Acknowledgements: None of the characters belong to me. This is set after the end of Spider-Man 2. I honour the inspiration of Sam Raimi's incredible movies but also a long-standing love for the comics as well as Peter David's novelization.
The sky was streaked pink and orange by the time Peter silently leapt into his quiet, rundown apartment. The stillness worried him. He feared that he had dreamed it all -- Mary Jane's sudden appearance in his doorway, the tears, the kiss, the promise. There was no sign of her bouffant wedding gown or the woman herself. He stood, one hand frozen in the act of removing his mask, until he heard the husky, laughing tone of her voice. "Oh, so you're back! I was beginning to think I'd have to send out the troops! Well, if I had any to send, that is." MJ was sitting on the floor beside his bed, wearing a worn, hooded sweatshirt that Peter recognized as his own. The faded navy shirt looked much better on her, he thought, as he pulled off his mask and met her gaze guiltily.
"I'm sorry it took me so long, MJ, but there was a real problem. There was this hostage situation, see, at a shelter. There were kids and their mothers and this crazy guy with a gun. . ."
Peter paused as he recalled the heart-stopping fear he'd seen in the faces of the hostages as their captor raved that he'd foreseen his death at the hands of one of the shelter's residents, so he'd come to save himself by killing them all. The emaciated, wild-eyed man had flourished a small arsenal of guns and explosives in the frightened faces of his captives as police negotiators and sharpshooters maneuvered for time and position. Spider-Man had watched from the shadows, as the hostage-taker began to focus his litany of blame on a small, curly-haired toddler, sobbing and struggling in his frantic mother's arms. As the madman reached for the trigger, Peter had sprung into action, deflecting the gun's aim with a well-aimed shot of webbing, then tackling and disarming the surprisingly strong gunman before police could enter the room.
The shaky mother's thanks were all he had a chance to hear before he vaulted up and out the tiny transom window, leaving behind the half-hearted calls of the policemen and the disappointed questions of the reporters.
It had come as a shock to see his automatic camera flashing from across the alley, where he'd unthinkingly webbed it before going into action. A quick stop at the Daily Bugle's darkroom had revealed some powerful shots of the hostages as well as a lucky image of Spider-Man tackling the gunman.
To Peter's further surprise, Robbie Robertson, under strict orders from J. Jonah Jameson himself to lead with anything but the Watson-Jameson wedding fiasco, offered to pay Peter handsomely for four of his shots. Flush with a sense of success and cash, Peter had changed back into his webslinging gear to finally head home.
"Peter? Peter? Are you okay?"
MJ's voice broke through his abstraction and Peter managed a half-smile. "Yeah, sorry. It was tough there for a while, but nobody got hurt." He slumped onto the bed and let his grin broaden. "And I got eight hundred dollars for my pictures."
"Eight hundred? Peter, that's great! They're finally recognizing your talent!" MJ's enthusiasm was so sweet, Peter didn't want to dampen her spirits by revealing the real reason behind the generous payout.
"Well, maybe," he hedged, ducking his head.
"There's no maybe about it," Mary Jane said as she pulled herself up from the floor to sit beside Peter on the suddenly-too-small bed, brandishing his portfolio as she did so. "I've been looking through these photos of yours and they're great." She flipped open the portfolio to a shot of an elderly man, stifling tears as he stared out a window, then paged to another shot of MJ, herself, whirling ecstatically on graduation day.
Peter frowned indignantly. "Hey, that's personal," he said, and reached to take the photographs and folder from her hands.
"Peter," Mary Jane chided fondly, "you're a professional photographer, you're going to have to get used to people looking at your photos."
He ducked his head a bit lower as he felt a blush climb his cheek. "That's different," he mumbled.
"How," MJ asked, laughter colouring her voice as she leaned closer.
Peter's voice dropped almost to a whisper. "They weren't you," he said, staring steadfastly at the rough, faded bedspread beneath his fingers.
