Chapter Text
And so life starts again. As expected, there are bad days, and there are good days.
Days where she doesn’t know up from down, where seeing new kids in school bother her more than it should.
Days when she can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.
But in between the hard parts, she gets a glimpse of hope.
They all hang out - Betty, Ned, Peter and her, a tightly knit group of friends going through the same motions. Frowning at the same curriculum changes -How can maths even change? It’s maths!- and catching up on all the TV they’ve missed.
They start holding hands under the lunch table. Ned and Betty, that is. And walking home together, despite not living even remotely close to one another.
When she looks at their linked fingers, or at the blanket Ned lays on Betty when she inevitably falls asleep at 10 P.M, her heart clenches.
People talk about soulmates. About someone being right for them, and feeling ‘it’ in their gut.
Movies, books, even songs say there’s nothing like feeling like you belong with another person until they become your always, or forever, or whatever dumb slogan works best at the moment.
It makes her roll her eyes, because she’s got two parents who were absolutely right for each other, until they weren’t.
People change, and often not at the same speed.
There’s nothing like first love, Ned had said with an air of wisdom.
She’d shrugged then, and she shrugs now.
Her first love is the boy next door; the same kid who used to hold back tears when he got a scrape, and now holds an entire city on his shoulders. She highly doubts he’s got time to date anyone, let alone her.
She’s told herself she’s fine with observing from the sidelines. That she’d already lost Peter once, and doesn’t plan on losing him again.
Still, when she’s plucking feathers from the duvet she’s sitting on, staring at his science fair posters, and he looks at her in between two tinkers on his suit, there’s something.
Something on the corner of his lips, something she reads as an ocean of possibilities.
A first date.
A first kiss.
A first love.
She reads it as clearly as she would her anthropology book:
It’s a flicker of hope, and she can’t help but cling to it.
Maybe one day they’ll be the ones holding hands under the lunch table.
~&~
It’s not like she doesn’t expect it.
It’s college. It’s their own future, of course they’ll both move out.
Still, when she overhears May scream from her kitchen, she jumps out.
He’s been accepted by all of his top choices, which isn’t really surprising.
He’s smart, he’s nice, and not-so-secretly an actual hero. Any university would be lucky to have him.
She stares down at her desk drawer. In it, a half ripped envelope stares back, daring her to take another look.
A nagging feeling sets in her stomach, similar to a snake gently making its way around her insides.
She closes her eyes.
She thought they’d have more time.
~&~
They’re sitting side by side, the wind pushing the swings slowly. Around them, the world stays quiet, and she’s quieter, even.
She pushes the burnt grass of her mom’s backyard with her foot, chewing on her lip.
“So...NYU?” he finally asks.
“Yup. MIT?” she answers.
“Yup.”
She nods, staring at the ground in silence. It’s not even hot outside anymore, and the sun is gently going down, but she feels his eyes on her and it burns like a thousand suns.
She wants to tell him to stop. She’s already gotten her hopes up, and it’s bad.
Because she promised. She promised herself she wouldn’t do this, cling to him, anymore.
They’re going to graduate in a few months, and then Peter will move to Boston, while she’ll stay in New York.
Soon, they won’t be neighbors, they won’t be friends, and they won’t be anything.
It’s the way life goes. People change. People move on.
She wants to move on.
She looks at Peter, his profile defined by the light of the golden hour, a loose curl falling on his forehead, and she takes a long breath.
She needs to move on.
“This is going to be weird, not living next door,” he mutters.
“Yeah.”
“Are you going to move out?”
“With what money?” she chuckles, a sad strangled sound. Sadder than she wants it to be.
“Oh, right.”
He gives her a look.
“MJ?”
“Yeah?”
“I- There’s something I wanna tell you.”
Don’t say it.
Don’t ruin it.
She can feel her brain spiraling again, and none of those thoughts bouncing back in her head bring her any comfort.
“I, uh-I…”
“Do you want ice cream?’ she blurts out. “I kind of want ice cream.”
He looks at her, brows furrowed, and she wants to slap herself.
“Uh… sure.”
“Stay here, there’s some in the freezer.”
When she gets up, she tries not to notice the sad frown on his face.
