Disclaimer: The characters and events of Spider-Man 2 belong to Marvel, Sony and a large number of other people. I am not one of them, and I am not making gobs of money off Spider-Man, either. This story is only for fun.
A/N: I apologize for the length of this chapter. I had a lot of ideas I wanted to explore, and then when I was done I had this monster chapter, which didn't seem to have a natural split in it anywhere. It should probably be revised and trimmed, but I don't have time at the moment. So here it is in its entirety. Enjoy! Please review too, if you get the chance – I love feedback.
Memories and Revelations
Part VII
MJ was having her hair done. It was an hour before her wedding, and her mother, looking attractive and only a little pale in a purple silk wedding suit and a matching feathered hat, was deftly twining her auburn hair into an elegant French chignon. Wrapped in a fluffy white robe, MJ watched her mom work from her chair before a large, oval mirror. They were in the elegant white changing room that the Cathedral provided for the use of its brides. MJ abstractedly followed her mother's hands with her eyes as they skilfully coiled, arranged and pinned her hair in place. Only Madeline Watson could fasten hairpins in such a way that they disappeared entirely from sight. Then MJ sighed, feeling almost completely detached from reality, and looked away from her reflection in the mirror. She felt as though she was above the scene, viewing everything – herself, her mom, the room, the dress hanging neatly in its plastic from a hook on the back of the door – from a great height. What was wrong with her? She was sure that a bride should be more fully present on her wedding day. She shifted unhappily in her chair.
"Please sit still, Mary Jane," said her mother, sounding a little like she had all those years ago when a small MJ would get her hair cut at her mom's salon in the evening after it had closed. "I don't think I've ever seen you so fidgety," Madeline went on. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm perfectly fine, Mom," MJ said patiently. "I told you. I didn't sleep very well yesterday night." This was at least partly true. MJ had tossed and turned all night, drifting in and out of fitful dozes, which were marked by unsettling and nearly forgotten dreams of wandering through huge, empty offices full of furniture looking for something, or swimming in deep, dark and grey oceans trying to find land. The final dream had been the most disturbing of all: she'd been at the rehearsal party from the night before, wandering through the endless densely populated and congested rooms looking for someone – John, perhaps? – when she'd come upon a mirror at the end of a corridor and stood in front of it, only to discover that she had no reflection. It occurred to her now that, in the last dream, she'd been looking for herself – looking and apparently not finding, if the mirror was any indication. Of course, it was only a dream.
Anyway, her restless sleep was not the reason she was so uncomfortable now. A small knot, like a nameless fear, was gathering in her stomach. Of course, that knot might also have something to do with the fact that she'd had no appetite all day. She'd barely even managed to choke down a piece of toast that morning, she was such a bundle of nerves. Staring at her expressionless, almost empty face in the mirror, MJ thought that she didn't look much like a bride on her wedding day. Maybe the transformation into a bride would happen when she put on the wedding dress, but she was starting to wonder. She shifted again slightly and looked down at her ring, twisting it around her finger to make it catch the light.
"Pre-wedding jitters, huh?" said Madeline Watson very quietly, meeting her daughter's eyes in the mirror.
"Something like that" said MJ, trying for a smile. MJ liked to think of herself as a strong person, a survivor like her mother. But she had to admit that she felt very weak at the moment – confused, detached from herself and all at sea. The feeling was reminding her disturbingly of her weakest moment so far in her life. MJ never liked thinking about it much, possibly because she'd always had the unsettling feeling that she had missed an opportunity somewhere, but it returned unbidden to her mind, as memories were wont to do ...
MJ looked over at Peter, all alone at his uncle's grave. He was standing perfectly straight, but his back looked tense, as if he was keeping himself upright only by force of will. She took a deep breath and started to approach him. She wanted to comfort him, but she also had something very important to say to him, something that she hoped would lift his spirits and make him forget whatever trouble was winding him up to that tight pitch.
When she drew near, Peter turned around slowly, as if sensing her proximity. The look in his eyes was the stunned, bewildered look of a lost little boy who couldn't quite comprehend the extent of the distress encompassing him. It smote her to the heart, and before she knew it, she was smiling tenderly and holding out her arms to him.
He came into them at once, holding her close and warm against him, a deep sigh escaping him as his arms enfolded her. MJ held onto him equally tightly, closing her eyes in bliss. Peter's body pressed against hers, lean, hard and strong, and his embrace felt so good, so right, so familiar that she couldn't help but savor it for a moment. He drew in a long breath, his chest vibrating against hers, and she felt the tension in her own breast start to ease, her feelings unfurling and her heart lifting. She hoped that her hug was soothing Peter's raw emotions in the same way, and searched for the right words to assuage his sorrow a little more.
"You must miss him so much," MJ said softly. She put a gloved hand caressingly on the back of his head, stroking his hair.
"It's been so hard without him," Peter assented, his voice breaking. His hands pressed her a little closer into him, as if to draw every ounce of comfort from her embrace that he could get. MJ felt so much compassion for him that she didn't know how to articulate it. First orphaned at a young age, Peter had next lost his beloved uncle, as true a father to him as his real father had been – and he'd lost him in the most shocking and violent way possible. She wanted, she needed, to make it better ...
"There's something I've been wanting to tell you," MJ said, pulling back to look into his eyes, with a gentle, hopeful smile illumining her face. He was so inexpressibly dear to her at that moment, that MJ could scarcely believe that she hadn't always loved him.
"When I was up there ... when I thought I was going to die ..." Her voice shaking, she struggled to find the right words to convey the wonderful truth she had suddenly grasped in the midst of the awfulness that was her experience on the bridge "... there was only one person I was thinking of." MJ remembered clutching at Spider-Man's taut, stretched-out form, high above the water, and realizing unexpectedly that her biggest regret was that she would never again gaze upon Peter Parker, never hold him in her arms, never tell him ... "And it wasn't who I thought it would be," she went on tremulously. She put a hand on his shoulder, and smiled a smile that seemed to reached all the way down to her soul. "It was you, Pete."
Peter's eyebrows drew in together as he looked at her with genuine puzzlement in his blue eyes.
