Unreasonable Addiction III
Chapter One: The Fall
By Yumegari and LRH, ed. Skylanth
AN: So, here we are in the third and so far longest volume of this work. Yay.
Clair smiled as she clipped the article out of the Bugle, making sure she got the whole thing, and taped it into her scrapbook. The book bristled with newsprint, some of it fresh and grey, some so old it was yellow, interspersed with glossy photos and neatly-written notes in her own handwriting. She flipped through the earlier pages, looking back over the past year as she held it in her hands. It had been busy, the time that had passed since Otto had taken her from Seattle.
Around her, her lab hummed its normal low-level noise. Brightly-lit and cluttered, it closely resembled the lab that she had left behind in Seattle, but it was larger and had better equipment. Right now, she was waiting for one of her current experiments to finish a cycle in the centrifuge, and had taken advantage of the rare idle moment to collapse on her vast, squashy couch and catch up on the scrapbook, which she'd been neglecting lately. It was a secret, so she couldn't work on it when Otto was around, but today, he was out. As long as she heard him come back...
So absorbed was she that she didn't hear the movement outside the door until the knob turned and the door was thrown open. On the other side stood Octavius, actuators swirling about him and a rather disturbingly large grin on his face, of the kind he hadn't worn for years. Behind his goggles a huge shiner decorated one eye and his leather coat was scuffed and torn in places. His hair fell about his head and shoulders in wild strings and one hand bore rivulets of blood. Despite all that, he was still grinning proudly, and one arm was curled around a metal storage container bearing several warning stickers.
"I've got it," he said rather mysteriously, holding up the box and walking into the room. "This will make things a lot easier--" he stopped, seeing the binder still in her lap. "What's that?" he asked casually, returning his attention to the box.
Startled, she snapped the notebook shut and looked up at him. "I thought I told you to knock," she started peevishly, but then she saw the blood. The notebook landed on the couch and fell open as she jumped up and looked at him closely. "What did you get?" she asked skeptically. "It looks like you ran into Spider-Man. Or barbed wire."
He grinned again and finished unhooking the latches on the box, opening it carefully, Inside, nestled in about three inches of packing foam, was a small collection of chips connected by their dendrite-like wire fringes. "It's a wetware control array. Highly experimental, but one that has the potential to increase neural connectivity a hundredfold. The arachnid tried to stop me taking it," he said, looking inside the box. Then he looked up and grinned again. "And this." One actuator held up a carefully bound array of mechanical arms and waldos.
"A micro-surgical array!" Clair exclaimed happily. "And right when I need it, too. I'm trying to recreate the first test's results." She gestured to the nearest table, where a rainbow of chemicals was set up around a microscope. "Observant." She looked at the other item he'd brought. "You're trying to improve the arms again?"
"I'm nothing if not observant," he murmured, curling an arm around her. The actuator placed the microsurgery array on the table. "And yes, I'm improving the arms again."
"Faster or stronger?" she asked, well aware of his habits by now. "Or both?"
He looked at the array again, his fingers absently toying with her hair. "This array will make my connexion to them much faster. That'll increase their speed, maybe fast enough to finally reliably catch that arachnid..."
She reached up to lace her fingers together behind his neck, looking at him. "Good luck with that. Are you going to work on it now, or do you have time for a 'walk'?" She smiled mischievously. "I haven't been out of the lab in days and days, and this last batch still has hours to go before I can move forward."
He smiled, leaning forward to nuzzle her neck. "Mmmm, I think I might have time." His gaze flicked to the couch. "But first..." One actuator reached out and snagged the binder. "What's this?"
"No!" she yelped, trying to snatch the scrapbook back before he opened it. It would be embarrassing if he saw the pages inside.
