Disclaimer: The movie Spider-Man 2 and the characters from the Spider-Man comic belong to Sony, Sam Raimi, Marvel and Stan Lee, not to me.
A/N: It was hard to wrap things up! I finally managed it, though, and here is the last chapter – sort of. Since it turned out to be even longer than the previous one, I had to split it in two (more or less). This is the first half. For those who asked me to extend the story beyond the last frame of the movie, I've written an epilogue as well.
A few words of explanation about this part: I'm not a fan of Longfellow, so I've also included a reference to a Yeats poem that I wish that they would have used in the film instead, because it would have been perfect for Peter's state of mind, in my humble opinion.
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed!
Memories and Revelations
Part VIII
"Are you late for your wedding?" inquired the cabbie, giving MJ a look of amazement through the rearview mirror. She could see him, round eyed, taking in her lack of a veil, her disheveled hair tumbling loose down the back of her head from the fetters of the tight chignon, and her ringless hands as they played over it, trying half-heartedly to impose some semblance of order.
"You might say that," said MJ, beginning to giggle helplessly in spite of herself. She felt almost drunk – giddy and carefree with her newfound liberty and the joy of finally following her heart without any impediments. Today was the day she was going to make Peter listen to her; today was the first day of the rest of her life. She had a feeling this time that nothing he could say would prevent them from being together, especially since she knew that, deep in his heart, he wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. And if he put up a feeble protest once more, this time she'd be ready for him. She had marshaled her arguments and, if they failed, well ... she knew where he lived and, more importantly, she knew where his aunt lived ... no, Peter wasn't going to push her away today. She giggled again, and said to the cabbie, "As a matter of fact, I'm very late."
"Seems funny that you're not going to a church then," said the cab driver, looking at her askance and obviously wondering if this giggling girl was slipping off her rocker.
"It's not that kind of a wedding," said MJ, breaking into a musical laugh. Despite himself, the cabbie laughed along with her, and then looked a little foolish as he realized he didn't know why he was laughing. MJ was laughing because she felt like a bride at last. Catching her faint reflection in window of the cab she thought she looked like one, too. She felt more beautiful than she could ever remember feeling before: her eyes shone like stars while the loosening hair of her fancy hairdo swirled around her face, the soft and pretty tendrils framing it delicately. She leaned forward, searching the image, and smiled in satisfaction as she perceived that her expression and attitude now showed the expectant, trembling hopefulness of bride on her wedding-day. Things were as they should be.
It was only a short cab ride from the downtown cathedral to Peter's apartment, but it seemed as though she was entering another world from the swanky one she had left behind. The neighborhood was a poor one, and the ancient, decrepit red brick building that the cab pulled up at had likely seen its heyday about a century ago. MJ didn't care, though. Everything seemed to sparkle, touched with the gold of the late afternoon sun. Almost before the cab had fully stopped, MJ shoved money into the driver's hands, not even looking to see how much she was giving him. Then she flung the door open and sprang out, gathering her voluminous dress around her with both hands.
"Wait a minute," called the cabbie. "This is too much. You forgot your change."
MJ banged the back door of the car shut with a flourish, and leaned down to look at cabbie through the half-open front window of the passenger side of his car. "Keep it," she said merrily, her eyes twinkling at him.
"Hey, thanks, lady," said the cab driver, smiling at her incredulously, as though he'd received the final, incontrovertible proof of her insanity with that statement. "Have a nice wedding."
MJ merely replied smilingly, "I will. You have a good day now." Then she swept up the stairs, through the front door, and into the grimy lobby of Peter's apartment building. Someone had propped the outside door open, which saved her the trouble of having to buzz the super, but she still didn't know exactly where she was going. She peered intently at the row of mailboxes, until she saw "P. Parker, 501" pencilled neatly in familiar block letters above one of them. Then, looping her train over her arm, and gathering up her billowy skirt again, she went bounding up the shabby stairwell that lay in front of her. The building didn't look like it housed an elevator, and anyway, she was too impatient to wait for one. As she ran up the stairs, she didn't notice how dingy and decrepit the staircase was, nor did she worry about whether Peter would be home or not. It wasn't rational, but she knew that she would find him in for once, waiting for her – although naturally he didn't know that's what he was doing yet.
