Chapter Text
Defenestration: in the dictionary, defined as the act of throwing someone or something out of a window. If used in a sentence properly, MJ would say that she’s currently being defenestrated out of the First National Bank. Her back hit the side of someone’s car, causing the alarm to start going off. Great, just one more thing she has to deal with.
MJ groaned as she pushed herself up from the car, one hand pressing against her lower back. Through the shattered windows of the bank, she could see the robbers inside, apparently deciding that throwing her through a window meant the fight was over. Which was insulting, honestly. They were already stuffing more money into their duffel bags. MJ narrowed her eyes beneath her mask. “Oh no you don’t,” she whispered under her breath.
She brought both arms up, firing two webs against the sides of the building before pulling them tight. Then she launched herself forward. She shot through the broken window like a slingshot, twisting her body at the last second so both feet slammed directly into robber number one. He went flying backward. “Oof!”
His body hit the wall hard enough to leave a crack in the drywall. MJ landed in a crouch. She slowly stood. Two more. Idiot number two and idiot number three stared at her. MJ cracked her neck. “Okay. Who threw me out the window?” Neither answered. “Cool. Both of you, then.”;
She charged. One of them pulled a gun. MJ immediately fired a web, catching his wrist and yanking his arm sideways just as he pulled the trigger.
BANG! The bullet disappeared harmlessly into the ceiling. People screamed. “Hey!” MJ snapped. “Watch where you point that thing!”
One of the robbers smirked from behind his mask. Reaching out, he grabbed a fistful of someone’s hair. A boy didn’t look much older than her. He had thick, curly red hair, freckles, and was wearing a green sweater. The robber pulled him close, pressing his gun against his temple.
“Don’t come any closer! Ya hear! I’m gonna blow his fuckin’ brains out!” He shouted, a slight crack in his voice.
That was all the cue she needed, the slightest bit of hesitation. She webbed the gun, causing the Mormon to look down, giving her the perfect opening. She yanked the web again, dragging him toward her before driving her fist into his stomach. The robber doubled over with a wheeze. MJ spun. The last man was already coming toward her. She kicked him directly in the knees. He dropped. MJ grabbed the back of his hair before he could recover and slammed his face into his own knee.
MJ grabbed the back of his hair before he could recover and slammed his face into his own knee. He collapsed onto the marble floor. Silence. MJ remained standing there for a moment, breathing heavily. Broken glass covered the floor. Loose bills fluttered through the air. One of the duffel bags had spilled open completely, leaving stacks of cash scattered around her boots. And there was blood- not hers, though. Mostly. MJ glanced down at the fresh tear along the side of her suit on her arm. Okay, maybe some of it was hers.
Sirens echoed somewhere in the distance. She looked toward the hostages. Dozens of frightened faces stared back at her. Some looked terrified. Others looked relieved. A little boy stood beside his mother with a soft smile on his face.
MJ awkwardly lifted her hand, giving him a small wave, and she could make out the mother mouthing ‘thank you’. The kid waved back. Then her eyes caught the clock mounted behind the teller desks. 7:14 A.M. Her eyes widened. “Shit.” She summered under her breath.
MJ cleared her throat, “Okay, well, this is my cue to go!” She backed toward the broken window. “Send the cops my regards!” She glanced toward the barely conscious robber slumped against the wall. “And maybe an ambulance for that guy.” The robber groaned, and MJ took that as her cue to web out of the bank.
She fired a web toward the building across the street and swung away just as the first police cars came screaming around the corner. For approximately thirty seconds, everything felt perfect. The morning air rushed against her mask. New York stretched out beneath her, already alive despite the early hour. Cars crawled through intersections. People filled sidewalks. Somewhere below, somebody shouted when they spotted her swinging overhead. This was the part she loved. For thirty seconds, MJ wasn't Michelle Jones-Watson. She was Queen's very own masked vigilante, Spinneret.
Oh, she’s so about to be late to her first period; of course the bank alarms had to go off while she was swinging to school. Maybe she should go back to taking the bus, because somehow every time she decides to swing to school, she gets caught up in stopping some kind of crime. A petty purse thief, someone trying to hijack a car, but today was a rarer day: an actual bank robbery.
Michelle Jones, though her friends called her MJ… that is, if she had any friends. Anyway, for about a year now, MJ has been swinging around the borough of Queens as the masked vigilante, Spinneret. About six months ago, during a Freshman year field trip to Oscorp, she was bitten by a radioactive spider. Somehow, against all biology, it gave her the abilities of a spider. Her costume wasn’t anything crazy: a white and red themed spider hoodie with a stitched-on spider logo on the back. Red leggings and white boots, and of course, to prevent her identity from being revealed, she wore white gloves, and to top it all off, she wore a mask where only her brown curly hair was visible. Her mask was nothing crazy; she wore red goggles atop a white mask with a simple web pattern. It did its job to protect her identity.
────𒌐────
And currently, she was about to be late to first period chemistry. Five minutes later, Spinneret landed on the roof of a building six blocks away from Midtown School of Science and Technology. Thirty seconds after that, Michelle Jones-Watson came sprinting out of an alley wearing jeans, beat-up Converse, and a black hoodie. Her backpack bounced against her shoulders. Her hair was a mess. There was a cut running along her arm; luckily, the hoodie did cover it up the majority of it, but some red was still visible along her wrist.
She tried to pull her hoodie down to hide the cut. It immediately rode back up. She rolled her eyes with a groan, “Awesome”.
She tugged it down again and started running. Midtown School of Science and Technology came into view at the end of the block, and judging by the almost completely empty front steps, MJ was screwed. The first bell rang. “Come on.” She ran faster. Students were still trickling through the front doors, but most of them were moving with the relaxed pace of people who actually knew how to manage their mornings. MJ pushed past a group of freshmen, nearly tripped over somebody’s backpack, caught herself before she could faceplant into the concrete, and kept moving.
She could lift cars, stick to walls; she could even dodge bullets. But the one thing she apparently couldn’t do was make it in time for her 7:30 chemistry class. The second bell rang just as she reached the doors. MJ stopped. She bent forward, hands resting against her knees as she tried to catch her breath. “Great.” Late. Again.
As quietly as she could, she pushed the door open and began to make her way to her usual seat. Mr. Dell was teaching at the front of the class, back facing the students as he wrote down chemistry equations on the board, her classmates quietly taking notes. Silently, she found her bench, taking out her safety goggles and strapping them over her eyes. She quickly tried to take out her chemistry notebook, thinking she was in the clear, until-
“Michelle! Glad you decided to join us!” Mr. Dell’s voice boomed throughout the classroom. Her cheeks turned a shade of pink as some of the other students turned to look at her, including the boy who sat directly in front of her. Peter B. Parker
And there they were. The bees, at least that’s what MJ chose to call them. Most people described the feeling of liking someone as butterflies in their stomach. MJ thought that was stupid. Because butterflies sounded gentle and delicate. Something fluttering pleasantly around inside of you because you like someone. Here’s the problem: Michelle doesn’t like Peter.
What she felt whenever Peter Parker looked at her wasn’t butterflies; it was more like someone had released dozens of bees directly into her ribcage. Tiny stingers stabbing into her stomach with an annoying buzz that wouldn’t leave her alone when his brown eyes met hers. MJ quickly looked away. She hated bees.
Peter Parker was annoyingly smart. They shared practically every class together, not to mention Academic Decathlon. She couldn’t walk anywhere in this school without seeing Peter Parker and his best friend, Ned Leeds. Peter had short, curly brown hair; he had brown eyes that hid behind round glasses that sat almost perfectly on his face. When he wasn’t wearing cheesy science pun shirts, he would be wearing a sweater over a plaid shirt with a pair of jeans and cheap sneakers. He had an annoying habit of biting the end of his pencil whenever he was concentrating. Not that MJ noticed. She also didn’t notice how his nose scrunched whenever he was confused by something, or how he pushed his glasses back up with his middle finger when they started slipping down his nose. She definitely didn’t notice that he always messed with his sleeves when he was nervous, pulling them over his hands before pushing them back up again.