The actuator held it over her head and another joined it, opening the book and affording him a look inside. His grin faded as he saw the clippings and photos and notes, replaced by a puzzled expression. He looked at her again, still puzzled. She gave it up as a lost cause and shrugged, a small, embarrassed smile on her lips. "I've been collecting your news clippings. I've been doing it ever since we first met. It's a bit of a habit now, even though I left all my old scrap books in Seattle." She looked up at the notebook above her head, out of her reach. "That's that time last month. I haven't gotten a newspaper since then, so I don't have anything new to put in."
He looked back up at the book. "Why would you want to do that?" he asked, genuinely curious. It went without saying that he wasn't exactly accustomed to people collecting information on him who weren't either law enforcement or obsessive stalkers. He looked back down at her and her embarrassed smile.
"I don't know," she said, looking back at him. "When it started, it was just a 'get to know what just happened to me' thing. I'd been given a lot of information about you by the FBI, and it wasn't sinking in, so I did my own research. And then... I just didn't stop. So it's a habit now. My very own Ockumentary."
The smile returned, a wryly amused expression. "'Ockumentary?'" he echoed. The book was returned to the couch. "It sounds like a terribly cheesy thing you'd see on an entertainment news programme." He leaned in again, his lips against her jawline. "I rather like it."
"Mmm," she said, tipping her head back. "I'll publish it someday. After the TV movie of your life story comes out. Who do you think should play you?"
"Heh," he said against her ear. "I don't know... Sean Connery, perhaps."
She snorted, then turned to capture his mouth. "Who has a high opinion of himself, then?" she murmured playfully.
"Mmmm," he rumbled against her lips before smiling. "Can you blame me?" he murmured, arms pulling her closer against him. He leaned in again and licked her ear, catching it between his lips.
"No, of course not," she answered, closing her eyes. Her fingers slid into his hair, running over the curve of his skull. "I meant Connery, if he thinks he could play you." Her other hand ran down the back of his neck, then traced a light line over his shirt, following the shape of the harness before resting on the base of one of the actuators.
"Flatterer," he chuckled, his hands slipping under her labcoat and under her shirt. An actuator slipped up her leg, the metal cool and smooth against her skin, and he leaned forward further, bending her backward, his fingers slipping up her back and his teeth teasing her earlobe.
"Can you blame me?" she laughed, letting her head fall back, her body curved against his. Her hands found his waist, pulling him against her.
His lips moved to her neck, slow and hot, tongue drawing against her skin. "No, I don't suppose I can," he replied.
Her fingers combed through his hair. "One year," she said softly after a moment, looking at the black strands as if they held the calender.
"Hmm?" he said, slitting his eyes open again. "One year what?" he mumbled, scritching lightly behind her ear.
"One year since you showed up in my living room in Seattle," she said, smiling and closing her eyes at the caress, cat-like.
He smiled at that, making a quiet, amused sound. "It's been quite a year, hasn't it?" he murmured, his lips grazing her ear. "Any regrets?"
"Hmm," she said, considering. "No, I don't think so. None that compare to what I would have felt if I'd stayed behind, at any rate. How about you?"
"None whatsoever," he replied, smiling against her ear.
"Hn," she said happily, turning her head to look at him. "Are you going to fall asleep on me?" Far from feeling sleepy herself this time, she felt energized and playful. She toyed with his hair, idly braiding and unbraiding a lock.
His eyes opened again and tracked to the side to look at her hands as they played with his hair. "If I do, I'm afraid I'll wake up with cornrows," he replied drily. "Maybe a little fresh air will wake me up, some? You said you wanted to go out."
She pushed herself up, nodding. "I've been down here for days. I don't even know what time it is." She looked around for her watch, but she'd taken it off at some point in the experiment and set it somewhere. "Not cornrows," she said teasingly after a pause. "But it would be interesting to see what you look like with a braid."
He favoured her with a dubious look. "A braid?" he echoed. She could have sworn he rolled his eyes behind those inscrutable goggles. "I'd look Chinese, that's what I'd look like. Like I should be adding kung fu to my fighting habits."
