One of the many things that made Felicia grateful to be bidding farewell to the holiday season was that she would no longer have to hear insipid, falsely cheerful music that bid people the compliments of the season without actually meaning it. The other was that she'd been released from the hospital two days after Christmas, and had taken the opportunity to do what Spider-Man should have done: get the hell out of Dodge and stay out. The bar she had chosen to take refuge in until the New Year's Eve festivities were over was exactly what one would expect from an establishment nestled in Sleepy Hollow: cozy, old fashioned and furnished with all manner of modern conveniences. Most of the upper middle class patrons vacationing in the quaint little town were all gathered in the large dining area that adjoined the bar, and Felicia had been doing her best to drown them out by focusing on the classic rock drifting out if the speakers mounted to the walls.
Sleepy Hollow was, when she thought about it, the perfect place to have chosen to lay low. Nobody looking for her would guess that she was a mere hour's drive away from the Big Apple. She'd packed only one suitcase when she'd made her hasty flight from the city. The clothes that her lifestyle had afforded her fit right in with the wannabe high society attire of the holiday vacationers who, like Felicia, probably wouldn't have afforded such a retreat from city life if it weren't for their credit cards and collected vacation points.
Not even her unusual hair and striking features had drawn any unnecessary attention. Those few married men and women who happened to turn their heads to stare whenever she walked by were promptly rewarded with a dirty look or smack on the back of the head by their respective partners. It did make Felicia smile to know the effect she had on people, but now it was more out of habit than actual pleasure. All she wanted now was to disappear for as long as it took for the roads north to become more traversable. Then she would disappear for real. Nobody would think to look for her in Canada, and the pleasant, hardworking people in that country would give her room to breathe, just until she got her bearings again.
For the time being, her patience was just level enough for her to contend with the small smiles and glances the bartender was giving her. Then again, given that the handsome, dark haired young man seemed to be forcing himself to smile and seemed to appreciate the luster of her hair and quality of her clothes, Felicia guessed that he didn't quite bat for her team, and that even if he did, he would probably be too bashful to say anything.
Shame, she thought as she took a gulp from her White Russian, I could certainly go for the sympathetic ear of a gay best friend at the moment. If she was being completely honest with herself, she could go for the sympathetic ear of just about anybody. But it wouldn't be safe to engage in a therapy session with a stranger, even of the between-the-sheets variety. Just because she'd left the problem of New York City behind didn't mean that she'd left her problems from New York City. Really it had been a miracle that she had recovered from Doc Ock's attack as fast as she had, if at all. The fact that she'd done so without being sniffed out by the police for her involvement with Harry Osborn and the whole situation over the holiday season was nothing short of a godsend. But Felicia still wouldn't allow herself to room to relax, not even by the smallest fraction.
Doc Ock was dead, that much she'd learned in less than an hour after being discharged from the hospital. The flood of Ravencroft criminals that had escaped on Christmas Eve had been carted off to an even higher security prison outside of the city and weren't going anywhere. And, as far as she could tell, Peter Parker was doing perfectly fine for himself after all that had happened. He wouldn't betray her trust, that much Felicia knew she could bet her life on. He'd tried so damn hard to get to her when Octavius had attacked The Daily Bugle, and she knew that they were on common footing in terms of loyalty.
As for Harry...well, Felicia didn't quite know just what in the world had become of him, and she honestly didn't know that she wanted to. He hadn't been in the list of accounted for Ravencroft inmates. He'd been the only one missing from what she had learned. A lesser woman would have given herself over to paranoia, but Felicia was through with her old life having any kind of tether on her any longer. Cats were meant to run wild, not be collared. Her flight to Sleepy Hollow, and eventual journey to Canada were simply a result of her erring on the side of pragmatism, not the result of some kind of fear of what would happen if Harry, or anything from her past happened to grab her by the tail.
Besides, she thought as she licked a drop of White Russian from her plump lips, Harry wouldn't hurt me even if he could find me. This, of course, was the one potential flaw in her thinking, but she refused to let herself believe the worst of Harry, even after all that they had been through together.
