The Darkness Within
A Shadow/Spider-Man Crossover by Stephensmat and Scarlet
Part Three
(The Story So Far: Peter Parker, Stephen Cranston, and Sarah Branson attended Mary Jane Watson's debut as a lead in a Broadway musical, Manhattan Memories. The ice between Sarah and Stephen has started to thaw, but Sarah is still uneasy with Stephen spending so much time with MJ, and deliberately hiding their rendezvous from Peter. Harry Osborn, freshly back from Oxford, England, also attended the Opening Night performance, then transformed himself into another superpowered human and took on his father's role as the New Goblin. First target: Peter Parker, who is ready to propose to MJ using Aunt May's ring. The two of them battle it out in the skies and streets of Manhattan, and Peter gets the upper hand when he manages to clothesline Harry with a cable-thick web. But when Harry doesn't immediately wake up after a 40-foot fall where his head takes a hard bump, Peter becomes terrified of what he's done. Meanwhile, Stephen and Sarah relax in the upstairs study at Cranston Manor, awaiting the return of Peter to talk about his impending proposal to MJ. Sarah has noticed how much stronger Stephen's psyche is becoming as the two of them relax on the couch after the opening night, and their psyches are starting to blend when Peter bursts into the room and tells Stephen that Harry has taken on the role of the New Goblin, attacked him openly on the streets of Manhattan, and now he fears he may have killed Harry in a back alley. And just like that, everyone goes back to work, with Peter and Stephen out to check on Harry Osborn's vital stats…)
Stephen wasted no time searching the body. "Armor's been upgraded. More functional. His father's had a degree of…theatricality."
Peter crouched spider-like over his fallen friend of long ago, and felt the same suffocating failure he had felt with his uncle Ben, with Norman…"What…what do we do with the body?"
Stephen wasn't listening; he instead focused on the sword, further down the alley, which he quickly snatched up. "Ooh, this is nice." He twirled the sword in his hands and cut through the air with it, feeling the weight and power in it.
Peter was sending his friend a glare.
"What?" Stephen asked defensively. "Spoils of war."
And suddenly, there came a death rattle, a sulphuric breath, and suddenly Harry Osborn lived.
"What the Hell?" Peter said, shocked.
Stephen dropped to one knee and checked vitals on both sides of the carotids. "He's got a pulse. Good one, too."
"How?" Peter demanded. "He was dead."
"You telling me you never checked Norman Osborn for a pulse?" Stephen pressed.
Peter suddenly understood, and started to pick Harry up.
"What are you doing?" Stephen demanded, afraid he already knew the answer.
"I have to get him to help," Peter answered, as if it weren't obvious.
Stephen blocked his partner's reach, trying to think of a way to say it. "He probably won't make it to a hospital. Whatever it was, it's what his father used to make him Green Goblin…and that Goblin came back from the dead."
"We still need to get him to a hospital." Peter was barely listening.
"Damn it, Peter, just let him die!" The Shadow's voice ordered.
Peter whirled on him, eyes flashing.
Stephen didn't flinch, gesturing outward from the two of them to block off attention from passers-by. "It would solve every problem the Osborns have ever given you!" Stephen hissed. "He just tried to kill you; this was cold-blooded murder, Pete. You've saved his life before, he didn't care. He knows your name, and he made his choice!"
"He's my friend!"
"So was his father!"
Peter was fighting common sense for a reason he couldn't really explain. Whatever his father had been, Harry now was also. Harry did know. He had to know what his father was, and he came hunting anyway. "Stephen, I cannot just let him die. It would be easier, but it's not what we do."
"It's not what you do!" Stephen told him.
"I can't let him die while there's a chance my friend might live."
"Fine, let me take care of that." Stephen drew an automatic and aimed at Harry's head.
"NO!" Peter barked and moved without thought.
The gun went wide, firing an inch too far to the left, chunking part of the pavement next to Harry's motionless head.
For an electric moment, they were nose to nose, standing over their fallen enemy, glaring past the barrel of the huge silver gun.
"How does this end, Peter?" Stephen whispered. "See the endgame through. You pick him up, he lives, and he comes back to kill you again, you knock him down, save his life again, he comes back again to kill you…How does this end, Peter?"
"We can make this right."
"He knows what his father was, Peter, this proves that. You saved him at the Octavius experiment; you saved him from the Green Goblin…how are you going to make this right, Peter?"
"I don't know, but there are ways…"
"None that are certain to-"
"There. Are. Ways." Peter said, telling Stephen firmly.
Long silence, then Stephen shook his head. "I tried with his father, Peter, it worked itself out again. I cannot guarantee that it will work…"
"It's the only way."
"It is NOT the only way. It's not even a good way."
"It's the only way I'm willing to try," Peter said firmly. "Saving his life is still the best choice. On some level, he's still my friend."
Neither man spoke for what felt like an eternity.
"Write down the exact time and date you said that," Stephen said quietly. "Then get him to an ER, fast."
Peter gave a nod, then ripped the Goblin armor off of Harry's body, threw his friend over his shoulder, and started a web-slinging trip to St. Vincent's.
