overdue for a revival
It had been a long shift.
The coffee machine had broken the night before and no one had told her. MJ’s boss had called in sick a minute before her shift, leaving her to man the counters alone - not uncommon, but another straw on the camel’s back. Lastly, the somewhat regular, who always looked a second or two from bolting across the country, had straightened and looked up like he was going to say something. Weird. But a little interesting, too.
“Hi,” he stammered, and MJ cocked her head at him. His name was Pete Parkley, or something. He’d introduced himself–full name–once before, and although she’d forgotten it, his face had stuck with her for some reason. Maybe it was just the weirdness that came with giving your complete legal name to your barista. She wondered if he did that with most people.
The routine, ‘What can I get for you?’ was on the tip of her tongue, but she felt like she should wait for him to get out what he needed to say. The man tightened his hands into fists before shoving them into his worn jacket. He still looked cold.
“My name’s Peter Parker,” he blurted, before taking a short, sharp breath. There it was again. The full introduction. “You don’t know me, but, um… you used to.”
She could see Ned perk up in the corner of her vision; fair. What the hell was this guy talking about? He shot her a look, that sort of raised eyebrow is-this-guy-crazy-or-am-I-just-stupid look, and she shrugged. The customer - Peter (Peter Parker ) - turned and gave a watery grin to Ned, too.
It made her a little uncomfortable.
“Hey, Ned,” MJ called, ignoring the man’s face, which fell a little. An unexpected stab of guilt lanced through her chest. “I’ll finish up here then swing by your place later.” A not-so-subtle way of saying, ‘You should leave now so I can close up sooner and get this guy out of the shop.’ Maybe not always the smartest approach with crazies, but this guy looked relatively harmless. He was riddled with anxiety more than anything else - and more than a little starved. Thin, but in a way that looked wrong on him.
She didn’t know why she thought that.
“Are you sure?” Ned asked, and she nodded. He frowned but slid his books into his bag and gave a half-hearted salute, before stopping at the door. “You still have that, uh, huge shotgun under the bar counter, right? You know, the one you were showing me before?”
MJ snorted and waved him off. He was trying to help, and she appreciated it. But she was fine, and he wasn’t a good liar. Peter Parker’s eyes widened a little regardless. “I got it, Nerd. Flip the closed sign on your way out.”
The bell chimed as the door clicked shut, leaving the two of them in silence.
“I don’t know you,” she said, and the man startled. MJ turned her back to him, starting the tedious closing process by organizing the jugs of flavoring. “I’ve got a good memory, too. So I think you’ve got the wrong person, Peter Parker.”
“I don’t,” he said strongly, before releasing a shaky breath. She glanced up at him, and he winced a little, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I mean, um, I definitely don’t have the wrong person. I know you don’t remember me, but that’s… it’s a long story.”
MJ quirked an eyebrow at him, but stayed quiet. She liked making people feel on edge.
She grabbed a dish rag and ran it under the tap, before taking her sweet time wiping off the counters. “I’m fine with long stories.” She boosted herself over the counter and began to stack the chairs on top of their respective tables while he stood off to the side.
“I know you are,” Peter Parker said fondly; a little too familiar-ly. It irked her. Why was there a stranger in front of her, so completely confident about who she was and wasn’t? “I’m just, um, I’m not sure if you’ll actually believe me, I guess.”
Weird.
“Okay, Peter Parker,” she began. “Then prove it . ”
He made a surprised sort of sound, which MJ ignored. The chairs were now stacked. She pulled out the broom. “How am I supposed to prove it?” comes the question from across the room.
“Tell me something that only you would know,” MJ demanded, stepping closer to Peter. “Where did Ned and I go last Christmas?”
There was a pause. Peter’s brow furrowed in concentration, before he declared, “That’s a trick question. We didn't go anywhere, right? We stayed in and built legos at Ned’s.”
That caught her off guard, but she maintained her composure. We? What the hell did he mean by we? A cold feeling squirmed in her gut.
“Lucky guess,” she muttered, maneuvering around him and sweeping the accumulated dirt into the dustpan. It should be a simple enough guess, anyway - spending Christmas with friends and family? Doing something dumb like legos? If this stalker guy was worth his weight, he’d be able to overhear Ned’s nerding out over lego sets easily enough whenever he dropped by. “What’s my favorite flavor of ice cream?”
Peter Parker didn’t miss a beat.
“You tell everyone you like coffee ice cream, but your actual favorite is the chocolate fudge brownie from Ben & Jerry’s.” She inhaled sharply, but he continued. “But sometimes you pick out the actual brownie parts because they're too cold, so you wait for them to defrost a little bit, even though thats sacrilegious and should be illegal, actually.”
The broom clattered to the floor.
“Who the hell are you?” She rounded on him, finger pointed in his direction. “And how the hell do you know so much about me?” Was she actually being stalked? Was she being followed home after every shift? How far did this go back? He knew about last Christmas with Ned, and - holy shit, did this guy have cameras in her apartment?
“I’m Peter Parker,” the man answered, an incredibly unhappy smile on his face. “And we used to be friends.”
She gaped at him a little. She didn't remember him. She didn't even have that many friends to begin with–or people that she was close enough to call friends, anyway. She wouldn't have forgotten someone who knew her so well, so completely.