It’s a hint of something, and there’s no time left to explore it.
~&~
She bounces the ball around with more anger than she needs to. Her front lawn is dark and quiet, save for the presence of one Ned Leeds, standing uncomfortably on the sidewalk.
“Catch!” she says, throwing the ball at him.
Ned grabs it easily, and he asks.
“Am I doing this right? Because we can totally do something else while we wait for Peter to-”
“You’re already way better than he ever was, chill.”
Ned grins.
“Really?”
She shrugs.
“He’s always been the worst.”
“Yeah, right.”
They toss the ball at each other, back and forth, pretending not to notice the Peter-shaped void between them.
The wait isn’t getting any easier. If anything, it’s getting more difficult. The blessed days where Peter only ever saved cats and helped old ladies cross the street are over. They were over the second he’d stepped on Titan.
So they wait, Ned and her. Tossing the ball, back and forth.
“How long have you guys known each other?” Ned suddenly asks, and she grimaces.
“Uhm… About ten years, I think? The snap kind of… messes with things.”
She dribbles down, and aims for the hoop. Ned smiles.
“And how long have you known?”
“Uh…”
She lets the ball drop.
“I don’t… understand.”
He rolls his eyes.
“You guys are the worst.”
She frowns.
“What is that supposed to mean?!”
He turns the ball around, forcing her to face the big, black letters that are half faded into the gum.
“’MJ + Peter’s’? We’re really not going to talk about it?”
She squints.
“So what?”
He groans, but it’s a noise she’s learned to recognize as concern, not annoyance. She braces herself for one of his now-famous Ned Truths:
“MJ, you should tell him. You really should. Before he moves away, gets another girlfriend, and I have to see you pine over him all over again.”
“I. Wasn’t. Pining. Over him,” she answers a second too late, and Ned raises an eyebrow at her.
She will not blush. She absolutely refuses to.
“Sure.”
“We’re friends. Neighbors.”
“And?”
“It’s not like that! And he doesn’t see me that way,” she adds, almost bashful. Almost.
“Did he tell you that?”
“No?” she says, frowning.
He shakes his head.
“MJ…”
She doesn’t want to hear it. She’s perfectly comfortable dealing with her feelings by herself. Ned makes everything feel too mushy, too… real.
“There’s nothing to say, Ned.”
It’s a lie, and they both know it. If you were to cut her up, dissect the parts of her brain into rolls and rolls of film, you’d only ever see him. His smile, his jokes. The way he bites his nails, but only on the right hand. People say you tend to love with rose colored glasses. When she thinks of Peter, she can only see in gold, the lazy September sun shining on their faces as the golden hour stretches upon them.
She sighs, her shoulders lowering in defeat.
For someone so small, he sure takes up all the space.
~&~
“I can’t believe you did this,” Peter cries, and proceeds to cough.
He’s sitting on her bed, the floral pattern jarring with the torn shreds of his suit. He's been beaten up pretty badly at this point, but they both know he won’t need much time to heal. Still, infections are real, so she dabs a cotton pad soaked in alcohol to make sure he’s not about to experience his first bout of spider-septicemia.
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to drop everyone like that,” she says, “-And you should thank me. You had a pretty big blind spot there, Spidey.”
He sighs.
“I just… If I get hit, I’ll heal in a couple of hours. Days, maybe. But if you do? MJ… That black eye is going to take weeks to look normal.”
She shrugs. She knew what she was getting into the minute she’d grabbed that crowbar and hit Mysterio on the back of the head.
He pushes hair away from her face, and she tries not to flinch.
“I don’t need saving,” she replies, a bit more harshly than she means to.
He withdraws his hand, obviously taken aback. He frowns.
“I know that. I’ve always known that.”
Sometimes she forgets he’s not made of steel, that he’s just a boy. She hates that the suit has that effect on her.
Everyone thinks he’s invincible under that mask, but she should know better.
“Look, Peter…” she starts.
Say it.
Just, say it.
“It’s okay,” he says, his gaze soft, his mouth drawn into a thin smile.
He always gives her an out.
“Won’t your mom notice that all her pharmacy’s gone?’ he asks, fingers pressing into the gauze wrapping his ribs.
