Title: Fatal Action: The Rise of a Super Villain (Sequel to the Widow Maker, title to change as the villain is discovered)
Rating: T (subject to change)
Pairing: Peter(S)/MJ (as if there could be any other pairing!)
Verse: Movie/Comic/Cartoon- nothing is safe from my tinkering. As the original story was based mostly off the original (2000) Spider-Man movie, there are references to such; however, I am also including information from the sequels, comics, and the 1994 cartoon because it's fun! ;)
Summary: Sequel to the Widow Maker. Months after the events in the Widow Maker, Mary Jane Watson reluctantly finds herself back in NYC to film a movie destined for disaster, prompting Peter/Spider-Man to once again protect the woman he loves. Will he be able to keep her safe or will the introduction of a super villain along with the complicated relationship between MJ and Peter be too much for the wallcrawler to handle?
Disclaimer: Much to my own chagrin, I do not own Spider-Man/Peter, MJ, or any of the other delightful characters found in Marvel's (Disney/Stan Lee) Spider-Man. I do wish I did as Quesada doesn't even know how to play with the Marvel toys properly. So… I'm borrowing them for a time and I promise to do my best to entertain. No copyright infringement or any other type of stealing on my part is intended. The fact of the matter is, I just want to play and provide some fun- when I'm done I'll put everything back where I found it. Any characters created by me, such as the Widow Maker, Zoey etc… belong to me, otherwise we know who owns the rest.
Author's Note: As with the Widow Maker, my intent is to provide for the shippers of Peter/MJ. With all the chaos and destruction in our world as of late (the RUINED comics and the lackluster reboot of the movie- no MJ, no movie IMO), us Peter/MJ fans need something in our lives. It's been years since I finished the Widow Maker and the sequel was well in hand before the final chapter of the Widow Maker. Unfortunately, many things got in the way of working on the sequel and it's been put off until now. This is a WIP and I will do my best to update frequently, but I make no promises! Please be patient and I'll do my best to provide a good sequel! One thing has not changed since the Widow Maker, I LOVE reviews, oh and Peter/MJ, ok so two things have not changed! :P Hope you all enjoy and please let me know, review, review, review! Those reviews fuel the fire that makes the story world go 'round!
Chapter 1: Feelings That Don't Change
Song: Santa Monica, Savage Garden
In Santa Monica, in the winter time,
The lazy streets so undemanding
I walk into the crowd
In Santa Monica, you get your
coffee from
The coolest places on the
promenade
Where people dress just so
Beauty so unavoidable, everywhere
you turn
It's there I sit and wonder what am I
doing here?
But on the telephone line I
am anyone
I am anything I want to be
I could be a super model or
Norman Mailer
And you wouldn't know the
difference
Or would you?
In Santa Monica, all the people got
modern names
Like Jake or Mandy
And modern bodies too
In Santa Monica, on the boulevard,
You'll have to dodge those
In-line skaters
Or they'll knock you down
I never felt so lonely,
Never felt so out of place
I never wanted something more
than this
But on the telephone line I
am anyone
I am anything I want to be
I could be a super model or
Norman Mailer
And you wouldn't know the
difference
On the telephone line, I am
any height
I am any age I want to be
I could be a caped crusader, or
space invader
And you wouldn't know
the difference
Or would you?
The view was exquisite. There was no other way to describe it. It was picture perfect. The blue ocean could be seen lapping the white sands of the beach in the near distance. The palm trees swayed softly in what could only be a warm breeze. The temperature never seemed to raise or drop below perfect. In the morning, when the sun rose, it glistened off the ocean, casting its warm glow on the cliffs and city of Santa Monica below.
Surfers were as much a part of the beach as the sand itself. They were a never ending continuance- like the waves were part of the ocean. The dotting of trees outlined the break from the sand and boardwalk to the streets of the city. The pier ran along the beach. When the sun set lights flickered there brightly, a riot of colors in the night sky. The old time amusement park produced the colorful lights. The Ferris Wheel loomed in the view, a landmark of Santa Monica much like the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building are landmarks in New York.
The view captured the heart and soul of Santa Monica making it easier to call it home.
For Mary Jane Watson, Santa Monica had been her home for a little over seven months now.
She loved this view and she had grown to love everything she saw in it. She could even picture the things that couldn't be directly found in the view. Things like the Third Street Promenade, where wonderful street performers, musicians, and theaters could be found. She thrived in that environment spending most or all her free time there. It was close to the beach in her view but too small to decipher from her window. She also loved a little theater called the Monica where some of the more artsy flicks are shown.
But, none of it was New York, her hometown. She missed it. She missed a lot of things about New York.
MJ turned away from her perfect view not wanting to taint it with her sad thoughts. She sighed, sinking into a sofa chair across the room.