Those were just observations, and MJ prides herself on being an observant person.
Peter glanced back at her again, frowning a little. “What happened there?” He whispered, pointing to her cheek.
Confused, she patted her cheek, and it felt tender. Great, a bruise; must’ve been when robber #2 smacked her with the butt of his gun, and she must’ve not noticed. She rubbed her cheek. “Nothing.” She hissed back, clearly on the defensive.
Peter shrugged and turned back around.
The buzzing turned into a full swarm, bouncing around somewhere between her stomach and her chest. MJ quickly looked down at her notebook and pretended to be extremely interested in the chemical equation Mr. Dell had written across the board. She didn't like Peter Parker. She simply experienced an unexplained biological reaction whenever he smiled at her. That was it, nothing more and nothing less.
────𒌐────
The rest of the day passed by without incident. She went to physics, then English, then had lunch. And lunch was hard for someone with no friends. Watching everyone get their food and run to their regular tables with their friend groups. There was one table at the very end of the lunchroom. It was a long table, but it was only inhabited by two people. She took her seat at the end of the lunch table, opening her book and taking a bite out of her apple. She wasn’t even five minutes into chewing until she heard that familiar, annoying, high-pitched voice from the other end go,
“Did Liz get a new top?”
“Nah, we’ve seen her in that before, just not with that skirt.”
With the roll of her eyes, she dropped her book, looking over at them, not that either would notice, because they were too busy creepily staring at Liz Allen. She was a senior girl who was head of the Academic Decathlon. She couldn’t completely fault Peter for liking Liz. She was pretty, and nice, and bubbly, and smart- and a whole bunch of other wonderful things. MJ couldn’t help but roll her eyes and hold back a gag every time Peter opened his mouth about Liz. At most, he would hold a few minute-long conversations with her, but the majority of the time he would just stare creepily at her until someone noticed. And almost on cue, she heard Peter say,
“We should probably stop staring before it gets creepy.”
“Too late,” She said before she could stop herself. Both looked over to her in confusion; she rolled her eyes. “You guys are losers.”
“Then, why do you sit with us?” Ned asked,
She put down her book again. “Because I don’t have any friends.” She said simply, as if stating a numerical fact about the world.
It was a fact, though. Facts are objective truths, and MJ, objectively, has no friends. She liked it better that way; it was a deliberate choice. Relationships weren’t as simple as talking to someone every day. It required actual work and effort. Between school, her home life, and her ‘extracurriculars’, relationships would only mess things up. Besides, with relationships came people she’d have to be vulnerable with, and with being vulnerable came the risk of letting in the wrong person and getting hurt. By all statistical measures, it wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, some people thrived on company; others didn’t. MJ was simply the type of person who kept to herself; she didn’t need anyone else to feel content.
Academic Decathlon flew by after school, only an hour of practice. As she was leaving, she couldn’t help but overhear everyone’s conversations. Flash was trying to get a date with some girl he met through his phone, typical. Liz and a few of her friends were going to her house for Homecoming prep, also standard. And, of course, Ned and Peter were going back to his house to build some dorky Lego set.
MJ shoved another book in her backpack, unfortunately having to listen to more of this dork talk. Apparently, this Lego set was the Death Star, and it had over four thousand pieces. And going on and on about how they had to finish it tonight.
Dorks, both of them. She couldn’t help but think that as she walked out of the classroom. She made her way through the school, out through the hallways and out the big doors, leading to the outdoor track where she saw football and track practice. This time, MJ decided to take the bus home. She didn’t need distractions on her way home today.
MJ should’ve just swung. Her house sat on the fifth floor of an apartment in Sunnyside. It was a quiet neighborhood, not a whole lot of excitement. Which is why when she reached her floor and heard yelling from down the hall, she already knew what she was about to walk into. As she exited the elevator, she locked eyes with one of her neighbors, a sweet older lady named Dot, who always took her yappy little Pomeranian out for a walk this time of day.
MJ could read the look of sympathy painted on her face. “Oh, hello Michelle.” She said casually, as if nothing was wrong,
MJ nodded back in response, “Hey… sorry about… well, that.” She gestured to her apartment at the end of the hallway
Dot shook her head, “Oh dear, not your fault. Besides, I’m the one leaving, and you’re walking in. If anything, I should be apologizing to you.” She placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder before walking into the elevator herself.
With a deep sigh, MJ braced herself. She walked to the very end of the hallway, unlocked her door, and pushed it open. The yelling only got louder.
“I’ve told you a million times, Philip! I don’t want you buying this crap!”
“That ‘crap’ is the only thing keeping me from losing my shit, Maddie!”
“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t know being around your family was such a burden!”
“It is a burden when you’re constantly bitching in my ear!”
She pulled her phone from her pocket and turned the volume up on her headphones.
“You said you were going to stop!”
“I said I'd cut back!”
“That's what you said last time!” MJ kept walking. Her bedroom door was only twenty feet away.
Silently, MJ walked past them. This wasn’t an unusual scene to walk into. If she had to guess, her dad probably came home with a 12-pack that was sitting front and center in the fridge. It usually started the majority of the arguments in their household. She silently turned the volume up on her phone even more until it was basically max volume, and made her way to her room, her parents completely unaware that their daughter had even walked through the door. It was moments like this that MJ was actually kind of grateful for Spinneret. At least it was a way for her to get out of her house and blow off some steam. Six months ago, she’d be trapped in her room, trying to drown out the constant noise of her parents arguing. At least now she had an escape.
The yelling became muffled behind the door, but not gone. It was never gone. Her bedroom was small, but it was hers. Books covered most available surfaces. Her desk was buried beneath homework, loose sketches, and random pieces of technology she'd taken apart with the intention of eventually putting them back together. Her bed sat beneath the window. MJ dropped her backpack beside it. Another muffled shout came through the wall.
MJ changed quickly, sliding her mask down over he face. Carefully, she clicked her window open and slid out. Taking a deep breath, she took in the smell of the city. “Finally.”
She let herself fall from her window, allowing the wind to rush around her. She held her wrist up, and A web shot from her web shooters and attached to the building across the street. MJ swung forward. Out here, her problems were simple. She sees a bad guy, she beats up the bad guy, simple.
────𒌐────
The first crime of the afternoon was barely even a crime. MJ had been swinging for maybe twelve minutes when she heard someone screaming below her.
“My purse! Somebody took my purse!”
MJ sighed. “Of course they did.” She released her web. Her body dropped several stories before she shot another line and swung sharply around the corner. There, a guy in a black hoodie was sprinting down the sidewalk with a bright red purse tucked beneath his arm. Seriously, how much more cliché could you get? MJ swung lower until she was basically on top of the dude. The black hoodie guy was sprinting down the sidewalk with a bright red purse tucked beneath his arm. She landed in front of him, startling him and causing him to fall to the ground.
“Aw, come on!” MJ almost laughed. That was becoming one of her favorite reactions.
She crossed her arms. “You know, stealing is generally frowned upon.” “Get out of my way.”
“No.”
“I said move!” He shot up,
“And I said no. See how we're both repeating ourselves? Really productive conversation.”
The man turned and attempted to run. Behind her mask, she rolled her eyes. MJ fired a web. It attached directly to his back.
She yanked. The man flew backward and landed flat on his ass. “
Ow!” He cried out, dangling from a lamppost, dropping the purse on the ground.
MJ walked over, pulled the purse from his hand, and webbed both of his wrists to a nearby lamppost. “You could’ve just given it back, but oh well. Now, sit there and think about what you've done.”
She walked back to the woman, handing her the purse. “Here you are, ma’am, maybe invest in a strap next time?”
The woman smiled at her, thanking her before walking away.
