Title: give up, give in (check the grin you're in love)
Summary: Peter and MJ drive home from university. MJ POV. The consequences of one car, one bed and, on occasion, one room.
Disclaimer: I am not associated with Marvel and make no profit from any of what I am posting.
Chapter 2: The Second Day
Peter's already up and about when MJ wakes up.
She can hear him moving around the room even before she opens her eyes. There's a chilly draft blowing through the room, and MJ's glad for the sweater she'd grabbed before leaving the car.
"Morning," she mumbles, sitting up and blinking at Peter.
He stops what he's doing. Freezes, rather, and it takes MJ a moment to realise that his shirt's off. It's not that MJ hasn't seen Peter with his shirt off before — they've gone swimming loads as kids — but there's something about right now that feels different.
He's grown. Muscled up. His sudden burst of strength yesterday, when they'd piled her belongings into the car, makes sense now. She wonders if he works out; half the guys in her class work out, but it's odd picturing the Peter Parker she's always known heading to the gym each morning. Then again, with Peter, there's always been the other thing too.
"Um, MJ?" Peter says, bringing her back to the present, and it's with a jolt of embarrassment that MJ realises she's been staring.
She turns, her face feels warm, her heart's hammering against her chest uncomfortably and Peter — Jesus, he probably thinks she's mad.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck—
"You can look now," Peter says, and MJ swears his voice is buried with laughter. Like he's amused by MJ and her stupid half-asleep brain.
"What's the plan for today?" she asks. It's an attempt to distract him from her lapse of judgement, but something about the look Peter gives her makes MJ feel like he doesn't buy it.
He sits down at her bed, and the knot in MJ's stomach is back making it impossibly hard for her to meet Peter's eye.
"I figured we could snack for breakfast and stop for a heavy brunch in about four hours," Peter says, leaning over so that she can see him zoom in on the map. "Somewhere near Rock Springs. And then, caffeine and a loo break around four. If we want to reach home by tomorrow, we'd have to reach Iowa City by tonight, but—"
"Thursday's fine," MJ says.
Peter's eyes find her, and something about the way he looks at her makes MJ feel warm on the inside. "Yeah," he says. "That."
"How long is the drive to Iowa City?"
"About seventeen hours. Plus another two or three hours for breaks."
"So it's impossible."
"It doesn't have to be."
MJ rolls her eyes at him. She sits up, because something about the way Peter's half leaning on MJ makes her feel nervous, and says: "You do know that Road Trips aren't supposed to be stressful, right? We don't need to get home by tomorrow."
"I know. It'd just be cool—"
"—and tiring."
He grins at her. "Fine," Peter says, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "We won't push for tomorrow. Though I still expect you to get ready in ten."
"Oh?" MJ says, cocking an eyebrow at him.
"Yes," Peter says, and he leans forward, carefully tucking her hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her skin. MJ closes her eyes at the touch, pushing back a smile.
"Go," Peter says again, and MJ feels his weight disappear from her bed. She sighs deeply, and, bracing herself for the cold, MJ gets out of bed.
They manage to make it to Rock Springs for lunch.
MJ finds a coffee shop just off the main road, and they settle for hot chocolate and bacon, egg, and cheese bagel sandwiches. There's Christmas music blaring on the speakers inside, which shouldn't be a surprise at this point. Peter's eyes gleam with excitement as All I Want For Christmas Is You plays for what feels like the millionth time since they left Stanford, and MJ rolls her eyes at him, sipping at her hot chocolate.
They could get back into the car immediately after; but it's still early in the day, and MJ's legs feel stiff from sitting in the car all of yesterday so, when almost nervously, Peter asks if she'd like to walk around for a bit, MJ instantly says yes.
"Just for ten," Peter tells her, and MJ nods knowing just as well as Peter that neither of them is particularly good at being on time, or sticking to schedules.
They set off, away from the main road, deeper into town, Peter humming under his breath and MJ staring into each shop they pass, taking in the Christmas decorations.
