|mk robinson is a fallen star. (alittlered) wrote in doorslogs,|
@ 2013-08-27 03:14:00
|Entry tags:||door: marvel comics, harry osborn, mary jane watson|
who Harry and MJ
what drunken yelling.
when backdated to the night after Harry drops the engagement bomb.
where Harry's place
warning cursing? lots of sad.
The news of Harry Osborn’s engagement rocked through the city of New York and ricocheted around the respective circles within so fast it seemed like everyone had known about it before the morning news hit with its persons of interest bites. The internet gossip blogs, Facebook, and Twitter spread the announcement like wildfire. Pictures posted, tweets sent, opinions shared and reblogged. Internet sensation and it was only a few hours. It was in the whisper of every bar, in the judgement of everyone outside of his circle, in the relief of his father’s peers, in the glare of every jealous girl. The shock reverberated through the circuit, and settled on those that mattered most to him. Sure, there would be gossip and giggles, but a select few were really affected by the news that Harry Osborn was going to marry Lily Hollister. And, now the entire world knew. Thanks, Internet.
That was how Mary Jane Watson came to find that the man she’d been sleeping with was getting married, too. When her Facebook feed blew the fuck up with people from high school and girls from the party scene flipping out over the news. And MJ took it hard. Drinking to drown the anger and almost going out with Flash on the town hard. Didn’t he owe her the truth? Granted, she hadn’t asked for any sort of commitment over the years where she was fooling around with Harry. She knew there were other girls, just like he knew there were other guys. It was a thing, not a serious relationship by any means, but that didn’t mean that he shouldn’t tell her that there was something serious going on with another woman. Right? And then, he decided to use her moment of rage and vulnerability to drop the L-word on her. It fueled the redhead’s rage, fueled her absolute freak out, and she was ready to cut him off completely. But, god, she was a sucker for him, especially when he sounded so upset and weak on the phone.
So, after another downed drink, getting dressed, and a shot of something wonderfully fiery, MJ found herself in a cab from her studio apartment in SoHo to his place in the Upper East Side. As the alcohol swirled and the cabbie babbled on about something, she took the time to build the resolve to give Harry a resounding fuck off when he opened his door and break ties with him. One of his best friends or not. How dare he just throw something like that at her, and then blame his father for the reason they would never be able to work it out? How could Harry believe that she would take that lying down? No, she wouldn’t come to the engagement party, and no, she wouldn’t make nice with the new girl. Not until all of this was settled.
It was the middle of the night when she strolled (straight, thank you very much, though how she managed that on her heels she could only guess) through the lobby of his apartment building and waved casually to the doorman. They were familiar with the redhead and her infrequent visits to the younger Osborn, and they were surely judging her that night. But, MJ kept her head high, and a determined look on her face that slowly deflated as she took the ride up in the elevator solo. Maybe Flash was right. She didn’t know what she wanted until she couldn’t have it anymore. If she was honest with herself, completely honest, the redhead had begun to develop feelings for him a while before. Maybe nothing serious, maybe just a crush, but she wasn’t lying to Flash. She always had feelings for Harry, just like she would always have feelings for Flash. Peter, too. (Well, the feelings for her Peter were stronger, but four years down the road, this was her Peter, too. She had feelings for him, too.) And, maybe it was a product of growing up with a shitty dad, or not getting the proper affection growing up, or being prized for her looks instead of anything else, but she always had those feelings for the boys. But now, now it seemed that she had feelings for Harry that trumped the others.
And, that really, really sucked.
The thoughts made her lose that resolve, and she lost her concentration on her walking, too. Wobbling off the elevator, she glided across carpet to his door, then leaned against the doorframe for support as she alternated between ringing the doorbell and knocking hard enough for his neighbors to hear. She was dressed in a slinky little number, a curve hugging little black dress meant for a party or club rather than an argument with the guy she was sleeping with, her red hair naturally curly. and smoky eyes and red lips pronouncing her intent to not be there.
