Authors Notes
Happy Christmas, I started writing this fic, the day I watched No Way Home, got too ambitious with how long I wanted it, lost all my work, got discouraged, and then chipped at it last summer and now with minimal edits from where it was while I was working on it in June, its now here bc I have no Christmas plans and my whole family is sick so I'm just editing and fixing what I can in my doc manager. I need to publish this or its going to haunt me if I don't. So enjoy and maybe let me know what I could have done to make it longer? Just ignore that nothing gets resolved, and right before I finished changes the tone from silly mysterious to angsty.
It takes a month for Peter to find May's phone, buried in a cardboard box of items he was lucky to have snagged from Happy's. Peter had finally gotten comfortable enough to unpack–fully that is. He wondered if he had a therapist if they'd congratulate him on making progress, but mostly he was glad he got some clutter out of his apartment.
Even if it was at 4 o'clock in the morning. Maybe scratch that whole 'hypothetical therapist being proud' thing.
Tired and far closer to sleep than he was to any kind of reasonable thought, he resolved to transfer all the photos to his phone and place it in his bedside drawer until the morning. He could figure what to do the phone then.
Happy humdrum ending, right? Wrong! Turns out Peter is really shit at remembering resolutions that take place before any sane person is conscious. The phone got lost for another month and was found in mad dash for a pen* while on a phone interview.
Which was benign really. Peter hadn't been getting any bills for the phone. He'd gotten all the pictures and contacts he wanted to keep and managed to delete all the...adult things. (You really shouldn't download all the contents of your aunt's phone onto yours without being selective. Or better yet don't download ANYTHING at 4am).
Half on autopilot, Peter took the the phone to the wireless charger on the stool he called a kitchen table and places it down while answering questions about his people skills. He did this while getting changed, of course, because he was going to another interview after this one-this time in person. Then he'd swung by MJ's coffee shop and head to class. He made a note to himself take care of the phone when he got back. Maybe he'd find a way to give it to Happy.
He left his apartment, and in the following 5 hours the phone was forgotten again, until he wakes up the next morning.
GAH! He needed to decide where he's putting that phone. He could donate it. He could give it to someone who loved May. After all, Peter was done with the phone. There was no reason for it to have collect dust in his already cramped apartment.
He took it off the charger. His best bet was probably with Happy, but something still doesn't sit right with Peter about that. Neither does donating it, selling it, or leaving it at her grave. He doesn't think that letting it become a brick in his home is going to cut it either.
In lieu of a better idea he stewed and stares at the boastful unbanishable phone. In the time that Peter had been gone May's phone charged all the way and had wracked in a grand total of two spam texts and a voicemail. He didn't even know the SIM card was still active. Peter thought the bank or the lawyers would have cancel that stuff right away. He deleted the spam texts and checked the voicemail.
"Hey. It's me." It sounded like a woman. Her voice was a bit gravelly and flat and she was mumbling just a bit. Peter thought it might just be how she talks, though it could have been from other reasons. Peter detected some impatience. "I know I said I'd never call you again. But I found some of your shit. At least I think its your shit. You're the only person I can think of who's shit it could be. Come get it. Or don't. I'm still in the same place."
It was from a contact labelled "J" No last name. No company. No birthday. Peter couldn't think of many J name people that May would know, but she had May's stuff and she clearly didn't know that May's...not here right now.
Peter called this mysterious J back. Surprisingly, she answered right away. "I'm not near my apartment to let you in right now."
"Is this...J?" Peter began to pace the ceiling.
"I guess. Who is this?"
"I'm a—um family member of May Parker. That's—that's who you left the message for, right? My name is—uh Peter."
"Kid. Pass the phone to May."
"That's a...little hard, right now" He scratched his foot against the plaster ridges.
"So hang up."
"Ummm–"
"Ok Goodbye, now."
"Wait! Please I need to talk to you!" Peter protested.
"Make it fast, kid, I was in the middle of something."
Oh no. How does he do this. Uhhhhh. "May can't come to the phone right now, because she died," He rushed. "And I was wondering if we could set a time to meet so I could get some of that stuff. I'm sorry."
"I'm going to have to call you back."
"Wait!"
He heard the beep of 'Call Ended'.
Peter groaned. He wasn't going to be able to track J beyond her Manhattan area code. Maybe she would have known what to do about the phone. Probably not though. But she could. And maybe—in Peters hopeful little mind this was possible—Peter could ask her about May. But until then he'd have to wait.
Peter checked the phone when he came back from patrol, still holding onto hope that J has gotten back to him and finds nothing. He checked the phone when he woke up and finds nada. He checked it when he came back from class later on and finds Zilch. When it's time for him to go on patrol, Peter wonders if he should forsake May's things and forget about J. He could figure what to do with the phone on his own or he could just shove the back in the draw and forget about until he needed a pen again.
It would have been nice to have a connection to May, but he could do without. It'll be fine, he thought, suiting up and listening intently to the scanner app. He'll be fine.