She grew a little winded as she reached the top floor of the building, but she didn't slow down until someone flung a door open just as she rounded the corner of the stairwell. Then she nearly jumped out of her skin, halting abruptly and clutching her snow-white dress protectively.
"How about getting a head start on your rent for this month, Parker?" a heavily accented voice called out loudly. "You were on time last month – for once – so why not start a pattern, eh?" A short heavy-set man, with beady little eyes, a prominent nose, and rabbit-like front teeth, emerged through the doorway of a crowded kitchen with these words. As soon as he caught sight of her in all her finery, though, he stopped and gave her a look of sheer astonishment. A cute, skinny teenage girl, wearing a tight, midriff-baring halter top, also came rapidly up to the doorway at the sight of her.
"Can you tell me where Room 501 is?" asked MJ politely and more than a little breathlessly, trying to contain another giggle at their exactly duplicate expressions of amazement. Peter must not get many visitors, she thought giddily, especially not pretty girls in wedding dresses. This time, she was barely able to suppress a laugh. "I'm looking for Peter Parker," she managed to say, somehow keeping a straight face. The heavy-set man continued to gape at her, but the gaunt blond girl, her eyes huge in her pale face, pulled herself together and pointed across the hall. Then the girl found her voice and said, "I – I think he's home – I mean, when I was cleaning the bathroom earlier, I noticed his door was open."
MJ smiled gratefully at her, but the waif-like girl didn't smile back. "Thanks," MJ said, smiling even more generously and showing her dimples. At last the blond teenager gave her a reluctant, wavering smile in response, just before MJ turned away to look for Peter. Faintly, she heard a door close behind her.
Ahead, she could see golden rays of sunlight streaming through an open doorway, which she realized must be his. She hurried forward, all eager anticipation, releasing her train and her skirts heedlessly in her excitement to allow them to drag across the gritty floor. But when she arrived at Peter's door, she had to stop a minute, to catch her breath and to reign in all the tumultuous emotion that she was feeling. She waited for her heart to stop pounding, but it didn't. So, with her feelings still overwhelming her, MJ tilted her head to one side slightly, watching Peter with deep emotion while standing in his doorway.
There he sat on the edge of his bed, his back to her, as cute as ever in his grey sweater, looking straight ahead out of a huge window ... quiet, alert, and waiting. Outlined by the golden late afternoon sun, he looked almost immovable, as if he was going to spend the whole of his days waiting just like that ... waiting for the next crisis, the next siren, the next alarm ... waiting while life and happiness passed him by. She noticed he had a subdued, defeated air about him. Even seated his posture was perfect of course – no slumped shoulders or hunched back for him – but somehow he still looked as if he were bowed under a great weight. Her heart went out to him, her brave, sad, misguided hero, and she thought she'd never loved him more.
As she stood there, collecting herself, Peter suddenly became aware of her. Slowly turning his head around to look over his shoulder, he met her eyes with an incredulous expression. He rose involuntarily to his feet, like a marionette whose strings had been pulled, with a look of wonder on his boyish, handsome face.
MJ gazed into Peter's bewildered blue eyes, as deep and azure as a summer sky, and smiled gently. "Had to do what I had to do," she said lightly, with a nonchalant little shrug of her slim, bare shoulders. Peter was still looking at her as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Warmly, she held his gaze with her own, loving the way that he resembled a lost little boy in that moment, and smiling with ever-increasing tenderness at the sight of his endearingly perplexed expression.
Speechless, Peter could only continue to stare at her. Then, moving like a sleepwalker, he took a few faltering steps to stand in front of her in his doorway. "Mary Jane ...," he began, his eyes still confused – but she thought she could make out the first glimmer of an astounded answering smile hidden in their blue depths.
At the sight of that hint of a smile, she felt the beginnings of a soul-shaking thrill of joy break over her like the dawn. How had she resisted him for so long? "Peter ..." she said, a small, self-deprecating laugh infusing her voice with a musical lilt, "I can't survive without you." Her voice caught and she had to stop for a moment. In the interval she recalled the pain of two years wasted, her daily, futile struggle to pretend that everything was fine. What had it gotten her but sleepless nights and sorrow and heartbreak?