Mary Jane's soft hand traced the faint stubble along his cheek down to firmly cup his chin. "Tiger," she said softly, as she raised his face, forcing him to meet her eyes, "that's one of the sweetest things anyone's said to me. My opinions have never mattered to anyone, except you."
Peter regarded MJ intently. "Your opinions have always mattered to me," he whispered as he watched her eyes darken and her lips part, and felt himself drawn closer and closer, "from the first time I saw you. . ." The rest of his words were lost in a gentle kiss that slowly began to build. Peter's gloved hand touched the cool, smooth, skin of MJ's bent knee, before tracing up the length of her thigh as their kiss deepened.
His eyes abruptly opened wide and Peter threw himself back, breaking the kiss and falling off the bed. "MJ!"
MJ's brow furrowed as she opened her eyes, lips pouting from the abbreviated kiss. "What?" she asked, petulantly.
"MJ," Peter's voice quavered, "what are you wearing?"
Mary Jane looked down at herself bemusedly. "Well, I didn't want to sit around in your place for who knows how long in my wedding dress." Her lips pursed as she recalled the awful moment, just a short time earlier, when she'd fled her long-anticipated wedding to John Jameson with no more explanation than a few words to her maid of honour and a brief note for the groom. "And it's not like there's a boutique down the hall, so I raided your wardrobe and found this." She gestured at the soft cotton jersey that draped her torso.
Peter struggled to make sense through the daze of remembered sensation that had been their embrace. "I mean on the bottom."
Mary Jane looked down to the hem of the sweatshirt, where a small piece of ivory satin and lace was the only suggestion that she was clothed below. A gamine grin danced across her face as she tugged on the silky, feminine scrap of fabric. "These are tap pants, Peter."
"Tap pants?" Peter asked incredulously, his voice high and strained. "Tap shorts, maybe, but those are most definitely not big enough to be called pants!"
MJ's laugh resounded in the tiny apartment. "I wore less than this for my billboard shoot and nobody seemed to mind!" Getting up on her hands and knees she leaned over the bed to smile down at Peter. Her eyebrow quirked and her smile grew mischievous.
"If you don't like what I'm wearing, Tiger, maybe I should just take it off!" MJ knelt back and she gripped the hem of the sweatshirt, lifting it slowly, all the while locking eyes with Peter. He swallowed painfully and cursed his conscience which forced him to stop Mary Jane before she'd revealed more than her midriff.
"No, no, I didn't mean, I mean. . ." Peter floundered helplessly as MJ rocked back on her heels and pulled the shirt down decorously.
"You're forgiven," she allowed magnanimously. Peter decided to be happy that the dangerous mood had passed by them both and levered himself to his feet. As he stood, his stomach let out a violent growl, causing MJ to giggle.
"Even heroes get hungry, I guess," she said. "Why don't you get changed and I'll look around in your fridge for something to eat." Mary Jane stepped towards the dingy, humming appliance but Peter stopped her with a hand.
"Don't bother," he said, head shaking.
"Why not?" MJ asked indignantly. "I can cook, you know!"
Peter smiled at her fiery reproach. "It's not that, it's just that I don't think I have anything in there but some mustard and some rather questionable milk."
MJ relaxed. "Why am I not surprised? Aunt May would be so disappointed, though. Okay, you get changed and we'll get some Chinese takeout." An uncomfortable look crossed her face. "I'm afraid you'll have to cover it, Peter, though – Runaway Bride couture doesn't cover wallets or keys for that matter. I blew the twenty-dollar bill I had tucked in my garter belt to pay the taxi. I'm homeless and pretty much broke for the moment."
MJ's mood seemed to darken as she dwelt on the events of the afternoon. Peter quickly spoke again to break her introspective mood. "Seems only fair for me to cover dinner since I left you waiting so long. Then at least something will be covered 'round here." Peter gave Mary Jane a pointed look and was rewarded with a saucy smirk.
As MJ settled back down on the bed, her frown dissipating at his lighthearted change of subject, Peter could relax a bit. But then another dilemma occurred to him as he looked around his cramped one room apartment. "I, er, don't suppose you could turn your back for a second, could you, MJ?"
