Chapter Text
Needless to say, Peter Parker was not having a good year.
It seemed like impact after impact, trauma after trauma, a million arrows flung at him to knock him over, drawing blood on collision, puddles of blood that pooled around his feet. Of course, he could never sit down and lick his wounds, not when the villains would never stop coming. He was the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman. He had a duty to fulfill.
Today, he was chasing yet another bad guy. Thankfully, this wasn’t an alien or a superpowered maniac from another universe. It was just a run-of-the-mill gang boss. Still, that didn’t mean it wasn’t bothersome to have to trace this guy all the way to Hell’s Kitchen, and he was sweating so much that his Spiderman suit was chafing his skin.
Peter shot another web forward to swing to the next building. He was catching up to the gangster now, a kingpin with a name he couldn’t conjure in his memory. Another few buildings, and he would—
A blur of red passed in front of him and he diverted his web just in time to avoid the figure.
The sudden movement made him lose control. He plummeted in freefall, disoriented, then dropped straight into a pile of trash bags. The sickening stench rose around him, making his empty stomach churn. His legs ached from the force of the impact, but it didn’t feel as if he had any injuries. He had suffered much worse, anyway.
Peter looked up with a frown to appraise who had ruined his trajectory only to see a scarlet-costumed, masked figure fighting the criminal, kicking his legs to take him down. When the criminal jumped to his feet again, he drew his fist back and punched him, then punched him again, the motions sharp and merciless, colliding with appalling crunches that made Peter wince. The criminal kicked him, but the masked man caught his leg and swept it with a swift jerk, taking him down in a quick movement.
He groaned, propping himself up on his elbows with a glare. “You interfered in my business.”
“I wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t go after me in the first place,” the masked figure said in a raspy voice, kneeling to tie a rope around the criminal’s arms, bounding him tightly so he couldn’t move.
“Kill me like a fucking man.”
“The law will serve its due process. You’re lucky to be alive.”
The gangster gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah, taken down by the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Must be my lucky day.”
The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. That sent a jolt of recognition through Peter. This was Daredevil. He’d heard the Avengers talk about the vigilante before, but he’d never seen him in person before. It was a wonder to watch the man fight in his signature style, parkour across the buildings without any aiding gadgets whatsoever, even if the merciless way he beat up the criminal, striking him more times than he had to, was almost disturbing.
If only Peter wasn’t currently in a dumpster. He considered swinging out—it would certainly be easy enough—but it was nice to get a chance to catch his breath, even if he was in the most rancid square kilometer in a block radius. A mysterious fluid had spurted over him when his fall split one of the bags open, and his suit was spattered with it.
Nothing was worth staying here for even a minute longer. Peter prepared to climb out of the dumpster. Daredevil was standing on the street as if listening for something.
Daredevil swiveled towards Peter. “Who’s there?”
Peter raised his hands, then quickly lowered them in case the vigilante misconstrued the motion as preparation for an attack. “Spiderman.”
He paused. “Spiderman.”
“Mr. Devil, you’re so cool,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “I mean, your fighting style is so unique, it’s awesome. And taking that gangster guy down without killing him—I hope I can be just like you.”
Daredevil seemed utterly bewildered. “…What?”
Before he could speak up, a shout came from the distance. “Hey, did you get that guy? You know we agreed—”
“Shut up,” Daredevil responded, his voice not overly loud yet commanding. "There’s a kid in our dumpster.”
Peter almost protested about being referred to as a kid, but he was distracted by the sight of Clint Barton running towards them, dressed in his Hawkeye costume, a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulders. His hair was messy, face flushed red from exertion. They were never close, but he was a familiar face. When he saw Peter, he stopped.
“Spiderman?” Clint said uncertainly, raising his hands to his ears to adjust his hearing aids.
That was when Peter remembered that most of the world still believed that Spiderman killed Mysterio. Making everyone forget Peter Parker unfortunately didn’t make everyone forget about the villain who took everything from him, who had managed to convince the public that Spiderman was the villain. Sometimes, when he swung on the streets, he felt as if people were going to hurl tomatoes at him. So far, he’d gotten a lot of newspapers flung at him unsuccessfully, but ever since he moved to a new apartment, no bricks were thrown through his window. At least there was that.
“I didn’t kill Mysterio,” Peter said hastily. “Um, just saying.”