The journey to St. Vincent Hospital, the only Level One trauma center in the city, was a one-arm swing for Peter, which cost precious time and also caused other internal trauma that had cost Harry's returning strength, and Harry was in cardiac arrest again once Peter finally arrived in an alley near the hospital got to the ER. Peter spun a quick story--his friend was drunk and had crashed in bed at Peter's apartment, then wandered out of the building disoriented and got hit by a car, and Peter had managed to get a cab to take them to St. Vincent's, which was why Peter was carrying the body in his arms--and the triage nurses bought the story hook, line, and sinker, and before Peter knew it, Harry had been swept from his arms onto a gurney, rolled into Trauma One, and now some of the best trauma surgeons in America were frantically trying to get his heart to beat again.
Peter had watched through the small window in the door, feeling helpless. One thing that he kept hearing the doctors say was that his vital signs were all over the place--active and alive one moment, flatlined and nearly dead the next--and nobody could figure out why.
But Peter could. Against the wall, where nobody could see, was a shadow that nobody in the room was casting, and it was extending from a point near Harry's head. Stephen, disguised as a doctor just in case his mind-clouding spell failed, was digging deep into Harry's mind as he applied a skill first learned as a teen, a skill he'd become more precise at using through the years--the memory wipe. And from the looks of things on the monitors connected to Harry, it appeared that Stephen was not particularly interested in whether or not the newest incarnation of their shared enemy lived or died as a result.
Meanwhile, in another place in Queens, another battle between foes that culminated into a chase was going on.
Flint Marko, petty thief and recent escapee from Queensboro Correctional Facility, was running for his life. It wasn't a new feeling, but he never got used to it. Adrenaline and fear alike were pouring through his veins.
Dammit, why were they still chasing him? He didn't hurt anyone on his way out of prison! He just wanted to get home! His shrew of a wife Emma wouldn't want him, but his dying daughter Penny, the whole reason he'd gotten into crime in the first place, meant everything to him. He wanted to see her. He needed to see her.
And now, after miles on foot, he'd finally figured out he had to get away from his pursuers if he hoped to have any chance to see her. He was exhausted. There were at least five men after him now. Five policemen after him now. At least five policemen after him now, with their sirens, their badges, their guns, their high-intensity flashlights, their handcuffs…
…and their dogs.
In prison the prisoners talked about escape a lot. They talked about their various crimes a lot. They talked about their motives, their experiences, their tricks. Marko knew more about being a criminal after one week in jail than he did when he actually started committing crimes. Each new jail and each new situation was different, but one thing that never changed about being in prison: There was always a steady flow of trucks in and out of the facility. Marko's escape vehicle of choice had been the laundry truck.
The laundry truck had made it as far as the highway before the Prison had called it back. He managed to bail out of the truck and take off on foot before the truck got all the way back to the Correctional Facility. Some of the guards had been using the prison laundry to do their own clothes; against the rules. It was a lapse that had kept his jailers from studying the laundry bags too closely on the way out, and gave him a change of clothes when he started running.
But the dogs didn't care what he was wearing, and he'd been kind enough to leave his clothing behind for them to get his scent so they'd have something to chase.
One of the things Marko had learned was how to deal with the dogs. Put your back to the wall, force their heads back. Snap.
But when he hit the wire fence, and felt the dogs at his heels, he knew he couldn't do that. When he turned to see how close his pursuers were, and the dog jumped him, he caught the dog mid-leap, and slammed the mutt with one huge fist. The canine's falling body took out one of the other pursuing animals. Two down, but none dead.
It was a delay at best. Three more dogs and a whole team of policemen who weren't shy about taking him down painfully were still coming right behind him.
Ahead of him, though, was a possible escape route. Ahead of him was a huge fence that looked to be difficult for dogs to climb.
The fence said 'Danger! Do Not Pass!' and 'Particle Test Facility--Danger!'. And the fence had razor wire on top of it. The whole fence screamed "GO AWAY!"
I'm not going back! Marko thought to himself wildly. Penny! Get to Penny!
Marko steeled himself and thought of Penny.
The rest was simple, and he scrambled over the fence.
The police made it to the fence only a few seconds later. Marko had vanished. They had seen him go over, but he was gone.
"Where'd he go?"
Marko never knew what happened. Between the darkness and the topography, he had never seen the ground vanish until he had stepped into open air. The ground had a small rise that hid the huge vacant drop.
Marko rolled until he hit sand, and fought to look up again. The pit he had fallen into was not a natural formation. Someone had dug it, lined it with concrete and steel, and filled the base of it with sand.
And overhead, were spotlights.
Marko shivered. He knew all about spotlights. They moved endlessly back and forth across the walls, the windows, the bars…
Marko started moving again, looking for a way out; when the spotlights suddenly came on, and started to move.
Marko froze. Spotlights can move because they're looking for moving targets. So when they come, you dodge, and you freeze till they past.
But these lights were different. They weren't searching the pit, or the walls…or for him.
The lights began to rotate. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. Marko didn't know what was happening, but it was starting to freak him out. He had to get out of this pit!
The lights overhead was spinning faster, and arms on the lights flexed downward, as if they were pinning him in. The energy in the air electrified. Marko could feel it, like sparks were flying off his skin. He tried running out of the ring, but bounced off something as hard as a wall. But that was crazy, right? The only walls were out beyond where he was…
And then he saw something on the floor of the pit. Somehow, he'd dropped a small gold locket with a picture of Penny in it. The only thing he had to remind him of Penny in the whole wide world was on the floor, getting swallowed up by the sand…sand that was moving...