The worst part was that Harry did love Mary Jane. He loved her in a way that was entirely separate from the way he loved Gwen and the way he loved Lily. Gwen was the unattainable thing, the purity that he didn't deserve. She had his heart, but he was never going to be at a place where he thought that he deserved her attention. Lily was the golden idol. She was the supreme picture of all things sculpted and shining. She had a good heart, and she was great, but as much as Harry knew that he was supposed to love her, it wasn't enough for him to stop thinking about Gwen. And Gwen wasn't even enough for him to stop thinking about Mary Jane.
God, Mary Jane. He would always have to love her, whether he liked it or not, and that was really the fundamental outline of their history. Both damaged and beautiful, both with fluctuating moments of mad love and vitriolic hatred, Always hot and cold and broken glass. He had to love Mary Jane. Mary Jane was him, she was the smiling spotlight glimpse on his best days and the bloody knuckles on his worst. Loving her was just another step closer to loving himself, and as unattainable as that was, here they were.
They were the same. So much the same that he would never hold it against her when she inevitably went to someone else. That was what they did, that was them, and he could love her for it as much as he could hate her for it. There was such a thing as a destructive relationship, and even when they didn't have a relationship, they had the destruction in spades. He wanted to hurt her like he wanted to hurt himself, and love her like he needed to love himself. It was a vicious cycle, and he was never quite sure how to end it.
Harry answered the door with bloodshot eyes that spoke of recent tears, a dark blue shirt of cotton and workout shorts of faded gray.
He could have said something to her, begged her forgiveness like he'd done to Gwen on the phone. He could have explained himself like he'd done with Peter. He could have smiled like he'd done for the photos, but instead Harry closed his eyes. Hazel eyes all bluegreen and sad, he squeezed them tight while thinking. He hauled the wood from the frame, and Harry had an arm around her waist a moment later. "God, come here." He needed her in that moment because she was capable of being gathered in the claws. She was real, Mary Jane always had been. She was too important to ignore, and he dragged his cheek down her shoulder blade. He wanted to tell her what the past few months had been like, but instead he just held her.
And MJ was an absolute sucker when it came to him. When he swung the door open to greet her, she still had that look of defiant indifference (or as defiant as possible for someone as intoxicated as she was), but the second she laid eyes on his crumpled appearance and bloodshot eyes, she crumbled. Arms wrapping around and up, fingers clawing into his shoulders, she sighed into his chest. “Harry,” she said softly. Relenting, just for a moment, to his will. Because, yes, Mary Jane was a sucker for Harry Osborn. She always had been. As volatile as their relationship was, as push and pull as it had been since the beginning, she always came back to him in whatever capacity. Friend, lover, whatever. Like Harry saw himself in her, the redhead saw too much of her in him. The selfishness, the flightiness. The joy and the hatred. Every throe of joy and every blow up fight were just them. Two bundles of passion and personality coming together in a cataclysmic explosion. MJ and Harry were two sides of the same coin, and she needed him.
She needed him.
But, after standing there in his arms for a moment, she stiffened. No, she wasn’t backing down this easily. He couldn’t just flash him sad blue-greens and just be absolved of his egregious sins. Not tonight. “No,” she said forcefully, shaking her head violently and pushing him back as hard as she could muster. She teetered on her heels then, suddenly drunker than she realized, but she looked at him with narrowed eyes. “No,” she repeated with a slur, trying to wiggle herself out of his grip and push him into the apartment at the same time. “You can’t just--I’m so fucking mad, Harry, no.” Part of her, a big part, was fighting the urge to press him up against that doorframe and crush away all the anger and heartache with her mouth, and that just made her crazier. “Don’t--don’t do this to me.”
He mouthed an unspoken apology against her arm in the moments when he got to hold her close. The realization of what he'd done to hurt everyone, and the way he was still selfishly clinging to it now. He honestly cared about Lily, that was true.. but the thought of marriage was terrifying. He was only moderately good at following rules, and matrimony brought about vows that were going to be practically chiseled in stone. Their partnership was going to be beneficial to both families, and he had to forcibly remind himself of the fact that that wasn't entirely why he'd proposed. Lily would make a good wife, and it was time for Harry Osborn to get his life in order. He couldn't keep doing these.. things he did. He couldn't keep emotionally leeching off of girls that he was never going to have, it wasn't fair to any of them.