He'd never wanted to cause her harm.
Only the goblin ever had.
The door to the snowy street outside opened, letting in a brief gust of chilly air that made the bar tender shiver involuntarily as he wiped down a tray of wine glasses with a white cloth. Felicia arched her eyebrows at the man, and once again pondered over his proclivities. He was dressed in black slacks and a white t-shirt that clung to every muscle of his sculpted chest and arms, but there had been something oddly effeminate in the way he'd shuddered at the slight cold. Really it wasn't even as frigid outside as it could have been, even for this early in winter.
Somebody walked over to the bar where Felicia sat and slid onto the stool directly next to her. More out of habit than anything, Felicia tilted her head so that her snowy hair formed a curtain between her and the other person.
Before the bartender could even ask, the person sitting next to Felicia said in a raspy, naturally sensual purr that nonetheless carried an easy authority, "Hennessy, straight. I'm cold enough as it is and I won't be here long anyway." Drawn, and also slightly ruffled by the woman's brisk manner, Felicia dropped her caution and turned to take in her neighbor's appearance.
Her breath caught in her throat. She was used to seeing beautiful people, having brought many to bed when she'd been living in the penthouse back in New York City. But there was something more to this woman's beauty, something strong and poised...and completely devastating. She had high cheek bones and an apple shaped face. Lips dark as wine quirked upwards when she caught sight of Felicia looking at her. Her eyes, a smoky blue color, were heavily lidded and sharp as steel. Hair hair was as scarlet as Felicia's was snowy, and framed her face just past her chin. The lithe, ballerina build of her body was made all the more doll-like by the black turtleneck sweater she wore
And most disconcertingly, she was staring right back at Felicia, and Felicia had the feeling that she had been since she'd walked into the bar. As though to add credence to this thought, the woman said, "That is, I won't be here long if you make it easy on me."
Felicia blinked, her guard instantly going up. She met the woman's gaze levelly, and said in as aloof of a voice as she could muster, "I really have no idea what you're talking about, red."
The woman chuckled, taking the tumbler of whisky from the bartender. "I've been looking for you, Felicia."
Every nerve in Felicia's body suddenly tensed, and she felt a wild urge to smash her finished White Russian in the woman's face and run for the door as fast as she could. Sensing that she'd ruffled Felicia's fur the wrong way, the redheaded woman frowned and took a sip of whisky before extending her hand.
"Natasha Romanoff," she said. Felicia regarded Natasha's hand warily, and chose not to take it in return. She still had the option of causing some kind of diversion and making an escape, but curiosity was creeping in. Regardless of the old addage, Felicia knew better than to walk away without getting information on who Natasha was, how she knew Felicia, what she wanted with her, and whether or not one of them would end up flat on the floor with a concussion before their interview was over.
Natasha didn't seem at all offended by Felicia's refusal to shake hands. She withdrew her offered palm without so much as a shrug, and said, "And they tell me courtesy gets you places."
"That all depends on who you're offering it to," Felicia said.
"Oh I know who I'm offering it to. Felicia Hardy, daughter of notorious thief Thomas Hardy; walked away from the family name after daddy's incarceration for a series of temp jobs before ending up at OsCorp." Natasha smiled a black widow's smile and leaned closer to Felicia, who was sitting in stunned silence. Dropping her voice so that the bartender wouldn't hear, Natasha added, "Turned to a life of burglary and subterfuge after Harry Osborn got sent to Ravencroft Institute...and possessing what appears to be...super powered abilities. I'd honestly congratulate you on going underground after Otto Octavius's rampage if tracking you to Sleepy Hollow hadn't been such a walk in the park for me."
"Wow," Felicia said, refusing to show Natasha Romanoff just how rattled she was by all the woman had discovered about her, "would you look at that? Seems I've got myself my own personal stalker. And, lucky me, she's got a nice rack and a pretty face. Usually it's overweight mouthbreathers with crater faces and Cheeto breath."
Natasha arched an eyebrow.
"That's right," Felicia said with a smirk, "kitty's got some claws."
"I like claws," Natasha replied. "And I'm no stalker." She gave Felicia the same killing smile. "I'm not even a police officer."
