Ever since her conversation with Pietro, MJ knew encountering her father one last time was inevitable. His presence in her mind weighed heavily on her, as did the lack of closure. One day they’d been living at home, and the next their mother had packed her bag and Gayle’s and they were running. While their first attempt at fleeing wasn’t successful, the second was, although it was rife with the reminder that they were unwanted. It was a feeling that she carried everywhere, and one she carefully avoided through jokes and well rehearsed smiles.
Philip Watson’s address was easy to find thanks to her countless contacts. When she broached the subject of visiting him in the middle of the night, roused from a nightmare, to Pietro, he’d promised to take her wherever she needed to go. Being so unconditionally supported in an already emotional moment rendered her speechless — a real blow to her ego that morning — but he followed through, as MJ knew he would.
When they arrived in Annapolis, Maryland, outside of his home, it was rundown. Shingles were falling from her father’s roof, and the bottom of his home was visibly moulding through the white paint. His yard was trashed, though his neighbour’s were pristine, and outside several empty bottles were thrown around his trash bin. Truthfully, it was precisely what MJ expected from her father, though it was unfortunate that his future was even dimmer than their violent past. If she were her mother’s daughter like Gayle was, weak and codependent, she would have run that very second. Their resolve was nonexistent, and their backbones had been viciously beaten out of them. MJ had resolved to be the opposite. As she suffered at Philip’s hands, she’d grown stronger, and New York had only gifted her with more courage. Taking a deep, calming breath, MJ requested Pietro meet her around the block, and then stepped forward to knock on Philip’s door.
When he answered, he was wearing stained clothing, and for a moment, he didn’t recognize her. That was to be expected. When he saw her last, she had been twelve, and she was nothing like the woman she had become through sheer force of will. Rather than punch him like she imagined she might, or flee like her instincts screamed at her, she stepped inside and calmly informed him of her success. Philip didn’t step forward to embrace her, he skirted into a corner, and couldn’t meet her eye. He didn’t deserve to.
Although the proof that she would never be her father had always been written in her every action, she saved women in her situation on a nightly basis, and defended her city among heroes. She acted in comedies to bring people joy on their darkest day, and worked closely with Stark aiding charities, the vindication was all the closure that MJ needed. Years ago he might have won, and with her mother and Gayle, he undoubtedly did, but MJ was undefeated.
Half an hour later, she left, and while her hands were shaking, MJ was relieved no one was there to see. Desperately needing a moment to herself, she rounded the opposite block she promised to meet Pietro at, and sat on the edge of the cement. Closing her eyes, she idly wondered if her mom had witnessed any of the conversation that had just taken place. Madeline would have warned her against it in a panic, having never recovered from his fury, but she prayed she approved. MJ prayed to no God in particular that in those moments as relief spread through her, her mother experienced the same thing in the afterlife.
Shoving her hands deep into her pockets, MJ rose from the sidewalk, and headed two blocks down where Pietro waited. Expectedly, he was right on the corner. “Hey,” she said for lack of a better greeting. Eloquence wasn’t always her strong suit! “We don’t have any bodies to hide,” she offered jokingly, although it instantly fell flat. “And I guess he never recovered from the alcoholism, and he never really said much of anything. So… that’s over,” she chewed on the inside of her gum for a moment, thinking of anything else to say. “Thanks for coming, by the way. How am I returning the favour?”
