She brushes her hair with the old soft-bristle brush that used to be her mom's. It doesn't do anything for knots, but the touch of it against her hair brings back endless memories of her mother brushing her hair with it. Peter's propped against a stack of pillows, in a half-buttoned collared shirt and his Spider-Man costume. He's thrown the mask on the bed, over the dress she's wearing tonight. Peter's watching her, she can feel it, and she turns to see his face, which is harboring a soft smile and intense brown eyes.

"You're so beautiful," he says unexpectedly.

She tosses her hair and grins.

Peter laughs. "It's strange that you're such a knockout. I thought for sure you'd be hideous before I met you. Our aunts were too desperate for us to meet."

MJ cocks her head. "Well if you had just agreed to meet me early on you would have saved yourself months of dread."

Peter shrugs. "Anticipation." He holds up his bruised knuckles, courtesy of the Lizard. "Can you make this look less like I was in a brawl? You know Aunt May will notice."

"I don't know how she hasn't figured out you're Spider-Man, but she notices little things like that."

"Mother's intuition."

MJ dips a brush into her concealer and paints his knuckles back the color they should be, and dusts powder over them. "Better?"

He examines them. "You're a genius." She stands to change and he pulls her back down and onto his lap like she's lighter than air. "I wish we didn't have to go to Forest Hills," he murmurs.

"Me either," she says. She raises an eyebrow. "You could be sick. Do you feel sick?"

"Enough to go call her and cancel." He flicks his wrist and reels in the telephone like a fish.

"Hey Aunt May…yes, I'm sorry we can't come tonight…I'm feeling a little under the weather and I don't want to get you sick…No, I'll be fine…yes, she's fine….she's going to make some soup….of course. I will. No, I'll make the appointment. No, you should go have some fun. I love you. We'll see you soon."

He hangs up. "I am under strict orders to rest, drink lots of fluid, call my doctor, and take a vitamin pill."

"Who said I was making soup?"

"She was about to come over and tend to me. I had to make you make soup." Peter grimaces at his costume. "I need to wash this thing. Let me up a second to find clothes that aren't made of spandex."

He puts on sweatpants and reports back. "Chinese?" he says hopefully.

She doodles on his chest a minute before replying back, "I guess soup's off the table, then. Orange chicken?"

"Peter Benjamin Parker, what are you doing up there?" MJ demands after she nearly spills her coffee everywhere. Peter's perched comfortably on the ceiling.

"Good morning, milady," he tells her. "Might I kiss thy perfect lips?"

"You are a royal goofball," she tells him. "But you kiss good, so okay."

She does love his upside down kisses.

Peter is so late.

Part of MJ wants to find him and string him up by his web. Not like she told him three weeks ago that she had reservations at Biscotti's. Not like she's not leaving out for a shoot in California first thing tomorrow and she wanted them to spend time together before she's gone for a week.

The other part of MJ is thinking back to the countless fights she's watched on TV and in person, and the nails she bit to the quick, and the broken ribs and concussions and fractured wrist and bruises and deep cuts and falls that should have killed him. She thinks about metal tentacles and a hideous cackle and giant scales and huge wings and an animal skin vest and a sandy fist. There's the fact that Peter is probably snagging the guns of small-time crooks right out of their hands and wrapping them up in webs. There's also the fact that he's almost died before, and she lives in suppressed fear that one day they'll take the mask off her Peter's dead body.

The phone rings, and her breath catches. She seizes the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mary Jane, it's me."

"Peter Parker!"

"I know I'm late, baby, and I'm so sorry. There was a bus crash. How many of those have you ever seen?"

"Is everyone okay?" she asks softly.

"Yes, the EMTs got there in time."

So like Peter to not even acknowledge that he did anything for those people.

"When will you be home?"

"Five minutes. I'm going the red and blue way."

"Hurry. I miss you."

"Aw, MJ, I miss you too. I'll be there soon."

"I love you."

"Love you!"

He hangs up, and she turns on the TV to the evening news. Twenty-eight people saved from crash by Spider-Man, the banner reads.

She smiles proudly. "That's my tiger."

She wakes up to Peter slipping on his boots.

"Hmmm?" she asks.

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm going out for a while."

She sits up. "Why?"