A wicked smile crossed her face as she regarded the young man in the Spider-Man costume. "Shy? You'd never make it as an actor, Peter. Sometimes we have to get changed in front of God and everyone." MJ tossed her hair and cocked her head to one side. "I don't know if I could trust myself to be good, so why don't I just excuse myself to the restroom across the hall. That way you don't have to worry quite so much about your privacy." With a mocking emphasis on the last word, MJ peeked out the door and slipped into the hall. "See you soon, Tiger."
Peter thought he'd never changed so fast before. His Spidey suit was getting a bit ripe so he shed it for another. Fingering a worn spot at the shoulder, he wryly acknowledged it was time to think about a replacement, as well as another load of laundry. With today's windfall, he could maybe afford that.
Hearing footsteps in the hall, he hastily buttoned up his shirt. The doorknob turned and MJ slipped back in. "All safe, now?" she asked. Peter nodded and forced himself to relax. He didn't know why, but his shabby apartment felt all the smaller with her vivid presence. He cast about to remember what had seemed so important a few minutes earlier. Food!
MJ had mentioned Chinese, which sounded good, but dressed the way she was, he didn't see how they could head out anywhere. "Do you want me to head by your apartment and pick you up some clothes? Or should I take you home?"
"What is your obsession with my clothes?" MJ teased. "The old guy I saw in the hallway didn't seem to mind. He told me I 'vuss buutefull'."
Peter grinned. "That must have been my landlord. I bet you made his day."
Mary Jane dropped down on the bed again and posed. "Tiger, I made his year."
Peter's grin widened as he had to agree. A partly-clad Mary Jane Watson would be a highlight for any red-blooded male. "You won't hear me disagreeing."
"I did hear a lot of disagreement from you," MJ said. "All that talk about just being friends. That hurt! And then when you rescued me from Doctor Octopus's fusion device and I knew that you," she pointed an accusing finger squarely at Peter's chest, "were Spider-Man and that it still wouldn't change a thing. . ." Mary Jane paused introspectively. "Well, that hurt even more."
She patted the bed beside her invitingly, sitting up slightly to give Peter some room. Abstractedly, he sat down next to her and let her hold his hand. He turned to her, blue eyes wide and defenseless. "It hurt here, too." MJ leaned into Peter, tucking her head under his chin. "I sat here, all afternoon, just knowing that you'd be married and out of my life forever, then you came in my door. . ." He held her close and they were lost to words for a minute until his stomach growled again, more insistently than before.
The somber mood was broken. Mary Jane giggled and poked Peter in the ribs with her elbow. "Better go rustle up some grub, boyfriend."
Peter blushed, a pleased smile dawning on his face. Boyfriend. That sounded good.
"Okay, dinner it is. I'll run over to Yueh Tung and pick up something, unless you want me to pick up some clothes for you first?" Peter still felt a twinge of embarrassment at Mary Jane's undress.
"I'm too hungry to wait," MJ complained. "Anyways, I expect that a few reporters are going to be sniffing around my place tonight, looking for a scoop."
Remembering the buzz down at the paper this afternoon, Peter nodded. Likely even The Daily Bugle would have a reporter or two there to see if they could crack the story on the spectacular Miss Watson's disappearance from the altar at her own wedding.
"I'll be back soon," he promised, heading for the door.
"You'd better," MJ said, settling back on the bed. Looking at her, the girl of his dreams, on his bed, Peter didn't think he'd have much trouble with that.
"Hey, Parker," came a heavily accented voice, "rent's due tomorrow. You gonna be late again?" Mr. Ditkovich, Peter's landlord blearily regarded his young tenant vaulting up the stairs with two steaming bags of Chinese food. "You got money enough to waste on that and a hot, young girlfriend I see now, you got money enough to pay your rent!" Arms crossed over his stained robe, Ditkovich managed to book both disapproving and lecherous.
Peter bit his lip and managed a polite response. "Of course I'll have the rent, Mr. Ditkovich. I sold a bunch of photos to the paper today so I can even pay you now, if you like."
