The fall was the part that stayed with him the most. He could see her face, her beautiful, angel's face staring up at him as the web snapped between the gears of the clock tower. She didn't look afraid. She had never looked afraid, not even in the face of all that they'd faced together. Instead, her face was the very picture of confusion, almost shock as though she couldn't believe what was about to happen.

What he'd let happen to her.

Time and time again he tried in different ways, tried to do everything in his broad scope of powers to save her. He jumped quicker, propelled himself harder, shot the web with all his force; sometimes he even broke the cartridge to get to her. Still something always got in the way. Something always stopped him from saving her. A loose piece of cog would hit him in the back of the head, or else she would suddenly fall faster, the space between them stretching no matter how close he got.

Sometimes the web would catch her. He knew that it caught her because he'd felt the immense tug on the other end. Whenever it does catch her, he still feels that incredible sense of elation that he'd felt that night, that feeling that he'd managed to prevent her death.

But it doesn't last. She's limp in his arms again and that's only when there isn't something else wrong when he touches down on the rubble strewn ground next to her. Once, in the worst of the nightmares, a swarm of black spiders crawled out of her nose and mouth and out from under her eyelids. Even worse still had been the one time when she'd been okay, when she'd stood up and coldly rebuffed him to climb on the glider of the monster that had thrown her to her death in the first place, laughing at his tortured scream.

This time isn't the worst of it.

The fall happens, as it always did, always the same way. The cog breaks the web again and she falls through the tower as he does everything in his power to pull her up. Again she hits the ground, only this time he's aware of an almost ear-splitting crack, one that drowns out the cacophony of sound of the debris falling around him.

When he reaches the ground this time she's not moving, not breathing just like before, just like all the times he's replayed this over and over in his dreams. The line of blood streaming from her nose cuts through her pale face like some grisly traffic line and all he can do is cradle her dead body again. It's a way for him to keep a hold on her, to keep her close even though he should have let go of her a long time ago.

She's breathing this time though, the warm air tickling the side of Peter's face. Hope springs up within him, warm and overwhelming and for a moment he feels like he could lift them both off the ground with the sheer power of how happy he is that she's come back to him, that she's stayed like he begged her to do.

He looks into her eyes, into her beautiful big glassy eyes. There's something off in the way she's looking at her, something that dampens his hope and happiness almost as quickly as it was kindled.

She hates him.

She's accusing him.

"How could you do this to me?" She asks him, her voice a violent whisper that spirals in the space around them as cogs continue to fall in slow motion over their heads. "I thought you loved me Peter."

"I do!" He says, his voice choking, horrified that she could say something so awful.

"You didn't save me. You weren't fast enough. You weren't smart enough. You think you're so intelligent. You didn't even think about the fall did you?"

"No! I think about it Gwen! I never stop thinking about it."

But she only shakes her head, her fingers digging into the back of his costume, through the skintight fabric and right into his flesh. Peter hisses at the pain but doesn't loosen his hold on her.

"You killed me," she says simply, her eyes holding his tear filled ones with their awful accusation. "You didn't even think about what would happen if you caught me while I fell."

"No..." He's whimpering now because he can see it all over again. He's seen it for months and months now, ever since he put the suit back on. He didn't think about it, didn't even try and calculate the physics of it all. His webbing had stretched, had only served to accelerate Gwen's fall to the cold hard ground below.

"You killed me Peter," she says, her eyes hollow, blood still spilling from her nostril. And her voice echoes a thousand times around the clock tower; a symphony of every time she said his name, every time she laughed it or cried or screamed...Peter, Peter, Peter...

"PETER!" The voice cut through Peter's awful nightmare like a gunshot and he started in his bed, kicking the covers that had gotten tangled around his legs away from his body. Blearily he opened his eyes and looked around at the source of the voice, his vision rapidly bringing the small, untidy bedroom of his apartment into better focus as wakefulness overtook him.

