Author's Note:

Bit of a change in tone for this chapter...

XXV

Peter didn't know what this feeling was, but he knew it was a weird one. It was the feeling of listening to Ned as he prepared to give his best friend advice right after he'd spent too long in the guy's bathroom, giving himself a hasty and unglamorous sink bath to wash away any trace of sex-smell from his person. While they'd been at Yankee Stadium, he and MJ had made plans to meet up back at his and May's apartment later. Peter couldn't wait. Before that could happen though―he restlessly reminded himself―she had to drop Cindy off at home and eat dinner with her mom. Peter had to scarf pizza with Ned in between providing suitable responses to so many details of his best friend's relationship that he really didn't want to hear.

"But Betty's over the Night Monkey thing?" Peter checked, interrupting Ned's assertion of his handjob prowess (to bolster his credibility, he'd been giving examples of instances when his girlfriend had shown clear signs of appreciation―Peter had not asked for examples).

"Dude, where have you been? No, never mind, I know where you've been. Thank god we still chat online. But that Night Monkey crisis was a lifetime ago," Ned said with a blasé gesture.

"You were talking about it at my birthday party, man! That was like… two weeks ago!"

"Seventeen days."

"Ok, seventeen days," Peter agreed.

"So, like I said, a lifetime ago. What Betty and I have… it's a growing flower. It's a continuous dawn. It's―"

"Honestly going to make me sick if you don't take it easy on the metaphors. Just tell me what actually happened," he urged, leaning back into the corner of the couch.

"She forgave me for making up Night Money," Ned confirmed.

"And for keeping my identity a secret? She has to have," Peter said. "You did that because I asked you to. It was a secret from everyone."

"Yeah, we talked all of that out. What Dr. Banner had to say about patience and understanding and how to be straightforward really helped. I must've put his words into practice pretty well because Betty gets it now. Actually," he said, perking up with a chuckle, "she told me it was super heroic of me to keep your secret."

"It was," Peter agreed, softening after letting himself get irritated by the way Ned liked to ramble about his relationship. He might be stressed, but he needed to remember to cut his best friend some slack. He'd barely seen the guy this summer. That wasn't normal for them. They were always going to need to do some major catching up, and of course that would include discussing their relationships. It was just that Ned had slightly different boundaries.

"And then she asked me if I knew what the reward was for being so brave," Ned went on. "And I said, 'No, babe, will you tell me?' Then Betty said, 'But, babe, I could just show you.' And the next thing I knew, she was getting down on her knees on the carpet and―"

Case in fucking point about boundaries.

"Whoa, that's ok. I'm good. End of story."

"Peter. You're such a prude. It's ok. You and I are going through the same things. We're both educated, sexually voracious young men―"

"Ugh!"

"―in consenting relationships with a perfectly healthy physical component."

"Dude. No. Yes, but no," Peter urged, hoping the disturbed expression he could feel on his face would make these horrific words stop leaving his best friend's mouth―a mouth responsible for deeds that he really, really hadn't needed to know anything about. Like, it was super great that Ned and Betty had such a strong, trusting connection and didn't feel any shame in talking about the intimate side of that connection, but maybe other people minded.

…At the same time, he was sort of thinking how hilarious it would be to tell Betty that MJ was looking to learn new blowjob techniques, then watch his girlfriend get ambushed with a graphic conversation in the near future. (And, hey, if any interesting tips were imparted, Peter would not be averse to them being implemented in the near future after that near future.)

"Fine," Ned sighed. "I hope you'll feel comfortable coming to me about this stuff if you ever need to though."

"These are words I never thought I'd be saying to you, but, Ned, you're not my dad. Also, you called me over to help you with this stuff, so I'm confused. It doesn't sound like you need help, with you acting all all-knowing and everything."

"Peter, I'm a lifelong learner. A scholar with the curious heart of a child. Besides, you bring a different perspective to the table."

"And that table is…?"

"A metaphorical support for the sexual banquet of our young passions."

"I swear to god, dude, I will leave," Peter threatened.

