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Chapter 18: Spidey Spying

A few minutes later, Erica and Peter were out on the street. "So, there's a six foot tongueless man roaming the city. How easy will he be to find?"

Peter frowned, preoccupied. "I don't like it," he thought aloud as they walked, "It may be something more than the police can deal with; normally Spider-Man would be on to it, but you… you have enough to cope with trying to get back home. We don't need an added complication."

"It's not as if I've been overwhelmed with things to do up 'til now…"

"Yes, but you've also been learning the ropes… you're still inexperienced. I don't think you realise just how fast and strong you actually are…"

"Give me a chance! I'm finding out fast."

"You'll need to - with Dr Octopus about. He knows Spider-Man's strengths - and weaknesses. Though I don't mean for you to fight him..." Erica knew he meant 'just in case'.

"Well," she said cheerfully, "We'll have to have a few tricks up our sleeves as well, if we can't totally rely on Spidey-powers!"

At the apartment, Peter threw off his jacket and headed straight for his room, Erica right on his heels. "…Up our sleeves…" he mumbled. He rummaged around on his bookshelf, pulling down a couple of tomes. Then he unlocked his desk and started pulling out chemicals and equipment.

"What are you doing?" asked Erica. He seemed to have forgotten she was there. "Making up some more web-fluid?"

Peter ignored her; he was busy searching through his texts, muttering under his breath and scribbling in an old notebook. Erica tried asking him another question. "Have you got an idea for something?" Well, what do you get for asking a rhetorical question. It was obvious to Erica that she was going to get no response from Peter until he had worked out whatever it was on his mind. She left him to it.

Wandering back into the living area, she noticed the time on the clock; quarter to five. It had been a lively afternoon, she had to give it that. Man, was she hungry again! It had to be the extra energy she was using. Erica took her shoes off and went into the kitchenette to look for food. Perhaps an early dinner…

An hour later, and she went to check on Peter. He was still head down amongst his paraphernalia, oblivious to anything else around him.

"Hey, I was searching through the back of your fridge for food, and guess what I found? The lost score for Haydn's Unfinished Symphony," she lied.

"Uh-huh." Peter said absent-mindedly.

Erica tried again. "I've been watching NY1 on TV. There's a giant jelly-fish floating up the Hudson River, and it's threatening to engulf the whole of Manhattan. It's already swallowed the Statue of Liberty."

"That's nice."

"Mary-Jane just rang. She says she's been bitten by a radioactive stick insect while on assignment, and has gained it's proportions - the modelling agency didn't mind that, but they're not so happy about the resulting skin condition…"

"What?! What's happened to Mary-Jane?" Peter finally paid attention to what she was saying, and looked up in alarm.

"Duh, nothing! But I've cooked some dinner. C'mon and eat now. You can come back to this…" Erica had already set the small table.

"So, what are you working on?" she asked, as she was placing a plate down in front of Peter.

He picked up his fork and took a couple of mouthfuls before replying. "A different kind of web-fluid; one that expands to a foam. I've done it before, but very crudely. This time, I want a foam that's capable of stopping Doc Ock in his tracks. The Defence forces have a foam they use as a barrier against rioters, but they have many troubles with it. I'm gonna make mine better."

Erica raked her fingers through her hair. "I don't get it. How would foam stop Dr Octopus?"

"This'll be no bubble bath! You can quote me if you want… It'll be a highly adhesive foam to begin with, but will harden quickly with continued exposure to air."

"Oooh, I get it now. Clever." Erica grinned at Peter.

"Of course, it'll take time to develop and test… but at least that's one thing we do have: time."

"I wonder… Jolly Jonah's bound to make a big splash of this arvo's little do in his paper. Won't Doc Ock get the wind up him and try and stop Spider-Man again?"

Peter chewed his food in silence.

"No, I don't think he will," he said eventually. "Knowing him, he'll concentrate on his base of operation, set traps there for Spider-Man if he goes after him. We won't have the element of pure surprise, but… I'm thinking… he may not know we're on to him already. If we take our time, any suspicions he may have will be allayed, and we will still be able to surprise him, catch him off guard."

"Ah, a mental game. I understand that," she said cheerfully, bolting down her meal. "We've more than a wee 'smattering of elemental strategy' ourselves."

