Part Two

"So this thing you're doing at the Osborn's house, what's it for?" Gwen Stacy asked Peter as they both walked to a local pizzeria. The sounds of summer were all around them as children played gleefully in the street.

Peter shrugged, "Just some of Mr. Osborn's friends. Harry's the one who dragged me along." They turned a corner and slowly made their way through the crowds of people moving through the streets of New York. "I wish you could come but Harry said his father would start to look upon as a annoyance. The less people, the better."

"I understand." Gwen responded, "Besides, I don't think I'd want to come anyway."

"Like I do?" Peter asked with a mischievous smile, "Maybe afterwards, I'll give you a call."

Gwen laughed, "Give me all of the juicy details." They were silent for a moment, each searching for a topic that the other would find interesting, "So, how's this thing between MJ and Harry going?"

Peter's face sunk for a moment, "Fine, I guess." He said sheepishly, "I doubt it'll last for Harry, he seems to move on to a different girl every week."

"Yeah." Gwen said in agreement, "A little like MJ herself." She said spitefully, "It won't last."

"What's up with this thing between you and Mary Jane, you both seem intent on destroying the other." Peter said recalling his discussion with the redhead in the hotel elevator back in Florida.

Gwen looked rather shocked, "I don't know what you're talking about Pete."

Peter looked full of sarcasm, "Don't give me that, you've been spitting nails at each other the moment you two met." He rocked his head back, "It's a wonder neither one of you got a hold of an Uzi yet."

They entered the pizzeria, a small building alongside the street block and made their orders to the owner. After a short moment of awkward silence, Gwen finally answered Peter's pressing question.

"I don't like her. Not one bit, she reminds me of somebody that would love to tell you that she'll be there forever, only to have her and your wallet missing the next morning." Gwen grimaced, "That's why I don't like Mary Jane Watson."

Peter was silent, unable to take in what she had just said and the intensity of it, "I see." He said dumbfounded. "Our pizza's ready. I'll get it."

After retrieving their pizza slices, Peter decided that while the mood was somber he might as well ask, "Gwen, how far are we going to take this yet?"

Gwen raised her eyes and looked at him, "I'd like to go all the way." She said referring to them sleeping with one another, "This depends on how far you want to take it."

"Not that, although I'm happy to see you're so enthusiastic about the subject." Peter said with a smile, "I mean, how far in the long-term?"

The blond ran her fingers down her long blond hair, thinking, for a moment. "As in a relationship?" Peter nodded, "I don't know." She responded. "I guess I never thought about it."

"Never?" Peter inquired, "Never wondered what things would be like if…we were married? Had kids?"

Gwen was quiet, "No." She finally admitted.

"Oh." He replied, "Let's eat our food."

"How do you know, uncle Ben?" Peter asked as they both folded the laundry down in the basement of their modest home.

The elderly Ben smiled, "How do I know what?" He asked, "I know a lot of things, Pete, but not what you're thinking."

"I mean, how do you know when this is the person you want to be with." Peter said, "And not a fling."

"Well, couldn't have picked a harder question?" Ben raised both his eyes and sighted, "Before I met May, I was with another girl." He laughed, "She really was something." Ben recalled with a grin, "But; after running into May everything became clear."

For those outside of the family that didn't know, May was not genetically Peter's aunt. Her full name was May Reilly but when she married Ben Parker she not only inherited his name and the title but his many responsibilities; Peter was one such responsibility.

Peter sighed, "For me, things aren't so clear."

Ben nodded, "I understand. This is about the Watson and Stacy girls, isn't it?"

"How did you know?" Peter said, somewhat shocked at how easily Ben had discovered another one of his little secrets.

"Its my job." Ben answered. He put aside some dress clothes; "You're still going that party with Harry, right?"

Peter nodded, "I told him that I would, I can't back out on him. So I guess that's a yes."

Ben held up the suit and patted its side, "Well, these are pretty old, but still good." He handed them to his nephew, "Take good care of it."

Norman Osborn, dressed in a gray business suit, snickered at the front page of the newspaper, the New York Times, which he held in his hands. "Spider-Man implicated in mutant attacks." He said reading the title of the article. "What a fool." He remarked putting the paper down on an old wooden crate in the steel mill that served as his base of operations.

Despite this moment of sadistic enjoyment, Norman knew he had to get down to business. Over two months had passed since their battle and since then, Norman had been analyzing the engagement from what pictures and recordings he could find in the media.

One-on-one, Spider-Man had proved too great of an adversary for him to overcome. The infernal hero's agility, speed and strength were far beyond even Norman's own enhanced abilities. It was after reaching this conclusion that he understood the only way he could beat Spider-Man in a battle to the death would be to overwhelm with more targets that he could handle. No doubt, the web-slinger thought that the Goblin had died in the explosion. Surprise would be on his side.

"Glider: Return to user." Norman demanded. From the dark depths of the abandoned mill his glider soared straight towards him coming to a stop just in time.