"Well then just what the hell are you?"
"Somebody who admires a woman like you. Somebody who's been talking my superiors in circles about how you could benefit the kind of team they're trying to put together in spite of your criminal activities."
"Mmm, thanks but no thanks. I never was one for being on softball teams, even if I am down for pitching and batting."
"And what if that softball team could hide you better than a stay in Washington Irving's favorite place on Earth?"
Felicia eyed Natasha levelly. She'd long ago been able to tell when somebody was playing her, and in spite of her own obstinate, inner refusal to shake the redheaded woman off, she felt that same curiosity stirring beneath the surface. Idly, Felicia traced the rim of her empty glass. What difference would it make if she could have such protections? Would everything she could be prosecuted for disappear, or was Natasha simply pulling her leg in an attempt to get her to acquiesce? And what about Harry? Being safe from the long arm of the law didn't guarantee her sanctuary from the twisted tango she and her errant love had been dancing since before he'd been in Ravencroft.
"What kind of team is this?"
"A collective of people like you," Natasha replied visibly relaxing. "People who are superhuman. There have been far too many instances in recent years of superpowered beings committing acts of terrorism. There needs to be something to counteract those factions, something that the entire planet can depend on in times of need." Natasha shrugged and took another gulp of whisky. "At least that's what S.H.I.E.L.D. is trying to say to pitch this to potential members of the team."
"S.H.I.E.L.D?"
"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics," Natasha explained. "We've been around since the forties, Felicia. And right now we're trying to make sure that there's something collective for society to turn to when things get ugly like they did in New York City."
Felicia snorted. "In case you hadn't noticed, Spider-Man took care of Doc Ock but good."
"Yes but there are bigger things than Otto Octavius in the world...bigger things than him even beyond the world." Natasha glanced almost without thinking at the ceiling, and Felicia rolled her eyes. Aliens? She would sooner become romantically attached to a vampire than believe in life on other planets. "There have been incidents all over the world lately," Natasha went on. "And you can't tell me you've let yourself ignore all of them."
"Iron Man can deal with them, then," Felicia replied icily.
"Oh, Tony's already agreed to be a part of the team," Natasha said with a small grin. "But there are others...people you wouldn't even believe if I told you."
"Oh, like who? Captain America?" Felicia said it cattily, completely disbelieving Natasha's employer's trumped up idea for a superhero collective. When she saw the smirk on the other woman's face, Felicia let out a peal of laughter. "You're kidding me, right? Like, this is a joke, isn't it? Or is good old Cap going to come bursting out of the grave and start the superhero zombie apocalypse?"
"I'm completely serious, Felicia." Natasha's voice had gone deadly low. Evidently she didn't appreciate Felicia making fun of the superhero boy scout's brigade, but Felicia was far from caring.
"And I'm completely not interested," Felicia replied. "I mean, great and noble on you guys for wanting to get all the gang together, but I don't want to be tied down. I gets me all antsy and then the claws come out. But thanks for the offer, Nat. Why don't you try Spider-Man though? He's more down for do-gooding than I am."
"He's also a let less easier to track down than you are."
"How positively rude of him," Felicia said with an affected sigh.
Natasha's face was impassive, but Felicia knew she had disappointed the woman on some small level. She felt a small spike of pity for Natasha, knowing that the woman had risked her dignity at the very least in trying to convince her higher-ups, whoever they were, to take a chance on a cat burglar. In stony silence, Natasha finished off the remainder of her whisky and put down a ten dollar bill. Kicking her chair away from her she said, "I hope you enjoy running away, Felicia."
"I will, thank you," Felicia replied with a sweet smile. "Happy New Year's, Natasha." The red head did not reply. She turned on her heel and walked in dignified silence back to the door of the bar. Felicia watched her go, waiting until the chill of the air was blocked by the door closing behind Natasha before she turned back to the bar.
The bartender had wisely moved off to the other end of the bar during the entirety of Felicia's conversation with Natasha Romanoff. Now, sensing that the tension had, for the most part been cleared, he strode back to Felicia's end of the bar and took her empty glass from her.
