Chapter 21

Okay, so . . . this is not the last chapter. I seem to have underestimated how long it will take to tie up all the loose ends. So there will be another chapter after this, and that will probably be the last chapter.

It's so strange to be nice to Peter after everything that's happened in this story. I did my best to begin his transition from angst to happiness.

On another note, a lot of you seem to be upset with Fury. Forgive me if I am happy as a writer that I stirred up some emotions, but this first part may change your mind about him ;)

Peter sat on the edge of the medical bed he had been confined to for the past week. Idly, he fiddled with the zipper of the backpack on his lap. It was the only bit of luggage he had to take out of here, containing the few personal effects Aunt May had brought just a few days ago.

This was it. In a few hours, he would be home, back in his own bed. By tomorrow, he would be back in school.

Would he be back to his old self?

That question had kept Peter up most nights. Or maybe it had only kept him awake during the day. It was easy to lose sense of day and night while holed up in the middle of the Helicarrier.

It occurred to him that he hadn't seen the sun in about two weeks. Even when he had finally broken free from Octavius's control, he had been inside the Empire State Building the entire time until he passed out.

That was . . . depressing. Besides, he was getting sidetracked.

Would he ever get back to his old self?

Everyone seemed to think he would.

If Jean Grey was to be believed, then Peter was still very much himself. The telekinetic had spent nearly two hours in his head as well as talking to him. She had been nice enough about it, explaining exactly what she would be looking for. And according to her, the core of his being was still a caring and self-conscious teenage boy.

It wasn't the most flattering description, but it was one of the best things Peter had heard all week.

Before Jean Grey left, Peter had asked her if she could do some psychic power magic and erase the memories Octavius had given him. She had obligingly looked, but, to Peter's disappointment, she said it wasn't safe. Octavius's memories were too deep in his mind, metaphysically seated right next to Peter's real memories. It was nearly impossible for Grey to tell they were implanted memories in the first place, let alone to sift them out. She guessed it was because of how closely their minds had been connected. Or maybe it was just because they were clones. She admitted she didn't have much experience with such things, and she refused to risk messing with any of his memories.

A horrid idea had struck Peter then, and he immediately asked her if Octavius's memories could eventually override his own. Jean Grey insisted that wouldn't happen. In her understanding of the mind, memories had different strengths, different levels of resistance to being forgotten. Peter had deep connections to the memories he had made himself, connections that were absent in Octavius's memories. While he wouldn't be able to forget them anytime soon, Grey saw that Peter's mind was already shunting some of Octavius's memories into the theoretical corner.

So Peter was stuck with everything. He wasn't happy about it. Despite what Grey said, Octavius's memories felt far too real and personal. But he didn't want to risk getting all of his memories wiped, so he didn't push it.

Jean Grey assuaged one last suspicion, this one mostly from Fury: Peter had no knowledge of any of Octavius's future plans. Nor did he have any desire, no matter how small, to come up with his own plots for world domination. That was also a relief, even if Peter hadn't really feared that regardless. He had been spending a lot of time on self-reflection, and he was pretty sure at this point that he would have noticed himself planning something as big as that.

After Jean Grey's visit, Aunt May and the team were allowed to visit for as long as they liked. That was when May had been allowed to bring some of his books, overdue homework, and phone. The entire team came at least twice a day. They still had to go to school, but they stuck around most of the night. And even some of the older heroes came to visit including Tony Stark, Hawkeye, and Captain America (and Ava reported that the Hulk hoped he felt better soon).

Adrian hadn't visited.

The visits went a long way in helping Peter feel more like himself. Each day, casual conversation came to him easier and easier. His desire to use nicknames came back. And he quickly learned to avoid the complex terms and phrases Octavius had taught him. It almost felt like a regular stay in the med bay. Which it almost honestly was; his injuries had been extensive and Dr. Connors had only just given him a clean bill of health last night.

It was almost ordinary, but not quite. Because despite how normal everyone was acting, despite this being Peter's first time in the villain med bay . . .

