I wanted to get this up half a week ago, but I'm getting promoted at work so I've had a lot of training for that and I was also away the whole weekend and you guys don't really care. ANYWAY, I saw The Amazing Spider-Man 2 again so I could get more ideas. I've made the decision that Max's Birthday will be a turning point in the story and because of that it will happen latter in the story. Also, Peter and Harry's man-date will happen on a different day than Max's Birthday.

I'd like to thank anyone who read, reviewed, and faved. Also, A special thanks to GiraffePanda2 for reviewing. I'm really glad to hear what you liked.

Disclaimer:
I do not own The Amazing Spider-Man, nor any other Marvel movies or Marvel owned stuff in this story. I am making no money from this.


Chapter 4
Apologies to the Janitor

The janitorial staff is going to hate Reagan Knox.

Why? Apparently only consuming caffeine mixed with the nerves of penetrating a highly important CEO office do not blend well in one's stomach.

Tracey is playing scout at the door to the women's washroom while Reagan liberates herself of the caffeine but not the nerves.

"You done yet?" Tracey almost gags herself at the heaving sounds coming from the third stall.

Reagan, now finished, washed her face and hands, pops a mint, and moans. "Yeah, I'm good, I'm – I'm ready, so ready." She takes a deep breath to gather her focus (or whatever focus is still left in her). "I'll call you and start heading for the stairs." Reagan pushes past Tracey and heads out the door into the busy office building, as she walks to the stairwell she pulls out her phone and hits the speed dial.

"Remind me why you need to call me?" Tracey opens with.

"I'm less likely to be disturbed if I look like I'm on an important phone call." Reagan replies as she enters the stairwell.

The stairwell is what one would expect; the walls and the floor blend into each other through the dull grey paint that is everywhere. The only other colour to be seen is the florescent yellow that outlines the grey numbers that indicate the floor; it doesn't do much to brighten Reagan's mood. As for the sound, well, the only sound in the entire stairwell is the clopping of Reagan's feet. For someone who is supposed to be stealthy at risk of incarceration; she's really shitty at it. The noise echoes so loud people outside the stairwell could probably hear it.

"Would it be mildly inappropriate if I started to sing my own theme song?" Reagan questions Tracey through the phone.

"I don't know what worries me more: that you said 'mildly' or that you have your own theme song."

"I don't have my own – okay I have my own theme song." Reagan hesitantly admits.

Reaching the correct floor Reagan lets out a little woo. She peeks though the door; there are a couple guards and some guys in fancy suits. The familiar feeling of sudden regurgitation comes flooding back to Reagan, however, Reagan holds strong on the account of it looking very unsanitary if she were to puke in the potted plants.

"Okay, Trace. This is what I need you for. I'm going in three, two, one." Reagan struts into the room and begins a very urgent conversation about a huge mistake that needs to be fixed as fast as possibly so everyone can keep their job. For the most part Reagan's plan works; no one has stopped her yet, although the guards have giving her strange looks.

There is a doorway Reagan needs to get through and a guard outside of it. By the look on his face Reagan can tell he'll stop her to look at her ID; Reagan thinks fast, as she gets closer to the door she ups the urgency of her voice and quickly flashes the buff man her visitor's pass. Reagan prays he didn't get a good enough look at it. There is no response from the man, and each step is bringing Reagan closer to what she assumes is certain doom. Reagan contains her fear the best she can; if this is the end she's going to go down fighting, or at the very least not crying. Reagan counts the steps down: eight steps, seven steps, six steps, five steps.

To Reagan's utmost relief the man opens the door and gives her a sympathetic look as she passes by. The door closes behind her and Reagan lets out a mix between a sigh and a cry of relief. Her heart beat is still wildly out of control and she's having a hard time catching her breath.

"I made it. Your part is done." Reagan informs Tracey.

"Be careful, Reagan."

"Tracey, remember; if I get caught; you don't know me." Reagan's tone is serious. "Thank you." Reagan ends the call.


Reagan's almost there. According to the blue prints her stole she just has the assistant's office and then she's there. Reagan peeks a round another doorway; the personal assistant's desk is empty. Reagan blots it down past the assistant's desk and down the hall; the doors to Mr. Harry Osborn's office are right there. This time instead of peeking thought the doors; she pushes the doors open and runs right in.

