Peter
When they had brought MJ in, still damp from the rain, her bag slipping from her shoulder, Peter felt his heart break.
If he lost one more person - no. He couldn't let himself think like that. MJ was his everything, and he would not lose her. He couldn't.
Which was why he needed a plan. A plan that didn't involve her getting hurt.
Carnival had put his gag back in, tying the still unconscious MJ to a chair before leaving them alone. Well, alone if you didn't count the dozen highly armed guards and the many security cameras that undoubtedly filled the warehouse.
Peter could fight, but without his suit, these guys would take him down in no time. Not to mention MJ; there was no way he could protect her and fight his way out at the same time.
She had escaped from Carnival before; how had she done it? He wracked his brains, trying to remember what she said.
The element of surprise, probably. Carnival didn't think she would fight. He had underestimated her, and that had been his fatal error. Maybe Peter had been underestimating her too.
MJ would be a powerful ally, if she would just wake up!
"MJ," he whispered, nudging her with his foot. "MJ, come on. You gotta wake up. MJ, please."
She made a sleepy little noise, and Peter's heart broke even more. He remembered, then; remembered what it was like to wake up with her in the morning, to pull her close, burying his face in her hair. Sun-kissed blankets, and a ridiculous amount of pillows, and MJ; that's what his mornings used to be.
Before.
"MJ, please," he pleaded. "You have to wake up, darling, come on."
He still remembered the first time they woke up together. She'd been over late, studying, and she'd fallen asleep on the couch, all long limbs and snoring and hair, and Peter had gone to wake her up. But she'd opened those eyes of hers, soft with sleep and what he now knew was love, and she'd asked to stay.
"Just to sleep," she'd said, her eyes wide. "Not anything else, at least not yet."
And looking at her, Peter had been sure that his heart would burst. She'd scootched over, and he'd lain beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. She had turned to him, burying her face in his shoulder and he'd fallen asleep knowing that this was the happiest he'd been in a long time.
She was his happiness, and he couldn't imagine living without her.
MJ
She woke up slowly. The sound of water dripping, slow and steady, was the first thing to permeate her consciousness. Rope chafed her wrists and cold metal pressed between her shoulder blades.
The pounding in her head was drowned out, barely, by the beating of her heart.
What had happened? It felt like her head was filled with clouds. Her throat was dry, her tongue swollen and clumsy in the dusty cavern of her mouth.
Someone was calling her name.
"Peter?" she murmured, prying her sticky eyelids open. Memory rushed back in with the light, her pounding head protesting. The phone call. The rain. They'd grabbed her and brought back here, back to the place of her nightmares.
"MJ, thank god. Are you okay?" Peter asked, twisting to get as close to her as possible.
She blinked a few times, and then managed, "I'm okay."
Eyes fuzzy, she looked at Peter - and did a double-take. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Peter said shrugging. MJ huffed incredulously and leaned forward to get a better look at his face. He was sporting a black eye and a split lip, and there was blood encrusted on his face. From the way he winced when he moved, she was sure that there were more bruises hidden under his clothes.
"You don't look fine," she said.
"I wasn't the one unconscious a moment ago," he countered.
"Okay, but they didn't beat me up to get me there! At most, I've got the equivalent of a bad hangover. What about you? A busted face, and I bet you've got at least one broken rib, right?"
Peter shifted in his chair, then winced again. "Possibly," he admitted. "It's easier when I have the suit. Karen can run diagnostics, and I'm not really used to fighting without her."
MJ could see the fear in his eyes, and that, more than anything, was what scared her. If Peter didn't agree to Carnivals plans... She could only assume that it wouldn't end well for either of them.
"What about your web-shooters?" She lowered her voice so the guards at the door couldn't hear her.
"When I woke up they were gone," Peter said, shrugging.
"Right. Okay, okay. So he probably has them on him, right? Like, I would assume that he wouldn't just want to give them to some lackey. This guy doesn't seem very trusting."
"I really don't know." Peter rubbed his face and winced when his finger caught his split lip.
