Distant (Into the Spider-Verse; Peter B. Parker, M) 2/2

[Spoo]

I haven't posted a fic in literal months (whoops), but I finished this little morsel earlier today and figured it was worth a share. I kinda fell in love with the "janky old broke hobo Spider-Man" that IS Peter B. Parker. He's the most relatable character I've seen in a while, honestly.  

So yeah, hope you guys enjoy this first part! There'll be another (at some point ). 

Note: Light mess warning!

~ * ~

 

Distant

Part 1

by Spoo

 

This isn’t something she wants to do, but postponing it will only delay the inevitably awkward exchange between them. It’s definitely one of those ‘rip the band-aid off’ situations, which is why Mary Jane takes it upon herself to drop off the last of her ex-husband’s belongings. They’re not things he can’t live without—a faded green sweatshirt, an old wallet, various toiletries—but they really don’t belong with her, and she doesn’t want to throw them out.

Another ex-wife might have done that, she’s known other ex-wives that have done that, but as distant and detached as her and Peter have become over the past year, Mary Jane doesn’t want to make things worse.

She stops outside the apartment that matches the number she was sent and, once she readjusts the box in her arms, reaches out to knock. Realistically Peter should have sensed her the moment she approached the door, but maybe it’s easier to greet her when he’s had a second to mentally prepare himself. They haven’t seen each other in over a month, after all.

When her knocks continue to go unanswered, Mary Jane decides to take another approach: “Hey, Pete? It’s me. Can you open the door?”

The walls don’t seem very thick in the building, which is proved when a door down the hall cracks open. An older woman peeks out, scowls at Mary Jane, and then closes and locks her door. What a friendly place.

“Peter?” Mary Jane tries again, along with a few more knocks. She considers the fact that he might have stepped out (or forgotten that she was coming by altogether), but that’s before she finally gets a response on the other side of the door.

“Just a sec!”

The shuffling scrape of heavy objects being pushed around replaces Peter’s muffled voice. This goes on for a few minutes, which is why Mary Jane suggests:

“If it’s easier for you I can just leave it he—”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish her sentence, because the door is yanked open (was it even locked?) and Peter is standing in front of her, looking like he just woke up.

“Sorry, I had to…rearrange some stuff.”

Now that there’s nothing in between them, Mary Jane notices how off Peter appears and sounds. He doesn’t just look like he hasn’t been sleeping well, because if that were the case he’d just have the bags under his eyes. Not so much the splashes of red on his nose and cheeks. She’s seen it before, and it usually means that Peter has a case of the spiderflu (it’s not really a ‘flu’, per se, but it’s what happens when people who are bitten by radioactive spiders get sick).

Peter clears his throat and confirms her deduction when it turns into a cough. “Do you want to come in? I’ve got, uh…” He turns away from her for a second to look into the hot mess that is his apartment. “…pizza. Somewhere.” Snf.

“No, thank you. I had lunch before I came over,” Mary Jane replies, and then holds out the box towards him. “This is the last of it.”

Peter looks at her offering, hesitant, before he slowly reaches out and takes it into one arm. “You didn’t have to bring it. I could have stopped by,” he tells her, still glancing down at the box.

“Peter, you said you were stopping by weeks ago. There’s only so many times I can remind you before it’s clear to me that you’re not actually coming,” Mary Jane remarks, though not unkindly. She spoons a curtain of red curls behind her ear. “I have an errand to run on this side of town anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

It seems like Peter doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stands there looking as kicked and wounded as he did the day they signed their divorce papers. This isn’t easy for either of them, but Mary Jane has learned to keep her emotions behind a carefully reconstructed wall of neutrality. Peter isn’t quite there yet.

Be that as it may, she can’t stop herself from helping him out when he needs it (especially when the issue is literally about to drip down his face). Opening her purse, she reaches into it and finds a sealed pack of travel tissues. She rips the perforated plastic apart and retrieves the topmost tissue sheet before extending it to Peter.

“Here.”