MJ reached up and caressed his cheek with her gloved hand, wishing all at once that she could feel his skin. She spoke earnestly, saying, "I kept thinking, 'I hope I make it through this...'" Wanting to touch him, she kept her hand resting lightly on his cheek, and smiled wider to keep the tears that were rising close to the surface at bay "'... so I can see Peter Parker's face one more time.'"
"Really?" Peter asked, in a soft, vulnerable voice, the light of wonder breaking in his eyes. A small smile played over his mouth, making him look boyishly innocent and eager for a minute. He seemed to be hanging on her every word.
She nodded happily, starting to lose the battle to hold back her tears. A few gathered, shimmering in her eyes and giving everything a hazy, glistening appearance. "There's only one man," she said seriously, "who's always been there for me..."
At the thought, a smile like a ray of light shone forth, irradiating her crystal tears.
"... who makes me feel like I'm more than I ever thought I could be. That I'm just ..." she lifted her shoulders helplessly, a joy she had never felt before lighting her face and filling her heart to the brim "... me. And that's O.K."
All at once, she needed to tell him, she needed him to know everything. "The truth is ... I love you."
Peter's face changed as the smile was wiped away and replaced by an expression of utter shock.
"I love you so much, Peter..." MJ gasped out all in a rush, suddenly breathless with emotion.
She reached up with her other hand, and clasped his neck, pulling his face toward hers gently, inexorably. Then she kissed him with her whole heart. For a second, his lips trembled under hers and he seemed to hesitate – until, as if he couldn't help it, he began kissing her back just as passionately, just as wholeheartedly, his lips clinging to hers with soft fervency. A deep, mysterious emotion, strangely resembling a feeling of recognition, stirred inside of her. Like their earlier hug, the kiss that they were now sharing felt so good, so right, that it was almost as though they'd done it before. That thought drifted quietly away, though, because of the pleasure suffusing her as she tasted Peter's kiss and gave it back to him. His mouth, velvety and delectable, continued to clasp hers tenderly, making her heart race and joy pulse beneath her skin. When his lips pulled tantalizingly on hers one more time, stealing one final, sweet, fleeting kiss, her own mouth tingled and nerves kindled throughout her body. Then he pulled away from her reluctantly, his eyes growing guarded and unhappy.
MJ gazed at him, a little confused. For an all-too brief second, she had basked in the warmth of the love showing in Peter's eyes, but now all she could see was sadness in their quiet depths.
"I can't," Peter was whispering, almost as if to himself.
MJ was still confused. She wasn't too worried yet, though. Something was obviously bothering Peter, but she was going to get him to tell her what it was. "You can't ... what?" she prompted him.
"I can't... " Peter hesitated, stumbling over his words "tell you everything ... I mean ... there's so much to tell ..."
"Yeah," she said with a giddy smile, overwhelmed by all they had to say to each other, and thinking joyously of the many ways they would find to share their love. She couldn't wait. "There's so much to tell." She beamed at him.
Peter didn't return her smile. "I want you to know ..." he was saying, holding her eyes steadily with his grave ones "... that I will always be there for you. I will always be there to take care of you. I promise you that." His words had all the solemnity of a vow, and his face was completely still and serious. "I will always ..." Peter's voice caught, and he seemed to be forcing the words out "...be your friend."
For a moment, MJ couldn't believe her ears. This couldn't be happening. It went against everything her heart and her five senses were telling her. She didn't accept it. "Only a friend... Peter Parker?" she asked in a trembling voice, hoping against hope for a different outcome than the one that suddenly threatened.
Peter looked at her, an impenetrable sadness in his darkening blue eyes. "That's all I have to give," he said with quiet finality, his voice cracking a little.
They gazed at each other for a long moment. Then MJ bowed her head, the tears she'd been holding back brimming up and starting to escape, one rolling down her cheek. She was so upset that she sensed, rather than saw, Peter step back and start to walk away from her.
She began silently crying. She felt as though she'd had her feet yanked out from underneath her, because this unexpected turn of events went against everything she knew, or thought she knew, about Peter and about their fledgling relationship. Inside, she was completely devastated, her pain so wide and deep and profound that she couldn't comprehend it yet. How could Peter go from holding her as if she were precious, and kissing her like she was the one and only woman, to rejecting her love? It didn't make sense. His kiss had been so loving, so passionate, so full of promise. He had not kissed her like a man who only wanted to be friends.
Remembering the kiss, she inhaled sharply and touched her fingers to her lips. Only one other kiss had ever felt so good. But it couldn't be ... could it? She turned to watch Peter walk away from her, and noticed that his erect, broad-shouldered, determined posture looked vaguely familiar.
For a second, she wanted to run after him, and confront him with the astonishing thought that had just occurred to her. Yet it seemed so impossible. Her grief and heartbreak must be playing tricks with her mind. Yes, that was it. She was so devastated by Peter's rejection she was even grasping after the most far-flung explanations for something that was really very simple: he didn't love her, except as a friend. And what was she doing bringing Spider-Man into it? She couldn't be subconsciously hoping that a super-hero like Spider-Man would save her from heartbreak like he'd saved her life, could she? She flushed with embarrassment. That was patently ridiculous and childish. MJ stood in bewildered confusion watching the stalwart figure get further and further away, until Peter finally disappeared from her sight, leaving her standing alone at a grave ...
For the first time, MJ wondered what the outcome would have been if she had run after Peter that day, and challenged him about being Spider-Man. He would have tried to deny it, but she would have seen through him at once. Fundamentally, Peter was an honest person and he was also, perhaps for that very reason, terrible at telling lies and offering excuses. If she had forced the truth out of him ... then what? Would he have used the same reasoning that he had used on her recently? Would she have argued with him, forcing him to disclose his feelings and recognize hers?
And what if she had persuaded him, what would it have been like to be Spider-Man's girlfriend? Well, wonderful, of course, because she would have been with Peter, but it would probably also be hard, she told herself – as hard as anything she'd ever done in her life. Peter would be terribly busy, of course, and she'd worry about his safety night and day. She'd also have to understand that, at any moment, Peter might have to leave her to become Spider-Man. No doubt the feeling of coming second all the time would be wearying after awhile. And she didn't suppose that the Amazing Spider-Man really needed a girlfriend. She would have constantly distracted him, or have gotten in the way.
