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Mary Jane

voiced by mia

MJ spends too much of her time thinking about Peter Parker the next few days, like an unavoidable alarm in her brain that goes off every hour. She thinks about the way his hair has only gotten more unruly as he's aged, like a bed of weeds that's never been pulled, and she tells herself that it's stupid hair, really, and that he ought to get a haircut, but she knows that she'd be upset if he did. She thinks about his stupid scuffed up sneakers, his even rattier backpack, and those big doe eyes that seize her up like he has the right to, like he still knows her. Like he hadn't spent the better part of high school ignoring her the way she decidedly ignored him, or the past year hating her for reasons she'd tried again and again to understand. She'd wanted to hold Peter's hand back then, when Gwen passed away – just like he'd held MJ's hand when her mother lost her fight to cancer. She can still feel his fingers squeezing hers, reminding her that he would always try to be strong when she couldn't be.

The memory almost makes her sneer.

There's their fizzled friendship, and several arguments in between, but the thing that makes her the most angry, she supposes, is that MJ had cared for Gwen, too. She'd been the only girl MJ had ever considered a friend (MJ never seemed to get along well with other girls, no matter how hard she tried) and she would always check up on MJ, even during the time that Gwen dated Peter – ironically enough. Gwen was the ray of sunshine that always said hello in the hallways, and the kind heart that stood up for her in the fifth grade, when everyone started calling MJ the 'heat miser' and making teasing remarks about the red mop that sat on top of her head.

"I think your hair is gorgeous, Mary Jane," she'd said at recess. "Don't let anyone tell you any different."

And now that MJ has a few scrapes and bruises on her face (though thankfully, the bruises on her ribs are quite hidden) Peter thinks it's okay to just... talk to her again? Walk her home in the middle of the night, like it's perfectly normal behavior? When part of her feels some sort of resentment towards him, for not being available or approachable enough to ask him to walk her home the night she actually needed him to? It feels unfair, and she wants to be angry with him for some reason. For the times she wasn't his childhood friend anymore, the times she looked at him and he didn't look back, the times she tried to open up to him and he shut her out, and the very last time when he screamed at her to get the hell away from him.

She never did tell him that when he fell asleep that night, pressed against her side, she'd sat there and let herself cry for the first time in a long time. For her mother, for who her father had become, for Peter's Uncle Ben who had always been so kind to her, for Gwen.

She's thinking about these things when her name gets called to audition, and it's super embarrassing when the girl sitting next to her has to nudge her side to get her attention.

"Number 47, Mary Jane Watson?!"

"Yes! Yes," MJ quickly shoots up from her seat, raising her hand like she's back in school. "That's me."

The woman with the clipboard narrows her eyes and stares at her like she's vermin beneath her stiletto. The bun on her head is so strict and tight that it looks like she got a face lift in the process of getting her hair to do that, and the entire style makes MJ's head hurt to look at.

"Well... are you planning to audition or not, Miss Watson?" Her tone is sarcastic enough that a few of the girls snicker behind MJ.

"Yes ma'am," is all MJ says, tilting her chin up.

The woman pauses, eyeing her head to toe. The look on her face is unimpressed, but MJ doesn't falter beneath it. She's used to it by now. "Then follow me."

MJ's handed a script for Wizard of Oz, and she nearly bursts out laughing at the irony, holding a rendition of the play Peter had just mentioned remembering her star in. And then she's thinking about him again, and as she leaves the building after her audition, she's fairly certain she botched the entire read through because she can't remember a single thing that happened in there.

Stupid Peter Parker.

Two days later, after another late shift at the diner, Peter is there again. Merely waiting for her outside the doors as if he belongs there, and she feels an overwhelming flood of relief. And it isn't because she'd been scared to walk home alone again. No, that isn't it at all. Despite the fact that she'd told herself she'd be rude on principle the next time she saw him, all MJ can feel now is an ease in her breathing and a release in her tense shoulders at his proximity.

She walks towards him slowly, and there's a little flutter in her chest that she can't really place. He's here. He's here, again.

"Hi," he casually says, pushing off the brick wall he'd been leaning on.

"Hi," MJ reciprocates before biting her bottom lip, nervously. She's almost afraid that he can see all the thoughts pouring out of her brain, but then she remembers that he doesn't know her as well as he used to. Back when he finished her sentences, and she picked the things he didn't like off of his cafeteria sandwich without him even having to ask. "Aunt May's online shopping addiction?..."

"Rare lawn gnomes? She's starting a collection. It's a thing."

MJ tries really hard not to smile, but it gets the best of her. "Lawn gnomes. Hmm." Neither of them point out the fact that Peter never actually walks inside of the diner, nor the fact that May doesn't have a check to be picked up, either, and that's okay with MJ.