That’s pretty much how the rest of the evening went. Small petty crimes. Two teenagers trying to steal somebody's motorcycle. Then, she helped an old man carry an air conditioner up three flights of stairs. After that, she stopped a delivery truck from hitting a cyclist. That one actually got her heart racing a little bit.
She'd been perched on a rooftop when the familiar tingling exploded through the back of her skull. MJ moved before she even understood why. She jumped. The truck blew through the intersection. A cyclist turned. MJ shot two webs. One attached to the back of the bike. The other attached to a streetlight. She pulled. Hard. The cyclist was ripped backward just as the truck flew past. MJ caught him against her chest, both of them rolling across the pavement. For a moment, the guy just lay there, and MJ couldn’t tell if he was conscious or not, until his eyes shot open.
The cyclist stared at her. Spinneret stared back. “
You okay?”
“I- yeah…. Thank you,” He said, almost breathless,
“Cool.” She pushed herself up. “You should probably wear a helmet.”
“I am wearing a helmet.”
She looked, and he was. “Right.” She pointed at him with a thumbs up. “Keep doing that.”
Then she swung away before he could respond. Okay. Maybe she wasn't particularly good at the inspirational superhero thing. But people were alive, and that’s all that mattered in the end. MJ wasn’t like Tony Stark or Captain America. She didn’t need a reason to do the right thing. She didn’t need some tragic backstory to help innocent people. Something she had always believed in was that if you have the power to help, you should. It should be that simple. The world around them was built off the suffering of people. She saw it every day: people around her struggling, the people around them, the so-called ‘public servants’ doing nothing to help. And maybe that was the problem. People need a reason to help those around them. Those were the morals she had always lived by. You help those around you because it’s the right thing to do, and that’s the only reason you need.
────𒌐────
MJ didn’t return until later that night, closer to 12 AM, knowing her parents would be asleep by then. Last thing she wanted was to play messenger between them, again. As quietly as she could, she slid her bedroom window open, crawled through, and slid it shut again. She ripped her mask off, throwing it to the ground. Taking in a deep breath, she winced slightly, a pain shooting up from her arm. Removing her glove, she found the cut on her arm was reopened. She took off her hoodie, now standing in only her tank top, the wound clearly visible. Great, she must’ve done that punching someone out. Luckily, there was a first aid kit in the kitchen.
She quietly opened her door and made her way down the hall, the kitchen already in sight. She made her way towards the cabinet where she knew her parents kept one. She rummaged through the cabinets, her phone flashlight on, sorting through everything her parents kept in the kitchen. Finally, her flashlight landed on the kit. She picked it up and held it close to her chest, ready to bolt back to her room.
“Michelle?” A voice called from the dark.
Her body froze, recognizing the voice almost instantly. She turned, and her mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, one hand gripping the frame. She was wearing an old robe over her pajamas, her dark, curly hair pulled back messily into a bun. She looked exhausted, dark bags lingering under her eyes, and her body slightly slouched over.
For a second, neither of them said anything. MJ lowered the first-aid kit slightly. “Hi.” Her voice was quiet,
Her mother's eyes narrowed. “What are you doing up so late?” MJ glanced toward the clock on the microwave. 12:47 AM. Shit.
She looked back at her mother. “Could ask you the same thing.” She shrugged,
Her mother clearly didn’t like that answer, crossing her arms. “Michelle, do you have any idea what time it is?”
She sighed, “Yes, I just… couldn’t sleep.”
Her mother glanced down at the first-aid kit in her hands. MJ immediately tucked her injured arm closer to her side. Unfortunately, subtlety had never really been her strongest skill. Her mother clearly was not amused,
“What happened to your arm?” She asked, pointing to the wound on her arm.
“Happened at school; my hoodie got caught on something and cut my arm, that’s it.”
Her mother sighed, “Caught on what, exactly? It looks like you got in a fight with a bear.” Her mother raised her voice slightly,
“God, Mom, it’s no big deal, ok?”
“No big deal? You’re bleeding out in our kitchen at nearly 1 AM, now cut the bullshit and tell me what happened.”
MJ scowled; of course her mom just had to catch her now of all nights. She needed to come up with a lie, and fast,
“Listen, I uh… I snuck out to get some food and I… well I got in a fight. Ok? Not a big deal.”
Not a big-? Michelle, you sneaking out and getting in a fight is a big deal!”
MJ winced. Her mother rarely ever raised her voice. She saw her mom’s nose scrunch, and she crossed her arms. “What were you thinking?”I just… You and Dad were fighting, and I needed some air, ok?” She finally admitted. It was technically a complete lie.
She saw her mom’s expression visibly soften. MJ almost felt bad. She knew talking about her dad was always a sensitive topic for her mom, especially after coming off a fight with him, but hopefully it’d stop this interrogation. All she wanted to do was clean her wound and go to bed, and tonight of all nights she was unlucky enough to get caught.
She watched as her Mom pinched her nose, letting out a deep sigh. She took in a deep breath to face her daughter,
“That little diner down the block is still open. We can get food.” She said, rubbing her nose.
MJ frowned, lowering her head. She licked her dry lips and swallowed. “What about Dad?” She worked up the courage to ask,
Her Mom shook her head. “He uh, decided to get a hotel room for the night.”
MJ nodded once silently, “Okay.”
Her mother quietly cleaned her wounds, then bandaged them up neater than MJ could. Her mom went to change, and MJ took it as her opportunity to throw on a black hoodie. Within 5 minutes, they were downstairs, walking out of their building and to ‘Jerry’s Diner’ a block down the road.
────𒌐────
They were two of a total of four other customers inside. A tired waitress took their order and told them it’d be right out. For a few moments, they sat in complete silence. She saw her Mom dig around in her purse, like she was looking for something. Eventually, she pulled out an envelope, slightly crinkled around the edges. There was a faint line along the middle of the envelope, showing it had been folded at one point. Her Mom extended her arm, pushing the envelope towards her. MJ raised a brow, and her mother couldn’t help but roll her eyes,
“This came for you. I went to give it to you earlier, but you were… out.”
Heat rose in MJ’s cheeks for a moment; she grabbed the envelope and examined it. There was no return address on it, only her name and address. “You know who it’s from?” She asked,
Her Mom shook her head, “Nope.”
MJ carefully opened the envelope, letting the paper rip around the edges before it opened, and she was able to grab the note inside. She unfolded it, and almost immediately, her eyes widened. Before she could read anything, she saw a large ’Oscorp’ logo stamped at the bottom. Her eyes skimmed the note, her brows furrowing. It wasn’t very long; it was an acceptance letter? Thanking her for applying to Oscorp's high school internship program- how, if she wishes to proceed, the start date is October 14th. She had to check the name and address on the paper maybe three or four times to confirm it was her name on it, not someone else’s that it was delivered to by mistake.
“Michelle? What does it say?”
Right, her mom. She was so lost in thought she almost forgot her mom was sitting right across from her. She handed the note to her to let her read, “It’s an acceptance letter from Oscorp, they’re saying I’ve been accepted into the high school internship program?”
Her Mom’s hands dropped, her eyes widening with a sparkle she almost rarely saw from her anymore, “Michelle! That’s amazing!” She shouted, causing the other diner patrons to look their way. Her mom crossed the booth to give her a hug. Michelle awkwardly returned it,
“But I didn’t apply?”
Her mom pulled back, “Oh, honey, it’s probably just scouting.”
“Ok, put right here it says I sent in an application… for something I didn’t apply for?”
“Michelle, this is just their script for everyone who gets in. They just swap the names,” She winked, “But hon, this is amazing! This could secure a future for you!”
MJ crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair, “Yeah, I’m not interested.”
Her mom's face visibly dropped. “What?”
“Mom, the last thing I want is to work under some billionaire tech oligarch and be just another middleman he can step over to maintain his empire of wealth. No thank you.” She scoffed.
Her mom leaned back as well, “Okay.”
