and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

by Duck_Life

Summary:

Recently getting out of a marriage he can't remember, Peter Parker shacks up with an old friend and a new friend.

Notes:

silly ficlet i had sitting in my google docs that i decided to flesh out enough to publish. just trying to make this trio from the cartoon make sense in comics continuity.

“Aw, cheer up. It’ll be just like old times, but without Johnny,” Bobby argues, shoving open the door to his apartment complex. “So— even better!”

“No, no,” Peter says, glum as he always is these days. “Because in the ‘old times’ we were hip young bachelors with our whole lives ahead of us. Once you reach a certain age, it’s no longer ‘cool’ to live with your friends.” 

“Booooo,” Bobby says. Despite Pete’s protestations, he does seem to be following Bobby up the stairs to his apartment. “You said you needed a place to stay. I’ve got plenty of space. Plus, you know, we can stay up late watching movies and braiding each other’s hair.” 

Peter grumbles, forgoing the stairs to crawl up the wall alongside Bobby. “Try as hard as you can, you can’t make this sound fun,” Peter says. “We’re not kids anymore. I’m a divorcee.” 

“Is ‘divorcee’ not only for women?” Bobby ponders aloud. “Like, sure, MJ’s a divorcee. But you’re…” 

“What? What am I?” 

“A divorce…o? Divorciacho?” They reach the right landing and Bobby starts fishing for his key— only to realize there’s somebody sitting in front of his door. The redhead is sitting cross-legged on the floor, flipping through a magazine, and she glances up when she hears Bobby stop talking. 

“Oh, hey,” she says, hopping to her feet. “You’re Bobby Drake, right?” 

Peter drops to the floor behind him. “Yeah, I am,” Bobby says. “You’re— uh, I know your face. Hellcat!”

“No.” 

“Spider-Woman?” 

“Don’t just keep guessing,” Peter hisses. 

“I’m— was— Firestar,” she says. “Angelica Jones. I’m sort of retired now.”

“We can do that?” Peter says. 

“I was living in campus housing,” Angelica explains, “but I got kicked out for sort of… setting a couch on fire. Um, anyway, Northstar told me you were looking for a roommate and that I should get in touch with you?” Her eyes fall on Peter. “Sorry. I wouldn’t have dropped by if I knew you were bringing a guy home.” 

“I— ah— Peter’s not a guy,” Bobby sputters.

“Thanks, buddy.” 

“I mean, we’re not— we don’t—” Bobby splutters. “Never mind. Angelica. Nice to officially meet you. Let me show you the place.” 

 

---

Angelica’s appearance seems to make Peter think he’s off the hook, but Bobby doesn’t let up that easily. There are, he points out as he gives his tour, three bedrooms. Rent and bills will be even cheaper split between the three of them. Plus, it’s hard enough to be a superhero, even a retired one, and find housing with anyone who’s not gonna wig out. 

“While Angelica is busy checking out the closet space and private bathroom for the room that would be hers, Peter hops up on the countertop and eyes Bobby, his legs swinging. “So. Northstar’s comfortable just giving out your home address to people you don’t know?” 

“He’s a nosy guy,” Bobby says, hiding his face in the refrigerator. “Do you want a Fresca?” 

“Dude, always.” Bobby hands him one and cracks one open for himself. “I’m just saying. It’s funny to me that Northstar even knows your address. I don’t know all my coworkers’ addresses. Except Matty, but he’s like. A suicide risk.” 

“Well, X-Men aren’t exactly coworkers,” Bobby points out. “We’re like a gang.” 

“Oh, that’s a great soundbite,” he says. “I’m gonna send that to Jonah. Anti-mutant resentment really needs a push right now.” 

“You’re such an asshole.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Peter says, flopping back so he’s laying completely flat against the countertop, clutching his cold can of Fresca like a security blanket. “Maybe that’s why MJ and I never got married.” 

“What?” Bobby says, emerging from the refrigerator with a Kraft single hanging out of his mouth. He crams the rest in and chews. “What d’you mean, never married? You were so married. Can’t get divorced if you weren’t married.” 