Clint paused. “Right. I kind of figured.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’ve done lots of hero stuff, it’s way too suspicious that you would kill someone for no reason. Then Mysterio comes in, taking out those elemental monsters that specifically pop up wherever he goes? It’s suspicious.”
“Hawkeye using his brain,” Daredevil commented in his low voice. “It’s a miracle.”
Clint rolled his eyes. “You’re getting on my last nerve, Red.” He turned back to Peter. “Need some help getting out of there?”
“Uh, no, thanks.” Peter shot a web at a nearby lamppost and swung himself out of the dumpster, landing neatly on his feet. The dumpster fluids trickled down his costume, and he nearly gagged.
Clint stifled a laugh, pushing his quiver further up his shoulder. “I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
“Is that a Godfather reference?” he pointed out.
“Nope. I just made it up.”
“That is a Godfather reference,” Daredevil agreed.
“Can both of you shut up?” Clint said, frustrated. “I was trying out a thing here. This is the plan. Let’s let Daredevil get back to whatever he does, and you can take a shower at my place. God knows you need it.”
“I thought you lived out in the country.”
He frowned, distrust tinting his expression. “How do you know that?”
Peter cursed internally; he forgot that erasing memories of him also erased the trust the Avengers placed in him since they didn’t know him anymore. “Mr. Stark mentioned it.”
“…I’m in town on business. Got a hotel here. You get cleaned up, I’ll call my buddy Matt, and we’ll talk.”
“Matt?”
“He’s a lawyer. He’ll probably give you better advice than I do, even if he’s a dickwad,” Clint said cheerfully. Daredevil snorted.
“Do you mean Mr. Murdock?” Peter said hopefully.
Clint’s mouth fell ajar, and Daredevil stiffened. “How do you know Matt Murdock?”
“It’s complicated. We’ve talked before, but—it’s complicated.” He could have slapped himself. If Matt showed up, how could he explain to someone who had no idea who he was that they had spoken before?
“Alright, alright. The shower is a priority. I can’t handle this stink.”
Clint herded Peter back to a nearby hotel. It was a small room, with a single bed and a tiny table where a few items were scattered: a wallet, an arrow, a file. Peter went straight into the shower, scrubbing himself with the hotel’s ginger soap until he couldn’t detect the dumpster stench anymore.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he poked his head around the doorway, keeping his mask on. “Mr. Hawkeye? I’m sorry to ask, but do you have anything I could wear? My suit is dirty, so…”
Clint had been typing on his phone, but he put it down to bring over a stack of fresh clothes. “Here. And Clint is fine. No one has ever called me Mr. Hawkeye. Ever.”
Peter had thought they would talk in the hotel room, but Clint led him to what looked like a lawyer’s office with the assurance that Matt would help him out. The building lights were already switched on when they entered, and when they stepped into the office, Matt Murdock was waiting there.
“Hey,” Matt greeted as they walked in. He must have heard them. “I think you have something you want to talk about… Spiderman.”
Peter took a deep breath. He had no idea where to start. “I’m in a complicated situation.”
“What’s the situation?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Yes, I got that.”
He decided to start at the part he would be able to explain; the only thing Matt Murdock could help him with. “The world thinks that I killed Mysterio, but I didn’t—well, I did, but—” He paused to take another deep breath. “He edited some stuff I said out of context to make it look like I killed him for no reason, but he was a bad guy. He faked those Elemental attacks to make himself look like a hero. The monsters were just a projection, but the damage was real, so really, he was destroying the city. I stopped him, but now everyone thinks I killed a hero.”
Matt folded his hands on the desk, leaning forward slightly. “Right. Well, I’ll have to appraise the evidence to determine what charges you’ll be dealing with here, but I don’t think they’ll stick. You can’t prosecute someone without a known identity.”
There was no way Peter could explain to Matt that he himself already cleared the charges, but he also didn’t want to waste Matt’s time by forcing him to look over a case he already resolved. Still, there was no alternative. He couldn’t risk unveiling his secret identity again. He had already hurt too many people.
“As well as that,” Matt interjected. “I’m aware of some transgressions you’ve committed, including trespassing, breaking and entering, and attempted murder.”
Peter gaped at him. “Is this about that fight last week? Because if I didn’t trespass into those grounds, that maniac would have blown up the entire warehouse. And I did not try to kill anyone.”
“These vigilantism-related charges are common, and regardless of whether you killed Mysterio—”
“I didn’t!”
