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The phone rings and Peter nearly passes out.
One of the things with being nonexistent is that he never gets phone calls. Or text messages. Or emails outside of spam and scams. His mail consists of brochures and advertisements. He went through the trouble of setting up his voicemail but it still sits empty. No-one contacts him because he doesn’t exist. But the phone is ringing and it’s not a toll-free number.
Peter is tempted to hang up and block it, but there’s something about the 718 number that stops him from doing that and probably saving himself the annoyance of a prank call. He puts a pencil in his study book and presses the answer button, putting the phone to his ear, listening for anything for a few seconds before speaking.
“Hello?”
“…um, hi. Is- is this Peter Parker?”
Peter’s heart stutters and it’s almost pathetic that someone on the phone saying his name makes him react that way, but he doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed. “Speaking.”
“Oh, oh wow. Holy- holy crap. ” They laugh giddily on the other end. “I can’t believe that actually worked, holy hell.”
“Uh, sorry but who is this?”
“Oh right, sorry I uh, forgot. Um, I’m Peter. Also Peter. Parker. Peter 3. Remember?”
Peter pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at the number. “What.”
“Listen, I know this is going to sound insane, but I somehow got your number, I guess your MJ put it in my phone or something, and I was looking at it and thought there had to be a way to contact other universes because if we can send radio transmissions into deep space, sending electronic signals should be a piece of-“
He cuts out into static and the call ends.
Peter immediately calls the number back, only to have an automated voice tell him that it is no longer in service. He puts the phone on the table in front of him and waits for it to start buzzing and ring again or for it to ding with a new message or email or anything.
The phone sits silent and still.
The strange, probably a hallucination but Peter’s not taking any chances, phone call stays in his mind during the week as he bounces from job interview to the grocery store to the coffee shop to the tops of buildings. He slugs through his life, or whatever it is he does every day, and tries not to get caught up in shit that might break the universe again. He doesn’t have anyone to run it by this time.
That is until he gets an email.
He’s not really doing much when the little red number appears next to the icon on his computer, just reading the WikiHow article on job applications while eating his soggy cereal, not really tasting it. He opens his mailbox and frowns at the email address he doesn’t recognize. It might just be spam but… he’s got a feeling. He opens it.
Long time no see
Hey, it’s Peter 3. You know, Peter Parker from another universe. I called you the other day but the call cut off because I had an issue with the radio I was using, but bygones bygones. I hate emailing so I was wondering if you wanted to call? The number I used last time should work, unless it doesn’t, then that sucks. Anyway, hope to hear from you soon.
Peter 3, in case you forgot.
Peter throws himself out of his seat, banging his shin on the table leg and jerking the entire thing to the side which sends pencils and pens flying. He scrambles, practically crawls because damn his shin hurts, to his bedside table where his phone is charging and calls the number that was supposedly not in service. It’s answered on the first ring.
“…Peter?”
“Peter!?”
“Dude!”
“Dude!!”
Neither says anything for a few seconds before they both devolve into laughter that makes Peter’s eyes water and his lungs hurt. When he eventually calms himself enough to speak, he cups his hand over the phone like it’s his own secret that if anyone finds out about they’ll rip from him and smiles at the floor.
“How- how did you- I don’t even-“ he pants and bites back another laugh. “Oh my god.”
“Yea yea, oh my god. I didn’t actually- I didn’t actually think this would work! I mean it was pretty simple, just had to use FRB signals generated by a maybe top-secret government project, so I broke in but…” he hears Peter 3 breath out. “It’s, it’s good to hear from you.”
Peter covers his eyes with his hand and tries to remember to keep his voice steady because most people don’t break down on phone calls, but he’s kind of rusty when it comes to interactions with people who remember him.
“Yea, I could say the same.”
The line starts to die and Peter 3 quickly promises to call back soon before he’s gone. Again. Even in the silence of his apartment and the chaos of the city outside, Peter’s warm.
An unfinished email sits open on his computer, only one line written.
So there’s this girl…
Peter slams it shut and presses his hands to his face, groaning. What the hell is he supposed to say? I met this girl today, a really nice, pretty one. But I’ve got MJ, or I had her, and I promised her I’d tell her I love her but I haven’t and I can’t.
