1964-02-04 - Busy Lives
Summary: Peter drops by Aunt May's apartment for a visit.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
may peter 


The door to the elevator dings just a moment before the rickety doors slide open with a mechanical whir and shuffle until they're wide enough to disgorge their contents. From inside, the young man known as Peter Parker emerges once again. Not quite the fixture he once was a few years ago, he still keeps up his familial obligations by visiting at least once every few weeks or so and today was no different.

At times this hallway leading to his Aunt's apartment would see him shuffling along forlorn, or with a hesitant gait expecting a tongue-lashing or hide-tanning from his guardian. But more often than not when he shows up, it feels like a weight slips from his shoulders and when he gets close to that white door, he can't help but smile a bit.

At first there's a rap on the door, his knuckles pattering a rhythm on its surface. He waits for her to open the door or call for him to enter, though he does take a second to make sure his backpack is alright and intact after the trip on the subway. Usually when he visits he bears news and little else, but luckily today he carries something else with him.


It was a day filled with work. All go and no play, the makeshift soup kitchen is where she spends most of her time now a days when there was a need. Food was dished out to massive crowds who couldn't either afford a decent living, warm soup in wrapped bins were passed out to the homeless that flock to the dangerous Central Park for there was no where left for them to go. And back home again to rinse, repeat, to start the day over again of giving.

But there were those moments, those few and far in between where the world itself stops. Where May wouldn't cook for those hungry masses, where she wouldn't venture outside to see if there were any aid to be given, where she would spend her time inside of the quiet small apartment, often times looking out the window to watch the streets below, or curled up upon the couch to watch whatever show was playing on the television, or the local news blaring upon the radio.

But things were taken to task today, that same radio was turned up slightly loud as she listens to the local rabble with the latest updates on some situation on Wall Street that has nothing to do with her, a pot full of stew steamed upon the stove, a basket of clothing remained upon the floor as the iron steams along a pair of pants. The neighbors, actually. His wife fell ill, so she did them a favor of laundry so that there was nothing for them to worry about. Hearing the knock upon the door, she lifts her head to look towards the time, then calls back over her shoulder as she presses the button to squirt water upon the surface of the pants so that it'll steam hot.

"Come in!"


The door opens and in comes Peter Parker. He's all smiles as he strolls in and closes the door behind him, calling over his shoulder. "NYPD, you're under arrest!" Offering that as a form of greeting that he's used before, an old joke between them.

Meanwhile he hangs up his backpack and starts to slip out of his jacket, shaking off some of the faint bits of moisture and snow from the flurry outside. The snow's not that bad this time of year, but still there's the promise of more down the line.

Once his pack is secure on the hook he unzips it and pulls out an envelope and tucks it under one arm as he walks into the room, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans as he smiles across the way to her. "Hello, ma'am. We've received noise complaints about the raucous parties you've been having ever since your dear loving nephew moved out? How do you plead?"

He grins as he steps up to her and leans in to smooch her cheek before slipping to the side, though probably not quick enough to escape a hug.


The pants were snapped from the ironing board as she holds them up to eye-level, carefully folding the garment to place within the basket as she stops cold. "What?!" She shrieks out in mock surprise, her head shaking, a smile pressed to her lips as she turns with a slight lean to grasp a shirt to unfold and unbutton against the board. She could hear him, the shuffling of clothes and a slight knock of his bookbag against the wall when he hangs it. It was almost like yesterday, where she could hear the rushing stomps of his feet down the stairs and the door slamming behind him as the two parents yelled at him down the street..

The shirt was soon laid out and left untouched as she turns, both arms folding along her chest as she creates a little lean to look towards him, still.. the light that shines upon her face when she sees him as he leans in to greet her with a kiss, her brows lifting in mock surprise though one arm does sneak beneath his in a one sided hug.

"Well, officer. Guilty! You know how these knitting parties get. All wine and no hats." She finally lets out a little laugh, turning to switch the iron off so that she could attend to the stove. "Come on, set the table. How are you doing, Peter?"


"Good, good." Peter sets the envelope then down upon the table, the first step in setting it. He steps past her as he saunters on into the kitchen and with such aplomb he begins to poke around to see what exactly is for dinner. The pot top is lifted and he sniffs, then he pokes a spoon around in another pot, tasting and checking the quality of his aunt's cooking. He smacks his lips and murmurs, "Needs salt."

But then his smile returns as he starts to dig through the cabinets to get the place mats needed and the plates, then the drawer for the silverware. It's all done from rote, such muscle memory never really leaves one after having set the table so many times over the years.

