Chapter Text
Harley tried to keep his shifting to a minimum so as to not disturb Peter, but he had been sitting on the ground for a while now. Aches and pains were inevitable, no matter how much he didn’t want to move.
Because why would he want to move? Peter appeared to be the most at peace Harley had ever seen him. He wondered if this was how relaxed Peter was when he was dead asleep—Harley had never seen him in that state, because in the few times Harley had observed Peter sleeping, he’d either been having a nightmare or sleeping rather lightly.
But, despite having slumped against Harley's body, Peter was definitely awake, occasionally pressing kisses to Harley’s shoulder. Every time he did so, Harley found his heart rate skyrocketing. He was in heaven.
However, the ever-observant Peter could detect Harley’s discomfort, and he huffed out a small laugh as he clambered out of Harley’s hold.
“Booo!” Harley half-jokingly complained. Peter let out a snort in return and offered Harley his hand to help him up. Harley immediately grasped it, exaggerating a groan as he got to his feet. “I’m too old for this.”
“We’re both 17.” Peter pulled Harley closer to him, and swooped in to peck Harley on the nose with a grace that Harley doubted he himself could ever manage. Harley’s stomach soared. “Now then. Would it be too forward of me to invite myself to your bed?”
“What—um. You don’t mean, like, uh—”
“To sleep, Harls,” Peter clarified, very obviously failing in hiding a laugh. “I don’t really wanna go back to my poor little old bedroom, all alone, where I can despair in my solitude. Maybe I could write in my journal about it, being banished by my boyfriend to the depths.”
“Do you even have a journal?” Harley asked, hardly concerned about Peter’s comedic ramblings as he pulled the other towards his bed. “I doubt you do, honestly.”
“You’d be correct. I’ve been made. Abort mission.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Harley laughed as Peter faked an escape attempt. Peter gave in easily to Harley’s consistent pull, and they tumbled into bed together.
Sleep didn’t necessarily come easy for either of them. Every time Harley’s eyes started to droop, he would think about the fluttering of his stomach when Peter smoothed a hand across his back while giggling into a kiss. And then he’d be wide awake once more, always thankful that Peter wasn’t able to see the red of his cheeks, what with Harley’s head being tucked into Peter’s chest. Though, now that Harley thought about it, Peter could definitely hear the pounding of Harley’s heart, so maybe he wasn’t hiding much.
If the intermittent kisses Peter laid atop Harley’s head were any indication, Peter seemed to be having the same problem.
Eventually, Harley was able to drift asleep, tiredness taking over the incessant gay gay I’m gay for my boyfriend part of his mind.
When he awoke, stretching as he yawned, he was still on his side, his head resting atop Peter’s chest rather than burrowing into it. He craned his head upwards and blinked blearily at Peter, who was, of course, already awake. Peter smiled down at Harley, and after he returned the smile, he caught sight of what Peter was entertaining himself with.
“Is that my copy of A Wrinkle In Time?” Harley murmured, only slightly accusatory.
“Good morning to you, too, dear,” Peter chuckled, and oh, that was a pet name that Harley certainly enjoyed. “It was on your nightstand, with a shit ton of dog-ears in it, so do you blame me?”
“I do not.” Harley suddenly remembered the pencil that was laying atop the book, and he jolted. “Wait, have you gotten to—”
“Yes, yes I have, and might I say that your little annotations are the best things I’ve ever read. It’s like a peek into your mind.”
“Exactly,” he huffed. “Did you get to the part—”
“The part where you labeled Calvin as ‘the coolest motherfucker you’ve ever had the pleasure of reading about,’ and that you ‘wouldn’t mind if he—’”
“Alright!” Harley interrupted, slapping his hand over Peter’s mouth. “No need to go on. I know what I wrote.”
Peter stuck his tongue out, and Harley yelped as he pulled his hand away to wipe it on Peter’s shirt. “You had that coming,” Peter reasoned, before he gently tossed the book back onto the nightstand. “Now c’mon, get up, I smell waffles.”
They didn’t bother getting dressed for the day, especially not since Peter could smell the waffles cooking. If they smelled, then they were almost done, and the two wanted their waffles hot and ready, thank you very much. Stellina, who had ended up in Harley’s room at some point in the night, followed them down to the common kitchen, where Bruce immediately set her bowl of food on the ground.
