“Okay, Peter, what’s going on?” Steve said after the third holographic representation of a fearsome creature out of this world, modeled after Thor’s descriptions of Asgardian fauna – probably even a former pet –, knocked Peter off his feet.
Yes, the thing was intangible and yet, here he was, mighty Spider-Man, lying on his back and holding his head, since the floor was one of the few solid things in the room.
“Nothing…”
“Peter.”
Peter sat up straightening his back because how was anyone not to stand at attention when Captain America used that tone. “Well, it’s not nothing-nothing, but –”
The mist, the forest, the snow, and the creatures vanished, leaving only the bare metal around them, as Steve, suited up except for the cowl, walked into the room.
“But?” he asked, sounding and looking more as a concerned father than the Drill Sargent he had been during the past half hour. His senses regarding Peter’s well-being had refined to the point that hiding something from him it was almost as hard as it was from May. Of course, he had the power to cheat by overriding Karen’s privacy settings whenever he wanted, but that was besides the point.
Peter sighed and folded his legs to be more comfortable, and rested his cheek on his hand. “Well, there is this thing.”
Steve sat down in front of him, cross-legged as well. “What is it?”
“Do you remember my friend MJ?”
“Did you finally ask her –”
Peter flailed his hands in front of Steve’s face. “No! Nonono! Ididnotaskerout! You are as bad as Dad. Why are you as bad as Dad?” he continued rubbing his face over his mask.
“Because your Dad is right and you want to.”
“No I don’t.”
“So, if you didn’t ask her out, what’s the problem?”
“It’s not a problem-problem. It’s a. Thing.”
“Did you two sleep together?”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Peter yelled, falling backwards again, both his hands on his face. He could feel it was just as red as his mask.
“Then what? Peter, we would save you some stress if you say it instead of having me guess.”
Peter sat up again. Cap Dad was right. Besides, who knew what else he could come up with. So he took a deep breath. “She’s taking this class for extra credits and she needs to give a presentation about a feminist icon, and she knows I know you through the internship and asked me to ask you to give her an interview.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “I am not a feminist icon.”
“But grandma Rogers is.”
“Huh…” Steve folded his arms and pouted slightly, as if it was the first time he saw his mother under that light. Then again, he sometimes had trouble calling himself a hero.
Peter continued, using MJ’s own arguments. “A single mother who raised one of the most important and controversial figures in our times, who worked hard to help her community, fought with doctors to allow minorities in their hospitals – according to MJ this is well documented – and made sure, through sheer determination and will power, that her child survived one of the harsher periods of the 20th Century in our country. So MJ’s… hyped about the chance of going to the closest thing to the source of all that.” Or as hyped as MJ would allow herself to show. Not that Peter paid attention to those things.
Cap Dad looked touched by that, though, with a soft smile and a gentle and melancholic look in his eyes.
“Alright,” he said. “Give me her phone number and we can set up the appointment.”
“Actually, Cap Dad, I was kind of hoping I could… ah…” Peter realized what he was about to say and stopped to clear his throat. Why did his mouth had to start running without his permission?
Steve laughed. He was so the worst. “Fine, fine. Talk to her and bring her over to the townhouse. We can have tea and talk. Just give me a call before so I can have snacks ready.”
“Okay.”
“Shall we continue with the training?”
“Yes. It would be nice, thanks.”
That hadn’t only not been a question, but Peter also needed to blow some steam – and have a good excuse in case his face continued to be red when he took off his mask.
* * *
The interview had gone well. MJ had a lot of material for his presentation, and Cap Dad had shown them the display case where he kept all of Sarah Rogers’ belongings that had been recovered from collectors. He even allowed pictures! Which Peter took because he had a better eye for those things. Cap Dad’s suggestion. And it wasn’t the only thing he'd praised him about while they were in the townhouse.
He was so the worst.
Anyway, everyone had parted in good terms that day. The one issue came up later, when MJ called him the night before her presentation, asking if there was the chance of her taking one of those objects to school. A request from her teacher to “enrich the experience for the entire class.” Peter could just hear the quotes around those words.
“Oh, of course. Count on it,” Peter’s mouth said, taking over the entire situation and momentarily forgetting that both his superhero dads were out of town in their umpteen honeymoon until he arrived at the townhouse and FRIDAY told him.
“I am under order of not bothering them except for a world-ending threat, Mr. Parker,” the AI said.
“Yes. That… makes sense.” He ran his fingers through his hair. He was about to let MJ down. But why did he care so much about letting her down? Because she was his friend. Of course. He would do the same for Ned.
The exact same.
Yes.
“FRIDAY, can you keep a secret and not sound the alarm right now?”
* * *
The medal of Our Lady of Perpetual Help made it back safely to Peter’s hand after class the next day after granting MJ the highest score possible for her presentation. So Peter happily placed it in a pocket of his backpack to have it returned to its place after he was done with his patrol. Now that he had an actually secure and well-hidden locker where to keep his suit while he was at school and where he could leave his things while Spider-Man worked, it would be safe.
Then, MJ sent him a video of his presentation so he could show it to Cap later. Peter sat on a bench on the street to watch it and got so focused on it he didn’t notice his backpack disappearing from his side until it was too late.
“Oh, no,” he exclaimed as he looked all around him, followed by so much profanity even the most hardened of the criminals he’d captured would frown at him.
But he had fucked up. Badly. Furthermore, he was dead. Oh, so very dead.
Or worst, disowned. Unless he did something. So, phone in hand, he hurried to his locker to get his suit.