Chapter Text
Peter couldn’t lie and say that he had grown to enjoy the solitary life that became his after Strange wiped everyone’s mind, but he had grown used to it. And he had made something of himself.
He hadn’t realised how hard it would be to do anything without a birth certificate or a social security number. The first couple of months alone were hard and cold and spent on the street.
He was still more fortunate than he would have been thanks to Spider-man. He was still beloved and cared for and provided with the occasional free hot dog or public appearance that gave him a warm spot to sleep for the night.
Eventually, though, Peter did end up finding a job that would just barely pay the bills in a busted apartment complex that prided itself on its “no-questions-asked” ideology. As long as he paid the rent and didn’t put a hole in the wall, he was set.
His job at the Daily Bugle started with being an errand boy until one day the paper was scrambling for a story.
If the Bugle went under, Peter was done for.
So, he did what any sensible hero with a secret identity would do.
“‘Scuse me, sir?” Peter had said to his boss.
Jonah Jameson spun around in his gaudy office chair to face him. “What’re you doin’ out of yer cubicle, Parker? We need you dotting T’s.”
Peter hid his confusion and inside dropped 2 printed paparazzi-esque photos of the Spider-Man, courtesy of Peter Parker.
Jameson snatched them up. “Who’d you mug for these shots?”
“These are mine, sir,” Peter told him. “I got a tip from a reader who wishes to remain anonymous and… I guess I just have an in now.”
“Well who’s the tip from?”
“It’s…anonymous.”
The older man made a face at him. “You be able to keep these comin’? How close are you and Anon?”
“Um, pretty close, I guess.”
Jameson stood abruptly from his chair and smacked the photos on top of Peter’s head. “Listen, if you can get me a shot like this every week, I might just keep you on as a permanent employee.”
“That would be great sir, I… wait, I wasn’t a permanent employee already?”
Jameson laughed obnoxiously and patted Peter’s shoulder. “Get back to the cubicle, son.”
Two and a half years later, Peter’s up in a nicer spot with less stains on the wall and a larger salary. All his coworkers know his name, now, as well as much of the general public of Queens.
Now, Peter had yet another reputation to live up to. Something more to dwell on. Just more—
“Peter.” His thoughts are interupted. He pulls out his headphones and turns in his chair. Betty Brant is reaching over with hsi hand out towards him. “Remote, quick!”
Peter scrambles to find the TV remote for the monitor in the corner of the room. He grabs it from under a stack of photos and drops it into Betty’s hand. She immediately turns up the TV volume and draws her attention to the screen.
“What’s going on?” Peter asks, not really expecting a response. Instead, he watches the news channel that’s on 24/7 in the office reports on a group of newer heroes the public has deemed The Fantastic Four.
Another great catastrophe avoided.
Peter rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his work. Betty looks at him.
“What’s your beef with The Fantastic Four?” she asks him, leaning her hip on his desk. “They’ve only been here 3 months.”
He takes the pencil from behind his ear and throws it into the mug next to his laptop. “I don’t have beef with The Fantastic Four.”
Truth.
“Oh! I forgot about your particular disinterest for The Human Torch.”
…Truth.
Betty chuckles and crosses her arms at Peter’s silence. “He seems like a great dude. I dunno what the problem is.”
“There is no problem, Betty.”
“You’ve gotten a shot of every other one of the four. Even the baby.”
“Mr. Storm is… a difficult guy to get a photo of,” Peter makes a general large gesture with his hands. “The flames blow out my lens.”
“Right.”
“Right,” he mocks.
Betty stands and takes a printed photo of Spider-Man from his desk. She waves it around. “I hope it’s not from your lack of Spider photos as of late. The Human Torch seems to be stealing the neighborly thunder from him.”
Peter snatches the photo back. “There’s no stealing happening. I think Spider-Man is probably just…busy.”
“Of course,” Betty gestures to her surroundings. “With his day-job.”
Peter chuckles dryly. “Maybe. Who knows?”
“Who indeed? Well, my break is over.”
“And you spent it bugging me.”
“And I’ll do it again on Monday. You coming to Eddie’s little shindig tonight?”
Peter held in a cackle. “Absolutely not. Plus, I got work this weekend; FF Charity Event.” Couldn’t get out of it he added under his breath.
“Bummer.” With that, Betty walked off.
The conversation wasn’t on any topic Peter had never spoken about before. He was very familiar with The Fantastic Four on a personal level. And not just through interviews and photography, but with hero-ing.
