Two hours after talking to MJ and three hours after the Goblin found the glider, Peter was walking home at about four thirty, thinking about the date the next day with MJ. He wasn't sure what he was doing with her. He knew it was best not to get involved with anyone, because it would only bring she and he pain.

But still, she was awfully hard to resist, with her smile that had always lit up his day.
It was funny. He could brave fires, bad guys and God knew what else, but when MJ spoke directly to him and stared right into his eyes, his legs turned to jelly and his tongue twisted and tied.

Peter watched for a lull in the traffic, and then briskly jogged across the street, miming apologies to the cars that honked at him. He slowed to a comfortable amble when he reached the sidewalk, thoughts still on MJ.

He hadn't really spoken to her in depth since the day of Mr. Osborn's funeral. He'd figured it was time to stop avoiding her. Maybe it could work. Maybe, in time, he could tell her. A fleeting thought crossed his mind.

Leave her be…it's dangerous for her…you've seen that once already…

He stubbornly pushed the thought away, and the memory it carried with it. The image of MJ an inch from death, suspended high in the air flashed through his mind briefly, and he swallowed. No, he decided, it was possible it could work. Nothing was impossible. It was best to take things slowly, however. After all, she'd dumped Harry because of him. And though Harry pretended to Peter that he wasn't angry, and he didn't blame him, Peter knew that he did. Deep down inside, where maybe Harry didn't even know it, he did.

Peter found it hard to feel really bad about it. After all, Harry had hidden from him that he was dating MJ. He'd avoided it, and then acted as though it was his right. Peter had been miffed about that, but knew it was his own fault. As Harry had said, he hadn't made a move.

As he turned onto his street, he smelled smoke. A fire consumed the sixth and seventh floor of the apartment building across and down the street from his. His eyes widened as he took in the blaze and the destruction. A large section of the front wall of the sixth floor was gone. Crumbled as though an explosion had blasted it away. Large chunks of it littered the area around the front of the building.

Peter jogged swiftly to the wreckage, and meekly tapped the arm of a police officer that was waving back pedestrians who were struggling to see. "Hi, I'm with the Daily Bugle," he said, holding up his camera. "What happened?"

The officer looked at him, clearly irritated to have to deal with a stupid photographer. "Fire."

Peter chose to ignore the obvious answer and his eyes widened. "Was anyone hurt? Is anybody still in there?"

He was too late. The officer was already gone, unwinding a roll of police tape around the area where rubble had fallen.

Peter stepped back and looked up at the building, considering whether or not his help was needed.

"Jesus," a voice said behind him.

Peter looked quickly. A guy, about twenty years old with longish blond hair sticking straight up, stood, eyes on the fire. Peter approached him. "Do you know what happened?"

The guy looked at him. "You with the newspaper?"

Peter nodded. "Did you see what happened?"

The guy grinned, ignoring the question. "Am I gonna end up in the newspaper?"

Peter shrugged irritably. "I don't know, I'm just a photographer. I don't write articles."
The guy nodded sagely.

Peter sighed and repeated his question once more.

"Do you know what happened here?"

"Yeah, I was across the street. I was going to get a hot dog. Man, I haven't had a New York hot dog in forever. New York makes the best damn hot dogs, I swear. I can eat five or six of them at once. I like them with mus-"

Peter interrupted. "But did you see what happened?"

"All of a sudden, there was like, this huge explosion. I'm not really sure what happened, but I saw something. I don't know if it was piece of rubble that went up because of the explosion or what. That's probably what it was."

The man wasn't making sense. Peter's eyes narrowed. "What did you see?"

"There was this thing, that was kind of flying away, but I'm really not sure. The thing was probably a piece of the building blasted by the shock wave."

Peter's jaw was hanging open. He opened and closed it a few times before asking, "Do they know what caused the explosion?"

"Well, the cops are saying it was a gas thing, but I think it's a cover up, considering how the apartments are on the sixth and seventh floor. I say somebody had a bomb. Everyone got out OK, though, so nobody was really hurt."

"And this thing.....what did it look like?"

"I don't really know. There was a lot of smoke and fire, so I couldn't really see. All I know is that it kind of came out of the fire and went up through the smoke and disappeared."

Peter remained silent for a moment. The guy looked at him. "Do you know what it was?"

"Maybe. But like you said, it was probably a piece of wall or something."

The guy nodded again. "If I say it was something else, will I get in the newspaper?"

Peter looked at the guy. "I don't know. If you stick around for a little while, maybe you'll be interviewed. I can't interview though."

The guy nodded again. "Well, I hope you figure out what happened. Then you could be in the newspaper."

Peter nodded, anxious to be away from the strange man. "Maybe."

He jogged down the street a little bit and stood, scanning the clear blue sky.

Nothing there.



The Green Goblin watched Peter searching the skies for him. He resisted the urge to cackle, figuring it would probably give him away.