“I know, but the general public doesn’t know that. The court of public opinion isn’t on your side. If you come by my office again tomorrow, we can talk about it further.”
“It doesn’t bother me that much, Mr. Murdock, really,” he stammered out. “I don’t want to create any trouble for you. I can deal with it.”
“You’ve been through the wringer, kid. I’ll handle this, pro-bono.”
-
The next day, Peter returned to the office, wearing a casual hoodie and a pair of jeans, the Spiderman mask tucked in his pocket so he could put it on when he arrived at the office. It was odd to walk through the streets again and have no one recognize him. In a short amount of time, he’d grown used to everyone hurling insults at him, staring at him as if he were an alien made of black goo.
When he walked into the office, pulling on the mask, the sound of arguing voices jumped out at him.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you don’t exactly have the best judgment when it comes to beautiful women.”
Matt’s voice was exasperated. “How would I know if a woman is beautiful?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of spooky, actually. But if there’s a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, Matt Murdock’s gonna find her, and Foggy Nelson’s gonna suffer.”
“I assure you I couldn’t care less about attractive women. Anymore.”
“Oh, is that so?”
“Lately I’ve been more focused on this incredibly sweet, funny, capable, and stubborn defense attorney.”
“Firstly, stubborn? And secondly, I’m not a particularly good defense attorney.”
“Don’t make me send you a cease-and-desist letter regarding Foggy Nelson slander.”
“I apologize for my misconduct, Mr. Murdock. Will there be consequences?”
Hastily, Peter knocked on the door of the office before this could escalate into something he did not want to hear. With all the traumatizing things he had experienced, law jargon dirty talk might be the last straw.
He heard the sound of a chair clattering over from inside, and someone cleared their throat. Matt was sitting behind his desk, features arranged in a poker face, while an unfamiliar man was sitting on the edge of the desk, his cheeks red. A cane was lying on the ground, along with a few case files and loose sheets of paper.
“Hey,” Matt said, his voice more lighthearted than usual. To Peter’s surprise, he had a black eye, as well as a large bruise on his cheekbone. “Good to see you.”
The other man snorted. “See you?”
He shook his head. “Figure of speech. What am I supposed to say? Good to hear you? Smell you?”
Peter didn’t know what to say. The man pointed at the spare chair, so he sat down. “Uh… good to see you too.”
Matt gestured towards the other man. “This is my partner, Foggy. Excuse him. He’s a little slow.”
His face visibly brightened as he said Foggy’s name, like it gave him joy just to say the word. Peter didn’t know whether he loved or hated happy couples right now, but either way, it was a fist clenched around his heart.
Foggy held a hand to his chest. “How dare you, Matt. After I opened my home and my heart to you? After we promised each other we’d be the best damn avocados this city has ever seen?”
“…Avocados?” Peter said, more than a little lost.
“Long story. I’m Foggy Nelson.” He reached over to shake Peter’s hand. “Matt told me about your whole Mysterio deal—I’m sorry, man.”
Mysterio was the least of it. “Oh. Thanks.”
“What do you need us for? Or, more accurately, what do you need Blind Matt Murdock for?”
Matt held back a laugh. Peter had never seen him look so happy, his face relaxed, mouth curved in a smile. “Most people say Matt Murdock.”
“Do I look like most people?”
“I don’t know, I can’t see.”
Foggy raised a hand to his head. “I’m having deja-vu. I think we’ve had this exact conversation before—it was that night! You know, with the avocadoes.”
He laughed, then touched the corner of his mouth, as if trying to stop the smile. “I’m sorry. Where were we?”
“That’s okay, Mr. Murdock,” Peter said quickly. He didn’t say it, but it was nice to see this little picture of happiness after all the tragedies he’d witnessed. Two guys giggling over inside jokes, throwing playful jabs at each other, more comfortable with each other than Peter would ever get a chance to be with anyone.
They spent the next few hours discussing the various legal issues Peter hadn’t even realized he was entangled in. By the end of it, Matt assured him that the charges wouldn’t stick without reasonable evidence, especially since his identity wasn’t known to the public, but that it would take a while before this Mysterio mess blew over, which was essentially what he had told him the first time, minus the additional charges he had accumulated since then. There was a lot of other legal jargon that Peter didn’t understand, but he trusted Matt to handle it.