"Time to get dressed," said Madeline Watson brightly, in a voice of forced cheerfulness. "The wedding starts in forty minutes, and all those buttons on the back of your dress are going to take a long time to do up." Then she went to take the softly shimmering dress off its hook. MJ stood up, slipping out of her robe as soon as she saw her mother quickly and efficiently unbutton the numerous buttons. She averted her eyes from the sight of her reflection, clad only in lacy white lingerie, thigh-length stockings and a blue-ribboned garter, not wanting at the moment to think about the circumstances in which the dress would be removed later that night. Her mother held the billowy dress open on the ground, and MJ stepped carefully into it. Together the two of them pulled it up around MJ's waist and over her bust. Then MJ dropped her hands and looked at herself in the mirror while her mother disappeared behind the wide skirt, beginning to fasten the bottom buttons just below her waistline. MJ could already feel the fabric pulling in slightly around her waist.
"Are you looking forward to Madrid?" Madeline asked as she worked. "And Barcelona?"
"I suppose so." MJ said indifferently. "I've never really traveled before, so it's bound to be interesting." When John had suggested it, she had loved the idea of going to Spain. Now, though, it seemed unreal, like something that was never going to happen.
Her mother was steadily, deftly, moving up the line of buttons, and MJ was beginning to feel a little constricted by the bodice of the wedding dress, which was cinching in her abdomen slightly. There were still bruises there, left over from where Doc Ock's tentacle had slammed into her stomach, so the dress chafed a little more than it had when she'd first tried it on.
"I'd love to go to Spain someday," her mother said dreamily, "Or England, France, Italy, anywhere in Europe really ..."
"I hate to admit it, but I don't like giving up the play for a two-week honeymoon, even if it's in Spain," MJ admitted candidly. "It's going so well." Her mother was still slowly buttoning up the long line of tiny buttons running up the back of the dress and now MJ could feel the dress begin to pull snug across her chest. Preoccupied, Madeline Watson made an assenting noise, and MJ continued. "Everyone who sees it loves it, even people who don't normally go to the theater." She thought back to a night a little over a week past, a night that seemed like a lifetime ago now, and smiled slightly in remembrance. "A case in point: Peter came early last week and he thought it was great."
"Oh, so you saw Peter Parker recently?" her mother asked innocently, studiously not meeting MJ's gaze in the mirror.
MJ rolled her eyes and didn't take the bait. Not for the first time, she regretted ever telling her mother that she'd fallen in love with Peter, and that he had rejected her. It had only happened because her mother had been present during a moment of weakness. MJ had suffered from nightmares about the Green Goblin around the time of the bridge incident, so she had slept at her mother's house immediately afterwards for a few nights, only returning to the apartment she shared with her girlfriends two days after Norman Osborn's funeral. Consequently, on the day of the funeral, her sharp-eyed mother had spotted her red eyes and white face as she walked in the door, and of course had wanted to know what was wrong. Somehow her mom's simple question had been enough to set a fragile MJ off again. She had rushed into her mother's arms in tears, rashly blurting out that she was in love with Peter Parker, who only wanted to be friends with her.
After that, for a long time, her mom would ask the odd suggestive question about Peter or drop hints about when he'd be visiting his aunt. Not that she ever said much – she would simply look at MJ in a certain knowing, questioning way that MJ found incredibly annoying. When finally pressed about it, Madeline Watson had explained to her daughter, "I just can't understand it. May Parker and I used to joke together about whether Peter would ever find the nerve to ask you out. He's always had a thing for you."
Her mother's inquisitive behavior had culminated in an unintentionally piercing question, which came just a day after the Planetarium fundraiser, when MJ had told her mom about her engagement to John. Her mom had hugged her, congratulated her sincerely, and then had gotten a funny look on her face. When MJ had insisted on knowing what the look meant, she had simply asked, "What about Peter Parker?" MJ had become almost unreasonably irked, especially when she remembered the painful conversation with Peter at the Planetarium party the night before. "What about him?" MJ had snapped crossly. "A guy who's never around and who shows no interest in me at all? There's never been anything real between us." After that, MJ had put in place a moratorium on questions about Peter, although somehow her mother still managed to weave little mentions of him into her conversation, to MJ's discomfort.
Finished fastening the dress at last, MJ's mother drew back to survey the effect with a smile. MJ lifted her dress's hem slightly as she slipped on strapless, white, low-heeled shoes. Dropping her skirt, she gazed seriously at herself in the mirror, trying to decide whether she was looking at a bride on the way to her wedding or a model in an expensive, fairy-tale gown. She took in the perfect hairdo, with not a hair out of place, the tiny round dangling diamond earrings, a gift from her Aunt Anna, and the immaculate, snowy white chiffon gown flowing off her bare shoulders to culminate in a puffy swirl of mist and foam. Somehow the picture lacked something, some spark that she thought dimly ought to be there. Meanwhile, Madeline Watson fluttered about, carefully arranging the chiffon frills surrounding MJ's arms and skirt so that they would lie neat and flat. Then she picked up MJ's lovely, costly bouquet of white orchids and roses from where it had been left lying on the long,white sofa near them, and handed it to MJ to hold. When she was done, Madeline stepped back, folded her hands and smiled with pride at her lovely daughter, her eyes meeting MJ's in the mirror. Then her smile faded. "Are you sure you're okay, honey?" Madeline Watson asked, for the second time that afternoon.
"I'm fine, Mom," said MJ, but her tone sounded unconvincing even to herself. "It's like you said: I've got a slight case of pre-wedding jitters, that's all," she added, trying again for a smile and barely succeeding.
Madeline sighed, "Look, honey, ... I've held my tongue these last few months because you didn't seem to want to talk. I know you're pretty independent; I know you don't like anyone to tell you what to do. But you're my only daughter, and I just want you to be happy." She took a deep breath. MJ got the impression that she was about to uncork something that she'd been keeping bottled up for weeks. "I have only one thing to say to you." She came to stand close behind MJ, giving her a light squeeze on the shoulders with her hands. "I've made far too many compromises in my life, decisions that don't seem worthwhile now. Please don't you compromise, sweetie."