The first thing to come to Reagan's mind is 'Holy shit. Why is there so much glass?'

The second thing is 'Where the fuck is the computer?'

Reagan spins around, looking everywhere for the computer and Reagan Knox comes to a conclusion; she is screwed.

Reagan leaps over to the glass ('Really, glass,' she thinks) desk. Sliding into the chair she looks over and all around the desk. Nothing. She slams her hands down on the desk and growls.

Suddenly, the desk lights up. Reagan's hands jump off the desk and she gasps at the unexpected life from the computer. Reagan gathers her wits; she closes her eyes and steadies her breathing. Reagan brings all her focus to the desk, and she pushes with her powers. She can feel it know; the energy this desk outputs. She opens her eyes and scans what is now on the surface of the glass desk. The desk is the computer.

"Now that's just cool," Reagan mumbles.

She's fast to work, hacking in and searching through the information on the desk; looking for the archives. She taps and drags on the desk as fast as she can; she's in her element now. Reagan Knox is completely focused on the task in front of her and is also completely oblivious to everything around her. So, when footsteps echo through the hallway outside of the office; Reagan remains completely unaware.

Reagan is dragged from her trance by an angry, deep voice. Reagan, completely misses what the voice said, but realizes the fact that she has been caught. Her head whips up; Reagan thinks she's lucky it didn't snap.

Pure panic is on Reagan's face as she realizes just who that voice came from.

Harry Osborn is standing not 10 feet away from Reagan with a very livid face. His expression shows that he is expecting something, however, Reagan fails to connect that it is her response he is expecting.

Reagan immediately notices that he is exceptionally skinny and begins to wonder if she could take the brooding male in a fight. However, that train of thought is quickly lost as Harry repeats his question.

"I said; who the hell are you?"

Reagan immediately begins to hyperventilate.

She is in full on panic mode, and doesn't have any near coherent thoughts. The only idea she's somehow mustered up is 'lie. Lie and he won't know the truth.'

"Please don't call security!" Reagan pleas between her wheezes and gasps of air. "I don't wanna go to jail; please don't make me go to jail." She's practically crying now.

There goes not lying. Actually, there goes any and all intelligent sense Reagan had.

There is a brief moment of confusion and terror that occurs in Harry. The young man seems to be unsure of how to handle the stranger who has fallen into an utter mess. He's immediate response to the purple thing that apparently can't form proper English is to call security, although he chooses against it upon seeing that this mascara streaked girl is actually intelligent. It's not easy to access his computer-desk without the proper codes.

"Stop crying." Harry orders. He slowly walks toward the unknown creature, but backs up when she hiccups in what was an attempt to cease the river pouring from her face.

She's stares at him, wide eyed and opened mouth. She's full of fear and looks somewhere between a toddler caught with their hand in the cookie jar and a wounded animal about to become dinner to a much more powerful predator.

After assessing the situation Harry decides it's better to make the wreck come to him.

"Come here."

Reagan grips the chair and shacks her head.

Harry groans. "I'm not going to call security." "Yet," he adds under his breath.

She is still for a moment; judging whether or not he is lying. Reagan figures that if he's going to call security it doesn't matter if she's sitting down or not. She walks slowly toward him, her arms are in front of her; protecting her, and her hands are at her face; shielding her from his glaze.

He leads her across the room and over to four blue chairs; he motions for her to sit. As Reagan shakes with nerves in the blue chair Harry fills two glasses with alcohol. Harry hands her one glass as he sits across from her.

The male slowly sips his drink and the girl, who is still a little incoherent, guzzles the drink. Only a little actually makes it down her throat; the rest roles down her extended tongue and back into her glass.

With an eye brow raised; Harry stares at her; disgusted by her display.

"Are you less hysterical now? Do you speak English?" He questions the girl.

A hoarse noise that sounds a little like 'yeah' comes from Reagan; Reagan clears her throat and repeats herself.

"Good, I can actually understand you now," He says drily. "Who are you? You obviously don't work for me. None of my employees would come to work in a tie-dye shirt and a plaid button-up over top."

Reagan looks away from him and hides her face behind the glass.

Harry sighs and leans back in his chair; he also lifts his legs up and places them on the table. "I'm not going to call security, so answer my questions."

