Disclaimer

Characters: Peter Parker is based from Spider Man property of Stan Lee with some changes, and the character Serenity is based off a reincarnated variation of Serena from the manga series Sailor Moon property of… ( I can't remember her name but she's awesome!)

Authors' Note: For recreational purposes we are crossing the Marvel comic character Spiderman with the mange series Sailor Moon. However it is only loosely based on either, there will be many changes made to both key characters under the discretion of both authors. The setting of Oxford college in England is only loosely done as neither author has ever been to England and is simply guessing on such facts as are forthwith placed in this fanfic. So… Enjoy! Reviews and constructive criticism are welcome!

Prologue

The streets of London are bustling with people heading to work, or tourists heading from one sight to the next in a rush of excitement. Amongst the busy traffic of feet over old cobblestone and the abrasive contrast of asphalt. At a small table crafted of black iron with a diamond design upon the time and curved legs, chairs to match, a young girl no more than maybe eighteen is seated there a hard bound book open in front of her. Delicate didgets of finely crafted ivory silk are curled around the open book, the tips of those didgets carefully, almost lovingly, turning the pages. While eyes of blue, crafted from the finest sapphires, slowly pass over the words committing them to memory as lips of pale crimson hues are pursued in a thoughtful expression. Idly her right hand lifts to push the silver bridge of her glasses back into place upon the bridge of her nose every so often or brush a stray strand of sunshine gold from her features. Her heart shaped face is framed in such shimmering golden locks of straight woven silk that would fall down to her calves if it were not braided, twisted up and pinned up against the back of her head, with the exception of errant strands that refuse to behave.

She shifts absently uncrossing her right leg from her left to cross her left ankle over her right and push her long slender though shapely legs under the chair beneath her in-spite of the semi-short pleated blue pleated plaid skirt she wears, with a pair of knee high white stockings and black mary-janes. This is accompanied by her white button up French cuff blouse. She was pretty but seemed to in some aspects try and hide it, as though she may not see herself the way others perceive her. Sitting there in front of one of London's smaller café's she seems almost like one of those "geeks" who is concerned with only her books, as she wears not a stitch of make up and though having been out of high school almost a year now she still can't seem to leave the uniform behind even when she is on Holiday from college. Holiday is of course what brings her back home to London and to one of her favorite little café's where she is a regular. The lovely woman who owns the place knowing the girl by name and sight, all of her employees knowing her "usual" so interrupting her book to order was never an issue, unless hell has frozen over and she orders something new!

Now at one of the back tables in front of the café sits a young man, a novel in one hand, and a steaming cup of tea in the other. His handsome face is framed by longish brown hair, with a natural wave to it. His brown eyes are framed by a pair of slim glasses. On the iron table in front of him is his camera case, one of his most valuable possessions, the camera it contains having been the last gift his Aunt May had given him before she died almost two years ago.

Even in the chill air of an English spring the sleeves of his white button up shirt are rolled up, almost to the elbow, revealing strong forearms adorned only with a simple wrist watch and lightly covered in hair. His brown slack clad legs rest on the chair next to him, crossed at the ankles, one black boot over the other.

He sits quietly sipping his tea and turning the pages of his book occasionally, for a time, enjoying the chill bite of the spring air. As a waiter walks by, however, his head tingles slightly and he lunges foreword catching both the waiter and the tray he was carrying before the man can fall to the hard stone ground.

Handing the tray, still holding a full cup of something, back to the stunned man he returns to his chair and his discarded book. He sips his tea slowly, musing thoughtfully over a passage from his book, a slight smile crossing his face for a moment. He was oblivious to the reactions anyone at the café had to what he just did as out of the ordinary as it was.

The sudden gasp that had passed the waiter's lips just before he was caught was what had drawn those sapphiric eyes away from the black ink adorned pages of her book. Long lashes of sunshine golden silk dance over the curve of her high boned cheeks as she watched slightly amazed as the young man who seemed not much older than her prevented the waiter from biting the stone floor beneath him.

She tilts her head to the side slightly in thought, the brown-eyed man seemed almost familiar. Though as quickly as she had left her book she so returned to it for the moment not giving him another thought. After all what good was it going to do her to dwell on her surroundings? In a week she would be back in her dorm at Oxford and he would be nothing but another memory of her favorite little café.

An exasperated sigh passes her lips however as she feels the table vibrate slightly against her elbow which is propped up on the table top. She lifts those sparkling blue eyes from her book once more settling her gaze on the table top where her tiny silver cell phone does its little dance on the iron top vibrating a moment more before it begins playing Fur Elise. She sighs a second time closing her book with her middle finger holding her place and using her now free right hand to pick the phone up from the table and flipping it open. She looks down at the iron table top as she speaks into the phone in an extremely soft whisper with a beautiful French accent. The conversation is indistinct to anyone but her and moments after she picked up the phone she flips it closed setting it down on the table top long enough to slip her thin sky blue silk ribbon into place in her book. She stands to her feet going to the door of the café which a bystander would note is near where the waiter had nearly fallen. She peeks into the café calling out to the owner.

" I am heading home Annette, are you still coming to supper tonight? " Her soft French tones passing her faint crimson lips as her slender manicured fingers curl around the door frame waiting for an answer.

Annette's family had owned the little café for as long as she could remember and when she had finished school six years ago her parents had let her take over. After all a woman in her late twenties needed a profession, and this was her chosen one. She peeks out from the tiny employees room door whipping her hands on her apron calling out in a thick English accent. " Of course. Wouldn't miss it Sere, I'll see you after closing. Be safe. "

She smiles softly in a shy almost school girl manner and nods before turning and going back to her usual table picking up her phone and book from the icy iron top. She slips her cell phone in between her full breasts and carries her book in her hand beginning to head home.

He looks up at her as she calls to the owner, then looks at his watch and sighs, he realizes he needs to leave shortly himself. So once the girl leaves he pays his bill, marks his place in his book, and leaves grabbing his camera case on the way out.