Chapter Text
“I’m sorry,” Jean says with a final breath to steady herself. “I—”
“I don’t care.” MJ’s glare towards Jean hardens. Jean seems to shrivel under that.
Peter tries to steady himself, but the ground seems to shake underneath him. “Guys… please. Please, just stop. For tonight.”
MJ looks back at Peter, betrayed. “Peter! Do you understand what she did? To me? To you?”
“How can I not? I was there.”
She opens her mouth, finding that there’s no correct response, and closes it again.
“You need to leave,” MJ snaps back at Jean.
“MJ…” Peter says.
“No,” she snaps. “I don’t want your say in this…” She falters at the sight of him, broken, tears coming from his eyes.
She looks at him.
She looks back at Jean Gray, who was guilty, standing there, looking down.
Realization dawns on her.
“Oh.”
She shakes her head.
“Oh… Oh.” She makes a harsh laugh, startled, surprising herself.
Peter closes his eyes.
“So this… this is actually happening?” MJ says.
It isn’t a question.
He can’t bear the sight of her face until he realizes he’s being a coward and opens them back up. He feels like another bullet has gone through him when he looks at her eyes.
“I…” He realizes that he doesn’t know how to speak. He doesn’t know how to describe any of this.
And that hesitation was enough.
And that hedging was enough.
It was enough to make MJ angrier. And—
It was enough to hurt Jean.
Peter glances at Jean, whose mouth opens before closing again. She looks like she’s struck. Her eyes are glassy now.
Peter should have known:
Indecision is still a decision.
And no amount of fear and insecurity would ever keep you safe.
MJ takes a sharp breath, a step back. Her expression hardened. “Peter.”
It takes all his strength not to flinch.
"She's my friend."
"And so am I."
Peter softly exhales, like he's been stabbed.
“Why?” MJ demands. “Because she’s pretty? Because despite her mind-controlling people, mind-controlling me,” she says, “you’re willing to just throw away all those responsibilities you beat yourself up with because you want to get into her pants?”
He flinches back, like he's struck.
“How dare you,” Jean snarls. “That has nothing to do with why he saved my life and yours!”
MJ laughs before turning around to face Jean. “And tell me, exactly, who did he save me from?”
Jean purses her lips.
“What do you want from him?” MJ asks Jean. “Why did you come back into his life? You should have left all of this behind.”
“I’m not leaving him,” Jean insists.
“Haven’t you tortured him enough?”
Silence. More silence. Only silence is the truth now.
This silence draws out. It stretches. It suffocates. Peter is about to speak. He doesn’t know what to say.
All he knows is that he messed up. He messed this up.
MJ looks at him, studies him, examines him, takes into account all of who he is—both the good and the bad—before turning back to Jean.
“You’re coming with me,” she says.
Jean’s head snaps back up. “What?”
“I’m not repeating myself. Read my mind or something,” MJ growls as she turns to open the door.
She whips it back, making Peter flinch. “You’re not going to follow.”
“I… I won’t follow.”
“You’re not going to interrupt us and try to talk us out of everything.”
“I… I won’t.”
She takes Jean by the hand, harshly grabbing it, and storms out of the apartment. On their way out, she slams her room shut.
Leaving Peter alone.
(Always alone, aren’t you, boy?)
#
It’s the rooftop, the place in New York for all the conversations and confessions and self-reflections.
It’s where MJ takes Jean.
They look out to the city skyline. If Jean let her shield down just the slightest bit, she knows how the overwhelming voices and thoughts would flood her.
Even just a block has a thousand thoughts.
The girl she swore to never read into again turns back to her.
Jean has never felt as tempted as then to just… probe. See what MJ is thinking. Is she jealous? Furious? Bitter? Afraid?
Yes.
All the above. None of the above.
The thing about human emotions is that they feed on themselves. It loops around; it can cover itself with new emotions, hide, reveal. And the truth is this: Just because Jean could read minds, that doesn’t make it any less easy to read through a person.
Without a word, MJ props herself up and over the rooftop. It’s dangerous; Jean wants to warn her. But she finds that she cannot talk. Not yet.
And here, standing against the edge, the way the wind rushes down, making her hair sway, MJ looks at her.
Truly.
In it, Jean can see hatred. She can respect. She can see admiration. She can see jealousy.