"Huh? Anyway, he'd expect Spider-Man to go straight after him if he knew anything - Spidey's known for his impetuosity…"

"An all-American action-hero, eh?" Erica cleared the table. "I just thought of another diversion, and it involves the Un-tongued. Might as well make use of the publicity - Doc Ock will think the web-slinger's too busy going after those guys to worry about him… of course, the cult may decide Spidey's a threat to their plans and go after him themselves."

Peter groaned. "No. Forget them. I don't want you getting hurt…"

"Who said anything about getting hurt?"

"Look, anybody who gets even slightly close to Spider-Man ends up being harmed. I won't let it happen to you too."

"It's a little late for that, don'tcha think? Besides, I can take better care of myself than you can at the moment"

She was calm and even tempered, but all the same to underscore her point, she stumped off to the bathroom and reappeared suited up as the webster. She saw Peter's eyes narrow in impotent anger, and hoped she hadn't pushed him too far - she didn't want him to do anything stupid, like dress up in a spare costume for instance, and go looking for trouble. To calm him down, she said mildly, "I'm off to visit Curt Connors - as we discussed earlier. What could be more harmless?" Then she swiftly ducked out the window before Peter could reply, knowing full well that Dr Connors was at times, anything but harmless…

…………………………………….

It was dusk. The last shadows thrown by the sun had disappeared with it's setting, but there was still a glowing emanation filling the sky. Soon it too would be gone. It was one of the quieter nights for the city - people were busy recovering from the excesses of the weekend and preparing for the new working week in front of them. This was the time of evening when denizens of the day swapped watch with those of the night. Other strange creatures were also about. Anyone in the right spot who happened to be looking upwards would have seen a dark figure silhouetted against the sky, as it leapt and swung between tall buildings. They may have thought they knew who it was, but they would have been somewhat mistaken…

Spidey swung across town towards the piers. She fully intended paying a visit to Dr Connors, but first she wanted to have a bit of a search around for a tall guy in black missing a tongue and wielding a knife. 'Shouldn't be too hard in a city the size of New York, I mean, how many people answer to that description?' According to the reading she'd done in the past, all she had to do was swing round for a bit, especially near dock areas, and wait for her spidey-sense to kick in… Yeah, right.

She leapt up to a ledge, vaulted across a couple of large air vents and launched herself feet first of the other side and down to land lightly on the roof of the next building. Firing a strand of web, she sprung over the street and reaching for an antenna with both hands, let the momentum of her spring increase before she let go and sailed across to another ledge.

One advantage in this web-slinging business was that those years of experience sailing that were sure paying off now - the agility and balance she'd gained on deck avoiding obstacles, scrambling up lines and working in the top-gallants while the ship rolled and pitched beneath her; strength built up in her upper body from hanging on, shimmying down the lines fast when needed, always one hand for the ship, one for herself; hauling in sheets to raise and lower the sails, and even the challenge of moving about below decks when the weather was wild - all helped.

Erica giggled to herself imagining the opposite - think of the advantages of having spider-powers on board ship; no worries about losing your grip, climbing to the tops a breeze, and the strength to operate a windlass single-handedly! She flung out a web line and caught the edge of a parapet at the end of the arc almost without thinking. It was becoming easier, this mode of travel.

Unexpectedly, her spider-sense did begin to tingle, but not as an urgent warning, more as an impression of wrongness. 'Well, what do you know?' Spidey started following the impression to it's source. She supposed that the spider-sense was instinctual, working on a subconscious level to find what was on her mind. Something like that.

Quietly now, the wall-crawler crept down the side of an edifice that in the may have originally been a shipping company's headquarters before numerous reincarnations led to its present function as a local meeting place for a variety of community organisations.

Peering into the lit windows on her way down, she saw they were mainly health groups; asthma support, antenatal classes, migrant health services, and the like. The fourth window she looked in though was different. The signs and posters on the walls of the room within, the whiteboard, the generic stacked chairs, all proclaimed the room was the base of a genuine organisation dealing with communicative disorders - helping those who cannot speak themselves - but the three figures sitting around a formica table did not seem like your everyday, run-of-the-mill mute who needed support. These guys may well have been mute, but the main feature that set them apart was their mode of dress - entirely close-fitting charcoal grey, and she didn't think they were that way because they were trying to be trendy. The small black knives they had laid in front of them was a give-away too. They were evidently using the cover of a doubtless authentic society. No hidden lair for these guys.