Peter returns from patrol with a message from J. It's an address.
Peter is not nervous. Peter is...well he's nervous, but he's not scared. It's just that he's never heard of J. But that's a good thing. May never mentioned her, which means May never mentioned him and hopefully that means he can get away with taking May's stuff.
He takes a deep breath in the elevator and with it a large whiff of stale cigarettes. Among other things. Namely urine and maybe blood. There was brown splotches on the ceiling tile looked too red to be from water and a strange watery stain at the floor that looked like it had been there for years. Again it looked too red to be a coincidence.
The sight was unnerving, but there were a lot worse things to see and a lot quirkier things to experience when you're a New Yorker.
The door dings and opens to a yellow hallway with two branches. At the end of one branch is door with a custom glass pane. Alias Investigations. To the side of the door frame is apartment number J texted Peter.
With hesitation, Peter approaches the apartment and raises his fist to knock, but a shadow from the other side of the glass opens the door before he can.
Its Mr. Murdock with half his body behind the door.
"Come on in," He beckons, opening the door further for Peter. Mr. Murdock has cut on his lip and yellow bruise at his jaw, but that does stop him from smiling in an odd fashion, that puts Peter on edge. Peter's spidey sense (that was what he was calling it now) wasn't going off, but his normal-human-New-Yorker senses were. This lawyer was just so weird, man. Wasn't he suppose to be blind? How did he know that Peter was there? Against his better judgement, Peter steps inside to the apartment-made-office space. It looked no different than what he expected, though it was larger than the building seemed to suggest. There was a entryway with enough space for couch by the door and further in was a desk. At it was deathly pale woman with large eyes that loomed from an office chair. The woman, who he assumed was J, had her eyes transfixed on a tan folder at the end her paper ridden desk.
Mr. Murdock begins to walk to J's desk and beckons Peter in more. J looks up at Peter, which is when he notices she's clutching an empty whiskey glass and that there are half empty bottles strewn around the desk and the bookshelves around it. Peter begins to feel like he could be intruding on something. Something that Mr. Murdock, continue waving him onto.
"Th—thank you. Mr. Murdock. Sir," Peter chokes out, feeling very small under the gaze of what should have been made of only one set of eyes. A look of confusion crosses Mr. Murdock's face and Peter remembers again that he's been forgotten by the rest of the world. He turns to who he thinks is J. "I'm—uh I'm Peter. We spoke on the phone?"
Mr. Murdock grabs his cane, gathers some papers and confiscates them into the tan folder from the desk. He whispers: "I'm going to take these. And we can meet up later." To which J sighs, but does not stop him from unfurling his cane and heading towards the door. As Mr. Murdoch passes him, everything in Peter tells him he's being heavily picked apart by the lawyer, even if Mr. Murdock welcomed him and didn't seem too weirded out by the identity slip up. Peter most definitely feels like the dog in the "This is Fine" meme: Very not fine and possibly under fire.
"Good Day, Peter," Mr. Murdock says with a wave. "...Jess." The woman rolls her eyes as he closes the glass door behind him.
Peter watches as the mans shadow fades and waits until he can hear the ding of the elevator.
"So uh J," he begins, ignoring the awkwardness of all this and his heart rushing with fear.
"Jessica," She deadpans already having walked away through a double door in the apartment.
"Jessica. Uh about..." She's already shoving a box into his hand. "Oh..."
Jessica crosses her arms. Peter is officially terrified. She has a really intense stink eye, a scowl that puts MJ's to real shame. It's making him feel like he's going to get squashed like a bug.
"Were you expecting something else?" She raises an eyebrow.
"I don't know. I thought maybe you'd asked for some confirmation of who I am."
"Kid. I don't care what happens to any of this stuff. You could be the hamburglar and I'd care less."
"Oh," Peter repeats, looking down at the t shirts, a few CDs, and what was probably a box of contacts. "...Oh." Jessica walks way from him to sit on her desk.
"Unless you've got someone you want me to investigate. This is your cue to leave." One of her legs swings out towards the door for emphasis. Peters not sure what else to do.
"Can I ask you, how you knew my aunt?"
Peter hears a very quiet "Jesus" from Jessica who's retrieved the whiskey glass and has returned its status to full. Peter looks at her like a lost puppy.
"She was your aunt?" She sips her drink.
Peter nods. "We were close," he whispers to a scratch on the floor.
Jessica finishes her glass. "Look, I don't want to soil the good memories you have of your aunt."
Peter stares at her confused. "Did you guys...like rob a bank? Because I know that would be bad, but it would be really cool–" Jessica blinks at him.
"You really think May would try to rob a bank," Jessica asks doubtfully.
"Well–"
"Are you leaving my apartment or not."
Peter frowns. "I came to ask you a question."
"Yeah well your not going to find much here. I already told you I'm going to let you keep your memories of your aunt they way you have them. My promise to her."
Peter is still lost as to what she means–oh homophobia!
