Fifteen minutes? More than he usually got to save the world. Which this definitely was. He made a show of huffing about the timeline all the same, even as the warmth of his scrubbed-at cheek snuck a little higher, the start of a blush that'd rival MJ's absolutely signature lipstick if it got away from him. Which it definitely wouldn't. And totally didn't, lately. Especially when every time coming home really, really felt like coming home.
He caught the phone, anyway. Like only a spider could. If the spider was big enough to not get crushed on impact, obviously. "C'mon, I've had crunchier. And I'm not smarter with literally everything. Just nerd junk. That's, like, my ecological niche." MJ couldn't have forgot all the times he'd gone and made a total tool of himself tagging along to some red carpet or other, fumbling as the paparazzi grilled Mary Jane Watson's Plus One. The good old days.
Though, these days, they were - they were better than they could've been. Absolutely. By a lot. An unbelievable amount, actually. Peter scoffed that apology right away, tapping through menus and submenus. "Oh, yeah. Just okay. Better now, obviously." So much better. Better than he could easily string together and say, sentiments-wise. Not just because of the couch he'd slumped onto, gingerly, stretching out that beat-up spine of his. Man, that he was still feeling Spider-Man's first real run in with the Magistrate a week and some later - served him right, maybe. For all the jokes about how Gotham was exporting clowns, these days.
"Also, seriously. Are you kidding? As bombardments go, this was great. Really, really - really great. No shrapnel, even. The Queens judge gives it an eleven. Would be bombarded again. Anytime. And," he held the phone out, a victorious swap for the wine. "Done." World, saved. For now.
"Well, in any case, your ecological niche," whatever the hell that meant, "meshes perfectly with mine because nerd shit is definitely not my forte." Never had been, had only gotten worse as cell phones seemed to get smarter and her technological awareness stayed the same. "I'll keep the upper hand on dealing with the press, screenplays and scripts. For now, anyway." A quick grin was sent in his direction, around the rim of that wine bottle as she took another sip directly from it. "It will be even better in roughly...ten minutes, when there is pizza." Definitely the best way to end the day, as far as Mary Jane was concerned. She might still have work to do, but it was work from home with wine and pizza and Peter Parker. Reminiscent of nights from so long ago, back in the before - in that shoebox apartment they could barely afford, back in her happiest days before life had made things so damned unfair. Before the baby, before the divorce, before the snap when Mary Jane was slammed into facing what life without her favorite person was like. Those memories felt golden, full of light, and she could almost see the same shimmer now. Or maybe that was the wine. The wine definitely added to the haze. "Fair. At least my bombardments don't come with shrapnel, knives or toxic gas." One final sip of that wine before the bottle was passed over, and Mary Jane exhaled a long happy sigh when the phone was passed to her and finally, finally, she was going to be able to refresh and check her e-mail. "Oh my God, you are literally a life saver, thank you, thank you, I love you." It took a moment for that to land, fully land, and MJ was all at once wishing that the wine bottle was still in her hands and hadn't been traded for the phone. A slip, an honest hand to God slip considering the phrase was one she often tossed about without much thought, but it was...different, here. Far different, considering the mess and the history and that stupid golden glow that she could not only see but feel. She could feel her breath leaving then, blinking green eyes as she forced her expression to stay in that happy neutral (even if the smile did slip just a little, just a fraction, when it landed just what she'd said before she corrected) and felt her brain hard reboot (just like the phone in her hands, ironic) and struggle to touch down on what to say next, or any words, really. "...Another bonus of this bombardment," there were words, good, words were good, "is it comes with wine." Which. She might need more of, yeah.