"You shouldn't be here ..." Peter started to say in an earnest voice, shaking his head, but MJ wasn't having any of that. She'd heard that argument before, three times too often. No, now it was time for him to listen to her.
"I know you think we can't be together," she interrupted him immediately. She gave him a serious, steady look, and out came the words that she'd been longing to say for two days, or maybe it was two years ... "But can't you respect me enough to let me make my own decision?" Searching his face hopefully, she was heartened by what she saw there, the suppressed joy that Peter was striving to contain, as though he couldn't quite allow himself to accept what he was hearing.
Mindful of cost of failure, MJ rushed ahead, insisting passionately: "I know there'll be risks, but I want to face them with you!" She needed him to see how hollow, how meaningless, how false their lives would remain as long as they were apart; she went on, pleading in an urgent voice, "It's wrong that we should be half-alive, half of ourselves." For the last two days, she'd felt like a spectator, or like a nameless ghost looking back over an unfinished life – and all because of one undeniable, unshakeable truth ...
"I love you," MJ breathed. Peter's eyes took on a brilliant sheen – hope and fear and disbelief warring with incredulous joy. She glowed back at him with this fresh evidence of his deep love for her, and realized joyfully that she'd barely scratched the surface of it. She couldn't wait to taste more and to show him how much she loved him back ...
"So here I am, standing in your doorway," she said, drawing nearer to him. "I've always been standing in your doorway." She cupped his cheek with a gentle hand and caressed it lovingly, her thumb stroking his smooth, firm skin with tenderness. At her touch, Peter exhaled deeply, his vibrant blue eyes fluttering closed and then opening again to meet hers, bedazzled and overwhelmed. Her heart jumped in her chest. "Isn't it about time somebody saved your life?" MJ asked half-seriously and half-teasingly, feeling as though her soul were about to overflow with joy.
Peter smiled at her words, the doubt and bewilderment starting to fade from his glad eyes. His lips parted, but he didn't say anything. A familiar silence, full of unspoken emotions and tantalizing possibilities, stretched between them for a second. But Mary Jane was done with waiting and guessing. "Well?" she prodded him softly, dropping her hand and looking into his face expectantly. "Say something!"
This time, Peter's gaze on hers was open, loving and strong. "Thank you, Mary Jane Watson," he said at last, smiling at her with his heart in his eyes.
As he spoke, she felt warm, strong hands encircle her waist and instinctively reached for him again, cradling his face with her hands while they joined their lips together in an intoxicating, passionate kiss. A warm wave of relief engulfed her and, dazed with happiness, she gave herself completely over to the moment.
The kiss was simultaneously the same and different from their previous two. MJ thrilled to feel the same heartfelt connection with him, the same deeply stirring intensity that she always felt whenever he kissed her ... but this time there were no more barriers between them ... there was no reserve, no uncertainty, no more reason for restraint. Their mouths met again with a blinding burst of rapture and, before she could help herself, an uncensored little moan of pleasure was escaping her throat. At the sound of it, his fingers tightened on her sides, sending little sparks shooting up her spine. The radiant heat of his body burned her through the soft chiffon of her dress. Wanting to touch skin, she caressed his face and neck with her open hands, delighting in the silken wonderful feel of him while her own lips pulled at his with soft, absorbing tenacity. In response, his eager mouth delved into hers, insistently clasping her lips over and over again in toe-curling, heartfelt kisses that made her tremble. She never wanted it to end, but thankfully Peter was kissing her as though nothing could ever tear him away. Their lips clung deliciously one more time, then another, sharpening the pitch of her pleasure, and she exulted inwardly at the knowledge that now there was no reason for them to stop ...
... when Peter abruptly broke the kiss and turned toward his window, seemingly in a reflex action. As he pulled away, she suddenly registered the wail of sirens on the street below, sirens that were rapidly increasing in number. Uncertainly, Peter turned back to her, afraid and unsure all at once, his eyes filled with trepidation.
Although MJ had prepared herself for this eventuality, her heart dropped in disappointment. She had never needed her acting skills more as she gazed into Peter's conflicted face and smiled wistfully. Was this what being with him would be like? Was she going to have to put up with their best moments being interrupted?