"John is a good man, Mom," MJ faltered.
"I know he is, dear," Madeline Watson turned her daughter to face her, and then planted a gentle kiss on MJ's forehead. When MJ remained silent, her mom added in a defeated tone, "I should go and join your father." A heavy silence fell as Madeline Watson dropped her hands and took a step back.
The silence dragged on. "Now I've gone and said too much and you're mad at me," said MJ's mom, a look of chagrin on her face.
"No, no, I'm not mad, Mom," MJ said, fixing affectionate eyes on her mother, and then leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. To tell the truth, as had been the case for the last two days, she didn't actually know what she was feeling.
"Well, good," said Madeline in relief. She looked at MJ's serious face for a moment longer and then she sighed and picked up her purse and gloves. "I'll see you out there, then, sweetheart" she said as she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
Left alone and waiting quietly in the room, MJ found herself still thinking about Peter. She had tried everything she could in the last two days – or was it the last two months? – to purge him from her mind. Now she understood with a growing certainty that something inside her just didn't want to let go of him. In particular, she kept thinking about the last time she'd seen him, two nights ago now. Despite scratches and bruises, and having stopped a speeding train singlehandedly, he'd been so determined to save her, to save the city. Later, high on the web, he'd been equally determined to save her from himself, from the risks of his life.
Of course, his life was indeed really risky, even for him. But who bandaged Peter up when he was hurt, who fed him, and who looked after him? Well, she knew Aunt May did, to a certain extent, but Peter was far too independent, to determined to pull his own weight, to accept more than the most minimal help from his aunt, a parental figure MJ knew Peter thought he should be caring for now. He also seemed to care for and look after the city, a never-ending job which would probably involve saving it over and over again. "What about you, Peter Parker?" thought MJ sadly. "Who's going to save you?"
Aunt May was carrying the filled punch bowl from the table of the dining room into the living room, and MJ followed her with the little cut-glass punch glasses in her hands. MJ had been spending the afternoon with her mother, a visit that she had made partly because she was planning to go to Peter's birthday celebration later that evening. All of a sudden, she'd found herself impatient for the party to begin, almost as impatient as though she were still a little girl. So, after dressing with particular care in a floral pleated skirt and pale blue sweater, she'd come over directly after supper to inquire if Aunt May needed any help getting ready for Peter's party. Aunt May's reply had been characteristic: no, she didn't need help, but she would certainly appreciate MJ's congenial company.
May Parker's homey parlor and comfortable dining room did look nearly ready for a party, with covered platters of delicious looking appetizers and finger foods on the table, a beautiful chocolate-iced cake - Peter's favorite - in the kitchen, and red, yellow, blue and purple balloons, along with colorful streamers and "Happy Birthday" banners festooning the doorways. Feeling as though she were reliving her childhood, MJ was thoroughly enjoying keeping Peter's gentle, gracious, ladylike aunt company, helping as much as she was allowed, and simply talking to Aunt May. Inevitably, the conversation had worked its way around to Peter, which was always another bonus feature of visiting May Parker.
"I know I'm a foolish old woman, but I worry so about Peter lately," May Parker was saying, throwing a self-deprecating smile over her shoulder at MJ as she placed the punch bowl carefully on a small ornament table against the wall.
"Why is that?" asked MJ, responding to May's anxious comment with concern. She hoped nothing was wrong with Peter. It occurred to her that it had been almost two months since she had last seen him, when they'd gone out on an abortive coffee date not long after the play had opened.
Midway through the date, Peter had left the coffee shop abruptly, after (apparently) remembering that he hadn't locked his apartment door. He had joked as he was leaving that he was afraid his landlord might ransack his things, looking for loose change and confiscating items in lieu of his overdue rent. They had laughed together at that, but then he had never returned. He'd phoned the next day to apologize, of course, saying something had come up (without specifying what) and she'd forgiven him because his vague apology had sounded so abject, sweet and contrite. But she hadn't seen him since. Now, listening anxiously to Aunt May, she was surprised to realize how much she missed Peter.
Aunt May shrugged helplessly. "Oh, it's nothing new. It's just that money is always so tight for Peter. He had his phone disconnected again this month, so now I have to call his landlord and leave a message if I want to contact him." She sighed, and took the punch glasses from MJ, arranging them neatly beside the bowl. "And he's been fired from so many jobs, I've lost count," she went on. "He just started a job as a delivery boy for a pizza place three weeks ago, and I truly hope that he manages to hang onto this one, even though it's not perfect." Aunt May shook her head, a slight frown marring her normally serene face. "I worry all the time that he's going to have some kind of accident on that scooter-thing he drives while he's zipping around delivering pizzas like a speed demon." She began to head back into the kitchen, and MJ followed her automatically.
"Why on earth does Peter keep getting fired?" MJ asked, frowning. This didn't sound like the Peter Parker she knew, or used to know.
"Oh, he's always late for work ... and apparently sometimes he doesn't show up at all. It's no wonder they fire him." May sighed, shaking her head again. "I guess I should have trained him better when he was young. He used to be late nearly every day for the school bus ..."
"I remember," MJ laughed a fond, nostalgic laugh.
" ... but Ben and I thought it was kinda cute. It often happened because he was so busy reading, or studying a leaf, or looking at an insect under a magnifying glass, or fiddling with the microscope that we bought him when he was twelve." May Parker's face was softly illuminated by a wistful, affectionate smile.
MJ listened with increasing puzzlement about Peter's baffling behavior of late. She supposed she should be glad that Peter's tendency to be late or to forget dates completely was not a sign of his total indifference to her – apparently it extended to everyone in his life, including his employers. Oddly, though, instead of feeling relief, she felt concern. Peter had always seemed so responsible: he didn't seem like a deadbeat or the kind of guy who kept getting fired because he didn't show up for work. What was going on?
