It wasn't even noon and Peter was more bored than he could ever remember being. Michelle was camped out on their couch, her laptop open and her focus so narrowed that she didn't notice the seven times he walked past her, just hoping for a brief conversation to rescue him from his boredom. Hours later and she was still reading through potential interview questions, muttering her responses under her breath.

He was just about to test the full extent of his webbing―was it strong enough to hang their bed from the ceiling, or was the ceiling too weak?―when Michelle's muttering stopped and he heard her close her laptop.

Without blinking, he darted around their makeshift wall as she stood up from the sofa to stretch.

"Is it lunchtime?" he asked eagerly. "Are you done? Is this a break?"

Michelle laughed, but he saw her nod and all thoughts about hanging their bed from the ceiling like a large swing left his mind.

"I'm all yours," she told him teasingly, throwing her arms out to her sides in what Peter assumed was a dramatic effect.

With an excited yelp, he scooped her up into his arms and dragged them both over to the door. He wasn't sure how long Michelle would allow him to distract her, but he was going to take all that he could get. If he got lucky, she'd agree to go out for lunch, they'd lose track of time, and he'd get to spend the rest of the afternoon with her.

"I was thinking pizza," Peter said, tugging on his shoes. "There's that place on the corner we haven't been to, but I also texted Pepper for ideas and she suggested this Turkish place near Times Square which, I know you hate going down there, but it sounded really good and―"

Michelle cut him off with both a laugh and a press of her fingers to his lips.

"Turkish in Times Square sounds good," she said and suddenly, it was all Peter could do not to scoop her back up in his arms and sprint out of the apartment. "I'm giving you all afternoon, loser."

Peter let out a whoop, pumping a fist above his head and impatiently waiting for Michelle to slip on her shoes. As soon as she stood up, he grabbed her hand and tried not to sprint to the elevator. Michelle laughed, trailing behind him and pressing a kiss to his cheek when he tapped his foot in the elevator.

"Should we find a park on the way?" she teased, wrapping her arm around his.

"I'm not a dog, MJ," Peter said with a roll of his eyes.

The elevator doors opened and Peter was back to dragging Michelle behind him, too eager to finally do something.

"I know." Michelle smirked. "A dog would be easier to walk with."

With a groan, Peter slowed his pace so Michelle was beside him and no longer being tugged along behind him.

Although the initial burst of energy was a bit overwhelming, Peter did manage to calm down by the time they hopped into a subway car. With Michelle pressed against his side, Peter was content to murmur all the ideas he'd come up with while Michelle had studied for her interview. He hadn't quite made it to his hanging bed idea when they reached their stop and pushed their way out of the stuffy subway car.

"You really can't be left alone, huh?" Michelle mused, turning an amused smirk on him as they exited the subway station.

Peter was immediately reminded why they didn't visit Times Square.

Even before the spider bite, Times Square had been an overwhelming sight. With billboards and tourists and taxis everywhere, Peter―like every other native New Yorker―tended to avoid it.

Michelle stepped closer to him, her hand firmly in his and her other hand curled around his forearm as they were pushed and jostled through the crowd.

"I forgot it was still tourist season," Michelle muttered, only for him to hear. "Your Turkish place better be close."

According to Pepper's directions, it was only a few blocks away. After one last quick glance at his phone, Peter led them away from the crowds and in the direction of the restaurant.

As with everything Pepper did, she definitely knew how to choose good restaurants. Peter had expected it to be good (as Pepper had said), but the little hole-in-the-wall place had been unexpected.

It was amazing, from the decor inside to the service to the food. Peter and Michelle ate until they were almost too full to walk and only left when it became clear that the restaurant was beginning to fill up. They paid their bill, opened up their table for new guests, and stepped back out onto the busy sidewalk.

"Now, I know you hate Times Square," Peter said slowly, reaching for Michelle's hand as they slipped onto the sidewalk, "but I have a proposition."

Michelle raised a skeptical eyebrow but nodded for him to continue.

"People watching," Peter said. He turned to watch Michelle's reaction, unsure how enthused she'd be by the idea when it was Times Square. "I know you need new inspiration for your 'People in Crisis' series, and what better place than Times Square?"

Although she'd looked wary at first, the thought of watching tourists in crisis was too appealing for her to pass up.

"Buy me coffee and you have a deal," she agreed.

Peter could do that.

They ducked down a street just before the main plaza and into a cafe. It was busy, but it didn't take long before Michelle had her coffee and they were back on their way to Times Square.

The real problem with Times Square, Peter reasoned, was that there was no good place to just sit and be. There was always someone somewhere and someone trying to sell you something―either an idea or a product. By the time he and Michelle found somewhere to stand and still be out of the way, they were no longer in the center of all the buzz.

Being outside of the biggest crowds wasn't a bad thing, though. There was still a prickling in his neck as pickpockets passed to and fro and his senses were overloaded, but it was better at a distance.

They didn't talk. There was no need. With his arm over Michelle's shoulders and his eyes on the crowds around them, Peter was content to just stand there. For her part, Michelle seemed just as happy with her coffee in one hand and her other in Peter's. It had been a while since they'd had the time to just stand and watch people―tourists, mostly.

