A/N: Hope this story isn't going too slow for you all - I wanted to explore characters and their emotions as well; not just action, action, action all the way. There are plenty other stories to read if that's all you want :)

(Though there is action in here all the same - and more to come!)

Cheers,

Apteryx

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Chapter 22: More Questions…Any Answers?

Spidey sat in typical Spidey-fashion on one of the Midtown high-rises south of Central Park and reviewed the evening's activities to herself. Here it was, not even midnight, and what had she achieved? Not an awful lot. Well, besides stopping a bloke from being killed and having his tongue ripped out…

She thought about Peter; he may well have had worse injuries, but he'd healed quickly from them by virtue of his spider powers - not this one though. She recalled the time when she had had her leg slashed open by a boat knife in an accident, and it had taken two weeks for it to heal enough so she wasn't in pain every time she moved her leg. It was another few weeks until it was completely healed. And Pete's arm…? In the meantime, both their jobs would be that much harder. She sighed.

Now she'd rested, she'd better move on across town to her next stop, the Moroney Clinic; she wanted to see just what was in that tunnel. 'I'm not as sanguine on this one as Pete,' she thought, as she shot out web-lines, 'though he was probably lying anyway… but if Doc Ock attempted to put Spider-Man away before, he will try again; and since he's been keeping a low profile recently, he'll either hire another joker to do the job, or he'll wait until his plans have finished. Whatever, he won't be expecting Spider-Man to be after him already… Big but though; I don't want him finding out either. I'll have to be certain he's not in when I go in.'

The red-and-blue garbed figure dropped silently down into the deserted courtyard, directly in front of the doorway of the outbuilding. Stealthily, Spidey opened the door and slipped in. All was well so far; not even the slightest buzz from her extra sense.

Spread up on the wall near the door, she looked about at her surroundings, taking it all in. To the left was an impressive set of electronic surveillance equipment, banks of screens such as she had only seen in films. Currently, nobody was watching them - someone may get in trouble later for that, she thought, wondering where the security guard could be; if the other night was any indication, he was presumably out sneaking a smoke.

There was some plant machinery ahead; a cooling system, and what looked to be an air filtering bizzo, maybe something else - Spidey couldn't tell. The noise from the machinery was enough that normal conversation was impossible; concentrating in such an environment would be a hard job for the security guy.

Ducting and pipes spread across the low ceiling from the plant, leading to the right, then across to enter a large gap further along in the wall that Spidey was on. She moved along until she reached the opening, poked her head round the corner, where a flight of stairs ended at a gently sloping floor of a tunnel.

Staying on the wall, Spidey cautiously yet nimbly followed the path of the ducting. She suddenly realised she must have guessed right about the tunnel, and here it was showing it's age; it was brick and tile-lined, with a channelled cobble-stoned floor. Bare low-wattage light bulbs shone at long intervals, making the blackness even more so. Spidey was happy with this - less chance of being spotted. As she travelled down, the humming sound of the machinery became indistinct, and she could hear the sound of dripping water, although the walls were still dry.

Eventually, she felt the wall beneath her fingers become damp - she must be nearing the river - and a little further along the bricks were slimy, a slick green algae whose growth was more luxuriant where the dim light fell. Spidey climbed higher and started crawling along the ducting pipes; these had evidently been installed over a century later, and weren't slippery - even with her ability to stick to surfaces, she had found her grip sliding on the algae-covered bricks. A small stream was now gurgling in the channel on the ground, and water ran down the curved walls to join the flow.

Bulbs were gone in places, causing Spidey to peer ahead into the darkness, trying to see where the tunnel led to; did it come out at the Penitentiary ruins on the other side? No, it seemed not.

There was a brightening glow of light, of a different quality to the dim bulbs, the tunnel suddenly rounded a corner, and there, revealed in fluorescent lighting was what appeared to be a modern laboratory set-up. Expensive looking electronic equipment vied with traditional test-tubes and beakers all crowded into a space the size of half a tennis court. Some of that ducting must carry the power and communication cables as well.

Spidey all at once wished that Peter were here to see this - wait, she had the miniature camera with her. Quickly, she removed it from her belt and snapped a few general shots of the lab, then went in further, snapping different details as she did so. She was careful to take close-up shots of any labels, and, opening drawers to check the contents as she moved around the perimeter of the room, any notes.

She found a notebook lying next to a computer monitor, and opened it to read it; it was goobledegook as far as she was concerned. Thankful again for the camera, she turned the pages and took photos; Peter should be able to decipher these later. Taking a regretful glance at the computer, she decided that it was too risky to start it up - Ock would easily discover an unauthorised attempt to log on - Spidey continued her exploration.