He remembered being locked in here on more than one occasion. He remembered the humiliating walk down to the holding cells. He remembered the thick shackles on all of his limbs, flesh and mechanical alike. He remembered the jeering guards, the rough treatment, the complete disregard for his genius, and—

The door opened and Fury entered. For one wild second, Peter leaned away, ready for another harsh interrogation—

—Before he finally remembered those weren't his memories. Fury had never interrogated him like that. In fact, all of Fury's visits had been surprisingly gentle. And judging by the look in his eye, this visit might go the same way.

"Are you all right, Parker?"

Peter nodded, sitting upright again. "Yes sir. It's just . . ." Peter swallowed, looking him in the eye. "One of Octavius's memories came to mind."

"My opinion didn't change the last ten times you told me that, and it won't change now," Fury said almost sardonically.

"I'm not trying to make you change your mind. I'm just trying to be honest. If anyone has to decide who I am, it shouldn't be me." The last thing Peter wanted was to return home under false pretenses.

"You've been abundantly honest, and I appreciate that. I wouldn't have offered to let you return home if I suspected you of anything."

"I know. Thanks for being subjective."

Fury was silent for a second. "Shield's protocol for this sort of situation was made deliberately vague to allow for it to be tailored to the circumstances. However, it generally advises at least a month of observation before release."

Peter's eyes widened. "Oh, I didn't—"

"I chose to change that to a week after I spoke to you that first night. I also never signed off on the papers that would allow you to be incarcerated."

Peter was speechless.

A small smile briefly lifted Fury's lips. "You're a good kid, Parker. Never forget that. Now get out of here. Your team is waiting for you." When Peter didn't move to get up, he added, "That's an order."

"Yes sir, Fury sir!" Peter said, blushing as he grabbed his backpack and left the room at last.

The entire team really was waiting out in the hall, ready to take Peter home. They were all dressed in civilian clothes. Peter paused at the sight. It wasn't that he hadn't believed Fury, he just hadn't expected them to be right outside his room. He practically collided with Sam.

"Gosh, guys, are you going to escort me all the way home?"

Luke shrugged. "We're not really escorting you. Your aunt invited us over for the 'welcome home' party."

"Party?"

"It was supposed to just be a dinner," Ava explained. "But some people here got too excited and bought some decorations."

Sam grinned at her. "I do remember you bringing the balloons."

"None of you bought balloons. If it's going to be a party, it might as well be a proper party," Ava defended.

"In any case, we hope it will be a pleasant experience," Danny said.

Peter smiled. "I think it will be. Thanks, guys. For everything, really."

"What are friends for?" Luke said. "We're a team, and we missed our rightful leader. No offense to Ava, of course," he added.

"No worries. I'm happy to hand the mantle back over to Pete." Ava smiled at Peter briefly, then her face turned solemn. "I'm still sorry we weren't able to find you sooner. Maybe if I had done more—"

Peter held up a hand. "Stop. You've told me everything before and I think you did a great job. You found me in the end when no one else could! I—I owe you all so much—"

"Now you stop," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "I don't want to get caught up in an endless cycle of apologies and 'thank you's when we could be eating right now."

"Sam's got a point," Luke agreed. "Let's set a ground rule for no mushy stuff today. I think we've covered everything already in the past few days, right?"

"Yes, let this be a day of new beginnings!" Danny said exuberantly as he placed an arm around Peter's shoulders. "We have all faced some fearsome trials and succeeded!"

A warm feeling spread through Peter's chest. He supposed he had helped save the entire city (again). That counted for something regardless of who he had been when he and Octavius had created the plan. It had worked fairly well and that's all that mattered.

"All right! No more tears and awkward silences!" Sam whooped. "Let's go!"

Five teenagers stampeded through the halls of the Helicarrier, passing by slightly bemused Shield agents who had likely seen stranger things in their lifetimes.

Simply looking at his house was a moving moment for Peter. He stopped in the walkway, staring up at it while shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand.

As much as he had wanted to see the sun, it had proven to be much brighter than he remembered. Hiding out underground for days on end probably had something to do with that.