"He's probably not getting enough sleep either, out all hours as he usually is, trying to photograph that Spider-Man," May observed to MJ, who wisely withheld comment. Aunt May put on a pair of colorful oven mitts, and opened the oven. The delicious aroma of a baking ham wafted out, and Aunt May reached in and pulled out a large, juicy one, resting it on top of the stove to cool. Glistening with pineapple glaze and dotted with cherries like red jewels it looked so mouth-wateringly delicious that it made MJ regret the diet that was keeping her waist tiny enough to fit into Cecily Cardew's old-fashioned dresses. Aunt May had told MJ that Peter's celebration would be a small evening party when she'd extended the invitation nearly two weeks before, but she obviously had something more like a generous late dinner planned.
Echoing MJ's thoughts, Aunt May continued, "And then, you know, he comes here once a week for Sunday dinner with me – and he's always so ravenous. He eats three or four times the amount that he used to eat even in the last year of high school." Aunt May shook her head a third time. She took a sealed tupperware container out of the fridge and handed it to MJ. "MJ, dear, could you arrange the finger sandwiches in this tupperware on that rose plate on the counter next to the sink, and then put it on the dining table, please?" she interrupted herself.
"Of course," murmured MJ, getting to work. Then she picked up the thread of the conversation again. "So you think that Peter's not getting enough to eat?"
"Oh, I know he isn't," said May Parker, clearly upset as she lifted her shoulders helplessly. "When he hugs me I can feel that his body is too lean – he's practically skin and bone, without an ounce of fat on him anywhere. So I cook a huge spread when he comes over for dinner once a week, and load him up with as many leftovers as I can manage to persuade him to take," she sighed. She smiled ruefully. "Even then, he'll only take them if I convince him that they'll spoil in my fridge if he doesn't." Aunt May's expression softened for a minute, and MJ looked over at her. For a second the two women shared a smile, and then Aunt May said, her voice a little thready, "Well, he's a good boy and he tries. I know he tries."
MJ finished laying the spiral sandwiches out prettily, garnishing the china plate with little sprigs of parsley that had also been sealed in the container, and then carried it out into the dining room to put it on the dining table. When she came back into the kitchen, Aunt May was arranging several chunks of cheese on a cheese board, along with a cheese cutter.
"MJ, could you reach on top of the fridge and bring me down those boxes of crackers, there's a dear. Then you can put them in those two baskets." May pointed to a pair of small woven bowls that were sitting, lined with napkins, on the small drop-leaf kitchen table against the wall.
"Sure," said MJ, smiling. Bustling about May Parker's cheerful kitchen was pleasantly restful and relaxing despite the troubling tenor of their conversation. However, because Aunt May still looked a little down, she tried to be encouraging. "At least Peter always does well in his courses at university."
"He used to do well," corrected Aunt May. "Do you know that he almost lost his scholarship last year? I don't know what we'd have done if that had happened. There just isn't enough money left to pay for his tuition fees on top of everything else."
"Wow," said MJ slowly. "He didn't mention that to me. How did he manage to hang onto it in the end?" Things in Peter's life must be really messed up, she thought, if Peter, once the brainiest kid in school, winner of all kinds of city and state science contests, was having trouble at school.
Aunt May smiled fondly. "I guess he did really well on his final exam in physics. Apparently he got the highest mark in the history of the course – since this particular version of it has been offered, anyway, which it has been, or so Peter told me, for about the last nine years. He had missed handing in some of his assignments in that course, but the exam mark was so high that it saved him." May Parker sighed again. "I don't understand it. He would have died rather than miss an assignment when he was in high school."
Then she went on, "I don't know what's happening with his courses this year, either. I don't like to ask, because it always sounds as though he is behind, and talking about it only seems to make him feel guilty." She said this in a faraway voice, looking suddenly drawn, tired and distressingly old, MJ thought.
Aunt May visibly tried to rally herself when she say MJ's concerned expression. "Oh, don't mind me – I'm just an old aunt who likes to worry about her nephew. Peter will probably pull off some miracle at the end of term and get another 100 per cent on his exams." She laughed a little, and MJ smiled at her again, touched by how May Parker could be simultaneously so worried and so proud of Peter at the same time. In the back of her mind, though, MJ couldn't believe the extent of Peter's mounting problems. Fired from an endless stream of part-time jobs? Money troubles? Not enough to eat, for heaven's sake? Problems keeping up with his schoolwork? It didn't seem fair that all of this was happening to Peter when she herself was suddenly having so much success – success that had been, in part, inspired by him.
The doorbell rang at that moment, and the two women left the kitchen together, MJ bringing the baskets of crackers and setting them on the table next to the cheese board and other snacks. Aunt May went to open the door, while MJ hung back, knowing it would be Harry and feeling a little awkward, as she always did when they met. He strode in, holding a large, professionally wrapped gift in his hands, which Aunt May directed him to put on the table next to the punch bowl. It completely dwarfed MJ's own small gift bag, which contained a year's subscription to Peter's favorite photography journal, some film, and a thick, nicely illustrated book on new and old photographic techniques that May had told her Peter liked to pour over in bookstores.
"Hello, all," Harry greeted them cheerfully. He was looking good, oozing the suavity and power of a young executive used to throwing his weight around. She was glad he was no longer in the fragile state that he'd been in for most of last year, a time when MJ used to receive many late night phone calls from a distraught Harry, usually when he was most drunk. These were phone calls in which he lamented everything from the loss of his dad, to the slipperiness of Spider-Man, to his lack of a steady girlfriend – a topic MJ never liked to hear about, given their history. Once or twice she'd wondered with some resentment why she was always the one picking up the slack, why Peter never seemed to be there for his friend. She knew Harry always called Peter first before he turned to her, because he constantly complained that Peter was never in, before he grew maudlin about his own loneliness. Harry was a lachrymose, self-pitying drunk – a little reminiscent of her father, without the occasionally brutish and cruel outbursts. While MJ congratulated herself sometimes that she was well out of that relationship, she also couldn't help pitying Harry's obvious pain and feeling that Peter ought to be around to help him deal with it. For one thing, Peter would have had a much better idea of what to say to Harry, she often thought – he certainly always seemed to know how to make her feel better with only a few well-chosen words.
"Welcome, Harry," May Parker was saying warmly. "We're so pleased you could come." She hugged Harry and took his coat from him to hang it on a nearby hook. "Peter should be along any minute." Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "I told him to be here at seven o'clock." MJ grinned at Aunt May's tactics, because she distinctly remembered Aunt May saying that the party would begin at 7:30, the time it was now.
