Archive of Our Own

MJ was glaring at her.

Gwen deserved it, but that didn’t make it less infuriating. Being late to practice was a dick move, she understood that. Being half an hour late was absolutely unforgivable. It wasn’t really Gwen’s fault, though. If she had rolled out of bed and slid right into practice, only MJ would’ve been mad about it. The other girls would’ve smoothed it aside and practice would start with very few hiccups. Easy peasy.

Dumb, stupid Gorilla Man. He’d been rampaging through the underground train she had wanted to take. It wasn’t like she could just ignore that.

Eventually, after leaving him tied up with a nice web-bow for the cops, she’d shown up in the studio with a smile that was part-grimace, as well as iced coffees for them all. There was a nice little place just around the corner that didn’t mind giving away a few drinks to a certain vigilante, considering she had stopped them from being robbed a few months back. Perks of the job.

“And is all this why you’re so late, Gwennie?” MJ asked. Her smile was brighter than the sun and just as brutal. Gwen withered. She didn’t even have the strength to protest against the nickname, the one that only came out when MJ was furious with her. 

Glory stepped between them. She hated getting involved in their bullshit, but Gwen looked like a puppy dog and MJ looked like she might start swinging. “Hey, thanks for the coffee, Gwen. Can we get this shit started now? I’m tired of sitting on my ass.”

“You wouldn’t have been sitting on your ass if a certain little drummer bothered to remember our schedule.”

“Sorry,” Gwen said. There was a certain glumness surrounding her as she moved towards the small table near the plush couches, where Betty pretended not to hear this conversation. She had the grace to spare Gwen a small smile when she was close, though. “Sorry,” she said, again, and Betty just shrugged at her as if this was inescapable. 

Straightening herself up, Gwen rose to meet MJ’s wrath. In reality, the girl was not much taller than her, but something about her anger made it seem like she was the tallest person in the world. The black heels she was wearing (fashionable, as always) did nothing to dissuade the image. 

“I wasn’t late because of the iced coffees,” Gwen said. “They were just an apology.”

“An apology that happened to make you even later. How thoughtful.”

There was no arguing with MJ. She was better at it than Gwen would ever be. She probably sat around in her apartment at night, practicing cool little one-liners that would trip Gwen up. There was only one way to survive MJ: complete and utter openness. If you couldn’t beat her, you had to disarm her.

“I’m sorry,” Gwen said, putting every bit of genuine emotion she had into those words. Sure, two months ago, she would have been at MJ’s throat, but she’d gotten tired of losing. She took one of the coffees in her hand, the one that was piled high with sugar, and held it out towards the other girl. “I really did get caught up in something important. It isn’t going to happen again.”

MJ was all fierceness. Her slender arms were crossed over her chest, hips cocked to the side. She was wearing a yellow and orange crop top that would look horrible on anyone else and, of course, looked gorgeous on her. Her jeans were slung low on her hips, revealing the soft planes of her stomach. Gwen closed the space between them, taking MJ’s hand in her own. She smelled of that expensive hand cream that Gwen sometimes stole, the apricot one that was spiced with cinnamon. 

Gwen pressed the iced coffee into her palm. Reluctantly, MJ closed her hand around it, taking a little sniff. “This doesn’t mean I forgive you. I just believe in being the bigger person.” She nodded at Gwen, letting the bad blood wash from their hands. 

Letting out a deep breath, Gwen caught Glory’s eyes. The other woman shrugged at her in a classic what-can-you-do gesture that caused Gwen to almost laugh. She returned the shrug, then slipped into her place behind the drums. Playing had always come naturally to her. She hated people who said that, really. Because it should be hard practice and grueling hours and scarred fingers that made a good drummer, but-- the second she had sat behind the drums, she had felt at home.

“Let’s go, people, let’s go,” MJ cheerleaded, clapping her hands together quickly. She pointed this way and that way, directing the girls to the places. Finally, she was in her natural habitat, and no one argued with MJ when she was in this sort of mood. 

Soon enough, they fanned out around MJ. Music began to spill into the studio space, light and burning. Whenever they grew louder, so did MJ, making sure that her voice was always heard over the damning crush of noise. There was no denying she had a beautiful voice. It wasn’t smooth like honey, or delicate as a flower, but rather growling and loud. There was a rough deepness to it that Gwen would assume came from cigarettes, if she’d ever seen the other girl smoking. She hadn’t. MJ was a good girl in a bad girl’s disguise. 

Her hips swayed as the songs flickered from one to another. Her shirt slid down one of her shoulders, revealing the angular bone, the sweet sweep of skin. Buried between her narrow hips was the outline of her spine, covered in sweat from the heat outside. When she glanced over her shoulder at Gwen, her red hair spilled out against her back, her smile serpentine and easy. The microphone was still near her mouth as she sang, and sang, and sang.

Gwen smiled back and thought she might burn alive.

Gwen’s body was always so tense before a gig. Pain broke open across her shoulders, twisting her spine up until every notch felt like it was rubbing tightly against the one stacked right above it. Glory, the calmest of them all, always offered her a massage, but Gwen had to turn it down. She wouldn’t be able to sit still long enough for Glory to sort her out.