Wait…what? Moving? How?
And then the night went from Weird to Scary As Hell. The sand in the bottom of the pit was moving, swirling, floating upward in a breeze that didn't exist.
Marko could feel his hair stand on end. His fingers were tingling. The static lightning was back, only much stronger now. He could feel the sand moving faster, but there was still no wind. Only the electricity, growing in intensity till Marko was certain he'd walked into a lightning storm.
The lightning didn't touch him, instead it seemed to go through him. But the sand, that hurt. Marko could feel every little grain of it as it hit him, and where every grain touched, sparks flew. The sand was moving faster, filling his ears with a dull roaring sound as the pain increased with the non-wind storm. Every grain of sand seemed to scoop part of him away. Every touch was agony, every motion was agony, and every grain of sand brought more, before being swirled around again.
And somehow, Marko could feel himself being pulled away with it.
But he wasn't moving.
Was he?
Marko dropped to his knees, except that his knees weren't there anymore. He raised his hands, but his hands were disappearing too…just particles, vanishing into the wind…
But it didn't hurt anymore. He reached for his limbs, and just for a second, they reached for them, except his hands were gone too. But he could still feel them.
Where am I? Marko screamed silently. My mouth! It isn't here! Why am I screaming if my mouth is over there?
Penny! Marko thought distantly. Penny!
Peter had been sitting outside of the trauma bay at St. Vincent's Hospital when he saw Harry being taken out for a CT scan, his heartbeat now stable. Peter quickly checked in with the first doctor he saw, then pretended to be family as he asked for information.
The doctor he'd contacted hesitated for a moment, and that was when Peter noticed he had an agent's ring on a heavy chain around his neck that would probably normally be hidden by his scrubs. Peter subtly flashed his own.
Dr. Michael Benning gave a nod. "The sun is shining."
"But the ice is slippery," Peter acknowledged.
Benning adjusted the chain on his neck, which caused the ring to fall back down and hide inside his scrubs, then scribbled some more information on the case notes. "All I can tell you is that he's finally stable. We know he's probably got head trauma, which probably explains why his vitals went up and down so much--the brain swells just like any other body part when it gets injured, and when the brain swells from a traumatic injury, the body's vital signs can be seriously affected. You told a nurse that he was hit by a car?"
"Yes," Peter replied.
"Well, he's in pretty good condition for someone who was hit by a car. Everything's dependent on his CT scan, of course, but he's already lucky to be alive after getting nailed by a car."
"When will we know more?" Peter asked.
"Probably in about a half-hour or so." Benning made a note on the chart. "I'm turning this over to one of the trauma service residents, depending on the results of the CT scan. He'll probably be brought up to the Medical ICU and spend the night there. The desk over there can give you directions to the waiting area for MICU. I'm heading over to CT now." Benning looked at Peter. "Unless…unless someone thinks Mr. Osborn needs to have my medical attention for a longer period?"
Peter hesitated for a moment, not sure he should be answering for Stephen at this moment. "Um, no, I think that will be just fine," he covered.
Benning nodded, and the two men parted company.
As Benning left, Peter noticed Stephen had collapsed in one of the chairs outside the Trauma unit. Peter went over to join him. "You O.K.?"
Stephen looked like he'd been put through a ringer. His skin was pale, his eyes were surrounded by haunting dark circles, and he kept rubbing his temples with trembling fingers while he spoke. "He kept…hovering, right on the edge…" Stephen shivered. "I met a couple of projectors that did deathbed scans. They wanted to see what was on the other side. I look in their eyes, their minds…there's nothing there any more." Stephen shivered. "Some of the teachers at the Temple…they say that's where Ying Ko came from. My Grandfather, in the trenches in WWI, with his un-awakened mind surrounded by so much death, kept projecting into the enemy soldiers' minds as he killed them. They think that…maybe the best of him was dragged away as their minds died."
Peter didn't know what to say. "Stephen…"
Stephen drew away from his partner's attempt at a comforting touch, then shook hard mentally, finally managing to detach his mind from that horrific moment in the trauma bay. "I'm O.K. He didn't die. I did what I could. I tried to wipe his memory of everything connecting him and his father to Spiderman, but there were a lot of connections to break, and I'm pretty sure I didn't get it all. It might not take."
"If it doesn't, we'll deal with it. You did the best you could."
Stephen nodded. "The best chance is that it's a complete memory wipe. The most likely chance is that it'll be a partial one that might stick." He sighed. "But we won't know till he wakes up."
"What now?"
"This is where we start making calls and putting the network into action."
"Speaking of which…the doctor that ran the trauma was an agent."
"I know. Dr. Michael Benning, newly-installed Director of Trauma Surgery. He's new in town and new as an agent. And he's very useful."
"He says he's handing this off to a trauma resident."
"I'd personally think something was wrong if he didn't. If the CT scan doesn't show anything but possible symptoms of a concussion--which I'm pretty sure will be the case--he'd almost certainly assign this to a lower-level resident." Stephen stretched his tired body and ran his fingers through his hair, then sighed and sat up. "So, let's get the network going."
