Stupéfier sat on a pillar of the Brooklyn Bridge. She smiled, breathing in the air. Spider-Man stood there, lost in thought. Nostalgic, she thought. This Bridge, as she had researched, held much history. And she knew what it meant to Spider-Man.

She remembered sitting in her apartment in France, using Google to satisfy her curiosity. The Brooklyn Bridge had been one of her first searches. She knew that a girl Spider-Man knew was killed here. She knew all about that Gwen Stacy girl. After all, Spider-Man himself apparently didn't know if his own webline killed her.

"Lovely view of the city," she said.

He didn't reply.

She could feel the tension as if it was bouncing off his flesh. This was not a happy place for him. In truth, he didn't want to be there. She could tell by the way he hung his head. "Spider-Man," Stupéfier said, fixing the mask on her face to fit more firmly, "I am sorry if by coming here you--"

"It's fine," he told her.

But she finished anyway, "you opened old wounds."

"Stuff like that never really heal in the first place, you know?"

Stupéfier did not want her visit there to be miserable, and Spider-Man was sulking in it. "I am going to go, Spider-Man. I hope we meet again."

"Wait," he said, grabbing her wrist before she jumped off. There was no way he'd be able to catch up to her again. Politely, she asked what he wanted. "I dunno," he said. "Take care. Hopefully we'll see each other again."

She nodded but did not reply. And with one great leap she was gone.


Later that night Stupéfier sat alone in the dark. She was not afraid; New York City's buildings were like night-lights. She was enjoying the sound of congested traffic, sitting on a ledge of a barrier that guarded the perimeter of a rooftop so those standing on it would not fall. The building was not as high as the Bugle building, but it didn't matter. She just wanted to listen.

There was a noise behind her; someone had cleared their throat. Stupéfier turned around, smiling still, and noticed a man. He seemed a few years older than her: he had a handsome face, she had to give him that. His blue eyes weren't as pretty as they'd be when the sunlight reflected on them, and his reddish-brown hair seemed more than black. "Mind if I join you?"

Compared to his voice, she realized how much of an accent she really had. "No, no. Sit."

The man did not wear a mask, but sprouted an odd green jumpsuit with yellow lightening bolts running down the sides, in a sort of "V" formation. He had a hell of a smile. Stupéfier tried not to stare. "You new around here?"

She nodded. "I just come from France," she said.

"France? Jeez! You're far from home, ain'tcha?"

She laughed. He was funny. He was cute and funny. She bit her lip and stuck out her hand. "I'm Stupéfier."

He shook. "Stupéfier? Some name. French?"

Trying to share humor, she tried, "No, really? You think, eh?" She didn't know if she came off funny or just annoying or rude. Max looked away for a moment. "So...what's your deal? Powers, I mean."

Just speed, strength, and I can jump really far," she told him. "Nothing epseical."

"Considering to some of these people walkin' the streets, you're pretty damn special."

She bit her lip again. Did he just call her special? Did that count as flirting? Or did Americans talk like that to members of the opposite gender all the time without romantic intentions? She just nodded and smiled, not sure of the words to say.

"People 'round here call me Electro," he said. Before she asked why, he held out his hand and somehow, to Stupéfier's amazement, generated electricity. He made a spark dance from fingertip to fingertip. He looked at her, staring at the lighting in his hand. He smiled. "But you, pretty lady, can call me Max."

Now he called her pretty. She blushed. That was definitely flirting. "You said you were new," Electro said, standing up. He extended his hand to her, helping her stand as well. "Why don't I give you a night on the town?"

"On the town?" She said, not completely familiar with the expression. But she didn't care. She nodded and listened to him talk all about how his mother's lack of faith in his brain and caused him to get struck by lighting and become a human powerhouse.

A/N: Sorry about the length! I know, I'm terrible. I will not be updating for a week or two--it's my birthday and also midterms, which means more studying and partying(they go together well in the same sentence, huh?) and less time for fanficing. I'll try to get on, though. Sorry, and enjoy!