A/N: So here we finally have chapter 7. In which Harry and MJ act as sort of a chorus in a Greek tragedy where they discuss our dysfunctional pair at the center of our story and other things pertaining to it. And of course some Curt and Gwen POV stuff too.

Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-man or any of its characters.

The cab ride out to the Osborn mansion seems to go on forever. Mary Jane had known it would be a bit of a trip, given the fact that the mansion was about ten miles outside of the city, but in the end she'd decided to brave the journey and make the trip out there anyway.

It was dark by the time she arrived there. She could've sworn she'd left her house in Brooklyn as soon as she'd heard the news about Gwen, but it was still a bit of a surprise to her that she hadn't made it to Harry's until nightfall.

She'd only been to the mansion on one other occasion, it had been a little over a year ago when Harry had celebrated his sixteenth birthday there. Gwen, Peter, and several of their other classmates from Midtown Science had attended as well, and even a handful of people who she'd never met before, distant relatives or old friends of the Osborn's she'd guessed.

But this was different. The fact that she was making this trip alone and would be the only one going made it more significant somehow, and even a little intimidating in a way.

She should've called first. There hadn't even been a way for her to know whether or not he'd be home for sure. He could have still been at the hospital in the city visiting his father. She has to banish the thought from her mind, after all that had happened just over the course of a couple days she can't stand the thought of her trip all the way out there to see him to be all for nothing.

She pays the cab driver what would probably be equal to about a week's worth of pay at the diner, but as far outside city limits as the place was, she had been expecting to shell out a lot for the trip out there anyway.

The old wooden doors look larger than she remembered, the large gold knocker more ominous than before. Not seeing a doorbell, she takes one and knocks a few times. It had probably been less than a minute, but it had been enough time for her to develop more anxiety on whether or not anyone was actually home and if she'd just wasted over a hundred dollars of her hard earned money on cab fare.

As if appearing to silence her worries, an older, polished looking man in a well pressed suit answers the door. He seems familiar enough to her, thinking that she must've met him briefly sometime during Harry's birthday party.

"Hello? What can I do for you?" the man says, politely acknowledging her and inquiring as to the nature of her visit at the same time.

"Umm – hi. I'm Mary Jane Watson. I was just wondering if Harry was here at the moment. I'm sorry to just drop in like this, I really should've called first to make sure he was here…"

"Oh yes of course! Miss Watson, why didn't you say so?" He moves from the doorway and extends his hand, beckoning for her to come inside.

She takes him up on his invitation, following the well dressed man, who, judging from the cliché black bowtie look, she'd guessed was the Osborn's butler.

He leads her through the spacious mansion into what she guesses would be the parlor (all those Downton Abbey re-runs really had paid off) where they spot Harry standing near a mini-bar nursing a glass of scotch in his right hand.

"Mr. Osborn, Miss Mary Jane Watson is here to see you."

He turned and looked at her, the effect of seeing her walk into his parlor carrying the same weight to it as it had the moment she'd first walked into his life. The feeling would pass, he'd thought, the feeling of time standing still whenever he saw her walk into a room, but it never did. Every time he saw her, the sight of her was like getting a glimpse of sunlight after days of only rain. He'd felt instant attractions to other girls before, but they were only distractions, just fleeting affections that were short and temporary, he knew that and always took them for what they were.

Mary Jane Watson was no stop along the way. She was what you ran towards. She was the destination.

And the fact that he found himself capable of having these feelings for anyone made Harry terrified beyond belief.

He realized he'd simply been staring back at her dumbly since Bernard had announced that she was there to see him, he attempted to recover himself quickly.

He clears his throat. "Um thank you Bernard, I think I've got it from here."

Bernard nodded his head politely, exiting the parlor and leaving him and MJ alone.

She began making her way over to him slowly, crossing the large room until there was only about five feet of distance between them.

"Harry…" She begins, as if she's trying to broach a delicate subject. As if she'd wanted to unload a series of thoughts and feelings on him, but could only manage to utter a single word.

"What are you doing here?" His tone was soft, not demanding. He'd never allow her to think that her presence was unwanted there, unannounced or not. He was grateful to see her, even though from the looks of her and what he'd been hearing on the news that day he was sure that she hadn't come to him under any happy circumstances.