It took another hour, sitting in the Trauma waiting room drinking stale coffee, not really looking at each other. Which was just as well, Peter mentally decided, because Stephen was still looking like death warmed over and was still not looking like he agreed with Peter's choice of dealing with Harry. But Peter couldn't help that. Harry was his childhood friend, and anything that might be able to help bring childhood friend Harry out of New Goblin Harry had to be at least tried. Peter was not willing to kill just to resolve a problem.
Now the two superhero partners had to work together to resolve the problem of explaining the fact that Harry Osborn was now a trauma patient at St. Vincent Hospital in Manhattan.
New York Classic editor Clyde Marsh had been called to handle the media attention of a disgraced socialite being in a life and death struggle.
With Harry unconscious, Osborn majordomo Bernard currently held next-of-kin authority, and had been summoned to answer several questions regarding medical history and legal issues.
Sarah and MJ had been called soon after, and were on their way.
And once the calls had been made, one of the trauma residents came into the Trauma waiting room. "Anyone here with Harry Osborn?"
Peter got to his feet and met him near the door, then began asking questions quickly. "How is he?"
"Are you family?" the doctor asked.
"I'm an old friend. I brought him in."
'I'm sorry, but if your aren't family I can't answer questions without permission from the Next of Kin."
Stephen came up behind Peter and glared at the Trauma resident, his eyes filled with dark and angry power. "Which you've already received, so stop stalling."
The Doctor's eyes glazed briefly, then he started talking again. "O.K., then, come with me."
Peter cast a questioning gaze at Stephen, which Stephen answered with a nod to follow the doctor, who was already out in the hall.
Peter nodded and caught up with the doctor momentarily, Stephen shortly behind him.
The resident took no notice of the tension between the two men; Dr. Benning warned new arrivals on the Trauma Service that sometimes families behave in confusing ways and it was their job to be calm and clear in the midst of the confusion. "Well," the resident continued, "it was touch and go for a while there, but he's going to be O.K."
Stephen tensed and Peter relaxed simultaneously.
"There is one thing," the resident noted. "He appears to have suffered some traumatic retrograde amnesia. It's not complete amnesia, he still remembers some of his adult life, but the last few years more or less a blank slate."
"Is it permanent?" Peter asked, knowing how much meaning the question held for Stephen as well.
"There's no way to know at this point--we'll have to wait and see." The doctor gestured with his head to the unit in front of him. "He's in Med-ICU. You can see him if you like."
Peter balked. "Oh…maybe I should wait…"
"It's all right, just keep it brief," the doctor said encouragingly. "He's in Bay 3 once you get in there."
"Go ahead, Pete, he'd probably like to see you," Stephen encouraged. "And while you're in there, find out how far back the amnesia goes."
Peter steeled himself and headed into Med-ICU.
When Harry looked up at him from the hospital bed, Peter suddenly felt hopeful. Harry was smiling at him. It felt genuine. The savage rage that he'd had that same evening was gone. The ghoulish smirk he'd had at the Theater was gone. The hollow numb shock that he'd had after Octavius captured him was gone too. This was Harry, who never took anything seriously. Harry, who was always asking for help with homework.
This was his old friend. MIA for so long, returned to him now, with bandages around his skull.
"Hey, buddy," Harry slurred slightly, and raised a hand to the bandages. "Hit my head."
"Yeah," Peter chuckled. Harry always did have a grip on the obvious.
"The doctors say I was in an accident. Hit and run. I don't remember much of anything."
"What's the last thing you do remember?" Peter asked, trying not to sound worried or anything.
Harry's eyes went blank for a moment, and Peter held his breath.
"My father," Harry said finally. "He died, didn't he?"
Peter tensed. "Yeah. Years ago."
Harry shook his head. "This is so weird."
MJ had just come into the Med-ICU, where Stephen's text message to her phone had told her to come, when a hand flashed out and suddenly pulled her to her left, and there was sudden darkness.
A moment later, there was the sound of a light switch, and she was able to reorient herself. She was suddenly in a Hospital Supply Closet, nose to nose with Stephen. "Hi," he said with a smile.
"Hi," she answered lightly. "Fancy meeting you here. I'd have thought you'd have been in the waiting room for Med-ICU, which is where you told me to come."
"How much do you know?" Stephen asked her.
"Sarah called and told me that Harry's a Goblin now. She told me that Peter won the fight and that she had a vision of him on an operating table and it didn't look good. Then I got a message from Peter that he was here outside the Trauma bay. Then I got your message to come to Med-ICU. So I take it that Harry's still not looking good?"
"We aren't going to be that lucky. Harry's still with us. I tore his mind apart as best I could, but its even money what he remembers. I sent Peter in to find out."
Just then, the door opened, and MJ and Stephen looked, deer-in-headlights, at an Intern who had opened the door.
"Hey," Stephen barked at him. "Private meeting going on in here, take a hike."
The intern took in the sight of Stephen in trauma unit scrubs, took a longer look at MJ, then gave Stephen a thumbs up and retreated.
Stephen took MJ's left hand in his own and started rubbing his thumb over her fingers, occasionally moving her agent ring as if trying to determine if it fit properly. "MJ, if Harry remembers what's gone on over the past few years, I honestly don't know what he'll do when he wakes up."
