ofthespider

Title; In Which People Know Too Much (Part 2)
Fandom; Marvel (Spider-Man/Daredevil)
Characters/Pairings; Peter Parker/Matt Murdock
Theme; 17. wish I didn't love you
Canon; A couple days after (Part 1)
Rating; R
Warning(s); Language and sexual situations.
Summary; After The Globe headline and Peter's peripheral brush with Bullseye, Peter's paranoia takes a heavy toll on his life as Mr. Parker and Spider-Man---and on his relationship with Matt.
Notes; All this is turning into one storyline, so there's a little index here underneath the table if you'd rather read in order. :D


Peter was unbearably tense after the night before. Twitchy. He got up to go to work before Matt and barely remembered to say good bye. He swung to work instead of taking the subway, scenarios of Bullseye breaking into the apartment while Peter was gone and attacking Matt running over and over through his head. In all his scenarios, Matt won---but maybe that was just wishful thinking, and it didn't make him feel any better. He'd debated even going into work in the first place, and eventually decided to go, landing a block away to change into normal clothes and walk the rest of the way.

He felt unusually separate from everyone there---from the other teachers, the kids that were starting to come in. Peter tended to feel set apart as a rule (secret identities and alter egos would do that to a person), but today it was just ... uncomfortable. I know who you are. He knew. Would Bullseye come to the school and confirm his fears, or leave him alone so he could panic and worry himself to death? Maybe that was it. Maybe it was just one note and that's it, it's all on you, Peter, panic and hide or keep living, it's your decision.

Peter fumbled with the keys to his classroom, going straight there rather than stopping by the teacher's lounge. His first class was second period, but he needed this time to set up, make sure he had everything. Lab day for the chemistry kids. The classroom was untouched, exactly the way he'd left it the day before---and what else did he expect?

"You're paranoid, Peter," he muttered to himself. "Can't leave. You need to be here or they'll fire you. If anything happens, you can protect them, right? Right. No one has to know."

He nearly jumped and stuck to the ceiling when the classroom phone rang. Scolding himself, he picked it up, half expecting it to be Bullseye on the other line and sighing in relief when it was the principal.

"Hello?"

"Oh, good, you're here. Pete, I need to talk to you about---"

"The cover of The Globe from last Friday?"

"Well ... yes. Parents of your students have been calling me all weekend about it. I don't have to tell you what they're saying, Peter."

"No," Peter said quietly. "You don't. I know." He cradled the phone against his shoulder to move over to the desk and start unpacking his bag, scanning the room out of habit. Just in case. Just look, nothing's there, calm down. You can go after Bullseye after work, but you need this job.

"What am I going to do about you, Pete? You're a good teacher but you're a danger magnet, you're unreliable. If we weren't hurting so badly for science teachers, I just ... I don't know, Pete. I don't."

"Yeah, I know..." Peter half listened; he'd heard all this before, could probably quote it back at him. Letting his eyes wander, Peter paused at the window. The principal had started speaking again, and Peter gave an obligatory, "Uh huh" once and a while, largely ignoring him to walk over to the window.

There was a sticky note attached to the outside, pressed against the glass. Written on it, in the same handwriting from the note the night before:

Hello, Mr. Parker

Peter gasped, dropping the phone without thinking, sliding the window open and reaching around to tear the note off, crumpling it like that would do any good. From the floor, Peter could still hear the principal's voice.

"Pete? Peter? Peter, what happened, are you all right? ...Talk to me. Did you drop the phone? Did you---"

Snatching the phone back up, Peter forced himself to breathe normally, tossing the note into the waste basket. "Yeah, I'm here. Cell phone, sorry about that," he lied easily.

The voice on the other line huffed, and Peter went back to his desk, taking out more papers while the principal said, "We have to find a way to deal with this, Peter. Soon. I'll do what I can, but if I can't get you out of this one, you have to give me a hand, here."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Good luck today." It was like a goodbye, in that the principal hung up after that, and Peter set the phone back down, going to open a drawer, only to flinch away.