Yeah no. Moving on, from MJ and Ned and May, not happening.
He wants to curl up under the sheets and do nothing, but he knows that if he does he won’t move from bed all day and feel even worse tomorrow. He throws on his suit and swings out the window. It’s freezing out, the forecast said it was supposed to snow that week, and imagine that, a white Christmas.
(‘Just like the ones I used to know~’ May sang as she slowly danced with Peter’s tiny feet on top of hers, swaying back and forth dramatically as he giggled. ‘Where the treetops glisten, and children listen…’)
He stops a few carjackings and muggings on his way and decides he loves the cold. It makes his entire body hurt in a way that makes it feel like he’s actually there. Because his apartment is empty and his phone isn’t buzzing, but he’s got an email draft ready to send and someone he can talk to.
So there’s this girl, I met her at the library the other day while I was studying for my GED. She walked up to my table and surprised me, no tingle, and she-
(She threw back the chair and plopped into it, hiding her face in a book before peeking over and whisper-shouting ‘act normal!’
A guy passed by and once he’d left she put the book down with a sigh and smiled, pushing a lock of blonde hair from her face. ‘Thanks for that, I kind of ran out of social battery and was not interested.’
Peter nodded. ‘I get it.’
She held out a hand for him to shake. ‘Name’s-‘)
His phone buzzing is the only thing that stops Peter from slamming into the side of a building. He flips and lands on his feet, not on his face. Having a black eye would definitely lower his already rock bottom chances of finding a job. He struggles to pull the phone out of the suit pocket and reads the text message from a 347 number.
Hey, it’s Peter 2. From the statue. Peter 3 called me the other day, which was a little mind-blowing but at this point, nothing's unbelievable. He gave me your number too, but it’s kind of late and I didn’t want to bother you. Give me a call anytime. Really, anytime.
He reads it again and again until the words blur together. Then sets off swinging through the city for a couple of hours longer. Then he lands wrong, twists his ankle, and is forced to take a breather on top of a donut shop. He takes the mask off, happy to breathe the frigid air, and leans his head back against the massive donut he’s sitting next to.
He feels like crap. He probably looks like crap too. But the air feels good on his warm cheeks and the music is nice. Christmas music sounds like it’s playing from an old radio someone has outside their window, maybe down the block. It’s like that time May would-
Ah ah, no. No. Not now. He rubs furiously at his eyes and digs his nails into his palms, evening out his breathing. Not now. But it’s hard to stop spiraling once he’s started, so Peter grabs his phone and dials.
“Hello?”
He chews on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know if you have this issue, but have you ever sewn hidden pockets into your suit?”
He hears Peter 2 shuffle around on his end and the grin in his voice when he responds. “I have in fact.”
When he gets home a few hours later, mind brimming with new designs and gadgets, he strips himself of the suit and sits at the laptop again. It’s an email he’ll probably never send, it’s too raw and vulnerable, he’s not going to unload when his issues are hardly even issues, but maybe it’ll be good. Like those letters, people's therapists tell them to write to people but don’t send. He thinks he’s seen that in a show once.
So there’s this girl, I met her at the library the other day while I was studying for my GED. She walked up to my table and surprised me, no tingle, and she looked like she was hiding from someone. They left and then she introduced herself with a smile and said she was going to ESU. She’s nice, I… hope I run into her again. Her name is Gwen.
There’s a woman at the library who’s struggling with her laptop and Peter can’t take her not understanding that all she needs to do is turn it off and back on again, so he gets up and helps her. The blonde lady is so gobsmacked by his ‘feat’ that she offers him a job.
“I work at a very ,” she emphasizes, “small law firm and we’re always having computer issues. Maybe you could be our tech guy.”
Peter, short on cash and never one to turn down a job offer, accepts and follows her a few blocks away into a kind of shady building in Hell’s Kitchen. And yes, in hindsight he should probably be warier, but whatever he’s Spider-Man and even if he isn’t right now, no one would mourn his loss. It’s a simple equation of how much money outweighs his safety and right now, it’s by a lot.