It was at this moment, knowing that home was only a few feet away, that Peter could finally agree that he was still himself. This was the first time he was home in two weeks, and the sight brought him so much joy, relief, and other emotions. None of Octavius's memories had anything like this.

(Which was kind of sad, really.)

Aunt May was right at the door when Peter came in. She immediately grabbed him in a tight hug.

"Gee, May, I just saw you yesterday," Peter mumbled into her hair, despite the fact that he hugged her back just as enthusiastically.

"That never mattered to me," May said. She gave him one last squeeze before releasing him and leading the way to the living room. "I hope you don't mind a bit of a celebration. Your friends said they would help, and we got a bit carried away. If you're not feeling up to it, we can still just have a normal dinner."

"No, it's fine, really. I mean, if you've already put the effort into decorating, why waste a perfectly good little . . . party . . ."

Ava watched as Peter stopped in the doorway, gawking at the living room. She had to admit that it looked like anything but a little party. A bundle of balloons was tied to each corner, and others floated randomly about the ceiling. All the furniture was pushed to the sides to provide a dancefloor. All of the side tables were covered in colorful tablecloths and held several plates of finger foods each. Streamers were strung up along the walls and over some of the chairs. And a mini disco ball provided dancing lights over every surface.

It was almost a rainbow, but there was definitely a red and blue theme going on.

"This is what you call a small party?" Peter asked incredulously.

"Well, there are only six of us," May said. "Is it too much?"

He shook his head vigorously, blushing. "No! It's awesome! I just wasn't expecting anything like this."

Ava came forward, smiling at the look on his face. "We may not always show it, but we do like you."

"Yeah, Web Head," Sam piped up, grinning wickedly at her. "And some of us like you a whole lot."

"And some of us are so annoying you have to wonder if they like you at all," Ava shot back. She shot Sam a withering glare before glancing at Peter.

The blush had yet to leave Peter's cheeks.

"Are you hungry?" May asked. "We can eat first before we start the fun and games."

Peter smiled. "Are you kidding? Let's get this party started!"

He looked more excited than he had in months. Ava realized she had missed seeing that glint in his eyes.

To no one's surprise, Aunt May was the one to set up the loud and upbeat playlist. It consisted of club music from the seventies to the latest artists. The makeshift dancefloor was just large enough to accommodate everyone.

A few minutes in, Peter approached Ava. Judging from the look on his face, it was taking every last ounce of his bravery to take her aside into the relatively quiet kitchen. "I—uh—well, the last time we danced, I sort of walked out on you."

Ava shook her head. "It was my fault. I was being insensitive. You had every right to be upset."

"You were just telling me the same thing everyone has said all along. The same thing I wanted to be true. I just . . . I guess I didn't want you to think I was just okay with being a mini Octavius. I didn't want you to think it felt natural or anything," Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No offense whatsoever, but you made that very clear from the beginning." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "That seems like where we all went wrong, doesn't it? All we wanted was for you to feel comfortable about it. It's just one part of who you are, a part that wasn't even noticeable for years."

Peter made an effort to meet her eyes. "What if it's noticeable now?"

For one horrible second, Ava couldn't find the words to answer. It wasn't because she was particularly repulsed by the idea. She just didn't want to say something insensitive again. She opened her mouth, but the only sounds were of the muffled music and Aunt May teaching the guys how to tango. Peter's eyes searched hers.

"Then it's still just one part of you," Ava said at last. "One part of many. If any of us thought that was an issue, we wouldn't be here right now."

"That's why Adrian never came to see me," Peter said. It was a statement, not a question.

Ava waved an airy but forceful hand. "Forget about him. He has his own barrel of issues with Octavius. He's probably going to mope for a few weeks just like you did." She bit her lip. "Not that that was bad, exactly. I mean—"

"I get it," Peter assured her. "I get it now. Really. I could have been so much happier all that time if I had just listened to you."

She shrugged. "Well, maybe, maybe not. I understand that you needed time to deal with it, and I was being very pushy, practically pushing you away . . ." Ava looked up at him, brushing some hair out her face. "Um, anyway, I think this conversation got off track. You were saying something about dancing?"