It was never going to happen with Mary Jane, nothing longterm like that, and as much as he'd grown to care about her, Harry was almost certain that neither of them really wanted that anyway. The were a fucked up rollercoaster of just a little too much emotion, and being with her was like spinning on a wheel at the end of a knife thrower's lane. Thrilling, with eyes closed for the rush.. but how long was something like that supposed to go on? Even the best of aim had bad days. As much as he knew they cared about each other, it was always turning to hate in a heartbeat. Slammed doors and thrown shoes, screaming and silent treatment with bruising kisses to flower their mutual graves.
Then she was wrenching away in that familiar anger that made him want to wring his hands in her clothes or around her neck. Harry stiffened in preparation for a slap or a shove, because up close her body was radiating with the kind of energy that was all too familiar. She'd come to him in anger too many times before, and as different as everything was supposed to be now, the nostalgia of this was even more painful than the sharp edge of the door that caught his back when he teetered under the force of her hands. "I know you're mad," he whispered without any sign of even seeking an apology. "But I didn't do this to you, I did it for you, for us.." Which sounded like complete bullshit even if it was probably authentic in his own weird way. "We couldn't keep on going like we were," and that was the truth, even if the wincing shine of his teeth said that he still didn't quite want to believe it.
MJ was always very bad at knowing what she actually wanted out of a relationship. Commitment scared her, and being alone scared her, too, but she would never confess to either. Affection was something she didn’t want in theory but desperately needed in reality if she ever admitted it to herself. It was why she pushed Flash away, mostly, because the fact that he actually had feelings for her threatened her. It scared the absolute shit out of her. There were always those lingering doubts that she didn’t deserve any of that, that she couldn’t actually function with something that good. She wasn’t raised for that, she wasn’t built for it. Her parents never prepared her for something as healthy as being loved. And, that was part of why it worked with Harry. As much as she cared about him, as much as there was obviously something there, it was never healthy enough to be good for either of them. The push and pull of their relationship would destroy them before they’d even allow it to be good.
But, that didn’t mean that any of this didn’t sting. Having Harry toy around with her like this hurt immensely, like a sharp stab to her chest that prevented her from catching her breath. The redhead looked up at him in an unabashed mix of rage and horror. Did this for her? “You’re fucking kidding me,” she whispered through gritted teeth. She stepped into the apartment a little more, teetering drunk by aware enough to not have a conversation bound to be this nasty in the middle of the hallway where leering neighbors could eavesdrop. “For me? For us? What the fuck, Harry?” She wheeled around again to stare at him with narrowed, bloodshot green eyes. “How is hiding a girlfriend -- fiancee, excuse me -- and then telling me you love me doing something for us?” She sighed sharply and when she spoke, she miserably failed at trying to bury away the hurt. “We were doing just fine.”
Harry followed her into the penthouse with the door falling closed behind him, securing them in quiet downstairs foyer. Modern New York preferred the chrome and steel of an art deco revival, but the Osborn household was designed with polished wood dark as forest shadows. The character of old money rather than daisy fresh inheritances, and the walls always smelled just so. Like vintage books, firewood, and crisp dollar bills. The home was clean without having any true semblance of tidiness. His father had disposed of the housekeeper's services a couple of years after his mother died, Harry recalled. Secrets had started brewing all of the way back then, and the prying eyes of strangers were not permitted. Anyone who wasn't an Osborn qualified as a stranger, and soon enough nobody came over at all. Even as a child he could remember having to tiptoe through the hallways for fear of awaking the ghosts.