After each concert, there was a huge release of energy.

In the backstage area, the girls were at their most luminous. The Rusted Hedge was a shitty dive bar with an even shittier crowd, but the Mary Janes had them screaming for more by the end of it. MJ knew how to whip up a crowd; maybe that’s why they’d named the band after her. 

They were crammed on a beaten up couch, shoulder to shoulder. Betty was on her knees by the table, right in front of them, going through each song in detail. Her tone was excited and bubbly, almost nearing a shriek, as she played around with their next setlist. Gwen felt her cheeks turn a dark red when Betty started gushing about how good she had been on drums during Crawl, the most punk rock song that Gwen could argue onto the setlist.

Her pencil was working overtime as she wrote down all her notes, relaying them to the girls in her breezy, half-focused way. Glory was fiddling with a cigarette. She lit it up in the room, which MJ would usually throw a fit about, but she was in too good of a mood. Glory blew her golden-grey rings into the air and they all hoped that the fire alarm wouldn’t start blaring. 

There was an open window. They all felt lucky that night.

“How did you do that thing?” Betty asked, eyes turning in their full blazing glory onto Gwen. “During Playing Heaven, you did something new.”

“I don’t know,” Gwen said, with a small shrug. “I thought I should mess up the beat a little bit, make it quicker. You all kept time perfectly. You were amazing.”

“You were amazing,” Betty said, scribbling down notes again. “You gave us just what we needed to keep the energy up.”

Gwen blushed right to the tips of her ears, smiling more than she had done in the past few months. Her cheeks started to ache, but she didn’t want to give it up just yet. Beside her, MJ rose to life. She smelled like sweat and honeysuckle, the sort of thing that would be disgusting on anyone else.

Leaning closer, Gwen watched as her red hair fell into her face. Her eyes were sweet and alive, bright enough to bruise Gwen’s soul. Her hand reached out, flattening itself against the inside of Gwen’s thigh. It burned. “Hey,” she said, as if she didn’t already have all of Gwen’s attention.

“Hey,” Gwen said, aiming for casual and landing squarely against dumb. “What’s up?”

Her hair brushed against Gwen’s bare shoulder. MJ felt like an invasion sometimes, overpowering and terrifying, plundering through Gwen’s defenses without any sort of tenderness. “You really were great out there,” MJ said. Something inside of Gwen burned even more intensely, harsh enough to feel like her insides were being eviscerated.  

“Thanks,” Gwen said. “It’s not that impressive. If you weren’t such a drill sergeant in practice, I wouldn’t be any good out there.” Really, Gwen was only good because she hated the idea of MJ’s sour attitude raining its acid down on her.

“You’re welcome,” MJ laughed. She was wearing a new lipstick. It was shimmery and pink, smeared over the gentle pout of her mouth. It probably tasted of something artificial and delicious, like strawberries or cherries, the taste of commercial womanhood. When she was smiling like that, it was as if the whole world was burning Gwen alive. “I always forget how cool you can be.”

Gwen laughed and elbowed her in the side. “Ass,” Gwen murmured, sick with her own fondness. “No one forgets how cool I am.”

“Eugh,” MJ said. She was leaning on one of Gwen’s drums, which was stressing her out. She’d paid a lot of money for this drumset and she’d rather not spend the afternoon trying to clean glitter from it. Sure, she had no real proof that MJ wore glitter, but it just felt like something she’d cover herself in. Gwen had a sixth sense for these things. 

“What are you eughing at?” Gwen said. Her voice was nasal and high, transformed by the amount of snot she was currently fighting against. If that sounded gross, then you weren’t ready to hear the rest of it. Her throat was dry and raw, scraped down to the flesh. She had a tissue held to her cheek because she kept crying randomly. Not because she was sad, just because her body was so congested all over that the tears were the only liquid that would leave her. 

“You look disgusting,” MJ said.

“Thanks,” Gwen responded, hating the heavy, phlegmy sound of her voice. “You don’t look so great, either.” Absolutely not true. MJ looked like MJ always looked: glossy and elite, like she’d just stepped off the pages of a magazine. She looked out of place in Gwen’s shitty apartment. “Why are you bugging me?”

Glory had invited her over without asking Gwen. She got it. The two of them were friends, closer than Gwen and MJ would ever be. They talked about boys and make-up tips and whatever problems they were having that week while Gwen creeped past them to get to the kitchen. Gwen was trying to be cool about the fact they’d eaten all her cookies, but it was hard when she was already so close to the edge. 

“Why aren’t you resting?” MJ asked. What, was she actually worried about her? “You look like you’re about the pass out.”

“Gotta focus on getting the new song right,” Gwen said. When she looked back up to MJ, the other’s face was twisted in disgust. Even that was an expression she wore well, which pissed Gwen off. She tried to imagine the other in a particularly embarrassing situation, something that would rid her of her Goddess glow and force her to act like a person. Something like… chasing a chicken around a field. 

Gwen suspected she would make even that look effortless, though.

