Summary:Peter and Jimmy meet in the library. Trigger warning: domestic abuse. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Sadly, normal life doesn't stop when the fantastical and life-threatening rears its head. While Jimmy's gearing up for an operation, he also has a test to study for. So here he is in the Central Building of the New York Public Library; rather than in a study room, he's taken part of a table out among the shelves, and looks deeply engrossed in cross-checking among a few books on physiology.
Peter has his own fish to fry, as they say. He needs to finalize a few things on a recent project he has been working on, prepare himself for classes in a month, and figure out how to fix that annoying sound in the A/C at the house. So, he is carrying an eclectic mix—two books on propulsion systems, a few magazines on flight mechanics, the AMA Journal, Popular Science, Neuroscience Today, and HVAC Monthly. He looks around, but finds many tables are taken due to various summer reading programs. The kids had sour faces, but he couldn't understand why. He LOVED to read.
He paused near the table Jimmy was sitting at, then the kid in the baggy jeans and shirt looked at him and asked, "Scuse me, sir…is this seat taken?"
Jimmy's so engrossed that he remains stuck into his current paragraph for another moment, needing a second to realise that someone's talking to him. He's not used to being 'sir'. When he does realise, he jumps in his seat and flushes slightly. "Ah! Yes. I mean, no, it's not taken; please, feel free." Once he's taken his eyes off the page, he glances over Peter and the books he's carrying. His head tilts. "Huh. Engineering major?" That's at least /most/ of the theme.
Peter smiles, a wry smile that seems to elevate his face. What he seems to be is someone who is a little introverted, even shy. Not much to look at. The personification of a flowing river along some quiet lake.
But Jimmy can see below that surface…and there are monsters below it. Hints of some crippling guilt, monstrous in scope, seeming to permeate his soul. However, there are some stronger senses of other creatures, but unsettling in their own way. A fierce, indomitable will, a storm wall of solid steel. A sense of duty, something Jimmy would sense as part of his being, something about him that speaks of the divine rather than the infernal. And the sense that this guilt Jimmy is sensing is somehow leashed and collared and enslaved to drive him forward. And above all this is an earnestness that flavors his entire life.
Peter, unaware of all the things Jimmy is sensing, chuckles and puts the magazines on the table, sitting down across from Jimmy. "Not bad. But I'm focusing on neuroscience. Medical cybernetics, nanite therapy, that sort of thing."
Jimmy's gaze comes up from the books to look in Peter's eyes, and he just happens to look a bit too deeply.
A figure of tempered, hardened steel, a disciplined will which chains and harnesses that guilt, turning the monster into a beast of burden drawing… not a carriage, but a chariot, campaigning against the darkness, driven by a simple thought: Never Again.
It all hits Jimmy's senses in a rush, making him flinch back from a sudden headache. People's brains aren't supposed to jump from point A to point Z like that. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Medical cybernetics. That's a good field — a lot of even the state-of-the-art stuff these days has side effects, I hear. Headaches, control difficulties. Me, I majored in psych, and now I'm in some post-grad study." He waves one of his books. "Medical." Okay, the headache's eased off, and he opens his eyes again, blinking a few times in the light.
Peter blinks. "You okay, sir?" he asks, with concern. He is puzzled by the sudden reaction, but, to his credit, he's not aware. He stands up, looking around. "Want me to draw the blinds on this window over here, Mr…?"
Jimmy shakes his head. "It's fine! Just… happens sometimes. When I'm reading." Maybe he needs glasses? Or maybe he's guiltily sneaking a not-quite-lie, because that was 'reading' of a sort. "Baxter. Jimmy Baxter. And what's your name?"
Peter looks to the blinds, but moves to sit down again. "…Peter. Peter Parker. I'm no big psych expert, but you guys certainly don't have an easy time of it…Math, physics, chemistry…a lot of that stuff makes sense. Quantifiable numbers. Psychology…nothing so cut-and-dried." He extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Baxter…:"
Jimmy takes and shakes that hand. His grip is firm, but not crushing. "Jimmy's fine. And yeah, I understand what you mean. Science is all about empiricism, about turning questions into hard, provable numbers. Something like physics, that's pretty much numbers already. Apply five kilograms of force to a one-kilogram object, you know what'll happen, every time. Psychology… there are a whole lot more layers in between. Apply the same kind of /psychological/ force to five different people, and you could get five different responses." He nods to the Neuroscience Today issue. "Even neuroscience, the medical and chemical side of psychology… brains are so adaptive and individual that they could respond so differently to even the same kinds of treatments. But me…" Self-deprecating grin. "Well I was never that good at math to begin with. Something a little less exact, something with more sense of instinct… that feels more like me."
Peter chuckles. "Everyone has different gifts. My uncle and aunt told me that often, growing up. They said that some people are brain cells, some heart cells, some lung cells, etc. If you are a heart cell, you should be the best heart you can be and not envy what the brain cells can do." He smirks. "He always thought I was a brain cell."