And with her arms raised, MJ takes a shaky breath before letting herself fall.
“NO!”
Jean immediately runs, holding out her hand. Her mind instinctively moves, forming a protective layer to wrap around MJ.
The girl simply floats, her hair dangling against gravity, a soft whoosh of air making it sway.
She gently levitates MJ back to the rooftop. As her foot touches back to the ground, MJ immediately collapses, gasping rapid breaths; she tries to calm down. But Jean feels her own heart pumping furiously, blood rushing into her ears.
“What is wrong with you!”
MJ looks up, a little disheveled but determined. “I had to know.”
“To what?! To… to throw away your life?”
“You’re Marvel Girl.”
She opens her mouth, before closing it.
“The most obvious thing in the world,” MJ says, rolling her eyes. “A random superheroine comes, red hair and all, with telepathic powers.”
“Yeah,” Jean says, a little shaky, never really thought about the first encounter where her secret was so blatantly exposed. “I am. But that explains nothing! That doesn’t mean you should just throw yourself—”
“You saved hundreds of lives already. Maybe thousands.”
Jean doesn’t respond.
“You stopped a shooting before it even happened two weeks ago.”
“Easier than making Peter fight it.”
“I saw you talk to that girl hanging off the ledge, talking her out of it.”
“Maria,” Jean says immediately.
MJ nods. “I was there, underneath the building. I… I was walking down the street. When I saw her… And I called the police. It would take them 10 minutes. I prayed for Spider-Man to come.”
“He couldn’t. He was busy defusing—”
“Yeah. I know.”
Jean is silent again.
“But then you came,” she says. "You floated next to her. Sat against the window, and just… talked.”
“We talked about our lives,” Jean says. “Mine. Hers.”
“Why did you do it?”
“What?”
“Why did you do it that way? You could have floated her out, just like you did it to me seconds ago. You could have… taken control of her mind, maybe excised that part of her that wanted to end it all.”
“And take away her agency?”
“She would still be alive.”
“But she wouldn’t be truly living.” Jean sighs. “It had to be her choice. It had to be from her volition… I know. I know. Irony. Hypocrisy.”
MJ snorts. She just leans against the rail. “So you didn’t use your powers at all to stop her?”
Jean shakes her head. “I was freaking out.”
“You faced terrifying monsters before.”
"But at least fighting is simple. The human mind... less so."
"What makes it so hard when you can read it?"
Jean shakes her head. “Because… I had to reach her in a way my powers never could. I had to connect to her. Help her feel hope. Help her take that courage to fight. To live another day.” Jean inhales, looking down, remembering. “I had to be like Spider-Man.”
MJ tilts her head slightly at that. Jean continues.
“I was just there to listen. She told me how she lost her father a week ago. The kids at school are still mean to her. And she… she said that she had no one to miss her.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her she had me.”
MJ continues to stare.
“I’m meeting with her next week,” Jean says. “Thursday. A quick ice cream together. Check on her.”
MJ is silent; Jean isn’t sure how she is processing all of that.
“So you’re serious,” MJ says. “About this hero shit.”
“Yeah,” Jean says, perhaps a little surprised by her own voice of certainty. “I am.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why?”
“What changed? After everything you’ve done, what made you feel fine to just… wear that costume of yours and pretend that you’re there for others?”
“Would you believe me if I told you that it’s not a play-pretend?”
“I’m not the one who can read people’s minds.” Jean stiffens. “So why opt for this… redemption shit?”
“Because.” And Jean smiles, even at this moment. “Someone believed in me enough to think it was possible.”
She lives a new life now. One with family. One with heroism where she faces the end of the world on a weekly basis. She laughs more. She cries more. Her life is more. But no matter how dire her world has gotten, there was a steadiness that kept her anchored.
MJ looks at the softness in Jean's eyes, and she purses her lips. “You love him.”
Jean holds her smile. Even now, the warmth and the memory of him will always be the candle. “Yeah. I do… don’t fault him for it, please. I…”
“I know what you did,” MJ snaps before sighing. Her voice sounds tired, maybe a little defeated. “And I know why.”
“You do?”
“Peter confessed to me. It was one of the first things he wanted to check with me.”
Jean inhales sharply. He told MJ.
Whatever was going on between Jean and Peter, whatever had happened... he told MJ.
Jean wasn't his dirty secret.