Harley’s eyes widened as he realized that almost every Tower resident was gathered in the kitchen. Pepper was the only one he couldn’t see, since she’d been at work for about an hour now. It was a rare occurrence for the whole team to be present for breakfast, since Wanda wasn’t much of a morning person, Vision usually didn’t have a reason to be in the kitchen without Wanda, and Tony spent most of his time in his lab.
Despite the oddness of the situation, Wanda gave Harley and Peter a small smile from where she was clutching a cup of coffee like it was her lifeblood. Vision, from beside her, offered the two a small wave. Tony grunted something along the lines of, “Morning.” He seemed to be rather distracted by his tablet, which was probably acting as a substitute for his lab.
“Boys!” Sam called, snapping in their direction. Using his other hand, he manhandled a batch of waffles onto a plate. “Just in time. Someone get this plate out of my way.”
Peter rushed to help Sam, moving the full plate out of the way so Sam could load up another. Peter tried to hand the ampler plate to Harley, grabbing the second, less plentiful plate for himself. Harley simply frowned and nabbed the second plate out of Peter’s hand, leaving the full plate for Peter. Harley doubted he could even eat that much, and he told Peter so when the teen frowned a frown to rival Harley’s.
“Just give the rest to Stellina if you don’t finish it,” Nat suggested to Peter, her ever-present tea mug warming her hands. “I’m sure she’d love the treat.”
“No way,” Peter instantly denied, and he pulled the plate farther from Stellina, even though she was nowhere near it. “It isn’t healthy.”
Peter and Harley sat down at the table, where Peter quickly began to tuck into his meal. Harley eyed Nat, who had a knowing smirk on her face as she watched Peter eat, and knew that there wasn’t a chance she’d give the waffles to Stellina, either. Harley smiled to himself and started on his own food.
He nudged Clint, who was sitting to his right. “Is there a family meetin’ or somethin’? Mission send off? Why is, like, everyone here?”
Clint shrugged, and continued to scroll through his phone. “Coincidence, as far as I know. Nat and Bruce were already here when I got down here, but they were silent as all hell. Then Sam came down and started making waffles, and eventually even Tony showed face.”
“Fri said I’d regret missing out,” Tony mumbled, proving that he was still listening to the conversation, despite his eyes being glued to his tablet.
Satisfied that he wasn't missing anything, Harley shrugged, and the meal continued on in peace. Nat and Steve were talking about something that Harley couldn’t quite hear, and Peter and Bucky were chatting about Stellina, with Bucky enthusiastically petting Stellina. Harley was left to wonder why they’d never had a dog before.
Peter looked comfortable, talking to Bucky; relaxed. He watched Peter grin widely, resisting a full out laugh and shoving Bucky away lightly as the man made no move to resist his own laugh. Harley blinked with the realization that Peter looked rather at home here. He looked away and smiled to himself, pleased with the thought.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked back to see Wanda looking down at him with an impish smile. She leaned down to him, her voice softly saying, “Now, you know I wouldn’t read your mind without your say so. But I’m…feeling something a bit different about you two. Care to share, or are you leaving your wingwoman in the dust?”
“Shoulda known you’d sense it,” Harley replied, trying to quell the quick beating of his heart.
“Can’t help it,” Wanda shrugged, and he knew she was right. She was able to control her abilities to aid her in fights, and she was able to stop the thoughts and dreams of others from entering her psyche. But her powers were sensitive to others’ emotions regardless, so of course she’d be able to feel the spark of warmth between Harley and Peter. “What is it, then?”
“We kissed,” Peter offered, now also leaning back to face Wanda with a bright look on his face. “Could that be it?”
Wanda’s expression grew to match Peter’s, while Harley was left with what must’ve been the world’s most prominent blush. “That’s probably it, yes,” she answered with poorly disguised excitement.
“Oh, to be young and romantic,” Steve teased, clearly having heard the not-so-hushed conversation.
“He says, knowing full well that he went on maybe two dates as a teen,” Bucky said reminiscently. Steve elbowed him hard enough that Bucky swayed slightly in his chair.