Afterward, they offered to take Peter out for lunch, and he agreed. It would be nice to spend some time with people who knew him rather than criminals trying to kill him for a change. They sat in the corner of a small restaurant that Foggy swore had the best sandwiches, and due to the shining enthusiasm with which he declared the fact, Peter was inclined to believe him.
When the waitress came by, Foggy gave her a bright smile and said, “Two chicken sandwiches,” like he didn’t even have to think about the second order. Matt touched his forearm in response, a silent thanks.
Peter ordered a chicken sandwich, too, and he didn’t know if he wanted to throw it at them or choke himself with it.
Matt glanced in Foggy’s direction, lowering his voice. “You know the waitress is really attracted to you, right?”
Foggy stared at him in surprise, which soon melted to amusement. “Sweet. I’ll talk to her the next time she comes around. Be my wingman?”
He snorted, hitting Foggy’s shoulder lightly. Doubtlessly, the touch landed where he wanted it to. “You’re awful.”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” He looked over at Peter and gave him that same wide smile, one that was so purely friendly and genuine that Peter couldn’t help but smile back. “So, what’s up with you, Spidey?”
“Not a lot, honestly,” Peter said with a shrug. “I’m going to get my GED, and yeah, it sucks that this all happened right when I was about to graduate, but nothing to do, I guess. Other than that, just Spiderman stuff.”
“No personal stuff?”
“Not really.”
“No girls?”
He thought of MJ. The memories were tinted bitter with wistfulness now. “No. Just gangsters and aliens.”
Foggy laughed. “Great. Now I’ve got a crime-fighting spider to deal with.”
And though Peter didn’t want to create any trouble for them, he kind of liked the way Foggy said I’ve got a crime-fighting spider, like he was accepting responsibility for Peter. Like he cared for his well-being rather than what he could do for the city or his abilities. Even the Avengers only called on Peter when they wanted something from him, so it was oddly nice to have Foggy recognize that being a vigilante was more of a burden than a gift for him.
“You think that’s bad?” Matt said to Foggy. “At least he’s decent. The real disaster is Clint. I rue the day I let him force his way into my life.”
“How did you guys meet?” Peter asked. “You and Clint?”
He cracked a smile. “We ended up in the same dumpster. Obviously, he couldn’t get enough of Hell’s Kitchen since he kept coming back after that. After stitching him up a bunch of times and letting him stay at my place, we accidentally became friends. That’s how I got saddled with that idiot.”
Peter grinned. “I’m sure he would tell it differently.”
“Don’t believe a word he says. Regardless, I owe him my life, so I can’t complain more than I already do.”
His eyes widened. He couldn’t imagine what sort of a situation would involve a rather mild-mannered lawyer needing to be rescued by Hawkeye. “How?”
Matt put his hand on Foggy’s forearm again, gently squeezing it, and Foggy smiled back at him, so intimate that Peter almost wanted to look away. “A member of some gang decided to kidnap Foggy when we were working on a big case against them, and I was far enough that I didn’t arrive in time. Clint was nearby, and he rescued him.”
“So, technically, you owe him your one chance at love,” Foggy corrected, though he was still smiling. “Not exactly your life.”
He turned his face towards Foggy, and the sincerity etched on his face was unmistakable. “You are my life. My chance at love is a massive understatement.”
Foggy’s cheeks turned red, and wordlessly, he reached for Matt’s hand, entwining their fingers.
Matt turned back to Peter with a sheepish smile. “I was a massive idiot for—I don’t even know. More than a decade. We just got together last month.”
Peter gaped at him. He couldn’t imagine pining after his best friend for more than a decade, having them so close but being unable to bridge the gap, too scared to lose everything. “I didn’t know it’s only been a month for you guys. You really have that old married couple vibe.”
“That’s the college best friends effect,” Foggy said solemnly. "Honestly, dating hasn't changed much. We pretty much act the same as before, except with more kissing." That last bit made Matt laugh.
“It’s nice. My life’s—” he gave a bitter laugh. “My life’s kind of shit right now, so it’s nice to see people who are actually happy.”
Matt leaned a little closer. “It’s important to have people who will support you. Friends. Family. The world may think you’re a murderer, but it doesn’t matter if the people who know you stand by you.”
“I don’t really have anyone,” Peter confessed.
“Not anymore. You have me, and you have Clint.”
Peter blinked away tears, and for the first time in a long time, they weren’t tears of despair. “Thank you.”
-
Laura Barton was an angel on earth.
