Brachial Pulse - holofanged - Spider-Man: Spider-Verse (Sony Animated Movies) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Peter’s been sitting in the lobby for twenty minutes now.

For twenty minutes, he's watched an increasingly frazzled receptionist place call after call to God knows who, listened to her assure him Someone will be right down, my apologies, every time she hangs up the phone.

Peter’s not stupid. He knows the person he’s supposed to meet with completely forgot about their meeting. God knows he’s done that to other people at least a hundred times by now.

Normally, he wouldn’t stick around this long. Had this been any other day, Peter would have left after the second call came to a dead end, Don’t worry about it, we can reschedule.

But he can't walk out of here today empty-handed.

Alchemax, a leader in all things scientific research, announced last month they were trialing a new mentorship program for high-school students. Each school in the Brooklyn area was allowed one slot for a student of theirs to get paired up with an Alchemax researcher and gain hands-on experience in their respective fields. It's difficult to name a field in which Alchemax didn’t make its presence known; everything from medical advancement to agricultural research took place in this one building.

Horrific implications of Alchemax's ever-increasing monopoly over science aside, having so many scientists and researchers under one roof meant schools had their pick of whatever field they wanted their students to participate in.

Now, Peter does not pick favorites amongst his students. That would be irresponsible of him as a guidance counselor and create unfair advantages for whichever student Peter favored.

...However. If there was a particular student who just so happened to excel even amongst incredibly gifted peers, who had shown interest in this program and coincidentally happened to be someone Peter felt would have the most to gain from this opportunity, well. It would be irresponsible for Peter not to do everything he could to get this nonspecific, theoretical kid into Alchemax’s program.

This definitely hypothetical teen may also be the reason Peter requested someone from Alchemax’s physics department to take on one of his students as a mentee. They may also have broken Peter down until he promised Yes, okay, I’ll get you in but do not tell anyone I said that.

None of that happened, obviously, because Peter B. Parker would never pick favorites.

Not like it matters, either way. Thirty minutes have ticked by at this point, and the poor receptionist has stopped trying to reassure Peter that anyone was coming for him. She’s still making calls at least, which he appreciates, but it’s beginning to feel like more and more of a lost cause the longer it drags out.

Peter lets out a deep sigh, letting his shoulder bag slide out of his lap and onto the floor by his feet. He slouches lazily into the plush armchair he’s currently seated in- there’s not much else he can do currently. If he’s going to be stuck here for a while, he may as well get comfortable.

Looking around, he sees a handful of other school representatives scattered about the massive lobby, their respective school emblems emblazoned on a jacket or a bag. Peter watches, with no small amount of jealousy, as one by one they’re all led out of the lobby to wherever their chosen researcher is waiting to meet them. Lucky bastards.

All of them, Peter included, look completely out of place inside Alchemax. The entire building feels...sterile. It's all high-tech and sharp angles, so clean-cut and precise that anything organic inside its walls looks like a blemish on its otherwise pristine surface.

Peter’s not a fan, personally, of either the building or the company itself. Alchemax has had more than its share of bad press since its inception, almost all of it revolving around its CEO, Tyler Stone. Rumors are circulating that this entire mentorship program was an attempt to gain some positive attention following a particularly damning expose around misappropriated funds.

He’d been hesitant to have one of his students participate, and he spent more time than he would have liked weighing the pros and cons. Tyler Stone sucked, and his company wasn’t much better. There was no getting around that. But the researchers employed by Alchemax themselves didn’t suck, not necessarily. A great deal of scientific advancement had taken place here, loath as Peter was to admit it, and the chance for Mi- a deserving young mind, to come in and gain hands-on experience while also making important connections is invaluable.

It’s also a paid position, which surprised Peter when he first found out. Stone must really need that good PR.

He checks the time on his phone. Forty minutes. Peter is going to rot in this chair.

He’s nearly horizontal in his seat by this point, forgoing any attempt at looking professional. If they wanted professional Peter, they should have shown up about thirty-eight minutes ago.

Peter’s just beginning to play with the idea of taking a nap when the receptionist claps the phone on the receiver loud enough to get his attention. When he looks over, she looks relieved, smiling pleasantly at him. “Mr. Parker? Someone will be down in a moment to lead you upstairs.”

He gives her a thumbs up in response and does not attempt to right his posture. He'll believe it when he sees it.

Peter occupies himself now with a stray thread on the jacket he’s wearing, trying unsuccessfully to cut it with blunt fingernails. He should really-

“You the guy from Visions Academy?”

He sits up so fast he nearly slides right off his chair.

Someone actually came to see him.

The owner of the voice stands only a few feet in front of him; a short brunette woman, dressed in an almost entirely off-white ensemble, save for the pink heart-shaped glasses perched atop her head. She looks...awfully casual, for someone who works at a place like Alchemax, hands in her pockets and posture so relaxed she almost looks bored.

“Yup, that’d be me,” Peter says, slinging his bag over a shoulder before standing up. “Name’s Peter B. Parker- professional guidance counselor.”

She looks mildly amused and introduces herself simply as Lyla. She then turns on her heels to lead him to a set of elevators at the very back of the building. When her back is turned, Peter twists side to side while he walks to pop his back, having grown sore from slouching so long. If Lyla hears any of the loud cracking or his sigh of relief afterward, she doesn't comment.

Lyla swipes the ID badge pinned to her shirt on a scanner beside the elevator before looking back at Peter. Standing face to face like this, the height difference between the two is striking, the top of Lyla’s head barely reaches Peter’s shoulder, and she has to tilt her head up to look at him. “Do you always introduce yourself with your middle initial?”

“I like to make a memorable impression.” He says with a shrug. “You’d be surprised how many Peter Parkers there are running around New York.”

She just hums in response, stepping onto the elevator that opens behind her. “If you say so. Anyways, Miguel’s office is up on the twelfth floor-“

Peter is halfway onto the elevator when he stops, “Wait, who’s Miguel? I thought you were taking me to see Aaron Delgato.”

“Delgato? I don’t work with that nerd,” She repeats the name like it’s a personal insult.

The doors of the elevator attempt to close before Peter standing in the way triggers them to open again. He ignores it. “What? No- He agreed to take one of my students a month ago-”

“I dunno what you want me to tell you,” Lyla cuts him off. The doors try and fail to shut a second time. “I just got a call from a frantic receptionist about some guidance counselor loitering in the lobby looking for a spare mentor. Are you getting on the elevator or not? You’re about to trigger the alarm.”

Peter sighs before relenting, stepping fully onto the elevator and allowing the doors to finally slide shut. “Are you and Miguel part of the physics department, at least?”

Lyla laughs, hitting the button for the twelfth floor. “ Hell no, we’re going to genetics. Massive upgrade if you ask me.”

Of course. Of course, this Miguel guy isn’t even in the physics department, like Peter had promised Miles.

He doesn’t have the energy to pretend anymore. He picks favorites, okay? Sue him.

They're a few floors up when Peter realizes it's one of those fancy glass elevators, and when he turns around, he's met with a stunning view of Brooklyn as they slowly rise. Lyla hardly seems to care- she’s probably seen the same view a million times at this point and occupies herself with something on her phone. Which...okay. Seems a little rude- it reminds Peter of a lot of his students.

“Look, not to sound ungrateful after you saved me from decaying in that lobby,” That gets a snort of amusem*nt from Lyla, although she still doesn’t look up from her phone, “But is there anybody in physics that I can talk to? I’ll take an intern at this point.”

“Wow. You’d choose an intern over the head of the genetics department? So ungrateful,” If she wasn’t being so sarcastic, Peter might worry he insulted Lyla. “Sorry to disappoint, but Miguel’s your last bet- no one else is willing to take on a mentee.”

"But Miguel is, at least? He's interested?" Peter might be more than a little desperate to stop hearing about how much people don’t want to meet with him.

“He will be,” Lyla says, which is a unique way to answer what Peter thought was a straightforward, yes or no question. He only hopes Miguel is easier to communicate with than his… assistant? Coworker? Whatever. He’ll likely find out soon enough.

“Great,” is all Peter says, hoping he doesn’t sound as resigned as he feels. Lyla doesn't seem to notice either way or really care. The elevator doors eventually open to their floor and Lyla steps off first to continue leading Peter wherever it is they're going. This floor looks a little more normal than the lobby, at least. Peter assumes most of the interior design budget went into the fancy lobby, making good first impressions and all that jazz.

The pair walk down a hall lined with massive laboratories on either side, some with their blinds drawn up so one can see inside and observe the scientists at work. The labs are spacious, no doubt stocked with every top-of-the-line piece of equipment required to do... whatever it is geneticists do. There are a few conference rooms, regular offices, and what he assumes is a break room interspersed throughout, but most of the floor is taken by the labs. He understands why people here might be willing to turn a blind eye to Tyler Stone’s behavior- the opportunity to work in a facility like this is nearly impossible to find anywhere else.

They round a corner and come upon an office larger than the ones they passed earlier. There’s a desk seated right outside its door, and Peter quickly surmises it belongs to Lyla, if the massive white fur coat hanging on a hook next to it is any indication.

Miguel O’Hara is engraved on the metal nameplate mounted to the door of the office, which currently sits shut. The blinds are drawn as well, not allowing Peter a sneak peek of the man he’s about to meet.

Lyla reaches for the door, then pauses, before turning back around to beckon Peter over with her free hand. Peter hesitantly steps forward, as Lyla urges him closer and closer until he eventually has to bend forward to be at her eye level.

“Between you and me, Miguel’s kind of an ass,” She whispers. This woman cannot be real. “Personality leaves a lot to be desired, but trust me, he’s a good mentor. Just takes some getting used to.”

Peter is silent, thinking about how fast he’d be out of a job if he said half the things Lyla did about his own boss. Lyla continues, “Besides, I’m the real brains of this operation, so your kid will probably be with me the whole time anyw-“

“Lyla!” A loud voice from inside the office makes them both jump. “You’re two inches from the door, I can hear you! ”

“My bad, boss,” She says at her normal volume, once again not sounding sorry in the slightest as she finally opens the door and waltzes in. “Just having a lil’ pre-meeting brief.”

Peter takes that as his cue to follow her, standing upright before stepping into Miguel’s office and-

Oh, God help him.

Miguel O’Hara was hot.

He has yet to acknowledge Peter's existence, his focus turned to something on his computer, but that's more than okay. It allows Peter to ogle him shamelessly. His dark hair is styled back, providing an unobstructed view of his unfairly attractive face. Defined brows, angular jaw, cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass. The button-up Miguel is wearing leaves little to the imagination, barely containing his broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms.

Peter comes back to himself just in time to pick his jaw off the floor before Miguel starts speaking.

“What meeting? We don’t-“ Miguel looks up from his computer at Peter, then Lyla, then snaps right back to Peter when it registers that there's a stranger in the room. He stops whatever he's doing on his computer, a deep frown on his face as he continues to stare Peter down.

“Lyla. Why is this man in my office.”

Lyla puts her hands on her hips, frowning right back at him. “Uhh, because you have a meeting scheduled with him? I put it on your calendar, do you even bother to check that thing?”

“I do, that’s how I know it’s not on there,” Miguel looks back to his computer, and Lyla circles around his desk so she can watch over his shoulder. He clicks his mouse a few times, then pauses. “...When did you add this to my calendar?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

“How was I supposed to know to look if you just added it-“

“Because I also set your phone to give you notifications when I add things. C’mon, Miguel, keep up- it’s embarrassing when you’re unprepared like this.”

Peter is stuck standing there, feeling like a third wheel in a meeting about him, as the two bicker amongst themselves. Whatever he was expecting when he first arrived at Alchemax an hour ago, it certainly wasn't this. He endures it, for Miles' sake. Should make for a good story to tell MJ later, too.

“The guy I was supposed to see is apparently MIA,” Peter interrupts, and they both look back at him like they forgot he was there. They probably did. “Lyla was nice enough to take me to see you, instead. Said you’d be a good mentor for one of my kids.”

Miguel immediately opens his mouth to argue at the mention of the word ‘mentor’, but Lyla beats him to it. “Before you kick him out! This-” She makes a grand gesture with her arms towards Peter, looking mighty proud of herself as she announces, “- is the Peter B. Parker, Visions guidance counselor!”

Peter has no clue what to make of that -is she mocking him?- so all he says is, “Uh, yup. That’s me.”

To his complete and utter bewilderment, he catches a flash of recognition in Miguel’s eyes as soon as Lyla says his name. Peter is absolutely positive the two of them have never met -he would remember meeting someone like Miguel- and he can’t think of a single reason why his name would mean anything to the other man.

“Sorry, but, if we’ve talked before today, I don’t remember at all,” Peter admits. He remembers being bounced around to a few different Alchemax employees before finally getting in touch with Delgato, so Miguel may have been somewhere in that email chain. But even if that was the case, Peter didn’t think it would warrant Lyla looking so proud that she dragged him up here to meet Miguel.

“We’ve never met, no.” Miguel says, and Peter can practically see him deliberate in his head how much he wants to tell Peter before he continues, “One of your students goes to my gym. They’ve mentioned you once or twice.”

That still doesn’t quite answer all of Peter's questions, but it's something, he supposes. "All good things, I hope?"

Miguel just responds with a noncommittal mm, then leans ever so slightly back into his chair The perpetual scowl on his face changes to something a little more thoughtful- he still doesn’t look pleased at Peter’s sudden appearance in his office, but the chances of him being booted out are starting to feel lower, at least. Peter counts that as a win.

It's a tense few moments, waiting for Miguel to ponder… whatever is going on inside that head of his. Peter’s left standing there, planted awkwardly in the middle of the office until Miguel finally relents and tells him, “Fine. I’ll look at your students' applications, but I’m not making any promises.” Good enough for Peter.

“See? I knew you’d be interested,” Lyla says as she pats Miguel's shoulder, earning a grumble of irritation in response. Then she’s making her way towards the door, her job done now that Miguel’s agreed to hear Peter out. “You two have fun discussing whatever, I’m going on my lunch break.”

She gives Peter a little wave and just like that, Lyla is shutting the door behind her and leaving Peter and Miguel alone in his office. Finally, Peter’s back on track and ready to put his master plan into motion.

“Well, if you know one of our kids, then you know how smart they are. Got a lot of strong contenders right here, “ Peter begins, patting his bag for emphasis. He then set about finding a comfortable place for him to sit; there were a lot of applications to discuss, even if there’s only one he’s truly focused on.

It’s a pretty spacious office, which makes sense, Miguel being the head of the department and all. Sparsely decorated, Peter wonders if minimalism is just required of all Alchemax employees or if it's Miguel's personal style preferences. Either way, it's a large enough space for a couch and armchair set and an accompanying coffee table to fit comfortably in the corner opposite Miguel’s desk.

There’s another, smaller chair also seated in front of the desk, and that would probably be the most appropriate choice for this situation, but that couch looks awfully plush, and Peter’s never been one to resist the siren call of cozy furniture. He tosses his bag to the floor next to the armrest of the couch, then takes a seat himself, and oh, man. It’s a really nice couch. Peter has to resist the urge to sink back into the soft cushions and take a nap.

Instead, he pats the open spot next to him on the couch, looking over at Miguel and attempting to beckon him over with a little jerk of his head. “’S easier to look these over if we’re sitting next to each other,” is the excuse he gives, flimsy and half-true as it is.

Miguel does not look pleased to be told where to go in his own office by a near-stranger, but he surprises Peter again when he relents. He makes a show of huffing in irritation but otherwise stands without complaint, and- Jesus. Peter’s jaw almost hits the ground a second time.

Not only is Miguel ridiculously attractive, but he’s huge, too. He knew Miguel would be big, based on what little Peter could see of him when he was sitting behind his desk, but this is just unfair.

Peter’s not a small guy himself -he’s a verified member of the six-foot-plus club, thank you very much - so it’s rare for someone to make him feel small the way Miguel’s doing right now. The fact Peter’s sitting while Miguel is standing doesn’t help, either, but even if Peter was up on his tiptoes, it wouldn’t do much next to a guy who must be nearly seven feet tall and built like a brick house.

So, so unfair.

Peter must do a good job at keeping his expression neutral despite his debatably appropriate thoughts because Miguel is silent as he walks over to him. That or the guy was used to all the staring. He doesn’t take the open spot on the couch like Peter offered, instead opting to sit in the armchair to his left.

Okay, time to act like a professional adult again. Cushy couches and hot scientists aside, he was here to accomplish a very specific goal, to enact a very carefully thought-out plan to get Miles Morales a mentor and more ‘real world experience’ than the kid would ever know what to do with. Connections, networking, letters of recommendation out the wazoo.

Everything Peter personally loathes, but he recognizes the importance of regardless.

“So, I’ve got a lot of strong candidates in here,” Peter begins, bending down to flip his bag open and fish out a folder containing a stack of applications filled out by all the students hoping to get a spot in the mentorship program. He opens the folder on the coffee table, angling it so the two of them can easily see its contents, “but there’s a few in here I think would be a really good fit.”

Of course, that’s only half true. He’s not lying when he says there’s a lot of smart, capable students who applied. Visions has a reputation for churning out incredibly gifted students; if you’re going to have some teenager following you around and mucking up your lab, you would at least want them to be a Visions kid. That’s a fact and not Peter's very biased personal opinion.

What Peter’s not telling Miguel, however, is that he went so far as to tailor the very order of the applications themselves to benefit Miles the most. Miles is planted firmly in the center; not so early that he’s immediately forgotten, but not so late that Miguel’s already burnt out from being pitched several dozen students.

The applications themselves are pretty bare bones. Alchemax had created the forms themselves for students to fill out on their own and return to their respective councilors to bring back, but there was nothing particularly revolutionary or exciting about the applications. The students themselves were spectacular, but none of that comes through on such a standard form asking about their age, GPA, or generic interests.

That’s why Peter is here, to help flesh each student out so their potential mentor can get a sense of what they’re actually like and if they'll be able to form a mutually beneficial relationship. Peter had practiced exactly how he’d sell Miles, making him an absolute standout while not making his severe bias obvious. Of course, he’d practiced this speech under the impression he'd be giving it to Delgato in the physics department, but he's good at tweaking things on the fly.

This day, however, seems hellbent on throwing wrench after wrench into Peter’s perfect plan, because Miguel is already rifling through the applications before Peter has a chance to begin his opening speech. He’s barely looking at each one for more than a second, at most reading the name at the top, before moving on to the next.

“Looking for something specific?” Peter asks, trying not to flinch as he watches Miguel skip right over Miles’ application. Gives it a single glance before discarding it with the others he already passed over.

“Maybe,” is the only answer Miguel gives him. Peter mentally throws his hands up in defeat and hopes that once Miguel is finished skimming for whatever he'll allow Peter to do the job he came here to do. Peter watches him quietly, and it’s in the ensuing silence that his exhausted brain finally puts the extremely obvious pieces together.

Miguel knows one of his students. Knows them well enough that Lyla correctly guessed Miguel would be willing to hear Peter out solely based on his connection to them. And now here Miguel is, skimming a list of Peter’s students and making no attempt to hide the fact he’s looking for one specific name.

Peter gets a sinking feeling the student Miguel is looking for isn’t Miles Morales.

Just as he makes that realization, Miguel confirms his worst fears when he holds up the application of one Gwen Stacy. “Her. I can mentor this one.”

Peter wants to scream. Or cry. Maybe both.

This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Miguel has to be doing this on purpose now, right? This must all be some elaborate hazing scheme, between his original mentor choice leaving him out to dry, to Miguel now picking the wrong student.

And it’s not that Gwen doesn’t deserve it. She’s a smart kid, every one of his students is incredibly bright and gifted and a million other adjectives, but not once has she expressed any interest in science. Peter feels a little guilty when he admits he didn’t even realize she applied until just then, having been so focused on getting Miles in that everyone else, unfortunately, fell to the wayside. Maybe this was his karma for picking favorites.

“Is she the kid you know from the gym?” Peter asks if only to buy time for him to formulate a way to salvage this situation.

Miguel’s eyebrow twitches. “Maybe.”

Peter hopes Miguel never steps foot in a casino- the guy’s poker face is non-existent. Even if Peter hadn’t already put two and two together, it's written all over Miguel's face that his relationship with Gwen goes a lot deeper than just being gym buddies. But that’s a topic to grill him about later, after Peter gets him to pick the right student this time. Sorry, Gwen.

"Gwen’s a solid choice for sure,” Peter starts, taking her application from Miguel and setting it in its own spot away from the others on the table. “But I think I know a few others who would also make really good mentees if you’ll just hear me out for a minute.”

Miguel looks unimpressed. “I thought it was my choice on who I got to mentor.”

“What, you don’t want to at least hear about some of these other kids?”

“Not really, no.”

Personality leaves a lot to be desired.

“Humor me anyways,” Peter doesn’t phrase it as a request. Miguel will be learning about the bright young man that is Miles Morales if Peter has to hold him hostage in his own office.

Miguel clicks his tongue, but amazingly, amazingly, doesn’t argue further. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, and gives Peter a look that makes it very obvious he better make his argument quick.

Peter leans forward to dig through the pile of rejected applications, quickly finding Miles and holding it up much like Miguel had done with Gwen’s earlier. “This kid, Miles, is a real genius. Top grades on his entrance exam, takes AP everything, seriously smart kid. More importantly, he wants to be here, to learn. He’s been hounding me about it since the program was first announced.”

Miguel sits up just enough to take the paper from Peter’s hand to give it a closer look, expression unchanging as he gives Miles’ application a more thorough once-over. Then his gaze flicks back to Peter, “And you think he deserves this spot more than Gwen?”

“It’s not- they both deserve it equally,” Peter falters, not quite ready to admit his favoritism out loud despite Miguel making no effort to hide his own towards Gwen. “Just, between the two, I feel like Miles might be a better fit. Objectively speaking.”

“And why’s that?”

Peter doesn’t stop to think it through before he answers, “Because Miles is obsessed with the field of genetics. Absolutely crazy about it.”

“…Really?”

“Oh, sure. It’s all the kid ever talks about.” Miles has never once mentioned genetics to Peter.

It’s quiet again, and Peter feels himself start to sweat a little as Miguel closely studies his face, considering what Peter has just told him. “You expect me to believe a teenager is obsessed with the study of genetics?”

Screw it, he’s in this deep, may as well keep digging. “Teens are weird, they’ve got all sorts of niche interests. I used to deconstruct cameras at that age- do you expect me to believe you didn’t have some strange hobbies of your own as a kid?”

“I didn’t,” Miguel sounds offended at the implication he might have been a weird teenager, and Peter can’t help but crack a smile.

“Sure you didn’t. You’re the singular person to ever exist who was totally normal as a teenager.”

“I am.”

Peter snorts; no way Miguel takes himself this seriously, "Yeah, okay. I believe you."

“I don’t- will you focus?” Miguel gripes, smacking Miles’ application down on the coffee table. No wonder Lyla pokes and prods him the way she does- Miguel makes it so easy to get a reaction out of him.

"All right, sorry- I’m focused,” Peter says, but the grin stays on his face. Miguel still looks miffed, Peter has a feeling that’s not about to change any time soon, but the energy of the room is less stiff now, which Peter appreciates. Miguel’s also made no move to kick Peter out, even after he just made fun of him, so Peter must be doing something right. Right?

“Like I was saying, Miles has a serious passion for genetics, and it’d be a real shame if he didn’t get a chance to learn from you, the head of the whole department.” Peter reaches over to tap Miles’ application with a single finger. “You want this kid in your lab, believe me.”

Miguel looks very much like he does not believe Peter. “My choice is still Gwen.”

So unbelievably stubborn, Peter takes a moment to consider what cards he has left to play, aside from getting on his knees and literally begging Miguel to mentor Miles. He’d do it if he thought it’d work. But Miguel seems dead set on choosing Gwen for reasons still unknown to Peter, reasons he’s not sure he can compete with.

…Oh. Maybe it doesn’t have to be a competition at all.

“What if you took both of them?”

Miguel pulls a face like Peter just suggested he let a raccoon loose in his lab. “What?”

"Take Gwen and Miles, together," Peter repeats, scooting forward in his spot on the couch so he can rearrange the papers scattered across the table. Everything except Miles and Gwen’s applications is tucked back into the folder, giving Peter room to put the two of them side by side. "If you take them both, then everyone's happy."

“I'm not happy about having two teenagers in my lab.”

“Oh, come on, you were just saying you wanted Gwen, and now you don’t?”

It’s Miguel’s turn to sit up, reaching over to slide Gwen’s application away from Miles’. “Only Gwen. She’s enough of a handful on her own.” Fair point. He’s not about to argue that one.

But Peter’s not about to just give in, either. “Too bad,” he says, placing his hand next to Miguel’s so he can slide her paper back to its original spot. “They’re a package deal now.”

Miguel attempts to slide the applications apart again, only for Peter to stop him, pressing down hard enough that the paper doesn’t move at all despite Miguel’s repeated attempts. “Are you serious? Move your hand!”

“Take them both and I’ll move,” Peter responds evenly, but it’s taking every ounce of willpower to not laugh at the absurdity of this situation. Luckily, Miguel is too focused on losing the paper battle to notice the way the corners of Peter’s mouth tick upward every so often.

Miguel’s unoccupied hand suddenly shoots out to try and move Miles’ application instead, but Peter moves at the same time he does, now pinning both papers down to the table. It’s a miracle they don’t tear with how hard Miguel is yanking on them.

“They’re both smart kids, and I know they work well together- okay, you know this is insane, right?” He can’t do this. Peter can’t keep pretending anything that’s happened in this office is normal human behavior. “Just take them both, my arms are starting to hurt.”

Miguel doesn’t let up. He glares daggers at Peter, and it might’ve been scary if Miguel wasn’t getting this worked up over not being able to move a piece of paper six inches to the left. “I’m not agreeing to let two kids get paid to mess up my lab, not when I barely want to take the one.”

Peter scoffs, “What, Tyler Stone can’t afford to pay one more mentee?”

Miguel’s eyebrow twitches at the mention of his boss, and he finally stops trying to move the applications. He doesn’t pull his hands away, however, keeping them firmly planted in case Peter, God forbid, tries to move them even closer. He’s still staring Peter down, but Peter catches the subtle shift of his expression into something more contemplative.

“Stone would be furious,” Miguel says after a beat, but he doesn’t sound like he’s admonishing Peter. He almost sounds like that would be a good thing. Miguel’s enticed by the idea of irritating his sh*tty boss? Peter can work with that.

“Bet he’d be real pissed if you slapped another one onto payroll without asking,” Peter says, trying to subtly egg Miguel on. “He couldn’t do anything about it, either- not unless he wanted it to get out that he gave some poor kid the boot ‘cause he was feeling greedy.”

“You’re right,” It’s the first (kind of) nice thing he’s said to Peter this entire conversation.

“I’ve been known to do that sometimes,” Peter grins. He really tests the waters when he slides the applications closer together. Miguel’s eyes immediately snap to their hands on the table, but he doesn’t stop Peter, either.

Peter knows he’s won when he lifts his hands from the table and Miguel follows his lead.

Miguel’s gaze stays on the two papers, but his hands now sit folded in his lap. “Does this Miles kid seriously want to study genetics?”

“Oh yeah. Can’t have a single conversation with him without him mentioning genomes or whatever else.” He’s going to have to do something drastic to balance out all the bad karma this lying is accruing him.

Miguel purses his lips like he still doesn't quite believe Peter, but he doesn't push the topic further. "And these two get along? Gwen likes him?”

Again with the Gwen thing. Being left in the dark about their relationship is brutal on Peter's naturally nosy tendencies.

“They’re good friends- I’m actually surprised she’s mentioned my name to you and not his.” At this point, it’s just another unanswered question to add to today’s list. “But I’ll be there to supervise, too, so you won’t have to worry about them goofing off together…not too much, at least. Minimal levels of goofing off.”

Miguel’s face sours as he realizes that means there’d be three people to keep an eye on in his precious laboratory. Peter watches as Miguel deliberates it all in his head- whatever bond he has with Gwen, the opportunity to agitate a boss he loathes, all at the cost of having to deal with Miles and Peter.

The long stretch of silence is just beginning to grow uneasy when Miguel’s shoulders suddenly slump in defeat. “Fine. I’ll mentor them both.”

Finally. Peter’s single, celebratory clap is so loud he almost startles himself with it. “Yes, thank you! Listen, I-“

“I’m not done.” Miguel cuts him off. He sits up so he can look Peter in the eyes again, and while he’s no longer trying to glare holes into Peter’s skull, he still looks displeased. “I’ll mentor them both, but I have very strict rules in my lab I expect them, and you, to follow to the letter. Understand?”

Peter gives him a little salute. “Yes, sir. Best behavior only.”

Miguel doesn’t find the gesture funny. Hardass. “I’m serious. If I find a single crumb or see an open-toed shoe anywhere near my lab, you’re all gone.”

“I got it- no sandals, promise. Listen, you send me a list of all your rules, and me and those kids will have it memorized word for word by next week. Can give us a pop quiz ‘n everything.”

Not even a little smile. Instead, Miguel just rubs his forehead like he’s getting a headache. “Tell Lyla on your way out what days you’ll be here so she can add it to my calendar.”

Peter figures that’s Miguel’s most polite way of saying get the hell out of my office. Hint taken. He shoves all the applications back into the folder before tucking it safely back into his bag. Peter then hefts it onto as he pulls himself to his feet. Miguel does not attempt to stand, seeming content to mope in his armchair. Peter feels like professional etiquette dictates they end this conversation with a handshake.

He also feels like Miguel wouldn’t know professional etiquette if it elbowed him in the face.

“We’ll see you next week on Thursday,” Peter says instead, making his way towards the door. “That gives you…” quick pause for some mental math, “…eight days to mentally prepare yourself.”

He doesn’t get a response, which is about what he expected. Peter nearly lets the conversation end there, but before he can bring himself to walk out the door, he finds himself looking back over his shoulder at Miguel.

“Thank you, Miguel. Seriously. This’ll mean a lot to those two.”

Miguel doesn’t even bother to look at Peter. “Goodbye, Parker.”

Peter just shakes his head and steps out of the office, letting the door click closed behind him. He lets out a heavy sigh as soon as it’s shut, leaning back against it for just a moment. Suddenly he’s in desperate need of some time spent horizontally on his own couch at home.

He’s tired but satisfied… he thinks. He got what he came here for, at least, even if it didn’t happen at all in the way he expected. But despite the absurdity and frustration that comes with conversing with Miguel, the guy didn’t have to say yes. It’s like he’s working with another one of his stubborn students- the constant need to butt heads and make everything a fight is an obvious cover-up for some big feelings. What those feelings are, Peter cannot even begin to guess, but it doesn’t really matter. Miguel said yes, and Peter will be there next week to ensure Miguel has a more positive attitude when mentoring Miles and Gwen.

“So? How’d it go?” Lyla drawls, directing Peter’s attention away from his thoughts to where she’s currently seated at her desk, feet kicked up onto it and phone in hand. The remains of her lunch sit in a neat pile next to her computer.

“Miguel’s… an interesting guy,” Peter starts, earning a little laugh from Lyla. No doubt she’s heard (and used) plenty of other, more colorful adjectives to describe him.

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. I knew you’d survive, though.”

Oh, right. This entire meeting had been her doing. Without Lyla, there’s no way Miguel would have sought Peter out himself, even if he knew he was from Visions. Which begs the question, “Did you know he knows one of my students?” Peter asks her, stepping closer to her desk and keeping his voice low so Miguel won’t overhear. “Does the name Gwen Stacy mean anything to you?”

The hand still on her phone pauses for just a second before she locks the screen and sets it down on her desk. “It does,” Lyla says, her tone giving away nothing as she looks over to watch Peter crouch beside her chair.

For a moment he's tempted to ask Lyla what the story was with Miguel and Gwen, but he knows he'd only end up getting some cryptic non-answer if he did. “And that’s why you were so excited to bring me up to see him?”

Lyla nods before she begins to smile, suddenly looking hopeful. “Does this mean it’s Gwen who’s coming to work with us?”

"It does." Peter can't keep the smile off his own face; finally, someone who’s excited about getting to teach his kids. “It’ll be her and another student, Miles.”

“I knew it- I knew he’d say yes!” She cheers, and for a moment Peter is concerned they’ll get yelled at again for talking right outside Miguel’s door, but there’s no response. He looks back at Lyla when she lets out a little gasp in surprise, seeming to have just processed the second half of what Peter said. “We got two of ‘em? Man, you must have worked some magic in there.”

Magic, boldface lying. Same thing.

His knees are starting to ache from crouching so long, but he does have one last thing to ask her before he leaves. “You’re sure this is a good idea? He’s gonna be nice when my students get here, right?”

“Oh, sure, it’ll be fine,” She assures him, reaching out to pat his shoulder. “Miguel’s good with kids, way nicer to them than us adults. He’s secretly a big ole’ softy, just with a terminal case of RBF.”

Peter snorts, unsure if he should be trusting Lyla's judgment. "Yeah? I'll believe it when I see it."

“Ican still hear you two!”

And Peter is immediately upright again, quickly wishing Lyla a good evening and making his retreat before he gives Miguel a reason to change his mind.

He makes sure he’s a few blocks away, well beyond any potentially prying ears before pulling his phone out and dialing his most recent contact.

“MJ, remember when you said hot people don’t have any real social skills ‘cause they can just coast through life being hot? I’m so, so sorry I laughed at you then.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Two emails are waiting for Peter when he arrives at work the next morning. One is entirely blank, except for an attached document titled Laboratory Rules. The other is a polite request from Lyla for the days Peter, Miles, and Gwen will be joining them at work. You know- the information Miguel told Peter to give her before he left yesterday. Oops. Lyla signs her email off with a smiley face, though, so she must not be too bothered about having to nag him.

Peter tells her to let Miguel know they’re stuck with him and his students every Thursday and Friday evening for the next ten weeks. He also signs off with a smiley face.

He gets maybe another minute of peace before Miles comes barreling into his office, frantically demanding every detail of Peter’s trip to Alchemax. He’s understandably disappointed to hear he wouldn’t be following a physicist like Peter had originally promised, but Miles perks right back up as soon as he learns Gwen will be joining him as well. Peter just smiles a little to himself, prints him a copy of Laboratory Rules, and tells Miles to have it memorized cover to cover by Thursday.

Peter also leaves out the part where he lied directly to Miguel’s face to get Miles in. Didn’t want to put even more of a damper on the kid’s excitement.

He doesn’t get a chance to speak to Gwen until lunch. She’s much more hesitant to step into his office; the last few times she’s been in his office, it hadn’t been for anything good.

Peter’s heard bits and pieces about her rocky home life, little comments that slip out during heated discussions about her attendance and sneaking out of the dorms. Gwen’s never felt comfortable telling him the full story, and that’s fine. Peter’s not about to force a kid to spill their guts to him if they don’t want to. He tries his best to make it clear he’s there if she needs him, but the sentiment tends to fall flat when he’s also the person who has to give her a speech on truancy.

Gwen visibly relaxes when Peter hands over her copy of Laboratory Rules and tells her she got accepted into the program, too. Peter mentions Miguel O’Hara personally selected her to be his mentee in a not-so-subtle attempt at finding out how they know each other, but Gwen’s not in any mood to share, either. She’s a better liar than Miguel, her expression giving nothing away as she repeats the same flimsy explanation- they go to the same gym, that’s all.

Fine. They can keep their secrets. Peter has more important things to do, like read a twenty-nine-page document on the importance of eye protection and routine equipment calibration.

He doesn’t hear anything from his new friends at Alchemax until Thursday morning, when he’s greeted by another email from Lyla. This time it’s her personal cell number and instructions for Peter to text her when he and his students arrive so she and Miguel can meet them in the lobby. Peter’s very grateful- graduating to texting one another meant he could go back to ignoring his work email entirely.

Peter adds her to his contacts and types out the typical, polite ‘Hey it’s me, Peter, blah blah blah’. Then he remembers he’s talking to Lyla, backspaces it all and instead sends her:

Do i not get miguel’s number until week 2?

Her reply is almost immediate.

lmao venmo me $50 and i’ll give it to u now

Peter might’ve seriously considered it if it wouldn’t mean putting his takeout budget in the red. Instead, he’ll have to wait to pester Miguel in person.

Miles and Gwen are quick to find him after their last class. He hears them running up to him in the hall before he can finish locking his door.

Peter gives them a quick once-over; pants, long-sleeved shirts, appropriate footwear. Good. They’ve made an effort to read Miguel’s obscenely long rulebook. Satisfied, Peter gives them a thumbs-up. “You two ready to go?”

They both nod, and Peter gives his keys a little twirl before tucking them safely into his pocket. “Alright then, gang. Let’s roll.”

Alchemax is close enough that they opt to walk there, and Peter gives Lyla a heads-up text that they’re on their way. The two teens chatter excitedly amongst themselves while they take the lead and Peter follows right behind, only occasionally butting in to give them directions.

“You know this guy, right, Gwen?” Miles asks. “What’s he like?”

Gwen adjusts the strap of her backpack before answering. “He can be intense.”

Peter snorts, which gets him a questioning glance from Miles. “Sorry. Ignore me.”

Intense. Yeah, that’s one word for it.

“But he’s not bad once you get used to him,” Gwen continues. “Miguel’s a nice guy, he’s just really bad at showing it.”

“And you know all of this ‘cause you work out together?”

She adjusts her backpack again. “Yep.”

Miles gives Peter another look, and he just shrugs. I know about as much as you do, bud.

Miguel and Lyla are waiting in the lobby when the three of them walk in, already dressed in their lab coats and discussing something amongst themselves. It’s the first time Peter’s seen them standing next to each other, and the height difference is striking. The top of Lyla’s head is a few inches shy of Miguel’s shoulder, even with his posture being as poor and slouched as it is.

Miguel has his back to their group, but Peter manages to catch Lyla’s attention with a wave, and he’s a little surprised by the huge smile on her face as soon as she sees them. He’s a lot surprised when she nudges her way past Miguel and holds her arms wide open for a hug, fingers wiggling expectantly.

And then he realizes she’s looking directly at Gwen, who wastes no time running across the lobby and into Lyla’s waiting arms.

Even Gwen is taller than her, but that doesn’t stop Lyla from lifting her clear off the ground and swinging her around. Miguel has to take a step back to avoid getting accidentally hit by Gwen’s legs. He’d turned around when Lyla first pushed past him to see what she was smiling at, so Peter could see his face now. He expects Miguel to scold them for nearly whacking him in the shin, but the absolute unimaginable happens instead.

Miguel’s expression goes soft.

He doesn’t smile, but that perpetual crease between his brows fades away, his usual frown replaced by something gentler. When Lyla finally puts Gwen down, she looks to Miguel, who places a hand on her shoulder. Peter can see Miguel’s lips moving, but he’s not close enough to hear what he said, can only watch as Gwen nods in response.

“’Just gym buddies’ my ass…” Miles mumbles under his breath. Peter doesn’t bother telling him to watch his language- he’s thinking the same thing.

Gwen turns to gesture toward Miles and Peter, and as soon as Miguel notices them, the moment is over. The crease in his brow is back, and his hand falls from Gwen’s shoulder back down to his side. Peter figures that’s as good a time as any for him and Miles to make their way across the lobby and join them.

“Welcome back, Peter B.” Lyla greets him with a smile.

“Nice seeing you again, Lyla,” Peter responds, pleasant as ever, then looks up at her stoic companion. “You, too, Miguel.”

“Parker,” is all he gets from Miguel before his attention turns to the only new face in the crowd.

“You must be Miles,” Miguel says, holding his hand out towards him. Again, no smile, but he’s not scowling at the kid, either, which is a marked improvement from last week. “Your counselor’s told me a lot about you.”

That comment makes Peter wince, just a little, but no one else seems to have caught it. If anything, Miles looks pleased to hear Peter spoke highly of him, perking up as he shakes Miguel’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dr. O’Hara,” Doctor? How’d Peter miss that detail? And where did Miles pick it up? “And you, Dr.-“

“Just Lyla’s fine,” she interrupts, shaking Miles’ hand as well before looking amongst the three newcomers. “If you guys are ready, Miguel and I have the lab all set up- Oh! And badges for all of you. Company policy.”

As if on cue, Miguel pulls three ID cards out of the pocket of his lab coat. Gwen immediately reaches up to take one, but before she can he pulls them just out of her reach.

“These will get you into the elevator and our lab, that’s it,” Miguel explains curtly. “If you try to go anywhere else with them, security will know and automatically notify me. Understand?” They all nod in unison, Peter included.

Lyla’s the one to swipe them from Miguel, handing one to each of them. “They’re also pre-loaded with credits you can use in the cafeteria.”

“That’s awfully generous,” Peter comments, surprised. He doesn’t remember free food being part of the deal, but he’s certainly not complaining, either. Judging by the look Gwen and Miles share, they’re just as excited by this added perk.

Badges secured, the group makes their way to the elevators and up to the twelfth floor. Lyla, Miguel, and Gwen are engaged in a quiet conversation by themselves, which really consists of Lyla and Gwen doing most of the talking and Miguel only occasionally contributing. Miles looks between them, and Peter can feel the unease emanating from the poor kid, clearly feeling like the odd man out. Peter gently pats his back and gives him a reassuring smile when Miles looks up at him.

Peter gets that Gwen has some undefined history with these two, and he’s not about to put a damper on their reunion. But he’s keeping a close eye on Lyla and Miguel, too, for Miles’ sake. They agreed to take both kids, not just Gwen, and Peter’s going to make a point that Miles gets his share of their mentor’s attention.

Miguel is the first to step off the elevator when it opens, leading them all down the same hallway as last time. “We have lab coats and goggles for all three of you to wear. I expect them to be on the entire time you’re in our lab, even if you’re not using any of the equipment.” He throws a pointed stare over his shoulder at Gwen and Miles. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” they answer in unison, although Gwen’s sounds much less sincere. Miguel looks up at Peter next, making it clear the rule applies to him as well, even though he’s only going to be in the lab to observe. Peter gives him a thumbs up and a smile that’s not reciprocated.

He leads them into his office where, sure enough, three white coats and their accompanying goggles sit waiting on his desk. “You can leave your belongings in here. There’s a table outside the lab for water bottles if you need it, but do not bring them inside.”

Peter resists the urge to roll his eyes. Yeah, yeah, they know. It’s on page three of his rulebook.

“You mind if I bring my laptop into your lab?” Peter asks instead, pulling it out of his bag as he does so. “I’ve got some work stuff to finish while I’m supervising.”

“That’s fine,” Lyla says with a nod. “We made sure to leave a spot open for you to use for whatever.”

“Oh, thanks,” he says, sincerely, before looking to Miguel with a little grin and shaking his laptop. “Don’t worry, it’s not secretly filled with snacks or anything. I remember last week’s ‘no crumbs’ warning.”

“Hurry up and get your coat on. We have things to do.” Miguel snaps, unamused. Whatever. Lyla thinks he’s funny, judging by the grin on her face. Or maybe she just thinks it’s funny when Miguel’s upset. Peter would have to agree- it is pretty hilarious getting him all worked up.

Lyla and Miguel wait by the doorway while the other three find a place to dump their belongings. All three of their bags end up settled next to each other on the couch. Peter’s the one to distribute their lab coats, handing the two smaller ones to the two teens and keeping the larger one for himself.

Gwen and Miles end up taking a little longer to get their coats on, so Peter takes the opportunity to assess what little décor Miguel has up in his office. There’s not much to look at; not a single desk toy or knickknack to be seen, the complete opposite of Peter’s own office. It has Peter concerned- what are Miguel’s hands supposed to play with while he pretends to mull over work emails?

His walls are almost completely bare. There’s a large painting on the wall behind the couch, some abstract thing of orange and teal that he thinks he likes. And that’s about it, the only other things he has up are a few degrees and- oh. Oh, wait a minute.

That’s interesting. Peter steps closer to investigate.

There are two PhDs (in genetics, no shock there) hanging side by side on the wall behind Miguel’s desk, belonging to him and Lyla. They graduated from the same program in the same year, and Peter gives them a little round of applause in his head. An impressive feat, for sure. And it explains why Miles referred to them both as ‘Doctor’ in the lobby earlier.

But honestly, Peter’s not really interested in their academic achievements right now. No, he’s zeroed in on something much, much more important.

Mounted above their degrees is the only photo Miguel has up in his entire office; it’s him and Lyla at what can only be their graduation, massive smiles on both their faces.

Huh. Peter didn’t think Miguel knew how to do that.

Miguel looks so different, Peter could be convinced he’s looking at a sibling of his, instead. Photo Miguel still has his height, obviously, but he’s much leaner than the man Peter knows today, a stark enough difference that Peter can tell even with the robes Photo Miguel’s wearing. He looks young, too; his face is missing a lot of his more severe angles, his eyebrow crease nowhere to be found. He looks…softer, in an almost jarring way.

“’s a nice photo of you two,” Peter comments, turning back to look at where they’re still standing together in the doorway. “Didn’t realize you went to school together.”

“Oh, we met way back in undergrad- freshmen roommates,” Lyla tells him fondly. She pulls Miguel into a tight side hug, who grumbles at the contact, but does not attempt to push her off. “Known each other for nineteen years now.”

Peter lets out a low whistle. “Nice of you to keep him around that long.”

“He has his uses,” Lyla smirks. “Sometimes I let him help with my research. Or carry my groceries.”