What did he say? Why? Why did he feel the need to explain Jean to MJ?
Did he defend her?
But what if he hadn’t? What if he told her that Jean was a monster? Someone he wouldn’t want to cross paths with.
What if he told her that she was someone pitiable?
“And… what did he say?”
“That you did it because you felt helpless. And you were.” MJ laughs bitterly. “You were going to go down with DODC, guns blazing. A fucking tank. Until a nosy spider came.” Jean chokes out a laugh, as MJ fights the tilt of her lips from curling. “And that you saved his life.”
“He saved mine first.”
“I know,” MJ says. “And I took it that you only saved him from a mess he shouldn’t have been in the first place. No offense.”
“None taken.” Jean sighs. “I said that same thing.”
“Was it then?”
“What was what then?”
“That you fell in love with Peter Parker.”
“Maybe a little,” Jean admits. “You tell a guy your sob story. You just want him to… to listen at least. You shed your heart and break down, ugly crying and all, because you realize you have no one left. And there’s Peter Parker with those puppy eyes—”
“They’re dangerous.”
“Very dangerous,” Jean agrees. “And he says… you have me.”
Even now, her chest feels warm.
That memory and those words will forever be carved into her heart. No amount of misfortune and hatred and circumstance thrown at her will change the fact that those words will forever shape her. She will forever hold onto them.
Jean's voice, brittle, says, “Can’t blame a girl for feeling a little special.”
And she knows he would have done it to anyone. He would have done the same, said the same thing. That’s who he is.
Maybe that’s why, even then, she knew that it was simply seeing his kindness, his hope, his earnest faith in fighting for the good, that she couldn’t help but fall just a little in love that day.
It saved her. She isn't going to shy away from that fact. No matter what had happened, what she had done, from then on, she simply had to save others because of how he saved her.
I messed up. I messed this up.
I was hurting. I hurt others.
BUT
I have you.
There’s silence between them until MJ bangs her head against the rail.
“Fuck,” MJ curses. “That’s good. That’s really good.”
“I still get the little flutters even now.”
“Hopelessly romantic,” she glares at Jean without the poison. “Damsel in distress with a hero to come in and save the day.”
“I set women back,” Jean says. “You’ll have to forgive me for that.”
“And this is only the start.”
“Only the start,” Jean agrees. “And then… we talked, we spent more time together, and when you’re given the chance to know Peter Parker and all his quirks and flaws—”
“You were a goner.”
“I was a goner,” Jean echoes. “Didn’t stand a chance.”
Because even now, from his silly quips, awkward stuttering, endless yapping, silent brooding, soft smiling, it all formulated together to make… him.
How can she not fall in love with him?
MJ sighs. “I’m still mad at Peter.”
“But why? He told you everything. He… he did his best to make sure you had your choices.”
“That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“You tell me." MJ turns back to her. "If there was a boy like him, who took a bullet for someone who did nothing but torture him… promised them that he would always be there for them… told them that he would love them... don’t you, in your right mind, hate him for the complete lack of self-respect?”
Jean closes her eyes.
“That person is you,” MJ presses. “You’re that someone who took advantage of him.”
“I know.”
“He saved you.”
“I know.”
“He never gave up on you.”
“I know.”
“He endured everything that you subjected him to.”
“I know.”
“And all that… you fell in love with him.”
“I know.”
“So tell me why I can't help but think you’re just using him.”
“I KNOW!”
MJ flinches back from the girl’s outburst. Jean is gasping for air. “Don’t you think I don’t know that?”
Jean clenches her fists.
“I have to fight with ghosts. Every day. I have to fight the ghosts of his past. I have to fight the ghosts of my pasts. And I’m not saying it so that you can feel sorry for me,” she says. “But I am saying that because I know no matter how else to look at it… I hurt him. I did everything I could to hurt him.” Jean says with a shaking voice. “So yeah, are you happy now?”
“No,” MJ says with a shrug. “Not really.”
“I wish he met me as who I am now,” Jean says with her eyes closed. “A… a hero. A student. Someone who gets stressed out with homework. Not… not that psychopath who manipulated people and threw them into an oncoming bus.” She looks at MJ. “But he’s the one who saved me from that person.”
“So what does that mean? You'll make it up to him? Now that you’re a hero, you’re fine with just… being here?”
Jean shakes her head.
