A/N: Updated - yay! And guess what? I think I may even have broken away from a cliché or two in the conclusion I've got planned. Hah, that's got you wondering, hasn't it? ; ) Oh, and upon Priya-chan's advice and my own investigations, I've decided to drop the rating of this story to an R. And thanks for the reviews, people, they rock my world.
PART THREE
Spiderman dropped silently onto MJ's balcony, falling gracefully into a crouch.
Behind her closed glass windows and door, shielded by pale curtains, he could hear her moving about. The clink of her hairbrush on the vanity, the rush of running water as she turned on a tap. The sharp squeak as she twisted it off again.
It was comforting, somehow, to do this. To hear the sounds of her going about an ordinary routine. She was here, she was safe, and she was getting along OK without him.
It was important that he make certain of this. Because when he told her he was leaving her forever, he had to know that she would carry on as before. She would be hurt, he knew. Hurt again. But at least it would be the last of the pain he caused her. And she would heal in time. Because time was one thing he planned to give her. Her whole life, in fact. That it would be of a natural length was not something he could guarantee if he allowed what they felt for each other to go any further than it had.
Tonight was the night, then.
Uneasily, he fingered the seam of his head piece, debating whether or not to remove it. Perhaps it would be easier if she couldn't see his face. Perhaps his resolve would be strengthened if he had the role of Spiderman to hide behind.
Or perhaps nothing in the world would make this any easier, and he had better just get on with it.
He hadn't actually talked to her since leaving her in tears That Night, and That Night was two nights ago now.
He felt bad about that. Worse than bad. He felt sick with guilt and regret. His memories assailed him once again, and once again, he relived those last precious, painful moments in the company of MJ Watson.
After her careful, questioning, wonderful kiss, he had known for certain that his secret was out. Sitting up, he had faced her, so that they both sat cross-legged amongst Harry's tangled bed-sheets, staring uncertainly at one another. MJ's shock had silenced her for mere moments before her questions began to fire. There had been a lot of them. And he had answered them. Starting right from the beginning, he had told her everything.
He told her about the spider bite, that day at the museum. He told her all about his sickness, his fear, his childish excitement. About the true circumstances of his uncle's death. About the birth of Spiderman, and everything that had happened since.
With her hands grasped tightly in his, the words had flowed from his lips in torrents, driven by the accumulated pressure of keeping such an enormous secret concealed within for so long.
Finally, someone knew. Finally, his feelings were finding somewhere to siphon to. The tremendous ache in his chest was receding at last.
But the feeling of euphoria was short lived.
Inevitably, MJ had wanted to know about them. Why couldn't they be together? She had not been willing to accept that they had to be apart for her own safety. He had expected that. She was brave, after all. But he still couldn't take the risk. Couldn't bear to put her in danger because of him. Though she had nearly killed him with her tears, and come close to shattering his resolve with her devastating arguments on the issue…
"Look, imagine that I have been captured, Peter. And these villains are merciless. They have the ability to reach right into my chest and squeeze, until the pain is more than I can bear. They feed me poison that settles in my stomach and burns. They steal my sleep and draw my tears and make my life a misery. What would you do?"
"Then I would come for you. I would save you."
"Are you sure?"
"MJ…"
"I want you to be sure. Because there's only one way I can be saved. It might mean you put yourself at risk, put everything you have on the line…"
"MJ, I don't understand. I promised I would always come for you. And I will."
"Then do it. Come for me, Peter. Save me from this pain, this burning, the sleepless nights, these tears. Take the risk of losing me. Just don't tell me you can't love me. I can bear anything, Peter, but I can't bear not being with you. It's a joke to say you are keeping me safe by staying away. What good does it do to keep me in an ivory tower, safe from harm, when the worst harm is being done from inside me?"
And that was when he had left her. God help him, he had left her crying on the bed, grabbed jeans, and disappeared out the window, his chest heaving and his brain clouded with a thousand conflicting emotions that felt ready to tear his body apart.
A block away, he stopped, and collapsed against a cold concrete retainer on an unfamiliar rooftop.