“You can focus on it some other time. You look like a chewed up corpse.”

“Gross. Who’s been chewing on my corpse?”

“Flu zombies,” MJ said. Gwen snorted, and then stopped her laughter short, because she was currently pissed at MJ for calling her disgusting. So, no, she wouldn’t laugh at her adorable little jokes. “Glory said that you haven’t rested, like, once. You’re just making this whole flu last longer. And now you’re probably going to give it to me.”

“No one asked you to stand that close to me,” Gwen said. She hated that her voice had lost all of its authority now that she was ill. She sounded like a kid that hadn’t learned how to speak properly. “You made that decision. If you get sick, it’s your own fault. And I’m not going to make you any soup.”

“Okay,” MJ said, raising a brow at Gwen’s little tirade. “I don’t want your stupid soup, anyway.”

“Oh, you’d want my soup. When you’re sick? My soup is gonna be the only thing you think about.”

“Not only am I not going to think about your soup, but I’m not going to think about you either, Stacy.”

Ouch. Last name drop? Things were getting serious, then. Gwen lifted the edge of her drumstick and whacked the edge of MJ’s thigh with it. Not hard enough to hurt, but it still managed to draw a disgruntled gasp from the princess. “Leave my personal bubble, Watson. I need to focus.”

“Gwen,” MJ said. She lifted up the edge of her skirt to reveal the red mark that had been left there, right against her milk white thigh. Gwen looked at it and then raised her eyes to the ceiling, deciding that looking at it was just making her more ill. MJ had a little dimple on her thigh, apparently. Gwen didn’t know what to do with that information. “You really do need to rest. You should go to bed.”

Gwen felt her hands tighten around the drumsticks. She considered whacking MJ again, but she knew that she had only gotten that free hit because she was ill. One more tap and MJ would launch herself at Gwen. “Okay,” she said, with a pathetic little sniffle. She stood to her feet and wobbled; MJ’s arm slid around her waist with a practiced ease. Usually, Gwen would drag herself away from the touch, but her body was giving up on her. She just leaned her head against the other’s shoulder and let her heavy eyes drop shut. 

“It’s okay,” MJ said. Her voice was more delicate than it had ever been with Gwen. It was sort of beautiful, the smoky quality of it running away to reveal soft silk. MJ was stronger than Gwen thought she was, too. With most of Gwen’s weight balanced on her, she still managed to drag her towards her bed. 

Alright, maybe she did feel a tiny bit better once she was buried under her covers, but she wasn’t going to tell MJ that. She fell asleep to the warm press of MJ’s hand against her forehead, her sweet voice murmuring something to her. Probably about what a mess her bedroom was.

When she woke up, there was a container filled with soup near the stove, with a post-it note stuck atop of it, bearing MJ’s messy scrawl.

MJ wouldn’t stop shrieking in her ear.

It made sense, considering they were currently swinging over New York, but it was shrill and annoying and gave her such a headache. Besides, they weren’t even that high up. She just needed to get MJ away from the giant raccoon that was terrorizing a nearby jewelry shop. Christ, what even was her life? When Gwen had left, Glory had been spread out on the couch, a book in her hand. She had a freshly made plate of something that smelled so good that Gwen almost stole it from her. 

Instead, she was swinging through New York, letting the cold air attack her, with MJ screaming into her ear. 

“Hey!” she shouted, sticking some of her webs to a wall and letting her feet hit the ground. “Can you be quiet for, like, a second?” 

Once her feet were stable on the ground, she detached herself from the webs. Even with her super strength, her arms were aching a little bit from carrying MJ such a distance. She’d have to get back soon, anyway. Who else was going to fight a giant raccoon, other than the great Spider-Ghost?

“Oh my god,” MJ gasped. Her feet hit the ground, but she wobbled a little. Gwen held onto her until she was able to stand upright without accidentally throwing herself off the building. “I almost died.”

“Okay,” Gwen scoffed. “You didn’t almost die.” Realizing that her voice sounded a little bit too much like herself, she deepened it. “I mean, you were, uh, fine, little lady.”

“Why are you speaking in that voice?”

“This is just my voice!” 

“It is not. I’ve watched all your interviews.”

“You’ve… you’ve watched all my interviews?” Gwen suddenly felt all gooey and strange inside. Shit, did MJ know who she was? She was a hidden powerhouse with more brains that anyone, including Gwen, gave her credit for- if anyone was going to be a secret sleuth, it would absolutely be her. But MJ’s cheeks just darkened into a pink.

“You’re… impressive.” Again, Gwen felt her insides melt. She was worried they’d bubble up and spill out of her mouth. “Everyone thinks that. You spend, what? Every single Saturday saving the city?”

Saving the city! Right! She was busy, doing just that. “I have to, uh, go…”

“Go save the city?” MJ smiled. “Go on. Hey.” Just as Gwen was about to turn away, MJ pressed her hand against her forearm, keeping her in place. Gently, she leaned close, pressing her lips against Gwen’s masked cheek. Everything inside of her short-circuited. “Take that for good luck,” MJ said, stepping down from the ledge so she stood safely on the roof.