She snerked at that, not able to picture it in the slightest. "Okay, bad idea." She fingered her own hair, which was currently in that awkward length between too long and not long enough, then abandoned that train of thought and collapsed on the couch to put her shoes on."Anywhere you want to go, in particular? I just want to get out for a while."
"Hnn," he said, thinking. "I'd like to just go for a walk, I suppose. Nothing so concrete and limiting as a destination."
Clair nodded agreement. "I just want out of here for a few hours." She headed upstairs into the house proper to find her long, dark grey coat, leaving the lab door open behind her. It was, incredibly enough, hung in the hall closet where it belonged, and smelled slightly stale as she put it on. "How long has it been since I last went out?"
"I've no idea," Octavius replied, retrieving his own longcoat from the couch where it had been dropped and shrugging it on, over the actuators. It effectively hid them from view as they curled up under it. "I'd hazard a guess and say maybe too long?" he raised his eyebrows.
"Yes, I would say so," she said, pulling a wool cap low over her ears. "I'm just so close, I can't think about anything else. Just this one last batch of calibration tests, and the Zombie Virus is ready for testing."
"Testing on what?" came the reply as he dug in the pocket of his longcoat and produced a pair of small, oval sunglasses with which he replaced his goggles. He buttoned the coat, but left the collar open so that it framed his face and neck instead of hiding it. It was amazing what a few subtle changes did to make one less instantly recognisable.
"Human testing," she clarified softly, pulling on a pair of gloves that she fished from the pockets. He stood over her, looking down at her for a long moment, apparently thinking. "Are you prepared for such an eventuality as will inevitably occur if your endeavour is attempted here?" he asked.
She studied her glove, adjusting the fit with excessive care. "I know," she said, her voice very carefully neutral. "I wouldn't be able to let the subjects leave anyway. Not knowing what they would know, at any rate. I may have a fix for that. It's one of the facets of the Zombie Virus that I'm going to test."
"What would that be?" he asked, pulling the door open. Cold air wafted through the doorway, brushing across their faces.
"I've been working on a new viral carrier that will deliver the serum to certain parts of the brain, and not others, and then simply release it, without attaching to the soma." Some of her passion for the science crept back into her voice, replacing the neutrality. "It can wipe out an entire cortex and leave all neighbouring parts untouched."
He couldn't help it. A smirk crossed his features as she said this. They left the house and made their way out into the chill, their breath little puffs of steam before their faces. "And what would you plan on doing with that?" he asked, his tone ever so slightly wolfish. "Erase memories?"
She nodded. "But I couldn't make it specific. It's all or none. And right after, I could repair the damaged area with the standard version of the ZV, but the lost memories would be gone. The subject would be a blank slate." She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, staying close as they walked through the quiet urban neighbourhood.
"Hmmm," he rumbled, still smiling. "That's got ... potential."
"Mmhmm." She frowned slightly. "And with the right carrier virus, I could specialize it to attack any part of the brain, or the outlying nervous system. I could give it a delay, or make it contagious by contact, fluid, or air."
He leaned close, putting his arm around her, and murmured into her hair. "Why, sweet, innocent Doctor Holmes, I do believe I've corrupted your thinking. I told you you'd end up putting me out of business." A quiet chuckle followed that, before he straightened, his gaze forward again. "May I ask why you're suddenly entertaining these options?"
"Osborn," she growled. "Oscorp published findings on a neuroregenesis serum two weeks ago. It's my Zombie Juice, almost word for word. He must have gotten hold of some of my research."
Octavius stopped, head tilted to one side, looking at her as though seeing something new about her. Perhaps he was. "Revenge?" he asked simply.
"Retaliation," she said, scowling at nothing present. "The ZJ is mine. First, the government tried to take it from me, and now Osborn is trying to take credit. This can not be allowed to happen."
