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Aunt May says it’s going to rain, but Mary Jane disagrees. “The sky’s just gray,” she says with confidence. “We can still take our walk.”
Somehow it’s become a tradition for Mary Jane to accompany the Parker’s for an afternoon stroll through Central Park once a week. Mary Jane loves it; she loves spending time with the Parker’s—a family that she knows almost as well as her own—and enjoys the chance to catch up with them without the busyness of daily life interrupting.
They’ve barely set foot into the park when Aunt May sees an old friend from her hiking club and leaves to chat with her, so Mary Jane and Peter continue to stroll by themselves. An ominous rumble can be heard overhead, but it’s still far enough in the distance that Mary Jane isn’t worried yet.
“Have you finished the book report for our literature class yet?” she asks conversationally. She normally hates mindless school-related small talk, but it feels like it’s been forever since they’ve spoken. He’s always so busy doing something or other. She wants to ask about that too, but knows she’ll just receive a general response or some sort of excuse. She wishes he’d tell her the truth.
He frowns. “I think so. I did it the day it was assigned, but I should probably make sure it’s finished. I lose track.” He shrugs, running a hand through his hair before sticking them in his pockets.
Mary Jane scoffs. “Only you could finish an entire book report in a day,” she teases, waiting for him to quip back with a sassy remark or make some sort of awful pun, but he merely flashes her a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
It bothers her more than she’d like to admit.
“Hey Pete,” she tries again, her voice softer, more gentle. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I know there’s something...different, about you lately and—well, I just want you to know I’m a pretty good listener.”
Peter doesn’t say anything. He just looks up to the sky, the shadows under his eyes nearly as dark as the clouds above them.
“Peter?” Mary Jane asks, slowing her pace until both of them are at a complete stop. “Please, what's wrong?”
He doesn’t respond and she’s worried. She always is when it comes to him, but now more than ever. He hasn’t been the same for the past few months—more distant and withdrawn, less cheerful and more sullen. The spark that makes Peter Peter seems to be missing, and she wishes she could help get it back.
“It’s nothing,” he finally tries to say, to brush off her concern and pretend everything is fine, when it clearly is not. She stands her ground and fixes him with a look, silently telling him, begging him, to trust her. He stares back, and for a moment they engage in a silent battle of stubborn determination, willing the other to give in and let go, before he finally sighs and turns away, Mary Jane prevailing (like she normally does). “I’m just...I’m so tired, MJ,” Peter says, his voice small and hollow. “So tired of always trying my best, and it never being enough.”
She has a feeling whatever he’s talking about transcends just schoolwork and the nuances of daily life. For a while now she’s had a suspicion that there’s a secret Peter’s been carrying; a secret part of his life that he’s shut everyone out of. Whether it’s a web-slinging vigilante secret or something else entirely, she isn’t sure just yet. But she wishes he would let down his walls and let her in so she could help, even if it’s just to offer that quiet, nonverbal support she knows he needs.
“Peter, listen to me,” Mary Jane says, turning to face him and bringing up one hand to gently cup his face, pressing against the soft curve of his cheek. His skin is warm, and she suppresses the tingle that dances through her fingers at the contact. “I don’t know what exactly you're referring to here, but we all fail sometimes—it's just a part of life. But that doesn’t mean we’re failures. Sometimes the best is all we can try to do, and it will be enough, you’ll see. You are enough, Peter. What you’re doing is enough, at least to me.”
Peter stares at her, his face flitting between a series of expressions ranging from relief to disbelief before finally settling on something akin to resolve. “I’ll try,” he finally says, placing his own hand atop of hers, which is still cradling his face. “I’ll try for you, MJ.”
She looks into his blue eyes and knows he’ll stay true to his word, though she still isn’t sure what exactly it is he’s promising. But she knows it must be important and the right thing to do, because it's Peter , and he wouldn’t do anything less than noble or good because that was just the type of person he was.
“I’d do anything for you,” Peter then says, his voice barely audible, but his words are strong and sure and his voice is laced with a passion she’s never heard him speak with before. It makes her heart skip a beat in its steady rhythm and for the first time she wonders if her love for Peter Parker could transcend the boundaries of friendship.
He leans forward so that his forehead rests against hers as he closes his eyes, and for a moment his face relaxes and all traces of the tension and worry and stress that’s been haunting him slowly melt away. She brings her other hand up to the back of his head, letting her fingers lightly run through the hair at the nape of his neck in a repetitive rhythm. She isn’t sure what’s happening—she’s never sure of anything anymore—but she wishes with all her might that she can somehow keep that blissful expression on his face. She steps imperceptibly closer, thinking the tighter she holds him the easier it will be to keep him from falling apart, but finds herself overwhelmed by his close proximity. She can feel his warm breath against her cheek, the tender ministrations of his fingers against her hand that’s still pressed flush against his face, and smell the familiar scent of fresh linen and chimney smoke that lingers on his clothes. She often wonders why he smells of smoke, as if things have been burning down all around him, but she’s never asked. She vaguely remembers that Spiderman has the same scent, too.
She isn’t sure how long they stay like that, pressed together in their intimate embrace, unsure of the feelings they’re experiencing but not wanting it to end. But like all good and perfect things it inevitably does, and when the sounds of screams and screeching vehicles reach their ears, Peter's eyes open and he draws away. For a split moment Mary Jane wants to resist, to keep her arms wrapped around him and continue to hold him tight until all is well with the world again, but she knows that such things are not possible in reality.
A roar breaks out above the noise of the civilians screaming in terror, and both Peter and Mary Jane immediately recognize the afternoon’s deadly perpetrator.
“Goblin,” Peter says, his voice terse. It breaks her heart a little to see the hopeless, sullen look return to haunt his face. “I gotta find Aunt May. Make sure you get to safety.”
He starts to run away but she manages to catch hold of his shirt sleeve before he can get too far. “Pete, wait!” Her hands are shaking and she doesn’t know why. “Be careful out there, okay?”
Peter regards her with an unreadable look. She still isn’t a hundred percent sure if her best friend is the infamous web-slinger of New York or not, but it doesn’t hurt to remind him either way. He then nods at her and squeezes her hand tightly before hurrying off. Mary Jane remains still as she watches him disappear down the path, her throat closing tightly and unexpectedly as tears sting her eyes, threatening to spill over her cheeks.
She doesn’t understand why, but for some reason, she can’t help but think she just said goodbye.