“Speaking of your research,” it’s Miles who’s chiming in now, whose confidence only slightly falters when he immediately attracts the attention of all three adults. Peter gives him a little nod when Miles glances his way, and it’s enough encouragement for Miles to square his shoulders and continue, “I spent last weekend reading a few of the studies you’ve both published.”

Peter feels his chest swell with pride; Miles has always been such a go-getter, a cut above the rest. There’s a reason he fought so hard to get Miles into this program. When he glances over at Lyla and Miguel, he can tell they’re both impressed with his initiative, too. Lyla’s eyebrows are raised in pleasant surprise, and Miguel...well. He looks like Miguel. But he’s not scowling, either, and he’s paying attention to Miles as he talks, and it’s the closest thing to a positive display of emotion Peter’s seen from the guy so far.

This is it. This is the in Miles needed to break through that initial awkward stage and forge a meaningful bond with these like Gwen has. He didn’t even need Peter’s help, and of course he didn’t- he’s Miles freaking Morales. Peter was getting overprotective over nothing.

Miles must be able to tell, too, because there’s a little smile on his face as he turns to rummage through his backpack. “I brought the few that I read and took notes on.” He pulls out a small stack of papers and offers them to Miguel. “I’m not really familiar with genetics, so I marked the places I had questions.”

The stare Miguel immediately pins Peter with makes his heart drop.

Miguel doesn’t look away even as he takes the articles from Miles, doesn’t even blink as he passes half to Lyla for her to read. Only when Peter starts visibly sweating does he drop his gaze, flipping through the annotations Miles has written. Drawing it out, letting Peter fully grasp the degree to which he’s f*cked up by trying to pull one over on Miguel.

He’s not doing a very good job of hiding his panic, either, because the next time he catches Miles’ gaze the kid is frowning at him and mouthing What’s wrong with you?

I’m so sorry is all Peter can tell him, which makes Miles start to silently panic, too, eyes growing wide as he looks between Peter and Miguel, trying to figure out what he’s been unwillingly dragged into.

Then there’s Gwen, stuck watching half the room have quiet meltdowns while the other half…reads quietly amongst themselves. It quickly gets too weird for her to watch, and she’s forced to break the silence. “Peter? Are you okay?”

Miguel’s gaze flicks back to Peter, and any answer he tries to come up with dies in his throat. It’s over. It’s so unbelievably over, this is the part where Miguel rips him to shreds for lying, for manipulating him into taking Miles on as a mentee, and throws the kid right out the door along with whatever remains of Peter’s body. Peter sees it coming, tries not to flinch as Miguel says-

“Do you think I didn’t immediately find out you lied?” Oh, God. His comment in the lobby earlier. It was absolutely a jab directed at Peter, a blatant attempt to get under his skin. Peter’s trying to gauge how hard he needs to beg Miguel to consider giving Miles a second chance when he finally notices the subtle shift in Miguel’s demeanor.

Miguel’s not mad- he’s amused. Smug, even. Peter’s brain short circuits.

“What? You…How-“

“Nineteen years, man,” Lyla chimes in, gesturing to the photo on the wall. “We tell each other everything. As soon as you left last week, Miguel told me about your student who’s supposedly wild about genetics.”

“Wild about genetics?” Miles repeats. Peter subtly and politely gestures for him to butt out.

“Imagine my surprise when Lyla tells me you only came here to find someone from the physics department, instead.” Miguel finishes, spitting the word ‘physics’ out with the same amount of venom Lyla did last week when talking about Delgato.

“You knew this whole time?” Peter asks, dumbly.

Miguel nods. “I knew a kid like that didn’t exist,” he says like that’s the most important detail, that he was right.

He hands his share of the articles to Lyla, returning his attention to Miles. “We can go over your questions next week. We’re already falling behind for today.”

And he just… walks out. Discussion over, just like that. Peter’s still waiting for that other shoe to drop, for Miguel to strip Miles of his lab coat. It never comes- apparently giving Peter a heart attack is punishment enough. Lyla makes a motion for the two teens to follow them and gives Peter one final amused look before she too leaves the office, Gwen right behind her.

Once the shock wears off, Peter attempts to follow suit, but his path is stopped by Miles blocking the doorway. “What did you tell him?!” He whispers frantically, leaning to the side when Peter attempts to step around him.

“I-…nothing. I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Are you serious? He just said you lied to him! About me!”

“Did he? I don’t remember that.”

“Peter-“

He stops trying to get past Miles and instead grabs his shoulders, turns him around, and ushers him forward. “You heard Dr. O’Hara. We got a tight schedule to follow.”

“We are not done talking about this!” Miles tells him, before hurrying to catch up with the rest of the group. Peter trails behind him and silently hopes whatever Miguel and Lyla have planned is interesting enough to make Miles forget about the whole incident. He has a feeling he’s not about to be let off that easy.

They’re waiting by the door to the lab, and once Miles and Peter have rejoined them Miguel swipes his badge to let them all inside. It’s every bit as precise and meticulously organized as Peter expected, a far cry from the moderate chaos of a high school science room. Every cabinet is neatly stocked and labeled, every surface polished and smelling faintly of disinfectant. Clutter is not a concept that exists in this room.

There’s a pink step stool tucked under one of the tables, too, but Peter refrains from commenting on it. He doesn’t think he’s earned back the right to start cracking jokes yet.

“Today and tomorrow will be used to introduce you both to the equipment we use,” Miguel explains, gesturing to the line of workbenches set up along two of the walls. On each one sits a different piece of equipment and whatever little accessories are needed to use it properly. They’ve put a lot of thought into the setup, and Peter’s pleasantly surprised.

“Your spot’s right here, Peter,” Lyla pats a high stool sitting in front of a separate cluster of tables in the middle of the room. Peter gives her a little thanks and settles into the seat offered to him, setting his laptop down on the table. It’s about as comfortable as stools go, which is to say, not very comfortable at all, but it’s tolerable for the remaining hour and a half they have left for today.

He’s got his laptop open, but he ignores it for the time being. Right now, he’s watching Miguel and Lyla closely as their first day of mentorship truly begins. Making sure Miles is included, that he’s given as many opportunities to participate as Gwen. Miguel can bicker with Peter all he wants, and he’ll put up with it for his student’s sake, but the second he turns it on Miles or Gwen, it’s over.

Once Miguel and Lyla officially start their teaching, it’s immediately apparent they’ve put as much thought into the execution as they did the setup. It’s rather fascinating, watching the two of them work together, how easily they roll off one another when Lyla’s not actively trying to get a rise out of Miguel. The sort of fluid communication that only comes from knowing someone for nearly two decades. They take turns explaining each device, Miguel harps on and on about safety measures, Lyla demonstrates how it’s used, and then Miles and Gwen are given the chance to try it out themselves.

After a few rounds, Peter is relieved to see his worries about Miles being excluded are unfounded. Miguel’s as stern and direct when he speaks as Peter expected, but his disdain for Peter doesn’t extend to his treatment of either teen, and Peter’s reminded of Lyla's comment last week. He’s way nicer to kids than us adults. Looks like she was right, after all. Peter’s sure she’d love to hear him say that to her face.

After listening on two separate occasions to Miguel emphasizing the importance of balancing the centrifuge, Peter decides it’s probably safe for him to zone out for the remainder of the evening.

Despite what he said earlier, there’s not much work for him to do after hours like this, so he busies himself with trying to improve his horrendous Solitaire win percentage. 27% is just embarrassing.

He’s eked it up to a solid 29% when he hears Lyla raising her voice. Figures. He shouldn’t have been so quick to compliment their ability to act like mature adults.

“Just move over, I need the stool!” She gripes, and when Peter looks over, he sees the issue. The station Miguel, Miles, and Gwen are currently utilizing is the same table the pink step stool sat under, and with Miguel standing where he is, there’s no way for Lyla to grab it.

“You can wait a minute, I’m showing them how to use the pipette,” Miguel says dismissively, not even looking her way as he continues his demo.

“No, I need to reach the specimen labels that you keep putting on the top shelf!” Lyla insists. Miguel doesn’t move an inch.

“So climb on the table.” Both teens have backed away at this point. Miguel’s only still using the pipette out of sheer stubbornness.

“You- ooh my God, Miguel, move, or I’m seriously going to embarrass you.”

Miles and Gwen look over to Peter, like he’s supposed to do something in this situation. He quickly shakes his head- fat chance he’s getting involved in any of their arguments.

Miguel scoffs. “Embarrass me? How do y-“

He doesn’t get to finish that sentence before Lyla suddenly steps in his space. The way she advances on him so quickly makes Peter think she’s about to shove him or something, but she doesn’t. Instead, Lyla just lightly trails her fingers up Miguel’s sides, and the effect is immediate; his entire body jolts so hard Peter swears he gets a little bit of airtime, nearly dropping the pipette in the process, and yelps. Yelps.

The sound immediately burns itself into Peter’s brain for the rest of eternity.

“Are you serious?!” He yells once he’s regained his composure, and the glare he levels at her is downright murderous. “I told you to stop doing that!”

“And I asked you nicely to move.” She’s completely unphased, neither by Miguel’s rage nor by the three other people in the room left stunned at their display. Miguel moved far enough to the side when he jumped that she has room to grab the stool, and she does so before giving him the most self-satisfied, sh*t-eating grin Peter’s ever seen. “Carry on.”

Lyla strolls off to finish whatever she’s working on at the other side of the lab. Miguel glares daggers into her back the entire time, then suddenly remembers there’s been an audience to their entire exchange. He does look a little embarrassed, and posture stiff, glancing around and daring one of them to say something about what just happened.

It’s Gwen who laughs first. Miguel’s head snaps around so fast it’s a miracle his neck didn’t crack.

“Sorry, I’m sorry-“ She snorts, trying desperately to hide her grin behind her hands, shoulders shaking with the effort to not laugh again. Miles is smart enough to turn around so Miguel can’t see the grin on his face, but Peter’s not so lucky. Gwen catches him looking at her, and when Miguel follows her gaze to see Peter holding back laughter, too, his expression turns caustic.

“You have something to say, Parker?”

“Nope. No, I’m good.” Peter replies quickly, pressing his lips into a straight line. Miguel watches him through narrowed eyes, daring him to make a single noise, but when Peter manages to keep his face (mostly) neutral, he eventually backs off. He turns back to the table with a huff, snatching up his pipette. Peter lets out a little breath once the heat’s off him.

“Gwen, Miles, get back over here. I need to restart my demonstration.” Miguel orders, although his voice is quieter now, tinged with the remains of his embarrassment.

The remainder of the evening passes without incident. Miguel eventually cools off, but he remains hyperaware of Lyla, watching her closely every time she’s within arm’s reach. She enjoys it, on more than one occasion raising her hand just to see how close she can get before Miguel slaps it away. Peter hides his grin behind the screen of his laptop.

Despite them getting sidetracked multiple times today, Miguel still manages to keep everyone on whatever schedule he’s got in his head, and they’re finishing up their final demonstration when the time hits five o’clock. “We can stop here for today,” he tells them and immediately begins the cleanup process. He’s halfway through wiping down one table when he realizes he still has two very expectant teenagers watching him. He clears his throat before adding, stiffly, “You did fine today. Both of you.” They both preen at his praise, silted as it is.

“Cafeteria’s still open if you want to eat before heading back to Visions. Second floor, it’s marked in the elevator.” Lyla says, and it’s Peter’s turn to fall victim to Gwen and Miles’ hopeful gazes. Like he’d ever say no to food, especially on someone else’s dime.

“Are you and Miguel going to join us?” Peter asks, tucking his laptop under his arm and bringing himself to a stand. An opportunity to talk to them about non-mentorship topics would be nice, give Peter a chance to meet this supposed soft-hearted Miguel that Lyla and Gwen keep bringing up. He’s seen glimpses of it today, he thinks- not punishing Miles for Peter’s mistake, putting up with Lyla antagonizing him constantly, complimenting the kids after only a day.

“No,” is the blunt answer he receives from Miguel, which is about what he was expecting. “Lyla and I still have work to finish.”

Peter looks to Lyla then, who just shrugs. “He’s right. We work pretty long hours.”

“That’s too bad. Maybe next time,” He says, then gestures to Gwen and Miles. “You two ready to roll?”

They both nod eagerly in response. “Goodnight, you three. We’ll see you tomorrow.” Lyla says pleasantly, and both teens say their goodbyes as well. “Oh, and you can leave your coats in Miguel’s office for now.”

Peter’s halfway out the door when he hears the distinct noise of someone getting kicked in the shin, followed by a strained, “Goodnight,” from Miguel.

Back in Miguel’s office, they make quick work of trading their coats for their backpacks, folding them neatly on his desk before Peter leads them to the elevator and hits the button for the second floor. Only once the doors slide shut does Peter ask, “Okay, first impressions? Thoughts? Lay it on me.”

Miles speaks up first. “You picked some strange people for us to follow, man.”

Ouch. “Noted. Gwen?”

“I thought the point of this thing was to find us good role models.” God, kids these days are ruthless.

“Do we have any positives to report from today? Maybe something we learned?”

“I learned eight-foot-tall men can still be ticklish,” Gwen supplies.

“I learned not to get between Lyla and her step stool.” Miles this time, with equally useless information.

Peter just shakes his head. The elevator doors open again, and the three find themselves right at the entrance to Alchemax’s cafeteria. It’s filled with the smells of your standard, mediocre cafeteria food, but Peter’s hungry enough that it makes his mouth water regardless. They momentarily disperse to select their meals, with a warning from Peter to not go overboard- he’s not exactly sure how much money is on their IDs, but it’s likely not bottomless and they’ll need to make it last.

“You two are here to actually learn things, you know,” Peter reminds them once they’ve each got a full tray of food and have lined up to pay. When he’s met with two blank stares, Peter sighs and amends, “At least try to learn something new, okay? Miguel and Lyla are bizarre, but they’re smart, too. Take advantage of that while you can.”

The seating area is surprisingly barren when they go to find themselves a table, with only a few employees and even fewer students scattered throughout. Odd- Peter thought there’d be a lot more kids down here, considering the food was comped, but it also means they don’t have to fight anyone for a decent spot, and they waste no time settling into a cushy booth in the corner.

The food’s about as okay as Peter expected, but it’s hot, and it gets shoveled into his mouth with the same speed as everything else he eats. Gwen and Miles eat with a little more grace, but it’s clear they’re hungry too after a full day of school and a few hours at Alchemax. He lets them finish most of their food in peace before speaking again.

“Probably goes without saying, but you two shouldn’t… y’know. Embarrass your coworkers like that.”

“Wait, hold on,” Gwen reaches into her backpack to pull out a notebook and flips it open to a blank page, just as Miles takes out a pen.

Peter watches Miles write Don’t embarrass your coworkers before the pair look back up at him. “Is hitting your coworkers allowed?”

“Oh, ha ha. I was being serious.”

“What? We’re learning things, just like you wanted.” Gwen takes the pen from Miles and writes Hitting- TBD.

They should be shadowing a comedian instead.

“You two are something else,” Peter shakes his head, but he doesn’t fight the small grin that results from their antics.

And just when he thinks his in the clear, Miles nudges him with his foot under the table and says, pointedly, “You still gotta explain what you lied about."

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

“Gwen’s looking a lot better.”

They’re stopped for a break halfway through their Saturday morning run, Lyla’s comment coming out in a singular, breathless pant. She’s got her hands threaded atop her head to help get the air into her lungs easier, while Miguel reluctantly comes to a stop beside her. He’s barely winded, muscles thrumming with a desperate itch to keep going, to push himself to near collapse, but he refrains. One of Lyla’s conditions for joining him on his runs was that she gets to set the pace- between her being 5’ 3” on a good day, and him making the gym a second residence, she wouldn’t have a prayer of keeping up with him otherwise. It took him years to get her to say yes at all, so he puts up with it, even though he could easily cover twice the distance running alone.

Miguel appreciates the company, despite her habit of turning these breaks into impromptu therapy-slash-gossip sessions. Like she’s trying to do right now. “She is,” is all he says in response, occupying himself with half-hearted calf stretches, trying to quiet that incessant need to keep moving. It helps, but only barely.

He watches her take a seat on a nearby park bench and knows right away his two-word answers aren’t going to cut it, but he doesn’t know what else she wants him to say. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Gwen privately; they’d been so preoccupied with orienting her and Miles to their lab that the opportunity never presented itself. It wasn’t a topic he could bring up in front of Miles and Peter, either- even if she’s already given them the full story, it’s not something he imagines Gwen would like to discuss in front of an audience.

Lyla already knew this- she had been right there next to him the last two days. There’s nothing new on the topic of Gwen for him to share, so he’s not really sure what else Lyla expects from him-

“How’re you doing, seeing her again?”

Oh, right. She wants him to share his feelings.

Somewhere in his brain comes the image of a circular, obnoxiously colored graph. An emotions wheel, some stupid thing Lyla had printed out and left on his desk on a random day. He immediately shoved it down the garbage disposal in the break room, drowning out the sound of her cackling behind him. Miguel doesn’t even remember what it said, just sees the shape of it in his mind whenever Lyla’s trying to get him to open up about whatever. She would just love to know her little joke still haunts him, that he thinks about it every time he’s trying to put his thoughts into words that aren’t a monosyllabic good or bad. He shakes his head to get rid of the image before it completely sours his mood.

Today, however, is one of those rare times where he doesn’t have to think very hard about how he’s feeling. “I feel relieved,” is his honest answer.

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected to see Gwen again. She’d stopped going to their gym around the time this school year began. When months passed without a word from Gwen or surprise appearances on the couch in his office, Miguel assumed that was the end. He helped her through a rough spot, and she was free after that to continue living her life. He told himself the radio silence was a good thing, a positive sign that she no longer needed Miguel’s help.

Miguel knew someone from Visions would be here for Alchemax’s mentorship program but originally planned on not participating at all. He wanted nothing to do with Stone’s publicity stunt, but more importantly, Miguel wanted to respect Gwen’s space. If she didn’t want to seek him out, then Miguel wasn’t about to hunt her down just to give himself closure. He knew Gwen had no real interest in science, and she had on more than one occasion called his particular field a bore , so the likelihood of her even applying was slim.

He didn’t let himself admit how worried he’d been for her until he saw her in the lobby, when he quietly asked her if she was okay and she nodded her head yes and felt all the tension he’d been carrying bleed from his shoulders.

“I’m glad we got to see her again.” It slips out without Miguel meaning to say it, but when he looks over at Lyla, she’s got a fond smile on her face.

“Me too,” she agrees, before her smile quirks into something more smug. “This is the part where you say, ‘Thank you, Lyla.’”

“Thank you, Lyla .” He says it sarcastically, like they don’t both know he means it. She’d gotten lucky, just happened to be sitting by the phone when that frantic receptionist called their department, and got even luckier with the fact she was calling about a guidance counselor from Visions. Peter would never have found himself in Miguel’s office if it weren’t for Lyla, if she hadn’t dragged him up there and made it impossible for Miguel to deny how badly he wanted a chance to check up on Gwen.

“You’re welcome, buddy,” Lyla hums, smile still on her face. Her hands are by her sides now, no longer trying to catch her breath, but instead of resuming their run she just keeps talking. “How long until she stops trying to act polite in front of her counselor and starts wreaking havoc again?”

“You mean how long until she starts calling me old again?” Miguel scoffs, but the corner of his mouth ticks up ever so slightly. “I give her two weeks. Three before she starts roping that Morales kid into it, too.”

Lyla laughs, before Miguel kicks a leg up onto the bench to stretch his hamstrings and effectively wipes all the humor from her face. “Can you just sit down like a normal person for thirty seconds?”

“Can you get up so we can finish our run?” He makes a point of really leaning into the stretch, just to irritate her. “We have things to do.”

“You have things to do,” she corrects him, unimpressed by his stellar range of motion. “Some of us actually enjoy doing nothing on our days off.”

Miguel doesn’t respond. His abysmal work-life balance has been the subject of many a conversation, and it always ends with Lyla failing to convince him that taking a break won’t kill him. As much as he enjoys this rare chance to win one of their arguments, he’s not in the mood for it today. So instead, when he switches his legs, he kicks the park bench hard enough to jostle the entire thing and agitate her into standing up again.

It works. Lyla finally pulls herself to her feet with a huff. “God, fine, I’m up!” She swats his arm and calls him annoying before jogging back the way they came, Miguel trailing right behind her.

They both live in the same apartment complex- different units, but the same floor, the same apartment layout. Neighbors, right across the hall from each other. When they first landed jobs at Alchemax and discovered one of the perks was deeply discounted rent in their corporate housing right next door, they considered renting one together. But after years of sharing college dorms and some rather dubious basem*nt units, they decided against it. Miguel needed the extra space, and it’s not like they required each other’s help with rent anymore, not with their fancy new jobs. It seemed like the logical, most ‘adult’ next step to take.

It was a big adjustment, going from being in each other’s space constantly to each having an entire apartment all to themself. They held strong for a few months, with no sleepovers or overstaying their welcome. Then, every so often, one of them would stay over so late that, well, it just wouldn’t make sense to walk the whole twenty feet back to their own apartment- best to play it safe and stay here for the night. It didn’t become a routine thing until a few years ago, when Miguel found he missed having another person to share a space with, to the point he found it nearly impossible to sleep without someone else around. Nowadays, Miguel finds himself sleeping on Lyla’s couch more often than in his own bed. She hardly minded; she bought that couch specifically because it was large enough to fit him.

She says it’s because they’re besties. A shrink is more likely to label Miguel codependent.

Lyla leads them into her apartment upon their return, kicking her shoes off at the door before beelining for her en suite bathroom for a shower. Her apartment is cozy, something Miguel thought impossible to achieve when dealing with corporate housing, particularly when provided by Alchemax. The aforementioned couch is a massive L-shaped thing taking up most of the living space and smothered in pillows and throw blankets.

Unlike Miguel’s office -and his own apartment, really-, Lyla’s got photos and paintings plastered on every possible surface. The photos with Miguel she’s chosen to display are nice, normal photos. It’s not out of the goodness of her heart. She keeps the embarrassing ones stashed away for blackmail purposes. The few he’s seen are unflattering, to say the least, and he can only imagine how bad he looks in the ones she hasn’t yet shared with him. He’d like to continue living in ignorant bliss.

Miguel sets his shoes aside and takes the guest bathroom, already stocked with shampoo and other toiletries for his personal use. His shower is quick, just enough to scrub off the layer of sweat and grime that accumulates from a decent run, before he towels himself off and lets himself into Lyla’s massive walk-in closet. She’s still taking her sweet time with her own shower even as Miguel pulls on a pair of sweats and a plain shirt, taken from the corner of the closet Lyla cleared out for him to use.

Lyla, of course, has her own stockpile of soaps and clothes in his apartment, for the rare days they find themselves at his place instead. Most of it goes unused.

He tosses his towel and dirty laundry into a basket on his way out of Lyla’s closet and into her kitchen. Seated in one corner is an absurdly large coffee maker, the fancy type with a button for every possible type of coffee and takes up way too much counter space. Miguel pulls two mugs out of the upper cabinets and sets about making their usual drinks- a latte for Lyla, and a black coffee with an upsetting amount of sugar for himself. He takes a sip from Lyla’s, curious to see what syrup flavor she’s currently got loaded into the machine. He makes a face as soon as it hits his tongue- she’s still on a lavender kick, apparently.

Miguel carries both mugs to the living room, where they’re placed on the coffee table while he fetches one final item. In Lyla’s guest bedroom, his laptop sits in its usual spot on the desk. He’s about to just unplug it from its charger and take it from the room, but he pauses. Piled next to the laptop is the stack of annotated research articles Miles gave them on their first day.

After a moment of consideration, Miguel pulls open a drawer to fish out a pen and stack of sticky notes. The laptop and articles are tucked under his arm so he can carry it all with him back to the living room. Miguel seats himself on the couch -he leaves the chaise section open, wanting to avoid Lyla griping at him for always hogging it-, and sets his laptop aside for the time being. Instead, his attention is on the research articles, wanting to get a closer look at what Miles had written.

Miguel figured out Peter’s lie only a few minutes after the man had left his office, coming out to tell Lyla about their bizarre conversation only to find out Peter had originally been gunning for a spot in the physics department. He came very close to chasing Peter down, into the street if he needed to, to rip Peter a new one and make it very clear neither he nor his little physics kid were welcome in their lab. The only thing stopping him was Gwen- he didn’t know if Peter’s ‘take them both or get nothing’ thing was a bluff, and Miguel wasn’t willing to take that risk and find out.

He at least got Peter back on Thursday, making him sweat it out in his office while Miguel pretended to read over Miles’ notes. Dragging it out, just to make Peter squirm. Karma got him back immediately when Lyla humiliated him in their lab, but whatever. Miguel had his fun, petty and inconsequential as it was.

Now that he’s getting a chance to actually read Miles’ annotations, he’s pleasantly surprised. Miguel assumes all this effort stems from a desire to make a good first impression and not an actual interest in genetics, but it works. Miles, being a fifteen-year-old, doesn’t exactly have anything in the way of insightful comments or meaningful suggestions for future research. Essentially all of his notes are asking for help understanding what Miguel and Lyla have written. Even then, it goes beyond what Miguel would expect from someone his age- he’s not asking for simple vocab definitions, but thoughtful breakdowns of the more complex concepts within the research. Miguel won’t say it out loud, but he’s impressed.

There may also, possibly, be a small part of Miguel that’s genuinely disappointed Miles has no real interest in genetic research. He’s not about to admit that to anyone, either.

He’s feeling generous (and, maybe, a little egotistical- act or no, it’s been a while since he’s had a captive audience with which to share his work), so he decides then he’ll spend the rest of the morning going through and answering Miles’ questions. It’ll give Miguel something to do to work out that last bit of energy left over from their run.

Miguel’s just started to write out his first series of explanations when Lyla finally emerges from her room, hair damp and in a shirt suspiciously similar to one Miguel thought he’d lost a month back. She pads over to the couch, glancing over Miguel’s current project before grabbing her latte and settling onto the chaise section of the couch.

“Smart kid,” she comments in between sips of her drink. “Think he’ll still end up going into physics once this is over?”

Miguel’s upper lip curls in disgust at the suggestion. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” He doesn’t care if he can’t convert Miles to genetics- if Miguel can convince him not to waste his time becoming a physicist, he’ll be happy.

Lyla hums, amused, before letting him work in peace. The sticky notes work, for a while, if he writes small enough, he can get it all onto one, but one becomes two, then three, and he has to reconsider his plan once he covers an entire page with them. He boots up his laptop and types out anything that requires a particularly long explanation, only for that to become an invitation to go down a million different rabbit holes. Soon enough, he’s pulling additional articles, some of which he and Lyla referenced in their own work, and adding them to a folder to be printed once he’s back in his office on Monday.

Miguel has no clue how much time passes. All he knows is once he actually stops to look over everything he’s accumulated, he’s looking at a near textbook’s worth of information.

Okay. He’ll admit it- it’s a little excessive.

He’s quietly deliberating how much of this is really worth giving to Miles when Lyla interrupts his thoughts entirely to comment, “Peter’s freaking out right now.”

Peter? There goes his good mood. Miguel casts her a sideways glance, watching as she presumably messages the man in question. “Why’s he texting you about it?”

“What? You jealous I have another friend besides you?” She teases, prompting Miguel to roll his eyes. He resists the urge to fall for her bait and petulantly respond no, he’s not jealous. Certainly not of her making friends with Peter, of all people. If anything, he’s scared of what a Lyla-Peter friendship could mean for his blood pressure. The last thing he needs is them getting all close and ganging up on him, more than they already have in the last two days.

“It’s something with the mentor thing- oh, wait, now he’s calling me.” Before he can tell her to just decline the call, Lyla’s answering and putting her phone on speaker. “Hey, Peter B! Miguel’s here, too.”

“Hey, Miguel! ” Peter’s casual, overfamiliar voice rings out from Lyla’s phone. She shuffles closer to Miguel on the couch so the three of them can talk more easily. And to grab Miguel in case he makes a break for the door, which he does briefly consider. “I’d apologize for bothering you on the weekend, but Lyla told me you’re doing work stuff at home, too. Do you ever relax? ”

“I’ve been trying to get him to take a day off for forever, man. You’re fighting a losing battle.” Lyla answers for him with a sigh.

Again. Miguel’s not interested in debating his inability to take a day off. Also- “Aren’t you technically calling us about work?”

“Yeah, but not by choice. I was asleep until, like, twenty minutes ago .”

He glances at the time on Lyla’s phone. Nearly noon. Miguel doesn’t think he’s ever slept in that late, except maybe as a teenager.

“C’mon, you gotta have something more fun to do with your days off .” Peter’s still talking. Of course he is. “ A hobby- something, anything .”

Seriously- again with the hobby thing? “I have hobbies,” Miguel says defensively, before proceeding to take an embarrassing amount of time to remember a single thing he does outside of work. “I…run.” He sounds stupid, even to his own ears, and he cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. In his periphery, he can see Lyla shaking her head in disapproval.

Peter’s not impressed, either. “Yeah, no. That doesn’t count. Running isn’t fun- hobbies are supposed to be fun. Running’s something you do when your doctor tells you your cholesterol’s gonna put you in an early grave if you don’t get it under control. ‘s not a hobby. ” A sentence that might give Miguel serious concerns over Peter’s health, if Peter wasn’t doing his best to grate on every single one of his nerves.

“Running sucks,” Lyla agrees casually, and Miguel immediately redirects her frustration towards her.

“You just went on a run with me this morning,” he reminds her, pointing an accusatory finger at her despite Peter not being able to see it. She just looks at his hand with mild disinterest.

“Only ‘cause you begged me for, like, forever to go with you.”

“Aww, how sweet.”

Miguel lunges for the phone. Whether it’s to end the call or fling the entire thing out the window, he doesn’t know, but Lyla’s hand catches his wrist before he has a chance to find out. She doesn’t flinch at the nasty glare he throws her, just stares right back, challenging him silently. Miguel thinks about the blackmail photos. Reconsiders his options.

“Do you actually need something? Or did you just call to annoy me?” Miguel snaps. Lyla lets his wrist go once it’s clear he’s not going to hang up. Not yet, anyway.

“All right, sorry- I’m focused.” Miguel can practically hear that stupid smirk he’s no doubt got on his face. “There’s a form we need to fill out together for the school, some long-winded thing about objectives and goals so the school doesn’t think Miles and Gwen are just sitting around doing nothing.”

Miguel hopes his irritated sigh is loud enough for Lyla’s phone to pick it up. He already filled out a ridiculous number of forms for both Visions and Alchemax just to be allowed to participate as a mentor- how foolish of him to think it’d be that easy. That Peter would let it be that easy. “Why didn’t you bring it yesterday so we could do it then?”

“Honestly? Forgot it existed.” Lyla laughs to herself, like that’s somehow endearing. Miguel doesn’t find it amusing at all. “Anyways, I called to ask if you’re free on Monday for us to get it done over lunch.”

His gut reaction is a resounding no, absolutely not. There are a million things he’d rather do on a busy Monday than help Peter catch up on work he forgot about- his own job, for one. “And it can’t wait until we see you on Thursday?”

“ Not really, no .” Peter at least has the decency to sound apologetic, now. “Boss just called to chew me out for not turning it in yet, and I kinda promised I’d get it to him on Monday. I’ll even pay for lunch, whatever you want to eat- my treat for springing this on you last second. ”

Miguel takes a deep breath, bringing a hand up to scrub through his hair. He’s already declined the offer to go anywhere with Peter in his head. They can meet in the cafeteria if Peter’s that hungry, but Miguel’s not about to let them get dragged off-site and waste even more time. He’d like to say no entirely, but he also wouldn’t put it past Peter to just show up unannounced, paperwork in hand. At least this way Miguel can pretend he has a say in the situation. “Okay. We can do it on Monday. Lyla and I can-”

“I’m not going,” Lyla cuts in, looking at Miguel like he’s ridiculous to assume she would.

“What? Yes you are. I’m not going alone.” Miguel frowns at her- is she seriously going to leave Miguel to fix Peter’s mess on his own? Peter called her, specifically, so if either of them is going to deal with it solo, it should be Lyla.

“Uh, no, I’m not,” she insists. “Your name is all over the paperwork, not mine.”

“So?” Like that matters. She forges his signature on a weekly basis, if not more often. Delivery slips, administrative nonsense, and probably a dozen other things he’s not even aware of. Point is, it’s a stupid excuse and she knows it.

“So, they’re technically your mentees, I got nothing to do with it. And you know how slammed we got on Mondays, so one of us has to stay and keep things on track.”

Miguel might actually rip his hair out. She’s right- he knows exactly how busy Mondays are, which is exactly why he doesn’t want either of them galivanting off to lunch when they need to be in the lab. “Then you-“

“Hey guys,” Peter interrupts, drawing their attention back to the phone. “Love this bit you two do, where you argue like I’m not even here, but I do actually need one of you to help me out here.” It’s a bizarre role reversal, having Peter be the serious one and bring the conversation back on track. “I’m the one who screwed up, and I’m sorry, but if I don’t get this done then Miles and Gwen are probably getting pulled from the program.”

That last bit gives Miguel pause. He can hear the hint of desperation edging into Peter’s voice- he’s being genuine. The threat of those two getting pulled, all because Peter misplaced a single form, is very real. Some of Miguel’s irritation fizzles away to make room for a growing sense of unease.

He still hasn’t had a chance to check in with Gwen privately, to really make sure she’s doing better. His stubborn streak dissipates. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Peter breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Miguel. Seriously. I can meet you outside Alchemax whenever you take your lunch and the two of us can walk to wherever together.”

“Be ready at one, then,” Miguel tells him, although he’s just throwing out a random number. He doesn’t take actual lunches, just chokes down whatever brand of meal replacement he’s got stocked in the break room when he can’t ignore the hunger pangs any longer, then gets right back to work. One felt like a normal enough time to give him.

“One o’clock- I’ll be there,” Peter confirms. “I’ll let you two go, then- See you on Monday, Miguel. Try not to work yourself to death until then. Bye, Lyla !”

The call ends before Miguel can make a snide comment about work ethic.

Lyla picks her phone up from where it’s still lying between them, and Miguel expects her to return to her spot on the opposite side of the couch, but she doesn’t. She’s giving him a look, staring him down until he gives in and gruffly asks her, “What?”

“You are such a baby.”

Miguel immediately opens his mouth to argue, but Lyla interrupts to mock him in a whiny, shrill tone that absolutely drives him up a wall. “I’m Miguel, I have a guy calling to beg me to go to lunch with him and I’m pouting over it .”

In her normal voice, she then mutters, “You make me so mad sometimes. Oh, my God,” while rolling her eyes.

Miguel throws his hands up in defeat. He can’t ever win. He ignores the way she phrases the situation, knowing it’s another attempt to annoy him and get under his skin. She’s doing a good enough job of that as it is, no need to add whatever she’s trying to imply with that specific wording. “You go, then!” he snaps. “Sorry I’m not excited to spend time with someone who lied to me-“

“Please, spare me the act, Mig.” She cries, flopping back against the couch cushions with a loud, exasperated groan. It’s quite dramatic. “So he lied, whatever. Get over it already!”

Miguel tries again to get a single word in, but she presses on before he gets the chance. “Peter was just doing what he could to help Miles out, and you know that,” she chides. “Helping a kid he believes in, even if it means using unconventional methods- that sound familiar?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with some sort of retort, and comes up empty. So instead, he stays silent, turning away to glare at his laptop. It fell asleep at some point during their call with Peter, so Miguel just ends up in a stare-down with his reflection.

Lyla just leans to the side to remain in his peripheral vision and traces invisible lines in the air with her fingers. “Doing something reckless for the sake of someone else- do I need to keep drawing the parallels for you, or are you getting it?”

He wishes, for once, he could tell her she’s wrong, that she’s pulling all of this out of her ass, but she’s not. He may -unfortunately, tragically- have more in common with Peter than he wants to admit. Miguel doesn’t know the specifics of why Peter felt the need to fight so hard for Miles, and doubts the situation was as serious as it was with Gwen, but it doesn’t really matter. The things Peter did for Miles and Miguel for Gwen were stupid, and he knows they would have made the same choices had they been in each other’s position.

Miguel says none of this, of course. Lyla already made the connection long before Miguel did, so he just mumbles out, “I get it.”

“You gonna be nice now?”

He wants to say he was already being nice, allowing Peter and Miles to stay, but even he knows that’s not true. Maybe, maybe he could stand to be a little less hostile towards the guy. “Fine.”

“Good.” She sounds far too pleased with herself, too pleased with him admitting she’s right. It’s so irritating how often she’s right about things.

Miguel still stewing over it when she suddenly asks, “Speaking of lunch- You want your usual from that pad thai place?”

Just like that, the argument forgotten. It’s how things usually go for them- bickering one second, back to normal conversation the next. He glances over to see her waving her phone at him, an order for delivery open on the screen. Miguel’s barely eaten anything this morning- just his coffee and maybe a protein bar before their run, so having a real meal is awfully tempting. “...Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

For Christ’s sake- “Yes, please.”

Lyla hums in approval, pulling her phone back and tapping away at the screen, announcing soon after, “Thirty minutes. You’re welcome.”

Miguel mumbles his thanks, and Lyla’s content to let his torment end there. For now. She switches on her TV, and hits play on whichever medical drama she’s trying to get through this month. Miguel doesn’t try to keep track of them anymore, especially since Lyla’s more than content to give him (unasked for) recounts of each season. Every once in a while, she gasps when a character dies, and she’ll jostle Miguel and make him watch if it’s particularly dramatic, but for the most part she lets him do his thing while she watches.

With Lyla keeping herself busy, Miguel takes the opportunity to log back onto his laptop. If anything positive has come out of Peter calling, it’s that he’s given Miguel something more substantial to work on- he needs to figure out what the hell they’re going to have Gwen and Miles do for the next nine weeks. They bought themselves a little time, spending the first week on basic demonstrations, and they originally planned on spending the upcoming week finding actual projects for them to do with Gwen and Miles. However, with Peter telling them they now need actual objectives come Monday, they’re facing a much tighter deadline.

Miguel wakes his laptop back up and begins sifting through his work emails for help requests from other departments. Normally, grunt work like this gets passed along to his subordinates, leaving him and Lyla free to conduct their own research projects. As smart as Gwen and Miles are, they’re still teenagers- teenagers with no formal education or training beyond the paltry four hours they received the last two days. Miguel’s not about to let them anywhere near his and Lyla’s delicate, expensive research.

Zoology needs assistance determining the lineage of a population of frogs they’ve been following out in the field. Someone else from botany is asking for help producing a hydrangea with even larger, more weather-resistant blooms. He throws both into the proverbial pile. GMOs and paternity tests are baby hours, real entry-level stuff. Before long, he’s got a short list of projects that, at the very least, will buy them some time until more requests come in.

Lyla can gripe about his workaholism all she wants. He just saved them from having to scramble Monday morning for something to give to Peter.

There’s one on the list that’s more for himself than anything else, a request from marketing to use one of Alchemax’s own heavy metal stains to photograph DNA from whatever organism Miguel saw fit, so the images can then be used to market the stain to prospective buyers. Normally, he avoids doing anything that directly translates to more money in Stone’s pockets, but it’s a chance for him to use his favorite imaging microscope, something he hasn’t had an excuse to pull out for what feels like ages. The entire process of preparing a set of slides for imaging intrigued him. He likes the exactness of it, the care and time it took to separate out whatever it is he’s trying to capture, the deceptively difficult task of staining DNA strands so they show up properly-

Oh, God. His favorite imaging microscope? Maybe Peter’s right; he does need a hobby.

There's a knock at the door before he can spiral too far into self-loathing. Lyla jumps up from the couch and nearly knocks into Miguel on her way over, watching through the peephole until the delivery person’s out of sight before opening the door and plucking their lunch up from the hallway floor.

Miguel’s ready for it when she drops his share into his lap, closing his laptop and pushing it aside in time to catch the Styrofoam container in his hands. He gives her another, more genuine thank-you before opening the container, and immediately the smell makes his mouth water. He’s hungrier than he realized, already digging in before Lyla has a chance to settle back into her spot on the couch.

Having a decent meal puts him in such a good mood that he doesn’t even complain when she reaches over to steal a bite, and then another. Lyla makes up for it when she passes him the last fourth or so of her own pad thai, too full to keep eating, which he gladly finishes off for her.

He gathers the trash from their meal, pulling himself from the couch to dispose of it all in the kitchen. In the short amount of time between him walking away and returning, Lyla’s dragged one of her dozens of blankets over herself and curled up on her side, settling in for her customary post-lunch nap. Lyla does this every Saturday after they eat, and the familiarity of the routine brings a small, fond smile to his face. Miguel lets her sleep, dimming the lights so the room is only illuminated by the bit of light poking in through the windows, turns the TV off, and relocates himself and his laptop to the dining table so his typing won’t disturb her.

He goes back and forth between editing down the mountain of information he’s compiled for Miles, and digging for any other mildly interesting requests he may have missed during his first pass. By the time Lyla wakes up from her nap, Miguel’s finally reached a point where he feels like taking a break. He rejoins her on the couch, where she restarts the last episode and talks over the entire thing to give him her top ten ‘most likely to die this season’ list. Miguel doesn’t recognize a single character’s name. He agrees with her ranking anyway.

Later that evening, they order a second round of pad thai for dinner- it’s that good. And when the sun’s long since set and Lyla’s yawning on her way to her bedroom, there’s no talk about if Miguel’s spending the night- he just helps himself to her mountain of pillows and blankets and tucks himself into his usual spot on her couch.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

One of the biggest drawbacks to working at a school was having to arrive even earlier than the students did. Peter’s already on his second cup of coffee as he drags himself to his office, yawning so loud the sound echoes in the near-empty hallway. The students have yet to emerge from their dorms and make their way over to the main building, giving Peter and his coworkers a chance to finish waking up and prepare themselves before the first round of kids comes herding in.

Being the senior guidance counselor means he gets the fancy corner office with two windows all to himself, but it’s cramped. It’s maybe a third the size of Miguel’s, and that’s before you account for everything Peter’s managed to pile in there. His desk and the two dinky little chairs set in front of it take up the bulk of the available space, and every available surface is stacked with stuff. He thrives in organized chaos- what may appear to be a collection of haphazardly stacked papers and folders is actually a meticulously organized system in which Peter only occasionally loses stuff. Like an incredibly important document for the Alchemax mentorship program.

The wall behind his desk is plastered with drawings by his daughter. Mayday’s just learned in the last month how to hold a crayon, but Peter can already tell she’s got a gift for the arts. He’s already planning to have Miles give her some real art lessons, once she’s older. His personal favorite, a masterful combination of blue and red squiggles, sits just above his computer so it’s in his peripheral vision at all times. Any free space left on the walls is taken over by photos of her he took himself.

Seated at his desk and surrounded by all things Mayday, Peter finds he’s a lot less cranky about being awake this early.

Unfortunately, though, he doesn’t get paid to sit and gush over his child, so he begrudgingly sets his coffee aside and officially begins his workday. There’s a fresh copy of the missing form waiting for him on his desk, presumably placed there by his boss. Good thing, too- the original copy is likely long gone, buried somewhere in his office that’ll likely only be found when he does his next spring cleaning. Which will be never.

Peter groans as he flips through the first few pages. He’d been serious when he told Miguel this thing was long-winded. It resembles something like the lesson plans he’s seen his teacher coworkers filling out. Peter’s heard time and time again how much they all loath the things. Looks like today is his lucky day to experience it firsthand.

He needs Miguel’s help to fill it out completely, but Peter can at least get a chunk of it out of the way now. Peter knows the basic language these things typically use, a lot of ‘students will demonstrate the ability to blah blah blah’ and ‘obtain knowledge of whatever through observation and return demonstration’. Lots of demonstrating things. It’s simple enough for him to write out generic sentences while leaving Miguel enough space to provide the interesting bits- a fill-in-the-blank sort of thing.

Peter manages to get most of it done between students meandering in and out of his office throughout the day. A few come in search of actual guidance, but most are there to loiter. He lets it slide, and the kids are generally good about not letting it become a habit, or else they lose the privilege of hanging out in the fun counselor’s office altogether. In Peter’s opinion, it’s just as important that these kids have a comfortable place to unwind and vent as it is for them to do well in their classes.

(Peter’s ego might also really enjoy being dubbed one of the ‘cool’ faculty members, but that’s beside the point.)

He keeps a close eye on the clock, ushering the few remaining stragglers out once the time for his meeting with Miguel draws near. Peter triple-checks that the form is in his bag before shrugging on a coat and locking the door to his office. His boss is less than thrilled to see him leaving for lunch, but with another apology and a promise to be back ASAP with the paperwork completed, he’s allowed to slip out the main entrance. As soon as he steps foot outside, Peter shivers, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. It’s still chilly in mid-March, the weather just beginning to warm up. Even in the middle of the day, his threadbare coat is barely enough to keep him comfortable.

Even though he made a point to arrive early -a rarity for him, but he didn’t want to give Miguel another reason to dislike him- Miguel still managed to beat him. Peter can see him outside Alchemax’s front doors before he finishes crossing the street. He’s got his arms crossed and looks about as unenthusiastic as he usually does. For whatever reason, he’s holding a thick black coat in his arms, instead of just wearing it like most people would.