"Oh, all the lights are shining so brightly everywhere, and the sound of children's laughter fills the air," she hears him sing; barely audible but unmistakable to MJ's ears.
She rolls her eyes at Peter, digging her elbow into his side. He makes a face at her, still singing, and playfully shoves her back. Except, the street's icy from the cold and, caught off-guard, MJ slips, her leg skidding on the ice and— she doesn't fall.
Peter grabs her hand, quickly supporting her, palm pressed against the small of her back. He pulls her upright, still holding on, and she's dimly aware of how close he is. MJ takes a step back, willing herself to turn away, but Peter's fingers are still curled around her wrist.
He's awkwardly moving from side to side, lips moving silently. And then, without any warning, he spins her on the spot, singing:
"Baby, all I want for Christmas... is you".
She half-laughs at him, half-lets out a strangled sound of protest as Peter brings her to a halt and points at MJ in time with the final you . She can't believe he just did that. The few others on the street are staring at them, and MJ feels her cheeks go warm. "You're Jewish," she says feebly.
"So?" Peter asks, finally letting go of her.
She raises her hands, trying to gesticulate feelings that her brain hasn't yet found the right words for. "How are you this obsessed with Christmas music?" MJ asks at last.
Peter grins, shrugging at her. "I'm obsessed with all music," he says. "And anyway, it's hard to avoid Christmas when half of America is obsessed with it. Though I won't lie, the closest I've come to celebrating is when I'd help you put up the tree. Remember how your Mum would make hot chocolate for us?"
He remembers , her brain cheers, and MJ beams at him. "God, yes. Every time you'd visit in the winter. For years."
"I won't lie, nothing we've had so far has been half as good as what your Mom would make us."
MJ rolls her eyes. "Oh come on, today's wasn't bad." And, because she doesn't want this trip to be a one-off thing, and also because she would like to meet Peter even when they're back in Queens, MJ adds: "Nate gets her to make it every Christmas. If you want to come over or something."
"Or something," Peter echoes. "Is that an invitation?"
"It might be."
He grins at her. "I'll be there."
He falls asleep the moment they climb back into the car.
MJ puts on a quiet playlist to fill the silence. She stares at him when she stops at a red-light. He's leaning against the window; neck bent awkwardly.
She'd been scared that Peter would feel like a stranger. MJ knows she's changed since freshman year and a part of her had wondered what it would be like if they realised they had nothing in common anymore. They've quickly gotten over that stage though. They're starting to feel almost normal, and MJ's glad for that.
She talked to him about everything that had happened with Brad and the general hell that was her third term during their drive in the morning. Peter'd reached out, taking her hand in his and holding it tight. He'd then told her about Pepper Potts, and Mr Stark's daughter who'll be ten soon, and how she calls him about school stuff all the time. (In a quiet voice, he tells her that he wishes Tony Stark was still around. That he still gets nightmares sometimes. That Ned's the only one at college who knows about what really went down.)
It surprises her how easily they go back to being them. There used to be a time, after the Blip, when they'd hang out on the top of buildings, Peter suited-up and MJ armed with a bag of snacks. They'd sit and talk, MJ ranting about her parents, and Peter telling her about his nightmares, and the fights he gets into.
It used to feel like they were in a world of their own; away from the chaos in the street, and, even though most nights would end with Peter disappearing into the traffic to go save the day, their conversations meant that he trusted her just as MJ trusted Peter.
And, the fact that they're talking now is a reminder that he still trusts her. That they're still friends despite how little they've hung out off-late. The thought warms MJ's heart, and she smiles at herself, glad that, Peter isn't awake to question her about it.
But even though everything feels better, MJ still feels nervous. She'd felt jumpy when Peter had leaned close that morning, and she feels herself go warm every time he stares too long. Her heartbeat seems louder when he talks to her and holds her. Something about Peter's presence still scares her, and MJ hates that she can't place a finger on what.
She wakes Peter up at five, and they take a break to fuel up and split a too-large pizza.