Tony had put down his tablet at Peter’s proclamation, and the look on his face scared Harley a little. “Now do you want me to give you condoms and—”
“Nope!” Harley waved his hand in Tony’s general direction, covering his face with his other. “I already said no. Not necessary.”
He heard Peter repeat, “Already?” while Natasha repeated, “Not necessary?” in that especially taunting tone of voice she occasionally employed.
“Actually, it is completely necessary for sexually active teenagers to be safe in their activities, and to use condoms for p—”
“Oh my fucking God, Vision!” Harley interrupted, now completely covering his face and ignoring Steve’s chastisations of his language. “I didn’t mean—I know it’s necessary, Christ. It’s just that, we, y’know. We’re—”
“—not doing that any time soon,” Peter concluded, his tone firm. Harley risked a glance at his boyfriend, and took in his red face and slight frown. His expression allowed for no argument. “Please trust us to ask for help if we need it, since we’re already well aware of the risks of sex.”
Wanda stepped in and gently laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. He relaxed at her touch, and she said, “Sorry, Питэр. We didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries.”
“It’s alright,” he replied, the tension having vanished from his face. He looked up at the team, who were quietly gauging his reaction, having been thoroughly scolded. “As you were.”
If there was one thing the Avengers were good at (other than destroying a few aliens), it was changing the topic. Clint immediately launched into a story about a time he and his family had gone to play laser tag—the competition had been fierce between himself and this random teenager, and he’d ended up losing to the boy. It was a story Harley had heard before, and he knew not to point out the fallacies in it; Clint was an absolute beast at laser tag, Harley knew from experience. It was the SHIELD training that did it, probably. He’d just succumbed to his child-loving urges and had let the boy win. Beating an Avenger had surely made the kid’s day, so Harley couldn’t say he blamed Clint one bit.
If Peter’s squint was any indication, he probably picked up on the unlikeliness of the loss. He, too, must’ve found it best not to call Clint out.
By the time both Harley and Peter emptied their plates and declined seconds, there came a lull in the conversation. Peter fiddled with this fork, spinning it between his fingers as he filled the silence. “So, uh. I decided that I’d like to try out therapy. If that’s okay.”
The quiet returned in the moments after Peter’s statement, mainly because woah, that was a big step in the right direction, one that Harley had hardly anticipated. By the reactions of the team, he didn’t think they saw it coming either. Peter was looking down at his empty plate. Harley was sure that their silence wasn’t helping.
“Sounds like a wonderful idea, Pete,” Harley replied, smiling reassuringly, and glaring at the others to at least say something.
“Of course it’s okay,” Nat spoke up. “I’m the one who encouraged you in the first place. I’m glad you’ve thought about it more.”
The rest of the team gave similar sentiments, while Tony leaned across the table slightly and turned off his tablet. “Is there an age preference for the doc? Gender preference? Date of appointment? Gimme the deets.”
“Jeez, Tony,” Bruce sighed. “Cool it a little, yeah?”
“No, it’s, it’s okay,” Peter interjected. “Uh, I guess young enough for me to relate to, but old enough to have some experience? As for gender, anything but male. And I guess…I can try it out soon. I guess. Before I change my mind. I guess.”
“You guess, hm?” Tony smirked. “Should I wait for a more definite answer, or do you want to pick out a candidate?”
“I guess,” Peter returned with a matching smirk. Then he corrected himself, “To the second option, I mean. No time like the present.”
“Let’s get to it then,” Tony suggested, rising from his seat. “Meet me in my lair when you’re ready.”
As Tony left the kitchen, Sam called after him, “Stop calling your lab a lair!” to which Tony responded by flipping the man off without looking back.
Peter also rose from his seat, dishes in hand, but before he could get to the sink to wash them, Wanda swooped in to place a firm kiss on his forehead. They exchanged a few words in Ukrainian, and damn, Harley would really like to be successful at learning languages. But he could appreciate the moment for what it was: affection between two would-be strangers who were quickly approaching the status of close friends, if they weren’t there already.