Peter reached for his wallet as the older man chortled,"If I like? If I like?" Peeling off the bills, the day's earnings seemed much depleted, but he had no worries about rent now and, with a little luck, some leftovers to tide him over a few more days. Leaving his landlord recounting the rent, Peter entered his room.
MJ was staring out the window at the growing dusk when Peter returned. He could see by the set of her shoulders that her thoughts had been dark and, despite himself, worried whether she might be having second thoughts about the wedding. But the smile that lit her face as he closed the door behind him was unquestionably genuine and soon she was settled down beside him on the floor for an impromptu picnic.
Mary Jane giggled as she tried, unsuccessfully, to pick up a serving of broccoli in black bean sauce with her chopsticks. Picking up her fork from her plate, she resorted to more conventional means of eating. "I suck at this. It's not fair." She shot Peter an envious glance as he deftly maneuvered his chopsticks to feed himself.
He shrugged his shoulders as he swallowed. "Don't blame me. Maybe you were just born clumsy?" His eyes sparkled as her mouth worked soundlessly a moment before she framed a furious retort.
"Clumsy? Me? Who walked along the whole back fence-line our fifth grade summer and didn't fall once?"
"That would be you," Peter acknowledged. "But who almost had a lunch tray on her head, senior year?" Peter used his chopsticks to flip a cashew into his mouth and enjoyed MJ's mounting indignation.
"Almost doesn't count! Anyway, that was the first time I remembered noticing something different about you." Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "That was when you became Spider-Man, wasn't it?"
"Actually, it kind of began the day before," Peter said. "The field trip. The day I took that picture of you." He gestured to his spartan desk, where her framed image smiled beside the spider lab exhibit.
"Weird," said MJ, cocking her head as she considered the image of her younger self. "There you were – wrong place, wrong time? Was it one of those spiders?"
Peter nodded and explained. "One of their spiders had escaped and bit me just here." He indicated an infinitesimal scar on his hand. "It swelled up a bit and I was sicker than a dog that night. But in the morning, when I woke up, the whole world was different."
"I'll just bet," Mary Jane agreed, reaching for his hand and rubbing her thumb gently across the scar. Peter shifted, not uncomfortably, at the gentle caress. "And then pretty soon you were wall-crawling and web-slinging your way around New York."
"Maybe not quite so smoothly as all that, but yeah," he agreed. Looking down at the remains of dinner, Peter decided he'd had enough. "Fortune cookie?"
"Sure." They unwrapped their cookies and broke them to reveal the small strips of paper inside. Peter read his fortune with a wry smile. No man is an island. Poetry, again, butnot bad words to live by, given his experience the past few months.
"What's yours say?" Mary Jane asked and Peter realized she'd been watching him. He read the phrase to her and she kissed him on the cheek before unfolding her own fortune.
Peter could see the words over her stiffening shoulder. To follow your heart you must first know it. Was Mary Jane's uncomfortable reaction to these words a sign of regret for abandoning her fiancé at the altar? For all her brave words and protestations, earlier, Peter couldn't help but worry that MJ might have already come to regret her choice.
Something of this fear must have shown in his face, for he saw MJ abandon her reverie and struggle for words. "Sorry, Peter, but I feel like a real rat, today. John wasn't the right guy for me, but that doesn't mean he deserved what happened to him today. I was using him to strike back against you, and it just kept getting more and more complicated until I ended up hurting him and an awful lot of people." She sighed and leaned into Peter's arm which wrapped easily around her.
Curled up beside him she looked deceptively young and small, but her soft curves pressed against him were definitely not those of a child. But Peter forced himself to put aside those thoughts and search, instead, for words that might comfort Mary Jane in her obvious distress.
"MJ, no one who knows you could ever believe you'd ever do anything to hurt someone deliberately," Peter assured her, holding her close.
Mary Jane laughed bitterly. "Does it hurt any less when you're hurt by accident? I don't think so, Peter. I've got a lot of cleaning up to do and fences to mend. I owe John the courtesy of a face-to-face explanation. Then there are all the wedding gifts to return." Her voice trailed off, obviously overwhelmed at the task ahead of her.