"Oh, yeah." Peter smiled sheepishly. "I just thought I sort of owe you a dance. If you want to dance with me right now, that is."

"I wanted to dance with you that night too, so yeah." Ava grabbed his hands. "Shall we?"

"Of course, sure."

Ava tried not to pull him back to the dancefloor too eagerly if only so Sam wouldn't tease.

The living room felt dark and silent without the disco ball and music blasting. And this despite the lamps that were still on and the noises of Aunt May gathering the dishes. Taking off a party hat and makeshift cape Luke and Sam had tied around his neck, Peter went to the kitchen to help.

The party had ended somewhat early due to it being a school night. The rest of the team had decided against having a sleepover since they had already spent so much time with Peter on the Helicarrier the past few days. Peter appreciated the time alone with his aunt.

May stood at the sink. She looked back at him as he entered the kitchen. "Take a seat, honey. I won't have you staying up late to clean all this up. You have school tomorrow." She smiled. "Harry and MJ have been asking about you, you know. They were so happy when I told them you'll be in class tomorrow."

"I keep forgetting I missed more than a week of school," Peter said, trying not to let his smile become sad. "It's going to be great to see them again though."

May sighed. "It may bother you that most of this ordeal went by in a flash for you, but I missed you every second of every day that passed."

Peter's shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry."

"You keep apologizing for things that aren't your fault at all. Besides, I can't help but wonder if Octavius really did save your life. Norman's plan almost worked, and your friends told me all about the fight in the Hydra base."

"That's debatable," Peter said. He had almost forgotten that his aunt also liked to call Goblin by his real name at times, if only because she didn't want to dehumanize someone she once knew. "But I could have been more careful. I should have stuck closer to the team when Octavius wanted to get me alone. I should have fought the symbiote harder. I should have—"

"Don't you start with the 'should have's and 'could have's again," May said, somewhat scolding. "We already had a very long discussion about that and I think you did as well as anyone could have. You even told Ava the same exact thing."

"I know, but I never like to worry you like that." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching the bubbles form as May scrubbed. She stopped suddenly.

"Something bothering you?" she asked knowingly.

Peter swallowed, eyes not moving from the plate in May's hands. "I . . . I miss being related to Ben."

"Who says you're not? We both raised you since you were just out of diapers. I know you inherited a lot of behavioral traits from us, and I like to think at least a few of those are good traits."

"I did. I'm not saying I didn't," Peter agreed quickly. "I appreciate all of that. But I used to like to look in a mirror and think that I was growing up to look a lot like Dad or Uncle Ben. Now . . ." He picked up a shining silver pan and held it up in front of his face. This was the first time he really examined his reflection in days. Shield didn't have many mirrors, and Peter hadn't exactly sought one out.

His blue eyes and thin lips look exactly the same as they had a few weeks ago. Maybe his hair was a little longer, but nothing had really changed. His face looked as familiar as always. Except, it was perhaps even more familiar. Too familiar, if that was possible. He now had memories of Octavius looking into the same exact reflection.

May put down the dish and rag, flicking the water off of her hands. "Now I'm sorry. Of course this must still be difficult for you. All these years we both thought that way . . ." She put a slightly wet hand on his cheek. "But that doesn't matter, Pete, okay? You take after us Parkers in the best of ways."

Peter smiled, leaning into her touch. "Thanks, May. That means a lot."

"Don't mention it. Besides, is Connors even sure you're going to look exactly like Octavius anyway?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I'm an exact replica. That's the whole point of a clone." Peter sighed, looking at his reflection again, focusing on his eyes. It was all too easy to imagine them lined like Octavius's currently were. "I'm not going to lie. I'm not looking forward to looking like him." He paused, frowning. "I'm even going to sound like him."

"Hm, but maybe not exactly like him."

"No, I really am. Dr. Connors made a device that stiffens the voice box externally. That's what I used to get past the security doors in the Hydra base. It made me sound so much like him that even Hydra's top notch computers thought I was him. Which I am." Peter tried not to shudder in front of her, but his reflection quivered. "It was creepy if you would have heard it. What am I saying? You are going to hear it eventually."