He misses the sign on the door as he walks in, too engrossed in introductions and the dingy office that can barely pass as a law firm. The lady introduces herself, a Miss Karen Page, and as she’s explaining to Peter that he’ll get the job but her coworkers would probably like some references, said coworkers walk in. One Foggy Nelson, dressed professionally with an inviting smile and a kind face. Another Matthew Murdock, unreadable and unshakeable.
He tilts his head. “Do I know you, Mr. Parker?”
Peter pulls his hand back from the handshake and shoves them in his pockets to hide the shaking. He plasters on a smile and forces himself to believe it. “I don’t think so, Mr. Murdock.”
He leaves after a polite goodbye and, on his walk back, decides he maybe despises everything, the world. All that angsty teenage shit he was certain was beaten out of him when Osborn slammed him through several stories and tossed a bomb at his face.
No, Peter doesn’t actually hate the world, he just hates himself and he’s all he’ll ever be, so he hates it and goes home to his apartment and smashes his window and several mugs. Then breaks a plate for good measure. Then regrets his every decision because now he’s got no dishes and no money to buy new ones and he’ll have to clean up the pieces himself but there’s no one to reprimand him or care.
Anyway. He’s got references to find and no one to ask. So he calls.
“You know, I was just thinking of you,” Peter 2 says in lieu of a greeting.
Peter opens his mouth but no words come out. He waits and hopes Peter 2 doesn’t hang up, he’s not sure he could handle that. But he doesn’t, he just carries on talking like he knows and maybe he does. They’re the same person, supposedly.
“I saw this kid the other day, in a black and red Spider-Man suit swinging around Brooklyn. So I went to talk to him and turns out he’s also a Spider-Man. Spider person. I’m not sure. But he showed me his web-shooters and they were just- wow. Just amazing. And he sounded so young, I thought of you.”
Peter licks his lips and dumps the broken pieces of the plate onto the table. “Y-you’re thinking of helping him?”
“I am, but… I don’t know if I’m really cut out for it. I’ve been solo for so long, and, I didn’t really have the easiest origin story.” Peter 2 chuckles softly like there was a hidden joke there. “But yea, I’ll try and help. That’s what we do, right?”
He closed his eyes and nodded. It’s what they do, and sometimes it’s hard to remember that. Spider-Man helps people, Peter likes helping people. And it- it doesn’t always bear fruit, sometimes it just tears peoples lives apart, or ends them altogether, but-
When you help someone, you help everyone.
It’s engraved onto her headstone.
With great power, there must also come great responsibility.
It’s her hand on his cheek and her eyes firm and fiery but looking at him. It gives him purpose, a reason for existing.
“It is.”
“Sorry, you called me and I kind of took over. My bad. Why’d you call?”
“I uh,” Peter pushes some pieces together. They don’t fit. “I'm applying for a job, at a law firm, and need a reference.”
“Oh.” There’s a long pause and Peter half expects him to say he can’t since they only worked together once as Spider-Man, to ask someone else who might know him better. Peter 2 says, “who should I send it to?”
Peter bites his knuckles and heaves out a shaky breath. Maybe to stop himself from screaming, or crying, or having any other moment of catharsis that might get his landlord to bang on his door about noise complaints.
“Karen Page, I’ll send you the email in a minute.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for it. And a law firm? That’s good, better than the Bugle.”
“You worked for the Daily Bugle?”
Peter 2 snorts and Peter almost does too. “Yea, it’s kind of a long story. Not really for the faint of heart.”
He finds two pieces of the broken plate and puts them together. They fit. “I can handle it.”
“Well, I needed the money and Jameson needed pictures of Spider-Man…”
A week later, Peter’s sitting in the office, next to Mr. Murdock-
('Matt, please,' the man sighs. 'I’m already getting sick of the Mr. I’m only 40 kid.')
-Matt, setting up the new text reader on his computer. It takes up most of the afternoon of his first day, but it’s pretty simple programming so Peter spends a little extra time adding extra features like an image descriptor and rearranging the keys so they’re as user-friendly as possible.
By the end of the evening, he’s made $300 which is absolutely insane and not at all what his usual pay would be since he only works when he’s called in, but it’s better than his old odd jobs gig so he’s more than satisfied.