He was standing among the junk on the roof of a building down the street from the fire. It appeared that whatever instinct Peter had that alerted him to danger only came into effect when he was in direct and immediate danger. Like oh, for example, a glider with deadly blades attacking him from behind. That was how he'd known to get out of the way that night. That was why the Goblin had died when it should have been Peter.
He remembered his feelings right before he died, his feelings mixed with Osborn's in the moment of their death. A main one had been shock. How had Peter known? How had he moved so fast out of the way? And then realization. And, fleetingly, fear. He realized his mistake. Even if he had killed Peter, the glider's own momentum would still have carried it forward into the Goblin. But still…had it caught Peter, it may have slowed enough to give him time to realize what would happen and move out of the way.
His main emotion that night had been rage, wild fury at being killed so easily, and at Peter's luck to have such an instinct. But now the Goblin knew. Now he was prepared.
The Goblin had been cautiously tracking the unknowing Peter since he'd left the Daily Bugle, checking if this was indeed the way his special sense worked. Stealthily flying behind and above him, he'd watched him eating a late lunch, walking around....
Talking to Mary Jane Watson.

He had watched incredulously as the little wench had flirted with Peter. Her love for him had almost gotten her killed and she still had feelings for him.

The Goblin settled for a low chuckle. He was getting to Peter. Frightening him, making him wonder. Barely telling him who was there, but telling him just the same.

The Goblin watched for a second more, then leaped onto his glider and took off. The next hint wouldn't be as subtle, and he needed to figure out how to give it the proper touch.



The next day, Peter hurried to the little theater where MJ was auditioning. He glanced at his watch and groaned. Five minutes late. Oh well, he thought, these things never start on time.

He quietly pushed the door open to the theater and took a seat in the back. MJ was walking onto the stage. He almost snorted. Figures, he thought sardonically, the one time they start on time.

MJ began to deliver a speech, a monologue from one play or another. As she progressed, Peter found himself spellbound, not so much by the content of the speech, but by the way she spoke. The passion in her voice, the conviction, was mesmerizing. He could see it in her eyes, as though she was the woman, the woman lamenting over her lover.

Peter found he couldn't tear his eyes away from her, he couldn't do anything but listen to her glorious voice resonate through the theater. It took him a moment to realize when she finished, and he was astonished at how anyone could portray with such emotion.

Peter resisted the urge to leap to his feet and applaud, but instead sat silently, watching the men in the front write down things and consider. One finally looked up, as though he'd forgotten she was there and she shouldn't have been.

"We'll call you when we've decided what to do."

She nodded and swiftly exited the theater. He caught her arm on the way out and smiled at her, giving her a very enthusiastic thumbs up.

Once they were out in the lobby, he spoke. "MJ, you were great! How could anyone not see what I see?"

She looked down shyly. "And what do you see?"

He gazed at her raptly for a moment before answering. "A beautiful woman who could do anything she wanted to. Who could be anything she wants to be."

She sniffed hard and looked at him, and for a moment, he thought there were tears in her eyes. But a second later, he was sure there weren't. "Do you mean that? That you think I could do anything?"

He looked at the floor bashfully before answering and then nodded. "MJ, I think you could fly if you wanted to."

She smiled sadly and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. "So how about that lunch?"

He nodded and slung his backpack around the other shoulder. "Let's get out of here."
They exited the cool building, blinking in the bright sunlight. As MJ and Peter walked down the street, deciding where to dine, the hair suddenly stood up on Peter's neck and arms. Instincts screamed at him.

Spider-sense!

As he looked wildly around, ignoring MJ's frantic questions if something was wrong, the building they had just exited exploded. They were only ten or twelve feet from it, and the shock wave felt like a rough push from behind, sending Peter and MJ stumbling. Fire burst from the windows, shattering the glass, and immediately leapt to consume much of the walls. Smoke belched into the air, immediately creating a black haze. Peter pushed MJ behind him protectively and raised a hand to shield his eyes against the firelight. People were running away from the building. Others were coming to view the destruction. All of them were yelling and screaming. Peter's mind whirled as he tried to figure out what had happened, why a building would just suddenly explode. His eyes took in the chaotic scene, and he racked his brain.

Horrible maniacal laughter suddenly rang out above the shrieks of people, and something flew at high speed above the destruction, cutting back into the smoke.
Time slowed for Peter, everything happening in a dreamlike way. He thought he could see a shadow circling above the inferno. "No way......"

Another explosion, much closer to him rattled his teeth, and he felt the shock wave through his whole body this time.

The same familiar, mocking laughter echoed chilling Peter to his bones. Paralyzed by shock and fear, he stared at the figure through the curtain of flame and smoke. It was definitely there, hovering in the black smoke being belched from the blaze. He could almost see....could almost see make out the shape.......