Truly. Peter made the decision to accept Clint’s offer to spend Thanksgiving at his family’s farm last minute, and Laura made the necessary accommodations instantly, preparing extra portions of food, setting another place at the table for him. It turned out that Clint and his family had moved to a new farm on the outskirts of Hudson Valley, so it only took a short bus ride to get there.
Clint was in a grey area between retirement and continuing to operate as Hawkeye, occasionally suiting up to handle low-level threats while prioritizing his family. He mentioned in passing that his children had always wanted to live in New York and Laura liked the idea of living on a farm in the Hudson Valley, so they moved there. The remaining Avengers were spread out across the map, if they could even be called the Avengers anymore, considering they weren’t operating as a group. Still, New York City was their unofficial headquarters, and Clint told him that they had bi-monthly meetings where they all flew in to hang out, so living near New York would make it easier to stay in touch with the people who were clearly the only surviving friends he had left, other than Matt and Kate Bishop.
When Peter arrived at the family farm, Clint’s children ran up to him, thrilled to be meeting Spiderman—he had still never taken off the mask around Clint—and it was nice to be around people who idolized rather than hated him.
The Mysterio thing was slowly blowing over, Spiderman’s good deeds accumulating once again to influence public opinion, but the ever-present loneliness hadn’t subsided. Other than Clint and Matt, Peter didn’t talk to anyone. Matt and Foggy were at Thanksgiving too, and with all of them sitting in the living room together, chatting over warm tea, Peter almost felt like he was part of a family again.
Clint’s house’s living room was cozy, the furniture comfortable and well-worn. Laura was preparing the meal in the kitchen while Clint went to help her. Matt was talking to Clint’s oldest son, Cooper, while Lila came over to sit beside Peter.
“Why are you wearing that mask?” she asked, matter-of-fact.
Peter tried to think of how to answer the question without offending her with the insinuation that he didn’t trust her family. “Nobody knows who I am.”
“Not nobody. My dad knows,” she countered playfully. “Uncle Matt knows. I know.”
He smiled at her. “They don’t know my face.”
“Why not? I mean, it’s weird to wear a Spiderman mask when we’re inside.”
“Because I’m secretly an ogre,” he joked, side-stepping the question. “I’m too embarrassed to show my face in public.”
“So, how old are you? Because you sound, like, really young.”
Peter didn’t want to disclose his age, but it was getting hard to avoid these questions. So far, he had an inkling that Clint had figured out his real age because of how young his voice sounded, but he hadn’t commented on it besides referring to him as Kid multiple times.
Thankfully, Matt interjected. “So, I hear you saw the Rogers musical, Lila. What did you think?”
“Aw, it was total shit!” Clint called from the kitchen. A moment later, there was a quiet thud, as if Laura playfully slapped him for swearing in front of the kids. “Poop, poop. Sorry, kids!”
Peter laughed, and so did Matt, the corners of his eyes crinkling behind the shaded glasses. There was a red scrape on his cheek, and when he reached over for his glass of water, Peter noticed that his knuckles were bruised.
So, when Foggy got up to get himself a glass of water, Peter followed him to the kitchen.
“Hey, Foggy,” Peter said, stopping him. “Every time I see Matt, he’s always covered in these bruises or cuts. Where does he get those?”
Foggy faltered, then said, “He has a drinking problem.”
That surprised him. “A drinking problem?”
“…Yeah. Rough childhood.”
“Oh. Sorry for asking.”
“It’s alright.” He smiled at Peter and clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks for asking, actually. It’s nice of you to be concerned. Don’t worry too much about it.”
The hours passed quickly, playing board games, chatting about everything from pop stars to the weirdest villains they had fought. Naturally, Peter and Clint tied on that one, but the fact that Clint fought the Chitauri in New York pushed him over the edge to take the win for Weirdest Bad Guy.
Before all this happened, he and Clint had never truly interacted, and he was fairly sure Clint hadn’t known he was Peter Parker before Mysterio doxxed him. So, the fact that Clint didn’t have any memories of Peter Parker to be erased was a relief, because it was like having a normal friend rather than the shell of a person he used to be close to. If he tried to approach Ned again, it wouldn’t be the same; it would be too painful to have to hold back inside jokes they used to share, remember memories and fun times Ned had no recollection of.
But Clint Barton had no memories of Peter Parker to lose, so he was getting to know him now, even if it was as Spiderman. It was still too risky for Peter to expose his secret identity. He had to accept that he was flying solo now. A solitary ranger. A lone wolf. Okay, that was too cheesy.
