Chapter Text
MJ hears Ned and Spider-Man shouting as she falls. There’s screaming too, but that might be her. It’s hard to tell, between the feeling of her lungs in her throat; of being yanked and inverted in mid-air. Because Spider-Man catches her—as if there was ever any doubt he would—and now she simply has to find the tracker…
“What the hell?!” She’s back on the landing, both men staring at her. Spider-Man's voice shakes as he holds her shoulders, turning her quickly from side to side, checking for damage. “MJ! Are you okay?”
“No!” MJ gives up on finding the tracker, grabbing his arms instead. “No, I’m not okay! I’m missing half my memories; how am I meant to be okay?!”
The sound of the pocket-watch beeping lingers in the background, now mingling with the sound of Ned's hyperventilation. “You jumped—you actually fucking jumped—”
“MJ, listen to me,” Spider-Man says, his voice sincere despite the distortion. “You have to stop. Please, stop.”
“I won’t,” MJ replies stubbornly. “I can’t stop. You don’t understand. Stopping isn't… it isn't an option. My memories are who I am, and you…” She shakes her head. “I’ll figure it out—all of it. I swear I will.”
Spider-Man stares at her silently through his goggles. Then, with frustrating ease, he slips out of her grip and turns to Ned. “You should leave.”
Ned stumbles forward, grabbing at them both to stop himself from face-planting into the concrete. “Oh, we are.” His eyes are wild as he glances at MJ. “We are definitely leaving.”
“No, we are not leaving—”
They ignore MJ's protests: Spider-Man avoids her gaze completely. He merely nods at Ned, satisfied, and shoots a web upwards, sling-shotting away. MJ tries to follow him with her eyes, but soon loses sight of him among the cables and pipes.
She doesn’t believe for a second he’s really gone.
Ned grabs her hand and squeezes it tightly. “MJ, are you okay? Like, physically?”
“Yeah.” MJ waves her free hand, still watching the ceiling. She refuses to leave; refuses to fail. There must be some way to get him back down here. “But he’s—”
“Good, let’s go.”
“But—”
“MJ. Let's go.” Ned raises his eyebrows, tugging her toward the exit. He's looking at her pointedly and MJ’s mind races. Only one thing sticks out as strange, and she finds herself mentally replaying his supposed trip over and over.
Maybe the night wasn't a complete bust, after all.
Time speeds up after that. They duck into the first windowless restaurant they find, moving on instinct—Ned grabs a table and pulls out his laptop while MJ orders drinks to keep the waiters off their backs. Neither of them breathe as Ned works to connects his mobile hotspot and opens the tracking program.
MJ feels sick as the map loads, and even more so when the two clearly marked red and blue dots appear. Unsurprisingly, the blue tracker—the one given to MJ—sits stationary at the 4th Street Station, where she likely dropped it mid-fall. But Ned's—
“Two hundred miles per hour?” Ned whispers, awe creeping into his voice. “That's insane.”
“Yeah,” MJ mutters, apparently more put out by this new obstacle than he is. Two steps forward, one step back—and even more time to doubt the ethics of what they’re doing. “We knew he was fast, but…”
“We're never going to catch him at that speed,” Ned finishes, pausing with his hands hovering over the keyboard. “We’ll have to wait until he goes home, however long that…”
He frowns as the red dot starts to lag, the estimated speed dropping exponentially.
Slower, and slower—until it stops.
MJ stares at it, unblinking. “He can’t be done yet,” she mutters, unable to peel her eyes from the screen. She glances furtively at the time in the corner. “It’s not even midnight.”
“He’s not done,” Ned says, his tone shifting. He sounds dejected; frustrated. “Look at the address, MJ.”
MJ frowns and leans in. “But that's... that’s your parents' house.”
“Yep,” Ned replies glumly.
And all of her traitorous hope comes crashing down.
“He returned it,” MJ says, dumbfounded. “He found it, and instead of destroying it, he… delivered it back to you.”
“Looks like it.” Ned doesn’t bother pursuing alternative options—there’s no point. The signal isn’t being blocked or altered; the tracker’s been physically removed and left behind.
It's useless.
They sit in silence for God knows how long while the restaurant hums around them—glasses clinking, voices buzzing. To everyone else, it’s just another Saturday night. Bustling and lively. Even the bubbles in their soft drinks seem unnecessarily cheerful.
“He must have been alerted to it,” Ned says eventually, still staring at the screen. “The tracker, I mean. But I don’t understand how.”