And judging by the scotch in his hand on a school night, she must've guessed by then that whatever bad news she was bringing with her that he'd probably heard about it by then.

She'd decided to ask him anyway. "Have you heard about Gwen?"

She knew that the question was basically pointless, of course he'd known. Unless he'd spent a good portion of the day hiding under a rock, he had to have heard by then. Of course, there was always the slight chance that he hadn't. Maybe he'd been avoiding news coverage lately because of all the stories that revolved around his father's condition. Maybe because he was worried about Peter's condition. Between his father and Peter, maybe Harry had just had it altogether.

He looked down at the gold liquid in his glass, not able to meet her eyes. "Yeah, I heard about it. I think they just released the statement a few hours ago."

"Yeah, I called a cab and headed out here as soon as I heard the news."

He looked up at her with interest, trying to suppress a smile given how inappropriate it would be given the current circumstances. "You took a cab here all the way from Brooklyn? I didn't even know they went that far outside of the city."

He swore in that moment he saw a hint of blush across her cheeks. "Well, I hadn't expected them to either. I got pretty lucky I guess. When I heard what had happened I knew I had to come talk to you, knew that I had to see you."

Now it's his turn to blush. He blames it on the scotch.

"Do you want to sit down? Can I get you a drink?" he asked gesturing to a set of arm chairs near the mini bar.

She sits down in one of the chairs and thinks on the second half of his invitation. Drinking on a school night didn't really hold much appeal to her usually, she'd seen the effects alcohol had on people first-hand, her parents yelling matches that happened on a nearly weekly basis had made her see to that. She tended to avoid the substance altogether, but somehow with everything that was happening in her life, a drink didn't sound like the most un-appealing option in the world.

"Sure, I'll take a drink."

He grabs the glass tumbler from the mini-bar, filling the glass about one-fourth of the way full. Substantially emptier than his own glass, but she's almost grateful that he'd went easy on her given the fact that this was something she didn't do on a regular basis.

He hands her the glass carefully, and she pretends not to notice the fact that her fingers brush his slightly as she takes it from him.

He takes a seat in the chair next to her, his glass still in hand, looking fuller than it had been just a few moments ago.

Without thinking, she tips the contents of her glass back, the scotch burning her throat on the way down. It takes almost all of her willpower not to make a face that resembles a toddler who'd bitten into a lemon for the first time.

"I can't believe she'd do that. Just go to fucking Oscorp with him – that thing there. He could've killed her. He still could for all we know." She's found her voice now, her pull of scotch giving her the courage she needed.

"I can."

She shoots him a look. "What do you mean? You actually expected her to do something like this?"

"Well I'm not saying I saw it coming, but I'm not like, shocked by it or anything. I mean, it's Gwen. She's a stand up for the greater good kind of girl, someone who fights for the weak and stands up for them when no one else will. She's got guts. And not to mention, her boyfriend's Spider-man, a masked hero who literally fights to protect the city from bad guys. They're a vigilante match made in heaven. They're practically made for each other. Gwen might not have the superpowers, but in a way it almost makes it more, significant, you know? That she'd head into danger like that even if the odds were stacked against her. So yeah, I guess I'm not that surprised she did it."

MJ considers his words, giving herself a moment to absorb them. "Yeah, I guess you're right. That's totally her, spot on. Not to mention she would've done anything to save her dad, even if it was a seriously risky move. I guess I can't totally relate, I'd trade my dad for a tic tac, and that still doesn't excuse how stupid it was for her to go charging in there when she could have easily gotten herself killed."

He takes another gulp from his glass, he swallows it without even wincing in the slightest. "Look, MJ. I get that you're worried about her. So am I. Connors has basically gone off the deep end, but deep down, I really don't think he'd hurt her."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"It's a feeling I guess – a hunch, I don't know…" He knows fully well why, but he's hoping to high heaven that MJ won't press him for more than the pathetic explanation he'd given her.

"A hunch? You think our friend is going to be okay based off of a hunch?" She doesn't believe his reason for a second, and he knows that this is her own way of calling bullshit.

