Peter looked across the table of the expensive French restaurant at his beautiful (and she was very beautiful) wife. She had put on some of her most valuable perfume and made herself so utterly irresistible that he felt almost guilty about not reaching across the table and kissing the life out of her. He poured her some more of the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon that they had almost finished between them and watched her take an elegant sip of the burgundy liquid. They'd have to take a cab home, of that he was certain - he was certainly in no shape to websling either of them anywhere. He wasn't much of a drinker (and had been even less so, after he had fallen victim to spiked punch while battling the Hobgoblin a while back), true, but this, he felt, was a special occasion.

The two of them had been here for most of the evening discussing the past few days. MJ had told him about the modelling that she still wanted to pursue, and he had told her about what had happened at Osborn's hunting lodge. MJ had raised concerns of her own about the mystery man Peter had allied himself with, and Peter had agreed with her one hundred percent; he wasn't sure he should have done that either. She had been very skeptical about little May being alive at all, and Peter couldn't blame her, but after hearing the double-edged things that Osborn had had to say about their child, MJ thought that possibly - just possibly - her baby might still be alive. She didn't believe it with as much conviction as Peter did, yet, but he thought that was natural. She had a right to feel that way. He would respect that for the moment.

   He felt MJ slip her smooth hand over his own. "Penny for your thoughts, tiger?" she asked.

   "Oh, I'm sorry, MJ," he said hurriedly. "Must be the wine." He finished off the last piece of the steak tartar on his plate and continued. "Let's not make this all about me, okay? I want to tell you that I support your decision one hundred percent. If you want to get back into modelling, then you do that, okay? I'll be here for you."

   MJ grinned. "You told me that half an hour ago. The wine must be affecting you more than you thought. Any new thoughts you'd like to share?"

   "Um...I love you?"

   "Good answer," MJ said with a twinkle in her eye. "So do you want to know when my catalogue comes out, or what?"

The next morning, Peter and MJ were in a perky little coffee house that resided just a few hundred paces from the Daily Bugle building. Across the table from them sat Robbie Robertson, who had asked Peter and MJ to join him because he was curious about Alison Mongrain and what she had had to tell Peter that was so important. He had said to Peter on the phone that he felt he deserved a little payback for cutting his vacation short. "Anything else you can pay off with pictures, son," he had said in his rich, tobacco-stained voice.

   Peter felt decidedly uncomfortable. After all, he knew that Robbie was an excellent journalist even after so many years as an editor, and not many things escaped his notice. "What can I tell you, Robbie?" he asked apprehensively.

   "It's about you and Spider-Man," Robbie said.

Peter swallowed.

"And about Norman Osborn. He seems to have been important in both your lives. Spider-Man was there when Gwen Stacy died. At the time she was your girlfriend, am I right, Peter?"

   "Yes, sir, one hundred percent right," Peter said, and so far, Robbie was.

   "Then why does Osborn target you when he wants Spider-Man, is what I want to know," Robbie said curiously.

   MJ opened her mouth to say something, but Peter held up his hand for silence. He hated to do it, but this was his hand to play, like it or not.

"I've… known Spider-Man for years, Robbie. He and I were friends in high school. Believe it or not, he didn't have women throwing themselves at him like he does now. He was a quiet kid. He liked to play Dungeons & Dragons in his spare time, I remember. I think I was his only close friend. He and I know one another's families, and we still get along now. In fact it was his idea that I should be his own private photographer. He fills me in on what he's learned about the supervillains he fights, and I just follow him to get my shots."

   "No wonder you keep your secret from Jonah," Robbie said with a smile. "He'd have a coronary if he ever found out about it." His face suddenly hardened. "But what about the Stacy girl? You haven't explained about that."

   "The Goblin killed Gwen to get to Spider-Man through me," Peter said softly. "He knew that hurting me would bring Spider-Man out, so he went for Gwen. He went for her because he's too much of a coward to face Spider-Man face to face." He could hear his voice cracking, and he felt MJ grasp his hand in hers. "Sorry, Robbie. I shouldn't have gone off like that."

   "On the contrary, Peter," Robbie said. "You have every right."

   He had stayed awake for most of the night. He watched everything as if it were new. Of course, to him, it was. He remembered nothing of his former existence - not even where he had grown up or what his parents had named him. He watched the shadows in the walls of his little room with the funny walls change as the night changed into day again and the big muscular fellows brought him his breakfast of soft fruits and oatmeal. They left, as they had arrived, without a word, and he wondered why they even bothered. Then, after the night had fully retreated, he heard the door unlock and saw it open again, and in walked a woman in a white coat with a clipboard clutched in her left hand, and a ballpoint pen in her right. Then, for the first time since he had arrived here in this place, somebody spoke to him.

   "Hello, Norman. I'm Ashley Kafka, your doctor. We're going to go on a journey, you and I. We're going to find out who you are. Are you ready?"

THE END