MJ looked down at her hand, now in Stephen's, and tried to stay on topic. "If he does remember, then the fact that Peter brought him here might…nah, you're right, we aren't going to be that lucky."
"So…what do you think we should do?"
MJ blinked. "You're asking me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Stephen steeled his gaze. "Don't think for a second that I won't make the call, don't think for a second that I won't give the order, but you know Harry, and have known him longer than I do. We need to know what Harry knows."
"And how would we find this out?" MJ asked.
"We've got to get someone close to him," Stephen responded. "This is what we talked about."
"I know," MJ said, not liking the consequences of what she already knew. "So, let me see if I've got this straight. You're asking me to go in there and be a lot nicer to Harry than he deserves, on the chance that he doesn't remember that I'm with Peter now. You are asking me to go and be Harry's confidant for all the things that he won't tell Peter, and use the place I used to have in his life to manipulate more information out of him, so that we can tell if any of his memories are coming back, so that you can kill him if it starts to."
"That's it," Stephen said calmly. "Except for one thing: I'm not asking."
"Yes, sir." She looked skyward and sighed. "So, a Goblin returns from the dead, gets his brain implanted with telepathic blocks that held for a while but eventually failed, and you're playing god with all our day-to-day lives. Know what this reminds me of?"
"The day we met?" Stephen gave a wry smile.
"Yeah." MJ laughed at him, then stared at his odd fixation on her hand. "What the Hell are you doing?"
"Sizing you up for opera gloves like every proper female movie spy wears," Stephen answered.
Just then, the door opened, and MJ and Stephen looked, deer-in-headlights, at Sarah, who had opened the door.
"Oh, you are both in here," Sarah said happily, putting a hand to her temple. "Good. I thought my clairvoyance was having some kind of weird psychic overlay problem."
A silent beat passed as the three of them stared at each other, then Sarah decided she'd rather not ask why Stephen and MJ were in a hospital supply closet right away, and she really didn't want to know why Stephen was fixated on the fingers of MJ's left hand. "Well…see ya," she said finally, and shut the door again.
MJ shot an embarrassed look at Stephen. "I think I'd better get started on my new assignment."
"Good idea. He's in Bay 3."
MJ opened the door, glanced around to make sure she didn't see Peter, then headed into Harry's Hospital room.
Stephen followed with the intent to shadow her and listen at the door.
Sarah put out a hand and caught his arm, breaking his concentration.
Stephen whipped around and stopped his reactions--both physical and psychic--upon recognizing Sarah's face. "There'd better be a good reason you did that," he told her.
"A message came to The Classic tonight, addressed to you, left on my desk," she replied. "It was on one of your notecards. Whoever left it probably thought this was still your office, because it didn't look like Burbank's handwriting on the note."
Stephen winced. "Probably a contact I worked with as a reporter. What did it say?"
She handed the envelope to him. "It says 'Flint Marko escaped'."
A look of pure shock crossed Stephen's face. "Oh, bad timing." he complained as he re-read the note Sarah gave him to make sure it really bore such horrible news. "Bad, bad timing!"
"I don't know who Flint Marko is," Sarah said.
Stephen glanced at Harry's Hospital Room. "Neither does Peter. For now, it has to stay that way." He sighed. "Look, I have to deal with Harry right now. I want you to go and call Agent Joe Cardona, 32nd Precinct. Exchange the phrase with him, and find out what happened with Marko."
"So, this is a police matter?" Sarah asked.
"For now, this is just between you and me," Stephen told her pointedly and handed back the note.
Sarah gave him a raised eyebrow response. "Like being in a closet with MJ is just between you and her?"
Stephen shrugged. "Just needed a moment of privacy somewhere."
Sarah smacked him with the note. "Just for that, I'm not going anywhere until I know if Harry wants to kill any of you."
"Suit yourself," Stephen said, then vanished into thin air.
Sarah shook her head. I am going to get you to teach me that, she mentally swore.
MJ stood outside Harry's room, still hidden by the room's privacy curtains, feeling like she was up for the toughest audition of her life. How was she going to do this? If Peter realized what she was up to, Stephen was a dead man. Maybe Harry too.
"Go on in, Mary Jane," The Shadow's voice whispered in her ear.
MJ stiffened her resolve, then came into the room, looking out of breath and worried about an old friend.
Harry was wide awake, and very much alert. The ghoulish smirk that he had worn for the last year, including at her play, was gone. So was the hollow rage that she had seen at his father's funeral. Was this really Harry--the old Harry from pre-Goblin days?
She came over to stand next to Peter, and could tell that he saw it too. Harry Osborn was back. "Hey," she said, sounding as breathless as she was supposed to be. "I came as soon as I heard."
"I know that face!" Harry said, suddenly smiling hugely.
Inwardly, MJ relaxed. Now if she could just get Peter to leave the room for a second she could do her job and report back to Stephen. "Hey." she greeted warmly, coming to the bedside and taking his hand in hers. "How you doing?"
"I dunno," Harry admitted. "The last thing I remember, I was fine."
MJ smiled warmly. "You're still fine," she promised him. "And we love you, Harry."