After grabbing the rest of the empty plates (despite the protests of several), Peter went through his dishwashing routine. Harley never quite understood the appeal of the process, but it obviously provided Peter with some amount of comfort, so Harley let him be.
Peter came over to him and set a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Harley hummed and patted the other’s hand, and Peter followed after Tony. Conversations at the table had since resumed, and Harley let out a small laugh as he heard Sam and Bucky debating the implications of Thor being a god—did people pray to him? Could he answer their prayers? Could he smite people if he so chose? (Bucky argued yes on the last question; Thor could control lightning. Personally, Harley thought he could smite people, but wouldn’t. If Thor wanted to settle his differences, he was likely to simply punch the offender.)
He yawned and beckoned Stellina over for a pet or two, and in that moment, his brain stuttered to a halt.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, standing up so suddenly that Stellina jumped back, and all eyes turned to him. “I’m so late for school! Why didn’t y’all tell me?”
“Oh, is that what’s got you so worked up?” Nat asked, clearly unconcerned, which confused Harley somewhat. “Tony excused you for another day. You are still recovering from an encounter with a bomb, after all.”
“Oh.” Harley slumped back into his seat, relieved. “I’d just thought that my recovery would only sanction one day of missed school.”
“I’m sure the other field trippers are also missing school,” she countered. “You have a bit more experience compartmentalizing these types of things, but it was still a traumatic experience. You don’t need to go back to school quite yet.”
Harley hummed noncommittally. He was happy to not have to go to school, but as it was, he hadn’t thought about the bomb in close to 12 hours. He felt like he was abusing his right to a mental recuperation by not going to school when he thought he could handle returning. Of course, his therapist would say that trauma responses vary, and Harley could be triggered by something he’d consider inane. David also said that just because Harley was feeling fine most days, there might come a day where his anxiety-filled experience would be all that he could think about. Maybe staying home for another day wasn’t too bad of an idea.
Stellina returned to Harley’s side, satisfied that there would be no further disruptions, and Harley happily settled into his second day off.
-
“How about this one?”
Tony swiped across the hologram again, which now displayed a woman looking to be in her late twenties. Her hair was a bit shorter than shoulder length, dark brown, loosely curled. Her smile was soft, eyeliner and blush accenting her expression. She wore at least three necklaces. Peter could see a peek of a chest tattoo poking out from behind her cardigan.
“Going off of vibes alone, she seems like someone I’d wanna know.” Peter leaned in closer, as though he could judge her personality by examining her nose piercing. “What’s her name?”
“Dr. Lauren Perdue, psychiatrist, 29 years old, moved here from southern California three years ago. Favorite color is green, owns two pet birds, and prides herself on her poker face. She likes Scrabble, and it's her life goal to be able to use…uh. ‘Fergalicious.’ She wants to use fergalicious in Scrabble. Is that even a word?”
“Of course it is,” Peter stressed. “That’s a pretty detailed report.”
“She wrote a lot on her application. Her background check didn’t reveal much that we didn’t already know.” Tony scrolled down on the hologram, humming to himself. “She’s mainly worked with abuse victims, but for a time, she offered temporary services to victims of a severe flood in Louisiana.”
“...I like her,” he decided. She just looked like a comforting presence, and, well. Peter liked Scrabble. Peter also liked supplying his talents in order to help others. “Does she know that she’d be helping out Spider-Man?”
“She knows that her client would be someone who lives in the Tower, and is aware of the severity of her confidentiality contract. Everything else is up to you to reveal.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Choosing when to reveal my identity. What an amazing idea, one I had never considered before, ‘cept for, like, one time, but she'd said that she'd already suspected. By golly, I would’ve never thought—”
“Is your rambling my penance for kidnapping you and subsequently taking off your mask?” Tony sighed.
“Rambling and stealing the hearts of all the team members,” Peter taunted.
Tony snorted. “Yeah, well, you’ve gone and accomplished that,” he mumbled distractedly as he pulled out his phone.
“Wait, what—”
“I’ll go ahead and give the doc a call, if you wanna give her a try. You can always check out another candidate if you and her don’t match well, there’s no pressure there. Not everyone clicks with a therapist on the first meeting, either, so maybe plan to have more than one session with her.”
