Chapter 13: May Parker II
"How long do you plan to sit in front of the TV?" May called as she peered down the instruction list.
May busied around the kitchen, trying to make an authentic Indian dish while Peter stayed slumped on the couch, idly flipping through channels with the occasional sigh.
"I don't know," Peter answered. "I have nothing else to do."
"Why don't you see what Tony is doing?" she proposed. "Maybe you two can tinker with DUMBO?"
Peter shook his head. "Nah, that's okay. I think he's busy anyway."
May glanced at Peter. "You're still upset with Tony?"
"No."
"So, yes," May concluded, knowing well enough to read between the lines. "Honey... look. He only took your web-shooters away because he didn't want you to go off doing heroic things at the moment. Especially with the Accords not finalized."
"Yeah, I know, but… it's not fair," Peter grumbled, crossing his arms in frustration. "People still need help."
"That's why we have the police," May reminded her nephew. "They aren't there to look cool."
Peter gave her a look. "You know what I mean, Aunt May. The police can't save everyone."
"And neither can superheroes," May countered, stirring in the homemade sauce with the chicken. "I know you want to run off and be Spider-man again, but you have to wait a little longer. The Accords will be finalized soon enough. Just not this week.
"In the meantime, you can act like the kid you are," May said, wiping some of the sauce that got on her on a paper towel. "Go out and have some fun. See a movie with Ned. Or build more Lego sets. Or start a rock band. That's a cool thing teenagers do these days."
Peter flipped his eyebrow high up his forehead. "Aunt May? I don't think rock bands need trumpet players."
May shrugged. "Well, who knows? Maybe they do. You don't know unless you try."
Peter slouched further into the couch. "I'd rather be Spider-man again."
May put down her wooden spoon. "I know. Even though I personally would rather you didn't, I know I can't stop you from becoming who you want to be. Not that I would. You always had such a good heart, Peter," she said, looking at her downtrodden nephew. "You'll be Spider-man again. But right now, we want you to be Peter Parker. Because, honestly, I find that man more fun to be around than Spider-man."
She returned to her cooking, trying to find the right spices she needed for the rice. Cooking Indian food was harder than she anticipated. She honestly thought she understood the instructions, but maybe she was in over her head on it. Oh well! She was sure it would taste great no matter what.
Peter turned the television off and meandered to the kitchen counter. He dropped his arms on the counter, examining their dinner with a wary eye. "What are you making?"
"Chicken marsala."
Peter took another look at the meal. "Oh, yeah, I see it," he said with his best straight face. "Looks good."
Always too kind. "I only hope it taste better than it looks," May commented, checking in on the rice. "It's almost done. I think."
Peter didn't match her thrill to the idea of eating the cooked meal. He only nodded, lips pressed down to a straight line as he slowly backed up from the kitchen. "Great… well, I'm going to go to my room and—"
A shrill interrupted whatever Peter was about to say.
"I'll get it," Peter said, heading to the door. He answered it. "Shuri?"
Princess Shuri granted herself entry, stepping inside their apartment with a grin. "Hello, Ms. Parker," she greeted and sniffed the aroma floating about in the air. "Oh… what a, um, lovely smell."
May cocked an eyebrow in Shuri's direction as she added another spice into the mix. Her complimentary words did not hide the dither in the princess's tone. And the cringed expression didn't help either.
But May didn't comment on that at all. "Thank you, Shuri," she said. "How are you doing?"
"Fine, thank you."
Peter finally got out of his stupor. "Wait… what brings you here?" he questioned the princess. "I thought you had some kind of delegation dinner you had to attend with your brother?"
"Oh, that? Yeah, I got out of it," Shuri answered, nonchalantly. "Told him I wasn't feeling well."
"And he bought it?"
"Oh, sure," Shuri remarked. "Even he thinks my sarcasm is an illness."
That brought a tinge of a smile to Peter's face. "Yeah, well, I heard it can be irritating."
Shuri socked him in the shoulder. "Watch it," she warned. "Unokuba ngumhlophe ingonyama, kodwa inkosazana."*
May watched Peter tilt his head apologetically, understanding every word she said to him. "Uxolo," he said and she accepted whatever apology he offered to her. "So, did you come to tell me something or—"
"I've been working on something and I want your opinion on it," Shuri responded. "I was hoping we could go to the lab, but if you are about to eat dinner…"
Shuri glanced at May's cooking preparations. Already, May knew Peter preferred to be off in his lab with Shuri than taste-testing her home-cooked meal. Not that she was a terrible cook. She's only good at the basic stuff, not the exquisite cuisines.