His roommate was standing over him, his arms folded, his handsome face a mixture of irritation, panic and mild concern. For a moment Peter didn't understand why Eddie Brock was dressed in a thick black long coat and snow boots. After all, they had managed to catch up on the heating bill and his room was considerably warmer than it had been over Thanksgiving. And given that Eddie was about as tall and broad as a quarterback cold temperatures tended not to bother him as much as a normal person.

"What do you want?" Peter asked him, his mind still muddled with sleep and the memory of that awful dream.

Eddie's grey eyes, crinkled at the edges with laughter in spite of his younger years, widened in disbelief. His thick, short, dirty blonde hair was damp but still had not fallen out of the gelled back style he worked so hard to maintain. "Were you outside?" Peter mumbled, rolling over and burying his face in his pillow. Pale light was filtering through the blinds and he had no way of knowing whether or not it was the middle of the morning or the end of the afternoon.

"Dude," Eddie said in disbelief, "it's ten in the morning! You were supposed to be at the Bugle an hour and a half ago."

Peter groaned, sinking his face even further into the confines of his pillow as though hoping it would suddenly come to life and swallow him whole.

"You're lucky I told J.J. that there was a traffic jam or he'd be sending a brute squad for your skinny little ass," Eddie went on. "You said you were going to turn up on time when I left this morning."

"I forgot," Peter fibbed. He'd slept well for most of the night beforehand. A little too well as a matter of fact. Waking up when his alarm had gone off at six had been a royal pain in the ass and he remembered mumbling something along the lines of not being late to Eddie before he'd toddled back to his room and collapsed.

Now, with the reminder of that horrible dream still fresh in his mind he realized that it hadn't been worth the extra few hours of shut eye, least of all if he once more had to endure an earful of the Bugle's chief editor's colorful vocabulary.

"Traffic?" He muttered. "I'm late by over an hour and he's buying traffic?"

"No," Eddie said dismissively, "are you crazy? I mean like crazier than usual? I walked here in twenty minutes. So I sent him a text saying that you were battling a massive case of the runs."

"Charming," Peter griped with a disgusted grimace.

"Well what the hell did you want me to say?" Eddie continued to fume. "You don't get to work, you don't get paid. You don't get paid, you don't get money. You don't get money you have no rent and as much as I love you I'm not putting up with you looking for a job in this economy."

"I'm just...I'm not feeling up to it." Peter said weakly. He hadn't even gone for a swing around the city the night before. He'd been too busy scrambling to get his piece for the small section of the Bugle written before he'd gone to bed around midnight.

Eddie however was not buying into his pity party. He never had before. On any other given day Peter appreciated his good friend's zero tolerance for bullshit. It kept him motivated and on those rare occasions made him feel enough guilt to give himself a swift kick in the ass to keep moving. If Eddie Brock was anything aside from boisterous and charming it was ambitious and Peter found that infectious.

On this particular morning however he just wanted the other man to leave him alone. He hadn't had a dream about Gwen that horrible in quite a while and even if he managed to avoid J. Jonah Jameson's tongue lashing for being late then he would no doubt be in a funk for the entire day.

"Get up Parker," Eddie said, his voice low and dangerous. It was his "Eddie means business" voice and coupled with the use of Peter's surname could spell trouble. Peter pretended to be asleep for a moment and had just managed to muster up a fake snore when he felt his roommate's finger poke him in the rib cage, hard and sharp. He hissed, practically jumping off of his mattress in a shower of pillows and sheets.

"Hey that hurt!" Peter moaned, rubbing his bare side.

"Sue me," Eddie retorted. "Look I get that you're a little down in the dumps and all. Not getting laid in over a year tends to do that to a person but it's nothing a nice little run in this beautiful morning weather won't fix."

