, this strikes Peter as totally hilarious. He snorts and points it out to Ned. They break down completely into laughter. Peter's sighing out a last laugh and drying his eyes, reassuring himself that the worst of this party is behind him now, when what's actually behind him turns out to be Michelle. He's startled that she wants to talk to him, even more startled that she wants to dance with him, and more startled than is probably medically advisable when he hears himself stammer out a 'yeah, sure.'
Peter rises and, out of Michelle's sightline, mouths what am I doing?! to Ned. Ned shrugs desperately and mouths back I don't know.
He trails Michelle close enough not to lose her, through the tables and the people and the wait staff to the smaller, adjacent room that yawns out of the main one. Its permanent fixture is a bar and, for tonight's event, it also features the DJ's setup and a dance floor. Peter spots Flash talking to (shouting at) the DJ and really hopes the guy's flirting rather than telling the man how to do his job.
This arrangement, designed to prioritize the guests' pleasure over their ability to network, wouldn't go over so great at an SI function (their guests are only into the waltzing to classical music because it's fancy), but Wanda's circle is younger, irreverent, and determined to have a good time after making the trek up from NYC. Peter knows that's where most of them came from because it was one of the details Wanda generously opened up to him about when he was staying here.
The carefree vibe in the room hits him like a warm gust of wind. Also, the air is warmer in here with a couple dozen people dancing. Peter's the most out of place person. Well, him and maybe Michelle; when he glances at her from the corner of his eye, she looks like she's pushing through some major trepidation. For a moment, he shifts from wondering why he agreed to why the hell she asked him in the first place.
They're hesitating at the edge of the dance floor like a couple of wallflowers when, rather boldly, Michelle turns to him and says, "You wanna wait for a―"
"Faster one?"
"―slower one?"
The DJ's playing around with kind of a middle ground pop-y beat and Peter figured a faster song would be a way to work out some of his terrified-slash-furious adrenaline while paying more attention to the rhythm than to his partner. The implications of Michelle's preference for a slow dance are... well, Jesus―they're baffling. It would mean being face to face and holding her actual body with his actual hands. Forget that they're 22-year-old adults. The realization makes Peter sneak a look at Michelle and consciously notice what she's wearing: a dress that rests off her shoulders, hugs her torso, and swishes downward from her hips. It reminds him not unpleasantly of formal wear in prom scenes from '80s movies―his favourite decade for classic films. Also, he's wearing blue and grey while she's in blues and greens, meaning they kinda match, which intensifies the prom feel.
Peter doesn't know a swear word in English or Spanish powerful enough to suit how dizzily disarmed he feels. Or maybe he does and he just can't think of it. What kind of messed up dimension did he walk into tonight? Warning bells should've gone off in his head sooner. This is so clearly wrong.
"You know," she says quickly, "because I thought waltzing was more your thing?"
Oh right. Of course Michelle's suggestion has nothing to do with swaying against Peter, she was just trying to pick something he'd be more comfortable with. Except, wait, that's considerate of her, which also doesn't make sense.
Across the room, the DJ decides for them―possibly under the demonic influence of grinning, tipsy Flash―and a faster song plays. Peter doesn't take her hand to guide her through the cluster of dancers, but he feels the spectre of her touch on his sleeve, right above his elbow. He can neither solve nor make any fucking sense of this situation, so he just turns to face Michelle when he reaches an open spot on the floor and starts, self-consciously, to dance. The music's blissfully loud now that they're near the speakers and while they're awkward with each other, neither of them is rhythmically impaired. Someone bumps into him from behind, forcing Peter closer to Michelle, and he laughs nervously (not that she'll be able to hear him). Michelle gives him a small but genuine-looking smile in return. Suddenly, it's almost endurable.
Then the fast song abruptly fades out―so abruptly that Peter hears Flash yell, "Play something slow!" over the brief vacuum of sound. The switch in tempos is jarring and one of many reasons, Peter assumes, that Flash isn't a full-time DJ. The new song drags and claws and pleads in a way that's both sort of soothing and also intensely sensual. Peter quits standing there, staring at Michelle, and plants his hands on her waist.
It's less than a second later that it occurs to him he could've just thanked her and booked it back to Ned. There was no contract for more than one song. Idiot.