Spider-Man often worked with them. More specifically, Johnny Storm.
He wasn’t sure how it happened, really, but he had an idea.
Johnny was the only one that could follow Spider-Man on top of buildings and travel by means that didn’t involve the ground below them.
It’s not a very deep theory, but it’s the one he has.
Johnny seemed to take a deep liking to Spider-Man in the short amount of time they’ve been acquainted. He figured they were about the same age, they could both basically fly, and he could keep up with his wit and quick thinking.
So, Johnny followed Spider-Man around like a puppy more often than not, apparently unable to read social cues through the heat warped air around his eyes.
Peter just let it happen.
Johnny isn’t unpleasant to be around, and Peter didn’t dislike him. He actually did enjoy his company, but Johnny was witty and clever. Not that his family wasn’t observant, but if Peter Parker got too close to Johnny Storm…
Just when Peter thought he would have a quiet, breezy Friday night to himself at the top of the Empire State Building, a familiar orange glow rose into his field of vision.
“Hey, Spidey,” Johnny smiled, the fire around him quieting and fading away as he sat next to Spider-Man.
“What’s up, Johnny?” Spider-Man held out a hand to dap him up.
“It’s clear tonight,” Johnny said, looking out into the sky, “both of clouds and crime.”
Spider-Man closed his eyes. “Just what I like to hear.”
“‘Course my work isn’t done, though.”
Spider-Man finally turned fully to look at Johnny. “What, you on Uncle-duty tonight?”
“Nah,” Johnny gestured to the cityscape, then to Spider-Man, “Someone keeps leaving massive-ass spiderwebs all over.”
Spider-Man shoved his shoulder. “Shut up, Global Warming.”
“So, uh,” Johnny started after a quick fit of laughter, “will we see you at the Baxter tomorrow afternoon? Sue mentioned she hadn’t seen you for a minute.”
“Oh… man, I’m sorry but I can’t make it. I got…stuff.”
“You got stuff?”
Spider-Man nodded. “Tons of it. I’m just overflowing in stuff.”
“Of course.”
“What is it, again?”
Johnny played with a flame. “Uh, Charity Event.”
“What charity?”
“The poor kind.”
“Fantastic,” Spider said, standing up and walking to the edge.
“Wait, you're leaving already?” Johnny stood too.
“I told you I have stuff!” Spider-Man shot a web at the platform where Johnny stood, “So do you!”
With that, he dropped down from the building, leaving a larger web than usual just to hear Johnny’s groan fade as the wind surged past his ears.
His apartment was a short swing from the building and he was on the top floor, so he didn’t have to worry about being secretive— there was never anyone looking that high.
Spider-Man wouldn’t make an appearance at the Charity event tomorrow afternoon, but Peter Parker would. And he would, as he usually does, avoid Johnny like the plague.
-
His fifth alarm was the one that woke him up today, and even though he usually wakes up to the eigth, he still was running late.
Peter ran up to the front doors of the Baxter to his coworker Norah standing with her arms crossed, tapping her food. Norah Winters was like the boss below Jameson. When he wasn’t around, Peter answered to her.
Peter skidded to a half, nearly dropping his camera from his hands and smiled at Norah. “Miss Winters,” he greeted her. She met him halfway and grabbed the laptop bag that was slipping from under his arm.
“You're late, Peter,” she said, sing-songy. “You're lucky they haven’t started yet.” Norah led him to a small room past the entrance for photographers and reporters.
“Where’s Christine? She was doing interviews today.”
“Didn’t Jonah let you know the gameplan?”
Peter dropped his gear onto the empty part of a couch. “Yes, he was very specific and clear about what he needed. Then we braided each others hair and—”
“Okay, yeah, I get it,” Norah swung her backpack over her shoulder and pulled out a notebook. “You're playing reporter today.”
“Wait, what?”
She tossed him the notebook. He caught it, but the pen she threw afterwards bounced off of his shoulder. “Christine is out today because her stupid husband got hit by a cyclist,” she groaned. “No specifics for you though, really. Just a quote we can use from one of them. Hey!” She poked Peter’s forehead. “That potentially means The Human Torch.”
Peter exhaled deeply through his nose. “Yeah, I know.”
“Good. Now, this thing can go for a while,” Norah told him, talking about the event itself, “so try to have fun. As long as you get your shit done, I don’t care what you do. Drink, mingle, flirt—I don’t care.”
