A/N: Sorry if it's getting longer between posts - life and all that, ya know. Anyway, enjoy this chapter!
Apteryx
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Chapter 23: Peace and Interlude.
Eyes unfocused, Erica sat for a while not really thinking at all, just letting images roll over in her head, like an internal cinema screen showing experimental films; frantic action, one-shot frames, a slowing and quickening of frame-speeds, loops, pans and extreme close-ups, in the style of an early Len Lye.
Her mind stopped at one image; the red ribbon.
She had forgotten about it. Getting up, she moved over to the couch, where she had hidden the Spider-Man costume and dug out the boots; she was about to stick her hand in to retrieve it, but paused, with the unaccountable feeling that she shouldn't touch it with her bare fingers. Sub-rationalising this feeling as the possibility of leaving fingerprints, she pulled on the costume's gloves before pulling out the ribbon, and felt immediately more at ease.
She studied the length of ribbon closely, noting its texture, a finely woven herring-bone and its hue, a bright blood red, undoubtedly symbolic. It had no markings along it, but appeared to be a quite plain, cotton ribbon. Then she became aware of a smell - she brought it up to her nose to give a light sniff. It was not the sour, almost fibre-glass resin smell of a man's body odour, or even, she humorously reflected, the musty smell from the boot, but something more acid, a chemical smell that she couldn't place.
She rubbed the ribbon against itself, there was a faint squeaking sound, so faint it was almost a sensation rather than an audible noise. Curiously, she wondered what caused the ribbon to make a noise like that; normally the only noise cotton made was a soft rustling. Could it be… could it be the fabric was impregnated with a chemical? Perhaps Peter would be able to tell.
Oh. Well now wasn't the best time to ask him…
Erica searched around the flat until she found an empty plastic bag, into which she carefully placed the ribbon, then sealed it, and put it on the table. She stripped off her gloves and stood contemplating her costume, sighing; she didn't feel she could go off and totally leave Peter by himself, but she wanted to do something.
Thus, a few minutes later saw Erica in the hallway and stair well outside the flat, working off her excess energy by performing a bizarre aerial ballet, an acrobatic circus act that could have been taking place in orbit, so gravity-free did her caprioles seem; the feather-light landings on floor, walls and ceiling emphasised that weightlessness. She was pretending villains were coming at her from all sides, and was practising both avoiding them and fighting them. Her movements became faster and more frenzied - to anyone watching, she would have appeared all but mad.
Nobody was there however, and nobody saw her finally come to a halt, panting slightly, outside the open door of the apartment. Taking a glance at it, she sprang up onto the ceiling and started crawling carefully down the stairwell, keeping herself hidden.
She was thinking of how people tended not to look up, and maybe it was something of a trait for New Yorkers, but it was that very thing that was so useful to her as Spidey. To New York natives, looking up could give you a crick in your neck, and mark you out for a rube. Same indoors; why look at a vast expanse of plain, lit, ceiling, when there were so many other things to keep the eye occupied.
Erica was grateful for that as she came down to a level that was frequented by customers of studios. Through the wired glass of the double fire safety doors, she could she two doors opposite each other, both with a frosted glass window set into them painted with the name of each photographic studio. Erica could imagine how the competition for clients between them was fierce, and was imagining, cartoon-style, an escalating war of signage, when a man stepped out of one of the doors.
He was an older man of medium height, clothes neither here nor there as far as distinction went, but he carried himself as though they were weighing him down by their very fact of being. His morose expression set in a face that perhaps could only achieve variations of moroseness, its puffy, jowly cheeks and baggy eyes and a bottom lip that more fell out than jutted, made him seem the world's fall guy. A Basset hound, that's what he resembled to her.
She recognised him from somewhere…
He was walking towards her, towards the lift, when she felt the slight but insistent tingling of her spider-sense. It was enough to remind her; the man that had set off her spider-sense outside the Criminal Courts building downtown.
This was something that needed her attention, but mindful of Peter upstairs, she knew she couldn't change into Spidey and follow the man; well, she couldn't anyway, the costume was still back in the flat, drying. She needed to know why this man had set her sense off twice. Moving quickly back into the shadows of the stairwell, she dropped to the ground and walked up the few steps back up to the floor level.
The man was still waiting for the old elevator to arrive with its slow, shuddering progress; Erica was pleased it was so cranky as it gave her the time she wanted to walk through the fire doors and past the man, as if she were a client visiting one of the studios. As she passed behind him, she whipped out one of the spider tracers and pretended to bump into him.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed as she slipped the tracer under the back of his jacket, to adhere to the lining unseen.