May brushed the pan aside so Peter stared directly at her. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, but somehow I doubt you sounded perfectly like him. Voice isn't just about tone, it's also about inflection. And you smile so much more than he does. And I like to think I give you rather nice haircuts." She tousled his hair. "You are your own person, even if you happen to really resemble another person."

The words resonated in Peter's head, pleasantly like harmonic bells. He wrapped his arms around May. She hugged him back.

"Can I tell you a guilty secret?" she whispered in his ear. He nodded mutely. "When you first told me about all this, it occurred to me that I now have as much right as Mary did to call you my son."

"How is that guilty? If I hadn't already decided your name was Aunt May, then I probably would have called you Mom."

"Well, Mary and Richard are the ones who took you from Octavius. They gave you a chance at a proper life, your own life. I think they deserve some props for that."

"Then," said Peter haltingly, thinking of that brief moment in the Empire State Building, "what about Octavius? He . . . he made me."

For a few seconds, all Peter could hear was May's heartbeat.

"What do you think about Octavius?" she asked at last. "I hardly know him, and now you spent several days with him. If anyone should decide about that, it should be you."

"I don't—I don't know." The deflection of the question caught him off guard. "Why are you defending him now? And how can I even decide anything about him? He's a villain and—"

"Pete, Tony Stark is an alcoholic who's a hero. There are people who will focus on one or the other trait. You have every right to decide which of Octavius's choices speak loudest about his true intent." May took a very deep breath. "And you may want to look at these before you make your decision."

She pulled away, walking over to one of the drawers. Reaching deep inside, she pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper.

"What's that?" Peter asked. But all she did was hand it to him wordlessly. He unfolded it curiously.

It was a letter, but there was another paper. It was two letters. Two letters to two people. Both written by the same hand, the same handwriting from the research papers Peter had read all those months ago.

"Octavius sent us letters?! Why didn't you tell me before? Have you even told Fury?"

May began to worry at her lip with one hand, supporting that arm with the other. "I haven't told him, not yet. I want you to read them first. They're the reason why I'm rethinking my previous opinions of Octavius."

"But . . . why?" Peter asked. He was finding it hard to understand. "You don't have to do this because of me."

"I'm not," May insisted. She spoke calmly, patiently explaining, "Pete, you realize that you've changed a lot of people for the better in the past few months, right? After reading those letters, I have to wonder if you managed to change Octavius as much as he had hoped to change you."

"But—"

"I just want you to decide whether you want to hate him or not. Hate is a powerful emotion, and I don't want you to feel like you have to despise him when . . . when it looks like he's actually trying to change." May paused, biting her lip as if she was gathering the courage to say something else. "I don't want this to be like Ben's murder all over again. I don't want you to go down that road again."

Everything she was saying was catching Peter off guard now. He hadn't expected a conversation like this at all, much less so soon after coming home. He hadn't expected May to be okay with him feeling . . . what? It certainly wasn't love he felt for Octavius. But she was right that he didn't really hate Octavius anymore. Whatever the feeling was, it hadn't gone away in the past week.

"Okay," he said. "I'll read them."

Aunt May nodded once. "That's all I ask. Just don't stay up too late, all right? I had meant to wait until the weekend to show you . . ."

"It's fine. I feel better knowing."

She nodded again, offering Peter a supportive smile as he left the kitchen.

Peter stopped at the door to his bedroom. It was the one room he had avoided all day, because it was the only room Octavius had a memory of. Peter hadn't dared to try to recall the memory on purpose yet, but he knew it would forcibly come front and center the moment he entered, just like the other memories had back in the Helicarrier. But he couldn't just stand out here forever. He couldn't let that ruin the beatific moment when he could finally sleep in his own bed again.

Taking a steadying breath, he pushed the door open and stepped into his room.

It was like déjà vu, but stranger. He saw the room from two points of view. One from the doorway, staring at Octavius. One from the bed, staring at himself.

Yet wasn't he looking at himself either way?

Rage came from one point of view. Joy from the other.