He nodded and put a hand on her back, starting her walking again. "Retaliation needs to be planned," he said. "Do you have a plan?"
She nodded, then shook her head. "Only a vague one. Oscorp is very particular about the compositions of most of its biochemical output. To the point of trademark. If I could get those specifications, I could mimic them."
"Specifications of what, exactly?" he asked. A wind blew past them, stirring his hair. Someone walked by the other way, but barely gave them a second glance.
"It's a coded protein marker. They include it in all their bioware, so it can be traced back to them." She tightened her collar against the wind. "Its exact design is one of Oscorp's big industrial secrets. So, if an unknown virus were to be found, bearing that very particular protein marker, Oscorp would be given the credit." She grinned. "Or the blame, as the case may be."
"Aahh," he said, that smirk returning to his features. "You plan to obtain a sample, replicate this protein marker, then make a few choice... showings of your Zombie Virus?"
"That would be the plan, yes," she answered, her own smile fading. "Deciding what form for those 'showings' to take is the problem."
He looked forward again. A car drove by along the otherwise empty street. "Targets need to be chosen strategically. Effects of the virus need to be chosen for the greatest effect," he mused quietly.
"I would want the effect to be reversible, so not in the memory centers," she said, studying one house, prematurely sporting a frosting of Christmas lights. "And contained. I'm not looking to become a terrorist. Maybe have it attack the optic centers. Or the Brocha area..." She trailed off, thinking about it.
"In other words, leave them blind or aphasic?" he mused. "Hmm. That could be devastating enough if administered to the proper target." Octavius made a short, amused sound. "I'm suddenly taken with the image of the media circus that would result should J. Jonah Jameson suddenly go aphasic..." he let that trail off, looking sideways at her.
Clair stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Jameson... Heehaahaahee..." She took a deep breath. "Well, it would get him back for all those articles, but my scrapbook would suffer. It might become non-fiction."
"We can't have that," came the reply as he slipped an arm around her again. "I certainly wouldn't want to put a stop to your ... 'Ockumentary.'" They continued walking. "However, you must admit, he's a nicely visible target. Or, I suppose, you could go with something a little more predictable, such as the Governor."
"No," she said, leaning against him. "I think Jameson would be perfect. To take the ostensible king of media in this city and take away his ability to communicate at all, the irony is appealing. And he's more accessible than the Governor, not to mention that Osborn probably has a viable grudge against him."
"I'm almost certain he does. Anyone who figures prominently in the news around here has a grudge of some kind against Jameson. I, myself wouldn't mind seeing him die horribly, but this virus of yours is just as good, if not more deliciously ironic." There was a moment of silence as their feet squished through the slush.
"I would eventually have to undo it," she said objectively. "Probably. For a price."
"A steep one, no doubt," he added, nodding.
"Oh yes," she nodded, smiling. "Everything he's worth in payment for years of libel." Her glasses reflected the light from the houses around them, and she looked up at him. "I have to test the Virus first, though, before I can do any of this. Wouldn't do to kill him; that might not incite the curiousity that would reveal the Osborn connection."
"No, I daresay it wouldn't," he replied airily. A beat and then his mood sobered. "Back to the original question, then. What do you plan to do about testing?"
She sighed deeply. "I need subjects. At least four would be good, for now. Randomly chosen, except that I need at least one with serious neural damage. An addict, perhaps. And I need a place to keep them."
He nodded again. "How do you plan to obtain said subjects?" he asked. It became obvious that he was leading her, testing her, but for what? Her resolve? Her ingenuity? Her initiative?
"The best way to obtain anything," she said, slipping back into that neutral tone. "Take them. I can't assume that anyone would volunteer to have their brain experimented on. I'm looking for people who will not be missed overmuch, obviously. There's always the chance that the test will fail, or that the results will be more extreme than I predict." She nodded to Otto, acknowledging his own past with her invention. "I would like your help."
