Days of Pretending
Chapter 2: Just a Coincidence
Three weeks passed slower than molasses dripping. Three weeks were all too slow for Peter Parker. Three weeks led to nowhere, to nothing, to a dead future. Three weeks of papers written, of being smitten, of helplessness.
Three weeks later found him wandering the streets with nothing in mind, because his home was too dreary and full of sympathy flowers for Harry. He didn't have a thought in his head, only a blackness in his gut. There was a café on the corner, a sad red diner, which he was familiar with. Why had his legs carried him to the place where Mary Jane worked? He knew he shouldn't go in.
He stood on the outside, watching. Peter stepped up to the glass and peered inside. Perhaps she wasn't working then. His face pressed against the window. The place was crowded with the late afternoon eaters who liked to have a snack after work at the cheapest place they could stomach. He saw three waitresses running around, their expressions frantic, anticipation for the end of the shift lingering behind their faces. He did not recognize any of them; he saw no red hair, no glorious smile, no haunted eyes. It's safe, then, he told himself, and went inside.
A tired young girl yawned and pointed him to a table right by the window, where he could see the city smog rising up out of the sewers. The place smelled like grease and ashes; it made him not so hungry anymore. He glanced at the menu, feeling sicker and sicker by the moment as he wondered why MJ worked there. Peter perused it thoughtlessly, feeling a strange prickling at the back of his neck, as though he were being watched, or like something very important was going to happen.
His eyes lifted. Out of the dirty smoke came an angel with a red halo and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her coat flapped in the breeze and her hair rustled. She looked like she was fragmented. She kept walking out of the crowd, away from everything, her eyes searching for something more. Oblivious to his presence, she stared lifelessly through the window to inside her workplace. She was seeing long hours ahead, grumpy customers, her foul, greedy boss. It was then when she was lost in her nightmare that she noticed a patron watching her with curiosity and some other unnamable emotion.
Peter, Mary Jane thought with surprise. Waiting for me? Why is he here? What does he want? …Is it possible that maybe he just wanted something to eat, and came coincidentally here? Her mind refused to think of his presence as a sheer accident. He was beginning to wonder the same.
Their eyes met through the glass. There was tension in the stare. It was relief, yet, it was anxiety. Questions poured like waterfalls; pain mixed with joy and hesitation and sheer wonder. Mary Jane took a step closer and subsequently laid her hand gently on the window pane to his left. Oh, God. Mary Jane, what are you now? he thought to himself.
"Hi," she said quietly. Peter could not hear what Mary Jane, but he saw her mouth it. That wasn't enough. He wanted to hear her voice, to smell her, to taste her. He placed his own hand opposite hers on the glass, but the glass was cool and it did not warm his soul.
Sad eyes met a similar pair. "Hi," he mouthed back to her across the window pane. He beckoned to her to come inside. He felt weird, as if everything was backwards. Why was she on the outside, when she was usually in his place? Peter couldn't understand.
Mary Jane nodded and vanished from his sight. He fidgeted in his seat to see her gone. Suppose she doesn't come in after all? he thought, challenging his own security. Peter shook the thought from his brain.
Mary Jane pushed open the diner's door and waded through the masses into the back room, where she threw her coat and purse unceremoniously. She plopped down onto a cheap plastic bench and felt her pulse. Yes, it was racing. Not a coincidence, she told herself. She buried her face deep into her hands, wanting to disappear. God, how she loved him! How she adored him, patronized him, worshipped him! And how cold it was to hear him turn her down!
She knew that she had to face the facts. Peter could not love her, for some weird reason she couldn't understand. Maybe it was the fact that he was afraid, having never been loved before. But neither had she, really, and she wanted it so badly. Why was he so hesitant and childish in his resistance? But perhaps that wasn't it. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was Spider-man.
Mary Jane had been blind to Peter's identity. But the gauze over her eyes had been lifted after kissing him in the cemetery and knowing his taste was that of a Spider.
