So - here we are. The final chapter of this story, having come a lot quicker than I ever thought it would.
This story has received the most amazing response, and I am so grateful to every single person who logged in, clicked the title and read each chapter as it came. There are all kinds of commitment and staying with a story, when you have no idea when it will be updated, is a commitment that should not be overlooked.
Recommendations for this chapter are Shark by Oh Wonder and Cough Syrup by Young the Giant for the major bit between Peter and MJ; also Just Say Yes by Snow Patrol, I'm Yours by Alessia Cara, I Want You by Savage Garden, Friday I'm in Love by The Cure and Bohemian Like You by The Dandy Warhols for the ending, around abouts. The sound really signals the end, I think. Also, it's a great song, so there's that as well.
Even as the curtains close on the The Double Life of Peter Parker, I do have some news that I've decided to unveil.
There will be a sequel to this, titled 'To Catch a Spider'. Whilst I won't give away too much (in true Marvel style), I will say that it will continue to expand on the relationship between Peter and MJ, as well as introduce new characters, and of course, reveal some secrets about already established ones.
Cindy Moon is one of those characters.
Hopefully you'll look forward to that.
Anyways - thank you for sticking with me on this journey! I'll see you in the sequel.
School called in on the Friday the day after, and going home, after her time with Peter, had left Michelle with enough questions to keep her occupied for the rest of her life. It had been a strange encounter – certainly not how she'd envisioned it when she'd went there in the first place.
But he'd bared his very soul to her, and few would come away from something so intimate without wondering few things.
She was only slightly annoyed at herself that she'd not managed to ask him where they stood. Things had escalated so quickly – and seeing Peter Parker in tears, the scars on his skin still seeming as fresh as the days he'd got them – made her always hate herself for being just that little bit selfish.
Maybe it didn't matter. That moment – that moment they'd suspended over that roof edge – had been something else entirely. He'd held her like a dying rose, wilting in his arms, too afraid to see the red of its petals shy away as it withered away. He'd been so afraid of so many things, and losing her had been one of them.
He'd held her like he was going to lose her.
And maybe that had broken something in her.
Maybe it had finally penetrated her heart and made her realize –
She could no longer be cold in the wake of him.
Her heart felt like it had been thawed by the sun, at last allowed to know what it felt like to be warm.
It was sending her sideways a little, especially considering that she had gone from a life spent mostly in her own company, to suddenly being surrounded by people who wanted to be a part of her life, with her.
But –
She appreciated it. She was grateful for that kind of honest, genuine care.
It felt like she'd been wrapped up in someone's arms, at last allowed to feel wanted without guilt, or genuinely at ease with people without wondering how much they actually cared about her.
Slipping into her seat in English had taken a lot of effort, as she watched Peter come into the classroom not long after, making her knees almost buckle from seeing him.
He looked completely removed from the broken boy she'd seen yesterday, but he seemed a little more aware of her than he ever had done.
Most of all, though – he'd worn the leather jacket to school.
It was a shock to see him in much the same outfit as he had worn at the party, hair styled and swept over, jeans and modest t-shirt and plaid shirt on his back. But he'd worn the jacket.
It sent a whole wave of heat to her cheeks, the blood rush – or blush, as it had come to be abbreviated as – making her cheeks bloom like newly sprung cherry blossom.
Peter chose that moment to look up at her, his eyes casting themselves over her outfit.
Her long, black cardigan and black jeans, but a bright yellow t-shirt, loose around her figure like a silk top, with the words 'Hello! I don't care' emblazoned across the front in a white speech bubble, matching the very slight smirk on her lips, tainted in a shimmery, barely-there gold that made her eyes glint with mischief.
He smirked back.
I like your t-shirt, his lips said.
He watched her blush darken, narrowing her eyes to try and dampen the affect, but it didn't work.
Heck, after everything that had happened, he just wanted to kiss her to death.
Sliding into his own seat, he shucked the jacket, glad for once that May had allowed him to keep it. It had been Ben's, she'd told him. One of the first things he'd worn when they went out for the first time. She'd barely touched the clothes after his death, but something in her gaze had changed the minute she'd draped it on his shoulders, as she'd tried to find him something to wear for the party.
"You look like him, would you believe?" she'd said, pressing her fingers to her lips.
He'd asked if he could keep it. She'd said yes.
And yeah – maybe he'd put it on, on a whim today.
But maybe he had something important to ask.
Who knew.
"So, class," Mr Richards had finally entered the classroom, books nearly tumbling over in his arms as he lumped them down on the desk, looking a little out of breath and relieved to be rid of the weight. He turned towards them, coming to the front of his desk, leaning back against the wood with a casual appearance, arms folded and eyebrow quirked.