It took a moment for Gwen’s legs to start cooperating. Once they did, she fixed her webs to a nearby building and swung towards the scene of the crime.

It took a moment for her to realise she was swinging in the wrong direction. Once she figured it out, she could hear MJ’s sweet laugh ringing in her ears.

Gwen tried to forget the cheek kiss. She tried very, very hard. Betty was throwing a party in her small apartment, a sort of housewarming that came two months too late, and Gwen was happy enough for the excuse to get out of the house.

“I thought you weren’t a party person,” Glory said, eyeing the shorts and the lipstick. With the handy help of make-up, she’d managed to make herself look easy-going.

“I have hidden depths,” Gwen said, pushing the other girl out of the door. Glory leveled her with a pretty suspicious look, but Gwen refused to answer any of her nagging questions.

Betty’s party was tame, as they always were, which Gwen admired. She managed to maintain a perfectly balanced atmosphere. Quiet, soothing music, lovely conversation, a glow that seemed candlelit almost (orange-y, like the room was pleasantly burning). Gwen wanted something a little more lively, though. She was buzzing beneath her skin. Embarrassingly, she’d set out with a pretty foolproof plan to kiss someone else tonight. It would wipe MJ’s kiss from her memory- it had haunted her since, the little mark of it, a black wound that could not head. 

It hadn’t even been a real kiss. Not really. Jeez, her grandma gave her cheek kisses.

Besides, it hadn’t really been Gwen. It was Ghost-Spider. Spider-Ghost. She was still workshopping it. Most people just called her Spider-Girl- which made her want to scream.

MJ wouldn’t have done it if she knew it was Gwen. 

Which somehow made her all the more desperate for a cheap hook-up. If she could just get her mind off the other woman, then everything would be okay, and she could go back to being Chill Gwen. She was absolutely not bringing a chill energy to the party, though, if Betty’s nervous gaze had anything to say about that. 

She’d been chugging mixed drinks like there was no tomorrow. Awkwardly, she stood in a corner while some asshole flirted with her. He was the sort of tall she hated, where she had to crane her neck upwards just to see his face. He was standing too close, as well, which just exaggerated the annoying effect of his height. “So,” he said, keeping his voice low and conspiratorial. It made Gwen want to gag. “What do you do with your free time?”

“I’m in a band,” Gwen said. She aimed for cool and abstract, but she just sounded pissed off.

“Oh, yeah? Are you a singer?” She hated when people assumed that. The punk scene was pretty male-heavy, so guys always seemed to think that she was the pretty little singer with a group of guys. Hard pass. She wouldn’t play in a band if she didn’t have her girls beside her. Besides, no one could sing like MJ could. It wasn’t angelic; it was brutal, the way she dragged each note out of herself, the way she grated her tongue against every chord. She refused to go unheard. 

And now she was thinking about MJ again. Great.

“Drummer, actually,” Gwen said.

“Oh, shit,” the guy drawled in a voice he probably thought was sexy. “That’s so hot. What’s your band called?” He leaned a little closer, his hand moving so it was pressed right up against her hip. She suddenly wanted to be very far away from this situation. Up close, she could see the acne-bruises on this guy’s face, the grease between his eyebrows, the heavy scent of beer that seemed to drip from his mouth. She turned her head a little to the side.

“Hey, dude, can you give me a little space here? I feel like I’m suffocating.”

“Come on, I’m just getting comfortable.”

Before Gwen could say anything else, she felt a shoulder brush against her own. MJ’s perfume was pleasantly overwhelming, like Gwen had been dumped in Aphrodite’s rose garden and left to fend for herself. Her smile was sickly sweet as her hand found the guy’s chest and pushed him back. Hard. His hand left Gwen’s waist as he stumbled and just barely caught himself.

In its place, MJ’s arm tucked itself neatly around Gwen’s waist. Fire. She was constantly burning herself alive around MJ. Maybe the other girl was some sort of witch. Fire powers? She hadn’t heard of anyone in NYC with that kind of power, but she could be hiding it. Or maybe Gwen was just losing her mind. It wouldn’t be surprising. It probably had to happen eventually, all things considered.

“Is this guy bothering you, sweetie?” MJ asked. She caught Gwen’s eye and shared a smile that was all soft and secretive. Gwen felt her pulse beat right through her neck. MJ could probably feel it, too.. Sweetie. That was nice. Had MJ ever called her sweetie before? Gwen couldn’t recall a time where the two of them used nicknames. Shit, for the first few months, MJ had referred to her pretty ruthlessly as Gwendolyne, which had made her twitch and wince every time it was used. 

“Uh,” Gwen said, dumbly. She blinked at MJ. Tonight, she had braided her hair and let it fall across her shoulder in a single swoop, like a scorpion with a venomous tail. She wanted to touch it, to unravel it with the edges of her fingertips, to see if MJ’s hair was as soft as it always looked. “Um.” She was still trying to wrap her tongue around words. Work, brain, dammit!