Peter's brow furrowed. This type of defeatism wasn't like Mary Jane at all. "We'll deal with it together," he promised.
Mary Jane looked up at him directly. "No, we can't, Peter! I mean, it's sweet of you to offer, but I made this mess, I have to fix it. And," she lifted a finger to forestall him, "how do you think it would look? I've already dumped John at the altar. Do I have to rub the fact I'm in love with someone else in his face?"
Put that way, Peter couldn't exactly disagree. He remembered how he'd felt to see MJ on John Jameson's arm at the gala and, again, in his arms after they'd escaped the collapsing pier. It felt as if his heart had been ripped, still beating, out of his chest. Now, knowing that Mary Jane had chosen him, he supposed he could be magnanimous in victory, but he still felt a bit unsettled.
"Okay," he said. "I guess I can see your point. I'll stay out of sight for a while. You can call me when you're ready," whenever that might be, he added silently. His hand dropped from her arm and he leaned back, distancing himself minutely but visibly.
Mary Jane obviously saw this and reached after him in alarm, grabbing his knee and gripping it tightly. "Peter, don't be silly. I'm not going to hide you or what I feel for you. All, I'm saying is that tomorrow I'm going to have to be a big girl and make my apologies on my own." Peter nodded and she flashed him a relieved smile.
"It'll probably be a zoo, tomorrow, anyway," MJ said, "maybe even today. Mr. Jameson made sure only The Daily Bugle had reporters at the church, but John's enough of a celebrity that someone's going to want to find out this story. I bet there'll be reporters staking out my apartment tomorrow."
"Actually, I expect there're some there right now. The news was all over the press room when I was down at the paper, though for once you're lucky that this is a story that JJJ doesn't want to spread all over his paper," Peter said.
MJ looked perturbed. "Am I going to be able to go home at all, do you think? Or maybe you can lend me cab fare to go to my mother's?"
Peter grinned. "I can get you back easily enough if you can wait for full dark." He gestured toward the window and Mary Jane's hazel eyes brightened.
"That would be fun," she said, "though could I keep the dress stashed here in your closet until Monday? It would probably be a bit too eye-catching to see Spider-Man swinging around town with a ton of tulle."
"And white is definitely not my color," said Peter, chuckling. "Just let me clean up the food here and we should be safe to go in another fifteen minutes or so."
Mary Jane insisted on helping Peter pack up the leftovers into his desolate fridge. "You really need to do some grocery shopping," she exclaimed after surveying the bare racks.
"It's not like I have a lot of time to cook for myself," Peter demurred as he balanced the waste on top of the tiny, overflowing trashcan. "I'd better empty this down the chute," he decided and headed for the hallway.
As usual, Ditkovich's door was ajar and Peter could see his landlord's cronies had joined him around the TV. A commercial dissolved into the blandly concerned face of the newsreader who advised the audience of stories they'd see on the late news. Peter listened with half an ear as he tipped the basket's contents down the garbage chute.
News of the shelter rescue led the segment, followed by a political scuffle between rival candidates for a congressional seat. Then the announcer segued into "our final highlight -- New York's most eligible bachelor, John Jameson, remains just that after being left at the altar this afternoon by his fiancée, starlet Mary Jane Watson, shown here onstage in the popular off-Broadway revival of The Importance of Being Earnest."
Peeking at the TV, Peter saw a sunny and very recognizable MJ in her stage costume. The announcer blandly continued, "Eyewitnesses saw the bride hail a taxi, but there is no current word on her whereabouts. Calls to her agent and the groom's family have not been returned. We'll bring you the latest updates at eleven."
Peter had quietly backed away to his door during the last words, but it was still easy to see Ditkovich freeze when they had run the picture of MJ.
"The old guy I saw in the hallway didn't seem to mind. He told me I 'vuss buutefull'." MJ's words of earlier echoed in his head. Mary Jane Watson was certainly beautiful and memorable. Peter had no doubt that his landlord had put two and two together. He backed into his apartment and silently closed the hall door, palming the light switch as he did.