MJ raised a brow, “Okay? You’re not gonna argue back?”
She rolled her eyes, “No, Michelle, no, not okay. I’m just trying to process how you somehow managed to turn getting accepted into one of the most competitive high school internships in New York into a criticism of capitalism in under thirty seconds.”
She shrugged, “It’s a talent.”
“Michelle.” She sighed
“What?”
“This is Oscorp.”
“I know what Oscorp is.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. Massive corporation. Genetic research, robotics, energy wasting, government secrets. OH! And a CEO with more money than several small countries combined.”
Her mother sighed. “That is not what I meant.”
She leaned forward. “Then be more specific.”
Their waitress approached their table before her mother could answer, setting down two plates. MJ had ordered pancakes with eggs and bacon, while her mother had gotten some kind of vegetable omelet that looked suspiciously healthy for a diner. “Anything else I can get you two?” the waitress asked.
Her mother smiled. “No, thank you.”
After the waitress walked away, there was silence for approximately six seconds. Then her mother decided to speak,
“You should do it.”
MJ poured syrup over her pancakes.
“No.”
“Michelle.”
“Still no.”
“You haven’t even thought about it.”
“I thought about it.”
“For five seconds.”
“That was enough.”
Her mother leaned forward. “Do you know how good something like this would look on a college application? Do you know how many other applicants would kill to be in your position right now? And you want to throw it all away?”
MJ sighed, putting the syrup down, “Well, considering I didn’t even apply-“
“That’s all the more reason to take it! They specifically scouted you, out of a pool of what? Hundreds of other applicants? Michelle, this could be the biggest opportunity of your life; it could open the door to so many amazing opportunities for you! You’re a sophomore now. In two years, you’re going to be sending applications out, and having Oscorp on your resume-“
“God, Mom, I’m fifteen, I have a lot of life ahead of me after high school!” MJ snapped, “I don’t need doors owned by Norman Osborn of all people to make something of my life!”
“You won’t be fifteen forever.” Her mother responded eerily calmly, MJ cut into her pancakes, “God, Michelle, you don’t even know the man.”
“He’s a billionaire; all I need to know is right there.” She gestured to the letter before biting into her pancakes.
Her mother picked the letter up again, smoothing the crease with her thumb. “It says here the internship is paid.”
MJ almost choked. “What? How much?”
Her mother smirked, “I thought you weren’t interested.”
“I’m not, just curious.”
“Uh-huh.” She scanned the letter. “It doesn’t say.”
MJ immediately went back to cutting her pancake. “Then I’m uninterested again.”
Her mother just glanced in her direction, not even bothering to argue back. Instead, she continued to read, “Flexible afternoon and weekend hours. Access to Oscorp research facilities. Mentorship under senior researchers…” She trailed off.
MJ tried very hard not to look interested. She failed. “Which facilities?”
Her mother lowered the letter slightly.
MJ frowned. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“And this isn’t at all suspicious to you?”
“Well, you didn’t apply, right? You probably have to apply to specific departments… Oh! It says right here you’d be assigned to a specific department based on your strengths. That’s probably it.”
MJ sighed, letting herself slide against her chair. Six months ago, her class went on a field trip to Oscorp. It was nothing more than another big tech company her school loved to drag them to. Hell, she even remembered Norman Osborn himself coming down to talk specifically about the High School Internship program they were running in the next school year. It was just another big skyscraper in New York filled with laboratories, scientists, and expensive technology that Midtown had somehow convinced to let a bunch of freshmen wander around for a field trip. That was until the spider. It was a genetically enhanced spider that climbed up on her leg, then up to her hand and bit down. She remembered the initial sting and instinctively swatting it away, then she remembered the wave of nausea that followed. Then, the fever that night, the sensory overload. Then overnight she had superpowers, just like that; overnight. She hadn’t thought much about where the spider came from after that. Not seriously, anyway. She’d researched what she could, obviously, but Oscorp didn’t exactly publish documents titled Experimental Spiders That May Accidentally Give Teenagers Superpowers. Most of the information she found online was vague. Genetic enhancement projects. Cross-species research. Regenerative medicine.
MJ sighed, taking the letter from her mom. She read it again, this time slower. The letter was strange, and not the internship itself. Oscorp offered student programs all the time. Midtown teachers practically worshiped the company. Every science teacher in the school had probably mentioned Oscorp at least once since freshman orientation. But it’s because she didn’t apply. MJ looked back up at her mom, her eyes practically pleading. She knew a lot of things in her mom's life weren’t exactly going her way: her dead-end job at the retail store she worked at, the constant fights with her husband, and now, a rebellious teenage daughter to add to the list. She squeezed her eyes shut with a groan, placing the letter down on the table.
MJ believed herself to be set in her opinions about the world. She knew she was right, and she didn’t need anyone else’s approval or agreement. One of those opinions was that anyone with a net worth over the wealth of an entire small country was an evil piece of shit and deserved to rot in the deepest layers of hell. But looking into her mother’s eyes, she saw something. Desperation. Desperation for her daughter to have a better life than she ever had. And something inside her cracked a little at the thought.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“I’ll go to the orientation.”
She could see the sparkle return to her mother’s eyes. “Really?”
MJ nodded. “Yeah… for you. But don’t expect me to like it, because I make no promises.”
She shook her head with a soft smile. “I just want you to try.”
Like she said. MJ didn’t make any promises. October 14th was next Friday, and that was a whole week to prepare.
────𒌐────
A week passed, and MJ just wanted this to be over with. Her mother was currently fussing over what she should wear. Instead, it had to be formal, MJ protested. Her mother had even gone out and bought a nice blouse, work pants, and a blazer to top it all off. ‘First impressions are the only impressions, ’ she liked to say, over and over and over.
MJ had also been invited probably a million times; it didn’t matter what she was wearing, she had already gotten accepted into the program, so technically they already had an impression on her. Her Mom doesn’t find her very amusing.
Luckily, despite all this chaos, her Dad was still choosing to stay at the hotel. MJ had seen this cycle before. He’d throw his temper tantrums and stay at any hotel or motel he could find until his money ran out and he’d come crawling back, promising her mom that he’d change and stop drinking as much and be better and all the bullshit. And every single time, her mom would let him come back. They’d act as if nothing happened, and eventually the cycle would repeat itself once again. MJ didn’t bother worrying about it anymore. She’d seen this song and dance since she was twelve. There’s only so many times you can watch someone repeat the same thing over and over for three years until you start recognizing the pattern. But MJ liked it when it was just her and her mom. There was less fighting all around when her dad wasn’t in the house. Her mom would actually be happy coming home.
The orientation hours stated 3 PM, approximately an hour after school got out. Her Mom was able to pick her up at 2:30, and by 2:55 she was outside the Oscorp building in downtown.
“Ok, hon, I’ll pick you up at five, alright?”
MJ nodded, closing the passenger side door,
“Hey,” MJ turned to face her, her Mom smiling sweetly, “Good luck, ok? You’re gonna do great.”
MJ bit her bottom lip with a nod, “Thanks.”
She walked through the large Oscorp doors, went through security, and gave her name. Strangely enough, security told her Mr. Osborn's office was the 65th floor. Okay, whatever, it’s probably just part of orientation. He’d welcome the new interns, and they’d be on their way with their actual mentor. She was alone in the elevator going up, the floors zooming by her until she reached the very top. The elevator doors opened into a lavish office space that was probably the size of her entire apartment.
A massive dark wooden desk sat near the windows, perfectly organized despite the stacks of files and sleek monitors arranged across it. Behind it stood a high-backed leather chair, and built into the wall beside it were shelves displaying awards, framed magazine covers, photographs with important-looking people, and enough scientific patents to wallpaper MJ’s bedroom. The rest of the room somehow managed to look equally expensive without looking cluttered. There were black leather couches surrounding a glass coffee table, an entire sitting area that looked like it belonged in the lobby of a five-star hotel, and several pieces of modern art hanging along the walls that MJ was pretty sure cost more than her mother made in a year.
