Bags of Peanuts in Pittsburgh 2

“I love you, Mary Jane,” Peter whispered against her cheek. “So much.”

MJ kissed him, her arms around his muscular shoulders, as solid as a redwood. She’d never felt so close to anyone in her entire life. I never thought one little ring on my finger would make such a difference to how it felt, but things have really changed here. I guess even my body knows a little more than I do.

“So, do I give an encore?” Peter quipped. “Or settle for riotous applause?”

Mary Jane smirked against his lips, almost kissing her, but not quite. She could tell he didn’t want to stop kissing her and she didn’t want him to either. “Tiger, I think that one time—”

“Two,” Peter corrected her. “I mean, if you’re counting.”

Mary Jane blushed flaming red, something only Peter seemed to be able to make her do. And they had thought of letting this boy onto the Avengers… “—is enough for the romantic ambiance of an airline bathroom. If some tourist out there thinks to get his camera out of his carry-on and get the right picture, I can forget about modeling for any of the classier agencies. Besides, if I’m cooped up in here much longer, I’m going to end up with back problems!”

“Try hanging upside down from a web. It always works out for me.”

But he dutifully untangled himself from her, washing up at the sink, splashing his face with water. He slipped out and Mary Jane waited a few minutes, freshening her make-up, before she followed him back to their seats. 

She didn’t think anyone had noticed their little sleight-of-hand, or how affectionate they were for the rest of the flight. Mary Jane half-slept with her head on Peter’s shoulder, hand in his, playing with his fingers and the sleek muscles of his forearm. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d been intimate since that seismic shift in their relationship, Mary Jane telling Peter she knew his secret, which had suddenly made their standing with each other all the more real and all the more frightening. There had been certain affections that weren’t taught in Sunday school, but it had all been relentlessly casual. 

And, looking back on it, Mary Jane could see that determination that they were just friends with a particular sexual chemistry was the exact opposite of casual. They’d really been fists clenched and teeth gritted to fool themselves. Actually refraining from what their bodies wanted, their own urges, in order to keep things casual. Which hadn’t at all been the case just now…

Mary Jane didn’t exactly regret keeping their ‘relationship’ on a low simmer. Things had still been murky between Peter and the Black Cat. She knew Peter hadn’t cheated—he wasn’t the type—but there’d still been something there with Felicia for the longest time. And even though Peter didn’t like to talk about it, MJ had teased out that he’d had a casual ‘thing’ with the Cat. Which she wasn’t worried about continuing. Peter had chosen her, in about the most definitive way imaginable. She just hoped the thing with Black Cat had really been as casual as it seemed, on both their parts, and not the kind of ‘casual’ it had been with her and Peter.

Now that she was—and felt like—a Parker in all but name, Mary Jane wondered if she’d be afflicted by the Parker Luck. But the plane made its landing without drama, they retrieved their luggage without complications, and caught a cab back to Mary Jane’s place. Peter would be able to web-swing from there to his apartment, which would save a few dimes.

Mary Jane was quiet on the drive. She couldn’t help but think of that ‘opening salvo’ on the plane—Peter’s body pressing close to hers in the cab’s backseat did nothing to keep out those delicious memories. Now that she wasn’t running away from her connection to Peter, but embracing it wholeheartedly, Mary Jane wondered how much more intense their love life could become. 

She laid her hand down, lightly but significantly, on Peter’s thigh as the vibrations of the cab’s chugging engine passed through them both. She’d decided to seduce him once they were at her place, if such an easy action deserved the name. It was time to sort out who would wear the pants in their marriage—preferably, no one.

She should’ve known something was up when she went through her hotel lobby. It seemed like the doorman was calling out to her, but Mary Jane was too beguiled by Peter to pay much attention. If it was an autograph he wanted, she could give it to him later. It wasn’t like she would be spending the rest of her life up in her apartment—tempting as that prospect might be, with her newfound company.