There’s no smile or wave hello when he sees Peter coming his way- just a flat “Parker” as Peter draws near.

“Miguel,” Peter replies. He’s pleasant enough for the both of them. “You didn’t need to wait for me outside, it’s freezing out here.”

“I wasn’t going to, but Lyla kicked me out.”

That draws up a rather amusing image in Peter’s head, of Lyla physically shoving a protesting Miguel out the front doors like he wasn’t literally twice her size. He’ll never know if that’s what actually happened, but with what he’s seen from them so far, it’s a likely possibility. “Oh, yeah? What’d you do this time?”

Miguel gives him a look that makes it very obvious Peter’s pushing his luck, asking that like he’s Miguel’s friend and not someone he kind of tolerates. But then he answers anyway, “I told her we’d eat here in the cafeteria to save time.”

Peter sighs- of course, Miguel would choose cafeteria food over something more appealing elsewhere if it meant being more efficient, or whatever. Before he can tell Miguel she was right to give him the boot, however, there’s a tapping noise from somewhere behind Miguel. The exterior walls of Alchemax’s first floor are almost entirely made of floor-to-ceiling glass, so when they both turn their heads toward the source of the noise, they can both see it’s Lyla tapping her finger on the other side of the glass. Safely indoors and away from the cold- Peter’s a little jealous.

Miguel doesn’t seem surprised to see her. She’s probably been there the whole time, keeping watch until he and Peter left so he couldn’t try to sneak back in again. Unlike her grouchy counterpart, she does smile and wave at Peter, before holding up her phone and pointing at it. Peter gets the hint and pulls out his own phone to see he’s received a text from her:

dont bring him back until hes eaten a real meal. cant stand it when hes all hangry

Peter snorts before tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Yes, Ma’am,” he says with a salute, although he’s pretty sure Lyla can’t hear him through the thick glass. Either way, she seems satisfied with his answer, giving him another wave goodbye before she turns and walks off. Miguel gives him a questioning glance, not liking being excluded from a conversation clearly about him. Peter doesn’t bother filling him in. “Alright, tell me where we’re gonna eat- I’m starving.”

“The cafeteria.”

”Funny. Didn’t know you could make jokes.” A sudden breeze has Peter’s teeth chattering. How Miguel tolerates the cold in only a button-up is beyond him. “Pick something else, it’s freezing out here.”

No answer. Miguel just watches him shiver, probably hoping that Peter will give in and agree to eat at Alchemax if it means getting to warm up sooner. Unfortunately for him, Peter’s more food-motivated than he is cold-adverse. Peter turns on his heels and starts walking in the opposite direction. “I’ll pick, then. There’s a sandwich place halfway between here and Visions I go to a lot that’s pretty good.”

He gets maybe twenty feet from the doors before he realizes the only footsteps he hears are his own. Peter sighs and glances over his shoulder, looking back at Miguel who has yet to move. So stubborn. Peter sighs, stopping before he gets too far. “It’ll be quick, okay? I promise I’m not trying to waste more of your time than I already have.”

Something in Miguel’s expression shifts for a moment, but it’s so quick Peter doesn’t have a chance to figure out what exactly it was before it’s gone again, back to the usual frown. Peter’s assurance that it’ll be quick seems to convince him, though, and he makes his way over to where Peter’s waiting for him. Peter leads the way, essentially heading back in the same direction he’d just come from on his initial trek over from Visions.

It’s a mercifully short walk to the sandwich shop. Peter’s hand is numb from the cold when he pulls it out of his pocket to hold the door open for Miguel when they arrive. “You’re gonna like this place, trust me,” Peter assures him. “They make their kettle-cooked chips in-house, seriously, they’re the best thing on the menu. Could make a whole meal of just their chips.”

Miguel doesn’t seem to share his chip enthusiasm, but that’s okay. He will once he’s had a chance to try them and experience what Peter’s talking about. Peter sighs in relief once they’re both inside- it’s wonderfully toasty, and Peter’s happy to take a moment and just soak up some of the heat as he glances over at Miguel to see how he’s faring. To his amazement, Miguel looks entirely unphased, jacket still folded over his arms. Peter can’t tell how much of this little display is Miguel genuinely not minding the cold, and how much of it is his own bizarre way of pouting over being forced away from his work.

An older man pokes his head out from the back when he hears the two of them shuffle further inside the little shop, smiling and giving them both a warm welcome. He recognizes Peter from his many, many visits, already starting on his usual order without Peter needing to ask. They talk idly amongst themselves, giving Miguel a chance to deliberate over the menu. Peter’s order is already finished by the time Miguel steps forward to order.

It’s one of the saddest little sandwiches Peter has ever seen in his life.

Just one type of meat, hardly any interesting toppings, he doesn’t even get the thing toasted. Even the man behind the counter looks surprised as he wraps it and sets it down alongside the rest of their order. Peter frowns a little. “That’s all you’re getting? Don’t hold back just ‘cause I’m paying.”

“That’s all I want,” Miguel tries, taken aback at having his order scrutinized like this, but Peter just shakes his head.

“Big guy like you, getting one tiny sandwich? C’mon.” He catches the attention of the man making their food. “Whatever he just got, make a second one, please.” A beat, and then, “double mine too, actually.”

Miguel looks ready to protest more, because he always does, but it’s too late. The damage is done, the sandwich toasted and wrapped and placed next to Miguel’s first. Peter orders several baskets of chips as well; if Miguel refuses to eat them, Peter’s got no problem wolfing them all down himself.

“Parker, I’m not going to eat two of these,” Miguel insists, and Peter will never, ever understand how someone can be this distraught over someone buying them more food.

Peter just shrugs as he hands over the cash for their food. “Listen, I’m just following orders. I was told to make sure you eat some real food, and I’m not about to tell Lyla I failed. I’ve seen how she gets with you, and I don’t need her coming after me next.” He shoves his change in his pocket before turning to stack Miguel’s two sandwiches and a basket of chips on his arms where they’re folded in front of his chest and holding his coat. And it must be a reflex of Miguel’s, to argue at every single opportunity, because he’s already opening his mouth to say something else when Peter cuts him off. “Miguel. Just take the sandwich. Eat it later if you want, but just take the damn sandwich.”

This time, Peter can clearly see the flash of surprise that crosses Miguel’s features. Peter’s not even being that assertive, they’re arguing over sandwiches, if this can even be considered an argument, but it’s clear Miguel’s used to people just letting him get his way. But Peter’s got a stubborn streak, too, and years of dealing with combative attitudes, and he watches Miguel’s mouth hang open a moment longer before snapping shut when Peter refuses to waver.

Satisfied, Peter turns to lead him to one of the empty tables set up inside the shop. Once he’s got his own food set down, he helps Miguel with his, taking the food he balanced rather precariously in his arms and placing it on the other side of the table. Miguel slings his coat over the back of his chair before sitting, and it’s then Peter realizes he’s been carrying a white binder under the jacket this entire time.

“What’s that for?” Peter asks, nodding at the binder in question. He’s speaking around a mouthful of food, having helped himself to a handful of chips the moment he sat down. The lack of control is not his fault, the chips are just that good.

To his surprise, Miguel holds it out towards him. “It’s for Miles,” he explains, which really surprises Peter, and he hastily wipes his hands clean of any chip grease before taking it. He’s not expecting it to be so heavy in his hands, and he nearly drops it on the table when Miguel lets go.

Curiosity gets the better of him. He flips it open and is met with a meticulously organized collection of research articles, handwritten notes, even more typed notes, and intricate diagrams, most of which go completely over Peter’s head. Some of the handwriting he recognizes as Miles’, those annotations he’d spent all last week working on before his first day with Miguel and Lyla, but the bulk of it’s written in a hand that Peter would assume is Miguel’s. His own hand cramps at the thought of writing all this out himself.

“Wow. This is... wow.” He looks back up at Miguel, a little smile on his face. “Who added the pink tab thingies?”

“We had some extra stationery we were trying to use up,” Miguel replies, which is not at all what Peter had asked.

“There’s an index, too.” He flips to the front of the binder again. “Man, you put a lot of work into this- is this what you spent your weekend doing?”

“Part of it, yes.” And if Peter didn’t know any better, he would say Miguel’s starting to sound a little bashful. “I said I’d answer his questions.”

“I think you did a little more than that,” Peter teases, snapping the binder shut with a grin. “So, does this mean you like him?”

“It means I tolerate him.” Miguel corrects him, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Peter doesn’t believe that for a second, and neither does Miguel if the entire novel he’s just handed to Peter is any indication. “Well, he’ll appreciate this either way,” he lightly shakes the binder before leaning over to tuck it safely into his bag. “Can I pass along the message that you tolerate him, too? That’ll really make him happy.”

“You can show me that stupid form you dragged me out here to finish for you.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” No, he isn’t, but he gets the hint clear enough and backs off with the teasing. He swaps the binder for the stack of paperwork, then sets it down on the little bit of free space left on the table. “I got most of it done this morning, just need you to supply the important bits. Just fill the spots in with whatever you and Lyla have planned for your mentees.” He flips to the last few pages. “And then a thousand signatures on this part. I can help if you need it, but it’s pretty straightforward, I think.”

Miguel nods, taking the pen Peter offers him, and disregards the food on the table to begin filling out the paperwork. Crazy how this guy’s mind works. Peter’s got nothing else to do while Miguel writes, so he unwraps his first sandwich and starts digging in, doing his best to keep the noise to a minimum. He idly watches Miguel as he works, and it’s not particularly interesting until he flips over to the next page.

There are two bracelets on Miguel’s left wrist, the type made using those little rubber bands and a loom. Peter’s only ever seen his younger students wearing them- it’s about the last thing he’d expect someone like Miguel to wear. One’s an alternating pattern of dark navy and red, the other white and light blue. When Miguel turns his wrist just right, Peter can see a chain of plastic connector pieces that have been added to the white bracelet, unlike the navy bracelet, which only has one. Before he can comment on the bracelets, though, Miguel’s asking for clarification on one of the pages, effectively redirecting Peter’s attention.

It continues like that for a while, Peter chowing down on his own lunch while Miguel writes, occasionally chiming in when Miguel needs him to. It’s not until the entire form is finished and he’s handed it and the pen back to Peter that Miguel finally unwraps one of his sandwiches to take a bite. Peter half expected Miguel to leave as soon as the papers were signed, so he’s pleasantly surprised to see he’s chosen to stick around a little longer. But while Miguel might be content to sit and eat in silence, Peter isn’t, and he wracks his brain for something they can talk about before settling on, “What’s this gym you and Gwen keep talking about?”

Miguel pauses, shoulders tense, like he’s waiting for Peter to ask about Gwen herself, but that doesn’t happen. Peter’s made peace with the fact he’ll never find out their actual backstory, but the gym itself should be fair game, right?

“The Underground,” Miguel eventually answers. “It’s a rock-climbing gym.”

“Oh- I know that place!” The rather ridiculous name is hard to forget, and Peter remembers hearing the story of how that gym got started. Some construction company went bankrupt a while back, and this group of climbers swooped in to buy their main headquarters to turn it into an obscenely sized gym. Peter’s walked past it a few times over the years- there’s no reason for a gym to be multiple stories tall.

Peter’s not that surprised to hear Miguel’s into climbing. Just look at the guy- those broad shoulders and massive arms, the exact physique required to scale walls with ease. His normal, friendly appreciation for Miguel’s biceps aside, this revelation gives them something substantial to talk about, because- “I used to do a lot of rock-climbing myself. Not at Underground, the place I went was a lot smaller, but still. Fun times.”

Miguel looks up from his food in surprise -he wasn’t expecting to find this common ground between them, either- before frowning again. “I thought you said exercise wasn’t fun.”

“I said running wasn’t fun. Rock-climbing’s different.” Peter corrects him, starting on his second sandwich as Miguel finishes his first. “Anyways, it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to go climbing. Life stuff, you know how it is.”

Early mid-life crisis. Divorce. Surprise pregnancy. In that order.

“But that’s how this happened.” He moves a hand up to tap the poorly set crook in his nose, watching as Miguel’s gaze follows the motion with what Peter’s optimistic side chooses to interpret as mild interest.

Encouraged, Peter continues, “I was part of a climbing club at my college- yeah, I have a degree, too- and one day we thought, ‘hey, we’re pretty good at climbing these fake cliffs made of plastic or whatever, surely we can handle a real cliff with no actual equipment’, and I was dumb enough to volunteer to go first. I was looking really good the first ten, fifteen feet before my foot slipped and down I went, but luckily my face broke my fall.” Peter pauses to finish the last few bites of his sandwich, crumpling the paper wrapper into a little ball once he’s done. “The break was pretty bad, but it was either I get my nose set properly at a hospital or have money for beer and, well,” he gestures to his face again, “you can see which one younger me thought was a bigger priority.”

“You sound awfully proud of that story,” Miguel comments.

“Oh, trust me, I’m not,” Peter says with a laugh. “It’s just rare that I tell the real one. Usually, I make something up when people ask, something that makes me sound a little cooler.”

“Like what?”

Peter can see the way his eyes trace over the break again. Having Miguel’s undivided attention like this is doing something weird to his head; Peter feels the need to keep him entertained now that Miguel’s looking at him with something other than disdain for once. “Depends. If I’m on a date, I’ll say I protected a stranger from muggers, paint myself as a real hero type. Or that I was the one who got mugged if I’m looking for a pity drink at a bar.”

“And that works for you?”

I’m sitting here eating lunch with an absolute smoke show, aren’t I? Peter thinks and absolutely does not say, lest he ruin the first positive interaction he’s had with Miguel. Christ. “You’d be surprised- I’m really good at making people feel sorry for me,” is what he settles on instead.

Miguel doesn’t laugh, but he does exhale sharply through his nose- it’s close enough that Peter feels like he’s won something.

It makes Peter wonder what his real laugh sounds like, what it’ll take for Peter to get a chance to hear it. Maybe he’ll get really lucky and make Miguel laugh at a story that doesn’t involve him receiving some sort of bodily harm. Wouldn’t that be something? Peter adds that to his list of personal goals- make Miguel laugh for real, right under convince Lyla to fork over a photo of teenage Miguel. He knows she’s got an entire stockpile of them hidden somewhere, he can feel it.

Conversation between them flows a bit easier after that. Miguel still offers up very little regarding his personal life and interests, and what answers he does give are clipped and sound rehearsed, the sort of small talk you make with a clerk at a corner store, but it’s fine. He’s still talking to Peter, willingly, and Peter’s more than happy to carry most of the conversation. They mostly talk about climbing and work, and it’s admittedly rather dry, but it’s still nice. Peter doesn’t say anything out loud, but he watches with no small amount of satisfaction as Miguel digs into his second sandwich while they talk. He knew one wasn’t going to be enough. Peter even stops shoveling those delicious chips into his mouth by the handful so Miguel can enjoy his share of them, too.

Rock climbing and a voracious appetite. That’s two (two!) things Peter now has in common with Miguel.

Unsurprisingly, Miguel is the one to call their little lunch meeting to a close. “I need to get back to work,” he says, glancing up at the clock behind the counter. When Peter turns to look, too, he sees Miguel’s right- they’ve been there nearly forty-five minutes, well beyond the time Peter usually takes for his lunch. Between the two of them, there’s not a scrap of food left, and Peter gathers up all their trash to throw away. While he’s doing that, Miguel stands to order a third sandwich and another side of chips. He explains it’s for Lyla when asked, and declines Peter’s offer to pay for her meal, too. Peter doesn’t fight him on it too hard- buying four meals has already dealt enough damage to his bank account without tacking on a fifth.

With the sandwich shop situated between their respective places of employment, there’s no real reason for Peter to walk with Miguel to Alchemax only to have to double back to return to Visions, so they agree to part ways here. Part of Peter wishes that wasn’t the case and they could talk a little longer- he’s just starting to get somewhere with Miguel, but I took a long lunch so I could make friends with a grumpy scientist is not likely to go over well with his boss. He’s also had about enough of being outside for the day, so the idea of taking a longer walk than is strictly necessary sounds massively unappealing, even with company.

“Thanks again, man. I knew you’re super busy, but I would’ve been screwed if you didn’t help me out,” Peter says as they step outside. It’s still miserably cold, and Peter misses the warmth of the sandwich shop as soon as they step out the door. “Miles and Gwen don’t deserve to get pulled just because I lost a form.”

“You can thank me by not surprising me with any more paperwork. I don’t have time for this to happen every week,” Miguel says, but his tone is missing most of its usual snippiness. Not all of it, but most. He does finally pull his coat on- whatever hangup he had about wearing it is gone now.

Peter grins, nodding his head. “That’s the last of it,” He promises, before nudging Miguel with his elbow. “And hey, if you ever need a climbing partner, let me know- I’ve been meaning to get back into it.” A statement that’s only really been true in the last half hour, but that’s fine.

“Maybe.” He is never going to ask Peter to go rock climbing with him.

“I can work with maybe,” Peter replies anyways, smile only growing wider. “See you later, Miguel.”

Peter gets a single, curt nod in response before Miguel’s walking back towards Alchemax. Peter lingers there on the sidewalk, longer than he really should, until he can no longer see Miguel among the other pedestrians. Only then does he turn to make the trek back to Visions, a small smile still on his face the entire way. The paperwork is hand-delivered to his boss’s desk, and he sneaks out again before he has to explain why his lunch took over an hour. There’s hardly any time left in the school day by the time Peter’s back in his own office; he barely has a moment to think about doing some more work before the final bell rings. When no students come running in with last-minute counseling emergencies, Peter takes that as a sign he’s in the clear to leave for the day.

His little shoebox apartment only feels the teensiest bit lonely when he arrives home. It’s MJ’s week with Mayday, but her stuff is all over the place, toys and books and bottles stacked everywhere. He carefully steps over a stuffed tiger left on the floor- Mayday got very upset when he attempted to move it last time, apparently it needed to be smack dab in the center of the room like this- and heads for the sad excuse of a kitchen.

On the menu for tonight are reheated leftovers likely on their last day of edibility, to be consumed while hunched over on a futon kept perpetually in the bed position. Peter’s attention is split between a nature documentary put on for background noise and a steady stream of photos from MJ of her and Mayday eating and preparing for bed. He gushes over each one before saving it to his phone, ignoring a million reminders about running out of storage space.

Once the influx of photos stops and he gets a final goodnight from MJ, Peter’s left to sprawl out on his futon and review the day’s events in his head. Overall, it was a pretty good day. He got Miguel to laugh (kind of), bonded with Miguel over a shared interest (maybe), and convinced Miguel he’s more than a nuisance (big maybe). Most of the highlights are Miguel-centric. And food-centric; his stomach growls just thinking about those kettle-cooked chips, and he mentally kicks himself for not getting another serving to take home.

Peter knows his chances are essentially zero, but he still holds out hope that Miguel will invite him to go climbing sometime. Or out to lunch again- anything, really. His initial evaluation of Miguel being a hardass with poor social skills continues to feel less and less accurate. Both things are still true, just to a lesser degree than Peter initially thought. Now that he’s seen glimpses of Miguel's less... abrasive side, Peter’s a lot more eager to get to know him better. He just has to convince Miguel he’s someone worth getting to know, too.

But that might end up being easier than he thought. Right as he’s about to set his phone down and go to sleep, he gets a text from an unknown number.

I don’t expect Miles to read everything in that binder. I just thought it’d be helpful for him to have something to reference while he’s with us in our lab.

Peter smiles at the screen and adds the number to his contacts.

I’ll let him know

Goodnight, miguel

His last thought before drifting off is wondering where he put that one pair of running shoes.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Peter doesn’t get to say this often, but he was right.

Running is absolutely, unequivocally, the worst thing to ever grace humanity. Ever.

Currently, he’s hunched over with his hands on his knees to keep himself upright as he tries and fails to catch his breath. The paved park trail he’s currently looking down at is blurry and unfocused, and he can feel the sweat dripping from his forehead. God, the heat is unbearable. The sun hasn’t finished rising, he can see his breath with every wheezing exhale, but he still feels like he’s burning up. He’d found this tracksuit buried in his closet alongside his shoes, and as old as it is he figured it was thick enough to keep him warm during a morning run. Only it seems to be doing its job a little too well, evidenced by Peter pouring sweat and wondering distantly if this is how people feel before they’re about to faint.

Peter manages to unzip the jacket to let in some of that cold air, and when that’s not enough, he pulls the entire thing off and throws it on the grass to his right. God, this was humiliating. He doesn’t even want to know how little distance he managed to cover before he found himself in his current position. This is why he never bothered with cardio, even when he did exercise more regularly- why would he dedicate time to doing something that punishes you the entire time, even when you’re doing it right? An entirely miserable experience, even before the violent dizziness set in.

A sudden wave of nausea knocks him off his feet, and he doesn’t have to wonder anymore. This is definitely how people feel before they pass out. He manages to catch himself with his hands instead of landing face-first into the pavement, but any pride that might have saved him is gone when he crawls pathetically over to the grass to flop onto his back next to his jacket. Laying down doesn’t make the world around him spin any less or provide relief from the queasy feeling in his stomach. The trees above him are blurry and doubled, and the frosty, damp ground beneath him makes him shiver while simultaneously doing nothing about how feverish his body feels.

His vision’s getting darker around the edges. It’s a bit of a bummer no one is around to help- this wasn’t exactly how he planned on leaving this world, sweaty and nauseated and sporting an admittedly hideous tracksuit. Then again, this is New York, so even if entire crowds were gathered nearby his chances of getting so much as a single glance were slim to none.

He deserves this, Peter decides. This is what he gets for trying to be someone he’s not.

At least he’s off the path, out of the way where no other park-goers are forced to step over his body while out on their own runs. Oh, but what other people are out here running? Nobody else is outside at this hour unless they absolutely have to be. No one besides him is masoch*stic enough to choose to be outside in such miserable cold just for a little exercise-

“-ker? Parker!”

Oh, God, no. Please let auditory hallucinations be another symptom of passing out.

That tragically familiar voice is still trying to get Peter’s attention, so he squeezes his eyes shut like that’ll do anything to block the sound out. Obviously, it doesn’t, and he remains very aware of the footsteps rushing his way and two distinct thuds of something hitting the ground beside him.

“Eyes open, Parker.” When Peter doesn’t immediately follow the command- whether it’s an attempt to preserve what’s left of his dignity, or because his brain’s currently running at partial capacity, he doesn’t know-, he’s rewarded with a loud clap only a few inches from his face. The noise startles Peter into snapping his eyes open, and he’s met with the sight of Miguel, looking equal parts concerned and confused, looming over him and taking up most of his field of vision. Actually, it's more like two or three Miguels, with the way his eyes refuse to focus. “What are you doing out here? What happened?”

Peter makes an honest attempt at an explanation, but all that really comes out is a miserable groan that deepens the frown on Miguel’s face. He shifts back a little, and before Peter can (try to) ask what he’s doing, there’s a large hand on his left arm. Even with his body temperature running as high as it is, Miguel’s hand is even warmer against his skin, and Peter can distinctly feel the way he presses two fingers against the inside of his arm, just above his elbow. Miguels then turns his attention to something on his unoccupied hand -his watch, Peter’s lagging brain eventually supplies. Miguel’s checking his pulse.

It’s only a few moments before Miguel pulls his hand away again, and when he looks back at Peter’s face, it’s clear whatever his heart rate is, Miguel doesn’t like it. He shifts up onto his knees, just enough to reposition himself more easily to sit by Peter’s feet. Peter tries to prop himself up on his elbows to better see whatever Miguel’s planning to do, but just lifting his head off the ground is enough to make him so dizzy it knocks him right back down again.

“Just stay there, I’ve got you.” Now Peter knows he’s imagining things. Miguel’s speaking in a tone that’s so far divorced from his usual, mildly contemptuous way of addressing Peter that he’s having a hard time believing this is real. “I’m going to elevate your legs, okay?”

Yeah, sure. Whatever that means. Peter just nods instead of trying to speak again. And then he learns exactly what Miguel’s talking about when he hooks a single arm under both of Peter’s ankles and hoists them up, high enough to deposit them on a single broad shoulder. Just like that, as if Peter weighs absolutely nothing.

Holy sh*t. Peter’s lightheaded all over again.

“It helps blood flow back to your brain, so you don’t pass out,” Miguel explains. Peter didn’t ask, but he nods in understanding anyway, grateful for something else to focus on other than the way Miguel’s casually supporting both his legs without breaking a sweat.

“Now what?” Peter croaks out, having finally found his voice again.

“Now you take some deep breaths until you start to feel better.”

He nods again. Then Peter, being who he is, asks, “So, you come here often, or-“

“I said to breathe, not talk.” Ah. There’s the Miguel he knows.

Peter does as he’s told, taking in deep, measured breaths, and getting a very subtle nod of approval from Miguel in return. Miguel’s watching him intently, for what exactly, Peter doesn’t know, but it’s hard to hold his gaze silently for very long, so Peter looks up at the sky again, instead. He keeps his eyes open, not in the mood to be startled again, and then they just... wait. It can’t be comfortable for Miguel, supporting Peter’s weight on one shoulder like that, but he doesn’t so much as shift in his spot on the ground, seeming completely unbothered.

Bit by bit, Peter starts to feel better. The black spots in his vision fade, and the overwhelming nausea stops clawing incessantly at the back of his throat. As if sensing his improvement, Miguel tells him to turn his hand over so it's laying palm up, and again, Peter listens. That warm hand is back on him in an instant, this time feeling for his pulse at the wrist, Miguel unable to reach the first spot he checked higher on his arm from his current position by Peter’s feet. His hand is even hotter now that Peter’s not overheating, and he barely represses a shiver when Miguel pulls away again.

“Heart rate feels normal,” Miguel tells him. “How are you feeling now?”

“Oh, am I allowed to talk again?” Peter quips, grinning at the annoyed tch he gets in reply. “Better. I’m only seeing one of you now instead of three.”

“That’s…good. Little bit longer and then you can try sitting up.” Peter expects them to go back to the earlier silence, but Miguel surprises him when he repeats his question from earlier, “What were you doing out here?”

On second thought, Peter liked it better when he was quiet. The long stretch of silence was preferable to having to explain how he ended up collapsing in the middle of some park. He tries to come up with a story even remotely more flattering than the truth but comes up empty. Still not looking at Miguel, he says, “Tried to go for a run. Didn’t work out.”

“Oh?” Peter hates Miguel, just for a split second, but he hates him, and the little hint of amusem*nt creeping into his voice. “I thought running was the worst.”

“It is. Look what it did to me after, like, twenty minutes,” Peter insists, and then finds it’s impossible to keep hating Miguel when he looks back at him and sees the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Is this fun for you? Watching me suffer?”

“No.” His eyebrow twitches, the absolute liar. Miguel glances down to give Peter a quick once-over, then over at Peter’s discarded jacket. “Tracksuit is an interesting choice.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but any irritation is half-hearted at best. “Yeah, whatever. It’s all I had in my closet,” Peter says dismissively, only he’s smiling now, too.

He looks over what Miguel’s wearing, hoping to find he can tease him about in return. A lost cause, because he looks great, like always. Dark joggers and a white track jacket- from this century, unlike the vintage thing Peter’s got on. There are thumbholes cut into the sleeves, which Miguel is currently using to help keep his hands warm. He’s wearing those bracelets again, too, still on his left wrist.

It’s a little bizarre to see Miguel in anything other than the business casual he wears at Alchemax. It’s like that feeling you get running into a teacher while they’re out on a weekend buying groceries and you realize, oh, right, they exist in contexts other than the very limited one you usually see them in. Except, Peter’s usually the teacher in this scenario. Guidance counselor. Whatever.

“Parker, are you listening?”

“Wh- yes.” No. Oops.

That tiny smile is gone, now, which is a real shame. “I said you can try sitting up, now,” Miguel repeats as he brings a hand up to carefully lift Peter’s legs off his shoulder and lower them back onto the ground. Peter could have helped, should have helped, but he’s reluctant to lose that point of contact between them. Peter gladly takes the hand Miguel offers to help pull him upright, but that’s gone just as quickly, and Peter’s left to take stock of how he’s feeling with the change in position. He feels… fine, actually. Back to normal. The nausea is gone, and so is the fever, and Peter shivers when the cold air meets his damp back. He leans over to grab his jacket from where it’s still lying in the grass and shrugs it on. It’s a little wet, too, but still does its job well enough to keep his teeth from chattering.

Peter zips it up to his neck before looking over to Miguel. He’s watching with that same focus as before, looking for any sign that Peter might up and keel over a second time. When Peter stays upright for a bit he finally relaxes, looking away from Peter to search the ground around them. “Where’s your water bottle?”

A pause from Peter. “…What water bottle?”

Miguel shoots him a look, one that makes it very clear he’s disappointed in Peter’s decision to go running without any water (which is fair, considering how he ended up), then reaches for something off to the side. A gym bag, Peter realizes. He considers the bag, Miguel’s athletic clothing, and amends his earlier thought; there’s one person masoch*stic enough to go and exercise this early in the morning.

From the bag, Miguel pulls out a thin blue packet and a metal water bottle. Dark blue, and without a single sticker adorning its surface. How boring. How very Miguel. The packet gets ripped open and its powdery contents poured into the bottle, which Miguel gives a good shake before offering it to Peter. “Electrolytes,” Miguel says by way of explanation. “Helps with dehydration.”

Peter wants to make a joke about sharing cooties, but anything he comes up with isn’t funny enough to be worth the negative reaction it’ll inevitably draw from Miguel, so he just says a quick thanks as he accepts the water bottle. He gives the contents a little sniff before taking a sip. Citrusy. And ice cold- he didn’t realize how thirsty he’d gotten until that moment, and he has to pace himself to not chug the entire thing in one go.

“How’d you know how to do all this?” Peter asks between drinks. “You find yourself saving a lot of sad-looking men in parks?”

Miguel, who’d been keeping himself busy with reorganizing whatever stuff he’s got in his bag while Peter finishes his water, pauses what he’s doing to give him a sideways glance. “It’s basic first aid.”

It’s a talent at this point, the way Miguel dodges his questions with such worthless non-answers. Peter understands what first aid is- he’s required to take the classes for his job, but he works at a school. Miguel, on the other hand, does not work at a school, or any other place where CPR certification is a basic requirement for employment, and as sketchy as Alchemax is he can’t think of a scenario where people there would need to know these skills.

People don’t typically take first aid classes for fun. Then again, nothing about Miguel is typical. Performing CPR on a manikin may very well be his idea of an exciting Friday night.

Peter doesn’t bother waiting for further explanation. It’s never going to come. Miguel’s already back to work on his little cleaning project, unrolling and rerolling long bands of black elastic that end up looking just as neat as they did before Miguel unraveled them. Peter’s content to watch him work, sipping on the last bits of his drink before he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulls it out and immediately feels his heart drop.

The time. He’s got ten minutes to get to work.

(The notification’s just a solitaire app trying to get him to come play a few rounds. Not a high priority right now.)

“sh*t, I gotta get going,” Peter says quickly, recapping the water bottle before pulling himself to his feet. He offers a hand to Miguel this time, “You coming?”

Miguel hesitates, surprised by Peter jumping up so suddenly, but after a moment he zips his bag back up, takes Peter’s hand, and lets him help pull him off the ground. He can feel Miguel watching him again, and his mother hen thing is as endearing as it is wholly unexpected, but Peter doesn’t have time to appreciate it fully right now. Punctuality. Responsibility. Those pesky things he preaches about to his students.

He trusts Miguel to follow him and sets off at a brisk pace towards Visions. Alchemax is in the same direction, so they’d be heading in the same direction anyway. It’s not too far a walk, he’d planned out a relatively short distance for his run and got about halfway through before collapsing, but he’s going to be cutting it close. There’s still not many people out and about, meaning fewer people to weave through and potentially slow him down.

Miguel hardly has to work to keep pace with him. Those long legs make it look so easy, striding alongside Peter while he’s almost breaking into a jog. Almost. He’s learned his lesson.

He’s a little out of breath by the time they make it to the front steps of Visions with a minute to spare, but it’s nothing compared to the sickening lightheadedness from before, so he waves his hand as Miguel’s concerned expression. “I’m good, don’t worry. Just- breathing.”

Peter would love to stay and chat, but that minute is ticking down, fast. “Thanks again, man. You’re a lifesaver- literally,” He grins, patting Miguel’s arm before hurrying up the steps. Once he’s at the top he turns to point at Miguel. “Seriously, I owe you lunch or something. Again. And this time you better pick a damn restaurant.” Then, as he’s halfway through the door, “See you later, bud!”

The door closing behind him cuts off anything Miguel might have said in response. Technically, Peter’s on time- he’s physically inside the building with four seconds to spare. There’s a less convenient but more secluded path he opts to take to get to his office this morning, wanting to minimize the number of people who see him in this garish tracksuit. The universe seems to think his incident in the park is enough of a punishment because the worst he gets is a single weird look from a security guard he passes.

Once he’s inside his office, the first thing he does is pull the blinds shut and lock the door. His water bottle finds one of the few empty spots on his desk, right next to his other bottle. Tucked behind the desk is a change of more work-appropriate clothes. He’d stashed them there the day before, and it’s a little funny to think about it now. All this effort and planning put into something he’s never, ever going to do again.

Once he’s changed Peter folds the tracksuit and places it on one of his spare chairs to be dealt with later. By now, he can hear the clamor of kids outside his door on the way to their classes. He walks over to his door, unlocks it, and jumps about a foot in the air when he draws the little blinds up to reveal Miles’ face pressed into the glass.

“Jesus, kid! You’re going to give me a heart attack-“

“Since when do you and Dr. O’Hara walk to work together?” Miles questions, ignoring Peter as he invites himself into his office.

“We don’t. Just happened to run into each other,” Peter tells him, watching as Miles casually tosses his backpack to the side and takes the other, uncluttered chair in front of Peter’s desk. He’s halfway to his own chair when he stops suddenly. “Wait, you saw us walking together?”

Miles shrugs, “Just happened to look out my window ‘n see you. You’re kinda hard to miss,” he says, reaching into his pocket to pull out his phone. A few taps, then a smirk from Miles as he holds it up for Peter to see and, oh, goody. Photo evidence. “The tracksuit’s….interesting.”

This time, when Peter rolls his eyes, the exasperation is much more authentic. “So I’ve been told.”

He gives the photo a second look and, yeah, Miles is right. Between Peter’s bright red tracksuit and Miguel’s…everything, the two of them together are awfully hard to miss. He realizes then if Miles saw him, it’s likely other students did, too, and his effort to avoid being seen in the halls earlier may have all been for nothing. At least he can trust the kids will be funny when he becomes the laughingstock of the week.

They both look up when the door to his office suddenly swings open, and Peter’s surprised to see Gwen standing in the doorway. Her expression is neutral as she looks at Peter, then down at the folding up tracksuit, and back to Peter again. She promptly bursts into laughter.

Excellent. This is only the second time he’s been in his office for non-disciplinary reasons, and she’s laughing at him.

Miles has the decency to look a little sheepish when he turns his attention back to Peter. “I might have sent her the photo.”

“Uh-huh. Her and who else?”

No answer. Concerning.

There’s a warning chime playing on the overhead speakers just as Gwen gets herself back under control. Peter gestures vaguely between the two teens. “You two need to get to class. You can come back to laugh at me during lunch.”

Miles doesn’t move from his spot. “This is my free period. Nothing else for me to do right now.”

That’s definitely not true. Free period means ‘go to your homeroom’, not ‘wander around and do whatever you want’. But at the same time, goofing off during your free period is a better alternative to goofing off during an actual class, so, “Good enough for me.” Now Miles is up, dragging the chair across the floor to settle in the corner opposite Peter’s desk and making himself comfortable. “Gwen, what’s your excuse?”

She wipes a little tear from her eye -the tracksuit’s not that funny, is it?- before shrugging. “Honestly? I was just about to sneak out the back, not feeling it today.”

Peter frowns. “Okay, you definitely shouldn’t be telling me things like that.” At least pretend he’s got some authority here, for his ego’s sake.

She just gives him a very polite, very fake smile as she steps fully into his office, bag thrown down next to Miles’. “If you let me stay you can lecture me some more about my life choices.”

He considers his options, knowing Gwen is serious about sneaking out, before giving in. “Fine, but don’t let this become a routine thing.” Gwen nods in agreement, but the glint in her eyes tells Peter this is absolutely going to become a routine thing.

Gwen starts to make room for herself by picking his tracksuit up from the other chair and setting it down in the only other empty spot on his desk, but stops halfway through the motion. She frowns, looking down at the clutter.

“Why do you have Miguel’s water bottle?” she asks, and Peter’s confused at first, following her gaze down to his desk, and- yep, there it is. Sure enough, it wasn’t his bottle he’d set down earlier, but Miguel’s, sitting right next to his actual water bottle.

“sh*t,” He mutters under his breath, but not quietly enough to go unheard by the other two in the room, if the chorus of ooooh is any indication. “Oh, stop. That barely counts as a swear anyway.”

“That mean we can say it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay, but why do you have his water bottle?” Miles asks, leaning to the side so he can see past where Gwen is still standing between him and Peter.

“’s not important,” Peter says quickly. If they knew what really happened that morning, he’d never hear the end of it.

“Yeah, it is,” Miles presses. “Last week you said you only met him the one time, but now he’s walking you to work and giving you his water bottle?”

“First off, he didn’t walk me to work, we just happened to walk next to each other-“

“Still doesn’t explain why you’ve got his bottle.” Gwen cuts in.

“Is it really that important? He let me borrow it ‘cause I left mine here, that’s all.” Technically true- Miguel did let him borrow it. He probably wasn’t planning on Peter accidentally stealing it after, but that’s beside the point. Peter’s excuse doesn’t seem to be enough, however, because Miles and Gwen are still giving him odd looks. “What?”

“Nothing, just-“ Miles pauses, then shrugs and leans back in his chair. “I don’t go around letting whoever use my bottle.”

Gwen nods in agreement. “’s gross.”

“Gross? He- actually, forget it. Too early to be bickering with you two.” He doesn’t get it, whatever bizarre rule about sharing water bottles he and Miguel have somehow broken. But Peter will be sure to tell him next time they meet that Miguel apparently needs to be more selective in who he allows the honor of drinking from his bottle.

Peter gestures between the two teenagers, ready to change the subject. “You two need to at least pretend to do something productive while you’re in here. I got work to do.”

They both mumble something vaguely affirmative, and Peter doesn’t care enough to ask for more than that. He pulls up each of their schedules to call their first-period teachers, feeding them the vague excuse he gives whenever some kid decides to camp out in his office.

By the time he’s done with the second call, they’ve lost interest in teasing him, and Gwen drags the last chair over to the corner next to Miles. And they do manage to keep themselves occupied, but the stifled laughter as they huddle around Gwen’s phone tells him they’re definitely not studying.

Peter makes an honest effort at keeping himself busy, but he finds himself distracted by that damn water bottle. And his own, right next to it- bright blue, but you can hardly tell with all the stickers plastered on it. One was a gift from Miles, a Hello, my name is- tag with Peter’s name in bright, stylized lettering. It randomly appeared on his bottle one day (and who knows if it had been there even longer before Peter actually noticed it) and since then, any time he adds a new sticker to the bottle, he makes sure it’s placed somewhere where it won’t obscure the name tag.

Peter glances up at the ceiling. There, above his door, is another name tag, but this one has Miles’ own name on it. That one also appeared randomly. Peter’s impressed with how he managed to sneak it up there without him noticing, so he left it be.

Miguel’s bottle is completely untouched, a stark contrast to the cluttered mess of Peter’s own. He keeps his stuff minimalist, which is fine, but not a single sticker? Surely there’s one minimally tacky, genetics-themed sticker he could put on there. Peter’s work is sidelined in favor of this new, much more exciting Google search.

He is proven wrong almost immediately. Turns out, geneticists are a very niche population to try to sell anything to, much less stickers, and the ones he does find are rough, even by Peter’s standards. CRISPR the hell out of me? That has to be a sex thing.

Peter’s in the absolute trenches of Google Images when the bell rings to signal the end of first period. This time he manages to shoo the two teens out of his office, with a promise from Gwen that she’ll attend the rest of today’s classes. Peter’s fairly sure she’s telling the truth.

The rest of the day is uneventful. Peter’s left to ruminate once again over the water bottle still sitting front and center on his desk. He doesn’t receive an angry call from Miguel regarding his thievery, so the guy must not have realized it’s gone yet. There’s still a few days until they’re supposed to all meet up at Alchemax, and surely Miguel would be fine without it until then, right? It might be a little inconvenient if he doesn’t own a spare, but two days without it won’t kill him. Especially if he hasn’t realized it’s gone, or he doesn’t care enough to track it down. There’s no reason Peter needs to go out of his way to return it. It’ll be fine.

When his day ends, Peter pulls his coat on, tucks Miguel’s bottle into his shoulder bag, and walks in the complete opposite direction of the subway station towards Alchemax.

Peter kept his ID badge with him over the weekend, so it’s an easy task to let himself onto the elevator up to Miguel’s office. He sees Miguel and Lyla as soon as he turns down the hallway, both of them pouring over something on Lyla’s desk together.

It’s Lyla who sees him first, understandably surprised at his sudden appearance. She smacks Miguel’s chest to get his attention, then points to Peter, and now Miguel’s looking at him with surprise, too.

Lyla’s also the first one to say anything, surprise morphing into something cheekier when she asks him, “Where’s the tracksuit, Peter B?”

Oh, my God- of course, Miguel would tell her about that. They tell each other everything. “I like you better when you’re picking on Miguel.”

“And I like you better in vintage polyester.”

Miguel looks like he likes them both better when they’re quiet.

“If you’re done making fun of me,” -and something tells him she’s not, just putting it on hold- “I got a special delivery for Miguel, here.”

He pulls the bottle from his bag and holds it out for Miguel to take. Peter’s earlier suspicion is proved correct- Miguel didn’t even realize it was gone until just then if the mix of confusion and surprise on his face is anything to go by. He takes it from Peter’s hand, looking between the bottle and Peter’s face. “You came all the way over here just to return this?”

Peter falters, “Yeah, I mean- I figured it’s only fair after I accidentally stole it from you.” He’s just here to right the wrong that is stealing Miguel’s water bottle. Certainly not because Miguel is (unintentionally) one of the funniest people Peter’s met, and he’s looking for any excuse to talk to him. That has nothing to do with it. “It was on my way home, anyways.”

Miguel looks like he doesn’t quite believe that, and he shouldn’t, because it’s a lie, but he doesn’t call Peter on it. Lyla, however, butts in to ask, “Why did you have Mig’s water bottle?”

Peter groans internally- this talk again? At least Lyla’s already heard the story from Miguel, so Peter doesn’t have to pretend they met that morning under less embarrassing circ*mstances. “He gave it to me when I almost passed out this morning.”

“Almost passed out?” She repeats, and now Peter’s the one who’s confused.

“What, he didn’t tell you?”

She shakes her head, then reaches with one hand to pat Miguel’s cheek for no reason other than to get under his skin. “Why didn’t you tell me you were out saving ’80s fitness instructors from fainting in a park?”

Rude. But also very funny.

Miguel bats her hand away from his face, scowling. Peter watches him hesitate, Miguel sparing him a single glance while he tries to come up with a reason why he left out a rather major event from this morning. “I thought you suffered enough- figured I’d save you from Lyla laughing at you for it, too.” Peter can’t tell if Miguel’s being genuine when he says that- it’s a rather considerate move if it’s true, trying to protect Peter’s dignity when he has no reason to.

Lyla lets out an offended, overdramatic gasp at the accusation. “I would never do something like that!”

“But mocking my choice of clothing is fair game?”

“Yes.” They both answer in unison.

Peter shakes his head, chuckling a little despite himself. Then he remembers he has a subway to catch if he wants to make it home at a semi-reasonable time, which means he must cut his impromptu visit short. Tamping down his disappointment, he bids them both farewell. “I’m serious about paying you back for saving me,” he tells Miguel with a little grin, stepping back from Lyla’s desk. “Maybe one of these days I’ll stop owing you.”

“Bye, Peter B,” Lyla says for both herself and Miguel, giving Peter a little finger wave as he turns to head back towards the elevators.

He’s barely stepped through the doors when Peter hears footsteps coming up behind him, and he turns to see Miguel coming down the hall towards him. Miguel catches him just as the doors start to close, and he steps halfway in to block them from doing so.

There’s a quiet moment where they just.. stare at each other. Peter wondering if Miguel’s decided he does in fact want to chew him out for stealing his things. Miguel working overtime to figure out how to say whatever it is he wants to say.

Eventually, Miguel says, “There’s a new climbing wall at Underground, but you need a second person to use it.” Peter’s coming to learn Miguel speaks in this strained way whenever he’s actively trying to tone down his baseline prickliness.

It takes another second or two for Peter to realize what Miguel’s asking, and he grins as soon as he puts it together. “Are you asking me to come climbing with you? Careful, O’Hara, I might start to think you actually like me.”

“Don’t get excited, I just need a spotter,” Miguel says, suddenly all nonchalant as if he wasn’t the one who followed Peter just to ask him to go.

Peter pretends to think it over. “Do I get to climb, too, or am I just going to spot you the whole time?”

“Depends. You planning on breaking your nose again?”

“Ideally, you’d be my spotter, too, so that doesn’t happen.”

