To say Peter's idea didn't go according to plan would be a vast understatement. The after school Tuesday adventure never happened. The date he spent two hours going over with May to make sure everything was perfect, vanished right before his eyes. That was hours ago.  He doesn't know what time it is or how long it's been since he freed himself from the burning rubble. It's dark and everything hurts.

     All he knows is he needs to get to MJ, he needs to explain, to apologize. The taste of blood on his tongue makes his stomach churn. He manages to stumble and swing, taking short breaks to fall to his knees on various rooftops across Queens. He's just trying to make it to her. He has to.

Covered in sweat, soot, blood and who knows what else, with every inch of his body aching or stinging, he finally slaps a hand against the familiar window. He grips it, gloved fingers stiff and aching as he lifts. Left shoulder screaming in protest when he crawls through, Peter briefly catches a glimpse of her as she helps drag him in.

Of all the graceful entrances he's made, this is not one. He lands in a thump, hands and knees digging into her rug and he can hear her, the worry in her words as she drops next to him. The softness of her hands pressing and pulling and everything is too much.

"M'sorry." He rolls to his back and before he can tug the mask off, MJ does it for him. "Sorry...about the-"

"Shut up, just...shut up."

He does for a second, watching her as she leans over. He can feel her hands skating over the suit and see that her eyes are frantic, searching. This isn't the first time he's crawled into her room with various wounds but it's probably the first time he's this badly injured.

"MJ, I-"

"You're bleeding and I'm mad so you don't get to talk right now."

"Oh, is that why I feel like shit?" She doesn't laugh, her eyes narrow at him and Peter reaches up to brush his thumb over her cheek. "I'm okay. Your hair...looks nice."

"You're bleeding out on my rug and clearly delirious. Take the suit off." She's serious, too serious so he does. He taps the emblem on his chest, he lets her peel the fabric of it off and only groans when her fingers pass over the flesh that's scraped raw down his side. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. I know that hurt."

He doesn't want her to apologize but the world is a little fuzzy and he can't figure out the words he wants to tell her. He stays still, watching her eyes fill, watching her disappear and come back. He could watch her forever, the sleek line of her neck, the curve of her jaw, the focus furrowing her brow. Except he can't. He can't because his eyes keep closing and she keeps calling his name.

"Peter, I swear if you-" He gently tugs the end of the braid hanging over her shoulder and doesn't hear the rest.
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Michelle stands at the bathroom sink, rinsing the red and pink stained suds from her palms. This isn't exactly how she thought date night would turn out. She didn't really think she'd be stitching up her dumb superhero boyfriend while he's passed out on her floor. She reaches for the soap again, scrubs her hands one more time. There was so much blood.

Her lungs are burning, chest aching and raw with the thought of how this is different. This time it's different. This isn't a scrape, a puncture wound, or some bruised ribs. He's never passed out before, he's never barely made it through her window and just collapsed. She hurriedly dries her hands, swipes a rag over her face to erase the evidence of the tears she's shed and heads back to her bedroom without glancing in the mirror. MJ doesn't want to look at her reflection.

She watched the news, she saw everything. The moment the building collapsed, her heart had seized in her chest. She's never watching the news again when Peter is involved. It's too stressful. Sometimes it's just better to not know and to stay hopeful.

     He's still in the same position she left him in when she closes the door and his body is so still it has her hands trembling once again but his chest moves with every breath. It's enough to have her rolling her eyes at the entire situation, grabbing a couple of pillows, and dropping down to her knees next to him.

Michelle presses her palm to his face, over his jaw and then she's sliding her fingers to the back of his neck, lifting his head just enough to slide a pillow beneath. She doesn't really know what else she can do for him, so she stretches out on the floor at his side with a book.

     It's not comfortable. It makes her shoulder blades ache to lay on her stomach, to be propped up with a pillow and one elbow. She deals with the discomfort, the dull pain that comes to life in her back, and tries to pay attention to the book she grabbed from the stack six inches away.

     Fourteen pages in, she glances at him and the shoulder she did her best to mend and clean up. She's not a doctor and she almost called for an ambulance but what explanation could she have given? She has to trust he'll be okay, trust that his body will heal. Trust him. If she's being honest with herself, it's all really fucking weird to think about. People shouldn't be able to heal so fast but she's suddenly very grateful he can.

     By page twenty, she's not paying attention to the words she's reading and she can't even tell what's happening in the book, why, or who the characters are. She's too busy watching Peter every five seconds, making sure his chest is still moving. Michelle takes a moment to roll on her side in an attempt to ease the ache in the middle of her spine. The hesitation before she scoots closer to him only makes the tightness in her chest grow. She missed a spot of blood near his ear from the scrape near his hairline and her stomach flops to her toes when her eyes land on it.

