Work Text:
“What’re you doin’ here?”
MJ jumped at the gruff voice that suddenly appeared behind her. She turned with a start, freezing slightly at the sight of a bloodied and bruised Punisher standing opposite of her. “I-I um,”
Nine hours had passed since the incident. Nine hours since news broke of Spider-Man’s critical injuries, after Frank Castle rushed him through the doors of Bellevue Hospital.
Nine hours since memories began to tease the surface of her mind in fragments she couldn’t shape, no matter how hard she tried.
It was a sudden decision, one she would later say was well thought out but was obviously not. In actuality, it was one of her more terrible ideas in recent years, but there was no talking herself out of it once she set it in motion.
When news broke of Spider-Man being shot, of Peter being shot, MJ did what most of New York would do and attached herself to the news broadcast, waiting, hoping for any updates.
It was late. Or early, depending who you’d ask. Hours had passed since the city was frozen, and she remained in her seat on the couch. Ned pulled himself to bed awhile ago, leaving her alone with her racing thoughts. There was continuous news coverage about the web-slingers condition: critical, still in surgery, no change, were the words that repeated on the bottom of the screen.
Every few minutes or so, a new clip someone caught on their phone would grace her muted screen. First it was just of the chaos right after the freeze, then of people asking others what happened.
One person even caught sight of the Punisher carrying a too limp and bloodied Spider-Man into the hospital. That’s what finally pushed her to turn the tv off, what drove her to go see him for herself.
It wasn’t hard.
It also wasn’t easy.
Once in the hospital, it didn’t take her long to deduce where they would take him based on the actions of the hospital staff, and there she hovered around the area waiting, listening. And when the nurses on the floor were otherwise occupied, MJ stepped up to Peter’s doorway.
She wanted to go in.
Deep down, she needed to go in. Right?
To see with her own eyes that he was okay.
To see… what?
MJ wasn’t sure now that she was there.
She twisted the broken necklace between her thumb and forefinger as she shook her head. “This was a mistake,” she muttered, slowly backing up in an effort to escape to someplace else.
That’s when Frank spoke up again. “Why’d you come?”
“I-” MJ started, but the words failed to come to her. She passively knew about the Punisher’s dealings, but seeing the man up close, knowing little of his history with Peter, she was stumped. Finally she said, “I thought, coming here and seeing him for myself would-”
“Yeah, I know,” Frank said, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He leaded against the wall as he checked the hall to his left and right. “The docs… they aren’t sure when, or if, he’ll wake up. You got something to say? This may be your only chance,”
“I don’t know what to say,” MJ said looking into the room before returning her gaze to Frank. “Or if he’d even listen to me after what I-”
“You know what? Sometimes… just being there for someone is enough,” Frank said with the faintest smile. “I’ve seen the kid take some hard hits these last few years. But this? He’ll pull through. And he’ll understand,” Then Frank left MJ alone in the hall.
With new resolve, MJ turned back toward Peter’s room, took a deep breath, and stepped across the threshold.
The room was cold. Machines beeped and hissed over the sounds of her shoes tapping with each step she took up until she stood right by his bedside.
The bruises on Peter’s face were prominent and angry. The mask fogged with each exhale his body struggled with. The cuts that littered his face, his arms, were held closed by stitches and tape, and stood out over his multicolored flesh. There was even still some blood in his hair. The blanket pulled up to his chest didn’t cover the red stain that had begun to spread across his hospital gown.
MJ stood there for a minute, just watching him breathe, just listening to the steady confirmation that his heart was still beating. Off in the distance, she could hear nurses making their rounds. She was out of time.
Wordlessly, MJ strode over to a nearby table that was slowly collecting flowers and what appeared to be a child’s drawing. Reaching into her purse, she removed a single piece of paper and gently sent it on the table with the rest of the items, standing it up facing toward Peter so he could see it when he woke up.
With one final look at Peter’s prone figure, just to check, one more time, MJ slipped out into the hall before the nurse arrived.
She had just called the elevator when she felt someone looking at her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Frank, standing in the hall protectively outside Peter’s room. He tipped his head toward her before stepping out of sight. Twisting the black dahlia around once more, MJ stepped into the elevator with a new hope that Peter was going to be okay.
FIN