MJ slowly stepped out of the elevator, her backpack suddenly feeling painfully out of place against everything around her. She looked around and immediately noticed she was the only one in the room. There were no other staff or interns. It was just her. OK, if this wasn’t already suspicious before, it’s somehow even more so now.
Her head snapped to the side when she heard a door creak open. To the left, a wooden door with a bathroom sign opened, and out walked a man wearing a business suit MJ was sure cost more than her entire year's rent. He smiled sheepishly at her, “Oh, my apologies, I wished to be here when you arrived.” He said, casually walking toward his desk, “Please, take a seat.”
She looked at him suspiciously, one eyebrow raised, “Excuse me?”
Norman looked at her with a modest expression, gesturing once again to the chair in front of him, “Take a seat. I assure you, I don’t bite.”
She looked him up and down, almost studying him. “Uh, what is this?”
Norman smiled, “Your internship.” He said, almost obviously. He sighed with a smile, “I suppose I should just cut to the chase, hm?” He pulled out his phone, typing in a few things before the holographic screen pulled up. MJ almost instantly recognized it. Security footage from the first National Bank a few days ago. MJ’s eyes widened a little, staring back at Norman, who was analyzing the footage thoroughly. He tapped on the phone on one specific scene, pushing it closer towards MJ, “Does that boy look familiar?”
MJ leaned in to take a closer look, and truthfully, she did. Curly, unruly red hair and petrified green eyes with the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. Then, a split second later, Spinneret was jumping in to protect him. Norman pulled the phone away, tucking it in his pocket before continuing, “That was my son, Harry. Spinneret saved his life that day at the bank, and I couldn’t be more grateful.” He let out a deep sigh of relief, smiling up at MJ.
A knot began to form in her stomach. She wasn’t dumb, far from it matter of fact. She knew Norman wasn’t sitting here, going on about Spinneret saved his son’s life as some weird part of orientation. She slid her fingers along her wrists, confirming her web-shooters were still intact and attached. “Well, sir, I’m glad he’s safe. But why are you telling me this?”
Norman raised his brows with a shrug, “Because you saved him.” He said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
MJ almost scoffed, pointing at herself, “Me?” She adjusted her backpack straps. “Ok, man, here’s the deal. This whole thing has been really weird since the get-go, and clearly you think I’m someone else, so I’m just gonna head out.” She pointed to the elevator behind her,
“Oh, you don’t have to play dumb with me, Michelle. I know you’re Spinneret.”
Her eyes widened, turning back to face him like a deer caught in headlights. Sure, he was implying it, but to hear it come out so casually caught her very off guard. “Excuse me? I-I’m not Spinneret.”
“Oh, Michelle, please let’s not kid ourselves. I know you’re smarter than to play dumb.”
Ok, so her original strategy wasn’t going to work. Of course some rich guy would figure it out. “Fine, ok, what do you want? Are you stalking me or something?”
The man shrugged, “Stalking you? Oh no, it wasn’t very hard to figure out if you pay close enough attention. You change from costume to your civilian clothes out in broad daylight because you’re assuming no one is watching, but that is where you made the mistake. Someone’s always watching.”
MJ scrunched her nose up, “You watch me change? Dude, that’s nasty.”
Norman’s eyes widened slightly, “Oh, no, no, no, that’s not what I meant at all-“
“Welp, that’s settled! You’re a weirdo billionaire creep, just like the rest of them, and I’m going home and gonna forget this ever happened.” She clapped her hands together, smirking as she turned towards the elevators once again.
“Your web-shooters jam.” MJ stopped. Her smirk disappeared almost instantly. Norman stayed exactly where he was, leaning casually against the edge of his desk like he hadn’t just said the one thing guaranteed to keep her in the room.
MJ slowly looked over her shoulder. “What?”
“Your web-shooters,” Norman repeated. “They jam.” He repeated. He gestured toward her wrists. “Not often. But often enough.” Her hands immediately dropped to her sides as Norman smiled. “Also, your right one fires approximately eleven percent slower than your left.”
MJ narrowed her eyes. “Okay. Somehow you managed to make this conversation creepier.”
“I’m simply making a point.”
“It’s a bad point, dude.”
Norman chuckled, pushing himself away from the desk. “Your equipment is impressive, Michelle. Extremely impressive, actually. Especially considering you appear to have built most of it yourself, the web fluid, the shooters, all of it. It’s not easy engineering. You’re a bright young girl, but you’re running on limited resources. And therein lies the problem.”
She didn't answer immediately. “There isn't a problem.”
Norman chuckled. He walked toward the enormous windows overlooking Manhattan. From sixty-five floors up, the city looked almost peaceful. Tiny cars moved between buildings. People were barely dots on the sidewalks. Somewhere down there. “Someone was probably getting mugged, or robbed, or thrown through a window. And you’d never know. You’re only able to see so much of New York.”
“Well, I could be out there now, but you’re kinda keeping me up here. So….”
Norman turned to her, completely ignoring her comment, “You're what? Fourteen?”
MJ rolled her eyes, “Fifteen.” She corrected.
“You're balancing school, decathlon, whatever semblance of a social life you have-”. “
“Wow. You are creepier than I thought.”
“- and spending your nights swinging through New York fighting armed criminals.”
MJ crossed her arms with a deep sigh. “Is there a point coming sometime soon? Or are you going to continue explaining how much you’ve been stalking me?”
Norman smiled at her. “Yes, I have a point.” He walked back toward his desk and tapped something underneath it. The wall behind him changed. MJ hadn't even realized it was a screen until it lit up. Right in front of her was her costume… but also not her costume. It looked… advanced. It was a full-body armor suit, outfitted with a layer of armor. It was still her pattern, but… advanced.
“Right now, down in the labs. I have a suit outfitted with polytherm armor, a built-in police scanner, GPS and trackers, oh, and about 576 different types of web shooters.”
Her eyes went wide, looking over at the man. “I’m sorry…? H-how long exactly have you been working on this- no, sorry. How long have you been watching me!?”
Norman sighed, “Michelle. The truth is, the spider that bit you was mine. It was designed and created by my researchers, in my lab, under my name. When it was lost, I had to locate it, and it led me back to you. I mean, a girl gets bitten by a radioactive spider in my laboratory, and a few weeks later a girl is running around Queens with spider powers. It did not take long to put two and two together.”
MJ frowned, her brows and eyes darkened. “I get it.”
“I don’t think you do. Michelle, you saved my son’s life. Harry wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. That is a debt I’ll never be able to repay. But I can at least try. Let me help you save everyone else’s sons.”
MJ’s expression softened. She looked at Norman’s face, studying his features. For the first time, she didn’t see a billionaire scientists. Instead, she saw a father, tears shimmering in his eyes. She thought back to the boy's face at the bank. How terrified he looked, and when she looked at Norman Osborn, she saw that boy’s father. She gulped, her lips thinning as her guard lowered. She looked back at the suit, and god was it a nice suit. If it really had all the features Norman said it did, it could really help her. She could protect so many more people. She could save people all around New York that she’d otherwise not know about-
Nope. No. No way. Absolutely not. This is how they pull you in. First, the temptation is set up, then they let you get comfortable, and before you could even blink, suddenly your life is ruined all because of one tempting offer.
“I don’t need your help. I’m doing fine on my own.
“Are you? Don’t get me wrong, what you’ve managed to accomplish on your own is impressive. But it can be… improved.”
MJ Scoffed, “Improved?”
“Yes, I can help you.”
Norman didn’t say it like a challenge. That somehow made it worse. He said it calmly, almost gently, before reaching down and tapping the surface of his desk again. The image of the suit disappeared, and in its place came footage. MJ’s stomach dropped. It was her- or well, Spinneret. The first video showed her swinging between two buildings before one of her web-shooters sputtered. The web came out wrong, barely catching the edge of a fire escape. Her body jerked violently downward before she managed to fire another one. She unintentionally flinched because she remembered that. She had dislocated her shoulder, and she remembered how much it hurt… and the soreness afterwards.
