Spider-Man Imagines I

When We're Together (Part One) | Peter Parker [TH]

Ever since Mr. Stark told Peter about the upcoming mission, he was determined to give you the best Christmas ever. It started by meeting you at your house every morning with a cardboard carrier of peppermint mochas and a paper bag of peppermint sprinkles cake donuts from your favorite bakery, and quickly moved to him suddenly becoming very interested in giving you your own version of "The Twelve Days of Christmas".

After school one day, he gave you a box filled with twelve pieces of rich, gourmet chocolate that probably cost him at least three weeks of allowance. The following day, he walked you to the mall and let you pet eleven puppies at the pet store, since he couldn't afford eleven dogs (or even one dog). For the tenth, ninth, eighth, seventh, sixth, fifth days, he gave you sweet gifts. Small, seemingly insignificant things - like ten love letters and nine lengthy phone calls with no interruptions - that special held places in your heart.

On the fourth, he gave you a bouquet of four white roses, one for each year he had loved you.

You sat next to him on a bench in the park, roses in hand, cheeks aching in the cold. The wind threatened to blow the beanie right off your head. It was December twenty-third, and it had never felt more like Christmas.

"They're beautiful, Peter," you said, delicately touching the flowers. You smiled at them, feeling shy despite knowing the boy that had his arm around your shoulder. "This was so sweet of you, babe. This entire idea..."

"I'm glad you like them," he said. His face was against your hair. You faintly felt his lips place a kiss there. His finger traced circles on your arm. "I, uh, won't be able to give you the next three presents in person." He coughed.

"Oh?" You looked up at him, a playful smile on your lips. "Are you putting me through a treasure hunt to find them or something?" Peter was funny like that.

"No," he answered, and his voice cracked. He did not smile.

You quickly grew worried. "Peter, what is it?" You swore you had never seen him look more sorry than he did right as you asked that.

"I... have to go," he said.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your heart sank. "Go? Go where? We have plans, you know, and ditching them is pretty sucky of you." That right there was your last attempt at keeping it light, and it was pretty weak.

"I am going on a mission," he whispered. "One like, uh, Berlin."

"Oh."

Missions meant danger. Missions meant not knowing. Missions meant hours - days - sometimes weeks of you sitting by your phone, waiting, praying, hoping, and missing him. Ever since Berlin, there had been several, each more life threatening than the next. On the last mission, he came home with a shattered leg and three bruised ribs. And he was going to be gone on Christmas -

He swallowed. "___, I am so sorry."

You looked away, feeling stupid tears fill up your stupid eyes. You sniffed and wiped your face. "Christmas is our thing, Pete."

"I know."

"And you're gonna miss it?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

You nodded slowly, more to yourself than him. "Where are you going?" you asked.

He squeezed your shoulder. "I can't tell you."

Your hands began to tremble. "For how long?"

He did not reply.

Your throat grew thick. "Pete, how long are you gonna be gone?" You still couldn't look at him.

"A month," he said. "Maybe even longer."

Your heart sank. A noise of disbelief came out of you and you scooted to the edge of the bench, gloved fingers hooking around the bottom of it. You leaned forward and stared at the snow.

"___, I'm sorry!" he cried, inching closer to you. "I'll be home as soon as I can, and you'll still be getting three gifts in the mail for me for your next three days. I know it isn't the same, babe, but-"

"But what, Peter?" you asked. "You want me to be happy for you? You want me to be happy for this? You going on a mission means I stay behind and worry. It means I never know if you're okay."

"I know that, but you also knew that going into this relationship!" he said, raising his voice only slightly. "You knew dating me also meant dating Spider-Man."

You finally looked at him. "That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it!" you hissed.

His jaw clenched. "So what? You're not happy with us and this relationship because of Spider-Man?" he asked.

"What?" you scoffed, "Peter, that is ridiculous! You're twisting my words-"

He pulled away from you. His eyes were mad; his tone was cold. "Well! I have to do this, ___," he said angrily.

You stared at him with wet eyes. "And I have to sit back and wait until I finally get a call saying you're dead?" you asked. Your voice was no longer full of anger, just hurt. You stood up from the bench. "I don't want to do that, Peter." You stepped away.

He reached out and grabbed your hand, gently but desperately.

"___," he said, "please, I am so sorry-"

You looked at him. "I am, too." You gave him a sad smile and lifted a shoulder. "I just want you to be home for Christmas, you know? I don't want to do this anymore."

You walked off, leaving him to stare after and wonder if you had just left him for good or if you just needed time -

But you really didn't have time, did you? He was leaving tonight, whether you would be there to say goodbye or not.

...

You still kept the roses in your hand, but the reminder was grim now.