A/N: If anyone spots any glaring errors in the story so far, especially in the setting, please let me know! More of this may be made up than I know :-)
Cheers,
Apteryx
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Chapter 24: Up the Boohai.
It was another cool, overcast Spring afternoon, the clouds in fact so low, that the highest towers had their tops shrouded in mist. This suited Spidey just fine - she didn't want to bring undue attention to herself; she was about to visit Sergeant Bill Hudson at the Midtown South Precinct, and didn't think he'd appreciate it either. She launched herself from the edge of a building with a powerful kick, and sailed through the air like a swimmer seeing if they can reach the other side of the pool underwater without coming up for a breath, except instead of needing a breath, she'd need to fling a line of web. Well, she almost reached that building…
Playing her little game, Spidey travelled across West 35th street until she came to the Precinct building, and from across the street counted floors until she got the level of Hudson's office, then flipped around a lamppost, across to another lamppost and swung up again to land softly against the side of the precinct. She crawled along the wall, peering into each window, looking for Hudson, but having no luck. Perhaps he was on patrol… Then she slapped her palm against her forehead; Duh! She was searching the wrong floor, she should be looking at the floor below; 'Ground' was 'First' floor here.
Hudson was in. Spidey, about to jump in through his open window, paused; a sudden worry about the comment she overheard struck her. Instead of 'dropping in', she was tempted to stay outside, but thought again how visible she'd be - why didn't Peter base his costume on one of those camouflage spiders? she thought, grumbling. She'd have to risk it - so she silently climbed in and clung to the ceiling unobserved by the sergeant; she watched him deal with his paperwork, admiring his precise handwriting.
"I'd offer you an extra hand, but my writing's appalling - too spidery," she said.
Hudson finished the word he was writing without skipping a beat, then laid his pen down and leaned back in his chair to look up at Spidey. With his hands behind his head, he contemplated her for a moment before speaking.
"You gave me enough of a hand last night, thank-you, although I doubt Mr. Blomfield feels the same - he had some very uncomplimentary things to say about you."
"It was my bad manners, wasn't it? I wouldn't accept the chair that was offered to me…"
Hudson gave a brief snort of amusement. "You prevented another killing at any rate. How did you know to be there?"
"I've been on the lookout since we talked - I followed this guy uptown, thought he looked the part… Actually, I had an idea I wanted to share with you; there's obviously a gang of these tongueless types, and they're sure to be gunning for me after I've K.O'd two of them. Why not make it easy for them? Get them all in one place, get rid of them all at once, no more cultist killings. And I could find the evidence for you. We could throw a party - you supply a venue and the manpower to clean up after, and I'll supply the appetiser, entree and dessert! Just think of the thrilling conversations we'll have…"
"Hmmm…" Hudson spun round slowly in his chair as he thought. "How would we get them there?"
"I know it's risky, but let Blomfield's attacker go, with a little billet-doux from me - say you found it on him."
"Won't he suspect a trap?"
"Let's just say I think these guys are a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic…"
"Very well, I can't hold him for much longer anyways. Give me a call when you're ready. Mention the 'billet-doux', so I'll know it's you and not a prank call."
"Would I do prank calls?"
"I hope this works…"
"So do I Sarge, I wouldn't want to throw a party and have nobody come…" Spidey backward somersaulted off the ceiling and extended her legs so she landed on the window sill, and perched there, body low, with toes and fingertips only barely touching the sill.
Hudson laughed, "Show off."
"I have an appreciative audience…" And she fell backwards out of the window.
Spidey sat surrounded by cloud, periodically wiping the eye-pieces of the mask with the back of her hand as they gathered moisture. She had been on her way back to the apartment, when she felt a slight buzzing at the back of her head; tilting her head, she realised it wasn't a warning, it was the tracer she had planted earlier that day. Spidey was in the Diamond district; she had followed the trace to this building on Fifth Avenue, a building containing many small businesses, booths almost, dealing in gem-stones; was Mr. Basset planning a jewel heist? She spotted him leaving now, and leapt down to the neighbouring rooftop, keeping his sagging form in sight, only just - it was a long way down… He turned into 42nd Street and kept walking until he reached Grand Central station, where he entered. 'Oh great,' thought Spidey, 'the subway.' She could tell she was in for a busy night again tonight - added to her list was a check on the diamond stores. First though, she wanted to ask Barrowman about Mr. Basset.
