xXx

Mary Jane sighed as she reached the bar built into the side of the ballroom. She swept up a long-stemmed glass and drained it in one gulp, then delicately placed it on the bar. She turned to regard the milling guests, and she found herself face to face with Worthington. He was tall, immaculate in his suit, his golden hair combed back and almost glowing in the candle light. He looked angelic, classically handsome, and ever so slightly cruel.

"Hello," she said, startled.

"Mrs. Parker," he bowed slightly, taking her hand and kissing it. "I'm so glad you were able to join Peter tonight. I have a lot to be thankful for, and it's good to have a chance to celebrate that."

She felt a blush rising as he regarded her and didn't bother hiding his attraction.

"I'm very pleased with your husband's work," Worthington said as he took a glass of wine from the bar. "He has a real eye for composition, a gift for the artistry of the task. I am lucky to have him working for me. I believe this magazine will go a long way towards making Peter wealthy. But having you makes him rich." Worthington smiled, his teeth even and pearly.

"You are kind," she said with a smile, and she ducked her head, pushing stray hair behind her ear as she glanced sideways. "Please excuse me, I need to go freshen up." She smiled disarmingly, and slipped away into the crowd. Smiling, Worthington watched her go.

Mary Jane followed the wall until she found a corridor. The hallway had wide gutters along the sides, filled with soil, and tall plants lined the walkway. She quickly found the women's room, and pushed the heavy wood door open.

The conversation quieted as she stepped into the palatial room, one wall a vast mirror with sinks almost invisibly jutting from it, slim and metal. The lighting was gaslight. There was a lounge, as well as stalls, and two uniformed attendants stood at attention waiting the convenience of their patrons.

Mary Jane felt somewhat dreary and ordinary as she walked past the glittering line of women touching up their makeup. They shot appraisals at her that were as cutting as darts, and they exchanged long-lashed glances that were supposed to conceal their pity, but they were simply trying to outdo each other for demonstrating restraint in the face of a laughable specimen.

Mary Jane stood in front of the mirror, and for a horrible, long moment she saw her self as they saw her. Her straight, plain hair just done up in a bun, nothing elaborate. Her nails, not professionally done. Her dress, merely formal. And in that long, long moment she couldn't see her beauty, just the ways she hadn't packaged it properly.

She didn't have the stomach to touch up her makeup. Turning, she headed for a stall. She closed the door behind herself, lowered the uppermost lid on the toilet, and sat on it, feeling oddly bewildered and surreal.

"So is Jeff still in the Alps?" one of the ladies inquired of another, out at the mirror.

"No, he's moved on to Cambodia. I told him to go without me this time. He thinks he's getting away with something, but you remember Bob?"

"You didn't," the other said, delighted and horrified.

"Well, let's just say what his portfolio lacks, his assets make up for." The grin was audible in her voice.

"That's just wicked," giggled the other woman. "Say, how is your new nanny working out? I'm thinking about letting mine go."

"She's alright," the woman sniffed. "She watches too much television, but good help is hard to find. Are you going to Paris for Christmas? We're thinking about it, we might rent an entire hotel if we can get enough people together to fill it. Like we did for New Years in Cayman last year."

"Oh, that was fabulous!" she squeaked. "I say, let's do get together enough people and make it happen. You can bring Bob," she added slyly, "and I can see for myself what you've got to work with."

"Believe me, there's enough of him to go around." Her voice was deeply self-satisfied.

Mary Jane stared at the tiny diamond in her thin wedding ring. It was good enough for her. But she realized that it might not be long before Peter required something flashier. Somehow the idea hit her as nothing else had, and she clenched her fist, gripped her ring, and shuddered with the first sob. She tried to keep it silent, as the hot tears just oozed out of her eyes. Alone, deeply alone, she hunched in the bathroom stall and just let it go.

xXx

Mary Jane glanced at the clock over the television as she heard the foyer door open. She was wrapped in a bathrobe, gripping a big mug of hot chocolate, looking at the television without really paying attention. Only eleven o'clock.

"Mary Jane?" Peter said, his voice tight with worry as he stepped into the living room.

"I'm here," she replied.

He let out a breath, and then scowled. "You left me at the Hellfire Club," he said. "You took off and didn't say goodbye. Why."

She rubbed at her puffy eyes. "I'm not sure I can explain it so you'll understand," she admitted. "I… I'm out of my depth with those people, Peter. I gotta admit. I'm having some trouble adjusting to our new lifestyle."

"You're beautiful, you put those peacocks to shame," Peter said as he walked in. "What happened to my Mary Jane with the bulletproof ego?" He tried on a smile.