“It’s nothing I’ve done or will do. It’s not the patrols I’ve gone on with him. It’s not the times we’ve been in combat where I saved his life. It's not my heroics. It had nothing to do with me. It’s him.”
Jean smiles because she can’t help but imagine him and his stupid grin.
“It’s his belief that I could be better. It’s his belief that he wants me to be better. It’s grace.”
MJ’s brow drew together.
“And when that kind of grace comes, all you can really do is accept it.”
Jean's voice shakes.
"So all I can do is accept that grace he's given. And live. And truly live. With everything as I am. So I will." She doesn't flinch. She doesn't hold back. She looks at MJ in the eyes. And keeps her hold. “I’m asking for you to forgive me… but I understand if you can’t. And even then, I can’t stop what I do. I won’t stop. I have my duty to be a hero and save others. Save you if that moment comes.”
“Even after everything you’ve done?”
“Especially after everything I’ve done.”
“And Peter…”
“I won’t wait for a reason to stop loving him. I won’t ask for permission either. How we met… how we became to be… It’s not ideal, but we’re forever a part of each other now. And I’m going to stick by his side, no matter what.”
MJ stares at her. Jean stares back.
Jean Gray and Michelle Jones.
Because forgiveness is a chasm and a gun. Because the space between them is as far and close as they make it out to be. Because this whole thing is worth it, the bleeding messiness and the aching heart are all worth it. Because—
“Because you love him.”
“Because I love him.”
“And,” MJ says, a little softer this time, “because he loves you.”
Jean frowns and blushes, but MJ rolls her eyes and dismisses Jean’s protest with a wave of a hand. “You both can’t be dumb. Then it will never work. So spill. How did he fall in love with you?”
“I don’t know when,” Jean admits. “And I would want nothing more to find out.”
“But…”
“But I knew he loved me…” Jean smiles, feeling her cheeks flush and blood rush to her ears. “Because it all added up. Our time together just blended, and he simply… simply gave in to what was happening between us. Because he finally opened up to let himself be Peter Parker with me.
“He doesn’t complain when we watch stupid movies I insist on instead of the Knicks or Mets or Jets or whatever stupid team is playing. He gives me the last piece of dumplings when we do takeout. He orders peppers on pizza even if he hates it because he knows how much I like it. He lets himself wake up a little earlier to make coffee for us in the morning because he just makes it better.
“He lets me see his scars and lets me bandage the wounds and just sits there when I keep telling him to be more careful but we both know that’s not going to happen.
“He yaps on and on about the new possibilities for the future of mankind with this internship he has and expects me to understand nuclear physics.
“He trains me nonstop, expecting me to keep up with him and that stupid spider-powers, because he believes that I could be a far better hero than him someday, but you and I know that’s not going to happen.
“He talks to me about Star Wars and why the Clone Wars is the best media for it despite not even being a movie… well, there is a movie, but he tells me to pretend that it never happened.
“He showed me his Tony Stark-issued futurism magazines and Captain America figurines.
“He showed me a picture of himself… and Uncle Ben and Aunt May as a family. And that’s when I knew, he showed me his heart.”
Jean turns to MJ with a tear.
“He trusted me with who he was, slowly, steadily, surely, despite the risk. Despite knowing that the last time it happened, someone died and everybody else forgot about him. But he did it. He took the risk.
“So yeah. I realized, not exactly when he fell in love me, but that he loves me, from all the small moments. And I’m so happy and grateful and terrified and I’m doing the best I can to live up to it. Because I know he loves me. Because he loves me and he’s scared about it and I don’t blame him because love is scary and so many people in the history of the world suffered and agonized over it because we’re scared we end up hurting each other but we still will love each other because it’s the only thing worth anything.”
Jean is wondering why she talked so fast. She wonders why her hands are trembling, clutching onto the rails of the rooftop as though she was going to fall. She wonders why her hands are wet and—
Oh.
I see.
“Yeah,” MJ simply says. “I believe you.”
The city hums along. It’s dark and the night is cool, and Jean feels herself shiver.
“Do you want to know why I couldn’t forgive you?” MJ asks softly.
“I think I could guess…” Jean says hesitantly. “And I understand.”
“Do you?”
“I used you,” Jean says with her hands shaking. “I used you and your body without you even knowing it. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It doesn’t excuse anything. It doesn’t make it better. But I am sorry.”