And since Shuri was departing tomorrow for Wakanda, May might as well let Peter have the night with his friend. May got a hold of Peter's attention and nudged in the direction of the door.
"Go ahead, Peter," May said to her nephew. "You need to get out of the apartment anyway."
"But you cooked…"
"I know. I know, but I'll spare your taste buds tonight," May said with some cheek. "You kids have fun and please… no more explosives. Okay? You woke up Maria and Pepper nearly went for your heads."
Peter's head shrunk to his shoulders. He remembered the small incident in the lab that shook a few levels. And she wasn't talking about the chemical backfire. "Yeah, promise, we won't… we won't blow anything up," he swore to her.
"Then go and have fun," May said, and the two kids disappeared in a snap. No need to be told again.
May sighed, leaning against the counter as the rice crisped and crackled, signaling it was burning. "Fuck!" she spun and moved the pot off the stove.
The rice looked a bit dried. How long was it cooking without water? May dropped the pot back on the unlit stovetop. She only hoped the chicken marsala would cover up the dryness of the rice.
She looked about the room, spying the bare walls and plain furniture. Pepper once asked why she hadn't redecorated to her liking, but May only responded with a simple shrug and a claim that she was too busy with Peter. It was an excuse. One that Pepper quietly accepted.
In truth, the reason she hadn't redone the apartment was because it didn't feel quite like home. Queens had been her home for over twenty years. It was where she got married, raised a child and lost her love. The little apartment was her home. Their life! And the apartment now, no matter how expensive or exquisite Stark was willing to pay, would not make it feel like home.
May sighed, picturing her old apartment with Peter draped over the couch with a physics book and Ben sitting in his chair, a smile on his face as he told Peter he looked taller.
She brushed her eyes, water shiny the tip of her fingers. With an unsteady breath, she regained her composure. She couldn't break down. Not with all the chaos surrounding Peter. She needed to stay strong.
The doorbell rang again. Peter must have forgotten the code again. May double checked her face, not wanting her nephew to worry as she opened the door. "Peter, you really need to remember—oh. You're not Peter."
Definitely not Peter. While about the same height, Agent Everett Ross looked nothing like her nephew. He had an arm roped around a box, pressed tight against his hip as he shifted the weight from one foot to the next.
"Um, no," Agent Ross answered. "Not Peter. Although I did seem him go down the hall a moment ago with Shuri. Did you need him?"
May shook her head. "Oh, uh, no. I just thought… never mind," she said. "I'm sorry. Here. Come in."
She opened the door wider for Agent Ross to freely enter. He thanked her and moved further into the apartment. He too sniffed the air. "Indian?"
"Yes!" May said, excited someone recognized the smell. Must mean she was doing it right. "You like Indian?"
Agent Ross nodded. "Yeah. I like spicy foods."
That gave May an idea. "Have you had dinner yet?"
Agent Ross shook his head. "Um, no. Been a bit busy, but I figured I could get something on my way back into the city."
"No, don't do that," May batted the suggestion away. "Here. Join me. Peter is off with Shuri and I have no doubt he won't come back until late tonight. You can have his portion."
May already gathered two of everything. Plates, cups, silverware and napkins. She returned to their small, square table that she usually occupied with Peter. She quickly set the table and hurried back to the stovetop.
"Make yourself comfortable," May insisted. "Set the box down on the coffee table if you like."
Agent Ross did just that. "Do you need help or…"
May shook her head. "No, I got it." She transferred the food from the sticky pans to platters and bowls. Once the contents were dumped onto a new pottery, she carried them over the table. "Do you like wine? Or would you like water? I don't know the alcohol rules of the CIA."
"I'll take a glass of wine," Agent Ross said with a faint smile. "I clocked out."
May returned with two glasses and poured. "Well, this was my first attempt at making an Indian dish. Peter didn't look too thrilled at the concept, but I think it looks like chicken marsala. Don't you think?"
Agent Ross was examining the chicken with a raised fork. "Oh, yes! Looks like what they serve in a restaurant."