When she rounded on him with narrow eyes and grit teeth, Harry straightened in the face of her venom and sighed, "Don't be so dramatic." He was at least minimally aware of the fact that if there ever was a time for Mary Jane to be angry at him, this might have been it. To be honest, he hadn't anticipated her tears. He'd thought she'd come over furious, ready to slap him and curse him.. but her red and watering eyes nearly disarmed him instead. With some reluctance he was forced to recall that she'd always been an actress, though. "Tell me how you thought it would go, Mary Jane? Flash is back in town now, so you and him are back together by next week and.. what? Every time you two get in a fight, you crawl back in my bed?"
Harry regretted it the moment he said it, but he was just tipsy enough to not care about hurting her feelings just then. It'd been a hell of a night, and so why stop now? It was the truth wasn't it? Harry and MJ were creatures of habit, they just couldn't help but to repeat the past. Harry didn't know how not to, because even right now(with that ring fresh out of the box and on his fiancee's finger somewhere across town) he wanted to slide into her and forget that they weren't as perfect as they felt. "I have to grow up," he lamented with fingers twisting in his own hair through nervous anger. Eyes squeezed shut to dislodge the image of him and her and dwindling clothes.
MJ was all too familiar with penthouse, having spent many nights fighting or fucking in the foyer, and she walked into his space like she should rightfully be there. It was in the confidence of the click, click of her heels and the way her head rolled around to look at the expensive decor. Her entire apartment could fit in this foyer, and her childhood home, back in Forest Hills, couldn’t even begin to match the prices of this place. But, it had never been about money, she and Harry, and it had never been about who had more of what. It was pride, it was wrath, it was gluttony and envy of time. Sloth of not wanting to make themselves and each other better. And it was lust. Oh, was it lust. Lust and wrath bleeding into each other and creating a perfect storm of imperfection that was Harry and MJ.
And, it was that look bubbling underneath watery green eyes that stared hard at Harry. She wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face or push him against the wall and forget about all of this. Block out the drama and lose themselves in each other. But, when he opened his mouth, oh, he said the wrong thing. She stared, fists balling up on her side, sighing sharply. “I never fucking cheated on Flash, Harry,” she said dangerously low, then pointed her finger at him to emphasize the point. “Never, and don’t you ever imply that again.” Because though MJ might not have know what she wanted ever, might always deny herself what she needed in that wonderful self-destruction she was so good at, she would never do something like that. “And besides,” she continued with a harsh laugh, “he hates my guts. I broke his heart, and I upset Gwen. I’m the bad one.” She said it as if she wasn’t too sure Flash was wrong about that. Maybe she was the worst out of all of them. It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.
After a second of watching him, she spluttered out a laugh. “Grow up? Jesus, Harry! Why the FUCK do you have to grow up? We’re TWENTY-TWO.” She looked at him incredulously, as if he had five heads, and he could have at that point. “I don’t know what game you’re playing with all of us, but it’s unfair to put a ring on that girl’s finger, then tell me you love me, THEN say it wouldn’t have worked out anyway. What the hell is wrong with you?”
He didn't quite understand what she was so angry about, other than some obviously misplaced sense of betrayal that came from his engagement. It wasn't like he'd intentionally kept everything a secret from her, at least not in any malicious way. Mary Jane and him were off as often as they were on, and he'd had no real foresight into the fact that she was going to be so hurt by the announcement. The only thing that confused him more was Gwen's reaction. Now, what had started out as such a good idea was beginning to feel like a horrible one. Harry Osborn had never been all that confident in his decision-making, and he really tended to make the wrong choices when it came down to it.. but he was trying to do right now. He wanted to stop being so selfish, and maybe the cold turkey approach was the best way to do that. Couldn't he make something good happen for once? Couldn't he preserve their sanity instead of making everybody hurt all the fucking time?
He knew that Mary Jane wouldn't understand why he was in such a hurry to grow up. There was a vision in his head, and he dreamed it every night. There was a certain way things were supposed to be, and if he could just perfect that then.. everything would turn out okay. His father wouldn't have to become a madman if Harry preserved the Osborn legacy as something strong and proactive. Harry refused to keep disappointing his father. After everything his father had done, he didn't deserve it. And so maybe Harry hadn't gone about this marriage thing with complete honesty or unclouded foresight, but he had to believe it was a good thing. Maybe not the perfect thing, but a step in the right direction.
