#spideychellesecretsanta2k019

MJ’s eyes snap to Peter’s from across his kitchen, where she’s heating up a pan for dinner. The apartment is quiet other than the soft hiss of the stovetop, which quickly subsides as she turns down the flame level.

“Practice,” she repeats slowly as she turns his way, her eyes wary. “You mean for the party?”

Peter sets down the pair of glasses he just took out of the dishwasher with a wince, and one of his hands runs through his hair as he faces her. “I don’t think May believed us.”

Though her face is composed as ever across from him, Peter can tell that MJ agrees with him as a long exhale escapes her. The two don’t need to go any further; only ten minutes before May was in the room, and Peter hesitantly informed her that he was going to MJ’s parents’ Christmas party. May had seemed more surprised than Peter had hoped for, and as the trio had watched Christmas Vacation on the sofa Peter had found May’s eyes drifting their way with a bit too much uncertainty for his liking.

Peter had been almost relieved when his aunt was called away for a work emergency, but the silence between them told Peter what they both knew: if this was going to work at the work event in three days, then they were going to have to be more believable.

“My parents are going to be harder to convince,” MJ finally states, setting down the tablespoon she had been using to put the oil into the pan. Peter swallows nervously as she continues, her piercing eyes not leaving his for a moment. “When I was little and tried to sneak his Christmas present into the house, my dad cross-examined me using some of the questions he had written for a dealer he was trying to put away at the time. I was seven.”

Peter lets out a slightly nervous laugh, and though both of them are still tense, he can tell from the quiet gleam in MJ’s eyes that she is glad to be the cause of it. Still, she does not allow herself to relax too much. “I’m just not sure what we should do. My parents are lawyers. They’re used to seeing through stories.”

A breath escapes Peter as he thinks it through, furrowing his brow slightly. “Maybe we have to show them that we’re together instead of just saying it.”

It takes a moment for Peter to realize that MJ is not saying anything, and when he glances across the room at her all that can be heard is the quiet sizzling of the pan. Her lips have tightened slightly, and her fingers rise to quickly brush a few strands of hair behind her ear nervously.

“I don’t mean, like, making out or anything,” Peter stammers quickly. His eyes widen as he realizes what he’s said, and then his cheeks begin to burn. “Wait! Uh, nothing like that. Nothing you’re not comfortable with. We don’t have to, like, kiss or anything-- so I probably shouldn’t suggest it, now that I’m thinking about it, and-”

“No, you’re right,” MJ says quickly, her eyes slightly wide as well. Peter immediately shuts up, and she lets out a quick breath, clearly struggling with the quick transition to being the center of attention.

“I mean, they’re gonna see through stories and words, so we might as well do what we can to show them that we’re comfortable with each other.” MJ swallows, fiddling with her jacket sleeve as she avoids eye contact with him.

“It wouldn’t have to be anything big,” Peter finds himself stammering, rushing to make sure she isn’t uncomfortable. “Just some of that annoying couple’s stuff, like shoulder touches and all that.”

MJ makes a face, and a relieved laugh leaves Peter at the sight of MJ regaining some of her sardonic sense of humor. “As long as there are no nicknames,” she replies.

“Uh, so you don’t want me to call you ‘Em?’” he teases with a little grin, repeating May’s name for MJ that he knows she secretly loves.

MJ raises an eyebrow at him, seeming to contemplate it as she takes a step forward. “Actually, that might make my parents uncomfortable enough that they’ll forget to even ask questions,” she decides, and a little smirk crosses her lips.

“Then they’ll definitely forget to try to set you up with whatever-his-name-is,” Peter volunteers helpfully, citing the reason for the favor in the first place. MJ groans, rolling her eyes so far back that Peter can’t hold back the grin. This is better, he decides as he leans back against the counter. Just messing around with one of his best friends-- that’s all this is. A few hours of play-pretend and listening to MJ make fun of people is something he can do, so all he has to do is settle into their joking rhythm and he’ll be alright.

“Harry,” she mutters, the name sounding like an insult of its own on her lips. “I think they’ll lay off imposing their agenda on me just this once if we can be sappy enough.”

“Deal,” Peter agrees, tipping his head to the side. “And we can do something extra obnoxious in front of Harry so that he doesn’t get any ideas about how serious our relationship is.”