Better get used to it, she told herself unhappily. She had an inkling that having to share the love of her life with an entire city that desperately needed him was going to be harder than she could imagine even now, with the bitterness of their looming first separation like ashes in her mouth. But then she reminded herself that she loved both sides of him, both Peter and Spider-Man. And anyway, having to share him was infinitely preferable to not having him at all. MJ drew in a deep breath, and gave him a sincere, loving smile, one that reached all the way to her eyes. Then, lifting an eyebrow and curving her lips coyly in her most disarming smile, she urged him, "Go get 'em, Tiger."
For a second, Peter seemed paralyzed with shock, until a slow, serene smile spread across his face, the outward reflection of the profound relief that she could tell was washing over him. She knew he was relieved, maybe even overjoyed, that she understood his need to be Spider-Man even in this crucial moment. An instant later, before she could say anything further, before she could even blink, she realized she was alone. Almost as soon as he turned away from her again, he was gone in a blur of speed that she barely even saw. Out of the corner of her eye, she perceived a pile of clothes lying on the floor beside the bed; she ran quickly to the french door which opened out onto a rickety metal balcony, and just barely glimpsed a red and blue figure hurtling through the space between two buildings, streaking around a corner and out of sight. A faint "Whoo-hoo hoo" floated back to her, and then silence fell.
Forlorn, MJ leaned her head against the weathered wooden window frame covered with ancient, peeling paint. She stared out unseeingly into the city before her, feeling different states of anxiety, devotion, triumph and loss. She had rushed over to Peter's place in a blaze of exhilaration and hope, so now she couldn't help but experience a flattening anti-climax at finding herself standing alone in his apartment, her lips still tingling from their interrupted kiss. She felt a dreadful pang, too, because the last two years had taught her that loving Peter Parker was hard, and now, even though they were together at last, it looked like it wasn't going to get any easier.
She wasn't even sure if she should stay and wait for Peter to return, or if she should go home. The memory of her neatly packed luggage sitting in the middle of the floor of her darkened, empty apartment settled that thought quickly, though. She didn't want to go and spend what was to have been her wedding day in an empty apartment looking at the reminders of a relationship that was over. She wanted to spend it with Peter, or as close to him as possible.
She stepped back from the window, only noticing then that the door behind her was still open. Luckily no one had been in the hallway to witness their emotional reunion, and Peter's abrupt, extraordinary departure out the window. She hoped he didn't make a habit of jumping out the window in his Spider-Man costume in plain view of anyone who happened by. She walked over to the door and shut it, dropping her purse casually on the corner of the bed as she passed it. Turning around, she surveyed Peter's room for the first time. It was poor, simple and unprepossessing on the outside, like its owner. With its unadorned white walls it looked almost like a cell in a monastery.
Since it was Peter's place, though, she felt at home despite the room's plainness. A neatly made bed stood in the middle of a bare, hardwood floor, the gold lamp beside it casting a warm amber light over the spartan walls and furnishings. The best thing about the room was its amazing view; the wall opposite her was almost entirely made of windows, with an odd, stained glass window to the left and a french door in the middle. Of course anywhere Peter lived would have to be high off the ground and open to the city, she realized.
Inside the alcove near the french door stood a crowded desk piled high with books, a computer and an ancient-looking printer in one corner. There was also a small television balanced diagonally on the other corner of the desk and a few crates piled beside it. A post opposite was adorned with a small mirror and a newspaper clipping of some kind. Stepping up to take a look at the clipping, she was delighted to see that it was the glowing review of the off-Broadway production of Wilde's Importance of Being Earnest, sporting a couple of pleasantly complimentary lines about her performance, which had appeared in the New York Times not long after the play had opened.
But Peter's accommodations were sparse at best. In the far corner of the wall with the door, a cupboard with glass doors held a few white coffee cups, a small stack of dishes and a container of cutlery, as well as what looked to be cereal, sugar, tea, and instant coffee. Below it was a low shelf that housed an ancient-looking toaster oven and a hotplate. Beside that was Peter's sink, with dish detergent, laundry soap, household cleanser and a few other cleaning items arrayed neatly on the shelf above, and a handtowel hanging through a makeshift loop of wire beside it. Being in a relationship with Peter was certainly going to be a change from all the unconscious wealth and privilege she'd experienced with men like Harry and John.