"Another White Russian?"
"Sure," Felicia replied, "but hold the ice, Kahlua and vodka."
The bartender froze in the act of reaching for another glass. He stared at Felicia, who gave him her best sultry smile in return. After a small pause the young man said, "Two per-cent or skim?"
"Homo," replied Felicia. To her amusement, the bartender whirled around to face her, his eyes wide, an angry pink blush staining his handsome face.
"What did you say?" His voice was tight with anger and, to Felicia's delight, embarrassment. His chocolate brown eyes scanned the bar at large, as though fearful someone had overheard what Felicia had said.
Smiling sweetly and, feigning ignorance at the man's agitated confusion, Felicia repeated, "Homo...you know, homogenized milk? It's my favorite kind."
The bartender held her gaze for the briefest of moments, and then turned and hastily put together a White Russian. Felicia ignored the fact that he slopped some of the milk over the side of the cocktail shaker. In spite of her meeting with Natasha Romanoff, she was still in a good mood.
After all, if things went her way, she wouldn't even be here come the morning.
It took her all of ten minutes to finish off her drink. She kept her eyes on the bartender the entire time, noticing that he'd become a whole lot less interested in making eyes at her and her wardrobe.
Felicia slid a neat twenty dollar bill onto the bar, and gave the young man a dazzling smile. "Thank you ever so much," she said. "Have a Happy New Year." The bartender merely nodded, tucking the money into the front of his pants pocket.
Shaking her head, Felicia walked out of the bar and into the snowy night. The bar was tucked between several other old looking buildings on Beekman Avenue, one of the more antiquated parts of the commercial area of Sleepy Hollow. Felicia wasted no time in walking down the snow covered sidewalk. Pools of pink light glowed at every interval from the glowing street lamps. The town council still had yet to elect to take the Christmas wreaths down from the posts, which annoyed Felicia more than it should have.
She half expected to run into Natasha Romanoff, or even several goons from the company that she worked for. But not so much as a stray dog stopped her as she walked the several blocks it took to make it to her quaint little motel. Set back from the street, boxed in by now dead hedges, the motel was one of a handful that didn't play up to the town's literary history, which Felicia appreciated.
The less attention she drew to herself, the better. Natasha Romanoff having found her so easily had set her nerves on a cool, but definitive edge. She wasn't keen on being discovered by anybody, and she prayed that she could make the rest of the night without anymore excitement.
All she had to do was remain as low as possible until she boarded the Greyhound the next morning, and she would be home free.
There was only one person still manning the front desk at the motel. The old, rotund man was fast asleep, his head nodding onto his shoulder. Smirking as she walked by, Felicia had to resist the urge to ring the check-in bell just to see the man topple out of his seat.
With a confident swagger, the cat burglar walked up the stairs to the upper floor where her room was located. She wasn't too buzzed from her few hours spent in the bar, but her last White Russian had affected her just enough to guarantee a nice, deep sleep. Given that the bus ride to Canada would take almost twelve needless hours, Felicia was counting on getting as much shut eye as possible.
The motel was as old fashioned as its exterior suggested. Felicia pulled the key to her room out of her pocket, inserted into the lock, and then opened the door. Her room was dark, the curtains closed over the windows for the sake of secrecy.
Harry Osborn stepped off of the rattling, third party carriage bus, and quickly checked the screen of his iPad. It was child's play to feed in to security systems. He'd mastered it at the age of twelve, a pubescent curiosity to see what was happening in the girl's dormitory at his old boarding school inciting his desire.
This, however, wasn't the same thing. He wasn't spying for pleasure, but for posterity. And he had been spying quite frequently since even before Felicia had been released from the hospital in New York City. He had to hand it to his kitten: she'd tried as hard as she could to cover her tracks. All of the tricks that she'd gleaned from her famous thief father, and from Harry himself, had been utilized to get her safely and securely out of the Big Apple and to Sleepy Hollow.
It wasn't Felicia's fault that Harry had been able to get her whereabouts so quickly and easily. She'd been completely unaware that he'd managed to tap into as many systems at his disposal as possible after he'd high tailed it away from the East Projects on Christmas Eve.