His newest weapon had spent weeks of design and testing, but with the resources of Osborn Industries at his fingertips it had been done.

Norman smirked, "Glider: Launch six razor-bats." He ordered proudly. The glider complied and from two small compartments on each wing emerged and unleashed several metallic disks with blades protruding from their sides. "Excellent." The bats hovered just off the ground.

He had already programmed them with all of the necessary visual information to go about their job. Norman took a deep breath before giving the fateful command, "Glider: Dispatch razor-bats to track down Spider-Man using the data I have given." Each bat zipped off into the sky via a small rocket near the rear.

Once the small robots found his old foe Norman would handle the web-head personally. He grinned, "I can hardly wait." Suddenly, his watch beeped demanding his attention, "Oops, I had better get going."

"Peter!" Norman said as he greeted the well-dressed and well-groomed teenager, "How good it is to see you again."

"It's a pleasure to meet you again, sir, as well." Peter replied. He was a little overwhelmed, once again, by the sheer splendor of where he stood. It was some large dance hall at some country club that Norman attended.

Norman waved his hand dismissively, "No need to be so formal boy. What do you think?"

Peter raised his eyes and laughed briefly, "Its more than I was expecting." He had been standing next to the window with Harry when Norman approached both of them. Now, the younger Osborn was nowhere in sight.

"Indeed." Norman remarked, "It takes years of work to even get into this club, and then more to get the funds necessary to host this kind of party." It had taken some convincing Fisk to allow him to have the little social event here, but Norman thought it had been worth it.

"Yes sir." Peter responded.

Norman grinned, "Please boy, as I said no need to be so formal." He patted Peter on the shoulder, "So, how are things at home? Not to hectic I hope."

"Not at all."

"Good." Osborn nodded, "That's good to know, I imagine it's difficult to take care of such an old man."

Peter shrugged, "Uncle Ben manages." He spotted some people he had seen on television pass by and realized how exclusive this club really was. "Recent events have been tough on everybody."

Norman sighed, "Believe me, I know. You're lost for quite some time afterwards." He recalled his own father's suicide and the strain that it put on his mother who left him alone soon thereafter. "What's important is that you use this obstacle to strengthen yourself."

Peter wondered where Harry had gone but hung onto every word that Norman said with interest. "I think I understand."

"Good." He remarked proudly, "You know, Parker. I see myself in you. You're intelligent, quick, strong and full of resolve. If you take life for everything its worth, you'll go places." Norman said. He awaited Peter's response with an almost fatherly devotion.

"It seems to have worked for you." Peter answered back respectfully. "If you don't mind me saying."

Norman couldn't help but admire Parker. He's in many respects the perfect son. Apparently, that old fool of an uncle did a decent job with him. I'd kill to trade him for Harry. "Not at all." He replied, "I've had a fair share of strife, not unlike your own, in my life."

"Excuse me, Osborn, can I speak to you?" Said a large, fat man who came from behind the tycoon. "I want to talk to you about the golf tournament next Thursday."

"Of course, Mr. Fisk." Norman said with a smile on his face. He turned his attention back towards the young man, "Parker, we're having a science exposition at the company in a week, very exclusive. Would you happen to want to attend?"

Peter backed away surprised at the offer, "An expo?" He smiled, "Of course!"

Norman shook Peter's hand, "Wonderful. I'll speak to you later, until then Mr. Parker."

Peter watched Osborn walk off with Fisk, both of them talking jovially to one another. He gazed across the hall and found Harry to be nowhere in sight. "Where the hell did you go?"

Outside, away from the eyes of his father, Harry Osborn sat on a bench outside the dance hall and near the garden, with a face full of tears. He hated his father, the man who never showed him one shred of respect. He hated the socialites, people who pretended to be friends of the family but only wanted a part of the Osborn wealth. Harry then oddly found himself hating Peter Parker, his friend, who Norman cared more than his own son. The moon was his only companion.

If he could only find a way to destroy them all he would have. He was a teenager, wanting to lash out at the world and no way to do so. Harry wiped away the tears from his face and then noticed a figure was quietly watching him. "Who's there?" Harry asked standing up to confront what was no doubt one of the members of the club.

Out of the shadows emerged Roderick Kingsly, "Hello."

"Mr. Kingsly?" Harry had seen the man several times, he was a regular at the club, "What are you doing out here?"

"Not much." Roderick remarked taking another step toward Harry, "I'm not hiding from my father, if that's what you mean?"

Harry sneered at Roderick, "I'm not hiding!"

"Of course not." The businessman replied, "I understand completely, poor Harry. You must feel so lost, your own father doesn't want you around anymore." He shrugged, "I bet you must wish you could hurt him somehow."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked curiously.

Roderick grinned, "Keep your eyes open, Osborn, and your ears alert." With that he turned around and vanished into the darkness.