"Your essays were due today, and yes – I'll be picking them up, regardless of whether you're happy with them or not." He shot a pointed glance at Flash, who seemed a little flustered by the attention. It wasn't a new fact that Flash was too much of a perfectionist to stand waiting around for.
"However, I want to get your view before I read them. Call it natural curiosity,"
Michelle snorted quietly, glancing back at her page in Beauty and the Beast – the original novel of 1740, as written by Gabrielle-Suzanne Barbot de Villeneuve, and by no means a short read. She'd always been captivated by the story – Disney or not – but there was no doubting that it yielded a message that she'd always aspired to follow.
To be kind in person, and find yourself to be kind in love.
Maybe she was, in some way, on her way down that path now.
One thing she did know was that Mr Richards had not asked out of 'natural curiosity'. He was too shrewd for that.
He wanted to see if anyone had understood what the assignment had truly been about.
How did superheroes fit into the world they were in? With so many people aware of enhanced human beings, and the Avengers, and Gods from another universe, it was sometimes hard to define exactly what made a hero. The Avengers were vigilantes, but were they heroes? Did the Accords get in the way of their jobs as potential heroes?
Could heroism be defined by simple, good acts of human decency?
Michelle and Peter had debated every single one of those angles. She knew all too well what they'd agreed on and written down.
But for the first time in her life, Michelle didn't feel content with the page alone.
It was a small notion at first, but her hand soon found itself in the air.
Mr Richards raised an eyebrow.
"Michelle," He waved a hand, leaving the floor open to her. She lowered her hand, taking a glance towards Peter and Ned. Ned was smiling silently, nodding once in encouragement. Peter's face was open and calm, but there was a slight tension between his eyebrows. This had been their project – and now, suddenly, she was in the world that he inhabited. The world that they'd debated over for nearly a whole week.
She was walking with superheroes herself.
"Well, sir, if I'm frank about it-"
"Like you aren't all the time," Seymour called over, face radiantly humorous. Michelle scowled at him good-naturedly.
"Right, whatever, O'Reilly." She turned back to Mr Richards, whose eyebrow was still raised in anticipation. She cleared her throat.
"Well, I guess you could say a hero is someone who chooses to be one out of their own volition. Someone who chooses to fight for others. To be selfless for others. To be there for people when others run away. I guess you could say they're people you'd want as role models to your children. People you can trust. People that you admire."
She looked right at Peter, whose expression was smiling - bashful with his dark eyes shining, cheeks a little flushed. Michelle glanced down at the table, tilting her head in agreement to herself.
She looked up again, her curls sweeping back over her shoulder as she tilted her chin, close-lipped smile radiant.
"I guess they're people you love," she stated it in a matter-of-fact way, but she knew it was just her own opinion.
Didn't meant it wasn't true, though. That's one thing she was certain of.
Mr Richards tipped his head in agreement, but even as he continued on, asking others their opinion, Michelle wasn't listening.
She wasn't listening when she handed in her paper.
She wasn't listening when Mr Richards turned to the board, preparing to start work on the book, promising to grade their papers over the weekend.
She was looking at Peter Parker, who was looking right back at her.
It was out in the corridor that Michelle, bag swinging against her leg and hair left loose, save for a rather badly tied cloth hairband twisted into the curls, in some semblance of order, felt her arm pulled by someone, bringing her into an alcove behind the lockers lining along the walls. It was lunch, and frankly, she'd wanted to spend some time alone with her thoughts. This week had drained her, and honestly, some time with Belle and her Beast in his lonely castle was what she needed to distract herself. There were too many thoughts banging around in her head, like saucepans being hit by wooden spoons by a psychotic five year old, and it was becoming a bit much.
So much information to take in and process. Maybe she was just being over-the-top, but that's what it felt like.
Just as she was about to slap the person around the face, for daring to even touch her without permission, she saw Peter Parker's face gazing back at her. He had a little, coy smile on his face, like he couldn't understand why she looked so annoyed, but found it funny anyway.
Michelle let her scowl drop, leaning back against the wall behind her, sliding down an inch or two to preserve her look of indifference. Peter looked down at her – probably for the first time in his life.
"Hey," he said, looking down at the ground.
"Hey," she replied back, quirking a dark eyebrow. He laughed lightly, brushing a hand through his hair; his laugh sounded a little nervous.
"I was wondering," he started, eyes wide and innocent. Michelle tried to remain blank, but it wasn't working.
"Do you – do you wanna – come over? Today? After school?" His voice looked ready to break from the nerves, but she didn't laugh.
She had not expected this.
