[being able to heal somewhat faster than a normal person doesn't mean he doesn't have his fair share of scars. no, no, any ability he has doesn't extend that far. he's got them all over, back, chest, shoulders, arms, legs, souvenirs of that time i fell fifteen stories while trying to experiment with the webshooters and that time the giant lizard tried to do open-heart surgery on me in a sewer and that time that rhino dude threw me into a brick wall and it really hurt. but the most prominent one is the one that's on his right wrist, at about the place where the webshooter usually sits. the one that appeared on the night that gwen died.
it's been a while now, a long, long while, but it's still there, still as prominent as ever. one night, one night when he happens to glance down at it, he notices that there's now another mark right next to it. big, black, not even red, black, glaring, practically a flashing neon sign glaring. and it's not a discovery that comes without panic. not a discovery that comes without his brain totally blue screen-ing, actually. he can't even begin to compute what that means, because he just can't, can't anything about this, oh god, oh god, so he just -
decides to do what he does best when, by the time he wakes up, it hasn't faded at all: avoid everything about this altogether and pretend it doesn't exist.
by wearing layers. in the middle of july. flawless plan, nothing can go wrong. he can just totally hang out with mj, his old buddy, old pal, like nothing happened, everything's normal, absolutely normal.
like clockwork, it's about fifteen minutes past the appointed time when he's running up to a table outside the cafe that marks their chosen lunch spot where mj is currently seated. see? normal. he slumps into the chair across from her.]
Hey. [gotta take a moment to catch his breath. any physical exertion when it's about 85 degrees outside is tough enough, okay, but it's totally compounded when you're dressed like it's four months from now.] Hi.
[She's so used to Peter being late that she's already ordered them a couple of cokes and there's one waiting for him on his side of the table. She also has a pretty good idea of what he would want to eat for lunch if he didn't show up by the time the waiter came back. MJ is used to it but that doesn't mean she's completely thrilled by it and she looks at him with a critical eye.]
Are you getting sick?
[Because she's melting in her sundress over here even with the shade umbrella overhead and he's wearing a sweater. In July. And he looks a little diaphoretic. On MJ's wrist there is a matching mark to his recent one but she's covered it up with a few bracelets and pointedly refuses to think about it. It's just a papercut. A black papercut. Doesn't mean anything because while Peter might be afraid of loving again, she's determined not to fall in love at all.
Falling in love, getting married, having kids-- it's not something Watsons are good at. Look at her parents and her idiot sister. Mary Jane has plans, she's going to be famous and adored, she's not going to be a bitter housewife.]
I don't want to have lunch with you if you're getting sick, Peter.
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mary jane watson | the amazing spiderman
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it's been a while now, a long, long while, but it's still there, still as prominent as ever. one night, one night when he happens to glance down at it, he notices that there's now another mark right next to it. big, black, not even red, black, glaring, practically a flashing neon sign glaring. and it's not a discovery that comes without panic. not a discovery that comes without his brain totally blue screen-ing, actually. he can't even begin to compute what that means, because he just can't, can't anything about this, oh god, oh god, so he just -
decides to do what he does best when, by the time he wakes up, it hasn't faded at all: avoid everything about this altogether and pretend it doesn't exist.
by wearing layers. in the middle of july. flawless plan, nothing can go wrong. he can just totally hang out with mj, his old buddy, old pal, like nothing happened, everything's normal, absolutely normal.
like clockwork, it's about fifteen minutes past the appointed time when he's running up to a table outside the cafe that marks their chosen lunch spot where mj is currently seated. see? normal. he slumps into the chair across from her.]
Hey. [gotta take a moment to catch his breath. any physical exertion when it's about 85 degrees outside is tough enough, okay, but it's totally compounded when you're dressed like it's four months from now.] Hi.
no subject
Are you getting sick?
[Because she's melting in her sundress over here even with the shade umbrella overhead and he's wearing a sweater. In July. And he looks a little diaphoretic. On MJ's wrist there is a matching mark to his recent one but she's covered it up with a few bracelets and pointedly refuses to think about it. It's just a papercut. A black papercut. Doesn't mean anything because while Peter might be afraid of loving again, she's determined not to fall in love at all.
Falling in love, getting married, having kids-- it's not something Watsons are good at. Look at her parents and her idiot sister. Mary Jane has plans, she's going to be famous and adored, she's not going to be a bitter housewife.]
I don't want to have lunch with you if you're getting sick, Peter.