"Hey, who we are is changing pretty fast from who we used to be," she said, looking up at him steadily. "Peter… this isn't… Do you like your new life?"

Peter perched in the overstuffed chair opposite Mary Jane. "Yes," he said firmly. "Considering the old life was hand to mouth, liberally spiced with emergencies varying between life-and-death and financial ruin. I don't miss freelance work, or having my wife doing secretarial work. I have money now, and contacts. And I don't risk my life on a lark. And you don't have to stitch me up every time I come home. What's to miss?" he asked with a wry grin.

"Maybe I miss lighting up your eyes when you look at me," she said meekly. She glanced around, struggling away from the vulnerability. "Maybe I miss having something to do besides keep your castle ship shape for business guests." She looked him in the eye. "Maybe I miss my hero, who swept me off my feet."

A chill rippled through his eyes, his features. "Who did you fall in love with, then," he demanded. "Peter Parker? Or maybe just the spider ghost." He rose to his feet.

"I fell in love with Peter Parker," she said, a tremble in her voice. She gazed into his eyes as hers filled with tears. "Is that who I'm talking to?"

Peter's nostrils flared, then he stiffly turned his back on her and stormed into the study, slamming the door behind him.

Mary Jane sniffed, wiped at her face with the sleeve of her houserobe. She took a deep breath. Then she clenched her jaw, and changed the channel on the television.
The screen flickered and danced, but she didn't see a thing.

Thursday, November 25 2004. Thanksgiving.

The delightful wafting aroma of baked ham tempted Mary Jane as she kicked the door shut and hefted the bags of groceries. She hauled them through the doorway, depositing them on the kitchen table. She looked over at Peter, who was lounging against the counter. His sleeves were pushed up, and he wore a bemused smile and a 'Kiss the Chef' apron. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Got tomorrow's supplies, I see," he said.

"Yeah, and are you cooking a ham?" she asked.

His smile turned sheepish. "I felt bad. About last night. And that we aren't having a Thanksgiving on, you know, Thanksgiving. So I got a ham. That's it. Just ham. So lunch is ham. We can have all the stuffing and trimming and stuff like that tomorrow."

She couldn't help but chuckle. "That's the Peter Parker I remember," she said, shaking her head.

"Yeah," he agreed, glancing at the oven. "It's been hard for both of us. I feel like… like I have to make something of myself. Things are moving fast. And everything depends on me doing my best with this magazine job. I really am sorry about yesterday. And you've got the place looking fabulous for your parents. They are going to wonder what we did with their daughter and son-in-law."

"Maybe Peter and Mary Jane got eaten by monsters," Mary Jane suggested mischievously, unpacking the groceries. She picked up the eggs and opened the fridge, then gasped. Peter deftly caught the eggs before they fell to the floor.

Mary Jane reached into the fridge and pulled out the bouquet of two dozen roses. "Peter," she managed. "They're beautiful!"

"Yeah," he agreed, replacing the rack in the refrigerator that he had removed so the roses would fit. "I had to get roses. I have a soft spot for beautiful red-heads." He smiled, leaning over the chilled flowers and kissing his wife.

xXx

They sat at the table, the ham between them, and they sliced up the thick slabs of meat. Mary Jane had a glass of wine, Peter had a jug of water. For old times' sake, they were using paper towels for napkins.

"I thought of a lot of stuff last night," Peter said. "Stuff I didn't say. I couldn't sleep."

"Yeah," Mary Jane said. "Yeah, I heard you prowling the place."

Peter looked down at his ham as he cut it into ever-smaller pieces. "I need to get out of the shadow of the mesh," he said. "I can't quite… It distresses me," he sighed. He looked her in the eye. "I need you to know that you're the most important thing in my world. You are more important than saving the world. And it would kill me if I lost you while I was traipsing around in my leotard."

She pushed the ham aside and reached across the table. He took her hand in his, and glanced away with a curt smile. "My little patrols. They always ended in trouble, one way or another. And when I got in trouble, the people around me… well, they take my risks for me. I can't protect everybody. Not when I get into it, up to my eyespots."

He retrieved his hand, picked up the fork, and stabbed at chunks of ham. He quickly downed a forkload, then frankly regarded his wife. "One time I stopped a robbery. The guy involved was into the occult, he figured out I was on to him. So he magically possessed Gwen to try to kill her dad. Then her dad tried to kill her. By the time I was done saving them, Strange had to stop me from murdering them while under the influence." He paused. "I really don't miss that sort of thing."

"Doc Connors might," Mary Jane pointed out. "Remember when he turned into a big gecko? What if you hadn't involved yourself then?"

