Author's notes: Again, I want to thank everyone who sent me feedback. I've received more feedback alerts on this story than on any story I posted at before. Of course mose of my stories before now have been Buffy/Willow BtVS pieces with a little Spike-bashing thrown in for good measure(I love Spike, I just hate the idea of Spuffy), maybe it's just a subject matter thing. My plan was for Chapter three to wrap the story up, but it turned out to be longer than the rest of the first two chatpers combined, so I cut it to two, and should post Chapter four in a day or two. After this prologue, I plan to launch into a major story called 'The Goblin War'. Ten points if you can guess the villain.
Chapter three
Just an Ordinary Boy
"Just a day, just an ordinary day.
Just tryin to get by.
Just a boy, just an ordinary boy.
But he was looking to the sky.
And as he asked if I would come along
I started to realize-
That everyday he finds Just what he's looking for,
Like a shooting star he shines.
He said, take my hand,
Live while you can,
Don't you see your dreams right
In the palm of your hand?"
--Vanessa Carlton
"Ordinary Day"
The sun was beginning to set behind the Manhattan skyline as Spider-Man finally made his way to his apartment, and he couldn't be more relieved. After his encounter with the Scorpion as Spider-Man (and waiting through a long line at an ATM as Peter Parker to deposit his check for the pictures), all he wanted to do was relax for the rest of the evening. Maybe pop a frozen dinner in the microwave, watch the evening news for more information on the decline and fall of J. Jonah Jameson, and then turn in for the night. A noble plan, Peter thought, assuming no major crimes occur tonight.
He dropped the makeshift web-backpack that carried his clothing and the evening edition of the Daily Bugle, letting them land on his bed, and then lowered his body through the skylight by two web-strands, one in each hand. His apartment might not have been the Taj Mahal, but he was grateful for the bedroom skylight. The skylight made it much easier for him to enter his apartment at night in his costumed identity, without dealing with any unexpected run-ins with neighbors or the landlord. The high ceiling in the bedroom below the skylight also made for a perfect gym.
He lowered himself down by the web-strands, until his body floated three feet above his bed. He held his body taut in a perfect handstand and inhaled briefly. "And it all comes down to this final maneuver," Peter whispered. "For the last two days, Peter Parker has wowed the audience here in Athens with his incredible display of gymnastic skill, until that unfortunate slip on the uneven parallel bars last night. Now it's all or nothing. He needs to nail the triple somersault dismount from the rings to guarantee a gold medal for the United States."
He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and began to swing his body downward. With increased momentum he flipped his body forward, arcing into a perfect circle, two circles, three, before releasing his grasp on the weblines. He folded his legs to his chest and let his momentum propel his body into three perfect somersaults, before extending his legs again, his feet landing squarely on the floor in front of his bed. He threw his arms over his head in triumph, his head leaning back proudly. "And he sticks the landing! Peter Parker pulls off the performance of his life! The gold is his, and the crowd goes wild! YEEAHH! YEEAHH!" He turned around, bowing theatrically to the bed and to his window, before turning to his bedroom door...
Only to see a familiar silhouette standing in the door-frame, light from the living room lamp haloing her flowing russet hair, lending it a golden light. She turned on the bedroom light, revealing the pale pink sweater and low-riding faded blue Capri pants she was wearing. She flashed Peter an amused smile, said, "Way to go, Tiger," and began to applaud Peter's acrobatic performance, causing the young man to blush furiously under his mask.
"MJ," Peter gasped slightly, as he slid his fingers under the hem of his mask and slowly pulled the Spandex off of his head and tossed it onto the floor. "Uh, not that I'm not happy to see you, but what are you doing here? Oh no, we had a date tonight, right? We had a date, and I forgot, and I am so monumentally sorry--"
"Our date isn't until tomorrow night, Peter," Mary Jane teased her flustered boyfriend, strolling seductively toward him, a coquettish grin lighting her face. "I just wanted to surprise you."