He’s walking out of the mostly empty office when Matt stops him at the door.
“Here,” he says, handing Peter his business card and a pen. “If you ever need anything give me a call.”
Peter’s eyes brows shoot up. “Matt, I-“
“Listen, I’d write my personal number myself but seeing as how I can’t see, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
Peter bites back a response and dutifully copies down the numbers onto the back of the card.
Matt grins. “Take care of yourself, Peter.”
He makes it back to the apartment and puts the number into his phone.
“What’s your opinion on coffee, Parker?”
Peter looks up from the book he’s studying from at Gwen smiling back at him, leaning forward and resting her head in her hands.
“I hate it.”
“And is that why I see you with a new coffee cup every day?” She asks, gesturing to the cup beside him.
We are happy to serve you.
Peter grabs the cup and tosses it in the trash. “I don’t go there for the coffee.”
“Then what do you go there for? It’s not to study, because this is the best place for that.”
“ Was ,” he quips, giving her a pointed look.
She grins sweetly. “I enjoy your company.”
Peter looks down at the page and turns it. “Thanks.”
“You see, this is where you say something like, ‘I do to Gwen’ or ‘I think you’re groovy’.”
Peter fights a smile, biting his lip and holding back a bubble of amusement. “I do too, Gwen. And yea you’re pretty groovy.”
Gwen tilts her head. “You’re groovy too Peter. But back to my question, who’s the girl?”
Peter snaps his head up, stunned. “Girl?”
“Or boy, or whoever. If you aren’t going there for the coffee, then you’re going there for someone.”
“Or the donuts.” His phone starts buzzing, still on silent, and Peter 3 flashes on the screen. “I’ve gotta take this.”
Gwen waves her hand. “I’ll pick up and meet you outside.”
He shoots her a thanks and walks out to answer.
“What’d you blow up this time?”
“I’m pretty certain you’re supposed to answer these calls with, ‘Hey Peter 3, how are ya?'"
Peter rubs his temples in mock exasperation. It’s really endearing, he’s just dramatic. “You remind me so much of someone I know.”
“Sounds like someone I’d like.”
Peter thinks on that and agrees. Peter 3 and Gwen. They’d be perfect together. Too perfect. “What exploded?”
“Nothing! This time… I was just checking up on you.”
Peter furrows his eyebrows. “Checking up?”
“Yea, seeing how you are. I can’t do that?”
“Um.” Peter swallows and shakes away the intrusive memory of conversations in the dark after scary movies where May would run her fingers through his hair.
(‘Just checking in’, May would say while standing in the doorway, the light behind her but her smile still clear. ‘Doing ok?’)
“You can. And I’m… trying to do better, just… talking to a girl.”
“Ah young love,” Peter 3 says wistfully.
“Stop it. You’re only like, 10 years older than me.”
“So, young love. Let me give you some advice.”
Peter leans back against the building. “Oh no.”
“What do you mean oh no? I’ve got a lot of experience, I’ll have you know I’ve got a lot of experience.”
“Saying it twice in one sentence only makes said experience more dubious.”
“I had a girlfriend.”
Peter notes the past tense, the shift in his tone, wavering in humor. He decides not to touch on it. “Yea so did I and the girl I’m trying to get to be my girlfriend is the same exact person. So.”
“Wait, did you guys break up?! Please tell me that’s not true because you two were so cute together.”
“No we didn’t… break up, not exactly. It’s uh, it’s complicated.”
“Complicated as in you broke up or something else?” Peter 3 asks.
“As in a wizard erased the world’s memories of me.”
A pause, a sigh that sounded like another day in the life. “Parker luck.”
Peter sighs. “Parker luck.” Gwen finally comes out of the library and starts walking toward Peter. “I’ve gotta go soon.”
“Then here’s a piece of unsolicited advice-“
“Extremely unsolicited, please don’t.”
“-just go for it. You two already know- well, you know her.“
“Seriously? Your advice is to be yourself? I could’ve gotten that off Google man.”
“Because that’s the best advice anyone can give and it works. Besides… she loves you for you, Peter.”
“Loved.”