"You seeing MJ after this?"

"Yes, but don't ask me about MJ right now," he requested, shifting in his seat. "I feel weird bringing her into this conversation."

"Ok, then how's…" Ned frowned thoughtfully. "Flash? How's Flash? Are you guys still talking?"

"Weirdly, yes," Peter confessed.

"Weird."

"Yeah, well, you know that the school didn't delete our accounts when the summer school courses ended, so Flash still messages me and I still message him back. The strangest thing about it is that it's kinda not a big deal? I dunno."

"Wasn't he trying to flirt with you sometimes though?"

"He'd try it every once in a while," Peter had to admit. "But there hasn't been any of that since… maybe a couple weeks ago."

"That's good."

"And he's been nicer." He stared at Ned's open-mouthed shock, relating to it deeply. "Dude, I know," he said insistently.

"But do you think he's just being nice to try to, you know, get in your spidey-pants?"

"I don't think he's that devious. Flash is a pretty what-you-see-is-what-you-get guy, don't you think?"

Ned nodded.

"Besides, the nice things aren't anything remotely pick-up-line-y. He keeps offering to 'lend an ear' if I want to talk about 'what I'm going through,'" Peter said, putting the guy's words in air quotes. "He actually told me he believes in me and that he'd be 'proud to fight at Spider-Man's side.'"

"Weird!" his best friend commented again. "I mean, he's definitely lying because, speaking as someone who's honoured to help you kick ass from behind the scenes but would be a total chickenshit in an actual battle, Flash is a total chickenshit. It takes one to know one. But I guess he means it, if he seemed like he meant it."

"He did. So… I think we might be friends now."

"I like that for you two," Ned said, squinting and nodding like Flash was a shirt Peter had tried on and Ned was a tailor, determining that it would be a good fit after minor alterations. "Friendship. It'll come in handy once this Beck stuff dies down and you come back to school and start openly dating MJ again. If you hadn't firmly acknowledged this thing with Flash to be friendship but you guys had gotten closer, there would've been a serious showdown."

"What, between Flash and MJ? No way."

"Flash is an entitled prick, no offense to your new friend, and MJ would literally kill a man for you. Flash could be that man, Peter!"

"Pfft, the worst thing she's ever done to Flash is pour juice on him. She wouldn't even consider him enough of a threat to raise her voice to him."

"Dude," Ned said sternly, "I watched your girlfriend smash a killer drone with a medieval weapon. She's got it in her. She could end him."

"She definitely could," Peter agreed, smiling proudly, "but she wouldn't. She has too much restraint."

"Speaking of restraints…"

"I said restraint, not restraints! How are you so open about…" He faltered for a second. "…sex?"

His best friend shrugged.

"It's part of who I am and there's nothing wrong with it. I'm well aware that it freaks you out―"

"Yep."

"―but I know it doesn't bother you to the extent that you'd, like, reject me as a friend or judge me. You've always given me a safe space to discuss my relationship with Betty, so how I feel about sex has become a healthy part of my identity. Thank you for your support."

Oh fuck, he got really earnest there. It made Peter feel like, in exchange for Ned's vulnerability, he could be more open to discussing this, since Ned and Betty were both ok with it. He wanted Ned to keep feeling as though he could mention this kind of thing to Peter and trust him. He met his friend's eye and nodded.

"Of course, man. What do you need to talk about? How can I help?"

Thanks to their friendship, he had another epiphany about behaviour. As Ned expressed his uncertainties and self-consciousness about taking that next big step with his girlfriend and having sex, an out-of-the-way corner of Peter's mind twisted and studied what his best friend had said about identity. Did he feel the same way about Spider-Man that Ned felt about sex? Spider-Man was part of who Peter was, and he'd never thought there was anything wrong with that (aside from how much the biological changes had scared the crap out of him in the beginning). Maybe it frightened other people―mostly when they thought he killed a man in London―but if they knew the truth, that he was innocent, then they should accept him back into their communities and their conversations as a good guy, a guy who tried to be a hero, and, essentially, a neighbour. They couldn't give their support unless he asked for it and Peter thought he might be ready to do that.