The footage changed. Another night. She was fighting three guys outside a convenience store. One had a knife, and another had a gun. She ducked underneath the gunshot, kicked the weapon away, and webbed the guy against a wall. The footage froze. Norman zoomed in. There was blood running down the side of her costume. MJ instinctively touched her ribs, still remembering the stabbing pain.
“You needed what? Three stitches? You went to a pharmacy at two in the morning, bought butterfly closures, gauze, antiseptic, and painkillers, then stitched yourself up in your bathroom. Doesn’t seem very safe, nor sanitary to me. But of course, you don’t need help, correct?”
“Okay, dude, you like, seriously need a hobby.”
Norman smirked, “I have several, and you’ve managed to pique my interest. I’ve known you’re Spinneret for months. I figured not to bother you. You’re a local street hero. But when my son came home, telling me how you didn’t hesitate to dive in front of him, to put your life on the line for someone you didn’t even know. He said you saw the gun turn toward him and you jumped in front of him. That piqued my interest.”
She shrugged, “Well yeah… obviously.”
Norman tilted his head slightly. “Obviously? You could have been killed.”
“Well, so could he. And I was a lot more capable of defending myself.” She said plainly. Because that’s what mattered at the end of the day, right? Looking out for the little guy. Defending people who can’t defend themselves.
Norman looked at her for a long moment. “Exactly.” MJ’s mouth closed. Norman turned back toward the screen. “That is exactly why I'm asking you to let me help. The suit the systems are designed to increase your awareness, improve your mobility, and keep you alive while fighting.”MJ laughed, “That sounds expensive. Like everything you’re describing about that thing sounds like it’s at least a few million. And I don’t have that kind of cash.”
“I’m sorry?
“I don’t exactly want to owe you money, or go into generational debt just for some spider suit when I’m doing fine on my own.”
Norman started laughing, actually laughing, “Oh, it was expensive. But don’t worry about that. You wouldn’t owe me anything.”
“Wait, what? Really? Ok, so what’s the catch then? Because you people always have a catch. Because no one would spend millions of dollars on someone they barely know without wanting something in return.”
Norman leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms. “And what exactly do you think I want from you?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” MJ started counting possibilities off on her fingers. “Maybe you want your own personal superhero. Maybe you want me running around protecting Oscorp buildings. Or, maybe one of your competitors pisses you off,f and suddenly I’m getting a police alert that their warehouse is suspiciously full of criminals. So, which one is it? What’s the catch to all of this?”
“There isn't one.”
“Bullshit.” MJ spat.
Norman continued to stare, shrugging his shoulders with pursed lips.
“What, seriously? Like, none at all?”
For a moment, Norman looked back at the footage still frozen on the screen. Spinneret stood there with blood staining the side of her suit, then he looked at MJ as he sat up in his chair, straightening out his back. “You saved Harry. You saved my son when you had absolutely no reason to.” MJ frowned again as he continued, “You keep talking about owing me something, Michelle. If anything, I owe you. You didn't know who Harry was. You didn’t know anything about him, and you didn’t need to. You saw a frightened kid with a gun pointed at him and decided his life was worth risking yours, and that makes you special.”
“Well… yeah. I can’t stand by while innocent people get hurt, and I have the ability to help.
“And now, I have the ability to make sure the person who saved him comes home safely at night.” MJ’s expression tightened. Norman threw his hands up in the air. “I’m not going to pretend I understand why you do this, and, frankly, if Harry told me tomorrow he intended to put on a mask and start jumping off buildings, I'd lock every window in our home. But Harry, nor I, are like you.”
MJ’s expression tightened, pulling her brow together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
It means we can't do what you can do.” Norman gestured toward her. “If I see someone being mugged in an alleyway, I can call the police. But not you; you have the ability to stop a man with a gun before it even goes off. You have abilities that the rest of us simply don't have, and instead of using them for yourself, you've decided to use them to help people. And that’s why I’m offering this to you.” And before MJ even had the chance to respond, Norman was already typing something on the keypad on his desk. A map of New York appeared beside the suit. Dots began appearing across it. Red, yellow, and orange.
MJ stepped closer, examining them. “What are those?”
“Emergency calls. Real people right now who need help. Police dispatches, fire department calls, traffic accidents, reported robberies, assaults. Anything available through emergency channels”
She pointed to it, almost in disbelief, “This is live?”
He nodded. She walked closer. There were dozens. More than dozens. She'd known New York was busy. Of course she did; she heard sirens constantly. But seeing it like this was different, because every dot represented something happening. Someone there hurt or scared or even dying. “A-and, I’d be able to see all of this from the suit?”
“Yes.”
“Wait- so, say I’m in Queens, and there's an armed robbery happening six blocks away, o-or even further. That suit could alert me to that?”
Norman nodded once again, “Yes.”
MJ bit her bottom lip. It was, truly, a tempting offer. And if Norman really meant what he said… not catches or sketchy contracts, just a hand grateful to her for saving his son… how could she truly be mad about it? She looked down at the suit, and yeah… it was nice.
“Oh, I know!” Her head snapped up at him. “How about you try it on, perhaps test it out a little, take it for a test drive?”
“Really?”
“Of course! Maybe that’ll help you decide.”
MJ looked back at the suit, and yeah, she wanted to- really wanted to try it on. Fine.”
Norman's eyebrows lifted. “Fine?”
“Fine,” she repeated, pointing at him. “One test drive. If I hate it, I can bring it back and pretend like none of this weird stalker stuff ever happened, but maybe I’ll change my mind.... You know, assuming this whole thing is some weird trap set up by the government to kill me.” She was only half-joking.
Norman laughed quietly. “You are incredibly suspicious for someone who spends her evenings jumping between rooftops in pajamas.”
Well, she couldn’t really argue with that. She took a step forward, examining the suit. Up close, the suit somehow looked even more ridiculous, not in a bad way, just… ridiculously expensive. The fabric wasn't really fabric at all. It looked almost seamless, dark material broken apart by thin red lines running along the sides. The spider emblem stretched across the chest, sharper and cleaner than the one she'd drawn herself. The lenses were larger than the ones on her current mask, surrounded by tiny mechanical seams she hadn't noticed from across the room.
Norman sighed through his nose. “Would you like to try it or are you going to continue to stare at it?”
MJ grinned. “Yeah.” She picked up the case and retreated to the bathroom. After a few confusing minutes, she finally figured out how to put it on. A few minutes later, MJ stood in front of the mirror inside the private bathroom. And- holyy shit. She turned sideways, then the other way; she raised an arm, bent it. The suit not only felt great, but looked great too. She twisted, squatted, stood back up. And nothing pulled or pinched or even rode up. The material moved with her like it wasn't even there. Her homemade suit wasn't terrible. She'd spent months making adjustments to it. All by hand, she had reinforced the knees, fixed the seams, and added padding where she tended to get hit the most. But this? This was different. MJ pulled the mask up. For half a second, everything went dark. Then the lenses activated. Information flickered across her vision.
BIOMETRIC LINK ESTABLISHED. It read at the top of her lens. For a moment, MJ froze. Maybe she was right to think there was a bomb built into this thing… A second later, A tiny map appeared in the corner of her vision. Then her heart rate, then temperature, current location, hell even how much web fluid she had. She turned her head, and the display moved with her. “Oh, that is so fucking cool.”
“Glad you think so.”
She jumped, looking around the room. “Dude! What the hell!?”
“There are communications built into the suit.”
“You could've warned me!”
“Apologies, would you like to take it out for a swing?”
“A swing? Like outside?”
“Well, you can’t really do much in the bathroom with it.”
Okay, yeah, that was a fair point. MJ looked down at herself again, flexing her fingers experimentally. The material moved perfectly with them, somehow stretching without feeling loose.