Her jaw clicked shut. Peter gave another miserable and discouraged shrug, as if what he’d said made sense.
Nothing about this made sense.
“MJ-” he started, and she could feel her blood pressure rising.
“Wait,” MJ said, before she picked up the broom and shoved it back into the closet. He watched, looking a little bewildered. “Not now. Just-” She inhaled shortly. “Just give me a second to process.”
She closed the register, swept the rest of the crap on the counter into an already crowded drawer, and locked the backrooms before shepherding Peter Parker out the front door, the bell jingling behind them.
It's only when she locked the doors and they were standing out on the street that she began to talk. “So. Peter Parker,” she began, and he arched an eyebrow. “Explain this to me.”
“You're not gonna believe me,” he said, shuffling in place.
MJ watched as his fingers twisted in his shirt sleeves, waiting for him to speak (regardless of the fact he didn’t seem to have a clue what to say.) He couldn’t just dump this on her without explaining why there was apparently a Peter-Parker-shaped hole in her life.
“Fine,” she sighed. “I don't care. Walk me home, I want to talk to you.”
“You shouldn't just give out your address to someone you don't know,” he said a little dumbly, like he was concerned about her getting doxxed, not the fact that there was a huge chunk of her memory missing. Peter fell into step beside her nonetheless.
“So let’s say I do know you. Why don't I remember you?”
A bystander stepped past them on the sidewalk, and Peter Parker shifted out of the way without even looking at him. He was so weird.
“Magic,” he said a little bitterly, kicking a small rock into the street.
“I don't remember you because of magic ?” she scoffed, voice light but more than a little bewildered. MJ didn't like this. She didn't like not knowing what was going on, she didn’t like that this stranger seemed to know her past better than she did. “You're shitting me. This is a joke, right?” she demanded. “Did Flash put you up to this?”
Peter’s face twisted in disgust. “Ew.”
MJ snorted. “Okay, no, I believe that reaction, that looked genuine.” She paused, though, letting out a shaky breath. “But… but I still don't believe you. Magic is a huge leap to make, man.”
Peter looked tired, but like he’d expected it. “Is it really so unbelievable? We had a purple alien who dusted half the planet for five years. We have a local web-slinger vigilante. And New York City alone is packed with plenty of mutants. What’s a magic system on top of that?”
MJ didn't know what to say to that.
He pointed at the scar on her forehead. “Where'd you get that?”
She stopped and raised a finger to trace across the faded mark. “I don't - I think I hit my head on a door or something. I don't really remember… it just appeared. in December.”
“Do you remember falling? At all?” Peter swallowed audibly, wringing his hands.
She blinked, a sudden headache beginning to form behind her eyes. She shook it off. “Yeah,” she cleared her throat and straightened. “I mean yes, I think I remember.” She’d probably just fallen or smacked her head somehow. It happened often enough when she was tired. Sure, she couldn’t remember how exactly it’d happened, but who could remember something stupid like that?
“I gave you that tattoo.” MJ blinked up at him before she caught his hand pointing down to the mark on her left wrist.
“What?”
“That stick and poke tattoo,” he clarified, and she felt the air leave her lungs. “It's the Alliance Starbird.”
“From-”
“Star Wars,” they said in unison.
“The rebellion symbol,” MJ whispered, mostly to herself.
“Because you're a rebel,” he said with a touch of irony. The was no maliciousness in the way he said it. Fondness rounded out the edges of his voice. “You thought it was cool, and we were sixteen and stupid. I could tell it hurt but you didn't let me stop and told me you’d beat me up if I did because you weren’t weak.”
“I can’t remember getting it.” She just assumed she'd been drunk or tired or something, which didn't really make all that much sense considering she never drank.
“Your favorite is Han Solo,” Peter Parker said gently, a small, sad smile on his face.
A horrible rising wave of overwhelming emotion engulfed MJ, though it was so strong she could barely make out what the feeling was . Grief and loss and sadness and confusion all in one in a messy knot in her chest. “So what's wrong with me?” she asked a little wearily. “Why can't I remember you?”
Peter paused, before taking in a short breath. “How much do you know about Spider-Man?”
“What does Spider-Man have to do with my memory loss?” she asked, voice rising a little before she lowered it so as to not attract the attention of nearby onlookers.
“I, um,” Peter began a little confusedly like he was struggling to form words. “I know him. You know him. Knew him. The spell went bad-”
“-spell-?” she asked, but he continued.
“-and some people forgot their memories as a result. It was an accident. You were… one of those people,” he finished a little lamely.
That explained nothing. Her head pounded, the incoming migraine intensifying behind her eyes. “But what does that have to do with you? ”
They came to a stop in front of her apartment–he’d known where she lived, even when she tried to take a wrong turn to confuse him–she completely believed him, as stupid as it was. A spell gone bad was such a vague explanation.
Peter hesitated, and looked like he was about to say something– before both of their attentions were diverted to a car swerving wildly on the road. He turned on his heel, seemingly preparing himself to run in the direction of the car.
MJ grabbed him by the shoulder, startled by Peter’s sudden urgency. “Wait, wait, can you give me your number?” The man’s eyes widened, and he began to scrounge around in his pockets, eventually pulling out a severely crumpled slip of paper.
“Just trust me,” he said, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “For now. I promise, I’ll come back, and I’ll explain everything.” And with that, he was gone.
What a weirdo.