MJ was awoken from a restless sleep by a warmth settling in beside her. She could tell he was trying not to wake her, because he was moving slowly and quietly, careful not to touch her as he lowered himself onto the bed. MJ smiled and rolled over to face him, startling him when he saw she was awake.
"MJ! Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you—" Peter was interrupted by her wrapping her arms around his shoulders warmly.
"Do you think I care? I sleep better when I know you're home safe," she mumbled sleepily against his chest, where her face was buried. She felt the steady beat of his heart against her cheek, which instantly calmed her like nothing else could. MJ felt his hand on her head then, gingerly stroking her hair.
Peter kissed her ear softly. "I don't want you to worry about me, MJ," he whispered.
"I want to," MJ replied. She started to sit up and his hand fell away from her hair. "Hey," she protested, grabbing it back. "You didn't have to stop. I'm just getting more comfortable." She leaned back against the headboard and began to tenderly knead circles into Peter's palm, the way he liked. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back next to hers.
"What did I do to deserve you?" Peter sighed softly.
"Everything," she returned quietly, kissing his hand. Peter smiled and his shoulders relaxed. MJ knew he was close to falling asleep, after an exhausting day of patrol.
MJ moved to massage Peter's wrist. When her fingers made contact with his spinneret, however, he gasped and jerked his hand out of her grasp.
Surprised, MJ sat up straighter. "Peter? What's wrong?"
"I don't know," he hissed through his teeth, examining his wrist with a puzzled eye. "They've never hurt like that before."
"Hurt?" MJ questioned, concerned.
Peter turned his hand over, then looked back at his spinneret. Then, quick as lightning, he experimentally shot a web at the light switch. As the darkness fled into the corners, he yelped and gripped his wrist, pressing his forehead into his palm.
MJ, alarmed, crawled onto her knees and grabbed his arm. She peered closely at his wrist, illuminated by the light that now flooded the room. Her breath caught in her throat. "What the..." Thin red lines weaved their way across his spinneret, protruding underneath his skin and faintly throbbing. "Peter look at this," MJ insisted. He peeked his eyes open and looked at his wrist. "Holy...what..." he whispered. He lifted his other hand to reveal the same red veins.
"Peter, what exactly happened on patrol tonight?" MJ asked.
Peter's breathing was slowly steadying out again after shooting the web. He rubbed his temples. "Nothing unusual...stopped a few muggings. Webbed up an armed robber. Mostly just swung around." He looked at MJ then. "My wrists were stinging slightly while swinging home, but I figured that was just the cold air getting to them."
MJ ran her fingers over his hand reassuringly. "Do you remember anything touching your wrists? Your arm?"
"No...well actually...one of the muggers I disarmed grabbed my wrists, but it was only for a split second. I kinda flipped him onto his back after that."
MJ held in a chuckle at the mental image of that. "I'm not sure what must have happened then...where's your suit?"
Peter gestured towards the door that led into the hall. MJ knew he must have changed in the living room to avoid disturbing her sleep. "Why do you need it?" he asked. There was a sudden strain to his voice. He was holding his wrist again.
"I don't know. I want to look at it. I just have a hunch." MJ slipped out of the room and reappeared a moment later. "Peter...look at the wrists on your suit."
Peter sat up and took his suit from Mary Jane. The area along his forearm that covered his spinnerets, while usually red, was faded to nearly white. The fabric there was thinner than the rest of the suit. He stared at it with a bewildered look.
"The mugger must have had something on his hands..." MJ suggested.
"I don't understand. How did I not notice this?"
"Well, it is on the underside of your arm. And it's dark. And you're tired. Who would notice?" MJ sank onto the bed next to him.
"It's just so strange, I—" Peter interrupted himself with a sharp inhale, and he grabbed his wrist again.
MJ's heart skipped a beat, and she scooted closer to him. Perspiration glistened on Peter's forehead. His eyes were squeezed shut again, and he kept switching his hands back and forth to grip the other wrist. "Peter," MJ tried to stop his arms from moving, to no avail. "Peter," MJ forcefully snatched up his hand, only for him to snatch it back. He went from gripping his wrists to clawing at them. By this time he was letting out pained whimpers. "Peter!" MJ grabbed his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Talk to me!"
"Hurts...it hurts..." Peter cried, and he leaned forward to press his forehead into his palms.
MJ was perplexed. Here was a man who came home dripping blood on the carpet on the daily, got stitches at least once a week, had been stabbed multiple times, and he was breaking down over his wrists? Something was wrong.
Peter was trembling now, sweat dripping down his face. MJ wanted to look at his wrists again, but knew it would hurt him if she touched them. She leaned forward and ran her fingers through his damp hair. "Peter, the only thing I can think happened is your spinnerets got infected somehow. I need to put some antibiotic ointment on them."
Peter nodded, not looking up from his hands, not speaking. MJ visualized the ointment in the bathroom cupboard, knowing she needed to get up and go get it. But she didn't want to leave Peter, even if only for a second. She wrapped her arms around his middle.
"Go..." he whispered, shivering underneath her arms.
Tears pricked MJ's eyes. She hated seeing him like this. "I'll be gone for only a second, I promise." She unpeeled herself from his body and hurried to the bathroom in the hall. Thoughts raced through her mind as she knocked different medications and creams from the shelf in the cupboard. That mugger must have put something on Peter's wrists, something that seeped through spandex. She didn't know what, but she guessed he was trying to compromise Peter's web-shooting. It was clever, really. After all, when did anyone ever target his spinnerets? He might have planned it beforehand, lured Peter to him with a seemingly ordinary mugging. As MJ's fingers found the ointment she was looking for, she thanked the heavens whatever the substance was took awhile to take effect. She didn't want to think about what could have happened if he was out swinging when it hit...
Peter was in the same position when MJ returned to their room. She kneeled down in front of him and gently grasped his arm. Silent tears were making their way down his face. "Hey, tiger. I need to see your wrist so I can put the ointment on, okay?"
Peter released his arm to her loving touch. His eyes stayed shut, he made no move to say a word.
MJ held his shaking hand steady as she opened the bottle of antibiotic ointment. "I've got you, Peter," she whispered. She slathered a dollop of the ointment onto her fingers. "I'll take care of you."