They got into the elevator, came to her floor, reached her door, and the penny dropped. The door had been replaced, with old police tape at the corners. Mary Jane had lived in Peter’s wake long enough to understand the chain of events. Someone had knocked down the door, making the apartment a crime scene. The management had neither wanted to have a trashed room obvious to their clientele or one of their tenant’s private space visible to anyone who passed by outside. So they’d replaced the door—Mary Jane hoped that was all that’d happened.

It wasn’t. The Haitian concierge came running, no doubt informed of the situation by the doorman, and quick to try and keep Mary Jane’s patronage—or at least keep the hotel from being sued.

“I must apologize, Miss Watson—I must, must apologize—some ‘orrible person, they come in through the window, the police were called—thankfully, luckily, you were not there when it happened…”

Mary Jane felt Peter’s arm coming comfortingly around her shoulders, moving to lend her his strength. Mary Jane felt the urge to brush him off, the automatic response that she had enough strength of her own, but in a moment, the urge passed. She enjoyed having someone with her whose first thought was genuinely for her feelings. It made those emotions seem realer, not something out of whack.

“Open the door,” she said. “Let me see.”

“Of course, Miss Watson. Right away.”

Retrieving the key to the new door from his pocket, the concierge unlocked it and then gallantly drew the door aside for Mary Jane. She felt like giggling at his sense of honor, considering he was showing her that her place had been trashed, completely trashed. It was like a bomb had gone off. No wonder the door had been knocked down. One stray gesture of—whatever this was—had to have been enough to rip it right off its hinges.

The window with its picturesque view of the city had turned into a gaping, gory hole in the wall—scraps of police tape trying to warn off anyone from falling out into seemingly miles of open air.

“Could you give us a minute?” Mary Jane asked the concierge. “I guess as long as I’ve got my luggage with me, might as well pack a few things…”

The concierge left them alone. Peter set down Mary Jane’s two heavy suitcases and unslung the backpack that had served as his own overnight bag, unencumbering himself so that he could better wrap his arms around MJ.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” Peter glanced around. “This looks like one of Smythe’s Spider-Slayers. He tracked me to Pittsburgh, I wouldn’t be surprised if he followed me here and that’s why—“

Mary Jane put a finger to his lips. “I said this wasn’t your fault. And I’ve seen the state of your apartment. You’re not a good enough maid to clean this up. Look around. Let’s see if there’s anything we can salvage.”

“Alright. Stay away from the edge. You’re not as good with heights as I am.”

Mary Jane bit back a retort. It was true. She wasn’t. Alex Honnold wasn’t as good with heights as he was. 

She picked her way through the rubble to the kitchen, where the plastic bag she’d stuffed full of other plastic bags from the grocery store finally came in handy. She peeled off one for herself and one for Peter. 

“Here.” She gave it to him, started filling her own with what little had escaped the destruction. She wasn’t a very sentimental girl and even if she was, there were few childhood memories she would want mementos of, but it still hurt to have had someone come into her space and so casually ruined everything in sight. Had he even cared that he was putting her out on the street, upending her entire existence, violating the sanctuary every goddamned human being was entitled to in their own shitty home?

Mary Jane felt a bolt of anger towards Smythe and all the others. Not that she ever would be a big fan of anyone whose career involved trying to harm her Peter, but they really were utterly craven assholes… not just some other team in a big game of Moral Relativity Capture the Flag. She was glad Peter put so much of his time and energy into stopping them from breathing free air. The bastards.

“Next time Smythe breaks out of jail, please hit him really hard,” Mary Jane said, picking up a broken honeypot and then tossing it aside. It nearly fell out the broken wall. She’d need to watch for that—all she needed was to brain some passerby on the sidewalk and get sued.

“Well, he’s quadriplegic, so no, but I will be very hurtful with the quips. It’ll get dark.”

Her closet had taken a direct hit, but her dresser had only caved in, protecting the garments inside. Once she picked them out of the wreckage, she’d have something to wear. Much as Peter might like her taking up nudism. 

