207. A Christmas Too Loud to Be Quiet. (Patreon)

Gwen POV:

The echoes of fireworks faded before dawn but the warmth of Christmas stayed.

That’s how Christmas in New York works. The sky finishes celebrating but the city keeps the feeling tucked under its coat.

By the time we returned to our room in Parker Tower, the world outside was quiet again. The only sound was the sound of just drifting snow and distant laughter from late-night wanderers. Inside, though, it was warm.

Tony and Pepper had taken the guest suite.

Harry and Felicia too. It was a full house and a full heart.

I fell asleep wrapped in Peter’s arms, his chest against my back, his breathing slow and steady. For the first time in four days, I didn’t feel like something was missing.

Then morning came softly.

Carol of the Bells played gently over the speakers, low and melodic. Not loud enough to jolt us but just enough to make sleep inconvenient.

I opened my eyes and saw that Peter was still asleep. God, he looked cute when he slept.

The genius, the hero, the walking multiversal headache… all gone. Just my husband with messy hair and relaxed brows.

My gaze drifted to his neck. A mischievous thought crossed my mind.

Four days apart does things to a girl.

I leaned in and gently nibbled his neck... just tiny playful bites, careful not to hurt him. Little jolts and little reminders.

He stirred.

One eye opened and then the other.

He gave me a sleepy forehead kiss and murmured, “While I love eating you and letting you eat me… my neck is no substitute for breakfast.”

I giggled and gave him a peck on the lips. “I just love kissing you.”

“And I love being kissed.” He replied, voice still thick with sleep.

We finally got up and changed into oversized home clothes made from soft fabrics, loose sleeves, the kind you only wear around people you trust completely.

The moment we stepped into the living room the smell of heaven hit my nose.

The dining table at the distance was lined with pots of hot cocoa, plates stacked high with pancakes, trays filled with cookies and plates filled with bacon.

Christmas itself had apparently decided to cook.

“What’s cooking, Parker?” Tony asked, stepping out of the guest room mid-yawn.

Peter stretched. “You know. Parker–Stacy family Christmas tradition. Christmas-themed breakfast.”

I’d already ducked into the washroom and returned with our toothbrushes loaded with toothpaste.

“Thanks, hun.” Peter said, kissing my cheek.

“Is that Aunt May’s cooking I smell?” Harry asked as he came out with Felicia.

Before anyone could blink... Pfft. A dart went straight into Harry's neck.

He dropped to the floor, was twitching and began sweating.

Felicia shrieked, “What did you do?!?!”

Peter lowered a small blowpipe calmly. “Just the cure for Extremis.”

Then, without missing a beat, “Merry Christmas, disappointment.”

He walked toward the dining room like he hadn’t just tranquilized a guest. I helped Harry sit up and he gave a weak grin. “Man… last time Peter was this mad was when I asked you to prom, Gwen.”

I glared.

“Harry, you’re on your second strike already. Please, for the love of common sense stop making terrible decisions.”

He nodded quickly. “I’m gonna go. Merry Christmas, Gwendy! Merry Christmas Pete!!!”

He retreated with Felicia. Tony appeared beside me. “Funny how the people you want to trust the most twist the knife first.”

Obadiah Stane's betrayal hung unspoken in the air.

I sighed. “That’s how messed up life tends to be.” Before existential dread could settle in “Breakfast!” Aunt May called.

We entered the dining room and the menu had grown even larger with the addition of waffles, scrambled eggs and every condiment imaginable taking weird habits into consideration.

I hugged Peter from behind around his waist while my cheek rested on his Sandevistan. It was smooth as butter. “Looks great, Pete.”

He turned, took my hands. “Don’t praise me. Praise Aunt May. She made everything.”

Then Dad arrived with Vice captain Jean DeWolff.

She looked hesitant. Especially when she saw Tony, Pepper and Peter.

Understandabke reaction considering these three people run 90% of the world's physical and digital infrastructure.

Aunt May didn’t allow hesitation. She guided Jean to a seat and placed a full plate before her.

One bite.

Her hesitation vanished.

Two bites.

She was demolishing breakfast.

I smiled.

Maybe this Christmas would be peaceful after all.

Peter POV:

My father in law scoring romantic points wasn’t my business. He deserves to be happy just like everyone else.

Still, I found it fascinating how integral Jean DeWolff had become in his life compared to her Prime-65 counterpart.

Then again, Earth-65 Prime is a narrative catastrophe where logic goes to die.

I stay out of it. Too much deviation invites TVA attention and while I could handle them, erasing timeline enforcers before coffee feels excessive even by my standards. I needed more subtler approach if I wished to touch them.

I sipped hot cocoa and I was in peace. Rare. Precious peace.

“So Vice Captain DeWolff,” I asked casually, “are you enjoying your stay at my humble abode?”

She choked on water. George patted her back and Pepper smirked. “Peter, your home is humble by billionaire standards. Middle class ones.”

“I’m being courteously humble,” I replied. “I grew up middle class. Never poor in warmth, though.”

Jean recovered. “To answer your question… can I call you Peter?”

“Whatever fancies your mind.”

She nodded.

“Yes, Peter. I’m enjoying it. Can you believe George didn’t know about the hyper-immersive AR projectors in the bedrooms?”

George protested. “I knew! I just didn’t use them!”

Laughter filled the table.

Then, Clanker spoke.

“Peter B. Parker, Mary Jane Watson-Parker and Mayday Parker from Earth-616-B…”

I paused mid-bite.

“Gwen Stacy, George Stacy, Peter Parker, Benjamin Parker and May Parker from Earth-65-B…”

My eye twitched.

“Jefferson Davis, Rio Morales, Ganke Lee, May Parker and Miles Morales from Earth-1610-B…”

Aunt May blinked. “Oh dear.”

“Peni Parker, Margo Kess, Pavitr Pravakar, Gayatri Singh, Inspector Singh, Maya Pravakar, Hobart Brown, Peter Porker…”

Silence.

“…They appear to be here to spend Christmas with you.”

I set down my fork slowly.

“That’s a lot of guests.” Aunt May said gently.

“I’ll be the judge of that and guess I'll have to call my wife Gwendolyn again." I replied.

"Honey, Hun, snookums, wifey also works." Says Gwen while eating a stack of pancakes.

“Clanker. Antimatter buckshot shotgun.” A Sentry drone delivered it.

“Be nice, Peter,” Aunt May warned.

“Yes, Aunt May.”

I stood. Still wearing my pink bunny slippers.

I opened the window, cold air rushed in and I jumped out without a harness or parachute.

Because apparently Christmas breakfast was illegal in the multiverse and the Spider-Gang picked today to prove it.

Time to see what this “visit” was really about.