Chapter Text
When Peter turned away from them with a bittersweet smile on his face, and she knew it was the last time, MJ hung onto that last glimpse of him for as long as she could. The corners of his smile, the color of his eyes, the creases between his eyebrows– she burned them into her mind. Then, as soon as he was out of sight, she knew she had to take matters into her own hands.
“There’s always something you can do.” She muttered, fiercely. With tears stinging in her eyes, she fumbled around for the pen she knew she had in her pocket. In the sky above them, golden ribbons of magic were unspooling through the air. Uncapping the pen, she pushed back the sleeve of her sweater, and began to write on the inside of her arm in bold black strokes.
“What are you doing?” Ned asked, his voice tight with emotion. He’d kept on a brave face as long as Peter had been with them, but now that he’d swung off, he was pacing back and forth with his head in his hands.
“He’s not going to come and find us.” She explained, frantic. “Think about it. I just fell off the Statue of Liberty, and your head almost got torn off by an angry lizard. You know Peter. He doesn’t want us in danger.” She might have been angry at Peter, but it was so endearingly predictable of him, and she had no space for anger when she was so desperate to cling to their good memories. Decathlon. Venice. The opera house. The black dahlia, their first kiss on Prague Bridge. As impossible as it seemed, she was hoping to hold onto scraps of them when the spell finished. The warmth of their last kiss was still lingering on her lips.
“But he’d be all alone.” Ned whispered, and MJ could hear the realization dawning in his voice. “He’s such an idiot! Quick, give me that.”
MJ finished writing and handed Ned the pen, anxiously watching the sky. The circles were completing themselves as Doctor Strange continued to weave his magic, and she felt them tightening in, like a noose. She didn’t know how long it took for that spell to complete, but it looked close. Ned finished writing, and looked up at her.
“If he’s not coming to find us, what if we never remember?” He whispered, his voice wobbling.
“Hey, we’ve got good minds– we’ll find him. He won’t be alone.” MJ promised. Decathlon. Venice. The opera house. The black dahlia. Prague Bridge. She repeated them in her mind, chaining the memories together like pearls on a string. She wouldn’t let them go. She wouldn’t let him go–
“Who?” Ned was looking at her quizzically.
“What?”
“Who won’t be alone?” Ned frowned at the pen in his hands, like he wasn’t sure why he was holding it, and put it in his pocket. MJ knew the answer to his question. It was obvious. She knew the answer, because of course she did, but when she tried to reach for it, it escaped her. The thought was right there, a name on the tip of her tongue, but just as quickly, it rescinded into some darker, shadowy part of her mind.
“I don’t… hm.” She didn’t like this feeling. Michelle Jones wasn’t a forgetful person. When she was captain of the Decathlon team, she’d drilled flashcards until her brain was stuffed chock full, and rarely slipped up at competitions. She remembered birthdays, middle names, and allergies. She prided herself on being observant, cataloging those things away for later. But for once, when she went reaching for the memory, all she found was the empty space where it’d once been kept.
Her eyes were wet. What for? Miffed, she pulled her sweater sleeve over her hand so she could wipe the moisture away.
“Well, no biggie,” Ned shrugged. “Anyways, wasn’t that battle amazing? We’re lucky we didn’t get squished by any debris. Spider-man was really cool– or should I say, Spider-men? Plural?”
“Yeah, I didn’t really know there was more than one.” MJ said. Her voice sounded weird to herself, distant and low. The sky was clear, and the sun would soon be on its way up. What a strange time for them to go on a walk, she thought, but the answer slotted itself into her mind as soon as she searched for it. They’d stayed out all night celebrating their admission to MIT, and accidentally got caught in the aftermath of a superhero battle. Of course.
“Do you think they’re starting a band or something? Spider-man and the Spider-men?” Ned joked, as they began to walk back up towards the street. MJ wanted to laugh, but something was still itching at the back of her mind. Ned nudged her with his elbow. “You okay, MJ?” A wave of gratitude washed over her. She didn’t want to pretend like nothing was wrong, when this feeling of uneasiness ran down to her bones. They’d been best friends for years, Ned and MJ, two versus the world, and he understood her better than anyone else.
“I don’t usually forget things.” She admitted. “It’s bothering me.”
Ned paused, and looked like he was trying to decide something. Then, he smiled. “Don’t worry. If it was important, I’m sure you’ll remember it.”
“Right.” She agreed, but her throat was still dry with some vague horror she couldn’t place. She tried to play along with his jokes for the rest of the walk back, but couldn’t shake that awful feeling hanging over her. It followed her all the way home.
—
The next day, MJ woke up feeling much better, and was ready to dismiss yesterday’s discomfort as some kind of stress-induced nausea. After all, she and Ned had poured everything into college applications, and now that they had the results back, she could finally take a breather for a moment. It was easy enough to explain.