The apartment she was provided with by the soap opera, Secret Hospital (which she had become a regular on) is small, but more than adequate. The view itself was worth it.
One sigh turned into another sigh as she glanced at her watch. She would have to be to work soon. But on a morning like this, where too much thought was bottled up inside, she needed some time to think before traveling the distance to the studio located in Los Angeles and putting on her acting face.
She thought about how she had adapted to her new life. She felt she handled herself pretty well for someone who found themselves all alone in a strange new environment. The weather wasn't the only difference between Santa Monica and New York City. Though, like any city, there were similarities between the two. Santa Monica has gang problems and violence and a heavy bustle similar to that of New York. There was more than one occasion where she felt her life was in danger or at least her wallet.
However, there was no one to watch her back. No superhero stalker. Not even a friend.
MJ shifted in the big over-sized chair, catching her own smirk in the mirror on the wall nearby.
Peter.
Every day, at least once his name crossed her mind. No matter how she tried to fight it. It was there.
Spider-Man.
Even here in CA, across the entire country, Spider-Man was known. If only they knew him as she did.
She liked it better when Spider-Man, AKA Peter Parker was just the boy next door. Foolishly, she never noticed how wonderful the boy next door really was until it was all too late.
She spent most of her life hiding from her horrid family life and plastering one fake smile to the next on her face. All through high school she dated the wrong boys, from Flash Thompson to Harry Osborn. None of which were what she really needed or wanted. They were all like her father in the end: needy or abusive, and they only took from MJ leaving her drained and alone.
Not Peter. Peter loved her. He loved her as in the past tense. She realized too late and now there was a chasm between them. It was no mere wedge that could be mended now. She tried everything she could to get through to him. But he cut away the ties to the bridge between them and now nothing remained but the gaping chasm; a black hole of darkness, what some would call oblivion, to fall into if she attempted to reach out to him.
So she did what seemed logical to her. She ran away. He pushed so many times and she finally obliged. She had been too strong for too long and it only gotten her hurt. It was a feeling she had grown accustomed to. She allowed all the men in her life to walk all over her and why should Peter have been any different? Even if he was nothing like them, yet exactly like them!
He certainly proved in the end that he really was not so different than Flash or her dad, hadn't he? She had given him the power, the power to reach past the façade. She'd trusted him. And he just hurt her more than they ever had or could, whether it was intentional or not.
MJ groaned in annoyance, tossing a pillow onto the nearby couch. She stood up, snatching her car keys off the stand by the doorway. There was nothing good that would come from these thoughts and no release of the tension in her this morning. And there was no point in being late for work because of it.
Some days were just harder than others- that's all.
She stepped out into the fresh, warm air and breathed it in. She allowed herself a hint of a smile as she basked in the warm glow of the sun. She walked through the small parking lot of her apartment building located high on the cliffs of Santa Monica. A few roller-bladers and skateboarders passed her by, a mix of giggles and breaths as they maneuvered around her. She had grown used to them much as she had the overcrowded streets of Manhattan and because of this she dodged them easily. A cooling breeze rustled her hair and she decided to raise the top on her convertible.
A few months ago if someone asked her if she would be driving a car, let alone a convertible, she would have laughed riotously in their faces; although the car was just a leaser. She had only given in to getting one when she realized it would be cheaper than taking a cab every day. She had only just learned her way around the area as well.
The engine roared to life with the turn of her key and she glanced in the rearview mirror at herself. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When she was done, she donned a smile and there she was, Miss MJ Watson, actress ready for action.
The studio wasn't far and MJ arrived on time despite her worry of being late. She entered the air conditioned building from a side entrance after displaying her ID card to a security guard.
She tossed her bag aside as she walked into the make-up room. She gave a smile or two to the few regulars on the show she rarely worked with before plopping into a makeup chair next to her on screen sister, Rachel played by Wendy Grande.
"Morning, MJ," Wendy muttered as one of the artists applied makeup to Wendy's cheekbones.
"Hey Wen," MJ breathed out untying her hair from the sloppy ponytail she threw it in earlier. "Any script changes?"
"Aren't there always?" Wendy said teeth clamped together.
MJ picked up a script from the cluttered make-up counter and thumbed through looking for any changes to her character, Dinah. Dinah showed up a few months ago at Secret Hospital looking for her long lost sister and family. She was given up for adoption because her mother was afraid Dinah's father was not the same person who fathered Rachel, Dinah's older sister. Dinah was a lot like MJ herself. She was emotional, but hid behind a party girl attitude and tired of being hurt by the ones she loved; however she could not give up. That's what drove her to Grant Cove, where the fictional Secret Hospital was located. Dinah is now involved in a storyline where Rachel is being stalked by a serial killer and Dinah's boyfriend, Charles was the latest victim. Rachel's love interest is bad boy Cooper who is secretly a cop on the trail of the killer.