"We should have had this for lunch," Peter tells her, halfway through his third-slice.
"Time's a social construct," she tells him. "So eat when you're hungry and fuck meal timings."
"Literally?" he asks, the ends of his lips quirked in a smile. MJ kicks him under the table, just so that Peter knows that he's not funny. In response, he raises his hands in mock defeat, eyes still gleaming with amusement.
The first lights have started to come on by the time they're done, and linking his arm through hers, Peter says: "We're going to walk."
"We don't need to hold hands," she tells him, frowning.
"We do," Peter says at once. "It's hand holding season, you know. And anyway, this —" he lifts his elbow, raising MJ's arm in the process "— is not holding hands." He pulls his arm out of hers, entwining their fingers. "This is."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "So we're holding hands now?" she asks.
"Yes."
MJ rolls her eyes at him. "Whatever you say," she mumbles, ignoring the heat that rushes to her cheeks.
They take their time walking through town, peering at the decorations in the shop windows and talking about home.
"Mom's taking me to visit her family as soon as we get back," MJ tells him. "And then we're visiting Dad's parents the week after."
"So you're not really going home," Peter says, and he tugs her closer as another couple passes them.
"No," MJ says. "Though I don't mind, to be honest. Dad's not coming to Manhattan with us, and if Mom keeps her cool when we're all together, that's one week of peace I'm guaranteed."
Peter stops walking. "Is it really that bad?" he asks, brow furrowed and lips curved in a frown.
MJ shrugs. "It's fine," she says making to move, but they're still holding hands, and Peter's standing still.
He pulls his hand out of hers, and MJ's surprised at how her body instantly misses the contact. Misses him . But not for long.
Peter cups her cheeks, eyes boring into hers. It feels like he's trying to read her. Like he can read her. Her heart's pounding for some reason, blood rushes to her cheeks.
"Em," he says softly, and she tears her gaze away from him. He hasn't called her that in a while. "You're okay, right?"
I'm fine, she wants to say, but the words never leave her head. And Peter sighs, pulling her against him. He holds MJ tight, rubbing her back comfortingly, and MJ lets herself lean into him.
"I'm here for you, okay?" he says, and MJ nods into his shoulder.
He feels like an anchor, keeping her in this world and making sure she doesn't float away. There's a small part of her that wishes he'd never let go. (A part of her that's scared shell drift of if he does.)
But Peter lets go.
He holds onto her hand until they get back to the car, and then, they're off.
It's almost two when they check into a roadside hotel at Omaha.
The room's smaller than the last place they stayed at, though the lights are just as dull as the last place they'd stayed at. Normally, nothing bothers MJ more than the dim, yellow lights at cheap hotels, but this time, something else catches her eye. MJ stops dead at the door frame, the familiar gnawing feeling back in her stomach.
There's only one bed.
"Peter," she turns to say, but she doesn't need to explain. He's standing behind her. He's seen it too.
"I'll take the armchair."
"No."
He drops his bag, pulling his phone out of his pocket and, before MJ can protest, sinks into the worn-out armchair that sits against the wall.
"For fuck's sake, you've been driving all day."
"So?"
"Peter."
Lips quirked. Eyes flashing with a challenge. "MJ."
"I'm not sleeping on the bed if you aren't."
"Oh," he says, and if she didn't know better, MJ would have sworn he was flirting. He doesn't move, though. MJ doesn't either.
She throws her hands in the air, glaring daggers at him, and sits down on the carpeted floor. "You know I'm more than capable of being stubborn," MJ says, hugging her knees to her chest. Peter stares at her warily. She can tell he's trying to find a way out of this. That he knows just as well as she does that MJ won't settle for anything less than fair.
"I could ask for another room," he says, sliding off the chair. MJ wonders, for a fleeting second, if Peter's going to hug her again and instantly hates the disappointment that tugs at her heart when he sits down opposite her instead.
"It's late, and it's fine," she says. "Really."
Peter's still staring at her. Brow furrowed and with an intensity that makes MJ squirm.
