Chapter Text
When the waiter dropped off their breakfast, the smell nauseated Peter. For a moment, he thought he would have to skip a meal for once. Peter took a sip of water fighting back the urge to gag and instead focused on the man in front of him.
Matt had thanked the waiter while putting a napkin on his lap, trying his best to hide a bruised knuckle from prying eyes. Although, the Sun had just risen and Matt could have easily hidden his hand in the shadow his body produced.
He had on his usual red glasses with a gray suit on. Peter assumed he needed to appear in court today because his civvies usually walked the line of casual and athleisure.
Peter, himself, was trying to hide a black eye with sunglasses. The two of them had been in a fight the previous night, neither parties walked away unscathed.
Matt took a sip of his coffee and started to scarf down the eggs he ordered.
Peter's super-metabolism got the best of him as the smell of fresh bread made his stomach growl. He grabbed the butter and started to spread it on his bread.
Matt froze for a moment, fork hovering over the eggs. It was only a second, but Peter felt it heavy in the crisp autumn air.
"I'm fine," said Peter.
"You're not fine. I can tell 'cause you smothered that." Matt pointed with his fork to the toast he should not have been able to see that Peter had covered in butter.
"You're judging my emotional state by my butter volume?" Alright, it was atrocious.
"You're really fine?"
"Um," he sighed. "No, I guess not. Like, okay, I'm going back to the Compound for Thanksgiving. I haven't gone back, in, it's probably been close to seven years."
"Oh."
"I know."
"Wow. Bold."
"Is it?"
"Yeah, I mean, you're gonna walk in there. It's gonna be pretty provocative."
"It's… it's like…" Peter stammered trying to find the words. "I… I don't know why they even want me to go." He scoffed. "I know I'm just nothing but a fucking disappointment and an annoyance. So, it's… I don't…" He took a breath. "I'm just a disappointment to them. Y'know?" Peter took a sip of his coffee.
Matt inhaled, putting his fork down. "Remember you can just turn around and get on train and come back here. Or, you could just not go." He shrugged, as if it was so easy to do that.
"Yeah. No, I have to go." Peter took a bite of toast. "What's frustrating for me is, like… Cool, they accept—" Peter waved a hand over himself— "This. Um… but do they? Like, I don't know what they actually think. I don't know what they actually say to their friends or other heroes I haven't met. And, if anything, they use it against me like they deserve some gold star because they accept my existence."
"Right, because they're so progressive."
"Yeah."
Matt just cocked his head to the side, letting Peter talk.
"And, um… So, it's as if I, like… owe them so much or something. I don't know."
"Well, what's the worst that can happen?"
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know."
"And the best?"
Peter dropped his hand and took another bite of his toast. "Dunno."
***
Peter loved his job because it was fun and he was damn good at it. Journalism with a pinch of photography was almost as exhilarating as fighting crime.
Whenever Peter would develop his photographs in the dark room of his workplace, he would go into a trance-like state. Listening to music and focusing on not ruining his pictures was the closest thing to meditation someone with enhanced senses could get. Most of the time, someone could be right next to him, and Peter would never know.
Which is why, when Peter opened the door of the room, he almost walked straight into J. Jonah Jameson.
"Oh, Parker!"
"Hello Mr. Jameson." He maneuvered his way back to his desk that sat right near the room. Peter needed to finish up editing a photo of Spider-Man and send it Jameson's way before he needed to leave.
Peter leaned over his desk, plugged in a USB, and opened up his editing software before getting tapped on the shoulder.
He looked up to see Jameson was hovering over his shoulder, pointing at his own ears.
"Oh!" Peter took his headphones off.
"Could I see you for a second?" Jameson must have repeated. He motioned for Peter to follow him as he walked. "So, you going to leave early today, right? You're going to take a train home to your parents for Thanksgiving?"
"Yeah, I'm supposed to." He fell into step with Jameson. "Where we going?"
"To my office."
"I'm in it, like I have never been in anything. I mean, I'm working, studying, struggling year after year. Y'know how I've been working, studying, struggling year after year. And it's technical, I'm thinking, yes—" Jameson nodded along with him, and pointed in the direction of his office to steer Peter there— "But today…" he took a breath entering the office. "My God! It's like the city knows me! And no time's gone by at all. Time doesn't matter. You don't wanna eat or sleep. You forget what day it is."