“Hey, no,” the guy said, throwing his hands up. He had been bothering Gwen, because he was an asshole, and that’s all assholes knew how to do. She just didn’t know how to communicate this to MJ, considering her tongue was still refusing to move. It was probably worried that Gwen would just embarrass herself more.  “I wasn’t doing anything. She didn’t mention that she was dating someone, that’s all.”

Did this guy honestly think MJ was in her league? Oh, he was an absolute idiot for falling for the other woman’s schemes. 

MJ kept her smile tight and polite, shaking her head a little. “That is such a shame. She didn’t mention it at all? That’s so odd, Gwen usually loves talking about me.” Gwen forced a smile, tilting her head so her cheek brushed against the other’s shoulder. She smelled good. Of course she did. “Well, it’s about time for us to get going. Real sorry to interrupt this little conversation of yours.”

Before the guy could respond, MJ directed them towards the door. “Uh,” Gwen said.

“I’ll take thank yous in the form of free drinks and your presence at practice. You know, you being on time for once would be more than enough.” Clearly, MJ was still a little salty about that, but Gwen couldn’t even bring herself to argue. At the door, MJ slipped on her jacket, which was made of faux fur. She wiggled her head, trying to remove her hair from where it had gotten trapped on the collar.

Lifting her hand, Gwen gently swept her fingers across the back of the other’s neck, letting the braid snap against her back. “Thank you,” she said, eventually. “Are we actually leaving?”

“Obviously,” MJ said, handing Gwen her coat. She slipped it on without further protest. “My whole power move back there is going to look a whole lot less powerful if we don’t actually leave. You can’t undermine your own authority by not following through.”

“I think you could undermine your authority a little and people would still tremble before you.” 

MJ threw her a smile that was blade-sharp. They said their goodbyes to Betty, who hugged them fiercely. Usually, she was so focused on being a host that she couldn’t have a moment to herself, but it seemed that she’d let herself relax with the glasses of wine Glory had been pressing into her hand all night. “I’m going to miss you both so much,” Betty said, grabbing a handful of Gwen’s cheeks. 

“You’re going to see us tomorrow,” Gwen reminded, though her voice was warped from the hands still grabbing at her. 

“Okay,” MJ said, prying Betty’s hands off of Gwen’s cheeks. They reached out to touch MJ's face, but the other girl kept them firmly trapped in her own. “We’re leaving. No more grabbing at us as we’re trying to go. You’re a self-made obstacle course sometimes.”

Betty laughed sweetly and said goodbye to them again. 

Outside, the two of them stood awkwardly by the door. Okay, maybe only Gwen was standing awkwardly, but that was only because MJ could look natural no matter what she was doing. Her hair still hung by her shoulder as she slid her phone from her pocket, beginning to quickly tap away at the screen. Her nails should have gotten in the way, but MJ had a supernatural ability to make everything look easy.

“Whatcha doing?” Gwen asked, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

“Ordering us a taxi.”

Right. Gwen knew that going home was the smart idea. It was late and she was feeling strangely… hollow. It wasn’t even that she wanted to hook-up with that guy. He had a weird energy about him that she would have picked up on a little quicker, if she hadn’t been so tipsy. She had just wanted… something to happen, even if she couldn’t identify what that thing was. “Right now?” Gwen said. Stalling.

MJ raised a quizzical brow. “No,” she said, slowly. “In thirty minutes. I was thinking it’d be nice to stand in the freezing air for a while.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Gwen said, rolling her eyes. “That’s real funny. How long have you been saving that one up for? Did you prep it while we were inside?”

“Gwen,” she said, easily. “You don’t take up as much space in my head as you seem to think. I don’t wait around, thinking of ways I’m going to get you.”

Gwen wanted to snap back that she also didn’t do that, but she wasn’t sure if it was true. She did spend an awful lot of time sitting around, thinking of MJ. “Could we…” She was veering away from that conversation, deciding that any answer would be far too incriminating.

“What?” MJ said. Her fingers paused over her screen. 

“I was just wondering if you wanted to get some food,” she said. Her voice was a small, distant hum in her throat; she sounded like a kid asking her parents if she could get a midnight snack, all embarrassed and ready to curl up into herself. “There’s a food truck round the corner. It’s open all night, too, so…”

“How do you know that?”

“What? I go out at night. I’m… I’m super cool and I get invited to parties all the time.”

MJ laughed, sweet and light, the softness of a winter’s day captured with a beaming smile. “Oh, yeah,” she agreed. “That’s how I’d describe you. Gwen Stacy, my super cool party friend.”

Gwen smiled in a stupid, half-fond sort of way. She was sure she looked like a fool. It made more sense for MJ to introduce her like that:: Gwen Stacy, the eternal fool. “Do you want to go or not? I’m going to go. You don’t have to go with me.” 

“I’m not going to let you go alone,” MJ argued. “That’s how girls get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Gwen said. She realised that her voice had become a little too fierce, but she hated the idea that MJ thought of her as some useless damsel in distress that needed to be protected by those around her. She was the one that did the protecting. “But if you need me to come along so you don’t get hurt…”

“Hey, hey,” MJ hummed. “You were the one that invited me out. Now you’re playing the hero?” 

