Excuses, Excuses ... (Part III)

A/N: Oh my, I can't believe the wonderful reviews that this story has received. I didn't expect to receive any. Thank you all so much! Thank you, too, for the suggestions about how to continue the story. Let me tell you all, your reviews actually inspired me to write more -- an object lesson in the value of reviewing! I hope the new part meets with your approval. This chapter picks up right where the other one left off.

MJ blinked wonderingly at Peter's question. Was he implying what she thought he was implying? She remembered all the flimsy excuses, all the strange disappearances, all the cryptic remarks that Peter had made to her since they'd become friends. Reality seemed to tilt weirdly on its axis, causing her stomach to flip-flop crazily in response. She felt off-balance and breathless. Peter, cute, ordinary, familiar Peter Parker, just looked at her expectantly, his eyes a deep and magnetic blue in his quiet face.

Meanwhile, a host of disjointed memories seemed to be flying together at a dizzying rate – pieces of the past, fragments of speech, isolated moments, like Peter leaning on the backyard fence, saying Whatever it is, it's something I never felt before; a masked hero teasing her with You know who I am; first Peter, then Spider-Man telling her casually I was in the neighborhood; a phone message that warned Don't go up any dark alleys; a terrifying apparition holding her painfully by the throat and shouting Let die the woman you love; Peter whispering there's so much to tell and, most memorable of all, two earth-shattering, soulful kisses now merging into one intoxicating impression two incredible kisses from one amazing man ...

Then, all at once, as the pieces settled seamlessly into place, reality seemed to tilt back to a level plane again, reestablishing itself as smooth, comprehensible and ... absolutely altered.

"You're Spider-Man" said MJ in a hushed voice, a delighted smile spreading slowly across her face. The revelation was wondrous and completely unsurprising at the same time.

Peter shrugged. "Um ... yeah." He hadn't meant to tell her ... or had he? ... but now that she knew he felt the most incredible sense of relief, freedom and elation that he'd ever experienced. It was comparable to those first joyful leaps he'd taken from building to building the day after the spider had bitten him. The fact that MJ's lovely face was wreathed in smiles probably had something to do with how good he was feeling, and for a moment they just beamed at each other, in total harmony for the first time in ages.

"I think I always knew who you really were," MJ said warmly, breaking the peaceful silence at last. They started walking again, without knowing where they were headed. Peter continued to drag his broken bike behind him, as they passed a siding that was entirely plastered with flyers for the Emma Rose perfume. For the first time, he paid no attention at all to the dreamy-eyed beauty gazing out of the pictures. The living and breathing beauty who was walking next to him, looking at him with such admiration and such a complete lack of shock, was occupying the whole of his attention instead.

He had fantasized about telling MJ his true identity many times, but in his wildest dreams he'd never gotten a response like this one. Sometimes he'd imagined her as completely shocked and frightened, and he'd had to calm her down by convincing her that he was still the mild-mannered Peter Parker who had grown up next door to her; sometimes he'd pictured her as laughing in mockery or in incredulous disbelief, and he'd had to perform some deeds of prowess and bravery to convince her; sometimes she'd turned away from him with tears of anger and disappointment at the lack of trust that he'd shown, and he'd had to plead for her forgiveness. Never, in all his daydreams, had she been both so pleased and so unsurprised at his revelation. He began to feel afresh the peril of spending more than a few seconds in the company of MJ Watson.

"So, tell me," said MJ eagerly, dimples appearing in her cheeks, "How did it happen? How did you become like you are now? You weren't always this way, were you?"

"No," said Peter hesitantly. The magnitude of what he'd just revealed hit him all at once, and he realized that he did not want to tell her everything. The story of Spider-Man's origins was too painful and too foolish. He was still ashamed of how he had behaved in the first few weeks after he'd discovered his powers – not to mention traumatized and grief-stricken by the results of one thoughtless action – and he did not want to expose so much of himself even to MJ. "I don't think I want to talk about that part of it, MJ," he said at length, looking at her seriously. "It's not a happy little tale."