Another note, same handwriting. Sitting at the bottom of his drawer and mocking him with its casual words. How's Matty? Peter snatched the note, surprised when it was heavier than the last one; when he turned it over, there was a quarter tapes to the back.

Peter dropped it, went right for his cell phone to call Matt. He'd be at the office by now. The secretary picked it up.

"Offices of Nelson&Murdock, this is Becky Blake, how may I help you?"

"Becky? It's Peter, is Matt there? It's kind of important."

"Sure, just gimme a sec." The line quieted for a long, painful minute before it was picked up again---this time with Matt's deep voice on the other end.

"Peter?"

Thank God. "Are you okay?"

Matt paused. "Why wouldn't I be? ...Peter, your heart's racing, what's wrong?"

Peter shook his head, even if Matt couldn't see it. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong, I was in a rush this morning. Wanted to hear your voice."

"This have anything to do with what happened last night?"

"...Maybe," Peter admitted. "I've got it, don't worry. You don't need to worry about it. Have a good day at work."

"You, too, Pete," Matt said slowly. "I'll see you tonight? I have something I need to take care of before I go home, so---"

"So do I. I might see you out there." Maybe. It was probably best to avoid Matt, wasn't it?

"All right." Matt paused, like he wanted to say something and amended it to. "I'll see you, then."

"Matt, you never see me."


* * *


It was the Monday to end all Mondays.

Copies of The Globe had been passed around from kid to kid, posted on the internet---and even, in one case, photocopied a few times and stuck to the walls. It was an embarrassing ordeal, and Peter suspected the principal hadn't chewed him out because he knew today would be torture, anyway. There were no more mysterious and foreboding notes, but Peter spent the day praying something would blow up so he'd have an excuse to run away from this. He just wanted to crawl under a rock. He had hoped that someone else would have distracted the students by now, but for once, they actually remembered something from the Friday before.

It wasn't just the kids, either. The other teachers ribbed him constantly, if they weren't ignoring him. Some wouldn't even look at him anymore. The whole thing made Peter's stomach turn, and there was only one word to define his reactions: deny. Deny deny deny. Not that he was gay, not that he was with Matt Murdock, but that Matt was Daredevil. Deny deny deny until they got fed up with the lack of answers.

That might take a while.

He tried to take the subway and decided better of it after the fifth person stopped and stared at him. He didn't need that. At least Matt couldn't see them stare. One person actually walked right up to him and started asking questions: Are you really gay? What's he like? Is he really Daredevil? Peter ignored him and kept walking.

The walk home was long and exactly what he needed. Peter needed to think. He could go after Wilson, demand to know why Bullseye was bothering him all of a sudden. But there was the chance that Bullseye was messing with him for personal reasons; he had a personal, nasty grudge against Matt and enjoyed screwing with his lovers. But then how would Bullseye know Peter was Spider-Man? Maybe he'd already known. Maybe he saw the headline and guessed. The timing was awfully convenient, and he'd gotten the note after going after a mugger he'd tagged in his civs. And he'd taken the spider tracer. Unless...

Peter kept walking, mulling it over before it dawned on him. It was still during the day, people were on the streets, and when he found the alley across the street where he'd stopped the mugger, he slipped between the buildings and hung his bag on a fire escape before crouching down. Trying to find something that didn't belong dropped in an alley.

It took a couple minutes of searching before he finally found what he was looking for. There, buried in the cracking pavement, was a quarter, the top part sticking out. That quarter had obviously been thrown, and judging from the pavement around it, had been thrown from above, possibly from across the street, like a bullet. Something like that could've gone right through a person's body, but there was no blood on it. Peter reached down, tugging it out of the pavement with some effort.