“ Loves ,” Peter 3 stresses. “Being brainwashed by a wizard doesn’t change that. She loves Peter Parker.”
“And Spider-Man?”
There’s a shrug in Peter 3’s voice. “A plus, a caveat, it’s a matter of perspective. She loves you, she’ll want to remember.”
“She might kill me when she does.”
“All is fair in love and war.”
He hangs up and walks Gwen to the subway station, leaving her in front of the entrance.
“Same time next week, Parker?” She asks, hiking her bag a little higher on her shoulder.
“Next week? I thought this was an every two days thing we unofficially agreed on.”
He goes to the library, studies for his GED for a few hours until Gwen shows up and he helps her with whatever schoolwork she’s got for as long as they can until the conversation evolves into chatter about everything and anything. They’re never on topic and never stay focused, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her get actual work done. Neither of them cares.
“It is, but no one says same time in two days,” she says with a grin. “Oh give me your phone.”
He passes it to her, slightly confused, and watches her do something quickly before giving it back. “Why…?”
Gwen taps on the screen. “My number, so we can actually plan things instead of randomly showing up and hoping the other person’s there. You know, as friends do.” She turns around and waves before Peter can even process what she said, calling over her shoulder, “and you’re taking me to that coffee shop so I can meet your girl!”
The ringtone wakes Peter up in the middle of the night. The clock reads 4:30. He got an hour of sleep. He throws his head back for a second, sees the number, and answers.
“Good… morning.”
“Morning,” Peter 3 breaths, sounding like he can hardly take it in. “Sorry, is it late?”
Peter shakes his head before remembering. “No, I was already up.”
“Oh ok, um…” he swallows and clicks his tongue. “How’s MJ?”
Peter wraps his free hand in the bedsheet. “She’s good. Probably asleep right now.”
“Ok ok. That’s good. That’s good. She’s- she’s good, she’s ok, right?”
Peter hears it. The cracks that are getting bigger and spreading, spiderwebbing through. A gentle tap, a stiff breeze, and it’ll break. He lets go of the sheets and sits up straight, evening out his voice, dropping it in that way May always did when Peter couldn’t focus.
“She’s still working at that donut shop I told you about. I go there every day. She cut her hair last week, not anything crazy but it’s shorter than before. It looks good, it looks great. She’s leaving for MIT in a few weeks.”
Peter almost wants to stop there and wallow in that realization. MJ and Ned are leaving for Massachusetts, probably rooming together. He can see her with her now shoulder-length hair, backpack slung over one shoulder, chatting with Ned about their classes and professors and friends and what they’re going to do that weekend. He can see her standing behind the coffee shop counter with a smile, grabbing a donut off the shelf and tossing it into a bag.
But he also saw her falling, reaching out. He saw his fingertips ghost hers and then felt the glider slam into him, carrying him away from her and watching her fall and fall. Until she wasn’t. Until Peter 3 threw himself toward her so quickly he could hardly keep track and catch her, landing with a flip on his feet and her safe in his arms. She stared up at him and Peter couldn’t hear but he saw Peter 3 blink up at the sky and look just as he sounded now. Blinking hard, thanking whoever was listening for something Peter was glad he’d never understand.
“MJ and Ned are going to be living together, I think. Which is a good idea, it’ll save them a lot of money and having to deal with someone else they don’t know. But Ned’s not really the neatest, so that’ll be something…”
Peter only ends up getting that one hour of sleep, but it’s enough.
In Peter’s defense, he didn’t see the knife coming.
He’d been doing his thing, swinging around, stopping crime, still feeling weird because he didn’t have a curfew or a mentor looking out for him or friends asking if he wanted to hang out soon. Then he heard a scream, a gunshot, more screaming and he was already heading in that direction.
Looked like a stickup, from the 3 seconds he took to assess the situation before he threw assessing through the window and into the fray. Several flips, punches, kicks, gunshots and failed stabbing attempts later, the criminals were webbed to the floor, the police were contacted. The shop owner was shaken but fine, and Peter was walking out of the store feeling relatively good about himself and adrenaline still pumping. Then he walked several feet and promptly collapsed behind a dumpster, bleeding out.