Miguel hums, corners of his mouth ticking up just a hair, and Peter tries to pretend he’s not hyperaware of the way Miguel’s looking over the crook in his nose, the same way he had only a few days ago. “Tomorrow after work, then?”

“Uh-huh. Sounds good.” When did his throat get so dry? Maybe he should have kept that bottle, after all...

Miguel, seeming pleased with Peter’s answer, backs out to let the door close, but not before Peter hears him say, in that same amused tone from this morning, “Leave the tracksuit at home, this time.”

Peter does end up missing the subway that evening.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Whatever expectations Peter had for the Underground, they’re blown completely out of the water as soon as he steps foot inside.

The first level is almost nothing but climbing walls of every variety and height imaginable; some span several stories while others are short enough to be climbed without a safety harness. There are walls with grips so spread out you have to jump between them, overhangs so steep people are practically climbing on the ceiling. And it doesn’t end there. Peter looks over the map hanging on the wall near the front door -no gym should ever be large enough to necessitate having a map- and realizes the upper levels contain the standard, non-climbing equipment expected in a regular gym, and a handful of smaller rooms tailored to more specific workout routines. Boxing, yoga, weightlifting- you name it, and Underground has it.

Peter considers the mountain of a man he’s currently accompanying. Of course, Miguel would belong to a gym as big as he is.

Miguel’s membership allows him to bring a guest for free a certain number of times each month, which is a relief; Peter doesn’t want to know how pricey it’d be to have to get a membership of his own. All he has to do is sign the standard liability waivers at the front desk before they’re allowed inside. Miguel’s “tour” of the main floor consists of him waving his hand vaguely towards the climbing walls all around them (insightful, thank you, Miguel) as he leads Peter towards the back where the locker rooms reside.

“I’ll be over there once you’re ready,” Miguel tells him, pointing to one of the few corners of the first level not occupied by climbing walls. Instead, there’s a section of the floor with an extra layer of padding to provide a spot for people to stretch and warm up.

Miguel, having beaten Peter to the Underground, already changed out of his work clothes and into something similar to what he’d worn yesterday in the park. That leaves Peter to get dressed on his own, sparing them both the awkward experience of using the locker room at the same time. The tracksuit is at home, buried back in its original spot at the bottom of his closet where it’ll remain for the rest of eternity, so he packed a pair of sweats and a plain shirt to wear, instead.

The rest of his belongings get crammed into a locker before he steps back out onto the main floor to rejoin Miguel. He’s right where he said he’d be, on the floor mid-stretch with his head down. Miguel doesn’t look up until Peter nudges his ankle with his foot to get his attention. “If I ask you to take me through whatever your normal warm-up routine is, am I still gonna be able to climb after?” Peter asks, stepping back so he can set his water bottle down to the side next to Miguel’s. He’d made extra sure to bring one this time- he can’t afford to owe Miguel for saving his life a second time.

Miguel doesn’t seem nearly as impressed by his dedication to staying hydrated as he should be, going right back to the stretch Peter just interrupted. “Probably.”

Good enough. Peter takes a seat across from him on the floor. “Alright then- tell me what we’re doing first, boss.”

There’s a small part of Peter that fully expected Miguel to have some convoluted, overly involved routine that’d wipe him out before they even got to the fun stuff, but he’s pleasantly surprised to find that’s not the case. Miguel takes him through a fairly standard warm-up, and Peter thinks he does a pretty good job of keeping up. It’s been a while since he’d done any serious exercise, sure, but he’s not completely clueless, either. It’s all coming back to him bit by bit as he matches the steady but relentless pace Miguel sets.

But man is the guy flexible. It’s impressive, watching someone Miguel’s size drop into a deep stretch with no effort. He shows Peter one for his back that results in Miguel folded nearly in half on the floor and, yeah, no, that’s definitely not happening for Peter, but he gives it his best effort without accidentally popping a joint out of place.

Once Miguel deems them sufficiently warmed up, he leads Peter over to a wall where a collection of harnesses hang for people to use when climbing the higher walls. Miguel gives Peter a quick once-over before pulling two harnesses from their hooks and handing one to Peter. He takes it with a quick thanks and steps into it while Miguel does the same. Peter makes quick work of the different straps, adjusting them to fit securely around his hips, then glances over at his companion to see how he’s faring.

That ends up being a huge mistake.

Miguel still has his back to Peter, giving him an unobstructed view of where the harness sits snugly against his body. He pulls the strap around his waist tighter, and Peter nearly chokes at the sight. Miguel’s waist is tiny- his clothes hide it most of the time, but with the waistband cinched tight around him like this, it’s impossible to not notice it now. And when Miguel’s hands move lower, Peter’s gaze follows, as he reaches down to the straps around his thighs, sitting in the perfect spot to accentuate the curve of his-

“Parker. I can feel you staring.”

Peter’s blood runs cold, and his eyes snap back up to Miguel’s face, horrified at having been caught ogling him so shamelessly. Except, Miguel’s not looking back at him, attention still on adjusting his harness. Did… Did he not realize what Peter had been staring at? He must not have, considering how neutral his tone sounds and the fact he hasn’t turned Peter into a stain on the floor. Peter relaxes just a fraction.

The silence makes Miguel suspicious, though, and when he finally looks up at Peter properly, whatever expression he’s got on makes Miguel frown. “What’s wrong with you?”

So many things. “There’s-“ Thinking quickly, Peter clears his throat and tries again, “There’s a rip in your harness.”

He points at a random spot somewhere on the back of Miguel’s harness, and by some act of God, there is a frayed piece of fabric hanging from the strap around his waist. Miguel twists his body to follow where Peter’s pointing, and he notices it, too. He takes it between his fingers, inspecting it, before gripping tightly and ripping the entire thing off. Is he allowed to do that?

“Just the brand label. The actual harness is fine.” Miguel explains, walking off momentarily to throw the little scrap of fabric away.

Peter lets out a quiet exhale when it’s clear Miguel believed his excuse, but instead of relief, Peter just feels guilty. Miguel was generous enough to let Peter tag along to the Underground, and this is how Peter repays him? By drooling over Miguel the second he’s not looking? He’s incredibly, unfairly attractive, sure- Peter’s thought that since they first met. But Miguel deserves better than to have Peter leering at him all the time just because he can’t exercise a little self-discipline. That stops today.

Peter nods to himself, resolution set. All Miguel-related thoughts stay PG from now on.

Miguel remains oblivious to Peter’s inner turmoil when he returns from his trip to find a trash can. “Are you ready?”

“I’m ready,” Peter confirms. “Lead the way.”

He follows Miguel down a winding path between the different climbing walls, to one of the back corners where the newest wall Miguel had mentioned currently resides. There’s a small crowd gathered around it already, all eager to take on a new challenge- and what a challenge it is. Spanning at least fifty feet, it’s not the tallest wall in the gym, but the holds are spaced wider apart than usual, meaning climbers have to make some risky jumps to keep advancing upwards.

Peter watches the handful of people currently on the wall while he and Miguel wait amongst the crowd for their turn. Few climbers can make those longer leaps on their first try, resulting in a lot of quick saves from their partners on the ground handling their safety ropes. Even fewer manage to make their way more than two-thirds up the wall before it becomes too much of a challenge or their endurance fails, and they’re forced to climb back down.

No one’s reached the top by the time Peter and Miguel’s turn comes. Peter can feel the eyes of the rest of the crowd on them as they step up to the open spot, and he tries not to pay them any mind as he grabs the safety rope hanging from the ceiling.

“You first, big guy,” Peter says, passing one end of the rope to Miguel.

“You still know how to belay properly, right?” Miguel asks, clipping the carabiner into the front loop of his harness and giving it a tug to test the connection.

“You’re asking that now?” Peter responds, which gets him a sharp glare in return. He quickly puts his hands up in mock defense. “I’m kidding! You’re in good hands, promise.”

The wink Peter gives him does shockingly little to temper the irritation on Miguel’s face, but he turns to face the rock wall anyway. Like Peter would let him fall when they’re just starting to approach something akin to friendship. “I’m ready when you are, man. Go on and show me how it’s done.” Miguel still has his back to him, but Peter can feel the eye roll regardless.

And it’s a good thing Peter is ready, because he gets no warning before Miguel starts scaling the wall. From the start, it’s quite the sight to witness- no planning, no pausing to plot out the next move, just brute forcing his way up. He’s so tall that most of the longer reaches pose no real challenge, and the ones that do, Miguel’s agile enough to jump up and grab it. He blows past the other climbers sharing the wall like it’s nothing. Even the ones who got a good head start on him are left in the dust- not that they’re actually competing, but still. Where others are having to stop to catch their breath or recover from a fall, Miguel flies right past them.

He breezes past the halfway mark, past the highest point any of the other climbers reached, and Peter can hear the chattering in the crowd growing louder the further up he goes. But Miguel’s hardly done putting the rest of them to shame. He’s reached the final stretch, with only a few scarcely placed holds between him and the top. Peter watches as he stops, crouching low on his current perch, and he assumes Miguel’s taking a breather before being instantly proved wrong. In a final, incredible display of athleticism, Miguel suddenly launches himself upwards, right past the last holds to catch himself on the top ledge of the wall.

The crowd grows even louder, a few clapping and even shouting out their congrats to Miguel for being the first to beat the wall, but Peter’s whistling cuts above all their noise. “Nicely done, Miguel!” He calls out, and when Miguel turns to look down at him, Peter gives him a thumbs-up and an earnest smile. “Look at that, didn’t even need me.”

“Get your hand back on the rope, Parker.” Miguel barks back at him. Always a stickler for safety, this guy.

As soon as he’s got both feet on the ground, Peter lets go of the rope and strides over to clap him on the shoulder. “Seriously, well done, man,” Peter tells him. “Putting the rest of us to shame with that last move, too. How’s anyone supposed to compete with that?”

Miguel’s been pointedly ignoring the praise thrown his way from the others watching him, but he has nowhere to hide from Peter’s compliments, and Peter can see how it makes his posture immediately tense. “It wasn’t that hard of a climb,” Miguel says dismissively; it should come off as condescending, but Peter can tell it’s coming from a place of being unused to praise, rather than an inflated ego.

There’s no indication Miguel’s fatigued at all after that climb except for the fact he’s breathing harder than usual, and Peter’s about to tell him to go back for a second round when Miguel unhooks the carabiner from his harness and passes it to Peter. Tired of being in the spotlight, perhaps. “Your turn, viejo.”

“I’m going to assume that’s Spanish for ‘rock-climbing stud.’” Peter says as he clips himself to the rope. The adrenaline from his climb must have left Miguel in a good mood, because the corner of his mouth ticks up.

“Something like that.”

Peter makes a mental note to look it up later as he takes his place in front of the wall, tilting his head back to take it all in. He feels his confidence waver then, just a little. He’s never minded having an audience while he climbs; even on his worst days, he’d walk away from some rather impressive wipeouts with a few lighthearted jokes and minimal damage to his pride. But that was back in his prime, and normally he wasn’t following a flawless performance like Miguel’s.

He mentally shakes those thoughts from his head. No one else has been able to reach the top. So what if Peter can’t, either? If he can’t do this one, oh well, there are other climbing walls. This is supposed to be fun. Who cares what Miguel or anyone else thinks of him? Not him, that’s for sure.

Peter takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and starts his ascent up the wall.

There’s no way he can match the way Miguel attacked the wall earlier, so he doesn’t even bother trying. Peter sets his own, slower pace, taking the time to plan out his next step rather than jumping blindly for the next hold. Any remaining thoughts of self-doubt dissipate as soon as he finds his rhythm. He may not have had time to climb since Mayday was born, but before that, he’d had well over a decade’s worth of experience under his belt, and that muscle memory returns to him bit by bit the further up the wall he goes.

He’s around the halfway point when the muscles in his arms and back start to ache, but it feels good. Great, even. Peter forgot how much he enjoyed the feeling, and he’s rather pleased to see how much of his strength he’s maintained over the past few years. Some of the longer reaches are a struggle, he doesn’t have the height advantage Miguel does, but he’s yet to throw in the towel.

Three-quarters of the way up and his lungs start to burn. Peter’s breathing heavily but still he refuses to quit or even pause to take a break. He’s almost there. His arms shake with the effort it takes to pull himself up. Peter reaches the final section of the wall where Miguel jumped the remaining distance, and gets a terrible, terrible idea. He’s going to jump it, too.

When he crouches down in the same way Miguel did, he feels the safety rope on his harness go taut. Ready to catch him when -not if- he falls. Peter won’t give him the satisfaction. He takes a moment to let his muscles rest as much as they can while still holding on, takes in a few precious lungfuls of air, and leaps upward as hard as he can.

As soon as his feet leave the ledge, Peter knows he’s made a mistake. He’s too tired, too out of practice to pull off such a brazen move. Peter’s so, so close though, just another few inches and he’d have it, and he reaches for the top desperately even when he knows it’s pointless-

The safety rope pulls then, hard enough to boost Peter up, and it’s enough for him to scrabble up that last little bit and hook an arm over the top of the wall.

Miguel hadn’t been waiting to catch him. He’d realized what Peter was doing and helped him. That funny feeling in Peter’s chest is surely from lack of oxygen.

For a while, Peter hangs out at the top of the wall, turning to look out over the rest of the Underground. This had always been his favorite part of climbing, when he’d reach the top and get to survey his surroundings from the highest point possible. The thrill of being so high off the ground, the feeling of the open air around him- it made the ache in his muscles worth it every time.

There’s a similar round of applause for him having reached the top like there’d been for Miguel, but Peter doesn’t care about the rest of the crowd. He looks down at Miguel; waiting, expectant.

He gets an approving nod and a “Not bad, Parker,” just loud enough to be heard over the rest of the noise.

Peter realizes then that he cares. He cares a lot about what Miguel thinks of him.

He’s feeling awful proud as he makes his way back down the wall, even as his legs tremble from exertion. Peter still hasn’t quite caught his breath by the time he’s back on solid ground, and he unclips the rope from his harness to pass it to the next waiting climber so he can go and recover somewhere out of the way. Miguel disappears for a moment before reappearing with their water bottles, and Peter gratefully takes his own and sucks half of it down in one go.

“Thanks for that bit at the end, by the way,” Peter says once he’s had a few minutes to rest. “Don’t think I could have made that last bit without your help.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Miguel responds, conveniently distracted by something on the other side of the room.

Peter’s grin is hidden by his bottle as he takes another drink. “Which one are we doing next?”

“You pick,” Miguel tells him, leaving Peter pleasantly surprised as Miguel takes both their bottles and returns them to the little corner where he’d previously stashed them. “That was the only one here that I hadn’t gotten to do yet.”

Peter takes his time wandering around the floor, taking a closer look at the different walls he’d barely gotten to see during Miguel’s shoddy tour when they first arrived. The taller walls are immediately vetoed; he’s not sure he has another climb like that in him. That still leaves him plenty to choose from, and Peter’s trying to decide between a few when his wandering lands him in a section of the room where all the walls are short enough to be climbed without a harness. The padding on the floor here is thick enough to safely break a fall, even from the highest point.

Their harnesses are returned to their spot on the wall, and not needing a belayer means the two of them are free to climb together at the same time. It’s here that Peter learns Miguel is not without his own weaknesses. Turns out, Miguel’s hilariously bad at keeping his grip on the steeper overhangs, his size a disadvantage when he’s nearly hanging from the ceiling. At one point he slips and crashes to the floor, cursing the entire way down. Peter teases him from his spot on the wall before his laughing makes his grip falter, landing on his back next to Miguel.

“At least you didn’t land on your face this time,” Miguel comments, all smarmy like he wasn’t the one who fell first.

“Jackass,” Peter throws a playful punch at Miguel’s arm, which he manages to dodge in time. “Don’t make me regret telling you that story.”

Peter loses track of how long they’re climbing. They go through periods of climbing next to each other, then drift apart to try out different sections before they find themselves side by side again. There’s little talking between them besides some occasional banter and lighthearted teasing, mostly from Peter. It’s the most fun he’s had in a long time, and Miguel seems to be enjoying himself, too.

He only realizes how late it is when he lands on his back again and coincidentally looks up at the windows placed high on the walls, and sees it’s pitch black out. Peter sits upright, feels the deep ache settling across his body, and considers now is probably a good stopping point if he still wants to be able to walk up the stairs at his apartment. Pulling himself to his feet, he looks around for Miguel to tell him as much when a different wall catches his attention.

It’s outside the free-climbing section they’re currently in, a set of two identical walls placed side by side for climbers to race each other on. They aren’t as tall or as difficult as the first wall they’d climbed, meant for a quick, fun bout rather than a serious challenge. Peter has just enough energy for a final climb, and a sudden competitive urge has him calling out to get Miguel’s attention and wave him over.

“You up for a little friendly competition?” Peter asks, pointing to the pair of walls.

Miguel takes a moment to consider the offer, crossing his arms over his chest. “You barely made it up the first wall. Doesn’t seem like much of a competition.”

“Hm, sounds to me like someone’s deflecting. You scared I might actually beat you, big guy?” Peter taunts.

He can see the way his words bait out Miguel’s own competitive side, the way it sparks across Miguel’s face as he turns to face Peter fully. “I’m not scared. I’ve watched your climbing all afternoon- you’re too slow to be an actual challenge.”

“No? Then you won’t mind if we make a little side bet, then.” Peter walks back to the wall of harnesses, snatching up the ones they’d been wearing earlier and tossing Miguel his. “Let’s say loser buys dinner. Whatever the winner wants.”

“Does everything revolve around food with you?”

“Usually, yeah,” Peter answers honestly. “But don’t tell me you’re not starving too after all this climbing.”

Miguel considers it for a moment before shrugging. “Didn’t say I wasn’t. Just concerned about your bank account, what with all the meals you keep buying me.”

“Wow. You calling me broke, O’Hara?” He's not, he just works in education. Broke-adjacent.

“Of course not,” Miguel says unconvincingly. “Although the holes in your jacket don’t help.”

Oh, Peter’s going to destroy this guy.

Peter quickly slips his own harness on, making sure everything’s secure before looking at Miguel and frowning. “Wait, hang on a sec, man. Something’s wrong with your harness.”

“What?” Miguel questions, eyeing him suspiciously.

“No, I’m being serious, look.” Peter points to the strap around one of his thighs. “You don’t see that? The buckle, I think it’s broken.”

Miguel looks down at where he’s pointing and prods the buckle in question. “It’s fine.”

Peter huffs, stepping closer and batting Miguel’s hands out of the way. “It’s not fine,” he insists. “The part where the strap goes in, it’s busted. Watch- see what happens when I do this.”

In a flash, Peter reaches up to grab the buckle around Miguel’s thigh and the other around his waist and pulls hard, enough to loosen them completely before making a mad dash for the racing wall.

“What the hell, Parker?!” Volume control is also not one of Miguel’s strong suits, and his shouting echoes through the Underground as Peter clips himself to the safety rope. Unlike the other walls, the ropes here are automatic, meaning no second person is required to belay climbers, and Peter’s good to go the second the carabiner snaps closed.

At best, his little diversion bought him only a few seconds, and Peter can’t afford to waste a single one. He can hear Miguel sprinting towards him as he scrambles up the wall. The holds here are close enough that Peter can manage a much quicker pace, but that means Miguel’s going to be that much faster, too. Peter takes a quick look down and immediately regrets it. Miguel’s already tearing his way up the adjacent wall, and when they lock eyes for a moment his glare is so venomous it almost makes Peter rethink his entire plan. Almost. Instead, Peter ignores the burning in his arms and forces himself to climb even faster than before. Miguel’s gaining on him already, and if he wants to stand a chance he has to push himself that much harder.

He's halfway up the wall when a hand closes around his ankle and yanks him down.

Peter gasps in surprise, falling a good few feet before the automatic safety kicks in and jerks him to a stop. “Ow- are you serious?!” He cries out in equal parts amusem*nt and shock, now sitting at the same height as Miguel. Miguel, who’d climbed over from his own wall to Peter’s to drag him down by the f*cking ankle. Unbelievable.

Miguel just sneers at him as he jumps back to his own portion of the wall and keeps climbing. “Oh, you’re in for it now, Miguel!” Peter shouts as he climbs after him, a frantic pace to try and close the distance between them. Miguel must be getting tired, because Peter manages to catch up before Miguel can get too far ahead.

Peter looks at the small gap between their two sets of holds, and in that moment, Miguel’s fate is sealed.

With all the strength he can muster, Peter swings himself over to Miguel’s wall, slamming into his side and sending them both falling down the wall a second time.

For a while, the two of them attempt to stop their own descent while simultaneously trying to shove the other one down further. Peter gets an elbow to the ribs in the struggle, but somehow comes out on top, feeling a little guilty when he kicks off Miguel’s shoulder to jump to a higher point on the wall. And then Peter stops feeling guilty when he narrowly avoids a second attempt by Miguel to grab at his ankle.

From there, it’s a mad dash up the last leg of the wall. There’s a hold at the very top, painted bright green so it sounds out from the rest, denoting the finish line. All Peter has to do is reach that before Miguel does- he can see him out of the corner of his eye, they’re neck and neck now, Miguel’s hissing something nasty at him but Peter can’t hear it clearly between the blood rushing in his ears and his labored breathing. They both jump at the same time.

Peter’s hand closes on his hold a split second before Miguel’s does.

“I- Christ- I win,” Peter pants, breathless. At least he’s not about to pass out this time.

“You only won because you cheated,” Miguel snaps, fuming. “If you-“

Someone blows a whistle from the ground, and when they look down, an Underground employee is standing at the bottom of the wall, giving them both a disapproving frown. “Please don’t roughhouse on the climbing walls,” he says, clearly unamused with having to discipline two men twice his age.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Peter says, while Miguel grouses something akin to an apology. Peter gives him the same look as the employee. “See what you did?” He scolds Miguel, fighting back a grin. “Getting us in trouble ‘cause you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

“What I did?!” Miguel gives Peter the exact reaction he’d been hoping for, but before he can keep berating him the whistle sounds a second time.

“Guys, seriously. Enough.”

Peter apologizes for them both a second time, and the poor employee finally walks off to do his actual job. Miguel tries again as soon as he’s gone, but Peter puts up a hand to stop him. “You can yell at me all you want over dinner,” he tells him, a victorious grin on his face as they both repel down the wall. “Hope you’re in the mood for hot dogs.”

“You’re the most frustrating person I’ve ever met, you know that? Pulling a stunt like that,” Miguel mutters, unhooking himself from the rope and yanking his harness off with more aggression than Peter previously thought possible. Peter does the same, albeit much more calmly, and the two of them hang their harnesses up for a final time that evening before gathering their water bottles and the rest of their belongings from the locker room.

“And you didn’t have to play along, but you chose to anyways,” Peter responds evenly. Neither of them is in the mood to shower here, shrugging on their jackets before making their way outside. “You also yanked me down by my leg -super dangerous, by the way- so I think that makes us even.”

It takes approximately thirty seconds to locate a hot dog stand- Peter could smell them from across the street like a bloodhound. And for all his complaining, Miguel does pay up. He learned his lesson after their lunch meeting at the sandwich shop, too, forking over enough money to get them three hot dogs each. Peter debates asking for more, but he doesn’t want to be too greedy.

“I didn’t pull you that hard,” Miguel says the moment they sit down on a nearby half-wall, the closest thing to actual seating they’ll find in the area. There’s a heat lamp next to them, so Peter doesn’t have to worry about freezing to death while they eat outside. “Next time, no cheating. See how confident you are when you have to play fair.”

Peter shrugs, already starting on his second hot dog. “Sure, whatever you want. But it’ll be even more embarrassing for you when I beat you fair and square,” he says, before pausing mid-bite. “Wait-next time? As in, you’re actually gonna let me join you again?”

Miguel pauses, not having realized what he’d said until Peter pointed it out, and takes a second to study the food still sitting between them. “Maybe. As annoying as you are-“

“Rude.”

“-you’re also the only person who’s able to keep up with me. For the most part, anyways.” Miguel crumples an empty paper tray into a ball, rolls it around in his palm. “And like I said before, I need a second person for the taller walls, so.”

“Aw, I knew you liked me,” Peter teases, a little smile on his face as he reaches out to nudge Miguel’s shin with his foot. “I like spending time with you, too, Mig. In case that wasn’t clear.”

“Finish your food so I can go home.”

Peter hums to himself and does as he’s told, pretending to not notice the way Miguel looks up at him when he thinks Peter isn’t paying attention.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Miguel is silent as he slips through the front door, careful not to let too much light from the hallway creep into the pitch-black apartment. Between the mentorship program and Miguel leaving early yesterday to go climb with Peter, they’d fallen behind on their actual job, which meant staying up late to get caught up at home. Miguel’s dining room had long since been converted to a makeshift home office, hence why he and Lyla spent the rare night at his apartment instead of hers.

Lyla’s still out cold on the couch, buried somewhere under a thick mass of blankets. Her cocoon does little to muffle the sound of her snoring, which serves well to drown out the sound of Miguel toeing his shoes off and sneaking past the couch to his bedroom. Only once the door is shut behind him does he turn the light on, and he lets his gym bag fall to the ground by the doorway.

Miguel still found the energy to go work out that morning, but in an uncharacteristically lazy move, he opted to go to the smaller gym inside their apartment complex rather than make the trek all the way to the Underground. Had she been awake, Lyla would’ve been thrilled to see him taking it easy like this. Or maybe she’d be concerned he’s falling ill.

He steps into the master bath and turns the shower on to heat up before stripping out of his gym clothes. Miguel winces a little as he raises his arms overhead to pull his shirt off, his shoulder sore from when Peter slammed into his side yesterday. Not bad enough to bruise, but enough to know he’ll feel it for the rest of the day. Normally, he’d be more upset about getting hit, but he knows he deserved it for pulling Peter down like that.

Peter. It was clear he was rusty, a little out of practice, Miguel would have won if he hadn’t cheated- but his experience was evident, regardless. There’s a natural, almost casual flow to the way Peter climbs, a level of skill Miguel hadn’t expected and found himself pleasantly surprised by. He meant what he said last night- with a little work, Peter would have no problem keeping pace with him, which is… an intriguing concept, if he’s being honest with himself.

This does, unfortunately, mean he has to add another tally to the Times Lyla was Right and Miguel was Wrong scoreboard, which continues to grow longer than he’d like to admit. Peter’s pushy, and way too friendly for someone Miguel’s only known a few weeks, but when he’s (relatively) quiet, he makes for decent company. Lyla pestering him to at least give Peter a chance ended up being a good call. How incredibly frustrating.

Speaking of Lyla, he can hear her morning alarm blaring from the other side of the apartment, even as he’s stepping into the shower. It’s the loudest, most jarring siren Miguel’s ever heard, something you’d use to warn of an incoming tornado, not wake yourself up in the morning. Unless you’re Lyla, then it’s the only thing capable of getting you out of bed. For a light sleeper like Miguel, it makes sharing a sleeping space with her an absolute nightmare, which was an extra fun challenge to navigate in their college dorm days.

Thirty or so seconds pass before the alarm is silenced, and Miguel knows he’s only got a few moments of peace left to himself. He’s only just rinsed the shampoo from his hair when, as predicted, Lyla comes trudging into the bathroom, uncaring that he’s in there. Personal boundaries? Nonexistent. The shower curtain provides a little privacy, at least.

“Mornin’.” Lyla says with a yawn, and Miguel hears her turning on the sink. “Someone from Lab A texted me, they’re out of buffers. Again.”

“Seriously?” Miguel clicks his tongue in irritation- it’s too early in the morning for his subordinates to already be causing issues. “Did you tell them to check central supply?”

“Yeah, they said they’re out, too.” Her words are slightly muffled by a mouthful of toothpaste. “You want me to deal with it?”

“No, I’ll handle it,” he says, letting the conditioner sit in his hair while he washes the rest of his body. Miguel’s fully aware they messaged Lyla and not him because she’s got the reputation for being the ‘nicer’ of the two of them. She’s got no problem chewing people out, or reminding everyone she’s their boss just as much as Miguel is, but she’s also not 6’9” with permanent frown lines, so being chastised by her tends to be a less mortifying experience.

But Lab A? With their repeated issues keeping basic supplies like buffer stocked? They lost their Lyla privileges. Clearly, they’re not taking her seriously -which agitates him nearly as much as them being incompetent at their jobs- so now they get to deal with him. Maybe getting yelled at in person by the head of the department will finally knock some sense into that entire team.

The bathroom is quiet after that, and Miguel assumes the conversation is over and Lyla’s wandered off to finish getting ready elsewhere. But of course, he’s not so lucky; Lyla suddenly pulls the shower curtain back enough to poke her head in, making him jump in surprise. “You didn’t tell me how it went with Peter B yesterday,” she says, like he’s not fully nude and in the middle of a shower.

“I told you it was fine, now will you get out?”

“God, you’re the worst storyteller ever, I swear.” Lyla rolls her eyes. “’It was fine.’ You were there for like, three hours, give me something more- ew, Miguel- stop!”

“Get out,” Miguel repeats, hand poised to flick more water in her face, and she ducks behind the curtain before he can make good on his threat. He hears one final, very dramatic ew! before the bathroom door shuts and he’s left to finish his shower in peace.

Once he’s clean and dressed in his usual work clothes, Miguel walks to the nightstand and picks up his bracelets where they’re sitting safely in their usual spot. He checks each rubber band individually before sliding both onto his left wrist, then joins Lyla in the living room before he can think too hard about it.

She’s already prepared both their morning coffees, leaving both to cool on the counter while she finishes getting ready in the guest bathroom. Miguel sips at his drink while he waits for her, scrolling through work emails to try and gauge if there are any other messes besides Lab A he’ll need to clean up. Luckily, it’s looking like a rather peaceful day.

Lyla steps out about ten minutes later and grabs both their coats where they’re hanging by the front door, tossing Miguel his. “Okay, now you tell me how climbing with Peter B went.”

He gives in -there’s nowhere to run- and spends the short walk to Alchemax filling her in on what he feels are extraneous details. Details like Miguel losing a race he let himself get baited into. Not because he’s a sore loser, but because it doesn’t feel relevant. That’s all. But he tells her anyway, and by the time they’ve arrived at their floor, Lyla seems satisfied with his recap of last night’s events.

“’Bout time you got yourself a little gym buddy. You plan on going again sometime?” Lyla asks, holding both their coffees while Miguel unlocks his office door.

“Stone will throw a fit if I make a habit of leaving early.” Which, you know, is a fair response to your employees bailing from their jobs with no warning. Miguel would have heads on pikes if someone tried that in his department. But Tyler Stone is also the most miserable excuse for a human Miguel’s ever met, so even his most normal reactions register as irrational in Miguel’s mind.

Miguel takes a seat behind his desk, and instead of going to her own, Lyla follows him and sits atop his. “So we just start coming earlier. Get all our stuff done and then you can go spend the evening with Peter B.”

He’s in the middle of booting his computer up when he stops, turning to look at her with narrowed eyes. Lyla, volunteering to wake up even earlier in the morning? Immediately suspicious. “Why are you pushing so hard for me to spend time with him?”

“Geez, sorry for wanting you to make a friend.” Miguel motions for her to move so he can use his keyboard, and she moves even more in his way. “He puts up with your rank attitude, and he’s a positive influence-“

“Oh, great, you found a high-school guidance counselor to be a positive influence on my life.”

“He is,” Lyla insists. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get you to take a day off? Years, Mig. Years. Or if I got you to leave early you’d just go home and do more work there. So, yeah, forgive me if I’m a little insistent you keep spending time with the guy who finally convinced you to take a damn break.”

He doesn’t try to argue that point. He knows he overworks himself, and that he’s fought Lyla on every previous attempt to get him to take it easy. So… Maybe she has a point. Again.

“I’ll think about it,” Miguel says after a while, and when he goes to shoo her off his desk a second time, she complies. “I’m not going to make you come in early just so I can go climbing, though.”

“Aww, you’re sweet. I wouldn’t mind, though.” She says as she finally meanders off towards her own desk. “You’d owe me, like, a million favors, but I’d still do it.”

Miguel just shakes his head with a sigh, settling into his seat as he’s finally able to start his workday. He meant what he said, though, and keeps Lyla’s offer in mind. Miguel’s not stoked on the idea of coming to work early either, but the idea of getting to blow off some steam at the Underground more regularly is appealing. Especially with someone like Peter, who can actually keep pace with him.

He’ll give it some more serious thought later. He’s got work to do now.

The first half of his day is spent doing all the monotonous, boring tasks that come with running an entire department. Budgeting, ordering supplies, balancing work schedules and PTO requests. It’s positively mind-numbing, being forced to stare at a computer screen for hours at a time. The only mildly interesting thing he gets to do is read over monthly reports from the other labs on whatever projects they’re currently working on. But even that gets dull after a while, because reading it on a screen will never be as entertaining as actual hands-on work.

Miguel took the position as head of genetics years ago, back when being a good role model was an important concept to him. And now here he is, stuck in a job he doesn’t particularly want anymore but without any other option besides quitting and drowning in debt. He tries not to think too hard about that, either.

He’s not suffering alone, at least. Lyla’s got her hands full with this administrative nonsense, too, and they keep the door to his office open so she can loudly update him on just how much fun she’s not having. As much as she complains, though, Lyla’s great at her job. She gets them out of every in-person meeting possible, and anything absolutely required she attends on her own and fills him in later. It’s not like anyone misses his company, anyhow.

Today is blissfully meeting-free, and they get through everything by the time lunch rolls around. When Lyla drags him down to the cafeteria Miguel doesn’t put up his usual fight, eating a meal consisting of real food instead of the admittedly unappetizing meal-replacement shakes sitting in his fridge. Alchemax cafeteria food isn’t stellar, but it’s certainly an upgrade.

They eat quickly, and Lyla does most of the talking between mouthfuls of food. They never have much free time, today even less so with Gwen and Miles coming this afternoon, which means they’re back upstairs in exactly thirty minutes.

Miguel pulls his bracelets off and places them in his desk drawer, safely tucked away from any accidents while he and Lyla are working in the lab. He shrugs his coat on before joining her in setting up today’s project for their mentees. This week, and likely the next few, would be spent working on the frog lineage for the biology department. Miguel and Lyla already took care of most of the prep work earlier in the week, all that was left was to show the two teens how to analyze the samples they prepared so a proper family tree could be established.

Time goes by much faster now that Miguel’s not stuck behind a desk. Their setup doesn’t take very long, and he and Lyla are left with some time to work on their own projects before the two teens arrive. Miguel keeps an eye on the clock, and leaves Lyla to finish up what she’s doing while he goes to collect their mentees.

Miguel intends to meet them all down in the lobby like last week, but is surprised to see Gwen, Miles, and Peter filing out of the elevator as soon as he rounds the corner. Peter smiles and waves as soon as he sees him, and Miguel instantly notices how stiff Peter looks when he raises his hand. No doubt he’s sore from yesterday, Peter’s walking a little slower, too, trailing behind the two teens as the four of them walk to Miguel’s office to get ready.

Gwen and Miles are quick to set their bags aside and pull their coats on, but Peter hesitates, motioning to Miguel’s couch. “I can just hang here for today. Don’t want to get in your way just loitering in your lab.”

Miguel shrugs in response. “It’s up to you. We left a table open for you like last time,” he says. Just a week ago, Miguel would have jumped at the chance to have one less person in their lab, one less chance for unskilled hands to muck up his and Lyla’s meticulous system. But Peter’s proven he can stay out of the way, and he’s not nearly as unbearable to be around as Miguel originally assumed, so he’ll allow Peter to join them if he chooses.

“Really?’ Peter seems surprised, considering the offer before a smile spreads across his face. “I mean, if you went through the effort of keeping a spot open for me, it’d be rude to say no, right?” He leans over so he can bump Miguel’s elbow with his own. “Thanks, man. But if you start to get sick of me, don’t be afraid to say so. Won’t hurt my feelings if you decide to kick me out.”

Again with the touching. Miguel’s noticed how often Peter nudges him or pats his shoulder; it’s hard not to when Peter seems intent on doing it every single time they talk. Their very first conversation might have been the only time they’d spoken without Peter touching him in some way, and even then, he’d had no problem inviting himself into Miguel’s personal bubble.

Miguel can count on one hand the number of people he’s let get physically close like that; how Peter wormed his way into that list so quickly, Miguel has no idea. Although, it might have something to do with the way Peter doesn’t seem to realize he’s even doing it. It feels unintentional, never a deeper meaning behind it besides being a friendly bid for physical connection, just another way for Peter to cultivate relationships in that lax, effortless way of his.

Is Miguel overanalyzing a handful of shoulder touches? Probably. But he’s always been a little envious of people like Peter, who so easily form friendships with everyone they meet, while for Miguel the entire ordeal feels like pulling teeth.

He can save the envy for later, when the other three aren’t waiting for him and Peter to join them in the lab. Miguel tries to be nice and keep his comments to himself when he sees how slow Peter is to pull his lab coat on due to the unpleasant ache in his muscles.

But his kindness only goes so far, and once they reach the lab Miguel catches the little grunt of discomfort as Peter eases himself into the chair. Maybe he’s feeling a little vindictive after yesterday, but Miguel can’t help himself; he arches a brow when Peter catches him looking and asks, “Sore, Parker?”

“Nope,” Peter says a little too quickly, fighting to keep his expression neutral as he settles into his seat. “I always sound like that when I sit down, actually.”

“He kinda does,” chimes in a voice from behind Miguel.

“Thanks, Miles.”

It’s Lyla who redirects Gwen and Miles back to the task at hand. Miguel is content to let her take the lead, stepping in when she needs an extra hand or when Gwen or Miles start to struggle. It’s clear to him by now neither teen has any genuine interest in genetics, but he’s pleased to find them taking their instruction seriously regardless. They joke amongst themselves sometimes, referencing things Miguel can only begin to guess the origins of, but he lets it slide.

He sneaks a few glances Peter’s way while they work. Peter seems to have finally made himself comfortable, focusing on his laptop. Whether he’s doing actual work or playing another round of solitaire, Miguel can’t tell from this angle.

Miguel allows himself one singular moment to appreciate the crook of Peter’s nose. He doesn’t know what his problem is, but Miguel catches himself looking at it more after Peter told him the story of how he broke it. He didn’t think anyone could look good with a badly-set break like that, but it’s bizarrely fitting on Peter’s angular face, right at home with the perpetual stubble and greying hair around his temple.

Peter shifts in his seat, and Miguel looks away before he’s caught staring.

The next hour or so is uneventful. They’re only through a fourth or so of all the samples by this point, and it’s looking more and more likely this single project will be a multiple-week thing like he expected. It ultimately works out in his and Lyla’s favor, meaning they won’t have to scramble for more things to keep Gwen and Miles occupied with further down the road.

Miguel’s handing them both another round of samples when there’s a knock at the door, and someone pokes their head in a moment later. Miguel recognizes him as one of the researchers from Lab A. He glances around at all five heads that have turned to face him, swallowing nervously when he meets Miguel’s gaze. “Sorry to interrupt, but,” he looks back over at Lyla, “We’re still out of buffer, and-“

The stupid buffer. Miguel completely forgot to get more. He wants to be more angry at the fact they’re still trying to hide behind Lyla, but it’s tempered by the fact he’s the one who told her he would handle it and then didn’t. He can feel Lyla’s eyes on him, no doubt thinking the same thing.

“Lyla’s busy, don’t bother her with your inability to keep your lab stocked,” Miguel snaps, drawing his employee’s attention back to him. “I’ll deal with it. Stop,” The poor guy, already halfway out the door, freezes and looks back over his shoulder anxiously. “Tell whoever else is there today that I’ll be talking with all of you as soon as I get back. You’ve got fifteen minutes to come up with a good excuse as to why this keeps happening. Now you can leave.” No need to tell him twice.

“Oooh, someone’s in trouble,” Gwen and Miles murmur in quiet unison as soon as he’s gone.

Peter’s quick to shush them. “Guys, don’t start that here too, please,” he says with a tired sigh before looking up at Miguel. “You need a hand with the… buffer, thing?”

“No, you all stay here. It won’t take long,” Miguel says, putting a hand up to stop Peter, who’s already halfway out of his chair. His little sliver of a good mood is long gone, replaced with his usual irritation as he pulls his gloves off and tosses them in the trash with a little more force than necessary. “I’ll be back soon,” he tells the room before stepping out into the empty hallway, the man from Lab A already long gone.

He’s down by the elevators when he hears footsteps approaching quickly from behind, almost running down the hall. Miguel turns his head fully expecting Peter to have followed him out despite his instruction to do the opposite, and is surprised to see Gwen heading towards him, instead.

“You said not to, but I came to help anyways,” Gwen says, sounding a little out of breath from chasing him down.

This is their chance, Miguel realizes. They can talk openly now that Peter and Miles are well out of earshot, and Miguel can finally put to rest the worry that’s been eating at him for months now. But he doesn’t know where to begin. When the elevator opens, they both step on and he hits the button for one of the lower levels where central supply resides.

“How have you been, Gwen?” he asks, lamely, after the silence drags on for just a bit too long.

“Fine,” she replies, looking back and forth between him and the view through the glass of the elevator. “You?”

“Fine.”

God help him. He’s f*cking awful at this.

His first instinct is to start hitting his head against the nearest wall, but a concussion feels counterintuitive at this point. The next best option is to blurt out the first semi-tangible thought he has. “I was worried when you stopped showing up at the Underground.”

Gwen seems surprised to hear that. “Oh, yeah, sorry,” she says, attention now fully on him. “Didn’t have a choice, though. Between school starting and not having money for the membership I couldn’t keep going.”

That makes sense. It’s what he assumed had happened, but it hadn’t stopped him from imagining worse what-ifs. “That’s one of the reasons I’m here,” she continues. “Figured I could save some money up to go again in the summer once school’s out.”

“And what’s the other reason?”

Gwen shrugs, looking back out the window. “I wanted to see you and Lyla again.”

Now it’s Miguel’s turn to be surprised. “You wanted to see us?” he repeats. “Why?”

Another shrug. “Dunno. Just feels like I owe you two something for everything you did for me last year. I wanted to find a way to pay it back, somehow.”

Miguel frowns at that. “You don’t ‘owe’ us anything, Gwen.” He tells her. “We helped you out because you needed it, not because we expected something in return.”

Gwen looks up at him, watching his face closely, looking for any sign that he’s lying. She doesn’t find one. That relaxes her just a little, and she nods before reaching into her back pocket. “I didn’t know if you wanted this back, either.” She pulls out an ID badge, similar to the one currently hanging around her neck. Only this second badge is older, and the front is almost entirely blank, unlike the one she’s wearing which bears her name and the Brooklyn Visions logo.

Miguel shakes his head when she holds it out for him to take. “Keep it. Just in case.”

She smiles just a little then, tucking it back into her pocket. “You’re really doing okay? And don’t just say you’re fine,” he tells her.

The elevator opens to one of the basem*nt levels and they both step out, Miguel leading the way to central supply. “Things are easier now that school’s back and I’m in the dorms.” She tells him as she follows alongside him. “They finally put me on the girl’s floor, too, so. That’s nice.”

Miguel nods while he listens. Their conversation’s finally going somewhere, which is kind of a shame, because Miguel’s about to ruin it with his next question. “And your father?”

Her smile falters then, and that’s all the answer he needs. It’s what he expected, unfortunately, but he’d still hoped for better news. “I’m sorry, Gwen.”

“Like I said. It’s easier now that I’m in the dorms.” She’s quick to change the subject before another uncomfortable silence can set in. “What are we doing down here again?”

“Heading to central supply. They keep a large stock of commonly used chemicals and equipment down here for all the labs, not just genetics,” Miguel explains, silently grateful the conversation is back in more familiar territory. Emotionally heavy conversations? Not his style. Drab explanations of how science laboratories operate? Those he can handle.

A bored-looking woman is sitting at the counter when they finally reach central supply, whom Miguel greets amicably before listing out the few different buffers he and his employees most often use. As he expected, they’re all in stock- Lab A better have come up with a really good reason why they were incapable of coming down here themselves.

Miguel signs his name for two of each buffer, and the woman disappears to the back for a few minutes before returning with the requested containers, six in total. They’re decently sized, but not too heavy, and he motions for Gwen to carry three while he gets the others. “Half are for mine and Lyla’s lab,” He explains, because that’s what you’re supposed to do; you stock your lab up before you have a chance to run out. A concept that is, apparently, not as common sense as he’d originally thought.

His asking about Gwen’s father didn’t dampen the mood as much as he originally feared, at least, and the trip back to their floor is spent listening to Gwen open up a little more about her school year so far. Her grades are better, Peter and other administrators are starting to ease up on her, and she’s made more friends. Friends like Miles, whom she spends most of their walk talking about.

Miguel doesn’t pry for details; there are few things he cares about less than the specifics of the relationship between two teenagers. But he’s glad she’s happy, and Miles seems like a good kid. He’s starting to understand why Peter pushed so hard for Miguel to mentor him.

When they return to the genetics floor, their first stop is Lab A, and Gwen sets her containers down on a little shelf just outside the door. “Please let me come watch you yell at them.”

“I’m not going to yell, and no.” He ignores the resulting groan of disappointment. “Stay out here, It’ll only be a few minutes,” Miguel says, then gives Lab A a single warning knock before he steps inside.