So that was it. Bullseye had gone after Peter Parker first; he'd dodged the quarter last night and gotten distracted by the mugging. Bullseye must have been furious that he'd missed, but opted to go after the mugger when he'd seen Peter throwing the spider tracer, gotten to the mugger before Peter did and left a note where he knew he'd be headed. Didn't take a genius to connect the dots after getting his hands on that spider tracer.

"Bullseye," Peter muttered to himself, tucking the quarter in his pocket. "He went looking for Parker and found Spider-Man. I am so screwed. Can't go after the Kingpin; if Bullseye isn't working for him, it'll be like handing him my head on a plate." Bullseye had gone after Matt without orders from anyone, too. So many years of butting heads with Matt and losing? It wouldn't be too far out to think that he was going after Peter to continue a tradition, here.

So why play with him like that? That question was easy. Spider-Man was not Daredevil. Some loud noises and a stick wouldn't take him down. Peter was faster than Bullseye, could dodge what he threw. He'd need something new. Some kind of ... ace in the hole to get his hands on Peter. But---

Peter twitched when he felt his spider senses hum. Like something was on the very edge of his range. Standing, he tried to hone in, but the hum was so light he couldn't pinpoint a specific direction.

"Where are you?" he breathed, backing further into the alleyway, out of sight of the street so he could undress, stuffing his clothes in his bag and pulling on his mask. That hum was still there, present but not overtly threatening. It didn't change when he climbed up a building, and even as he moved, he couldn't find any specific source. No surge to indicate a direction. ---As a matter of fact, it was when he stood still that it surged up, just a hair, and then stayed there. Like an obnoxious buzz, a slight headache that didn't hurt but wouldn't go away, either.

Eventually, the hum faded entirely, leaving Peter feeling exposed. A noise like that turned up high could cloud his spider senses and ... well. Peter had fought without them before. It never ended well. Shaking his head, he decided to swing the rest of the way home.

A few steps closer to the edge of the building and that hum was back again. Where it was coming from, this direction seemed to be it. Peter moved again, cautiously, swinging easily to the next building. Still there. It was slow going, but he didn't want to risk passing it, trailing the noise. It was definitely moving; he was almost left behind once and had to speed up to get the feeling back.

"With my luck this'll be a trap," he muttered. "I'll walk right into something horribly dangerous and get cracked over the head."

So absorbed in trying to chase that weird hum, Peter didn't even notice when someone caught him by the arm and tugged him back. His spider senses were quiet, except for the hum, but it was still a shock.

"Hey---!"

"Jesus, Peter, it's just me."

Peter looked over. Matt, decked out in full Daredevil gear. Of course. When he looked over, the hum faded off. Damn it. "Oh. Yeah. Hey."

"What the hell are you doing?" Peter knew Matt well enough to know that he was raising an eyebrow under his mask.

"The hell are you doing?" Peter pulled his arm out of Matt's hand, suddenly very aware that they were very close. In their suits. In public. In broad daylight. All anyone had to do was look up. He backed away, uneasy with the idea of being seen with Matt in costume.

"Waiting." Matt frowned. "What's---"

"Can't talk. I have a thing," Peter said quickly, vaulting off the side of the building before Matt could react.


* * *


The next couple weeks were nerve-wracking. Still keeping relatively silent about his peripheral run-ins with Bullseye, Peter was uncomfortably distant. The occasional team ups with Daredevil reduced to never, Peter too paranoid to be seen with Matt as Spider-Man; he played the avoiding game, went in different directions. And when Peter wandered home at one in the morning and Matt showed up at two, they weren't really in the mood for talking. If they weren't fighting crime, they were working, or doing work, for their relative paid jobs.

This must've been what it felt like to be married.

And there was no sign of Bullseye. No more notes. Nothing. Every once in a while that hum would be back, a little tiny bit stronger every time, and every time, Peter would follow it with no results. He actually followed the feeling for a good three hours once before giving up. It was annoying, but not dangerous so far, and he always got distracted by a more immediate crisis. But he couldn't shake that paranoid feeling that being together was worse than being apart when it came to Matt.