He actively listened to and reassured Ned, hoping that the world (or even just Queens―even just Queens would be awesome) would listen to and reassure him. Peter's best friend had asked him to come over to share some knowledge, but as usual, Ned had been the one to dispense the real wisdom.

"Virginity is a construct," Peter promised. It was something MJ had taught him. "When you and Betty, uh, do it, you won't have anything to worry about. You guys trust each other. You've been, um, trying stuff together already. The mechanics of, uh…" God, he was trying so hard, but he was choking.

"Lovemaking?" his friend suggested.

"Sure," he agreed weakly. "The mechanics are really straightforward. It's honestly all about your mental game, and yours is strong, dude. I'm sure you'll be great at it."

He cringed as he said it, but Ned beamed like it was exactly what he'd needed to hear.

"Peter. Thank you."

"Only you know for sure," Peter added, rallying, "but after everything you said, I think you're ready for this. Don't let overthinking it make you afraid."

"You swear it's not a big deal?"

"Doesn't have to be."

His best friend looked contemplative for a minute, then asked another one of those questions he was so good at―the kind that made Peter feel like someone had just run past and pantsed him.

"You think I'll be able to bring Betty to orgasm?"

Trying not to let his powerful internal wincing show on his face, Peter nodded.

"You can do anything, man."

"Because they say it can be difficult to bring a woman to orgasm through penetration alone and―"

"I told you you can do anything," Peter said, really at the end of his spider rope now. "Just consider that a blanket vote of confidence and don't make me comment on anything specific."

Ned smiled in understanding.

"Fair enough."

"Thank you."

"You did good," his friend assured him. "I feel better. It doesn't seem as intimidating."

"Well, it is," Peter had to allow. Memories of the first time he'd run his hands over MJ's completely bare skin crinkled brightly in his brain like aluminum foil. "But Betty's going to be feeling the exact same way, so just… try to remember that you aren't in it alone. It's kind of scary for both of you and whatever happens, you guys'll be alright. You love each other."

"Yeah, we do," Ned concurred with an expression of contentment. "You want more pizza? I think it's getting cold, so I'm gonna microwave a slice."

"Sure."

While his friend went to the kitchen, Peter pulled out his MJ-phone, the only phone he was allowed. Since he was with Ned right now and saw most of the other people he cared about at least once a day, she was the only one he was really longing for right now; didn't matter that they'd been together just that afternoon. She was MJ. She would always be the one Peter longed for most. He smiled when the phone vibrated in his hand. Had MJ been thinking about him right when he was thinking about her? That was gooey and lovey in a very Ned-and-Betty way and those moments were the ones he secretly cherished, as much as they made his girlfriend roll her eyes.

The adoring smile fell from his face as he read her text.

Hel

"MJ's in trouble," he heard himself say to Ned, the words flowing out as automatically as his body had risen from the couch, feet taking him past his best friend and the scent of warming pizza. He paused with the doorknob gripped in his hand, resting his forehead against the door. No. The window would be faster.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," his friend said, chasing him back across the apartment. "Peter, wait, oh my god, Peter, wait!"

Peter paused to look back from where he was climbing out the living room window, accepting that Ned's expression was seriously alarmed without really having the room in his brain to give reassurance.

"What's going on?"

"Would she still be eating dinner with her mom?" It wasn't a question for Ned, but Peter asked it aloud, gaze unfocused. "If she is, they're both in trouble, but if she's not, she went to my apartment and she's there alone. Ok," he said, meeting his best friend's eyes now. "I think MJ's in danger and I'm going home to see if she's there first."