“I’m not playing!” Gwen argued. “I think I’m very heroic.”

MJ threw her a look that was damning. Gwen met it with a playful narrowing of her eyes, cute enough to almost make MJ laugh. “Okay,” MJ said, eventually. “I’ll play ball. Let’s go get something to eat. This can be my act of charity for the week. You’re welcome.”

Gwen knew that she could either feel offended at that- or she could just take the bone that she had been thrown. The building was old and dilapidated, the sort of place that had been stripped bare of anything that could be considered character. The walls were bare with the same sickly-yellow paint that had once been a beautiful white, like a disease had spread through every part of this place. The elevator shook and creaked when they used it. Apart from that, though, the apartment block was strangely quiet. 

It was only when they exited the building that noise descended on them.

The streets were busy and filled with life, a familiar staple of New York life. The two of them winded around the bodies of drunks, of hapless fools, of laughing men and giggling girls. Though it was the night, there were still vendors hawking newspapers and New York themed memorabilia, hoping to catch the last dredges of tourism that haunted the lively streets. They swerved around stray bicycles in the right place and slipped away down an alleyway, knowing that the shortcut would lead them where they needed to go.

“Are you cold?” MJ asked. 

Gwen squared her shoulders off and huddled into herself. “I’m fine.”

“Wow,” MJ laughed. “Sometimes I think you like suffering.”

Gwen winced, embarrassed that it wasn’t a lie. “I’m like the Mother Teresa of New York. Or the… Saint… uh…What Saint has suffered the most?”

“Every Saint has suffered.”

“Sure,” Gwen nodded. “But which one has suffered the most?”

“Can we do that?” MJ asked. “Compare suffering like that?”

“Okay, okay,” Gwen said, throwing up her hands. “I get it. You’re better than me.” MJ threw her a smirk that was caught and returned in the gleam that lit up Gwen’s eyes. They swerved down an alleyway and were spat out into another busy street; they moved around the bodies until the two of them were standing in a small line for the food truck.

MJ peered at the menu that was taped to the side of the van. “What’s good?” she asked.

“It’s all good,” Gwen said, easily. “I mean, most of it is going to give you food poisoning. I’d avoid anything with rice or chicken. But, you know, the rest of it is good.”

“What sort of food truck serves both rice, chicken, and hot dogs?”

“One that has absolutely no standards,” Gwen nodded. She ordered them both hot dogs, heavy on both the relish and the onions; it only took two minutes for them to be made. The two of them took the hot dogs and moved around the corner of the van, where they’d set up a rickety little seated section. The chairs rocked whenever too much weight was placed on it, but Gwen still made herself comfortable. She rested her elbows on the table. 

MJ took a big bite, staining her teeth with the relish. Her tongue peeked out to rub it from her lips. “Jeez,” MJ said. “Okay, these are delicious.”

“Best ones in New York,” Gwen maintained. “I’ve tried most of the places here, too, so I can say that.”

“Why are you trying so many of these places, anyway?” 

“I have a lot of free time.” There was no way that she could ever tell MJ the truth. God, she hadn’t told anyone the truth, apart from Miles- which was an unfair comparison. Miles just… got it, because he had no choice in the matter. The two of them were cut from the same cloth, made from the same tragedy (that was at the heart of every spiderperson’s journey- an undeniable tragedy that shaped them into a hero). Gwen Stacy, in most universes, was someone else’s tragedy.

But MJ could never know how she spent her nights, how she floated around the city, how she tried to form herself into something resembling a hero. Mostly, though, she just felt tired, rather than brave. Is that what being a hero was all about? God. She expected some sort of elation, some sort of… good, gooey feeling.

“Free time that you could spend practicing,” MJ pointed out. “Or hanging out with me.” She lifted her thumb to her finger, wet with sauce. Her tongue, cherry red, peeked out to lap at the pad of her finger, which was distracting enough to make something dangerous swirl in Gwen’s gut. From behind her thumb, MJ’s cat eyes watched Gwen with lethal precision.

“You don’t want to hang out with me,” Gwen said, quickly. There was a laugh on her words, but that didn’t stop them from being true. And maybe a little pointed, too. “You hate hanging out with me.”

“What?” MJ asked. Confusion, as genuine as rain and as blistering as a cold shoulder, clouded her features. “What do you mean? I don’t hate hanging out with you.”

“You hate hanging out with me.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You hate hanging out with me,” Gwen insisted, regardless.

MJ reached out, shoving at her shoulder. Not harshly, but not quite playfully, either. “Stop saying that,” MJ hummed. Gwen bit her tongue, even if she really wanted to say it again. “I’ve never hated hanging out with you. Are you always this dramatic?”

“Only on Saturdays and Thursdays. Fridays are part-time.”

“You’re not funny,” MJ said. She took another bite of her food, then looked somewhere past Gwen’s shoulder. “I like it when we hang out.”