That boost May's confidence in the dish. She prayed that the marsala moistened the rice though. They both took their forks and speared some chicken. May took a bite of her chicken, the sauce tingling on her tongue. Not in a good way. Her taste buds swelled and retaliated to a point she grabbed her napkin and spat out the chicken.
"Oh God!" she hacked. "That was awful."
She looked across the table to see Agent Ross swallow his bite, but with great difficulty to keep it from coming up. "It, um, wasn't bad. A bit… spicier than normal," he said, taking a long draught of his wine that he actually finished it all. "It's good."
May shook her head, embarrassed. "You see, this is why Peter keeps telling me to stick to the basics," she commented now that she knew the marsala was inedible for the average human. "Good at sandwiches and soups and pasta. That's it."
"Those are all good too."
Being nice again. Like Ben was to her when she attempted to go off the reservoir when she cooked. In fact, Agent Ross tried to take another bite, but May spared him from doing any permanent damage.
"No, no," she pulled his plate away. "Don't do that. Don't eat it. It's… it'll burn your all your taste buds off if you take another bite."
Agent Ross lowered his fork back on the plate. "If you insist," he said. "You know. It was definitely chicken marsala. Just… hot."
"Like eating flames."
"Exactly."
May laughed, good to feel a chuckle. "Sorry to spoil your dinner then," she said. "Guess you'll have to follow through with your original plan."
"Ah, not to worry," Agent Ross assured her. "I mostly just have coffee for dinner anyway."
"That sounds… awful."
Agent Ross shrugged. It was the way of his life, May supposed. "Sometimes, work keeps you away from the cafeteria," he said to her. "I'm lucky enough to even get the coffee. Agent Carter usually brings it to me along with some kind of fruit or vegetable. I don't know. She thinks I get too deep in a case at times."
May took the plates and scraped the food into the trash. "Well, I could offer you one better than coffee," she said, heading to the cabinets. She pulled out a box of Cheerios. "Cereal?"
Agent Ross agreed and she poured two bowls of Cheerios. She passed one to Agent Ross and the say at the table with their spoons, slurping up Cheerios as if they were young adults again, living in shared apartments and eating ramen every, single night. Those good, old days.
May glanced behind Agent Ross to the box on the coffee table. "So… what's in the box?"
"Hmm?" Agent Ross said, chewing on the cereal.
"The box," May pointed to the box he brought with him. "What's in the box?"
Everett wiped his mouth on the napkin. "Oh—that," he said, taking a quick look at the sealed box. "That belongs to you and Peter."
"It does?" She doesn't remember lending Agent Ross anything she owned. Not that she owned very much in the apartment. Most belonged to Stark. She had little of her actual belongings with her.
Agent Ross nodded. "Yeah, I started the process of returning your items back to you and Peter," he explained. "Everything we took is being catalogued out to return to you. I only managed to get one box tonight and I thought that I could, uh, you know, stop by and give it to you."
May abandoned her soggy cereal bowl. She approached the box, hesitating. "May I open it?"
"Sure. Again, it's yours."
May cut through the sealed, clear tape. The flaps popped up and she smoothed them back from the opening to get a better view. Her hands went to her mouth to smother a small cry. Inside, was a framed picture of her, Ben and Peter at the age of thirteen. She freed it from the box, her fingers sliding down the silver frame. Three years. It was only three years ago that her little family sat in front of the camera, unaware that in a year, their whole world would be upturned.
She studied Ben's face. He and Peter shared similar features. Dark hair and dark eyes, the signs of a Parker. Richard was the same if memory served her correctly. He too held the Parker physic of dark features and broad shoulders. Peter, however, didn't have the shape of his father or uncle. His skinny built came from his mother's side.
Still, everyone they came in contact with believed Peter to be hers and Ben's biological son. Peter looked strikingly like Ben that it wasn't unreasonable for outsiders to believe they were father and son. Peter admired Ben greatly. They talked for hours about science and mechanics. Ben allowed Peter to tag along to his workplace, helping him design gadgets or projects for school.
Benjamin Parker. Warm, wise and young. So young. He was only forty-three when he died. Not as young as his brother, but still young enough to know there was more to life.
May opened the stand from behind and rested the frame on the side table. She smiled through her sadness. "Thank you," she said to Agent Ross.