A few small line changes were made, but Dinah didn't have a large part anyway. Rachel was the more popular character. Wendy had been on the show for well over three years now and a fan favorite.
"So, how many times do you think Stephen will goof up his lines today?" Wendy chuckled as another make-up artist came up to MJ and began work on her.
MJ chuckled, finding some humor in the main stars uncanny ability to make slip ups. He wasn't the brightest but he had a face any woman would love - not to mention a killer body. "Who knows." she replied, watching at the make-up artist set to work on her red hair. The transformation into her character was beginning and MJ closed her eyes, going over her lines.
New York City was hot. Too hot. Hotter than any other day in July that Peter Parker could remember. Even the feel of the rushing wind hitting his masked face as he soared through the air on gossamer lines of webbing, going from one building to the next, could not take away from the heat of the blistering sun.
And no, he's not delusional or insane. He is Spider-Man.
His feet connected with the building first then his hands grasped the brick side affixing him to the outside of the hundred-some-story building. He estimated he was somewhere in the late nineties, the rooftop only a spider's leap away. He looked over his shoulder spotting his favorite building with ease. He leapt away from the building he had just clung to and free fell backwards rolling into a back somersault before twisting around to gauge how far away from his landing point he was.
He allowed the rush of the freefall to last only seconds longer before he slowed his decent and landed with a soft thud on the ledge of the building. He turned to his favorite buddy, Bruce the Gargoyle and saluted. "Hey there, stony. At least you always have a smile for your pal, Spidey." He snickered staring the monster in the eyes. He swore he saw a look of humor in the gray stone eyes of the gargoyle. He shook the cobwebs from his brain with a laugh before leaning against his buddy, exhausted and nearly overheated.
The temperature in the city was near the 98 degree mark. A heat wave had swept over the city a few days ago. It was sitting over the entire tri-state area unmoving and it looked like there was no end in sight to the blistering heat. Weather reporters predicted there would be no relief from the blazing heat anytime soon, and people should stay in-doors when possible in an attempt to keep cool.
Peter harrumphed. Like anyone in New York would listen to that! Perhaps, if they had he wouldn't be out patrolling the city streets and he would be plopped in front of the air conditioner in his apartment staying cool instead of sweating through his costume, leaning against good ol' Bruce.
Even in this sweltering heat, robbers, rapists, and your average all around bad guy were still out terrorizing people! At least there was no sign of the extremist baddies such as Rhino, Scorpion, Dr. Doom, or Boomerang out and about. Peter guessed even those guys didn't feel like playing in the heat. He knew he sure didn't feel like it and he didn't even have to lug a hundred-some pound horn on his head or wear a heavy metal face mask either. Yet, your average Joe bad guy didn't know when to take a break and call it quits for the day. And as if that wasn't bad enough he had to battle Mother Nature herself with people taking heat strokes and passing out. He had delivered five such victims to the hospital via Spidey Express this afternoon alone.
Peter pulled off the bottle of water he had webbed to his side before lifting his mask over the bridge of his nose. He took a drink from the bottle then he splashed some of the tepid water on his exposed face in a poor attempt to keep cool. "I don't know Bruce. Who is gonna save me when I need to be carted off to the hospital from heat stroke, huh?"
As if in answer, a blaze of fire streamed higher in the sky, past Peter's head and well out of his swinging range.
Peter chuckled, looking at Bruce. "Johnny Storm? Sure, show off… This temperature probably feels like winter in Anchorage to him." He smirked, pleased with his own joke. He sighed in relief at the sight of the fiery member of the Fantastic Four in any case. If they were out and about maybe it meant he could take a break from playing babysitter.
"Sorry for the short visit today Bruce, but even I can't do my brooding in this heat like you can. You win this round buddy, but just remember your life isn't nearly as messed up as mine." Peter replaced his mask. He stood up on the ledge of the building, prepping himself for the plunge. "See ya!" he saluted the statue faithfully and leapt into the air, plunging for the street.
He released a web strand, swinging himself towards home.
He had a new apartment in the city where his brooding could be comforted by the coolness of his AC. His place of residence was now more centrally located in the city. He had moved out of the apartment he had shared with Harry some months ago, no longer able to mooch off his best friend's charity. He now lived in a four room apartment the size of a shoebox which was barely affordable. His rent was rarely on time every month and his pay check from the Daily Bugle barely covered the rent, let alone left him with money to live on. And he was running out of excuses to give his landlord for his tardy payments.
It was a constant struggle and sometimes he felt defeated but it was better to stand on his own two feet than to live off his friend's over inflated wallet. Sure, he missed the cozy two floor apartment with lots of room to spare, but he was making it on his own and that gave him a sense of self worth and pride. It was almost comforting enough to counter the depression his living conditions provided.
