Lavender was useful for many things. Over the years, Michelle Jones had found lavender to be a tool she subconsciously reached for when she was stuck. Lavender was the color of her grade 8 gradation dress, the color of her favorite throw pillow, now pressed between Peter Parker and the indigo mattress of her window seat, stained with his blood to the point where it was more crimson than lavender.
There was blood and sweat all over Peter Parker as her fingers slid across his face and the mask came off. There was pain as Peter gave her an awkward smile, and more so when her hand collided with his cheek. Michelle slapped him in the face, and his immediate response was to cry out and blubber like a baby.
“Ow! Why did you do that?” He croaked, lower lip jutting out and beginning to quiver. This was so typical of Peter
The Spiderman is bleeding out on my window seat and he’s crying because i slapped him. Michelle thought, pressing her hands to her face, muffling a groan of frustration. Her hands dragged down her face and dropped to her sides. Peter Parker. Peter stopped whining and looked up at Michelle, half in confusion, half in fear. Oh no, Peter Parker.
She seemed elsewhere, her eyes seeing him but out of focus, her body sinking to the floor, as if only knowing it were there out of habit, not out of common sense. Michele was not in her room, she was in a world full of confusion and havoc.
All the thoughts she thought she’d gotten rid off swarmed her at once, making her dizzy and all she could see was a shirtless Peter lying in his own blood, her own hand, tainted with the blood and it’s curse of life. The room smelled of an intoxicating, sweet, sickly smell of the promise of death undeserved. She knew she should get up and fix him, but her movements were slow, her body not comprehending it’s own capabilities, confused as to what should be done and where to go.
She knew she’d already suspected him, and had countless times tried to see if someone, anyone else in Queens could be the Spiderman, and somehow she kept getting it all to trace back to Peter Parker and she couldn’t understand why. The whole time, of course, she understood perfectly, she knew it always had to be him, and it could only be, yet she denied it, found ways around it, researched every last person down to a homeless guy who died last week.
Hey, she’d desperately thought, maybe he faked his death because he knew I was close. Apparently not.
Apparently, all those stressful, late nights trying to convince herself that Peter Parker was not the Spiderman and he just happened to get caught up whenever the hero came around, were a waste of her time. She told herself that she had no idea why she was trying so hard to prove he wasn’t a superhero. The whole thing found her confused and emotionally wrecked. But she couldn’t put it down. It was so good. Almost all the problems that came with searching weren’t that big a deal when the reward would be so...rewarding.
Almost, as in she had one huge problem that couldn’t be solved by lying to herself or looking harder. She needed answers, she had so many questions but not one she could ask. And she sure as hell didn’t feel the satisfaction of finding out the hero’s secret identity, and, rather than rewarded, felt as if something had been taken away from her.
“MJ? Listen i know this is-” Michelle broke out of her daze, stumbling as her muscles began to operate again at the sound of his voice. Her hands, which had been wrapping his wound slowly, fumbled and dropped the bandage. She cursed and scrambled around for it, wrapping him up quicker as he lost blood too fast.
“I’m going to do stitches.” Peter shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips.
“It’ll heal soon, I just need you to make sure i don’t bleed out before then. The stitches will end up healing into my skin and it’ll get infected. I’m not sure how this health thing works with infections and I’m not sure I wanna find out.” He lay on his back, eyes half closed, giving a weak laugh every few words, which sounded more like wheezing than laughter, to tell the truth.
And if she was telling the truth, then she supposed she’d have to come to terms with what she felt about Peter Parker sooner rather than later, because no matter what he said about healing quickly, the Spiderman didn’t look like was was going to be able to fight anything anytime soon.
Michelle said nothing and continued to wrap the bandage around him. It wasn’t more than two minutes later when his hand came to grab hers, his eyes shouting for sleep and his smile screaming for tears, but his face holding peace, happiness, and something else she couldn’t pin down, but in that moment Michelle had felt more emotion than in her entire life. Her eyes widened and her lips parted in a soft gasp that nearly stopped Peter’s tiring heart. He wished he had the energy to say something smart, to touch her face, to kiss her, but he could only whisper a few words before he fell into a sleep.
“You smell like lavender.”
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