Chapter 3: Howling Ghosts, They Reappear

And the plot thickens. A lot of this chapter sets up for the next chapter, which will be a big one. Title of this chapter comes from King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men.

Peter doesn't like her to watch the news.

It's not like he's ever expressly forbidden her or anything. If he had, she would've told him he wasn't her master and started watching it nonstop just to get the point across.

Just every time she's got Channel 6 on as background noise when she's cooking or when she stops to listen to a story when she's channel surfing, Peter immediately tenses up unless the story is about kittens or something, which isn't often, since face it, this is New York.

"Can you change it, honey?" he'll mumble, rubbing his forehead in the way he does when he's getting upset. If the story in question is particularly gory, he'll wince and look away. His eyes go all sad when newscasters deliver headlines like "Child killed in hit and run," or "Explosion in Subway car killed thirty-seven people today." Hell, they go almost anguished, and he'll just stand up and leave abruptly.

She doesn't turn to 6, 8, or 12 anymore if she knows Peter will be home.

Today the headline makes Peter turn white. She would've switched the channel before now, but Peter can move scarily stealthily sometimes, and she didn't even hear him come in.

"Today twelve people were killed in an explosion which police determined came from a bomb in the shape of a pumpkin blaster similar to the kind formerly used by the Green Goblin. Police have not confirmed whether the Goblin is responsible for the attack or the perpetrator was a copycat, but eyewitnesses report seeing him at the scene. We go now to Nancy Fields on site, who has been interviewing witnesses. Nancy?"

Peter drops his bag.

"Oh my God," he whispers.

The woman on screen being interviewed is crying. "His eyes," she sobs. "The eyes—and the laugh, God, the laugh is the most terrifying thing—"

He suddenly staggers and clutches at the table to avoid falling. She drops the spatula she was using to flip pancakes and rushes to his side.

"Peter!"

He grabs at her shoulder. "How can he be back?" he says, his voice edging on hysterical. "I wouldn't have—it was over, MJ—"

"Baby, what's wrong?" she says frantically, half-shoving him into a chair and grabbing his face in her hands. It looks like he's having a panic attack.

He meets her eyes, looking like a caged animal, and she encourages, "That's it. Honey, look at me. Just me. Baby. I love you. Breathe."

Gradually, he comes back to her. "Sorry, baby," he says quietly. "I just—you almost died, last time. " He grabs her hands and kisses her knuckles.

"We need to get out of New York," he says. She blinks.

"What?"

"We need to leave," he repeats, in a tone she recognizes. It's Peter's 'MJ, I'm not budging on this one, don't even try to change my mind' voice.

"What the hell, Peter? What about your job?"

"I can teach biology anywhere else, Mary Jane."

"Okay, what about mine?"

"You're just as beautiful away from here," he insists. "We can go to LA. It's been a while since you've done TV."

"What about Aunt May?"

"She'll come with us."

"You really think she'll just agree to leave?"

"The Goblin almost killed her, too." Peter's voice is hard. She swallows, and his face softens. "It won't be forever, MJ. I just—you need to be safe. He can't take you from me."

"Can we even afford it?" she protests, more weakly because Peter just had to pull out his 'It would kill me to lose you' card. After all the people he's lost…she can never argue back to that.

"I have an emergency fund. It'll be enough for now."

This is the first she's ever heard of that. What the hell? Why wouldn't he tell her about something like that? They have a joint bank account, for God's sake, how could she not know? Does he have another account? What the hell is going on?

"Peter," she pleads, "Why are we running? Why do you think he'll come back for us? Why would we matter?"

A battle is being fought on Peter's face. "Mary Jane," he finally says. "Please."

"What aren't you telling me?" she demands.

"Just trust me, MJ!" he snaps, voice rising.

"Why won't you tell me the truth?" she yells.

"You'd think I'm nuts," he mutters.

"Peter," she warns.

"I can't," he hisses. "You'd—"

"What? What would I do, Pete? Tell me what I would do."

"Leave!" his eyes are wild. She flushes, angry, ashamed.

"Peter," she whispers. "I could never leave you."

"You almost did," he replies.

"That was years ago," she yells, pissed he's throwing back in her face what a younger and stupider MJ did. She suspects even if Peter hadn't begged her to stay and she hadn't caved, she would have come back within days. Even then, before he had completely and utterly wormed under her skin and into her veins, she could not live without Peter Parker.

"But you would've, if I hadn't—"

"We were both different then," she cuts in, thinking about those days when Peter was never home and always breaking promises and constantly worn and tired and mysterious. And she was impatient and flighty and tired, so tired, of waiting on Peter to be the Peter she knew he wanted to be, the one he is now, all the time.