"First of all," Peter said irritably, "we agreed that talking about my love life was off limits until New Year. And second of all..." He frowned and leaned over to peer out the window. The apartment he shared with Eddie in the West Village was a mere twelve floors, the tallest on the street. Even from their suite on the ninth floor Peter could see that the snow had piled up on the pavement below over night and showed no sign of stopping. "Second of all," he added, "the weather isn't beautiful. You're a liar Eddie. That hurts my feelings."

With that he slumped back onto his bed, pulling the covers up over his bare chest, grateful for the fact that after almost a year of living together that he and Eddie had reached the point where seeing one another half naked wasn't remotely awkward anymore.

"You know you're hurting my feelings too," Eddie said. "You've got a lot of people who are worried about you Peter."

"Like who?" Peter muttered, determined to be as punitive as possible simply for the sake of trying to get his roommate to leave him alone. He could swing the story of being ill, maybe even put in a call himself and try and play up the lie that Eddie had already set. One day off was all he really wanted. He hadn't skived away from the Bugle since landing an actual job in the building. He just needed to relax for a while, regroup after that nightmare.

"Oh you'd be surprised," Eddie went on, "there's me for starters, your Aunt May whom you haven't spoken to since Thanksgiving-"

"Which was exactly two weeks ago if today is a Thursday."

"-there's people at the Bugle," Eddie continued as if Peter hadn't spoken, "like Betty and Robbie. Hell even J.J's worried about you although that's more because your last three pictures of Spider-Man were more like glorified landscapes of the city skyline."

"Go away," Peter muttered.

For a moment he thought that Eddie was going to comply. Then, just as his nerves stood on end as his senses went haywire he felt his roommate's strong arms scoop him up, bedding and all, and lift him off the mattress.

Peter yelped in alarm and struggled to squirm out of Eddie's grip. He felt the urge to simply sock the blonde in the chops although knew that in doing so he would probably dislocate his friend's jaw even if he didn't use even a modicum of his full strength. He had gone this long without drawing Eddie's suspicion and didn't want to start now.

Eddie carried him all the way down the narrow hallway and to their small shared bathroom and dumped him in the shower. It was only when the bigger man's hand reached for the knob to turn the water on that Peter knew his roomie wasn't going to go half-assed in his attempt to wake him up.

"Alright alright!" Peter said, raising his hands in a show of surrender. "I'm getting up! Just...just don't ruin these sheets alright? I'm short on change and the laundromat's a pain in the ass to get to when the weather's like this."

"Good!" Eddie said, his handsome face brightening. "I took the liberty of buying some bear claws for us to chow down on during the run over. And you'll be happy to know I got you some coffee."

"Grande?" Peter asked, disentangling himself from his blankets and rubbing his eyes.

"Totally."

"Two sugar, one cream and a shot of caramel flavor?"

"Nothing but," Eddie replied with a smirk. "I also got it double cupped so you wouldn't burn your delicate little fingers."

"Thanks man," Peter said and he meant it. As much of a ball-buster as Eddie could be he never once failed to look out for Peter. Perhaps it was because there was at least four years between them. Or maybe it was a remnant of Eddie's having been a football captain in high school.

"Don't go getting all gushy on me," Eddie said rolling his eyes. "People already think that there's something going on between us as it is."

Peter, who had been in the midst of brushing his teeth, choked on his toothpaste, the foam of it spilling from his mouth and making him look like a rabid cat. "Wh-who thinks that?"

Eddie shrugged. "Oh just...Betty...and Gloria...and that new girl Sally...and Robbie. And my mother."

"Ah geez," Peter muttered darkly.

"That's why you need to at least be seen in public with a girl who isn't a co-worker." Eddie narrowed his eyes as Peter rinsed and added, "You know Betty told me that her one friend isn't dating that Thompson guy you went to school with anymore."

"Who?" Peter asked in genuine bewilderment. Betty Brant had quite a lot of friends in her life, far too many for Peter to be able to keep track of. He pushed passed Eddie and half-ran back to his room, hastily throwing on the first pair of clothes he could grab as his roommate followed him, watching from just outside the door.