It’s a tense few moments as everyone stops what they’re doing, and half a dozen scientists watch him toss the buffer into the nearest empty table.

“Look what I managed to find in central supply.”

Like he told Gwen, he doesn’t yell. But Miguel does emphasize, very clearly, how ridiculous it is that among the six of them, not one can take the ten-minute walk down the basem*nt for basic supplies. How he has to take time out of his already packed schedule to do the work an intern could handle. How he would have had better success sending one of the two teenagers he’s currently supervising to get the buffer than the people he’s paying to do their damn jobs.

He doesn’t yell. But he’s not particularly kind about it, either.

“Next time Lyla or I tell you to check central supply, you do it. Understood?” Six heads nod in unison. They’re at least smart enough to not say a single word. “Good. Don’t make me come down here again.”

When Miguel opens the door to leave, Gwen makes no effort to hide the fact she has been listening in the entire time. She just gives him a cheeky grin from where she’d had her ear pressed to the door before stepping aside to let him out.

“Man, you really laid into them,” she comments as Miguel picks up the containers she’d been carrying for him earlier.

“Hopefully this time it’ll stick.” Judging by the looks on their faces when he left, Miguel’s sure it will.

Now that he’s gotten most of it out of his system, the frustration bleeds away to leave him back at his usual baseline indifference. The quiet between the two of them is much more comfortable this time as they make the short walk back to his and Lyla’s lab.

He’s reaching out to open the door when Gwen suddenly tugs on the back of his coat. “Miguel, wait a sec.”

Miguel stops, frowning in concern as he turns to face her. She sounds uncharacteristically quiet, fragile almost, and it immediately sets him on edge. “What is it?” She lets go of his coat but doesn’t answer right away, avoiding eye contact, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but Miguel swears her eyes look a little watery.

Instead, she leans over to glance behind him at the door, like she’s expecting one of the others to suddenly come running out.

And before he can ask her what’s wrong a second time, she’s lunging forward to catch him in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” Gwen whispers, her voice so low and cracked around the edges he almost misses it. “I don’t think I ever got a chance to tell you that before.”

He’s frozen in place, completely taken off guard. The containers balance precariously in his arms, held high to make room for where Gwen’s still hugging him tight. It takes him a few seconds to process what happened before he leans awkwardly to one side to set the containers down, and another long pause before he lets himself return the hug.

Miguel keeps her close when she starts to shake and he feels the tears start to stain the front of his shirt.

“We’ve got you, Gwen. Always.”

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

After that first afternoon at the Underground, Peter woke up the next morning feeling like he’d been hit by a bus. He had aches in muscles he didn’t even know existed, and lifting much more than a pencil was a struggle. His morning commute where he’s jostled around in a packed subway car was a unique type of hell. And of course, Miguel had to notice, too, and rub it in the first chance he got. He didn’t buy Peter’s explanation, either, if that little gleam in his eyes was anything to go off.

Miguel invites him to join him again the following week, and they manage to squeeze a few sessions into their busy schedules. They usually end each day with a race, and now that Peter’s given up his cheating ways, Miguel beats him every single time, to no one’s surprise. But Peter gets a little closer to an honest victory every time. Miguel better enjoy the easy wins while they last.

The full body aches get better every time, too; Peter considers it a significant milestone when he wakes up after the third day with only a tiny twinge in his back. But that pain is always there, a natural consequence of being a forty-year-old man sleeping on a sh*tty futon. Beyond that, Peter’s happy to learn he hasn’t lost nearly as much of his strength as he initially thought, easily tackling the more difficult climbs with Miguel and earning himself the occasional approving nod from his companion.

He’s delusional enough to think he’s managed to really impress Miguel.

“Ow, sh*t-!”

Or maybe not.

Peter’s effectively ripped from his thoughts when his right ankle wrenches painfully to the side, slipping out from underneath him and causing him to lose his grip. They’re currently on the free-climbing wall, meaning no harnesses and nothing to stop him from falling straight down into a heap on the mats below. He’s quick to sit upright and look around him; for a moment, he thinks Miguel grabbed him again for no reason and pulled him down, but Miguel’s a way away from him in the opposite corner.

Miguel hears him fall, though, and as soon as he sees Peter on the floor he jumps down from his own spot on the wall. Barely a moment passes before he’s kneeling beside Peter, and Peter might have enjoyed how quickly he rushes over to help if it weren’t, like, the millionth time Miguel’s had to save him. It’s starting to get old, fast. “What happened?”

“I’m fine, just twisted my ankle, I think,” Peter tries to brush it off as nothing, but he can’t help but wince when he bends his leg up to inspect the damage. Right away, he can see what happened- there’s a large hole on the outside of his shoe where the sole got ripped away from the body of the shoe. Peter mutters a curse under his breath at the sight. These shoes were well-loved, and it’s a miracle this didn’t happen sooner, but they’re also the only semi-athletic pair he owns. Well, aside from the running shoes, but those are set to be demolished alongside that godforsaken tracksuit the moment Peter gets his hands on a burn barrel and some lighter fluid.

Miguel notices the tear in his shoe, too, but doesn’t comment on it; instead, he stands up and offers a hand to Peter. “I have a first aid kit in my bag, if you think you can make it to the locker room.”

“Of course you do,” Peter says, taking his hand and letting Miguel help pull him upright. He keeps his weight on his left leg for now, unsure if he wants to trust the right one just yet. “Is there any emergency you’re not prepared for?”

“No.” Peter catches that tiny smirk again- what a smartass. “Be grateful I am, considering how often you seem to need my help.”

Fair point. Not that Peter’s going to admit that and give Miguel the satisfaction of being right. “Can you walk?” Miguel asks, letting go of Peter’s hand but keeping his arm out just in case.

Peter carefully shifts over onto his right leg, and it aches a little as he does, but nothing unbearable. Certainly not enough to keep him from messing with Miguel. “You gonna carry me to the locker room if I can’t?”

“No, but I can probably drag you over there.”

That pulls a laugh from Peter- he still finds himself caught off guard by Miguel’s bone-dry sense of humor. “Why, can’t handle lifting me? Don’t tell me all those muscles are just for show,” He teases, before taking a few tentative steps towards the locker rooms. There’s a sharp pain if he puts too much weight on his ankle, but, “It’s not bad if I take smaller steps.”

Miguel hovers close by as they make the slow walk to the locker room. Peter can’t decide if he likes having Miguel’s undivided attention on him like this, or if he’s embarrassed by the fact he only seems to get it if he’s done something stupid to get himself hurt. His brain eventually settled on an even mix of the two.

When they enter the locker room, Peter takes a seat on the nearest bench and works on pulling his shoe and sock off as instructed by Miguel before he disappears around a corner. Miguel returns a moment later with his gym bag, setting it on the ground before kneeling in front of Peter. “Let me know if any of this hurts,” Miguel says, carefully taking Peter’s injured ankle in both hands.

It’s that day in the park all over again, but this time, Peter’s got enough oxygen in his brain to appreciate the moment fully. Miguel must run hot or something, because his hands still feel so warm against Peter’s skin, even when he’s not freezing half to death outdoors. One thumb runs along the outside of Peter’s ankle, but Miguel’s not looking down at what he’s doing. Instead, he’s looking up at Peter’s face, watching for any signs of discomfort.

Miguel’s gaze is steady, unyielding in a way Peter can’t bring himself to look away from. Such an intense stare had thrown him off the first time he’d been subjected to it, again after his mishap in the park, but now? Now Peter can’t help but be drawn in by it. This is the closest look Peter’s gotten of Miguel’s face so far, close enough to catch the reddish flecks in Miguel’s eyes when the light hits them just right. He really is strikingly handsome- a thought Peter lets himself have guilt-free because it doesn’t violate his policy on keeping Miguel-related thoughts family-friendly. He’s just stating truths.

He gets to appreciate the view for another five seconds before Miguel accidentally turns his foot inwards too far and sends a sharp pain up his leg. Peter sucks in a sharp breath and reflexively tries to jerk his leg away, only to be stopped by Miguel’s hands still holding his ankle.

“That hurt,” Peter says, in case almost kneeing Miguel in the chin didn’t make that clear enough. Whatever Miguel was looking for when he was messing with Peter’s ankle, he must have found it, because he doesn’t try it again.

“Sorry.” Miguel props Peter’s foot on his thigh for a moment so he can rummage through his gym bag. Peter leans over to watch him pull out a little first aid kit and prop it open to take out a rolled-up ace bandage. Miguel shows him how to hold his foot in a specific position and, once satisfied, begins wrapping Peter’s ankle with the bandage.

“Seriously, how do you know how to do all this first aid stuff?” Peter asks as he watches Miguel work. It’s clear Miguel’s done this before, the movements too practiced and confident to be his first time. “You secretly hiding a medical degree or something, Doctor O’Hara?”

“I don’t need a medical degree to treat a sprained ankle,” Miguel says, not looking up from where he’s wrapping the end of the bandage up around Peter’s leg before anchoring it down on itself. He runs his hands down the entire thing once, checking for any bumps in the wrap before sitting back on his heels to give Peter room to place his foot back on the ground. “Try walking on it now.”

Peter stands up from the bench and tests putting some weight through his newly wrapped foot before taking a little lap around the locker room. The extra support from the bandage makes it easier to stand on that leg, letting him walk closer to his normal pace than before. It still aches some, but even that’s starting to fade, too.

“Feels a lot better, whatever you did,” Peter says once he returns to where Miguel’s still kneeling on the ground. Only Miguel doesn’t immediately look up when Peter speaks, preoccupied with investigating Peter’s torn shoe. The rip runs nearly the entire length of the inside of the shoe, but Miguel only observes it briefly before pulling the tongue back to check something on the inside.

“Unless you also know how to cobble shoes, I don’t think there’s any saving that thing,” Peter tells him as Miguel sets it back down on the floor.

He half expects Miguel to whip out a sewing kit and fix the shoe right there, just to prove he does in fact possess every skill ever, but that doesn’t happen. Miguel stands up from his kneeling position before looking over at Peter. “I might have an extra pair that’ll fit you, if you want them.”

“Oh- are you sure?” Peter asks, surprised by the offer. He’d love to not have to buy an entirely new pair of shoes if it can be helped, but he can’t help but feel a little guilty, too. Here Miguel is, saving his ass on a weekly basis and now he’s just giving Peter his things for free? All while asking for nothing in return? Peter had been joking before about all the lunches he owed Miguel for constantly helping him out, but now it’s starting to feel like he’s racking up a legitimate debt, one he doesn’t know how to pay back. “You’ve already done more than enough, I don’t want to start taking your stuff, too.”

Miguel just shakes his head. “They’re just sitting in a box in my closet. You’d be doing me a favor by taking them.”

Peter watches him closely, looking for any sign that this secretly is a massive inconvenience for Miguel, but finds nothing. It eases some of his guilt, if only a little. “If you’re sure, then I’ll take them. Thanks,” he says, before sitting down to pull his ripped shoe back on. Peter frowns at the way it hangs off him when he goes to pick his foot up. “Going home in these is gonna suck, though, damn.”

There’s a little pause before Miguel says, “We could get them tonight, if you’re up for the walk to my apartment.”

Peter’s frown deepens as he considers the offer. He really, really dreads the idea of making Miguel drag him all the way to his apartment just for some shoes, but he’s got plans with MJ and Mayday this evening, and getting to her house would be a nightmare in his current state. “How far is your place from here?” Peter asks, looking back up at Miguel.

“Not far. I live in the complex right next to Alchemax,” Miguel tells him, and he’s right. It’s not a long walk, maybe fifteen or so minutes, but that’s without a sprained ankle.

Peter’s still looking for any sign Miguel doesn’t actually want to do any of this, but his expression stays as neutral as ever. “And you’re sure you don’t mind doing this now? ‘Cause I can wait until later this week when we’ve got Miles and Gwen-”

“I don’t mind,” Miguel cuts him off. “I’m heading there anyways, so it makes no difference to me.”

Peter waits, giving Miguel one last chance to change his mind before he stands up and says, “Alright- let’s go now, then.”

The walk is slower than usual thanks to Peter’s ankle, but nothing terrible. He still gets a twinge every so often if he tries to walk too fast or take too big of a step, and he has to be careful with his shoe threatening to slide off if he steps down wrong, but it’s manageable. Miguel lets him set the pace, and Peter’s quietly grateful he’s stopped hovering as soon as he saw Peter wasn’t going to go and reinjure himself.

“I always wondered what this building was,” Peter says aloud as they approach the front doors to what he now knows is an apartment complex. He’d assumed it was something Alchemax-related, what with it being right next door and built in that same sleek, modern design.

“Corporate housing. Alchemax likes to keep its employees close by,” Miguel explains as he leads Peter inside. Peter feels about as welcome here as he did inside the lobby of Alchemax itself. It’s minimalist, and cold- no indication this is a place where people live other than a line of mailboxes along one wall and a few empty, uncomfortable-looking couches at the other end. It reminds Peter of a hotel lobby more than anything else, but even that’s generous. Hotels at least make an attempt at being hospitable.

The elevator and hallways of Miguel's floor are almost identical to the ones in Alchemax, too. It’s like they just copied and pasted the same layout for both buildings and just swapped the laboratories out for apartments. The first indication Peter gets that other people do in fact live here is a bright pink doormat outside the apartment directly across from Miguel. It’s the only one in the entire hallway- Miguel doesn’t have one, either.

The door lock is one of those fancy ones that clicks open when Miguel swipes a keyfob in front of it, but Miguel doesn’t open the door right away. He pauses, hand on the door before looking over his shoulder at Peter. “Ignore the mess. I wasn’t expecting to have anyone over today.”

“You? Messy? I don’t believe that,” Peter says with a grin. “Besides, it can’t be any worse than my place.” Miguel doesn’t seem all that convinced, but he opens the door regardless, holding it open for Peter to allow him inside.

Peter’s quick to follow him, eager to get a little glimpse of Miguel’s personal life, only to stop just a few feet through the entryway. Whatever he’d been expecting, it… wasn’t this.

The walls are all completely devoid of any sort of artwork or photographs, and Peter’s not sure how he feels about that. He knows most people don’t decorate the same way he does, with every available inch covered in photos or drawings his daughter’s made, but to have nothing at all just feels off, somehow. Miguel’s office has more décor than his apartment. Peter uses a nearby wall for balance as he kicks his shoes off and once he’s leaning close enough he can see there are little holes in the wall, like there had been something hanging there at one point but Miguel has since removed it. Redecorating, maybe? But it’s kind of hard to redecorate when you don’t seem to own any décor in the first place.

The furniture is all very basic, too, like something you would see in a staged model home rather than a place where someone actually lives. Peter wonders briefly if Miguel picked any of this out himself, or if these apartments come pre-furnished; it would explain the total lack of personality if that was the case. The one nice thing he can say about the apartment is the huge windows along the far wall, offering the same impressive view of New York as Miguel’s office at Alchemax.

Peter takes a few more steps inside once his shoes are off, trying to get a look at what he can of the rest of the apartment without just wandering through without Miguel’s permission. To his surprise, Miguel was right- the place is a bit of a mess, but it’s the cleanest mess Peter’s ever seen. There’s a mountain of pillows and blankets piled high in one corner of the cough, no attempt made at trying to organize him. From here, he can see a bit of the kitchen where the counters are mostly bare, save for what appear to be a few of those large containers of protein powder. Which makes sense, Miguel’s huge, but there’s no other food Peter can see, at least not from here.

The worst, however, is his dining table. Peter can’t even see the table through the towers of papers and textbooks stacked on top of its surface. Not all of it fits, however, and there are several boxes either on the chairs or stacked on top of each other on the floor. There’s a laptop and a few rudimentary pieces of lab equipment crammed on the table as well, but it’s such a far cry from the precise cleanliness of Miguel’s laboratory. Peter has a feeling the disarray isn’t worse only because Miguel doesn’t have many belongings with which to make a bigger mess.

“Like I said- I wasn’t expecting company,” Miguel’s voice startles Peter out of his thoughts, and he turns to see him walking past Peter and down towards a little hallway. He doesn’t seem offended by Peter looking around without saying anything, but he probably didn’t appreciate it, either. “Shoes are in here.”

“No judgments here, man,” Peter says as he trails behind him, noting the walls are bare here, too, but again stuck with little nail holes. “This is nothing compared to how my place looks right now.”

There are two doors to his left, one open to reveal a small guest bathroom and a second one on the far end of the hall that’s shut, presumably a guest bedroom. There’s a third door to his right that Miguel walks through, but Peter hesitates to follow him in once he realizes it’s Miguel’s bedroom he’s about to walk into.

He hovers in the doorway, unsure if he should keep following or just wait there while Miguel grabs the shoes. It’s that weird combination of empty and unkempt in here, too, and Peter watches with a hint of amusem*nt as Miguel subtly tries to fix his crumpled bedding on his way to his closet. Again, Peter’s not about to judge him for having an unmade bed. He doesn’t think he’d made his own in- well, ever.

Miguel disappears into his closet and Peter, when he isn’t explicitly told he can’t come in, lets himself fully into Miguel’s room. He stays close to the wall, not wanting to act too familiar and accidentally overstep, but he does let himself look around while Miguel rummages around for the shoes. There’s an en suite bathroom that Peter assumes it okay for him to poke his head into, and damn. That’s a nice shower. Peter would love to have one like this, where he doesn’t have to hunch over to fit his entire body under the showerhead.

There’s a lot of products lining the shelf in there, though. Like, more than one person would ever possibly need or use. He gets a sneaking suspicion when he realizes there are two complete sets of shampoos and shower gels, and that suspicion is confirmed when he turns around and sees the two toothbrushes sitting on the counter.

Ah, well. Of course he wouldn’t be single. Miguel’s attractive, successful, and uniquely charming- it’d be weird if someone didn’t immediately try and snatch him up. Must be pretty serious, too, if they’ve got all their stuff in his apartment like this.

“Miguel, how come you didn’t mention you were seeing someone?” Peter calls out, making his way out of the bathroom.

Peter can’t see him, but the shuffling noises from the closet stop at once. “What?”

“Oh, come on, don’t try to hide it. I saw the extra toothbrush in your bathroom,” Peter grins, leaning back against the doorway. Miguel may have done a good job of keeping his little partner secret up until this point, but now that Peter knows they exist, he’s got to know every single detail about whoever’s managed to catch Miguel’s eye. “Soo, who’s the lucky lady? Or guy, or-“

Miguel pokes his head out of the closet then, looking completely bewildered. “You mean Lyla’s toothbrush?”

“You and Lyla are dating?” The surprise wipes the grin clean off Peter’s face, but maybe he shouldn’t be all that shocked. Lyla’s as stunning as Miguel is, and they’ve known each other for a long time. The chemistry between them is obvious, except- Miguel’s still looking at him like he’s an idiot. Moreso than usual.

“Lyla and I are not dating. What made you think we were?”

“You’re not dating,” Peter repeats. “Just, she’s got all her stuff in your bathroom, so I thought-“

“She spends the night when we have to work from home,” Miguel tells him, finally catching on. “It’s easier if she leaves some things here.”

“Oh, sure. Makes sense.” And then, before Peter can stop himself, he asks, “Are you not seeing anyone at all, then?”

Miguel gives him a look, one that makes it very clear that none of this is Peter’s business, and it really isn’t, but he answers anyways. “No, I’m not.”

“Cool. I’m not, either.” Sure, why not shove his foot even further into his mouth?

“Okay?”

Peter coughs, then points his thumb back over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go sit on the couch. Ankle’s starting to bother me,” he tells Miguel, and doesn’t wait for a response before escaping to the safety of the living room.

He flops back onto the couch and covers his face with his hands, barely resisting the urge to scream into his palms. What the hell is wrong with him? He wants to blame Miguel, blame him for the way he always seems to throw Peter off his game, but it wouldn’t be fair. Miguel hadn’t actually done anything- that fumbling was all Peter. He likes to imagine he’s a bit of a smooth talker, able to make an easy recovery whenever he slips up, but all his conversation skills seem to fly out the door when it comes to Miguel.

Peter gets a few solid minutes of self-loathing in before he hears Miguel emerge from his bedroom. He pulls his hands away from his face and sits up quickly in an effort to appear casual, and sees Miguel carrying a red shoebox with him. He hands the box to Peter before moving to shove the pile of blankets over to make room for him to sit on the other end of the couch. If he’s bothered by…whatever the hell that was back there, Miguel doesn’t show it. “They’re too small for me, but I think they should fit you fine.”

Peter nods, flipping the box open and pulling out the pair of shoes. Nothing flashy, just a plain dark grey, but they feel well made. Expensive. Some of that guilt from earlier bubbles back up as Peter slides the shoes on and stands up to give them a little test walk. They fit him surprisingly well, comfortable in a way his old shoes haven’t been in a long while.

“You’re still cool with me just taking these?” Peter asks again. “I can’t imagine these were cheap, I don’t mind paying you for them, either.” Maybe not full price, but something close, at least.

Miguel shakes his head again. “Just take them. They’ve been taking up space in my closet for a while now.”

“Alright man, if you’re sure.” Peter looks past Miguel and out the large windows, noticing the sun is beginning to set. “Hate to steal your stuff and run, but I need to get going. Got other plans this evening.”

Miguel has the nerve to feign being surprised. “Oh, you’re not going to drag me out for another lunch with you today?”

“Nope, you’re spared this time.” Ass. Peter hopes Miguel doesn’t see the smile he’s failing to fight back as he leans over to pick up his broken shoes. “Use this free time to think about what I can do to make up the, like, ten favors I owe you now.”

“You can start by not snooping through my stuff.”

“I wasn’t snooping. I was observing,” Peter corrects as he opens the front door to leave. “Seriously, think about it!”

“Hey, what’s the return policy for when someone uses their ace wrap to fix your sprained ankle? Do I just wash it and give it back or buy a new one?”

MJ, who’s in the middle of cutting carrots into baby-safe pieces for their daughter, pauses and looks up at him from across the table. “Is that a serious question or another insane riddle from one of your students?”

“Serious question.”

“Ah. I have no idea.” MJ slides the carrots onto Mayday’s plate, who bounces in her highchair at the prospect of more food before attacking it with her spoon. Complete opposite of a picky eater, Mayday hoovers up just about anything they put in front of her. Yeah, that’s his kid alright.

The carrots are gone just as quickly as they appeared before Mayday goes back to tearing into her mac and cheese, and God, she’s so talented, managing to get most of each spoonful to her mouth without spilling it down the front of her shirt (she gets that from him, too.) Her speech is a little delayed -they’re working on it- and she still prefers crawling to trying to walk, but her fine motor skills? That’s where Mayday’s blowing every other baby out of the water, and yes, it is a contest. A contest their child is winning.

He points out to MJ multiple times a day how impressive it is, like Mayday isn’t also her kid, but every time MJ just nods and enthusiastically agrees, because she loves Mayday and she loves Peter.

Peter loves her, too. MJ’s been his family since long before Mayday came around, been a universal constant in his life for as long as either of them could remember. The romance between them may be long gone, but the love isn’t, just molded into something equally valuable and strengthened by the spoon-wielding angel currently sitting between them.

They alternate having Mayday for one week at a time, and while their ‘official’ trade-off day isn’t until tomorrow, Peter still comes over to have dinner the night before and stays over well into the afternoon the next day. Funny, how these get-togethers never happen at his apartment. Something about Pete, I’m not sleeping on a futon and you’re not sleeping on the floor because I won’t be able to help you get back up. Peter’s not going to fight her too hard on that one.

This current arrangement does, however, realize how hypocritical he’d been earlier when he saw the extra soaps and such in Miguel’s bathroom. He’s got his own stash of belongings here at MJ’s place for nights like this, so why can’t Miguel and Lyla do the same? Just because two people are close, doesn’t mean they’re together, obviously.

“Who’s not together?” MJ asks, and Peter realizes he must have said that last part out loud.

“Miguel and Lyla.” No explanation of who they are is needed- MJ gets a frame-by-frame retelling of every interaction Peter has with those two characters.

MJ leans over to clean a bit of food from the corner of Mayday’s mouth. Mayday replaces it a second later with an even bigger mess. “Were we worried about them dating?”

“No,” Peter says, and when MJ hums and looks back at him, she’s got a look in her eyes that tells him she’s picked up on something he hasn’t. He’s very familiar with that look- it happens a lot. “What?”

“Nothing.” Her poker face is nearly as bad as Miguel’s.

The conversation drops there, as Mayday finishes the last of her food and squirms to try and free herself from her highchair. MJ carries her to the living room to burn off some of that excess energy while Peter clears the table and places their dishes in the sink before grabbing a clean spoon and a pint of ice cream from the freezer.

He joins MJ and Mayday in the living room where they’re playing on the floor, but he opts to sit on the couch while he eats. Mayday’s current favorite game is to scramble around on the floor and destroy the towers MJ’s trying to build out of foam blocks. She gets a real kick out of Peter and MJ gasping dramatically over how big and strong she is when she knocks down a really tall one, giggling and babbling all happy before looking for her next target.

Every so often, she takes breaks from the demolition to crawl up into Peter’s lap to steal some of his ice cream. She can’t say please yet, but she’ll poke her empty palm with a finger and open her mouth expectantly and, what’s Peter supposed to do, tell her no? He obviously has no other choice but to give her a little bite every time. It’s extremely cute, everything Mayday does is cute. But what she does right after is… a little less so.

Once she finishes her little treat, instead of climbing back down the way she came, Mayday just throws herself back off of his lap with a squeal and trusts blindly that one of them will catch her. They always do, of course, MJ already scooted closer in anticipation of this happening, and she catches her well before she can hit the ground. They’re used to it now, but the first time Mayday tried that? Peter’s pretty sure that’s when he started going grey.

Mayday’s energy is running low after a long day of being perfect, and once she starts yawning MJ’s quick to steal her away again for a quick bath before bed. Peter takes that time to actually wash the dishes from earlier, and he’s got them all done and loaded on the drying rack by the time MJ calls for him to come say goodnight.

Mayday gets peppered with at least a hundred goodnight kisses before Peter lays her in her crib, eyes sliding shut before she’s even fully lying down. MJ and Peter sneak out of her room and return to the living room, where Peter collapses on his back along the couch, ankle propped up on the armrest. It’s held up pretty well so far, but he’s definitely feeling all that walking here at the end of the day.

He’s got his eyes closed, but can hear MJ as she curls up on the armchair, and doesn’t need to open them to know she’s staring at him. “What?”

“Are you planning on asking Miguel out any time soon, or-“

Okay, that gets him to open his eyes. He twists around on the couch so he’s somewhat facing MJ, and sees she’s being completely serious. “Am I going to do what?”

“Oh, come on. You’re hung up on him being single, and you haven’t mentioned him to me once so far without also bringing up how hot he is.” MJ says it like it’s obvious.

“I mention him being hot because I’m trying to give you an accurate description of my day! I’m stating facts. Painting a scene- I am begging you to stop giving me that look.”

“I’m not giving you a look,” MJ says, while continuing to give him the same look. “I’m just saying. Last time you insisted on pointing out how objectively hot you thought someone was, you ended up with a baby-“

“Woah! Woah. Baby was a group effort, first off.” Pause for a quick fist bump. Go team. “Second, It’s not like that with Miguel.”

“Then what is it like?” MJ asks, settling back into the armchair.

Peter takes a long moment to think about it. “I don’t know,” He eventually says, turning on his back again to stare up at the ceiling. “I think he’s attractive, sure, but I don’t know if that’s all it is. And God knows what he thinks of me.”

“So, that’s why you ask him out. Go somewhere a little more intimate than a climbing gym-“ Peter snorts at that, “-but still casual, and see what happens.”

She makes it sound so easy, and it probably is, but Peter’s still not convinced. His friendship with Miguel is still so new, and he doesn’t want to risk losing it entirely by doing something stupid and putting Miguel off entirely.

When Peter’s silence stretches on a little too long, MJ continues, “The worst he’s going to do is say no.”

“The worst he’ll do is laugh and then kick Miles and Gwen from his lab, actually.” That’s the other issue- the mentorship program. If it was just Peter’s dignity on the line, maybe he wouldn’t be so wary. He could spend the afternoon feeling embarrassed but eventually shrug it off and continue with his life. But if he ruins things with Miguel, they’re stuck seeing each other for the next month and a half until the program concludes.

“Is Miguel the type to do that?”

Peter lets out a long exhale. “No, he isn't.” Although Gwen was sure to tell him and Miles all about how badly he laid into his employees last week. Peter’s not looking to be on the receiving end of any of that.

“So just go get a drink with him, or something,” MJ urges. “If there’s no spark, oh well. You just had drinks with a friend.”

“Okay, fine, you convinced me. I’ll ask him,” Peter relents. It does sound fun either way, assuming he can convince Miguel to say yes. While he enjoys their days at the Underground, climbing and being constantly out of breath doesn’t leave much room for them to just… talk. It would be nice to really get to know Miguel, and who knows? Maybe he’ll be more talkative after a drink or two.

He expects the conversation to end there, and he’s about to let his eyes fall shut for a little cat nap when he hears MJ stirring next to him again. Her footsteps disappear and then return a moment later, followed quickly by something hard smacking him square in the chest.

It’s his phone. His phone, which is currently dialing Miguel’s number.

Peter quickly scrambles to sit himself upright. “Oh, sh*t- You’re making me do this now.”

MJ makes an affirmative sound as she sits beside him. “Speakerphone, please. But pretend I’m not here,” she says, smiling and leaning close like they’re teenagers calling up a crush.

Peter’s surprised when Miguel answers after a few rings, and he puts it on speaker as requested. “Parker? Why are you calling so late?”

MJ leans up to Peter's ear, whispering where Miguel can’t hear. “Hot voice, too.”

Peter motions for her to hush before answering Miguel. “Hey, sorry, just had a crazy idea, wanted to get your opinion-“ Give him a break, it’s been a while since he’s done this, okay? “I was thinking, instead of going to Underground one these days, we go grab a drink instead?”

“…Why?”

MJ claps a hand over her mouth so Miguel doesn’t catch her surprised laugh. Peter, on the other hand, is used to Miguel being so blunt. “Just thought it’d be nice to talk a little, for once. Change it up, do something other than climb and injure myself.”

The phone goes silent after that, to the point Peter has to check that the call didn’t drop completely. Just as the quiet was creeping up to agonizing levels, however, Miguel finally answers him. “Okay.”

Peter lights up instantly. “Yeah? Friday, then? Or, wait-“ He stops himself, looking over at MJ. Next week is his week with Mayday. Fitting in the mentorship program was one thing, but running around with Miguel was another thing entirely. MJ knows what he’s thinking without him having to say it, just waves her hand dismissively. They’ll figure out the logistics later. He mouths thank you at least a hundred times before returning his focus to Miguel. “Sorry. Let’s do Friday. If you want.”

“Okay,” Miguel says again, and it’s impossible to glean anything from his voice, judge how he really feels about these plans, but the fact he’s saying yes at all eases some of Peter’s nerves. “Friday, then.”

“Friday,” Peter parrots back, a smile quickly spreading on his face. “I’ll let you go, then. I’d say have a good night, but knowing you, you’re probably settling in for an all-nighter.”

Miguel makes a little noise that vaguely resembles amusem*nt. “Goodnight, Parker,” he says, before he hangs up the call.

Peter lets out a huge sigh before turning to MJ again. “Thank you, you’re my favorite person in the world right now.”

“And yet you’re asking other people out right in front of me,” MJ laughs, and the two settle back next to each other on the couch as she gives him a playful punch to the arm. “You have a date! Well, kind of.”

Peter just smiles, looking down at his phone at the Call Ended screen with a giddy anticipation he hasn’t felt in a long time.

He has a date. Kind of.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Getting up early for a normal workday is a struggle, but on the weeks he has Mayday, it’s even more of a balancing act.

Visions is kind enough to let him come a little later than usual, so he has time to drop her off at daycare right when it opens. While generous and immensely helpful, that still leaves him with the monumental task of rousing a child who likes to sleep even more than he does, but Peter’s got the routine down to a science at this point. Wake Mayday, let her fuss a little before placating her with breakfast. She’s usually distracted enough then that he can brush her hair without her trying to squirm away while he works through her bedhead. All that’s left after that is to get her changed and the both of them dressed and packed up before they’re out the door to catch the morning subway.

They’ve currently hit the eating stage, Peter gently detangles her curls before letting her finish eating in peace while he sits himself at the other end of the tiny dining table. He goes back and forth between feeding himself and packing both his work bag and a tote to leave with Mayday.

They’re so, so close to making it through their morning without issue when his phone lights up with a new message- a voicemail from Mayday’s daycare. Never a good sign. He balances his phone between his ear and shoulder to listen as he gives up on any semblance of organization and shoves a fistful of diapers into the tote.

And he was right- they didn’t call to deliver good news this morning. The heating system for the building in which the daycare is located is down, meaning they have to close for the entire day. They sound confident it’ll be repaired in time for tomorrow, but that leaves Peter and who knows how many other parents without childcare for the day.

“Damn.” He mouths the word, doesn’t actually say it out loud. The last thing he needs is for Mayday’s first word to be a swear. Even if it would be a little, teensy bit funny.

Even if he had, though, Mayday’s too busy crushing her cubed peaches into an unrecognizable mess to have caught his slip-up. He pulls the phone away from his ear and sifts through his contacts in a vain effort to find someone who could take on a last-second babysitting job. MJ’s a no, she’s got her own responsibilities today. Miguel and Lyla- even if it wasn’t a huge ask of two people he’s only known for a month, they’re probably already at Alchemax, starting their workday.

Alchemax. He’s supposed to take Miles and Gwen over there this afternoon. Of all the days for their daycare to close…whatever. He’ll figure it out later.

The last handful of potential sitters are all teenagers, teenagers he’s technically responsible for, and who administration would not appreciate him pulling out of class to watch his kid. That only leaves him with one choice. “Change of plans, sweetpea,” Peter calls out to Mayday, who babbles happily in response to the nickname. “Looks like you’re coming to work with me.”

Peter finishes packing his bag with necessities for Mayday and gets himself dressed while Mayday’s still preoccupied with stuffing her cheeks with mashed peaches. He gets her cleaned up once she’s done, changes her shirt when the one she’s wearing is beyond saving. All that’s left to do then is strap the baby carrier to his chest and tuck Mayday safely inside, then father and daughter are out the door.

Now that he doesn’t have to stop by Mayday’s daycare, they make it to Visions in record time, even earlier than he usually shows up. Perfect. That gives them plenty of time to make the rounds.

It’s not the first time Peter’s brought her to work, and for all his tendency to skirt the rules he tries not to abuse the fact they let him bring her at all. The cost for this privilege is to spend the morning letting the front office staff all say hello to Mayday and gush over how cute she is, a price he’s more than willing to pay. Even Peter’s supervisor, who does a poor job of hiding how incompetent he thinks Peter is, comes out to hold her for a bit and comments on how big she’s getting.

Peter dares anyone to be in a foul mood when Mayday’s around. It’s impossible.

And Mayday loves the attention too, giggling and kicking her feet as she’s passed from person to person and told how adorable her hair is today, how pretty her smile is. But even she’s got her limits, and Peter takes her back from his coworkers before the fun can morph into overstimulation. The last thing either of them needs is a Mayday Meltdown this early in the morning.

Luckily, they manage to avoid that fate and retreat to his office before she gets too overwhelmed. The corner of the office where his desk sits was babyproofed on Mayday’s first impromptu visit earlier at the start of this school year. All Peter has to do is move a few boxes and set up the baby gate he keeps stashed behind a filing cabinet and he’s got a safe spot for Mayday to explore within his line of sight while he works.

Mayday’s pretty good at keeping herself entertained, sometimes with her actual toys, sometimes with whatever of Peter’s belongings she can get her hands on. His office is a bit of a mess, so there’s plenty to choose from, and he’s made sure it’s nothing she can accidentally hurt herself with, so he lets her. Every so often, she’ll clamber up to sit with him and observe what he’s doing, and he has to watch she doesn’t grab a pen and scribble over something important.

He does, however, let her help send a few emails. Peter types out the boring part and lets her do the signoff, moving the keyboard closer so she can smack her palms on the keys until she’s satisfied. It’s an unintelligible string of characters every time, and Peter never deletes a single letter. He just adds a little From Mayday :) at the end and hits send. Eventually, she climbs back out of his lap to do something else, but not before he can give her a peck on the forehead as a thanks for all her help.

It’s a quiet morning work-wise, and with Mayday keeping him company it goes by quickly. The bell rings to signal the start of the lunch period, and Peter’s already halfway to opening his minifridge to pull out his and Mayday’s meals when he hears his office door open. He sits up to see Miles standing there, looking far from his usual, cheery self. “’s it cool if I eat here today? I-“ Miles stops himself when he notices the baby gate and takes a few steps further into Peter’s office until he sees Mayday behind the desk. She gives him a big smile and a wave, which he stiffly returns, still not quite sure how to interact with babies. It’s something Peter would tease him about, if Miles hadn’t walked in looking so upset. “Sorry, didn’t realize you had Mayday here today.”

Peter’s quick to shake his head. “Don’t be sorry! And of course you can eat in here, bud. Whatever you need.” Peter scoops Mayday up with one arm and their lunches in another before standing up, then nods to his now vacant desk chair. “I’ll even give you the best seat in the house.”

Miles doesn’t smile, but his frown eases up ever so slightly. “Thanks, man.”

Peter gives him a little pat on the back as they trade places, and Peter opts to sit on the floor with Mayday rather than try to balance them both in one of his smaller spare chairs. Peter sits her up with her back propped up against him while he lays out their food. He offers her a plastic spoon, but it goes unacknowledged- looks like they’re eating with their hands today.

Every so often, Peter sneaks a glance up at Miles. His own lunch sits untouched on Peter’s desk while Miles spins himself around in his chair instead. He’s got both legs hugged up to his chest with one hand while the other reaches out every so often to keep the chair’s momentum going. Peter sighs to himself as he watches, tempted to ask what’s wrong but holding back. Miles can tell him if he wants, or just spin himself sick on Peter’s chair until lunch is over. Whatever’s going to make him feel better.

For a while, the only conversation is between Peter and Mayday, where he playfully chastises her for trying to steal some of his lunch. She giggles every time she’s caught and that’s enough for him to give in and let her take a bite- he packed them both the exact same meal, just different portion sizes, so he swipes a bit of hers when she’s not looking.

They’re both finishing up their lunches when Miles stops himself with a hand on Peter’s desk. Peter glances up from where he’s wiping Mayday’s hands clean; Miles is turned so Peter can only see his profile, what little of it isn’t hidden by his knees and the collar of his school uniform.

“Parents are hounding me about college. Again.”

Ah. This isn’t the first time he’s come to Peter about this issue. Peter’s met Miles’ parents a handful of times over the few years since Miles first enrolled. Wonderful people, who love their son more than anything, but push him hard to live up to his full potential. A little too hard, in Peter’s opinion, but no one asked him.

“They want me to pick my top five schools when I don’t even know what classes I want to take my next semester here,” Miles continues as Peter rushes through cleaning up their lunch. He takes a seat then in one of the spare chairs, Mayday tucked in his arms while she finishes her juice. Miles still isn’t looking at him, rocking back and forth now in Peter’s chair while he stares idly at the wall. “I’m supposed to have my entire life set in stone before I’ve even learned how to drive.”

“I don’t think they expect you to have everything decided right now,” Peter starts. “They just want to know you have some sort of plan-“

“I don’t have a plan, that’s the whole point!” Miles snaps before catching himself, and it’s then he finally turns to Peter with an apologetic look. Peter just waves it away, no harm done, and Miles relaxes a little once he sees he’s not in trouble. He’s not the first to have an outburst like that in Peter’s office, and he sure won’t be the last.

“I don’t have a plan,” Miles tries again, this time at a more level register. He takes a breath, and the floodgates open. “I don’t know what I want to do, I said physics to get them to back off, but I don’t even think I like it. And then they saw the binder Dr. O’Hara put together so now they think I want to go into genetics, just- decided for me that that’s what I want to do and,” Miles lets his legs slip off the chair with a frustrated groan, slouching back. “I just want them off my ass for, like, one day.”

“I can try talking to them, if you want me to,” Peter offers. He doesn’t love the idea of telling Rio Morales how to parent her kid, guidance counselor or not, but he’ll be brave if it’ll help Miles out.

Miles presses his palms to his eyes, pushing hard while he thinks, before letting his hands fall away with a sigh. “No, it’s fine. Just needed to vent a little, is all,” Miles says. “I know it’s ‘cause they care, they’re just…a lot. All the time.”

“That’s fine, vent all you need to.” Of course, as soon as Peter says that, the bell rings. Miles huffs and reluctantly sits himself up, but Peter puts a hand up to stop him before he can get too far. Lunch was over, sure, but if Peter demanded Miles stay and talk about how he’s feeling, well. Miles couldn’t get in trouble for following what his counselor told him to do.

“I’ll give you a pass for your next class, if you want to stay,” is about as demanding as Peter gets, not that it takes much to convince a teenager to not go to class. Peter glances over to the window, assessing the weather. “Although, if you’re gonna stay, we should probably continue this talk outside. It’d be irresponsible of me to keep you in here when the sun’s out for once.” Vitamin D is good for… something, Peter’s sure. O’Hara MD probably knows.

Miles finally cracks a smile at that, shaking his head a little before his eyes fall on Peter’s mini-fridge. “We should probably bring some drinks if we’re gonna be outside, right? Since we’re being so responsible.”

“Oh, you think sitting in my chair gives you access to my soda stash, too? You’re getting awfully comfortable, Morales.”

That’s all the permission Miles needs. He opens the fridge to grab them each a can while Peter grabs his and Mayday’s jackets, and holds the door open for Miles so the three of them can sneak out.

They decide to go up to the roof. While every square inch of Visions is usually bustling with students, this specific rooftop is currently blocked off while the planned garden is under construction, accessible only to those with a key to the stairwell. Peter’s been here long enough to get his hands on a key to just about everywhere in the school, and he uses this privilege to give himself, Miles, and Mayday a little outdoor break, away from everyone else.

Peter still wouldn’t call it warm out here, but the temperature’s a little higher today than it has been in the last few weeks. And the sun feels really nice on what little of his skin is exposed- it’s been too long since any of them got to enjoy it, Peter wants to take full advantage.

There’s a box of chalk sitting abandoned on the ground from where the gardening club had been up here yesterday, plotting out where they’d like the different planters to go and what they’d like to grow in them. It’s one of the big boxes, too, with a rainbow of different colors, and Miles is quick to pick it up before looking at Peter, silently asking permission. Peter nods, flipping a bucket over to sit on and cracking his soda open.

Mayday is quick to squirm out of Peter’s arms to go follow Miles, attention split between the teen and the colorful box in his hands. She scrambles over to where Miles is crouched in front of one of the chalk outlines already on the ground. Peter watches, with no small amount of amusem*nt, as Miles’ posture goes rigid, still so awkward around her, before tentatively offering her one of the sticks of chalk. She babbles happily and plops down to scribble on the floor, and Miles lets himself relax before doing the same.

Peter enjoys his soda while the two of them draw. Sometimes Miles talks, when he thinks of something else he’d like to get off his chest, but for the most part, they enjoy the quiet. Relative quiet, at least- Mayday’s not one for being silent. She and Miles seem to fall into a rhythm, after a while; Miles outlines something before passing the chalk to let her color it in, and they repeat the process like that, over and over.

Once his drink is done and his ass starts to ache from sitting on his makeshift chair too long, Peter gets up to stroll around and see what they’ve been drawing. Turns out, they’ve been illustrating whatever fruit or vegetable the gardening club had designated to the different planters. There’s a row of tomatoes, carefully sketched out by Miles and hastily colored by Mayday, and it’s too cute to resist. Peter snaps a few photos, collects a few more of their other drawings, and sends them all to MJ in a single flurry of photos for her to enjoy.

He also recognizes Mayday’s starting to slow down, battery running low after a busy morning and struggling to keep up with Miles before they’re even halfway through drawing the garden. Peter picks her up and takes the chalk from her to pass back to Miles before returning to his bucket. She’s asleep in his arms before he has the chance to finish cleaning all the chalk off her hands.

Miles finishes the rest of the drawings on his own, and he’s in a much better mood by the time he finishes. He takes one final walkthrough to admire his and Mayday’s work before letting Peter know he’s ready to go back.

They make it back to Peter’s office while the hallways are still empty, and Mayday sleeps through the entire walk back, totally zonked. Miles walks over to his lunch he’d abandoned on Peter’s desk, stuffs whatever’s prewrapped and can be eaten on the go into his pocket, and picks over whatever’s left in the few minutes remaining before he has to go to his next class.

“Feeling better?” Peter asks, just to be sure, as he reclaims his chair. Mayday stirs a little where she’s snug against his chest but otherwise doesn’t react.

Miles nods, polishing off the last bit of his lunch in record time before chucking whatever’s left in the trash. “I am, yeah. Thanks for letting me complain a little,” he says, grabbing his backpack from the floor. With a little wave and a promise to meet back up later with him and Gwen, Miles leaves to go to his next class.

It’s one of Peter’s less productive afternoons. Days with Mayday usually are, but it’s difficult to be super-efficient when he’s got one arm busy with cradling his baby. He’s got a little mat stored here for her to sleep on if he really wants to focus, but he doesn’t bother getting it out. Why would he ever choose work over getting to cuddle Mayday?