“I probably will stick to doing only one of those things, thank you though.”
“You’ve got about an hour till it starts and I have to talk to the director,” she looked at her watch and started gathering her things. “Bury your fiery grievances, Peter. Bottle them up!”
“Great advice.”
Norah left Peter alone in the quiet room and he sat on the floor changing around the settings of his camera. He flipped open the notebook and wrote down a couple of quiding questions for his interviews. Peter didn’t often do interviews; his official job title didn’t call for it. But occasionally, the moment would present itself and if he had time, he’d ask a few questions. His personal reasoning was the fact that he was awkward. Sure, he was charismatic, but it was a geekish kind of charisma that some people take as insincere. Thankfully, he takes photos of Spider-Man only and they don’t exchange too many words at a time.
The moment the doors opened for the event, the lobby was brimming with people. Peter got photos of people enjoying themselves, talking with one another, drinking, or bidding on the items up for auction.
It wasn’t too long before the hosts of the event showed up. The murmuring quieted as the lights went down and a spotlight was casted on the stage at the end of the grand room. Norah found Peter hugging the wall and pulled him over to the table reserved for them.
Peter dropped his bag into his seat that was in front of the far left of the stage. He grabbed his camera and got closer, crouched at the end of the stage to get a shot of The Fantastic Four entering.
Cheers filled the room as they walked the stage, waving and smiling brightly
If prompted, Peter would let anyone that asked about his job know that taking photos was a sort of mindless task. He could tune out the rest of the world around him and focus on getting shot after shot.
And that’s what he did. He missed 90% of whatever speech Sue and Reed were giving through the microphone, focused on making them look nice for the photos. He got a few of all four of them, a few single shots— easy enough. They couldn’t see him past the spotlight, so he could work with any angle he wanted.
The speech ended swiftly, ending with Johnny and Ben announcing the winners of a few bids. They signed off and cheers echoed in Peter’s ears once more.
Peter still had to get at least one direct interview quote from one of them, but while he was taking photos of the party-goers, the chefs had brought out the food. It wasn’t until that moment that Peter realised he hadn’t eaten all day. He also hadn’t realised how much he had piled onto his plate until he picked up the plate and it almost tipped over in his hand. He grabbed a piece of bread from the plate and stuffed it into his mouth before turning to walk back to his table.
He dropped his plate onto the table and as he pulled out his chair, a hand on his shoulder stopped him before he sat.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Johnny said.
Again, he had no problem with Johnny, but the man was too observant for his own good. But there was no way Peter could avoid this interaction.
Peter turned around with a hand over his mouth, trying to chew his food as fast as possible. “Hi,” he managed to get out. Johnny smiled.
“Hi,” Johnny held out a hand, “Johnny.”
Peter hesitantly shook the man's hand. “I know,” he gestured to himself, finally swallowing his food. “Peter.”
“Peter,” Johnny repeated, “Parker! I know you, you take the- the photos.”
“I do take the photos. All of them, actually.”
“Every photo ever.”
“Yes, exactly.”
Johnny chuckled, dropping his head to one side. “You usually come to these?”
Peter shook his head. “I’m usually out in the field.”
“The field?” Johnny raised his eyebrows, “what does that entail for a photographer?”
“Sometimes literal fields. But mostly shots after someone has done some superhero-ing.”
“Ah, I see,” Johnny scratched his eyebrow. “You take any photos of Spider-Man?”
Peter slowly nodded. “More often than not, actually.”
“Cool. He’s a cool dude.”
“I guess, yeah,” Peter chuckled, picking the skin at his nails. He looked over to his cold spaghetti on the table then back up at Johnny.
“Um, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Storm. Uhh, I think my pasta's probably a little cold,” Peter picked up the plate. “I’m gonna go get some fresh pasta and mix it with the cold to even it out.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Johnny said. He placed his hand under the plate, overlapping Peter’s. Peter felt growing warmth against his hand and the plate. The food started to steam and sizzle.
Peter chuckled. He looked down at the plate then back up at Johnny, who was already looking at him with a stupid smirk on his face. “‘Preciate it.”
“Anytime, Parker,” Johnny looked at the empty seat next to Peter’s and pulled the chair out. “Sooo, you get all the pictures you need for tonight?”