He sighs, he wishes he wouldn't have to tell her this. Even since he'd heard the rumors around Oscorp one of his first thoughts was of how angry Mary Jane would be if she knew what some of the other interns were saying about Gwen. Knew that if he ever told her how much it would hurt MJ to know the lies people were spreading about her best friend. But he was cornered, literally, and he knew that she wasn't going to let him off the hook without explaining himself to her.

"There was – speculation… about Doctor Connors around Oscorp. Certain talk that involved Gwen and his – relationship with her."

He swears after the sentence leaves his mouth that MJ's eyes turn from green to red.

"What about their — relationship?" Her voice had taken on a dangerous tone laced with a sharp edge that bordered on deadly. She knew where this was going, she just needed him to confirm to her what she was already guessing had been said.

He gulps, terrified at the red-headed girl with the look of murder in her eyes sitting beside him. He debates on tip-toeing around it, on using euphemisms and hoping she'd get what he was really trying to tell her. But speaking cryptically would only earn him more death stares from her end, so speaking plainly was his only way out of this.

"People said they were close, weirdly so. He'd taken an interest in her, like she was his apprentice or something. But a lot of people thought it went beyond that, said they thought there was something more going on there. They'd heard that he'd been having problems in his marriage, and I guess they'd assumed that, somehow, Gwen had something to do with that."

Mary Jane laughs. Not the genuine kind of laugher, the kind of laughter that occurs when someone's heard something ridiculous. "They thought what? That they were having like, an affair?"

Harry was silent, he averted his eyes away from hers again. He didn't need to say anything, it was all the answer she'd needed.

"What the hell? Who would say something like that? Some jealous intern that was pissed Gwen had gotten promoted so early?"

Harry just shrugs his shoulders, still avoiding making eye contact with her.

"Like I said MJ, there wasn't any real merit to anything that had been said, it was just gossip – speculation."

"Well maybe people should check their facts before they speculate about someone they know nothing about. It's fucking disgusting is what it is."

"I know, it's wrong, I didn't say I believed any of it. I'm just telling you what I heard."

"If you don't believe it, why are you using this to support your theory that he isn't going to hurt her? What you basically just told me is that you don't think Connors will hurt Gwen because everyone thinks they had some sort of a thing together."

"Because there was something there Mary Jane, I hate to have to tell you this but there was something. Even if it wasn't what the other interns at Oscorp made it out to be, even if it wasn't a full blown affair, it wasn't nothing. I'm sure it wasn't anywhere near what they said it was, but at the same time I think that rumor existed for a reason."

She looks at him, whether her expression is more appalled or shocked he can't be sure.

"What are you saying? Was this like, a regular thing? Is this something he'd done in the past with other interns?"

Harry shakes his head. "No. He hadn't taken an interest or worked that closely with anyone else before, just her. He was her mentor, he saw something in her that he didn't see in anyone else. In his own weird way, I think he cared – cares about her."

MJ remained unfazed by his explanation. "Yeah, I bet he cared a lot about Peter too, right up until he threw him off the roof of Oscorp."

She had a point, of that he was sure. Not only had Connors taken an interest in Peter too, but Peter had given him the one thing Connors had been searching for for nearly fifteen years: the decay rate algorithm. Peter had found and solved the old formula that had been right under his nose in his father's old brief case for all these years. If not for Peter, Connors never would've been able to create the precious formula that could give him his arm back. And on top of all of these things, Peter was Richard Parker's son. Richard Parker who'd been Connors' research partner and close friend. If Connors was capable of turning on Peter for standing in the way of his plans, who was really to say that he wouldn't do the same to Gwen if she interfered with things somehow?

"I get what you're saying, but with her, I think it's different."

She's smirking at him now. He's noticed just then that her glass is empty.

"You really think he has some sort of a thing for her, don't you?"

"I didn't say that, I just said –."

"That he cares about her. Yeah, whatever. But like I said caring about someone clearly won't prevent him from trying to off the person. Poor Peter can attest to that, unfortunately. No, you think that he likes her. Not just a normal like, but likes-her-likes-her."

Harry can't help but laugh a little at that. "Likes-her-likes-her? What is this, elementary school?"

