Disclaimer: All Spider-Man characters belong to Marvel. No profit is being made from their use.

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has been so patient with me. I just haven't been able to write lately, which couldn't have come at a worse time, considering the amount of papers I've had to write the last couple of semesters. And a rather impromptu trip didn't help matters (though it did help relax me, which I desperately needed). Fun, fun, fun… I can handle it, but I truly think I may lose my mind in the process. Ah, well. Insanity might actually help my writing. I'm sorry this is shorter than my other chapters; I know you were expecting more after such a long wait. I'm struggling to recall what I had planned next, and I can't seem to remember at the moment, which is going to make writing this story fun. At least I remember who did it. Also, I apologize to those of you who want more from Otto's POV; the story doesn't require it just yet.

Shot in the Dark

Three – Uneasy Partnership

The young woman hadn't moved, hadn't even released the breath she'd been holding, for long seconds after Otto made his declaration. Otto feared he may have pushed Mary Jane Watson's already frayed nerves to the breaking point, and he held himself very still, attempting to seem as non-threatening as possible. But even without the actuators looming over him, she seemed to find him a terrifying sight; her posture was that of a frightened rabbit, torn between remaining frozen in the hope of being overlooked, or fleeing.

Not that he could blame her. After all, he'd tried to kill her.

Finally, he heard her draw in a tremulous breath, and she asked in a wavering voice, "Why? Why would you do this?"

Why? It was a question he'd asked himself repeatedly as he'd shadowed Mary Jane across the city. "For the same reason that you're doing this," Otto said quietly. "I owe Peter my life." His admission seemed to break the spell upon her. He saw her relax, though there was still an aura of tension to her. Not that he blamed her; he'd be worried if she dropped her guard completely around him.

Now that they'd established that death wasn't imminent, Mary Jane didn't seem to know what to do with her uninvited guest, and, truthfully, Otto didn't know what to do, either. Standing by the window and dripping water onto the carpet didn't seem very productive, and Otto shifted uncertainly.

Mary Jane responded to his discomfiture by asking, "Um, can I get you anything? Coffee, maybe?" Otto smiled in the darkness; she didn't know quite what to do, either.

"Coffee would be great, thanks," he said. "I take it black." The exchange was so… ordinary that it almost made him laugh. When was the last time his life had been ordinary?

"Have a seat," she said, pointing to the couch, and Otto complied. He winced when he realized he was going to be dripping water all over the cushions, but Mary Jane didn't seem to mind. He heard her rattling around in the kitchen, perhaps a little louder than was necessary. Her acting abilities may have been stretched to the limits to hide her fear, but she seemed to have no control over her coordination.

After a few minutes, Mary Jane came back into the living room, handing him one of the two mugs of coffee she carried. She then took a seat in the chair furthest across the room from Otto. From the way she sat on the edge of the seat, he knew she was aware that she wasn't out of reach of his actuators. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced, but didn't comment. "I'd like to get started on my investigation as soon as possible, with your cooperation."

Mary Jane nodded. He could see her hand shaking, threatening to slosh the coffee over the cup's rim. Luckily, it was tepid, or she could have been burned.

"Maybe you could start by telling me everything you know about the police investigation so far," Otto suggested.

Mary Jane quickly repeated everything that Captain Stacy had told her, and Otto listened without interruption. Definitely not a random attack, he thought. And if the shooter was using a sniper rifle, then he sounds like… "A hired assassin," Otto said. "This definitely doesn't sound like your common thug." Otto got to his feet, and Mary Jane scrambled to hers in response.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I thought I'd investigate the site of the shooting," he told her.

"Now?"

"I can't exactly do it in broad daylight, now can I?" Otto pointed out. Mary Jane gave him a weak grin in response. "But I'm going to need you to accompany me." He saw the flash of fear in her eyes, quickly quelled. "I'm going to need you to show me where," he explained.

"All right," Mary Jane said. "Just… let me get my coat."

