Chapter Text
Despite her own crippling desire to run away from the awkwardness that lingers in the wake of her confrontation with Tony, MJ chooses to stay at the penthouse for the evening. Her apologies to him might not have been said completely in earnest, knowing that in her mind she isn’t sorry for being there but more sorry she had been caught and making him worry in such a way, she wants to placate whatever tensions might hang between them. She figures that keeping herself in his eyeline might make the comedown of the day just a bit easier on him.
MJ doesn’t see her dad much that night, which is funny considering they’re housed in a building that is designed for hosting. It has enough room for around sixty people to congregate in the lounge and there are only three people who are currently on the level. There is no one else around in the kitchen or the lounge to distract herself with, no one blocking her dad from her sight, there is only food they’d ordered in and yet he feels as far away as ever. Something distracting him that he can’t bring himself to talk about.
Spider-Man wakes up halfway through their meal and that has her father disappearing from the tale with Pepper’s own worried eyes following after him.
Unable to bite her tongue, MJ questions Pepper about their relationship a little bit.
“I never realised Spider-Man was so… close with Dad. He’s not an Avenger, right?”
“Not in any official capacity, no.” Pepper replies. “Never stops him from being around when he thinks he’s needed though. Tony… Feels indebted to him, like he owes him this protection. The older Spider-Man gets, the harder it seems to keep those promises.” Her step-mother looks over at MJ with a sad smile. “The world gets complicated.”
MJ hums in a quiet agreement. More questions were poised on her lips, wanting to press further to pick and pull at the underlying issue that MJ couldn’t quite put her finger to. There was something more. Her dad had always been vocal about how selfish he could be, his entire public persona was built off the back of it. The Avengers had always been his way to rectify past mistakes - to what end that could be counted as a success, only he could answer, maybe that was why retirement had been a bigger struggle than he thought. They’d fought and separated multiple times throughout the years, reforming whenever needed and she thinks that her dad would never worry over them like this. He would never seem so full of regret at the prospect of choosing to save his own kid over saving them.
It confirms as suspicion that MJ has had for a few years. It was an observation that she’s never dared attach too much time to developing but now acting as a distraction. It’s maybe even a fact that she’s almost always been aware of and is now really seeing the significance; Spider-Man isn’t just young. He’s around her age.
After dinner when MJ returns to her bedroom, she lays down on the bed and asks FRIDAY where her dad is. She is told that he’s with Spider-Man’s family. A better picture forms in her head of what that might actually look like. She knows that thre’s probably a mother worrying for her child just a few levels below in the same way her dad had been worrying for her, but strangely, as she turns the image over in her head. There is no ambiguity in who might be waiting for Spider-Man. The face that she imagines sitting in his room is one she’s seen in passing - a picture frame on a desk, a faint voice on a telephone line, a throwaway remark from her father - she pictures May Parker sitting there.
Her cheeks flush, hands immediately twitching for her phone to check and see if there are unread messages awaiting her - there aren’t.
MJ exhales heavily. She is thinking about Peter Parker far too much to be healthy.
Her room is devoid of any personalisation. It is effectively a blank slate that could be let out to anyone who needed a room for the night but has been permanently reserved for her alone since Tony and Pepper began to occupy the penthouse full-time.
There’s no pictures that she’s left here. There are no trinkets on the wall. No identifiable sign that MJ Watson exists in this space aside from the few spare clothes that are kept here for emergencies. None of them have ever been worn. Most of them are duplicate pieces from her own wardrobe, bare essentials like pyjamas and jeans and sweatshirts, something to give a semblance that she existed in this space, in the same way that her bathroom is always stocked with anything she could need.
The impersonalisation is her fault alone. Her dad has clearly tried. Really. The invite to settle in has been there since she graduated. The years of her childhood where she was-– not unwlecomed, but discouraged from making herself too comfortable in his homes in the past, have made it too easy to think of this place less of a home and more of a visitation space.
She’s been cultivating that thinking for herself the last few years, believing that independence must come at the cost of comfort and leading to a room that belongs to her that has barely a trace of her inside; the sheets are ecru with a grey blanket draped neatly at the end. The shelves and dresser are all beautiful and new from designers that any interior designer would envy. It is all cohesive and none of it has chopped corners or paint splatters, none of it was hard haggled at a flea market.
It is a room that is perfect to the eye and is difficult to sleep in, leading her to staying up for most of the night with her eyes locked on her notebook. The word ‘flame’ written in the middle of the page with possible connections listed off of it; Stress, name of possible arsonist, mindless rambles that shouldn’t be taken seriously, Johnny Storm. One woman’s incoherent blather is the only piece of information that MJ got out of today’s failed excursion and she needs it to mean something.
It has to be worth it.
Knowing that there is someone just a few floors below her that could be a valuable source for their piece is near impossible not to act on. Her restraint only coming from the memory of Tony’s disappointed and hurt expression.
This would be a whole lot easier if her so-called partner were reachable. Peter wasn’t the best journalist, that much was true, his strengths lay in his photography and his ability to point her in the right direction whether through aggravation or through genuine comment. If only he was just that might more consistent.
She’s even had a few messages from Jameson, questioning Peter’s whereabouts, wanting pictures for the news beat and having no luck getting through to him. Despite herself, she’d covered for him - Jameson might be fighting to keep the team as it is but there was no denying that trimming the fat would make the managerial decisions he has in front of him a whole lot easier.
For whatever reason that she doesn’t want to consider right now, she’s protective of Peter. Her irritation at his silence is starting to bleed into worry and that in itself is frustrating. She wants to be angry at him, wants clearer cut emotions on this and instead, all she is is muddled because he had vanished and now she’s stuck goggling a single word that has a million possibilities. She needs her sounding board, she needs reassurance that she isn’t crazy, something Peter had become good at doing, making her feel heard and understand, but he’d fucking disappeared when she needed him and she had no idea if he was safe like he always seemed to do.
Her brows furrow.
A pattern beginning to form before her that had her hesitantly flicking a few pages back to her notebook, back to the initial ideas she had scribbled down for their article. Under the messy black ink that she’d used to heavily scratch one away, her fingers running over the indents of it all; ‘Spider-Man’s real identity’.
Convenient that Peter is always gone when Spider-Man is needed.
Convenient that they both drop off the map when one is in the hospital.
Convenient that they’re both someone her father is protective of for no good reason.
Convenient that for a person who claims to be against vigilantes, Gwen was affected greatly by the news of Spider-Man’s injuries.
Convenient that Peter had discouraged her from chasing after this idea.
Her body twitches, tempted to walk down to the MedBay and both figuratively and literally pull back the curtain on the truth, but something stops her. A rock sits in her stomach, all her worry and angry pressing heavily into her and weighing her down, turning into something like betrayal; why should he get to see her like this when he’s gotten each and every one of her other secrets for free.
The weight in her stomach begins to move, shrouding her body and hanging over her shoulders. Their pride is something everyone in this family wears well.