Bottom line, Peter Parker was a nobody, a shadow that trailed behind the blaze that was Spiderman, a satellite bound to his shining orbit.
Spiderman was a hero. He was a beacon of hope that selflessly devoted his life to saving people. Peter Parker was a child trying to protect a city much greater than himself. He didn’t matter. People wanted to know Spiderman. Peter was something else entirely. So even if he knew Clint wouldn’t expose his true name, there was no reason to reveal it when he was trying to squash that part of his identity. He wouldn’t put anyone else at risk. Clint had a family, and he couldn’t afford to have people coming after him in a bid to find out Peter’s identity.
“You okay?” Matt asked, sitting beside him, leaving his cane propped up by the side of the sofa where he had previously been sitting.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Peter said.
“I don’t think you’re being honest.”
“What makes you think that?”
He cracked a smile. “Call it intuition.”
“It’s just been a tiring time. Taking care of New York is a full-time job.”
“You don’t have another job?”
Currently, Peter was making money by selling photos of Spiderman to the Daily Bugle. It gave him a funny sense of satisfaction to look into J.J. Jameson’s face as he handed over the photographs and received the money in return, hearing Jameson complaining about Spiderman without realizing that he was paying him.
“I have a friend who’s been helping me out until I can get a job,” Peter said instead of disclosing all that. “He—um, he takes photos of me and sells them to the Bugle, then we split the money.”
“I see.” The corner of Matt’s mouth turned up. Peter hadn’t said anything funny, had he? “You know, our firm needs some headshots. You can tell your friend to come to the office sometime if he’s looking for a quick, easy job. It’s just me, Foggy, and our associate, Karen.”
Peter perked up. This was risky, but there was no way Matt would know that freelance photographer Peter Parker was Spiderman, and his blindness only ensured that. Foggy was riskier, but getting paid to work with people he already knew wouldn’t try to cheat him or surprise him with a last-minute demand for parlor photography was a great opportunity.
“I’ll tell him,” Peter decided.
Then Clint called them over for an intense game of Monopoly, and the topic was forgotten. Clint proved to be a beast at Monopoly, destroying them with ease, leaving his children scowling at him in frustration. It was an edition with Braille engravings on the board, so Matt was able to play without Foggy describing the text to him, though he took delight in recounting Clint’s expression when he landed on the most expensive house. Clint was not amused.
When it was time for dinner, they settled at the table together, where Laura had laid out a veritable feast, from a ceramic bowl of cranberry sauce to a large casserole and, the crowning jewel of the meal, a juicy roast turkey, cooked to perfection. Peter and May used to have small Thanksgiving meals together, making do with storebought turkey slices and homemade stuffing when they couldn’t afford anything more. Thinking of her name sent a pang of pain through his heart, and remembering her was even worse, the happy memories tainted with guilt and regret and missing her so much that he couldn’t breathe sometimes.
“Are you okay?” Laura said, concern in her voice.
Peter glanced up. “Oh? Y-yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Just thinking about—about the things I’m grateful for.”
There was a knowing look on her face, as if she knew Peter wasn’t telling the truth, but thankfully, she helped him out. “That’s a nice idea. Personally, I’m grateful we can all be together on Thanksgiving without anyone trying to kill us.”
That sent up a titter of laughter. Clint went next. “I’m just grateful Matt hasn’t tried to kill me yet.”
“Thin ice, Barton,” Matt replied. “If I didn’t have a no—” he cut himself off abruptly but didn’t elaborate.
“What were you saying?” Peter prompted, curious. Foggy shot a sideways glance at Matt, almost nervously. His curiosity only increased.
It took Matt a moment to reply. “I’m morally opposed to jokes about killing.”
That didn’t seem to fit right, but he didn’t know Matt well enough to dispute it. “You’re morally opposed?”
“Yes,” he said, more confident. “Very much so.”
“Last week I made a joke about wanting to kill myself, and he made me say the Lord’s Prayer three times,” Foggy interjected. Matt elbowed him, biting back a smile, and when Foggy glanced at him and saw his expression, a smile spread over his face, too.
Today, though Peter was surrounded by the picture of happy families and healthy relationships, he didn’t feel alone. Playing hide-and-seek in the garden with Clint’s children and Matt (who turned out to be freakishly good at both hiding and seeking), helping Laura prepare dinner in the kitchen while she taught him the trick to dicing tomatoes perfectly, Clint ruffling his hair as he squeezed past to sit on the sofa beside him, arguing over Monopoly and who got the best part of the turkey—Today, Peter got to be part of a family again.