A huff of amusement leaves MJ, and Peter grins as a familiar expression of contemplation crosses her face. “We could post a couple’s photo together,” she suggests, “and do that annoying thing where we take it somewhere that people are walking.”

“Or I could give you some food off of my fork when I know he’s looking,” Peter suggests. “I’ve seen you drink two-day-old tea, so a few bites wouldn’t be too hard.”

“As long as it’s-”

“Vegetarian, yeah,” Peter finishes for her, grinning. “I’m no amateur. We don’t want him to see through it.”

“I swear to God, if you give me any of that gross crap you put on your bread...”

“Vegemite? It’s not gross.”

“It looks like something you’d put in your car, not on bread.”

“Definitely a romantic food, then.”

MJ’s glare causes Peter to smile wider, raising an eyebrow. their familiar rhythm has returned, and he can’t pretend he isn’t enjoying the banter. Still... They probably should settle on some way of eliminating any doubt. “Well, then what do you suggest we do to really sell it?” he queries.

MJ seems to turn over the question for a moment, humming. “We could always hold hands.”

Peter isn’t sure why, but suddenly his cheeks feel warm again. His eyes drift to her fingers, which are currently occupied with fiddling with her zipper. When his eyes find hers again, he struggles to keep his face composed.

“Um, yeah,” he replies, his throat slightly tighter than it was a moment before. “We could do that.” Why is it suddenly so much harder to think? Peter curses himself as he glances back up at her face, his dark eyes finding her own. Is he imagining it, or has something changed in the quiet of his kitchen?

For a moment, they are both silent, and then MJ takes another step forward. “Let’s practice.” There is a slight tension in her voice as she speaks, pursing her lips before she continues. “Otherwise, it’ll look awkward, and there will be less pressure in front of people because we’ve already done it.”

“Right. Right, yeah.” Peter swallows, and he closes the distance so that he’s standing in front of her, all too aware of the gleam of her dark eyes as she looks down at him, finally ceasing to play with her zipper.

MJ exhales, and then she seems to draw herself a bit taller. “So, I guess we just...” Rather than continuing, she reaches for his hand, and Peter finds that it is all too easy to give it to her.

Peter’s heart bottoms out completely as her hand slides into his own, cool and firm. He had expected her hand to be warm from the cooking, but as her palm settles against his the decrease in temperature is comforting. At first, her fingers are tense and unsure, and Peter worries that his own, rather square hand is enveloping hers in a way that makes her feel uncomfortable. After a moment, however, she relaxes, and the two allow their hands to dangle between them.

“Is that right?” Peter raises his eyes to hers. The hesitant, earnest question is followed by a sharp intake of breath from MJ, but he is sure he must have imagined it due to the rapid nature of her response.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s... It’s whatever.” There is a slight breathlessness to her tone, but Peter forces himself not to allow his heart to race any further.

She’s just nervous; so is he. It’s weird, and it’s a stressful situation, and they both know that the next time they do this it will be in a roomful of lawyers who know MJ’s parents personally and will be looking for any signs of falsity in their “relationship.” Of course she’s nervous; that’s why he’s such a trembling mess at this.

Why, then, do all of those things feel so far from his mind as he looks into MJ’s eyes?

“They might be able to tell, though,” she continues, and Peter’s eyes widen.

“What? Why?”

“I mean...” MJ’s eyes wander, glancing away from him and to their hands, then back to him. “I think that couples normally do other things to make it more intimate. Like with their fingers and everything.”

“Oh. Right.” There is a beat of silence as neither moves, and Peter swallows. “Um... Should I try? If that’s alright with you?”

MJ takes a breath, and for a moment Peter worries that she’s going to snatch her hand back altogether. He’s terrified that he’s made her uncomfortable, and he opens his mouth to say so. Before he can, she is speaking.

“Sure. I like waffles better than pancakes, anyway.” Peter lets out a slightly strained laugh, but a genuine gratitude fills him as he realizes that she is trying to ease the tension.

After a moment’s hesitation, he lets our a breath and takes the step forward. Peter readjusts his hand to do what MJ said: hold her hand “waffle” style, with the fingers laced together. His movements are slow and careful, and he finds himself glancing up at her to make sure that it’s okay. She raises her eyes to the ceiling, as if to imply that he is being overly nervous about the whole thing. However, her grip does relax slightly in his own now that he has checked, and it makes Peter feel better about the whole ordeal.