Before she could get on with the rest of her fresh start, though… she was in desperate need of a shower. MJ wrinkled her nose, and reminded herself to wash her blankets later. She’d been so exhausted last night that she’d fallen right asleep in yesterday’s sweater. She trudged to the bathroom, pulled her sweater off, and paused, frozen in place. Hidden on the inside of her forearm, right next to her elbow, inky letters bloomed against her skin.
DON’T FORGET! FIND – – –.
The note struck her with the force of a lightning bolt. If she wasn’t awake before, she certainly was now. Still, the most important part of the message was missing. The first part, “don’t forget” was written with such clarity, but after the word “find”, the letters had smeared together into an unreadable smudge of ink.
She didn’t remember writing this. But, without a doubt, it was in her handwriting, the letters all close-knit and toppling into each other. MJ felt a small thrill of discovery running up her spine. She wasn’t imagining things; she really had forgotten something last night, something important enough that she’d leave a note for herself. She hopped up onto the bathroom counter and lifted her arm as close as she could to the bathroom light, trying to discern any letters within the smudged ink. But the smear on her arm was perfectly uniform, and impossible to read. When she thought she saw a letter emerging, she’d try to re-angle her arm to get a better look at it, and it would disappear. Not only that, but the period after the censored part was still perfectly intact. It was strange, but not inconceivable that it might smudge that way while she was sleeping. Whatever she’d been trying to remember was clearly important, but when she searched for it, once again, she came up with empty hands.
When she showered, she kept her left arm dry. Though she couldn’t explain why, she felt with deep conviction that the note was of great importance, and until she figured it out, she didn’t want to wash it off.
As soon as she got out, she threw fresh clothes on and snatched her sketchbook from her desk. Her hair was still soaking wet, dripping on the floor, soaking into her shirt, but she couldn’t be bothered to towel it. She sat cross legged on her bed, opened to a blank page, and wrote a heading at the top:
WHAT AM I FORGETTING?
Then, she crossed that heading out. She wasn’t going to get very far trying to remember something that she’d already forgotten, not when she’d been trying all morning. She needed to find the root of the problem, and work from there.
WHY AM I FORGETTING?
-Repressed memory (trauma?)
-Head trauma (accident?)
-Neurodegenerative disease (unlikely.)
Ten minutes of brainstorming later, and none of those answers felt right. MJ closed the book, and fell back into her pillow, staring up at the ceiling. How could she articulate what she was feeling, when she didn’t know what she was missing? She wanted something– she knew that deep pull in her gut.
She wished Ned was here so they could talk about this, but it was nearly time for her shift at the diner. Maybe she could ask him to meet her there. But, no, even that didn’t feel right– all she could think about was how alone she felt, and how nothing would make it right, maybe not even Ned. She felt a sudden urge to crack the window, but dismissed the idea as soon as it arose. She never did that in the first place, since she didn’t want to let any bugs in. Instead, she lifted her arm and traced the letters there. Don’t forget! Find…
Find what? Find who? She ran her thumb over the smudge of ink, trying to divine knowledge from it. The words had been written boldly, like she’d really been pressing the pen into her arm. MJ frowned. She knew herself, and she knew she didn’t leave crude reminders like this, unless she’d been desperate. In that moment, she felt such curiosity and tenderness that MJ dropped her forearm to her lips, kissing the words she’d left in the crook of her elbow. Her memory might have had holes, but she knew one thing for certain. Whatever she’d wanted to remember, it was something worth fighting for.
—
“I’m not trying to be dismissive, but couldn’t you just have smudged it while you were sleeping? Sure, it’s a weird way for something to smudge, but it’s not impossible.” Ned was stirring a sixth sugar packet into the coffee he’d ordered, trying to make it more palatable. Her boss Harold always told him to buy something or leave, so he got the cheapest thing on the menu, and took long, vindictive sips every time Harold looked around the corner.
“No, I’m telling you, the other letters are completely untouched!” She leaned over the counter, keeping her voice low as they talked. “Look, something about it was too precise. Almost like it was being censored. You can believe me or not.” She pulled her sleeve back, jabbing her nail into the inky haze of missing words. For a moment, Ned fell silent, nodding to himself, trying to digest everything she was saying.
Finally, after a pensive sip of coffee that he clearly regretted, he spoke. “Okay, so who censored your arm, then? Did someone come through your window and do it while you were sleeping?” MJ threw down the polishing rag she was holding.
“Shut up, I’m serious!”
“So am I!” Ned defended. He clicked something on his laptop, which was open in front of him. MJ puffed a piece of curly hair out of her face, snuck a look back at whatever Harold was doing, and walked around to the other side of the counter. Sitting next to Ned, she pulled her sketchbook out from her apron pocket. On his laptop, he was bidding on a commemorative X-Wing Lego set that’d already swelled to a hefty $150. She decided to stare at it, unblinking, until he got embarrassed. It took 20 seconds for him to take the hint.