“When we hang out, you pick arguments. Always”

“I do not,” she argued. “It’s not my fault that you have no time management and you’re always zoning out. Really, you need to work on yourself, Gwen.”

“Wow,” Gwen whistled. “Well, you’ve won me over. Now I want to spend every single minute with you, MJ. You sweet-talker.”

“Shut up,” MJ scoffed. “I like spending time with you, alright? You’re… you’re one of my closest friends. I mean, obviously, Glory is my closest friend, but you’re totally in the top five.” Gwen went silent, staring down at the gravel beneath her feet. She rolled a rock beneath her shoe, wondering if MJ wanted her to talk now. “You just… you never have time for me anymore. For anyone, really. It’s like you’re so busy in Gwen World that the rest of us just stop existing to you.”

“...Sorry,” Gwen said, quietly. “And I’m sorry for saying that you don’t want to hang out with me. It’s just that…”

“I’m so cool and you’re such a nerd? So you can’t imagine me actually wanting to spend time with you?”

“Or maybe it’s just that you say stuff like that to me. And I can never figure out if you’re joking or not.”

Instead of actually answering, MJ took another bite of her food. Maybe Gwen would just keep guessing for the rest of her life. That made sense, for MJ, at least; if she wasn’t being confusing, she wasn’t being herself… and Gwen strangely liked the blurry, vague version of her, especially when she was lit up by the shitty light of the hot dog van. 

“So…” Gwen said, eager to fill the silence. “It’s, you know, it’s awkward, sometimes.”

“I want to hang out with you,” MJ said, eventually. “And I’m usually joking. Except when you’re late to practice. That really does piss me off, you know.”

“I know,” Gwen sighed, shaking her head a little. “I’m working on it. It’s just that I get so…”

“Busy,” MJ finished, because she’d heard this speech a thousand times before. The fact that MJ could so easily finish her excuse-laden apologies made something inside of Gwen curl up into a tight ball. A little protective, a little scolded- every time she told herself that she’d work on being a better friend, superheroing managed to get in the way. 

“I’m sorry,” Gwen said. MJ shrugged, then took another bite of her hot dog. Scrunching up the paper, she threw it a little way away from her, landing it easily in the trash can. “Woah,” Gwen said, around a mouthful of food. “Damn. You have good aim.”

MJ shrugged, standing to her feet. Over her shoulder, she punched Gwen with a smile that made her feel dizzy. “You never know,” MJ laughed. “I could be Spider-Girl.”

Once they had finished eating, the two of them started on the long journey home. It wasn’t meant to be long, really. But Gwen led the way, and she took them down as many shortcuts as she could remember, letting them circle in on themselves a few times- because it was nice to be alone with MJ, to not have to worry about taking up her time, or rushing off to change into her suit. 

“I think it’s going to rain soon.” MJ said, head tilted towards the sky. Her hair fell in gorgeous red curls around her shoulders, a blush of colour against the murky blue night. Her lips were parted, the sort of pink that was only ever found on roses and bedsheets. Gwen wondered if it would taste like the pink-yellow center of a peach, or if there was something venomous about the touch of her lips. Either way, Gwen thought it would be a chance she’d be willing to take.

“What?” Gwen said. She lifted her head as well, thought it was a painful thing to rip her eyes away from MJ. “Are you kidding? No chance. I looked at the forecast this morning.” In some ways, she had become more mature than ever since she had taken over the Ghost-Spider mantle. Swinging in the rain was always a pain in the ass, so checking the weather had become an almost religious routine. 

Right as Gwen threw her disbelief into the street, the clouds yawned sleepily. Their mouths opened and rain fell, splattering heavily on the ground in front of them. There was no tender build up- the rain had decided to fall and it would no longer hesitate in that thought.

Gwen’s arms wrapped around her body, trying to fight off the shudder of ice. The sun had not yet had time to bless it, which made it feel as if she was being drowned alive in water meant to strip her bare. 

“Oh, yeah?” MJ said. She was practically physically unable to stop herself from poking at the other girl. “It isn’t going to rain?”

“I hate you,” Gwen decided. 

“Let’s get going.” MJ broke into the sort of walk that took Gwen three steps to keep up. Embarrassingly, she got out of breath pretty easily, which her spider-like stamina didn’t seem content to fix. Beside her, she could see flames of red being doused out, turning into a softened brown as they stuck to her cheeks and her shoulders. Gwen knew her own hair was getting a similar treatment, though she was sure it looked much less elegant. 

They’d run three blocks before Gwen’s body rebelled against her. Her feet simply stopped moving. They lingered, hesitated, then all movement ceased. Bent in double, she wondered if it would have just been faster to swing back to her apartment. 

“Come on,” MJ shouted, already in front of her. She glanced back over her shoulder, then seemed to notice that Gwen was definitely out of commission. “We’re close to yours,” MJ commented, as if that would make her want to run again. But Gwen’s head squirmed with the intense pulse of alcohol, threatening to leave her body. The alcohol, then the food, would be in a terrible puddle on the floor, if she kept running.

Taking pity on her, MJ walked to her side. “You can’t make it?”

Gwen shook her head. 