It wouldn’t replace what he lost, but then again, it didn’t have to. Nothing would ever change the past, so all he could do was move forward. Today was a glimpse of the future, and the future looked bright.
Today, he wouldn’t remove his mask, but he was beginning to feel like someday, he could.
-
Peter adjusted his glasses and pulled the collar of his shirt into place, making sure he looked presentable. With one last glance at the sign reading Nelson and Murdock, he stepped inside, carrying a duffel bag in which he had his photography equipment. He deliberated for a while about whether or not it was too risky for Peter Parker to take this job with Matt, but in the end, the lure of money won.
“So, you’re Peter Parker, with the Daily Bugle?” Karen Page asked at the front desk when he gave her the resume he hastily drew up last night. Peter had interacted with her a bunch of times as Spiderman, so he knew she was unofficially an attorney at the firm, but that she still acted as a secretary because the firm wasn’t exactly lucrative.
He felt abnormally bare with his face out in the open, like a proper Victorian maiden. “I’m not with the Daily Bugle, per se. Working freelance at the moment.”
“Right. Well, if you get me talking, I won’t shut up, so you can go right in.”
Peter hesitated at the door of the office. It was risky to take a job under his true identity with someone who knew him as Spiderman, but he needed the money and he trusted Matt to pay him fairly without trying to swindle him because he was young and inexperienced. So, he knocked on the door, then stepped inside at the affirmative reply.
“Peter Parker?” Matt asked, tilting his head up to look in Peter’s direction. He looked the same as always, with his shaded glasses and his crisp, well-fitted suit.
“Yes, sir,” Peter said, making his voice slightly lower. Maybe the mask had muffled his voice enough that Matt wouldn’t recognize it now. “Uh, Spiderman said you were looking for a photographer?”
“Yes, I am. Have a seat.” When he sat down, Matt said, “How do you know Spiderman?”
The way Matt was looking at him was unnerving, as if he could actually see him. Peter shifted in his seat, and wished he had the mask with him so he could cover his face, even if it wouldn’t make a difference. Maybe this was a bad idea. He didn’t know why unmasking his secret identity still felt like such a big deal to him, but after the disaster following the last time he did it, the thought of doing it again sent a shiver of unease up his spine.
“I met Spiderman when… when he saved me from a mugger,” Peter lied. “So we talked and I asked if I could take photos of him for the Bugle, so now we have a working relationship.”
“How do you contact him?”
“I have his phone number.”
“Do you talk casually?”
“Not really.”
“Do you know his real name?”
He paused. That question was almost too accusatory to be a casual inquiry. His voice steady, he said, “If I knew, would you ask me what it was?”
Matt leaned back in his seat. “No.”
Peter hadn’t been expecting that. This was an opportunity for Matt to pressure him to find out Spiderman’s identity, but he hadn’t taken it. “Oh. Okay.”
“I need a few headshots of myself, Foggy, and Karen. I can offer around a thousand for the package.”
Peter’s eyes widened. He must have misheard. There was no way Matt Murdock, whose law firm was dangerously close to falling under the label of broke, would be willing to pay a thousand dollars for three headshots by a student photographer who barely had any experience. “A thousand? Dollars?”
His voice was amused. “Yes, dollars. I’d assume offering payment in rupees isn’t standard practice in the United States.”
“That’s—that’s quite a lot, Mr. Murdock. I’d be fine with less.”
“Any photographer who convinced Spiderman to let him sell photos of him to the Daily Bugle must be worth his money,” Matt said calmly. “And I’ve seen your shots. They’re good.”
“Oh. Thanks. Yeah, that’s fine. Just one more question—”
The door flew open and Foggy barged in with a “Hey, Matty,” throwing a book straight at Matt’s face.
Matt flinched just before the book collided with his face. With a frown, he rubbed his nose, wincing. Peter gaped at Foggy in horror. What sort of a man would throw a book straight at a blind man’s face, let alone his boyfriend? It was a cruel joke, and one he never would have imagined Foggy would do.
To Peter’s shock, Foggy burst out into laughter, even as Matt’s expression turned reproachful. When he caught sight of Peter, something like realization flashed across his expression. “Oh, shit, sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Why’d you do that?” Peter said, unable to resist glaring at him.