What does his other side have to do with not loving me? she questioned herself, rubbing her eyes. She sighed, confused. There's something I don't know. And I hate it. It's crawling under my skin. But if he can fake it cold, so can I. If he wants to pretend there is nothing, so can I. Determined, she stood, fiddled with the collar of her uniform, and snatched a notepad.
Mary Jane was on duty now. If his duty prevented him from loving her, then hers would have to prevent her from loving him.
A very long minute later, Peter saw Mary Jane advancing from the throngs of people in the diner. She didn't look like herself in her uniform, the ugly suit. She seemed conformed, abused, limited that way, like she couldn't express herself.
Professionally, she came up to Peter's table. "Hello," she said to him in her most businesslike voice. "What do you want today?" She pulled out her notepad and started to jot down some notes.
He gaped at her, surprised by her harshness. How could she? Why would she? He saw everything they had been flushed down the drain. No. Don't let me lose her all together. "You," Peter choked out, losing all his control at the mention of it in his mind. Immediately he clapped his hand over his mouth. Stupid! Stupid!
Mary Jane's hands trembled. The notepad fell to the floor. She muttered something in a seemingly careless, disgruntled manner, and bent down to retrieve it, though her eyes reflected serious fear.
"What are you doing?" Peter whispered to her while she was kneeling. Her face lifted up and her gaze met his own.
"I have a job to do, just like you," she said in a quiet tone.
"Fine," he said harshly, hating himself. Was this her payback? Did she mean to hurt him? Why was she so vengeful? After all, all Peter had done was broken her heart and destroyed every bit of faith she had in the world. "I'll have a cup of coffee."
"Okay. I'll be back," she said coolly, leaving him alone. She made her way through the other waitresses to the back of the kitchen, where she poured some scalding hot coffee into a white mug. She wiped her tears. Why am I doing this? What makes me think that this will help? Can't you see, dumb girl, that he's already upset? What makes you think that making him more upset will bring him crawling back to you? You can't toy with Peter like you did with the other boys you've been with! He's not like the other ones! And that's why you love him, Mary Jane, she thought to herself, as if her heart was having a conversation with her brain.
She nearly spilled the coffee as she stumbled back out to the dining area. Peter's back was to her as she approached his booth. Mary Jane could see the top of his head, his hair, his coat slung across the back. She was nearly running. She put down the coffee mug harshly, splattering a little onto the table. "I'm sorry," she rasped, collapsing into the booth next to Peter.
He jumped at her sudden motion. "What?"
She choked out a few broken words. "I'm so sorry… for being so mean to you, as if it would help… you're not like the rest… it's not your fault, even, is it, Peter?" The coffee was forgotten, her shift unimportant, the future wiped away like chalk on a blackboard.
"What isn't my fault?" he asked her, confused. He wanted to hold her and make her stop crying, but he couldn't. I can't, I can't, he reminded himself.
"It's not your fault… that you can't love me," Mary Jane answered with a slight hiccup.
I can't. But how did you know? Peter swallowed back a huge lump in his throat. "No, no, it's not," he said without thinking of consequences and questions that might be asked in response and where he was going tomorrow.
"I don't understand you. I don't understand why you can't trust me and tell me things and why I have to figure everything out for myself. You're confusing," she said to him with a sniffle. She wiped her eyes childishly. "I'm sorry for crying."
He didn't know what to say to that. What did she say about figuring things out for herself? Peter did nothing but reach over to the napkin dispenser at the end of the table, yank out a few of the substitute tissues, and hand them to her. Mary Jane took them gratefully and wiped her face while Peter puzzled over what she was saying to him. Now he was confused, too.
I'm tired of being confused. I'm tired of not knowing what could be. I'm tired of tension, tired of hate, tired of indifference, tired of being Spider-man. I just want to be myself with Mary Jane. I just want everything to go away, he thought passionately.
Mary Jane crumbled the cheap paper product in her fist. "I don't want to get up and get back to work."
"Then don't."
"Can I just stay here with you?" she asked, pleadingly, tossing the napkin back onto the table.
"As long as we can talk," he said. "I'm fed up with what's been going on." His eyebrows contracted in his fury with God.