"You're doing a good job so far," Peter admitted as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Do you want me to stop?" she purred coyly as her face moved closer to his.
"Not particularly, no," he stammered as she pulled him in for a generous kiss. After a half-second of shock, Peter found himself returning the kiss, his arms wrapping themselves around Mary Jane's waist. Their kiss was calm, sweet and unhurried, not the prelude to passion, but more than a simple greeting. For the first time that day, Peter felt truly comfortable as his mouth rested gently against Mary Jane's, a feeling that she understood perfectly. There was simply no where else in the world that either one of them wanted to be at that moment.
Inevitably, the need for oxygen forced them to reluctantly break off the kiss, and Mary Jane nestled her head into the crook of Peter's shoulder. "I heard on the radio about Spider-Man fighting this Scorpion guy. I had to be here. And you did give me the key to your apartment we started dating, so I thought..."
Peter could hear the tension, the worry, in Mary Jane's voice. He fought back the urge to curse himself for letting her worry without contacting her. That's it, he mentally noted, I have GOT to find a way to carry a cellular in my costume. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you right away," Peter spoke softly, his right hand gently running through her red hair. "I was over at the Bugle, selling the photos."
Mary Jane harrumphed suddenly, releasing her arms from Peter's neck and moving away slowly. "Let's not spoil this moment by bringing up ol' J. Jonah Jingleheimer Schmidt, huh?"
"Something wrong, MJ?" Peter asked quickly. He could see the muscles in her neck bunch up, as unspoken tensions mounted within her. She turned away for a moment, as Peter reached out to gently caress the nape of her neck. Mary Jane responded by slowly falling back into Peter's embrace, relishing the feel of his firm chest against her back. She absently reached up with her left hand and began to trace the web patterns on Peter's costume.
"Well," Mary Jane said reluctantly, not wanting her dark mood to destroy their time together, "it's a good thing I was able to get that job at the Greenwich Village Schlotsky's a few months ago. I found out why I hadn't been getting any stage work since I got canned from 'Ernest'."
"Oh?" Peter commented briefly. "Why's that?" He had wondered about her recent run of misfortune for some time; the day after she cancelled her wedding to John Jameson, she received a telephone call from her director, informing her that she had been let go from the cast of 'The Importance of Being Ernest'. She had attended several auditions and endless 'cattle calls' since then, without so much as a spot in the chorus. He had also noticed that a new model's face had appeared on all the 'Emma Rose' billboards in New York about that time.
"Two words and an initial," Mary Jane groused wearily. "J. Jonah Jameson. I ran into Sergey during my lunch break today; he's one of the make-up crew from 'Ernest'."
"Should I be jealous?" Peter teased, hoping to lighten Mary Jane's mood.
She smiled slightly at her boyfriend; "I don't think I'm his type," she assured him. "You might be, though."
"Sorry," Peter backed out of that line of conversation quickly. "You'll have to tell Sergey I'm spoken for."
"Damn straight," Mary Jane chuckled. "Anyway, he told me why I've been summarily ignored by every producer in town. Seems ol' Triple J was less than thrilled by my decision not to marry his son, and he managed to use his leverage as a newspaper publisher against me. He threatened several producers with bad reviews sight unseen, or swore to suspend publishing ads for new plays, that sort of thing, unless they blacklisted me. He also must have pressured Emma Rose into canceling my contract with them."
Peter stopped stroking Mary Jane's neck, his body tensing in anger. "That son-of-a..." he whispered, half to himself. Mary Jane could feel Peter's body shaking slightly, and was afraid that her news had made him angry, before she heard his chuckling laughter in her ears. She turned in his arms and faced him, her brows knitted in confusion. "What's the joke, Peter?"
Peter was now laughing earnestly as he pulled away from Mary Jane and picked up his discarded web-bundle from his bed. Ripping the bundle open, he spilled his street clothes and newspaper onto the bed, and picked up the newspaper. "Check this out, MJ," Peter handed her the paper, showing her the front page. "You're gonna love this."