"No, I don't suppose it is," said MJ, regarding him thoughtfully. Obviously, the secrecy that Peter had learned while covering his tracks as Spider-Man was now second nature to him. She was quiet for a moment, and then she gave him a look of such sparkling mischief that he caught his breath and tore his eyes away from her face, keeping them safely on the pavement in front of him. "How about you finish your story? What did Spider-Man do after those jerks had demolished his bike and ruined his plans for an evening at the theater?"

"Well, it's kind of a funny story," said Peter, still regarding his feet carefully. Now that MJ was no longer mad at him, he was starting to see the humorous side of his evening's adventures. "Two young boys had seen me do a triple backflip off my bike, over the back of the convertible. As I landed, one of them asked me how I'd done that, so I told him, you know, that it was important to ... uh, work out, get plenty of rest, eat your green vegetables..."

MJ laughed merrily at that. "What a fine, upstanding, responsible young hero he is," she teased, and then asked, "Did they accept your explanation?"

Peter shot her a wary glance. Was she laughing at him? It was a dorky thing to say, he supposed, but he couldn't exactly tell the truth and he also didn't like lying, especially not to kids. MJ met his uneasy eyes with her laughing ones, but there wasn't a trace of mockery or ridicule in them, only happiness glimmering in their green depths. Oh boy. His heart skipped a beat and he forced himself to look away again, covering his sudden jolt of emotion with a little chuckle. "Don't know, but one of them did say that his mom had always said the same thing. He said he'd never believed her. Maybe he'll believe her now."

"Well, it's nice to see you doing your bit to uphold parental authority," said MJ with a coy smile. Inwardly, she rejoiced at her new-found knowledge, and Peter's willingness to share it with her. She was just so incredibly pleased that the man behind Spider-Man's mask was Peter Parker. It changed everything to know that the amazing, risk-taking, high-flying Spider-man was also the sweet, trustworthy Peter Parker, a devoted nephew and a true friend who, before his days as a disappearing man of mystery, was formerly such a good listener. Not to mention that he was also the wonderful, sincere man she had once loved with her whole heart – I'd better think about that later, thought MJ hastily, feeling herself veering off into uncharted depths of chaotic emotion. "So, what about the car chase?" she asked instead.

"Oh that," said Peter scornfully. "I wasn't in the mood to play games, so I changed into my costume, and took off after the convertible as fast as I could. It was easy to find the driver and his trigger-happy friend; they'd lost the cops, but I just had to follow the path of destruction they left in their wake. First one of their hairpin turns nearly caused one of the pursuing police cars to crash into some pedestrians on a street corner and then later they must have knocked over a newspaper stand, and broken open a fire hydrant. I had to pause to do something to avert that car crash, but then I came after them at full steam, and they soon found that I was tougher to get rid of than the cops." He smiled darkly to himself, recalling their panicked shooting into the air, the wide-eyed expressions of terror on their faces when he'd landed lightly on the trunk of the convertible and yanked the guns out of their hands with his webs. He hoped that they would remember him in their nightmares for a long time.

He caught MJ looking at his face with a puzzled, uncertain expression, and hurriedly continued his story. "Since they were so trigger-happy, I used webs to get rid of their guns, and then linked their hands together. Then I looped a web over the arm of street light, hiked them up out of the car, and left them dangling helplessly high over the street." MJ was looking at him now with an expression of awe and wonder on her face. It made him feel uncomfortable and a bit stupid, because he really didn't want any kind of hero-worship from her.

He didn't know what, if anything, he wanted from her, actually – but it certainly wasn't hero-worship. You'd better not want anything from her, Parker, he warned himself firmly, because she's not for you.