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Peter giving her a glance, but Harry clearly took the gesture to heart. He smiled back at her, suddenly hopeful. "It feels like I've been away for a really long time, and now I've come back home."
"Well, it's good to have you back, Harry." Peter said sincerely.
Just then, a nurse came over. "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to ask you to scoot, O.K.?"
Peter seemed grateful, not really liking the way Harry was smiling at MJ. "O.K."
Harry suddenly seemed a little adrift again. "Well…I'll see you tomorrow?"
MJ smiled and squeezed his hand. "Great."
The two lovers left, and Harry relaxed back into his bed.
"You've got a pretty great set of friends." The nurse told him helpfully.
Harry smiled broadly, feeling that all was right with the world as he drifted off. "My best friends," he murmured. "I'd give anything for them."
Sarah and Stephen were waiting outside of Med-ICU when Peter and MJ came through the doors. "Well?" Stephen asked.
"Nothing after his father's death," Peter reported.
"Damn." Stephen pounded his fist into his hand. "I was hoping to go back a bit further."
"Well, he didn't say anything about how Norman died," Peter pointed out. "I don't think he actually remembered much of anything about Norman's death except that he was pretty sure his father was dead. He didn't mention anything about Spiderman…so, maybe…" Peter shrugged.
Stephen checked his watch. "It's 3AM." He turned to Peter. "One of us is late for patrol."
"And one of us has a test in Photonics tomorrow," Peter replied.
Stephen rolled his eyes. "O.K., fine, I'm late for patrol. The rest of you can go home and get some sleep."
"Oh, I can't sleep," MJ moaned. "I'm too tense."
"Oh hey, that's right, the reviews are out tomorrow," Stephen responded, then sent a glance at Sarah, who nodded.
"And I don't know what she's worried about," Peter complained. "She was perfect."
"Well, we'll find out tomorrow," MJ stressed. "Good night, everyone."
"Wait up, hon, I'll walk you home," Peter called as he quickly caught up to her.
Stephen and Sarah both noticed MJ whisper in Peter's ear, then give a giggle as they headed for the elevator. "So, are we taking bets as to whether they're going up or down?" Sarah said aloud.
"Hell, I'm not taking bets on whether or not my memory block holds up long enough for any of us to leave the hospital," Stephen replied.
Sarah crossed her fingers and nodded her reply. "So, do you have Cardona's pager for after-hours consultations?"
Stephen flipped open his cell phone. "Hand me the note."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "I was kidding!"
"I know." He pulled the notecard out of its envelope and wrote the number on a corner of the note. "Talk to him tomorrow morning." He inserted the notecard back in the envelope and handed it to her. "Then tell Peter that MJ's ring size is the same as yours."
Sarah looked at her left hand. "Really?"
Stephen nodded, smiling warmly for the first time in a while. "Really."
Marko was aware. He was aware of himself, and not much more, like being half awake. The longer he spent in that place, the more he wondered what existed outside himself. After a while, he became aware of warmth.
Sunlight? How long have I been…here?
After a while, he became aware of something else. Penny!
But how can he see Penny's face so clearly. She wasn't here, was she?
The Locket! The locket with Penny's picture on it. But how can I see it? There's sand on it.
He could see it because he was the sand.
Marko panicked. He was the sand?
His panic made him want to run again. Panic had always made him act without thinking.
And amazingly, he moved. He could feel the sand moving over him. No, not over him. For him, for he was the sand.
He reached for the locket. The sand swelled around it.
No that wasn't right. He wanted to hold it. He wanted fingers.
The sand caved in enough to create a shape. Fingers. Four. Thumb. Opposable. Arms…a little too short.
The sand moved. The arm became longer.
He wanted to look at it. He needed his face.
The sand moved, and started to build his face.
He pulled his hand up, the bring the locket closer, and it fell straight through the loose sand of his hand.
Come on Flint, work it out. You can move. Why can't you stick? You made hundreds of sandcastles with Penny. What did you use? Water? Why water?
To make the sand stick together.
That was it. He had to make himself solid. He had to make himself stick together.
Build yourself Flint. Build the sandcastle. Together. He told himself. Bring it all together. Keep together.
More sand rushed to him, running up his building torso. He was a man made of sand.
This is impossible. Marko told himself. It's impossible, and I'm doing it.
He thought of Penny.
The rest was simple.
Flint Marko climbed out of the sand, grasping the locket safely in his hand.
As he moved, more sand followed him.
But he was complete wasn't he? How much more sand did he need?
The sand at his feet saw him. He was Flint Marko again. There were some grains clinging to him, he shook them loose. The loose sand chased his feet.
Stay. He told it.
The sand in the pit settled obediently.
His feet went out from under him now and then, but he kept moving. Step; strengthen; step.
Professor Donaldson was surprised at the press request, but nevertheless he welcomed the ditzy young woman in. He gave her a brief tour of the facility, finishing with the Control room.
And Sarah was ditzing it up the entire time.
"Well we'll have to keep the interview brief, because I've got a dentist appointment and the thing is that every time I go to a dentist they always give me novocaine when I don't need it and then it's hours before I can talk again; oh that's Robert, your guard at the gate, I met him earlier; HI ROBERT!" She shouted over to him.
The guard in question ducked his head and pretended he hadn't heard her.