"That redhead who lives next-door to your Aunt," Eddie said incredulously as if Peter were simply playing dumb. "Geezez Peter you must have face blindness or something. It's kind of hard to forget a girl like MJ."

"Oh right," Peter said, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. His costume was folded carefully inside at the very bottom, hidden by a books and his laptop. "I haven't seen her before actually." He honestly hadn't. Aunt May and Betty had tried in vain to set Peter up with "the nice Watson girl who lives next-door" several times in the last few months and, much to Peter's relief, had been completely unsuccessful.

Every time he had been talked into going on a blind date with Mary Jane Watson she'd either had to work overtime at her waitressing job or else he'd been swamped with a steep deadline by J.J. On other occasions he'd fibbed his way out to go swinging around the city. Honestly he'd been able to breathe easier when MJ had started dating Flash Thompson, although now that they were no longer together Peter was anticipating a call from Aunt May most likely by his first break of the day.

"Well, not to sound like the recovering frat boy that I am but MJ's a real knock out," Eddie said, walking down the hall with Peter and scooping up a paper bag and two cups of coffee that were sitting on their chipped kitchen table.

"I'm not really interested in knock outs," Peter replied, taking a sip of his coffee as Eddie locked the door behind them. Gwen had been beautiful to him not just because of angelic looks but because of the way she simply exuded who she was. Her warmth and courage had shone through those big beautiful eyes of hers and he highly doubted that he would ever find somebody anywhere near as beautiful as her.

He wasn't even sure he wanted to. Gwen had been his most closely guarded secret, coming only second to Spider-Man and he was no nearer telling the people in his life about her as he was about him. He glanced at Eddie as they hurried down the hallway towards the stairs and saw to his relief that his friend had decided to drop the subject for the time being.

It had been hard enough for him to let people back in. Only after he'd done battle with the whacked Russian who had called himself Rhino had he realized that the self-imposed exile he'd gone into since the night Gwen Stacy died had made him nothing more or less than a zombie in human form. What good was it to be alive when he wasn't letting himself really live? He let Eddie and those few co-workers from the Bugle in and was grateful for their presence in his life but he was determined to keep them at arm's length.

Spider-Man would only get people hurt, especially those close to Peter Parker. Even if the opportunity to fall in love again presented itself...well, Peter would fight it as hard as he fought the darkness that plagued New York City.

It was colder outside than Peter had anticipated. Snow spiraled through the air, one degree away from being sleet. It was a small wonder that Eddie's hair had been sopping wet when he'd gone to wake Peter up. The thin sweater and hoodie Peter had pulled on before leaving the apartment was nowhere enough to keep him warm. Christmas wreaths hung from street lamps and they passed a total of three Salvation Army Santa's as they hurried through the snowfall, their heads bowed against the weather.

While the coffee did help to warm Peter up to some degree it still wasn't enough to thoroughly keep him comfortable and his teeth were chattering by the time he and Eddie arrived at the Daily Bugle's offices eight blocks away, their faces pink from cold.

The office itself was a mere five floors high but had been designed in such a way as to look taller, the ceiling gradually curving into a narrow arch. It was entirely glass, the windows fogged over from the heating system within and as Peter and Eddie hastened to the shelter of the main floor reception area a large drift of snow slid off of the solar panels on the side of the roof. His spider senses alerting him to the danger, Peter all but pushed his roommate ahead of him and ducked out of the way just as the snow fell to the pavement behind them with a satisfying plop.

"Again with danger signs," Eddie said, shaking his head as he glanced over his shoulder at the snow. "Remind me to take you with me if I ever have to cover a hostage situation."

"I'm not going to let you cover a hostage situation," Peter told him. "Remember that little chat you had with me about rent money?"

Eddie rolled his eyes as they flashed their ID cards to the pretty, dark haired receptionist, the new girl that Eddie had mentioned earlier. Peter of course recognized her from his days at Midtown and flashed her a small smile which she returned. Sally Avril had only recently joined the Bugle as a receptionist after dropping out of NYU earlier that year following the Vulture's attack.