"Oh, no problem," said Harry , expansively. He looked over at MJ, extending a hand to her. "Lookin' great, as usual, MJ," he said showing her his million-dollar smile. Aunt May discretely withdrew into the kitchen to continue her preparations and to give them a moment to themselves.
"It's nice to see you too, Harry," MJ smiled. "Thank you for that huge profusion of roses you sent me last week – although you didn't need to send flowers again on your second time seeing the show!"
"You're worth it, MJ," said Harry, his movie star good looks more noticeable than ever as he favored her with his most charming smile. He held onto her a hand a little too long, but MJ gracefully freed herself and began to follow Aunt May back into the kitchen. "We're just getting things ready for Peter," she threw over her shoulder. "Wanna help?"
As MJ reentered the kitchen, Aunt May was placing a small tray of frozen, homemade hors d'oeuvres in the oven for reheating. She looked up and smiled at MJ as she came in, and said, "It shouldn't be too long now. I put the fear of God into Peter about being late tonight."
"Hey, no sweat, we're all used to Pete being late - or not showing up at all," said Harry, coming to lean idly on the kitchen doorway. "He spends so much of his time chasing the bug that he doesn't have time for anything else." Even though he was smiling jovially, there was something in Harry's tone that MJ didn't like one bit.
Aunt May and MJ exchanged glances. "I'm not too fond of that Spider-Man character myself," said Aunt May mildly, closing the oven door and removing her oven mitts. "I'm sure that he's the reason Peter is running himself ragged, always out at all hours looking for pictures, risking life and limb – some of the angles he gets look so high off the ground that I'm scared he'll fall. But it's not all Peter's fault. If that Jameson man would only buy some of Peter's other excellent pictures, Peter wouldn't have to chase Spider-Man all the time to get his bread and butter. But every time he tries sell his other photos, he's told that people only want to read about Spider-Man."
Harry looked slightly abashed at Aunt May's subtly reproving words and tried to shift the topic a little. "Yeah, that's another thing," he said, the smile disappearing from around his handsome, if slightly sulky, mouth, "I don't get why everyone thinks Spider-Man is such a hero. He's a dangerous criminal, a freak, a murderer; he's ruined my life and probably the lives of a lot of other people in this city."
MJ decided she'd heard enough of this; she knew if Harry were allowed to go on, Spider-Man would be the sole topic of conversation for the evening, and frankly she was tired of hearing Harry slam him on evidence that seemed, at best, circumstantial. She slipped past Harry and went to sit down at the dining room table to wait for Peter. As she picked up and popped a little rolled sandwich, made of white bread, ham and some kind of delicious flavored cream cheese, into her mouth, she was suddenly struck by the thought that Harry had simply found a new scapegoat. While his father was alive, Harry had tended to blame him for everything that was wrong with his life. Now that Norman Osborn was dead, Harry seemed to have transferred this tendency Spider-Man. She wanted to shake Harry, to tell him to stop feeling so sorry for himself. Other people had pain in their lives without going to pieces and looking for scapegoats: look at Aunt May, a widow after nearly forty years of happy marriage, her own mother, just diagnosed with stage two ovarian cancer at forty-three, Peter, an orphan who'd lost his second father as well as his original parents, and MJ herself, who'd dealt with rejections of all kinds, both professional and personal, in her 20 years of life. None of these people sat around lamenting the unfairness of life, and blaming others for their predicaments – or, if they did, they didn't let it consume them.
Harry followed MJ to the dining table, and sat down beside her. He looked a little uncomfortable, but he didn't take back his harsh words. MJ decided she needed to say something to him about his attitude.
"Harry, do you spend a lot of time bugging Peter about Spider-Man?" she asked quietly. In the kitchen, she could hear Aunt May bustling around, opening and closing the fridge door, stacking plates and cutlery, but decided she would help again in a minute because this opportunity was too good to waste.
"I don't see why Pete keeps protecting that criminal bug, when he knows that he was involved in my father's death." Harry said defensively. "So yeah, I may have called him on where his loyalties lie a few times."
MJ sighed and said, "Can't you see, Harry, why your attitude might make it hard for Peter to be around you?" She took a deep breath, deciding she was going to have to deliver a low blow. "Not all of us are independently wealthy. Some of us have to work for a living. I think it's a bit rich for you to judge Peter harshly on how he pays his bills, Harry."
"Oh, so St. Peter is allowed to make money out of someone else's suffering. I forgot, he can do no wrong," mocked Harry, in a silky, dangerous voice. His eyes burned feverishly in his face, and MJ recoiled a little inwardly at the picture he presented. His normally handsome face didn't look handsome at all for a second, appearing instead gaunt and obsessive. He looked singularly like his father, one of the creepiest men that MJ had ever met in her life – a man who could be smiling pleasantly and paternally at his son's new girlfriend one moment, and raking his eyes over her figure with a predatory smirk the next. MJ mentally shuddered at that disturbing memory and pushed it away.
"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," MJ said tolerantly, keeping a tight reign on her temper. "You know full well that there is no real evidence linking Spider-Man to your father's death. Your father could have had an accident or something, or been murdered by the Green Goblin for all you know ... maybe Spider-Man was trying to do you a favor by bringing his body back. Plus it seems like wilful blindness on your part to keep ignoring all the good that Spider-Man does every day in this city. Just today he saved two little preschool kids from being run over by a delivery truck, I heard it on the news over at my mom's. A guy who saves little kids is not a murderer."
She could see Harry fighting to keep his mouth shut, clearly wanting to prevent their argument from escalating. Her heart sank as she realized that she had once again failed to convince him, although she thought wryly that it was at least good practice for Harry to have to learn to bite his tongue once in awhile. She softened her expression and put a placating hand on his arm. "Harry, let's not ruin Peter's birthday celebration with a fight. Neither of us have seen him for awhile, so let's just enjoy the evening and Aunt May's delicious food together, alright?" When Harry nodded, she decided to take a bit of a risk, "And can you give Peter a break about Spider-Man, just for his birthday?"