Sarah turned back to Donaldson, nonplussed. "Nice man. So is this the control room, well of course it is look at all these controls, Earth to Sarah!" She trilled a laugh.
Donaldson was already exhausted. "Right."
Sarah pulled out her Palm Pilot. "So, my editor thinks that with the Shuttle Mission and all that now would be a good time to amp up the Science Section of our paper, so here I am sleeves rolled up, ready to learn; so what sort of work do you do here?"
"We're studying applied Particle Physics." Donaldson explained. "Basically, we're trying to find ways to de-molecularize matter."
Sarah looked at him, confused.
Donaldson tried again. "Like an early transporter. We could vaporise garbage, everything from loose paper to nuclear waste and turn it into safe inert matter. We could take inert matter and turn it into anything we wished. Food, clothing, fuel, etc. We've made some progress with manipulating particulate matter. Not much more than dust could be affected, no matter how much energy we threw at it. So we managed to move up to sand."
"And what happened?" Sarah asked.
"Nothing. We were hoping to make a pile of sand morph into a solid state shape. But the shape didn't take. We can make it move, but once the power shuts down, we can't get it to stick."
Sarah looked hard at Donaldson. "What would happen to a man in the middle of that?"
"Ridiculous."
"Humor me."
"The experiment morphs particulate matter at extreme velocity. Given the energies involves, and that fact that the machine was set to a predefined type of matter…well, anything in there wouldn't last long before being vaporized."
Sarah's face changed and suddenly Donaldson was nervous. "So then, you wouldn't know anything about Flint Marko," she said, all of the ditzy chick gone and the harder edged Shadow agent taking over.
"Flint Marko? Never heard of him," Donaldson replied.
"He was an escaped convict that was running from the police." Sarah's ditzy act was stone cold dead. "He made it over the fence about fifteen feet from your test site."
All the color drained from Donaldson's face. "Wh-When?"
"Last night. Around 3 AM."
Somehow, Donaldson got paler still, breathing hard suddenly.
Sarah nodded slowly. "I think you should be very glad that there's no body, and no trace of one."
As Donaldson forced himself to breathe again, Sarah made her goodbyes.
Donaldson went looking for Robert, the guard that let her in. "What do you know about that woman that just left?"
"Not much. She gave Press Credentials. When she signed the book, she wrote 'Aquarius' where it said 'Sign Here'."
When Sarah made it back to Moe's cab, Cardona was waiting for her. "Don't you usually work with Cranston or Parker?"
"Stephen and Peter are on another assignment. The boss wants me to just follow up something. It's probably nothing. If Marko was through here at all, he's most likely dead. So I guess it's just a routine." She shrugged. "Life is more than 50% maintenance."
"Ain't that the truth?" Cardona agreed. "Here you go."
He handed her a police file, and she flipped it open. Flint Marko's picture, stats, and criminal record jumped out at her. As she read, she questioned Cardona on one or two details. "And you're sure he went over the fence here?"
"Not here, more like a quarter mile away. It took the cops a while to figure out who's land it was since the place was surrounded by razor wire. And that was when they got around to it."
"Got around to it?"
"The dogs went straight to the fence, but with the terrain, their flashlights were pointed at the ground, and once they got to the fence there was no sign of anybody on the other side. From the sounds of electricity coming out of the place, they figured that if he was there he was fried, but they spoke to the maintenance crew, and they said there was no sign of a body this morning."
"Maintenance crews weren't the only ones on shift last night," Sarah told him.
"Really?" Cardona asked in surprise.
"There was an experiment running. But they don't know anything about Marko."
Just then, a section of the file itself jumped out at Sarah. Marko had been suspected of involvement in, but not officially connected to, a carjacking and murder years before.
One deceased: Benjamin Parker.
Sarah felt her eyes bulge. No wonder Stephen wanted Marko watched.
"So Marko broke out last night," Sarah summed up. "Any particular reason?"
"Yeah." Cardona explained. "I left the report in the file."
Sarah opened the file, found Cardona's handwritten note; sighed and closed the folder. She hoped Stephen was telling Peter this. It would be hard to hide something like this from a friend.
Stephen had never taken a conversation with his partner more seriously. "Do I have your attention?"
"Undivided." Peter said solemnly.
"You're about to enter an arena where the variables are never certain, and the result will decide the course of your entire life. This is quite honestly the moment you life has been building to, and because it is so intensely personal, I cannot be there. Do you understand that? I will not have your back."
"That is the way it has to be," Peter agreed, most seriously.
"All I can do; is tell you that you have my unquestioning support. I will do all in my power to prepare you, prepare the battlefield, give you the tools, and give you the plan. But ultimately, this falls on you, and your admittedly powerful capacity to win the day."
Peter took a deep breath. "I am ready."
Stephen withdrew his hand from a pocket. There was a reservation card passed from Shadow to Spider. "The reservations have been made, in your name for two, Monday, Seven-Thirty PM at the Restaurant Constellation. Memorize it, and burn it before MJ finds it. She's had to collect your clothing plenty of times in case of exit; and we don't want it falling out of your pocket. You're certain you want this to happen there?"