"So all we need to do is get them back," she said, leaning forward.
"Right," Peter said. "So how exactly are we supposed to do that?"
********
"Help!" MJ shouted, sobbing. "Somebody, please help! Oh god, I think he's dying! Please!"
The door opened, and the guard came through. He glanced at Mj, then at Peter, who was slumped over the table, his arms twisted awkwardly behind him.
"What happened?"
"Oh, I don't know, maybe it's that you and your buddies beat him up! It'll be your fault if he dies! Is that what Carnival wanted? Why did he bring us here... Why..." She burst into renewed sobbing and hid her face in her hands, but not before catching a glimpse of the guard's face. MJ smiled between sobs. She'd bet anything that Carnival wanted Peter mostly unharmed. After all, he was no use to him dead.
"No, no, I'm sure he's fine," the guard said, clearly panicking. He moved behind Peter and shook his shoulder.
"He's dead, oh god, you killed him," MJ whimpered, tensing a little. Their entire plan relied on the guard's next moves. He was sweaty and pale now. MJ could only think that he was imagining all of the terrible things that Carnival would do to him if Peter truly was dead. She sucked in a few shaky breaths, knowing she had to pick her next few words carefully. She lifted her head up, wiping at her eyes, grateful for the soaking the rain had given her. It made her crying much more believable.
"Is he breathing?" Her voice wavering, she strained closer, the picture of concern.
"Get back!" the guard snapped. He attempted to roll Peter over on his back, but the positioning of the handcuffs made him nearly impossible to shift.
The guard pulls out his keys. Kneels down, grabs the cuffs shackling Peter's wrists to the chair. He shoots MJ a distrustful look, and she's careful to keep a distraught expression on her face, to let a hiccoughing sob spill out. Let him think she's the worthless, brainless girlfriend. Let him think her leverage as a love interest is the only thing she'll ever be useful for, and let it destroy him.
Click. The sound of the key turning in the lock and the dull thud of the cuffs hitting the ground. Peter tenses, a nearly imperceptible shifting of muscles in his shoulders.
And then: he springs backwards, using the leverage of the chair to flip over the guard. Peter grabs the chair and smashes it over the guard's head, knocking him unconscious. He grabs the key ring from his hand and quickly unlocks MJ, who rushes towards the window she escaped from last time. It's been locked and barred. Clearly Cobra is one who learns from his mistakes.
"My web-shooters," Peter reminds her, and it's at that moment that the door opens. Carnival bursts in, followed by a plethora of guards. He's holding a silver-tipped cane which he taps menacingly against the ground as he walks.
"Well, well, Mr. Parker. We have gotten ourselves into trouble, haven't we?"
"Where are my web-shooters," Peter spits, fury colouring his face.
"I don't think you'll be needing those. It's a shame, I had hoped to do this without having to kill anyone. It's so... messy." He clicked his fingers, motioning to the men behind him. They started forward menacingly.
"Five against two," Peter said. "Why don't you add a few more, make it a fair fight for your men?"
"You won't be so cocky when they're done with you, Mr. Parker."
Peter growled, running forward and grabbing a piece of the broken chair - a thick, heavy leg - and swinging it at the guards. He ducked and wove amongst them, managing to knock a few out as he went.
MJ was less lucky. She didn't have a weapon, and though she had trained in self-defence, that did little against men with guns. Especially men with guns who were two times the size of her. Carnival didn't want Peter shot and killed, but he clearly had no such qualms about MJ: after she had managed to take out one guard with the other chair leg, the guards shot at her whenever they had a clear aim. She was forced to cower behind Peter, using his proximity as a shield from the guns.
Just because she needed help from Peter didn't mean she was completely useless though. Like she'd mentioned before, she'd managed to incapacitate several of Carnivals guards. Her chair leg was proving a formidable weapon, though she was sure Peter looked a lot more impressive with his.
Peter was fighting towards the center of the throng, towards Carnival. He could feel MJ at his back, could practically see her fear. His spidey senses were off the chart right now, and his brain was buzzing at a frequency that was driving Peter insane. He could see everything around him with clarity, almost like the world was moving in slow motion. The sweat dripping off his assailant and the crunch of the chair making contact were all laid out before him.