He'd covered his tracks and dogged hers as much as he could. But now wasn't the time for keeping tabs on his runaway kitty cat. She was back in her motel, packing from what he could see on the screen of his iPad, and that was good enough for him. So long as nobody else had come into contact with her.
Harry stowed his iPad in the front of his bulky, old duffle bag, and shuffled quickly towards the terminal. It was nearly after ten at night, but the college town in Cambridge was practically bustling with life. Harry had been witness to the kinds of New Year's Eve shindigs that pent up university students were prone to throw, and as he easily slipped among the crowd of people outside the bus station, he realized just how much he didn't actually miss it.
He kept his head down as he walked, not that he had much to fear. But the desire to keep a low profile was something that came second nature to anybody who had ever escaped from prison. Nearly all of the inmates that Doctor Octavius had freed from Ravencroft had been manned at the apartment complex in the East Projects. From what Harry had discovered during the several days since Christmas Eve, he was the only person who hadn't been apprehended.
Not that anybody would be looking for him anymore. According to the CIA, the FBI and the NSA, Harry Osborn's body had washed up somewhere in Newark. As Harry pushed his way through the crowds outside the bus station, he smiled to himself. Some stiff in a morgue in Jersey was currently tagged as the deceased heir to OsCorp. Harry made a mental note to find out the identity of the person whose identity he had assumed. He'd have to send their family flowers, or maybe even a small cash donation.
But that could wait.
He had bigger fish to fry at the moment.
Pulling the fitted cap he wore lower over his forehead, Harry joined a tangle of excited students as they crossed the street to a strip mall ablaze with lights. Even though it was this close to midnight, Cambridge, and the university it held, wouldn't be slowing down anytime soon. The hustle and bustle of the celebrations played to Harry's advantage. He wanted to blend right in with the sea of stressed out college students, and thought he was doing a bang up job of it.
He'd managed the bus ride without so much as drawing a sideways glance from the person sharing the seat. He wasn't about to trip this close to the home stretch.
The all night diner that he found himself in a moment later was just as lively as the streets outside. Harry wouldn't have it any other way. He looked around the brightly lit restaurant. College students were chatting excitedly at the bar or else laughing and eating in the many booths. One half of the restaurant was devoted to four seated tables and a small corner of pool tables and video lottery machines.
Harry saw the person whom he sought; a young man, only slightly older than he was, sitting apparently alone at one of the tables, with his laptop open. As he moved towards the man, Harry reached into his duffle bag and pulled out a small flash drive, smirking to himself as he did so.
Proud as he was of his tracking of Felicia, he considered the information he'd managed to gather over the last several days his crowning glory. Grudgingly, he had to admit that Peter's decision to save him in return had given him this new lease on life. It was just a shame that his old friend had most likely assumed that Harry was going to give up on making his mark on the world entirely.
He'd simply elected to do things far less violently. And it would all start with the slender, unassuming college kid perusing his laptop.
Without so much as a pause, Harry slid into the seat opposite the man. He had a mousy face, young-looking in spite of the fact that he was in his late twenties, at least from what Harry had learned. There was something so innocent in the bespectacled gaze that stared at Harry in surprise that, had Harry not known for himself of the man's accomplishments, he would have found the idea that he was sitting across from one of the cleverest brains in the world laughable.
"Fun place to spend New Year's Eve, huh?" Harry's smile faltered a moment after he spoke. The man across from him was staring at him in bemusement. His beady brown eyes looked from side to side as though hoping to find some sort of answer in the slot machines and pool tables around them.
He closed his laptop after a moment and said in a voice that suggested he would do anything to sink into the ground, "Yes...I suppose it's alright." He cleared his throat and added in a rush, "There are better places on campus but this was where you wanted me to meet you. But then again I suppose you knew that given the e-mail you sent me." He frowned. "Your encryption skills are rather good, but it was a bit rudimentary if you ask-"
"I'll take that as a compliment," Harry said, holding up his hands. "And I wasn't asking for a tour of MIT. I left college behind a long time ago and I don't miss it at all."