Peter forced himself to hide the incredulous look that was working on his face. He put the plate back on the table and sat down next to Johnny, hyper-aware of the eyes that were flickering over in their direction.
“I think so.”
Johnny placed his elbow on the table and leaned his face on his hand. “You need any singles?”
Peter couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Why, you offering?”
“Yeah, we can have a private session.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, tilting his head up at him. “A private session?”
“Only with the most handsome member of the Fantastic Four.”
Peter looked around. “I think Reed is busy.”
Johnny scoffed. “You're funny, Peter Parker.”
“And you're egotistical.”
“Guilty.”
The moment was quiet for a moment. Peter fiddled with the fork on the table before turning his whole body to Johnny. “Can I ask you a quick question?”
Johnny leaned back on his chair. The chair balanced on its two back legs. “You can ask me anything.”
Peter pulled the notebook from his coat pocket, ignoring how it got stuck for a few seconds. “The Daily Bugle is sending me out for a quote from one of you. Preferably something not too boring.”
Johnny smirked and crossed his hands behind his head. “Boring? I don’t even know the meaning of the word.”
Peter snickered. “That’s great then. Um, I guess I can start with my guiding question.”
“Shoot.”
Peter opened his notebook, pen in hand. “Uhh, what’s a typical day in the life—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there.”
“Oh.”
“That’s your question, Reporter Boy?”
Peter giggled, dropping the notebook on the table. “That’s just it, though! I’m not a reporter! I do the photos, remember?” Peter ran a hand through his hair. “If you can do better, by all means.”
“Don’t be boring!” Johnny gestured wildly. “Ask me about my sex life or something!”
Peter blinked. “I don’t want to!”
“That’s what the people wanna know, though.”
He wasn’t wrong. “We don’t need another article about you and the women you get tangled up with.”
Johnny leaned into his hand more. “This is good; keep berating me.”
“You're the worst.”
Johnny clapped his hands. “I’ve got one for you,” he held his palms out in front of him— picture this. “The Human Torch, Johnny Storm, says that he plans to never find love with a normal person.”
Peter stared at him for a moment, then picked up his pen and clicked it. “That’s actually not that bad. Wanna elaborate?”
Johnny shrugged. “I live a crazy life, the least a potential love interest of mine can do is keep up with me. I don’t really know anyone else that can fly, though.”
“You’re gonna break half of America’s hearts with that,” Peter said, scribbling the words down.
“Yeah, I can see yours shattering, Peter. That’s a good quote for the article, right?”
Peter closed the notebook. “Yeah, actually. Thanks.”
“Feel free to workshop that however you’d like.”
“Then it wouldn’t be a quote.”
“How would readers know?”
“Johnny!” Sue called from the end of the room. She waved at Peter when he turned to look, then waved Johnny over. Johnny looked back at Peter.
“This has been lovely, Parker,” Johnny stood and smoothed his shirt. “Think about that private session offer. If you wanted to do an official interview—maybe get some exclusive shots of me looking this good—who am I to say no?”
Peter scoffed. “I’ll keep an open mind.”
Johnny patted Peter’s shoulder, did a double-take and squeezed his arm again. “Jesus,” he muttered before walking over to where Sue was calling him.
Peter let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding once Johnny was out of his line of sight. He slumped back in his seat and took a quick breather.
He needed a longer one.
As Peter finished his meal, Norah walked up and sat down.
“Do you think I’m okay to leave now?” Peter asked her.
Norah thought for a moment. “You get your quote?”
“I believe so, yeah.”
“Yeah, I don’t see why not then. Send me those photos when you get home.”
Peter stood and gave her a two finger salute and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Night, Norah.” The air outside the Baxter building was cold and crisp, unlike the inside's stuffyness. Peter stood for a second with his eyes closed, letting the coolness fall over him.
For a moment, everything was quiet. No camera, no chatter. No Johnny Storm leaning in too close, smiling like he had all the time in the world.
Peter made it halfway down the block before his thoughts circled back— uninvited.
Johnny.
The way he looked at him.
Peter couldn’t differentiate attentiveness from suspicion.
He frowned, nudging a loose pebble along the sidewalk with his food.
People looked at people, he told himself. That’s a thing that happens.
Even with his worrying, it felt nice that Johnny had come up to him, Peter Parker, and seemed interested in what he had to say.
The city swallowed him up as he came across his street, just another face in the crowd. But for the first time in a while, Peter didn’t feel quite as invisible.