"So am I," she echoed, leaning closer to him. She didn't have to put her fingers to her wrist to know that her pulse was going haywire. "I want to know everything. I want to know what's been going on with you. I want to know."
"I-" Peter started to say, but he swallowed his words. "I was going to say that I can't tell you everything, but you already know that." He glanced up at her. "You know a lot, don't you? You know a lot more than I think you do, even now."
"Yes. Yes, I'd like to think I've got everything figured out; I know every little thing except for when it comes to you yourself." Her eyes lowered. "I know all of the what's and the when's, but none of the why's." Mary Jane bit her lower lip anxiously. "I understand everything but your mind."
"Tell me," Peter said encouragingly. "What do you know?" What was she hinting at? She doesn't know about Spider-man, does she? She couldn't. No one knows about him.
She looked around her suspiciously. Peter cocked his head at her, baffled. Mary Jane leaned in to his ear, cupping her hand around it. If his breath hadn't been caught somewhere between heaven and hell, he might have squealed. "I know who you are-" she breathed. Peter didn't know if it was the sensation of her exhalation on his ear or what she actually said that made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up. "-Spider-man."
He jerked away from her. "You don't know that," he said, scatterbrained. "You don't have any proof. What makes you think you're right?"
"The way you deny it!" she responded immediately. "If it wasn't true, you wouldn't be so defensive, would you?" He had no answer to her. Mary Jane sighed and raked her fingers through her hair. "Look, Peter, you don't have to make this harder than it is. If I know, I know. Don't fight me."
Peter leaned back onto the booth's plumpness. His head dropped back. "How did you know?" he said, feeling defeated.
"You kiss like him," she responded simply. Peter couldn't help but to smile and raise his head and look at her. The gaze in her eyes was penetrating, provocative. Prove it. Show me again. How do you kiss, Peter? Is it really just like him? How do I really know? I need to be sure, so kiss me again, Peter. Kiss me, she thought, as if she could speak to him telepathically. His cheeks flamed red and he looked away at the cooling coffee that he had forgotten all about. Haphazardly he dragged a finger across the edge of the mug. He licked the corners of his lips.
She swallowed hard. "It's not the end of the world that I know. I'm not going to tell anyone," she said to him.
"I know you wouldn't."
Mary Jane took his hand in her own hand. "I know that much. I know a lot of things now just from that: why you're busy a lot, why you're secretive. But it doesn't tell me why you can't love me."
"And what makes you think that I love you?" he challenged her.
"Stop fighting this. We both know the truth of that matter here. You've slipped one too many times, making little mistakes, like watching me when you think I'm not paying attention, or the way you always just happen to be there. Those things were not coincidences." She laced their fingers together. "And neither was the way you kissed me. There was emotion behind it. Kisses don't lie."
His lips trembled. Kiss her. Show her. She knows. Give in, even if you don't want to. Give in to her. Please, just do it, or I might just go insane. Kiss her. Kiss her, show her, need her, love her like you've wanted to all of your life. Good God, do it, his insides pleaded.
Mary Jane couldn't resist. "Don't lie to me," she said warningly before planting her lips on his own.
Peter started to melt very, very slowly. This was everything they both wanted. It started to warm his soul and liquefy his passion into metallic strength. He gave in to his desire. Neither could hold back. Her taste, her smell, the way she moved – he had forgotten these things. They came back to him quickly, and he rediscovered them again and again.
Someone whistled. They jumped back from each other, but their hands were still linked; Mary Jane saw a male coworker wink at her as he passed her by with a few drinks. Her cheeks burned with anger and passion. Why was she crying? It wasn't embarrassment. It wasn't fear or dislike. Was it longing?
Mary Jane looked at Peter's blinking, startled face and knew that he still wasn't really hers. They had kissed, and they loved each other, but did that amend everything? She still didn't know him enough. She was still confused; she didn't understand why they couldn't kiss like that some more. He loves me. Why can't I have him?
His hand squeezed hers. "I knew I would end up hurting you," he said softly. "But I didn't think that I would hurt you this much."
