Categories > Comics > Spider-Man
Even he knew better than to just show up. Not out of the blue, after so long without any contact. Not after what he did.
The memory of it— how badly it hurt, how much had been his fault —was almost enough to stop him in his tracks anyway. Or at least give him a hell of a pause. He broke her heart, after all. Let her down, wasn’t there when she needed him. The woman he loved, that he’d promised to love for all his life, and he let her down.
But after everything that happened… something in him resolved to it, fixed on it. A huge part of it was Miles; the way the kid had looked to him, needed him. As a friend, as a mentor, as somebody to show him the way. That somebody could have that kind of faith in him shifted something inside him, something that had been laying in a crumpled heap of stale pizza and sadness for the last several years.
And then, there’d been seeing Mary Jane. Of course she wasn’t his Mary Jane, he didn’t forget that; she was a dozen years younger than his, if he could even still call her that. But that made it even more wracking somehow, to see her how she looked before everything had gone to hell between them. And the way she’d carried herself, gracious and composed even with the fresh grief glittering in her eyes, gutted him with the bright blade of everything he’d lost—a Mary Jane who still loved Peter Parker, and had loved him until the day he died.
He couldn’t just let that go anymore. Not after that moment, and not after Miles had believed he could do better.
He typed out the beginnings of a text message, then stopped. “Idiot,” he growled, then touched her name to make the call.
It rang three times, to the point where he began mentally composing the voicemail.
“Hey, MJ. It’s me. Can we—?”
“Hey, MJ. It’s Peter. I don’t know how to say this—”
“Mary Jane, it’s Peter… Peter Parker. Please don’t hang up—”
He was startled to hear her voice come through. “Peter?”
He breathed out. “Hey. MJ. Hey.”
He braced himself for— he wasn’t sure what. Annoyance. Disdain. But at worst she was cool, polite. More than anything, she sounded confused. “Is— everything all right?”
It had been forever since they last spoke. “Yeah. Yeah— it—” He considered explaining the events of the last few days, but no sensible words would come. “It is now.”
“I’m sorry?”
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I know— I’m sorry. I know it’s been a while. But— if you’re not busy— if it’s okay with you—”
“Peter,” she cut through his rambling. “What’s going on?”
He heaved in another deep breath. “Can we talk?”
She was quiet so long he almost thought the connection broke.
The memory of it— how badly it hurt, how much had been his fault —was almost enough to stop him in his tracks anyway. Or at least give him a hell of a pause. He broke her heart, after all. Let her down, wasn’t there when she needed him. The woman he loved, that he’d promised to love for all his life, and he let her down.
But after everything that happened… something in him resolved to it, fixed on it. A huge part of it was Miles; the way the kid had looked to him, needed him. As a friend, as a mentor, as somebody to show him the way. That somebody could have that kind of faith in him shifted something inside him, something that had been laying in a crumpled heap of stale pizza and sadness for the last several years.
And then, there’d been seeing Mary Jane. Of course she wasn’t his Mary Jane, he didn’t forget that; she was a dozen years younger than his, if he could even still call her that. But that made it even more wracking somehow, to see her how she looked before everything had gone to hell between them. And the way she’d carried herself, gracious and composed even with the fresh grief glittering in her eyes, gutted him with the bright blade of everything he’d lost—a Mary Jane who still loved Peter Parker, and had loved him until the day he died.
He couldn’t just let that go anymore. Not after that moment, and not after Miles had believed he could do better.
He typed out the beginnings of a text message, then stopped. “Idiot,” he growled, then touched her name to make the call.
It rang three times, to the point where he began mentally composing the voicemail.
“Hey, MJ. It’s me. Can we—?”
“Hey, MJ. It’s Peter. I don’t know how to say this—”
“Mary Jane, it’s Peter… Peter Parker. Please don’t hang up—”
He was startled to hear her voice come through. “Peter?”
He breathed out. “Hey. MJ. Hey.”
He braced himself for— he wasn’t sure what. Annoyance. Disdain. But at worst she was cool, polite. More than anything, she sounded confused. “Is— everything all right?”
It had been forever since they last spoke. “Yeah. Yeah— it—” He considered explaining the events of the last few days, but no sensible words would come. “It is now.”
“I’m sorry?”
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I know— I’m sorry. I know it’s been a while. But— if you’re not busy— if it’s okay with you—”
“Peter,” she cut through his rambling. “What’s going on?”
He heaved in another deep breath. “Can we talk?”
She was quiet so long he almost thought the connection broke.
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