“Should be fine. I’ll buy more tomorrow.”
She tries to get up, only to sit back down, her face contorting itself in a vain attempt to mask her pain. He grimaces.
“MJ, just- Just let me help, okay?” he says, eyes sad like a kicked puppy, holding out a hand for her.
Just accept it.
Let him in.
She nods.
“Fine.”
He hoists himself closer to her, careful not to sit on the mountain of bandaids laid out on the blanket between them. His hands ruffle through the first aid kit to find an instant ice pack that he presses gently against the side of her face.
She winces, but the cold feels good against her bruised skin.
“I’m sorry.”
She frowns.
“What for?”
“I just… If I’d been faster, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”
Typical Peter Parker. Always taking the blame, always thinking he’s at fault somehow. That’s the biggest difference between them: He apologizes when he shouldn’t, and she never does, even when she wants to.
“Both you and Happy specifically told me to leave ‘the premises’. And I stayed.”
“And you stayed,’ he repeats, staring at his hands, “Why?”
Flashes of her burning skin come back to her.
Ashes floating around, and nothing to cling to.
Disappearing into thin air.
She shakes her head.
“Guess I didn’t trust you to fight a clown wearing a fishbowl.”
He gives her a look. A look that just knows, but doesn’t ask.
She bites her lip.
Fine.
“I was... tired of feeling powerless. I wanted to help. Feel like I had something under control, for once,” she admits, her voice turning into a quiet whisper as tears threaten to escape her eyes.
He gives her a sad, knowing smile, and in another world, she probably would punch him on the shoulder for pitying her.
But he’s been through enough, he’s seen enough for her to understand what he’s trying to say.
“MJ…”
“I know. It was kinda dumb.”
“Yeah, it was. You could have died,” he sighs, his thumbs rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“So could you!’ she retorts, feeling the bile in her gut rile up.
She hates it when he plays the hero card on her.
“MJ, I signed up for this, you didn’t. It’s as simple as that.”
“Yeah, but when you disappear, people notice,” she answers abruptly.
He blinks, clearly shaken.
“Your mom would notice. May and Ned would notice.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“I would notice.”
She sighs.
“Forget I said anything. I’m just tired.”
“MJ…”
He pauses, his fingers reaching towards hers only to stop an inch away from her hand.
“You’re everywhere I look,” he says, his eyes locking with hers.
Her mouth feels dry.
“What?”
What is she supposed to reply to something like that? Betty would know. Scratch that, Ned would know.
But she’s neither Betty or Ned. She’s MJ, just MJ, and she’s been known to be bad with feelings.
She stares down at his hand, close, too close to hers.
He licks his lips.
A beat passes.
Maybe two.
Funny, from up close, his face doesn’t look nearly as bad as it is from far away. Under the contusions, you can kind of see the constellation of freckles adorning his cheekbones.
She takes a deep breath, heavy-lidded eyes fluttering as her lips try to close the distance between them.
There’s a ring, and then another.
Seriously?
They both freeze, and she closes her eyes.
“You should take this,” she says, effectively breaking the moment.
“N-No, I can-”
“Take it,” she repeats, gently pushing him away.
He stares at her for what feels like an excruciatingly long time, and presses answer.
His phone doesn’t even need to be on speaker for her to hear Ned’s shrill screams of panic.
“They lost all my hats!”
“What? Ned, slow down,” Peter says, giving her a sorry glance.
She smiles, a short, contrite grin that he doesn’t see.
When he steps out of the window, he takes their moment away with him.
~&~
He’s packing up.
His room is, once again, filled with cardboard boxes, all labeled ‘keep’ or ‘donate’.
She kicks one of them angrily.
Is she going to be kept?
Or left behind?
She bites her lip.
There’s no need to make a scene.
This was always the plan.
He was always meant to do great things, and so was she. She just conveniently chose to ignore the part where they were going to do it separately.
Still, as the bedroom she’s always known -and will always know- as his gets progressively emptier, she can’t help but feel her stomach twist.
‘When are you two leaving, again?’ May asks as Ned grabs one of the boxes.
‘Next week! We just wanted to get a head start,’ Peter answers.
‘You better not leave without giving me a proper Goodbye!’ May laughs, ruffling his hair, and she wants to ask her how she manages to be so chipper.