She starts walking then, habitually, and Peter keeps in stride with her easily. She quickly and absolutely forgets all the reasons why she felt so angry at him before – mostly because her reasons were mostly out of confusion. Why does he care now? And, furthermore, Why do I?

"So... why is the math book always upset?" Peter says, peering over at her as they walk. MJ realizes she has to tilt her head up at him a little – he's a pair of shoulders, a neck, and a head taller. When did that happen?

"What?"

"Why is the math book always upset?" he repeats, and she realizes this is the beginning of a joke.

MJ purses her lips. "I don't know?"

"Because it has a lot of problems," his lips quirk into a mischievous little grin, like he's oh so clever, and MJ helplessly lets out a chuckle.

"You're..." she doesn't have time to think of a word because she bumps hands with him accidentally. It's already weird enough when it happens, but it becomes embarrassing when Peter widens the berth between them, clucking his tongue a bit awkwardly. Is it really that horrible to touch her? She resides to folding her arms against her chest, making it clear she won't let it happen again. She's being a bit petulant, but Peter is so aloof – she's frustrated, trying to figure him out. MJ steers her thoughts back to conversation. "I sound like a math book."

Peter's thick eyebrows furrow as she steals a glance over at him, thoughts going a million miles an hour. Who is Peter Parker now? What has the death of Uncle Ben and Gwen Stacy done to him, this adult, college student Peter? The one that walks her home in the middle of the night, but cowers at her proximity?

"Problems?" He pauses, seeming to turn this information over. "Nothing Mary Jane Watson couldn't solve."

She thinks about money, her deceased mother, her sister, Gayle, in Philadelphia, her Aunt Anna, her father, and the short list of callbacks on her answering machine. "My solutions aren't exactly getting me anywhere, Peter."

"We're still young," he says, as if it's just that simple. "You have plenty of time to be the next Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe, or, I don't know, whoever actresses people idolize."

MJ gives a smile. "Totally an Audrey."

Peter smiles back. "I'll take your word for it."

There's a short pause between them before MJ realizes she knows very little about his life now. He mentioned working on a paper a few days back, when Aunt May fixed her up, so she assumes he's in college now – probably acing all of his classes, never missing a lecture but never on time for one either. She knows he's into photography, too, given his involvement with the newspaper, but she doesn't know much else.

"What about you? I've seen your pictures of Spider-man in the Bugle," she says, remembering the masked hero offering his hand to help her to her feet. His easy laughter, his sarcastic jokes, and the way he paused at her front door, as if he wasn't sure he should leave her there or not. It's strange for her to feel connected to something that's more symbol than man.

"Yeah? What did you think?"

"He has to be so young, don't you think? The way he talks, how simple everything seems to him. I don't get why he does it," MJ says, lost in her thoughts.

Peter looks over at her, a strange expression on his face. "I meant the pictures," he says, and then continues. "But I take it you've met him? Spider-man?"

MJ's cheeks get a little red as she looks away, counting the cracks in the sidewalk to avoid his gaze. It felt weird, admitting to anyone that she's met such a local 'celebrity'. The masked vigilante, streamed across all of New York City like a poster child for the Big Apple.

"Oh," she says, and then has a long pause, realizing that Peter is still expecting an answer. "Yeah... yes, I've met him."

Peter musses his dark locks before shoving his hands deep in his jean pockets. Why is this moment so awkward? He doesn't even ask how or why it happened, just, "What did you mean before? When you said that you don't get why he does it?"

MJ considers this for a minute, looking up into the night sky as if she'll see him streak across it, swinging like Tarzan to his next rescue. "It has to be painful. Doing so many good things and never getting the recognition you deserve. Being publicly shamed for vigilantism even though it's clear that this city needs him. Doesn't seem fair."

There's this long glance between them, probably the longest one MJ has let Peter have with her since they were younger. She doesn't know why that is – why she's always turned her head, avoided his gaze, or locked her eyes away from his. But she lets him look at her now, emerald crashing on earth, and for the first time in years, she feels like they're connected. Like, she doesn't have to say anything else for the rest of the night because Peter will understand.

"You think the city needs him?" Peter finally asks her.

"Don't you, Peter?"

When he doesn't say anything, MJ let's that topic die, wondering what he's really thinking about. It can't be Spider-man that has his talkative kick dwindling, can it?

"Peter, why are you doing this? Really. I thought..." MJ stops herself, almost thinking better of it. But she can't, she's been stewing on it for too long, so she stops walking abruptly and blurts out, "I thought you hated me."

Peter stops walking too then, turning to face her now. They're almost home, but for some reason, MJ can't bring herself to walk any further without knowing the answer. And he's cornered now – he can't just avoid it.

"I don't hate you. I've never hated you, MJ." His voice is low, coated with apology, and MJ feels a flare of anger again. The one she almost forgot that she'd had earlier. She can't stop herself from being so inexplicably frustrated with him, for teetering back and forth on friendship and care for her.