“You look like a sad puppy,” MJ hummed. “It’s kind of cute.”

She supposed that there were far worse things to be called. Especially by MJ. 

“Okay, okay,” MJ sighed, when Gwen just breathed heavily, still doubled over. “I’m taking pity on you. You look pitiful enough right now to pull on my heartstrings.” Her hand reached out, placing itself against Gwen’s shoulder. She felt the warmth of the other woman’s skin, even through the fabric of her dress. She could feel all of MJ’s fingers, soaking into her faster than even the rain was. “Come on, baby,” she cooed.

With just the gentle press of her hand, she guided Gwen into the nearest crevasse, half-covered by a yawning canvas. The awning stretched out barely a few inches from the wall, which meant they had to crowd close together.

“The rain shouldn’t last too long,” MJ said, her voice vibrant with hope. Around them, it kept battering down, cruelly punishing anyone that had decided against a coat. “Probably.”

“Probably,” Gwen echoed, finally catching her breath. In order for them both to fit together under the makeshift shelter, MJ had to crowd their bodies together. Their thighs slid together, skin against fabric; Gwen could feel MJ’s knee pressed against the side of her own, intimate enough to make the rain feel far too warm. Beside the dip of her waist, MJ’s hand rested, so she wasn’t driving the full brunt of her weight against Gwen.

When the other girl spoke, her breath ghosted against her cheek. She could feel MJ’s words driving their way right into her skin.

“Uh,” Gwen said, dumbly.

“Sorry,” MJ mumbled. “I don’t know what to do with my body.”

“No, this is…” Fine, Gwen was going to say, then realised how little that word actually encompassed. Fine wouldn’t explain the daunting weight that seemed to fill her, a heavy heat that wanted to explode outwards.

“Yeah,” MJ agreed, as if she knew everything Gwen wanted to say-- as if she knew that it was better if Gwen didn’t say it. “Uh.”

“You smell good,” Gwen said. Turning her head just slightly to the side was dangerous. It meant that their lips were just inches apart, that she could feel the utter closeness of their bodies. She shifted slightly, chasing her weight from one foot to the other, and that made MJ fall closer towards her. Catching herself last minute with her hand, she felt their stomachs touch, their thighs kissing. 

“Uh,” MJ blinked. Her cheeks had burst into a red that was beyond red, creeping into her hairline. The freckles of her nose were eaten up by the flush- Gwen wondered what it would be like to lean forward and dust little kisses there. “Thanks. Shampoo,” MJ offered. “And conditioner.”

“I use those things, too,” Gwen promised. “Probably just not the expensive kind you use.”

MJ shrugged. For once, words were failing her. Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth. Her eyes lifted, meeting Gwen’s fierce gaze, the sort of blue that looked like she’d been drowned alive. Gwen didn’t flinch from her. “It’s not that expensive,” MJ said.

“Eh,” Gwen said. “Maybe, maybe not. Would you share it with me?”

“No,” MJ said. Her lips, soft and full, formed the word gently. Gwen’s eyes dipped, and MJ seemed to notice, because her lips curled inwards.

“Sorry,” Gwen murmured, letting her gaze move to the side.

“No, it’s…” MJ said, then shook her head. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I’m making things weird.”

“A little,” MJ laughed. “It’s okay. It’s cute.”

Gwen flushed, the same bubblegum-pink as MJ’s lips. “It’s cute? Oh my god. I feel like a bunny.”

“Aw,” MJ cooed. She reached out, pinching Gwen’s cheek. “You are like a little bunny.” The gesture only served to bring them closer together; Gwen’s eyes jittered towards the other, mouth opening slightly. MJ was still bright, a speck of light in a world that had become suffocated with grey-clouds and weeping storms. “Bunny-Gwen. That’d be your superhero name.”

Ha. If only she knew. Gwen would’ve said something, hopefully something witty, but she was too busy trying to decide if her heart rate was behaving normally or not. She swore she could feel MJ’s, a delicate flicker against her ribs, guiding Gwen’s heart to beat faster and faster. “You’re really pretty,” Gwen said, instead.

“I know,” MJ nodded. She paused, her finger slowly moving across Gwen’s cheek. “You are, too. Actually.”

Before Gwen could thank her, MJ leaned forward, a little puff of perfume leaving her as their bodies adjusted. Her mouth was warm; it decimated the chill. Gwen pushed back. It was easy, to sacrifice herself to the kiss, to give herself over to the vague pinprick of pleasure that MJ’s mouth brought. When she pulled back, her cheeks were dusted lightly, her hand still resting against Gwen’s pleasure-warmed skin. Both of them looked at each other, then looked away.

“Sorry-”

“I didn’t mean to-”

Gently, both of them laughed, in a way that burst through the vague anxiety. The rain lightened around them, the waves of it beginning to break to invite in the sun. It would be a warm summer. MJ’s hand dropped from her cheek, somehow finding her hand in the tangle of bodies. Warmer than any summer that Gwen had lived through, it seemed. MJ squeezed her hand. 

Gwen forgot summer had not yet arrived.