He looks confused for a beat (or maybe that’s just the daze from the cold she knows he has), but a swift dab of his finger under his crooked nose reveals why Mary Jane is doing what she’s doing.

“Wow, that’s attractive,” Peter mumbles, prior to accepting the tissue and shoving it against his leaky nostrils. He sets the box she gave him on top of another box, freeing his other hand and allowing him to get his runny nose under control. “I might be coming down with something. Nothing major.”

“I think you already came down with it,” Mary Jane points out, and then sighs. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I am,” Peter says, a little too fast. “I get about eight hours of sleep, eat clean—that was my first pizza in weeks, FYI—and I work out, like, all the time.”

“Maybe you should take it easy until you’re feeling better.”

“I feel fine, MJ,” Peter counters, pressing the crumpled tissue against the raw skin of his philtrum. Either the steady trickle isn’t stopping, or he’s keeping the tissue there for a reason. Said reason becomes obvious when he starts blinking too quickly and his head tilts back. “J-just…hh!…a little—hgk’CHSCHHhhih!…a little sniffly.”

His sneezes are as messy as they usually are when he’s sick, Mary Jane thinks, as she hands the entire travel pack over to him now. “Bless you.”

Peter, on the edge of another hitching sneeze, takes it from her swiftly. “Thh-thanks!–hhg’CHSCHhhishh!”

Mary Jane pretends to occupy her attention with a father and son that walk by while Peter blows his nose. With his belongings delivered she technically isn’t obligated to stick around any longer, but walking away mid-conversation isn’t a polite thing to do. When it sounds like he’s done she looks at him again and tries to ignore the pang of sympathy that hits her square in the chest.

His nose is redder, his sclerae are watery, and he looks so miserably congested that it almost makes her own sinuses start to hurt.

“I should probably get going,” she says, half because it’s true and half to finally end their uncomfortable interaction.

“Yeah, for sure. I don’t want to hold you up if you’ve got an errand to run,” Peter agrees, even if his words sound forced. His Adam’s apple bobs in a thick, audible swallow. “You look good, by the way. Nice dress. Classy.”

“Thank you,” Mary Jane replies. It’s a reflex to say that he looks good as well, but he doesn’t. It’s not even the baggy sweatpants and tacky ‘I ❤️ New York’ t-shirt that make him look awful. He just does. “Take care of that cold, okay?” 

She takes a step back, ready to depart, but he stops her with a final statement.

“See you around?”

She knows the real answer to that. He knows the real answer to that. Still, Mary Jane smiles and gives him the answer his sad eyes are begging her to say.

“Yeah, Pete. See you around.”

She feels his gaze on her back as she makes her way to the stairwell. Her footsteps are confident as they descend the steps and eventually lead her out of the building. She’s halfway down the street when she abruptly stops, takes a deep breath, and re-purposes the direction she’s walking in.

Mary Jane isn’t going to sign up for a yoga class anymore. She’s going to pick up some tissues, chicken soup, and a box of those deformed Spider-Man popsicles.

 

TBC.

Edited February 18, 2019 by Spoo

[rockbell]

I love love love this!!!!!!

[Gallatea]

OMG YES ME TOO!!! I have such a HUGE love for Spider-Verse and all the characters from it. Thank you for writing this! I really look forward to the next segment!

[VividBubbles!]

Ooh boi am I pumped for this. Into the Spider-Verse was an absolute masterpiece, I'm so happy to see something for it on the forum! Especially since Peter is truly a precious cinnamon roll who is just the best dad a new spider-person could ask for. I am very much looking forward to the next update.

[Nas]

Yessss, I love this, Spoo!   I'm so excited to read more!  I love how you're writing the characters.

[Spoo]

Thanks, guys! I really appreciate your support.  

Something I completely failed to mention in the first part is that this fic takes place BEFORE the events of the movie (but that probably became obvious anyway ). Also, it's very rare that I write angst without fixing everything before the story concludes, but that wasn't the case here. If you've seen Spider-Verse then at least you have the comfort of knowing it all turns out okay in the end? 

That being said...heeeere we go. Next stop, Sadville!