“It’s fine, Peter,” Matt said, rubbing his jaw. Was Peter imagining it, or was he trying to hold back a smile? “This is my partner in the firm, Foggy.”
Foggy raised an eyebrow. “Partner in the firm?”
“After that little stunt, I’m firing you as a romantic partner.”
“I’m kind of offended you didn’t do that in a Trump voice.” Mimicking Trump, he aimed finger guns at Matt and said, “You’re fired. I just did finger guns.”
“Stop distracting me.” Matt tilted his head in Peter’s direction. “This is Peter Parker, he’s a photographer. Spiderboy recommended him for the headshots Karen’s making us do.”
“Um,” Peter said, clearing his throat, “I’m pretty sure it’s Spiderman.”
“I must have mixed it up,” he said innocently. “My mistake.”
“Awesome,” Foggy said, offering Peter his usual sunshiney smile that made it very hard to stay angry at him. After all, Matt didn’t seem to be irritated by the book assault. “Hey, you’re the guy that does Spiderman’s photos, right? Those are really awesome. How do you get such close shots?”
“I have a deal with Spiderman, so I get exclusive shots,” Peter said, trying not to be flattered by the compliment. He failed in that endeavor.
“Cool, cool. Can I get my headshots done in a Spiderman costume?”
Peter laughed. “If you want.”
“Hm… Nah, Spiderman’s too heroic for me, I need some morally grey thing going on. Maybe the Punisher.”
“No,” Matt said at once. “We literally spent months working on the Castle case. How could you want to dress up like the Punisher after that?”
“You’re right, it’s too soon. What about Captain America?” Foggy flexed his arms. “I could pull off a Captain America. Right?”
If Peter was in his Spiderman mask, he would have been close enough to Foggy to make a joke that Foggy decidedly did not have enough muscles nor enough patriotism to pull off Captain America. However, Peter Parker was meeting Foggy for the first time, and it would be strange if he responded with a joking insult.
“You need to hit the gym more,” Matt advised, saving Peter from having to reply. “Captain America is a no.”
“Do I look like someone who’s capable of making healthy life choices?”
“I wouldn’t know, I can’t see.”
“What about Thor?” Foggy suggested. “I could do a chubbier version of Thor.”
Matt laughed at that, a real laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him bow his head from the force of it, his head almost touching the desk. Peter couldn’t help but laugh, too, feeling it shake through his bones, spark a bundle of warmth in his stomach. The original joke hadn’t been hilarious, but it just got funnier as they kept laughing, the laughter itself becoming amusing. His sides were starting to ache, but it was a good ache.
The headshot session went well. It started off fairly professional enough, but soon Karen and Foggy started making jokes, and it deteriorated into all of them messing around, laughing so much that all the photos came out shaky. Eventually, Peter wasn’t even taking photos anymore, instead joining in their lighthearted banter, Karen telling the guys that they looked like corporate stooges while they responded that they had never been so gravely insulted. Noon rolled around and passed, so they agreed to take a break for lunch and an argument ensued between Foggy and Karen about what they should order. In the end, Karen won, and they ordered Chipotle.
“Chipotle was a good idea,” Foggy admitted grudgingly as they all sat around Karen’s desk to eat lunch.
“My ideas are always the best,” Karen said. “You should know that by now.” She glanced at Peter, who had already finished half his meal. She pushed one of the extra burritos they had ordered over to him, and though he politely refused it, she insisted he take it.
“Peter, just take the burrito,” she insisted. “We wasted a lot of your time and your resources.”
Matt nodded. “We really have. I will compensate you for that.”
Peter frantically shook his head. “It’s fine, Mr. Murdock, please, you don’t need to pay me more than what you already are.”
“This stuff doesn’t come cheap. I’m sure you have to spend a lot for each hour and each shot that we messed up. I’ll add it to your payment.”
Visions of an embarrassing amount of money swam in front of his eyes, and he pushed them away. “I really don’t mind. It was fun.”
Foggy looked up from his bowl. “Oh, man. They forgot the guacamole.”
“There are already enough avocadoes in this office,” Matt said, sending Foggy into stitches of laughter.
“You guys are absolutely ridiculous,” Karen said with a roll of her eyes, and Peter thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad to hang out with them without his mask after all.
His friends. His family, a small voice in the back of his mind corrected, and he was inclined to agree.