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The first thing MJ thinks of when she wakes up is murder.
It takes her less than a few seconds to figure out what’s going on: the rough burn of rope around her wrists are the biggest clue before she’s even opened her eyes, and if nothing else, the man with a balaclava and a crowbar are a dead giveaway.
And honestly? She’s pissed.
She’s Michelle fucking Jones, for goodness’ sake, she’s captain of the Academic Decathlon team, she’s marched in every parade under the sun, and one time, she punched a Nazi in the face and broke his nose. Her point? She’s so much more than just Spiderman’s girlfriend.
Not that this dingus cares. She watches the way his head turns as he looks at her, slimy voice enough to make her skin crawl as he drawls, “you’re going to make me a lot of money, princess,” and if only – if only – her hands were free, her knuckles would have connected with his throat by now.
But for now, she freezes, because something about that sentence has stuck out in her mind.
“Money?” she says, and instantly hates the way her voice cracks.
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” the man says, a sing-song lilt in his voice. “There’s a price on your head.”
“On my head?”
“First one to get rid of Spiderman’s girlfriend, gets the money,” he says, “and you’d never believe how much.”
Well, this is just not on.
“You got the wrong girl,” MJ lies. “I’ve never met Spiderman.”
“You mean this isn’t you?” He’s got his phone in his hand, and on it there’s a picture of someone clinging onto the famous arachnid-themed superhero, and when he zooms in, her face is very much clear.
Goddamn it.
Let’s use the webs, he said. It’ll be quicker, he said. No one will see us.
Half the criminal syndicate of New York would be after her now, and all because Peter Parker was showing off.
“The way I see it,” Michelle sneers, “if you were going to kill me, you would’ve done it already. You haven’t got enough bottle.”
The man in front of her snarls and backhands her across the face with a crack. Pain explodes across MJ’s cheek.
Okay. Best not to taunt the kidnapper.
“I’m going to wait,” he hisses. “I’m going to wait until he comes to rescue you, and then I’m going to do it front of him.”
Fear slices through her like a knife, but she steels herself, her mind immediately cycling all the obstacles preventing her escape. 1) The rope around her hands and legs. 2) The guy in front of her. 3) However many more there were in the building.
Her eyes flicker across the man, taking note of the radio clipped to his belt. Okay, there’s at least one more person in the building. Possibly more.
She wriggles her fingers, her wrists pressed flat against each other as she tried to find the room to loosen the rope and get herself free.
The radio crackles. MJ stills.
“Boss, I think we’ve got a-”
Below them, there’s a crash, and someone yells.
Her kidnapper grins, the grip on his crowbar tightening, leaning closer, his breath hot on MJ’s face, “any last words, princess?”
MJ grits her teeth. “Never. Call. Me. Princess.”
Then she throws herself forward, slamming her head against his. Stars dance around her eyes, and she forces herself to focus as she pulls her legs free of the ropes, jamming her knee into the man’s crotch. He howls, the crowbar slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor. MJ takes her chance, pulling her hands free from the now loosened rope. She stumbles away, still dizzy from hitting the guy on the head with her own head, she’s not as sharp as she might be, but she’s almost at the exit, when:
The guy snatches at her leg, and she slips, her face smacking into the floor. Blood spurts across her face. The world around her shakes.
He’s pulling at her leg, she’s tugging her towards him, come on MJ, do something-
“I’m going to kill you,” the man snarls, his hands clamping over her wrists – come on, MJ, come on – one of his arms stretches out to reach the crowbar, and MJ slams her feet up against the man’s chest, pushing him off her. He staggers back as MJ pulls herself to her feet, the world still spinning around her – where are you, Parker? – her hand twisting into her fist as she delivers a punch to his throat. It doesn’t work, her hands are too small to make much of a difference, he’s grabbing her wrist, and then she’s back on the floor, and the world around her is fading and then –
“Get the fuck off of her!”
In her far away state, she muses on the fact that she’s never heard Peter swear before, nor as she ever heard the angry, dark edge to his voice. She hears him shoot webs across the room, the man grunting behind her.
She dimly registers Peter pulling her into his arms, and in her last moments of consciousness she looks up at his face, covered by the Spiderman mask and says:
“What took you so long?”
She wakes up later in Peter’s arms.
They’re up on the rooftop, far away from anyone else. Peter’s lost his mask, and as she fades back into consciousness, she can see the expression on his face, his eyebrows knotting together and his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Peter?” she murmurs.
“MJ, thank God,” Peter says, tension leaking from his shoulders as he pulls her closer.
“What happened?”
“Tied him to the wall with my webs. He’s not getting out anytime soon,” he says, his teeth clenched.
“How long was I out?”
“Only a few minutes,” he says. “We need to get you to a hospital.”
“No hospitals.” MJ’s voice is stern.
“You haven’t seen your face.”
“How’s the other guy look?”
A hint of a smile tugs on Peter’s face. “Worse.”
“Good,” she says, the twist of her lips and the twinkle in her eye enough to display her satisfaction.
She closes her eyes again, and Peter’s grip on her tightens. “Don’t close your eyes. C’mon, MJ, you’ve got to stay awake.”
His voice sounds so worried, and she forces herself to keep her eyes open, if only so that she can tease him about this later.
“M’fine,” she mumbles.
“You’re not fine,” he says, and there’s that edge to his voice, back again. “You should see yourself.” He’s cradling her in his chest, his thumb swiping across her face. “It’s my fault this happened to you, I’m-”
She sighs. She knew that they’d arrive here at some point.
“Peter, stop,” she says, her arm reaching up to touch his cheek. “It’s not your fault someone had the bright idea to use me to get to you.”
“If I wasn’t Spiderman it wouldn’t have happened,” he says, and she can see, she can just see the cogs working in his mind, trying to twist this whole situation to make it his fault.
“I was the one that riled him up,” MJ says.
“Yes, and we’re having words about that later,” Peter says, pulling her close to him so that he can heave himself to his feet.
“You’re not gonna stop me fighting for myself.”
“I wish you’d just let me fight for you.”
MJ wrinkles her nose, wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulders so she can cling on before he swings away.
“Not a chance, Parker.”