(PS, Stan the cactus is named after Stan Lee! )

~ * ~ 

Distant

Part 2

by Spoo

 

Peter doesn’t say anything when he opens his door for the second time that day and sees Mary Jane standing there. Again. He also doesn’t say anything when he moves aside to let her in, even though his apartment really isn’t ready for guests of any kind (least of all the recently divorced ex-wife that he’s still not over yet).

He watches as she carefully sidesteps piles of dirty clothes, empty takeout boxes, and whatever else blocks her path to his small kitchen (which, big surprise, is a total mess). After clearing a space on the counter, she starts to unload the plastic shopping bag that was previously hooked in the bend of her elbow.

Peter should probably feel embarrassed about his slobbish bachelor pad, but it’s not embarrassment that swarms through him. Watching Mary Jane sort through her recent purchases and organize everything into small piles brings back a warm wave of nostalgia.

Once upon a time Peter would have come up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He would have shelved his stubbly chin in the dip of her narrow shoulder, would have kissed the smooth skin of her freckled neck, while she separated the groceries and told him about her day.

The golden glow of the memory fades into the cold, blue reality in front of him. At least it’s enough to get Peter’s dry lips moving again.

“I’ll be honest, MJ,” he starts, rubbing the back of his uncombed bedhead. “When I said ‘see you around’ earlier, I didn’t actually think…”

“That you’d see me around?” Mary Jane finishes, turning to look at him. The eye contact is fleeting, because a second later she’s letting her gaze roam all around his cluttered kitchen. “Where do you keep your pots, Pete?”

“Thaaat’ssss…a good question, actually,” Peter says, snuffling. When was the last time he ate a meal that wasn’t fast food or takeout? Shit, when was the last time he actually MADE something? “Hold that thought.”

He webs over a smaller box that he hasn’t touched since he moved in (almost two months ago, whoops). A thin film of dust jumps out at him, courtesy of his quick movements; it irritates his already sensitive nose and makes it itch something fierce. In retaliation he wrinkles the appendage tightly, which buys him enough time to finally secure the kitchenware Mary Jane requested. He’s trying not to breathe as he hands it over, and it’s only when he sets the box back down that he swivels away from her and sneezes into the cupped hand he barely manages to cage around his mouth.

“Hck’CHSCHHhhuhh!”

Peter’s brown eyes widen. The sneeze had been a little more productive than he’d anticipated, which is why he needs—

“I bought a box of tissues. They’re over there,” Mary Jane explains, as if on cue. She’s washing the pot Peter gave her at the sink now, her back turned to him (thank God). “And bless you.”

“Thagks. And thagks,” Peter replies, his congested voice muffled behind the cupped hand he can’t exactly lower yet. He steps over to where the tissues are and attempts to open the box one-handed. The task is awkward and clumsy, but he eventually succeeds and grabs a handful of sheets. Just in time, too. “Hhg’CHFFSCHhhhh!”

It’s a little more hygienic when he has something that isn’t bare skin to sneeze into, but Peter still cringes at how gross he is; it figures his spiderflu would wait until MJ is around to really kick into overdrive. Typical.

He walks a few paces away to blow his nose—he might be disgusting right now, but he’s not ignorant of food preparation etiquette—and when he’s done he throws away the tissues (into an actual trash can) and goes to wash his hands.

Peter passes Mary Jane on the way to the sink; their shoulders brush—well, her shoulder brushes his bicep—and even though the contact is light and insignificant, it feels both familiar and nice. Focus, Parker, Peter mentally scolds himself as he rinses off his hands. What they need is a topic change to lighten the mood between them. It’s worth a shot, anyway.

“How’s Stan doing?”

Nailed it.

“Stan’s fine,” Mary Jane answers after a beat, and then adds, “Growing more white hairs.”

They never had any kids, but they did have a grandfather cactus they’d bought from a local farmer’s market once. It was as close to co-parenting as Peter would ever let them get.

“That’s cool,” he replies, huffing a cough into his elbow.

…aaaand then it’s quiet again.