"It's okay," he soothes. "I'm just going to swing for a while. I can't sleep. Might get some photos."

She kisses his cheek. "Don't be reckless."

He grins. "I'm never reckless."

"Liar," she grumbles.

"I'll have breakfast ready when you get up," he promises. She falls asleep with the image of him gliding off the fire escape.

Her hair is wet; she's just showered. She's braiding it, wearing her Spider-Man t-shirt and smiling absently. Peter's on TV, swinging out of frame and towards home. He loves this shirt. They're for sale at inflated prices at almost every New York souvenir sale cart. She got hers as a little surprise years ago. Peter's face lit up. He doesn't say it, usually, but she knows that there is no greater gift she could give him than accepting that part of him. The shirt says that. She wears it on days when he's sinking under the weight of his choice so many years ago, and he needs her reassurance.

There's a soft thud on the fire escape, and Peter swings in cheerily. He lands like a cat on the bed and tears off his mask.

"Good day?" she asks as he picks her up, kisses her, and whirls her around.

"Great." He kisses her again. "Love the shirt."

"I know."

"Love you."

"I know that too," she whispers. Peter pulls her into his arms. "Feel like a flight through New York?" he asks.

"Sounds perfect," she tells him, and he grins. He kisses her temple, and gathers her into his arms. "Let's go, tiger."

She wakes up, and Peter's talking.

His hand rests on her back, his fingers soothingly warm.

"Thank you for her," he says very softly. "Thank you."

She closes her eyes again. This one is between Peter and God.

They're sitting on the roof of their building, watching the sun set. Peter is quiet, his arm around her. She leans into him and doesn't say anything.

"This is my favorite part," Peter says softly. "Being able to see this from up here."

Mary Jane looks up the brilliant sky. "Up here we can be able whoever we want."

"Exactly," he says, and bends to kiss her forehead.

"Peter home?" Maggie asks loftily.

"No, he's working," MJ says, eyeing her friend. "Drinks?"

"Margaritas?" she asks hopefully. MJ laughs and pulls out the mix.

They're about four margaritas in when MJ gets a call from Peter.

"Hey, tiger," she says.

"Hey, honey. What are you doing?"

"Mags is over."

"Girls night then," she can almost hear Peter roll his eyes. "You want me to pick up pizza?"

"When will you be home?"

"Hopefully eight."

"Don't be too late, Pete."

"And stand up a gorgeous gal like you? Not a chance."

"I'll hold you to that."

"If I'm so much as a minute late, I promise to make breakfast in bed tomorrow."

"Waffles?"

"Waffles with whip cream and strawberries."

She moans in appreciation. "You'll spoil me rotten."

"That's my job."

"I love you, goofball."

"Love you, beautiful."

She hangs up, smiling. Maggie snorts.

"What?" she demands.

"You deserve better than Peter Parker."

"Excuse me?"

"Look at you," Maggie gestures. "You're a model, for Chrissake. And you live in a dump with a deadbeat photographer who's never home. You deserve more than this."

"You don't know anything about Peter," MJ snarls. "Peter isn't a deadbeat. Peter sacrifices everything for me, Peter loves me more than you could ever know. Peter's a genuinely good person. If anything, I don't deserve him!" She grabs Maggie's glass from her hand. "I think you'd better leave. I'll see you at practice."

"MJ," Maggie starts.

"Get out of my home," MJ says coldly.

Peter comes home at 7:58, her favorite Chenillo's meat-lover's pizza in tow. "Hey," he calls. "MJ? Maggie?"

"Just me, babe."

"Maggie already gone? No way you got through all the alcohol that fast."

"She left."

"Uh-oh," Peter frowns, setting down the pizza. "Doth I sense a quarrel?"

"Yes," MJ sighs. God, how easily Peter can read her.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"She implied—" she pauses. "She said I could do better. Than you."

Peter's eyes fill with shame, and he looks at his hands. "You know she's ri—"

"I told her to go to hell," MJ interrupts.

The troubled look doesn't leave his eyes. "Mary Jane…"

"Peter," she looks in his eyes. "I love you."

"I know," he murmurs. "I just wish I could give you more."

"You give me everything I need."

"I love you so much, MJ," he whispers into her hair.