First he place mats are set down and he tells her, "Soooo, I finally got up the gumption to go back to the Bugle. And Jameson let me come back to work. So we're sort of celebrating."

He sets the plates down then, and begins to lay out the silverware, taking his time. "I was worried he was going to throw me through a window, but Ms. Brant spoke up on my behalf. I should get her flowers or something. To thank her."

Once that's done he moves to help her with the laundry, folding what needs folding and then moving if off in neat piles to set them down on a side table our of the way of dinner and possible besimrching. "What's been going on with you?"


It was a dance around the kitchen. It wasn't as big as the old home, but it worked when it was just her. But it was a quiet mindfulness in pauses and movement as they both set themselves in preparation for dinner. She follows within his steps, slipping to the side towards the sink as she finishes the dishes there with a quick wipe down and a rinse of the soap, the settling of the dishes in the strainer and a wipe of her hands against the towel that hangs upon the rack beneath.

"Salt?" She says, and yet even though his words seemed to be in jest, she follows in his footsteps as he vacates the stove, the same spoon picked up, the contents of the pot tasted, frowned, and salt soon added because in truth, it was what was needed.

But she listens, stirring the stew upon the stove, bending to check the pie that was left to cool in the oven to make sure the stove didn't overheat again, that same excited smile pulling at her lips which makes her worry lines more pronounced. But there was no worry, they were considered joy lines at this point. "Really?" Her voice was nearly high. "That's such good news! I'm proud of you!" And she really was!

"Flowers are a nice gesture. Remember to get something with color that signifies the coming of spring. Roses are too romantic, you know." The table was approached, the bowls soon taken up within her hands as she pauses. "What's in the envelope?"

But not missing a beat, she was back at the stove again, carefully scooping the stew into, her slender shoulder lifting in a slight shrug. "Francis has taken ill. So I'm taking some of the load off of her and John so that they could focus on her getting better. The doctors haven't given her a clear diagnosis, but she's finally back home and resting." She lets out a sigh. "It's.. not looking good. There are some good days and bad days, but more good than not. It's what counts, right?"


For a brief moment there's a faint touch of a blush and Peter shuffles to the side, letting her get access to the table as he slips to the side while he's placing a spoon down on a folded napkin. "I know about Roses, Aunt May. I mean she's great and all, but we don't think of each other that way. Sheez." Though, of course, he does seem a bit flushed as she brings up the topic.

But then he's back to the usual patter, "Oh the envelope. I sold some pictures and figured I could pay you back some of that money I borrowed last month. There's more coming, I just had to pay rent, so next week…" He gives a nod and then purses his lips as if trying to remember something in particular… but then does not give it voice.

Instead he turns away once his task is done then settles in beside her to help her with dinner at her behest however she wishes. "Oh man, poor Francis." He frowns a bit, "Did you take her some soup? Bet she'd love that." And, chances are, she has.


"And why not? You're a handsome, young man. You're a practical genius and a complete gentleman. Any woman would be very lucky to have you in their lives." Of course she knows that he's blushing. She didn't even have to turn around to see, but she does. Bowls in hand, which were carried to the table as her own chair was soon pulled out and sat in. There was a little bit of relief as she was off her feet, her eyes closing as she opens her eyes yet again, not daring to touch the envelope upon the table but.. her eyes do stare down towards it as her brows lift and near curve.

"Oh.. Peter.." What in the world could May say? "..you didn't have to.." Now it was her turn for her cheeks to burn bright, the little burn drawing upon her eyes as the pressure begins to build just beneath them as her fingers lift to lightly dab to catch any tears that might fall. Emotions were mixed for this gesture, while she knew that she really didn't need it for now.. his thoughtfulness never really ceases to amaze her.

She sniffs quietly as the subject changes to Francis, her head slightly nodding as she lets out a slight little squeak of a sound. "Yes.. yes I did. I'm actually planning to take over the extra pot of stew and the pie that's in the oven. Though they won't mind if you take a piece yourself." She smiles sadly. "Sit down Peter, have you been eating?"


Once she joins him, Peter gives her a small shrug and squeezes her hand with his own once she's settled down and taken a seat. He does, for his part, start to help by buttering a piece of bread for her and then one for himself as he responds. "I'm alright. But Ms. Brant is a professional New York woman and all. But yeah."

He lets those words float there as he puts the piece of bread on the side of her bowl and then takes up his spoon. Waiting for her to start he smiles and gives a nod. "Well, I did think about taking the money and buying some lotto tickets. But I suppooooose that's not a great idea."