A squat brown bar fridge stood next to the sink. She couldn't resist peeking into it, and, to her amusement, found scattered on the shelves a few slices of congealed pizza sealed in a tupperware, an empty carton of milk, an apple that was starting to shrivel, and a half filled jar of Aunt May's best strawberry jam. Nearly empty containers of peanut butter, mayonnaise and mustard rested in the door. MJ made a mental note to ensure that some decent groceries were added to Peter's meager store in the next day... oh, she was so going to enjoy taking care of him. If he let her, that is ... all at once, she felt a bit guilty, almost as though she were spying, and, shutting the refrigerator door, stood up to walk to the center of the room.
Looking around, she noticed Peter had introduced a few homey touches into the tiny space. There were books everywhere, of course, crammed onto shelves above his bed and desk, spilling out of the wall-shelf behind his door, stacked in untidy heaps on the floor by his bed and on the night-stand. There were also photographs, some black and white, some in color, scattered around the walls of the room, pinned up here and there on the walls, on the posts, and in a line on the wall opposite his bed. Inspecting a pair that hung above his lamp, she realized that they were Peter's own photographs. These two showed different, magical views of the city taken from high above it, one in the mist of the early morning and the other in the dusky twilight. She looked at each one closely, and then walked across the room to inspect a vivid sunset reflecting off the glass and chrome of two office buildings in an interesting visual, a flock of birds rising in a blur of movement in Central Park, a subway train streaming forward out of blackness – how on earth had he gotten that one? – a perfect strawberry lying on the pavement, and a couple of older men, obviously cronies, playing chess ... They were all wonderful, and she marveled at Peter's skill and perceptiveness as she studied them.
Then, on the night-stand by the bed, she noticed a clump of small photos in frames. Among them, she found a picture of herself, which was surrounded by a family photo of an obviously teenaged Peter with his aunt and uncle, a small picture of Uncle Ben in a Yankees cap, and a snapshot of a grinning Peter and Harry. She looked closer at her picture. It must have been taken when she was still in high school, because in it she wore a dark green sweater over a low-cut lavender top, with her hair held back from her face with a slender headband. It was better than most of her professional modelling shots, which tended to turn her face into a blank canvas: here, she appeared girlish and animated, the picture somehow making her look natural despite the slightly heavier make up that she'd favored then. Peter had obviously taken the photo, but she couldn't quite place when he'd done it. She picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed to study it. Peter's delight in her was palpable in the composition of the photograph, the framing of the shot, even the winsome smile that he'd captured on her face ... when had she smiled at Peter like that in high school?
All of a sudden, she remembered a school field trip to Columbia University to see – what was it? – spiders ...
MJ was watching the super-spiders, completely enthralled. She had always found spiders fascinating, ever since she'd gotten over an early, irrational fear of them in elementary school. She recalled the long-ago day when one had dropped into her hair at a birthday party, causing her to flee the room screaming, and a small seven-year old boy – Peter Parker, actually – had come to find her. He'd taken the time explain why spiders weren't scary, why they were actually pretty cool. Ever since then, she'd found them interesting. They were so small, yet capable of such astonishing things.
"Hey," said a tentative voice, nervously. She turned to see the very guy she'd just been thinking about drawing his hand back, as though he'd been about to touch her and had stopped himself . "Can I take your picture?" he asked, smiling shyly and holding up his camera as if to prove that he meant what he said. "I need one with a student in it."
He still looked an awful lot like the be-spectacled seven year old who'd told her all about spiders. Boy, was he sweet. Geeky, but sweet. "Sure." MJ gave him her brightest smile. "Where do you want me – over here?" She raised her eyebrows coyly at him.
Peter agreed diffidently, "Yeah ... yeah, that's great." MJ flipped her shining hair over her shoulder and stepped to the side. "Don't make me look ugly," she said teasingly.
Peter actually blushed. A guy who blushed ... wow, this was a first. She wished for a second that she could see his eyes behind his glasses, but the glare of the overhead lights on the thick lenses prevented her from seeing them clearly. "That's impossible," he said, giving her another shy smile.