"I love you. It hurts a lot," she answered honestly. "I want to kiss you again. But I can't do it, because it's all in vain. I just can't get through. I still don't know why you can't love me, why I can't be with you. You can't tell me everything. I'm supposed to respect that, but I can't."
Peter didn't know anything anymore. He seemed to be forgetting all the reason that had compelled him to lie to her, to hide from her. "What if I change my mind?" When Mary Jane looked even more puzzled, he repeated, "What if I change my mind about being with you?"
Mary Jane's entire insides leapt. "I would go with you, if you could tell me what made you change your mind."
Peter nodded and put an arm around her, hugging her to his chest. She liked that, so she might listen to the steady rhythm of his heart beating. His throat trembled when he spoke. "I knew all along that you would get hurt. I am not an easy man to deal with. I am always away, always busy." His tone lowered. "Spider-man is even harder to deal with. He takes no chances. He is too paranoid. He was afraid you would be more hurt with me than without me."
"I don't understand," she told his shirt. She felt like she was speaking directly to his heart. She could hear its genuine thumping, the gentle pattering, the way it sounded just like her own. If she listened hard enough, could she find out all of Peter's secrets? Did she want to find them all out, anyways? She wanted to know him. She wanted to become a part of him. Heck, she just plain wanted him.
"Spider-man lives a dangerous life. He didn't want you to fall into it, too," Peter answered. "He wanted to protect you. But in shielding you, he hurt you more, didn't he?"
"Yes. He did. You did." She craned her neck up to his face. "But what makes you think I wasn't willing to risk that? Why couldn't you have let me make that decision for myself?"
He didn't know. "Maybe I didn't think you would make the right choice. Maybe I was too protective. Maybe I just didn't think of that. Maybe I like control. I don't know. I don't remember."
"It's okay," she assured him, running her hand down the buttons on the front of his shirt. His chest tightened and his heart quivered at the touch. Take off with me, he thought in a begging manner. I want to be alone with you to catch up on the parts of our lives that we missed. "Let's get out of here," he suggested.
Mary Jane frowned. "I'm on my shift. I can't leave."
Peter frowned with her. "How long will you be?"
"Two hours. Today is my light day," she responded with a half-smile.
"I'll wait for you," he responded immediately.
"Don't you have something else to do?" Mary Jane asked him.
"Maybe. I don't know. Whatever it is, it can wait. I've been waiting for you long enough that whatever I'm giving up is worth it," Peter told her with a smirk.
Mary Jane grinned at him, drinking in his whole self. "Tell me something, Peter," she whispered, drawing her mouth close to his ear again, pulling her beautiful self in her ugly red uniform against him, because she liked touching him. His arms surrounded her, feeling her form to be solid and real. It felt so good to hold her, to feel her, to know she was present.
"I'll tell you anything," he replied in all honesty, burying his face into her shoulder. He had never smelled something like her in all his life. She smelled like flowers, like heaven, like eternity, like everything he had ever yearned to become.
"I want to hear you say that you love me, because you haven't said it yet," she said.
Is that all? he thought. That's all I have to say? But he found himself choking on the words a little. He had never expected to actually say them to her face. It was something he had never been able to picture as real. "I love you, Mary Jane," he told her.
She almost started to cry again. She was never an emotional person, not this much. But, then again, this was Peter Parker, and he was something amazing, and something worth crying over. She threw her face into his shoulder and muffled the sobs that threatened to leak out from the corners of her mouth. "Thank you," she said softly. "I love you."
"Miss Watson!" cried a perturbed voice. "Miss Watson, get to table two, pronto! What are you doing?" Gathering her dignity, Mary Jane untangled herself from Peter and looked up at her bitter boss, who leaned on the table looking both annoyed and amused.
"What do you think I'm doing?" she said, sticking out her chin and tripping out of the booth as gracefully as one could trip. "I was saying goodbye to my boyfriend Peter, that's all."
The word "boyfriend" connected to Peter's name send a shiver straight up her spine. Peter's eyes widened a little at the sound of it. He was her boyfriend. How many years had he been waiting to hear her say that? Ideally, he hadn't wanted to hear it first while Mary Jane explained why she was snuggling up to a boy instead of serving burgers, but that was alright anyways. Mary Jane straightened out her shirt collar, wiped her eyes a little, and threw her hair over her shoulder.