"You're welcome," he replied back and May heard the chair's leg squeak on the floor. "Look, I won't take up more of your night. I came by to drop the box off."
May turned back to him. "Oh, I'm sorry, you don't have to go," she said to Agent Ross. "I-I'm just happy to have some of our things back. I don't mean to cry on you."
Agent Ross stood, uncertain what to say or do. For a CIA agent, he seemed quite lost in this particular moment. "It's okay," he finally said. "I understand. If you don't mind me asking, how long has it been?"
May didn't have to think. "Two years."
"No, I meant," Agent Ross floundered in his speech, "how long have you known him? Ben Parker?"
Oh. That was new. "Oh, um, since we were kids, I guess," May thought back to her earlier years. "Ben used to work at this bakery near Coney Island. I bought bread and pastries from there for my family. He used to chat with me all the time. Asked me out too, but at the time I was seeing a guy named Jerome. Ben didn't think he was good enough for me, but I thought it was because he was jealous."
"Was he?" Agent Ross asked.
"Of course," May said with a little laugh, remembering Ben's face anytime she saw him with Jerome. "But, turns out he was right."
"Why? What happened?" Agent Ross inquired, before remembering. "Well, if you want to tell me that is."
May had no worries telling him. "Jerome was a thief. Got charged with robbery and aggravated robbery."
Agent Ross's mouth sagged. "You dated a criminal?"
"I was young!" May defended her younger self. "I was, well, I thought I was in love. But… nope. Jerome wasn't the guy I thought he was. Anyway, the next time I went to the bakery, I thought Ben was gonna comment on it. I was waiting for him to say something snarky or an 'I-told-you-so'.
"But you know what?" May poised the question to Agent Ross.
Agent Ross shook his head. Not the kind of guy to make assumptions.
"He never did," May revealed. "Didn't say a word on the matter. Asked how I was doing. My family as well. Told me that it's a beautiful day. All those nice pleasantries and not once did he mention Jerome."
"That was kind of him."
"That was Ben," May commented, remembering Ben fondly in that silly navy apron with a coating of flour stained on the front. "Always so considerate of others. He was a good man. Hard-working, wise and kind. He never let anything bother him. Took things one step at a time. He always found a way to make things work out.
"His brother was much the same. Richard. Peter's father," May elucidated for Agent Ross. Not that he needed to know who Richard was. They all knew who Richard was. "Although, Richard was more of the nerdy kid than Ben. Ben played football and baseball. Richard only did track and a few academic clubs. Still, the Parker brothers were quite the duo. It broke Ben's heart when Richard died."
May remembered that awful night. Richard and Mary were late. They were to have arrived by ten to pick up Peter and take him home. They never came. No calls either. It got Ben nervous to the point he called the airlines. It was around one in the morning when someone knocked on the door. They didn't use the doorbell, which May was thankful as it would have woken Peter up.
Two men were at the door with grave news. May never forgot the look on Ben's face when he told of his brother's death. Dominated by profound sadness, all the concerns and hopes he held onto shattered, leaving deep crevices that carved into his face. Thick tears rolled down his cheeks, hands shaking as he tried to listen to what the two men said. Once the cops were gone, Ben collapsed into May with unbearable pain. That was eleven years ago. Peter was barely five.
She hadn't realized she went quiet. At least, not until Agent Ross gently placed a hand on her shoulder in a supportive manner. "I'm sorry for your loss," he sympathized. "They sound like good people."
They were. Ben, Richard and Mary—all dead before their time. "They were," May agreed, trying to wipe away any traces of her grief. "I'm sorry for getting emotional."
"Don't be," Agent Ross said. "You love them. It's okay to miss them."
May exhaled, thinking how right Agent Ross was. "Yeah, it seems I can't even get a moment to not think of them," she said. "With all this crazy media attention and Deadpool—"
Agent Ross dropped his hand. "I'm sorry about that. We shouldn't have let him get away."
"I don't blame you," May said to him. "Really. I don't. He sounded like a maniac. Probably would have killed you if did go after him." May returned to the opened box. "Anyway, I wasn't thinking much about Deadpool. I was thinking more about Peter and his parents. How unfair it is for him to grow up without them. Like now, with all the press and pressures, does he ever think about his parents and what they would do for him? Of what would life be like if they never died?"