Peter's gaze lingered on the bed for a moment before he turned on the light and went to his desk. Sitting on his bed was no longer as appealing as it had seemed a few minutes ago.

He read the letter addressed to May first.

Dear May Reilly Parker,

I apologize for taking Peter by force. It was a crude and irrational decision on my part. I understand how you must have worried about him. I will not try to defend my choice, but I will say that I did what I thought was best for Peter at the time. I know you can understand that.

You probably won't take comfort in what I'm about to tell you, but I believe it is necessary that you know: Peter and I enjoyed a very close mental link for those precious few days. I saw into his mind, and I was impressed. He is a highly intelligent boy with values and ambitions both purer and stronger than my own. As such, I have been forced to rethink some of my previous assumptions.

You have raised a very fine nephew, Mrs. Parker.

Sincerely,

Otto Octavius

Peter reread the letter, if only to be sure he had read it right. He didn't know if his disbelief came from his experience with Octavius or his experience as Octavius. Regardless, it was utterly shocking to see Octavius admit he was wrong. He hadn't called Peter a clone or a younger version of himself.

He admitted Peter was May's nephew.

Maybe it was only obvious to Peter, but that was a huge deal coming from Octavius. It meant that he thought the Parkers were to thank for Peter's nature. He no longer thought it was all due to Peter being his clone.

Peter put his knuckle in his mouth, biting down. Why did that make him feel as relieved as when May had said the same exact thing?

This was a far cry from how he had felt in that memory.

Now truly curious, he quickly began to read his own letter. It was easily twice as long as May's.

Dear Peter Parker,

That was an extremely promising start. He had half expected to read 'Peter Octavius' or 'Mini Me'.

By now you have likely read the letter I sent your aunt, in which case you already know how sorry I am for kidnapping you. I know how frightened you were. And I truly know this, because I received some of your memories.

I had meant for our connection to be a one-way flow of thoughts. However, whether it was my weakness or your strength, we became more equal with each day that passed. At some point, I believe the psychological line dividing us became more of a semipermeable membrane than a wall. I gained some memories from you, and I don't doubt you received some from me. If they are anything like the ones I have from you, then I apologize twice over. I can see now that you are already burdened by wisdom much more mature than usual for your age. You should not have to deal with the hard truths I have faced as well.

You now have all the knowledge necessary to judge me. Whether for good or ill I believe you will be a better judge of my character than I have been. Consequentially, I feel I am now qualified to judge you by your memories as well. When I first visited you in your home, I did not believe you when you said you didn't need my lessons. Now I am forced to admit you were right. You are intelligent. You are courageous. You are wise. You are kind.

You are Spider-Man.

Of course, I still believe you are an Octavius, but perhaps you are also something more. And I have to wonder if I should try to be something more as well. Yet, for the first time, I am unsure if I deserve to aim higher than ever. So far, my plots have only harmed you, and now I see I may have harmed others as well.

Your memories show change can come at the most unlikely of times, but I find it hard to believe it will come for me. I don't want to risk what you already have in an attempt to gain it for myself. However, I find it hard to condemn myself as well.

But you seem to be much more experienced in these situations than I, and now you likely have many of my experiences as well. I have tried to take your life into my hands, but now I leave mine in yours. Do you think I can finally achieve my true greatness now that I know where I have gone wrong? Or have I already missed my chance?

I will understand if you burn this letter, but I think it worth asking: Could we meet one more time? I firmly believe this is a decision to be made in person. Whatever you decide, I would be pleased to see you again, even if it is for the last time.

I will leave it up to you whether you ask Shield to apprehend me the moment I arrive.

Place a white paper in the lower right corner of your bedroom window on the night you want me to come. I won't be watching you all day, but I will send a drone to check at 9 PM each night for a week.

If no such paper is visible, I will leave the country. I will also resist the urge to interfere with your life again.

Either way, know I am exceedingly proud of you.

Sincerely,

Otto Octavius

So that's where May's talk of it being Peter's decision came from. That explained a lot.

Peter did not reread this letter.

Once upon a time, this would have been an easy decision.