"I thought about Sardi's or the Cobalt Club…" Peter admitted, "but I thought maybe…"
"No. Sardi's is too expensive for you unless there's something big up. It'll tip her off. Cobalt Club knows you too well. Depending on what those reviews say this afternoon, she might not be in the mood for familiar faces."
"O.K."
"When the appetizers come around, turn conversation to light matters. But do not mention Gwen. Sarah either. The only girl in your life is her. Not even your Aunt May gets a mention. Is this clear?"
"Crystal."
"The Salad course will bring a more serious conversation. But only on positive topics. You may discuss other people, but only happy couples. The subliminal is half the battle."
Peter nodded somberly, committing the plan to memory.
"When the main course comes, you discuss the future. Plans that include her especially. But under no circumstances is this to dissolve into an actual planning session. Anything that there is disagreement on must be defined and moved away from quickly. This isn't about getting into the details; it's about establishing a place in each other's destinies."
"You've put quite a bit of thought into this," Peter said, with no amusement at all. He was grateful for the effort.
"I have. When the dessert comes, you talk about the past. How you met, first date. Stay the Hell away from every moment you ever stood her up, or that time you actually split."
"It's a tall order."
"You have it in you, Pete. I believe in you," Stephen said, with quiet and absolute confidence.
Peter rose to his full and powerful height. "I can do this."
"If anything goes bad, if the conversation turns unexpectedly, if it feels wrong for any reason, don't force it. You want to abort, do so, don't agonize about it. We can do this any other day, enjoy your date."
"Right."
"You have an appointment with Cartier's. The reservation is under your name, but the paying account will be in the Cranston name. Under no circumstances draw attention to that, or the society pages will have it. My family, sizing an engagement ring. It'll be a priority job. The ring will be ready, and delivered personally here to me under secure guard. It will remain in this safe," Stephen said deliberately, pointing at the personal wall safe set behind the picture of Victor. "I will provide you with the combination on Monday. I will leave the building at six, taking my personal staff out of the equation. The ring must be out of the building after close of business, or else Chloe will see it going out. Anything that could require MJ's attention in the network will be rerouted to me as of six thirty. Anything earlier than that, and she will notice the sudden absence of messages going to her. Sarah and I will be across the street, at the Café Rochelle. As soon as you have an answer, you will contact me on my cell. A 'yes' is a phonecall. A 'no' or an 'abort' is an instant message. We get the call; we come in and throw a party, which the staff at the Restaurant is already preparing. We get an IM, Sarah and I vanish into the night and we all walk away."
Peter nodded, taking a strong cleansing breath.
"Godspeed, Peter Parker," Stephen said, and shook his hand firmly.
Peter gaze did not waver in the slightest as he returned the handshake. "Thank you, Stephen Cranston."
Steeling himself, Peter walked out of his office, on his way to greater and grander things…
…passing Sarah Branson, who barely jumped aside without being flattened by his determined stride.
She slipped past Chloe and let herself into Stephen's office.
"If this is what you two are like on Thursday, I hate to think what you're gonna be like by Monday Night," Sarah told him.
"We're getting our game faces on; deal with it," Stephen told her. "I can't do this for Peter. I can't guarantee a happily ever after. So I'm giving him everything I can. Time's gonna come when I can't fix everything for him."
"You do realize you aren't marrying her, right?"
Stephen decided now would not be a good time to answer, so he got up and poured a snifter of cognac for both of them.
"I think Marko is dead," Sarah announced as a change of subject.
Stephen blinked. "Good. Bastard can burn in Hell for all eternity, as far as I'm concerned." He handed Sarah her drink.
"Little early in the day to get sloshed," Sarah said, swirling her snifter and taking a sip anyway.
"Never too early to toast the destruction of evil," Stephen returned.
"So, it was him?" Sarah pressed.
"I can't be sure. I heard the name when I investigated Peter's uncle, but there was no way to be sure. He got picked up on another charge, and he sure as Hell wasn't going to volunteer anything new to the judge. He's taken quite the tour of New York's penitentiaries over the past few years, but it was always petty stuff. Nothing violent…until that night."
"Well, then you need to see this," Sarah told him, and handed over the slip of paper Cardona had put in the file.
Stephen studied it briefly and shut his eyes. "Not good. This I did not need to hear this afternoon."
"Yeah," Sarah agreed. "Looks like one of Marko's cellmates this time around was a jailhouse snitch. They were about to drag Marko back in front of the judge on a murder rap. The police file is pretty thin, Stephen--Marko wasn't a great crook, and you're right, there's nothing here bigger than Burglary One."
"So odds are he only got the one chance to shoot somebody," Stephen agreed. "What was that about Marko being dead?"
"He jumped the fence at a Particle Research facility mid-experiment. The police can't find a body, but odds are there wouldn't be one."
"Is that confirmed?"
"Of course not. The scientist in charge doesn't know, and if he suspected he wouldn't say anything about a man being killed by his work."
Stephen agreed and scrunched the slip of paper. "Then until Marko surfaces again, the matter is closed."
"You aren't going to tell Peter?"
"I want Peter to keep his head in the clouds for another week. We can't prove any connection between this man and his uncle, and this man is likely dead. The matter is closed."
Sarah started to speak, when she looked past Stephen, out his office window.
One of the many cranes on the New York Skyline was moving…way too quickly.
End of Part Three