May shifted through the items in the box. A few coffee coasters, another picture frame of Peter at his tenth birthday party, and a couple of books that may have been left on the coffee table rather than the bookshelf were found among the treasured box.
"Anyway, that's what I meant," she continued to busy herself. "I keep questioning if I am doing the right thing for Peter. Would his parents approve? What would Ben do? All those sort of things. Ben used to know what to do or say to Peter. He and Peter had this… communication link. They understood one another without the need to talk. Not that I'm saying I'm not close to Peter. I am. I love that child. He's my kid, but… I was never good at the science stuff or building machines. That was Ben's forte. I simply taught him the social aspects of life. You know? I was there to help him fit in with his peers or help him sort out a personal problem."
May realized she was babbling and her hands were shaking as she pulled each item out of the box. "Jesus—I don't know why I am shaking," she remarked. "I mean… Peter is okay, right? He's not… I mean, sure he's had it rough this past year, but he's doing all right. Yeah?"
Agent Ross thoroughly nodded. "Yeah! Of course! You raised a great kid. He's terrific. Smart and kind."
May smiled at that. "And sometimes a bit naïve," she joked, "but, yeah. He's a good kid."
She stopped shuffling the items in the box. Down at the bottom, she spotted a black Nikon N90s camera. Center-weighted and a durable metal chassis with a suite of lenses, the camera appeared intact and in good condition. May gently removed it from the pile of items and lifted it to her face to admire it. She hadn't seen this camera in ages!
Agent Ross drew closer. "Um, yours?"
May shook her head. "No," she said, pulling the strap up to reveal a scrawled name on masking tape.
Mary Fitzpatrick.
Agent Ross read the name. "Peter's mother?"
May nodded. "Photography was a hobby of hers," she said. "She had this camera around her neck a lot when we were out on family outings. She always wanted to capture a moment with Peter. She was actually a good photographer. She took our wedding photos."
May checked the camera and pressed the red button. The camera buzzed with excitement before the lenses moved to adjust itself. It still worked. After all this time in disuse, it came to life. That left a flutter in May's chest.
"I wonder if there are any photos in the film?" she queried, looking for the film opening.
She found it and popped it open. Nope. No film. No pictures. The agency probably took them.
May closed it and gently placed the camera to the side. She looked through the box again, but the rest were all tidbits of the home-life like a random crayons box, her small Tiffany lamp, and an a few trinkets that decorated the bookcase. She used the returned items to bring life to the living room. She put up the second frame on the shelf, along with the books and small trinkets. She switched the plain lamp with the Tiffany lamp, sharing the space with the family photograph. The coasters were set on the coffee table beside the box. And the crayons… were tossed back into the box.
May surveyed the room. A little better. More… home.
Agent Ross took a quick scan of the room. "Looks good," he commented. "Look even better once I bring you more of your things."
May smiled at that. "Thanks," she said again. "For everything."
"It's not a problem."
"I know, but I mean it," May said again. "You've been so nice and you risked your career for Peter. We owe you a lot, Agent Ross."
"Everett, please. And you don't owe me anything," Everett maintained. "It was the right thing to do. I may be a suit man, but that doesn't mean I don't have principles."
"Well, then, the world could use a few more people like you."
A corner of Everett's lip twitched up. "Thanks."
May looked back to the table. "Want another refill?" she offered.
Everett checked back at his empty wine glass that he drank in full after one bite of the chicken marsala. "Oh, err… sure."
They talked for hours, sharing their childhood stories, funny antidotes and May boasted about Peter's achievements like when he learned to walk at the eight months ("He just got up and walked," May retold the tale. "Mary and Richard were in such a state of shock."). Everett spoke about his journey on becoming an agent and his reasons why he wanted to become an agent. It was the same reason why Ben joined the military when he was younger, before being honorably discharged to help care for Peter.
It got late and although Everett believed he could drive, he didn't think it would be best after three glasses of wine. He planned to call for a ride, but May said it would be too much of hassle for him to come back for his car. She suggested he stay the night on the couch and leave in the morning with his vehicle. Everett didn't want to impose, but May assured him it was fine.