"I would have had a lot more clothes," Peter said wryly. "I went through a lot of outfits before I figured out how to quickchange into the spider ghost and not tear up my threads. Besides. I don't do that anymore, so now I can carry a cell phone without wondering where I'll leave it next, as I strip to my super hero underoos and swing off to save the day." He shook his head. "I used to use pay phones all the time. They are a vanishing breed, you know."

"So you figure heroism is going the way of the pay phone?" Mary Jane asked, half serious.

"Heroism?" Peter echoed. "That's a strong word for what I did. But yeah." He looked her in the eye. "I have the perfect job, a great home, a beautiful and loving wife, and a bright future. Believe me, MJ. This is as good as it gets."

She smiled back at him, and he chose not to see the doubt behind her smile.

Friday, November 26 2004

Peter stood at the ready in his leisure suit, his hair trimmed impeccably, slim sunglasses hiding his eyes. Mary Jane stood next to him, attractively arrayed in a simple and elegant dress.

Peter's senses uncoiled through the crowd as the airplane's passengers began disembarking. His senses also registered the artful pickpocket who lifted his wallet expertly. Peter grinned, gave the pickpocket a few seconds to get a head start, then he glided through the crowd after him. Peter dipped into the pick-pocket's pocket, drawing his wallet from his baggy pants, and he tapped the young man on the shoulder.

"Trade you," he grinned, his eyes unamused. He offered the young man his own wallet, and the pickpocket paled. He handed Peter's wallet back.

"Everthin's there," he stammered.

"Go home," Peter said coldly. He turned, and drifted back to Mary Jane's side.

"I know," he said. "They'll be the last ones off. There's a way these things are done." Peter glanced around the crowd.

'Now Peter. Be nice," Mary Jane said, nervous.

Peter just smiled. "I'll turn on the charm."

Ten minutes later, Peter perked up. "Here they come." He nodded at the couple that trod up the ramp, unhurried, towards the end of the line.

Peter strode forward to meet them, Mary Jane at his heels.

"Alonzo," Peter said effusively. "Angie. So glad you could make it." He smiled broadly, shaking Alonzo's hand, then Angie's hand. Alonzo was fairly short and hairy, almost a caricature. Angie was birdlike, thin, and nervous.

"Hi mom, hi dad," Mary Jane said, giving them hugs.

"I'll get the car," Peter said, and he slipped away into the crowd.

"Well," Alonzo sniffed. "You look good, Mary. Glad to know you aren't starving."

"That's a lovely dress," Angie exclaimed. "Is it new?"

"Yeah," Mary Jane grinned. "Let's get your luggage while Peter's getting the car."

"This time of day?" Alonzo started. "There's no way he can get the car and make it around before we get the bags. He wants us to, what, wait for him on the curb?"

"He figured you'd rather complain about waiting than complain about him not bothering to meet you at the gate," Mary Jane observed.

"Down, honey," Angie said as she patted her husband's arm. "Be nice, now."

"I'm being nice, who's not nice?" Alonzo muttered. "There, our bags. I'll get our bags." He headed for the luggage carousel.

"So how have you been, mom?" Mary Jane asked.

"Oh, the question is how you have been. Why, it's been over a year now! What did you do for your anniversary?"

"Peter doesn't really like Halloween," Mary Jane explained. "We spent it together, just the two of us, in the new apartment. Went out for a nice dinner, then," she shrugged, blushing slightly, "had a quiet evening at home."

"Say no more," her mother nodded wisely, patting her arm. "That sounds lovely."

"Did you have a good flight?" Mary Jane asked as her father returned clutching two bags, another bag hanging from his shoulder by a strap.

"Jouncy. Pilots these days. I don't know how they train them, but they need to try harder," Alonzo said with a despairing shake of the head. "Where is he picking us up? Here by the gate? Somewhere convenient, or is he just circling?"

"Come on, dad, this way," Mary Jane said with slightly forced friendliness. "He's pretty fast, he might already be waiting for us."

"Fast, that fast? Nobody's that fast. He's probably in line at the gate. He's probably…"

Alonzo trailed off as they walked out the sliding doors and Peter leaned over to push the passenger door of the Mercedes Benz open. He popped the trunk.

"This way," Mary Jane said, opening the trunk. Alonzo slung the bags into the clean, new space.

"This is nice," he said with a startled expression. "This is very nice. It's yours?"

"Please hurry," Peter called from the driver's seat. "We don't want to be late for our reservations."

"Reservations, what reservations, where are we going?" Alonzo asked. "You didn't ask us where we wanted to go? Where are these reservations?" He lowered himself into the car.

"Let's just say it's not pizza," Peter said, smiling to himself as the car filled up with family.