XXX

The rain had let up by the time they left Mary Jane's apartment.

The storm had driven most people indoors, but Mary Jane still felt like all eyes were on her and the wanted criminal that walked at her side. With the actuators concealed beneath his heavy coat and his hat pulled low over his face, he didn't look like the evil Doctor Octopus – but there was still a sinister quality to her companion that she was certain was attracting attention.

Her steps quickened in her eagerness to get this over with. Even though she knew Otto could have killed her any time since she found his lair, she still couldn't dispel the feeling that once her back was turned, one of the actuators would dart forward, wrap around her waist, and squeeze the breath from her lungs. If Otto noticed her increased pace and guessed its cause, he didn't comment.

They were quiet all the way to the site of Peter's attack, a silence which remained unbroken until after Otto examined the bullet-torn brick wall of the building.

"They knew."

The certainty in his voice made Mary Jane's head snap upwards in surprise. "You're sure?"

Otto nodded. "Look at the pattern of bullet holes; they go up the side of the building, past the first floor, and are spread out. Either the shooter had extremely bad aim, or Peter was attempting to gain height to escape – and no normal human would be able to leap that high."

"Perhaps the shooter didn't realize that Peter-" Mary Jane glanced around to make sure there was no one to overhear – "wasn't normal until then," she pointed out.

"Possible," Otto conceded the point, "but I would think realizing the target had super powers would give an assassin pause, no matter how well-trained. But our shooter didn't hesitate; if he had, even for a second, Peter would have been able to escape."

He was right; Peter had lightning-fast reflexes. Had there been a cease-fire, even for a split second, Peter would have taken advantage of it. Unless the shooter was obscenely lucky, or had unnatural talents of his own, there was no way he could have brought down Peter without careful planning. Whoever it was had known what Peter was, and worse: the shooter had known Peter's plans, had known he'd have to walk down this very street to reach the restaurant. Mary Jane shivered; someone had been observing them, and perhaps even now was watching Mary Jane, intending to take out everyone that Peter loved…

As if guessing the nature of her thoughts, Otto said, "Come on. We shouldn't linger here much longer. We've seen all there is to see here." At first, she thought she'd been included in that 'we,' then she saw the hem of his coat ripple and realized that at least one of the actuators had been peeking out, scanning and recording data. They were probably better than any technology the police had access to.

Otto turned, gesturing towards a building across the street. "The bullets went straight into the brick, not from an angle. So, from the trajectory of the bullets, we predict that the shooter was perched on the roof of that building." His gaze swept the streets, looking for any late-night stragglers. Satisfied that no one was near enough to see, he led her across the street to the alley that gaped beside the building. Ducking into the sheltering darkness, he asked Mary Jane, "Shall we investigate?"

Mary Jane swallowed as she realized what he was suggesting, and her mind went back to the day this man had abducted her. She could only vaguely remember their flight through the city, a roller coaster ride that had left disoriented and nauseous. Otto saw the look on her face. "We'll just go straight up and down; it won't hurt, I promise." Mary Jane wanted to believe him… he was here helping her find who had attacked Peter, after all, but the memory of that cold metal biting painfully into her skin as they defied gravity still haunted her. "If you'd prefer to stay down here, I understand," Otto finally said.

Mary Jane just nodded. She wasn't ready to trust the actuators just yet, even if Otto was on his best behavior. With a last glance to make certain no one had moved into the vicinity while they'd spoken, Otto let the actuators snake out of the tears in his coat, and quickly scaled the side of the building, keeping the noise to a minimum but still sounding thunderous in the narrow alley. She waited for what felt like a long time, but must have only been a few moments, before Otto came back down. "Nothing," he said. "The police already went over it with a fine-toothed comb; if the shooter left any evidence – doubtful, if it was a professional assassin – then the police have it all."

"Damn," Mary Jane muttered. She'd been hoping Otto would pick up something… "I spoke to Captain Stacy yesterday, and he didn't say anything about having any leads." So there probably hadn't been anything useful on the rooftop. Otto was right – it probably was a professional.