"Now how about some pizza and a chick flick?"

He mock-groans. "Let's watch the recording of your play."

"Peter, I don't like watching myself."

"I do, though."

She rolls her eyes. "Let's eat before it gets cold."

"I picked up a surprise, too." He gestures to the brown bag next to the pizza. "I seem to remember last week someone was dying for some red velvet cupcakes."

"God, I love you."

"Let it never be said I don't keep you well-fed."

Peter shuts off the news abruptly, his eyes tight.

She looks up and waits.

"I didn't save one."

She takes his hand.

"They had shot the store owner. I stopped them before they hurt his wife. She was screaming her head off. She begged me to help him. I told her to call the paramedics. I told her he'd be okay. I thought…." He breathes in. "I thought I had to get the gang. They were on a rampage, and I didn't want more people to get hurt." His voice is low and rough. "The police got them before I caught up. They were cuffing them when I got there. I swung back to the store, and the man had bled out two minutes before the paramedics arrived." He bends his head. "I let him die," he whispers. "He died exactly like Uncle Ben died, and for exactly the same reason."

Her husband, who sees horrible things every day and still goes after the bad guys, starts to cry.

"Peter," she whispers, stroking his hair. "Peter. You couldn't have known. You did the right thing."

"Mary Jane," he says brokenly. She pulls him closer, and she wipes away his tears.

His mouth is hard and set. He hasn't spoken to her since he pushed her out of the way of the Sandman's fist—and took the full brunt of the punch.

"You could have died," he snaps.

"I could have died crossing the street this morning!" she retorts.

"That is not the same and you know it, Mary Jane!"

"I was trying to help—"

"I didn't ask for your help—"

"You were getting beaten to a pulp—"

"That's not an excuse, that's a typical Tuesday!"

"I had to do something!"

"I asked you to come home, I asked you to stay safe—"

"When have we ever been safe?"

"I can't live without you, Mary Jane!" he almost screams it, and they both fall silent. "I can't," he says huskily. "If you were gone—if it was my fault—"

Both their minds go to Gwen.

"You've got to stop blaming yourself for—" she starts, but he cuts her off.

"Uncle Ben? Gwen? Captain Stacy? Because of those people's deaths were my fault, MJ."

"Peter—" Peter, you're good, you're so good, you didn't hurt them—

"I won't let that happen to you. Not to you." His eyes, piercing right through her, are full of fierce emotion.

"I—" she hesitates. "I won't get involved again. If I can help it," she adds.

Peter smiles very briefly. "If you can help it."

"Yes."

He yields and kisses her hair. "Try very hard to help it."

"Turn off that goddamn police scanner," her voice is low and venomous. "I don't want to hear it anymore."

Peter looks wounded and surprised. She ignores a twinge of a guilt-associated emotion in her stomach. "You heard me," she says. "Or are you incapable of paying attention to your wife?"

He recoils as if she's struck him. He presses the OFF button and stands up. "MJ?" The question is a divining rod to test what he's done wrong.

"You forgot," she screams. "We were supposed to go together and you forgot because you were out being Spider-Man—"

"Oh my God," he says. "The cemetery. Oh, God, MJ, I'm so sorry."

"I don't know why I'm surprised," she continues. "I should have known." She watches the pained expression on his face and feels a savage joy. She buries the corresponding feeling of shame.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats.

"I waited an hour for you. Then I went by myself." She hears her voice crack. "And when you got home you didn't even remember."

She sat by her mother's grave and cried alone, and wished desperately for Peter to be there.

Peter sits down and puts his hands in his hands. "I saved fifteen people that day."

"I don't care!" He's always saving people and that's always his reason, I saved these people so I don't have to be on time ever even when it's important—

"I know," he says. "I saved them and I hurt you." He falls silent. "You deserve better."

She suddenly feels ashamed of the way she's standing, arms crossed and feet close together. She wants to say she's sorry; she wants to tell him she hates him; she wants him to hold her and stroke her hair. She realizes she's crying.

"It was important this time."

"I know."

"I needed you."

"I know, and I'm sorry." He looks up at her. "What can I do?"

"I don't know." She almost laughs at the way he sounds like a repentant child.

"I'll start by saying you're absolutely right, and I'm sorry."

