Peter Parker de Bergerac

"Peter, you shouldn't eat that pizza so late. It'll ruin your sleep." Aunt May still tried to look after her nephew, even though he was an adult and had his own place now. The boy just didn't take very good care of himself. She called him every night to make sure he was okay.

"It's alright Aunt May, I've got to stay up for a while and read for class anyway." Peter spoke quietly, so as not to be heard by Mr. Ditkovitch, his landlord. Once again the rent was going to be late; good thing he worked at Joe's Pizza and managed some freebees at the end of the day. "I've got to write a draft for a paper for my International Literature class tomorrow; I promise to get some sleep. Talk to you tomorrow Aunt May." Peter hung up the phone and positioned himself under the dim light so that he could read the photocopied papers; "Cyrano de Bergerac – English edited version." He settled back and began to skim over the play again; he still didn't know what he was going to write his paper on.

A distant siren wailed in the distance, but he concentrated on his reading. He spent too many long nights out as it was; the city was going to have to get along by itself tonight. He continued to read, but the long nights began to take their toll and soon he was asleep.

…

Peter found himself standing in some type of patio or courtyard area, but it was difficult to tell in the dark. The light from a half moon was the only illumination present that set apart bush from railing, tree from pillar. A door's window on a balcony above gave off a soft glow, but offered little light of its own. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he noticed a figure tread close to stand between him and the balcony. The figure turned and looked up at the door but made no attempt to climb or call out, but merely seemed content to stare at the pale light.

While Peter watched, the door opened and a woman came out onto the balcony, in silhouette from the backlighting. The light briefly lit the figure and for a moment Peter saw it was someone dressed as Spiderman. The figure stepped out of the light cast by the door but not before being seen by the woman.

"Once again you are out there, protecting me" said the woman. It was a voice Peter knew all too well; Mary Jane Roxanne-Watson. "Even when I can't see you I know you're there. Does my hero have no tongue tonight?" From her position she couldn't see anything beyond the light cast by the door. Peter watched as the Spiderman figure motioned him over to stand behind him. He was making some type of gestures that Peter was trying to interpret.

"A woman needs not just deeds; for what is love without words? Love is a duet, not a solo. Sing me another night." She started to turn to leave the balcony and return inside.

Peter understood; the figure was asking him to speak for him; with a hand over his mouth? His voice! The mask would muffle it somewhat; he quickly pulled his shirt up to disguise his voice.

"I would sing all night, every night, if the song were only worthy of your accompaniment; sadly it does not do you justice fair one." The Spiderman figure stood just enough in the light to been seen.

Mary Jane turned back to the Spiderman figure. "So, the nightingale does sing! Are there no criminals to catch, no villainy to staunch, no evil to thwart?"

"Indeed there are those things, as they always have been and always will exist. A single man cannot combat them all; and yet, with a thought of you my heart is quickened to take on the task. My powers are great against one man, but small against the world. But with great power comes great responsibility; a responsibility to the weak, the vulnerable, and the neglected. And to stranger and friend, family and neighbor, to those we despise…and those that we love."

"Love? The Daily Bugle says you know not of love, nor do you act upon it."

"Antoine Jonah Jameson de Guiche is an out of tune trumpet, a hoarse herald who lives only to enrage without cause for the sole purpose of lining his pockets. Is it not love that causes me to risk life and limb to save the people of the city from the vermin that crawl along its streets and slink down its alleys? Oh yes, it pays well; if thanks were coins I would grow fat on my earnings, downright corpulent on the occasional 'bless you' and rare 'what would we do without you'."

"Surely you seek fame for such actions?"

"Nay I say to that. I wear this mask precisely because I do not want the fame. And it is because of the anonymity of this mask that I can say this now: Mary Jane, yours is the light by which I live my life in this city. From the first time that I have seen you, the sun and moon pale in comparison. The day breaks only when you are near, and dusk quickly settles as you leave. Only the memory of you provides a twilight by which your absence is made tolerable."

"If I am that light, then come to me and bathe in it." Even in silhouette Peter imagined her red hair and green eyes.

"I cannot. For as even a freezing man must enjoy a roaring fireplace from a distance, so must I remain apart. To stand closer would be exquisite agony; closer still and I would be consumed by your beauty and lose all sense of self; even the ability to speak would desert me."

"As you speak I know your heart; somehow a soft voice has spoken silently these things to me before, but I cannot place it. Perhaps not words as such, but volumes spoken with a look or a presence."

"I have spoken too much already!" Peter had to sidetrack her before she began to figure out his identity; his spider sense told him there was danger. "Forgive my impatience, but I must take my leave of you now as much as it pains me to do so. But know this; none shall love you as deeply or as completely as I."

At that moment he sensed something behind him and twisted in time to avoid an arrow fired from behind and below, probably from a grassy area beyond. The arrow flew past him and onward, striking Mary Jane in the chest. She gasped and collapsed on the balcony.

Peter found a door on the ground floor and a staircase inside that led to the balcony. He rushed through the room only to find the Spiderman figure holding Mary Jane in his arms. She put her hand to his masked cheek and lost consciousness.

…

Peter woke up with a start and in a cold sweat. His heart pounding, he looked over at the clock and saw that it was 4am; a partially eaten pizza and pages from the play shared the bed with him. There was no way he was going to go back to sleep after that nightmare. He glanced over at his nightstand to see a small framed picture of Mary Jane, taking small comfort that it was only a dream; but a dream that could not be allowed to become reality. He pulled out a blank piece of paper and began writing his draft. "Unrequited Love: The Noblest Purgatory".

The End

A/N: I've only seen a handful of the superhero movies, but while growing up in a small town I was exposed to Spiderman comics at the barbershop and he became my first superhero. I like my movie leads to get their love interest, but there are exceptions where it wouldn't work out; Cyrano didn't get Roxanne, Rick wasn't going to get on that airplane in "Casablanca", Julianne didn't get Michael in "My Best Friend's Wedding" and Peter wasn't going to get Mary Jane in "Spiderman" (at least the first one).