Mary Jane scanned the front page intently, wondering what had Peter so amused. The main picture (one of Peter's, she realized with a sense of pride) bore the headline; 'SPIDER-MAN NABS SCORPION, RESCUES HOSTAGE' and showed Spider-Man standing next to the Scorpion, who was hanging from the scaffold, wrapped in webbing and looking like a dirty piñata. She read down the page, her eyes resting on the side-bar beneath the photo of Spider- Man next to the helpless Scorpion; 'Bugle Editor Arrested for Endangerment'. The article, bylined by Ned Leeds, stated that Daily Bugle editor J. Jonah Jameson was formally charged that afternoon with reckless endangerment and depraved indifference to human life, for allegedly financing the weaponry used by the Scorpion in his attempted robbery. The District Attorney stated his belief that "the defendant, with the assistance of inventor Phineas Mason, created the threat of the Scorpion in order to lure Spider-Man into the open, and was indifferent to the lives that were harmed by the Scorpion's attack."
Mary Jane's eyes lit up in surprise, her fists clutching the paper hard as she read further. "I don't believe it..." she gasped as she finished the article. "How could he do something like that? That bastard tried to make a new Green Goblin, or Doctor Octopus? I hope they throw the book at his ass!"
"Hey, it's okay, honey," Peter tried to sooth his agitated girlfriend.
"It's NOT okay," Mary Jane growled vehemently. "How dare he do this? Bad enough he tries to screw my career, I can handle that. But this...he's endangering people's lives! He tried to have you killed! Damn, and that man was this close to being my father-in-law..."
"MJ," Peter placed his hand over her lips, as his warm eyes and comforting smile effectively silenced her tirade. "First, the Scorpion was hardly in the same league as Goblin or Doc Ock. I didn't even have to punch him once! He may have done some structural damage, but the police and I were able to take him down easily, and no one got hurt worse than a broken leg. Second, Jameson isn't the Editor in Chief at the Bugle anymore. Robbie Robertson told me that the board of directors had suspended him pending the investigation into this whole Scorpion mess. Robbie's in charge now and he's a straight arrow. Jameson may dodge a conviction when this is over, or plead it out for a suspended sentence, but right now, he's in a world of trouble. And he brought it all down on himself."
MJ harrumphed prettily (at least Peter thought she was pretty), then snuggled back into Peter's arms. "You think they strip-searched him?" she asked innocently
"Probably gave him the whole body cavity search," Peter said, smirking at the thought.
MJ suddenly flashed Peter an elfin grin. "You think they'll find his head?" Mary Jane began to giggle, her body shaking against his most pleasantly. Peter found himself chuckling with her, a quiet cleansing laughter that seemed to lighten her dark mood.
"I guess you're right," she murmured as their laughter subsided. "It just galls me, is all. I mean, you've done so much for New York, and that S.O.B. gets to walk all over you."
"I know," Peter whispered, kissing the top of Mary Jane's head. "But I don't put this suit on for the JJJs of the world."
MJ glanced up at Peter, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Why do you, then?"
Peter met her eyes with a gentle smile. "For the Mary Janes, who else?"
Mary Jane shook her head, laughing and crying at the same time. "You're nuts, you know that?"
"Only about you, MJ," Peter wiggled his eyebrows in a vague approximation of Grouch Marx. MJ laughed again as she lifted her head and closed her eyes, her lips meeting Peter's.
Before their kiss could intensify, a sharp beeping noise emerged from the kitchen. "What's that," Peter asked as Mary Jane disengaged the hug.
"That would be the lasagna," she announced happily as she rushed out of the room. "Oh, I did a grocery run before I got here," she called out from the kitchen. "Good thing I did; all you had were ten packs of ramen noodles, some frozen dinners, a jar in the fridge containing a single pickle and something in the produce drawer that I'm guessing used to be lettuce, but is now penicillin. Typical bachelor."
