When MJ invites him over to her Aunt JJ's house, he hesitates.
"I mean—" he takes a bite out of his fry "—I don't know who this Aunt JJ is." Though, her name does make him smile. JJ, MJ; there's got to be a story there, somewhere.
MJ dips her own fry into the pool of sauce, turning it into a soggy, limp mess. "Oh, she's—yeah, you'll, you'll love her," she says. Peter squints his eyes. He can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not. Through a mouthful of sauce-covered fry, MJ says, "Peter, seriously. You will. She's the best. She's like me, but older." She pauses. "And an alcoholic." She pauses again. "And she's actually mean, instead of, you know—"
"Just pretending to be mean even though she's secretly nice inside?" asks Peter.
MJ nods. "Exactly."
"Cool," he says, giving his fry a small dip into the sauce then wincing when he eats it. Too spicy.
MJ keeps on watching him, before she sighs. "I mean, you met my parents, I met Aunt May, so, I just—I thought…" She shrugs. "I mean, she's not technically my aunt aunt, you know? She's like—" MJ waves a hand "—a very, very distant family member. I don't technically know if she's my aunt. I just call her that 'cuz she's older than me."
"Understandable," he says.
MJ's lips twitch. "I mean, for all we know, I could be her aunt, you know?" She pulls her face. "Ugh. Me, as an aunt. No one would want that."
"I do," he says. She raises an eyebrow. He holds out his hands. "I just mean that—that you'd make a great aunt." Or a great mother, or a great grandmother, or a great anything. She's just great.
"That is so not true."
It so is, but he knows arguing with her is futile. Instead, he says, "Fine, then. I'll go meet with this Aunt JJ of yours."
Little does he know how much he'll regret it.
…
Aunt JJ's apartment building is dingy, pale, with peeling wallpapers. It also has a weird smell.
MJ is nervous. Not the bad kind, the excited kind. Like waiting to see the results of a test you know you've aced, wondering if it's going to be a simple A or an A+, and if there will be a teacher's note at the bottom that says well done with a smiley face.
They enter the dimly-lit elevator, which trembles on its way up. MJ makes a joke of falling down the elevator, and having no one, absolutely no one, who could save her. Peter rolls his eyes. "If only your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man were there…" Then, as they exit the elevator, it spirals into what songs they'd like for the funeral.
Aunt JJ's apartment is at the far corner of the floor, her door the only one facing the elevator.
When he gets nearer, he finds that the place where the window's supposed to be is replaced with a taped-up cardboard box. MJ tries to laugh. "She's eccentric."
"I'm sure she's lovely," Peter says, hoping his smile looks genuine.
Then the door opens—
—and for a moment, his Peter Tingles go haywire. But then it returns to normal so fast he must've imagined it. Before he can really think about it, MJ explodes into cheers and whoops as she hugs her Aunt JJ. Aunt JJ hugs her back, her tone dry yet sweet at once, steps back, then gauges Peter.
Peter never really gave thought into what MJ's aunt would look like, but this fits the bill. Tall, lanky. Wearing dark clothes and having sharp eyes, like MJ. Though hers are sharper, more mature.
Peter swallows and smiles, tight-lipped.
"Aunt JJ, this is my boyfriend, Pet—"
"Peter Parker," Aunt JJ says. "Yes, I know you."
Peter looks at MJ, who doesn't seem to notice the vague sense of threat behind her voice, then holds out his hand. "Hi, Miss JJ, nice to meet you."
She holds his eyes. "It's Jones," she says. "Jessica Jones."
…
Despite how little they look alike, Peter can see right away that they're related. Anyone can. As Aunt JJ serves them food—a day old pizza, and a drink which she thinks isn't alcoholic—she asks MJ about how her life is. She does it in a particular way, like she doesn't want to know even if she does. MJ purposefully holds back information, hiding her smirk behind her cup as she drinks.
If this is some sort of game, then he doesn't get it one bit. And he's pretty sure he's losing.
Aunt JJ is fine with him, too. She isn't overly hostile, but she's not making an effort, either. Nor does she accept his effort to bond.
Then, MJ gets up and says, "I've got to go to the bathroom," then leaves before Peter can so much as say a word.
And then it's just them. The two of them. All alone.
Peter rubs his hands on his thighs, offering Aunt JJ a smile.
Aunt JJ doesn't return it. She just stares at him, like she's a police officer and they're in an interrogation room.
"Nice—nice place you got here," he says, because he's at a loss. The place isn't exactly tidy—paperworks everywhere, a dent on the wall, piles of empty beer bottles in one corner—but there's a certain hominess to it. "Love the uh—the decor, it sort of reminds me of—"
"You webbing, recently?"
Peter stills. "Uh, I'm—I'm sorry, what?"
Aunt JJ takes a sip from her wine glass. "The internet. Surfing the web. I don't know what the youngsters call it these days, but…"
"Oh," he says, then forces himself to chuckle. "Oh, yeah. I—I do a lot of webbing."
Her eyes narrow. "And does MJ know about your webbing?"
Thick silence settles over them, and there it is again. His Peter Tingles warning him of something. Whoever this Aunt JJ is, whoever this Jessica Jones is—she's not someone to be messed with. "I—"
The bathroom door opens, and MJ returns, an easy air about her that dissipates the silence between them. And then Aunt JJ returns to her pleasant and dry attitude, not a malicious bone in her body.