"You said terrible things to me. I haven't forgotten them, Peter."

He lets out a long breath, looking down at her with his big brown eyes. Unshielded by glasses now, she can really see them. Really feel how much they penetrate. "I haven't, either. And I'm sorry," he says, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "I didn't mean any of it. I just wasn't... I was..."

"I know," she finishes for him, because she really does know. Gwen died. Gwen is dead. MJ remembered seeing his face in the hallway when Gwen held his hand, or stole kisses by his locker in between classes. It'd been Gwen who picked the things he didn't like off of his sandwich, Gwen who knew his darkest secrets, Gwen who walked straight up to him the day Peter returned to school, after Uncle Ben had died, and embraced him the way that MJ only wished she'd had the courage for. He'd loved her more than anything, and MJ knows that. She knows how deep death cuts into your heart, sucking out the parts that make you feel for anything or anyone else.

She knows.

Peter nods, fumbling with the sleeves of his blue and red flannel shirt. "I just want to walk you home. When there's no one else to do it."

No one. She'd said that to Spider-man days ago, and meant it. Because MJ isn't used to there being someone to walk her home, to make sure that she's okay. She isn't used to needing anyone, not anymore. Not when she decided, so long ago, that no one ever stays, and if they do, they must have ulterior motives.

"Why?" she challenges him now, watching his face for any falter, any give away.

He looks as honest as he's ever been. The Peter who could never lie, not without it sounding like the most ridiculous thing in the entire world. "It's not wrong of you to need someone, MJ." And then his eyes snap to the sky almost immediately, staring up into the darkness. "It's about to rain."

"How do you –" she doesn't have time to finish, because the rain begins to pour, like buckets falling from the clouds. "Ah!" MJ squeals with a start, running the last stretch towards their houses with Peter trailing behind her.

She hears him laughing, jovially and freely, something she hasn't heard in a very long time and it triggers something inside of MJ. It feels like winter evenings, curled up on Aunt May's couch with hot cocoa while Uncle Ben told cheesy jokes and exaggerated stories from his childhood. It feels like spring afternoons, sitting on a skateboard, Peter pushing her down the sidewalk like a makeshift roller coaster. It feels like secrets, and pinky promises, trying so hard not to laugh at notes they passed in class but couldn't help the snickering. It feels like home.

When they reach their paired houses, entirely soaked, MJ yells at him, "Come inside!" before running up to her front door and fumbling for her keys, finally getting it open. When she walks inside, she finally looks back to Peter, who comes in behind her. His hair is dripping, sticking to his skin in a wet puppy kind of way, and his flannel is drenched and clinging to his body, revealing his form a bit better. Since when did Peter Parker have... muscles?

"You look..." He starts, choking back laughter, "like hell."

MJ smacks his chest halfheartedly, shocked at how firm it is. He used to be this lanky little thing, and now? "And you look like a wet dog, Mr. Chivalry." She sets her purse aside, shrugging off the jacket she's been wearing instead of the ruined pea coat. "Come on, I'll give you something to wear."

"You know..." Peter says, following her deeper into the house, "that I do live right next door?"

MJ tries not to pay attention to the broken beer bottles, the piling mess, and the overall empty feeling of her house. She'd almost forgotten that she had something to be embarrassed about when she invited him inside, but it's too late now. She was just so focused on getting out of the rain before, and...

"Do you have something better to do?" she asks in response, keeping her tone light and teasing. She says it instead of what she's thinking, 'I don't really want you to go yet', and she's thankful for her back being turned to him. She doesn't want to see his expression, and she's almost relieved when he doesn't reply. She hears his footsteps continue to follow her, and it's reassuring.

After he's changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants (admittedly clothes she'd had of his since freshman year - they're both a bit snug and small on him now) and MJ has put on a tank top and soffe shorts, they sit on her fraying living room couch with mugs of hot peppermint tea in their hands. Peter's chestnut hair is drying in a messier disarray than usual, and MJ's is still wet and in a dark burgundy braid, slung over one shoulder. It's gotten quite long, lying on her ribcage, but she doesn't have the heart to cut it. Peter surprises MJ by tugging on it now, a bit absentmindedly, as he animatedly talks to her.

Like they never stopped being Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson.

For some reason, it makes MJ ache.

Somewhere between finishing their tea, talking about Aunt Anna's famous Thanksgiving apple turnovers, and Peter's cooky Lit professor, MJ nods off, her head against Peter's chest. He doesn't quite hold her, not exactly, but he makes sure that his body is adjusted just so at all times - to keep her comfortable, rested against him. When MJ wakes up in the middle of the night, she's wrapped securely in a quilt her mother made, and Peter is gone.

She doesn't see him for over a week after that.