In low heels, she's taller than him. Probably without them too, though he's never been this close to her. His fingers slip across the back of her dress, automatically closing her in, and Michelle's forearms settle on his shoulders, her hands disappearing behind his neck. They'd be able to talk now, if they wanted, but as soon as Peter makes up his mind to get through it in silence, he remembers Liz. Liz, who Michelle betrayed. Liz, who could be here but isn't. Michelle's as cornered by this dance as he is and, if he builds up to it, he might be able to confront her about Liz before the chance passes him by.
Starting small, Peter notes that it was a good idea for Wanda to have dancing. Michelle agrees. And says nothing more. Well, he never should've expected her to make this easy. Peter licks his lip, not looking at his partner, and brainstorms another attempt he could make at conversation. It's the strangest feeling, having Michelle's arms around him. He can smell perfume over his own cologne. Focus.
"You could help," Peter blurts. Their eyes meet.
"What?"
"I'm not carrying this conversation by myself." It comes out too aggressively and Michelle narrows her eyes at him.
"Well, I didn't ask you to talk, I asked you to dance."
"We can't just..." Peter nods between them, indicating their postures, their hold on each other. "...and not talk. It's weird."
Michelle glances around, exasperating him, then jerks her head sideways.
"They're not talking."
He looks where she's indicated. The couple's making out.
"That's not funny."
She shrugs.
"Fine, if you want me to talk, give me a topic."
The challenging look in her eyes, the one that screams any topic, I dare you, just irritates Peter and he elects to give up.
"I changed my mind," he says. "We're done talking."
But now he's provoked her. Apparently.
"Can't you just do one thing at a time or are you a perpetual multi-tasker?" she demands. His hands are on her hips and he doesn't know how that happened or how to get out of it without attracting her attention. No way is he doing that. He hears himself responding out of what has to be a survival instinct.
"I guess I'm generally a multi-tasker. It's hard to pick one thing, or nothing. And talking and dancing isn't exactly painful. Usually," he adds, hoping the spite balances out his too-intimate grip on her.
"You say that like it's a statement instead of an opinion," Michelle points out. "Are you speaking me for me too?"
She doesn't sound mad, more like amused, and that's annoying as hell because he's sick of her laughing at him from behind her deceptively warm eyes.
"For both of us," Peter confirms, riled. "I think, I think we might actually be pretty alike in how we feel about socializing. Neither of wants to be the center of attention. We're stubborn, shy," he says toughly like she'll argue or tease him for admitting it about himself, "not really interested in joining a conversation unless it's on something we're passionate about, or know a lot about, because we don't like looking like fools."
He's almost panting by the time he's done, holding her even more securely, and Michelle looks disconcertingly―no, unnervingly―calm in contrast to how Peter feels. If he wasn't so worked up and distrustful of his own senses, he'd swear he feels her fingers skim the nape of his neck.
"Is that you?" she asks. Her voice is startlingly soft, shockingly earnest. "I don't know if that's exactly me either, but I think you think it is."
"I..." Peter's at a loss for a moment. "I'm not going to go back and analyze myself just for something to say."
Michelle doesn't reply, doesn't say anything for a short eternity as the song swells. She speaks again, inclining her head slightly towards his. Peter gulps and tries not to make direct eye contact.
"Do you and your siblings go to Albany a lot?"
He's grateful for how benign the question is and nods. Michelle draws back like, there, she's done it, she's been polite enough to ask something almost personal, and now her obligations as the host's best friend are fulfilled. Something dangerous inside Peter won't let her off that easy.
"Actually," he adds, "we'd just met somebody really interesting right before you and Wanda showed up."
Michelle's practically straining against his hands now, like she'll break his hold and stride away. He's barely taunting her. Can he already have gone too far? Her expression takes on the detached don't come near me look he remembers from the SI benefit, but she doesn't say a word, just seems to gather and restrain everything she might be feeling behind that inscrutable face. Peter's sure he's screwed up badly and he can't figure out what to say to fix it, so he keeps his mouth shut.
The song transitions into another, but he can't think of a worse time for them to separate. For the sake of tonight, for Wanda, for how bad it would look if the son of Tony Stark and Michelle Jones, artist extraordinaire, were photographed fighting, they can't walk away from each other with anything colder than indifference. Maybe Michelle feels the same, or she just doesn't notice because she's too far inside her own head, but her arms are still encircling his neck.
Finally, she speaks.
"People tend to like Liz." This doesn't leave Michelle's lips as a compliment. More of a chilly verdict. "She's definitely 'interesting.' One of the most interesting things about her is her stories."
"You're in some of them."