"Peter?" MJ's voice came from the darkened, makeshift kitchen to his left.
"Shh," he implored urgently and, soon enough, Ditkovich's heavy tread could be heard crossing the hall.
"Parker?" Heavy knuckles rapped the door and wood creaked as Peter's landlord leaned in as if to listen. "Parker? You there?"
The knuckles rapped again and the doorknob rattled. After an interminable wait, Ditkovich retreated back to his own apartment and Peter let out a sigh of relief.
"Peter? What was that all about?" Mary Jane asked.
"You were part of the lead-up to the late news, I mean, the story about your wedding," he explained. "I think my landlord recognized you. Hopefully he won't call the news station to pass on his tip."
"Let's not take the risk," Mary Jane urged. "We were going to head out anyway, let's go now."
Peter was already shedding his street clothes, grateful for the concealing darkness to forestall any possible teasing from MJ. He moved to the window as he pulled gloves and mask into place and looked outside.
The alley was, as usual, dark and quiet. He reached one hand back to MJ who quickly joined him, wrapping her arms around his neck and tucking her face into his shoulder. "Ready when you are," she offered.
Peter swept her bare legs up in one arm and shot out a strand of webbing as he launched himself up and out into the city. He felt MJ shiver in the evening chill as they rose high amongst the city's skyscrapers. "Sorry," he apologized, "but the higher we are, the less likely we'll be spotted."
"And the less likely I'll be identified, I know," MJ said. "You can warm me up when we get to my place." She shivered again, despite her jaunty words, and Peter bundled her close to him as they swooped across midtown.
Soon they were angling eastward. Spider-Man alighted on a rooftop overlooking MJ's building. "Coast looks clear – whoops, look at that car," Mary Jane whispered. Peter had already spotted the news logo on the side of the white van and the telltale video lens trained on the main entrance.
"Looks like we'll have to take the scenic route," he quipped. "You're on the sixth floor, right?"
MJ nodded as she wiped windswept hair from her face and pointed across the street. "Yes, those windows there, there and just around on the north. Everything but the two near the fire escape are open," she added.
Peter nodded decisively, lifting Mary Jane in his arms again. "We'll take the north window."
"Okay, but be warned, that's the bathroom," MJ advised as they swung towards the quiet building.
"Let's hope you've left the toilet seat down," he joked, clinging to the wall beside the window and maneuvering Mary Jane towards the opening. "After you, Mademoiselle!"
She stuck out her tongue at him and disappeared inside. Peter grinned and followed suit.
As he'd expected, the toilet tank lay just below the window frame. Spider-man, a veteran of many unorthodox entrances, hurdled it handily to find himself in the near darkness of the small bathroom just behind MJ. Their reflections manifested faintly in the mirror: a tousle-haired, vibrantly beautiful woman with a strangely-clad, masked man standing at her shoulder. Beauty and the Beast?
Peter quickly shed his mask, finding his own, ordinary face beneath a thatch of messy brown hair a poor match for MJ's appeal. But the bright smile she turned upon him in the gloom told him that she didn't agree. She turned towards him and leaned closer, eyes bright with desire and they fell into a kiss.
The moment stretched on endlessly or it would have, had not Peter sensed that Mary Jane's frissons were as much a result of her chill as their embrace. He pulled her close in a bear hug. "You've got to warm up, MJ," he said.
"I-I-I-I'm trying!" Her teeth chattered as she shuddered from the cold that pervaded her body.
"Maybe more clothes and moving someplace a bit warmer would help."
"What's this obsession of yours with my clothes?" she retorted, but she nevertheless turned towards the door, reaching to turn on the light.
He reached out to still her hand at the switch. "Let's not give those reporters any clue you're home," he suggested. "There's enough moonlight to get by."
"Right," Mary Jane led Peter into the tiny hallway. Rubbing her arms for warmth, she tilted her head to the left. "Living room and kitchen are that way. I'll go find something warm to wear. Maybe you can brew up a fresh pot of coffee?"
