MJ was bored.
It had been nine days, three hours, and six - no, seven - minutes since she'd been shot, and in that entire amount of time she had done nothing but watch TV and sleep.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so lazy. Nope - it would have been the summer after eighth grade when she'd caught pneumonia.
But even then she could do work - the doctors said she should try not to move her arms too much, to let the wound heal as much as possible and so that the scarring wouldn't be as bad. Which meant no writing.
This wasn't a huge problem, as her journal had been lost with the rest of her belongings, but... that wasn't really the point.
The point was that she was useless and helpless and hated it.
The point was that everyone in her life (her parents, doctors, police, the therapist she was forced to go to) was tiptoeing around her like she was going to break at any moment.
A freak accident, they said. Investigation ongoing, they said.
MJ had been forced to tell them about the attempted muggings and stabbing. Which had led to a lot of shouting. She was pretty sure she was now grounded for life.
After that, the police had changed their tactics: stalker, they said. Or just a criminal angry at being thwarted by Spiderman so many times, who had noticed that he had saved MJ a few times. Out for a win, out to prove that he was better than Spiderman.
MJ didn't know what was the truth. Everything was mixed up in her head - the moments after she was shot combining with the endless fragments of dreams and snatches of reality in the days after.
All she does know is that she hasn't seen Spiderman since. Besides all of the clips of the accident posted to social media that is - not the shooting, but the moments where Spiderman had been there.
When he'd held her in his arms. When the EMT's practically had to tear her away from him. And, caught on camera by a particularly close bystander, the moments where he'd begged her to stay alive.
Please, MJ, he'd said, his voice breaking. Please wake up.
Her face was all over the internet - as well as her name and any and all other information people could dig up on her. They were calling her Spidey's girlfriend.
Her parents were furious. In fact, all of the media attention was what had led her to confess her other scrapes with danger - told when she was questioned wether she'd ever met Spiderman before.
It was all ridiculous, and she'd told them as such, but deep down she couldn't help but wonder: how had Spiderman known to come save her all of those times. Very quickly, too, as if he knew where she was.
But then she would shake it off as ridiculousness, because why would Spiderman pay attention to her?
Her room had become sort of a prison. If prisons were fluffy and warm and full of get well cards and slightly creepy teddy bears.
Seriously, did all of her parent's friends still think she was 8? Not that she had anything against stuffies (she still treasured Mr. Foo Foo, her teddy bear since she was born) but that didn't mean she wanted 10 more.
All of her flat surfaces were covered with the things, which made it hard to anything useful, like tidy her room (which was something she actually could manage in her invalid state).
She thought some days that her parent's would prefer it if she just never did anything again, if they could just keep her there, safe, forever.
MJ didn't exactly realise she was depressed. Then again, it wasn't a dramatic thing; but then again, when was it?
She just sort of fell into it, like one falls into bed, or out of an airplane when skydiving. She just let go. It wasn't unnormal, her doctor said. After an injury like hers... her body was young and healed quickly. But her mind remembered.
He suggested a therapist. MJ went, but she didn't talk. She just sat there and drank tea and stared out the window at the rain. She kept it together for school (obviously, it would have to be the apocalypse for her to let her grades drop). She didn't mind school, really. Homework felt comfortable and safe. When she was doing work, she had a routine. She knew what was expected of her. She had her small friend group, and that was okay. She wasn't noticed by anyone else, so she didn't have to interact with anyone else.
But of course, things have to change eventually - even comfortable routines, and being depressed (but in a full-of-denial sort of way) and even though MJ didn't think she needed anything new, she was wrong. Of course.
But how was she to know that?
Peter
It had taken Peter longer than it probably should have to build up the courage to talk to MJ. As Spiderman, of course - he wasn't quite ready to have that conversation with her yet.
He'd debated for a long time how to approach her - what to say, how to keep himself from messing it all up.
He really didn't want to mess it all up.
But eventually, he decided that he had to get down to it and just talk to her - and make sure that no one else was there. The news coverage was a little crazy and he honestly felt bad for it. He hadn't realized anyone had been filming, but of course, they had been. He didn't have any privacy these days, but it was hard to care anymore. He was used to it.
He just felt bad that MJ had gotten dragged into it.
She was okay, though, he reassured himself. She was okay.