The man blinked once more. His eyes darted to the side once more. Harry rolled his eyes and said, "I've got the goods." He showed the man the flash drive. There was no denying the general interest in his gaze, but he did not take the USB immediately.
"We're in, uh, a very grey ethical area here," he said. His arms tightened around himself, making him look even more slender than usual.
Harry cocked his head to the side. "If it bothers you that much, I can always just go back on my merry way. Maybe sell this information to a foreign power. You know, I hear there's big things coming out of Latveria."
The man stared at Harry, his eyes wide with fear and surprise behind his thick rimmed glasses. Harry frowned. Evidently his partner in crime had taken his threat to heart.
"Relax," Harry said, pushing the flash drive across the table. "I'd rather this not fall into the wrong hands. Although I certainly could go for the fiscal gains that selling this would give me."
"But why give it to me for free?"
Harry chuckled, and leaned back in his chair. "Because I trust it more with you. You've got a very impressive resume behind you. CIT at fourteen, Columbia two years later, a brief stint at Harvard and even two years at Empire State. And now you're here at MIT."
Evidently the man had no idea how to take a compliment. He blinked even more rapidly, not meeting Harry's eyes as he closed his fingers over the flash drive. He swallowed heavily, and after a moment said, "Well...l-lots of people change schools. I don't think that makes me anything all that important."
"Yes but in those cases their professors are usually never sad to see them go." Harry grinned. "Consider this a reward for all your years of hard work."
The man's cheeks flushed. "I...I don't need a prize. And I don't need anybody's help if that's what you're thinking."
"Oh, I know that. This isn't help. I've done my homework. I know exactly all about what it is that you're trying to achieve here. I also know for a matter of fact that the faculty didn't want to give you access to what's on this flash drive." Harry smiled. "Which is why I went and got it for you."
"They could find out."
"And you can remain confidential. Scientist's get sponsored all the time. What makes this any different?"
"Because I don't even know who you are." The man paused. "Or...or why you want to help me with my research so much."
Harry spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Let's just say that I have a vested interest in inter-dimensional travel."
The man stared hard at Harry, who only grinned all the more. At that moment, somebody walked up behind the man's chair, somebody who had been completely absorbed a game of pool during the length of Harry's conversation.
This newcomer was at least a full head taller and had about thirty pounds of muscle over him. His face was harsh, with a nose that had been broken more than once. His eyes, murky blue, pinned Harry to the spot as he gazed down at him from over the bespectacled man's head.
"This guy giving you any trouble, Reed?" His voice was as harsh as the rest of his countenance.
Reed's eyes held Harry's gaze for a long, lingering moment. Then, shaking his head he said, "Uh, no Ben...we were just talking about the Eagles game."
Ben raised his thick eyebrows in apparent surprise at Reed's excuse. He gave Harry one last long, hard stare, and then shrugged. "Give me a shout if he bugs you any, alright?" Then he turned, and headed back to his game of pool. Even though his back was turned, Harry got the impression that the man was keeping his ears alert for any signs of trouble.
"I guess that's my exit cue," Harry said, shifting in his seat. "Don't want to give your bodyguard any reason to pound my skull in."
Reed blinked awkwardly again. "Ben isn't my bodyguard," he said defensively. "He's my friend."
"Sorry, I met no offense Reed," Harry said, getting up and slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder. "I can't wait to see your research come to fruition. And if you're ever looking for a job...well, I hear that Stark Industries is opening some big science facility over the bones of the old OsCorp company."
Reed stared at him, and then stowed the flash drive in the pocket of his jeans. "By the way," he said as Harry turned to go. "It's Doctor Richards to you, not Reed." He smiled for the first time at the surprise in Harry's eyes. "I left Empire State after getting my doctorate. It was too boring there."
Harry chuckled. "Very well then. Happy New Year, Doctor Richards." Then he turned, keeping a grip on his duffle bag, and headed into the throng of people bustling around the restaurant, completely oblivious to the fact that Harry Osborn had just changed the course of human history.