"Fine," he says, and she grins, climbing onto the bed and pulling out her phone to catch up on a day's worth of news while Peter heads to the bathroom to change. He's quiet when he gets out, sitting on the edge of the bed and eyes not fully meeting hers. Agreeing to sleep on the same bed hadn't seemed like a big deal, but MJ's suddenly aware of how small the bed is and, more than that, of how close they'd be.
He's asleep when MJ gets out of the shower. She lifts her backpack onto the armchair, digging through it for her stuff. She pulls her hair into a loose pony-tail, dumps her day's clothes into the cloth bag she's using as a laundry bag. The cold hits her as MJ takes the towel off her shoulders, and she digs through the bag for the sweater she'd worn last night.
It's not there.
MJ glances back, scanning the room, knowing already that she didn't bring it up. It's probably still in the car.
She swears in her head, tugging at the thin sleeve of her pyjama top. She's going to freeze.
She has half-a-mind to go out and fetch it from the car, but it'll probably be colder outside. And anyway, MJ doesn't fancy wandering around the place all alone at night. She just prays that the blanket is thick enough to keep her warm.
Her gaze falls on the bed and, inevitably, on Peter. He's been careful to stick to his side of the bed, but her mind still wanders to how he'd held her before. MJ doesn't think her heart could handle being this close to Peter again, and yet, the more sensible part of her brain argues that she can't stand by and watch him all night either.
She climbs into bed, careful not to disturb Peter. MJ would have stacked a line of pillows between them if she could, but the bed only barely fits the two of them, and a wall of pillows would have definitely ended up with Peter or MJ on the floor.
They're close enough that MJ can feel the heat radiating from his body. The bed shifts with each breath Peter takes, his chest rising and falling, and MJ lets herself stare. They've never done this before. They're not touching, but every cell on her skin seems to be hyper-aware of Peter. Of how close he is. Of the curve of his lips, and how long his lashes are and the way the hair on his eyebrow looks like it's been combed in the wrong direction—
The tips of his fingers brush against hers, and, somehow, the half-a-second of contact sends a chill down her spine.
Peter opens his eyes, fingers finding hers again.
"Your hands are freezing," he whispers, taking her hand in his. "God, MJ." He sits up, squinting down at her. "Where's your sweater?"
"In the car."
He stares at her, forehead creased with a frown. "It's alright," she starts to say at the same time Peter says: "Come here."
He tosses an arm around her, pulling her towards him. Against him. She can feel the way his muscles tense. His breath tickles her chin, his hand has found hers again, and MJ welcomes the warmth instantly.
And yet, she feels nervous.
MJ squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself to fall asleep. If she'd been aware of his proximity before, she's hyper-aware of him now. Of herself. Of the way her heart hammers against her chest, her breath mingling with his. She's torn between pulling away from Peter and curling up closer. They're just friends, MJ reminds herself. He's just doing this to keep her warm. They're just friends , and yet, she doesn't feel convinced.
"You good?" he whispers, and she's caught by surprise. MJ'd been certain he'd fallen asleep again.
"Yeah," she whispers. "You?"
He shifts, pulling MJ closer, her legs between his and her nose pressed against his chest. "Never been better."
Prompts Used in this Chapter:
C13. Cold, sleepy cuddles (-ish)
C26. Hot chocolate (-ish pt. 2)
C59. Only one bed
C72. Icy sidewalks
D6. "All I want for Christmas is you!" "You're Jewish" "So?"
D7. "Your hands are freezing!"
D11. "It's hand holding season."
D37. "Stay in bed. It's warmer."
It probably doesn't matter, but this chapter was honestly my favourite to work on. It's completely self-indulgent, right from the icy sidewalks to the only one bed and I think the only reason I wrote the fic was for this chapter. So I really hope you enjoyed!br /
Friendly reminder that I don't stay in the US AND this fic has gone through minimal editing (I'll come back and fix it when I have time in the New Year) but if there's anything glaringly wrong let me know!br /
As always, thanks for reading!
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