"That's not a bad start."

"And I love you more than you can imagine."

"Keep going."

"I don't deserve someone so perfect and beautiful."

"Hm."

"And our anniversary is next month, and I was going to surprise you, but we're getting a new apartment."

"What?" she reminds herself she's still mad, but—

His face spreads into a beautiful, hopeful smile. "I got old Jolly Jonah to raise my salary enough for us to move somewhere a little nicer."

"Peter," she says, touched.

"I know you don't like it here," he says. "The new place isn't the Ritz, as much I wish it was. But it's in a better neighborhood. There's a park across the street I thought you could run in. The kitchen's white but we could paint it yellow. I know you always wanted a yellow kitchen."

"With herbs growing in the windowsill," she adds. "And white curtains."

He stands and reaches for her. "As long as you're still there next month, I'll get you anything you want." His eyes are intense and soft and loving. That's her Peter.

"I'll always be here." She sighs and leans into his embrace.

"I am sorry, MJ." His hands move soothingly over her back. She closes her eyes.

"I know."

"I'll go with you next time. I promise."

"I know you'll always be Spider-Man. Just…don't forget to be Peter, too."

He sighs and holds her tighter. That's why I have you.

They're walking out of the movies, his arm around her shoulder, when they hear a high-pitched scream and a bone-chilling cackle. Peter's head whips around, his eyes widening at the cop cars shrieking past, and he sucks in a breath. "C'mon." He grabs her hand and runs into the nearest alleyway, where he starts frantically stripping off his shirt and pulling his mask out of his coat pocket.

All the while he's giving instructions. "Take a cab home—lock the door—do not leave—wait for me there—" he kisses her hastily. "Be safe," and slides on his mask. He goes to leap and she grabs his arm. "I'm coming with you!"

"What? No, it's too dangerous."

"Peter, when have you ever been able to stop m—"

He flicks his wrist at her, and all the sudden she's stuck on a web.

"Peter Parker!"

"I'm sorry, baby, if you won't go home this is going to have to do. Please don't get in trouble."

"Oh, I'm going to get in trouble!"

"I'll be back soon. I love you! Don't hate me!"

He jumps into the air.

"I hate you," she says to the empty alleyway. "Almost as much as I love you."

He sounded almost cheerful when he left, but he isn't that way when he comes back.

"I lost him," he says grimly. "I'm going to take you home."

"Then?"

"Then I'm going to find him."

She sighs as he pulls her from the web. "Anything I can do to change your mind?"

"I have to, honey."

"I know," she says, trying not to let her voice crack. Peter looks at her, his eyes somber, and tenderly strokes back her hair before leaping into the air.

He's fallen asleep on their old couch. His face is smooth and calm, and he's breathing in steadily. Seldom does she get to see him so at peace, and it soothes her. She tucks a quilt around him and kisses his forehead. His eyes blink open. "What time is it?" he yawns.

"Shhh," she soothes.

"Wasn't aware that was a time," he snarks sleepily. "Lay down," he tells her, and she snuggles next to him. He's warm and sturdy and comforting. He wraps his arms around her, and they fall asleep.

MJ has spent the day looking through old college mementos: playbills, yearbooks, photos.

One photo in particular.

One of her and a beautiful blonde girl, arm in arm.

One Gwen Stacy.

Sometimes she feels like she's stolen what was supposed to be Gwen's life. She and Peter would have gotten married and lived in the suburbs and had little blond babies and it would have been a wonderful life.

But where, her minds wonders, would that have left MJ?

She imagines her and Harry walking arm and arm as best man and maid of honor, posing in the background of the wedding photos. She imagines marrying Harry. She imagines instead moving on her own to LA to avoid the pain of seeing their happiness.

Where would that have left Peter?

She feels disloyal for even thinking about it, but the most honest part of her mind tells her frankly she has given Peter more than Gwen was capable of. Gwen was gorgeous and kind and funny and talented and sweet and a million other things, but she could not have lived this life. She would have forced Peter to choose.

And which, she wonders, would he have chosen?

Maybe the fact she doesn't know the answer is the real reason she's never asked him.

