The funeral had been huge. It seemed all of New York had responded to the news, filling every pew and standing in every available space to mourn and pay respects to their lost protector, his identity only revealed in his death. Countless citizens had stood, looking utterly broken, recounting their tales of rescue. It had taken hours for them to clear off, but they were gone now, and MJ could be alone.
The stone was cold and smooth, and MJ wept as she touched it, recalling Peter's cold cheek that night. It was odd, she thought, and horribly cruel, that she had never felt the extent of her emotions towards Peter until after his death. It seemed now that every waking hour was consumed by her memories of Peter-the way he laughed, the way his heart beat as he hugged her to him when she cried, how she could tell him anything, anything at all, and he wouldn't ridicule her or think the worse of her for it. The way he always smiled when he saw her, how he developed that extra bounce in his step and acted so lively when his eyes told her he was absolutely exhausted.
And now she knew-perhaps she had always known? -where the exhaustion came from. Why he was always late, where those mysterious scrapes and bruises came from.
Why, why did she only notice these things after he had gone? Gone… It was impossible to conceive. The thought that she would never, never see him again…
"Mary Jane?" a voice stopped her thoughts, tentative but clear. She turned around to face Peter's Aunt May, her warm face tear streaked but friendly. "Why don't you stay at our-my-place for a while. I think we'll both need some companionship tonight." It wasn't a question. MJ stood, shaking, and May put one arm around her shoulders, taking her hand with the other.
The stone was cold and smooth, and MJ wept as she touched it, recalling Peter's cold cheek that night. It was odd, she thought, and horribly cruel, that she had never felt the extent of her emotions towards Peter until after his death. It seemed now that every waking hour was consumed by her memories of Peter-the way he laughed, the way his heart beat as he hugged her to him when she cried, how she could tell him anything, anything at all, and he wouldn't ridicule her or think the worse of her for it. The way he always smiled when he saw her, how he developed that extra bounce in his step and acted so lively when his eyes told her he was absolutely exhausted.
And now she knew-perhaps she had always known? -where the exhaustion came from. Why he was always late, where those mysterious scrapes and bruises came from.
Why, why did she only notice these things after he had gone? Gone… It was impossible to conceive. The thought that she would never, never see him again…
"Mary Jane?" a voice stopped her thoughts, tentative but clear. She turned around to face Peter's Aunt May, her warm face tear streaked but friendly. "Why don't you stay at our-my-place for a while. I think we'll both need some companionship tonight." It wasn't a question. MJ stood, shaking, and May put one arm around her shoulders, taking her hand with the other.