She gathered blankets and a pillow for him. She offered him some of Peter's night clothes. Luckily, Everett didn't mind sleeping in a Star Wars shirt and running shorts. May wished him a goodnight and picked up the box with the discarded crayons and Mary's camera. She carried it into her room, putting it in the closet as she got ready for bed.
She was sitting up in her bed, reading a mystery novel when she heard a light tap at her door. May pushed her big glasses up the bridge of her nose. Thinking it was Everett, she went and grabbed her robe. "Come in," she answered.
It wasn't Everett. It was Peter.
"Hey, um, Aunt May," Peter said, awkward in his stance in the middle of the doorway. "Do you know that Agent Ross is asleep on our couch?"
"Yes."
That seemed to only befuddled the boy. "Oh, um… okay," Peter said after a moment. "Just making sure. Did he come by for something?"
"He came by to drop a few things off," she said to her nephew. "Got to talking and shared some wine. Anyway, neither of us thought it was a good idea for him to go back out driving after consuming some alcohol, so I convinced him to crash on the couch."
"Oh… okay."
May chuckled, but switched topics to not discomfort Peter any further. "How was your thing with Shuri? No destruction this time?"
Peter shook his head. "Um, no, nothing like that," he said with a smile of his own. "Worked on a side project of hers. But, she had to go to bed because of the early departure tomorrow morning."
May nodded, remembering that T'Challa and the rest of the Wakanda delegation were leaving America tomorrow. With the summit over, there was no need for them to stay until they were needed again. "You're going to miss her, huh?"
"Yeah," Peter agreed with a nod. "It was nice having someone my age around the place. Guess it's back to being just me."
May did find it unfair for Peter to live in a compound as the only child (not including Maria Stark). He had no one his age to hang-out with and whenever he went outside the compound, the press hounded him relentlessly. No peace or time to be a kid out in the world.
"What if I talk to Stark?" May suggested. "Convince him to allow you to have friends over like Ned and MJ?"
Peter slumped against the threshold of the door. "I doubt he'll do it," he said. "He's been rather…"
"Protective?" May guessed correctly. "Yeah, I know, but I'll have a talk with him. Don't worry about it."
Peter lifted his head, a pleased grin coming over him. "Thanks, Aunt May."
"No problem," she said, but then remembered the moment Peter turned to leave. "Wait… I have something for you."
She hurried to her closet, looking for the box again. She found it and brought it over to the bed. Peter approached with a quizzical expression. "What's in there?" he asked.
"Well," May began, "as I said, Everett came by to drop off some of our belongings for us. Like those frames outside and the lamp. But, he also brought back something I think might be of interest for you."
Carefully, May lifted the camera out of the box and held it out to Peter. Her nephew scrunched his face as he evaluated the object in May's hands.
"A camera?" Peter said, still confused by the meaning of it.
"It belonged to your mother," May responded, turning the strap over. "See? Right there."
Peter saw the masking tape with his mother's name scribbled on it. And like that, his eyes widened and he reached for the camera, plucking it right out of May's hands. He held the camera delicately, examining every angle of it with a profound interest.
May watched. "Your mother loved photography," she told him. "A little hobby of hers. Figured you may want it. Who knows? Maybe you'll like it better than watching television."
Peter looked up from the camera with a humored annoyance that made May ruffle his thick hair. He leaned away, hair sticking up in all directions. "Thank you, Aunt May," he said, his voice softer than it was before. "I love it."
"Don't thank me," May corrected him. "Thank Everett. He brought it back. His department is in the process of returning our belongings to us. So, expect more things to come our way."
That brought a happy smile to Peter's face, beaming from ear to ear. "I will when I see him in the morning," he said, "but thank you anyway. You're the best."
May lowered her eyes, thinking about Richard, Mary and Ben. "I try," was all she said. "You better hop to bed, mister. You also got an early day tomorrow."
Peter wished her a goodnight and took the camera with him as he went to his bedroom for the night. May closed her door and returned to her bed. She picked up her book to read again, but found little interest in it at the moment. Her mind too focused on Peter and the look on his face when she told him the camera belonged to Mary. She thought of Richard and Mary. The horribleness of them being ripped away from their only son and Peter, who had little to no memory of them. It was incredibly unjust.
Sleepiness overcame her and she settled into her bed for the night. Book aside and light off, she rested her eyes, dreaming of her family.
*roughly translated to "You may be the White Lion, but I am still a princess."