Honestly, it was all overwhelming. Peter wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. Something had to change. He couldn't beat all of these guys using only a chair leg and luck.
"Carnival!" He bellowed. "Where are you?"
"You can't hold us off forever, Mr. Parker. Why not just give in and accept my terms?" Carnival emerged from the swarm of guards, his cane held out in front of him. Peter snarled, ignoring the way his bruised face twinged at the motion.
"I think that you're the one who won't be able to hold us off forever," Peter said bravely.
"Us?" Cobra sneered. "Look around you, boy. Where is your little girlfriend?"
Peter tensed. In the heat of battle, he hadn't noticed the steady heat of MJ at his back had disappeared. Carnival sneered.
"Bring her out," he said with a lofty wave of his hand. One of his henchmen emerged from the corner, dragging a bruised and bloody MJ with him. To Peter's immense relief, she was still conscious, but his heart clenched at the way she gasped in pain.
"Let her go," he said desperately. "Please, let her go."
"It's okay," MJ grimaced, trying to be reassuring. "I'm fine, Peter, it's okay."
Carnival scoffed. "I see this is how I should've led, " he said, his eyes tracking Peter's face. "Pity. I had hoped we could be civilized, but I see now that you are nothing more than a well-trained brute. You lack strategy. You lack finesse. And most of all, you lack the ability to admit when you have failed. Well, perhaps I should say lacked."
He turned to MJ. "I'd say your little boyfriend looks properly defeated now, wouldn't you?"
Peter clenched his jaw. "I swear, you won't get away with this, Carnival."
"Oh, my boy." Carnival smiled, a sharp-edged, violent thing. "What, did you think I would say, 'oh, but I already have,' and then flounce off and leave you to escape?"
He leaned closer. "I am not an idiot," he said, enunciating each word. "I am unlike anything you have faced. I will not be - " Peter headbutted him in the face. His neck snapped back, his hand coming up to cover his nose which was gushing an impressive amount of blood.
Before the guards could have time to react, MJ kneed her captor in the groin, grabbing his gun out of his hand and running over to Peter. She carefully placed the weapon against the back of Carnival's head. The click of her cocking it echoed through the suddenly silent room.
"I," she said, breathing heavily, "am no damsel in distress to be used as bait, you hear me?"
Peter could hear Carnival swallow. "My dear Michelle. We can discuss this -"
"Quiet!" she barked, jamming the gun harder into the back of his head. "There is no we here, understand? There is the person holding the gun, me, and the person trying not to get their brains blown out. That person is you, understand?"
Carnival nodded, holding up his hand to signal to his guards to stay back. Peter stepped forward, rummaging through the inside pockets of Carnival's coat until his hand closed around two small, metal objects. He pulled out his web-shooters triumphantly, slipping them on. Carnival made a small noise of dissent.
"Keeping them on you, really?" Peter asked. "I mean, I knew you were cocky but I didn't think you were this cocky. Bravo."
He shot a string of webbing that wrapped around Carnival's middle, securing his arms to his sides. MJ held the gun confidently, looking around with a studied sort of disinterest, but Peter could see the slightest tremor in her hand.
"Right," she said, and Peter marveled at her ability to sound so calm. "Does anyone have a phone? No, no volunteers?"
"Why would we give you a phone," one of the men scoffed. "You'll just call the police on us. You can't fight your way out of here."
"He's right," Carnival said. "Mr. Parker over there is barely standing."
"Because I'll shoot him if you don't," MJ said, moving the gun so it was placed at Carnival's temple.
The man who had spoken before scoffed. "We're just supposed to believe that? You're just a girl, you won't shoot him."
"Do you really want to risk his pretty face?" MJ asked.
"No!" Carnival yelled. "No. Give her the phone."
"Not sure we have to listen to you anymore, boss," one of the men said nervously. "I ain't gettin' arrested again."