Gratified, MJ turned her most dazzling smile on Peter. Watch it, Mary Jane Watson, she warned herself, you'll blind the poor guy. She didn't know what imp was causing her to act in such a flirtatious manner around Peter Parker, but it probably wasn't a nice one; she had a boyfriend, for heaven's sake – the most eligible guy in school no less, even if he was a bit of a neanderthal. Not only that, but she had also long suspected that Peter Parker had a crush on her. If that was the case, it wouldn't be kind to play with his feelings.
Peter was focusing his camera lens and snapping a shot. "Ah, perfect," he said appreciatively, advancing the film.
MJ was so flattered by his obvious admiration that all at once she forgot her scruples. She began hamming it up for Peter's camera, and found to her surprise that she was enjoying herself. He snapped another picture, and advanced the film. She picked up one of the class handouts, and showed Peter her dimples. "That good?" she asked cheerily. His shy smile and his eager picture-taking were making her feel special, almost like a model. She wished suddenly that Flash or some of the other guys in school could learn from Peter how to make a girl feel good about herself.
Clearly captivated, Peter snapped another shot. "Great ... that's great," he replied softly, advancing his film for yet one more shot.
MJ giggled unselfconsciously. He certainly was taking an awful lot of pictures of her for the school paper. Oh, well ... who cared? She played along good-naturedly. Although Peter Parker seemed to have a bit of a crush on her, for once a guy's interest in her wasn't making her feel uncomfortable. In fact, she felt pretty good – even a little giddy. She pointed at a page on her handout with a "wow" look on her face.
Peter snapped again.
"Hey, MJ!" one of her girlfriends, Lisa, called. "Let's go." MJ looked over to see a large group of students being herded out of the atrium by the obviously harried and annoyed teacher. Distracted, she rushed away to catch up to them, only vaguely registering Peter' s distant, "Wait ... Thanks."
As she joined the group, she could see Flash craning his neck, obviously seeking to grab hold of her and stake his claim again with a meaty arm slung around her shoulder. Hastily, she linked arms with Lisa to hold him at bay. Then she suddenly remembered Peter and, regretting her rude lapse of attention, she turned around to look over her shoulder. She was relieved to notice that Peter wasn't even looking at her. He was crouching down, searching for something on the floor ...
Thinking of the shy, geeky teenager who had made a lonely-hearted party girl feel like a million-dollar model, MJ wondered how far back her feelings for Peter went. Had she been attracted to him even in high school? Had she only refused to admit it to herself because she'd thought it was more important to fit in, to have the cool boyfriend and the big circle of shallow girlfriends? Maybe she had always responded to Peter, deep down, but hadn't been mature enough or brave enough to recognize what was happening inside of her. Well, it was a good thing those days were over. She never intended to take Peter for granted again.
MJ glanced at Peter's digital clock and realized in shock that nearly half an hour had passed. She had no idea when Peter would be back, and in the interval, she didn't quite know what to do with herself. She didn't want to go snooping around his desk or in his drawers for fear she would find something – say, like a journal – and be unable to resist reading it. And she certainly didn't want Peter to think she would become one of those girlfriends – the nosy sort who couldn't resist prying into everything. She had a feeling that Peter was an intensely private person. At least, his ability to keep his true identity secret from those who loved him the most made it seem as though he must be. He mightn't take kindly to someone uncovering his secrets without permission.
She wished she could find something to read. There were certainly a lot of books around, but unfortunately none of them seemed to be novels. She could hardly entertain herself by reading up on mathematics or physics; they had never been her strongest subjects, and since the books around were university texts, they would be Greek to her. But then, looking closer, she noticed an interesting departure from the ubiquitous science books, the physics, Photonics, human anatomy, biology, Introductory Quantum Mechanics, Fourth Edition, and chemistry texts that were scattered around the tiny apartment. In contrast to those, the stack of books on the nightstand were all either plays or books of poetry. There was Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, T. S. Eliot's Collected Poems 1909-1962, 100 Selected Poems by e. e. cummings, Longfellow's Works and a few others, even a slender copy of Wilde's Earnest. Peter certainly had eclectic taste, she decided, distinctly amused. He'd been reading them too, she noted, because all of the books had bookmarks in them, and some even had more than one. It looked like almost every other page of the e. e. cummings book was marked.
