Through the Window | Peter x Mj

Intertwine

WARNINGS: Mild panic attack and mentions of alcoholism 

     Some nights he wakes in a cold sweat, tears streaming and sitting straight up before he's even opened his eyes. His chest aches as if it's been ripped apart, lungs on fire when he gasps for air. On those nights, like this one, Peter feels the warmth of hands on his shoulders and face before he can focus on what's happening. 

     "You're okay. You're with me." He hears the words, feels them wash over but his heart still pounds loud and unsteady against his ribs. "Peter, look at me."

     He does. For a second he can't focus and she's a blur. His vision clears when she leans closer. MJ. It's always MJ here with him. Except for the times when he's alone and she's not and then he's panicking. Always panicking.

     "Peter, breathe."

     He does his best to listen, to try. Sucking in a deep breath, letting it out slowly when she crawls into his lap. Another breath and her hands settle. One on his shoulder and the other on his cheek. 

     "Good. Now look around for me. Where are we?"  

     He'd protest but she doesn't give him the chance. She presses her fingers against his jaw, steady and sure, turning him. He pulls his eyes from hers, letting her be the guide. Another breath and he's taking in the disheveled bookshelf, the bulletin board he's tacked notes to, and the clothes strewn over the floor. He couldn't get her out of them fast enough. 

     Being in her room, alone, knowing they didn't have to worry about interruptions had started the night off well. The moment he'd crawled through the window, pulled his mask off and started talking about the armed robbery he stopped on the way over had led to her smiling, listening intently, kissing him when he got so into his story he forgot to take a breath. Then she'd kissed him a little more urgently.

     It's real. It happened. He's not trapped. 

     "Your room." It comes out quieter than he wants. Too shaky, too vulnerable. "With you."

     Clearing his throat, he turns back to meet her gaze but the worry he finds there rips a hole in his chest. Worrying her has never been something he wants. He's always tried to avoid it and yet, he always seems to be doing it.

     He doesn't notice his hands fisted in the blanket until she reaches to gently tug one free. Peter lives in the moment his heart calms, the second it begins to slow and beat steadier. MJ presses their fingers against her ribs, then flattens her palm over the back of his hand to hold him in place. 

     The heat of her skin draws his eyes down. He's not fighting, he's not being tackled or pinned or almost killed. Instead, the tips of his fingers are on MJ and she's the one in front of him. She's the one pinning him, grounding him through touch. It's her.

     "You're right here with me." The lump in his throat shifts. He doesn't tell her about the nightmare, the fear tangling his thoughts. 

     He can't bring himself to speak. His palm slides up her side and around to her back. On autopilot, Peter leans up to press his mouth to the corner of hers and she says nothing in return. The words aren't needed.

     She doesn't seem to mind that he's a mess of tears, sweat and fear. If anything, he's being tugged closer. Her arms find their way around him as his do the same, seeking comfort only she provides. He buries his face against her neck, clinging to her. His nights are sometimes hell - filled with images he wants to erase - but holding her in the moments his heartbeat slows feels like heaven. 

     And that's enough to bring him back.

     "MJ," Peter's voice cracks and he doesn't try to hide it. He doesn't need to be strong here. "You're good at this now."