'Well shucks,' thought Spidey, 'why didn't I think to look them up in the phone book?' She noticed they each had a PDA next to them as well - no old-fashioned pen-and-paper as a means of communication here. Given the circumstances, there was no way she could eavesdrop on their conversation even if the window had been open. Her only course of action was to wait until they finished their meeting, then follow one of them in the hopes of him leading to more information.

But which one? She watched closely. One of them had their back to the window. He had short mouse-coloured hair, but she could tell nothing else about him, however the other two she could observe in more detail; one was a very tall figure, even sitting down. He was black haired and had a vaguely middle-eastern appearance. Perhaps he was the six-foot plus man Sergeant Hudson had mentioned. The other was older and shorter, but more powerfully built. His most distinguishing characteristic was his great beak of a nose; all his other facial features seemed to vanish behind it until he was all nose and nothing else. His fingers were also the most busy tapping away on a peripheral keyboard attached to his pilot. 'He must be the more senior of the group. He's the one to wait for…'

Spidey crawled around the building, checking out the exits. At that time of the evening, only the front entrance appeared to be open; the others locked. Flipping to the ledge of the low building opposite, Spidey hid herself in the shadows and prepared to wait again. 'It's just as well I'm not in this for the action, it only comes in short bursts. Not that I'm complaining mind. I kinda prefer it this way…' She wondered what they were chatting about in there. Probably their captured comrade, maybe their plan of action now. She decided she had to somehow learn soon from Hudson what state the tall guy's victim was left in - she had a feeling he wasn't telling them the details for a reason…

Several people left and entered the community building while Spidey watched. She didn't think the mute men would leave the premises without covering up their unusual garb, but old Beak Nose should be easy enough to recognise even in mufti.

It was completely dark outside by the time Beak Nose made his appearance. The dark jacket he had on over his grey outfit was enough to disguise it so he didn't look so odd walking down the street. Spidey followed discreetly. She had a sudden thought; what if he took the subway? She could always attach a tracer to him, but she was a bit wary of using them unless absolutely necessary. However she was in luck, as Beak Nose chose to walk to his destination that night.

They had arrived at a house in Greenwich village that had been converted into a couple of apartments. Spidey watched Beak Nose enter, and a short time later, a light come on at a window. With a couple of leaps, she was able to crawl down the side of the wall until she could peep in. There old Beaky was in his lounge, turning on his TV and shrugging out of his jacket. As she continued to watch, he sat in an armchair and started flipping channels with his remote. He looked like he was settling in for the evening. Spidey was satisfied that at least she knew his address and could find him again if she needed to. Maybe one of the other guys would have been a better bet to follow. Too late now. She still had to head over to the university and see Dr Connors, then head back to the apartment; at least the university wasn't far from here.

As she swung across Greenwich village, she kept her eyes and senses peeled, just in case. She didn't expect anything, and this time she was right; the other two guys must have gone different ways. The web-slinger made her way to the buildings rising at the far side of Washington Square where Peter had told her the whereabouts of Dr Connor's office and lab in the Stanford Building.

Clinging to the wall, Spidey checked to see whether Connors was in and alone; there was a light from within so someone was there. She was in luck - he was in, seated at a desk, and appeared to be busy marking student papers. This meeting would be a test for her; she'd have to be careful he didn't suspect she wasn't really Spider-Man, and it would be a much harder job given that Dr Connors knew the original, and that she wasn't going to be constantly on the move. He was also a lot smarter than, and not so single-minded as Jameson… Taking a deep breath, she tapped lightly on the window to gain his attention. He looked up, startled, but when he saw who it was he jumped up with alacrity and came over to open the window for her to step in.

"Spider-Man! I haven't seen you for such a long time! You must need my help again - you're not in the habit of paying social calls!"

Spidey grinned under her mask - that was about the size of it, she thought. Aloud, concentrating on sounding as much as possible like Peter, she said, "Good to see you too, Curt. You can relax, it's only some information I'm wanting this time!"

She settled up to sit on the wall with the help of a webbing bosun's chair, also figuring that the posture would disguise her anatomy somewhat. Curt Connors didn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"How can I help?"

"I'll come straight to the matter: has there been any news around ESU recently regarding Dr. Otto Octavius?"

"Dr Octopus? Funny you should mention him… there's a rumour floating about that he is planning to endow a chair in a neuro-science. He's been approaching several different departments, re-establishing his credentials as a research scientist."

"True, he used to be. But what of his recent criminal past, doesn't that make it difficult for him? Besides the fact he's as mad as."

