Chapter Text
Peter rests the neatly tied roses before her grave.
It's a half past eleven and already an hour of him standing here. Against the cold December wind. There must be a bonfire close-by, because it's only the smoke that's burning his eyes. The burning which feels watery and has left a wet streak down the side of his face.
It's only the smoke. Nothing else.
Ashes dance in the air. Ashes that flow with the wind and move with everyone to their jolly lives. Ashes that brush past Peter Parker. Where she lies, and has been lying for nearly a decade.
It's been easier, though. Ever since Peter materialized back into his own home reality, things at once seemed to have turned more lively. There was a spark in what appeared so numb before.
Thinking of it often brings a smile to his face. Peter-Three. There were three of them. Three of him.
The ache in his hands from having popped a thousand shoulders from their sockets and beating faces into pulp has healed. They feel warmer now. And less tempted.
-x-
Four days before the year ended J. Jonah Jameson fired Peter for his meager supply of Spider-Man photos.
"How am I supposed to get his pictures if he doesn't show up?" Peter protested. "You know you've done an amazing job turning people against him-"
"That's the idea," the Chief Editor of the Bugle boomed with a satisfying grin on his face. His cigarette oscillated back and forth as he spoke through clenched teeth. Then as seconds passed that grin disappeared and his face reddened, smoke bellowing out of his nostrils as he leaned forward on his elbows and glared at Peter from across the desk with fiery red eyes. "What's with the twitchy face Parker? I just fired you and you seem to be celebrating."
As Peter made his way out minutes later he imagined Jameson pacing his office with veins screaming to pop out the sides of his head. "I want pictures of that creep, Leeds! Where is he? Miss Brant!"
Peter left the building with Green Day playing in his ears.
Three days before the year ended Peter went to his college library with pen and paper in hand.
"What are you reading?" Carlie Cooper asked at the canteen over a small break with tea and lemon biscuits. "Haven't seen you here in a while."
"Have you heard of the Grandfather Paradox?" Peter asked, leaning closer to her from across the table, some beat he'd heard the day before playing in his head.
Carlie shook her head. "Not sure I've heard it but it does sound interesting."
"Imagine you went back in time and killed your grandad," Peter began with his hands flying around, "but if you killed your grandad, you're never born. So how could you have gone back in time to do it in the first place? Provided going back in time and changing things does affect reality. Or not. What if changing the past creates an alternate timeline instead?"
She smiled. "Look at you so pumped up. You seem to be rather glad given you just lost a job."
"Naah." The cup of tea had long been forgotten in its saucer. "He'll hire me back again."
"Peter," Carlie said a little nervously adjusting her glasses and avoided looking him in the eye. "Would you like to go out for dinner?"
"Oh." Peter checked the time in his watch. "Actually I'm going to my aunt's. She's making Lasagne."
He spent the rest of the day haunting the streets of Manhattan. He roamed about Oscorp Tower when the day's shadows disappeared into darkness and new ones were cast from the moonlight, until the clock struck nine far away high up in the power plant.
When two days of the year remained, Peter rang the doorbell to the apartment in Queens after saying hi to his neighbor.
"All your clothes smell of mothballs," Aunt May complained as she unpacked his duffel bag. "They're all so dusty!"
"Yeah there's a lot of moths," he lied as he secretly felt for the spandex thrust deep into the bottom of his backpack. "And sawdust."
"Gosh, do you even wear all these?"
"Sure I do."
Peter isn't a very established cook, but he manages the essentials.
That evening he tried a new recipe for chicken and everything seemed to be cooking exceptionally well until Aunt May screamed into hysteria and chided him for mistaking yogurt for cheese cream.
"Not fair," he defended himself, "they look the same."
He set the table early next morning.
"What are you listening to?" May asked pulling his earphones out of his ears. "The radio again?"
"Hmm?" Peter shoved a spoonful of cereals into his mouth. "No. Songs. You should try them."
"You look awful cheery these days," Aunt May commented carefully. "You met someone? Is it MJ?"
It's a quarter to noon when her family arrives. The remaining of her family, that is. Her three brothers have grown older beyond recognition.
"Of course, it's been so long since you last visited," Mrs. Stacy says, enclosing Peter's hands in the warmth of hers. Streaks of grey have started lining the tidiness of her blond hair. Little creases have begun lining under her eyes. Which is not surprising given how different Aunt May herself looks when he compares her with pictures back when he had graduated high school.