Peter resigned to not having his interjection acknowledged, and he nodded. “Makes sense. Uh, yeah. Could you schedule a session for tomorrow, or is that too soon?”
“No time like the present, as they say,” Tony sagely said, before his eyebrows furrowed. “Er, more like ‘no time like tomorrow’ in this circumstance.”
“Now that just sounds like a procrastinator’s anthem.”
Peter left Tony to call Dr. Perdue, and received a text within 30 minutes to let him know that the appointment would be at three o’clock the next day.
So Peter was really doing this. Huh. When he’d told Matt about his considerations on patrol last night, the man had been more surprised than Peter could say for himself. He was more proud than anything, though, telling Peter that it was about time for one of them to gain some sense.
“Maybe your sessions can count for the both of us,” Matt had said. Peter had simply laughed and shook his head. (He’d always figured that if either of them ever went to therapy, Peter would have better odds. Matt…yeah. Matt was Matt, and Peter didn’t think anyone would be able to get his stubborn ass to change his mind.)
The day went by lazily, seeing as Bruce had randomly lent Peter a copy of The Hobbit. Harley had joined Peter in his reading spell, putting A Wrinkle In Time to good use. Nearly an hour into their silent reading time, Bucky came into the common room with his Tolkien book, and settled in on the opposite end of the couch.
Dinner was excellently prepared by a nearby pizza place, and the team (including Pepper) dished up their plates and reconvened to watch a few episodes of a good old fashioned sitcom.
Patrol, sleep, an unpleasant dream that Peter couldn’t remember, and it was the next day.
Since Harley had decided to return to school, he had to leave early on with a small kiss goodbye that had Peter feeling especially glad that he’d brushed his teeth the moment he woke up. Peter proceeded to bide his time until his appointment, and at 10 till three o’clock, he was anything but calm.
“If it doesn’t go well, I give you permission to blame each and every one of us,” Wanda offered when she caught him pacing in the previously empty common room.
“You say that like you don’t know I’d rather die than blame you for something that you can’t be faulted for,” Peter steadily replied, trying to calm his ingrained worries. “Besides, it can't be the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. Dr. Perdue looked like she could handle anything I threw at her.”
“And handle it she will,” she confirmed, stepping forward to wrap Peter in a hug that he readily accepted, despite it halting his pacing. “It’s what she's paid for, after all. You’ve just gotta trust her. And yourself.”
“A daunting task,” he mumbled into her shoulder.
“Now,” she declared, separating the hug while still keeping her hands on his shoulders, “go down there and get some psychiatric care. I’m proud of you. I love you. Go team.”
Peter couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up in him, and he nodded seriously. “Love you too. Go team.”
The walk to the elevator (with Stellina in tow, of course) felt like the walk he’d had to endure to get back to his old condemned apartment that time he ran out of web fluid while on patrol. He asked FRIDAY to take him to one of the conference room floors, where his session would take place. Apparently, Tony had several rooms dedicated to therapy sessions, which made sense, what with the team members each having an individual therapist. Tony had explained that another floor was the designated therapy location for Stark Industries employees—the sessions were covered by the health insurance the company provided.
Peter found Dr. Perdue’s office almost immediately, since the rest of the floor was empty, and the doctor herself was sitting in a waiting chair outside her room. A bright grin lit up her face once she spotted him, and she stood to greet him.
“Lauren Perdue, at your service,” she said, her voice warm enough to scare off any chance of snow in New York. “Call me Lauren, if you want. Pronouns she/they. May I shake your hand?”
Peter blinked, and answered by sticking out his hand as an offering, which they took immediately. Her hands were as warm as her voice. “Peter, he/him. Nice to meet you, Lauren.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” she said, sporting an awful British accent that matched the sarcastic curtsey they did, during which they gripped an imaginary skirt.
Peter liked her. That much he could tell.
“You good to go?” they asked once they'd righted themself, gesturing towards the door to their office.
“I, yeah, just…” God, this was embarrassing. Lauren waited him out, so Peter forced himself to ask, as if reciting a script, “Can I please come in?”
A brief look of confusion passed Lauren’s face, but their expression quickly softened. “Yes, of course. Come on in.”