"Shut up Osborn! You know what I mean." She'd tried her best to sound frustrated, but her tone had come out a lot lighter than she'd wanted it to. She felt the corners of her mouth pull their way up into a smile, grateful Harry had brought it out of her but feeling guilty for stealing a lighthearted moment given the fact that one of their friends was being held captive by the same person who'd put their other friend in a coma.

He could sense that fact that he'd broken the tension that the topic at hand had created, grateful that in the midst of it all, he'd still managed to make her smile.

He wakes to a dim light and the sound of steady breathing.

The feeling of mild disorientation of his surroundings washes over him briefly in his half-conscious state, the way it always does when he first wakes up, the way the weight of how wrong things have went doesn't hit him until about a minute after he's opened his eyes.

Someone lies next to him with their back facing towards him, his good arm wrapped around them.

It isn't Martha. No, never again would it ever be her. She was far away from him now. Whether it was a state, a country, or an entire universe that separated them he wasn't sure. She and Billy could still be in New York for all he knew, which was highly unlikely given all the disgrace that he'd surely brought upon them at the misfortune they had by simply having the name Connors. But it didn't matter, because no matter where they were, they may as well be worlds apart from him now.

Shame washes over him. He didn't even know where his wife and son had gone to, he just knew that they were gone and likely lost to him forever after everything that had happened.

The occupant sleeping next to him hardly even stirs, just breaths steadily, their slumber clearly being a peaceful one.

He sees sleek, light hair instead of Martha's dark curls, the golden hair pulled back into a ponytail, its color reminding him of sunlight. The sun. He couldn't see it from this room, this windowless cell that he'd confined her to. How could he keep her in such a place? A place so devoid of any warmth or light when she was warmth and light itself? He gently pulls the black tie from her hair, freeing the golden locks of the elastic band, the tie sliding off her hair smoothly as to not disturb her sleep.

He buries his face in her hair, the overwhelming scent of her newly freed tresses enough to overwhelm him completely.

He shouldn't be this close to her, shouldn't have wanted her here with him so badly in the first place. It had just been a thought, an idea he'd entertained that night after she'd left and her scent still clung to the atmosphere of the tower like a ghost whose presence haunted the building relentlessly. That night, after Peter had fallen, after the cure had been released, he knew that one of two things would happen:

The NYPD would come for him immediately and he'd be sent away for the rest of his life, whether it be to Riker's or the Ravenscroft Institute it didn't matter, they were different places but in the end it was the same concept, he'd be imprisoned forever, never being able to see the light of day again.

The second option was the one he'd hoped for. It was the more unlikely of the two, but it was still a possibility no matter how outlandish it seemed at the time.

The police wouldn't come for him. They'd be too afraid to face him then, at least right away, especially after the fate of their beloved Spider-man. If a vigilante hero with superhuman abilities had fallen when he'd come up against the Lizard, what chance did the NYPD have going toe-to-toe with him? He'd be confined to the tower in a way, surely the authorities still wouldn't hesitate to capture him on sight if he were ever spotted out in the open, no matter what degree of fear he'd inspired in them. But being in the tower was a far better alternative than being locked away in prison or a mental institution.

He knew he'd still be alone though. No matter which of the two outcomes that would end up occurring, he would be alone in his isolation. No Martha, no Billy, not a soul to keep him company from the life he'd all but willingly surrendered when he'd caused countless damage to the city and its citizens alike under the influence of the serum.

His thoughts had somehow ended up falling on her though, strangely enough, but then again how could they not have when they'd just confronted each other moments before and her presence still clung so persistently to the air that surrounded him?

He'd thought of what it would be like having her there with him, of not having to spend what remaining, however possibly fleeting days of his freedom he had left alone.

It had all worked out that way, incidentally. Although how much time he had before the police came to blast down the tower doors was impossible to determine. If he had to guess, and with the fact that the Captain's daughter being there was sure to ignite their yearning to detain him all the more, he'd say that it was only a matter of time now.

This was much better than he'd deserved, he thinks as he buries his nose even further in her hair, inhaling deeply, practically intoxicating himself with her essence, nearly high off her proximity to him. His right arm, still present, wraps itself around her waist as well pulling her flush against him, so close that he can feel each intake of breath she has reverberate against his chest each time.

It almost hurts. The agony and the ecstasy of having her this close.