She naps on and off through the rest of the school day, occasionally waking to help with another email before dozing off again. Mayday doesn’t fully wake up until Peter’s got their stuff packed to leave for Alchemax, yawning as Peter secures her in the baby harness once more. Gwen and Miles are waiting for him in their usual spot outside his door as soon as he steps out, and they both look surprised to see he’s still got Mayday with him. It's not like he has much of a choice, but it’s only for a few hours, so it shouldn’t be too big of a deal.

“You two head up there without me. Mayday and I are just gonna wait down here for today,” Peter tells them once they’re inside Alchemax’s lobby. While not explicitly stated in Miguel’s rulebook, Peter can guess bringing a toddler into a laboratory full of expensive equipment is, at best, highly frowned upon. “I’ll send them a text and let them know what’s going on. Please be on your best behavior- I’m trusting neither of you need to be supervised.”

“We’ll try, but no promises,” Gwen responds as the two turn to walk off, and Peter just shakes his head before taking out his phone to send Lyla a message.

I’ll be in the lobby for today, but once you’re done you n miguel should come down and say hi to mayday :)

Peter turns the camera around to snap a quick photo of Mayday for good measure, all happy and smiling in her carrier, and sends it along with his text before tucking his phone back into his pocket.

He’s about to find a decent spot to set him and Mayday up in when he realizes he’s being watched. The same receptionist from his first day here is staring at them, at Mayday specifically, eyes big and hands clasped over her mouth. “That is one of the cutest babies I have ever seen.”

Oh, that’s right. Being in a new place means there’s an entirely fresh group of people to meet and fawn over Mayday.

This just became the best day of Peter’s life.

Peter drags a cushy chair over so he can sit close to her desk and immediately makes himself a huge distraction. He learns she’s a first-time parent, too, with a son a few months older than Mayday. From there, it becomes a mess of swapping baby photos between animated discussions of the ups and downs of parenthood. Incoming phone calls are declined in favor of comparing milestones, and they’re just beginning to lay out tentative plans for a playdate when Peter catches a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye.

He turns to look and sure enough, it’s Lyla, beelining for Peter and nearly bumping into several people on her way over. Miguel’s nowhere to be seen, must still be upstairs with Miles and Gwen, which makes sense. There’s still an hour or so left in their day, so Lyla must have snuck out on her own.

Peter smiles and her and stands up, gesturing to Mayday who’s still tucked into her carrier. “Excited to meet her, huh? Can’t say I blame you. Lyla, this is my-“

Three more steps before Lyla is on him, and he realizes then that she’s not smiling back. “You need to leave.”

His expression falls, taken aback by her serious tone. “Why? What’s going on?”

She doesn’t answer, side-stepping around him and gesturing at Mayday’s stuff scattered over the chair. “All of this needs to go, like, now.”

“Lyla, are you seriously kicking us out? Can you at least tell me why?”

“I can’t.” Again with keeping him in the dark, Christ. When Peter doesn’t move to pack their things as she said, Lyla starts doing it herself, stuffing toys into the tote with an urgency Peter’s never seen from her before. “You can’t tell Miguel about this either, understand? As far as he’s concerned, your baby was never here.”

No, he doesn’t understand, because they don’t tell him anything, ever. “What does Miguel have to do with this?” None of this makes sense. Lyla’s the one who told him that Miguel was good with kids, why the sudden secrecy?

“Peter, please,“ Lyla wheels around to grab his arms tight, and the frantic edge in her voice is so out of character it startles him. Peter instinctively places a hand over Mayday, where she’s started to fidget and grow discontent with the tension between him and Lyla.

Lyla glances down at her, and there’s a flash of sympathy for the poor girl caught, literally, in the middle, before she looks back up at Peter. “I need you to trust me. It’s not you or Mayday, but I can’t tell you.” She still sounds anxious, but she’s trying to keep it more level for Mayday’s sake. “I’m sorry, okay? I just, I need you to go so I can figure this out.“

“Figure what out?” Peter’s stuck somewhere between frustrated and concerned, and he still doesn’t move when she lets go of his arms. “And I can’t just go, Miles and Gwen are still here.”

“I’ll walk them back,” Lyla says, now standing beside him with his bag thrown over her shoulder, her other hand trying to usher him towards the door with little success when Peter digs his heels in. “Peter, c’mon, we don’t have time for this-”

“What are you two doing?”

A voice, deeper than Peter’s own, makes them both freeze in place. He hears Lyla’s panicked no, no, no- under her breath as they slowly turn to face Miguel, who’s standing behind them with his arms crossed.

He looks more than a little annoyed he had to come all the way down to the lobby to retrieve Lyla, but it doesn’t last long. Miguel’s gaze shifts down to Peter’s chest, and his scowl is wiped clean off his face when dark eyes meet bright blue.

Calling the scene tense is an understatement. Miguel’s eyes are wide in surprise, and he’s so still he may as well be holding his breath. They all are, except for Mayday, who’s making an earnest attempt to escape her carrier now. Miguel’s watching her every move, and with the way all his muscles seem to tense up Peter’s convinced he’ll up and bolt at any second.

It’s the most expressive Peter’s seen him. He just wishes Miguel wasn’t staring like he’s got a bomb strapped to his chest.

Lyla’s the first to take a step towards Miguel, sounding as on edge as Peter feels. “Miguel, I swear I didn’t know he was bringing her,” she starts, but it’s like Miguel doesn’t even hear her.

“Can I hold her?” He asks suddenly, and it’s Peter and Lyla’s turn to be surprised. Miguel looks away from Mayday and back up to Peter then; still on edge, expression mixed with something Peter can’t quite put a finger on. “Please?”

Peter doesn’t answer right away. Normally, Mayday would have been in Miguel’s arms before he even finished his sentence. But he doesn’t know what to make of Miguel’s current behavior. Peter trusts Miguel, he would have given him an outright no the second Miguel had asked if he didn’t, but now he’s not sure what to think. Mayday’s only grown fussier in the meantime, fighting the carrier even harder now and whining when she can’t get herself free. Her eyes are wet with tears, threatening to spill over as she looks between the three adults for help.

Peter’s quick to unhook the straps keeping her in place, lifts her out, and settles then on letting Mayday be the one to choose whether or not Miguel holds her. With a single nod, Peter carefully holds her out for Miguel; if she fusses more or tries to get away, Peter’s taking her right back. Miguel falters, like he wasn’t expecting Peter to actually agree, but a split second later he’s reaching out to take her.

It’s apparent from the moment she’s in Miguel’s arms that he’s done this before, evident in the way he brings Mayday close to cradle her safely against his chest like he’s done it a thousand times. Peter watches them both closely, waits for any sign from Mayday that she wants to be back with him, but she doesn’t make any attempt to escape. Instead, she fists a tiny hand in the front of Miguel’s shirt, gripping tight as he brings a hand up to… hold her arm?

Peter’s stomach drops once it clicks what Miguel’s doing; he’s got two fingers pressed gently to the inside of her arm, just above the elbow. The exact same spot he’d felt for Peter’s pulse in the park. It sends a spark of panic through him, Miguel must have caught on that something was wrong, something was wrong with his baby, and Peter hadn’t even realized it himself-

Except, Miguel doesn’t react at all. He’s watching Mayday with that same indecipherable expression, and when she pulls her arm away, he doesn’t stop her, just moves his hand to rub soothing circles on her back. Mayday sniffles, but Miguel’s gentle touch seems to be enough to keep the tears at bay.

Peter sneaks a glance down at Lyla, trying to gauge her reaction to all this, but with where she’s currently standing, he can’t see her face. She’s watching Miguel as carefully as Peter is, but what she’s looking for, Peter can’t hope to guess.

“What’s her name?” Miguel asks, drawing Peter’s attention back to him.

“May,” Peter tells him, “But everyone calls her Mayday.”

“Mayday,” Miguel repeats softly, and hearing her name gets the tiniest smile from Mayday. She lets go of Miguel’s shirt to smack her palm to his cheek instead, and oh, the smile that gets from Miguel in turn. It’s brief, closed-mouth, but still the biggest Peter’s seen from him to date. “She’s beautiful, Peter.”

He doesn’t know what to think of Miguel sounding so devastated when he says that.

Mayday’s calmed down by then, but she’s had her fill of strangers and reaches out for Peter to take her back. Miguel doesn’t try to keep her when it’s clear she wants her dad, smile falling back to that unreadable expression from before. Peter doesn’t miss the way his hands are shaking when he hands Mayday back to him, or the way they clench into fists when they fall back to his sides.

He might not be able to read Miguel, but Lyla can, and she steps close enough to place a hand on his arm. “Miles and Gwen are waiting for us, we should head back,” she says, and Miguel spares Mayday, not Peter, one final glance before letting Lyla turn him back towards the elevators.

But, no, that can’t be it. They can’t possibly expect Peter to just let them walk away and not talk about whatever the hell just happened. “Miguel, wait a second,” he starts, following behind them, only for Lyla to turn and put her hand up. The message is clear- don’t follow us. She at least has the decency to look apologetic. Miguel doesn’t even turn around when Peter says his name.

Peter shakes his head but does as she asks, letting them go off on their own back to their floor and leaving Peter alone with Mayday once more. “Unbelievable,” He mutters under his breath, returning to his chair and sitting with a heavy sigh. Mayday climbs up to hug her arms around his neck, face smushed into the side of his, and Peter tries to focus on that small comfort rather than let Miguel’s… whatever that was, sour his mood.

He closes his eyes, attempts to enjoy a quick snuggle sesh with his baby, but only gets, at most, ten minutes before someone’s tapping his shoulder. Peter opens his eyes, and for a brief moment he thinks it’s Miguel, but that hope is quickly squashed when he tilts his head up and sees two teens looming over the back of the chair. Peter frowns and sits up, careful not to jostle Mayday where she’s still clinging to his neck. “What are you two doing down here?”

“Lyla told us they had to end the day early,” Miles says, shrugging his shoulders. “Didn’t say why.”

“Okay… and what did Miguel say?”

“We didn’t see him,” Gwen jumps in this time. “He had locked himself in his office when we left.”

Peter looks between the two teens, hoping they’ll have anything else to tell him, but seems there just as clueless as he is about whatever’s going on with Miguel and Lyla. Figures. Peter doesn’t exactly want them dragged into it, though, so maybe that’s for the best. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day, and they’ll make it up to Miles and Gwen then.

“Did something happen when they came down here?” Miles asks as Peter stands to gather up his and Mayday’s belongings- there’s not much left to do, considering Lyla did most of it for him earlier. “They were totally normal until Lyla ran out halfway through.”

It’s Peter’s turn to shrug. “Honestly, kid, I have no idea what happened.”

He buys Miles and Gwen each a snack on their way back to Visions as an apology for their day being cut short, and once they’ve returned to their respective dorms it’s Peter’s turn to head home with Mayday. She naps on and off during the subway ride home, and Peter’s almost jealous- he can’t stop mulling over that bizarre encounter long enough to even consider letting himself rest.

The rest of his evening is spent feeling the same way. Even as he’s getting Mayday fed, bathed, and ready for bed, he can’t stop replaying what happened in his mind, over and over. Lyla’s secrecy, the way she desperately tried to get Peter out of the lobby before Miguel could see him with Mayday. God, and Miguel… any reason he comes up with to try and explain Miguel’s behavior is unpleasant at best and horrifying at worst, so Peter forces himself to not dwell on any of them for too long.

Peter’s so busy trying to figure out whatever secret those two don’t want him to know, that he doesn’t realize he’s got two unread messages waiting for him until he’s put Mayday in her crib for the night. He gets a sinking feeling in his chest when he sees they’re both from Miguel.

Something came up. I can’t meet for drinks with you tomorrow.

I’m sorry.

Yeah. Peter expected that. Doesn’t mean he’s any less disappointed to have their plans canceled.

No worries man. Next time maybe

Peter sets his phone down on the table, intending to leave it at that. Something came up. Miguel is lying, but that’s fine, really. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, Peter won’t force him. He busies himself with picking up some of the trash around his apartment, tries to chip away at the dishes piling up in his sink.

It’s fine. Peter can give him space. It doesn’t bother him at all, being left in the lurch like this.

He convinces himself this is true for a good half hour before he swipes his phone up from the table again.

Hey, i dont know what happened today, but i wanted to say i’m sorry. Didn’t realize bringing mayday was going to be an issue, that’s on me for not asking first. Ik you said you’re busy, but i’d like to talk about it with you tomorrow

There, okay. Now he’s done. Back to giving Miguel his space. The fact he leaves his screen unlocked and carries it with him while he finishes his chores is irrelevant.

Peter doesn’t receive a response back even once the dishes are done and he’s changed into his pajamas to crawl into bed himself. There’s no way to tell if Miguel read his text, or any sign that he tries to reply, but Peter keeps his phone next to him anyway, staring at the screen until his eyes close against his will.

There’s still nothing waiting for him when he wakes up the next morning.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

The treadmill creaks in protest with each of his strides, the only source of noise in the otherwise empty gym. Miguel ignores it and forces himself to keep a brutal pace. He doesn’t let up until his thighs start to burn, keeps running beyond that until they threaten to buckle underneath him. Only then does he allow himself a break, stepping quickly to place his feet on either side of the still-running track, keeping a tight grip on the rails with his hands to keep himself upright.

The rest of that evening had been a disaster.

He couldn’t catch his breath, pacing circles around his office with his hands fisted so tight in his own hair it’s a miracle he doesn’t rip a chunk of it out. He’s too aware of his heartbeat pounding wildly in his chest, racing as fast as his thoughts.

She’s not her, he tells himself, and logically, he knows that. But those few seconds where he’d held Mayday and felt her steady pulse under his fingers were enough to remind him of a time when he’d had everything he ever wanted.

Then she pulled her hand away, and Miguel was forced to face the reality that that life was never meant to be his.

He turns to make another frantic lap around his office when the door opens, and Lyla slips inside. A thousand emotions are melding together in her expression, but grief and pity are the easiest to pick out. Miguel’s not sure which one makes him feel worse.

“Did you know?” He asks her, desperation so thick he doesn’t recognize his own voice. Still pacing- if he stops moving right now, he thinks he might drop dead. “Did you know he had a kid?”

She shakes her head quickly, and on his next pass, she starts walking next to him. “I didn’t know, Miguel, I swear.” Lyla doesn’t try to slow him down, just sticks close to his side and places her hand on his back. It does nothing to soothe him. “I’m so sorry.”

What a sad display. Truly and utterly pathetic, to have a meltdown like that over- what? A toddler he asked to hold?

Miguel cranks the speed up on the treadmill and throws himself into another sprint before the ache in his muscles has time to fully dissipate.

The next time he’s forced to stop, he has to brace himself forward on his elbows, letting the treadmill’s display screen bear most of his weight as his legs shake with the effort of keeping him up. Each lungful of air burns on the inhale.

The next day hadn’t gone much better.

Peter tried to pull him aside to talk about what happened, but Miguel shut him down at every turn, keeping him at arm’s length, metaphorically and physically. He didn’t miss the flash of hurt that crossed Peter’s features when he realized what Miguel was doing, but he took the hint and didn’t keep pushing after that. He didn’t accompany them into the lab like usual, either, choosing instead to wait in Miguel’s office for them to finish that day’s project.

Gwen and Miles had picked up on the change in atmosphere, too, keeping their usual chatter down to near silence. Them walking on eggshells like that was enough for Miguel to cut that day’s lab time short, too, sending them out with a curt apology and not much else. He didn’t even bother stepping out to say goodbye to Peter- just hid in his lab like a coward until he was sure they were all gone.

Miguel glares down at the track spinning beneath him, so fast it’s nauseating to stare at. Then he maxes the speed out, and the cycle begins again.

He maintains that brutal pattern as long as possible- running to the brink of exhaustion, stopping only when absolutely necessary until the rumination becomes more unbearable than the lack of oxygen, rinse and repeat. Miguel doesn’t let himself off the treadmill until he truly is at risk of his legs giving out entirely, if only to spare Lyla the ordeal of having to come all the way down there to scrape him up off the floor.

Lyla had been asleep when he left that morning, but she’s awake now when he drags himself back up to his apartment. “Mornin’,” she drawls, watching him from where she’s still lying across his couch. “Feeling better?”

“No.” Despite being exhausted and miserable, he’s still desperate for something to do, something to keep his body occupied and mind elsewhere. Miguel briefly considers going over to their lab to work, but being trapped in a sterile little box is just about the last thing he wants right now. “I’m going back out for groceries if you need anything.”

“Depends, where are you gonna go?”

“Wherever, just make me a list,” he says, before slipping into the bathroom to rid himself of the grime he’d accumulated during his run.

The routine is the same as always- shower, get dressed, grab his bracelets. Miguel’s quick about it, but Lyla’s got a decent list waiting for him when he steps back into the living room. “Want me to go with you?” she asks, concern evident in her tone. Over the years they’ve come to a sort of unspoken agreement that, when he’s in these little moods, she won’t stop him from doing whatever he feels he needs to do, so long as Miguel keeps himself in check enough that he doesn’t wind up in a hospital. That doesn’t stop Lyla from being worried, though.

Miguel shakes his head, taking the list from her before pulling on his coat. “No, I’m fine going alone.” Sometimes the company is nice, but today he wants to draw this out for as long as he possibly can. He knows the last thing Lyla wants to do on her day off is trudge around the city for hours on end- she’s still got several blankets tucked around her on the couch and has yet to fully sit upright. In her ideal world, she’ll be in that spot for the entire day, and Miguel doesn’t want to interfere with that.

“M’kay, if you’re sure.” Lyla doesn’t sound all that convinced, even if she is secretly grateful she can stay in her pajamas. “Just be safe, Mig.”

He will. He always is- all the effort Lyla puts into caring about him can’t be for nothing.

Once he’s outside, Miguel takes the list from his pocket and gives it a more thorough read. It’s a long list, less actual groceries and more of a compilation of Lyla’s favorite snacks. He knows a few of these are hard to find, located only in a few specialty stores, and in very limited quantities. Tracking down just half of these could take an entire day. It’s perfect.

Miguel’s legs still ache from his run, but he’s steady enough to walk and forgo any sort of public transit. Going on foot will add hours to his trip, and that’s exactly what he’s hoping for. The weather’s decent enough, if a bit overcast and dreary, and there’s enough bustle on the sidewalks for him to idly observe and keep (most of) the rumination at bay.

It’s well over a mile’s walk to the first store- a candy store decorated mostly in bright pink with equally bubbly and chatty staff. Miguel’s polite, but he doesn’t hide the fact he’d rather swallow glass than make small talk right now, and he’s left alone shortly after. There’s a specific brand of mango-flavored hard candies that can only be found at this store, and he stocks up enough that he won’t be asked to stop by again any time soon. Hopefully. He’s quick to pay and leave before the obnoxious colors can give him a migraine.

Pink bag of candy in hand, Miguel starts making his way down the rest of the list. It’s a lot of walking between each store, only to grab one or two things from each place he stops at. Within a few hours, he’s got both arms full, and there’s still so much left on the list. Now he’s plotting out in his head how many more shops he can stop at before he has to return to his apartment, whether he can make a second or even third trip before the sun goes down.

Miguel’s got it all planned out so perfectly, only for it all to fly completely out of his head when he rounds the corner and sees him.

He’s wearing a different jacket than usual, and Miguel can only see about a third of his face from this angle, but it doesn’t matter. His profile is unmistakable, more distinct in Miguel’s mind than it really ought to be. Peter’s got his head down, fiddling with something in his hands, something Miguel can’t discern from this distance. He’s too busy messing with whatever he’s holding that he hasn’t noticed Miguel standing at the far end of the street.

Miguel takes advantage of the fact he hasn’t been spotted and does what he does best- turns on his heels and walks in the opposite direction like an absolute coward. He rounds the corner, down to the opposite end, and stops at the crosswalk. When he’s sure he’s not at risk of being spotted, he releases the breath he’d been inadvertently holding, tapping his foot impatiently while he waits for the crosswalk sign to light up.

There’s nothing he can say to Peter that’ll make up for how sh*tty Miguel’s treated him the past few days. Not without bringing up topics Miguel would much rather live the rest of his life ignoring- it’s going really well for him so far, clearly. A half-baked apology and nothing else won’t make up for being iced out for several days, not when Peter’s only ‘crimes’ were having a family and being worried about Miguel.

He doesn’t enjoy doing this to Peter. It doesn’t feel good to ignore the one friend he’s made in…forever, it feels like, since he first met Lyla, but none of his other choices are any less horrible.

The crosswalk signal turns on. Everyone but Miguel moves to cross the road. He stands in the same spot until it turns off again.

Perhaps the most humiliating part of this entire thing is the fact Miguel’s reaction to Mayday wasn’t solely fueled by barely healed wounds being ripped wide open.

Miguel might be a little slow to pick up on certain things, even slower to admit any of his feelings, ever, but he’s not completely oblivious. Even he’s not so stupid as to miss the implications behind being asked out for drinks only hours after establishing you’re both single.

He is, however, stupid enough to get his hopes up. Stupid enough to think, maybe, he could have something with Peter. He didn’t even know what that something would be, but he was so, so stupid to want to try and find out. To give meaning to all the stolen glances and outright staring and touching. To think he might be okay with letting Peter carve an even bigger space for himself in Miguel’s life.

And then Peter shows up with his perfect, beautiful daughter and Miguel gets another reminder that the universe will never, ever let him have what he wants.

It would be funny, all the angsting over a man he hardly knows, if it weren’t all just sad to watch.

But again, this is for the best. Miguel couldn’t expect to have anything other than a polite but distant friendship with anyone while also keeping such massive portions of himself hidden away under lock and key. Pushing Peter away was cruel, yes, but wouldn’t it be even worse to lead him on when Miguel knows he could never truly be honest with him? Best to end it now, while there’s really nothing of substance to end, rather than drag out what is the only inevitable conclusion.

It’s the most logical solution.

The crosswalk signal turns on again. Miguel turns and walks in the opposite direction, because logic left the building the second Peter B. Parker first stepped into his office.

Because the logical solution isn’t the one he wants.

Miguel’s selfish. He’ll take a strained friendship that’s destined to end over not having Peter at all. It’s really, truly pathetic to latch on this hard after barely a month, but he didn’t realize how lonely he’d been before Peter came along and made himself a recurring character in Miguel’s life.

His determined pace slows once Peter comes back into view, all that desperation to fix things tampered by the realization that he doesn’t…really know what to say. It’s the same conflict Miguel’s had all week, of how to apologize without addressing a single skeleton in his closet. He considers backing out, while there’s still time to run away again, but his body won’t listen, even as his mind draws blank after blank on what to say.

Peter still hasn’t noticed him walking closer, even as Miguel draws near enough to realize the items he’d been holding were a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. He’s got a freshly lit one between his fingers, and Miguel watches with no small amount of surprise as Peter brings it up to take a long drag.

It’s about the last thing he ever expected to see Peter do. Miguel can smell the nicotine wafting through the air when Peter exhales, and he blames the chemicals for the way his first reaction is to blurt out;

“I didn’t peg you for a smoker.”

Well. That’s one way to start the conversation.

“f*ck, Miguel-“ Peter startles, head snapping up at Miguel’s sudden appearance only to shoot back down to the cigarette he’s holding. Miguel catches the flash of shame that crosses his features before Peter flicks it to the ground and stomps it out on the concrete. “You gotta stop catching me doing stupid stuff like this, man. I’m trying to not totally ruin your perception of me.”

It’s an attempt at humor, something to lighten the uncomfortable atmosphere between them, and Miguel might have appreciated it if the self-deprecation didn’t leave such a sour taste in his mouth. “I don’t care if you smoke,” Miguel says, because he honestly doesn’t. Surprised, yes, but he’s not about to judge what Peter does to unwind. Considering how he spent this morning, Miguel’s in no position to be casting stones regarding other people’s coping methods.

Peter’s watching him closely, like he’s waiting for Miguel to go back on what he’d just said, posture tense. He doesn’t go for another cigarette right away, but after a few beats of silence he scoots sideways on the bench, far enough that even Miguel can pick up on the silent offer he’s presenting. Miguel takes it, sitting down on the opposite side of Peter, leaving as much room as he can between the two of them and setting the bags of groceries on the ground. He doesn’t know which is more uncomfortable- sitting next to Peter like this, or awkwardly looming beside him like he’d just been doing.

Peter, at least, relaxes a little once Miguel’s sitting next to him. “I don’t smoke often, just when things get a little too stressful,” He starts, like he still feels the need to justify himself. “And I don’t do it around my students, obviously.” Or my daughter goes unsaid.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Miguel says. Peter waits another moment for some last-second criticism from Miguel before giving in and pulling another cigarette out. Miguel turns his attention to a crack in the pavement below them, not wanting Peter to feel watched, but he does observe Peter in his periphery as he places it between his lips and lights it.

A long inhale, an even longer exhale, and that’s all the peace Miguel gets before Peter speaks again.

“So. Are we gonna talk about what happened?”

Now it’s Miguel’s turn to tense up. “There’s nothing to talk about.” The way he deflects on reflex makes him hate himself just a little bit more than he already does. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, but like I said, something came up-“

“Miguel.” The sharp edge of Peter’s voice is enough to cut him off entirely, and Miguel turns his head to look over at Peter in surprise. Peter doesn’t look mad, per se, but he does look uncharacteristically serious, lips pressed in a straight line. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but don’t lie to me, either.”

“I’m sorry,” Miguel says automatically, completely caught off guard by Peter’s change in demeanor. He’s not used to being called out so blatantly- either people are too afraid to say anything, or decide his attitude isn’t worth what few positives he has to offer and they end up walking away entirely. To have someone readily push back like this, to demand better of him, is entirely foreign.

He’s thrown even more by the fact it’s Peter of all people who’s bold enough to check him, but maybe he shouldn’t be. Miguel saw glimpses of it when they went out to lunch the first time, but the stakes feel a little higher now than when they were arguing over sandwiches.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, hoping this time it sounds more genuine, and Miguel thinks he succeeded when Peter’s stern expression softens just a little.

“It’s okay,” Peter tells him, turning so he’s seated sideways on the bench with his body angled more towards Miguel. “Seriously, you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Just worried about you, is all.”

Yet another person who deserves better than to waste so much of their time worrying over him. Miguel shifts in his spot, turning away to look back down at his hands in his lap. Peter sits patiently as he opens his mouth to try and say something, anything only to close it again, over and over. He feels like an idiot, frankly, but maybe that’s what he deserves for treating Peter so poorly.

He gives up with a frustrated exhale, falling back against the backrest of the bench and head tilted up towards the sky, now. “I don’t know what else to say,” He admits. “I don’t know if I can say anything else.”

“Answer this for me, then,” Peter says, between drags from his cigarette. “Are you okay?”

“I-“ Miguel stops himself, considers what Peter just told him about lying, and tries again. “I’m trying to be.”

“And are we okay?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t have to think about that one. Miguel shifts again, chancing a glance over at Peter. “If you’re willing to give me a second chance.”

“It’s not about ‘giving you a second chance’, Mig,” Peter says with a kind smile Miguel’s not sure he’s earned but greedily takes nonetheless. “I don’t need you to prove yourself to me, or whatever else you’re thinking. You apologized, and now we move on.”

Before Miguel can say anything in response, Peter’s smile shifts to something more coy. “Besides, I gotta keep you around if I want to keep getting free passes to the Underground.”

Miguel laughs at that before he even realizes he’s doing it, a quiet, short noise but no less genuine. It really is amazing how easily Peter can shift the entire mood in an instant, how naturally he can lead a conversation. “Oh, is that all I’m good for?”

“It’s certainly a perk,” Peter hums, then nods down at the bags near Miguel’s feet. “What’s all that for?”

“It’s snacks for Lyla,” Miguel explains. “I need an excuse to go out today.”

Peter cranes his neck to try and peek at the contents of the bags, nodding in approval at what little he can see. “How much do you have left to get?”

“This isn’t even half. Why?”

Peter shrugs, idly rolling what little remains of his cigarette between his fingers. “Was gonna offer to come with you, if you wanted the company.”

Miguel raises a brow at him. “You want to come with me while I buy groceries?”

“Sure. Beats moping on this bench all day.”

Miguel can’t help but feel like he’s the main contributor to said moping, but he’s too afraid to ask and have his suspicions confirmed.

Well, the least he can do is let Peter join him, so he nods and gathers his bags before standing up. “Let’s go, then. Some of these stores close soon.”

Peter’s quick to follow after him, finishing off the last of his cigarette and ashing it in a trashcan. Ever the over-planner, Miguel’s already got a new route mapped out, one that’ll take them in a loop back to his apartment in a shorter path than he’d originally set for himself. He’s not sure how long Peter actually wants to join him, and figures it’d be rude to drag him along on an exhausting walk just for Miguel’s benefit.

There’s still a part of Miguel that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Peter to suddenly decide he is in fact mad over being ignored and start taking it out on him, but it never comes. Peter seems back to his usual self as they make their way to the first stop, talking up his usual storm while Miguel listens. He’s missed this- it’d only been a few days, but it had been such a miserably quiet time without Peter.

Peter offers to help carry some of Miguel’s bags as the assortment of snacks grows, and soon enough they’re both laden with more food than any one person realistically needs. Even then, they’re nowhere near done with the list by the time the sun begins to set, but they’re nearing the end of their little route, only another half mile or so before they’ll be back at Miguel’s apartment complex.

Miguel’s hesitant to let it end so soon, and while he’s trying to think of another store they can hit to try and draw things out, his gaze falls on a bar situated on a nearby street corner. It’s only just opened, barely anyone inside besides a lone patron and the bartender, still too early in the day for any sort of evening crowds. He slows to a stop, and Peter only gets a few steps ahead before realizing Miguel’s not next to him and he pauses, too. “How tired are you right now?”

“Uh- my normal amount, I guess? Why?” Peter asks, only to realize exactly why when he follows Miguel’s gaze and spots the bar himself.

“Because I think I still owe you a drink.”

“Well, if you’re buying, I think I can find it in me to stay out a little longer.”

They look a little ridiculous, dragging their collection of grocery bags into the bar with them, but the bartender hardly spares them a second glance as she hands them each a beer. Rather than sit inside, the pair make their way to a little patio section built into the side of the bar, away from the only other person currently occupying the building. They deposit their bags into one of the booths, then each take a seat at a long table built into the perimeter of the patio looking out onto the street.

For a while, they just enjoy the relative peace of the bar. The beer is mediocre, which is about as much as you can expect from any beer, but it’s cold and appreciated after an entire afternoon of walking. Peter asks if Miguel minds if he smokes again, to which Miguel shakes his head no.

He’s a little less covert about watching Peter light this second cigarette. He does everything with such an unexpected level of finesse, whether it’s climbing or using a lighter, and Miguel’s embarrassed to even admit to himself how much he just watches Peter do things. Always with that casual confidence Miguel finds himself envious of.

Feeling bold -or maybe like he needs to prove something-, Miguel holds his hand out towards Peter. He looks confused for a moment, then surprised, eyebrows raising as he makes the connection and hands the cigarette over, albeit slowly. “Didn’t peg you for a smoker,” he says, watching as Miguel brings the cigarette to his lips, inhales-

And proceeds to hack up a lung.

“Or not- are you good, dude!?” Miguel can barely hear Peter over his own coughing, hastily handing the cigarette back to him before doubling over the counter. His chest burns, tears pricking the corner of his eyes with how violently he’s trying to get clean air into his lungs. Peter’s hand is on his back, patting his shoulder and babying him through it until the worst of it is over and he’s left still bent forward onto his elbows.

“Jesus, I wouldn’t have given it to you if I’d known you didn’t smoke,” Peter says, hand slipping from Miguel’s back once his breathing evens out.

“Never cigarettes,” Miguel mumbles without thinking, only for his head to snap up once he realizes what he’d said, but it’s too late to backtrack. Peter’s already put it together, gaping at him despite the nasty glare Miguel shoots in his direction. “Stop that. Stop looking at me like that.”

Peter does not stop. “Miguel O’Hara- renowned geneticist and raging pothead.” The shock in his voice is as dramatic as it is immensely aggravating. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Raging pothead? I-“ He coughs again and stops to take another drink to soothe his sore throat. “I smoked twice. In college. That doesn’t even count.”

Peter puts his hands up in mock defense. “Hey man, I’m just surprised, is all. No judgment here, Lord knows I’m no stranger to the stuff myself- hey, I saw that look.”

“What look?” Miguel knows exactly what look. Peter shakes his head, grinning as he takes a drag and doesn’t make an ass of himself while doing it.

The conversation lulls after that, into a comfortable silence while they finish their beers. The sun is fully down by then, leaving them illuminated only by the streetlights and a string of bulbs hung up over their heads. There’s more noise coming from inside the bar as it begins to fill up, but for now, they still have the patio to themselves. Neither of them is in any rush to leave.

“So,” Peter’s the first to break the silence. “Why Alchemax?”

Miguel frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re a decent person with an intact moral compass. Seems pretty antithetical to everything Alchemax stands for.”

He considers the question for a while, staring down at the mostly empty bottle in his hands. “It was the first decent job offer after graduation.” Miguel eventually says, picking at a corner of the bottle’s label.

“More than decent. They offered Lyla and me everything- cheap rent, nice paycheck, medical coverage.” The label rips in two. “All these great things so you sign the contract without reading it first.”

Miguel’s nowhere near tipsy after just one drink, but it’s still enough to make him more talkative than usual, and he keeps going. “Alchemax will pay your student debt if you agree to work for them for a certain number of years, and we were so desperate to get out from under our loans we didn’t think twice about agreeing. We figured we wouldn’t want to get another job anyways, with the benefits they offered, so why would it matter how long they rope us in for?” Miguel shakes his head and scoffs. “And now they own me. I signed away my entire career just like that.”

“How long do you have left before the contract is up?” Peter asks.

“A decade if I’m lucky. Two if Alchemax gets their way.”

“And if you quit?”

“Then I lose everything I have and drown in debt.”

“f*ck,” Peter whispers, leaning back on his bar stool. “That’s- f*ck, Miguel, I knew they were bad, but keeping you both hostage like that? And I’m guessing you’re not the only ones.”

Miguel shakes his head. “Most of their researchers are in the same position. Makes you rethink bringing Gwen and Miles there, doesn’t it?”

“Honestly, yeah,” Peter admits. “If I’d heard that and didn’t already know you and Lyla were good people, I’d have them pulled. Sure as hell not gonna let them take any job offers from there.”

“I wasn’t going to let them, either,” Miguel says. The last thing he wants is for one of them to fall into the same pit as him.

Peter lets out a long sigh, swearing under his breath before shaking his head. There’s an ashtray on the table he uses to extinguish the butt of his cigarette. “What would you do if that contract and your debt didn’t exist? What do you want to do?”

Miguel turns to look at him and tells Peter, “I don’t think I’ve known what I want for a long time now.”

Peter just takes the bold admission in stride, slipping into another one of those easy smiles. “Well, I think that’s okay. You’ve got plenty of time to figure it out.”

“Is that what you tell your students?”

“I’ve got a whole speech on it, if you feel like you need some more guidance and-or counseling.”

Miguel feels the corner of his mouth tick upwards. “Maybe next time.”

Peter shrugs, sitting back in his seat. “Your loss- it’s a really good speech.”

By now, more people are starting to crowd into the outdoor section of the bar, and between all the physical activity and his conversation with Peter, he’s starting to feel a full-body exhaustion set in. Peter must be feeling the same, because he’s the first to suggest they leave, and together they make the walk back to Miguel’s apartment.

They stop in front of the lobby doors, and Miguel’s about to tell him goodnight when Peter beats him to the punch. “Okay, last time I’ll bring it up, and then I’ll never mention it again.” Peter takes a breath, then looks up at Miguel, serious again but with his usual kindness softening the edges.

“If you ever want to talk about that day, or anything else, I’m here for you,” Peter tells him, offering a little smile. “You don’t have to, obviously, but I like to think I’m a good listener. And I care about you, y’know? I meant it when I said I was worried about you, so if you need someone, just know you’ve got me.”

Oh, does that make Miguel feel a lot of unworthy things. Things he cannot ever put into words, because saying them would make things real, and he can’t have something real with Peter. But When Peter looks at him like that, the selfish feeling from before comes back in one huge wave.

It makes him brave, or maybe just stupid. Miguel takes a page from Peter’s book, and hesitates only a moment before reaching out to lightly touch Peter’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Peter.” He says, meeting Peter’s steady gaze with his own. “For everything.”

He can have this, Miguel thinks. It won’t last, nothing good in his life ever does, but for now, he can have Peter. He’ll greedily take up whatever Peter will offer him, for however long he’s willing to give it to him.

It’s not what he wants, but for Miguel, it can be enough.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

dont eat lunch today

That’s the singular, ominous text Peter received from Lyla that morning.

He’s about 95% sure it’s not a threat. He’s fairly certain he hasn’t done anything recently that would warrant one. Besides, Lyla seems like the type to make it very clear when she is in fact threatening someone. That, or she’d skip all the talking and just kill him outright. But again, he’s not done anything murder worthy.

Is she calling me fat? No. She wouldn’t do that either. Probably.

So, not a threat, and not an insult. Lyla doesn’t elaborate further when he sends her a thumbs up, so Peter’s left to ponder her vague message the rest of the morning. Although he’s got limited pondering time today, with the entire student body stressing over midterms. The actual tests aren’t for another week, but he’s got his hands full talking down teenagers who are all one A- from a full-blown panic attack.

Peter’s so busy he almost forgets about the text entirely, only to be reminded when Lyla barges into his office only a few minutes into lunch period. “The front office ladies thought I was a student and almost didn’t give me a visitor’s pass, can you believe that?” She huffs.

Peter can believe that, considering she’s a foot shorter than him and practically swimming in that fur coat of hers. In the interest of keeping his chances of being murdered low, he keeps that to himself. “Must be your youthful glow.”

Lyla rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. My crow’s feet are worse than Miguel’s.”

“But not worse than mine.”

“True. Anyways,” She shrugs off her coat and tosses it over the back of a chair, then walks up to Peter’s desk to drop a paper bag in front of him. “Peace offering. This is what Mig said you liked so if it sucks, blame him.”

Curious, Peter leans over to peek inside the bag. He recognizes the contents immediately- sandwiches and chips, from the little shop he and Miguel went to a while back. He pulls one of the sandwiches out and pulls back the parchment paper to check its contents and sure enough, it’s his usual order. Huh. He didn’t think Miguel was paying that close attention.

“Not that I’m not grateful for a free meal, but what’s the peace offering for?” Peter asks, taking one of the servings of chips as well before settling back into his chair.

Lyla takes the other sandwich and the rest of the chips, and pulls the chair not holding her coat closer to use Peter’s desk as a table before sitting down. “I feel bad for what happened in the lobby last week,” she says, staring down at the food in her hands. It’s the first time Peter’s seen her so serious. “Kinda sh*tty to just chase you out of the lobby instead of trying to talk to you, but…”

She trails off, trying and failing to come up with a decent explanation. Peter doesn’t need one.

“You were trying to protect your friend, I get it,” Peter says with a shrug. “And I should have asked before bringing my kid with me, anyways. So- apology lunch accepted, even if it’s totally unnecessary.”

Lyla looks up at him, surprised. “That’s all it took? I was fully expecting to have to bribe you more with some stories about Mig from college.”

“Well, hang on,” Peter pulls the bread of his sandwich away, pretending to inspect the inside. “Now that I’m getting a closer look, this is a little soggy. So I probably do need a little more convincing.”

Lyla laughs. “Oh, don’t worry, I got plenty to win you over with.”

And she’s right. Peter’s treated to dinner and a show, listening intently as Lyla retells the highlights of their first few years crammed into a dorm together. At one point she mentions she convinced Miguel to join a soccer club and Peter begs for a photo, only for Lyla to shake her head.

“I’m saving the photos for when I really f*ck up and need some grade-A material to apologize with. Or for whenever Miguel gets really annoying.”

She does, however, fill him in on all the times Miguel (and herself) smoked- which was a lot more than twice, the little delinquents. It doesn’t end up being much of a story, high Miguel just eats a lot and quietly watches nature documentaries. That’s Peter’s average Tuesday evening.

The conversation drifts then to Lyla herself, and she’s got no problem pulling up images from her brief stint in a robotics club. It’s only fair that Peter then shares his early days as a photographer, all the time spent tinkering with secondhand cameras to get them to function, and from there the two discover a shared love of dismantling things just to see how they work.

It’s nice to spend a little time with her and talk about something other than their stoic mutual friend, like they’re passing some Miguel-centric Bechdel test. Mig-del test? Mm, no. He’ll keep workshopping that one.

There’s a little break where they stop talking to finish their food, and Lyla takes the opportunity to look around Peter’s office. She’s drawn to the wall of crayon drawings behind him, nodding in their direction. “Your daughter drew all of those?”

Peter beams at the mere mention of his talented baby. “She’s a natural-born artist, right?” He’s more than happy to move out of the way when Lyla stands to circle around to his side of the desk to get a closer look. “I’ve thought about submitting her portfolio and getting her a few art scholarships, but I dunno, might be a little too soon.”

“You kidding? With skills like these, all the top art schools are gonna be begging her to attend.” Well, that settles it. Lyla’s his new favorite person.

Before he can flaunt the collection of additional drawings on his phone, Lyla’s attention turns to a photo beside his computer. “Woah- who is that?”

The photo in question is one of Peter, MJ, and, of course, little Mayday, all smiling and laughing while out on a picnic. Taken just this last summer, it became one of Peter’s personal favorites. Mayday had just started developing a little dusting of freckles over her cheeks, and his camera got a clear shot of them that day. But Peter’s pretty sure she’s not who Lyla was asking about. “Who, MJ? That’s my ex-wife.”

Lyla whistles, picking up the framed photo to get a closer look. “You married a woman like this and then divorced her?”

“Well, the divorce wasn’t planned, but, yeah.” Kind of devastating when it happened, threw both their lives into chaos for a while, but he’s not going to bring those pesky details up and sidetrack Lyla’s sudden infatuation with MJ. “She’s beautiful, right? That’s where Mayday gets it from. Get her smarts from MJ, too.”

Lyla hums, glancing his way. “Don’t sell yourself short, Peter B. I knew a few people who’d go crazy for the salt n’ pepper thing you got going on.”

Peter gasps dramatically, bringing his hands up to cover the bottom half of his face. “Lyla, please- you’re making me blush.”

Lyla snorts and puts the photo back in its spot on his desk. “Well, if MJ ever gets tired of being a divorcee, feel free to give her my number.”

“I dunno- she’s got quite a few suitors already.” And yet he’s the one who got to marry her. Temporarily, but still.

Lyla’s hardly phased. “Whatever. Bet none of them got a PhD and a fat paycheck to go along with it.”

“None of them have your charm, that’s for sure,” Peter says, and it’s Lyla’s turn to fake feeling bashful.

Their antics only last so long, however, and Lyla’s face falls when she catches sight of the clock on Peter’s wall. “Ugh… guess I should go back and actually earn that paycheck,” she says with a sigh, walking back from behind Peter’s desk. She pulls her coat on and gathers the trash from their meal to toss on the way out. “Catch ya later, man.”

“See ya, thanks again for the lunch bribe,” Peter replies, and when she turns to head out the door, the natural assumption is that she’ll keep walking out, but she doesn’t. Lyla stops as soon as she reaches the door, idling there long enough that Peter frowns. “Lyla? You okay?”

There’s a long pause before Lyla reacts, turning back to face him, but when she does all the lighthearted energy from before is gone. She’s gone from playful to serious just like that, taking a breath before she says, “None of what I’m about to say leaves this room. Understand?”

Peter’s brows raise in surprise, but he nods in agreement anyway. “Sure, Ly, that’s fine. What’s up?”

Another pause, where she contemplates her next words. “It’s been… Miguel’s had it rough, the last few years,” Lyla starts slowly. “And I’ve tried to help him as best I can, but it’s really hard to watch sometimes. To see him hurting and knowing I can’t fix that for him.”

The painful edge in her tone makes Peter’s heart ache. It’s in that moment he realizes that whatever Miguel’s gone through, whatever this thing is that he keeps dancing around, Lyla must have been there to witness it.

“Miguel’s like family to me, and I hate seeing him like this and it just- ugh,” She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “I’m being cryptic and weird, I know, but… He’s been stuck in this rut for so long that I thought he’d be stuck there forever, but lately? I dunno. I feel like I’m starting to see a little of his old self again. And I think that’s because of you.”

That’s- well, Peter’s not sure what he was expecting her to say, but it certainly wasn’t this. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I could help, but I think you’re overestimating how much of a difference I’m making.”

“I think you’re underestimating it,” Lyla says, earnestly. “So. Thank you. For being his friend.”

“I- yeah, no problem,” Peter falters, for once at a loss for words. He still can’t quite believe Lyla came all the way here just to tell him this. He’s not doing anything special, he just earnestly enjoys Miguel’s company. He figured Miguel didn’t have a huge social circle, but Peter didn’t think it was so small that going to the gym together would be this impactful.

“You know you’re my friend too, right Lyla?” Peter asks once the surprise fades. “If you ever wanted someone to talk to, I’m always here. Or if you just need a lunch buddy, I’m good for that, too.”

