Spideychelle one-shots

Dear Journal (Pt. 2)

Dear Journal

I seem to have really bad luck lately. Luckily for me, Spiderman's around...

The next week, MJ almost used that alleyway 3 times. It cut at least 10 minutes off her walk, if you counted crossing times and the necessary stop at the 7-Eleven for sour-patch kids. Sour-patch kids were MJ's guilty pleasure, and often the thought of eating them on the walk home would be the singular thing to get her through her day.

Thursday, which had started out great with her waking up and managing to snag the last cinnamon bagel before anyone else got it, quickly descended into a sort of hell. For starters, her period came early, by about a week, she yelled at her dad for no particular reason and burnt the aforementioned cinnamon bagel, all this before she even got on the bus. And the day really only went downhill from there. 

She was late to her first class because someone spilt coffee on her in the hallway, her favourite teacher (Mrs. Wallgreen, English) was out sick, leaving them with a hellish substitute who thought it was a good idea to have all of them write 500 words on their dream career by the end of class, which was not only stressful but also super overdone. Seriously. MJ had already had to write that exact same essay, in a handful of different forms, about 10 times. And she was just counting the times during highschool. She'd need a calculator to add up all the elementary school essays.

Her P.E. teacher decided to give them a break and let them play a "friendly game of dodgeball" during which MJ got hit in the head twice, causing her to be late for lunch so that all the good seats were taken and she had to sit with the edgy goth kids who kept giving her suspicious glances.

Of course, she had a headache from the dodgeball incidents, which made it very hard to concentrate. By the end of the day, all she wanted to do was be home, in her room, curled up in her window seat with some tea and a good book, watching the rain fall. Because, on top of everything else, it was pouring.

Study hall was torture. She slid out her journal, glad that the unmarked cover made it seem like she could be studying notes or actually doing homework.

MJ wasn't much of a journaler. She had a stash, of course: every self-respecting bookworm/writer did, but she never used them for anything except for writing stories and just looking at. She'd picked this one up the night after Spiderman had saved her from that mugger, too full of butterflies and excitement to sleep. She'd wanted to tell someone so badly, but didn't really know how. Anyone she told would be too focused on the fact that she nearly got mugged to realize the really important part, which was her actually meeting Spiderman, of course.

The idea of superheroes had intrigued her since she was little, getting upset about the injustices in the world that emergency workers and police couldn't always fix. She was old enough now to see that any emergency worker, first responder or policeman was limited by the rules society had placed upon them. They couldn't just go out and vanquish evil.

MJ's life had always been ruled by, well, rules. She was a top student, always focused on her grades. Her parents worked long hours, and as an only child, she often had to structure her day herself. Make her own meals, clean her own room, walk the dog, back when they had a dog.

The idea of superheroes being free to just help people, was so liberating to her. It was a fantasy she liked to run over in her head before she fell asleep.

Full of all of these emotions, wanting nothing more than to be able to tell someone but not knowing how, she wrote it down in the first journal she found: a lined, leather-bound black journal with the gold imprint of a feather on the front.

She couldn't quite remember where she'd gotten it. It was a gift from her grandfather, or maybe she'd picked it up in a market on a summer trip to Canada the year before.

Now that she'd started, it was kind of hard to stop. All of her pithy commentary, observations on the day, and her complaints, now had a fairly healthy outlet.

She hadn't decided yet whether she liked writing better with a pen or a pencil. It was just such a hard choice.

Study hall passed quickly, but writing only made her headache worse and her wrist sore. By the time she left the school, her temporary journaling high had worn off, and she was right back to being in a terrible mood.

By the time she'd made to the alleyway, the rain had done a good job of plastering her normally frizzy hair to her scalp. Her shirt and jeans were soaked through, and she was completely and utterly done with life.

Surely, she thought, gazing down the slightly crooked passageway, last time was just bad luck. Once in a million. I'm sure if I just speedwalk - nobody's following me, anyway.

She had checked, becoming increasingly paranoid towards random strangers and passerby. But she was completely 100% percent sure that she was alone.

Of course, she had no idea that Spiderman was following her. Or currently freaking out, hoping she wasn't going to do what he thought she was going to do.

Peter

Nope. Nope, no way, nuh huh.

Was she crazy? He knew she probably wasn't in any danger - the alley wasn't that long, and honestly, what were the chances. But seriously?

Did she have a death wish or something? She could've been killed last time, and she was honestly just lucky he'd been there. And that he was here this time.

Was she really - yup. There MJ went, casting one final careful look behind her before headed down the alley.

Peter sighed and swung after her, flipping onto the top of one of the buildings and down to the ground.

"Seriously?" he asked, ignoring her gasp of shock. "What did I tell you? Hey, maybe you shouldn't go down the sketchy alleyway where you were nearly mugged and killed? Oh, look where we are?"

Shock was written across MJ's face. "How did you know I was here?"

"That doesn't matter," Peter says dismissively. "Do you want to die?"

"No! I was just having a bad day, and I wanted to get home quicker," MJ said dismissively.

"Okay, I get it, but - " A flash of movement caught Peter's eye. He lunged, using the protective material of his suit to deflect the glinting knife that had come flying from the shadows.

"What the...?" he muttered, grabbing MJ and pulling her behind him. She let out a squeak of protest, but grew silent when she saw the knife on the ground.

Peter shot a web, hitting their assailant with a muffled thwip. The man cried out, tripping and falling forward, exposing himself to them. MJ sucked in a breath. It was the same man as before, lying angrily on the cold, dirty concrete of the alleyway.

"Not you again, bro," Peter sighed, restraining him with a few more webs. "I mean, really. What are you thinking? You aren't even very good at this."

The man sneered and spat out some words that Peter couldn't quite make out, but got the general gist of anyways.

"Watch your language," he tutted, walking closer to the man. "Let's just say we get you back to the police, huh?"

He dragged the guy to his feet, holding on to him tightly. "If you'll excuse me," he said to MJ, before sticking him to the wall again.

"Don't worry," he said, in response to MJ's skeptical look. "I'll hang around this time, make sure the police actually get him."

"Thanks," MJ said, blushing slightly.

"No problem," Peter said. "You've really got bad luck though, huh?"

MJ laughed and nodded. "It looks like that, yeah."

"Welp, until the next time," Peter said, giving her a joking salute and swinging onto the roof of the building. He saw MJ glance up at him, and gave her a playful wave, before affixing his eyes on the prisoner. There was something else going on here, he was sure of it. Two attacks in two weeks, in the same place, with the same guy?

The question was, why MJ? What enemies had she made?

Slightly relieved that this had given him an excuse to follow her further, Peter tracked her progress across the busy road, making sure she got home safe.

Just like he always did.