"I'll try," Harry mumbled. At that moment, Aunt May walked back into her dining room with a handful of colored horns and clacking devices. "Do you want some noisemakers?" she asked, smiling her lovely smile, "I'll put them on the table. Let's all give Peter a big welcoming shout when he gets here." All at once, MJ was transported momentarily back to innumerable birthday parties in elementary school; she'd been to many of Peter's, and he'd been to hers as well, and she remembered now that Ben and May Parker had always seemed to enjoy Peter's birthday as much as he did, in contrast to her own mother's harried attempts to entertain and accommodate all MJ's numerous friends by herself while worrying constantly about leaving her busy salon in the careless hands of her gossiping hairdressers.
Suddenly they all heard the front door opening. MJ stood up in eager anticipation, while Aunt May ducked out of sight behind the archway into the living room. Peter hurried in the door, as if trying to make up for lost time, tugging off his helmet and removing his backpack and vest with startling speed. Aunt May began a whispered count to three and then they all shouted "Surprise!" with as much enthusiasm as they could muster, and MJ and Harry blew their horns loudly.
Peter stood blinking in the doorway to the living room in adorable bewilderment. "Well?" Aunt May teased. "Say something!"
"Uh ... What's the occasion?" Peter asked at last, smiling in bemusement as they all approached him.
Everyone laughed. "Oh, really, Peter," Aunt May scoffed. "It's your birthday." She favored him with an affectionately maternal smile, and then grasped him gently by his shoulders, giving him a motherly kiss on each cheek. "It's still your birthday ... whether you want to remember it or not."
Peter actually looked surprised, apparently only then noticing the streamers, balloons and decorations in the dining room, and apparently having forgotten his own birthday.
"He lives in another reality," MJ couldn't resist commenting. "Don't you, Pete?" she asked teasingly. May agreed with MJ's mocking remark with a laughing "Yes!"
Peter was quiet for a second, but then, as he turned his attention to his friends, he seemed to light up from inside. "Hey, MJ," Peter said eagerly. He appeared as happy to see her as she felt to see him. Her heart actually skipped a beat as he looked into her face, giving her a radiant smile that seemed to well up out of the depths of his ocean-blue eyes.
"Hi," she said softly, practically beaming, delighted both with seeing him, and with how happy he was to see her.
As MJ remembered Peter's birthday party, she reconsidered and rethought her earlier view that Spider-Man didn't need her. He was anything but an invulnerable hero. Spider-Man might be a super-hero, but Peter Parker was an endearingly vulnerable man. He might have the amazing ability to soar above the city sometimes, performing death-defying feats and last minute rescues, but eventually his feet had to touch the ground again, and when they did, Peter Parker obviously found himself surrounded by nothing but pain, hard times and trouble.
Suddenly she had her answer to the question she'd asked herself about Peter while she was resting high over the docks two nights ago, watching him spin a gigantic web: Peter could never have pursued her openly, in between saving people, for the simple reason that there was no "in between" for him at all. Peter Parker had no life apart from Spider-Man.
Poor Pete – always exhausted, late when he should be on time, behind in his homework and his bills, and, through it all, alone. He could save half of New York but he couldn't save himself. Instead, he got fired from an endless series of jobs, was so short of cash that he couldn't finish a phone call, and was unable to be honest with the woman he deeply loved. In fact, he couldn't share the biggest secret in his life with any of the people to whom he was the closest: his aunt didn't like Spider-Man because she thought he was endangering her nephew, while his best friend would probably hire someone to kill Peter if he discovered who Peter's alter ego was. Meanwhile, Spider-Man was ruining Peter Parker's life. No wonder he'd given up being a hero for awhile. No wonder on the night he'd come to her play he had looked, for the first time since high school, like he hadn't a care in the world. But now he was back to the old grind, back to the punishing routine of privation and loneliness. She reflected that Peter was so stubborn and virtuous that he'd continue to seek seclusion and secrecy, denying himself the assistance and the comfort of friends and family, denying himself her love, all in a misguided attempt to protect the people in his life.
He needed her – oh, how he needed her – probably more than even he knew. And how much she needed him, and wanted to help him, to save him, just like he had saved her so many times. We could save each other, she said to herself. For the past 18 months or so, in the same way that Peter had been isolated and solitary, she too had been lonely in a crowd. Just as her heart, wounded by all sorts of fears, insecurities and griefs, needed the protection of his love more than ever, so too could she protect Peter's aching heart from loneliness, fruitless regret, and from the constant carping criticism of people like JJJ and Harry. Neither of them would fare well without the other, but she believed that they could do better than simply survive if they were together, sheltering each other with their love.
And as this inescapable revelation stole over her, she knew, with a wondrous shock of feeling, that Peter Parker was the only man for her.
Then, all at once, she was out of time. She could tell from the faint strains of the organ music wafting through the closed door that the bridesmaids were about to start their procession up the aisle. She was supposed to go and line up with them, waiting at the back of the queue while each bridesmaid walked up the long aisle with measured and majestic steps, one by one, but instead here she was rooted to the floor.
Heart pounding, she felt as though she were suddenly reeling back from a precipice. She couldn't marry John. He was a true gentleman with a good heart. He'd make some woman a wonderful husband one day. But he couldn't be her husband, because she loved Peter Parker. She couldn't seem to stop loving Peter no matter what she did – and not for lack of trying, either. Knowing who he truly was, how much he had sacrificed for her, how much he needed her, she loved him more than ever.
And now what was she supposed to do? MJ felt paralyzed, standing in the sterile white room. She'd have to break John's heart in the worst possible way, a thing she hated to do precisely because she knew from experience how devastating it could be. She supposed that the alternative of a loveless marriage would be worse in the long run, but that didn't change the fact that she was causing harm to a good man, who didn't deserve it and who wouldn't be expecting it. With a heavy sigh, she tossed her lovely bouquet aside and then helplessly dropped into the chair in front of the mirror, bending over almost double to rest her head in her open palms.
The door behind her opened abruptly, and her maid of honor, Louise, breezed in, resplendent in her floor-length black gown and dainty little black gloves.
"The curtain's going up. You're going to be late for your own wedding, MJ," she said brightly. "Lacey's already halfway down the aisle."
