A/N: The chokehold Anthony Bridgerton has on me right now is illogical. I said what I said. That is all.

Chapter Eleven: I Prefer Spiders to Bees

Songs for this chapter:

"Watermelon Sugar" by Vitamin String Quartet

"Escape the Subway" by Daniel Pemberton

-O-

"Y'know, it would have been faster to swing back," Peter said far too casually. "Just go through the window."

She shook her head. "And you know, you didn't have to bring me home," she countered.

"You're the one still slightly under the influence." he bopped her nose. "And also still crazy enough to suggest walking home at three o'clock in the morning in New York City,"

"Good lord, you're dramatic,"

"Touche. But it's not very gentlemanly. Don't you like that old English show with the dresses and the bees and the pining?"

She gave a startled laugh, one poorly concealing the fact he found a guilty pleasure. "Haha. No, no, no." she looked up at him suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

He quirked a teasing brow. "You gave me your Netflix password, remember?"

"You're right," she said under her breath. "Damn it. You know too much now,"

He offered his arm. She laughed. "You're unbelievable. I am just doing this because Kitty did force another pill down my throat before I left," she said as she took his arm.

His voice was quieter, "How are you feeling now?"

"Like my body has become a static channel on a TV from 1994,"

Peter hummed, amused, "Sounds nice,"

She leaned her head against his shoulder, "It's awesome. 10/10, would recommend. Under less dramatic circumstances,"

She would think later he kissed the top of her head as they walked, but was too timid to ask if he did or not. She liked to think so. He opened the door to her apartment building, taking her keycard from her hands when she nearly dropped it. He asked, when the elevator door closed behind them, "So, what did the dog man from Burbank call you in the meeting earlier?"

She gave a startled laugh. "Um, he's the murder machine from Canada actually. He would so shred you for saying that. And you heard what he called me,"

She leaned against the mirrored elevator wall, tucking her arms around herself, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. Her low bun was mutilated by this point. He leaned one shoulder next to her. A hint of red peeked from underneath his shirt collar. She looked away quickly, eyes darting to the side. When her eyes met his teasing brown ones, she blamed the meds when her eyes darted down briefly. She cleared her throat.

"Not getting younger, Parker,"

He crossed his arms, his sleeve brushing against her upper arm. "He called you MJ, right?"

She mirrored him, crossing her arms, hiding a wince that snuck past the pain meds. "You were in the room,"

He chuckled, "I'm just checking,"

She scoffed, turning away from him. "Whatever,"

He grabbed her hand with a remorseful smile. "C'mon. Kidding. I think it's cute,"

"See," she jabbed him in the chest with their joined hands. "This is why I don't tell people. It makes them think of a little girl with pig-tails and corduroy overalls,"

"Strong maybe on the corduroy, but little girl isn't the vibe right now,"

The elevator dinged, and they both exited the elevator with Peter swinging their hands between them.

"So what's the middle name?"

"What's yours?" she shot back as she dug for her keys. "Where're-?"

He held up the keys. "Barton gave them to me. And it's Benjamin, by the way. See, I actually trust you enough to give you potentially damaging information. It's called trust,"

"Hmm. This word…I don't think you know what it means,"

He beamed at her. "I knew you were awesome,"

She sighed before dramatically looking away from him. "Fineee. It's Jeanette,"

She didn't know how, but he chose the right key on his first attempt. He swung the door open, gesturing, "Age before beauty,"

"That's old enough to make me think your security number is 2,"

He snorted. "Still room for you,"

"That's a low blow. Especially for-," Maren tripped over the rug near the door. He caught her with one arm, flipping the light switch with the other. "That wasn't like that before," She gripped his forearms when the overhead light illuminated her loft in tattered chaos. "Oh, god, Peter,"

His smile dropped. Pushing her behind him, he took a step forward. "Stay here,"

Pictures were smashed, drywall torn from the studs. Five striped claw marks were torn across every fabric surface, not even her leather couch had been spared. She stared for a long moment. No emotion rose to the surface-no panic, terror, even anger. Just dulled realization. He hadn't found what he was looking for. What could they have been looking for? Besides, her location was top secret beyond secret. She kept everything locked inside-

Her eyes darted to her computer. She brushed past Peter as he cleared the rest of her apartment, crawling on walls, the ceiling, up to her loft bedroom which was probably also destroyed.

"Whoever it was is long gone,"

He approached behind her as she re-arranged her monitors, checking for a trojan tracer on her keyboard or any other malware before logging on.

She quirked a brow without looking away from her screen. "Yeah, I'm definitely wondering who could have caused this feline style destruction,"

He peered over her shoulder. "Y'know, you're not worried. Why? No panic. Me? Definitely panicked." she felt his eyes rove across her face. "Vicious sarcasm is also a sign of latent hysteria,"

All her files were unopened, no copies had been made.

"They didn't get anything from here either," she said, swiping against the keyboard, mourning the loss of her painkiller relaxation. "No one even tried for the SHIELD files,"

He grabbed the mouse, scrolling. "So what were they looking for?"

She smacked his hand away, glaring, "Don't touch my stuff,"

He whirled around when the wind from the shattered window blew over a stack of magazines.

"It looks like someone took a virtual crowbar to this though,"

He reluctantly turned back around. His voice was low, quiet, "To what?"

She motioned, "My old X-Men files,"

His frown deepened. "Why would they need any of that?"

Her fingers rapped against the keyboard. "I don't even know. All this stuff is ancient. Maybe some old Project X stuff, identities, but literally everyone in the know knows all this stuff,"

"Anything else they could use? Something they could have missed after their last visit to the school?"

"I don't think-," she turned quickly, not expecting his face to be so close to hers. Her eyes dropped before she said more loudly than she meant. "The roll list,"

His face scrunched. "Like a student list?"

She nodded, "Yeah! That thing is locked down like Fort Knox, or something else more historically relevant. I'm the only one who has a copy outside the school,"

"But why-,"

"Because it keeps an active list of runaways or at-risk kids,"

His eyes widened, "Or more tempting kidnapping victims. That's…" he let out a breath. "That's…fucked,"

"Yup. That's probably how they've always been finding them." A chill went down her back. She wrapped her arms around herself. That's probably how they found me…

Peter pushed away from the desk. "Ok, we need to get to the school,"

"Right now?" she asked, looking at her watch. "Peter, it's past midnight,"

"And you're telling me no one is awake? Teenagers? And sleepless middle-aged people? Right,"

The way his voice didn't allow room for argument irked her.

"Y'know. You don't have to come for the whole field trip thing,"

He met her eyes. "But I've already signed the permission slip,"

"I'm serious, Peter. Who will irritate Jameson while you're gone? I don't think he could take the absence,"

"Maren-,"

"It's fine. You're don't-,"

He stepped closer, "No, you don't understand. We are not going down this-,"

Her temper flared. "I can handle this on my own, Peter!"

"Just pack the damn bag, MJ!" he cried in frustration, raking his hands through his hair. "I'm going. I. Am. Going. With. You. You are not leaving the sight of my eyeballs until this is done,"

She stared in disbelief, trying and failing to speak several times, mouth opening and closing. Awkwardness flowed between them for several long moments, but to his credit, he didn't take back what he said. He rocked back on his heels a couple of times before she said,

"I can't get it from my closet," she offered weakly, her heart thrumming in her chest. She motioned to her ribs and chest. "I can't lift my arms,"

He latched onto her words like a lifeline, zooming past her, taking her stairs two at a time. She sat dumbly, leaning against her ruined leather couch, staring with wide eyes. His voice cracked as he called down,

"Do you want the pink one or the light purple duffel?"

She shook herself. "Pink!"