He tried to strengthen his resolve by remembering the sound of MJ's scream as she lost hold of the cable on the gondola car that he had held up under the Queensboro bridge, on that terrible night almost two years ago. Thinking about that scream was the only thing that had kept him from turning around and running recklessly back to MJ's arms as she stood weeping beside Uncle Ben's grave after he'd rejected her love on the day of Norman Osborn's funeral. But the sound of MJ's scream seemed to have faded from his ears tonight, because it wasn't evoking the same visceral fear that it once had.

As they continued walking, Peter realized that he was automatically heading in the direction of his one-room apartment. Despite the increasingly familiar buildings, though, he still had the unsettling feeling that he was heading into uncharted territory. He was acutely aware of MJ's warm presence beside him, the faint scent of lavender and strawberry lip gloss emanating from her, the bright-eyed, captivated look on her glowing face, her lissome and graceful body.

His heart racing, he returned to his story, keeping his gaze on the ground ahead of him. "The car was still rolling forward, hardly slowing down at all, when I slid into the front seat and took the steering wheel. There was a lot of traffic on the road – I couldn't safely leave it there. Thanks to those thugs, too, I was even further from the theater than I had been before my bike was wrecked. I figured it was only fair that I borrow their car for some ready-made transportation."

MJ laughed again at that, and Peter stole another glance at her. She was so beautiful, so unpretentious in her casual clothes and loosely knotted hair, and yet so full to the brim of vibrant life and love. He felt the familiar mix of elation and sheer terror that her company often elicited, aggravated by the awareness that he was now standing on some kind of a precipice as result of his unguarded self-disclosure. What had he been thinking? True, revealing himself to MJ was a tremendous relief, but it was also a selfish and a dangerous thing to do. MJ was still absorbing the impact of his astounding revelation, he was sure, and when she had figured it out, he knew he was going to have to look out. He realized with a sudden shock that, as liberating as sharing his secret with her was, it hadn't truly changed anything between them. They still couldn't be together; he couldn't take the risk, or let her take the risk – if she even wanted to, that is. Hadn't she said that she had a serious boyfriend? He shook the disturbing thought away for the moment.

MJ was still looking at him with a bright eager face, one eyebrow arched expectantly as she waited for him to continue. He quailed at the admiration in her eyes. Let's see, he thought, how to remind MJ of what a complete and utter loser Peter Parker could be at times ... Oh yeah, the usher ...

"I had to go back and get my clothes from the alley where I'd hidden them," he said in an unsteady voice, "and then I drove to your play. Let me tell you, it's not easy to change your clothes while driving in busy traffic, even if you do happen to have super-fast reflexes and double-jointed agility." This elicited another melodious laugh from MJ, and Peter went on a little breathlessly after hearing it, still forcing himself not to look at her, "I left the car in a No-Parking zone and rushed into the theater, only to come face-to-face with the most annoying usher..."

"So there truly was an usher?" interrupted MJ in surprise. She supposed she should have given Peter the benefit of the doubt earlier, because his story was certainly casting a different light on things now.

"There truly was an usher" said Peter with a wry smile, "and somebody really needs to say something to that usher, MJ, because he had me tying my shoe laces and straightening my tie, only to refuse me entrance into the theater auditorium with a smile more sadistic than the Green Goblin's. 'I'm sorry, sir, but no one is to be admitted once the performance has started. It helps maintain the illusion,'" he mimicked in a snooty voice.

"I think I know who that is," said MJ, her dimples leaping into vivid relief as she suppressed a laugh. Poor Peter. It was a contradiction that a person could be a powerful, self-sacrificing super-hero and such a hapless geek at the same time, but somehow he managed it. She found it side-splittingly funny and endearing at the same time. In retrospect, she was amazed at herself that she had not discovered Peter's secret sooner. Had she been wilfully blind? Peter was so inept at times and his excuses had been so transparent – she should have guessed on her own. She'd had so many clues, she realized, starting with the time she had slipped in the cafeteria and Peter had caught her easily with one arm, while employing his other hand to balance her lunch tray and use it to intercept her falling food. She also recalled an astounding fight between Peter and her ex-boyfriend Flash, a fight in which Peter had moved like a dancer or an acrobat, and had unleashed a punch that had thrown that neanderthal halfway down the hall. After enduring years of torment from bullies like Flash Thompson and his buddies, it must have been very gratifying for Peter to be able to win for once. "Tell me, don't you ever wish you could use some of your abilities to get back at insufferable people like that?" MJ asked, trying to understand what it must be like to be Peter Parker, amazing Spider-Man, every day.