Spidey poked her head through the window, and could see Peter and MJ sitting together on the couch in quiet conversation. She hated to disturb them, but needed to fetch her clothes.
"Ahem," she said.
They both looked up as she entered; Peter with a smile, and Mary-Jane with a slight frown that turned rapidly into a brilliant smile. Erica frowned in turn under her mask; MJ was an actress, how did she really feel? She'd have to talk with her later.
"Don't mind me," she said, walking swiftly towards the bathroom, "I have to use the amenities. You know, I couldn't find a super-hero rest-room anywhere…" She disappeared through the door.
…………………………………….
Peter and Mary-Jane glanced at each other.
"This is getting spooky. How long did you say she's been here for? A week? She seems to have taken on your alter-ego's persona pretty thoroughly." MJ murmured to Peter.
"Hasn't she," he agreed, looking thoughtful. He remembered something Erica had told him. "She… read about me in comic books. She probably knows more than she's letting on, but… she knows Spidey's persona quite well already. I suppose I should be used to this sort of happening, but… it still is weird."
"So she knows about me too?"
Peter looked startled. "I hadn't thought… I suppose she does."
"Hmmm." Mary-Jane placed a forefinger against Peter's chest. "I think your little Spider is spinning a web for us…" she smiled.
"You don't mind?"
"No, I find it amusing. She's a kind-hearted person, she means well; you were lucky…"
"I guess… no, you're right. It's just…"
"Just what?"
"Nothing." If MJ didn't mind Erica butting into their personal lives, why should he? If it made a difference… Peter shimmied to the edge of the couch and stood, grabbing the bag containing the ribbon off the table, "I want to take a look at this," he said, "Erica's dealing with these guys…"
"…with bad taste," finished Mary-Jane, jumping up from the couch to stand face to face with him. "You can't quit, can you? Even with no powers, and injured, you can't stop… you can't stop being involved…"
Peter tucked the bag into his sling and gripped Mary-Jane's shoulder with his left hand, gazed into her eyes. "No I can't MJ, he's too much of my life - he is me, alter ego, my other self… Even if I'm never Spider-Man again, I will always be involved somehow, you know that. But you should also know that you are the reason I can be myself, Spider-Man or Peter Parker. Just loving you is the reason for me…"
He let go. Mary-Jane was silent for a space, but Peter could see her eyes shimmering with un-shed tears. She blinked, and one dropped down her cheek; Peter reached up with his hand and caught it with a finger.
"I know…" she said at last. "I… I'd hoped it would be different now, that's all."
"Oh, MJ…" Pete gathered her in to a fierce one-armed hug, and they clung to each other as if in mourning. Peter felt his heart-beat thump in his chest, and was sure that Mary-Jane could hear it too. He whispered into her hair, "I love you, never forget that…"
MJ released herself from the embrace and gave Peter a watery smile. "What now, Tiger? How does the Spider-Man support team go to work?"
Peter smiled in grateful understanding at Mary-Jane; he knew how hard this was for her…
"I want to have a go at analysing this ribbon. Erica seemed to think it was saturated with a chemical, and I want to find out what, and for what purpose. I'll need help though…" Peter pulled the baggie out of his sling and held it in front of her. "For a start, I need someone to unzip the bag!"
Frustrated, Peter gritted his teeth; he had been working on the ribbon for a couple of hours with Mary-Jane's help, and had not gotten very far - the most he could tell was that some amino acids were used; he needed equipment and a few different chemical reactors he didn't have, if he was to get any further, but with his useless arm… He curled his hand into a fist around the ribbon, and slammed it onto the desk in front of him. The wood splintered and broke, various tools and containers jumped, a rack of test tubes fell over and one of them shattered, mixing glass in with the puddle of spilled fluids.
"Peter!" exclaimed Mary-Jane in shock; she had been sitting on his bed watching his progress when she couldn't help. "What's happened? Ha- have you got your powers back?"