…
MJ has fun. That's all that matters. He supposes he does, as well, especially when Aunt JJ has them play a game of I Spy, but with a twist: it has to be a person, and you have to describe something about them through their clothing and mannerism.
It's a fun game. Peter never realized you could tell so much about a man by the type of shoes he wears.
And then, to his dismay, MJ's lab partner starts calling her, telling her about this assignment they should be doing, and how the deadline is tomorrow, and the next thing you know, he's alone again with Aunt JJ, MJ's voice trailing behind them in the background as she stands outside the apartment door.
Aunt JJ stands up. Walks over to her work desk. Grabs a bottle of vodka. She leans her back against it, the vodka sloshing in the bottle as her hand sways. "I'm sure you'll find this very, very cliche, and to be honest, I do too, but." She slams the bottle on her desk. "What are your intentions with my cousin?"
Peter swallows.
What are his intentions with her?
He looks down on his unfinished dinner, and imagines MJ's face. The shape of her eyes, the way her curls run down her face. How she tries to be emotionless but ends up being the most expressive person he's ever known—the exact opposite of Aunt JJ, who doesn't try to fake her disinterest and callousness.
"Well, I…" He sits up straighter in his seat. "I want to—to make her happy. To make her laugh and smile, and all that. Even if I'm not, like, a world-class comedian." He runs a hand through his hair, smiling without realizing. "And I won't—I won't do anything she doesn't want to do, if—if that's what you're getting at—and I won't let anybody hurt her either, so—"
"Michelle can take care of herself," cuts off Aunt JJ. "That is, usually." She twirls her finger over the rim of the bottle. "But considering her boyfriend is Spider-Man, I'm not too sure."
One beat.
Two beats.
"I—you—what?" Peter laughs, too hard, too breathy. "I'm not—"
"Do you know what I do, Parker?"
Peter swallows, squirming and tugging his collar. "You're, uh…" MJ said something, didn't she? He's pretty sure she did. Something about the law, or doing things for people. "You… take pictures?"
"Of what?"
"Of… of people?"
"People doing what?"
"... things?"
Aunt JJ smirks, the fire in her eyes burning hot. She pushes herself off her desk, grabbing a folder from her desk. "What I do is collect information. Evidence." She crosses the room towards him, taking a big gulp of her vodka. "I look for the truth. And I won't stop until I get it." She throws the folder down on the table, the contents spilling out. "And this—this is yours."
They're pictures. Pictures of him.
In his Spider-Man suit .
He looks down on them. Then up at Aunt JJ. Back down again. "There—there must be some kind of mistake, I'm not—"
Three things happen at once:
Jessica swings the bottle in his direction.
Peter jumps from his seat and backflips.
He lands in his usual pose, his hand outstretched towards her, revealing the web-shooter hidden behind his sleeve.
Aunt JJ grins, and he realizes she's baited him into a trap. And he fell for it. Like an idiot.
What's more, his Peter Tingles are going haywire again. They never do that, not unless he's in the presence of someone like him. Someone who's not exactly normal. It happened with Steve Rogers, with Bruce Banner. And now it's happening again.
"Who—who are you?" he asks.
"Right now," she says, sliding back into her seat with relaxed ease, "I'm someone who really cares about her niece."
…
They continue the night in semi-normalness. MJ notices he's nervous, so she decides they should head home early. But as they walk towards the elevator, Peter gives Aunt JJ's words some thought.
This isn't the first time he's questioned about the dangers he puts his loved ones in by becoming a superhero. But when Aunt JJ speaks these questions out loud, they sound different. Grave.
Peter stops as they near their car. "I—I forgot my phone," he lies.
"What?" MJ asks.
"Don't worry, you head into the car, I'll be with you in a minute."
Then he's running back inside the building, tapping his foot against the elevator floor as he goes up, bursting into Aunt JJ's apartment panting and flushed and saying, "Listen, Miss Jones—"
"God," says Aunt JJ, in her desk, her hands full of paperworks, "you make me sound old."
"Right." He wipes his forehead. "Jessica—"
"I think you should stick with Miss Jones." She cocks her head. "Actually, you know what? Just… don't call me by any name."
"Alright, uh… ma'am." Aunt JJ wrinkles her nose, then shrugs. Peter clears his throat. "I've been thinking…" He looks down at the soles of his shoes. "I know you care a lot about MJ, and, well, I care about her too," he says, then takes a deep breath. "If you think me and MJ aren't the right fit for each other, and stuff, because of the whole—" he makes web-shooting motions "—then, uh… Well, I guess I'll—"
"Like I've said before, Parker, Michelle can take care of herself."
"Oh." He blinks. "Uh…" He scratches his cheek. "Then what's—"
"Does she, or does she not know that you run around the city in a tight spandex?"
"She does," he says, without thinking. "She knows."
"Good," she says. Peter frowns. Is that all? Aunt JJ leans back in her chair. "I've got to tell you, kid, it was hard trying to get anything out of her." She almost smiles. Almost. "I taught her well. Too well."
Peter nods. Nods again.
He turns to leave. Then pauses
"... and it's—it's not that tight. My suit, I mean." It's not even spandex.
This time, Aunt JJ does smile. "Some of my photographs would disagree."