Peter idly inspects whatever else Mary Jane bought him from the store, and when he sees the box of Spider-Man popsicles his brain launches another memory at him.

They’re a lot younger now, but he’s still sick. Mary Jane hands him the popsicles and laughs as she does so.

“Seriously?” he asks, opening the box.

“It’ll feel good on your throat,” she explains, popping up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

From then it became a jokey tradition to snag a box of the misshapen popsicles the rare times he came down with something. Their parting of ways clearly hasn’t stopped that from happening, which honestly depresses Peter more than it comforts him.

Without thinking he opens the box, extracts a single popsicle, and puts the rest in the freezer. There’s nothing but an ice tray in there, which means there’s plenty of room for the thoughtful gift.

“I’m not staying much longer,” Mary Jane announces after a few minutes. Now that she’s got some soup warming up on the stove it looks like she’s completed her mission.

“You didn’t have to come back here at all, so I appreciate what you’re doing,” Peter responds around what’s left of the popsicle in his mouth. It’s the first thing he’s eaten all day. “Maybe we can do this more often. Like…just a friendly visit.”

Because I miss you. Because I love you. Because I hate that we couldn’t make things work.

Mary Jane looks like she wants to say something completely different than what she ends up going with. “I think it still might be a little too soon for that.”

Peter doesn’t want to provoke her or revisit one of the many arguments they had during that last unhappy year, so he swallows down the words like he does the tickling urge to cough. He can’t do the same when the sensation changes course and attacks his nose. At least he finished his popsicle first.

Rather than go for more tissues (he’ll use them when he’s done sneezing), Peter yanks the collar of his t-shirt over his face and directs the releases into the space between cotton and chest.

“Hgh’CHSCHHhhhh!—hh!-CHZSCHHhhhih!”

He’s usually a ‘two and through’ kind of guy, but his breath is still hitching, and the next thing he knows he’s using the counter for support with one hand while his other keeps his shirt collar held securely in place.

“—CHTSCHHH!…hck’CHSCHhhhuh!”

“Bless you.”

Peter opens his wet eyes and sees the tissue box being handed to him (something he’s immensely grateful for in his present state), and rather than take care of the damage in front of Mary Jane, he takes the box and excuses himself for a minute.

One bathroom trip and twenty tissues later, Peter comes back to find a hot bowl of soup waiting for him on the counter. Mary Jane isn’t in the kitchen anymore, which makes him think that she slipped out quietly, but that’s before his dulled senses alert him to the presence by the front door.

Peter approaches slowly and clears his throat. Even though their marriage is over, he’s grateful that they’re on good enough terms to care about the other’s general well-being.

“I meant it before. Take care of yourself, okay? Those supplies should last you at least a few days,” Mary Jane tells him.

“I really appreciate it,” he says, sniffing.

One final memory eclipses his vision, mirroring the scene that’s happening now: Mary Jane is leaving, and Peter, sick as a dog, is reassuring her that he’ll take it easy and rest.

She doesn’t believe him, which is why she glances past her husband and towards their bedroom, where she knows his suit is. Still, she pulls him down into an embrace and hugs him close to her chest.

Peter can still feel her arms around him, even though he’s no longer reminiscing. They say their awkward goodbyes—no ‘see you around’ this time—and after he closes the door Peter goes back to the kitchen. The soup on the counter is still hot, but he leaves it alone and opens the freezer instead.

As he unsheathes another popsicle from the wrapper, he can’t but relate to its lump-sided, barely held together appearance.

“Same,” he exhales, speaking into the empty apartment. “Same.”

 

END.

[Seeker]

I love the "same"!

I haven't seen the movie...it will probably have to wait for Netflix...but I did enjoy this 

Edited February 18, 2019 by ReidSeeker
Gotta use the Spiderman emoji!

[VividBubbles!]

Wow, the feels. Oof. You really got me, Spoo. The nostalgia and regret Peter was feeling was almost palpable. I’m happy I’ve seen the movie so I know how things turn out. Wonderful job as always, Spoo!

[AngelEyes]

This is sad and sweet.