A/N: And the reviews keep coming! I'm shocked when I come on and see the reviews, all of them fantastic. True to my nature, that's as long a "Thanks for the reviews" note that I'll leave. I hope this next part satisfies you all. I believe I had a question about Peter being pulled off the wall in chapter three.
I understand where you're coming from, Vikki, but don't forget, the Goblin had a high powered engine pushing him. I don't think one of Peter's hands stuck to the wall would be enough to hold on against it, as the other was gripping the web. Then again, I could be wrong.
And yes, I'm aware he came back in the comics, much like he did in mine. I had no idea of this until after I wrote the fic, lol.
Thank you for the note, and the great reviews. Enjoy the next chapter.
~Gobby



Chapter Four




Peter began to trudge unsteadily to Mary Jane's apartment building. People gave him a wide berth, eyeing his stumbling gait and blank eyes. Watching the dusky sky, he climbed the stairs to the front door, still struggling to breath properly.

He lurched to the front desk and swallowed hard before trying his voice. "Which floor is Mary Jane Watson on?" he asked in a low rasp that sounded nothing like himself.
The fat woman at the front desk looked at him skeptically, eyeing the necklace of bruises he wore around his puffed and swollen throat. She had shrewd eyes, close together and small. "Mary Jane Watson?" She spoke as though he were an enemy come to gather top secret information.

He nodded, begging silently for her to hurry. "It's an emergency." Speaking almost took all his strength.

She looked him up and down. He couldn't believe it. The Goblin was probably there by now, and he wasn't going to be able to save MJ because some stupid woman wouldn't tell him what floor she was on.

She eyed him for a second more. He passed inspection. "Ninth floor, room 217."
Peter jogged unsteadily to the elevators and pushed the button over and over again, pleading with it to hurry. The doors dinged and opened, and he weakly tottered in. The adrenaline rush draining from his body was tiring. Swallowing hard as he made his trip alone, he tilted his head back and let it rest against the wall, eyes closed, exhausted.
The doors dinged once more and opened. Reeling, he wobbled on rubbery legs down the hallway's cheap blue carpet, searching for room 217.

It was the last door on the left. Swallowing and clearing his throat, he pulled his jacket up around it and shoved his hands in his pocket, maneuvering the broken one ever so carefully. It throbbed, and he feared to move it. It felt like if he moved even one finger, all the bones inside would shatter. He wasn't sure what the Goblin had done, but it felt pretty bad.

MJ opened the door with a wide smile. "Hi, where've you been? You look...I don't know, different. Strange."

He smiled tiredly and shook his head, looking over her shoulder at the large window in the back wall. The dusky sky outside was deep orange, turning quickly to purple evening. "No, I'm OK."

She laughed. "Why are you whispering?"

He shrugged, trying to smile a little. "I uh…do strange things sometimes." He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "MJ, I need to come in. Would that be OK?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, sure, come on in. I'm not sure what shape the place is in, but come in." She held the door open for him as he did his best to pull his collar up with one hand. He went straight to the window, opened it and leaned out, looking around at the evening sky.

Empty.

Unsettled, he leaned back in. MJ was watching him with an amused expression. "Peter, are you sure you're all right?"

He nodded, still worried. No way the Goblin just gave up. Maybe he didn't know which apartment was hers? He fought not to scream as his hand pulsed with excruciating pain. "MJ, have you seen anything around here? Strange, I mean?"

She tilted her head and frowned at him. "Yeah, I've seen something strange. Two buildings a couple blocks away just exploded. Didn't you see the smoke and fire from here?"

Peter nodded sadly.

MJ continued, folding her arms against herself protectively as though she were cold. "I'm so scared. It seems everywhere I go, people are hurt --.that it's my fault-- " She swallowed hard.

Peter's face twisted with guilt and pain, but this was pain of the heart. Not your fault, MJ, he thought sadly. Never yours. Mine.

"No, MJ, it's not your fault." His voice was almost a whisper, and this time it was shame that was almost preventing him from speaking.

MJ swallowed again and smiled weakly. "Are you sure that you're okay? You sound very strange."

He fingered his throat unconsciously through his jacket. "No, I'm fine," he insisted. "I just wanted to be sure you were…after today, and everything."

Her face darkened again as she looked down. "Yeah, I'm all right," she whispered. "You worried me, that's all. I was…" She laughed a little, self conscious laughter. "I was scared."