What could happen if she does? What could happen if she doesn't? This is what Reagan is trying to determine. If she tells him her reason it's not like he's going to say 'okay, go right ahead. And you know what; here's my social security number.' No, that's not going to happen. He's going stick her to the front of Oscrop to ward off any other delinquents. Although, by the way he's eyeing her up, he'll put her in better looking clothes first.

So, what if she remains silent? What happens to her then?

Reagan looks at straight at Harry. She looks at him with defiance; she's testing for his response. He stares right back; meeting her gaze with a challenging one of his own. It's at that moment that Reagan Knox realises she is much more scared of Harry Osborn then what would happen to her in prison, and she is not comfortable with that.

Reagan places her glass down on the small white table; if she's going to face him she might as well do it without a wall.

She takes a deep breath.

Closes her eyes.

Exhales.

And looks Harry Osborn right in the eyes.

"I was hired by an undeclared party to hack into your company and retrieve information regarding animal testing by Oscrop's scientists." Reagan told Harry seriously.

Harry chuckled. "So you're just a lackey to some pissed off hippies. I'm impressed." Harry quips sarcastically; there's a small smirk still on his face.

"I made it all the way up here, didn't I?" Reagan retorts.

Harry's smirk falls and his demeanour turns serious. Harry's eyes turn toward the computer-desk and his fingers begin to roll along the rim of his glass. Harry's gazes then turns to one of his hands; it twitches as he stares. "Yes, you did get up here. And into my computer." He remarks thoughtfully.

Harry quickly puts his glass on the table beside her own and shifts his body so he is leaning over; close to her. "I'd like to hire you-"

"-WHAT?" Reagan yells.

Harry holds up his hand. "Let me finish," Harry says forcefully. "I believe-" Harry lowers his voice. "I believe my board is keeping information from me."

Reagan let's what Harry said roll around in her mind for a minute. She lets herself relax in the blue chair and hums to herself. She briefly wonders if he'll give her his social security number.

"Alright, pretty boy." Harry gives her an aggravated look, but doesn't say anything. "Let me get this right. You want me to hack into your company so you can find out what your board members are hiding from you?" Reagan can't really believe what she's asked for confirmation. It's too surreal.

"Something like that," Harry confirms her question.

"No! That's crazy." Reagan jolts out of her seat. "Do you know how much trouble working for you could cause for me? I'm out of here." However, before Reagan can walk always Harry stops her.

"Sit down, you walking eggplant." Harry commands.

Reagan submissively sits back down in the blue chair. She quickly grabs Harry's drink and sips it; she cringes at the alcohol slides down her throat.

"I have been generous with you so far. But do you know how much trouble not working for me is going to cause you?" His question is rhetorical. "I'm not going to let you just walk out of here. Either you accept or pay the penalty."

Fear seeps back into Reagan. She feels so small; unable to do anything but surrender to Harry Osborn's demand. Harry can see the fear in the physically small girl; he watches as she quivers in her seat. There's a memory that comes to Harry as he watches this girl. A memory of a young boy, just a little bit smaller then her, shivering in fear as the boy's father yells at him.

Harry clears his throat and in a calm voice adds onto his previous statement. "I can make this worth it for you. I can pay you double what your other employer is paying."

At first Reagan doesn't see the appeal. Sure the money would be nice, but it's not like she's living pay cheque to pay cheque. A thought pops into her head though, something that was said to her last week.

'I also have to worry about the foreclosure letter I got.'

With the type of money Mr. Osborn is offering Jane wouldn't have to worry about paying rent for a while, a long while.

"And what would I do about my current employers. If I throw them under the bus I'll be the one who's screwed?" Reagan inquires.

"You said they wanted information on animal testing. Give then the tests, not the results. So do we have a deal?" Harry holds out his hand.

Reagan delays for a second as she eyes his hand. Reagan slowly nods and grabs Harry's hand to shake. "We've got a deal."

Harry leans back in his chair and smirks at his new purple haired employee. "Do you have a proper name, eggplant?"

"It's Reagan Knox," Reagan reluctantly tells Harry.

"Pleaser doing business with you, Miss Knox," There's a certain inscrutable tone in his voice.

"You too, Mr. Osborn," Reagan gleamed with pique.


Done. Alright guys, please review and tell me what your thoughts are. What you liked, what you didn't, what you thought of Harry, pretty much any thoughts. Thanks everyone!