The man turned to look at her, his dark eyes sad, although close up, Erica could see a certain cunning there too.
"Think nothing of it," he said, scrutinising her intently. Erica felt flushed under his gaze, though it only lasted a couple of seconds. His voice, unexpectedly, was a light baritone, as rough as an old towel. His attention was diverted off her by the welcome arrival of the lift. Erica hurriedly walked to the studio door opposite the one he had exited, and put her hand on the door knob, conscious of his eyes following her, conscious also of her bare feet. She entered without thinking - escape from him uppermost on her mind, and as she entered, her spider-sense finally quietened.
The man must have got into the lift and the doors closed behind him.
"Can I help yew?" A strident voice asked.
Erica looked up at the speaker, a woman with frizzy light red hair, and that pale freckly face that some red-heads have. The studio was a large open space, and she had a table set up with screens, lights and light reflectors surrounding it, and was photographing an object set carefully on it.
"Um, I think I may have the wrong place…" Erica said.
The woman nodded. "Most people do. They usually want Barrowman across the way. You gonna to get your portrait taken?"
"No. I, um… actually, I'm visiting my cousin who lives upstairs and I got bored eh, and…" she laughed, embarrassed. "I sound like a little girl caught with my hand in the lolly jar!"
"No harm in that." The woman stepped across the room to a plug box and flicked a switch; the spot lights went off. "About time I had a break anyways. I'm Sinead O'Brien. Coffee?"
"Yes, please."
Why did she say yes to coffee? She hated the stuff. Erica found herself liking this woman, with her keen interested manner and forthright friendliness. She watched as Sinead moved about the studio, digging out an extra mug from somewhere, and going to a little table set by a free-standing stainless steel sink. A jug was plugged in to boil, and a tiny fridge was opened to produce a carton of milk. Already on the table were sugar and instant coffee. Three unlovely unmatching chairs were grouped under a large window, the only one in the studio that did not have any blinds down or curtains drawn across it, and if there had not been a tall office block across the road, or the day cloudy, the sun would have flooded the space in the afternoons.
Sinead gestured for Erica to take one of the seats while she measured out coffee into the cups with a battered teaspoon. She had been humming a little to herself, but now stopped and pointed at Erica with the spoon.
"Got it!" she said. "New Zealand. Am I right?"
"Yes," said Erica, impressed.
"Thought so. I've been there; Auckland, Rotorua, Wellington, Queenstown. I was there for work, though I did get shown around." Sinead smiled.
Erica noticed that the corners of her mouth turned down when she smiled.
"The old tiki-tour, I bet. I'm from Wellington. What were you doing there?"
"It was when your new museum opened - whatsit called again?"
"Te Papa."
"That's it, ridiculous name. I was photographing some of their pieces for them - mainly jewellery and metallic objects. That's what I specialise in - shiny stuff."
"Wow." Erica glanced over at the busy table in the middle of the studio.
"How do you have it?"
"Eh?"
"Your coffee.
"Oh, um, tiny bit of coffee, tiny bit of water, lots of milk…"
The smile appeared again. "You're not a coffee drinker." Sinead tipped the coffee down the sink. "Never mind. Have you got a cousin upstairs for real?"
"Pete? Yeah, I do." Erica blushed. Now that she was reminded about him, she knew she should get back up to the flat - she'd left him alone, and with the front door wide open - for too long.
"Aww, you sweet on him?" Sinead had mistaken the cause of her blush.
"Who, Peter?"
Erica was taken aback; she cared for him, and in some ways idolised him, but no, she didn't love him. Not in that way. Her mind wondered to another face, another man she had met in New York. With an internal shock, she realised there was someone else who she was keen to get to know better… if only she wasn't Spidey as well…
"No," she continued, "and he's married." She got up.
"What's that got to do with anything." Sinead seemed to accept the fact that Erica had to go.
"Come back real soon, when you've got the time - I've got plenty, and can always talk while working; in fact, I'd welcome it. Radio can be a bitch - you can't answer back to it!"
"I will," promised Erica when she reached the door, then remembering her earlier encounter, "Oh, I meant to ask you earlier; What's Barrowman like?"
"Like? Like? Well, he's like… professional in his manner, pleasant enough I suppose. Why?"
"Oh, I guess I just got freaked out by one of his clients out in the hall."