And suddenly the thing was gone. Flown away, before Peter could get a real glimpse of it. He had a completely irrational conviction of what it had been. Trouble was, there was also a rather convincing argument.

The man was dead.

MJ was hyperventilating, her eyes also on the airborne menace that was now far away, a speck in the sky. Recognition flashed in her eyes as she gazed at it, and with it, horrible fear. Her eyes were distant, and Peter could tell she was lost in a memory. "Peter...Peter, was that...do you know who that...."

Peter gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. "MJ, I need you to wait for me, there are people in there. Somebody probably already got help, but make sure. Calm down, breath slowly, it's OK. The.....the thing is gone."

She shook her head. "Peter, you can't go back in there, the place is a death trap!"
He looked straight into her eyes. "I have to. Trust me, MJ."

He smiled his innocent little boy smile that always lifted her feelings. She swallowed painfully as he started toward the inferno. Though she was still deeply frightened for him and shocked, a strange reassurance filled her. It was as though she knew he would be fine…knew that he was much more than he looked. She'd gotten the feeling more than once about him, and a thought struggled to push into her head. It was as though he'd said that to her before. As though the moment was familiar…

Trust me, MJ.

It was familiar, mockingly familiar. Still…even for all the reassurances in the world…."Peter....Peter please!" He turned to look at her questioningly, as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "Please don't go?" She blinked back tears.
He smiled and gave her a thumbs up. The next minute he had covered his head and rushed into the blazing building. MJ bit her lip and held back a sob, wringing her hands. "Please don't go..." she whispered. "I love you."

Peter squinted in the smoke, breathing shallowly to avoid burning his lungs. Fire licked hungrily at every available surface and object, and he carefully skirted the dancing flames. Part of the roof above him collapsed somewhere in the building, and screams erupted from deep inside the building.

He pulled the hood on his coat up over his head and face and shoved through a burning entrance that used to lead into the theater.

It looked like the gates of hell.

Peter walked swiftly down the center aisle, eyeing the flames devouring the soft carpet. Another crash of the roof imploding brought more shrieks to his ears.

"Where are you!?"

Cries sounded ahead of him and he immediately moved to them. Carefully giving all flames a wide berth, he fought his way through, remembering all too well the last time he'd been in a burning building to save someone. Remembering who he'd found.
He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He'd think about it later. Now, there were people dying.

Suddenly he cried out. A flame had bitten his hand, and he pressed it to his mouth, the pain pushing everything out of his mind. He carefully breathed through his nose and struggled not to scream. He had to keep his head.

"Where are you?"

He repeated the question, and he thought he heard an answer. "What?"

"He.......help! We...we're in here! In the office!"

"Hang on, I'm coming!"

Peter reached into his coat and fished through his pocket until he found his gloves. He carefully pulled one over his burned hand, bringing a new wave of severe pain that twisted his stomach in nausea, as well.

He could see what had been the office. There were four men huddled against the wall, cut off from the door by the blaze. Pieces of the ceiling fell, narrowly missing Peter's head.

One of the men cried out in relief at the sight of Peter. "Help....help us! We're in here!"
The door blocked off, Peter squinted and sucked in through his teeth as he gripped the burning wall by a broken edge and yanked with all his might.

CRACK!

The plaster wall shattered off in wooden shards as he kicked and punched a makeshift door in the wall. He reached a hand through the hole. "Come on! Now!"

The four terrified men leapt the distance across the room, grabbing Peter's hand as he helped them through the door. He pulled his hood over his face and tied it, partly for protection against the fire and partly to hide who he was.

"Let's go! Follow me!"

He lead them through the blaze, making sure they all escaped with him. He turned to them, their clothes and skin washed red by the firelight. "Was anyone else in there?"
One of the men shook his head, still in shock. "No, no one. We were the only ones in there....how could this have happened?"

Peter watched as ambulances pulled up and the firefighters arrived. The situation seemed under control. He made sure the men got to an ambulance and then quickly maneuvered through the crowd that was gathering. He pulled his hood down and yanked the gloves off, turning when he was a safe distance from the building. MJ stood on the edge of the crowd, wringing her hands, her face creased in deep anxiety. He jogged to her and touched her shoulder lightly.

She spun to face him and threw her arms around him without any hesitation. "Oh Peter, I was sure you were going to be killed!"

He held her for a moment, the familiar feeling of his legs turning to jello at MJ's attention, and then pulled back. "MJ, come on, I'd like to get away from this. I don't want to be made into the big hero."

She grabbed his arm, holding up the injured hand. "You're hurt, did you see a doctor?"
The skin on the whole left side of his left hand was red and blistered, from the middle of the back of his hand to his palm. It wasn't as bad as it had felt, however, nor did it look as bad. "No, but I'll be OK."