It's scary how swiftly time runs.
"I'm getting married," Philip, the oldest of the boys announces to Peter.
"Oh my God!" Peter exclaims and shakes his hand. "That's great! Congratulations. I'm happy for you."
-x-
Peter choked on his cereals and spit out some back into his bowl. He coughed for another five minutes and it took a combination of clearing his throat and May slapping and patting him on the back before he could sit straight again and breath properly.
"How do you know MJ?" was the first thing he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Why, the fact that she lives next door! She's been living with her aunt Anna Watson for the past three months and you greet each other every time you meet. MJ Watson. That's her. You met her yesterday."
"But we don't meet," Peter pressed.
"She says hi to you every time she sees you and you do nothing but say hi back and leave."
He laughed nervously. "What else do you want me to do?"
"Peter," she began slowly after an uneasy minute of silence. "Haven't you noticed the way she looks at you?" Peter sighed. He rested the spoon into his bowl and sat back. He shook his head. "Then what is it you're so happy about, even after all that crap with your boss? Come on. There has to be something."
"Jameson fired me for the hundredth time in the last eight years May. It's temporary. He'll un-fire me once I get him pictures of Spider-Man again."
"Then why haven't you already?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "How am I supposed to, if he doesn't show up?"
May frowned. "Then where is he?"
"I don't know. The Bugle has turned people against him."
"Well what has he done to deserve that?"
Peter didn't reply. Just shrugged and resumed eating his cereals.
"Peter. Peter? You're not telling me something. What's going on?"
He bit his spoon. He was tempted to bite harder and see if his powers could help in breaking it. Or bending it. "I did meet new people. Yeah." He smiled. "But, there was something about them. Talking to them reminded me of myself. How I used to be before… Before. And even now. It gets easy just knowing I'm not alone in being me."
"Eugene Thompson," May spoke after a brief pause. "He just had a baby. His second child. It's a beautiful girl. His first, the boy Fredrick turned three last week. He invited you and me and he wished to see us both. But you never showed up."
Peter shook his head slowly. "No."
"How's that girl at the Bugle who tried asking you out? The receptionist."
"Oh Betty's assistant now. To Jameson."
"How's she?"
"She's dating another reporter."
"Great. And what about the girl who went to college with you? Who was she, the one you minored with in Chemistry?"
"Carlie. Carlie Cooper. She's nice. Met her yesterday."
"Peter," May ruffled his hair. "You are never alone. Never. But honey, you've got to let people in to your life. It's been eight years. You can't keep punishing yourself for what you don't have. She wouldn't have wanted you like this. What has happened has happened. It can't be undone."
"Gwen, Aunt May," he said with a bittersweet smile. "You can say her name now. It's okay."
-x-
"Peter," Mrs. Stacy says. "How are you doing son?"
"Yeah I'm good, I'm good," he replies with quick nods. "Better."
"I'm glad to hear that."
Peter avoids looking her in the face. It's an all too familiar face and he can't help but notice the resemblance.
"I'm sorry I haven't seen you all these years," he says looking at the ground instead.
"No, no." Her voice wavers and Peter is uneasy she might break down here. But she doesn't. "Listen. It's not always your job to do that. It's mine too, and I'm terribly sorry I haven't been there for you."
He tries to force a smile. "We'll meet now, won't we? We will. We will now."
"Look at me," she says and he does. "Gwen loved you. No matter what, she was lucky to have you. But she won't be happy seeing you this way. She'd have wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy. What's gone, is gone, son. All we can do is cherish their memories. Time is short, and you've got to keep moving along."
Peter draws in a deep breath and nods.
At a half past ten Peter walked out of the house with fresh roses May had plucked from her mini garden at the back. The snow had subsided and the sun was fully up now. It was the last day of the year and most of the people took indoors, but there were still a few out on the street. Either cycling. Or walking. Or jogging.
Or motorcycling.
Quite fast.
Because Peter had managed to cross the street and take the turn. Earphones plugged in and playing alt-J at high volume, he never heard the roar of the speeding bike that managed to swerve past him.
"What the hell?" he cried angrily taking off his earphone and turning around.
The biker had skidded to a halt and took off his helmet.
Or her.
