Five Issues In Search of an Arc 4

Mary Jane didn't feel like an idiot very often, but the weeks wore on and the memory of thinking Peter would be sated by playing dress-up for a little while and bringing in a few litterbugs rang out as loud as a clarion call. Because now she was in the midst of Spider-mania.

The press had cute little graphics they put up when they were talking about him. The D-list of reality TV royalty took up positions on Spider-Man, for and against. Kevin Sorbo said he was a return to American masculinity and exactly the kind of superhero who would flourish under a Trump presidency. Elizabeth Banks said it was suspicious that someone who fought so many men with guns refused to come out against gun violence. Sabrina Carpenter danced with someone dressed as Spider-Man as part of her Netflix concert and, perhaps inevitably, the director of Terrifier took advantage of no one having copyrighted Spider-Man to make a horror movie about Spider-Man killing conspicuously aged and frequently naked teenagers.

And through it all, Mary Jane thought with increasing bitterness: he just needs to fill up one more cell block at Ryker's. That'll settle his issues.

Katy Perry announced a Spider-Woman tour where she'd be wearing nothing but transparent PVC and strategically placed webbing. Mary Jane threw away a few of her albums and hated herself a few days later, when she found herself humming Teenage Dream. 

It was all… right next door. That was the epicenter. She felt like she was living next to a nuclear power plant, or better yet, an alien landing site. Something inexplicable, impossible to categorize, defying all explanation, but right there. How could she be right at the heart of this storm and hold still? What was she supposed to do when destiny lived beside her and sometimes she accidentally got his mail?

Mary Jane might not've been one for grace under pressure, but she could manage normalcy. She liked to dance, she liked to party, and that went whether her father had left or her sister had come home with a fresh bruise on her face or some nice, normal boy had decided he could fight monsters instead of staying a walk-on role in her life story.

So when the Vulture threatened to steal a priceless diamond being escorted by the police straight from the airport to the Park Avenue Jewelry Exchange, of course MJ was all in with the gang from school, who wanted to watch the procession and see if he could actually rob it. Maybe he'd get into a fight with Ant-Man or those new X-Men that were maybe urban legend or maybe real.

Mary Jane didn't think about Peter at all. This was normal. It was the kind of thing she'd do back when Ben Parker was alive, when the biggest secret she kept was whether her bra was padded or not.

So there she was, her and a bunch of teenagers with nothing to do and the self-employed thirtysomethings and the podcasters trying to be the news and the news there to tell forty-year-olds what the podcasters were doing. They lined the streets, the police kept them in line, and it almost felt like a block party. Especially when the buskers got in on the act, playing whatever it took to get some coins out of all the people crowding the sidewalks. 

Mary Jane felt like dancing. She felt like she was dancing, even just standing there, listening to the music and feeling the admiring gazes caress her outfit and hearing some woman with blue hair complain that all this security could pay for food to Guatemalan orphans instead. The city was alive. She was alive. And Peter wasn't so big that she had to be in his shadow: 'the girl who lived next door to Spider-Man'.

She saw Peter then, standing on the fence around a tree, taking pictures of the crowd. She looked at him and she just knew the costume was on underneath his zip neck sweater and chinos. She wondered how anyone could not notice it.

She walked up to him before she knew she was doing it. "You know he's a supervillain, right?"

"Lower your voice," Peter said, and despite her irritation, Mary Jane did—pressing close to him so he could still hear her over the din.

"This isn't some guy in a ski mask. He can kill you." 

Up close, Peter smelled nice. Cologne, but not a lot. It was crisp, but subtle. Mostly the clean smell of soap, but a hint of brine, sea air, and she wondered if he could smell her too. A head taller than her, it wouldn't be at all hard for Peter to smell the shampoo on her hair. She looked up as if daring him to do it while she watched.

"You don't have to worry about me," Peter told her. "I worry enough for both of us."

"Then why do it? Haven't you busted enough jaws yet? Can you really still be that angry? You have your aunt, you have colleges stuffing your mailbox with acceptance letters—"

"I'm not angry," Peter told her, which didn't all the way convince her, but at least he was trying to be sincere.

"Then why do it? Let the Fantastic Four handle it. The Mighty Thor…"

"Look around." Despite his words, Peter kept looking into her eyes. His were brown and sharp and Mary Jane wondered if he was at all impressed with hers, how green they were, just like a redhead should have. "The Fantastic Four… none of them are here. I'm here. And if the Vulture causes trouble, I can stop him."

"You think," Mary Jane corrected him.

Peter still didn't look away, which didn't surprise Mary Jane, but should've. When did Peter Parker become the kind of guy who could look her in the eye and say even three words to her? "I'd give myself better odds than anyone else here."

"So that makes it your responsibility? Just random chance?" 

He shook his head. "Not random. I'm standing out here waiting, aren't I?"

Then he did a funny thing. He put his hand on her cheek. She didn't feel so… But of course, he'd done that before. Pulled people out of burning buildings. Snatched guns away before they could fire. He knew how to make people feel like everything would be alright. Because with him, it was true.

"I'd rather it be me here than no one. When someone is needed, there can't be no one there, Mary Jane. There just can't be."