"You're not the bad one," he told her solemnly. And even if she was going to sock in him in the damn eye like he deserved, Harry stepped up and wrapped his arms around her. His arms were tight, in case she tried to push him away, because he had something he wanted to say first. He pressed his face into her hair, committing the soft smell to memory as he spoke. "I'm sorry.."
MJ never quite understood a blind sort of loyalty to a father in the way Harry had towards his. She grew up in a shitty situation, with a shitty father, and though she kept going back when she was younger, she couldn’t see how Harry still believed in his father the same way they did when they were kids. Norman Osborn always made her feel uneasy anyway, even when offering to help her all those years ago, and Peter’s warnings weren’t unwarranted, right? He always had a better sense about people than most others she knew. At the end of the day, Norman wasn’t one of her favorite people, and Harry needed to realize that could step out of his shadow and be okay. More than okay, in fact. Harry Osborn, in MJ’s opinion, could reach to the stars if he just realized his potential.
She did, in fact, try to wiggle out of his grip when he wrapped his arms tightly around her. The redhead, so tiny in his arms, shoved hard against his chest, but to no avail. She grunted through her rage, then gave up with a pathetic whimper, letting her arms go limp and her body slump against his. “Harry, don’t. No, please, don’t,” she begged almost inaudibly, words lost in the cotton fabric of his shirt. She wiggled once more before giving up completely. Her arms didn’t wrap around him to return the hug, but she did twist one hand into his shirt on his chest. Desperately, silently telling him that she didn’t want this reality between them to crash around their ears even if that was exactly what was happening. “There shouldn’t be anything to apologize for.” She tugged at the shirt then, pulling him closer to her when she should have still been fighting him.
Potential was a strange concept. It was like listing all of the things that Harry could do if he was somebody else. He might have had all of the money and important connections at his disposal, but he was still Harry Osborn. He still had a tendency to fuck up just about everything and everyone he touched, and he had a bad habit of not seeing projects all of the way through to a successful end, so.. Harry Osborn didn't really have the potential for greatness at all. He had all of the ingredients at his disposal, but he was still who he was, and greatness just didn't factor in where he was concerned. The only reason he had even a sliver of respect from people was because he carried the Osborn name, and even if that name was a looming, terrifying thing to even try to live up to, Harry had to do it. He might not have deserved to be an Osborn, but he was damn sure going to do everything in his power to make his father proud of him. If that meant rising up in Oscorp, and if that meant getting married, and even if it meant following in his father's footsteps in so many other, darker ways.. Harry was damn well going to do it.
He knew that Mary Jane wouldn't understand this kind of devotion to family, which is why he didn't waste time going through the details with her. She thought he was wrong, and she thought that he was just trying to please his father.. and maybe he was, but he didn't know what else to do. Everyone else had always had someone else to lean on. Harry'd had Peter once, but everything changed in high school, and even if Peter and himself had grown closer over the last couple of years.. that didn't change the fact that for a long time, it'd been his father that he'd counted on and confided in. So no, MJ wouldn't understand, and honestly he wasn't entirely sure that he understood it himself. It was just something that he felt like he needed to do, it compelled him.
He whispered against her vibrant hair, shushing the defiant twist and wriggle of her body in his arms, but he didn't let her go. He just held on tighter because it felt so finite. The awareness hit him like a brick through the haze of alcohol, that this might be the last time he'd ever get to hold her again. "Stop, baby," he pled against her ear just before she finally conceded to the fighting. Harry twisted his fingers in her hair, mirroring the grip she gave to his shirtfront, and he sighed with his eyes closed. Willing all of this to be a dream, some horrible dream where she felt so small in his arms and he could hear her voice cracking with the pain of what he'd put her through. He was a piece of shit, but even that realization was nothing new. Reducing the girls he cared about to tears was becoming a common phenomenon in his daily life.