He gently tilted her chin upward with his good hand and looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry. Do you, uh…do you want to go get something to eat in a little while?" He could battle the Green Goblin without a second thought, but his legs still turned to rubber when asking her out for quick hamburger.

"Well, I have to go to work at eight o'clock. Taking the late shift. But I'm free before then."

"Then let me get you dinner. Come on, I have money. At home, anyway. I can buy you anything from....a cheeseburger to a hot dog. You name it."

She laughed and nodded. "I would like that." She started to go into another room. "I just have to get my jacket."

His hand pulsed with pain, reminding him that he'd better get it to a doctor before he made it worse. He wanted to get her away from the apartment and lose the Goblin in the streets and many hamburger stands of New York, but he needed something for his hand, a strong painkiller, preferably.

He started to call to her, to ask if he could meet her in a little while, after he had it checked out. He crossed the room to her doorway.

The hair on Peter's arms and neck suddenly stood while he was halfway to the door, and his stomach twisted in terror. His heart leapt as a blood curdling cackle met his ears and a shadow swooped in front of the window.

The window he'd left open.

A small round object flew through the window and rolled to a stop six or seven feet from where MJ stood, hesitating in the doorway, having heard the laugh.

Cold fear sat like a rock in Peter's stomach. As though in slow motion, he leapt towards MJ as she gazed down at the harmless looking sphere about the size of a softball. Green lights blinked along the bomb and a whirring sound issued from it. Recognition flashed in her eyes and she started to turn, but it seemed she was moving slowly, too slowly. A belated yell ripped through his bruised throat, sending waves of pain all the way to his chest. "MJ! Get away from the—"

The explosion blasted MJ across the room. The shock wave hit Peter, too, and the next thing he knew, he was sitting up in front of the door. Waves of achy pain went through his body as he sat up. The shock wave made his head spin. Dazedly shaking his head, Peter staggered to his feet and rubbed his eyes. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. All thought was erased from his head for a moment when the bomb went off.

As memory came back in a rush, Peter blanched. Oh God, he thought with horror. I as good as told him which apartment was hers. I leaned out the window and showed him. Stupid, stupid move, Parker!

Fire licked at everything and noxious smoke was filling the room. Sweat immediately sprang out on him, and his sore, ruined throat began to close at the poisonous air. He coughed, pain tearing through him. Swallowing painfully, he frantically scanned the room for MJ, but to no avail. He didn't see her anywhere.

Praying that she hadn't been blown to pieces by the explosion, Peter dropped to his knees to avoid as much smoke inhalation as possible. Crawling through the apartment on one hand and one elbow, he made his way to MJ's bedroom door.

As he navigated the desolate apartment, something caught his gaze. A pair of legs poking out from under something. A head of red hair.

Panting from fear, he scrambled to her side. She was in a heap against a wall. A piece of ceiling lay on her, and Peter almost sobbed as he tried to figure out how to help her without killing her. He threw the piece of ceiling off her and cried out when he saw her face.

The shock wave had turned one entire side of her face different shades of black, blue and purple with bruises. Her beautiful red hair was now a deeper red, red with her own blood. Blood ran from her nose and ears. He swallowed hard. That meant a head injury. Her left arm was bent at a strange angle, an extra hinge along the forearm. Her right thigh was ripped open to the bone.

He felt eyes on him and his gaze rose to the window. The Goblin hovered, a green armored angel of death. The fire was reflected in the mask's eyes, dancing in them, and he had never looked more like a devil to Peter than in that moment. He was silent for once, not laughing, not speaking, just….watching.

Fury filled Peter, hot and raging through him. His despair and anger and agony all fed each other in a fire, hotter than the one surrounding him. "I'll kill you!" he screamed at the creature in the window. Or rather, tried to scream. It was maddening, wanting to scream out his fury and frustration, but only managing a hoarse yell. Like being in one of those childhood dreams where he couldn't make a sound when the monster was coming for him.

"I'll kill you!"

"Empty threat, Spiderman," the Goblin hissed. "You see these?"

He stood up straight, exposing his abdomen. Two dark gashes in the green metal were visible, breaks in the armor. Dark, almost black scars showed through the holes in the metal. "When I died?"

Another bomb appeared in his right fist, and he punched a button on it. He tossed it through the open window.

"You'll pay now, with her life as well as yours. Give my regards to your whore when you reach the next life."

Peter wanted nothing more than to scream and fling himself at the monster in the window. He wanted to punch the grinning mask until he begged for mercy. Hell, he might even have forgotten about his broken hand while doing it.