Their eyes lock.
"Like you said," Peter reminds Michelle, her words from that afternoon upstairs coming back, "people are who they are."
A tense moment stretches out until...
She whips her head around, shattering their stare, and Peter sees that Wanda's touched her friend's back. Wanda hasn't ventured onto the dance floor alone―she's being expertly supported by a dazed-eyed Vision. While Michelle's not looking at Peter, he takes a deep, steadying breath. For a minute there, he forgot they aren't alone.
Facing him again, she says, "What were we talking about? Wanda distracted me."
"Nothing. I think we might as well admit defeat; this conversation thing's not gonna happen."
Michelle looks cautiously into his eyes.
"Read any good books lately?" The smirk in the corner of her mouth is almost maybe trying to be a smile.
"None that you would've heard of. And vice versa, probably," Peter says quickly so she won't think he was being a snob. "I don't think our tastes in books have a lot of overlap."
She shrugs lightly.
"Maybe our different knowledge bases will make our discussion more interesting. Or we can apply the viewpoints of our contrasting disciples to the same topic."
"I don't... I don't think I'm really in the right mindset to talk about books," Peter begs off. Wow, the DJ is seriously not helping him out here. The song's being looped and teased to unnatural length. This dance might never end.
"Too caught up in the moment?"
"Right," he agrees without really listening.
She remains silent long enough for him to start thinking back to what they were saying before Wanda's appearance sidetracked them, then to what Michelle said in the past that Peter brought up.
"Another thing you said," he begins carefully, "was that you couldn't learn to like someone. That you never change your mind about a person once you've made it up. I guess you must pay close attention to anyone who comes into your life, so that you'll know if you need to make up your mind about them. Like, in a negative way."
"Yeah..."
"And it's always your direct experience that you base your decision on?" Peter's hitting some kind of stride here. "Not assumptions or, or extrapolating from a single behaviour to predict the worst about somebody?"
She's frowning.
"Not on purpose."
"I can see how you'd wanna decide right the first time, since it's the also the last time."
Michelle dips her chin to look at him square.
"Are you going somewhere with this?"
"Just thinking out loud. Trying to..." Peter shakes his head in overwhelmed confusion. "...to figure you out."
There's a sudden tightness around her eyes, but it's beyond him to attribute it to a particular emotion. She's hard―nearly impossible―to read.
"How's that coming along?"
"It's really not," he says candidly, lifting a hand from her hip for a useless gesture. He swallows as he cautiously touches her again, but it's more like choking. They aren't swaying anymore. "You seem to be one way with one person and the complete opposite with someone else. It's like you're two separate people!"
She lifts her eyebrows at him and she doesn't have to speak for Peter to know what she's implying. It's pretty pot-kettle of him, the dork formerly known as Spider-Man, to accuse her of being two separate people.
"It's not the same," he says defensively.
"Because you always managed to gain control of your narrative, even when there were two?" Her voice has a sly fierceness that pulls him in and makes his spine go rigid. "I know your new friend, so I know what you've been told. You don't want to figure me out," she tells him, shaking her head.
Peter narrows his eyes at her.
"Don't I?"
"Not now, not from Liz's version. Whatever you're dying to say won't do either of us any good."
"Oh, like I'm going to get a chance like this again," he says with a sarcasm he doesn't recognize.
Her expression is entirely closed off.
"Who am I to get in the way of a Stark's good time?"
With these final words, Michelle turns her back on him and sound comes flooding into Peter's senses as he watches her dodge other guests to slip away.
MJ plucks a fresh glass of wine from a circulating tray in the main dining room, full of happily chattering people, and retreats to an unoccupied table. When she gets there, she's too restless to sit, so she paces, getting nearer and nearer to a corner of the room before she gives in and stays there, allowing her back to slump into the wall. The wine isn't to drink, just to hold, and she briefly occupies her other hand with twisting her hair up off her neck, then letting it fall. She exhales. She's cooling off now―emotionally as well as physically―and everything she forgot about while Peter was staring her in the face, flaunting what he 'knows' about the kind of person she is, is coming back. Peter. He's gullible and open and she hasn't been nice to him, hasn't let herself be. MJ forgives him and it feels good. She can breathe. She remembers now: it's not his fault. It's Liz's.
Author's Note:
WELL?!
The next chapter's a long one! Things at the open house go from bad to worse (aka Starks on Parade) and Flash wants to have a little chat with Peter :)
To be continued...