“For all we know, he could’ve helped build it,” MJ replies, her focus now on the disastrous first date happening at the bar. It's a nice diversion, especially since MJ doesn’t know how to function or what to feel anymore. She’s swung between extremes all night, and now… she’s numb. Hollow. Exhausted.
Ned sighs, clicking the program shut and sinking further into his seat. MJ half-heartedly bumps his shoulder, dragging her gaze away from the couple.
“We should sleep, right?” he asks reluctantly, and MJ shrugs, too tired to argue.
“I guess. You can crash at mine if you want. It’s closer.”
He shakes his head. “I better not. I made the mistake of telling Mum about the photo albums, so I should probably go home.” He sounds less than thrilled. “But I’ll meet you at the bakery tomorrow morning?”
MJ nods as if on auto-pilot. “I’ll probably be able to swipe us some donuts. They’ll be stale, though.”
“The perfect commiseration meal.”
She gives Ned a weary smile. “Precisely.”
MJ’s right about the donuts: they are stale. But she still eats two while waiting for Ned, sitting in their usual booth facing the door.
The door chimes, and MJ looks up from her sketchbook in anticipation. It's not Ned, but it could be worse: it's Peter. One of the few regulars she doesn't actively despise.
MJ raises a hand in greeting.
He waves back, expression unreadable, hesitating briefly before making his way over. “Hey. I didn’t think you were working today.”
MJ glances pointedly down at her sketchbook and the box of half-eaten donuts. “I’m not. I’m waiting for a friend—Ned, you’ve met him?”
Peter peers down at the table, nodding. “Once or twice.” His gaze flickers back to her. “So... how are you? How’s MIT?”
MJ shrugs, her attention half on the door. “How much time do you have?”
He sits down. “However long you need.”
"Uh..." MJ blinks, taken aback, and is saved from replying by Ned's fortuitous arrival. Even staring at Peter, she can't miss the sudden commotion: the door crashing open, a fryer starting to beep, and Ned tossing his backpack to the floor amidst grumblings about mothers and photo albums.
“That bad, huh?” MJ asks, pushing the donuts toward him.
Ned grabs one, wincing. “Worse.” He takes a large bite and nods at Peter. “Hey, man.”
“Hey,” Peter says, instinctively scooting down the bench to make room.
“I lost a bunch of photo albums,” Ned explains, sliding in next to him. “My mum’s furious.”
Peter's mouth twists. “I’m sorry, dude. That sucks.”
“Yeah. But the worst part is it wasn’t even my fault. Spide—someone stole them off the subway.” Ned shakes his head and takes another donut. "Anyway, what were you guys talking about?"
“I was just asking Michelle about MIT.”
“Oh, right.” Ned shrugs. “MIT's good. Exam season though, so, you know, that sucks.”
Peter nods. “Exams always suck.”
MJ frowns over their heads, closing her sketchbook. She’s distracted: the fryer’s still beeping in the background, and Sasha is utterly oblivious, scrolling through her phone. MJ tries to ignore it—not her shift, not her problem—but the noise is too obnoxious.
“—I know, the syntax is crazy convoluted...” Ned breaks off as MJ stands, frowning up at her from where he and Peter are huddled over code on his phone. “You okay?”
“Peachy.” MJ’s not sure how they jumped from exams to programming, less interested in their conversation and more focused on the incessant beeping. “I’m just going to find whatever appliance is beeping in the kitchen and destroy it.”
“It’s not coming from the kitchen,” Peter tells her absentmindedly, mid-scroll. “It’s something in Ned’s backpack.”
Ned looks surprised. “Is it?” He unzips the bag, and the beeping grows louder. “Huh, so it is. But what...?”
MJ slowly sits back down, her gaze locked on Peter. Because she knows what it is: in fact, now that Peter's identified a source, she wonders how she ever thought the beeping was a fryer. Though, she supposed she mistook it last night too, thinking it was the noise of an imaginary pocket-watch...
But it’s neither. And currently, with Ned's meticulous calibrations, the Geiger counter might as well be a giant compass pointing straight to Spider-Man.
"You." It's a simple word, but it feels heavy on her tongue. "It's you. Peter Parker, of course."
Even the name fits—all the Midtown yearbooks pointing to an erased student whose last name started with ‘P’. And while Peter’s full name introduction was endearingly awkward at the time, MJ now wonders if there was another reason for it.
If perhaps he’d been hoping they’d recognise it.