Jean swallows as MJ simply turns back to her. “And how did you use me?”
She feels her breath catch in her throat. But she has to be strong and push through. “By taking control… and—”
“Kissing Peter. To make him feel unloved. To rip his heart out. The purest heart in the world. And you were determined to rip it out of him.”
Jean closes her eyes.
“I have to live the rest of my life with memories that aren’t my own,” MJ says softly, “with a boy that could have been, but never will be. And I hurt him. You made me hurt him. It’s so hard to forgive you… or myself for that.”
MJ laughs a little.
“But then that same boy comes, trying to explain the situation. How there was a girl who got powers she didn't ask for, had a hard time controlling them, had people take her and abuse her with it because those powers were not meant for anyone ended up in a little girl’s hands, and anyone who is scared and lonely and in despair would do what she would have done.”
“That’s no excuse.”
“No,” MJ says. “But that doesn’t mean there’s no compassion or empathy. I would have done the same. I wouldn’t have been better about it. I guess the point I’m trying to make is that… I understand.”
Jean turns to her, breath caught in her throat. “You do?”
“I understood the moment Peter confessed and told me that he’s forgiven you. He’s forgiven you for all of what you did to him. He left it up to me on what you did to me. And I know he didn’t want to pressure me into it… But he said that, well, he wanted to let me know that I was going to have to live with that girl—because he believed in that girl, he was going to stick up for that girl no matter what, and that girl, who broke him and hurt him, had him, no matter what.”
Jean closes her eyes, unable to stop her crying.
Oh, Peter. Peter.
What am I going to do with you?
“And I want you to know that I did feel better about you. Not immediately. Not even a week after. Not even when you were flying through the streets as Marvel Girl and saving the city countless times with your powers. Not even when you saved Spider-Men for the thousandth time.” MJ inhales. “Do you know when?”
Jean only shakes her head.
“When I saw that Peter could find the courage to smile, truly. When I saw that he was able to make it to our Friday movie nights instead of hiding behind another lame excuse. When I saw that he was willing to actually let the mask go, and just live as Peter for a little while. When I saw that he was no longer seeing me like… like I was a ghost in his past and instead, this MJ who already did go to college and now trying to pay the bills and figure out how to make a life work with a 9-5 job.”
MJ turns to Jean.
“That’s when I knew I wanted to trust you. You saved Peter Parker.”
Jean closes her eyes. She feels tears swell and trail down her cheeks.
The sun is gone with its harsh rays of light. It’s only darkness, cool and soothing. The moon is out in all of her beauty and keeps an eye on the two below her.
And with it, MJ says the words.
"I forgive you."
Jean opens her eyes to a new city. She opens her eyes to see MJ, beautiful, crying, staring back at her.
And in the moment between them, they finally found the space to breathe again.
They stand there, perhaps in solidarity, perhaps in mutual, agreed-upon peace, a truce. It isn't until Jean realizes that they've been up here for a while that she thinks of the important question.
"Where's Peter?" Jean frowns.
"He should be in my room..." MJ says, tiredly.
"We... uh, we left him alone?"
"Yeah," MJ frowns before the realization dawns on her. "Oh."
"That's not good."
"Not good at all."
"I'm sure Ned's checking on him," MJ says, as though to convince herself. "He's probably talking Peter out of jumping off the building."
Jean nods, trying to be convinced by it, until she hears Ned's hesitant voice come from the door.
"Hey, guys... everything alright up there?"
They both close their eyes.
"Hey, Ned," Jean says, still closing her eyes.
"Everything is alright," MJ says. Her hand comes to her face to massage her temple. "You want to tell us what you're doing here?"
"Uhh... to check on you guys?"
"Thanks," Jean says. "And did you come up here to check on us after checking on Peter?"
"The door was closed, so I thought... you know, it was wrong."
"What about Kitty?" Jean asks with a sigh.
"I walked her to the train station. She seemed a little shaken, but otherwise, alright." Ned eyes them wearily, slowly opening the door. "And... everything alright here?"
"Strangely," MJ says, "yeah."
"That's good. That’s good… so everything is kumbaya?"
"Everything is kumbaya. Except for Peter."
"What's wrong with Peter?" Ned asks, concerned.