Despite the lack of space in his new apartment, it offered everything he really needed: his bathroom shares the duty of also being his dark room to develop his photos when he isn't at the Bugle; his bedroom has an off the street balcony with no neighboring windows in sight to keep his identity safe when he sneaks off day or night; and his kitchen/living room is cockroach free- mostly.
With a sense of caution and his spidey sense to guide him he landed on the balcony of his bedroom looking around to make sure he remained unseen. He stepped into the bedroom quickly shedding his mask and tossing it to the floor.
"Ugh," he groaned, wiping the sweat from his brow. This suit was definitely going in the wash! He stripped out of the sweat-soaked spandex and tossed it into a ball where he threw his mask. He made a beeline for the bathroom, nearly tripping on empty film roll canisters discarded on the bathroom floor. He tugged down a line of drying photos that were tied to the shower railing. He needed to get under the water quickly.
The shower head poured water out quickly and Peter didn't waste a second to bask in its relief. He sighed as steam rolled off his shoulders when the cool water hit his flaming skin. He stuck his head under the cool liquid allowing it to drench him. He ran his hands through his thick brown hair and sighed once again. He closed his eyes as the water ran along his face.
He allowed the water to calm his body but his mind was running at full speed. That was the reason why he went to visit Bruce. It was his thinking spot. He pondered many a thought with that gargoyle. But the heat of the day drove him from his usual spot. However hot out it was his thoughts were un-yielded here in his apartment.
After the shower lost its calming effect on him he changed and stepped out into the cool living room. He walked over to the window, an ever watchful eye on the city sixteen stories below. The sun was retreating to make way for the moon; however, the heat lingered in the night.
The bustle below remained un-phased by the temperature. Cars rushed by honking and swerving up the block. Pedestrians power-walked or lolled on the sidewalks at their own leisure; some sported headphones or carried a backpack, some walked their dogs, and some talked to themselves.
Blinking lights flickered in a chasing pattern brightly over the sign for the theater located on the corner. They were advertising a two for one price on their cinematic features which were a collaboration of the low budget films floating near the bottom of the box office, some independent features and the major releases new this week- which, of course, were not part of their advertised bargain. Peter wondered when the last time he saw a movie was. He couldn't rightly recall.
Then he could no longer avoid the advertisement that bore down on him through his window's view. Every day he looked out that window. Every day held the same pattern: first the pedestrians and cars, then the theater, and finally the billboard.
Displayed on the billboard is Mary Jane Watson, coddling a bottle of Emma Rose perfume.
To make matters worse the billboard was enormous. So, every fleck of sparkling blue in her green eyes bore down on him. Her face alone was the size of Galactus. Her lips were pursed, glossy, and shimmering. Her strawberry red hair was swept up and away from her blemish-free face. She was gorgeous. Her eyes were killing him slowly. Every day he looked upon them he swore he could see the hatred, anger, and disappointment she must feel toward him. After all, he only scorned her love; he only turned his back on her and his own heart. He gave up everything he ever desired with her for her own safety. All she saw despite his sound reasoning was disloyalty and disrespect. His shoulders slumped and he forced himself away from the window.
He turned to the comfort of his living room, plopping onto the couch. He surveyed the textbooks stacked up on his coffee table. He did have some schoolwork in need of being done. He had signed up for some extra classes over the summer with Doctor Connor's as a way to keep his grades going. The extra classes were looked highly upon his scholarship lenders and he didn't have much left to do.
His eyes crossed the room to the blinking red light on his phone. The light displayed the number '3' which meant he had three messages. All were most likely from his Aunt May as no one else with the exception of possibly Harry, would even call him. He sighed frustrated with himself for not returning her messages recently. He was the worst nephew in the world. But then, he was also the worst best friend, the worst case for a boyfriend and… his eyes glanced at the newest Daily Bugle front page, the worst excuse for a super-hero there is apparently. He groaned, sinking into the couch. He hated these spells of depression and his usual solution of web slinging was out of the question due to the weather. He picked up a text book and thumbed through the required reading. Dr. Connors was already angry with him; no need to add the worst student to his already stellar list of accomplishments in the sucking department. He managed a decent grade point average despite his gallivanting around as Spider-Man. He only imagined his average would be near perfect if he concentrated at school as much as he should. His main concern was to keep his average high enough to keep his scholarships, as he was never going to be able to afford school without them.
His eyes went back to the blinking message light. He stared at it, wishing and hoping as he did every time the light flashed. He hoped one of those messages were from her. But it was ludicrous to hope so. She didn't even know he moved or what he was doing. She probably didn't even care. A sense of déjà vu crept over him, remembering what it was like when he'd do anything to get her attention. He had blown it over and over, losing out to guys like Flash and Harry. Some things did not change; he bet she had a million men beating down her door as usual, even more so in California. And he was alone.