"Sometimes," admitted Peter. "I often wish I could web my editor's mouth shut. I got to do it once, as Spider-Man, and it was very satisfying. I thought about discretely webbing this usher's feet to the floor, but it would have been pointless. And I was too depressed to hang around by that point in any case."

He thought for a moment. He had something he needed to say to MJ, and now was as good a time as any. "You know, MJ, being Spider-Man doesn't really solve my problems. In fact he is the source of my problems. He's voracious and all-encompassing: he takes most of my time and energy, so that I have almost nothing left over for school or work or the people I care about – like you, Harry, Aunt May." He gave her a piercing look as he fumbled in his pocket for his keys. They'd almost reached his building, and he decided that he would drop his bike off in his room, and then take MJ home. Part of him wanted to prolong their time together, to offer her some tea in his room or something, but ultimately, what purpose would that serve? "Spider-Man doesn't leave much room for Peter Parker," he commented, still holding her gaze with his expressive blue eyes.

MJ looked at Peter anxiously. She was beginning to see where this speech was going, and she wasn't sure she liked it. "Why do you do it?" she asked, in part to head him off.

Peter hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. He genuinely didn't want her to think that he was any kind of a hero. "It's usually a matter of life-or-death, MJ," he said quietly. "The other day I was late for class for the umpteenth time because I prevented a steel girder from falling on the heads of six construction workers. It's not like I can say, forget it, I need to get to class, or I'd like to hang out with friends, or whatever ... when doing so would probably mean that people like those guys would be dead, and their wives and kids would be without husbands and fathers." He sighed heavily, and turned to mount the porch stairs of an old and dilapidated building. "I don't want any deaths on my conscience ... or any more deaths, that is."

MJ frowned, and was about to ask him what he meant by this strange remark, when she realized Peter had set his helmet and his mangled bike down, and was unlocking the front door of the building beside them. "Here's where I live," he said quietly. "I thought I'd drop my bike off in my room and then take you home. What do you think about that?"

"OK, I guess," said MJ, disappointed, as she walked slowly up the stairs to the front door of his building. She wasn't ready for their evening together to end yet; she had so much she wanted to ask him, so much she wanted to say. This news was so overwhelming, so incredible, that she still hadn't got her head around it. She wanted to talk it over with Peter, figure out what it all meant. Sighing, she picked up Peter's helmet and held the front door open for him, and he lifted the bike easily into the front hallway and turned on the light. She followed him in, and they mounted several flights of stairs, passing through the dingiest, dirtiest stairwell that MJ had ever seen. When they reached the top flight, he placed his finger on his lips silently, and then lifted the damaged bike one handed high off the ground, so that it wouldn't scrape on the hardwood floor. Then he moved swiftly and almost noiselessly from the stairwell towards the direction of the facing hallway, and disappeared around the corner.

Peter had nearly reached the end of the hallway, when he perceived that MJ was still climbing up the stairs and stopped. MJ tried to tiptoe steathily after him, but just as she passed the first door, it flew open with a bang, startling her and causing her to drop the helmet.

"Rent!" someone shouted in stentorian tones.

"Hi, Mr. Ditkovitch," said Peter, suddenly reappearing, minus the bike, at MJ's elbow. MJ looked into a shabby, crowded kitchen, in which a bunch of heavy set men were playing poker and drinking beer. A big-eyed, blonde teenager in a tight, midriff-baring tank top was washing dishes in the background. She was bony and waif-like in appearance, and when she saw MJ standing next to Peter, her face took on an even more pinched appearance. One of the men, who wore a greasy undershirt, had risen from the head of the table and was glaring at them. The whole scene reminded MJ disturbingly of her dad's drunken poker nights at home with his buddies, and she bent to pick up the dropped helmet to hide her discomfort.