With that, he scrambled up the side of Ned's building, hearing his friend call out, "TEXT ME AND LET ME KNOW IF SHE'S OK!" Peter couldn't answer, he was already on the roof, swinging his arms and psyching himself up. He'd come into the city unprepared. He didn't want to say this one was on Ms. Romanoff, but she'd told him more than once that his Spidey suits were obvious, so when he'd traveled from the compound with Shuri and Okoye, he'd worn jeans and a t-shirt. No wallet even. More importantly, no distance calibrations from Karen, no durable fabric to act as a second skin if he wiped out, and no webs to catch him if he fucked up. But MJ was in danger. That made things simple, narrowing his mind down to this next move. With a deep breath, Peter gripped his phone in his hand so it wouldn't go flying out of his pocket and sprinted to the edge of the roof. When he got there, he kicked off as hard as he could. Shit, he thought, in midair between Ned's apartment building and the next one, this is a lot higher than jumping the fence at school.

Miraculously, he landed instead of plummeting to his death or serious injury, taking the fall with a quick tuck. The stupid roof tore his t-shirt a little as he rolled with his shoulder, but he'd managed to spare most of the skin of his arm. Awesome! Only… a bunch more rooftops to go!

Peter was on his feet immediately, once again booking it to the very edge and leaping so hard that he could feel the heat in his legs with the force of his launch. This was quicker than running and less obvious than bounding down the sidewalk where people were way more likely to spot him. In terms of being seen, this was risky enough; it was still bright outside and not all of these buildings had taller ones to throw shadows that Peter could try to use for cover. Didn't matter. He completed another run-kick-jump-land, ignoring how the impacts were starting to wind him, how the tar and gravel rooftops had ripped the shoulder and back of his t-shirt ragged. His skin felt hot and he knew it was either roof-rash or blood. If MJ turned out to be totally fine, Peter wouldn't be sorry. When there was someone he loved, someone who was his family, in harm's way, he'd rather push himself to the limits of his human and enhanced abilities than slack off and have to live with the regret of not doing enough. What he hoped for was that he'd find MJ sitting at his kitchen table and that she'd make a joke about how he looked like shit when he walked in.

Please, he thought, thudding down hard when his body started to reject his order to brace for the collision, please let her be safe.

There were so many things not right with that text message. Not that he could check it now; the gap between the last buildings had been wide and he'd smashed his phone barely getting across, slamming his stomach into the edge of the roof and hauling himself up. He'd let the broken pieces rain down. Felt like some might still be lodged in his palm. Peter wiped his nosed with the back of his hand and smelled blood. 'Hel' meant nothing to him. If MJ had been trying to say 'Hell' or 'Hello,' she would've either typed it correctly the first time or sent a speedy follow-up with the correction. She didn't let her mistakes dangle. The explanation that seemed most likely, and most terrifying, was that she'd been texting 'Help' and had either had to press Send prematurely or had sent it by accident while having the phone knocked out of her hand through some violent action that he really didn't want to consider the specifics of. Peter's brain was going crazy though. His body was on fire and all he tried to visualize was MJ at his kitchen table. MJ sitting. MJ safe. She could flip him off when he came in, call him a loser and a moron. She could break up with him for real because him barging in like a maniac, looking like Thor-knew-what would turn out to have been an insane, paranoid course of action. Peter would accept being dumped if it meant she was alive and able to do it. He needed her heart to be beating, but he'd be happy for her to break his.

When he reached the roof of his and May's once-and-future apartment building, he skidded down the side too fast, rubbing his fingertips raw on brick and leaving sweaty, bloody smears on people's windows, the rails of their balconies, as he grabbed and swung himself down and around until he'd descended to the floor where he used to live.

Fuck. The window was open, the lock inside shattered by a jerk of force. The metallic scrapes in the sill suggested clamps or hooks had been attached here. Even without the signs of an unwelcome entry, he knew his girlfriend wouldn't have left the window open; she'd been complaining about the heat in their texts and there was no way she'd let the heavy humid night in while her precious air-conditioned air escaped.