It’s the first time he got seriously injured while out on patrol since the Blip and the spell, so it’s not like he’s got an emergency contact list. He knows what to do, he’s not completely helpless when it comes to licking his wounds, but he- he’d feel better if he weren’t…
He’s on his own, he can help himself. Still, before he knows it he’s calling the first contact on his phone and ruining someone’s night.
Peter 2 answers on the second ring. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“You’ve joined the cult of Star Wars, I see.”
“It’s your fault, you got Mary Jane addicted by recommending those films.”
Peter adjusts the way he’s holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder and it sends a shooting pain through his side that he really should’ve expected. He holds back a groan. “Quick question, you wouldn’t happen to know how to treat a stab wound, would you?”
There’s a long, exasperated silence that almost makes Peter smile with how familiar and ridiculous the situation is and how many times he’d called Mr. Stark or Happy in the past to bail Peter out of shit like this.
“Where were you stabbed?” The man finally asks, sounding exhausted.
“My left side, right under my ribs.”
“…ok. Ok. Stay still, don’t move from where you are.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. Am I supposed to pack the wound? Because I remember taking this first aid class in 9th grade and it said you needed to do that and I kind of don’t want to because it sounds super painful but I will-“
“No! Don’t do that! Not in that area.” Peter 2 mumbles something before speaking up. “Just, find some relatively clean cloth or fabric and put as much pressure as you can onto it. Got it?”
Peter looks around and determines no one is going to be entering a suspicious alleyway at one in the morning, so he takes off his mask and presses it against the wound.
“God, that hurts like hell,” he grits out between clenched teeth.
“Yeah kid, getting stabbed isn’t fun.”
No one calls him kid, not anymore. The last thing Peter’s going to do is point it out. “Yea… sorry for uh, getting you stabbed. Last time you were over.”
“You make it sound like that whole thing was a sleepover.”
“Wasn’t it?”
Peter 2 laughs, bright and airy and unbelievably light . “In a way. How’s the bleeding?”
Peter moves the mask a little and peeks at the flow of blood, which has slowed. “Less. And the world’s stop spinning so that’s a good thing.”
“That’s a good thing. Think you can make it back home?”
“This isn’t really a think and consider situation,” he says as he forces himself to his feet and stumbles forward. “It’s just do.”
“Never hurts to ask.”
There’s a brief pause and Peter imagines the other man to be mulling over his words in that quiet contemplative way he caught a glimpse of on the Statue of Liberty. He superimposes the image of Peter 2 twisting the landline phone cable around his wrist and unwrapping it, even if the phone is 20 years outdated. Peter smiles, dazed, at it. It’s nicer to look at than the empty alleyway. It’s warmer, a little less barren, a little less Peter.
“Do you have someone waiting?” Peter 2 asks quietly.
Peter’s steps halt for a moment and he continues onward. “Just me.” He closes his eyes and lets his muddled but still working tingle do the work. “Just me.”
“Not anymore.”
The alarm rings. Peter finally gets up after forcing himself to lie motionless all night like it’ll convince his body to sleep. It didn’t. He reads the messages from the Peters, the usual uplifting good morning from 2 with a slightly blurry picture — him and a redheaded woman, smiling in their pajamas, in front of a TV playing A New Hope — and the insane rundown of 3’s previous night's encounters, last night's of which involved a crazy tv show host in a ridiculous fur-pelt outfit trying to capture Spider-Man. Peter shoves food into his mouth and leaves the apartment without looking back. The first job of the day is some easy electrician work, fixing a lady down the hall’s tv, fixing some other guy’s vacuum cleaner. Then he’s off to the law firm, fixes the printer, and adds some new features. Boosts their internet speed while he’s at it.
“What are your plans for Christmas?” Matt asks him as Peter fiddles with some wires.
“I don’t have any.” He grunts and makes a show of pulling something that’s supposed to be heavy. He knows Matt can’t see him, but it doesn’t hurt to be safe.
“No family?”
“Not anymore.”
Matt just hums and Peter’s glad that’s all of his reaction.
When he’s done, he packs his things up and gets ready to leave, but Matt stops him at the door and hands him a box with a few bills balancing on top.