He pressed the strong line of his body into hers when she tugged on the fabric of his shirt, and he ran his fingers down her cheeks to cup her jaw. Harry pressed a kiss against her hair, and her temple, then down to her cheek. Each one punctuated by another "I'm sorry." Over and over. "I'd never do anything to try to hurt you. You know that, right?" Pulling back a few inches, Harry tilted her face up toward him so that he could observe her with blue eyes that were a little sad. Although that perpetual sadness was pervaded with familiar heat as his fingers flexed just a bit tighter in her hair.
Standing in his arms, MJ felt simultaneously too drunk to try to process every single detail of what was going on and hyper aware of little things about Harry that she liked. Or, loved. Loved. Whatever, none of that matter now anyway. But, she did love the way his body felt against her, the way his cologne lingered on all of his clothes, the smell of liquor on his breath. The dig of his fingers in her hair, the lean of his form into hers, the gentle touch of his fingers across her face. She pulled away from his grip in her hair, enough to ground her, but the sting couldn’t compete with the way her entire being buzzed being so close to him. Maybe it was just the booze, maybe it was the stark feeling sinking in that this wasn’t going to end well, maybe it was those stupid emotions, but MJ couldn’t bare moving an inch out of the embrace.
She was frozen, stock-still shocked as he peppered her with kisses, the apologies lost somewhere in the white noise filling her ears. And, meeting his blue eyes clouded with sadness, alcohol, and a little bit of heat, she bit down on her lip. “And we’re still here,” she said roughly, anger without the fire, leaning into that last kiss on her cheek. Green eyes wary and heavy with rage, sadness, booze, and that passion for him that she could never quite hide. Another second, a beat as she stared with a lick of confusion that spoke of how she had no idea what to do, and then she curved her neck up to meet his mouth in a crushing, greedy kiss. Whimpering and closing her eyes tight as both her hands slipped up his chest to rest around his neck. She knew, after all of this, it was wrong to even give him this, but Harry Osborn had always been so hard for MJ to resist.
“You’re such a fucking liar,” she murmured against his lips, jagged smirk and another rough kiss before continuing. “We’re hurting each other all the time. You’re just always so much better at it.” She stumbled forward, pushing him ahead until his back hit a wall and she could press herself flush against him.
Harry's default response to uncertainty was just to stop thinking so damn hard. When he found himself caught between right and wrong, a rock and a razor, it was best to just give in. He could weigh pros and cons until a mountain was weathered into sand, but Harry found that it never mattered in the end. Even right and wrong were just so many shades of gray to him. He knew that telling Mary Jane that he loved her(when if he wanted to be honest with himself, he wasn't entirely sure that he grasped the full concept of the word) was the wrong thing to do.. but he hadn't been able to stop himself. Maybe he could blame the alcohol when morning came, and that was his usual method -- explaining it away by saying it'd been out of his control, or he hadn't been in control. Not that alcohol or drugs truly factored in all that much.. Harry was never in control.
It would have been easier if he didn't want to be the kind of person that had their shit together. If he didn't want to run Oscorp, it would have been easier than the knowledge that currently weighed on him, the knowledge that he wasn't ever going to be man enough to take over that legacy. Then he'd be the kind of person that could relax, and just let things happen. He could get pushed into walls and kissed hard by girls with angry tears still dotting the corners of their eyes without caring about what it would mean tomorrow. But that was always the good thing about Mary Jane, she wasn't the kind of woman to worry about tomorrows with.
She was fire, just like him. Quick to escalate and easily fueled. Harry made a small oomph sound when she pushed him into the wall. He had socks on, but no shoes, and that helped with the slide against polished oak planks. It had something more to do with surprise more than force that made Harry draw his hands away from the sides of her face when she started in with that shove. But they were right back on her, knuckled deep in her hair when she pressed in close to the front of his body. Harry made an appreciate sound against the rough twist of her kiss. "Fair enough," he murmured in response to the way she called him out as a liar. Harry was the worst when it came to desperately trying to believe what he wanted to be true. He slid a palm down the front of her dress, five fingers spread for a greedy ruche in the fabric. "But neither of us have to get hurt tonight," and he pulled her in closer for the next kiss.