"My help," he mused. They squished along in silence for a short while. "All right then," he said presently. "Procuring subjects shouldn't be terribly difficult."
"Thank you," she said, slightly formal. It wasn't a request she'd been comfortable making. "I can put them in the guest rooms on the ground floor. I'll need to put locks on those doors..." She trailed off, staring at nothing in particular as they wandered down the street.
"What do you plan to do once the testing has finished, though?" he asked, again leading her thoughts.
"Erase their memories and turn them loose," she said blankly. "Maybe keep track of one or two for a follow-up." She shrugged and shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. "It's the experiment that's important, not the subjects."
More silence, their surroundings eerily quiet and dead. Eventually he spoke again. "You don't sound as though you've much enthusiasm for this endeavour."
"For the experiment, yes. There's nothing more important. For the methods I'm going to have to use, no," she admitted, not looking at him. "I don't understand this," she said, shaking her head. "I don't have a problem plotting injury to Jameson, or Osborn. But the idea of doing the same things to some homeless people that no one would ever miss gives me second thoughts."
"Because Osborn and Jameson have done things to earn your wrath, so to speak. These others haven't," he pointed out quietly.
She looked at him then. "Then can I justify doing this? I could try to find volunteers, but it would take much longer, and run the risk of discovery."
He stopped, looking at her. "Who would you need to justify it to? Instead of trying to find a reason to justify your actions, perhaps you need to consider whether your goal is really worth the steps you're going to need to take in order to meet it."
She tipped her head back, holding her hat with one hand while looking up into the sky.
"This project is worth anything to me. It's mine." She looked back at him, her face set and her eyes calm. "There is nothing more important than completing it."
"So you don't feel as though you need to justify your actions in completeing your goal?" he asked one eyebrow raised.
She grimaced. "I will finish this. If I can justify the means to myself, it just makes it easier. But I don't need it, no."
"No, you don't, really," he said quietly and continued walking.
"I'm learning," she said, leaning against him as they walked. "Adapting."
He slipped an arm around her again. "It's all one can do," he replied rather cryptically.
She hugged him one-armed, feeling the actuators beneath the coat. "Enough of philosophy," she murmured. "I want my feet off the ground. Feel like going downtown?"
He looked down at her and a slight smile crossed his features. "I suppose I could oblige." He fished the goggles out of his pocket and replaced the shades with them, then buttoned the collar of his coat. There was a great flapping of leather and the actuators snaked out of the holes in his coat, curling around them both. He picked her up in his arms.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling. "I feel like flying," she murmured irreverently, humming a few bars of the song.
He made a quiet, amused sound. "I suppose this is the closest one will get," he murmured back, arms tightening around her. The actuators grabbed a building and lifted them upward, climbing to the roof and they set off across the rooftops with swift, powerful motions. The wind was cold against their skin, but his arms were very warm around her.
She grinned, watching the city pass below them, the lights illuminating her face. "Tell me about your encounter with the bug this afternoon," she asked above the wind. "Obviously, you got the better of him.." He had, after all, come home with his prizes.
"Heh," he said, something of an evil grin on his face. "He gave me quite a fight, I'll tell you that. A wonderful fight. I managed to knock him out eventually, and give him the slip. He very nearly destroyed that microsurgery rig I'd found," he added, raising his eyebrows.
"Grr," she growled, baring her teeth. "I would have had to thrash him myself." She leaned back in his grip, tracing the edge of his black eye with a finger. "You enjoy this far too much, you know. You get to have all the fun."
He raised his eyebrows and looked at her. "Oh so?" he chuckled. "Perhaps you'd like me to build you a set of actuators... you could call yourself Lady Octopus."
She laughed. "I remember wearing yours. While I won't deny there's an exhilaration to it, I bet I looked ridiculous. I wouldn't have to fight Spider-Man. He'd take one look at me and fall over laughing."