"If you don't, I will hunt you and your families down. And if you don't think I can manage that from prison, then your a sight stupider than I'd thought."
There was a shifting of feet. Then: "Here." The high, reedy voice came from one of the smaller men. He handed Peter a sleek, black, phone, darting away nervously as soon as it left his hand.
"I'll call," MJ said, holding her hand out for the phone.
"Okay," Peter said. "But - we can't tell them the truth. If we tell them that we've been kidnapped, they'll want to know why. And they'll want to take witness statements and then they'll know us-"
"Hey," MJ interrupted. "Give me a little more credit than that, okay?"
Peter hesitated, then handed her the phone. She carefully dialed 9-1-1, then asked for the police in a scared, breathy tone that was impressively realistic.
"Yeah, I live on -" she paused, then rattled off the street name. Peter was impressed. He hadn't noticed what street they were on.
"There's an abandoned factory across from my apartment that's been shut down for years, but the last couple of nights there's been lights and stuff." MJ sucked in a breath. "I saw some guys going in there tonight. They had a big truck and - and I think they had guns?" her voice rose with hysteria. "I'm all alone in my apartment! What if they break in? Can you check it out?"
She paused. "Yes. Okay. Thank - you. Yes, I'm fine. Goodbye." She hung up the phone and took a deep breath.
"The police are on their way," she said, smiling a little at Peter.
"Okay," he said. "Okay."
They waited for a tense couple of minutes, MJ glaring at anyone who dared to even shift a little. Peter jumped when the sound of sirens split the air, quickly getting closer. He looked at MJ and nodded. She quickly backed towards one of the windows that led to the back of the factory, dragging Carnival with her. Peter ran behind and opened the window, climbing through after making sure that Carnival was still securely bound. It was a bit of a drop to the ground, and he landed on his feet, ready to help MJ if she needed it. She swung out of the window, and Peter knocked it shut behind her, securing it with a bit of webbing to make sure no one could follow them.
Peter pulled the hood of his sweater firmly up over his face, hoping that anyone glancing at him wouldn't notice the bruises. They walked quickly, ducking down an alleyway and making it on to the adjacent road. As being caught by the police that they had called had been a weight on Peter's mind, he let out a sigh of relief as they made it out of sight of the factory.
He stopped under a streetlamp, pulling MJ closer to him with one hand on the sleeve of her sweater.
"Hey," she said, her eyes reflecting the streetlamps glow. He cupped her face in one of his hands, adrenaline turning his knees to jelly as he fully realized how close he was to losing her.
"Hey," he replied, searching her face for any injuries.
"I'm fine," she reassured him, taking a step closer.
"Yeah?" he asked, his breath ghosting across her lips. She shivered a little, the combination of cold and adrenaline and being so close to Peter making her feel uninhibited and strangely off-balance.
"Yeah," she managed, not mentioning his injuries. She knew how he got right after a battle. She'd have time to tend to them later, or, maybe someone else would. She's still not entirely sure where they stand.
"God, I missed you," he says, and she nearly breaks at the raw longing and misery in his voice.
"I'm here now," she manages. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good," he whispers, his other hand coming up to cradle her waist. She finally gives in and rests her hands on his chest.
He takes in a breath, memorizing the way her lashes tangle together. Peter notices her shivering, and draws her closer, into his arms. She lets her arms rest on his shoulders, her hands tangling in her hair.
He kisses her under the lamplight, happier than he's been in a very long time even with his face stinging and his body aching. He kisses her with the sound of sirens in the background, a stray dog barking, the cold making him wish they were inside.
But it doesn't matter if it isn't perfect. They have all the time in the world to find perfect, and anyways, Peter thinks perfect is highly overrated.
Wow! So that took me a long time. But I have now realized that fight scenes are really, really, hard and I probably need more practice. I hope that you like this, I'm really happy with how it turned out!
As for what's next: @KiyanNicole gave me my first prompt! It's pretty long so I won't put it here but I think it's pretty awesome and I'm super excited to write it!
Also: 6.3k reads? 146 votes? You guys are incredible!!
-Viwrit3r