Chapter Text
The stupid goober was nudging Peter closer and closer to the end of his tether. Over the last four months or so, he’d spent hours on the thing where he could, trialling and rewiring and rebuilding, but for some damn reason, despite his pretty comprehensive knowledge of quantum theory, it was proving nigh on impossible to invent a compact interdimensional transporter.
Who’d have thought.
When MJ came back in late one Saturday evening and found him in the same spot she’d left him in that morning, slouched at the kitchen table, surrounded by parts and prototypes and looking like death warmed over, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissed his temple, and said, ‘We’re gonna eat, and then we’re gonna go to bed, and you do not get to argue because you’ve been driving yourself crazy over this, Tiger, and you need to rest.’
Peter slumped back against her and nodded tiredly. ‘Yeah,’ he said defeatedly, then, ‘I think you’d really like Miles. I’m not gonna give up on this stupid thing,’ and he idly flicked a tiny stray spring across the table so hard it bounced onto the kitchen floor and under the fridge, then dropped his face into his hands and groaned.
‘I needed that,’ he mumbled.
‘You can tell me all about it while we make dinner,’ said MJ, attempting to tug him upright, and Peter snapped suddenly into gear and jumped to his feet.
‘I’ll make dinner,’ he said adamantly, ‘You are pregnant and you’ve been out at work all day. Go sit on the couch or something. It might not be as comfy as the old one, but you gotta take care of yourself, sweetheart.’
‘You and that couch,’ she said affectionately while he steered her through the door and onto it, ‘I’m aware that you had a passionate relationship with the last one, but that thing was ripped to pieces and we were moving anyway. I was not keeping it in the house.’
Peter eyed the sofa as she sank onto it and hedged, ‘Y’know, now that I think about it, I might be willing to put up with the new couch if we ordered take-out instead of cooking.’ He leaned through the kitchen doorway and webbed the door of the fridge open, gesturing at its meagre contents, ‘See, we’ve barely got anything in, anyway.’
MJ rolled her eyes at his hopeful face. ‘I thought we were cutting back on the takeout,’ she said. He scoffed, stretched out his back, grunting at the series of cracks it produced, and plopped down beside her. ‘Yeah, and learning how to cook, and somehow, neither of those things have happened,’ he said (for me, anyway), and settled an arm around her shoulders, and she snuggled into his side and sighed wearily.
‘To be fair to us, we’ve been busy,’ she mumbled, and closed her eyes, apparently too tired to argue.
‘Food is only a phone call away,’ he whispered, and she pulled a face of reluctant acceptance without opening them again.
Yeah, I’m totally winning this one, he thought triumphantly.
A voice from behind them said, ‘You have not changed, man.’
Peter yelped and dived off the couch, pulling MJ (who shrieked and whacked him on a reflex) so that she landed safely on top of him. But his spider-sense buzzed in welcome, and he stuck his head confusedly over the edge of the couch to see a portal fizzling closed and a familiar figure in front of it.
‘Hi!’ said the kid, hands in his hoodie pockets and grinning.
‘Who the hell is this?’ said MJ exasperatedly from the floor. Dumbfounded and overjoyed, Peter stared at the newcomer.
‘Miles?’