His fingers lace with hers, and now Peter is sure that he wasn’t mistaken about the sharp breath because it’s happened again.

Peter can see why couples do it... It’s certainly more intimate than their hold was a moment before. He can feel the strength in her slender fingers, the places where they are calloused from pens and from brushes. Her hand is a story as it tenses in his, and Peter wants nothing more than to read it for hours on end.

For one long, terrible moment, her hand stiffens in his own. Peter’s heartbeat bottoms out.

What if she doesn’t like the story his own hands tell?

They are calloused as well, but more so than hers and in different places. The soles of his palms are toughened from gripping onto the sides of buildings, and though his healing is accelerated, there are still places on the back of his hands that are toughened from particularly deep cuts and injuries. What if she’s disgusted by the little dry patch where he scrubbed away some ink from his hand, or if she loathes the little scar between his knuckles where he needed stitches as a child after a bad fall?

And then her hand relaxes in his, and it is Peter’s turn to be breathless because she entwines their fingers further.

Michelle glances down at him, her face purposefully a stoic mask. However, her eyes are not wavering from his, and her lips are slightly parted. In the warm light of the kitchen, Peter still thinks she looks as sharp and dangerous and awe-inspiring as ever. Her eyes pierce him like blades, and every line of her face is so angular and intentional that Peter can’t imagine a world that wasn’t made for Michelle Jones.

Still, the soft glow of May’s countertop lamp bathes her dark ringlets in gold, and the gleam in her eyes make them appear warmer than ever, and her lips look awfully soft and they’re so close....

Peter’s thumb meets the back of her hand, caressing it with the delicacy of a butterfly’s wings.

ssssSSSSSTSTSTTSTST.

The sound of seizing, spitting oil drags both of them from their thoughts and sets time in motion again. In an instant, MJ is back by the pan turning down the heat, and Peter is left with flaming cheeks and an ache of disappointment that is mourning the lost contact between them. He doesn’t have time to think about it, however, and he forces it out of his mind as MJ ducks by him to rinse the pan under water.

“I forgot about it,” MJ says over the roaring of cold tap water on hot metal. Her back is to him at the sink, and Peter can’t help but wonder if it’s intentional. “Rookie mistake. I’ll remember that next time I try to commit arson.”

The one-liner is both a relief and a disappointment. On the one hand, it’s a definite signal that the moment is over; on the other, it is an indication that MJ is back. Peter takes a breath and forces himself to move on, turning back to the water.

“You might want to remember to not try it when your target is in the room,” he volunteers, and he hears a huff od amusement in response from MJ.

“I’ll take it into consideration,” she agrees.

There are a few moments of quiet as MJ wipes the bottom of the pan dry, puts in another small measure of oil, and returns the pan to the stove, this time on lower heat. When she turns around, Peter offers her a glass of water, which she takes. There is silence between them for a moment, and it is expectant as MJ takes a sip of her water and Peter glances at the stove.

“They’re going to believe it,” she finally says, inspecting the deep blue rim of the glass and looking anywhere but him. “Especially if you do that. It was good thinking-- it looked genuine.”

There is a slight sinking in Peter’s chest, and he doesn’t want to think about what caused it. “Right,” he breathes, reaching his hand to scratch his neck. “I, uh, thought it might.”

“I think we can do it.” Her eyes find his, and they hold quiet confidence now. “It’s just one night. It’s short term, and it’ll be busy, so I’m sure we’ll be able to make them believe that we’re in some cliche, teenaged honeymoon phase.”

“Definitely,” Peter agrees, nodding a bit too quickly. “I won’t let you down.”

“Good,” MJ hums, nodding. “If you do, then someone might ‘accidentally’ show Delmar that footage of the two of you sneaking back into the deli...”

“For the last time, MJ-- we were returning the sunglasses that fell into my bag, not stealing!”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure he’d know the difference.”

Now, everything is normal again: the banter, the sizzling of the frozen stir-fry that they’re heating in the pan. However, one thing has changed in the quiet of the kitchen of the Parkers’ apartment, even if it isn’t visible.

Peter is no longer so sure that he will be pretending.