Lyla’s smile grows a bit wider. “Thanks, Peter B. You know, I had a good feeling about you when we first met,” she says, before the smile drops completely and she fixes him with quite a nasty glare. “But if you ever tell Miguel I said some corny sh*t about him being my family, all the good feelings in the world won’t spare you from me. Got it?”

Peter swallows, nodding quickly. “Yes, Ma’am.”

See? Direct threats.

“Good answer,” The smile is back as Lyla pulls her sunglasses down over her eyes. She waves her fingers at him as she steps out of his office. “See ya later, Peter B!”

Peter tries to ride the high of being anything approaching important to Miguel for the rest of that week, but the universe has other plans. Stress levels are at an all-time high at Visions, and Peter’s so preoccupied with calming down panicked and exhausted kids he’s got no time for anything else.

Miles and Gwen are no exception. They’ve both got bags under their eyes by the time Thursday rolls around, looking a unique brand of miserable when they all meet up in their usual spot outside their office. It’s midterms, not even finals- why Visions puts this much pressure on a bunch of kids, Peter will never understand.

But when he suggests they take the afternoon off to rest in their dorms instead of going to Alchemax, he’s met with wide eyes and overlapping cries of no no no please they’re so weird you have to let us go please! Any remaining hope that either of them is trying in earnest to learn anything dies right then. He agrees to take them anyway.

Still, the week has taken its toll on the two teens, obvious in the way they all but drag themselves behind Peter on the walk over to Alchemax. It’s to the point where Peter feels the need to do something to get these kids a breather.

Miguel meets them in the lobby to take them up to his office to get ready, and when the elevator opens on his floor Peter quietly grabs his arm to pull him back so Miles and Gwen can walk a ways ahead of them both. “They’re wiped from school this week,” Peter says in response to the questioning look Miguel gives him. “I don’t know what you have planned, but d’you think you can take it easy on them for today? Lord knows they could use a break.”

Miguel frowns. “Why didn’t you just cancel?”

“I tried, but they insisted on coming.”

Now Miguel’s confused. “Why?”

“Don’t be so surprised, man- it’s pretty obvious,” Peter says, letting go of his arm to pat his shoulder. “They like spending time here, and getting to see you and Lyla.”

Okay- Peter’s being very liberal with how he describes the teens’ collective panic when he suggested they not come today, but the sentiment is the same. Calling someone weird is the closest Gwen Stacy will ever come to admitting she’s fond of them.

It’s more than enough to make Miguel’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh,” Miguel murmurs, looking over at Miles and Gwen as they walk further down the hall, unaware the two adults aren’t behind them. He watches them for a moment before seeming to make his mind up, nodding a little to himself before following after them with Peter right behind him.

Lyla’s sitting at her desk outside Miguel’s office and greets them all as they walk up. But before the two teens have a chance to put their stuff down, Miguel clears his throat to get the teens’ attention. “Don’t bother with your lab coats today. We’re giving you two the day off,” he tells them.

“We are?” Lyla questions from somewhere behind him.

“Yes, we are,” Miguel says, and Peter nods along like he had anything to do with making that decision. He didn’t think Miguel would give them the entire day off, but he’s grateful for it nonetheless. “You two can spend the afternoon in my office if you can be quiet. Lyla and I still have work to do.”

Miles and Gwen glance at each other, then slowly look back to Miguel. “Do we still get paid if we don’t do anything?”

Miguel makes an exasperated noise. “Yes, you still get paid.”

That’s all they need to toss their stuff to the floor and collapse onto the plush couch with a collective sigh of relief. Their eyes close the second they’re seated, and Peter wouldn’t be surprised if they’re both asleep in the next few minutes. Lord knows they could both use a nap.

Lyla stands to pull her lab coat on and heads off towards the lab, but Miguel doesn’t follow her. “I can supervise them if you need to go help Lyla with whatever in the lab,” Peter says, keeping his voice low in case Miles and Gwen really are trying to sleep.

Miguel just shakes his head and grabs a stack of papers from Lyla’s desk before sitting down at his computer. “She’s just cleaning up what would have been today’s project, she’ll be back,” Miguel tells him, matching Peter’s volume. “Besides, I’m not going to leave you three alone in my office.”

Peter grins, leaning close to where Miguel’s sitting and dropping his voice even lower. “You know, you can just admit you like spending time with us, too.”

He just gets a glare in response, but it’s a weak one by Miguel standards. He’s given Peter much nastier looks in the past. Peter does back off though, and stands upright again to grab one of the chairs in front of the desk and drags it to the other side next to Miguel’s.

Miguel gives him another disapproving look when he sits down. “What are you doing?”

“I told you, I’m supervising,” Peter says like it’s obvious, taking out his laptop and opening it up. And he can look annoyed all he wants, but Peter doesn’t miss the way Miguel shifts his chair to the side to give him a little more room.

It’s nice, getting to spend time casually with Miguel again. They haven’t had a chance to go climbing or do anything else together since their talk last week, but that’s okay. Peter’s just glad Miguel’s no longer running the second Peter walks into the room- that had sucked. And maybe Peter should have been angrier, shouldn’t have been so quick to forgive, but he likes to think he’s a solid judge of character. Miguel’s a good person, he apologized and is making an honest attempt to be better, so who is Peter to hold a grudge?

Peter’s glad to have his friend back. If there’s still potential for anything beyond that… he has no clue. They had a drink together like Peter wanted, but the conversation had been much more somber than Peter would have liked. It wasn’t exactly the right mood for sorting out whether or not his attraction to Miguel is anything more than a passing phase. He’s not sure if or when he’ll get another chance to figure it out.

But again, it’s fine. He’ll get over Miguel being devastatingly handsome, and they’ll continue on being friends, just as they are now. Peter’s more than content with that idea.

Ever the nosy one, Peter turns to see what Miguel’s keeping himself occupied with. Miguel’s got the brightness almost all the way down on his computer monitor, so Peter has to lean in closer to read anything on the screen. He’s inputting figures from the stack of papers into a graph of some sort, but the significance of any of it goes completely over Peter’s head.

“We’re trying to develop a new process for collecting DNA samples,” Miguel explains when Peter’s leaned so far over his shoulder that his staring becomes impossible to ignore. “This way requires half the steps of the conventional method.”

“Yeah? That’s pretty cool,” Peter hums, still reading over the mess of numbers like they’ll suddenly make sense to him if he keeps trying. “How’d it go?”

“Bad. Most of our samples decayed halfway through the trial.”

“Ah.”

“The majority of our tests turn out that way,” Miguel tells him. “And even the successful ones mean nothing if they can’t be replicated.”

“Makes sense.” Peter leans back out of Miguel's bubble so he can keep working to glance back at Miles and Gwen. The two teens haven’t moved from their spots except to pull their knees up towards their chest, eyes closed and heads slumped against the back of the couch. Good- they earned a little rest.

That does mean, however, that Peter’s only source of entertainment is pestering Miguel. He scoots his chair even closer so he doesn’t have to strain so much to see Miguel’s screen. “Tell me about your other experiments.”

Miguel’s fingers stop where they’ve been typing on his keyboard. “You’re not interested in any of this.”

“Hey, not true.” It’s only partially true. He doesn’t care about genetics itself, sure, but he does care about his friend’s career. “Tell me.”

Miguel hesitates, like he still doesn’t believe Peter, but like always he eventually gives in. As he works through the stack of papers he explains where each trial went wrong, and at first, Miguel tries to keep it in layman’s terms so Peter can understand. But it doesn’t last long- once Miguel realizes Peter’s being earnest when he says he wants to hear about his work, the simplified explanations go out the window and Miguel’s talking to them like they’re colleagues. Full scientist mode. It’s the most Peter’s heard him talk in one sitting.

But man, his voice is going to put Peter to sleep. He’s keeping it down so he doesn’t disturb the two sleeping teens, and hearing such a deep tone drop to an even lower rumble is enough to knock anyone out. Peter has to put as much effort into staying awake as he does listening to Miguel because he is not about to fall asleep and miss out on a very, very in-depth explanation of ratios for different suspension liquids.

Peter loses track of time listening to him speak. Miguel’s still talking by the time Lyla returns from the lab, and he keeps going until Miles and Gwen stir from their naps. Miles’ yawn is what draws both Miguel and Peter’s attention to the couch where the two teens are sitting upright again, although still groggy and rubbing sleep from their eyes.

“You have a nice nap?” Peter asks, and they both nod.

“Mm. Sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep like that,” Miles says with another yawn, while Gwen pops something in her neck and sighs.

“It’s fine,” Miguel answers. “There’s still another hour left, go back to sleep if you need to.”

Peter cheers internally at the confirmation that Miguel does like these kids. Lyla was right- despite all the glowering and frown lines, he really is a big softy. It’s very sweet, though he’s sure Miguel would have some choice words about being called such a thing should Peter ever express that thought out loud.

Miles shakes his head. “M’fine. I still got a project I need to finish.”

Mostly awake by now, the two teens dig around in their backpacks for something to work on for the rest of today’s time. Peter’s quietly impressed by their dedication to their schoolwork, even if part of him wishes they could just take the whole day off to do nothing. Miguel’s back to typing up his report, so Peter turns to his previously ignored laptop for something to occupy himself with.

Their little group works silently for a good half hour or so, but the productive streak can only last so long. Slowly, the frustrated sighs and groans from the couch begin to pick up in volume and frequency until Peter has no choice but to ask, “Doing okay over there?”

“My physics homework is impossible,” Miles complains, tapping his pencil against his notebook a few times before looking up, not at Peter, but at Miguel. “I know it’s not your field, but do you think you can take a look? Make sure I’m on the right track?”

Peter feels more than he sees the change in Miguel’s body language, the way the air around him sours at the mere mention of physics. But, amazingly, he agrees, and Miles smiles before hopping up from the couch to set his notes and physics textbook on the desk in front of Miguel. Miles might still be a little out of it because he doesn’t seem to notice the shift in Miguel’s demeanor.

“I’m taking a snack break,” Miles announces to the room. “Gwen, you coming?”

She nods, and the two of them are out the door in an instant. Peter watches them as they walk down the hall together. Miles bumps Gwen with his elbow, Gwen nudges him a little harder, and they keep going back and forth like that, playful roughhousing that would never fly back at Visions. Peter snorts and shakes his head as they round the corner and out of sight.

Oh, awkward teenage flirting. Peter’s glad he’s far past that stage of his life.

He turns his focus back to Miguel, who’s glaring down at Miles’ physics homework like it’s a personal offense. You agreed to check his work…

When the physics notebook doesn’t spontaneously combust like Miguel wants, he begrudgingly picks up a pencil and starts looking over what Miles has written so far. Peter almost, almost manages to leave him alone, but the scowl on his face is so severe it’s impossible for Peter not to tease him a little.

“Okay, what’s with the physics hate? You and Lyla both get all upset whenever it’s brought up,” Peter asks, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lyla move to stand in the doorway at the sound of her name. “What, did their department beat yours at the company softball tournament or something?”

The resulting silence is deafening.

No way.

“It was volleyball,” Miguel eventually mutters under his breath.

“Are you serious-“

“They cheated!” Lyla and Miguel both shout at the same time, startling Peter.

Lyla advances towards the desk and smacks her hands down on its surface. “The whole department’s full of cheaters, that’s the only way those nerds ever had a chance of beating us!” Bold choice, calling someone else a nerd when just three days ago she was showing off a robotics trophy. Peter bites his tongue. “They got their little friend to ref our match- God, what was his name again?”

“Ohn,” Miguel spits the name out like it’s an insult.

“Ohn, ugh.” Lyla rolls her eyes. “He’s the worst. Delgato bribed him to make a bunch of bullsh*t calls so we’d lose the tournament-“

“That ball was in,” Miguel grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “It was in.”

“It was so in!” Lyla agrees, heated. “All of them were, but f*cking Ohn kept calling them out! And no one else said anything!”

Peter thought it was a spectacle when Lyla and Miguel were bickering with each other, but watching them when they’ve got a common enemy? It’s a different beast entirely. They get themselves worked up in seconds, reliving every bogus call this Ohn guy made and very vocally declaring both him and Delgato incompetent with each breath.

He sees now why Lyla was so offended when he dared to suggest she worked for Delgato when they first met.

“So they end up winning the whole tournament and winning the stupid trophy-“

“Wait, stop. Stop,” Peter butts in. “That cannot be what you’re mad about- losing a trophy that probably costs, what, fifteen bucks?”

“It’s not about the trophy, it’s about the principle behind the trophy,” Lyla insists, Miguel nodding in agreement.

“We only lost because they cheated,” Miguel says, before sending a very pointed glare Peter’s way. “Not that I expect you to understand what that’s like.”

Peter pretends he has no idea what Miguel’s talking about. “Okay, fine, the trophy’s not the point. But are you seriously fighting with an entire field of science because of one volleyball tournament?”

“Yes.” They answer in unison. Like Peter’s the unreasonable one.

“And you don’t think that might be a little bit of an overreaction?”

“No.”

These two are something else.

“No more physics talk, I’m going to get an aneurysm,” Lyla huffs, turning on her heels to walk back to her desk. Miguel lets it drop, too, looking even more irritated when he looks down at Miles’ physics homework still on his desk. Peter’s left shaking his head at the entire scene he just witnessed.

Despite all his vitriol towards the subject, once he has a little time to settle down Miguel does put real effort into checking Miles’ work. He’s glaring down at the pages the entire time, sure, but he’s still thoroughly reading over everything and writing notes and suggestions wherever there’s room on the page.

Peter even catches him writing a singular Good next to a particularly difficult problem Miles managed to get right. Cue more inward cheering from Peter.

Miguel’s worked through the entire assignment and shoved it away to the opposite corner of his desk by the time Miles and Gwen return, both their arms full with an assortment of beverages. They set one down on Lyla’s desk, and she gushes and thanks them before they stroll back into Miguel’s office.

Two more drinks are set down on Miguel’s desk- a fountain soda for Peter, and a black coffee for Miguel. Gwen also dumps a handful of sugar packets next to Miguel’s cup, and Peter thinks it’s some latest joke he’s yet to hear about, but Miguel just thanks her and she smiles at him before taking her own drink back to the couch.

Miles glances over his notebook, reading over the notes Miguel left before picking both books up. “Thanks for the help, tío,” Miles says, face falling a second later when he realizes what he just called Miguel.

Peter’s expecting Miguel to have something to say about being referred to as anything other than Doctor O’Hara, but to his and Miles’ surprise, he doesn’t seem to mind. “You’re welcome, Miles,” he says, ripping open a few of the sugar packets and pouring their contents into his coffee. “But I suggest you review centrifugal forces again.”

Miles relaxes then, nodding at Miguel’s suggestion before rejoining Gwen on the couch. Peter looks back at Miguel and swears he sees the faintest smile on his face as he rips open more sugar packets, but it’s gone the moment he realizes Peter’s watching him.

He gives Peter another halfhearted glare, but it just makes him grin. Peter brings a hand up to block his face so no one but Miguel can see it when he mouths the words I saw that smile.

Shut up. He mouths back, and Peter has to stifle a laugh. Miguel goes back to preparing his coffee (and wow, does he go to town on those sugar packets) while Peter sips his soda, still smiling to himself.

The last bit of time they have left at Alchemax isn’t very productive, but no one minds. Miles and Gwen are playing on their phones, and Miguel’s still working his way through the stack of papers, but it’s at a much slower pace.

They’ve all finished their drinks by the time they need to leave, and Peter spares one more halfhearted glance towards his work email before shutting his laptop down. Only he stops when he sees he does in fact have something waiting in his inbox. Looks like plans for the rooftop garden are moving forward ahead of schedule, and Visions is hoping to put together a group of volunteers to set everything up this weekend.

Peter nudges his elbow into Miguel’s arm to get his attention. “Hey, remember how you were just saying you wanted to spend your limited free time doing menial labor for free?”

“…What?”

“Visions needs people to put together a bunch of garden boxes and a greenhouse this weekend.”

Miguel leans over to read the email himself. “They can’t afford to hire an actual crew to put build all that?”

He’s being serious, but Peter can’t help the laugh he lets out. “Oh, Mig, Visions may be a fancy school for gifted kids, but it’s still a school. That place is kept running by bake sales and unpaid parental labor.”

Miguel doesn’t reply right away, reading over the email again before sitting up. “Fine. I can help.”

“Wait, really?” Peter had been mostly joking when he suggested it. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Miguel shrugs. “I’m not doing anything else this weekend.”

What happened to the workaholic Peter met all those weeks ago, the one who uses his dining table as a second office?

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Peter says, shutting his laptop and tucking it back into his bag. Miles and Gwen take that as their cue to start packing up, too. “I’ll send the details and then meet up with you that morning?”

“Okay,” Miguel says with a nod.

“Okay,” Peter repeats. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to volunteer to help out himself, but looks like he’ll now be spending his weekend lifting heavy whatever outside all day. Which… that’s great. So great. Oh, well- at least Miguel will be suffering alongside him.

He stands up and leans over the desk to call out, “What about you, Ly? You interested in spending the weekend doing manual labor?”

She laughs so hard it echoes off the walls of the hallway.

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

When Peter wakes up before the sun on Saturday morning, he hates his past self. Just a little bit.

He’s been woken up at egregious hours plenty of times by a shrieking Mayday, but this is different. She’s with MJ until tomorrow and yet here Peter is, voluntarily pulling himself from bed to go work, for free, for a job that already doesn’t pay him enough. He might be tempted to back out last second if he didn’t know Miguel would be waiting for him.

Peter still can’t believe Miguel said yes. Maybe he shouldn’t be, considering the man spends his weekends working, but he can’t imagine lifting heavy objects and building whatever is an upgrade from his usual plans. Maybe Miguel’s really passionate about Visions’ gardening club and wants to support them however he can? Who knows. The guy is simultaneously shockingly easy and impossibly difficult to read.

In any case, Peter’s got to get moving. Visions decided to really twist the knife by requesting (read: ordered) for any faculty helping out to show up even earlier than the rest of the volunteers to assist with the initial setup and coordinating jobs. He curses his reflection as he brushes his teeth and messes with his hair until the bedhead looks intentional. The only benefit of being off the clock is he doesn’t have to follow the business casual dress code Visions usually requires- a rule he already plays fast and loose with.

Clean sweats and a plain shirt are the best they’re getting from him today. He toasts two bagels, one for here and one for the road, and with one final middle finger to past Peter, he drags himself down to the subway station.

And because he’s not already miserable enough, it’s windy today. Windy, on the day he’s going to be outside on a roof. Peter hopes it’s enough that they cancel the entire thing and just reschedule, but no such luck. Visions is committed to getting this rooftop garden built today, and some bad weather won’t stop them. Peter bemoans his choices the entire trip to the school.

Miguel beats him there. He’s waiting at the base of the stairs leading to Visons’ main entrance, one coffee cup in his hand and another resting in the crook of his elbow.

Miguel’s dressed in a similar outfit to Peter, only with dark jeans instead of sweatpants. Occupied with something on his phone, he doesn’t look up until Peter’s standing almost directly in front of him. He tucks his phone in his back pocket and, in place of an actual greeting, takes the coffee tucked into his arm and holds it out towards Peter. “I don’t how you take your coffee, so I guessed.”

Peter perks up immediately. He’d planned on raiding the teacher’s lounge for some free coffee, but no doubt whatever Miguel picked up is better than anything he can make here. “Thanks, man,” he says, taking the offered cup and bringing it to his lips. He’s relieved to find Miguel was much more conservative with the sugar and creamer for Peter’s coffee than his own. Peter can only imagine how quickly his teeth would rot if he took a sip from the cup Miguel’s holding. “You didn’t have to be here early, too, y’know.”

Miguel shrugs. “I was already up.” Of course, he was. “Had nothing better to do.”

Peter can think of a million things he’d rather be doing right now. He makes a mental note to one day teach Miguel the fine art of wasting an entire weekend doing absolutely nothing productive. “Well, I’m sure they’ll appreciate the extra help,” Peter says, nodding towards the door for Miguel to follow him inside.

Visions is a sprawling conglomeration of buildings taking up more than one city block, and Peter leads the way through winding hallways to its center. There’s a little courtyard where today’s necessary supplies were dropped off, ready to be brought up to the rooftop and assembled. A handful of Peter’s coworkers have congregated there already, and they exchange tired pleasantries when Peter and Miguel join them.

A few take an interest in this new person Peter’s dragged along with him. Kinda hard to miss Miguel, when he towers over the entire group, but even the chattier ones are too out of it this early in the morning for much more than a basic introduction, and thanks for coming before leaving them be.

Peter’s just finishing his coffee and chucking the cup in a nearby bin when the supervisor for the gardening club waves for them to all gather around so she can dole out responsibilities. The rest of the volunteers weren’t expected for another hour or so, and they were expected to have everything up on the roof and ready to go by the time they arrive. There’s a group of actual contractors coming to build the greenhouse, since, y’know, having a bunch of untrained laymen build a structure on a roof where kids are expected to be is a bad idea. However, for them to get it built today, there was a certain amount of prep work Peter and the rest were expected to do so the contractors could do the important parts.

For now, the first step is simple; drag everything from here up to the roof. There are a few dollies and flatbed carts to help carry things, but not enough for everyone. Miguel doesn’t even try to snag one for himself. He just walks over to one of multiple pallets of bagged soil and hauls two over his shoulder like it’s nothing.

Not to be outdone, Peter copies him, maybe not as gracefully, but he gets them up onto his shoulder with just a small huff of exertion. Just as he’s about to follow the rest of the crowd towards the elevator, Miguel drawls behind him, “Don’t throw your back out, viejo.”

Peter wheels back around, gasping in mock offense. “Hey, I looked up what that means- I’m not that much older than you,” he says, pointing a finger at Miguel with his free hand.

“It can be a term of endearment.”

“Are you using it as a term of endearment?” Peter asks, and Miguel just hums and starts to walk past him. “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Call me old all you want, but I see that lil’ grey streak you’re trying to hide.”

It’s Miguel’s turn to stop and look offended. “I don’t have a grey streak,” he says, as he brings a free hand to cover the exact streak Peter’s talking about.

“Denial’s not gonna make it go away, Mig.” Peter would know- he spent a lot of time trying.

The rooftop where these supplies are heading is five stories up, accessible by both elevator and stairs. Everyone opts for the elevators, obviously, but with all their equipment and only one elevator, there’s a short line of people waiting at the bottom.

They don’t compete to see who can carry more soil up to the roof, because that’s immature and not fitting of their established old ages. Totally unrelated, they do both set a brisk pace and accidentally cut a few people in line in their haste to get to the roof first. They’re just motivated to get the job done, that’s all.

Miguel may have all those muscles, but Peter’s not going to be outdone this time. Just a few weeks of climbing at the Underground has Peter feeling better than he has in a while, strong enough that he’s got Miguel struggling to keep up with him.

Peter, at one point, beats Miguel to the elevator and shuts the doors in his face with a smile and a little wave, expecting Miguel will just stand there and pout while he waits for it to come back down. What ends up happening is Miguel climbs all five flights of stairs out of spite and meets him at the top. He tries to look unaffected, but Peter can hear his labored breathing when he throws his bags of soil on top of the growing pile and catches Miguel rolling his shoulders a few times out of the corner of his eye.

He also doesn’t see Miguel try that move again.

Their not-a-competition gets the bulk of the soil up to the roof in record time, the few remaining bags hauled up by someone else on one of the flat carts. The rest of the volunteers begin to arrive at this time too, and it gives them both a minute to catch their breath. Peter sits atop their hastily stacked bags and holds a hand up when Miguel starts to say something. “Whatever comment you’re going to make about my age, save it.”

Miguel leans against the stack he’s sitting on. “I was just going to say I was impressed, is all.”

“Wait, really?”

“Really,” Miguel insists, and Peter almost believes him, until he catches that God damn smirk on his lips. “It’s inspiring to know that, in fifteen years when I reach your age, I can still-“

“Oh, f*ck you and your fifteen years,” Peter laughs, aiming to punch Miguel’s arm but missing when he ducks out of the way.

Before Miguel can make another incredibly inaccurate joke, something in his periphery catches his attention, smile fading to something more like mild surprise. “I didn’t know they were coming.”

Peter’s brows crease in confusion, before raising when he turns his head to see who Miguel’s talking about. Lo and behold, it’s Miles and Gwen, stepping off the elevator with the last group of volunteers. “I didn’t know, either,” Peter says, waving at the two of them when they eventually notice him and Miguel.

They look like they just rolled out of bed, quite literally. Gwen’s hair is a mess and Miles still has pajama bottoms on. There are a few other students who came to help, all half-awake at best- do none of the people around Peter know how to take a day off?

“Don’t worry, we just came to loiter. Nothing productive coming from us, promise,” Gwen tells him when Peter asks exactly that. “We haven’t been allowed up here all year, so we’re taking advantage.”

“Had to show Gwen the guides I helped make, too,” Miles says, pointing to a nearby chalk drawing of a green pepper. They all turn to look, Peter included, even though he’d seen them all already when Miles first drew them. “Well, it was a collaborative effort, but. I did the linework.”

“S’nice,” Gwen comments, and it’s such a little thing but it makes Miles visibly preen regardless. “Your co-artist is pretty abstract with their coloring, though.”

Peter’s heart swells at even the slightest allusion to his daughter, but the moment is fleeting, gone as soon as he remembers Miguel is right next to him. He doesn’t know where the line is as far as Mayday went, if just mentioning her was enough to ruin all the progress they had made in repairing their relationship. He doesn’t say anything and tries to telepathically signal to Miles that he shouldn’t either, much as he’d love for his kid to receive proper credit as his co-artist.

Maybe Miles gets the signal, or maybe Peter’s just lucky- whatever the case, Mayday doesn’t get mentioned by name. “She’s still coming into her own style. Takes time,” Is all Miles says, much to Peter’s relief.

Gwen gives the chalk bell pepper one final look before turning to Peter and Miguel. She glances between the two of them with a glint in her eye Peter doesn’t like or trust at all, before leaning in to whisper something in Miles’ ear. “Did we?” He asks her at full volume, looking at Peter and Miguel in a similar way before coming to some sort of conclusion. One he doesn’t seem keen on sharing with either adult. “Oh, I think you’re right. Oops.”

Before Peter can ask what they’re talking about, Miles nods down the line of mapped-out plots. “C’mon, I need to show you the rest,” he says to Gwen, before smiling at Peter and Miguel with a little wave goodbye. “Have fun building boxes or whatever!”

They’re gone before either of them can get another word in, ducking between people getting ready for the second half of today’s project.

With everyone now gathered on the roof, the garden club supervisor gathers them around for another quick meeting to delegate tasks. Peter, Miguel, and the majority of the volunteers are tasked with building the garden beds and filling them with soil, then placing the designated plants next to them to be planted later by the garden club themselves. That’s the fun part, after all- they wouldn’t dream of robbing the kids of that. The remaining few volunteers get to assist with setting up what they could of the greenhouse before the contractors arrive to do the rest.

Peter and Miguel call a truce on their not-contest so they can team up to build the first bed. Peter silently laments the fact the finished boxes will end up covering Miles and Mayday’s drawings, but there’s no way they would have lasted much longer, anyway. Oh, well. He can always bring them up here to draw more.

Much like their climbing, he and Miguel fall into an easy rhythm working together. It’s easier work than carrying the soil up, and the wind’s died down enough that when a little sun pokes through the clouds, it feels rather nice out. He’d still rather be at home doing nothing, but… maybe this isn’t such a bad way to spend the weekend, either.

They get the first bed built without issue, and Peter goes to grab a few bags of soil to pour inside it while Miguel gathers the corresponding plants. Once they’ve done that, it’s just a matter of rinse and repeat until the rest of the boxes are built. The second one is done even faster, and then a third after that, before Peter gives himself a little break while Miguel goes to get more plants.

He uses the back of one wrist to wipe away the sweat gathering on his brow, trying to minimize the dirt he gets on his face. His hands are filthy by this point, and Miguel’s not looking much better, but that’s to be expected. Looking around, everyone else is hard at work, chatting amongst themselves while they do. He catches a glimpse of Miles and Gwen among them, but like Gwen said, they’re just hanging out, doing little to actually help with the building efforts.

The contractors arrive then, and enough of the greenhouse is assembled for them to start putting everything together. He watches with vague interest as they raise the first two walls and secure them to the floor of the roof, testing its stability before raising the third wall.

Peter can’t really explain what happens next. All he gets is a strange feeling, something oddly foreboding, and then a lot of things happen all at once.

A powerful gust of wind blows across the roof then, knocking over anything too light or not close enough to the ground. A few people cry out in surprise, raising their arms to protect themselves from stay soil getting blown in their eyes, and Peter’s about to do the same when he sees it. The first wall of the greenhouse, made of little more than thick plastic on a metal frame, catches the strong wind and easily rips itself from the hands of the volunteers trying to hold it in place.

Out of their hands and right towards Miguel, who’s got his back turned and can’t see it coming.

His body moves on its own, lunging forward to grab the front of Miguel’s shirt and yanking him out of the way. Miguel’s not expecting it and gets thrown off balance, and in his panic to right himself he grabs Peter’s arm, dropping the handful of plants he’d been carrying. They hit the ground only a fraction of a second before Miguel does, landing hard on his side. Peter gets yanked down with him, hitting his knees on the concrete floor, but the pain doesn’t even register.

Peter twists himself up and reaches his free hand to catch the wall right before it can come down on his head. It’s an awkward angle, with one arm still in Miguel’s shirt and the other twisted up and behind him. That pain he feels just fine, hissing at the sharp sting from his palm taking the brunt of the force.

The wall itself isn’t heavy, but another strong gust of wind shoves it down hard onto him, his arm buckling until the wall is pressing against his back instead. He locks the elbow of his other arm to brace himself against Miguel’s chest, scrambling for any leverage he can find. It hurts, every muscle in his arms and back screaming from the effort, but Peter doesn’t dare give in. Eyes clenched and teeth grit, Peter is forced to endure the relentless weight of the wall on top of him.

He’s pretty sure he hears himself shouting for help, but it’s hard to tell which sounds are people yelling and what’s just the wind blowing past his ears. He’s vaguely aware of Miguel wheezing something out from beneath him, and Peter feels a little bad for how hard he’s pressing down onto his ribcage, but he can’t risk trying to readjust his position and getting them both crushed in the process.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can do this, though. His arms are shaking, and with each passing second his back bows a little more under the pressure. More yelling, he needs someone to get this wall off of him now, Peter can feel himself slipping-

The wind finally, finally lets up, and a crowd of people immediately rush over to lift the wall off of Peter’s back. The relief that washes over him is indescribable; Peter lets go of Miguel’s shirt so he can recline back, sitting on his heels as he fights to catch his breath. Everything aches, he feels boneless as he releases his grip on Miguel’s shirt to let his arms hang uselessly at his sides. He doesn’t open his eyes until the sounds of a crowd gathering to ask if they’re okay draws him back to reality.

His vision’s cloudy for a moment, but the second it clears up he’s mortified to see the position he landed in.

Knees on either side of Miguel’s hips, Peter’s fully sitting on top of the guy, inadvertently pinning him to the floor where Peter had accidentally thrown him. Miguel has yet to move, staring up at Peter with wide eyes and looking more than a little dazed. He’s breathing a little harder than normal, too, from where Peter had braced himself on his chest.

Part of Peter wishes that the wall had crushed him, if only to spare him from the ensuing embarrassment.

“sh*t, Miguel, I’m so sorry-“ Horrified, Peter forces himself to stand, even when his knees protest the sudden movement. “I didn’t mean to throw you like that, I just saw the wall start to fall and didn’t want you to get hit and-“ he has to pause to breathe, still struggling to get air back in his lungs. “-are you okay? I think I might’ve crushed your chest there a little bit.”

Still looking rather out of it, Miguel slowly brings a hand to his own chest but does little more than absently feel along his sternum. “Uh-huh,” Miguel says, but he doesn’t sound like himself, like he’s not all there, and Peter frowns.

“Are you sure? Didn’t hit your head or anything on the way down?” he asks, offering both hands to Miguel to help pull him up. Peter tries not to wince at the effort that simple task takes him, with how weak he is from saving them both.

Miguel shakes his head, then blinks a few times before starting to come back to himself. “I’m fine,” He says again, surer this time, and that eases some of Peter’s worry. “How did you know that was coming? I didn’t even hear it start to fall.”

Peter shrugs. “No idea,” he answers honestly. “Gut instinct, I guess?”

“Gut instinct,” Miguel repeats, like that answer isn’t enough for him. Which is too bad, ‘cause that’s all Peter has to offer him. Miguel looks around them like there’s some answers to be found in the spilled dirt and fallen plants, but comes up empty.

When Peter offers him another hand up, Miguel takes it, and Peter catches the way he grimaces when he straightens his back out. If he’s bothered by the compromising position they fell into, Miguel doesn’t show it, which makes Peter feel a little better, but Miguel still hit the ground rather hard. While Miguel tries in vain to brush off the handprint Peter left on the front of his shirt, Peter takes the chance to give him a quick once-over for any injuries.

Luckily, besides the impact on his back, Miguel seems to have come out relatively unscathed. There are a few scrapes on his right arm and hip from where he first fell, but his clothes took the brunt of the damage. Doesn’t look like he hit his head either, as far as Peter can tell. Peter still feels like he got hit by a bus, but at least one of them is coming out of this in decent shape.

The same can’t be said for Miguel’s jacket, however. After the initial fall, Miguel had rolled over onto his back -probably when Peter landed on him, God- and in the process landed right on top of the soil that’d been spilled when he dropped the plants. There’s dirt caked along most of his back, and when Peter tries to brush some of it away he ends up making even more of a mess.

“Your jacket’s a goner, Mig,” Peter tells him, and Miguel tries to look over his shoulder to see for himself, only to cringe again at the pressure the twisting motion puts on his back. “Don’t do that, you’re gonna hurt your back even worse,” Peter scolds him, then circles around to stand in front of him. “I have a spare sweatshirt in my office you can use, c’mon.”

Miguel’s just as eager to get away from the crowd of people still watching them as Peter is and nods in agreement before the two all but drag themselves to the elevator. They walk past two other volunteers carrying a stack of pizzas and a few bottles of soda- today’s lunch, and the group’s reward for helping out. They look startled at Peter and Miguel’s disheveled appearances, and Peter takes advantage of their surprise to swipe an entire pizza to the top of the stack. Miguel follows his lead and grabs one of the two liters of soda, and hits the button to close the elevator doors before the other two can protest their thievery.

Whatever, they almost died just now. They earned an entire pizza for themselves.

“Are you okay?” Miguel asks him as they make their descent. They’re both leaning back against the wall of the elevator, feeling more and more out of it as the adrenaline fades and lets them feel the entirety of what just happened.

Peter nods, shifting the pizza box over to one hand so he can gently roll the wrist of his other. “I’m good. Little sore, but not too bad.” Understatement of the century, and Miguel doesn’t believe it, pushing up from the wall to step towards Peter, only to stop again when Peter raises his hand more to stop him. “Don’t, no doctoring me right now. Let me enjoy being the one to save you for once.”

Miguel’s eyes widen in surprise for just a moment before he frowns, and Peter can see the way he looks over what little bit of Peter’s hand is exposed for any injuries, but he backs off. The elevator dings after that, and Peter goes to step out, but as he does he hears Miguel behind him say, “That was a pretty impressive save. You’re a lot stronger than you look, Peter.”

“Ah, well, thanks.” It’s such a simple compliment, but Peter’s cheeks grow hot without his permission regardless. He feigns a coughing fit to try and cover it up, hoping Miguel doesn’t notice. “But let’s agree to stop putting ourselves in situations where we need to keep rescuing each other, yeah?”

“Agreed,” Miguel replies, and they fall into a comfortable silence as Peter leads them down the hall to his office. Luckily, it’s located in the back half of the school where they currently are, so they’re outside his door in less than a minute. Peter hands the pizza to Miguel for him to hold before unlocking the door, and cracks it open maybe three inches before slamming it shut again.

“What are you doing?” Miguel asks him, and Peter panics as he tries to come up with a good excuse as to why he can’t let Miguel in there.

Nothing comes to him, and before he can stop it, Peter blurts out, “Mayday’s stuff is everywhere in here.”

It was inevitable she come up again. Mayday’s his daughter, the center of his life, and he can’t change that just for Miguel’s sake. He doesn’t want to change that, either, and it’s been hard trying to not mention her around Miguel in an effort to keep the peace.

The band-aid’s off now, though, and Peter sneaks a glance at his companion, preparing for the worst, for Miguel to run off again at just the mention of her name. His posture is rigid, grip tight on the bottle of soda, and he takes a long, deep breath before he says, “Okay.”

That’s all Peter gets. Miguel’s got that impossible-to-read expression on his face again, betraying nothing about how he’s feeling. He doesn’t know if that’s a good sign or a bad one.

“Just wait out here, it’ll only take a second,” Peter tells him, then winces at how rude that sounds. He has no clue what to say, though, and Miguel staring impassively like that isn’t helping. “I mean, you can come in if you want, but, not if it’s going to be weird or-“

“I’m fine, Peter,” Miguel says firmly. His grip shifts on the bottle, the plastic creaking under his fingers, but his expression doesn’t change. “I’m not… what happened that day isn’t going to happen again.” Who he’s trying to convince that that’s true, Peter doesn’t know.

Peter’s not sure he believes it himself, but he nods, and slowly eases the door open again. “Alright- come on in, then.” In an effort to lighten the mood, he tacks on, “Ignore the mess, please- I’m in the middle of redecorating.”

It falls on deaf ears. The second Miguel steps inside, he instantly zeros in on all the photos and drawings around Peter’s desk. It’s a very quiet, very tense couple of moments while Miguel takes them all in. The pizza box is placed on top of Peter’s desk, but he’s still white-knuckling the bottle so hard Peter’s concerned it might burst, but that’s the only indication that he’s at all uncomfortable. Peter would commend his ability to appear so unaffected if it didn’t break his heart a little bit to watch.

“She really is a cute kid,” Miguel says, after what feels like an eternity. He’s more quiet than normal, his voice almost sounding distant to Peter’s ears.

“Thanks,” Peter says, just as quietly. Miguel’s still not looking at him, gaze fixed on one of the many photos of Mayday, and under any other circ*mstances, Peter would have loved having someone give his baby their undivided attention.

There’s another drawn-out silence, and even with his back to Peter, he can hear Miguel start to say something multiple times before stopping himself. The neutral façade cracks, then, just enough that Peter can hear the edge of frustration creeping in as Miguel fights to find his words.

“I don’t like the way my first time meeting her went,” Miguel eventually gets out, sounding more angry with himself than anything else. Peter’s quick to walk up beside him then and places a hand upon his shoulder.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Peter tells him gently. Miguel’s still staring at the photos, and Peter makes a daring choice and brings his other hand up to take Miguel by the shoulders and slowly turns him to face the other way. Miguel lets himself be moved, and it breaks whatever spiral Peter sensed he was falling into, tilting his head down to look at Peter instead. Now, instead of looking indifferent or frustrated, he just looks… sad. Sad and so, so exhausted.

Peter forces himself to ignore the way that look makes his heart ache, and does his best to give Miguel a reassuring smile. “She’s pretty good at the whole ‘forgive and forget’ thing, you know,” he says. “And she let you hold her. I think that’s as good a sign as any that she likes you.”

That gets the tiniest flash of a smile, it’s brief, but it eases some of the tension. Miguel takes a quiet breath, shifting a little where he’s standing before speaking again. “Still. I’d like to see her again, and make a better impression,” Miguel says, and Peter catches something akin to hope flicker in his eyes, just for a moment. “If you’ll let me, that is.”

Peter’s stunned silent. He didn’t know what to expect from letting Miguel into his office, but, it wasn’t this. “Yeah, of course,” He says without thinking, then shakes his head. “Wait- I mean, yes, that’s fine, but. You know you don’t need to make anything up to her, right? Or to me, for that matter.”

“I know, but I want to anyways,” Miguel says, shifting again like the conversation is making him physically uncomfortable.

Peter takes notice and nods quickly. “Then yeah, of course, you can see her again,” He says, patting his shoulder before stepping away to dig around in one of his desk drawers. “We can talk specifics later. Right now, you need to get out of this filthy jacket, big guy.”

Miguel seems grateful for the change of conversation, and his death grip on the soda bottle finally eases. He keeps his back to the wall of Mayday drawings while Peter searches for the aforementioned sweatshirt. He finds it soon enough- navy blue, with Visions emblazoned in bold lettering across the front. It’s a few sizes large on Peter, so it should fit Miguel just fine.

He trades Miguel the sweatshirt for the bottle of soda, and Miguel carefully shrugs off his ruined coat, handing that over to Peter too when he holds his hand out for it. Peter pulls out a plastic bag to place the coat inside while Miguel shrugs the sweatshirt on. It fits perfectly, and Miguel thanks him for the clean clothes while taking back the bag containing his jacket.

They take their pizza to the break room down the hall, rather than stay in Peter’s office. They eat in comfortable silence and forgo any sort of cups for their drinks in favor of passing the two-liter back and forth. They already shared a water bottle, kind of- who cares?

Between the two of them, the entire meal is gone in record time, starving after a busy morning of heavy lifting and almost getting crushed. After they’re finished, neither of them is in any rush to get up, sinking back into their respective chairs and allowing themselves a little rest. There’s a constant, dull ache throughout Peter’s entire body, but all things considered, it’s not bad. Certainly could have gone a lot worse.

Peter gets a text from someone else on the volunteer team a few minutes later, asking if he and Miguel are okay and if they’re still up for taking a customary group photo with the rest of the team for that week’s school newspaper. Like Peter would ever miss a photo op.

“They need us back upstairs,” Peter tells Miguel, gathering the empty box and bottle and tossing them in their respective bins before opening the door for Miguel and himself to step out into the hallway. “They’re taking a photo of all the volunteers, they’re just waiting on us.”

Miguel frowns, his steps slowing down. “You’re making us go all the way up there just to take a photo.”

“Yup, now let’s go. I will drag you if I need to.” Miguel, in no shape to call Peter’s bluff, follows along, although he makes no effort to appear happy about the decision.

They’re the last ones to rejoin everyone on the roof, and when they do, the greenhouse is fully assembled, though Miguel and Peter both eye the thing warily. It does look beautiful, though, and Peter can only imagine what this place will look like in a few months once all the plants have time to establish themselves.

While they all get into position for the photo, a few people make their way over to ask again if they’re both alright, and Peter smiles and assures them that they’re both fine, just a little sore. Miles and Gwen are still there, to Peter’s surprise, and though they didn’t actually help, they both sneak their way into the group photo, right in front of Miguel and Peter. Despite the almost-being-crushed thing, Peter still finds it in himself to smile wide for the group photo. Miles and Gwen, ever the good kids, don’t move once the photo is over, knowing what’s coming next. Miguel, however, tries to sneak away the second it’s finished.

“Yeah, no, nice try, but you’re not done,” Peter tells him and grabs the back of his sweatshirt to pull Miguel back towards him. “We still need one of the four of us.”

“I’m not taking another photo,” Miguel complains, and attempts to make another break for it, only to be stopped by Peter pulling him back once more. “Will you stop that?”

“Just one more and I’ll stop,” Peter tells him, pulling his phone out to hand to the first person whose attention he can grab, and asks them to take it for him. He shifts his grip so his arm is around Miguel’s shoulders, trying to make it less obvious he’s holding the man hostage. That means Miguel either has to keep his arm wedged awkwardly between the two of them or place it around Peter’s shoulders, and he goes for the second option, albeit begrudgingly. “See? Was that so hard?”

Miguel shoots him a glare, but Peter just grins back at him. “I’ll keep you here as long as I have to, but I will get a nice photo of the four of us. With smiles from everyone, including you, Mig.”

“You are an insufferable person.”

“I know.”

Even with all Miguel’s grumbling, Peter does end up getting his wish. He scrolls through the handful of shots before settling on his favorite from the bunch, one where they’re all smiling, even Miguel. It’s small, a little stiffer than Peter would have liked, but it feels genuine. Miles and Gwen are beaming at the camera, oblivious to Miguel’s dismay or perhaps even amused by it. Peter smiles a little to himself as he admires it, then sends a copy to Lyla before tucking his phone back in his pocket.

Most of the volunteers have dispersed by this point, and the two teens say their goodbyes before meandering back to their dorms for the day. That just leaves Peter and Miguel to make the trek back down to the front entrance to go their separate ways.

They’re about to do just that and head opposite direction down the street when Peter stops and catches Miguel by the arm before he can go too far. “About what you said in my office- you just tell me when, and we can find a day for you to get your do-over with Mayday,” Peter tells him, squeezing his arm gently. “Whenever you’re ready. Okay?”

Miguel nods, and there’s only the tiniest bit of hesitation before his own hand comes up to lightly touch the one Peter’s still got on his arm. “Alright. I’ll let you know,” he says, before pulling his hand away. “And tell Mayday I said hello.”

“I will,” Peter assures him, and with that, Miguel turns around again to leave. Peter watches him go, waiting until long after Miguel disappears into the crowd, before doing the same.

His back is going to be screaming at him tomorrow, and he’s still humiliated over landing on top of Miguel like that in front of an audience, but overall? Not a bad day.