He had never had such violent feelings before, and it scared him. But at the same time, it felt good.

For once, Spiderman wanted to cause pain rather than stop it.

My God, is this how the Goblin feels? Is this what evil feels like?

Instead, Peter tore his gaze away from the evil eyes and spun to MJ, turning his back on the Goblin. A possibly deadly mistake, but Peter was counting on his spider sense and the fire between him and the window to protect him. He had to get MJ out of the apartment before the bomb went off, that was all that mattered. Peter began to pick her up and screamed with pain when he accidentally tried to use his broken hand. Swallowing, pressing the hand to his mouth, he struggled to overcome the pain, completely stunned for a moment by the intensity of it.

Tears running down his face, heart racing, he scooped MJ gently into his arms, crying out at the feel of her broken body against his arms. Praying the bomb hadn't landed close enough, he staggered to the door, dodging flames. If any burned him, he didn't feel it.

Green light suddenly filled the room, a blinding flash that would have no doubt burned Peter's eyes out or worse had he been looking at it. The concussion from it helped Peter out the door, almost blasting him through it. He suddenly realized it had been one of the bombs he had seen only once before, at the World Unity Festival that seemed so long ago. One of the bombs that had turned the board members into little more than skeletons, and then nothing but dust.

He felt a chill. They could have been killed in an instant, had the bomb landed a few feet closer.

Peter burst through the door. People from other apartments, having heard the noise and smelt the smoke, were rushing to the scene. Several of them gazed open mouthed at Peter, too shocked to do anything. A little girl whimpered and hid her face in her mother's leg.

"Somebody help me!" Peter screamed. A few were shaken from their shock, and a man with long hair in a ponytail arrived. Dry washing his hands, he spoke quickly, glancing at MJ then looking away. Peter could read the unspoken thoughts in the grimace. That looks bad. "I called 911, and they're coming. They said to keep her warm and try not to move her."

Peter barely heard. He sank to his knees, legs buckling, and sat holding MJ's head in his lap. Stroking her hair, he bit back sobs as tears rolled down his face. Blood, her life's blood, was oozing out of her to form a puddle around him. He rocked back and forth, taking deep, shuddering breaths. "Please God, dear God, oh please....."

The ones I love will always be the ones who pay.

The parts of MJ's face that weren't bruised or bloody were dead white. Swallowing hard and breathing faster, he grasped her wrist gently, rubbing the back of her hand with the ball of his thumb. His sobs turn into racking coughs, forcing his whole body into spasms with the strength of them. After a moment, they subsided. "MJ.....please come back to me...oh God...You took my parents and Uncle Ben, don't take her, too, oh God, please…"

Uncle Ben paid…..Aunt May…..even Harry.

MJ's door across the hall stood ajar, and he gazed through it for a moment, eyes drawn to the window in the back wall. He hated letting the Goblin see him like this, broken, sobbing, praying, but he couldn't help it. He could only hope the villain would leave and not try again. The rage had left him, born of the aftershock of all the events that had gone on, and only a prayer was left, and a plea.

"Please…" he barely whispered, imploring the Goblin with his eyes. Peter wondered if he had even a shred of mercy left. "Kill me, not her. Leave her alone." The Goblin remained motionless for a moment, watching the hero beg him for compassion, then turned the glider and jetted off into the night sky.

Relief filled Peter, and with it, despair. It didn't matter if he'd left. His work was done. Peter was certain MJ was going to die.

He reached down to lightly touch MJ's neck and went weak with relief. A faint pulse beat under his fingers. He started when he realized she was looking up at him with one eye. The other was swollen shut, blackened. Peter forced a weak smile for her benefit. "Hi MJ." He sniffed hard, tears still rolling down his cheeks. "Still want that cheeseburger?"
She may have smiled. It was hard to tell with the condition her face was in. He lost his own watery smile and swallowed hard, sniffing again. Deep and painful guilt ran through him. It was his fault. His fault this had happened. For the third time, his own identity had caused her pain. On the bridge, where she had almost died because he loved her…in the cemetery, when he couldn't simply be with her and love her…now, once again because he was close to her. He had tried so hard to keep her from danger, but danger had come anyway. And this time there was nothing he could do for her. She was beyond his help, now. Despite his best efforts to keep her safe, she was badly hurt. Maybe dead. And all because of his weakness, because he had strayed back to her. He had known, known with gut certainty that it would not end well if he got close to her. And now, because he'd had the audacity to think that maybe it could work, he'd once more drawn the Goblin's attention to her. And because of that, he now sat, cradling her head in his hands, covered in her blood.