Peter dove inside feet-first, landing in a soundless squat and numb to the stretch in his abused thighs, the needled feeling of debris embedded in his palm as he spayed his fingers wide on the carpet. He was in the dark living room. In the bizarre quiet, he straightened up, taking in the couch (shoved out of position), the coffee table (cracked and overturned), and the dents in the wall (despite the unintentional damage he'd done to his aunt's apartment, he'd never done that). Briskly and silently, he moved through the room, checking behind the couches, scanning the carpet until he spotted the sign he didn't want to see: blood. And then two men sprawled on their stomachs. Maybe they still had pulses, maybe not; at that point, Peter abandoned stealth and raced through the rest of the apartment―kitchen, bathroom, May's room. He couldn't hear his feet pounding on the floor, his hands slapping walls as he took a zigzagging course like a pinball. The only sound was the high buzz in his head.

"MJ!" tore from his throat.

He was about to push open the door of his bedroom when it swayed out of reach of his fingertips seemingly on its own.

"Oh god, oh thank god," he said, stumbling inside and straight into his girlfriend's arms.

"I'm ok, I'm ok," she repeated. He could feel her shaking, but she let her head fall on his shoulder and gripped his upper arm hard with her left hand.

Peter's eyes darted to the third person in the room―the Black Widow.

"Are there any more of them?" he asked her.

If Ms. Romanoff was relaxed, he already had his answer, but Peter's body wouldn't lose its tension, his brain wouldn't shut off the alert. He looked again at the girl in his arms. She was as strange and familiar as his own reflection. He pressed a hard kiss to the side of her head.

"Just the two in the living room," the spy reported. "I've already called in a team of local agents to sweep the surrounding blocks. I spotted a suspicious vehicle on my way up. Hood was still hot, overly tinted windows, not a mark on it, including fingerprints on the door handles. Checked it out," she assured him with a tilt of her head before he could ask, "but it was empty."

"So, but you… and she…?"

His eyes felt as wide as moons, his fear for MJ's life nowhere near as remote, though it was beginning to recede with the help of Ms. Romanoff's intelligence.

"Those guys out there aren't dead, only unconscious."

Peter had a pretty good feeling she was telling him that mainly so that MJ could overhear it, but it might also be the truth. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her even tighter. The way his girlfriend was staying quiet, leaning against him, made him feel profoundly cold.

"Thank you for not… in front of her," Peter said.

Though the vignette they made was probably grim as hell, the spy smirked.

"Oh, most of that was Jones. I just incapacitated them."

"What?"

"Check out what she's holding."

Peter cupped MJ's face and kissed it, over and over until she met his eyes and didn't release his stare―her gaze was steady, even if her trembling body was not. Only then did he ease himself away from her. Shit, his ribs had felt better before he crashed into the side of that one building.

"Hey," he said gently, still supporting her cheek. He'd never felt anything so soft and wonderful, even if he was streaking his own drying blood across her skin with every stroke of his thumb.

"I'm ok," she told him again.

"I know. I know you are."

Maintaining eye contact for as long as possible, Peter finally looked down. MJ had the shaft of her mace in a death grip in her right hand. Well, at least she'd retracted the spikes, otherwise he'd probably have had one jabbing into his leg and wouldn't have noticed over the intensity he felt seeing her alive.

"I guess it's a good thing we got in some practice today," he said carefully, nodding down at her weapon.

A smile flickered before it lit up her face. With it, she took a longer breath and her quivering began to die down. MJ lifted her head from Peter's shoulder and looked at Ms. Romanoff, who'd just finished speaking discretely into a comm.

"Thanks again for my present," she said, raising the mace and giving it a little twirl with her wrist.

"We've got each other's backs, don't we?" the Black Widow asked with a smile. MJ nodded in response. To Peter, she said, "Why don't I tidy up a little while you guys stay put?"

Recognizing that as code for her clearing the down-for-the-count attackers out of his apartment, Peter gave her a nod of his own. She left his bedroom swiftly and managed to shut the door behind her with so much grace and subtly that he couldn't be certain she'd done it on purpose to give them privacy, though that was his guess.

"You can put it down," he said softly and MJ let the mace clatter to the floor. "Good girl."

"Don't patronize me, Parker."

That got a laugh out of him, but he immediately winced. She was coming back into her own head enough by then to notice. She studied him intently and he watched her eyebrows create a deeper and deeper crease between them as she looked him over top to bottom, then circled him.