Not a bad day at all.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

It’s taking everything Miguel has in him to sit still and pretend to listen to yet another presentation from another department head. He doesn’t even know which department they’re from- agriculture, maybe. He’s lost track at this point, his only hope now is that they’re nearing the end of this godforsaken meeting. Miguel might feel bad for his lack of interest if everyone else in the room weren’t in similar states. A few have given up the pretense of being polite and openly yawn every few minutes, and Miguel has to stifle his own whenever they do.

His only source of entertainment comes from a chat with Lyla that he’s got going on his laptop, sitting open in front of him under the guise of taking notes.

is that ancient skeleton still holding you all hostage in that stupid meeting?

Yes. And maybe don’t call him that over company-owned servers.

oh what, is IT gonna pull the logs and snitch on us? they probably hate his mummified ass too

Miguel fakes clearing his throat to cover the smile he feels coming on. There’s only one person in the room who would care if they caught him not paying attention, and Miguel sneaks a subtle glance in his direction.

Tyler Stone- the mummified ass in question. He’s seated at the far end of the conference room table, attention focused on whoever is currently speaking. His blond hair has long since turned white, and the wrinkles on his face betray just how stressful of a job it is to be Alchemax’s reviled CEO. Calling him a skeleton says less about his age and more about his frame; wiry and lean, to the point it’d be concerning if anyone cared about his health, though the suit he’s wearing does a decent job of making him appear more filled out than he is.

Every quarter, he drags all the department heads into this room and, one by one, makes them all share whatever current projects they’re working on. No one is stupid enough to think Stone actually cares about their research. He nods attentively and takes his notes, but it’s all so he has something impressive to bring back to his shareholders. And he makes it a point that he is the one to share this information with them, not the department heads themselves. How else is he supposed to take credit for all their hard work?

Miguel hates him. Plain and simple. He’s willing to bet the rest of the room feels the same way.

Another message from Lyla pops up on his screen.

peter b and the kids are here. want us to wait for u?

No, get started without me. This shouldn’t take too much longer.

And he’s right. He only has to sit through two more agonizing presentations before Stone stands up and gives them the usual thanks for all your hard work and dismisses them. Miguel closes his laptop and stands to follow the rest of the crowd out of the conference room, only for Stone to say, “Miguel, a word, please.”

Of course he wouldn’t be so lucky.

He’s halfway out of his chair already but sits back down, and neither of them speaks while everyone else leaves. Only when they’re fully alone does Tyler move, circling so he’s standing directly across the table from Miguel. His expression is neutral, a practiced veneer of calm, but Miguel can see the disdain in his eyes. The feeling is mutual. “Your productivity this quarter is nowhere close to where it needs to be.”

Like he cares about productivity. “What do you want me to do about that? Research takes time, and our current projects can’t be rushed any more than they already are.” Stone would know this if he ever did any real work himself. “My department is-“

“I’m not talking about your department. I’m talking about you, Miguel,” Stone interrupts. “You’ve been distracted lately.”

“I have two mentees to watch, of course I’m distracted,” Miguel says, arms crossing in front of his chest. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one whose productivity went down after that program started.”

“No one else’s declined this badly. No one else is the leader of their department, and no one else asked to take on two mentees,” Tyler counters. “And it’s not just about those kids- I know about you and Lyla both sneaking out for long lunches, or leaving early to do whatever it that you think is more important than your job.”

There was a time when he might have felt guilty being caught red-handed like this. Now, it just makes something unpleasant crawl under his skin to know Stone -or, more likely, someone close to him- has been keeping tabs on his whereabouts. “Do you put this much effort into stalking all of your employees, or am I special?”

Stone huffs out a laugh, and it’s anything but a humorous sound. “No one is stalking you, Miguel. There’s no need to, not when you make no effort to hide what you’re doing.”

“Fine. You caught me,” Miguel shrugs. “If you get to whatever point you’re trying to make, I can get back to that job you’re so insistent that I do.”

Stone frowns, and the look he’s giving Miguel grows colder, clearly displeased at the lack of remorse. But instead of chewing Miguel out, he asks instead, “Do you know why I give you so many chances? Why I let you get away with things no one else at Alchemax would even dream of trying?”

Miguel knows the real answer- if Stone kicks Lyla and him out, he loses the chance to slap his name on all their work. As much as Stone loathes him, Miguel knows the research his lab publishes brings in a lot of notoriety for Alchemax, and a lot of money along with it. That’s why Miguel gets away with the constant insubordination.

He doesn’t say any of that. He just shrugs again, wanting to see where Stone is going with his little speech.

“It’s because, despite the relentless disrespect, you have a gift that so few of your colleagues possess.” Miguel almost gags. “You have such potential, a chance to be something, if you would just-“

“Spare me the canned motivational speech, Stone,” Miguel interrupts, unable to stand hearing another word. “I’m not one of your shareholders, no need to pretend you give a sh*t about my potential.”

Stone’s eye twitches, and that’s about all the warning Miguel gets before he slams his hands down on the table and leans in so he’s at Miguel’s eye level. The table is big enough that he’s nowhere near Miguel’s personal space, but the sudden action is enough to startle him.

“You ungrateful little child,” Stone spits, pure venom in his voice. “I give you a job, a position that people with twice your experience would kill for, and this is how you repay me? You have a personal lab that you get to do whatever you want with, and you thank me by shrugging your shoulders and swearing at me in a conference room I own!”

“I have given you every chance possible to prove you’re worth keeping around, and you still find new ways to undermine me,” he continues, volume rising with every sentence. “I looked the other way when you stole that ID badge, I let it slide when you had the nerve to invite that girl back here as your mentee, I kept you on payroll when you disappeared for six months after-“

Miguel’s vision goes red, and the next thing he knows he’s standing, too, with such force it sends his chair crashing to the ground. “Don’t you dare-“ Now he’s the one yelling, pointing a finger in Stone’s face as much as he can with the table still separating them. “Don’t you dare say her name!”

There’s a brief flash of fear in Stone’s eyes then, and Miguel hates himself a little more for letting him get under his skin so easily. Almost as much as he hates Stone himself.

It’s gone just as quickly, and when Stone speaks again, his voice is low, threatening. “Let me tell you very clearly what will happen if you keep acting like you can do whatever you want. You will lose your job, your apartment, everything you own, and then rot in your debt. I’ll make sure Lyla gets the same treatment, too, just because I can.”

Miguel’s jaw clenches, but he refuses to snap again. He won’t give Stone the satisfaction of losing his temper a second time. He reluctantly lowers his hand, fists clenched at his sides so hard he can feel his fingernails digging into his palm.

“I gave you everything, Miguel,” Tyler says coldly, standing up to his full height. “Now get your sh*t together before I take it all away.”

Miguel says nothing. He can’t, not with the threat now looming over Lyla’s head. He just glares at Stone with the hopes a nasty look is all it’ll take for his putrid heart to stop, and when it doesn’t, swipes his laptop off the table and storms out without another word.

f*ck Stone. f*ck Stone and that stupid contract his stupid twenty-something self signed, giving that wretched man free reign over Miguel’s life. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve to even think about her, much less talk about her-

He’s so angry he’s shaking with it, but he won’t do anything except bottle it all tightly inside. He hates it, hates this gross part of him that is so easy to flare up, hates that Tyler Stone of all people can draw it out of him.

He feels like his father. The thought alone is enough to make him sick.

Miguel takes the stairs instead of the elevator in the hopes walking down ten flights will calm him down. It doesn’t, and he spends who knows how long just pacing back and forth along the hall, out of sight of Peter and everyone else. He doesn’t need any of them seeing him like this, even if Lyla’s seen him in much worse states.

By the time he feels calm enough to face any of them, his nails have dug craters into his palm. If they were any sharper he’d probably be bleeding, but all he’s managed to do is make his hands ache. Lucky him.

He’s surprised to see Lyla sitting at her desk when he rounds the corner, feet kicked up on the desk and distracted by something on her phone. The door to his office is shut as well; he knows he left it open when he left. “’Bout time you showed up,” she teases. “Was beginning to think he was never gonna let you go.“

She looks up at him then, and a single glance at his face is all it takes for her expression to fall. “Mig? What happened?”

“Stone hit a nerve. I’ll tell you later.” The last thing he needs is to get all worked up again when he just calmed himself down. “Where is everyone else? Why aren’t you in the lab?”

“Peter B’s in the breakroom taking a call,” Lyla says, nodding towards the other end of the hall. “And the kids are in your office.”

“...Doing what?”

Lyla takes a little longer to answer that, pursing her lips. “Playing games on your computer.”

Miguel leans over so he can see through the blinds of his office, and sure enough, they are. They’re both crammed side by side into his chair, hunched forward towards his monitor and talking animatedly amongst themselves.

He should go in there and reprimand them. They’ve taken him giving last week off as an invitation to do whatever they want, and Lyla’s enabling them. Peter’s no help, either, so now Miguel’s the last one left to play reasonable adult.

This is the exact sort of nonsense Stone just chewed him out over. Then he remembers he hates that guy, threats be damned, and anything that makes him angry is an objectively good thing.

Miguel brings a hand up to rub his temples and sighs. “Fine, let them do whatever. I’m going to the lab myself.”

“Okay,” Lyla says slowly, pulling her feet off her desk. “Want me to come with you?”

He shakes his head. “No, It’s fine. I think I need the alone time anyway.” He still feels volatile. Maybe it’s for the best everyone else is distracted with other things- it’ll give him some more time to clear his head.

“If you’re sure.” Lyla wants to follow him, he can tell, but she doesn’t press the issue. “You know where I’ll be if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, Lyla.” He doesn’t tell her that enough.

Both teens jump when Miguel steps into his office. Miles watches him with wide eyes while Gwen rushes to hide whatever they are playing, clicking frantically. Miles opens his mouth to blurt out some excuse, but Miguel puts a hand up and stops him. “Don’t bother, I don’t care what you’re doing. Just don’t download anything onto my computer.”

Gwen stops clicking and looks up at him slowly. “What if we already did?”

Miguel takes a deep breath, asks God to grant him patience. “Don’t download anything else onto my computer.”

Gwen mumbles something vaguely resembling agreement. Good enough. Miguel snatches up his lab coat and leaves them to their game.

Exhaustion hits him the second he’s alone in the lab. Miguel leans back against the door and closes his eyes for a moment, breathing deep. He used to find some odd comfort in the chemical smell of industrial cleaners, the low hum of their sample refrigerators. Lately, though, the place feels more like a jail cell than the second home it used to be.

He planned on throwing himself into his work like he usually does whenever he needs a distraction, but as soon as he opens his eyes again his gaze is drawn to the table in the center of the room. Bright red and blue contrast sharply with the dull grey of the rest of the room, and a note has been taped to the center of the table. Miguel picks it up, and he recognizes the handwriting before any of the words register.

Tío-

Couldn’t help but notice your water bottle is totally blank- you know that’s weird, right? To not have a single sticker? So I made you one. Everyone else uses the ones I made for them so if you wanna be a part of the team you gotta use yours, too. Or don’t, and hurt my feelings beyond repair. Your choice

-Miles

ps: I got an A on my physics exam thanks to you. Don’t know if you’re gonna be happy or disappointed to hear that

pps: the lego is yours too. If you want it

The Lego in question is a little Spider-Man figurine, posed to be holding up the nametag sticker Miles designed for him. It’s Miguel’s name, drawn in dark navy lettering that’s all harsh lines and sharp angles. He’s seen similar tags on Peter and Gwen’s bottles, but until now hadn’t realized Miles was the one who made them.

He plucks the nametag from the Lego’s hands, smiling despite himself. He’s never had any desire to decorate his water bottle, and found the idea of putting his name on it pointless- obviously, it’s his bottle, he’s the one carrying it around.

However… the nametag was a gift. A handmade one, no less. It’d be rude not to use it and, what’d Miles say- hurt his feelings beyond repair? Can’t have that.

Miguel pockets the sticker to place on his water bottle later. He takes the Lego Spider-Man in his hand next, sitting down on a nearby stool as he pushes one of its arms up and down. Why Miles left this for him, too, he doesn’t know. But again- it’s a gift. Miguel can’t get rid of it.

The thing is oddly endearing, somehow. Miguel finds himself idly fidgeting with its little limbs rather than doing any of the work he came into the lab to do. Hunching over until his head is propped on his other arm that’s not currently holding the Lego, Miguel loses track of time. He barely registers the sound of the lab doors sliding open until a familiar voice says-

“I saw you put up the photo from this weekend.”

Miguel doesn’t move from where he’s slumped forward on the table, but he does look from the Lego towards Peter. His reply is half-muffled into his arm. “Lyla put it up.”

Peter grins at him. “But you didn’t take it down.”

No, he didn’t. It’s hanging right where Lyla put it, on the wall directly across from his desk. Miguel sees it every time he looks up from his computer. He looks vaguely uncomfortable -when does he not- but Peter and the two teens are all smiling and happy to be there. Happy to be with him. “It’s a nice photo.”

“Yeah, We’re a good-looking group for sure,” Peter agrees, crossing the short distance to stand by Miguel’s side. “And you got Miles’ gift. Pretty sweet kid, huh?”

Miguel hums in agreement. Giving Peter a quick once-over, he realizes he’s not wearing his lab coat, but he doesn’t have the energy to reprimand him for it. His fight with Stone must have taken more out of him than Miguel realized.

“You doing okay? Lyla mentioned you had a pretty rough meeting with your boss today.” Peter’s voice is low, calming; just loud enough to be heard over the white noise of the lab.

Some of his earlier bitterness creeps back in at the mere mention of Stone. Peter, as if sensing the subtle shift in Miguel’s demeanor, reaches out to place a gentle hand on Miguel’s shoulder. And just like that, the nasty feeling is gone again- how does Peter do that? How does he manage to make him feel better with just one touch?

Miguel sinks down just a little further onto the table when Peter’s thumb starts rubbing little circles into his back. He’s so distracted by the sensation that he almost forgets to answer Peter, but he eventually mumbles, “I’ll be fine. Meeting with Stone never goes well. I’m used to it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Miguel answers immediately, then winces when he realizes how harsh it sounded and amends, “Not right now.” He wants to tell Peter, eventually. He wants to open up more, to be honest with him, but not now. He’s so tired. So tired of feeling sad and angry and exhausted. Right now, all Miguel wants to do is bask in the feeling of Peter’s hand on his back, the simple comfort of his presence.

“That’s fine,” Peter responds easily, before his smile gets a little wider. “Want me to go beat him up? I’ll do it, though I’m not much of a fighter. I like to put all this raw power into other things.”

Peter jokingly flexes his free arm. It draws Miguel’s gaze right to his bicep, even though there’s not much to see with the long sleeves he’s got on. “Like what?”

“Like heroically saving you from errant greenhouse walls. Or one-upping you at the Underground.”

“One-upping me? Is that what you call falling off the same overhang six times in a row?”

“Last, I checked, you fell off eight times.” Miguel did. They both walked away that day with wounded egos.

Peter’s phone chimes in his pocket then, and while Peter doesn’t take it out, he does sigh a little to himself and takes his hand off Miguel’s back. Miguel sits up in an attempt to prolong the touch as much as he can, and right now he doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed by his desperation.

“Anyways, I came to tell you I’m sneaking out of here,” Peter says. “Lyla already agreed to walk the kids back to Visions, but Mayday’s mom has a work thing and needs me to grab her early.”

“Can I come?” Miguel blurts without thinking. Peter’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and he immediately starts backtracking. “Nevermind, I don’t need to invite myself into your personal life-“

“Mig, it’s okay,” Peter stops him before he can make a bigger fool of himself. “Just surprised you’d want to tag along, is all.”

Shifting in his seat a little, Miguel looks down at the Lego still held in his hand. “I don’t know if I can handle being here right now,” he admits quietly. It’s humiliating, to be this needy and put it all on Peter to make him feel better, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

It’s also the last thing he should be doing. Stone made it clear he’s not happy with Miguel playing fast and loose with his work schedule, that he’s being watched, but Miguel can’t do it now. He’ll come back later tonight, or come in early tomorrow morning, whatever. He’ll do whatever he has to in order to get Stone off his back -he doesn’t have another choice, realistically-. But he’ll do it later, when he doesn’t feel claustrophobic and miserable.

Right now he just needs to exist anywhere else but here.

“I get that,” Peter responds easily. “I don’t mind if you come, it’s just gonna be a long trip. I have to get Mayday from her mom’s house first and then take her to mine. You up for that?”

It sounds exhausting, honestly, and with how wiped he already feels Miguel would normally back out. But the thought of wallowing here, surrounded by nothing but constant reminders that he’s trapped, sounds even worse.

“I’ll be fine.” Miguel’s not sure who he’s trying to convince when he says that.

Peter seems to buy it, backing up towards the door and gesturing for Miguel to follow him. “We should get going now, then. Don’t want to keep MJ waiting too long.”

MJ. Peter’s mentioned her a few times now, enough for Miguel to get a general idea of who she is; childhood friend turned ex-wife and world’s best co-parent. And a total smokeshow, according to Lyla. She didn’t shut up about MJ for a good ten minutes after her apology tour to Visions. He started tuning her out after two.

Miguel swears he’s heard her name elsewhere, too, but can’t put a finger on it quite yet.

He stops by his office to let Lyla know where he’s going and to grab a few of his belongings. He swaps the lab coat for his outdoor one and collects Peter’s sweatshirt from its spot on the coffee table. Freshly cleaned and folded as a thank-you for letting Miguel borrow it.

Gwen and Miles are still playing on his computer, though they’ve switched positions since Miguel last saw them. Miles is the one manning the controls now while Gwen watches over his shoulder, occasionally pointing at the screen and giving him orders while he plays.

Miguel hopes Lyla’s theory about IT hating Stone, too, and they’ll keep quiet about the sudden appearance of video games on a computer also housing highly confidential research material. Or maybe they do tell, and it makes Stone so furious he pops a blood vessel. Either option is acceptable.

Neither of them acknowledges his presence, but he catches the pleased look on Miles’ face when Lego Spider-Man finds a new home on the corner of Miguel’s desk.

“Mayday’s gonna be excited to see you,” Peter tells him once they’ve reconvened in the hall, stuffing his sweatshirt into his bag while they walk.

“You think so?” Miguel asks, feeling anxious just with the mention of her name, remembering how his previous encounter with her went. She’d been caught in the middle of such an uncomfortable moment, all because of him. Mayday may not be able to hold grudges, but Miguel sure as hell can wallow in guilt, and as unsure as he is about seeing her again today, he wants a chance to make it up to her, somehow.

“Oh, I know so. Mayday can tell you’re a good person, she wouldn’t let you hold her if you weren’t.” Peter says this like it’s scientific fact. “You’re a natural with kids- that’s me saying that, now, not Mayday.”

Miguel’s heart aches. He keeps walking beside Peter like he doesn’t feel it.

“And you’re sure it’s okay that I’m coming along?” Miguel asks once they’re outside.

“Of course it is, big guy. I’m always glad to have your company,” Peter says with an easy smile, and then his hand is back on Miguel’s shoulder.

“Now let’s go get you that do-over with Mayday.”

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Peter uses the bus ride to MJ’s house as an opportunity to practice one of his weaker skills- being quiet.

Miguel’s eyes slid shut barely a moment after he sat down in his seat and had yet to open again, head tilted back against the headrest. Peter can’t tell if he’s sleeping or not, but he gives him time to rest. In the meantime, Peter texts MJ to let her know he’s on the way, and that Miguel is joining him.

Her first question is if Peter thinks that’s a good idea. He told her about the incident in the lobby- it involved their child, so MJ is automatically filled in on every detail, regardless of what Miguel would have liked- so the uncertainty is warranted. And honestly? Peter’s not sure himself. He wants to trust Miguel’s judgment about his own limits, he told Miguel that he would get to decide if and when he saw Mayday again, but Peter thought it would happen under much different circ*mstances.

He’s not worried about Mayday- Miguel wouldn’t be here if he were. Really, Miguel had been great for the brief time he was with her. Mayday was all smiles when he was holding her, and Miguel had been, too, in his own way. It was everything else that happened after that has Peter on edge.

He glances at Miguel, who still has not moved since they sat down. Miguel’s been looking a little haggard these last few weeks, but whatever happened with him and Tyler Stone pushed him to a new level. The dark circles under his eyes are worse. He’d almost fallen asleep in his lab earlier- and he’s close to doing the same now if he’s not already out.

Miguel is…fragile, almost, in a way Peter never thought he could be.

Peter just has to hope Miguel knows what he’s getting into by inviting himself along, and that seeing Mayday again will lift him out of this pit rather than sink him down further. That’s more or less what he tells MJ, which maybe isn’t the most reassuring answer. But even if she questions Miguel’s judgment, she trusts Peter’s, so she just sends back a thumbs up and lets him know the front door is unlocked.

Miguel doesn’t open his eyes again until Peter gently nudges his arm to let him know their stop is coming up. Even then, he’s slow to respond, taking a deep breath before nodding in acknowledgment. He lags behind Peter as they step off the bus and walk a few short blocks to MJ’s house. Peter doesn’t comment on it, letting Miguel sort through whatever mental preparation he needs to.

Only once they’re standing outside the front door does Peter speak up. “You sure you’re ready?” He asks, turning to look up at Miguel.

Miguel’s expression is as impartial as ever, but the way his fists are clenched by his sides gives him away. “I’m ready,” he tells him regardless, and Peter nods.

“Alright, let’s do this, then,” Peter says. “I think you’re really gonna like MJ, but then again, everyone does.”

MJ, it turns out, is right there in the front hall when Peter opens the door, standing in front of a mirror while she puts on a pair of gold hoop earrings. She’s only got one in when the two men step inside, and she stops to smile at Peter and pull him into a hug. “Thank you so much for this, I know it was last minute-“

“Don’t worry about it, you know I’m never going to turn down a chance to spend even more time with our baby,” Peter says, smiling just as big as hers as he returns the hug, then lets go so he can introduce their surprise guest.

Except MJ beats him to it, and Peter’s tasked with holding MJ’s other earring as she steps around him and towards the other man, who is lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “You must be Miguel.” She doesn’t hug him, but when he holds his hand out for a handshake, she takes it in both of hers and squeezes gently. “Pete’s told me a lot about you.”

“Likewise,” Miguel responds, but he sounds distracted. He’s searching MJ’s face for something, gears turning in his head until something clicks. “Do you work at The Bugle?”

“I used to, yes,” MJ says, smile turning sly, like she already knows what Miguel’s getting at. “Why?”

“You wrote an expose on Alchemax around the time I started there. Something about the pharmaceutical department falsifying research for shareholders.”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” MJ says, letting go of his hand. “I didn’t think anyone read it- it didn’t get nearly the amount of traction I hoped it would.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone on Alchemax’s payroll read it. Stone was furious.” Miguel’s very pleased to share that last bit. “I’m pretty sure your name is still a banned subject at work.”

MJ laughs, “Well, if it got under Tyler Stone’s skin, then I guess my investigation wasn’t entirely for nothing.” She takes her earring back from Peter -who has dutifully stayed quiet this entire time- and faces the mirror again. “Not to intrude on your personal life when we just met-“

“This family’s pretty good at that.” So much for Peter being quiet.

“Yes, thank you, Pete,” MJ says patiently. “I was saying, I’ve heard about the shady contracts Alchemax uses to keep their employees trapped. If you’re half as good a person as Peter says you are, I’m guessing you’ve got a contract of your own keeping you there.”

Miguel shoots Peter a glance then, trying to figure out what exactly he might have told MJ. Peter just shrugs and smiles- all he told MJ was the truth. Miguel doesn’t like that answer but returns his focus to MJ. “It’s more complicated than that, but yes. That’s the situation I’m in.”

“I thought so. So I’ll just put this out there,” She looks away from the mirror and back to Miguel, “If you ever wanted to get out, I might know a few people who could help.”

“You know someone who’s looking to hire someone with mountains of debt and a degree in a highly specific field?” It’s a genuine question, not an attempt at being dismissive.

MJ nods, “I started doing freelance work after I quit The Bugle. I’ve made a lot of connections in that time, including a few science-types who’d love to poach a scientist or two from Alchemax, regardless of their field.”

Miguel pauses, like he still can’t believe the offer is real, and Peter catches the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know why you’d go through all that trouble for me,” he admits.

“Well, Pete likes you, and so does my daughter. I like to think they’re both good judges of character, so anybody they like is someone worth helping out any way I can.” Miguel’s fist clenches again, and this time MJ picks up on his growing discomfort. She’s quick to give him a reassuring smile and add, “Only if you want to, of course. Like I said, I don’t want to overstep and stick my nose in your business, if you’d rather I stay out of it.”

“No, it’s a very generous offer, it’s just- leaving would be difficult,” Miguel falters, thrown off guard at just the idea someone would help him out just because, and isn’t that sad? Peter makes a note to remedy that ASAP. “But I’ll think about it.”

She looks pleased he’ll at least consider the offer, but before she can say anything else, Peter chimes in again, “Speaking of Mayday, where is she?”

“She’s in her basket,” MJ says, pointing to the living room. ‘Her basket’ is quite literally an overturned laundry basket, under which she is currently crawling around. The basket slowly drags around the floor as Mayday pushes it along with her as she explores.

MJ looks back to Miguel. “Before you judge my parenting, she likes being in there.”

“She loves being in her basket,” Peter agrees, walking into the living room and standing in front of the laundry basket containing his baby. It bumps into his foot, but before Mayday can try to navigate around him, Peter crouches to lift the basket with an exaggerated gasp and says, “Oh, there’s my lil’ sweetpea!”

Mayday’s initial protest at having her basket taken away stops as soon as she realizes who took it. She’s all smiles and giggling as she reaches for Peter to pick her up, and who is he to tell her no? He scoops her off the floor and plants an obnoxiously loud kiss on her cheek, which gets him a shriek of laughter in return.

He’s got his back turned to Miguel as he stands up, trying to enjoy the moment with his daughter while can before… whatever is about to happen. But he can’t do that forever, and after a few fleeting seconds, Peter slowly turns to face Miguel with Mayday still in his arms.

Like last time, Miguel’s focus goes straight to Mayday, with that same expression Peter can never seem to read. MJ sees it, too, and gives Peter a look when she can’t decipher it, either. The arch in her brow makes her silent question to him clear- are you sure about this?

Peter gives her a single, subtle nod, and she mimics the motion before bending down to pull on a pair of shoes. “I need to get going, but all Mayday’s stuff is packed for you.” She gestures to the bag sitting on the couch. “She’s been playing all afternoon, so she should be pretty tired by the time you feed her dinner.”

MJ and Peter meet halfway so they can share another hug and MJ can say goodbye to Mayday before she makes her way to the door. But MJ stops again when she’s back by Miguel’s side, where he hasn’t moved since Peter first picked Mayday up.

“Thank you for coming to help, too, Miguel.” Her tone is gentle, but it’s still enough to redirect Miguel’s focus back to her. “You let me know if those two get too out of control, okay?”

The lighthearted joke eases just a little bit of the tension, even if the tight smile he gives her in reply is forced. “I will.”

She smiles back at him, then waves to all three of them with another goodbye before she’s out the door. And just like that, they’re alone, and Miguel’s attention is right back on Mayday.

“Alright, big guy, since you’re apparently in charge, you get to pick- you wanna carry the bags or Mayday?” Peter asks him, slowly stepping closer. Cautiously, like Miguel might bolt at any second. Considering what happened last time, it’s a genuine concern.

Miguel stays put, stock still as Peter draws near with Mayday. But before Miguel can answer, Mayday’s decided for him, tiny fists making grabbing motions in his direction. Miguel glances at Peter, like he’s asking if it’s okay to take her, before gently taking her from Peter’s arms and into his own.

Just like last time, the effect is immediate. Miguel melts the second he’s holding Mayday, a tender smile crossing his face. And, like a reflex, Miguel’s hand moves to feel Mayday’s pulse, in the same spot on her left arm. Mayday lets him, too busy babbling nonsense to an attentive new set of ears.

After a few moments, Mayday shifts and pulls her arm out of Miguel’s grasp, and Peter waits with bated breath for that to set Miguel off again- only for nothing to happen. Miguel adjusts Mayday so he can hold her more comfortably, though he doesn’t try to feel her pulse again.

His smile fades after a moment, though, and he looks from Mayday back to Peter. “Where am I carrying her to?”

“Uh, my apartment?” Peter says, like it’s obvious, slinging the baby bag over his shoulder. “I didn’t drag you out here just to send you packing after five minutes. Gotta at least feed you dinner first.”

“Peter, I can’t.” Miguel tries to hand Mayday back then, but she protests, fists tight where they’re gripping the front of his shirt. “I need to get back to work.”

Again with work- what the hell did Stone say to him? “Anything you missed today, you can just make up tomorrow. Leaving a little early one time isn’t going to kill you.”

Miguel makes a face like it very well could. “Peter-“

“If you’re saying no because you don’t want to go, that’s fine. But if you’re saying no because Tyler Stone doesn’t want you to,” Peter pauses, stepping closer to cover Mayday’s ears with both his hands, “then f*ck your boss, and come have dinner with me and my kid.”

Miguel tries to protest again, only to lose whatever weak argument he might have had when he looks back down to Mayday. She shakes her head to rid herself of Peter’s hands, and Peter can see the exact moment the last bit of Miguel’s hesitancy fades.

“Okay.”

It’s another short bus ride to Peter’s apartment. Miguel stays awake this time, too distracted by Mayday to even think about sleeping. She’s having the time of her life climbing back and forth between Peter and Miguel’s laps, though she’s particularly invested in trying to climb up Miguel’s shoulders. The height advantage he’s got over Peter gives her a whole world of new things to explore, new sights to see.

Miguel doesn’t let her get too high up (for which Peter is silently very grateful), and after the fifth time being told no, she can’t perch herself on top of his head, she gives up and occupies herself with the buttons on the front of his shirt. She doesn’t have the dexterity to actually button them, and settles for mashing either side of his shirt together.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Miguel asks suddenly, though he doesn’t look up from where he’s watching Mayday.

“You can ask me anything you want, big guy,” Peter answers honestly.

“Why did you and MJ divorce?”

“Oh, man. You’re going for the real personal stuff, huh?” Peter teases, and before Miguel can backpedal he continues, “You want the short story or the long one?”

“Is there ever a short story with you?”

“Don’t be mean, my daughter is listening,” Peter chastises. It takes him a second then to figure out where to start, because it is a rather long story, regardless of him being a chatterbox.

“We’d known each other since we were kids, middle school, I think? It’s hard the remember a time when she wasn’t part of my life,” Peter begins, smiling already, so fond of those memories of him and MJ as awkward tweens. “We were your classic high school sweetheart couple, got married as soon as we finished undergrad. Really obnoxious about it, too. We’d swap around our class schedules just to spend more time together.”

“And for a long time, things were great. I was married to my best friend, we had a house together… it was as close to perfect as you could get.” Peter looks down at his hand, at the empty space where his wedding ring once sat. “But after a while, I don’t know. We were all we knew, and we started thinking about all the things we might have missed because we’d been together the whole time. So, we tried doing the whole open marriage thing.” The details of which he spares, because they are in public and his daughter is two feet away.

“And it worked, for a little bit. We would go out and have our fun, then come back home to each other. But even that didn’t last long, and honestly, I think we both knew it was coming. It’s like we both had the realization one morning that we’d stopped being spouses and became roommates.”

Miguel’s quiet, listening intently while Peter talks, so he keeps going. “It was a mutual decision, the right decision to get divorced, but that didn’t make it any easier. It messed both of us up for a long time, ‘cause like I said, this relationship was all either of us knew, and now it felt like we had to start all over again. That wasn’t true, of course, but emotions were high, rational thought took a back seat.”

“Must have been difficult,” Miguel says. “even if it ended up being the right decision.”

“It was, yeah,” Peter agrees. “But I don’t think I regret any of it. She’s still my best friend, and I still love her, it’s just different now. Better this way, I think, even if I didn’t want to believe it at first.”

“How long has it been since then?”

Peter hums to himself, thinking. “I dunno, almost three years now?”

Miguel stops, considers the baby still playing with his shirt. “And how old is Mayday?”

Oh sh*t. He's busted.

“…I forgot.” Peter lies.

“You forgot how old your own child is.”

“Mhmm.”

Miguel scrutinizes the fifteen-month-old, and the mental math he’s doing is damning for Peter. He misses the disapproving look Miguel shoots his way, preoccupied with a very interesting dent in the roof of the bus.

Again. The baby was a team effort.

They reach their stop before Miguel can scrutinize him further, the bus dropping them off right in front of Peter’s apartment complex. “Fair warning, it’s a bit of a mess in here,” Peter says as he unlocks the front door to his unit. “But it’ll make you feel better about how clean you keep your place.”

Really, it’s not terrible today. There’s a growing stack of recycling he keeps telling himself he’ll take out, and Mayday’s stuff is still everywhere, but it’s certainly been worse. Miguel doesn’t comment on it, stepping over the stuffed tiger still in its home on the floor as he follows Peter inside.

“Hope you’re okay with leftover potato leek soup, ‘cause that’s about all I got left in my fridge,” Peter says, tossing Mayday’s bag on the futon before making his way into the kitchen.

“That’s fine,” Miguel says, setting Mayday down on the ground when she starts fussing for her toys strewn across the floor. He sits down on the futon, and the thing is so low that with his height his knees are nearly up to his chest, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Good, then you’re on Mayday supervision while I get everything ready.” Miguel nods, but he’s too busy watching Mayday bang together two blocks to acknowledge him more than that. He’s got that fond but bittersweet look in his eyes, the one Peter doesn’t quite know what to do with, so he leaves it be for now.

Thanks to him prepping the soup earlier that week, putting together dinner for the three of them is a straightforward task. He pulls out a small pot to reheat the soup in -no microwave today, he’s got a guest- and while that simmers Peter loots around for something that will suffice as a side.

There’s half a loaf or so of sourdough on the counter, and he gets real fancy and toasts a few slices in a pan with a little butter, rather than slapping them in the toaster. For Mayday, he dices some strawberries and cuts untoasted sourdough into bite-sized pieces.

In less than fifteen minutes, Peter’s got a decent-looking meal ready for the three of them, which he plates and sets out at his dinky little table. Miguel’s got good timing- he replaced the lawn chairs he’d been using with actual dining chairs just last week. They don’t look great, but at least they’re not lime green with a built-in cupholder.

Although, the cupholder had been nice…

“’kay, you two, eat up,” Peter calls once everything’s laid out on the table, and Miguel scoops Mayday up from the floor to come join him. He gets her situated in her high chair before sitting across from Peter with a little thank-you before digging in.

Peter alternates between feeding himself and Mayday. She can handle the strawberries fine, and even manages to dip some of her bread in the soup after watching Peter and Miguel do it themselves, but feeding herself with a spoon is more of a struggle. Feeding her soup probably wasn’t the best idea, but whatever. If only half of it ends up splattered on her shirt or Peter’s sleeve, he’ll consider it a win.

Despite the mess he’s making with Mayday, it’s a peaceful dinner. Usually, when he and Miguel are together, they’re busy doing something else; climbing, supervising Miles and Gwen, getting accosted by stray greenhouse walls. It’s nice to sit in relative quiet for once. There’s no awkward feelings when the conversation lulls, no expectation for either of them to fill the silence.

For once, they get to enjoy each other’s company in peace. It's nice. Peter wouldn’t mind doing this more often.

“Bread’s good,” Miguel comments between bites. “Really good. Where’d you get it?”

Peter’s ego skyrockets with the praise. “I made it.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Oh, this guy is the worst sometimes- “Oh yeah? Tell that to the sourdough starter in my fridge.”

Miguel does in fact get up to look, and Peter smirks triumphantly as soon as Miguel catches sight of the little jar smack dab in the middle of the shelf. “Now this is where you say, ‘I’m sorry, Peter, for ever doubting that baking would be amongst one of your many, many talents-‘“

“Okay, I get it.” Miguel rolls his eyes, muttering something Peter chooses to believe is an apology as he rejoins him at the table. “I didn’t expect you to be much of a cook.”

“Wow, thanks,” Peter says sarcastically, though his feelings aren’t actually hurt. “I’ll admit the baking is new. Kinda. I picked it up while I was still spiraling from the divorce- it was either that or I start chainsmoking.”

“Baking seems like the healthier choice.”

“Right? I thought so, too,” Peter agrees.

MJ wasn’t kidding when she said she’d worn Mayday out before they’d come to pick her up. By the time she’s finished most of her dinner, Peter’s already picking up on the little signals that she’s about to crash. “Aww, I think someone’s ready for bed,” Peter coos, careful to avoid the soup stains on the front of her shirt as he lifts her from the high chair.

“Just a quick bath, then you’re going down for the night, yeah?” He says to Mayday, then points a finger at Miguel. “I’ll be quick. No sneaking out while I’m gone, okay? You’re not leaving without a proper goodbye.”

Only once Miguel agrees to stay put does he leave, whisking Mayday away for a quick bath. She’s all but falling asleep in his arms by the time he’s got the soap rinsed from her hair and a fresh set of pajamas on her. She gets that from him; a good meal is all it takes to knock either one of them out.

He rejoins Miguel once she’s tucked safely in her crib, pleased to see he’d stayed as Peter had asked. Only he’s taken it upon himself to clean the dishes from their dinner, standing over the kitchen sink as he works.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Peter says, moving to stand beside him. “But thank you.”

“You made dinner. It’s the least I can do,” Miguel says with a shrug, but he sounds distant again. Tired all over again, now that Mayday’s gone. He’s scrubbing a mug almost absentmindedly, well past what would be needed to get it clean.

Peter frowns, reaching out to gingerly take the mug from Miguel’s hands and run it under the water himself before setting it on the drying rack. “Come with me to the fire escape. Just for a little bit.”

“Why?”

“Because you look like you have something on your mind,” Peter says, shutting the water off and stepping away from the sink. “And that’s where I like to go when something’s bothering me.”

Miguel taps his finger on the edge of the sink, thinking it over long enough that Peter’s preparing to be told no, only for him to relent and follow after him as he heads for the window.

Peter steps through first, then holds his hand out for Miguel to help him keep his balance as he crouches low to follow after him. It’s a tight fit with both of them on the fire escape together, not much in the way of elbow room, but just enough that they’re not right on top of each other.

Peter turns to take in the sights around them. There’s not much to see- they’re only three stories up, and most of their view is blocked by another apartment complex just on the other side of the alley, but it’s quiet by New York standards. This street’s enough out of the way that only a handful of cars pass by, and when they do, the sound is muffled by the buildings around them-

“Don’t turn around.”

Just like that, the atmosphere of the evening is turned on its head. Peter’s too stunned to even think about moving, tense all over in a matter of seconds. “Mig?”

“Don’t turn around,” Miguel repeats, voice tight. “Because I don’t think I can say this if you’re looking at me.”

Peter stays put, his back to Miguel, ears trained on every little noise behind him. Miguel’s pacing in what little space the fire escape provides, back and forth, stopping at random moments only to pick back up the next. The concern that Miguel might up and run is back- Peter swears he hears him creep towards the window more than once.

Every muscle in Peter’s body is tense. It feels like it drags on forever, waiting in anxious silence for Miguel to work up the courage to speak again.

Finally, Miguel stops moving. Peter hears him take a deep breath, then another, until…

“My daughter’s name was Gabriella.”

The world stops turning.

Peter’s mouth opens, but no words come out. He misheard that, he must have. He can barely comprehend it, mind working overtime to digest what’s been said. But surely, that can’t be what Miguel meant to tell him.

Without thinking, he goes to turn around. “Miguel, what-“

A hand on either shoulder stops him before he can move very far. “Don’t,” Miguel says again, nearly begging. “Please. Just let me do this.”

Another shaky inhale, before Miguel continues. “Two years ago, she… My whole life ended when I lost her.”

The hands on his shoulders grip tighter, and Peter brings one of his own to place gently on top of Miguel’s. On top of his left hand, where Peter’s fingers catch on his two bracelets. Peter’s stomach drops.

This is real. He wishes it wasn’t.

“Miguel, let me turn around,” Peter asks gently. When he gets no response, he tries to move again, and the tight grip on his shoulders resists him for only a moment before easing up. It feels like another eternity before they’re face to face again.

Miguel is silent, staring down at Peter with wide eyes, like he can’t believe what he just shared. And for a while, Peter just stares back up at him. What is he supposed to say to that? What could Peter possibly say that would even begin to match the enormity of what Miguel just told him?

He does the only thing he can think of. Peter closes the space between them in one short step, and pulls Miguel into a tight embrace.

It won’t fix anything. One hug or even a million of them won’t undo the grief that comes with losing your family, your child. Peter could never hope to remedy any of that. But maybe, at this moment, he can provide the tiniest amount of comfort.

Miguel goes rigid at first, but before Peter can second guess anything Miguel hugs him back, tight enough it almost hurts. Like he’s afraid to let go. Peter doesn’t dare complain.

“Tell me about her,” Peter says quietly, and this close he can hear the way the air catches in Miguel’s chest. “What was Gabriella like?”

Miguel doesn’t let go, but one of his hands moves down to grip Peter’s left arm, fingers pressed to his pulse. His hand is shaking. Peter hugs him even tighter.

“She was so smart. Smarter than I could ever hope to be.” The tenderness in Miguel’s voice is agonizing. “Gabi was… everyone loved her. There wasn’t a weekend that’d go by where I wasn’t taking her to one friend’s house or another.”

Miguel goes silent again, shifting uncomfortably where Peter’s still got his arms around him. Peter gets the signal and relaxes his hold, but Miguel doesn’t go far, just enough that they can look at each other again. Or at least, Peter can look up at him- Miguel’s got his gaze fixed on some faraway point in the distance.

“Miguel.” He doesn’t meet Peter’s gaze until he repeats his name a second time, and when he does, his jaw is clenched so tight Peter can see the muscles straining. “Thank you. For trusting me enough to share your daughter’s memory with me.”

“You deserved to know,” Miguel tells him. “You deserved to know why I reacted that way when I first saw Mayday.”

“And now? How does he make you feel now?”

“It’s difficult,” Miguel admits. “But it helps, I think. To be around her.”

Peter smiles, bittersweet as the sentiment is. His thumb runs along Miguel’s arm in slow motions, feeling the fabric of his shirt. “I’m glad. The offer still stands, you know. For you to come see her whenever you want.”

Miguel shifts again. “I’m not using your child to fix myself-“

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Peter cuts in. “Mig, listen to me, trust what I’m telling you now is what I honestly mean- I want you here more. I want you to spend more time with me and Mayday. Not because I think it’ll ‘fix’ you, but because I like having you around.”

Miguel looks like he’s about to argue but stops himself. It’s like something in him cracks then because he says, in a voice barely above a whisper, “I like being with you, too.”

Something shifts. The air feels different then, the weight of their conversation lifted with just that one quiet admission.

Peter realizes then they still haven’t let go of each other. And maybe he’s imagining things, but Miguel feels closer than he was just a minute ago. Close enough that Peter can feel the body heat radiating off him.

Miguel really is beautiful. This is the first time Peter’s been able to see all the fine details of his face. He takes full advantage, committing every wrinkle and sharp line to memory. But more than anything, Peter finds himself drawn to his eyes, dark and intense in the low light.

Miguel’s too distracted to notice; he’s not looking Peter in the eyes anymore, but trailing his gaze down his nose, the same way Peter's caught him staring a hundred times before.

It hits Peter then that Miguel is looking at him the same way he’s looking at Miguel. His pulse jumps where Miguel’s fingers are still pressed against it. There’s no way Miguel doesn’t feel it.

Peter’s not imagining it. They are getting closer, only he’s the one leaning into Miguel, only a few inches between them. He can see the little crooks in Miguel’s teeth when his lips part-

A car misfires down the street. They jump away from each other like it was a gunshot.

Spell broken, just like that. The emotional whiplash is enough to make Peter’s head spin. Miguel’s not much better, fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt for far too long before clearing his throat. “I should get going.”

It can’t be over like that, can it?

“You could stay, if you want,” Peter offers in an instant. It can’t end like this.

Miguel glances through the window, looking over Peter’s apartment. “There’s no room for me here.”

“I can make room.” He sounds desperate to his own ears. “Pretty sure I have a sleeping bag stashed somewhere in there.”

“You’ll ruin your back sleeping on the floor.”

“I know, that’s why I was gonna make you sleep there.”

That gets a little smile from Miguel. Something hopeful blooms in Peter’s chest when Miguel doesn’t answer right away, like he’s earnestly thinking it over, until- “I can’t. Stone will come after Lyla and me if I don’t get things caught up tonight.”

f*cking Tyler Stone. Peter was kidding about beating him up earlier. Now? Now he might actually do it.

“Fine,” Peter relents, but not before reaching out to touch Miguel’s arm again. “One of these days, you let me teach you to be lazy. Give me a whole day for us to waste doing nothing. Soon.”

Miguel tries to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat. Giving up, or maybe too tired to keep trying, he says instead. “Soon. I promise.”

Peter stays out on the fire escape when Miguel leaves. It’s an awkward angle, but he can see Miguel walking down the sidewalk, and Peter watches him go. Like he always does.

But this time, Miguel stops, turning to look back at Peter. Neither of them says anything, but Peter dares to get his hopes up one last time.

And then Miguel keeps walking away.

It’s the loneliest night of sleep Peter’s had in a long time.