Jameson sat in his chair and Peter sat opposite of him. Peter realized Jameson was smiling, but it did not reach his eyes.
"What's wrong, Mr. Jameson? You okay?"
Jameson looked away from Peter for a second and chewed his bottom lip, then leaned over his desk. "You're fired, Peter. I have to."
"Oh?"
"We lost 90 percent of our federal money. You're my youngest."
"Me? Josh is… Josh is 25. Rose! What is Rose?"
"They're just assistants and they'll be gone too. Within six months."
"You can't fire them! They're just kids—" Peter leaned over the desk too, because he realized Jameson was talking in hushed tones and he had just raised his voice— "They've been here since…"
"Peter I'm sorry."
Peter's mind was muddled and he leaned in for a hug. This was one of the first well paying jobs he had since his internship with Stark Industries. He finally had enough security in his day-to-day life that he never before could have imagined. Peter's eyes began to sting. He tried to break the hug, embarrassed he had shown so much emotion to his boss, but Jameson did not let him go all the way.
As he tried for a second time to break the hug, now feeling how awkward it was to be an inch away from your boss' face.
Peter was just about to laugh it off until Jameson closed the distance between the two of them. Peter's mind was scrambled enough not to register what was fully happening. In his shock, Peter kissed back.
After two seconds Peter stopped and pushed himself off the desk. "God."
"I… I didn't mean to do that," said Jameson. "God, I hate the holidays."
***
The station was packed with people coming in and out of the city to visit their families. As Peter squeezed his way through the crowd, he heard snippets of one-sided phone conversations.
"Mom, please accept that I do my own laundry now."
"Dad, I don't know what you're hearing. My throat is fine. I don't want to take antibiotics."
"Please, please. Okay? Please, I can't eat that stuff anymore."
"I'm sorry, but there's not a nuclear robot on the moon. So what if there was?"
Peter got on his train earlier than most. He put headphones in without playing any music so he could ease-drop and people watch as the passengers slowly rolled in.
A woman plopped right down next to him, trying to start up a conversation. Peter kept his pleasantries up and just let the woman rant for a while as the train left the station.
"She changed everything we did. Everything. She wants to be different. Last year, my daughter-in-law, who's miserable with her life as a tax attorney, she stuffed her bird with oysters. Oysters. Y'know, from the ocean? Now, where does a turkey find an oyster? That's my point, but it's just lost on her. Lost."
"Excuse me. May I make a call?" Peter held up his phone, showing her the screen in hopes for some peace and quiet.
"Oh, uh, excuse me."
"Thanks." The phone went straight to voice mail, giving a small beep Peter could barely hear over the talk of the train.
"Hi. Hey, older sis. Where are you? I'm on my way to the Compound—"
"Look at the makeup on that woman!"
Peter shrank in his seat as the woman invaded his personal space to complain. "Which I know is the last place on Earth you want to drive a million miles in holiday traffic to be at, and I don't blame you. Have Thanksgiving with your friends. I would if I had any, which I don't, 'cause then I'd have to send them all birthday cards. Which is a lie, of course, because you know I'm only looking for pity. Jesus." He took a deep breath, fighting back tears. "Shit… I really wish you were going to be there because, because, you should see me I've got a black eye, and I made out with my boss, Wade's gonna trash my apartment while I'm away, and then I got fired, and finally got top surgery or the other way around. Whatever. Oh, my God. I cannot believe I have said this to a voice— I hate voice mails. Please get rid of this. It's nothing. It's absolutely no big deal. I'm fine. I just… I just miss you guys. Happy Thanksgiving. And… give Vis a big, big, big, big hug for me. That's it. Love, Peter." He hung up. "God," he whispered to himself, "that was ridiculous."
"Oh, no. My son is ridiculous. Y'know," the passenger said with a mouth full of hard-boiled egg Peter had no idea where she had been hiding. "He sells $15,000 suits in Akron, Ohio. The idiot."