“Well, I’m not actually divorced,” he says. “I just don’t know how else to talk about it, for as long as we lived together. What’s that called? Common-law marriage?” 

“You think I would know about common-law marriage?” 

“Yeah, I think you would.” 

“Asshole.” Bobby flicks the plastic wrapper of his cheese toward Peter. “Nah, but you were for-real married. I remember it. I sent you a toaster.” 

“We never got married, Bobby.”

“I’m an accountant, alright? I remember my expenses,” Bobby says, hovering over Peter like a mortician over a corpse. “I definitely sent you and the Missus a very nice toaster. As a wedding present.” 

“Well, you must be mistaken—”

“Hamilton Beach 1560-watt four-slice classic toaster in gunmetal gray,” Bobby rattles off. 

Peter sits up. “That’s my toaster.” 

“Good to see it’s getting some use!”

“What’d you do, interrogate May?” Peter demands, swinging his legs around on the counter to glare at Bobby. “How do you know the exact toaster I have?”

“Because I gave it to you ,” Bobby says. “To celebrate your matrimonial union to one Mary Jane Watson.” 

“No, that’s not possible,” Peter snaps. “Because if that toaster is real then… then…” 

“What?” Bobby asks, breath puffing out icy cold in the air. Peter’s eyes are huge, wild. 

That’s when Angelica walks back into the kitchen. “Whoa. Weird energy in here,” she says. “So are we gonna be roomies or what?” 

 

---

“— and it was like, suddenly, she was inside my body… and she was being me better than I ever had.” 

“No, I win, I win,” Angelica says, whiskey sloshing over her glass as she leans forward. It’s the first night the three of them are spending under the same roof, and they’re making the most of it. “She blew up my fucking horse.” 

“She what ?” 

Angelica makes an explosion sound with her mouth. Sparks dance from her fingertips. “It was so fucked.” 

Peter mumbles something and sinks further into the couch cushions. Bobby pokes him in the ribs. “What was that?” 

“I thought she was actually… kind of… chill?” he says. 

Angelica stares at him for a long moment. Then she makes the explosion sound again, louder this time. With hand motions. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I met her one time and she said she was gonna give my secret identity to Wilson Fisk but then… she didn’t?” He shrugs. “It was like she felt bad because she didn’t realize I’ve been web-slinging since I was sixteen, or something.” 

“Well, I was only sixteen when she incinerated Butter Rum.” 

“Stupid name for a horse,” Bobby says. 

Angelica tosses a pillow at him. “Do not speak ill of the dead.” 

Peter sinks down even further into the couch, like he’s hoping it will engulf him. He dribbles some more whiskey into his mouth. “Guys. Should I call MJ?” 

“NO,” Angelica and Bobby both holler at the same time. 

Angelica grabs the bottle they’ve been drinking from and pours the last of it into her tumbler. Then she places the empty bottle down sideways on the coffee table. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” she says. “We’re gonna play Spin the Bottle.” 

“Angie,” Bobby says. “There’s only three of us here. What if Peter and I land on each other?” 

Her eyes sparkle over the lip of her glass. “Yeah, what if you do?” 

“She’s objectifying us,” Peter declares, pointing an accusatory finger at their roommate. “She has to put a dollar in the jar.” 

“We don’t have a jar,” Bobby reminds him.

“We should get a jar.” 

“I’m gonna spin it!” Angelica declares, flicking one end of the bottle. “Ooh, ’round and ’round it goes, where it lands, nobody knows…” The bottle spins a couple of times before coming to a stop with the neck pointed at the place on the couch not occupied by Bobby or by Peter, but by the endlessly pampered cocker spaniel snuggled beside Bobby’s thigh. “Ms. Lion!” Angelica screeches, reaching grabby hands toward her dog. “C’mere! Gimme kissie. Mwah!”

“Objectively the best option in the room,” Bobby says. 

She scritches the dog behind the ears and gives her another kiss on the top of the head. “Okay, one of you has to spin for Ms. Lion.” 

Peter scowls. “We gotta kiss the dog if it lands on one of us?” 

“We get to kiss the dog if it lands on one of us,” Bobby corrects. And he leans forward to spin the bottle.