"Barrowman's O.K. Nothing freaky about him."
Erica nodded, in turn accepting Sinead's judgement. "Thanks Blue. See ya later."
"Bye now."
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The apartment was looking very clean and tidy, unusually so since Erica's tenancy. She was the first to admit she preferred the 'lived-in' look, and this was very evident in her own house, but she could see where it would be a problem in a small city apartment like Peter's. Even more so with two of them living there.
When she had come back to the flat, the door to Peter's room was still closed, and apart from the constant muted roar from the traffic out on the street, all was silent.
So silent, Erica presumed Peter had fallen asleep again. There being nothing else she could do, she'd quietly tidied up, and now, after a making and eating a sandwich for lunch, she was reading.
Actually, she was browsing through a few of Pete's books; an eclectic collection, mainly non-fiction, reading up on virology and microbiology, searching for information, hoping something would leap out off the page and call attention to itself; 'look at me! I'm the missing link!'. Instead, she got boggled down, trying to make headway through the textual jargon. 'Worse than bush-bashing', she thought, wishing, again, that Peter were awake to help her out. She slapped the cover closed; science was a closed book to her.
Sighing, Erica replaced the books on the shelves, and stood for a while reading titles on spines - not much chance of coming across a 'Biology for Dummies' book there. She felt the merest tingle of her spider-sense. Without turning, she said, "Hungry? I made you a sammie for lunch, but I guess it's your brekkie too." She turned then, to face Peter. He was looking much better than earlier; colour had returned to his face, and the lines had disappeared. He was also looking contrite.
"Erica, I'm sorry about…" He didn't get to finish his apology.
"No no, you were perfectly entitled to pack a sad. It was my fault for being nosey, I'm too much of a stickybeak…" She broke off suddenly and giggled, the image of Beaky springing to mind. "Sorry…"
Peter shook his head. "You can be a bit incomprehensible at times… never mind. Where's the lunch you fixed me?"
"On the kitchen bench. Get stuck in."
He gave her another look. "Thanks… I think…"
Erica laughed, feeling much better herself now that Peter was no longer upset at her. "No worries," she said.
When Peter had settled to eat his food, taking the chair away from the door because of his arm, Erica sat on the couch opposite and started asking him questions.
"Tell me to put a sock in it if you want to eat your lunch in peace…" she said.
"No, I'm OK, go ahead," he winced slightly, and Erica kicked herself for her choice of words, reflecting as they did, the words Peter had used that morning. She forged on and told him of the man with the more than passing resemblance to a basset hound. "…you never saw him close up, but I did. This time, I'm going to follow up on it - there must be some reason he set off my spider-sense twice."
"What about the tunnel?"
"I'll get you some enlargements done first, I want to know more. And I want to be prepared, I might not be as lucky next time getting in and out unseen…"
"Humph."
Erica sorted through the photos. "I'm being cautious - if I've got to face Dr Octopus, I certainly don't want to do it in that tunnel!"
"Yeah, not the best… you choose the place if possible."
"I will." She paused, squirming. "Uh, Pete, I need your help with something else too." Erica felt her face flame.
"Is it this?" Peter held up the plastic bag that she had forgotten she left on the table. Erica looked over the top of the bag and met Peter's eyes, gave an embarrassed chuckle.
"Yes," she said, in a small voice.
Peter laughed, the first time Erica had heard him relaxed since the mugging. "All right, what's the Web-head been up to now? I don't think he needs a ribbon as an accessory, even if it is the right color."
Chuckling again, this time in relief, Erica recounted her doings with the Untongued.
"…thought I'd set it up with Hudson for tonight. Might as well get it out of the way before tackling Dr.Octopus."
"My, you have been a busy little spider, haven't you?"
Erica watched Peter digesting the information she had fed him, saw how the light in his eye shifted, became warmer and clearer at the same time. She had guessed right; a puzzle to keep his mind occupied would stop him fretting so much about his physical inactivity.
"A large nose…" he was saying, thinking out loud.
They both heard a clunk as the lift came to a stop outside the flat.
"So, where's your 'cousin'?" Erica heard Mary-Jane say as she took her jacket off.
"She's just this moment stepped outside," Peter said, pointing to the window that Erica was clinging to the exterior of, pulling on her gloves and mask, "She didn't want to face you, said she was too scared…"
Spidey heard Mary-Jane's laughter echoing in her ears as she swung away. 'Just you wait, Peter Parker!' she thought with a grin…
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