There were two doors set in one wall; both were closed, and one had a huge bolt across it. This was where Spidey headed next, but she was puzzled; there was no lock on this door, only the bolt, presumably to keep someone or something in. Her spider sense was dormant; told her nothing about the other side.

She was preparing to lift the bolt and open the door to look inside, when her spider sense did go off, and not because of the door - steps could be heard echoing down the tunnel. Hurriedly, she sprang for the roof again, and scuttled quickly to the entrance of the room where she hoped the shadows, and the piping, would keep her hidden.

From her vantage point, she could see both the tunnel and the lab interior, and coming down the tunnel was someone carrying a torch, shining it's bobbing beam on the ground to avoid the shallow puddles; pooled water that had missed the rivulet in the central gutter.

A tall man with very short receding dark hair and dressed in a white boiler-suit, shoulders hunched as if it were a perpetual habit, or maybe he just didn't like the damp from the tunnel, passed below Spidey's hiding place and into the lab.

He took a small object from his breast pocket and set it on a workbench while he opened a cupboard above him and removed some sort of appliance that looked an awful lot like a see-through I-mac version of a crock-pot. Opening the lid, he grasped a test-tube from it and placed it in a convenient rack. He then donned latex gloves and a surgeon's mask, and got a pair of tiny tongs from a drawer.

The small object was next; it was a container - Spidey watched, intrigued, as a practically invisible slither of substance, now a translucent white as the overhead strip lighting caught it, was lifted from it and delicately put into the test-tube, which was then sealed and labelled and replaced into the appliance. On it went, making a high pitch whirring noise, sitting there vibrating slightly.

The man, satisfied with the machine, removed his mask and gloves and went over to the computer monitor that was attached to another hi-tech looking device, to start an unknown application up - the light from the screen reflected off his large round glasses. Spidey watched him at the computer for another minute, took a glance at the machine still whirring away on the bench, and decided that she wouldn't learn any more by hanging around here - she had to leave while her presence was still undiscovered.

Silently, she slipped away up the tunnel, faster now that she knew the territory ahead. The security guard would be back at his station now, she guessed, she would have to get past him somehow. Difficult, given he had only just taken a break; maybe she could create a small diversion. Poking her head round the corner, she saw the guard watching the video screens. Still using the pipes as cover, she crawled onto the top of the plant machinery and peered down at the control panel. Maybe if she fiddled with a few of the controls…

Upside down, and ready to leap away instantly, she turned a dial and flipped a couple of switches at random. A loud whooshing sound filled the small pre-fab, as an excessive rush of air was blown through the plant's filter. Spidey scurried back behind the piping, and close by the entrance of the tunnel, ready to leap across the wall and through the door as soon as the guard had his back to her, checking out the controls of the plant unit. The guard jumped up from his seat and surveyed the control panel, desperately trying to work out how to adjust it back to normal before he got into trouble. Spidey slipped out undetected, as she had planned. She was also fortunate that the other guard was elsewhere on his rounds and she was able to leap up the side of an apartment building and hasten away.

Erica stood looking down at Peter asleep. His breathing was deep and regular, and he appeared not to have moved at all since Erica left last night. Making sure the window blind was cutting out the daylight, Erica silently left the bedroom and left him to continue sleeping. She checked the time, a bit after eight a.m.; it shouldn't be too early to ring Mary-Jane, to tell her that Pete was hurt. It wasn't a phone call Erica was looking forward to.

The ringing went on for a while - what if Mary-Jane had left for work already… Finally, the phone was picked up at the other end and answered by a sleepy voice.

"Hello?"

"Um, hi. Is that Mary-Jane?"

"Who is this?"

"It's Erica Stirling… Pete's 'cousin'. Um, I hope I didn't wake you? I thought you might be up by now…"

There was a pause. "It's five a.m. In the morning…"

"Ohh no!" Erica covered her eyes with her hand in frustration and annoyance with herself, "I forgot the time difference! I'm sorry, I…"

"It's O.K," interrupted Mary-Jane with a sigh, "I have to get up in half an hour anyway - early shoot. So, why are you calling? Is it about Peter?"

"Yeah, I… He got hurt last night. In a mugging. Got knifed in the arm, a bad gash…"

"How is he?"

"He's asleep, the doctor gave him something to make him sleep, but I think he'll be a wee bit sore when he wakes…"

"Hang on..." Erica heard a rustling, then silence.