Peter sat back, reeling from shock himself; he hadn't felt any change. If he'd got his powers back suddenly like that, then what had happened to Erica? He stood up slowly, surveying the damage and turned to Mary-Jane.
"I… I don't know," he said. He carefully put the ribbon down on the other side of the desk that was still intact, and moved over to a wall. "I guess I'd better find out…" Not wanting to jar his arm, he didn't leap for the wall, but instead placed his hand and one foot against it to try climbing; nothing, not even the slightest adhesion.
"Nope, no Spider-powers, unless I've somehow regained the strength only." He went to lift the desk, managed only to tilt it as one corner moved, certainly nothing beyond normal human strength. "I don't understand it…"
Mary-Jane came up next to him, holding his good arm as she stood close. "What was different? Was it… emotionally triggered?"
Peter stood, head bowed, letting all the frustrations of the past week build up within him. He suddenly banged his fist down on the desk again. "Argh!" All that he achieved was a sore hand.
He smiled ruefully at MJ, as he flapped his hand in the air.
"Not that either," he said. His eyes slid over his desk, and came to rest on the length of red ribbon. Peter picked it up, bunched it in his fist; he glanced at MJ as he hesitated, then brought his fist down on the desk, hard. The wood cracked underneath his hand, broke, creating more chaos on the desk top. He held up his hand, one end of the ribbon dangling, like a stream of blood…
"It's the ribbon…" he said, "that's how the Untongued get their incredible strength - drugs."
Mary-Jane shuddered slightly. "I don't like it," she stated.
"Quite frankly, neither do I." He absently began tidying his desk, cleaning the mess, at the same time thinking furiously.
"Just before you arrived," he said, "I was thinking about a description Erica gave me on one of those men. Last time I visited the chem store, Dean was telling me - you remember Dean? - he was telling me about a customer with a prominent nose who communicated solely by PDA, and bought an interesting mix of chemicals…"
"The same one?"
"Too much of a coincidence for it not to be. I need to…"
He was interrupted by a figure suddenly dropping swiftly down in front of them.
"What's that? Speaking of coincidences…" Erica whipped off her mask and stood there grinning widely.
Continuing as before, Peter said, "…I need to get a list from Dean of the chemicals he bought - if I can work out the formula used, I might also be able to work out an antidote." He paused, waiting for a reaction from Erica.
He wasn't disappointed.
"Antidote? You mean you figured out what the chemical does?"
Peter silently pointed to the desk behind her.
Her eyes widened as she took in the damage. "Holy!" she whispered.
"I'm going to the chemical store to…"
"No you're not!"
"Like hell you are!"
Two voices joined in to oppose his plan. Peter sighed; he didn't think he'd be able to get away with it, but he had to try. Mary-Jane gripped his arm tighter.
"Listen to me," she said. "You are staying right here. Erica and I will go. I've met Dean a few times, I'm sure he'll remember me."
Peter was sure too - MJ had had a lot of fun flirting with the older man.
"That's right, we'll get the information; you sit tight. Here, this'll keep you busy until we get back…" Erica pulled a slim package from the knapsack at her feet, and handed it to Peter. He turned it over, then handed it back.
"You'll have to open it for me," he said.
Erica impatiently ripped the paper off to reveal a photo wallet of enlargements and a small magnifying glass. She walked into the lounge and placed them on the table, Peter and Mary-Jane following. "The photos of the notes from the tunnel lab - you can decipher them until we get back. Golly, I'm thirsty; a glass of water, then I'll change and we'll be off…"
The images on the TV screen flickered from one scene to another with a rapidity that bordered on a strobe effect. Giving his eyes a rest from closely examining photographic handwriting taken with a hand-held camera by an amateur, Peter decided he TV was not much better. He had been making headway with the notes, and was becoming increasingly appalled at what he was reading. There was a mutated virus being produced at that laboratory, similar to the East Nile; the results of the testing on live subjects were written up, but that was not the most bad thing; not by any means. It seemed as if the virus acted as a carrier for a drug, a powerful undetectable drug that affected the nervous system in such a way that its victims fell into a coma, which was then blamed on the virus. So though the virus was relatively harmless, much time and money could be wasted trying to discover a epidemiological cure to it. Long term effects of the drug on the patient were not known, but the longest test case there were notes for, had the coma victim progressively losing function, and even when the antidote to the drug was given, that function was not recoverable.