“I’ve got a check coming in from my last shoot, but I’ll have to wait for it to clear before I put down a deposit on a new apartment. Pumping the brakes on my career to check in on my family threw a pretty big rock into my revenue stream.”

“I’d float you the money for a hotel in the meantime,” Peter said from the other room. He came in to join her with a bag of silverware. MJ guessed the plates surviving was too much to hope for. “But I spent the last of the war chest on a microscope.”

Mary Jane grinned, charmed, and kissed him. “You’re adorable.”

“Really, I did,” Peter protested. “It had sentimental value.”

“So did this place,” Mary Jane said, gesturing all around her. “Or at least, I thought it did. I had some nice clothes, some nice jewelry, some expensive perfume. I thought it was a kind of security—like a piton or something. I’ve climbed this high, so I can tie a rope around myself and prove to everyone, prove to myself, that there’s no falling back to where I used to be. But it’s just stuff. I honestly don’t miss it. It was convenient, not a part of me.”

“You’re allowed to feel crappy about an inconvenience,” Peter told her. “It doesn’t mean you’re spiritually enlightened if you don’t get annoyed at this stuff. I mean, this isn’t exactly a leaky faucet you’re having to deal with here.”

“No, of course not, they probably turned the water off,” MJ quipped. “But I have my sister back, I have you, I have two beautiful nephews. I just feel like I have more of a life now than I used to, even if the part of my life where I keep my underwear kinda got the shit blown out of it. If there’s one thing no one can ever say about Mary Jane Watson, it’s that she sweats the small stuff.”

Peter grinned. “Yeah, you can always keep your underwear at my place, even if it would mean living in sin.” He shrugged. “Or we could just get married.”

Mary Jane’s smile rakishly extended up her cheeks. “Okay.”

Peter flushed bashfully. “I mean, you know, once we’ve gotten the venue and the dress and invited everyone—“ He picked at his shirt collar. “I did ask you to marry me already, right? I remember doing that—please don’t tell me that was my proposal.”

Mary Jane shook her head. “You really can be neurotic about anything. No, I mean, let’s do it. Let’s get married. Nowish.”

“Now? Like—Vegas, Elvis impersonator, now?”

She cocked her head to the side. “Not quite that fast. But in a week or so. As soon as we can set everything up. No tasting wedding cakes, no trying on dresses, none of that. I already know what I want—most of all, you.”

Peter laughed nervously. “MJ, are you sure here? You’re not having a nervous breakdown over your apartment having a hole in it? I thought most women liked—“

Mary Jane clicked her tongue. “Most women. Never let it be said Mary Jane Watson is most women. Didn’t the red hair clue you in?” She took Peter’s hands, squeezing them, feeling the strength in them, but also how gently they held hers. “You said it yourself. We don’t know what the future will bring. We can’t promise each other happiness or safety. But we can face what’s coming together, as husband and wife. There’s so much danger and destruction in the world—we’re literally standing in the middle of it. A few months ago, there was some demon out of Norse mythology almost freezing the world solid. You fought with a bunch of Asgardians to stop him. Ned Leeds died, and Jean DeWolff, I know you were close. That’s reality. All we can do is grab whatever happiness we can today, and we’ve waited long enough to do it. I’m as sure as I’ll ever be. Let’s bag up everything, box up everything, and when we unpack, it’ll be in our new home. The Parker residence.”

Peter blew an impressed whistle out between his lips. “Whoa, pretty lady. Are we sure I’m the smart one? You think a lot faster than I do. You know how much anguished brooding it would take me to decide all that?”

“Yes, but what’s the point, tiger? We know what we want. Let’s reach out and grab it. If it’s crazy, well, I’d rather be crazy with you than with anybody else.”

“Yeah, to hell with it. Damn the torpedoes, let’s get married!”

Mary Jane pulled him to her and all that muscle went willingly. “Now you’re sounding like Mary Jane Watson’s husband.”