He could never be a villain, not truly. He was far too much of a masochist. He could never enjoy inflicting pain on others as much or as often as he inflicted it upon himself.

He sincerely hopes that the damage in her right hand had been repaired. The look of pure agony on Gwen's face as she'd stumbled away from him in the break room after she'd attempted to strike him had nearly torn him apart.

It hadn't been his fault, not completely, but he felt as though it may as well have been. Even if he hadn't broken it directly himself he'd driven her to it, provoked her to the point where she'd actually been furious enough to hit him.

From his experience in working with her for the past year or so she'd never been known for being a confrontational person. Outspoken, sure, but driven to anger or any potentially violent outbursts? Never.

Everyone had the potential for rage, for violence, for revenge. And he'd been the one to bring these things out of her.

He remembers the day before when she'd confronted him in his office, when she told him the lengths her father would undoubtedly go to in order to get her back, when they'd discussed Osborn's apparently recovering state of health.

When she'd asked him if he heard voices in his head.

He doesn't hear them, hear him, now oddly, a strange thing being that her proximity or simply the raw concept of her is what seemed to draw the Lizard out of the dark corners of his mind.

Even now with both arms pulling her flush against him and his nose buried in the crook of her neck, the malevolent voice was silenced for the first time in what felt like ages.

Maybe it was actually satisfied, content even.

He had to release his hold on her eventually, this he knew. The sedative he'd given her was only meant to last a few hours while her arm took the time to repair itself and he may have very well been asleep for as long as that. He imagines her reaction towards being held by her former mentor turned criminal/bio-terrorist, needless to say, there aren't any possible outcomes to this situation that end well.

He has to get up, back to the lab, back to work.

He lays there with her slumbering form against him for several more moments, eyes closed, breathing her in with every breath he takes.

It takes nearly everything he has to untangle himself from her and leave her on her own once again in her room.

He smiles back at her fondly from the doorway, her back still facing him, her blond hair splayed across the pillow.

Whether any of the rooms on this floor had windows or not, there were still plenty of places in Oscorp where someone could see the sun.

The face on the clock next to the nightstand reads 10:42 p.m., an odd hour to wake up, she thinks. Gwen was never one for taking naps, whenever she was tired or thought of taking one she'd always have thoughts nagging her in the back of her mind, other responsibilities and obligations she'd constantly be reminded of, thoughts about how she always had so many things to do, better things to do with her time than sleep the day away.

It certainly wasn't the case now though. Lately it felt like all she ever did was sleep, whether she was tired or not. Maybe it's because there isn't enough to do in the tower, because she really had no purpose there, no purpose other than to wait.

Not to be saved, she thinks. No, she could've very well saved herself, could still do so if she wanted to. She could walk out the front door any time she wanted, Connors wasn't on his guard all the time, and it wasn't as if he'd go after her once she'd gotten outside the tower doors. Her former mentor was still an intelligent man when it came down to it, he had to know what would happen to him if he were spotted on the streets of New York. They'd have him locked up faster than he could blink.

No, she certainly wasn't waiting to be saved. No, just waiting for the moment that the police finally came and took Connors into custody. Or maybe Peter would come instead, but what would be the aftermath of a confrontation between Peter and Connors? She decides that the outcome of something like that is suddenly an idea she doesn't want to think about at all.

She forgets, temporarily, about the injury she'd inflicted upon her right hand before she'd fallen asleep after being injected with what she knew almost certainly had to be a sedative by Dr. Connors.

She attempts to flex the fingers of her right hand slowly, bracing herself for the sensation of pain that she's sure is about to follow the small movement, but no pain comes from it. Nothing, nothing at all. Not numbness like she'd felt after the first shot she'd had, but no pain, as if she'd never been injured in the first place.

Cautiously she attempts to lift her right arm, a motion that she finds shockingly painless given the fact that just hours before, nearly her entire arm had been in agony.

But how though? What sort of drug could've done this? Painkillers could dull the sensation and take away the pain she'd felt, but that didn't account for the fact that her hand was likely broken after it had collided with Connors' jaw, so even then what could have healed the bones and repaired the damage in the span of a few hours?

Just then she jumps to her feet and makes an instinctive bee-line for the bathroom attached to her room. She knew what it was she'd been given. There was no other explanation for such a rapid recovery from an injury like that.