Above them, news headlines flickered between advertisements and lights flashed unceasingly. It was when a Pandora Jewelry ad was cut short and a news anchor's face flashed across three of the billboard screens that Peter felt a prickling sense of oh no crawl down his neck and over his shoulders.

"We come to you now with breaking news," the man said, "regarding the attack in London."

The dread crawled from his shoulders to his chest and Peter's arm around Michelle's shoulders tightened.

"Peter?" Michelle turned, glancing up at him but he merely shook his head. His eyes were glued on the news man's face.

Above them, the news anchor continued, unaware of the sickening way Peter's stomach twisted and his fingers twitched.

"Provided by an anonymous source, we now have video footage of the hero known as Mysterio moments before his death."

"You gave Pepper the footage?" Michelle asked, tugging on Peter's hand. He shook his head again. "Then what video―"

Beck's face was on the screen, a video taken in selfie-mode that Peter swore hadn't happened on the London Bridge. He couldn't remember Beck saying anything about sending the elementals away, let alone seeing him film himself.

"Spider-Man attacked me for some reason," Beck said into the camera.

Gasps filled the crowd around them as, suddenly, everyone's attention was on the screens above them. Peter stopped breathing.

This was wrong.

"He has an army of weaponized drones―Stark technology―and he's saying he's the only one who's gonna be the new Iron Man. No one else!"

The video cut to show Beck on the ground, Spider-Man's lower half visible but his upper body cut off. Clipped footage― edited, Peter's brain supplied―showed EDITH asking for verification about the drone attack.

"There will be significant casualties." EDITH's voice echoed in Peter's head and around Times Square, but not before his own voice was cut to say, "Do it. Execute them all."

The sounds of the drones firing were the last thing before the feed cut back to the previous news anchor, but Peter hardly heard what he said. His heart was in his ears, his entire body was on edge, ready to spring away at any given moment. The only thing stopping him was Michelle at his side and the worried look she gave him when she glanced away from the screen.

The news anchor cut to J. Jonah Jameson and Peter knew he'd missed something, but the ringing in his ears made it hard to focus on what was being said on the screen.

This was wrong. This was wrong. This―

"But that's not all folks!" Jameson shouted from the screen. Michelle's hand squeezed his and Peter stared with wide eyes as Jameson said, "Brace yourselves, you might wanna sit down."

The video cut back to Beck's feed, the self-video coming back up as Beck stammered, "Spider-Man's real―Spider-Man's real name―"

The video cut for a second and Peter held his breath only for Beck's face to reappear moments before saying, "Spider-Man's real name is Peter Parker!"

His photo flashed on screen and Michelle gasped along with all the rest of Times Square. His ESU student ID photo froze on the billboard and Peter moved on autopilot.

"We gotta go."

He grabbed Michelle, pulling her through the shell-shocked crowd as the news footage continued to play above them. Ducking his head, Peter guessed they had only a few minutes before the crowd began to recognize him from the photo that was still displayed around them.

"No." Michelle pulled hard on his waist, stopping him as he tried to pull them into the subway.

"Em―"

"We'll be trapped down there, Pete," she told him sharply. Above them, Michelle's face flashed across the screen beside his, the words Spider-Man's Accomplice? rotated beneath it.

"MJ, they have―they have your―" Peter pointed shakily at the screens and Michelle turned. "They have your photo," he whispered.

Around them, people were already starting to take notice. Whispers blended together and Peter's neck prickled. They were staring and Michelle's photo was next to his on international television, the words murderer and accomplice painted across them.

"Peter!" Michelle's face filled his vision and she yanked on his hand. "Get us out of here."

She pushed his sleeves up and gave him a sharp look as the crowd grew closer. Their whispers turned into shouts and in a panic, Peter grabbed Michelle and leapt into the air.

It was a testament to how much she trusted him in that moment that she didn't scream. It had been her idea if tugging at his web-shooters had been any indication of how she wanted to get around, but she had never liked swinging through New York. They'd done it twice before and both times, she'd sworn never again. Now, she clung to him without protest.

"Where―"

"Tower," Michelle instructed in his ear. Her hair flew around his face, but he knew where the Tower was instinctively.

All of New York was abuzz with the news. As he swung above them―even out of the suit―there were shouts and protests from citizens and police alike. Peter narrowly dodged a shoe that was thrown at him and with a muttered apology, he pulled them even higher above the streets to avoid being hit.

"Just go," Michelle said, still wrapped around him tightly.

The Tower was seconds ahead. He could see it standing in front of him.

Three more hard swings and they came to a stumbling stop at the bottom of the Tower. Peter wobbled, one arm around Michelle's back to keep her from falling, but righted himself before the outside security could stop him.

FRIDAY let them through. Even as a few security guards asked for ID, they didn't stop until they were in the Stark's private elevator.

"Hello, Pete―"

"Penthouse, FRI," Peter interrupted, pulling Michelle to his chest and trying to breathe. "Get―Get Pepper."

So much for lying low.