Thinking of the crazed winged man made Peter clench his jaw as he stepped into the elevator with Eddie. Fortune had been on his side during the battle over the skies of the campus. The man had gotten himself into such a state that his heart had failed at the scene but by that time he'd already killed several students and cost millions of dollars in property damage to the university.

It was only the most recent string in J. Jonah Jameson's campaign to besmirch the web-slinger that Peter photographed. He could have laughed at the irony of the situation if he didn't know the extent of his employer's hatred for Spider-Man. Sometimes he wondered if his boss didn't have it right.

"You okay dude?"

Eddie's voice cut through Peter's dismal train of thought. They were alone in the elevator which had arrived at the third floor without so much as letting any other people on.

"Yeah," Peter said with an evasive nod. Then, just because he knew that Eddie wasn't that daft, added somewhat truthfully, "I'm just not looking forward to bearing the brunt of J.J's rage."

"Don't worry about it," Eddie said giving him a consoling pat on the shoulder. "Just put up with his screaming for a few minutes, do some ass-kissing and you'll be on your merry old way."

"I don't like ass kissing. Maybe he'll go soft on me if I promise to make up the time I missed tonight."

Eddie scoffed as the elevator doors slid open on their floor and the noise of the busy editorial department flooded their ears. "What and pay you a full day's wage? He'd sooner tongue kiss a statue of Spider-Man than do that."

"That would make an interesting snapshot," Peter said and Eddie laughed.

"Catch ya later," he said, nodding as he headed towards his cubicle. Eddie had originally been brought on as a sport's reporter for the Bugle before Peter had even been interning. After writing a series of articles on serial killer and former minor league football player Cletus Kasady he had since found himself tasked with more interesting news pieces. Peter did not at all begrudge his friend for his advancement. Eddie worked hard for his dues.

Peter on the other hand had barely had it in him to deliver more than a few distant shots of Spider-Man in recent months.

Knowing that he was simply delaying the inevitable in hanging around he walked along the sea of cubicles, nodding at several of the people who took notice of him. J.J's office was located at the end of the department, the glass windows giving him a clear scope of all the goings on. When he wasn't raging against the universe he watched his employees the same way a lion watched a succulent gazelle, ready to pounce on the first sign of fumbling and weakness.

Taking a deep, reassuring breath, Peter quietly squeezed into the office. It struck him as odd and somewhat funny that he had faced gangsters, mutants and psychopaths with high powered suits and yet he feared the wrath of his boss more than anything, although that was merely due to J.J's habit of not letting a person get a word in edgewise even when he was in a good mood.

Everything about J. Jonah Jameson was somehow square and rough. He was slightly stocky although nowhere near overweight, his barrel chest betraying his former glory days playing good old football. He had a square jaw lined with a goatee that was just as boxy as the rest of him. His hair was dark, having been black in his younger days but was now grey at the edges. Some people in the Bugle joked that the man had gone prematurely grey due to the stress he piled on himself.

To Peter's surprise and relief Jameson was not alone in the office. His co-editor, Robbie Robertson, was leaning over J.J's shoulder, pointing at various things on the other man's computer screen and talking low. Tall as J.J. was square, Robbie's dark skin was contrasted smartly by the light pink button up he wore. His hair had been shaved close enough to his scalp to leave a fine line and his glasses glinted in the light, his kind brown eyes deeply lined with concentration.

Neither Robbie nor Jameson noticed Peter at first.

Betty Brant on the other hand had apparently seen him walking down the hallway from the office. She was standing a little behind J.J and Robbie, her arms folded over her chest. She'd tied her sleek black hair into a ponytail and her bright blue eyes were fixed anxiously on Peter from behind her black horn rimmed glasses. As per usual she'd dressed casually, something she had relished since being promoted to head of the arts section of the Bugle.