Memories of Uncle Ben's death rushed back to him, memories of holding his hand as he died. That, too, had been his fault. The guilt suddenly struck him, stirred up by the day's events.

With great power comes great responsibility.

It had been his responsibility to stay away from MJ to keep her safe. And he'd failed in that responsibility.

"MJ, you will never know how sorry I am." His voice was a broken whisper, barely coming out as he stroked her hair. "I know you probably don't understand why, but I'm....I'm so sorry. I can never tell you how sorry I am." He wiped his nose and cheeks. "I'm sorry I let you get too close to me. God, I'm sorry." The last came out as a painful whisper, barely audible.

Her eye closed while she was looking at him and he felt her neck in a panic.
He couldn't find a pulse.

Now MJ pays.

You'll pay now, with her life as well as yours.

The Goblin was mistaken. Peter would not pay with his life. Only hers.

His eyes widened. "Oh God. Oh God."

The paramedics arrived, a stretcher between them. One of them placed a hand on his shoulder and gently tried to move him aside. He sat, solid as a rock, holding MJ. The paramedic, a black man with kind eyes, rubbed his shoulder. "Come on, son. You did good. Let us help her."

Peter released his hold on MJ and fell back against the wall, no longer able to support himself. "I can't find a pulse," he cried desperately. They attached an oxygen mask to her face and lifted her onto the stretcher, strapping her down. The paramedics carried her down the stairs swiftly, taking her from his sight.

The paramedic who'd spoken to him eyed Peter worriedly. "Are you all right son? Let me see your neck."

Peter stared at nothing, in a daze. The paramedic reached out to pull down the collar that had fallen away from Peter's neck. His eyes widened and his expression turned serious as he took in the bruising. The paramedic grasped Peter's hurt hand gently, and Peter gasped, yanking his hand away involuntarily. "Son? Somebody tryin' to hurt you?" He shook Peter a little, gazing into his dazed blank eyes. "Did somebody hurt you?"

Peter nodded then shook his head. "Yes....I don't......I don't know.....no......,"
The paramedic gently gripped Peter's shoulder and helped him to his feet. "Come on son. You'd best come too."



A few hours later, Peter sat in a hospital bed, staring at the wall. He didn't remember much of what had happened between MJ's apartment and now, but he had a vague understanding. He supposed he was in shock.

Peter closed his eyes. He didn't understand why the Goblin had practically walked all over him. Sure, he had had the element of surprise and the advantage of the glider, but he'd always had them, and Peter had gotten around them before. What worried him deeply was that one punch had nearly taken Peter out. And then one of Peter's punches hadn't even made the Goblin flinch. He didn't know why the Goblin seemed so much stronger, but it was an unlucky twist, one that Peter needed to overcome.

Peter slowly opened his eyes and looked down at his hands resting on top of the blanket. His right hand was covered in a bandage. A bad fracture ran right through the middle of it, freezing it stiff. Three fingers were broken. His right temple was also bandaged. There was a deep cut on it he hadn't even realized he'd gotten. They hadn't been able to do much for his neck, other than check to see if his windpipe was permanently damaged, which it wasn't.

The doctor hadn't asked any questions during the examination. Peter had offered no answers. He was trying to think them up for the questions he knew would come.
Peter opened his eyes as the door creaked. His doctor, a balding man in his forties and a kind smile, entered the room holding a clipboard.

He wasn't smiling then. He looked worried, worried for Peter. He went to Peter's machines and checked the IV. He had put Peter on a light painkiller.

"Well, Peter, it doesn't look like you have a concussion. Your right hand has a pretty bad fracture, but it should heal in a couple of weeks. It could have been a lot worse, had you not come in. You could have cracked the fracture into a wider one and permanently damaged your hand. Do you have anyone I can call to tell about your being here?"

"My aunt, May Parker.....Harry...."

"Who's Harry?"

"Harry Osborn, my friend."

The doctor wrote the names down. "OK Peter. We'll get in touch with them right away."

Peter nodded mutely. "What about MJ?" His voice was extremely hoarse.

The doctor sighed and sat down in the little plastic chair next to Peter's bed. "She suffered extensive blood loss. Fractures to the right forearm and leg. Head trauma."

Peter stared at his sheets for a moment, then looked at the doctor. He read the nametag. Dr. Monroe.