"I knew my aunt liked women...and men." He blurts and starts adjusting his grip on the box. "I do, too," he offers, trying to seem friendly enough to learn the story.
Jessica stares at him. He doesn't know what else to do except freeze to the floor. Maybe it wasn't a relationship. Jessica sighs.
"You want some?" She asks having bent her body to reach the drawers of the desk. Peter thinks she's looking for another bottle to refill her glass.
"I'm not old enough," Peter says. He's not quite sure how to feel about the sudden change in energy.
Jessica holds out the glass still. "I drank at 14." It's a lie, but no one was going to call her out on it. Her liver already looked like she had been drinking from the womb.
"I'm 17," the kid insists. "I'll be 18 in July." He looks like he says that a lot. "Ms. Jessica, you don't have t—" She knows she doesn't have to, but she's already made him a glass.
"Sit," she commands and he does so immediately. She hands him his glass which he takes and gingerly places it on the desk. "Your aunt and I...we fucked." She felt bad for the kid, but she was still intent on scaring him off. She had a lot of shit to do today. The kid—What was his name? Peter?—Peter paled, but he was still holding strong. Jessica hadn't even seen him spare a glance at an exit. "But you figured that out." He nodded. "She never mentioned you."
He looks away from her with big sad eyes. Jessica rubs her face "Jesus...What do-I dunno, what do you want to know."
"He was interesting," Matt states looking ridiculous crawling through her window in a suit.
"Were you listening in to that whole conversation?"
"Well, I CAN hear most of the city. Benefits of being blind."
And superpowered, she thinks. He has one of his loathsome grins. He thinks he's so hilarious with the blind jokes.
She doesn't bite. "But you chose to stalk our conversation."
Matt shrugs. "He knew my name. I've never met him. Sue me for being curious."
"Suing someone who's specialty is criminal law," She muses. "It's better than suing a civil practice, I guess." Matt smirks at her comment as he unpacks the folders back onto her desk. She sinks into her chair.
"I'm sorry for your loss by the way," He says sincerely. Matty always knows when to be a thorn up her ass.
"When you said meet up later I thought you meant tomorrow." She hopes he can get the message by her changing the subject.
"Well I was in the neighborhood." He states. "Jess, If you want someone to talk to–"
"You mean on the roof."
"As I said, I was in the neighborhood."
"You're always in the neighborhood." She's trying really hard not to break the whiskey glass.
"That I am Ms. Jones. So if you need–" She's trying to count down from ten. Its not working.
"I'm going to kindly ask you to fuck yourself with the apologies, yeah? Can we get this done?" With that Matt backs off.
"Of course," He gestures to the documents they've uncovered together. "Shall we?" Jessica hums in agreement. "So I think they've started storing–"
"I'm sorry," She interrupts him. "We haven't talked in years and just as I try to–" She pinches the bridge of her nose trying to stop the mounting pressure behind her eyes.
"Do you mind if I put my hand on your back...for moral support," He asks. Matty is real touchy-feely when it comes to strong emotions and Jessica is very much not. But she's already crying and far drunker than she was an hour ago.
"Go for it," She manages. She's already going to have to kill him for seeing her cry. He starts rubbing small circles into her back. "Actually, please don't...the circles" He stops and lifts his hand from her back.
"Of course. And by the way I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have invaded your privacy like that."
"Yeah, you shouldn't've." She puts the glass back in the drawer with the bottles and May's stuff.
Author's Notes
They are siblings your honour.
Please enjoy the notes I found while editing
I saw May die and immediately I was like hmm it would be fun to write Past!JessicaXMay angst where Peter has to tell Jessica. And then I tried to write it and while I wrote I thought about how they did my boy Matt dirty. So I did him dirtier. Also I'm upset that no one knowing that Peter exists means I cant have Matt joking around with Peter like Peter knows he's Daredevil. When Peter is absolutely lost and confused crying bc Why does this blind lawyer laugh and joke about parkour to him. Does this man do parkour? How tf did this mans know he was outside the door? HOW?
And like this fic could have been good but i have touchscreen laptop and exited out all my tabs when i went to move the screen and lost half the fic.
*idk what a bedside drawer is used for I haven't had one for most of my life and when I did it was used for my Ipad and easy access to medication. My mom uses her to store the weirdest shit though. She has supplies for bulletin boards and those fake ugly teeth as well Disney brochures from the early 2000's. Which is weird bc the last time I saw her bedside drawer was last year.
I also did TOO much redundant research on phone numbers for this fic I spent 40 minutes researching area codes trying to find Clinton's (Hell's Kitchen) prefix plus 5 seconds finding Manhattans Area code. Only to lollygag with the wiki to find her whole ass phone number was revealed as 212-256-1084 in season 2. I am distraught. Also according to my phone number research 212 is a really sought after area code for Manhattan so good for Jessica for getting Netflix to spend...a hundred dollars more for a phone number. Assuming said phone number is owned by Netflix as a Easter egg and not some poor soul's full voice mail.