"I can't comment on his sanity, but you know college research departments - always strapped for funding. Someone will probably leap at the chance and ignore any dubious background." Connors paused, "I gather he is claiming he's a reformed character and on the verge of an important new discovery."

"Is he now… I wonder what he's up to?"

"Could it be true?"

"Doc Ock? Not a chance! Though he can be very plausible… Hmmm. When do you think they'll announce the endowment?"

"Not any time soon. It's still only a rumour, and these things take a while to set up."

"Well, thanks for your help. Can you keep your ears open? I'll drop by again soon, see if there's been any more snippets floating around."

"Sure, I'll do that for you Spider-Man - compared with some of the things you've asked me in the past, this is easy!"

"Told you so," agreed Spidey. She quickly left her sling and dived for the window, twisting so that she connected and clung just outside it. She poked her head back in. "Thanks Curt. I'll let you go back to grading students' work, you lucky thing!"

Curt Connors smiled and waved his hand in farewell as Spidey disappeared into the night.

"Hi boys, I hope you don't mind a gatecrasher at your party!" Spidey lowered herself upside-down by her web until she was between two of the group of men who were in the process of robbing an appliance store.

"It's Spider-Man!" one of them exclaimed.

"Give that man a Krispie!" Spidey shot out sideways with her two fists as they both charged for her at once, knocking them flying backwards to the ground. She performed a forward flip to land on her feet on the asphalt. The other two men, one of them a teen so young he could barely be called a man, had been on their way to a parked van, and were still standing there in surprised shock, arms loaded with DVD players and game consoles.

The elder man came to his senses before the other. "Here, catch!" he said, throwing the stolen merchandise at Spidey, hoping to distract her while he made a run for it. Spidey deftly caught the appliances one at a time, set them down carefully by a wall - no sense in letting them get damaged; that would be as bad as them being stolen to the store owner - before running after the crook and leaping in front of him.

"Now, why would you want a Playstation, when you've got me in living colour?" Spidey asked rhetorically as she faced him. He took a swipe at her; she evaded it seemingly without effort. He tried again, with the same result.

"Tut tut, not a very good game player, are you?" She gave him a little tap to the jaw, which sent him sprawling. He rolled over onto all fours, and shook his head, trying to clear it. Spidey made the most of the opportunity presented; she grabbed the guy around the waist, shot some webbing up at a cornice and swung back to the others she had left behind.

Meantime the boy who was left holding appliances had seen what was happening to his mates, and decided he wanted no part of it. He was frantically placing his loot next to the rest stacked against the wall when Spidey passed with her load and let it go, just in time for it to barrel over the first two, who were in the process of regaining their feet.

Releasing her web-line and twisting in mid-air, Spidey landed and immediately sent a spray of webbing over the three prone forms, trapping them under a net. The remaining burglar put his hands up in the air in fear and surrender.

"Don't hit me! I give up!"

"Good on ya. A techno freak like you wouldn't happen to have a cell-phone, would ya?" Spidey held out her hand. The nervous boy fumbled inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a phone which he tossed to her. She caught it and used it to call the police, then coming closer to the teen, replaced the phone in his pocket. He was trembling with fright.

"What.. what are you gonna do to me?"

Spidey paused for a second. She guessed that it was the boy's first caper, and that he probably had been roped into it by the other crooks. Having spent a lot of time with teens, she knew how easy that could be. She felt sorry for him, and was very tempted to let him go - give him a second chance - the fright he had got might be enough that he wouldn't try a similar stunt like this again. But then… what would his mates do to him if they knew he'd been let off by Spider-Man? What would the police do? It certainly wouldn't help the web-spinner's rep any. And… who was she to set herself up as judge and jury? She didn't know what Peter would do in the same situation, but she wasn't Peter - she had to do as she saw fit. She had to have faith in the justice system, that they'd give him that second chance, or she'd be no better than the 'masked menace' Jameson always claimed Spider-Man to be.

"Wrap up a nice present for the police. Don't worry, I won't hurt ya." Spidey was as good as her word, and soon the boy was on the pavement, webbed by his hands and feet, helpless.

"Not cut out for this line of work are you?" the wall-crawler said almost gently, "Try something different. Ya never know, a lot of fresh air and clean living could get ya a job like mine!" She tilted her head; in the distance was the sound of sirens. "Gotta cut a track. See ya!" And she leapt up at the bricks of the building, swiftly bounced from one cornice to another, and soon vanished over the roof tops.