Jimmy smiles brightly, nodding to Peter. "That's a great way of looking at it. 'We have gifts that differ, according to the grace given to us.' And the whole body — all of us, all of society put together — needs every one of those to work at its best." He pauses, his head tilting. "…so what would liver cells be, in that metaphor?"
Peter Parker looks thoughtful for a moment. "Never thought about it. The liver filters the blood, detoxifies chemical, provides bile for the intestines. I would say law enforcement. Maybe even a few of the local supertypes. Keep poisonous activity away from people who migght be victimized."
Jimmy rubs his chin, nodding slowly. "That's a great point. 'Filtering' society. So, liver cells are the people who fight crime and keep others safe." Yay! I'm a liver! "Ah, sorry, I'm distracting you — well, both of us — from our study." He taps the book open on the table in front of him.
Peter chuckles. "Well, I should let you get back to your…"
Peter suddenly looks up, over to the right, in the 000-100 bookcases. Jimmy can sense two minds there, one in mental anguish, the other seeming to broadcast a rising rage.
"I…think I missed a book, though. Excuse me for a sec?"
Jimmy tenses just before Peter cuts off. He doesn't even notice Peter turning away, because he turns in the same instant, his fist clenching. "Sure," he murmurs, his voice cold and distracted. "I think I need to stretch my legs, too." Anger rising that fast is like the balling of a fist. It only comes just before you swing. His chair scrapes slightly on the marble floor as he rises. Though a librarian hushes him, he doesn't presently notice, his focus more on getting to that aisle.
Peter notices Jimmy is moving as well. He takes the next aisle over, the 100-200 aisle.
John Dugan looked down at Marcy. It was sad what she was going to make him do. He had just come by to let her know to have the algebra notes ready for him and she came back with some stupid malarkey about "being BUSY." Geez, doesn't she GET it? It was bad enough when he had to tool her up a little last weekend, for…well, he couldn't remember what it had been for, but it had been important enough to bust her nose and blacken her eye for her.
Didn't she know how much he LOVED her?
"Marcy, c'mon…you know we gotta do this. It's for your own good, really."
Deep breaths. Like a leaf fallen into a trickling river, just let the feelings flow through you, don't let yourself get caught up in them. Jimmy reaches for other emotions to help clear his head — including Peter's own cold, hard discipline. For Jimmy, will like that really can rub off, and in short order.
Jimmy reaches one end of the aisle, and looks down it, just happening to find himself behind John — which means he has a view past him, and to that already-blackened eye.
Jimmy's fists clench in his pockets, and he almost gets a sword in each hand just by reflex. No; violence shouldn't be the first response. That's too much the same as John, and he's not the one Jimmy's here for. He turns his thinking around, from pull to push — from receiving John's emotions to pouring others into him.
Specifically, Marcy's. That fear, that insecurity of someone so intimate being so dangerous. That little bit of guilt, having been made to feel like she 'deserves' it. Everything which John has inflicted on her, all for the sake of control. Jimmy draws them into himself…
…and as he steps into the aisle, locks his gaze on the back of John's head and pours every last drop into him. How does the man's own medicine taste?
John is about to speak when he feels a chill that runs through his entire body. The last time he felt like this, his mom had put him in his room after calling his father and telling him what John had done to his new puppy. (He had just been trying to teach it to swim…) That cold fear seemed to sap his resolve, and he turned to see Jimmy at the end of the aisle. Somehow on some gut level, he sensed Jimmy was the cause of it. Everything was fine until…
Feel fear? Defend yourself.
John reached into his pocket and pulled out the folding flick-knife he carried. He was torn, between the long-desired opportunity to hurt someone (Marcy or this new guy) and the urge to just run.
Then a copy of CHARIOTS OF THE GODS suddenly shot out from the shelf to the right of him, the spine striking him in the temple, and he was suddenly out cold, slumping to the floor.
Violence wasn't Jimmy's first solution. Maybe — a slim chance, he knew, but at least a chance worth taking — that guilt would have been a splash of cold water in John's face, a chance for him to look in the mirror, see what he'd been doing, and make a change. But if he's going to make a fight out of it? Jimmy doesn't even flinch from the knife, just stepping forwards with one fist coming out of his pocket—
And then comes a big book, thrown with perfect precision and rather a lot of force. That was… unexpected.
And it's a mystery that'll last a little longer. Jimmy stretches out his mind to find a valedictorian in the zone of her study session, and draws some of that sense of peace and confidence to pass forwards into Marcy. He unclenches his fist as he approaches her. "Are you alright, miss?" Check with her first, /then/ find whoever threw the thing.
Marcy looked at Jimmy, and he did a number on her. Broken nose, black eye, split lip, on a face that was actually fairly pretty. Maybe it called to his need to spoil something beautiful. The woman walks towards Jimmy, then whispers, "Please…I need help."
Then a sheepish-looking Peter comes around the other end of the aisle, from the side the book was on. "Hey…" he said, not entering the aisle, as if sensing the idea that it might be crowding her and doing what this jackhole had been doing to her. "Want me to get security?"