     She's waging an internal battle with herself on if she should try to drag him up on the bed. The floor isn't exactly made for comfort, wood flooring and a cheap thin rug probably don't help with whatever is hurting him. She's not even injured and her body is starting to protest. However, he's a lot of muscle and she's not exactly known for bench pressing more than books.

     MJ gives up on reading when she feels him shift. The book lands with a thump somewhere above their heads the second he groans. She might worry about it being damaged later but at the moment, the only thing she cares about is him. His eyes don't open but she watches his face scrunch, lines crinkling his forehead.

     "Hey, Peter, you're okay," she doesn't know why she's whispering as she slides impossibly closer, hands moving to cup his cheeks. "I got you. Shh."

     His eyes flutter open and Michelle breathes hard. A heavy weight in her chest lifts, the relief spreading through her in an instant that's almost too overwhelming. She's never been so relieved.

     "MJ." It's soft, he's soft.

     "You've been out for a bit. I couldn't lift your ass so feel free at any time to get in bed. This floor is not-"

     "Like your pjs. Cute." Only he would find an old ratty T-shirt and shorts cute. Peter sits up, quickly, grabbing his side. His face scrunches in pain and Michelle pushes herself up on her knees to tuck an arm beneath his.

     "Hey, just an idea but maybe take it slow? I'll help." He's heavy against her but after a minute of stumbling and plenty of cursing, they're both on their feet. Being taller than him is a blessing in this exact moment and she's never been so thankful for those two extra inches than when he sways and she's able to steady him.

     "Your rug...I'm so sorry."

     "It's seen better days. I'll just throw it out or something." MJ doesn't want it anymore anyway. She doesn't want the reminder of this night, doesn't want to think of it every time she looks over.

     "I'll help you clean it. I promise."

     "Peter, you can't even stand up straight." He can't. He's hunched over, leaning too heavily on her, limping and as soon as they make it to the bed, he sinks down. He's a mess and she feels like her heart is about to burst.

     "Bed's nice. Really nice."

     "You're still half delirious." And still in enough pain that he's wincing and groaning trying to stretch out. He seems to have forgotten she usually gets in first to avoid crawling over him.

     As soon as he's settled, she takes the sliver of mattress at his side and leaves the lamp glowing. The edge of the bed has never been her favorite but she's not about to jostle him around in an attempt to crawl to the vacant space near the wall. Michelle doesn't want to cause him any unnecessary discomfort and given the colors all down his left side and the shoulder that's now crudely stitched, it's probably better this way.

"I missed our adventure."

"S'okay. You saved lives. That's more important." She lets her cheek rest on his chest, and wraps an arm around him. She moves her hand lower, to his hip, to the unmarked skin and hopes she's not making anything worse. "I know what I signed on for and I'm never going to be upset that you choose to help others. That being said, I'm pretty damn mad at you for not calling after."

"Oh, yeah, I could have done that."

"Yep." She'll give him a little leeway since he clearly wasn't capable of rational thinking at the time but she's still mad.

"I'm sorry."

"I told May you're here. I also told her that her nephew is a dumbass." The soft laugh he lets out turns into a groan. "She agreed with me."

He hums, eyes closing and she feels the lazy kiss he presses against the top of her head. This isn't the date she wanted, it's definitely not the date he planned either but this is what they have. The few hours of silence, of tiredness, of clinging to each other because he's hurt and she's not exactly okay either. He dozes in and out with his fist gripping the back of her shirt and she keeps her eyes wide open.

He twitches in his sleep, mumbles incoherently, and then he's awake again in less than an hour. He comments on her hair as his eyes fight to stay open and she reassures him with a smile, telling him to sleep. MJ runs her fingers through his soft locks, strokes her thumb over the shell of his ear and he's back asleep.

  The second time he's awake, half out of it, it's her eyes that are so pretty and she huffs a laugh against his cheek, pressing her lips to his skin. The third time, it's how smart she is without being a jerk about it and Michelle drops her forehead to his and tells him to just shut up for five minutes. He's out in maybe two.

It's different each time but equally ridiculous given the state he's in. Hours tick by and it's the same routine. Twitching, mumbling, random words or praise when he wakes just enough to realize she's still up. She can't sleep but he's resting and that's what matters so she stays still or creeps silently when she needs a drink or bathroom break. This isn't the all-nighter she had in mind.

MJ stays by his side or doesn't stray too far just in case she's needed. Eventually, she pulls the blankets over them and tries to get comfortable. He stirs enough to roll on his side, groaning softly, eyes cracking open when he faces her. He still smells of smoke but she scoots closer anyway.