"Hey, I resemble that remark," Peter called out from the bedroom as he tugged at his costume tunic.
"Did I lie?" MJ quipped as she shut off the timer and located some oven mitts. "Hey Tiger, once you get into your civvies, you want to fix a salad? I picked some romaine, a cucumber, and some Italian dressing on my way over."
Peter padded out of his bedroom in his blue tights, an Old Navy flag t- shirt and bare feet, stopping short of the kitchen as the aroma of garlic, sweet basil and parmesan hit his nose. "Smells good, MJ," he smiled hungrily. "And you did that yourself?"
"I got here a couple of hours ago," MJ announced happily as she pulled the lasagna out of the oven, "and your aunt May asked me to make sure you were eating right last time I spoke to her."
"I just can't believe you did all this," Peter breathed.
"Wha, you think I live on Chinese take out and restaurant dinners?" Mary Jane smirked. "It costs less for me to do my own cooking. I mean, I'm not Emeril but I do know my way around a kitchen. And lasagna isn't the toughest thing in the world to make."
Peter regarded Mary Jane with a newfound sense of awe. "Beauty, talent, and she cooks too," he announced dreamily.
Mary Jane winked at him. "Face it, Tiger," she purred, closing the oven door, "you just hit the jackpot."
Peter joined her in the mini-kitchen area, and knelt down to open a lower cabinet. "Okay, I think I have a large enough bowl for salad down here somewhere..."
John Jameson sat sullenly in the barstool, glancing over at the hi- resolution screen that dominated most of the back wall at O'Flaherty's. The pretty young news anchor had just announced that his father was being held on a hundred thousand dollars bail. "Way to go, Dad," he grumbled, raising his glass to the screen.
He had come to the bar with the sole intention of getting drunk. Which was proving difficult, as he wound up nursing a single half-empty glass of pale ale, unable to bring himself to finish it. Ruefully he found his thoughts drifting to Mary Jane Watson. Should have been Mary Jane Jameson, he mused, before tossing that thought out. He realized that he would have to come to terms with the fact that she was never in love with him. Parker, he raised his glass again, you'd better be taking good care of her.
John was somewhat amused to note that his father had taken MJ's rejection harder than he had. As though her decision to leave him was a personal blow against the newspaper editor. J. Jonah was hardly the easiest man in the world to like, but at least he was honest. Or at least that's what John had thought. Now, the evidence would seem to point otherwise. If he had really helped create this 'Scorpion' in order to trump up the news, to sell papers...he drained the last of his ale in disgust, and motioned for the bartender for another round.
"Mr. Jameson?" a clipped, faintly British-accented voice announced.
"Who wants to know?" John barked tersely as he spun in his barstool to face the speaker. The gentleman standing behind him was about half a head shorter than John; about as tall as Parker, he thought. His red-brown hair was receeding slightly, and his nose stuck out like a beak over a flat lipless line of a mouth. His sharp green eyes, however, somehow transformed his bland face, making him seem more commanding.
"My apologies for intruding, sir," the short man announced in what seemed like a forced politeness. "I was informed by friends of yours that you frequent this establishment, and wished to discuss a business proposition. My name is Roderick Kingsley."
"How nice for you," John nodded noncommittally and returned to his fresh ale. "Would you care for a drink?"
"Nothing for me, thanks," Kinsley answered. "Mr. Jameson, like most of New York, I am aware of your career with NASA. You are one of a very select handful of people who have actually walked on the surface of the moon. However, sadly, the Shuttle projects haven't exactly made much progress out of Earth's orbit, have they?"
"Well, it's still the only game in town," John said sullenly as he took a swallow of ale.
"Not anymore," Kingsley argued as he handed a linen-white business card to the young astronaut. "I represent Oscorp Industries, and we are currently recruiting for a new project, one that Mr. Harold Osborn is very excited about." He took the stool next to John's and fixed his sharp green eyes on him. "How would you like to really get away from it all?"
John considered Kingsley's words for a moment. "I'm listening," he nodded.