“What’s this?” Peter asks while eyeing the box and money.
“A holiday bonus,” Matt responds. “It was Foggy and Karen’s idea, not mine.”
“Mr. Murdock, I really can’t-“
“Matt kid. And yes you really can.” His face twists like Mr. Stark’s did when he was experiencing new emotions he didn’t understand like he's the grinch. It’s kind of hilarious. “Take it, please. Before they come back and tear me to shreds for not forcing you to take it.”
Peter smirks and grabs the box. “I think that’d be entertaining.”
“Of course you would. You all love to see me suffer.”
Peter heads back to his apartment and drops the box and money off. He decides to open it on Christmas Day, it’ll give him something to do and take his mind off of who he’s missing. His phone buzzes with a message from Matt just before he leaves again for the library, reading: happy holidays.
He takes the usual table when he gets there, putting his books down and getting to work. Gwen arrives a few hours later in a flurry of sun and smiles. They work on her research paper for all of two seconds before they're discussing whether Star Trek has more cultural significance than Star Wars.
“It’s older, it has more famous people,” Gwen argues.
“That can also apply to Star Wars,” Peter says.
“You haven’t disproved my point.”
They eventually disagree to agree since Gwen is too stubborn and Peter’s struggling to keep his composure. They pack their things up and decide to go to the coffee shop. Well, Gwen decides and Peter is dragged along.
“You can’t keep them a secret from me~” she sings as she follows Peter down the street to the shop.
He doesn’t let his hands leave his pockets because that’s the only thing that’s keeping him from losing his mind because Gwen is about to meet MJ and yea MJ doesn’t remember him but what if she does, what would he say, how would he explain that he’s not trying to replace her and Ned, he just desperately needed someone-
“Hey.” He blinks and suddenly Gwen is standing in front of him, her eyes searching. Her hand lands gently on his shoulder. “Want to head back?”
Peter shakes his head. “No, I’m in the mood for coffee.”
She assesses him and grins. “That you’ll throw away.”
“Not this time.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Not really.”
“Because you know you’ll lose,” she says as she pushes the door open and the two step in.
MJ glances away from Ned towards the front of the shop, her eyes shining with vague recognition, but nothing like before. Peter thought he’d gotten used to it. He was sorely mistaken.
She walks to the register and gives them both a customer service smile. “Welcome Peter Parker, and…”
“Gwen.”
“What can I get you two?”
“I’ll have a… hot chocolate. And he’ll have…”
“A coffee and donut,” MJ finishes with a certain tone, that she knows she’s right. She doesn’t even ask Peter to confirm, just punches their orders into the machine while Gwen tries and fails to stop herself from smiling, radiating ‘I knew it’ energy. Peter wants to roll his eyes. “$12.43”
He pays and they take seats at the counter, a little away from Ned who Peter’s eyes keep trailing to.
“I knew it was him,” Gwen whispers to herself, jolting Peter back to reality.
“What? No, it’s not N- not him. He just… reminds me of someone.” Irony, Peter hates it.
“Oh.” Her head turns to MJ and her eyes glint mischievously. “I’m calling her over.”
“Please don’t.”
“I am.”
Peter groans lowly and lets his head fall onto the counter. “Why?”
There’s a surprisingly contemplative pause between his question and her answer. “I’ve only known you for a month, but I know you enough to know that you’d rather spend your entire life staring from across a counter than risk some pain.”
Gwen doesn’t falter, Peter stutters. He taps at the counter anxiously. “It wouldn’t just be some pain for me…”
“Doesn’t matter,” she interjects before he can continue. “Pain is part of existence and you exist, Peter. We all do. So, take a risk.”
Before Peter can clap a hand over her mouth she calls, “Excuse me!” and MJ turns towards them immediately. “My friend wants to ask you something!”
“Gwen-!” Luckily his phone rings and Peter thinks he’s saved until Gwen snatches it away from him and answers in his stead.