“And you're just going to let me leave with it?”
“Michelle.”He sighed, “Come out of the bathroom.”
MJ rolled her eyes, opening the door and walking back into the office. Norman was standing near his desk, tablet in hand. The second she stepped out, he looked her over, not in a weird way, thankfully, but with the kind of careful inspection that reminded her this was probably months of engineering standing in front of him. “So?” he asked.
“It feels great. I-I mean, it’s ok, I’ve worn better, but hey it’s uh- it’s fine.”
“Mhm, are you going to test it?” MJ stared at him for another second before looking toward the massive windows lining his office. She could see almost the entire city from up here. Buildings stretched in every direction beneath her, sunlight reflecting against hundreds of windows. Cars looked like toys from sixty-five floors up. People weren't even people anymore, just tiny moving dots on sidewalks. And somewhere down there were all those alerts she'd seen on Norman's map. She looked down at the web-shooters around her wrist. Her web-shooters had been assembled on her bedroom floor with parts she'd ordered online, scavenged from electronics, or, on one particularly desperate occasion, stolen out of a broken printer her school was throwing away. But these were nice, they felt light, like they weren’t even there. She slid the window open, leading out onto the balcony. She searched on the railing, looking down at the city. The city stretched beneath her. Her stomach did that familiar little flip it always did before a big drop. Not fear exactly. More like her body politely reminding her that human beings were not supposed to stand on the edge of sixty-five-story buildings.
She took a step off, and for one second, there was nothing beneath her, and gravity pulled her down. The wind rushed around her, and it was like the world disappeared. She couldn’t hear the sounds of the city over the wind. Her stomach slammed into her throat. The numbers on the display changed rapidly. 810 FT 774 FT 731 FT- it just kept going and going. Maybe she'd underestimated how high sixty-five floors actually was.
MJ threw her arm forward. Her middle and ring fingers pressed into her palm.
Thwip.
The web fired much, much faster than she was used to. The line shot across the street and attached to the side of another skyscraper. MJ barely had time to process it before the web went taut before her body swung forward.”WOAH!”
She shot between two buildings, instinctively tucked her legs, twisting around the side of the building before releasing. And for a moment, she flew between buildings before another one was rapidly approaching in her line of sight. She reached her arm out and shot another web, attaching it to the building and swinging forward. Over time, she'd gotten good enough that most movements had become instinctive, but there were still calculations happening constantly in the back of her mind. Where to swing, how fast she was going, what was around her, and all those other small details she had to pay attention to constantly. It was like the suit just did the thinking for her. It moved with her, and suddenly she was going faster and more accurately than she ever had before.
MJ released another web and flipped backward, and of course the suit adjusted with her. Her feet landed against the side of a building, and she stuck there perfectly. MJ stared down. Cars moved beneath her, and people crossed the street. She could see everything. But the suit could see more. She focused on the street below. Immediately, tiny outlines appeared around moving vehicles, giving all its information. The model of the car, how fast it was going, even its license plate. She looked toward a police cruiser, and the lenses recognized it instantly. NYPD: EMERGENCY RESPONSE
“What the hell…” She looked farther. A fire truck. FDNY: ACTIVE RESPONSE. Then an ambulance. EMS: ACTIVE RESPONSE
MJ pushed herself away from the wall. “Norman?”
“Yes?”
“Does this thing know where every emergency vehicle is going?”
“Well, yes and no. Only publicly accessible dispatch information and certain emergency frequencies. The system interprets the available data and organizes it for you. So instead of me listening to a police scanner for three hours hoping something happens, the suit can filter relevant incidents based on your location.”
Her eyes widened behind the lens, “Wow, that makes things so much easier.”
She could hear Norman chuckle from the comms, “Yes, well, that was the intention. How about you come back? I think you’ve had a decent run.”
MJ glanced back toward Oscorp Tower in the distance. “Already?”
“You jumped off my building nearly twenty minutes ago.”
“Yeah, but I'm just starting to get the hang of it, but fine.”
MJ pushed away from the wall, falling backward for a few seconds before twisting in the air and firing another web. She could definitely get used to this. The suit made everything feel easier. Not easy, necessarily. She still had to do the actual work, but it was like someone had taken all the little things constantly fighting for space in her brain and organized them. She swung around the side of another building and immediately saw Oscor. She aimed her wrist and swung toward the building. She flung herself up, catching the balcony and flipping onto it.
────𒌐────
She walked through the door once again. She pulled her mask down, her eyes meeting Norman's, who was now standing, arms behind his back with a confident smile. “Well?”
She sighed, looking down at her own hands, the adrenaline not fully passing yet. Her body was still shaking from the rush she had just felt, still, she managed to smile, letting out a shaky smile. “I gotta say… this is pretty cool. But, I still don’t really know.”
Norman frowned, “Why?”
“It’s just…” She hesitated, “I can’t be restricted to crime fighting only when you’re available, what if there’s an emergency and you can’t turn on the suit.”
Norman smiled again, “Oh, well, if that’s your only worry, I can assure you that the suit has already scanned you and recognizes you. It’ll turn on automatically when you put the mask on. As for me, as I said, I have several hobbies, as well as a business to run. Of course, I’m not going to be here all the time.”
“Then, who do I go to about things with the suit? You know, like what if something breaks, or I run out of web fluid, or- “
“Oh, don’t worry about that. I have a guy I specifically chose for you,” Norman looked down at his watch, “Actually, he should’ve been here a while ago-“
Almost as if on cue, the evaluator dinged. MJ pulled her mask up, covering her face. She turned toward Norman, who was smiling widely, “Ah! Here he is, right on time!”
Now, anything could’ve walked out of the elevator. Tony Stark, or maybe even Bruce Banner. Hell, a unicorn could’ve walked out of there,e and MJ would’ve been less shocked than who actually walked out of that elevator. Peter Parker stepped into the office. His brown, curly hair was messy and frizzy, most likely from the wind. His glasses were pushed to his face, covering his brow, doe eyes, and his lips were slightly parted with a pant. His hands clutched to the backpack strapped around his shoulders, an Oscorp ID badge clipped to the left strap. His sneakers squeaked across the marble floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Osborn! I missed my first bus, then traffic was crazy-“ MJ couldn’t help but scrunch her face at the noise of Peter Parker’s naturally high-pitched, squeaky voice. His gaze found her, and he stopped, staring. Almost star-struck like a celebrity was standing right in front of him, “O-oh, you’re Spinneret… hi.” He waved slightly,
MJ waved back with a nod, “Yo.”
Norman smiled, walking toward Peter. He wrapped his arm around him, pulling him close, “Spinneret, this is Peter Parker. He’s one of my personal interns, and worked very closely with me on designing the suit. He knows the ins and outs of it.”
Her eye twitched. Because oh great, wonderful even, that Peter Parker of all people helped design her new super cool suit. Norman, of course, continued to make things worse. “I’m appointing Peter as your official point guy. Think of him like a… guy in the chair. If anything needs to be fixed, or you need any help out on the field, Peter here is going to be the one to help.”
She looked at him again, because Peter fucking Parker of all people was supposed to be her what, ‘guy in the chair’? The same Peter who raised his hand before teachers even finished asking questions, or somehow managed to turn every group discussion into a TED Talk that took up the entire class. The same Peter Parker who spent half of lunch staring at Liz Allen with Ned Leeds as they'd never seen a pretty girl before. And she was supposed to trust him to help her? No, absolutely not.
MJ's lenses narrowed automatically with her expression. Peter noticed. His smile faltered. “Uh…you okay?”
“No.” She said, point blank.
Norman blinked. “No?”
“No.” She repeated more firmly.
Peter's eyebrows pulled together as Spinneret pointed to him. “I don't want him.” Peter's mouth fell open.
Norman stepped in front of him, tilting his head. “And why is that? Do you know his personality?”
