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Her first month back in New York is a solid reminder of why she probably should have stayed in Boston.
In Boston, she wouldn’t have had her body hijacked by a telepath, kidnapped by a superhero, temporarily housed in a boobytrapped dock or held hostage in her own body by the same telepath as the days before.
Her hands move and rub her legs, grounding herself again - just because she can, enjoying the ability to move her own limbs, feeling as though she should continually remind herself not to take that for granted.
MJ sighs to herself.
Boston wouldn't do this to her. Boston just gave her hangovers, come downs and too many all-nighters that didn’t come with nearly enough time for recovery afterwards. Boston was the expected hazards that came with living, and it wasn't like she could pretend that New York granted her anymore opportunity than any other city with how often she was turning down anything that came her way.
Her arms fold over the top of her knees, her chin comes to rest atop, smiling fondly at the memories as she stares out the city skyline. The sun dimming over the horizon. A blip in the distance casts a shadow over the view- probably a bird. Maybe him.
Boston certainly didn't have Spider-Man– didn't have Peter Parker.
Didn't have memories that were stolen from her. New York–... doesn’t have that either.
Not currently at least.
Ned has told her that his had started to return. Muscle memory kicking in and suddenly he was riding the bike of an age old friendship.
‘We had years together’, he tried to say. Like she had been seeking the reassurance. She hadn’t been.
MJ squints, watching the shadow and wondering if from her place on the rooftop of Midtown High, she can determine who– what exactly it is. She can’t. Funny. In a way. That her memories of Spider-Man and of Peter Parker start here at this very school, and she can’t see him from beyond there.
A simple, ironic, awful fact that she has– made peace with. Found comfort in, strangely.
Boston had everything she could have stayed for, but New York had a draw she couldn't resist. When reading Peter’s letter, she had thought briefly (worried desperately) that maybe her listlessness in her own life and career and self had been because of him, of what had been stolen from her.
In front of her, on a folded, creased and tear stained piece of paper, she had all the answers to her life and her future would miraculously unfold. MJ remembers that thought sitting so heavy in her gut, wondering when her life had been taken from her hands– long before a telepath had taken her for a joyride apparently.
But now with the truth, nothing has changed.
She might not have her memories but she has enough to fill that gap in herself, and still it lays empty. She knows Peter and Spider-Man and her place in his life– and still she's confused about her own.
It should be terrifying but. She's only filled with relief. MJ is just like any other twenty-something graduate trying to figure themselves out. She isn't made whole because she was once Spider-Man's girlfriend or the love of Peter Parker's life. Other people might see that as her value. She clearly doesn't or she'd have her answers. She wouldn't need to worry about the fact that she had skipped out on another interview because the longer she spent preparing for it, reading their website and their brochures and their research and all their promises to be ‘better for the city, better for the world’, and finding that they had a subsidiary which owned a gambling app, the more she realised how much of herself she would have to give up to be there.
She isn’t anything except confused. Just plain old MJ Watson. Maybe add broke in there too.
Just like anyone else in the city.
Her lips quirked up, finding the humour in discovering the simplicity of it after her attempt living the very conspiracies she usually enjoyed from behind a screen.
Funnier still, that it was Peter--Spider-Man--and his complete lack of impact on her that had her realising this all.
Her smirk broadens into a smile. The shadow on the horizon is long gone.
He probably wasn't even there to begin with. He shouldn't have been. He's meant to still be on a rest– or so Ned says.
It's all a little funny.
Her phone vibrates beside her, the picture that she uses as her background– her, Ned, and Adeep– is replaced with a text message. From the man of the hour.
Having his phone number was new. Boston definitely didn't have that.
That part wasn't as unwelcome of a difference as the rest of them.
He had given both she and Ned his number ‘in case they ever needed it’, and they had returned theirs with the same line.
For the first time, Peter had apparently decided to take her up on that. Her contemplation eagerly taking a backseat to her curiosity as she reached down to answer the call.
“Hello.”
“Hey.” He replies, breathy and eager, the word completely rushing out of him like she had put him on a time limit with a single word. Peter does not follow it up with anything else other than another simple. “Hi.”
“Hi.” MJ echoes back. “You are aware that you called me, right? No need to sound so surprised.”
Peter laughs brightly. “Yeah, no, yeah. I know that. It's just still weird. To do this. Not just with you, I mean. With anyone. Still new to socials calls.”
MJ's head ducked, brows jumping up at every word and fighting off a fond smile. “You live a very sad existence. Are you aware?”
“It's been mentioned. Once or twice.” A beat. “By multiple people.” More than a few of them within MJ's earshot which probably means there were a plethora more that had told him in the years they'd been apart. Seemed like he was just as confused as she was about how exactly they did this whole– growing up thing correctly. “I'm working on it.”
“And you started with a phone call immediately, bold.”
Through the line, she can hear Peter’s voice catch, apprehension sinking in as he searches for his words. “I--I–ah– It's not that weird, is it?”
“For people our age, texting's the go-to.”
“Yeah but I don't normally have like free thumbs! I'm a pretty on the go kind of guy. It's a habit– I called you for advice not criticism. I can get that elsewhere, thank you very much.” He huffs and puffs through a life. His accent thick and growing heavier the more comfortable he gets on the line. Her teeth catch her lip. It's a nice thought. A warming one. Not– it isn't nostalgia because she doesn't remember him still, but it's something.
And she's letting a different something guide all her career decisions so she can let it take the lead on this too.
“Ned invited me over today. To hang. Is that okay?” He asks, pulling her out of her head. “I don't want it to be– weird.”
“You’re both weird, ergo it will be weird.”
“Right, right. I just mean. You live there too.”
“Astute observation but Ned already cleared it with me.”
“He did? Great. Great. Okay. Uh. Follow-up question.” She makes a noise of assent. “What are his favourite flowers?”
It catches her off guard how sincerely he asks, a bark of laughter escaping her, smiling even wider when she hears him giggling down the line.
“What? You can't remember your best friend's favourite flower? After bringing him such a nice bouquet?”
Peter’s laughter begins to fade into puffs of breath. “How much worse is it if I can't remember his favourite chips either?”
“Sunchips– the freak.” She answers immediately, unable to stop the words from coming out even as she register the mournful lilt to Peter's words. He had spent so much time turning them into something he had lost that he had forgotten the finer details of them.
To him, it might be sad. To her, it was… a relief. The sign of a balanced playing field.
“I– am not sure I can commit that sort of crime. I have a reputation in this bodega.”
MJ snorts. “All dressed is a close second.”
“A better, more acceptable answer.” He answers, making MJ laugh again that spills out into something bigger at how mundane the conversation is.
How much better she feels for having it.
“Right. Well. Uh. Thanks. For the help.”
“Any time.” She says quietly before ending the call, realising the depth of her statement. She sits and waits for something to click into place, for a realisation to wash over her, for everything to make sense but– no. She is still sat on the roof of her old school, still unemployed and still no idea what she wants to do. Peter Parker was a nice little reprieve from all that. Momentarily.
MJ Watson is still looking for something great in her future. It isn’t Peter Parker. But she doesn't mind having him in her life while she looks for it.