"Peter…!"

It was a confused, distraught gasp of sound that had him promising her that he was ok too.

"You don't fucking look ok! You look like a giant rubbed your body against a massive cheese grater! What the fuck!"

He shrugged.

"I'll heal."

"What can I do?" MJ demanded. She amazed him. She went from being the scarily quiet target of an attack to trying to regain control of the situation.

"Petition for the city to replace all the rooftops with trampolines?"

"God. Peter."

She yanked him into her arms and when she started to let up, remembering his wounds, he wouldn't let her. But then he started to let up, remembering what a mess he was.

"I'm gonna get you covered in blood," Peter told her. She shook her head against him, hanging on.

"Doesn't matter."

"I know you said you're ok, but are you sure you're not hurt anywhere?"

From the puzzled look on her face, he doubted that she'd had time take stock of herself since the fight ended. Black Widow would've done a cursory check and ignored anything that didn't require urgent medical attention.

"Baby, let me check with Romanoff to see if the coast is clear and we can get cleaned up in the bathroom."

MJ nodded.

"And then maybe you can put on a shirt that doesn't look like a set of blinds," she suggested.

"Thank god you didn't hurt your sarcasm," Peter joked, feeling so much more relief than he let her see as he kissed the side of her head again and went towards the door.

He'd intended to check on the situation alone, not wanting to upset MJ, but she clung to his hand when he moved. He squeezed back, deciding this was better. A quick peek revealed the spy just leaving―she gave them both a nod and vowed to make contact within the hour and provide an update―and the bodies of the attackers already removed.

Peter and MJ padded to the bathroom and, with frequent pained grunts and the constant clench of his jaw, he allowed her to undress him on the cool tiles. He wanted to look her over first, especially after the bright light showed him the beginnings of a bruise darkening her cheekbone, but she seemed steadier with the task of methodically stripping him. She found a washcloth in the linen closet (maybe as used to this apartment now as he was) and delicately wiped blood away from his cuts, skirting more serious gashes. When she ran out of clean spots on the cloth, she rang it out in the sink and ran cold water over it again. While MJ did his back, Peter worked the chips of ruined cellphone out of his hand. Luckily, none of the pieces were smaller than what he could pinch between his fingers and extract with a quick tug. Finally, she lined up band-aids, antibacterial cream, and hydrogen peroxide on the bathroom counter and began to sterilize and hide a ridiculous amount of his torso.

"Sweetheart," Peter told her softly, stilling her hands. "I'm ok now."

"But I―"

"It's your turn."

Her eyes said she was about to put up a fuss the likes of which he'd better believe he'd never seen, but her shoulders dropped.

"I'll give in this one time," MJ said.

"You're not giving in," Peter corrected her, crossing the bathroom stark-naked to turn on the hot water faucet in the bathtub. "You're just doing your post-mission recovery."

"Mission?"

He turned around to watch his girlfriend's gaze slide from his ass to his face and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, M, mission. You took out two guys and most of the stuff in my living room. You're an Avenger now, moron."

"Not sure you're allowed to do that," she said with a smirk as he returned to her, leaving the water running, and began to undress her.

There was more bruising on MJ's hip, like maybe she'd been knocked to the floor or into something, and scrapes on her knees that said she'd gone down hard at some point and her shorts hadn't done anything to protect her. All of it squeezed mercilessly at his heart and his throat, so he kept his gaze lowered, hiding his expression. But it was all nothing, nothing, nothing compared to what could've happened. The questions were piling up in his head now, each a grain of sand, as though someone were emptying an hourglass into his ear. Had they known MJ would be here? Had they followed her to the apartment? Was it a coincidence? Did they know her name, her address? He should call her mom in a minute. Oh shit, he'd have to borrow her phone to do that. First, he'd take care of her.

Peter held MJ's hand, helped her step into the tub, and gave her a cocky grin.

"Yeah, well, I'm Spider-Man."

To be continued...