MJ pinches the bridge of her nose. "We left the boy alone in my room. You're supposed to check on him, Ned."
Ned blinks, confused. "How was I supposed to know?"
"You're his best friend! Don't you remember how much he spirals over this kind of stuff!"
"No, actually. I don't!" He helplessly points back to his head. "I'm working on it!"
Meanwhile, Jean's face drains from the thought of Peter alone, right now.
"Oh no."
And immediately, she turns to MJ, who also understands.
"Yeah," MJ says. "Oh no."
*
Congratulations, Peter
Everything you touch, it breaks.
All the strength and the power, all those gadgets, all that ingenuity to create your very own artificial intelligence, and you’re still not capable enough to communicate, to tell each and every person in the room…
That you love them.
That you're sorry.
And that somehow, despite everything, you want to fix it and make it right.
And you’re scared because the way you love them is shaping in ways you never foresaw. Because you failed to let go when you needed to, and you failed to embrace that new future when you should have.
And now, here you are, staring, both back into the past and paralyzed from the future.
You made promises, one too many. And you’re going to end up breaking them.
You told them that you would be there for them. You told them that you would protect them.
And you tried. You tried so hard. You monitored through E.V., every day. You built contingencies for the matter… what to do if and when your enemies try to reach the people you love to hurt you.
But nothing prepared you for this.
When what they really need isn't the heroics or the courage or strength of a man.
They just needed you here.
Were you able to do that, Peter?
You hold back; you always hold back.
Because you're scared. I know, Peter. But that's no excuse, Peter.
Because you have this fear of being too much. Because you have this fear of not being enough.
Because both of them combined is just the fear of being you.
Because here’s the one, final truth.
Even when they have you…
It will never be enough.
*
“Peter… Peter!”
MJ raises her hand to his shoulder to steady him. He flinches away as though it burns.
His hands travel up to his hair. But his fingers can’t feel anything. He’s breathing hard. Harder.
Gasping.
It's so hard to breathe.
Why is it so hard to breathe?
“Peter,” Jean says, alarmed, trying to reach him.
“Stop!”
She freezes.
“Just… just stop… Please. Everyone… just…”
His fingers cram against his head.
"Peter," Jean says with soft eyes, a mask to hide the fear. "Do you want to get off the window?"
He blinks.
What?
"And maybe... maybe take off the mask? I'm sure New York can live without Spider-Man for the night... just for tonight?"
He doesn't realize his hand is stuck to the window panel, webs already forming on his wrist.
He doesn't realize that he's wearing a mask, as though it can be enough of a cocoon to hide from the world. As though Spider-Man isn't his true self.
The one part of him that isn't actively screwing things up.
"Peter," Jean says, a little more firmly. "Just for tonight... take off the mask. Please."
And he slowly lets go of the wall. When he feels that he's not actively stuck to the wall, his muscles collapse down, unable to take the gravity of the world.
He falls to his knees.
It's getting harder to breathe.
Why is it so hard to breathe?
“Peter," MJ says softly, a voice that has practiced this a thousand times. When she raises her hands, he cowers back. She stops immediately. “Focus on your breaths… You’re… you’re having a panic attack—”
“Oh, yeah?” Peter makes a harsh laugh. “And what of it?”
And with it, he says the words that will haunt Jean forever.
“You shouldn’t care about this. No one should. It doesn’t matter.”
He can hear the three sharp breaths inhale.
He can hear one of them crouch down in front of him. Her voice is soft. Gentle. A whisper that cuts through his mind.
"It matters to us, Peter."
Jean.
Of course.
He looks up to see her and her clear eyes. How pathetic he must look in front of her. He’s crying, shivering, shaking, afraid.
When this is all his fault to begin with.
(There you go, Peter, always making it about you)
Peter feels his own breath taken away. Jean doesn't flinch.
She says, “It matters to me."
Her words, as gentle as they were, fought through to stay in his head. A head that's filled with a thousand other thoughts and doubts and insecurities and fears.
He can’t be talking right now. He shouldn’t be talking.
Right now, all he can feel is his rapid heart beating so fast. His skin is vibrating as though the spider-senses are on overdrive, because it is, because right now, he's in danger. He's putting others in danger.
Peter feels a tear come down. He's glad the mask is hiding it.
“Peter,” Jean says gently.
“Do you have to know everything that’s going on with me?"