"Exactly," Peter says. "I changed for you. If I stay here—I might—go back."

She cocks her head, and opens her mouth. "Please, darling," he says. "Don't ask me to explain. Let's just go away. Just for a while."

She wants to push, to yell, to lash out, but Peter looks exhausted in a way she hasn't seen in years, and she's really fucking scared, so she just nods. He looks at her like she is the goddamned sun, and grabs her and situates her on his lap and when his lips touch hers she can taste his relief on his breath.

"Baby," he murmurs. "Mary Jane." He kisses her neck and she shifts so they're pressed even closer.

"I love you," he says, and she says it back as she starts to unbutton his shirt.


They sign a six month lease on an apartment in LA. They agree to discuss whether to stay or go back after that point. Mary Jane plays a sidekick role in a new miniseries while Peter takes the class of a pregnant teacher. Aunt May joins a knitting club and befriends other sweet old ladies.

They go to the beach most weekends. MJ likes to tease Peter by getting him to spread sunscreen on her back. Her skin doesn't tan, just burns, but Peter's skin browns beautifully and he looks sexy as hell. She can never keep her hands off of him after a beach day.

After one such beach day, she's reaching into their bedside drawer for a condom and comes up empty. "Fuck," she hisses as Peter sucks behind her ear. "Hm?" he inquires. "Was that a 'fuck, Peter, keep going,' or a 'fuck, Peter, stop right now?'"

"Neither," she grumbles. "We're out of condoms."

Peter hesitates. "Well…you're on the pill, right? We're probably fine."

"Well, yeah," MJ says. "But I don't know. It's a risk…"

"Mary Jane," Peter says slowly, turning her body to face him and wrapping his arms around her waist as she settles on top of him. "I know this is probably the worst time ever to have this conversation, when I am literally so turned on I'm having trouble thinking, but—would it be so bad? To have a baby with me?"

Her eyes widen, and she wishes they had just had a damn condom and he was already inside her.

"I mean, do you want kids?" Peter's voice sounds like he's just realizing they should've had this co conversation before now.

She closes her eyes, thinks about her father and her mother and how they uniquely fucked their kids up. She thinks of Peter, orphaned so young. How are the two of them equipped to take care of a tiny life?

She opens her mouth to say so, but Peter's soft, worried eyes make her picture it, their baby. Tiny and pink and with those eyes she loves so much. A baby girl, maybe. She pictures Peter holding her; she pictures looking down at a baby snuggled to her breast. She thinks of how happy she could make her Peter with a child. Children, even.

"It wouldn't be so bad," she whispers, leaning down to kiss him. "I never wanted babies, Peter. But I want to have yours."

"We don't have to," he whispers back, and she can see the self-sacrifice in his face. He wants babies. He wants them a lot. And if he does, she does too. Maybe she won't fuck them up, with Peter by her side.

"I'll go off my birth control pills tomorrow," she swears, then smirks. "Now get going, sailor, I'm getting bored here." She punctuates her words with a grind of her hips.

Peter grins devilishly and takes the challenge; as he makes her cry out and moan, she feels how much she loves him swelling inside her and spilling out, and it brings tears to her eyes.

They come down slowly, and she burrows her head into his shoulder.

Peter huffs a breath. "Every time I think it can't possibly get better, you prove me wrong."

She smiles and cuddles closer to him. "Ditto, tiger."


MJ's looking for a copy of their last tax return in Peter's desk when she comes across a stack of newspaper clippings, all from New York papers. They all detail the rise in crime over the last year, and disturbingly, the exploits of the Goblin since his return. It seems the Avengers and the Fantastic Four have gotten involved, but the Goblin keeps evading them, and they don't have the resources to chase him. Where IS Spider-Man? The Globe asks.

MJ feels sick, reading about murders and supervillains, and because Peter has carefully clipped these out and hidden them from her. Why?

She sets them back in the drawer and shuts it. Their tax return is in the drawer beneath it, clearly labeled. She knows she should ask Peter about the clippings. She spends all afternoon trying to think of how to word such a question.

Why are you so fixated on New York when you made us leave?

Why are you so afraid of the Goblin?

Do you know where Spider-Man is?

What aren't you telling me?

She still hasn't decided what the hell she's going to say when Peter comes home. "Red?" he calls, and her worry is overridden by nostalgic happiness. Red was a nickname Peter gave her back at ESU. The old days, she thinks wistfully.

"In here," she calls. He's got his jacket slung over his shoulder and is loosening his tie when he comes into her view.

"Hey, baby," he kisses her briefly. "What're you doing in here?"

"Uh, I needed our tax return," she says. She should ask now. "What do you want to eat for dinner?" she asks instead. Later, she promises herself, but later never comes up.