Peter’s entire body stiffens, his eyes staying glued to Ned’s phone—and truth be told, that reaction alone is enough to quell any doubts. Looking back, it seems so obvious now: clearly, MJ should've been focusing less on when the memory gaps began, and more on the person who appeared in her life’s periphery when they stopped.
The Geiger counter clatters to the ground—still beeping—as Ned stares at Peter, only one second behind MJ. “Holy shit,” he whispers. “You’re Spider—”
Peter looks away from the phone so quickly it’s a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash. “Dude, shh! We are not doing this again.”
The near-confession hangs in the air, drowning out any immediate response. And in that moment, MJ thinks she should be angrier at Peter—infuriated, even—for all the lies.
But, looking at him now... all she feels is a profound sense of loss. There’s no cold fury or torrential flood of emotions; no sudden rush of memories or single moment of clarity. Just a familiar, ordinary grief, made all the more complicated by still not knowing the full scope of what's been lost.
Peter shifts in his chair and finally breaks the silence. “So... I suppose this is where you get to say ‘I told you so?’”
He directs the question toward MJ, clumsily trying to diffuse the tension.
She arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “No. This is where you explain, and I decide whether or not you owe me $50. And then, when Ned has his photo albums back, and we’ve recovered our memories—that’s when I say I told you so.”
Peter stares at her and MJ can see all the weight of their one-sided moments suspended in his gaze. “Twice," he says softly. “You get to say it twice.”
MJ frowns. In truth, she doubts she’ll ever say those words to him. Or if she does, it won’t be for a very, very, long time. Ignoring the pleas of a masked hero was somehow much easier than the pain of the man in front of her.
And there is pain in Peter. She can see it in his face, in the shadows of his eyes. Different to hers, but no less real. No less immense.
“Alright,” MJ replies simply. “But for now—explain. Please.”
He nods warily. “Okay. But I just... I need you to know how sorry—”
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “Explain first, and then we’ll decide on apologies.”
MJ doesn’t doubt Peter’s sorry. Even when she only knew him as Spider-Man, that was never in question. But when someone who views self-sacrifice as his personal responsibility is doing the talking, MJ needs the full story before any apologies are made. Not because she thinks none will be necessary, but because she wants them to be right.
She looks to Ned, who nods. “As a team,” he agrees. “Because that’s what we were, before all this memory stuff, right? We were friends?”
His voice is vulnerable, and MJ is reminded of delicate things: fragile porcelain, or a fledgling finding its wings.
Peter swallows hard. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “We were.”
They exchange tentative smiles—nothing like Ned’s usual beaming or Peter’s typical grin when he catches MJ working at the bakery. But still, it’s a sweet moment, even if MJ feels a little apart from it.
She's okay with the distance for now—experience has taught MJ that her walls take time to come down. And while she wants to trust Peter—and maybe a lingering part of her already does—she can’t let herself feel any more than that. Not right now. Not until the chaos feels further away, and the tranquility of waking on a sun-soaked riverbank seems less like a dream.
“Okay,” Peter says, turning back to MJ. “Let me think where to begin—because there’s a lot. Midtown, the spider, the Vulture… then there’s Thanos and the Blip... oh, and obviously Peter One and Two, plus Stephen’s dungeon. And Ned, can you please stop the Geiger counter from beeping at me—”
They’ve got a while to go yet.
Silly Bonus:
[4:32PM] MJ: @PETER BENJAMIN PARKER did you say you have a copy of Flash's book?
[4:34PM] PETER BENJAMIN PARKER: unfortunately yes
[4:35PM] MJ: @PETER BENJAMIN PARKER can I have it?
[4:37PM] PETER BENJAMIN PARKER: please. it's mostly blank pages though
[4:39PM] MJ: @PETER BENJAMIN PARKER good. I need a new sketchbook
[5:16PM] PETER BENJAMIN PARKER: also @Ned I forgot to mention, I have your Emperor Palpatine Lego figure
[5:20PM] Ned: I've been looking for that!
[5:22PM] PETER BENJAMIN PARKER: sorry!
[5:22PM] PETER BENJAMIN PARKER: do you want to portal over and pick it up? along with Flash's book?
[5:24PM] PETER BENJAMIN PARKER: wait, can you still portal?
[5:25PM] PETER BENJAMIN PARKER: did we get to that part yet? it all kind of blends together
[5:37PM] Ned: CAN I WHAT?!