(For questioning or critical reviewers: You must understand that it is the
next morning, about nine of the clock or so. Yes, it is feasible for M.J.
to have morning sickness that early because there is something called
Emergency Contraception. EC happens when there is some kind of accident
with your birth control (the condom breaks, slips off, or birth control
pills fail with your body type) and you have had unprotected sex against
your free will and you are 100 percent sure that you do not want to be
pregnant, the morning-after pill was invented. With the morning-after
pill, it must be taken within 72 hours of the unprotected sex. The way
some women tell whether they're pregnant or not, and this is mainly on
heredity, is that they have morning sickness. Not all women throw up
immediately after, the morning after or even the week after; it's mainly
based on whether your female genes are prone to reacting after sex. Thank
you for your time.)
"M.J…" Peter tried to sound comforting, "What if you aren't?"
"Don't be so optimistic, Pete," Mary Jane sounded a bit testy; "Why else would I throw up after a night like that?" She starred right at him, searching for an answer that never came, "Why else?"
Peter thought, but didn't formulate a legitimate answer, "I don't know." He dropped his head in defeat over simple intellect.
There was a moment of silence, too long for Mary Jane to sit on the cold tile any longer so she stood up, making way for the door and keeping her back to Peter even though he pivoted in his position, "It's not your fault."
Peter stayed planted to the lavatory floor, pondering everything that had occurred in the last fourteen hours: What if she is pregnant? She doesn't blame me but I'm still responsible for what happened. What if she is…she doesn't have to have a child because her pill failed on her. She could use the morning-after pill…or…get an abortion…or use the abortion pill, what was it called? RU-468? Well…it's completely her decision, not mine…but I feel so guilty, so…
"Hey," M.J. said weakly, peering into the bathroom, "You want to make me some breakfast?"
With a feeble smile received from her, Peter stood and went to the doorframe where she stood. "I was thinking…and concluded that if you are pregnant…it's completely your choice whether you want a child or not, and I'll back you up, either way."
Mary Jane smiled softly and said quietly, "Okay."
With that, Peter kissed her on her forehead and headed out of her room for the kitchen, after he put on an oversized pair of M.J's sweats, which still didn't fit him comfortably…
Down in the kitchen, Peter rummaged through the refrigerator for eggs, milk, some form of juice and went to the counter for bread.
Flipping eggs, making them over-easy, Peter's spider sense screamed at him. He turned off the stove and quickly twisted his body, glancing rapidly around the room…no threat. Where was it coming from?
"Mary Jane…" Peter whispered harshly to himself.
Peter sprinted up the stairs, skipping about four at a time. "Mary Jane!" He exclaimed as he slid past her door, still on his feet.
"What's wrong, Pete?" Mary Jane looked at him quizzically from her perched position on the bed.
He scanned her body quickly…no faults. His head spanned towards the window, sirens blaring through the open French doors.
Peter looked back at M.J. "Go," she whispered.
He nodded, and then sprinted to the window, leaping out with grace, connecting to the building across the street with a strand of webbing.
Peter followed the sirens, finally noticing that he didn't have a costume on to conceal his identity as his bare arm met his eyesight.
He retreated from the chase, only to swing into his apartment and grab the old red sweater and blue sweats he had wore on the day of Uncle Ben's death.
Once attired, he leapt back out into the streets of New York…
Harry was home, but from a rough night had fallen asleep on the couch. He awoke to a thump that came from Peter's room. "Pete?" Harry called groggily.
No answer.
"Pete? Is that you?" Harry called a little louder, exiting the warmth of his position on the sofa.
Harry made way up the wooden stairs to Peter's room. He opened the door to find a pair of pink sweats on the floor, striped with baby blue down each side. Harry's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.
"M.J…" Peter tried to sound comforting, "What if you aren't?"
"Don't be so optimistic, Pete," Mary Jane sounded a bit testy; "Why else would I throw up after a night like that?" She starred right at him, searching for an answer that never came, "Why else?"
Peter thought, but didn't formulate a legitimate answer, "I don't know." He dropped his head in defeat over simple intellect.
There was a moment of silence, too long for Mary Jane to sit on the cold tile any longer so she stood up, making way for the door and keeping her back to Peter even though he pivoted in his position, "It's not your fault."
Peter stayed planted to the lavatory floor, pondering everything that had occurred in the last fourteen hours: What if she is pregnant? She doesn't blame me but I'm still responsible for what happened. What if she is…she doesn't have to have a child because her pill failed on her. She could use the morning-after pill…or…get an abortion…or use the abortion pill, what was it called? RU-468? Well…it's completely her decision, not mine…but I feel so guilty, so…
"Hey," M.J. said weakly, peering into the bathroom, "You want to make me some breakfast?"
With a feeble smile received from her, Peter stood and went to the doorframe where she stood. "I was thinking…and concluded that if you are pregnant…it's completely your choice whether you want a child or not, and I'll back you up, either way."
Mary Jane smiled softly and said quietly, "Okay."
With that, Peter kissed her on her forehead and headed out of her room for the kitchen, after he put on an oversized pair of M.J's sweats, which still didn't fit him comfortably…
Down in the kitchen, Peter rummaged through the refrigerator for eggs, milk, some form of juice and went to the counter for bread.
Flipping eggs, making them over-easy, Peter's spider sense screamed at him. He turned off the stove and quickly twisted his body, glancing rapidly around the room…no threat. Where was it coming from?
"Mary Jane…" Peter whispered harshly to himself.
Peter sprinted up the stairs, skipping about four at a time. "Mary Jane!" He exclaimed as he slid past her door, still on his feet.
"What's wrong, Pete?" Mary Jane looked at him quizzically from her perched position on the bed.
He scanned her body quickly…no faults. His head spanned towards the window, sirens blaring through the open French doors.
Peter looked back at M.J. "Go," she whispered.
He nodded, and then sprinted to the window, leaping out with grace, connecting to the building across the street with a strand of webbing.
Peter followed the sirens, finally noticing that he didn't have a costume on to conceal his identity as his bare arm met his eyesight.
He retreated from the chase, only to swing into his apartment and grab the old red sweater and blue sweats he had wore on the day of Uncle Ben's death.
Once attired, he leapt back out into the streets of New York…
Harry was home, but from a rough night had fallen asleep on the couch. He awoke to a thump that came from Peter's room. "Pete?" Harry called groggily.
No answer.
"Pete? Is that you?" Harry called a little louder, exiting the warmth of his position on the sofa.
Harry made way up the wooden stairs to Peter's room. He opened the door to find a pair of pink sweats on the floor, striped with baby blue down each side. Harry's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.