She had not expected him to wear the jacket, and she had not expected him to do his hair like that (the way she liked it, even though he probably didn't know that). She certainly hadn't expected him to ask her anything, least of all that.
She swallowed carefully.
"To your place?"
He shrugged.
"Yeah, yeah, my place – I mean, if you want – because, you don't have to, if you don't want to! That's totally fine! But we could – we could, you know –"
Michelle reached up, placing a finger on his lips, making him pause in his rambling. He looked at her with eyes like a doe, bright but confused, a curl of hair falling into his face at that exact moment.
She smiled wickedly.
"Whatever turns you on, Parker,"
The splutter that followed his comment was payment enough as she slid back up the wall, beginning to walk away, snapping open her book with a practiced ease.
"Mich – Michelle! It's not – it's not like that!"
"Keep an eye out, Parker. Maybe it will be – if you're lucky."
He ran a nervous hand through his hair, watching her leave.
"No, it's not! I didn't mean it like that !"
Michelle's shoulders dropped, head raising as she looked over her shoulder, her loose curls tumbling down her back as she swept away her side fringe again.
"Admit it, Parker. You just hit the jackpot,"
She swept off down the hall again, diving back into her fairy-tale.
Sometimes she felt like she was living in her own one.
Walking back to his apartment together felt like waiting for a silence to break.
It had almost become a second home to her, in how often she'd found herself sitting in his chair, or lounging on his bed, debating their English essay. How often had she looked out the window to the same city she looked out at from her own bedroom?
Too many times, she thought – but this time, it was different.
This was a no strings attached visit. A visit purely for the sake of visiting.
Like going out simply because you could. Diving into a river because it was a possibility. Jumping off a roof if you knew you would fly.
It was something you just did.
And it was making her nervous.
She'd avoided the question yesterday – but she couldn't avoid it now. She couldn't, even if she wanted to. It wouldn't have mattered what she'd said or done in the situation standing before her, because the only questions that would come up now were the ones that had yet to be asked.
That's why it felt like a silence waiting to be broken.
It could only be broken now.
Peter opened the door of his bedroom for her as she stepped in, pulling off her slip-on boots from the heel with her toes, tossing them into the corner as she dumped her bag on the floor. She went to window, turning her back, as she heard Peter dump his own bag on his chair, opening a drawer somewhere and pulling out a sweater, instead taking off the jacket and shirt and throwing them on the bed, pulling the sweater over his head.
OK. She lied. She was glancing behind her as he did it.
The sweater mussed his hair as he pulled it on, giving her a quick glimpse of his skin, the cuffs becoming paws on his hands, too long in the sleeve. It was a light grey – one she remembered him wearing before. She turned round to face him, taking a breath.
"So," she said to him, but it wasn't a question; more an invitation to ask the questions they knew they had to ask.
Peter sighed, glancing out the window as he came to stand beside her, bending down to lean against the sill, Michelle watching how the light breeze from the open window ruffled his hair, and made the room seem quieter, even though the city came with its own music.
"I dunno, MJ,"
Michelle snorted.
"You know we have to talk about it, whether you want to or not, Loser,"
He tilted his head round to look at her, a lazy expression on his face.
"Are we talking about the same thing?"
Michelle bit her lip. "No idea. You tell me,"
He didn't.
He turned back to the cityscape, briefly closing his eyes as the breeze brushed against his skin. Everything felt so far away from up here. Like he could touch it without even trying. He knew in his heart that with Spider-Man conversation out of the way, – the whole conversation that came with the discovery – there was only one conversation left.
He just didn't know if he could face it or not.
It still felt like a brand on his mind – every time he closed his eyes, the image seared onto his retinas.
The image of her standing, looking at him, in her bright yellow dress and not-so-perfunctory choice of DM boots, hair a crazy mess and lips a burnt orange, the lights drifting across her skin.
The sensation of her lips touching his own, leaving his brain to shut down and abandon him, with only his senses to guide him.
Her kiss, her hair, her mouth, her everything.
She'd been intoxicating him, blinding him, deafening him. Making him feel things he couldn't understand, but regardless, wanted to feel.
"We kissed. That's the conversation we should be having, Parker,"
He sighed in response.
"Don't sigh, it doesn't help anything," her tone was clipped. Looking back over his shoulder, the bronzed-by-sunlight city forgotten again. She was still nibbling her lip, but in a controlled, deliberate way that meant she was waiting for an answer.
"What do you need to know, MJ?"
She snorted again, but it wasn't in laughter.
"What the hell is going on between us, Parker – that's what I want to know –"
Peter blinked, standing up in concern.
"Michelle, what -?"