Jimmy keeps his eyes on Marcy — not smiling, but warm and encouraging. As she comes closer, he puts his hand to her shoulder. Hearing that voice, surprise flashes across his face for a moment, before he rolls with it. "That's what we're here for." We, plural; yes, he can figure it's Peter who pulled a Carrot Ironfoundersson and Threw The Book At Him. He nods to Peter. "Yes, please. Won't want this guy waking up and crawling away." There's a bit more heat in his tone. Yes, comparing John to an insect is intentional. Then, he turns back to Marcy. "There's a shelter not far from here, they know me. Want me to take you there?" Not just sweeping her away, but offering her the choice. "What's your name?"
The girl whispers, "…Marcy. Marcy Witherspoon. He and I were…dating." She says the last word as if she is unsure of the definition. "He just gets so…ANGRY. But he always apologizes, afterward."
Peter stands up, tilting his head slightly. He doesn't seem to do anything but look down at the guy, but two security types show up quickly. "What's the story?"
Peter points to a small object stuck to the side of the bookcase. No great leap for Jimmy to realize Peter had put it there while passing behind him. "I have it on film. Him pulling a knife."
Jimmy squeezes Marcy's shoulder. "An apology given with no effort or intention to change is hollow. I understand wanting to give him a chance, but…" He resists the urge to literally kick him while he's down. "…it sounds like he's burned through every chance it's safe to give him, and then some. Do you want to come to the shelter, Marcy? They're good people, and… hold on, I have a card here…" He digs into his pocket and comes out with something that /looks/ like a laminated card, but actually unfolds into a pamphlet talking all about women's protective services, rights, and all manner of other relevant things.
And being caught pulling a knife means Peter absolutely had probable cause for a bit of Vigorous Defence. Jimmy puts it together, but his eyebrows still raise, impressed. "Can you guys take him from here? Mister—" He looks to Marcy for the man's name. "He'll need the police."
Marcy took a deep breath. "His name is John." She looks to Jimmy. "I'm not sure…I mean, it's my apartment. He was living there…"
"I might be able to help you there." Peter stepped forward. "I took a lot of pictures of this guy. If I gave him your address, he could help you out." He held up his phone, which held a picture of a guy in red and blue spandex punching a guy in green with a scorpion's tail.
Marcy looked at Peter with wide eyes. "You know SPIDER-MAN?"
"How do you think I kept the lights on and the water running?" Peter grinned.
Jimmy… resists the urge to whistle with approval. They are still in a library, after all. But he's also definitely impressed, whether or not he buys that Peter just knows him as a photographer. "And the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man would take perfectly good care of you. And" He looks to Peter. "you can pass him my number, too. No need to put it all on him, you know?"
Peter grins. "You seem like a decent guy. The kind who steps up. I can do that for you."
As the security guys move John away with his wrists zip-tied together, Peter continues, "I know a judge who can ramrod a restraining order for that guy through the system, double-quick."
Jimmy digs into his pocket again… for a fair bit longer than he took to find the card. "…left my notepad over on the table," he says, sheepish. "Don't let me forget to get you that number." He looks to Marcy. "Will you be okay? Peter's got you." So a clearly practiced degree.
Marcy looked to Jimmy…then moved to hug him tightly. "Thank you…thank you so much!" She looked to Peter, smiling to him. "And thank you for helping me with this."
Peter nods, then says, "Don't worry. I think I can convince Spidey to help dump Johnny-boy's junk, too." He smiles crookedly. "Go ahead and tell me the number. My memory's pretty good, and I promise Spidey will know as soon as possible."
Okay, technically not a lie.
Jimmy gets just a brief flash of warning before Marcy moves. Just enough to tense and preemptively blush. He awkwardly pats her back. "He's done far more. But you're welcome to whatever help I can give." He nods to Peter, and recites his phone number. And hey, it technically wasn't a lie when he said that reading gave him a headache, so now they're even on the technical-honesty front.
Peter nodded. "Got it. I'll see he gets it." He looks to Marcy. "We can take the subway. I'll call the judge on the way there, you give her the relevant info, and she'll have everything ready to sign."
Marcy nods meekly. "What if he ignores it?"
Peter smiled wryly. "I think he has something in place."
Like the Spider-Tracer he stuck to John's back.
He looks to Jimmy, then says, "Gonna head out. Listen…it takes guts to step up like that. Thanks."
Jimmy gives Peter a thumbs up. "Welcome any time. I can't see something like that coming and just shut my eyes, you know?" Which doesn't much answer the question of just /how/ he saw it coming. Peter knows how he sensed the impending danger, sure, but what got Jimmy out of his seat? "And, godspeed to both of you. I'd better…" Oh yeah. "…get back to studying."
Peter grins. "Keep hitting the books." He waves, then walks with Marcy towards the exit. Courthouse, then her home…with was in Brooklyn, which is not far away as the spider swings. So if John does plan to cause her trouble…Spidey will be there.