"You there?"

"Yes."

"I can fly in this afternoon - I'll have to cancel one job, but the rest I can re-schedule."

"Oh, you don't have to do that…"

"I want to. I'm his wife, even if… Where were you when this happened?"

Erica could hear the faint accusatory note in MJ's voice. She knew how bad her explanation was going to sound to her. "I was next to him, busy with four of them, but I'm afraid it is my fault he got hurt. He was attacked by two at once. I was… limited…"

"I see."

Erica sighed. "I'd rather tell you the full story, perhaps when you get here? Jeez, I hate all this…" she said vehemently.

"You're not the only one. I'll see you both later this afternoon. Have you told Aunt May yet?"

"No…"

"Don't, until I get there. Bye for now."

"Bye, and thanks." Erica replaced the handset on the phone, not sure whether Mary-Jane had heard her thanks before she hung up. She was at a loss what to do now; she couldn't leave Peter when he possibly may wake soon, either to go into the Bugle to work, or to have a swing about as Spider-Man. Perhaps it was time to evaluate where she was at…

Dr Ock was definitely up to something - carrying out secret research in a hidden laboratory. He and his accomplice - possibly Dr Whithead? - had something shut up in there. Maybe their test subjects… She'd have to go back there and have a proper search - look at their computer too. She needed Peter to develop the photos she took, and see if he could tell anything about what was going on, using his scientific knowledge. Though come to think of it…

There was a one-hour-photo place in the shop at the bottom of the building. Erica got the film from the camera and took the stairs quickly down. The shop had just opened so she handed the film over to get processed, knowing there was nothing on it that looked suspicious. While she was out, she ran to the corner newsagent and bought that morning's Daily Bugle.

She bounded back up - she was gone only a few minutes, and there was still no sound from the bedroom. She sat back at the table with her pencil and paper, and opened her Bugle - parts of it were quite a good laugh really. The front page had room on it devoted to yesterday's fire; photos by Peter Parker. He'd also taken a shot of her talking to the fire crew and Hudson - the sergeant was quoted in the article thanking Spider-Man for his help. How did that get past JJ? Erica grinned. Jonah must be treading gently where his dealings with the sarge were involved.

She flicked slowly through the rest of the paper, stopping at one article which caught her eye; 'Clinic Treats Coma Victims', Senator Ellis, Dick Knowles, and the city official recently struck down, Dean Azzopardi, were all under treatment at the Moroney Clinic. Dr Whithead was assuring about their chances, even with the exact provenance of the virus unknown. He and his colleagues were hoping to try a new therapy on their patients, which if successful, could lead to a break-through in the treatment of coma victims, and possibly other nervous system disorders.

"Hmmm," said Erica aloud to herself, as she ripped the article out, "Does this tie in at all with the Chair of Neuro-Science Ock is after?"

"Does what tie in?"

Erica turned sideways at the sound of the voice. Peter was up, and leaning in the doorway of his room. He had pulled on a pair of trousers, but a shirt must have been beyond him; he was bare-chested. Erica was unsure how to treat him - he sounded O.K, so she decided to down-play his injured arm; Pete had very likely had enough of over-solicitous females in the past.

"Here, read for yourself." Erica handed the article over to Peter, who took it with his good arm and read.

Erica described her recce to the Moroney Clinic the night before. Peter listened in silence.

"You took photos? Where's the film?"

"Taiho a mo, I'll go get it," she said, looking at the clock, and leaving a bewildered Peter standing there as she left the flat and jumped downstairs.

Barely an hour had passed, but because she had been the first customer for the day, the negatives and prints were ready and waiting for her. Erica shuffled through them, paid for them and left, with the staff behind her smiling at her exuberance.

"Here!" Erica bounded in through the front door, banging it closed after her; Peter was in the kitchen, one-handedly trying to put the percolator together, and finding it a bit difficult.

He said nonchalantly to Erica as she came in, "Could you give me a hand with this?"

"Sure!" She threw the packet of photos on the table and bounded over to the kitchen and took the perc off him. While she was filling it with water, he went into his bedroom and came back with a shirt.

"Hey, ah, can you help me with my shirt too? I feel like a bird with a busted wing…"

"No probs," said Erica, taking the sling off and mindful of his wound, easing his shirt on before replacing the sling. She chattered on, "At least it's not your shoulder this time - you've sprained and injured it so often, you'd think you'd be used to doing stuff one-armed…" She broke off as she caught a glimpse of Peter's face. Oh shit, she'd talked without thinking again, 'Cripes this mouth of mine's going to land me in it one day…'

Quickly she changed the subject. "The photos all came out," she said, going over to the table and picking them up and handing them to Pete, who came and sat down to look at them. He peered at them closely, looking at the detail.

