Chapter Text
“Happy anniversary my MJ,” Peter whispered while holding the New York Times newspaper in front of me. The headline read ‘MJ Watson next to take over for Pepper Potts as the next CEO of Stark Industries.’ The photo next to the headline showed a picture of his MJ’s eyes shining while shaking her hand with Pepper Potts. She was wearing a dark blue suit that complimented her brown hair still in those soft coils, and then there were her dark eyes, which were shining with pride and success. He stared at her dark brown eyes. Those eyes, god those eyes Peter had watched them for 26 years. He had seen them when he snuck into MIT to watch her graduate as valedictorian, her eyes full of accomplishment. Then her eyes glistened with happiness in a wedding photo printed in the local newspaper when she had gotten married. Finally, he saw her eyes 16 years ago when she walked her infant son around central park. After staring at her eyes in photos and on the screen for so long it seemed as though his prayers were finally answered because 16 years ago he had seen them at central park. The day was hot and sweaty in June, but she had still worn her black jeans. She had walked past him pushing a stroller with a small wiggling child. ‘Miles’ she had said to the child. His head had then perked up from an article about remembering fallen heroes he was reading under a tree under central park subconsciously recognizing the voice. It had taken me a moment to register the woman standing on the path with a stroller. Not because he had forgotten her, not because he was in shock that someone had actually granted his wish. “Speak again” Peter whispered, and then she had said that name to the child in the stroller again ‘Miles,’ but this time with more exasperation. “One more time please,” I begged quietly, but she hadn’t and began to continue her walk down the pathway. He had seen her eyes though the June sun had shined on her face making her glow as bright as the North Star. A home he could never return to, not after he saw the love and joy in her eyes as she looked down at her son. ‘It would have been so selfish of me to take that away, after all, she deserved to be happy,’ he thought.
The year I saw MJ in the park was one of the toughest. It was the year loneliness had implanted itself firmly in me, the sharp stings of being alone had no longer bothered me. It had become normal, I didn’t remember anymore what it was like to be hugged or be taken care of. I wasn’t bothered anymore that no one messaged me or the silence of the apartment. It was 10 years after I had gotten my GED, and six years after Daily Bugle hired me after I submitted my portfolio called ‘Streets of New York’ to be a photojournalist. I found it incredibly ironic that the Daily Bugle had given me an opportunity and a first job after it took everything away from me. The year before I had saved just enough money to move to a better apartment in Brooklyn due to the additional salary I got from being a writer for the science section of the Daily Bugle. The new place no longer had a roach infestation or leaking pipes. Now it had clean warm off-white walls and two bedrooms, a proper kitchen, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a living room. I converted one of the rooms into a home office filled with books and spare parts. My latest tinker was introducing an automated system to the apartment that was similar to Jarvis. The new apartment also gave me time to think. It was the first time I was in a stable position again. I was not deciding if I needed to eat dinner, pay rent, or pay my phone bill anymore. I was able to sleep through the night not worried about if the landlord would come to ask for money I didn’t have and if I would be thrown out. I could now see the empty chairs that sat around the table eating dinner. The silence never bothered me before because I was so focused on how to survive. After 10 years being alone it didn’t bother me, but now it was more noticeable than ever. Would this be the rest of my life, I wondered for the entire year. Waking up going to the Daily Bugle to write the science column and submit my photos then return to a home filled with scraps of inventions and a life that had been stolen 10 years ago. Seeing MJ was both a blessing and a curse. Any news of her, the word from her, or sight of her felt like a gift wrapped in gold, but seeing her find happiness in a life I wasn’t part of shook me every damn time.
The dying sun's rays fell upon the newspaper shining on the girl I love. The sun was highlighting her again as it did in the park. It showed her like she was the North Star that could never lead me home. I stared at her picture one more time. Her eyes and smile were so intelligent and beautiful I was so proud of her. “Did you meet Morgan?” I whispered to the photo. “Is she like Tony?” and there it went again, tearing apart into shreds. A tear rolled down my cheek and I made to wipe it, but there were more flowing down my cheek. There was no point every year I cried on our anniversary because she wouldn’t remember it. They wouldn’t remember me, the people I watched the entire year on screens and in newspapers, the people I loved so much even now. “Stop it,” I told myself she was happy, they were happy, and I-. I would be okay.
I wished I remembered what her eyes looked like on the day we kissed on the bridge in Paris. I was so worried about Mysterio destroying everything, I couldn’t realize that being a hero meant destroying yourself. If others didn’t come for you, you most certainly would try to fix everything. Back then I believed we had years, maybe even a lifetime. I would have never imagined that we were barely a month. But, that month has kept me alive for 26 years now. Remembering the utter glow I felt being around my MJ, Ned, Aunt May, and Happy. They were my planets and I was the starlit space that held them close in orbit trying to keep them safe and just love them in this ever-changing multiversal universe. Our kiss on the bridge was a memory I visited over and over. Whenever I ran out of wishes to count and was close to falling off, I played the memory in my mind. That kiss is a kind of brightness that I never found again, brighter than all the stars in the sky, especially the North Star that tormented me with its famous line of guiding a person home. No, the North Star had never helped me home. Instead, that star implanted itself in the one person I could never be with, MJ.
The sun was almost set now and it was the shot that I needed. I had swung up to the roof of a building in Manhattan to get a picture for an article about the pollution affecting the city’s personality. Sitting on the edge of the building I grabbed my bag and exchanged the newspaper for my camera and placed it in my lap as I soaked up the scenery one more time before I shared it with the rest of the world. A moment of peace in this twisted and torn timeline that was mine. I waited for the sun to wave its last goodbye to cover the camera lens with a layer of dust and click the picture of several buildings with skyscrapers in the background. A picture of a dark starless sky that was interrupted with a halo light blossomed made by the buildings in the foreground and skyscrapers in the back formed on the screen of the camera. Since the camera was covered in an even layer of dust it showed a world that was hazy, but you could still make out the shapes of people on the streets. People with briefcases, smiles, high heels, stony expressions, phones, and a past. The people who I needed to protect.
Glancing at the city again I tucked the camera back into my bag and pulled on my mask readying myself to leave the roof of the building. Before I left, however, a figure hit me on the side and I went toppling to the cement of the building’s roof. Tumbling together on the floor of the ceiling we separated lying flat on our backs. “Dude,” I muttered to the boy laying on the cement roof. Picking myself up I reached over a hand to help him up. He had a mask that covered everything except his eyes, mouth, and some black hair that was peeking out. A mask similar to mine when I started as Spider-Man. Internally I chuckled at the memory of my horrible first suit. “Nice costume” I started to say, helping the kid to his fight. Glancing into his warm brown eyes I froze because they were the same as hers. These were the same eyes that told stories and sent messages to people that knew how to decode them. The eyes I had fallen in love with every day since High School.