Ned walks past her, bumping his hip against hers with a wink, and MJ gives him what she hopes is a convincing smile. Peter follows suit, practically running down the stairs.
She looks down at the boxes again.
“I’d let Peter carry that one if I were you, it’s full of encyclopedias,” May chimes in.
‘Don’t they have wifi in their dorm?’
May grins.
“They’re Star Wars encyclopedias.”
MJ scoffs.
“Figures.”
“I’m going to get iced tea for the boys, do you want some?”
She shrugs.
“Sure.”
She doesn’t really like iced tea. Or at least, the way May does it. It’s sweet, yet somehow manages to leave a bitter aftertaste.
But if there’s anything she’s learned from the Parker household, it’s that May is a force to be reckoned with, and she’s better off drinking the damn tea.
She follows her to the kitchen, taking a look at the walls of her hallway, still covered with her -embarrassingly bad- art from age twelve to seventeen.
“I didn’t realize you kept all of these.”
“Of course I did! They’re great. I have a couple more in my bedroom, you know,” May answers fondly.
Her throat feels tight.
“Thanks, May.”
May’s always believed in her, always made her feel… seen.
They have that in common, Peter and her.
“I still show Pete that eighth-grade portrait you did when he gets too mouthy, you know? Keeps him humble.”
MJ smirks.
“How is he going to survive without you?”
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
She blushes.
“Oh he’s done it before. He’ll be fine.”
May grabs her hand, squeezing it slightly.
“What about you?”
“I…”
Her heart starts pounding.
Ashes are floating around her.
Her backyard is covered with them.
She tries to clutch to the white fence between their houses.
She’s gone.
She takes a deep breath.
“I’ll be fine.”
~&~
It’s past midnight when she wakes up in a sweat, limbs shaking, tears rolling down her face uncontrollably.
She counts to ten, trying to remember what that stupid school therapist had taught them in group.
Think of something that calms you. Create a quiet, safe space for your thoughts.
Her backyard. The swing set. Peter’s uneven eyebrow. None of them are exactly safe anymore.
Focus on an element beside you, it could be a leaf, a piece of gum on the pavement, anything, really.
She stares at her window. Outside, the leaves of the planetree rustle, shining almost silver into the night.
That should do the trick.
Slowly, too slowly, her heartbeat starts quieting down.
It’s been months. She should be doing better. She told everyone she was getting better.
She glances down at her hand, unsure of what she should be seeing. Is it really crumbling into dust, or is she just making that up again?
She breathes in, and out. She knows the pain is in her head. She knows she’s back, that Thanos is gone, Peter’s told her he’s gone. He’s seen it first hand, yet she can’t help but feel like he might be wrong. Time travel is real, so at this point anything could fly, really.
She fumbles through her bag, trying to find her phone.
She said she wouldn’t do it.
She said she didn’t need to be saved.
Her finger presses call.
“Hey, MJ.”
And she breathes again.
“Hey, Peter.”
“You sound weird. Is everything okay?”
Can he hear the frantic thud of her heart too? It’s certainly loud enough for her to barely hear what he’s saying.
“Funny you should ask that, because I’m not feeling so good right now.”
It’s all she can think about. It’s the last thing she felt on earth. And no matter how she looks at it, it’s still how she feels to this day. The pain of it feels heavy, and it spins around, bouncing off the walls of her ribcage. Is she about to disappear again? She looks down at her fingers. Is she even alive?
What was even the point of coming back?
“Do you want me to come over?”
Yes. Please, help me. I’m going crazy in here.
“No! I mean, I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t sound okay, MJ.”
I don’t feel so good.
“I’ll be okay! I promise.”
I don’t wanna go.
There’s a pause, and he sighs.
“You always do this. You push me away. I wanna help you. Please, let me help you.”
She wants to let him in. She needs someone to be there, and she wants it to be him.
Right now, she’s alone and terrified. She’s dying, she can feel it, she remembers it so vividly her bones are still aching from the pain.
She doesn’t want him to be hurt again. He’s lost so many people. They’ve almost lost each other.
“I just…”
“Please?”
She sighs. She’s never been able to refuse him anything anyway.