"Describe the machine you saw again?"

Erica did so, and Peter grunted and sat back in his chair, staring into the middle distance, thinking, for a short time.

"That machine was a centrifugal separator, used for obtaining the different components from blood or tissue samples. Sounds like they were using a tissue sample in it when you saw it in action. Now, some of these other items are interesting…"

Peter tapped the photos. "This one is a homogeniser, used when mixing liquids. And this… this is a Biomek system, a totally automated workstation - this one is top of the line, what all the best bioresearch labs are wearing nowadays. I'd say, seeing that and all the rest, that they're working at a very small molecular level, perhaps even to DNA… I see no reason why this all has to be hidden, unless they're working on developing a irregular gene-therapy or virus. This equipment could well be the stuff that was stolen too - which would explain why. If I could only see some of their working notes…"

"Keep going; I took some of a notebook I found - couldn't make head or tail of it myself…"

Peter squinted closely, his eyes almost watering with the effort after a while. "It's no good, I'll need a magnifying glass, and these enlarged to read them properly, but from the few words I can make out, yup, viruses are all the rage."

"I was figuring I'll have to go down again, eh - I want to see behind that door for a start…"

"It's dangerous."

"Of course it is. So am I."

"I don't like it - what is he up to? Perhaps you were right the other day when you suggested a link between the coma virus and Doc Ock. Argh! And now I'm incapacitated even more than I was."

An incredibly frustrated Peter Parker got up from his chair and started pacing on the worn lino. Erica could see he was determined to carry on despite his arm. She still hadn't told him Mary-Jane was on her way, but she doubted even Mary-Jane could keep him contained for long. Aunt May would work better, but he'd become even more frustrated with the restrictions she'd impose, even if it was done in love.

"Your brains still work," suggested Erica, "You could be the brains behind the operation, and I'll be the brawn. What shall I do next?"

"Pour me a coffee?" Peter calmed down.

"Oh, did I tell you Mary-Jane was going to be in New York again?" Erica said with a studied casualness as she handed Peter his coffee. "I spoke to her earlier this morning."

"Did you tell her…?"

"Yes I did. She blames me of course, but I don't mind too much. If it stops her being mad at you…"

Coffee sloshed over the lip of the cup as Peter inadvertently thumped it on the table with his left hand. He looked suddenly tired again, lines of strain showing on his face, but he didn't say anything. He looked annoyed that he had given himself away by his reaction. Erica silently went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and a couple of tablets.

"What are these?"

"Painkillers. The doctor last night gave me a few for you. Take them."

"I'm all right."

"Take them now." She stood over him until he reluctantly popped them into his mouth and swallowed them. Erica guessed his arm was hurting more than he was willing to admit.

He abruptly gathered up the discarded newspaper, rolled it and tucked it under his arm, then picked up his cup. Without using his arms at all, he stood carefully, balancing momentarily on his toes, before stepping out to his bedroom door.

"I'm going to have a lie down," he said, his eyes avoiding hers. "Read the paper and drink my coffee in peace."

The door he kicked closed behind him, maybe not harder than was intended.

Erica sank down in his vacated chair, feeling a hot tide rising in her face and placing her hands over her cheeks to cool them.

Pete had every right to call her an interfering old cow if he wished, she thought, and Mary-Jane too. What were her motives in ringing her? It couldn't be purely concern for Peter… He didn't seem to like her very much just now - was it only the pain from his injury, or something more; the strain of living with a stranger, the shock and disorientation of the major change in his life, the uncertainty of it all? She ran a hand through her hair.

Look, here she was, worrying over Pete, what of herself?

She was finding herself increasingly comfortable - more than that; almost fitting, point to point, into the skin and persona - as Spider-Man, something she couldn't have imagined only a week ago.

Was it only a week? It seemed much longer... Not having much in the way of connections, people or places, in this universe, it was easy to sublimate herself in her role as Spidey, easy to lose some of her own identity. She saw herself while here, beginning as a sort of tabula rasa, layered upon her own experience, and with the layers of Spider-Man's past under all of that. She was busy inscribing her layer of Spider-Man, and knew that even if… when she got back home, Spider-Man would never be quite the same again; the experience of someone else in his role would affect how he was as Spider-Man himself, like being conscious of the previous owner of an item of clothing - both she and Peter would inevitably be changed.

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