"Miss Brant," J.J. said in his gravelly bark, his eyes still fixed on the screen of his computer, "do you think you can-ah Christ I forgot. Can you get...what the hell is that other girl's name anyway?"

"Liz Allan," Betty said sharply, her eyes still on Peter. "Thank you for catching yourself this time. And yes I suppose if you ask really nicely she can get you the rough copies from business and financial. But first," she gave Peter an apologetic smile, "Your eleven o'clock is here."

"My what?" J.J. said in annoyed confusion. It was only then that his glance strayed from the screen and he caught sight of Peter who stood there awkwardly, feeling as though he were in the line of fire of an entire Marine unit. J.J.'s beady black eyes narrowed and all it took was one glance at Robbie and Betty to send them the message.

With a sigh Robbie stepped away from the desk and headed for the door. "Good luck kid," he said quietly to Peter. "Try and mention the Rangers winning the other night okay? He might go easier on you."

"Thanks," Peter said out of the corner of his mouth. Betty simply nodded at him, a small grin on her face. She was only a year older than Eddie and had worked hard to pull herself away from being J.J.'s secretary. Peter respected her and, despite the fact that situations like this both annoyed and worried him, appreciated the fact that she didn't do any hand holding no matter how much she liked him.

The silence that fell in the office after the door closed behind Betty was almost deafening. Jameson stared hard at Peter, his face impassive which Peter had learned was always a danger sign. He however was not about to offer up any kind of apology no matter how badly he wanted to. If J.J. hated many things at the top of his list, along with Spider-Man, tofu and the Kentucky Derby, was a coward.

"Do you know what a stress ulcer is Parker?" J.J. said, standing behind his desk with his arms folded.

"Yes sir," Peter said, swallowing hard.

"Enlighten me."

"They're, uh, small holes or breaks in the lining of stomach or small intestine," Peter recited, digging through his memory of high school level biology. "Brought on by diet or...or stress..."

"Diet or stress," J.J. repeated with a condescending nod. "Well as you and the rest of the monkeys out there are so fond of pointing out I happen to eat like a caveman. Brewskies, pizza...y'know, bachelor food. You know what that's like right Parker?" A crafty smirk lit the man's features. He just loved ribbing people about their personal shortcomings and in recent weeks had been especially fond of mentioning Peter's dry romantic life.

"Yes sir I do," Peter replied simply because he knew it was what the bastard wanted to hear.

"Well good. Starting to think that you and Brock out there were getting frisky with each other. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Hey, I'm a twenty-first century thinker. Just look at all this shit." He gestured dismissively at the computer system on his desk. The Daily Bugle had been one of the first papers in the entire city to spearhead a move to a completely digital format, something that Peter was well aware had caused J.J. an endless amount of griping and shouting matches.

"But getting back to ulcers," Jameson went on, bracing his hands on either side of the desk and Peter felt his heart sink at the dangerous note that had come into his boss's voice. "I've got about sixty of them as of this moment Parker and probably another thanks to snot nosed amateur little photographers like you deciding that they've got better things to do than to show up on time and do the goddamn job THAT I PAY THEM TO DO!"

He yelled the last words but Peter didn't flinch. If he had he knew his boss would only keep him around for additional torture. In situations where J.J. really worked himself into a state it was best to simply let him rage and in this case Peter knew full well that the man had a point, as much as he hated to admit it.

"I really don't wanna lose you Parker," J.J. said. "Your Spider-Man pictures keep traffic coming to the Bugle higher than the goddamn skyline. Hell even your little technology pieces aren't half bad when I read them drunk. You waste my time like this again and you're out on your ass."

"I understand sir."

"Good. And you better turn in a decent shot of Spider-Man before Christmas or you're out on your ass even harder."

"Yes Mister Jameson." And with that Peter opened the door to the cluster of cubicles beyond and left the office behind, heat rising in his face despite his best efforts to remain calm.

Sometimes being Peter Parker sucked as much as it did to be Spider-Man.