She gave him a frustrated look. "Peter, you should see a doctor, right away."
"I will, but right now, I just want to get away from all these people."

She smiled, a smile of relief, but a smile haunted by longing nonetheless. "You're too shy....but OK."

As they neared MJ's apartment, Peter laughed a little. "Well, I guess today didn't go as planned. You did great in the audition though."

She sniffed hard and smiled, finding it amazing that he could make her smile at a time like this. "I can't believe it though...."

The smile fled her face. "We were in that building seconds before. It could have been us in there. We could have died...It was as though he knew…"

Peter stopped again and stared at her for a moment incredulously. "He?"

MJ mistook the reason for his disbelief. She thought he had no idea what the thing was and didn't know what she was talking about. "Yes," she whispered. "He…that thing…Peter, are you all right?"

Peter was standing mouth hanging open, eyes wide. His mind was racing. "It could have been us...like he knew..."

He turned to her suddenly as they stood outside her apartment. "MJ, I'm sorry, but I have to go. Something very, very important has just come to me. I'll try to call you again, but I have to go home now."

Her shoulders sank as she watched him start to leave. "But...but are you OK? Are you going to be all right?"

He kept walking, and raised an arm to wave at her. "Everything's fine! Don't worry 'bout a thing!"

Leaving her staring after him, Peter began to run as fast as he could to get home. It could have been them in there.

Coincidence?

He didn't think so.

Peter had been startled when he realized MJ had come to the same conclusion he had about who the culprit was. Peter knew the man was dead, but he had forgotten that MJ didn't That was why he'd been so shocked she'd imply that that's who it was. Because even though Peter knew about the death, as far as MJ could tell, he was still alive. Norman Osborn was not, but he was. She had no reason to tie the two together and believe otherwise.

Peter took the steps two at a time to the apartment building, and practically ran across the lobby. The elevator was taking an amazing amount of time coming down, and he pressed the button several hundred times before it reached him.

Peter hadn't wanted to believe that it could be him. He had been hoping against hope it wasn't and had been so fervent in his hope and belief that he had convinced himself it wasn't true. He had blocked out the possibility. When MJ had suggested it, it had been a splash of cold water in the face. He realized it was a deadly possibility, no matter how farfetched.

When he reached his apartment, he dropped his keys three times trying to get them in the door. Only when he twisted the key and heard things inside the lock rattling and loose did he realize his lock was broken. He swallowed hard and shoved the door open.

Peter kicked the door shut behind him and raced up the steps to his room. Harry poked his head out of his room and his eyes widened as he watched Peter blow past, up the stairs and into his room. "Is something wrong?" he asked as Peter slammed open the door to his room. Ignoring Harry, Peter shut his door behind him. Harry scratched his head.

The room was an even bigger mess than usual, and Peter almost broke his neck by tripping over a pair of boots, a pile of newspapers and a solitary sweatshirt.

He dropped to his knees beside the bed, snatching under it for the chest. Yanking it out, he stopped dead when he saw the condition of the lock.

It was snapped almost in two. Snapped. A solid metal lock snapped.

He swallowed hard, wanting to push it back under the bed and deny that anything was wrong.

Not possible. If he was back, then Peter needed to know.

With a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, Peter opened the chest.

It was empty, save a few pieces of newspaper.

Peter leapt to his feet and poked his head into the hallway. "Harry? Harry, you down there?"

Harry appeared at the bottom of the stairs, eyebrows raised. "Yeah? What's up, Peter?"

"You weren't in my room by any chance, were you?"

Harry frowned and shook his head. "No, why do you ask?"

Peter, struggling to control his breathing, stared into space for a moment.

"Peter?"

He blinked once and looked at Harry, seeming to not see him.

"Why do you ask?"

Peter forced a shaky smile. "Just wondering, that's all."

Harry nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Peter to stand shocked for another second.

He needed more proof. He had to know who it was. It was still possible it was somebody else, not....not a ghost, or a dead man come back to life.

Peter raced back down the stairs, tripped over his own feet, and stumbled to the door. Harry watched him thunder through the room. "Peter? What's wrong? Where are you going?"

"Out, gotta go, be back later, don't worry!"

Harry scratched his head.



Ten minutes later, Peter was jogging through the gates of the cemetery, praying that he was wrong. It wasn't as much of a shock if it was somebody else, and not a dead man.

Peter sped up, running full out to the far end of the cemetery. Breathing hard, eyes wide, he slowed as he neared the grave. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to approach the grave, terrified of what he would find.

Peter walked slowly, purposefully to the grave. And almost fainted at what he saw. Gasping, he staggered back as though punched.

The grave was disturbed. Dirt piled on both sides, as though something had erupted from the ground.

Lifting leaden legs, Peter approached the edge of the grave and peered inside.

Empty.

Peter sat down on the ground, hard. And made the understatement of the century.

"We're in trouble."