It's then that he digs in, and yeah… he doesn't exactly eat slowly considering the years they've spent together. He spoons and chews and smiles, looking in some ways like that 8-year old kid that she and her husband adopted those many years ago. Yet in between mouthfuls he manages to answer, "Hey, I eat. Sometimes. When I remember."


Her thumb curls upright to brush against his fingers as he squeezes her hand, though she releases him and begins to settle herself in properly with a grasp of a cloth napkin which was shaken out briefly and settled into her lap. It was smoothed over as she looks down, the spoon soon taken up and pointed in his direction. "And you're a professional photo-journalist. You're going to be up there with.. what's that band called? The one you kids listen to now a days?" She soon dips her spoon into the stew, quietly murmuring her thanks as she takes a little sip of the broth. "I'm telling you, it's alright to ask her out to coffee. You deserve happiness too. Everyone does."

But May keeps mum on the money, she was sure she was going to give it back to him again one day, as the boy did have some very odd spending habits. But she grins and goes along with the joke, reaching forward to snag the envelope to shove it beneath her thigh. "My lottery money." She teases.

But her spoon was placed into the bowl as she watches him eat, her fingers steepled and pressed against her lip, her eyes soon veering off into some unknown space, then refocuses again. That means an idea was forming, now that he has a job, there would be a need of lunches. Something else she could do to fulfill her days. "I hope you're not joking, Peter. But now I'll have to impose my will and bring lunches to you every day, and meet this Ms. Brant. I -do- have half a mind to give Mr. Jameson a what for, but you have your job back, so that'll do."


"Buddy Holly and the Crickets?" Peter asks curiously, cocking an eyebrow at her as if trying to discern if that's truly who she means. Chances are it might be, then again maybe not. Not that he's exactly a music afficionado. But he continues tearing into the bread and the soup, dunking it into the liquid now and again and then spooning up delicious bits.

But then it's back to Ms. Brant and he smiles faintly. "I hope so, Aunt May. I hope things go well for me and all. Just… last person I dated was Jen and she… well she was such a professional person. Always had a lot going on. Never was sure if I ever measured up, you know?" He gives a small shrug and looks away towards the window for a moment, still snowing a bit outside. Peter looks back and gives a wan smile then shrugs gently, "Who knows maybe I'll meet someone."

With that covered, hopefully, he continues to munch and then when she mentions coming to work and talking to JJ… well his eyes bulge a bit. "Oh no, that… that would be a bad idea. Seriously, I'm doing alright. I just usually… well I eat a big deal a day sometimes, then I have a snack. Depending." On how the web swinging works out usually. But he doesn't mention it.


"Noo.. some other band." May was stuck on that. With the radio obviously playing the news in the background, its a wonder that the station isn't turned to an awesome tune or two. But for once, to hear him speak about his past relationship gives him a sympathetic ear. It was her turn to reach out to cuff his wrist within her own hand, squeezing briefly. "I'm sure if she's ever made the time for you, you mattered to her." She smiles a little. "And you /will/ meet someone. There is no maybes in this. I know that I'm not your mother but I would adore a grandchild or two running about the place."

Those words were left off with a grin as she continues to watch him eat, the piece of bread that she has was taken up and nibbled upon, a faint look of amusement is cast as she slowly begins to slide her own bowl in his direction. "Well, promise me that you'll stop by for dinner. We'll make a thing of it. Just long enough for you to properly get back on your feet." The piece of bread was placed down upon the table as she rises to a stand, her path towards the stove is determined by the tupperware that was taken from the counter top. She begins to scoop the stew into the bowl quietly, then glances back, almost hopeful. "Are you staying the night? You should.. your room is still the same."


At the mention of grandchildren, Peter's eyes go wide a bit as his head rocks back as if he'd been slugged. He shakes his head, eyes still wide, "Aunt May…" He laughs a bit and shakes his head again before digging back into the meal. "That's like. A long. Long long. I mean looooong. Loooong. Super long. Long way. And I mean loooong way off." But he grins sidelong at her and shakes his head, "Geez, Aunt May."

But once that's settled he presses on along the other tack, now switching to a nod as he sets his spoon down in the now suddenly empty bowl, the silverware making a faint clink-tink as he releases it. "And sure thing, I should be able to make it up here more often. I've got some free time and after graduation… should be relatively free to focus on photography. And nah, I should really get back into the city tonight."

There's a pause as he rubs the back of his neck, "But that brings something up I was wanting to talk to you about. I was wondering… grad school. Maybe. What do you think?"

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License