"When will she be OK?"

The doctor sighed again and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Peter, MJ suffered grave injuries. She's in a coma. It's possible she may not wake up."

Peter stared at him for a moment, not comprehending. "But...but I don't.....she looked at me. She woke up, she was awake, I saw it. She can't...." His voice cracked, then lowered to a whisper. "She can't die."

He twisted the edge of his sheet with his good hand and struggled not to break down in front of Dr. Monroe. Dr. Monroe set his clipboard down and leaned forward. "Sometimes, before someone becomes comatose, they may wake from whatever knocked them unconscious. Then they sink into the coma."

Peter was breathing through his nose, blinking back tears. "But...."

Dr. Monroe stood. "It's also possible she may wake up soon. I've seen people recover from comas such as these in a miraculous amount of time. There's really no telling when or if she'll wake up, but just be thankful she's not dead. And be thankful you're not dead."

Peter nodded, staring blankly. "Can I see her?"

The doctor watched him worriedly for a moment and then gave a sad nod. "Sure Peter. Sure you can. I'm going to have to send a nurse to help you, though."

He sat back down. "But first, Peter, I need to ask you a question. How did this happen? And why do you have such terrible bruising on you neck? How did you break you hand?"

Peter stared at nothing for a moment. The doctor leaned in front of him, looking into his empty eyes, and spoke softly. "Peter? I need you to tell me what happened."

Peter looked down at his hands. The wrapping went all the way around his hand up to the wrist. Peter had no memory of having it bandaged. He picked at an edge of the gauze. His voice came out as a whisper. "I can't tell you."

Dr. Monroe leaned back and folded his wrists. "Peter, if someone is trying to harm you, we need to know. Don't be afraid to tell us. We can help you."

Peter bit back a No you can't and shook his head. He swallowed and fingered the bruises on his neck. "I, uh…" He swallowed. "Got mugged. The guy…tried to strangle me. I broke my hand in the explosion."

The doctor sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. He obviously didn't believe a word of it, but left it alone for the moment. "Can you tell me what happened at the apartment?"

Peter watched the door for a moment, watching the people walking by. Visiting hours were beginning. "There was an explosion. I don't know why."

The doctor studied him for a moment longer, clearly not satisfied. He nodded. "All right Peter. I'll send someone to take you to see MJ now. They should be here in a little while. I'll check up on you later. When you get back from MJ's room, I want you to sleep. Get stronger."

Peter nodded silently, lost in his own painful world already.



A few moments later, Nurse Hope Sweeny was wheeling Peter down the hallway to MJ's room. MJ was in critical care. Peter was not.

She pushed him through the door to MJ's room, to the bed. The pale girl in the bed looked worse. The bruises had fully appeared. Her face was swollen and misshapen into a monstrous parody of her usual beautiful features.

Peter swallowed hard. No tears came to his eyes, however. He supposed they had all been cried. He preferred the tears to the aching emptiness he now felt.

Nurse Hope looked at him compassionately, rubbing his back. He was grateful for the simple comfort. His voice came out a whisper. "Can I be alone with her?"

Hope gazed at him for a moment. Technically, she wasn't supposed to leave a patient alone. "How about if I wait in the doorway? I can't leave you alone. I'm sorry, Peter."
He nodded silently, almost imperceptibly. "OK."

Peter wheeled himself closer to the bed and looked at MJ for a long time. Her breathing was shallow and slow, and he wished with all his might that she was just sleeping, that she would wake up and look at him and smile.

The ones I love will always be the ones who pay.

After a while, he reached out and tenderly smoothed her hair away from her face. His voice was barely audible. "I'm sorry."

It wasn't fair. Peter was the one the Goblin wanted. Peter was the one who was targeted.

It should be me, he thought desperately.

Leaning back, he continued to sit and look at her for a long time. Hope's heart ached at the expression of utter misery and despair on his face. Peter sniffed hard and swallowed, continuing to stare. He suddenly looked like a little boy with no mother to care for him. The look on his face was enough to almost bring her to tears.

She approached him and sat down next to him in a little plastic chair. When he didn't give any sign of noticing her, Hope cautiously touched his hand. He looked at her as though he hadn't known she was there.

And suddenly, all the fear and worrying and hopelessness came together. His face crumpled, and the tears burst forth as Hope enfolded him in protective arms. Pressing his head to her shoulder, she rocked him in a motherly hug as he sobbed out all the terrible pain he felt.