She inspects her appearance in the mirror above the sink with almost panicked breaths, half expecting to find something out of the ordinary, some newfound yet temporary mutation that may have stemmed from the serum that she undoubtedly had been given.

She finds nothing of the sort though, the gray circles beneath her eyes had disappeared, the numerous hours of sleep she'd been getting for the past couple of days no doubt seeing to that. Her skin still a bit pale, but no more than usual. The one change she did note, however, was the fact that her previously tied back hair was now loose, the hair that had been pulled back into a ponytail no falling loosely just slightly past her shoulders.

She tells herself her hair-tie must've fallen out, but a small nagging part of her seems convinced that it could've been something else altogether.

There's something else too, she notices. A change so subtle and that would almost surely go undetected by anyone else who looked at her, but a change when being made to the appearance of the owner in question was far from unnoticed.

Her eyes weren't blue anymore. No, the eyes that stared back at her had went from a light blue to green. Not a bright, unnatural green, but still a shade of green all the same.

It was stupid, she thought. Her eyes had always been such an uncertain shade of blue that most people she'd known throughout her life tended to mistake them for green anyway. It was so easy to make the mistake between the two colors that the current lighting situation in the bathroom must be allowing even her to confuse the two.

But somehow she knew that wasn't the case, because never in her entire life had she once looked at herself and been more positive that there had been a definite change in her appearance, no matter how small and how subtle it was, deep down she knew it was there. She knew that no matter how insignificant the change was, that the serum had, in some way, altered her appearance.

She slams the door to the bathroom shut, firmly pressing in the lock after closing it. The blue sweater and the rest of the outfit she'd worn all fall into a small heap on the white tile floor upon being removed, her usual organization when it came to folding clothes into a neat pile temporarily having been forgotten with her newfound sense of urgency.

She inspects the rest of her body just as she had her face, something she probably wouldn't have done if not for the fact that she'd actually spotted the small yet still present change of color in her irises.

Much to her relief she finds nothing out of the ordinary, no changes whatsoever, not even any minor ones that only she would be able to notice. There isn't even a bruise to be found anywhere around her back or shoulders from a couple days ago when the Lizard had slammed her into the floor after she'd stabbed him in the eye. The serum really must've taken care of everything.

She'd be amazed at the marvel of science if not for the fact that she was more disgusted and horrified than anything. Disgusted at the fact that he'd actually had the audacity to give her the serum in the first place, horrified at the fact that it had actually inflicted a change in her, whether that had been his intent or not. The logical, more reasonable side of her reasons that he couldn't have given her more than about a tenth of what the usual amount of what he usually gave himself, the dose it took to repair a broken limb having to be considerably less than what it took to regenerate a missing one altogether.

But there's the dark, cynical, part of her that thinks that perhaps he'd wanted it to do something to her after all.

Being that she was already naked and standing in the middle of the bathroom, she reasoned that a shower sounded like a welcome idea. She turns the knob for the water and steps under the warm spray of the shower head, hoping the hot water would somehow cleanse and purify her of whatever it was she'd felt had tainted her within the time she'd been there. What was it exactly, a combination of different things perhaps? Vengeance? Hatred? The serum? Dr. Connors? The last of all the options seemed to be the most prominent thing plaguing her at the moment.

Maybe she was staying there to keep an eye on him, to make sure he doesn't plan something like he had a few nights ago. Keep your enemies closer. Perhaps this was her own way of protecting everyone, the city, her family, Peter. She'd only be there until she knew he was no longer a danger to anyone, or himself. God, was she actually worried about him? First the borderline sympathy shit and now this? She wasn't there to fucking fix him, far from it. If he really wanted it, which she wasn't even sure he did, only he could fix himself. That is, if he wasn't already damaged beyond repair.

But wasn't that exactly what his whole plan revolved around anyway? Fixing himself? The fix Gwen had in mind had nothing to do with the restoration of his right arm, at this point the fix Connors really need was internal.

If only he knew.

A/N: So not a whole lot of development in the Curt/Gwen relationship, but I feel like it's really important that I develop these characters as individuals before I start moving forward with their relationship. But don't worry, I have big plans for next chapter. : )