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The thing about living in New York City is that everything is unpredictable.
MJ had grown up amidst the chaos of the Avengers. She felt as though the city was always in a constant state of rebuild, and there was never a zero percent chance they were under threat as long as at least one Avenger lived there.
News cycles were almost always interrupted by some sort of Avengers-level threat, or one of them causing chaos in at least one borough, and she’d grown used to it.
The evening Spider-Man is shot is the first time she remembers feeling like the entire city had come to a standstill.
It wasn’t a secret that Spider-Man was beloved by New Yorkers. MJ had noticed the murals painted on the side of buildings and posters hung around Manhattan celebrating him and all he’s done for the city. The mayor had honored him with keys to the city, and it seemed like every other day he was accepting some sort of citizen honor for his work to keep everyone safe.
To everyone, Spider-Man felt invincible. His goal was to look out for everyone, no matter their background and what they’d done, and people appreciated that. It seemed unfathomable that there was ever a circumstance where Spider-Man would be critically injured, a city of millions collectively holding their breaths just to see if he made it through the night.
MJ watched the news coverage from the safety of her apartment, the familiar presence of Ned at her side, lights dimmed and the news flashing images of the scenes over and over again, as if anyone could forget what was going on. Updates were sparse, only that he was in critical condition and fighting for his life, and MJ felt as though she was holding her breath for anything else.
She and Ned had become friends with Spider-Man. They’d done legos with him, hung out in the apartment when he was coming back from patrol. MJ had been trying to figure out who he was, to put together the missing pieces, but it still hadn’t come to her.
And now, watching the near 24-hour news coverage of Spider-Man’s condition, she wonders if she’ll ever have the chance.
The only person she can think of that may know what’s going on is Frank, and while she doesn’t have his number, she decides to take a gamble and make her way to the hospital where she heard he’s being treated in hopes she can at least get some answers.
It’s not hard to find where he’s being treated, the constant vigil of people waiting to hear news congregated outside the entrance within police limits giving it away. They’d laid candles and held signs, and while MJ isn’t even sure his room is facing the vigil, she has a feeling Spider-Man needs to hear how loved he is, and is grateful for the people who are giving him that.
She snakes her way through the crowd, sketchbook tucked safely in her bag, and is relieved when Frank is waiting for her in the reception area. “I shouldn’t be letting you up here, you know,” he says gruffly, leading MJ through the doors and up the elevator. “You know how locked down things are here?” MJ nods, following behind him. “I know. I’ll only be a few minutes,” she promises quietly, keeping her head down as they walk past the nurses, who don’t seem to bat an eye about Frank bringing in someone else to the hospital room.
He stops just short of the door, turning back to look at her. “Things are rough, and I really think you need to understand that,” Frank says, looking at her. MJ knows he’s usually stoic and put together, and as she looks up at him, it’s the first time she remembers him looking genuinely terrified since she met him. “He’s in bad shape, but they’re optimistic. I just want you to be prepared.”
Forcing herself to look at him, MJ nods curtly. “I can handle it,” she replies stoically, trying not to show any fear. “I won’t stay long. I just want to leave something and see him for myself, you know?”
Frank seems to soften then, nodding as he steps to the side. “I’ll be out here. Take as much time as you need, I can vouch for you if the nurses ask,” he says, taking a step back to sit on a chair in the hallway.
MJ gives herself a moment to compose herself before she wills herself forward, pushing the door open.
Frank had warned her, and yet, as the door shut quietly behind her, she sees Peter lying in the bed and feels her breath get caught in her throat.
The first thing she manages to think is that he looks small. It looks like the oxygen mask covers half his face, and the blankets practically swallow him. At the foot of his bed is his suit, mangled and cut from where the doctors had to get to him, while his mask is mostly untouched.
The room is tight, likely due to the strict lockdown they have to have to protect his identity, but she glances at the monitors and determines she thinks they look stable, and wills herself forward.
There’s a mini shrine to Spider-Man in the corner, drawings and cards propped up on the tray for patients so Peter can see them when they wake up. Most look like they were done by children, and MJ envisions Frank gathering them or the nurses bringing a few in on their way into work, and her heart breaks at the thought that he’s all alone without these kind gestures.
Reaching out, she gently pushes his hair back from his forehead, chewing on her lip. It feels familiar, like something she’s done a million times before, and yet she stares down at the man in front of her and wonders how he manages through life knowing he has no one there for him.
“I think the whole city is outside to support you,” she laughs, retracting her hand. She can faintly hear the chatter among those holding vigil outside the window, and allows it to comfort her. “We’re all just waiting for you to get better. So you better hurry up. Lots of kids out there waiting for their idol.”
Peter doesn’t answer, not that MJ was expecting a miracle. She watches him breathe slowly, listens to the monitors, and wills herself to believe that he’s as stable as everyone is implying, although that feels harder in practice.
“I can’t stay long. You’ll be glad to know the hospital has strict rules on who gets to come in here to protect your identity,” she smirks. “Frank did me a favor, but I don’t want to get anyone in trouble for letting me be in here with you.”
She steps back, the back of her knees hitting the chair. “Frank’s not such a bad guy, I don’t think,” she decides. Sitting down for a moment, she glances through the window on the door, noticing Frank preoccupied with his phone, and decides to extend her stay a little longer. “I know you two have whatever is going on, but it seems like he really cares. I’m pretty sure he’s been here with you the entire time.”
Peter doesn’t make any movement, and MJ resigns herself to the fact that she won’t actually get to talk to him this time. Standing, she crosses back to the vigil they’ve created in the room, digging her contribution from her bag and setting it front and center, where he’ll see it first.
“That’s from me and Ned.” Turning back, she gets one last look at Peter. “Keep getting better, Peter,” she says softly. “And when you’re home, we can all hang out to celebrate.”
She lingers for a moment before leaving, shutting the door quietly behind her. “All done. Thanks for letting me come,” she says quietly, smiling at Frank before disappearing down the hall without saying another word.
Frank watches until she turns the corner to leave, then walks back into Peter’s room, not surprised to see him still asleep. He looks towards the vigil that seems to grow every shift change with the nurse in charge bringing more in from the crowd gathered outside, and notices MJ’s notebook propped up, open to a drawing of Peter in his suit and his friend building legos together.
A piece of home that Frank thinks Peter will love.
He smiles to himself, settling back into the uncomfortable chair to wait.
Maybe the kid isn’t so alone after all.