Peter wasn't quite sure why he was so relieved, but the small knot in his stomach unclenched slightly.
“Can Stellina come in too?” Peter wondered, resting a hand on her head. She had been rather politely sitting right next to him, her tail wagging eagerly.
Lauren smiled, warm and bright. “I’d be honored. I was wondering if I’d get the chance to pet her.”
They walked into the room. Peter took a deep breath as they went, his nerves cooling.
For an office meant for a possible therapist candidate, it was surprisingly well furnished. The arm chairs were plushy, the lighting was warm, and there were four plants dotted across the room. There was a tote bag next to one of the chairs, which Peter presumed to be Lauren’s.
Lauren took a seat, and Peter followed suit, with Stellina laying on the carpet to his right. She pulled her bag into her lap as she said, “So, it seems like I’ve been doing a majority of the talking, which is perfectly fine with me. But I wanted you to have a chance to choose the course of this session, so riddle me this: do you want to jump right into the deep end and sort out the iffy stuff, or would you rather join me in a game of Scrabble? I assume Mr. Stark showed you my application.”
Peter only had to think for about two seconds before he answered, and they began pulling out Scrabble supplies from their bag.
“Would you mind grabbing that table?” they requested, indicating to a table pushed off to the side of the room. “Actually, you know what, it might be a bit heavy, so I’ll—”
Peter had brought the table to the space between the two chairs before Lauren could finish her sentence.
“Oh! Thanks, Peter.”
And so the Scrabble game commenced. Lauren used the opportunity to chat about their birds, both the ones they had now, and the ones they’d had growing up, which she had loved equally. In turn, Peter talked about Stellina, and how she had been a gift from Pepper. Little by little, the bouncing of his leg slowed, and Peter dared to ask the question that had been dogging at his mind.
“Am I supposed to talk about my issues right about now?”
Lauren looked up after she had spelled the word dispense and tallied up her points. “That’s for you to decide. This session can go any way you want it to. We can just sit here playing Scrabble the entire time, or we can start working out why you’re here and what you’d like to work on. Whatever you want.”
Peter gazed at his letters, working out the word psyche, which he added onto their dispense. She smiled and marked his points.
“I think I should start talking about my…stuff. I just don’t really know how,” he admitted.
“I can ask the questions, if you want. It might be easier.”
And ask she did.
“Have you ever gone to therapy?”
“If one session with the school counselor when I was a freshman counts, then yeah.”
“Do you count it?”
Peter didn’t hesitate. “No. It didn’t help.”
Lauren reached for their bag again. “Do you mind if I write down a few things you say in my handy dandy notebook? It’s just for my shitty memory, so I can look back on your comments later on, if you choose to continue our sessions.” Peter nodded his consent, and she pulled out a small journal and pen. “Why’d you go to school counseling, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Ask any question you want,” he replied genuinely, though he didn’t know if he could answer everything. “My uncle died near the beginning of freshman year. My aunt thought I should just have a go with one session, and the school system agreed. It didn’t quite go well, so I discount it completely.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she steadily offered, making eye contact before Peter looked away and they jotted something down in their notes. “And I also apologize on behalf of the psychiatric community for your school counseling experience. Hopefully this goes a bit better.” She winked, and Peter returned it with a smile.
“Well, I like you, so you have a head start. Mr. Mitchell wasn’t fun company.”
“I feel ya there. You mentioned your aunt. Could you tell me about her?”
“She died, too,” he answered hesitantly, gauging their reaction.
Her eyes went even softer than their naturally soft state, and she said, “Peter, that’s awful. I’m sorry, and I understand if you’d like to change the topic.”
“No, uh, it’s okay. She was the kindest person you’d ever meet, and she had the smile lines to show for it. May was a nurse, so she wasn’t home often, but when she was, I spent every moment with her that I could. Time was precious, more so than I knew.”
“Very philosophical of you,” Lauren remarked, and he smiled slightly. “Should we keep chatting about May, or would you like to revisit her later?”
Peter genuinely thought about it, desperate to make this shit work for him. “We can move on. May is a good few sessions on her own, I reckon.”