The papers didn't help. Tabloid photographers followed Matt around as usual, but now? Now, it was a challenge to see who could catch him in the most compromising position with his new boyfriend.

But there were nights, like tonight, where they found an hour or two to themselves, between work and the other jobs that found Matt lounging on the couch and Peter making dinner instead of ordering or defrosting it. He wasn't the greatest cook, but he could manage some things; he'd make Matt cook, but Matt was worse than he was.

He was in the middle of sawing his way through a loaf of garlic bread (hey. it wasn't frozen, it didn't count.) when Matt abandoned the couch to actually come into the kitchen. Easing up behind Peter, he slid his arms around Peter's waist, kissed his neck.

"Hey," he murmured, kissing Peter's shoulder, slipping a hand up underneath his shirt.

Peter stiffened, rolling his shoulders. "You mind? I'm busy."

Matt frowned, biting Peter's neck in retaliation. "Dinner can wait fifteen minutes." He said it more like a question that a statement. "Come on. Take a break."

"I'm hungry."

Matt groaned, letting his hand drop. "Pete. Come on, you have to throw me a bone at some point."

Peter paused, twisted to look around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know exactly what it means." Matt shook his head and pulled away, frowning. "I didn't offer to let you move in so you could take some twisted vow of chastity."

"What?" Peter turned around, giving Matt a look he wouldn't appreciate. "The hell are you talking about?"

"You won't get near me in public, I'm the fucking plague when we're in costume, and now you're too occupied to turn around while we're at home? What the fuck, Pete? What did I do?" Matt shifted his weight, upset and frustrated.

"Nothing. You didn't do anything," Peter replied lamely, guilt making his stomach turn. "You don't have to get all pissy because I'm not constantly in the mood, Matt, Jesus."

"Not...for fuck's sake, Peter." Matt threw his hands up, making an aggravated noise. "Not constantly? Try never. You are never in the mood."

"That's not true! We..." Peter paused, trying to remember the last time and ... kind of failing. The last time they'd messed around had been weeks ago. "...Oh."

"No shit. I don't do celibate," Matt said bluntly. "You can't keep pushing me away; you're driving me insane, and not in the teasing, sexual kind of way." Peter flinched. "I shouldn't have to feel guilty for coming onto you."

"Well, no." Pushing himself away from the counter, Peter closed the gap between them, reaching over and grabbing the hem of Matt's shirt. "Sorry." The approach was out of guilt, sure enough.

And Matt must have known it. Roughly pulling Peter close by the front of his shirt, he bit Peter's ear, breathing, "I need you. I can't be near with you without listening to your heartbeat like it's the only sound in the room..." His hands uncurled from Peter's shirt to run down his chest, over his sides. "Without wanting to touch you." One hand moved over his hip, pushing down underneath his pants to rest over the spider suit, between Peter's legs, earning a quiet gasp. "You're out there in that suit---like a second skin---and everyone's getting a good look at that ass except me. If you weren't avoiding me, I would never be able to stay away from you."

Matt let Peter touch him, let him slide his hands up his chest and cradle his neck, shuddering a little under his touch and seeming to lose his composure, just for an instant. He rested his forehead against Peter's, adding, "I just want to push you against a wall and make you come in my mouth." He leaned in, just barely brushing his lips over Peter's.

Before pulling away entirely. Peter made a noise of protest, leaning forward when Matt pulled away and making a grab for Matt's hand when he pulled it back. "Hey---"

"But you're not interested," Matt said, matter-of-fact, raising his hands in a mock surrender. "When's dinner ready?"

Peter frowned, suddenly embarrassed of the erection he was glad Matt couldn't see. "You jackass."

"Now you now how it feels," Matt said with a sick combination of regret and satisfaction. "Call me when you're done."

"Bite me."

"I will when you're done being an asshole."

"Now you're just being annoying."

Matt just laughed.