"Hi."

"Hey," she says back, smile tugging the corners of her lips. "Surprised the first thing out of your mouth wasn't a compliment this time."

The frown she gets would be adorable if his bloodied and stitched shoulder wasn't in her line of sight. She waits for him to say something, expecting it to be more of the same.

"M'sorry to disappoint."

"How do you feel?"

"Not so great. You're not sleeping?" It's a pointless inquiry when it's obvious he knows. "You're gonna be miserable in class."

"We're skipping school, dork."

"We are?"

"Yep, because you're not healed and I'm not letting you out of my sight for at least a day. Maybe two." There's a beat of silence as she narrows her eyes, warning him not to challenge this decision.

Her mind is made up and there's no way she's backing down on it. They're playing hooky today, maybe tomorrow too.

"Can we get milkshakes?" His eyes are open wider than they have been since he crawled through the window, brighter too. "Maybe kiss a lot. Kissing makes everything better. It's science."

Michelle slides her fingers through the waves curling around his ears, leaning closer to nudge her nose to his. She breathes him in, relishes that he's coherent enough to drag his hand up her back and rest the tips of his fingers against her nape.

"Peter," she sighs, pressing his name against his lips. "Really scared me."

His apology is mumbled, cut off with a tender kiss as her hands tremble.
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The mood in Peter's room is strange, uneasy static crackling in the space between them. Things have been off since they woke in Michelle's bed, dressed and headed to his place. It started when she tossed him some clothes he'd left over and told him to hurry. He's not a hundred percent better, not even hours later as she sketches and he scrolls on his phone. She doesn't know how long the whole healing thing takes for him anyway.

She's tired of his sighing, of the way he taps away at his phone and the thunk of the tiny bouncy ball he's decided to toss at the ceiling every few minutes. It feels all wrong. This doesn't feel like a lazy day with him, she knows what those are like and this is not it.

This is tension, lack of talking, she hasn't said more than two words and he seems to have given up now as well. He sighs again, agitated this time and she grips the pencil tighter. It's a rubber band pulled taught between them, ready to snap. When he tosses the ball harder, the sound of it louder, it does.

"Peter, I swear if you throw that ball one more time, I'm tossing it out the window and you can go fetch."

"Why are you upset?"

"Me? I'm not the one sighing over some unseen crisis and taking it out on the ceiling." She kinda is. It's why the led of her pencil has broken three times in the last hour. She's pressing too hard, unfocused and frazzled.

"MJ, you barely slept. You threw clothes in my face, pulled away when I tried to hold your hand at breakfast with May, and haven't said a full sentence until now."

"You woke up and acted like you're fine!" She tosses the pencil down hard enough it ricochets and hits the floor. The sketch is shit anyway, the lines too dark and shaky.

"I am fine!" He's on his feet in a second and she joins him, toe to toe. "MJ, I'm okay. We were okay. What's wrong with us?"

"Nothing." Maybe everything, she doesn't know. "It's nothing."

It's not nothing. It's the icy fear of losing him filling her veins, twisting around in her stomach to the point she feels like she'll puke if she eats or drinks or even breathes too deeply. She woke to his face, to his breath hot against her cheek, and she still can't stop the dream from flashing in her mind. The cold, the way he stopped moving, his eyes so lifeless. She still sees red staining her hands when she closes her eyes, can feel it slick between her fingers and suddenly, there just isn't enough air.

She steps back, ready to retreat. He shuffles closer and reaches for her hand. The sharp tone is all but gone when he speaks, "It's something and I'm really sorry."

"I'm just tired and on edge. I thought you might die or something." She tries to play it off with a shrug of her shoulder but the crack in her voice gives her away. It tells the secrets she tried to keep. "Dreamt about it and you did."

"Hey, wait," he reaches for her face, palms warm against her skin. "MJ, I'm right here. I'm mostly better, not even in pain."

It's an obvious lie but she lets it slide and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tight. Only loosening her hold when he fails to hide a soft groan and still, he presses closer. Having a superhero as a boyfriend isn't as glamorous as it sounds. In fact, it downright sucks sometimes but she can't imagine being with anyone else. She really freaking hopes this gets easier or she gets better at dealing with emotions.

He tugs her hair playfully, nuzzles his face into her neck and the tension that's had her muscles rigid and her spine stiff disappears. The last tendrils of fear wrapped around her chest give way and she finally takes in a deep breath. She needed this, him. She needed the day off and the time to process.

"I think we should get those milkshakes. Might even kiss you, in the name of science." Despite her suggestion, neither of them let go for a long while.

***
A/N: Happy Spider-Man Day! Hope you guys had a great day.