"As I told you, I'll have the rent money later this week," Peter was saying in a placating voice, while he tugged MJ away from the doorway. He was extremely embarrassed that MJ had to witness this evidence of his insolvency, and he wanted to get her away from the disagreeable scene as soon as possible.

"Later, always it is later with you!" groused Mr. Ditkovitch. "I can't live on later! Look at my daughter! She's so thin, she'll starve if you pay me later!"

The skinny blonde girl at the sink looked over an angular shoulder at them, and blushed an unbecoming beet-red. "Papa!" she scolded quietly, adding something unintelligible in another language. Then she looked apologetically at Peter.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ditkovitch, I know it's inconvenient," Peter was saying politely. "I do appreciate your patience, believe me." He backed away as he said this, steering MJ in front of him with a guiding hand on the small of her back. "By the way, this is my friend, MJ – Mary Jane Watson."

"Nice to meet you," MJ called brightly over her shoulder, as Peter drew her inexorably down the dim and dreary hallway.

"You're lucky my daughter likes you, Parker," came the shouting tones of Mr. Ditkovitch. "Only for her would I put up with this ..." At that there was a loud crash, which sounded like a plate breaking, and a female voice began screaming in another language, possibly Russian. Peter winced, and went to retrieve his bike and the loose wheel from where he'd left them leaning against the wall. "Sorry about that," he mumbled, blushing himself.

MJ was struck forcibly by the contrast between Peter's current living situation, and his childhood home. Having lived next door to Peter for nearly twelve years, she knew that May Parker had kept her house remarkably pristine and cosy. MJ had been in it a few times, mostly for birthday parties when both she and Peter were small, and had always noticed that it seemed more spacious and comfortable than her own house, although the layout was identical in every respect. While MJ had covered her ears on a nightly basis to get away from her parents' screaming arguments or her dad's loud anger, she had never once heard any of the Parkers raise their voices. In fact, when she was little, she had envied the serenity and closeness of the family next door. She had often seen Aunt May baking in the kitchen and bringing Peter cookies while he studied the bugs on the ground with a magnifying glass, or Uncle Ben sitting out on the back patio with his nephew, while Peter tried to look at the stars or the moon through a cheap telescope, or both of the Parkers serving as smiling guinea pigs while Peter experimented with his new camera. On Sunday afternoons, they had climbed into the yellow Oldsmobile, and taken Peter to museums, zoos, botanical gardens and planetariums. She knew, because she often heard them talking together about wherever they had been as they got out of the car and unlocked the front door of their house in the dusky evening twilight. At the time, MJ hadn't necessarily wanted to go to all those places herself, but she had envied Peter the outings and wished she could tag along, just to get out of her house and into a more peaceful atmosphere.

"Hey, Tiger," said MJ roguishly, as she followed Peter through the door of his tiny room, and set the helmet on his desk. "I think your landlord could win a shouting contest with my dad." Peter gave her a small smile at that, then propped his battered bike, along with its bent front wheel, against the tiny bar fridge, cabinet and sink on one wall of his room. MJ privately thought the room was squalid and cramped, but she couldn't help noticing the few homey touches that Peter had added: books, the odd poster, and photographs everywhere. Not only were there pictures clipped up and drying all over the place, but she also noticed with a stab of joy that Peter had tucked that strip of silly "See no Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak no Evil" pictures she'd given him a year ago into the corner of his mirror. On a bedside table nearby was a family photo of the Parkers, and an old photo, which must have been taken in high school, of a younger MJ herself, her hair held girlishly back from her face in a head band, wearing a light purple top that clashed with a long, dark green sweater. The smile on her face was an effervescent one, though, and she looked radiant. It was a much better shot than most of the pictures in her professional portfolio. MJ couldn't quite place when that photo had been taken, but she felt gratified that Peter kept such a flattering picture of her out at all.