He tried to think.
For five minutes, he sat in silence, doing nothing but breathe. But nothing seemed to help. He still couldn't shake the images in his head, the confusion in his heart, the pain MJ's words had evoked in his body.
And suddenly, somewhere on the street below, a woman screamed. Peter stiffened, his eyes flying open. He scrambled over to the balustrade and looked down at the busy street. His senses guided his focus down to the point where the trouble had erupted. The woman who had cried out stood on the street corner, her shoulders heaving and her eyes streaming with tears, mostly from shock. A few hundred yards ahead, her assailant was fleeing with a black handbag clenched under his arm.
Peter stood up, his instinct telling him to swing down, to apprehend the criminal, to save the day. He stopped himself just in time, remembering his unshielded face and half-naked form. And in truth, he was weary. Weary of being the hero. Weary of putting himself second. Weary of pushing his own feelings down to be everything to everyone else.
As he paused, thinking these unusually rebellious thoughts, the mugger disappeared into an alleyway. The woman had found a pay phone and was dialling for the police. He had missed his chance to intervene even if had wanted to. He turned and sank back to the ground.
Almost instantly, his uncle's words echoed accusingly in his brain.
"With great power comes great responsibility…"
And now, for the second time, he had failed to fulfil that responsibility.
The truth was, he realised, that MJ was not Spiderman's only weakness. Just being Peter Parker was a weakness in itself. To an ever-increasing degree since the day of Norman Osbourne's funeral, the balance between Spiderman and Peter Parker had been sinking further and further in favour of Spiderman.
The magnitude of Spiderman's powers was exceeded only by the tremendous weight of his responsibilities. MJ, the love of Peter's life, had been rejected in order to fulfil those responsibilities. And Spiderman was an immensely demanding persona in himself. He was unable to rest. Unable to forget that all around him were people in pain. In trouble. People needing his help. They were all his responsibility to protect. Because he COULD. And since he could, he couldn't NOT and still look himself levelly in the eye in the mirror every morning.
What role did Peter Parker have to play in all that? What was the point in fighting to retain an identity for himself, beyond that of Spiderman? Peter Parker was a nobody. Only Spiderman was Somebody. How could the two ever compete?
That night had been the first time in many weeks that he had remembered what it was like to be Peter. Fighting crime day and night, until his body was exhausted and his dreams were empty. That was all he had lived for. Then MJ had shown up at his door and all those feelings had come rushing back…
And weakened him, he realised suddenly. That woman on the street below, the one sobbing into the mouthpiece of a pay phone that her money and cards and keys were gone, needn't be enduring the anger and shock that she was currently experiencing. Spiderman could have saved her, and brought her justice, but he had been too busy with being Peter Parker. Dealing with Peter Parker's problems. Thinking of MJ.
MJ.
Extraordinary, beautiful, talented Mary Jane Watson.
The only thing that made being Peter Parker worthwhile. The only thing worth holding onto. The one remaining barrier that kept Spiderman from taking over completely.
Because MJ loved Peter. Not Spiderman. Peter.
So what it came down to was this. He could fight to reman Peter Parker, ordinary boy, with ordinary weaknesses, irrepressibly in love with his childhood sweetheart. If he chose that path, chose to love, then Spiderman would be vulnerable, and MJ would be in danger. He didn't see how could he live the two lives at once without ruining everything. Failing in his responsibilities. Hurting everybody.
Better, surely, to let Peter Parker go… With him, MJ, Aunt May, Harry, the Daily Bugle job, boyhood ambitions…. And be Spiderman forever.
So this was his new resolution. Peter Parker was to be no more. It could be done simply enough. All he had to do was let MJ go, and his reasons for clinging to that identity would fall away. Spiderman would easily expand to fill the gaps, and seal over the weak spots in his armour. His power and his responsibility would no longer be at war with his more visceral emotions. Peter's friends would be safe, and Spiderman would be, in a word, invincible.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to MJ's window. Beneath his mask, he squeezed his eyes closed.
And knocked three times.
