Finding MJ

#07: And We Don't Have a Hulk?

You were an Avenger. One of Earth's mightiest heroes. You've fist fought aliens. You've stopped world ending schemes. You've survived getting between Clint and a fresh pot of coffee. There was nothing in this universe, or any universe, that could stop you. At least, this is what you repeatedly told yourself as you stood in the kitchen staring at the various ingredients spread out on the counter top. Was an Avenger about to be defeated by one pasta recipe? The chances were looking high.

The burner phone Peter had bought was the one you were using currently. You weren't about to steal his bed and his actual cell phone. However, the burner phone did not have the bells and whistles your old Stark phone had. Of course, your Stark phone in this universe was a very fancy looking brick. It was why you had written down this recipe the lady in the grocery store had given to you on a piece of scrap paper you had dug out of Peter's jacket pocket. It looked like it was homework at one point with scientific scribbles and numbers on one side. Now in the kitchen though, this paper was not much help. Peter was using his laptop at class right now which meant you had no resource to google, 'how to make pasta'.

You were convinced pasta was going to be the easiest dish you could prepare, besides cereal, and had come into this situation with a bold amount of confidence. All you wanted to do was make Peter Parker a home cooked meal as a thank you for everything he had done for you thus far and everything he planned to do. He had housed you, fed you, let you steal his bed, and even comforted you after you had an emotional breakdown over a cut four days ago. It was the least you could do.

Now there was a good chance you were going to accidentally poison him. Nothing quite said 'thanks for saving me' like a trip to the emergency room to have your stomach pumped.

With a groan, you buried your face into your hands. Maybe you should have paid more attention when Wanda cooked at the Compound. She always seemed to know what she was doing.

Bracing yourself, you grabbed the biggest pot he had and began to fill it with sink water. You were guessing on the amount that needed to be in the pot. It didn't matter right? As long as it made the pasta soft then you were good. You set the pot on the stovetop's burner and clicked it on so the water could begin to heat up. Step one done. Now what the hell was step two?

You were in the process of figuring out how to manage the sauce when there was a knock at the door. At first you panicked in fear that Peter was already home, but he had a key so there was no reason to knock. Also it was his home. Plus, he had told you he'd be coming home late from classes because there was some guest lecture he had to attend.

You glanced at the ingredients and pot once more before going over to the door and slinging it open. Macey stood there with wide eyes and a handful of envelopes in her hand. There had been a couple of times when she had knocked before and you were the one to answer, but for some reason she always looked absolutely shocked that you were here.

"Hey, Macey, what's up?" You asked.

"Oh, I got more of Peter's mail in my box." She mumbled and held out the mail. You were beginning to wonder if she was somehow breaking into his box and stealing the mail because there was no way the delivery guy was messing up this consistently. Unless he had a vendetta against Peter for some reason.

You took it, giving it a quick glance, then nodded, "Thanks." Macey lingered for a second and a thought occurred to you. "Macey Johnson, right?"

"Um, yeah."

"Did you ever go by Mj? Like maybe as a kid or on some sport team or...?"

Macey slowly shook her head, "No..."

You twisted your lips in thought, "Would you be open to being called Mj?"

"I mean, I guess." Macey replied with a skeptical look drawn over her features, "Why?"