First as an inexplicable paranoia. See, every girl in New York always had a tiny, burrowed sense of fear when walking alone a secluded street at night. Carrying mace or holding their keys between their fingers. That lingering sense that something just might happen if she didn't keep herself aware of her surroundings at all times. But in the middle of the day? In midtown? That just didn't make sense. But there it was. That tiny, taut feeling in her chest and edginess that had MJ checking behind her shoulder every now and then as she walked from the subway to Stark Tower that first day of quarantine. It was stupid. She was fine. Right? She hadn't even thought about exposure, or if Peter had been sick when they'd curled in her bed together a couple of nights that week.
The whispers were innocuous at first, right? Whispers were normal, and she brushed them off like they were nothing. Even though the whispers nitpicked. Prodded. Said nasty little things about how worthless she was. Stupid. A waste. Unlovable. She pushed that all away as she locked herself away into her office at the Tower, as she worked on creating maps and lists and whatever else Pepper or Tony needed. She tried to keep up, even as the whispers grew louder, even as a headache bloomed in her head. Even as she heard the shouts of her father echo from down the hall outside. She tried to tell herself he wasn't there. Her son of a bitch father wasn't there.
Harry? Well he exacerbated all of that didn't he? With his goddamn proposal and his declarations, and oh god, if only it were real. She indulged that delusion for long enough to not keep herself locked in her office when he texted her. Quarantine protocols be damned. In a huff, she passed through each lockdown with a swipe of her security pass, JARVIS's prim Britishness chiding her in that sort of way he tended to save for his creator. She ignored him pointedly, just as she ignored the flash of her father around every single damn corner, or hovering over her shoulder and seething hatred in her ear. Eyes shut tightly, she took a deep breath before walking off the elevator and out the front door to where he was standing.
MJ was pale, notably so, but she played it off like nothing was wrong. She wore jeans and a bright blouse, and her bright red hair was pulled back from her face. It all made her look even sicker, but nothing was wrong. Crossing her arms, she stopped more than a few feet away from him. "Well?" she asked, eyebrow cocked. He doesn't love you. Why would he love a stupid piece of trash like you, Mary Jane? She shook her head like a fly was buzzing in her ear before turning her attention back to Harry.