She noticed that one book, Yeats' Complete Poems, was lying open, face down, and picked it up. A pencil dropped out of its pages and rolled onto the floor with a tiny clatter, as the book fell open at a short poem called "When You are Old." She read it silently. It was poignantly sad and beautiful. Then she looked more closely at the page, noticing that someone had, in pale grey pencil, very lightly underlined the second stanza:
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
Had Peter been reading love poetry? she thought wonderingly. And had he been thinking of her while he read it? That was just so ... incredibly sweet and dear. Peter was the only guy she knew who would do something this unselfconsciously heartfelt and romantic. Deeply touched, she traced the words on the page with her finger, noticing the tone of longing and regret that permeated the poem. Then, all at once, Peter's cryptic remarks at the Planetarium party, which had seemed nonsensical and insulting at the time, made sense to her. She put the Yeats book softly aside and flipped through a few more in the stack, until she found it. Here too, Peter had lightly underlined a few lines –
Day by day he gazed upon her,
Day by day he sighed with passion,
Day by day his heart within him
Grew more hot with love and longing ...
She thought about Peter reading these poems, lonely in his room, thinking she was marrying another and aching with love for her. Then she thought about how she had strenuously tried and tried to let him go, only to find that she could not do it. Her breath was quietly stolen away once more by how big and wide their love for each other was, deep and dark with currents of frustrated longing and fear, like a fathomless sea. It was almost scary. Could it sustain them? Would it grow spacious and strong enough to keep them secure? She hoped so.
MJ put the book aside and stretched out on the bed to think. For her, there were many difficult challenges ahead, she knew. The foremost one would be letting Peter go every day: she would have to learn some self-denial and humility. Even if she knew in her mind that she was first in Peter's heart, his duty and responsibility would often force him to place other priorities before her in his actual daily life – priorities like the safety of strangers or the good of the city. More play performances would be missed, and probably also dates, anniversaries, celebrations and maybe even the occasional crisis. Would she be able to handle not having Peter's undivided attention, along with the all-too frequent absences of the man she loved, which would undoubtedly come when she needed him the most? Could she bear the loneliness that would surely engulf her when they couldn't be together? Her worst doubts were about herself: could she truly help him? She did not want to grow bitter and resentful, miserable in her terror for his safety, or despondent about the uncertainty always surrounding the future. Could she be generous, patient and supportive? She sighed. These were questions to which only the future would bring answers.
If she wanted them to succeed, she would have to accept the problems of being Spider-man's girlfriend with grace – glad grace, to borrow the words of the poem. That would mean supporting Peter wholeheartedly even if he came home wounded or depressed night after night. It would mean distracting him from his cares whenever she could. It would mean loving Peter even when he hurt her by letting her down. It would mean letting him go without recriminations, without resenting the people who needed him, and without disliking the alter-ego who wanted to help them. If she could do all of these things, which was by no means certain, he would save her, enabling her to become the kind of person she wanted to be, and she would save him too, day by day – she'd save Peter Parker from the all-consuming Spider-Man so that he could stand up, breathe and dream his own dreams ...
Then, for a second, she faced her most terrifying fear: the question of what she would do if one day he didn't come home. It was ironic that Peter had been so afraid for her safety, when she knew it was much more likely that he would be hurt or killed than she. The dreadful thought made her heart rise into her throat, nearly choking her with fear. But she made a preliminary decision right then and there. Fears and doubts of all kinds would continue to surround her, swarming thick and fast. The only way to cope with them, to let love win out over fear, would be to confront them head on, one by one, staring them down and not letting them master her. Love drives out fear, she thought determinedly.
Peering ahead into the dim fog of the future, MJ knew she was going to have to be strong, much stronger than she had ever been in her life. She would be strong, she promised herself, for Peter, for herself, for the good, good thing that they would create together. Just for a few minutes, though, while she was alone, she allowed warm tears to seep out from under her closed eyelids, feeling them drip down her temples to lose themselves in her hair.
A/N: The epilogue will be up in a day or two. It's written; I'm just tweaking it. Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think, please!