Peter walked into the small but well-appointed kitchen. "Sure thing, but where's the coffee?"
"Look in the cabinet above the coffeemaker," came MJ's muffled voice from the next room. Peter rooted around in the dim room and started the machine merrily brewing.
"Cups are in the cupboard on the other side of the sink," MJ said as she came up behind Peter, wrapping her arms around his waist.
Peter turned around in the circle of her arms and wrapped her gently in his own. They stood there, quietly while the coffeemaker burbled and the carafe filled. "Here you go," MJ said quietly as she handed him a cup. "Two sugars, right?"
"You remember," he said with a small grin.
She smiled back as she led him over to the couch. "Everything, Peter." In the darkened room, they sat on the couch and waited for the coffee to cool. Peter couldn't stop grinning as he felt Mary Jane curled up against him. This seemed like a dream come true.
"It's like a dream come true, isn't it?" MJ murmured as she snuggled into Peter.
He glanced down at the top of her head nestled against his shoulder. "Just what I was thinking."
MJ looked up and chucked him gently beneath the chin. "I could tell." She stifled a yawn, and then thanked Peter as he passed her cup to her hands.
They sat for some time and sipped in silence, or what passed for silence in Manhattan. A few times the distant sirens of emergency vehicles were audible. MJ looked up to see if Peter would leave but he shook his head when his spidey-sense lay dormant. It wasn't until the sharp sounds of rotors loomed loud nearby that he felt that familiar tingle. Instantly, Peter lifted MJ and leapt for the ceiling just as a bright search light swept across the empty room.
MJ gasped and clung to him as the light swept the room one more time. They hung from the ceiling unobserved for several minutes after the steady thump of the helicopter rotors disappeared. Silently, Peter dropped them to the floor of the living room.
MJ turned to him, face flushed with anger even in the dim light of the apartment. "I can't believe it! This is worse than when I got engaged."
Peter smiled mirthlessly. "It's bigger news than before: every newspaper in town, except one, is going to be hot on your trail. Here, we can't stay in the living room. No telling what other stunts they'll pull. It's getting late so why don't you go to bed, Mary Jane? I'll head back on out," he said, nodding towards the bathroom.
But Mary Jane shook her head in sharp negation, splaying her fingers on his chest. "No, Peter. Don't go!"
She ducked her head but then glanced up shyly. "Stay with me, tonight."
His heartbeat raced at her words and knew from their proximity that she felt that sudden rush, too. "I don't know, MJ," he finally managed, never tearing his eyes away from hers. "An awful lot has changed."
Her sweet smile struck him through the heart. Trustingly, she stepped even closer until she was almost flush against him. While the soft flannel pajamas she wore covered more than his old shirt, they clung so closely to her body that Peter swore it seemed as if she was wearing nothing. He closed his eyes and tried to summon his strength.
MJ's words vibrated against his throat as she leaned against him. "Just stay with me 'til morning, Peter. Everything changes in the morning, I know. Tomorrow, I have to face up to all I've done: talk to John, talk to the families, talk to my agent. Tomorrow you'll have to go back to saving the world, maybe even before then. But we can try for tonight."
Peter sighed deeply, letting his arms reach up and hold her close against him. "Okay, MJ. 'Til morning." He wanted to say "Forever," but he knew it was too soon. Peter settled for holding MJ close until she confidently took his hand in hers and led him down the darkened apartment hallway towards her bedroom. He knew he couldn't forego a call for help if a crisis brewed somewhere in the city and he was fairly sure that tomorrow or the next day would see him butting heads with JJJ or chasing after another crazy criminal, but for now he felt as if he could give himself over to the moment and the woman he'd loved.
"Coming, Peter?" MJ asked in a whisper as she opened the bedroom door.
"Hell, yes, MJ," he answered as he closed in for a kiss. She giggled against his lips before their contact turned serious and he pushed the door closed behind them. Then all was silence 'til morning.
THE END