"How many people know?" Otto asked as they exited the alley. "About Peter, I mean."

"Not many," Mary Jane said. "You, me, Harry Osborn…" her voice trailed off as a thought occurred to her. "The train," she whispered. Otto jerked his head towards her, waiting for her to explain. "When… when you attacked the train, Peter lost his mask. There weren't any people there who knew Peter by sight, but…"

"But if any of them were to give a description, someone might figure it out," Otto finished. He sighed, kneading his right temple wearily. "The passengers probably all gave statements to the police, so their names would be on file somewhere. Unfortunately, I don't have access to those files – and I doubt the passengers would want to speak to me, anyway." He flashed Mary Jane a ghost of a smile as he guessed the direction of her thoughts. "You could ask them, see if anyone might have talked, but there's no guarantee they'd be willing to talk to you. Still, it's something we can't afford to ignore. I'll have to find a way to get those files…" Otto's look became distant, as though he were thinking over the problem – or discussing it with internal voices. Mary Jane decided not to ask.

"We'll worry about that later," Otto said. "For now, there is someone I can question, someone who has a strong motive to take out Spider-Man." Mary Jane frowned, not wanting to point out that there were a lot of criminals who fit that description. "Who do we know who had both the money and the motive to hire a professional hit man? One who knows Peter's secret?"

Her thoughts had been intentionally shying away from the logical conclusion, refusing to believe someone she'd known so long to be capable of such an atrocity. "Oh…" Mary Jane moaned. "Oh, Harry…"

XXX

Harry Osborn needed a drink. This was becoming a common condition for him, this desire for the oblivion provided by alcohol. It was his only escape from a reality that threatened to drag him down and utterly destroy him. OsCorp was falling apart, his investments were proving to be lemons, his family fortune was dwindling – though, thankfully, he had a long way to go before he'd be forced to declare bankruptcy. In short, he'd brought shame upon the Osborn family name. His father's name.

Harry wished his father was there now. He'd been right; Harry was weak, worthless, unworthy of the name Osborn.

As soon as his butler whisked away his hastily shucked coat, Harry hurried to his father's den, anxious to drown his worries in that bottle of scotch he'd been dreaming of all through that evening's board meeting. That would take the edge off his newest crisis. He smiled in anticipation as he entered the den, flipped on the light… and stopped dead.

Someone had beaten him to his scotch.

"Hello, Harry," the familiar voice purred. Harry knew the sensible thing to do would be to whirl around and run away, but his legs no longer obeyed his commands. Instead, he could only gawp at the man seated in his father's chair, battered army boots resting on the desk. His hands were busy with the bottle of scotch and a glass – but he had four others that weren't occupied.

"No…you're dead." Not what Harry had wanted to say, and probably not the brightest thing to tell Dr. Otto Octavius. Bargaining for his life would've been a much better start.

Otto just smiled. The actuators, which had been weaving lazy arcs in the air, snapped to attention, and Harry cowered beneath their smoldering gaze. Run. Run now. You're almost at the limit of their range; you could get out of here before they react… His legs still stubbornly refused to budge. "There's a quote I could respond with," Otto said lazily. "'Reports of my death' and all that, but it's a bit cliché, don't you think?"

Harry couldn't think of an answer to this. How did one converse with a mad man? Especially one that was better educated than he himself was? "Suffice it to say," Otto continued, sliding his feet from the desk as he leaned forward, "I am alive, and we need to talk."

Harry's heart hammered in his chest. "If you're here because I told Peter where you were hiding, I had to do it. I couldn't let you kill Mary Jane. If its revenge you're here for…" then kill me now; make it quick. End my troubles.