"Listen dimwit," an angry female voice scolded from behind a mess of red hair. She looked up, jerking her head to reveal her face. "Not everyone's got a holiday to themse-"
For a second the world stopped moving.
"Oh," Peter said.
"Oh," MJ Watson repeated wide-eyed.
"I'm really sorry I should have watched my step," he said, smiling rather stupidly.
"Oh no I'm sorry I was just mad and driving – riding – in a rage," she replied in between breaths. She laughed nervously. "Busy on the last day of the year."
"No I understand," Peter said, laughing back. He walked towards her. "That must suck."
MJ returned a smile. "Yeah believe me, it absolutely does suck."
It was the first time Peter ever bothered to notice her, and now that he did, she was extremely breath-taking. Standing perhaps a few inches shorter than him she looked stunning in a brown leather jacket and dark narrow jeans.
The most noticeable features were, however, the unusual shade of auburn that her hair was and her crystal-green eyes.
"MJ right?" Peter began carefully. "Michelle Jones?"
"Mary Jane," she corrected.
"Right. I'm so sorry. Mixed your name with someone else's."
She clicked her tongue. "Aw Tiger you broke my heart. We've exchanged so many hellos and you still don't know my name."
"I'm- I'm really sorry I- I didn't mean to upset-"
"Are you kidding me?" MJ burst out laughing. "I'm messing with you. Here." She extended her hand and Peter took it. "I'm Mary Jane."
"Peter."
She chuckled. "Alright, Peter." She pointed at the flowers in his other hand. "Those roses for someone special?"
"Oh, I was going to the cemetery. You know, it's a shame we haven't properly talked before."
"Yeah you've always looked so busy," she teased him, her head cocked to the side.
"What can I say." Peter ran a hand over his head. He had to stop doing that.
"Better keep busy right?" MJ laughed. "The restaurant I work in is open today. Total butt head of a boss." She sighed. "At least I'm not alone."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, that, um, I'm not the only waitress there. Most of the staff has to show up. Suffering together makes it less difficult, if you get what I am saying."
"Yeah! I mean, I totally do."
"Which… reminds me. I better get going. Came home because I forgot my apron."
"Yeah yeah yeah," Peter stepped back. "Alright. Nice meeting you, neighbor."
MJ winked at him. "Hope to see you around."
Everyone, except him, has left.
He stares at the stone which has Gwen's name marked across it.
Everything is perfectly still. When Peter checks his watch it's about four and the sun has begun its slow descent. He has to go home. May'll start worrying.
He stands up. It takes some effort. He shuts his eyes and they are watery from not blinking. He shuts his eyes and he sees Gwen smiling at him. Smiling at him like she did on the bridge on her way to the airport.
He has visited her here quite often, and he will never stop. But this time it's not the same. This time may be the last he leaves here alone. Next time he'll have someone beside him.
He turns to leave. His feet feel heavy at first. Difficult to move.
But as he keeps trying they get lighter. As he keeps trying he is able to keep up with the flying ashes that flow in the wind. As he keeps trying he feels a cold run down his spine.
"Peter?"
He knows she's watching him. He feels it. It's as if she's right behind him. He can almost smell her perfume. But this is just his imagination. He's imagined her calling him all the time before.
"Peter."
He stops moving. Changing the past doesn't change the future. Even if he did cure Dr. Connors and Max, Gwen's not coming back. Maybe she does in an alternate reality. Maybe Peter and she do end up married. Maybe they have a child. Or two. In an alternate reality.
"Peter."
His breath freezes. In spite of everything, he's spent countless hours reading everything about time travel. Multidimensional reality. He borrowed books from the library. All the time he couldn't help but wonder if he reality could actually change.
Perhaps, had the wizard not contained the spell he could have gotten a chance to see Gwen once more. Perhaps… the fabric of reality tore itself open again.
He turns around, eyes closed. There's a tightness in his chest that's struggling to keep his hammering heart intact. Because no matter how much he fills up the hole in him, it'll never be the same like Gwen.
What is gone is gone.
He opens his eyes. Too scared he may see her. Too scared, he may not see her.
Through the haziness that is his vision, there's a girl standing right before him, so real he can touch her. She has big green eyes and blond hair, and she is beautiful as ever.
Peter blinks and she's still there, even though it's too good to be true.
"Peter?" But Gwen's voice calls again.