……………………………………………………

Weary now, Peter turned out his angle-poise light. He had spent the time since Spidey's departure working on developing his new formula and was beginning to think he was getting somewhere at last. At least on paper. Tomorrow he would try re-formulating the web-fluid, once he had bought a couple more chemicals he needed. He stretched, and glanced at Erica's watch on his wrist - where was she? Yawning, he closed up his books and stacked them up neatly together. He strolled into the lounge, and turned the TV on to catch the news. It was one of those habits he followed when he could; many times the bulletins showed him scenarios he'd had to act on.

Peter flopped on the couch, but even with the TV on and the sound up, he couldn't concentrate on the box. He was worried. He wondered if he should have gone to see Dr Connors himself - as Peter, as they both knew each other anyway, and he could have thought up some plausible excuse for Peter Parker to be interested in Ock… And what was taking Erica so long seeing him? Was she in some sort of trouble? He tried not to think about it, after all, as Erica had pointed out, he was hardly in the position to do anything about it now. He just hoped she wasn't becoming over-confident; under-estimating his foes' abilities had led him into serious difficulties in the past and he had been lucky escaping without serious injury or even death in many situations.

Then there was that cult, whatever it was. He didn't like it at all; how did Jonah's attacker get so strong? And what was the significance of the tongue cut out? Erica was right in one respect, he did need a computer so he could access the net. His biggest worry though, was still Doc Ock.

J.Jonah Jameson's head appeared on the screen, gaining Pete's attention. He was giving his usual skewed version of events, claiming he had fought off his attacker that afternoon, and Spider-Man had shown up only at the moment to steal his glory. "Bah!" Peter flung a cushion at the TV and got up to retrieve it, turning the TV off as he did so. There was nothing worth watching, especially if Jameson was the only local newsworthy item that evening. Peter looked around the room, thinking he should get himself off to bed, it was late and he was tired, but he felt too keyed up, and knew he would have trouble sleeping. Studying had always been a good cure for insomnia - that or web-slinging, which wasn't an option anymore. Perhaps if he read something unconnected with the day's events.

On the shelf by the table was the Encyclopedia of New York City, where Erica had left it. Peter took it down, opened it up at random and started reading. He began by reading each entry in turn, but soon got interested in a subject and ended up darting all over the book, totally engrossed. He didn't hear Erica's return; she took one look at him and quietly left the room.

The sound of the kettle's soft hiss as it simmered on it's way to boiling slowly permeated Peter's consciousness, like a form of aural osmosis. He twisted in his chair, "I didn't hear you come in," he stated to Erica, who was behind the counter of the kitchenette. She was staring out the window at the darkness, not really seeing anything, but turned her head at Peter's voice.

"Hmm?" she said and then, scratching her head, she woke up from her day-dream and smiled at him. "I was just thinking how this city starts to get to you after a while. I've been here almost a week, and it feels like a life-time already. I guess with all these… changes, and keeping busy, I haven't had much time in the last couple of days to think about home. I guess I'd better be careful, or my life here in New York will become too attractive for me to want to go home again…" The kettle boiled. Erica lifted it up. "Cwawfee?" she asked Peter, putting on a stereotypical New York accent. She started pouring hot water into her cup while waiting for Peter's reply.

He said, "Yeah sure thing, hun." He closed his book and watched her. "What if… if we're unable to get you back home? What then?"

Erica finished putting the coffee on, taking the time to think while she did so. She stared out the window again, seeing herself reflected in the glass, as she answered."I suppose I'd have to accept it - there'd be nothing else I could do. I think it would be a mistake to try to go back to New Zealand - it wouldn't be my New Zealand, and I think that would make the whole thing a lot worse. As it is, the way I am, I couldn't go anyway… And… I'm almost afraid that if I did manage to get back home, that I would end up homesick for New York, missing here more… What about you, eh?" she finished with a change of tone, turning back.

"You've asked me before, and I'm still not sure in my mind. I waver between the two possibilities so often every day, I'm confusing myself. All we can do is follow our course of action and see where it leads us - one way or the other…"

"It does seem odd," mused Erica as she came over to the table with their hot drinks, "You don't have a super-baddy turn up once and then disappear like that. It was as if he'd been sent out on the one, and one only, assignment."

"I know, that's what's worrying me. What if Ock's disposed of him, even worse, disposed of his weapon in the belief it didn't work? Then…" Peter didn't finish his sentence. There was no need to; they both knew what would follow.