Peter rubbed his hand over his forehead; he was developing quite a headache. He needed some fresh air - well, as fresh as you can get in Manhattan - if he could convince MJ and Erica to let him out. He felt fine. Peter moved his right arm up within it's sling and let out a hiss of breath as pain shot through it. OK, so perhaps it wasn't fine, but if he kept that arm immobilised, no reason why the rest of him couldn't leave.
He looked down again at the enlargements; he now knew partly what Ock was doing, but the why still eluded him. Why those particular coma victims at the Moroney clinic? Peter searched around for, and found, Erica's notes on the subject and re-read them. Possibly nobody else would think of connecting the victims in any way; he was sure he could discount the homeless man - he was probably one of the early test cases - but a Senator, a realtor and a city official or two? He would have to get background checks on them somehow.
There was the sound of laughter outside the front door, then the two women entered, flushed with their hilarity and carrying a couple of large paper bags. Erica called out as she took them into the kitchenette, "We got Chinese takeaways for dinner - thought we'd have an early one."
While Erica was busy, MJ came over to Peter, placed her hand on his shoulder. "You look a little pale, hon," she said. "Are you sure you haven't been overdoing it today?"
He denied it. Grimly, he told Mary-Jane and Erica all that he had found out from the notes. Their mood immediately dampened.
"But why?" asked Mary-Jane, "Why?"
There was silence. Erica wheeled in the chair from the bedroom. "C'mon, get your laughing gear around that," she said, laying the food out on the table. "It's time we ate. Perhaps we can figure out what to do next over dinner."
Peter wasn't all that hungry. He picked at his food, and watched, secretly amused as Erica wolfed down her huge pile of food while in contrast, MJ ate slowly and carefully.
"How did you get on with Dean?" Peter asked after a while.
With a flourish, MJ pulled a printout from her pocket and handed it to Pete. He scanned the list of chemicals. "Oh now, that's interesting…" he mumbled to himself, "I wonder…" He turned the paper over and started to write, awkwardly, with his left hand. He didn't see Erica and Mary-Jane look at each other and smile, almost indulgently. This was something he was good at; something he wished he was able to do as a career if Spider-Man was out of the picture, heck, even if he were still around. His pencil flew over the paper as fast he could write, but it was much slower than the speed at which chemical equations and formulae formed inside his head. He reached out for more paper - smoothed down a paper bag and started scribbling on that too. Finally he stopped. He thought he had it, but… he didn't have the equipment or the ingredients to test it out. He did however, know someone who did…
"Erica, I want you to visit Dr. Connors tonight. Ask him a favor. I'll give you my workings; he should be able to make up an antidote from them."
"Hang on a minute mate! He'd also figure out pretty quickly that I'm not you; I mean, I hardly know one end of a bunsen burner from the other, and he knows that Spidey is a science whiz and all."
"You've got a point there." Peter's brow furrowed, then he sighed and looked at Mary-Jane. "MJ?" he said.
Erica, seeing Mary-Jane's face close down, hurriedly said "I don't need any antidote - I can handle these guys without…"
"How many of them are there again?"
"Three or four."
"Hmmm. Well you could, but I dunno, I'd rather you and the police had it as a back-up." Peter watched Erica open her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything, MJ spoke.
"It's OK, he can go, I will too."
Peter smiled at MJ. She knew him pretty well… He looked across at Erica.
"Can you drop in on us later? We may have it ready for you."
"Yeah, all right. I need to ask him again about Ock anyway. You going to give him a ring now?"
"OK, I'll call."
"Right, I'll be off then." They watched as Erica stripped out of her clothes to reveal the Spider-Man costume underneath and began strapping on the web-shooters.
"Where are you going?" asked Mary-Jane, not having heard the full details of her plan of action.
A fully suited Erica turned opaque eyes to face her.
"Up the boohai shooting pukakas with a long-handled shovel" she said, laughing, and leapt out the window.
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