Peter nervously touched his face, making sure once more that his mask was in place. Even though he could feel it against his skin, and he knew it was there, the idea of MJ finding out his identity made him so nervous that he'd checked it approximately five times since leaving the apartment.
He was worried that she would be disappointed when she found out. He didn't know how to tell her that who he was at school wasn't really him. The shyness and everything - that wasn't how he acted when he was Spiderman. That wasn't even how he acted when he was alone with Ned, or when he was at home with May. There were just so many rules at school, and roles people had to play - and somehow, his role had become shy, soft, nerdy boy. Most of that was true. But the shy part... wasn't. Peter was confident, sometimes to much. He was cocky and he liked to joke around.
Somehow it was just harder to be that person at school. And he had no idea how MJ would take it.
He took in a deep breath, then swung softly onto her windowsill and knocked on her window.
She looked up from the book she was reading and gaped at him for a moment, eyes wide with shock. He smiled, widening his eyes so the expression would show up better through his mask. That was one of the downsides - communication was harder when you couldn't really use facial expressions.
MJ stood up carefully, and Peter could see the bandages poking out from under her shirt. But she didn't seem to be in any pain, and she smiled at him with clear eyes. She pushed the window open, Peter leaning backwards so it didn't hit him.
"Hi," she said softly.
"Hey," he said, putting a hand out to balance himself. "Can I come in?"
"Sure," she said, moving out of the way. He swung down, feet hitting the carpet softly. She shuffled back to her bed, sitting down and fidgeting with the hair tie on her wrist.
"I'm glad - "
"Thank-you - " MJ blushed. "You go first."
"I'm glad you're okay," Peter said. "I was worried."
"I know. I mean, I've seen the videos. I mean - why do you care so much?" MJ burst out. "Also, thank - you for saving me. Again."
"First off, you're welcome. Again." Peter smiled. MJ just stared at the floor. "And secondly, I like you. And... I think maybe you like me too."
"What would make you think that?" MJ said defensively.
"I - well, funny story actually but I'm pretty sure I found your journal. It was enlightening, to say the least."
"You... found my journal." MJ crosses her arms over her chest, wincing when the movement pulls at her still-healing stitches. "And you read it?"
"I needed to find out whose it was," Peter pointed out, smiling. MJ sighed and turned, eyes meeting his.
"I suppose," she said guardedly. Peter waited, but that seemed to be all she had to say. He'd expected... Well, he didn't exactly know. But he'd expected more than this.
"It's just that I don't even know anything about you," she blurts out, hands twisting at her sleeves.
"I can't tell you who I am, MJ," he says, hoping she understands. "Not yet."
"I know," she says. "I know. I just wish..."
"Yeah," Peter says, completely understanding.
Silence fills the room. Peter searches for something to say, something he can give her - some piece of information he can trust her with.
"I can trust you, right?" He looks at her, steady and slow.
"Yes," she says simply, voice certain.
"You cannot tell this to anyone, MJ. It..."
"I swear," she says. "I swear I won't."
"My father..." he says, trailing off. "I guess you could say I inherited this whole superhero thing from him."
MJ stares at him, clues like puzzle pieces fitting together in her head. "No," she says, eyes wide.
Peter smiles at her, not unkindly. "Yes," he says. "Yeah, MJ."
"Not..." she says, not wanting to say it out loud in case she's wrong. "Not Tony Stark?"
Peter nods. "The one and only Ironman," he says, and he can tell that she hears the trace of bitterness in his voice. So many secrets - sometimes it felt like secrets were his whole life.
"Wow," she says, leaning back. "I mean - it makes so much sense."
"You're smart," he said. "I almost thought you would've already guessed."
"Yeah, well..." she says, trailing off, and Peter seems content to let the silence stretch. After a period where only the faint sounds of their breathing fill the air, Peter seems to start.
"It's late," he says, looking at something MJ can't see. "I should go."
"Yeah," she says.
Peter pauses, gathers his courage. "Can - can I have your number? So we can text? Maybe... get to know each other a little better?"
MJ smiles. "I'd like that." She rips off a small piece of lined paper from one of her journals, writes her number on it in neat, dark ink.
Peter takes it carefully, tucking it into his suit. He ducks his head, feeling bubbly and light and happy inside.
"Goodnight, MJ," he says, opening the window again.
"Goodnight," she says, smiling.
He pulls himself out of the window and swings away, allowing himself one last glance backwards, to where MJ stands, smiling, in the middle of her bedroom.
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