"Truth be told, you did, actually. Only because they were so big compared to you. I could always build much smaller ones." His face took on a sort of faraway expression. "After all, it's not as though it hasn't been done before. But at least this time it would be done with my knowledge."
"That's right, I'd forgotten about Dr. Trainer," she said. She made a considering noise in her throat. "I can't say that I haven't wished for a set of my own."
"Oh?" came the reply, an odd, rakish smile on his lips. "Why is that, I wonder? Why would you want a set of arms like these?"
"Well, they have their uses," she said, smiling sensually and kissing him. "But aside from the obvious, they're a massive improvement over a microsurgery set-up. Finer control, stronger, steadier, with such delicate control." She looked at his actuators, the idea taking firm root in her mind. "We could design a set specifically for use on the project, with all of the tools I'd need."
"If you would like that," he said, his arms tightening and one hand making its way into her hair. "It shouldn't be difficult at all." He smiled at the slight tickling sensation of her hair against his neck.
"I think I would," she said, nodding. "It would certainly make the experiment easier." She smiled wider, tightening her arms around his neck. "And they're so useful. For all sorts of things."
"Mmmm," he said, his smile turning positively wolfish. "Is that so..." he kissed her softly, finding it difficult to banish that smile.
There was a beat before a voice said behind them, "I hate to interrupt your little date, here, Otto, but there's a little unfinished business between the two of us."
Octavius whirled to see Spider-man crouched on a chimney. "You!" he hissed.
"Aw, Otto, you almost sound like you're not happy to see me," the other replied irreverently.
"Oh, but I am," Octavius said, turning to face him and momentarily forgetting he still held Clair in his arms. "It'll give us an opportunity to continue our ... discussion."
"Bring it on, chubs," Spidey quipped. Octavius growled dangerously.
Clair clutched Otto tighter as he whirled, both their coats flaring with the gesture. She glanced down, judging how high they were. Five floors up.
Octavius stepped back, the actuators whipping toward his foe, his arms tightening around Clair. His eyes were on his opponent--he almost seemed to have forgotten she was there. The actuators struck at Spider-man's dodging and flipping form, then yanked them both to the right, dodging a web stream.
"Hey!" Clair yelped as the breath was driven from her lungs, but she clung to Otto with her arms and legs and held still. She hadn't seen Spider-Man since the day she'd aimed a gun at him and demanded he leave her and Otto alone, but she'd seen enough of the bruises that he left on Otto to respect him as an opponent. How well could Otto fight with her in his arms, encumbering him?
The actuators whipped wildly, slapping Spider-man out of the air when he leapt, and Octavius stepped back further, appearing to look for a quick way to escape. He made it to the edge of the roof, glancing down. He dodged a kick, blocked a punch with an actuator, and wrapped another around Spider-man's waist, throwing him. The nimble arachnid flipped through the air, webbed Octavius' head, and gave it a mighty yank, upsetting the other's balance. His momentum continued forward and his foot slammed against Octavius' head, snapping it back and rattling his senses. He lost his grip on Clair, stumbling and nearly falling off the building had not one actuator instinctively grabbed for purchase.
Clair screamed, losing her grip on him and tumbling free. She grabbed for his coat, the wall, the actuators, anything, but her hands closed only on empty air, whistling through her fingers. The wind stole her breath, cutting off her scream, and her hands came up to protect her head as the ground sped closer.
With a gasp, both turned to see her fall, actuators and web-lines shooting out in an attempt to catch her, slow her momentum, anything ... missing. Sticking to the opposite wall or taking chunks out of it, but missing. Octavius' blood ran cold as his actuators missed her by scant inches, stumbling forward, eyes wide behind his goggles.
She twisted nearly upright as she fell, and her leg hit the street first, then her arm, trying to protect her head. Pain exploded up her spine as both limbs bent in all the wrong directions with an absolutely horrible sound, and the sound shut out the world as her head bounced off the pavement, mercifully knocking her out.