“I look forward to learning more,” they murmured, scribbling in their notebook. “Now. Are there any symptoms you’d like me to know about right off the bat? Any triggers? Topics to avoid for the time being?”
“Uh…” Peter paused, watching as Stellina performed an army-crawl-like maneuver to get closer to his feet. “There’s a lot.”
“Tell me what you want and can.”
So Peter delved into what topics he deemed okay to relay at this point: frequent panic and anxiety attacks, sensory issues (that he didn’t yet connect to Spider-Man, though he was sure the time would come soon enough), and Natasha’s report on his eating habits. As for triggers, he mentioned being alone with men older than him, raised voices, touch that he didn’t consent to, and certain sounds and phrases that reminded him of not so great times. Lauren never once asked him to elaborate as she calmly nodded and recorded his words, and he was grateful.
“Well, seems like there’re plenty of opportunities for me to get in there and do my thing,” they concluded, facial expression open and nonjudgemental. It made Peter want to tell her more. “Can I ask what your home life is like?”
“It feels safe,” he quickly responded, and it took him a solid second to register what he just said. He had, for one, mentally categorized the Tower as home. And, for two, he'd truthfully referred to it as a safe setting, in which he felt comfortable. “Oh.”
“You look like you just had a lightbulb moment,” she noted, intrigued. “Care to share?”
“I just—” For the first time in the session, he had to take some time to gather his thoughts. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to call somewhere home, I guess. God, that sounds sappy.”
“Maybe,” Lauren acknowledged. “But it also sounds true. Tell me more.”
“I haven’t felt safe since May died. It’s been all go, you could say. Nothing ever compared to the way my apartment in Queens made me feel, and for a long time, it felt like I could never replicate that feeling.”
“That makes sense—you seem to have some good memories there.”
“Yeah,” Peter sighed. “But the memories until a few weeks ago were…not as good. But after I moved here—” he didn’t mention the rocky start to his stay at the Tower “—I just felt…welcome. I think it’s safe. And I guess I didn’t realize that I just…really like it here.”
Lauren smiled, and closed their notebook. “That’s certainly a fun revelation to have, and I’m honored to have seen it in action. Are you comfortable to chew on that thought and revisit it at our next session, should you choose to see me again?” Her voice lilted up at the end, indicating for him to share his preference.
“Uh. Yeah,” he decided. “Tony will help me schedule our next appointment, so that should be good.”
“Well, you’re quite literally my only client, so my calendar is clear. Also, I won the game. Try again next time”
Peter laughed, shaking his head. “I figured as much. But, just. One more thing I wanted to tell you, I guess.” He stared at her nose piercing as she nodded encouragement. “I’m Spider-Man. That info will probably be helpful for future lessons.”
He listened as their heart rate spiked, but their facial expression revealed nothing except warmth—it seemed that she hadn't been lying about her poker face. “I’ll have to write that down,” she teased.
“Does surprise lead to forgetfulness?”
Lauren laughed, and shook their head. “My memory has nothing to do with my emotions, believe it or not. And I’ve gotta say, I knew I’d be in for a treat once I signed up to take on an Avengers Tower resident.”
With Peter leaving the session more surprised than Lauren seemed—seriously, she seemed unshakable—he swore to see her again soon. They offered him another hand shake, which he accepted with exaggerated formality. They gave Stellina a pet as she trotted out of the room, and gave Peter a two-fingered salute as he left their sights.
As Peter entered the elevator, he heard Lauren mutter to herself, “I met Spider-Man. Cool.”
Stellina panted as the two rode the elevator to Peter’s floor, and Peter chewed on his revelation indeed. His mind was rushing to come up with ways to contradict the thought, but he couldn’t get past the word safe. He felt safe at the Tower, with the team whom he’d never imagined to feel safe around, at a time in his life that didn’t particularly allow for safety.
Harley was waiting for him in their kitchen, reading his book. He stood as Peter entered, dog-earing his page.
“How’d it go? Is Dr. Perdue nice? Are you gonna go again?” He looked nervous, eager, caring.
Instead of answering, Peter pulled him into a hug. Harley was quick to respond, wrapping his arms securely around Peter and pressing a quick kiss to Peter’s temple.
Holy shit.
Peter was home.