“I’m treating myself after getting into MIT!” He switched the tab over to a game of cookie clicker, blushing. MJ snapped the lid of his laptop closed, and placed her sketchbook on top of it.
“I don’t care. You’re going to help me brainstorm.” She didn’t phrase it like a question, and Ned didn’t protest. She flipped open to the page where she’d left off this morning.
WHY AM I FORGETTING?
-Repressed memory (trauma?)
-Head trauma (accident?)
-Neurodegenerative disease (unlikely.)
“I’ve ruled all of these out, basically. Repressed memories usually stem from childhood, there would still be evidence of a wound if I suffered a head injury, and a neurodegenerative disease at my age is statistically very slim.” She reported the facts. Ned was smiling at first, like he was being let in on some grand joke, but gradually started to realize how serious she really was. By the time she’d finished rattling off her reasoning, he looked to be in deep thought.
“You started feeling weird last night. Start there.” Ned suggested. “What was different about last night in specific?”
“We got into MIT. We went out to party, and then… I felt this strangeness…” She recounted, trailing off. Ned snapped his fingers, his face lighting up.
“We walked past the Spider-man fight! Listen, they were fighting all kinds of wacky villains. There was a guy made of sand, some big dinosaur guy, too. Maybe you got hit with some kind of power! MJ, what if you have some kind of superpower!” He suggested, gripping the edge of the counter, slowly growing more and more excited by his own theory.
“Watch the volume, kid!” Harold called from the kitchen, irritably.
“Sorry!” Ned called back, grinning, without a shred of remorse. MJ pursed her lips, considering Ned’s thought. She wasn’t a fan of Spider-man like he and Flash were– though she recognized the good heroes could do in the world, she hated the messes they left behind for regular people to pick up. She’d preferred to keep her life separate from heroes, but after the Blip, it was safe to say that human society and superhero society had inextricably combined. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that she somehow got wrapped up in it.
“Doubt it’s superpowers. What would they call me, Amnesia Girl?” She grinned her vicious grin, tossing her hair from her face. “You could be on to something, though. Maybe we should hunt down Spiderman and grill him for answers.” She’d gotten so absorbed in their conversation that she hardly noticed the bell on the door ringing, announcing someone’s entrance.
“Hold on. Customer.” She glared at Ned, warning him to stay quiet, who pouted back at her. Then, she softened her gaze as she turned around, walking up to the register, and putting on her blank-but-friendly customer service face. She’d perfected it over time. Blank enough to suggest she was listening, but not kind enough to invite any flirting. Though, looking at this guy, she doubted he would try it. He was practically trembling, had wide eyes swimming with emotion; definitely the kind of guy that she could swallow whole.
“Hi, my name is Peter Parker.” He exhaled the words in a single breath that he seemed to have been holding since he stepped foot through the door. “I’d like a coff…ee?” MJ raised an eyebrow. She rarely got names, much less a full introduction. This wasn’t Starbucks, we don’t write the names on the cups, she wanted to say– the familiar quip nearly slipped out, and she had to catch herself, wrestle herself back into customer service mode. Some customers just had friendly faces, ones that made you feel safe enough to joke around.
She made him the coffee. He was a weird guy. Not weird in a creepy way, but definitely weird. He was smiling, and spoke cheerfully, but there was an inexplicable air of sadness about everything he did. She thought he was like a kicked puppy: one of those types with too much empathy, the ones you worried wouldn’t survive seeing all the hurt in the world. She only had a tiny scrape on her temple but he crumbled when he noticed it, like he was the one who’d been cut.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” She reassured him, but that didn’t seem to be the right thing to say. Are you hurt? Have you been hurting?
She normally didn’t think like this. Her mind was a sharp thing, but last night had thrown her into a strange tenderness for every interesting stranger she noticed. The girl with the impeccably pressed shirt on the subway. The man walking three tiny spaniels. The older woman with fully gray hair and 6 inch heels. Is it you? Is it you? Is it you? She handed Peter his coffee with a smile, and watched as he left. She couldn’t seriously be projecting her own issues onto every troubled kid that came through the door. Especially not this wobbly eyed white boy. She sighed, running her thumb over her sleeve, where the words lay hidden beneath. They burned on her arm.
“Hey, MJ?” Ned’s voice suddenly sounded very small.
“Yeah?” She turned back to him, a spark of worry igniting. He was staring down at his arm, looking lost, like he’d suddenly set foot inside of a foreign country and couldn’t find his way back. She knew what he’d say before he spoke, because she felt the same way.
“That strangeness you said you feel… I think I have it too.”
Everything changed the first time Peter Parker walked into her diner. Or perhaps, though she didn’t know it, everything was falling back into place.