“Okay.”
~&~
She sits, hesitant, in front of her window. She hasn’t let him since the vanishing, and it makes her nervous. There’s a lot unsaid behind that wall, and she isn’t prepared to deal with it in the slightest.
She swallows, hard, her hand shaking as she pushes the window open.
When he steps into her bedroom, her heartbeat gets so loud she can barely hear herself think.
He’s there, he’s really there.
“Hey, Pete,” she hears herself say.
She’s promised she’d never shed another tear, but her eyes well up all the same.
It’s okay, she tells herself. It’s Peter. He’s safe.
“Can I hug you?” he asks.
She laughs, a strange strangled sound. Always so. Damn. Polite.
She nods.
He puts his arms around her, and she finally remembers she’s alive.
There’s a beating heart against hers, the same one she’s known all her life, and it brings her comfort.
He hugs her, rocking back and forth, whispering random things into her ear.
Stupid things he shouldn’t say, like, “I’m here, I’ll always be here,” or, “It’s gonna be okay.”
She tries not to think too much about it.
She knows, though.
She was so sure she’d never let him in again.
Yet, it hadn’t even taken him a month to reclaim his spot in a heart she’d fiercely doused in gasoline. He’d crawled in, content like a street cat to find the window to her place wide open, waiting for him.
They sit like that, entangled in one another for what may as well be hours, or minutes. All she knows is that eventually, she quiets down enough to fall asleep against him, nose nudged against his collarbone.
~&~
Her face feels sore. Correction, she thinks as she stretches, her whole body feels sore, and it takes her eyes some time to adjust to the morning light.
Turning to her side, she stares at her bedroom.
The walls, previously covered with book fair posters and drawings she’s done are now devoid of all emotion. Much like the rest of her life, her shelves are disorganized, a mess of old school books and a couple tee-shirts and jeans.
She doesn’t belong there anymore, she realizes with a pang of sadness.
Something on the carpet moves, and she almost jumps out of bed before remembering Peter actually came over. Over the night, he’d somehow managed to build himself a makeshift bed with scarves and pillows, his body covered with a blanket he’s furiously clinging to.
His hand extends to the edge of her bed, holding on to her sheets.
In the morning light, he’s as beautiful as a Pre-Raphaelite painting, but then again, Peter always is. Even perfectly still with his nose buried in the pillow he’s hugging, he radiates life. His brows are furrowed, his mouth pouting and she stifles a laugh.
Everything around her has changed, but he still snores all the same.
She smiles, sliding down her bed as quietly as she can to crouch down next to him.
She almost brushes a strand of hair off his forehead, but she stops herself before touching his face. The gesture catches her off-hand, like a reflex she’d forgotten about. Natural, normal. It feels right.
She frowns.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I didn’t want to wake you.”
She stands in front of him, not knowing if she needs to take a step back, or a step forward.
He tugs at her shirt.
“What are you doing? Come here.”
A step forward it is.
They’re too big to both lie comfortably on his makeshift bed, so she tries not to move too much.
Her breath hitches. It’s fine. They’re going to be fine.
“You’re my best friend, you know that, right?” he says, eyes half closed, and it sounds more like something else.
“Don’t tell Leeds that,” she chuckles.
She ruffles his hair, roughing him up like they used to, and he laughs.
She should feel that familiar pang in her stomach, the pain of being his friend, and only his friend.
But he looks into her eyes, open, inviting, and suddenly things start making sense.
“You’re my best friend too,” she says, and it sounds more like an “I love you.”
They could be kissing. They could be holding hands, her head buried in the crook of his neck.
He could call her his girlfriend. They could go on a date, watch a dumb movie and get dinner afterward.
They could do all these things, but they don’t need to, for now.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I know.”
She kisses him, then.
His lips are much softer than she thought they’d be.
~&~
And so life goes on. There are bad days, and there are good days.
Lots of kisses, of hugs, and heads buried in the crook of a neck.
A little bit down the road, there’s a house, like many others. White picket fence, the paint job being eaten by years of sun and water damage, a hoop above the garage door.
In the backyard, an old swing set miraculously holds up, rust slowly breaking it apart.
And later, much later, there’s a kid, too.