MJ raised her head and looked at Louise through the mirror. The smile faded from her friend's lively face as soon as their eyes met. "You're not getting married, are you," said Louise matter-of-factly. It was not a question.
"I don't know what to do, Louise," MJ admitted. "I can't marry John. I'm in love with someone else."
"Hmm." said Louise. "That is a problem." She sat down on the low white couch along the opposite wall, apparently totally unconcerned that a whole church full of people were waiting for them. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees and clasped her gloved hands in front of her. "This is the guy who kissed you in the rain, huh?"
MJ gaped at her. "How did you know?"
Louise laughed her warm, contralto laugh. "Girl, the most alive you've been since we've become friends was that night we got drunk together, and then yesterday during the play performance. The rest of the time you've always been somewhere else."
"I feel like such a heel." said MJ softly, looking down at her shining diamond. "I should never have let this happen."
Louise regarded her seriously for a moment. "I don't know exactly what's been going on with you, MJ," her friend said frankly. "But don't forget that you did nearly die two days ago. And look on the bright side, this is better than a costly divorce, isn't it?"
"That's the bright side?" MJ said bitterly.
"Ok, forget I said that." Louise sat up, grimacing. "Anyway, regardless of how bad you feel there's still one thing you have to do."
MJ looked at her quizzically, and she went on: "You can't keep him waiting. You've got to write John a note to tell him that you can't marry him."
"You're right," said MJ decisively. She got up and rummaged around in her purse until she found a pen and a pad of notepaper. Then she sat back down in front of the mirror to write, balancing the small sheet on her knee, using her tiny address book for a hard surface. While she was writing, Louise watched her quietly from the couch, and asked, "Does this guy who kissed you in the rain love you back?"
"Yes, he does," said MJ, scribbling hastily. "But ... it's complicated. He thinks we can't be together, and there's a good reason for that – or at least, he believes that there is."
"Doesn't sound like you agree," her astute friend remarked, lifting her eyebrows.
"No, I don't!" MJ said heatedly, losing her temper all of a sudden. "He needs me as much as I need him – maybe even more. Whatever troubles we will have to face, they won't be as bad as the pain and anguish that we'll both keep feeling as long as we're apart."
Louise was saying something comforting about how hard love could be, but MJ didn't hear her at all, because a passionate desire to go find Peter and confront him had suddenly seized her. She wanted to tell him exactly what she'd just explained to Louise. She wanted to point out to him that he needed rescuing from his unhappy life as much as she had needed rescuing from Doc Ock. And she wanted to tell him that she was the only one who could do it, the only one who could save him from himself. Yes, the more she thought about it, the more she felt a burning compulsion to find Peter, to dispute his unilateral decision about their future and make her own case, to rewrite the sad ending that he'd given them nearly two years ago. Heart pounding, she finished her note and skimmed it over hastily.
My dear friend John,
I am sorry. I guess this is me telling you that I have finally figured out what's going on inside of me, and I find that I can't marry you after all. I'm sorry for leaving you at the altar. I'm sorry for everything. I hope someday that you'll be able to find it in your heart to forgive me. I want you to know that I've really appreciated your friendship and I will never forget you.
Sincerely,
Mary Jane Watson
There was so much more that she wanted to say, including good-bye, but she was out of time. She stood up, folding the note. "I need to ask you a huge favor, Louise," she said resolutely. "I know we haven't been friends very long, but I'm going to ask it of you anyway."
Louise waved a hand dismissively. "We've been kindred spirits since the moment we met. You know you can ask me for anything short of my first-born child."
MJ would have laughed, but the situation seemed too serious for laughter. "Will you deliver my letter to John?" MJ asked. "I know it's a lot to ask, but there's somewhere I need to be ..."
Louise stood up and smiled. "Good luck," she said. She put out a hand for the note, and then MJ looked down and began tugging at the ring on her finger. She couldn't bear to wear it for another second. She understood now why she'd been playing with it for the last two days – on some level she'd felt that it didn't belong there. It came off suddenly, and something in her soul expanded and spread out as it did.
"And can you give him this?" MJ went on. "I can't keep it, and I don't like to leave it in the dressing room, for fear someone might take it."
"Sure," said Louise, and she took the ring as well. Then, for a second, the two friends faced each other.
"Can you tell Robin I'll come back to the play tomorrow night?" MJ asked.
"Will do," said Louise with a smile.
"And if you see my mother, can you tell her that I'll call her tomorrow morning?"
Louise smirked and said, "Now you're stalling. You'd better get going before someone else comes looking for you."
"Right, right." MJ ran to pick up her purse, looping it over her head. Then she hugged Louise. "I really appreciate all your help, Louise."
"Yeah, yeah." said Louise with a nonchalant shrug. She grinned. "You can come drinking with me again some time and buy the Margaritas, then we'll call it even."
MJ slipped out of the room, looking carefully in both directions down the corridor and feeling like an escaping prisoner. She spotted a flight of stairs nearby at the end of the corridor, leading down to a side door that opened out onto a parking lot. Almost as soon as she saw it, she was through it, and blinking in the bright mid-afternoon sunshine. Her spirits lifted to a dizzying height. She was free. Across the street from the church was a small but verdant treeless park with paved walkways and a huge fountain in the center. MJ knew that taxis tended to congregate on the street at the other side of it, looking for fares. She deftly pulled a few hairpins out of the expert knot of her hair, leaving the rest in place, and then she picked up her enormous skirts. Everything else remained perfectly coiffed, but the knot of her elegant chignon streamed loose, matching the feeling of freedom and elation in her feet and on her giddy, radiant face. Shaking her hair free, she began running joyously across the park. A few heads turned at the unusual sight as she passed them, but she paid them no attention. She was on the way to find her one and only love, and she had never felt happier. She ran so quickly, on such light feet, that she couldn't help laughing, feeling almost as though she were flying. Having crossed the park, she dashed up to the first taxi sitting by the curb, and opened the door, eager for her life to begin.
End of Part VII
A/N: One more chapter of fluff, fluff and more fluff. It's not written yet, and I hope you'll forgive me if it takes awhile. I want to do the best I can with it. Oh, and if there's anything you'd particularly like to see in the next (and last) chapter, please feel free to mention it in your review and I may just put it in.