"It's not a very nice room," Peter said apologetically, noticing her looking around.

"Don't sweat it," said MJ nonchalantly. "My apartment is not much bigger than this, and it doesn't have your incredible view." She looked at the windows, which stretched from the high ceiling almost to the floor and were like French doors in style. "The windows are great," she added.

"Yeah, they're the main reason I took this room," agreed Peter quietly. "They make it easy for me to come and go." He looked at her for a moment as if making a decision, and then he said nervously, "Speaking of going, would you like me to take you home?"

"Oh," said MJ, startled. "I guess we can go, if you like." Sadly, she turned to head out the door again, but paused when she saw when Peter take a hesitant step towards her.

"No, actually ... I meant I could take you home the fast way" said Peter shyly, "You know, using the old web-slinging express – that is, if you want me to."

"You mean that?" asked MJ delightedly. She'd had countless fantasies of soaring through the city with Spider-Man since the memorable day when he had saved her from falling to her death at the World Unity Festival and carried her to safety on a romantic rooftop garden. Now that she knew who Spider-Man truly was, she realized with a thrill that some of those fantasies might actually come true. Her original ride had been simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying, but it had also been over far too quickly. Since that time, MJ had yearned to repeat the unique and indescribable experience. "Of course I want you to," she said eagerly.

"Okay, then," said Peter, with a quiet smile at MJ's obvious excitement. He had wanted to hold MJ in his arms and soar through the city with her again ever since the unforgettable afternoon when he'd rescued her from a collapsing balcony. The exquisite feeling of her slender body next to his was burned into his memory. Earlier, while they were walking back to his room, it had occurred to him that he could give them both this one last treat, before MJ went off to live happily ever after with her boyfriend and he went back to his lonely life without her.

MJ went over to window and looked out over the darkened streets. The city lights were sparkling in the distance, giving the whole scene a magical appearance. As she gazed down, she suddenly became aware that Peter was standing right behind her, reaching over her shoulder to unlock his window and swing it wide open. She shivered with pleasure at his proximity, and turning to look at him, realized in amazement that he'd already discarded his good clothes, which were lying in a neat pile on the foot of his bed. Since she hadn't observed him undress, MJ felt as though he had undergone a kind of metamorphosis. Her stomach clenched almost painfully at seeing him in his costume for the first time, with Peter Parker's ordinary head incongruously perched on Spider-Man's lean and muscular body. It was an uncanny transformation. She understood the truth about Peter Parker at last: he really was the amazing Spider-Man, the hero who had saved her life twice, who was constantly rushing off to protect the people of New York city, who gave and gave and gave, expecting nothing in return.

Without looking at her, Peter was pulling on red gloves. Then he leaned past her, surveying the buildings opposite and looking up and down the street. When he was satisfied, he caught up his mask and jumped lightly onto the window frame, which was a few inches off the floor.

"Ready?" he inquired, holding out a hand to her. When she placed her hand in his, he swung her up effortlessly to stand next to him on the window sill, supporting her whole weight with merely his hand.

They looked into each other's eyes for a timeless moment. The undeniable connection between them snapped tight and pulled them closer together. For a breathless second, MJ thought Peter was actually going to kiss her; the look in his blue eyes was so intense and ardent. Instead, he abruptly let go of her hand and drew his mask down over his face. Then he pulled her smoothly into his arms, diving out of the window at the same time in one incredibly fluid movement. As they plummeted towards the ground with sickening, heart-stopping speed, MJ felt as though she'd left her stomach behind on Peter's window sill, and screamed in mindless terror, clutching desperately at the strong shoulders beneath her hands. Her companion calmly shifted her, keeping her tight against his body, and raised an arm, casting a web. The next thing she knew, they were sweeping through the air, riding a swift and graceful arc back up towards the sky.

End of Part III

A/N: Thanks again for all the great reviews of the first two parts!