He patted the book in front of him to change the subject. "This is a fascinating read," he said, "Did you get far through it?"

"You got to be joking!"

Peter grinned. "Heh, your Spidey-speed-reading not working? Too bad. I read a bit about tunnels. Seems there's a precedent for mysterious tunnels under Manhattan. According to this, a man named Jacob Walton was the owner of the whole Gracie Mansion area in 1770, and he was loyal to the King of England. When the Revolution began, he built a tunnel leading to the East River so he could escape to a waiting ship if necessary. The tunnel wasn't discovered until 1913."

"You mean Doc Ock's tunnel could be a historical one?"

"It'd be difficult to build a new one nowadays and keep it completely hidden. Look at the work on the new one Uptown. If only we could find some account or mention of Ock's one somewhere, or even a plan - it may help."

"Can't be too hard to figure out where it leads to surely? Looking at the clinic the other day, I'd say it goes under the East River to Roosevelt Island."

"But why?"

"Didn't you tell me Roosevelt Island used to be a prison island? Maybe it was an escape route…"

"Hey! Why didn't I think of that!"

"Cos you were thinking of something else?" Erica hid her smile behind her cup.

Peter gave a little chuckle; he knew Erica was laughing at him, but it didn't matter. Now to find out where she had been… "Only a six-armed something… So, spit the scuttlebutt at ESU!"

"Scuttle-Butt. Is that what you call him? That suits Doc Ock to a T! Hehe."

This time, Peter was unsure whether Erica was still laughing at him. He decided to ignore the jibe. "Did Curt Connors have anything to say?"

"Plenty." Peter listened closely while Erica unfolded her findings.

"…So I came back."

"What's he playing at?" he mused, "Does he want to take advantage of a research project? Or…"

"I said I'd go back soon and see if he'd heard anything more." Erica continued. "He's a nice guy, isn't he?"

"You stayed to chat did you?" Peter raised an eyebrow; he didn't think that was what took her so long to get back.

Erica looked flushed all of a sudden. Pete knew now what that meant - she wasn't a very good liar when her face betrayed her that way. He'd also noticed her cheeks became red with anger, fright or excitement, and she wasn't any of those at the moment…

"Well… no. I admit it. I stopped on the way back to break up a robbery in progress. It took me longer than I expected - there was this kid…" Her face had cleared of its heightened colour now, so Peter knew she was telling the truth. Just as well she wore a mask as Spidey; she'd give too much away otherwise. How would she be able to keep a secret identity secret if she blushed every time she had to come up with an explanation why she wasn't someplace? As long as others thought it was because she was embarrassed, embarrassment being the normally perceived cause of blushes. Peter became aware that Erica was still talking - she had just asked him a question, and was repeating it.

"How'd you get on with your new goo?" she said, pointedly looking at the Encyclopedia.

"Getting there. I need some extra chemicals, which I'll get tomorrow morning, and by evening hopefully we'll be able to test it out."

"Great!" Erica went back to the kitchen with the cups, and looked at her reflection in the window again as she rinsed them and placed them upside-down on the counter. "That's amazing," she said, "My black eye and fat lip are gone already, and this bruise on my jaw looks like it will have faded by morning."

"And you're probably not feeling all that tired either, are you? I'm tired; now I remember again what it feels like to be an average joe." Just mentioning being tired made Pete give a huge involuntary yawn.

"You'd never be average. But you're wrong about being tired - I am. So piss off so I can get some sleep!"

Peter ambled off into the next room and shut the door after him. He wasn't feeling quite as weary as he had earlier, but after glancing at his desk with his work neatly arranged and half considering reading through his notes once more, he knew he would be better off following Erica's example and getting some sleep himself. He walked into the bathroom and prepared to brush his teeth - and saw that the Spider-Man costume had been washed and hung up to dry. Peter stared at it and touched it gingerly, almost as if it would reach back to him. At the present time, it looked as if the chances of him donning it again were rather slim. He had gone through so much as Spidey, wearing that costume - he thought back to the anguish it had caused, all the times he couldn't admit to it - letting friends down, letting them think he was something other than he was, because he couldn't let them discover his alter-ego. There had been times he absolutely hated that costume, hated the mess it had made of his life. But now, when he couldn't use it, he wanted to put it on, to feel the exhilaration of travelling over the rooftops on his webs, to have one last swing around. He sighed, and turned his attention back to his toothbrush.

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