Otto cut him off with a jerk of his hand, which one of the actuators mimicked for emphasis. "That's not why I'm here." One of the actuators lifted a glass from the mini-bar and set it in front of Otto. The scientist poured a glass and offered it to Harry, who hesitantly stepped forward to take it. After all, if Otto wanted to kill him, he probably would have done it by now. Right? Harry took a seat across the desk from Otto and took a sip of the scotch. He was completely unprepared for Otto's next statement. "Tell me about the assassin, Harry."

Harry sputtered and jerked his head upward to meet Otto's hard gaze. "Assassin?" he repeated blankly.

The scientist's dark eyes narrowed. "Yes, assassin," he said. The genial tone of voice was gone, leaving steel in its place. "The one that put Peter Parker in a coma. The one that knew Parker was Spider-Man."

Harry stared, dumbstruck. "Peter's in a coma?" he repeated, feeling rather stupid.

"Cut the act," Otto said. "It's all over the papers – the Daily Bugle even offered up an award for whoever shot Peter." He gave a bitter smile. "Jameson thinks Spider-Man is responsible, and that his absence is proof of his guilt. But we know the truth, don't we?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry protested.

"Don't you? Who was it who made a devil's bargain with me to kill Spider-Man?" Otto asked, arching an eyebrow. "Who blames him for Norman Osborn's death? I know you hate him, Harry. You have the means and the motive to hire an assassin."

"I didn't even know about this; I've been overseas for the past two weeks, talking to a couple of OsCorp stockholders who want to withdraw from the company." Harry's grip on the glass tightened until he was afraid it would burs into splinters in his hand. The meetings hadn't gone well; he'd only persuaded one to continue his support of OsCorp. The loss of the other two was a blow the foundering company didn't need. He hadn't even glanced at the newspapers, not wanting to see the reports of OsCorp's plunging stock prices.

Or to be reminded of the source of his problems, the vigilante whose photos were always smeared all over the papers as if to torment him.

"Convenient," Otto said, steepling his fingers in front of him. "But that doesn't absolve you of hiring someone to kill Peter."

"I'm not the one responsible," Harry said bitterly, taking another drink of the scotch.

"And why should I take your word for it?" Otto asked.

"Because I wouldn't have hired an assassin." The alcohol had loosened his tongue, otherwise Harry would never have confessed what he said next. "I would have killed Peter myself."

Otto sat back, clearly stunned. He mulled it over for a moment, then said gruffly, "I believe you." He stood, the actuators curling around him, their gaze never leaving Harry. Harry shuddered, remembering how fast the machines were, like striking snakes. He wondered dully if he should run now that Otto was done with him, but found he didn't really care anymore if Otto struck him down where he stood.

The scientist began to walk away, towards the open balcony doors. Harry began to realize that maybe he was going to survive this after all. He wondered at Otto's uncharacteristic behavior. "Why do you care?" Harry blurted out before he could stop himself. Otto stopped in the balcony doorway and turned, and Harry quailed beneath that cool gaze. "Why are you trying to help Peter?"

Otto turned back, but he tossed over his shoulder, "Because he helped me." And then he was over the edge of the balcony and was gone, the receding booms of the actuators marking his passage.

XXX

Mary Jane was still awake when Otto arrived back at her apartment. Otto was relieved; he hadn't wanted to wake her, but he didn't really want his news to keep until morning. "He didn't do it," Otto said in response to her questioning gaze.

"Really?" she asked. There was a mixture of relief and disappointment in her voice; obviously, she hadn't wanted Harry to be guilty, but she just wanted this all to be over with.

Otto just nodded, and Mary Jane sighed. Then her gaze snapped back up to meet his. "You didn't hurt him, did you?"

"No. We just had a little talk, that's all, with a little help from Harry's liquid courage. Alcohol," he clarified, when he saw Mary Jane's blank look.

"So, what's next?" she asked.

"It looks like we're going to have to do some old-fashioned detective work."

To be continued…

Wow. I was actually nice to Harry. Sort of. At least I didn't make him a whiny snot. Mark this day on your calendar, folks. It probably won't happy again any time soon.