MJ feels tears enter her eyes as she reads the memorial for Harry Osborn. Harry's picture looks fresh and handsome and beautifully pure. She thinks about the flowers he got her at her very first gigs, and the teasing kisses she bestowed on him. God, she was a careless, flighty little thing. She teased Harry mercilessly and flirted with every boy in sight, especially the one she was crazy about even then. But she did love him in her careless, flighty way. She thinks about the empty bottles and the syringes, and how she couldn't let another man who got his courage from a bottle do damage to her.

"You're still my girl, aren't you?"

"I'm no one's girl but my own—and that's how I like it!"

She strokes her finger over Harry's cheek, like she used to. She was never truly in love with Harry, but she did love him. He never wanted to be like his father, and the saddest part it that he died still trying to please Norman Osborn.

Peter hands her a cup of coffee tailored exactly to her tastes and sighs.

"He was one of my best friends, you know?"

"Mine too."

Their hands find each other's, and Mary Jane starts to reread the column.

"I'm no one's girl but my own," she murmurs.

"And that's the way I like it," Peter tells her.

He sees her suitcase, and he freezes.

"MJ," he croaks.

She can't look at him; she'll start crying.

"Mary Jane."

"Peter," she says very softly. "You know this isn't working."

"Bullshit," his voice is strong and rough and unexpected. "We're the only thing that's ever worked in my entire life."

"Peter—"

"I love you," he says fiercely, almost yells it.

Damn him; she feels the tears start.

"I love you too, but—"

"But what?" he demands.

"But—" she starts crying. "I don't know!"

"I'll quit," he tells her. "I'll stop. I can stop."

"Peter, no you can't."

"I could if you'll stay." He reaches for her hand. "I would die for you."

"Peter," she sighs. She wants to stay. She wants the fiery kisses and the laughter and the pancakes on Sundays but she remembers the long nights alone and the invasive fear.

She remembers their first kiss and their wedding day and she remembers the anguish in his eyes.

She turns back to the suitcase and shuts it.

"I'm going Aunt Anna's."

His face drains of all color. "Are you coming back?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"Yes."

He starts to cry, and pulls her close. He whispers over and over again, "I'm sorry, I love you, I'm sorry."

Because even if she left, even if she ran as far away from him as she could, she would always bring her with him; her identity is tied up in loving Peter Parker.

She'll never forget the look on his face when she quotes to him, "With great power comes great responsibility."

It was a look of pride and shock and amazement, and also a little bit of annoyance.

"You do not get to use Uncle Ben's line so I'll go get ice cream."

"But you were the irresponsible one who forgot to buy it."

"Woman, I hate you."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately." He starts putting on his coat. "Well, guess it's time to restore my responsible reputation. Rocky road?"

"You're the most responsible man ever," she tells him earnestly. "And duh, rocky road."

"Do you believe in soul mates?" her friend Zoey asks her.

She wrinkles her nose. "I don't know. I mean, a single person meant for you to find out of seven billion?"

"What, not sure about Peter?" Zoey teases.

She thinks of Peter. His eyes when he's laughing. His rough hands stroking her hair. Him telling a horribly corny joke and laughing through the punch line. How he falls asleep at breakfast after long nights. How he kisses her. How he's memorized her like she memorizes lines in her plays. How he makes her feel, and how she ran from it for so long. Their wedding day, and the joy in his kiss. The daily joy in their life together.

If anyone's her soul mate, it's Peter.

"No, I'm pretty sure," she laughs.

She asks him that night the same question.

He frowns. "Speaking scientifically, no. But—" he kisses her forehead. "I like the idea we were meant to be."

"Me too."

There's a part of her that insists that they must be meant to be, and she decides right then she believes in soul mates.

I ship Peter and MJ. Strongly. I mean, I wrote almost fifteen pages shipping them. I tried really hard to show the full spectrum of their relationship. Thus fifteen pages. I had to reference one of my favorite MJ and Peter panels, where Peter thanks God for MJ as she sleeps, and my favorite MJ quote- "I'm no one's girl but my own- and that's the way I like it!" The sass in that quote. And yes, I may have ripped off Amazing Spider-Man 2 with the scene where Peter webs MJ to the alley wall. I've been working on this one for quite a while now, and it's highly likely I'll go back and add scenes. I've just got a lot to say on the Parkers.