"What do I mean to you, Peter? What am I to you?" Her voice had gotten a little anxious, desperation seeping into her tone as she looked right at him. He was still standing at exactly her height, but he knew it wouldn't last long. Come next year, and she'd be towering over him again, and some part of him found that unbearably attractive.
Peter watched her face, arms folded as she pulled her cardigan around her again, folding her arms. He knew that this was her putting up the defensive again. She'd been so used to being rejected for being who she was - blunt but uncommonly truthful - and she wanted to know, in some shape or form, that he wasn't rejecting whatever she'd laid on the table. It was a painful thing, watching the past play across her face.
But he couldn't understand how she could ever think that he would do that.
The light from the window was catching the faint gold on her lips; how she hadn't been called out on that in school was a mystery to him.
Maybe he could solve all those mysteries for himself. And maybe reassure her in some measure.
He reached up to brush away her stray curls from her face, hand lingering on her cheek. She stared at him, hands tightening on her arms.
"I –" He couldn't understand how he was supposed to answer that.
His hand cupped her cheek, looking at her, eye to eye, irises dark and uncertain. His thumb smoothed over the skin under her eye.
She continued to stare at him.
He took another step forward, leaning forward to press his lips to hers, delicately with no hint of passion.
This was testing the waters.
He pulled back, resting his forehead against her own, looking her right in the eyes.
"Everything I need," he whispered to her, making her smile so slightly, it was like she wasn't smiling at all.
But he caught that smile, faint as it was, and leant in again, arm wrapping around her waist as he held her, kissing her again, this time a little more substantially than before.
This time she kissed him back.
Her hands came up to rest around his neck, smoothing the skin of his jawline with her fingers, as he tilted his head, still kissing her, pressing his lips into her own like he trying to leave a mark. She breathed into his mouth, making him gasp a little, just as he bit down on her mouth, playful but still cautious. He was still pretty strong for such a little guy, she thought, but he somehow felt gentle as well. Like he was aware that this wasn't something that required strength.
She suddenly burst into laughter, pulling back to look at him, only to see his own smile, laughing with her.
"Is that a yes, then?" he said, leaning his forehead against hers as he smiled, his lips tainted a little gold by her lipstick.
Michelle looked down from his eyes, studying her hands on his neck, the fingers long and dark against his pale skin. She turned her gaze back up to him, watching his dark eyes, his hair mingling with her own.
"Maybe," she said, biting her lip.
He raised an eyebrow.
Untangling himself from her, he took her hand and walked back, sitting down on the bed as he pulled her to sit with him, leaning back against the wall.
"Then teach me how to kiss you, Michelle. Tell me everything,"
It was probably the most romantic she'd ever heard him, and he looked suitably tongue tied doing it.
She took his face in her hands, smoothing the skin again. He looked up at her expectedly.
She reached down and kissed him again, hands finding themselves in his dark hair as his came up around her face, pulling her down to him so he could reach her better.
She lost track of time after that.
So, as it was, it worked out pretty well for everyone.
As Peter swung about that evening, the dying light filtering through the streets, bouncing off the glass of the skyscrapers of New York, he'd never felt quite as content as he had done for a long time.
He had no idea how long he'd spent wrapped up in MJ, her hair falling round her as she kissed him, him kissing her back, leaving him more breathless than he'd ever felt, making his heart jump with every touch; making him gasp every time she ran her hands through his hair; making him smile every time she pulled back, glaring at him as if she was trying to discern if he was real or not.
He'd managed to prove how real he was, in the end.
He had no idea how she'd managed to decide he was for her, but to hell if he was ever going to complain about that.
He shot the next web, hurtling through the traffic as he waved at a group of teenagers having a night out, all dressed in their jeans and sneakers.
He wondered if him Ned and MJ would ever go and have a day out together.
He sincerely hoped so.
Anyways.
His life had changed so much since he'd started this whole thing, trying to juggle so much in his hands without keeling over. He wasn't sure how well he was handling it - double lives were never easy - but he guessed he must be doing alright, if Michelle and Ned were anything to go by. How he had managed to find such crazy, amazing people, and for them to decide to be his friends? Well. Let's just say he was counting his lucky stars.
'Course, there was one thing he was particularly amazed by:
Michelle Jones had officially become his girlfriend, partner in crime, best friend and, quite possibly, official member of Team Spider-Man, if Ned went ahead and made that a thing.
He leapt up onto the nearest roof, now pretty high up, the rest of the city spanning out before him, glinting in the evening light.
Ha.
Who would have imagined it?
Certainly not Peter Parker.
Well, there you have it.
Eleven chapters following the Spider-Guy and his crazy book-nerd. It's been a pleasure, folks.
See you soon! :D