synopsis: Due to Peter Parker’s identity being revealed, he has to go into hiding. Sometimes, MJ visits him.
a/n: I’m sure most of us have related to how Peter’s feeling because of all the craziness that has been happening these past few weeks. This is, obviously, post FFH and quite short, because procrastination thrives in isolation :( Wash your hands, stay inside, and stay safe, everyone! Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!
word count: 1.2 k
*if you prefer, you can read this on my ao3 instead of here
Peter couldn’t stop pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, two steps here, two steps there. He’d never thought that he’d be spending the beginning of his senior year in a SHIELD containment facility in the middle of God-knows-where, because Peter didn’t know where he was either. He was brought into the base with a blindfold on, almost two months ago. Ever since Mysterio streamed the video of Peter calling on the ‘attack’ of innocents in London, Peter couldn’t be seen by anyone, save for one monthly visitor.
Constant visits would cause suspicion to Peter’s whereabouts, is what he was told by a certain Agent Phil Coulson. Last month, he was visited by Aunt May, escorted by Happy. He seemed to keep her company in what Peter assumed was a lonely apartment. He felt worse for May than he did himself. She was so angry every time she called. Not at Peter, but at SHIELD, even though she knew he was being protected. This month, May stayed back in Queens to let someone else visit Peter.
Peter got to have a phone call a day, always monitored by SHIELD, so on Wednesdays and Saturdays, Peter would call MJ after she finished work. She had gotten a job at a bookstore, and Peter didn’t think any other job suited her better. He couldn’t help but want so desperately to see her, and bury himself into her shoulder and hide while she held him. Everything was boring to him, except when he could hear her voice on the other end of the phone line. It wasn’t like he was kept in solitary, no, but the books, movies, and anything else he wanted just wasn’t enough. He’d dream about her from time to time, though they were mostly nightmares. Peter was always stuck somehow, unable to get to her, while something terrible happened to MJ.
Peter raked his hands through his hair, and took a seat at the foot of his plain bed. It was a twin, like his at home, but the white sheets and metal frame made him feel like he slept in a hospital bed. There were no windows in his room, but three of his grey walls changed into whatever landscape he wanted it to be: grassy fields, a beach, mountains, a forest. He usually kept it turned off. On his bedside table sat the entire collection of Star Wars movies, and the desk held his one constant, his sanity.
The door to Peter’s room opened. Peter felt a surge of joy, utter elation as a figure took small steps into the room, shutting the door. Peter froze for a second, unsure, staring into the deep pits of her eyes. “MJ.” He got up, and turned to her, catapulting himself into her embrace.
“Oh, I missed you so much.” Her soft hands rubbed into his back, and Peter stood with her, glad to hear the familiar beat of her heart. She held him there for a while, and once he let go, Peter gestured for her to take a seat at his desk. Peter sat on his bed. “Ned misses you,” She said sympathetically, “He wants to see you next month.”
Peter laughed, “Okay. Tell him to check with Aunt May if that’s okay with her.” MJ nodded.
“How are you?”
Peter sighed, and put his face into his hands, “As well as anyone in confinement can be. You’re the only thing that I think of.” Peter realized he just slipped that out casually, as if it was no big deal. He and MJ hadn’t been dating that long, and they certainly hadn’t been doing boyfriend-and-girlfriend things. He felt a shyness creep around him, and looked up at MJ with wide eyes.
MJ didn’t answer, which made Peter a little nervous.
After what seemed like years, she replied, “I didn’t know.”
“Open the book on my desk.” Peter gestured to a thick, laminated brown book. It sat on the corner of the desk, and MJ flipped it open. Peter scooted to the edge of the bed, and looked along with her. The first picture was of his parents with Aunt May at their wedding. His mom wore a beautiful dress embroidered with white roses on the bodice, and his dad wore a suave suit that complemented his broad shoulders. The picture below it was of him and Ned on their first day of third grade, wearing matching Star Wars backpacks. The third was of him and Mr. Stark, the same one that he’d seen in their kitchen at his funeral. And the fourth was him and MJ. Betty took a picture of them in the London airport, not even a few hours after the battle with Mysterio.
MJ’s smile was like hers in the picture, shy but happy. There were more of them scattered throughout the book, but their relationship was cut short by Beck ruining his life. If Peter walked along the street, he’d get arrested. The account of the hero, Quentin Beck, was much more reliable than some kid from Queens that had powers and jumped around the city. He most definitely wouldn’t go back to school, even if he didn’t get arrested. Everyone knew who he was. The only people who believed that he was good were Happy, Aunt May, of course, MJ, and Ned. MJ didn’t suspect for a moment that Peter called the strike that fateful day on the street, watching the broadcast on the skyscraper. She mouthed to Peter, run, after he looked down at her from the streetlamp. “We’re gonna get you out of here, Peter.”
Peter snapped out of his thoughts and looked at MJ. She took his hand, and held it in her’s, tracing her finger along the back of his hand. “I know. But I don’t know how long it’ll be. How would we even restore my reputation?”
“SHIELD is trying to figure it out, I know, but maybe we can come up with something else.”
Peter shook his head as if he was trying to shake out the bad thoughts, but they stuck inside like water from a pool. “I don’t want to waste our time talking about getting out. Can we do something normal, for a change?”
“Sure. What can we do?”
“We can watch a movie on one of the walls.”
Peter looked at MJ, who was laughing, but then quieted. “You’re serious?” Her face went blank.
“Yep. Your pick.” Peter pulled a small box out from under his bed, opened it, and handed a remote to MJ. Fifteen minutes later, after much contemplation, the movie started. MJ nestled into Peter’s arms, distracting him from his reality. Just maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could imagine they were sitting in his room, the city noises getting in through his open window. A breeze would come into the room, and he would pull the blanket over the two of them as his old, boxy tv played a movie that MJ loved. Just maybe, everything would be okay, soon enough.