“Peter Parker’s secretary speaking, I’m fielding his calls right now while he,” she winks at him and cups her hand over the speaker, “asks a girl for her number. Yea, yea I know, I know! Yea well you see, he’s been going to this coffee shop for weeks and…”
MJ’s standing there, staring and waiting with her arms crossed and expectations Peter’s afraid he won’t meet. But he can’t leave her there, waiting. He gets up like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders and stumbles over, standing on the other side of the counter from her.
“Ask away, Peter Parker,” she says, head cocked and hair falling over her shoulder. Black dahlia necklace peeking out from under her shirt.
Peter could go on a whole monologue on why he shouldn’t be doing this, why he didn’t read the notecard in the first place, why he’s supposed to be distancing himself from her and Ned, why Peter Parker not existing is a good thing.
But Gwen’s talking to presumably Peter 3 on the phone, judging by her exuberant demeanor, Ned’s apparently been dragged into their conversation about cellular regeneration as she puts the phone on speaker, Matt gave him a holiday gift, Peter 2 found a way to send pictures through their emails, and MJ is waiting. He knows she’ll wait forever, for that promise, but Peter’s not patient. He never has been.
Deep breathe, then, “would it be… weird, if I asked you for your number?”
MJ presses her lips together, narrows her eyes. “It would,” she says flatly, but still grabs a napkin and pen and scribbles down numbers on it. She hands it to him, her face unchanging. “This is very weird.”
“Very,” Peter agrees. He grabs the paper and carefully puts it in his pocket. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, I gave you one of those prank numbers,” she replies without missing a beat.
“Oh, uh, sorry then for-“
“I’m kidding.” She meets his gaze and quickly looks away. “It may or may not be real.”
Peter doesn’t bother stopping the grin that comes easily to his face. “Schrödinger’s phone number.”
“Phone number superposition.” MJ sucks in a breathe and grabs a rag, so Peter takes that as his cue.
“Thanks. I’ll… catch you later?”
She makes a face. “Don’t make this weird.”
“It already is.”
“Weirder, then.” She adds, “loser.”
Peter and Gwen follow their usual path to the subway station, and she finally gives him the phone when they get there.
“I thought you were going to steal it,” he mumbles as he pockets it.
“As much as I want your indestructible Starkphone, I’m good. And you’ll need it more than me,” she says with a wink.
Peter smiles. “Thanks.”
“It’s what I do. Oh and here,” she takes something from her backpack and hands it to him. “Happy holidays, but don’t open it before Christmas, or I will know and hunt you down.”
“Yes ma’am, understood.”
“Good. Then, same time next week?”
“Same time, next week.”
Back to the apartment, change into the suit, patrol for a few hours. People usually ease up around the holidays, so it’s an easy night. He even gets a free kebab from a grateful citizen. It’s devoured in seconds. He swings back, changes, gets more work done because there’s always work to be done, until his phone rings and the empty apartment practically explodes with the voices of Peter 3 and 2.
“I got it working! Hell yea!”
“Of course it’s working, you’re fixing it.”
“Geez dude, you’re just, just so good. Too good.”
“I’m just stating facts here, you’re amazing.”
“You’re gonna inflate my ego.”
“I don’t think that’s possible with you.”
Peter listens to their chatter for a bit while he puts Gwen’s gift next to Matt’s underneath his little makeshift Christmas tree, made from construction paper in the rare bit of free time Peter somehow carved for himself.
“…I’m just going to spend it with my aunt, I think. I haven’t been around as much as I should be, and she… she deserves better.”
“As long as you’re trying, that’s what matters.”
“Yea… how are things with you?”
“Good, great. Just home with Mary Jane, trying to get her to watch something else besides Star Wars, but Pete got her hooked.”
Peter lets out an easy laugh, the easiest one he’s had in a while and sets down a bowl of rice on the table next to his study book and laptop. “Anyone would be hooked, they're awesome.”
“Awesome enough to watch 5 times?”
“Awesome enough to watch more than that.”
“I’m gonna have to agree with Pete on this one,” Peter 3 says. “They are pretty spectacular.
“Alright alright, I’ll give in and watch them. Besides that, how are you, Pete?”
Peter leans back in the seat and looks out the window at the starry sky and the snow falling. A white Christmas, he thinks. She always liked the snow. And now that Peter’s looking at it, it’s not all that bad.
“Doing better.”