“What? I-uh- no! Of course not. I just don’t need to!”
Peter frowned, “Okay then… well, nice to meet you too.”
MJ ignored him. “I don’t need this! I can’t trust a high schooler with this kind of stuff! He’d just slow me down!”
Peter’s frown deepened. MJ felt a twinge of guilt build up in her stomach, because that had sounded a lot harsher out loud than in her head. But still. It was Peter.
“I mean- not, like, personally,” she added quickly. “I'm sure you're very… capable.” Peter blinked.
“Wow. Thanks.”
“You know what I mean.”
Peter shook his head, biting his bottom lip. “I actually don't.” He squinted his eyes, bringing up his shoulders in an exaggerated shurg.
“What are you even gonna do, huh? I’m the one out on the field, not you!”
“Which is exactly why you should have someone helping you who understands the technology. We’ve established that you could use the assistance.”
Something in MJ snapped. “That doesn't have to be him!“
Norman stepped in front of her with a deep sigh, “Spinneret. Peter has worked on this project for months. He’s worked at Oscorp for nearly a year. He has access to our advanced engineering labs, he's assisted with several prototype projects, and, as I said, he worked directly on your suit.”
MJ looked at Peter, who was standing behind Norma, adjusting the strap of his backpack with a frown, actively avoiding eye contact with the vigilante. He seemed considerably less excited to meet Spinneret now. Good job, MJ, she had just crushed the poor nerd's dreams within thirty seconds.
Norman continued. “He helped develop the interface you were just praising.”
Spinneret shook her head, “Uh, no, no, no. I wasn’t praising it-“
“You called it, and I quote, ‘so fucking cool.’”
Peter's lips twitched. MJ pointed at him. “Don't.” His mouth immediately flattened with a single nod.
“Peter also designed a significant portion of the web-shooter upgrades,” Norman added with a confident smirk, looking down at Peter with a prideful spark in his eyes. MJ couldn’t help but notice the slight blush forming across Peter’s cheeks, clearly a little flustered.
She stared at him, “Wait, seriously? That was you?”
He nodded shyly, adjusting his backpack straps so they were tighter. MJ frowned from behind the mask, because if she didn’t feel like a jerk before, she definitely did now. “So, the pressure thing? Was that… your idea?” She hesitated, asking.
Peter nodded again, “Y-yeah. Well, I just noticed on the videos online, there was some delay, and they seemed kinda bulky, so I-“
Her eyes narrowed, “Oh, so now you’re insulting my web shooters?”
His head shot up like a deer caught in headlights, “W-what? No, of course not! Your web-shooters are incredible!” She looked at him, his eyes meeting hers behind the lens, “W-well, assuming you built them, that is.”
She nodded, “I did.”
His eyes seemed to light up. He moved from behind Norman, so she was only standing a few feet away from here, “Woah, wait, really? How did you build them? Wait, what did you even use for the web fluid? My guess is a high-tensile, quick-drying chemical compound, like maybe cyanoacrylate? You know the stuff they use to make glue, but yours would mimic real spider silk-“
“Peter, please.” Norman interrupted, silencing his intern.
Peter blushed, closing his mouth and looking away. “So-sorry, just got carried away. It’s interesting stuff, you know?”
Oh. That wasn't what she'd expected. Peter took a few steps back her, apparently remembering she'd just spent the last two minutes rejecting his existence and stopping a safe distance away. “I've been trying to reverse-engineer parts of the design from footage, but there's only so much you can figure out from videos. Like the trigger mechanism? I couldn't figure out how you got it that sensitive without accidental discharge.”
Spinneret stared at him, “That’s actually pretty smart.”
Peter smiled softly, “Thanks.”
MJ really looked at him, tilting her head slightly, her brows furrowing from behind the mask as her eyes narrowed. Peter wasn't looking at her the way he did at school, he barely noticed her existence, but everything he did irritated her. If she’d get a ninety-six, Peter got a ninety-seven. He answered every question MJ already knew the answer to. He always managed to finish all his labs before her. And constantly, the bees were stinging at her stomach every time he so much as glanced at her.
But right now? It was different. Peter was looking at Spinneret like he genuinely thought she was impressive. And he had absolutely no idea who was underneath the mask. Would he still be impressed if he knew? Or just disappointed? MJ shifted uncomfortably away from him, averting her gaze.
Norman apparently decided that was his opening. “You don't have to like Peter.”
“Hey,” Peter muttered.
“You don't,” Norman repeated. “You simply need someone you can contact when something goes wrong. He doesn’t have to be your best friend, he’s simply here to do his job and help.”
MJ crossed her arms again, eyeing down Peter, who shifted uncomfortably under her stern gaze. Norman decided to interject again, “Peter isn't here to control you. He isn't your boss, and neither am I.” MJ raised an eyebrow at that. “He isn't going to tell you which crimes to stop or where you're allowed to go. He's here because if you're three miles from Oscorp and your web-shooter jams, you shouldn't have to swing home on one arm and spend four hours repairing it yourself. And if the heads-up display malfunctions,” Norman continued, gesturing to his young intern, “Peter can troubleshoot it remotely. If you run out of cartridges, he'll have replacements. If the emergency system isn't working, he'll fix it. If you need information while you're in the field, he can access it faster than you can while fighting someone.”
MJ looked at Peter again. He gave her a small, awkward smile. She looked away with a huff. She had never needed help before, and she certainly never planned on asking for it. The fewer people who knew her identity, the less risk there was of someone betraying her. Nobody had to worry about her, and in turn she didn’t have to worry about anyone else, and the last person she wanted to worry about was Peter Parker. But, at the same time, she couldn't deny how much easier that twenty-minute swing had been and was apparently Peter’s design. And Norman was right about something else too.; If she was going to use his technology, eventually something would break. And apparently Peter knew how to fix it.
Damn it. She glanced back up at him. “Okay. Fine, you win.”
Peter blinked. And slowly, a smile formed upon realization, “W-wait, seriously? You’re gonna let me do this.”
MJ hesitated. “I’ll let you try… But don’t make me regret it!”
Peter shook his head eagerly, “I promise I won’t!” He stepped forward again, grabbing her arm and shaking it excitedly, rattling her whole body, “Thank you so much, Spinneret, o-or Ma’am..! What, what should I call you?”
MJ pulled her arm back, “Just Spinneret is fine. Oh, and this changes nothing by the way.”
Peter hesitated, his brows furrowing with a frown, “Changes what exactly?”
“About me not liking this arrangement.” “Oh.” Peter shrugged. “That's fine…I guess.”
“You don't care that I don't like you?”
Peter pushed his glasses up his nose. “I mean, a little. You're Spinneret. I thought meeting you would go significantly better than this. But I get it, you probably weren’t expecting this.”
MJ gritted her teeth. Seriously, did he ever shut up? He almost laughed.
“But you don't have to like me,” Peter continued, throwing his hands up in the air, “I’m cool keeping our relationship professional.”
That wiped any amount of amusement from her face. He said it so simply. To some degree, she respected that he had the expectation that she owed him friendship because he'd helped build something for her, or that she even had to like him. Then she nodded. “Fine.”
Peter smiled. “Fine.”
Norman let out a shaken sigh. “Well, if that settles that, then. Spinneret, it’s been a pleasure, and I look forward to working with you.” He turned to Peter. “Let’s get going; we still have things to work on, and considering someone was late.” He smirked, ruffling Peter's hair slightly. Peter playfully pushed his hand away. Norman began ushering Peter toward the elevator. He spared her one more glance, “See you around?”
She nodded again, “Yup, see you.” She turned to leave, thwiping toward the still open window. She leaped out from the balcony and attached to a nearby building, swinging away, not bothering to exchange another glance toward him. Because, somehow, against every instinct in her body, Michelle Jones had just agreed to trust Peter Parker with Spinneret's life. This was either going to be the best decision she'd ever made… or an absolute fucking disaster. It would most likely be the latter.