"Yeah, well, unless he's buying something, he's got to go," said the pudgy owner of the diner. He made a shooing motion with his fat hands that jiggled when they moved.
Peter picked him his now cold mug of coffee and lifted it. "Cheers," he offered charmingly.
The man snorted, not entertained. "You have two hours. Get to it," he said, jerking a thumb to Mary Jane. Mary Jane rolled her eyes at him and peered at Peter, flashing him a quick smile.
Two hours were spent interestingly. Peter sipped his cold coffee very slowly. He prolonged it for the whole time he was there, somehow. He spent it watching Mary Jane jump across the room with trays in her hand, wiping up counters, and giving crayons to little children. It fascinated him to what she put up with to keep herself in one piece. She made him proud, in a way, and, yet, Peter wished she didn't have to. He wished she was in his apartment right then, curled up under a blanket with him, munching potato chips, in his arms. Whenever Mary Jane got the chance, she would run over to him only to smile at him or grab his hand or wink at him to sustain her through the time. It was like a forbidden romance, dodging the glares of the boss who didn't pay for girls who spent time flirting with customers.
The sun fell. The shift ended. Peter slammed down the money at the register and waited at the door for Mary Jane to get her coat and purse. He leaned against the doorframe turned his face to the clear glass doors, watching the city's lights start to flicker on. The doors opened periodically as new patrons entered the diner. The open doors let in little breezes to muss his already disarranged hair. Mary Jane emerged from the back room; he did not notice. She watched Peter standing there with his arms folded, leaning against the frame, his jeans wrinkled, one foot propped up. The green of his shirt caught the colors in his eyes, and the way his hair was out of place just made him seem more original, more of her own. His gaze was distant; he was obviously thinking. Something about him made a weird, enchanted feeling well up in her. He looked like a boy becoming a man, like someone who wasn't sure of things and didn't like to pretend, like a human being just trying to make his way around the city in the best possible manner. Mary Jane liked to think that the best way for him was with her.
"Peter," she said. He turned, and the color rose to his cheeks. His arms came undone.
"Hi," he said with a smile. There was a romance in her eyes, in her face. She just lit up as she stood before him, even in that stupid uniform. A stray wind tugged at her hair. "Ready?" he asked her with a faint chuckle.
Mary Jane nodded, advanced, and took his hand. "I've been ready," she said.
"Me, too," Peter agreed, running his thumb across the lines on her hand. He bent down to rest his forehead against hers and then subsequently kissed Mary Jane softly. The streetlamps and car headlights danced behind their silhouettes. His lips broke from hers briefly and he whispered, "C'mon." When he spoke, his lips brushed against hers, and the sound of his voice mixed with her breath and smelled sweet. Mary Jane smiled a little before pecking his lips lightly and leading Peter away.
~~~
AN: Yay! This chapter was much longer, and better! *squeals with delight* Hurray for 5 and half pages! I am very sorry that the last one was so short, but I needed to save a lot for this chapter. The next chapter should be longer, if I have things my way.
If any of you didn't believe me when I said there would be lots of romance, I hope I proved you wrong, because this was a pretty darned mushy chapter. I tried to be as emotional and angst-filled as usual. (I have been dubbed the Queen of Angst, eh?)
Please feel free to comment. To those of you who have already made your comments, go ahead and review both chapters! Why not? Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You are all so sweet and generous to bestow such compliments on me.
Chapter 3 is next! *grins* And there will be a total of 9 chapters without a doubt. Um, I'm not sure which chapter is going to end up being the most climactic, but thus far my bet is on the previously-written "Chapter 8: Hate." Great title, huh? I hope I have you hooked; that's why I told you in the first place! Yes, if you thought this chapter was a killer, wait 'til then! Muahah! The rest of the chapters should not come out as quickly as these two. I had a pretty free weekend, but the next will be more packed, so I'm going to end up not having anywhere near as much writing time. Alright, enough talking! I'm going back to Word! Bye!