Jean flinches back like she’s struck.
He shouldn’t have said it. But he felt it.
He felt terrible for saying it. He had to say it.
(No, you didn’t)
It wasn’t Jean’s fault. It's all her fault.
Why did it matter to Jean what happened between him and MJ?
Did she not trust him?
(Do you trust yourself, Peter?)
(You hurt her. You hurt Jean. You promised you wouldn't)
And he glances helplessly at Jean. And it’s too late.
He already hurt her. He turns to MJ, who looks at him, shocked. He looks behind Ned, who just stands there, stunned.
He can't stop messing up, can he?
Here he was, with the three people that mattered most to him.
And he's letting them see him and all his weakness and flaws.
“You're right," Jean says seriously. "And for that... I am sorry. It wasn't my place. And I shouldn't have done that. Can you take off the mask, just for a second? Can you, at least for tonight, not run away to be Spider-Man?"
But he doesn’t want to be Peter right now. He can’t. Being Peter messes things up.
He’s Spider-Man.
His senses go into overdrive, screaming at him that he’s in danger. His vision swarms.
“Peter,’ Jean says patiently. “Take off the mask. You need to slow your breath—"
“You’re a monster.”
She knows he already regrets it coming out of his mouth.
That doesn’t make it any less painful. That doesn’t make it any less hurtful.
He gasps instinctively because he cannot believe he said that. Why did he say that?
She just kneels there in front of him. She just smiles sadly.
“You can’t push me away,” Jean says, shaking her head, tears welling. "It's not going to work."
He pales.
"I'm sorry," he chokes. "I didn't... I... I just..."
"I know," she says with tenderness in a way that he didn't deserve. "Nothing you'll do will make me hate you, Peter."
"Maybe you should."
"Not happening."
He is drowning. But she slowly reaches for him.
"Can you take off the mask? I'm going to take off the mask. Is that okay?"
He is still as her fingers gently lift it.
He feels air first. Actual air comes through his mouth that is filtered through his body.
The mask slowly peels off him. The mask to hide the fear in his eyes during combat. The mask to hide and feel protected. And as Jean slowly lifts it, revealing underneath it was just—
"There he is," Jean says slowly with a smile. "Peter Parker."
He feels naked, vulnerable to the world.
The light is a fractured ray through his glassy eyes. Jean is there, smiling at him. Her hands touch his cheeks to wipe away tears.
"I'm here, Peter. Breathe with me."
I breathed for you.
But right now—
Breathe with me this time.
Together.
He wants to shake his head, because the reality is that it hasn't been okay. And maybe it'll never be okay, and that this is how he feels, and this is the way things are going to be as it has been—
"I know things aren't okay. I understand."
Jean dares to hug him. He buries himself in her embrace, shivering. He feels his own heart slam against her. She’s so warm.
"But I'm here. Breathe, just like this."
And he matches her tempo.
“Jean—”
He didn’t mean it. He did mean it. He’s going to have to apologize. She’s going to have to apologize. There were words said that cannot be taken back.
“I know. We’ll handle all of that. We will. This is my fault, and I shouldn't have done this, and I'm sorry--no, don't apologize. I can see your mouth moving, but Peter... It's not your fault--okay? Okay. Breathe with me again. For now… just for tonight, breathe with me.”
He can feel her hoodie against his cheek. He can smell that lavender shampoo she always uses in her hair. Her hand simply caresses his cheek, wiping away the tears. With her other hand, she rubs his back in circles.
She lets her forehead kiss his. And she looks at him, patiently, tears still in her eyes with guilt and adoration and a promise.
"I promise you," she says gently. "You have me."
Fear is a rotting word.
When it comes, it will try to seize you. It will try to shake you.
It will tell you that it knows best. It will guarantee you that this is the way it has been and forever will be.
It will tell you that the night is coming, dark and cold.
And when you blink, you find yourself in the middle of it. You will be surrounded by it. You will be scared. You will feel alone.
But then the miracle happens:
Even in the darkest of night, there is still the moonlight.
Even in the darkest of night, there are the stars.
And the miracle happens every night:
The sun will come up again.
Peter holds onto Jean who is holding on to him.
And then they simply let themselves be there, willing to wait for the sun to come up once again.
They stay there together. Enduring the night. Waiting for the sun. They stay.
For a brand-new day.