Here was the chance he had been waiting for. For the first time since he learned he was a clone, he could finally put Octavius behind bars. Shield could then truly destroy all traces of Octavius from the world. Then Peter could technically be his own person, unique as far as anyone else knew.

But Peter would always know the truth. And so would May and most of his friends.

Peter didn't know if he wanted to see Octavius again though. He didn't want to . . . expose himself to Octavius's mind again. He didn't want to test if a meeting would rekindle the emotions (slightly) dulled by time and distance.

At the same time, he understood Octavius's desire to be judged by a third party. He had had an all too similar conversation with Fury just this morning. However, this wasn't a decision he could make in one night. Peter stuffed the letters away. He needed to have a chat with his aunt.

By now, May was done with the dishes and was gathering up some of the mess in the living room. She stopped when Peter came in.

"Well?" she asked, making a space on the couch for the two of them.

"I don't know if this is the right thing to do," Peter admitted. "Why should I change my mind about him? He used to attack me for fun, or whatever passes for fun in his book."

"I think those letters are proof that he's already changing. Your opinion is up to you, but since things have changed, you should feel free to change your mind if you want to."

The idea was familiar to Peter; updating your views to match any new info gathered. It was one of the rationality lessons Octavius had given him. "So have you changed your mind about him?

May absently began rolling up a strand of streamers. "I have, actually. Don't look so shocked. Just think about it for a second. He put all of his plans on hold after he discovered who you were. He came to visit you—even if that involved breaking in unannounced. Then he did try to hinder Hydra's plan at the risk of his own life." She shrugged. "Maybe none of that really makes up for everything he's done, but I for one appreciate his effort. That's one less bad guy trying to kill you. And if we think the Goblin deserves a second chance because he's Harry's dad, then why doesn't Octavius also deserve a second chance?"

"That's not—he's not my—" Peter couldn't bring himself to say the word 'father'. Because if he did, he feared he might start to believe it.

"I'm not saying he is," May said immediately, guessing what he was trying to say. "I'm just saying the two situations are kind of analogous of each other. We keep hoping that Norman will realize how awful he's become. But Octavius seems to have finally realized at least some of the errors in his ways."

"Oh, well, yeah. I guess Harry and I kind of have that in common now. We're both related to supervillains." Peter sat next to her, gathering his own streamers. "And I guess Octavius has noticed a few of his flaws. Are you really okay with him visiting again though? Did you read that part?"

"I did. I'm not too happy about it, but I can understand caring about you and wanting to see that you're safe with my own two eyes. If he's willing to leave you alone after that, I'll be satisfied."

"But what if he doesn't?"

"That's his problem. You have Shield on speed dial in any case." May frowned. "Unfortunately, I don't think asking Shield to pick him up will guarantee anything either. Octavius has always escaped from them far too quickly. He's too smart. If we want him to stay away, we need him to be content to comply."

That was all too true, Peter mused. Octavius's memories had given him at least ten different ideas on how to escape the Helicarrier, each with a very high probability of success. He hadn't been tempted to try any of them, but they all suddenly seemed so obvious.

He would tell Fury about those flaws in security, but he knew better than to think fixing those problems would keep Octavius from escaping. Octavius would just find new things to exploit.

May turned to him as she finished rolling up her streamers. "So what do you think?"

"I think . . . it would be nice if he wasn't a villain anymore. But does he really need my blessing to stick to the straight and narrow? I don't want him to think I really forgive him for everything just because I'm okay with him trying to live a better life."

"I'm afraid that's a risk we're going to have to take. You don't have to decide tonight, though, honey. Go to sleep, go to school, and tomorrow we can continue this conversation, okay?"

Peter nodded. "Okay. Goodnight, May."

She sat up to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Goodnight, Peter."

He went back to his room. Mentioning school reminded him: what was the lie Shield had come up with to explain his absence? He had to memorize that by morning. He rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn. Or maybe he could memorize it in the morning. If he was going to try to sleep, he might as well start now.

Getting into bed wasn't as weird as he had imagined. He was out within minutes, and this time he didn't have to worry about sharing his consciousness with anyone. It was the most peaceful sleep he had had in months.