Peter rushed through the front door, tossed his sack of candy on the couch, and was up the stairs in two bounds as Aunt May registered that he was home. "Peter?" she said uncertainly.

"Forgot something," he said as he hit the floor moving. "Be back." He was back out the front door.

Aunt May blinked.

stupid stupid stupid stupid Peter thought to himself. One or the other, either give this up or do it. But this is stupid. This is stupid.

Then his clothes were safely on the back porch in a bundle and he was airborne, swinging at top speed, firing at high points on buildings, wrapped in mesh, working up dangerous momentum.

Must get back. It's too late. This is stupid.

Less than fifteen minutes had passed between the time he left the scene and the time he slapped down on the roof of the building opposite the bookstore. The street below was bathed in red and blue lights; police cars and ambulances were choking the narrow street below.

Bodybags. Carried out of the bookstore.

Peter sprang across the street and stealthed down to where he could hear what was going on.

"It's a damned shame," the officer was telling the detective that had just showed up. "We busted in, the gunman had a partner. Three hostages, both gunmen, and one of our boys bought it. The gunman was holding things up with an automatic, but his partner had an smg and he just started hosing. Sniper got 'im, for all the good that does us now."

"God," the detective replied, lighting his cigarette. "What's wrong with people these days?"

Peter wondered the same thing as he pulled back into deeper shadows. His hands were shaking. He wondered why.

"It's not like I was involved," he whispered.

His hands shook a little more.

xXx

"She huddled alone in the car," Tandy said, Tyrone's hood over her shimmering pale curls. Her dark, serious eyes took in the audience huddled around the flashlight on the floor. "She waited for him to return; she waited barely daring to breathe, and yet the scratching, the fitful horrible slow scratching persisted. Then, finally, after what felt like a hundred years, a car pulled up behind her. She waited, somehow more terrified still, when she saw a police officer at her door. She unlocked it and jumped out, and he put his arm around her. 'Don't look back,' he said, and he pushed her from the car. But when she got to the police car, she turned to look—and there was her boyfriend, who had gone to get help, hanging upside-down from the tree, his nails, scraping the roof—"

"RAAAA!" yelled Flash, grabbing the backs of those on either side of him. Gwen slapped at him, Harry keeled over backwards laughing, and Mary Jane rolled her eyes.

Tandy's eyes narrowed to slits as she stared at Flash, who was guffawing. "I wasn't finished," she said quietly in a voice that cut through the merriment. "That wasn't very nice."

"Dija see em jump?" Flash said. "Great story!"

"Oh, never mind," Tandy said, snapping off the flashlight. She stood and stretched.

"Aaand it's midnight," John Stacy said, walking into the room and somberly inspecting the assembly through his magnifying glass. "School night. Everybody out." He smiled to take the sting out of the words.

"How about it, big guy," Mary Jane said to Harry, gripping his chin. "Give a lady a lift to your place to pick up my car?"

"Hey, I can't think of a reason not to," he grinned. "Great party, Gwen."

The sentiment was echoed from the others assembled, as people left more steadily than they had arrived.

"See you tomorrow, babe," Flash said, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Me and the boys are gonna go do some trick or treating." He grinned.

"I don't want to know about it," Gwen said.

A few more minutes of goodbyes and the Stacys had the place to themselves.

"Great party, Gwendie," John said reflectively, taking a puff from his pipe.

"Thanks dad, and thanks for all your help." She turned and trudged toward the kitchen.

"You know, you could invite him to a lunch or something," John said from the doorway.

"What?" she said, turning with a guilty start. Then she scowled. "I hate having a detective for a father. Besides," she said, running dishwater, "I want him to come talk to me for a change."

"Tell you what," he said, shrugging off his greatcoat. "I'll clean up. You go to bed. I can sleep in and you can go and work your already exhausted brain at school."

"You?" she said, "sleep in? I'll believe it when I see it." After a brief pause, she said, "Thanks, dad."

He gave her a hug.

Friday, November 1

Harry and Mary Jane threaded through the streets headed back to the bungalow on their way back from the party. Harry reached out without looking and turned the stereo down.

"Ut oh," Mary Jane said archly, "Harry wants to talk in the car!"

"Ha ha," Harry said dryly. "I've been thinking, MJ."
"Double ut oh," she said.

"About Parker."

"Want to go for three?" she mused out loud.

"Can we be serious here for a minute?"

"After midnight, with me dressed up like an angel and you like a devil? Sure, why not," she said, leaning back and watching the road.

"I was thinking about Parker," Harry said. "I know you don't like him, and you've got your reasons. But I think if you really want to get rid of him it's simple." He glanced over at her. "Replace him. I need a room mate, but I'd rather have you than him any day."

"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "I'm not ready for that. I can't believe you even brought it up."

"But," he floundered, "I thought—you know, we—"

"Stop, just, just stop," she said with a smile. "No. Answer is no. Geez, Harry."

"Well, why not?" he said, staring at the road, jaw clenched.

She cleared her throat. "I'm just not ready for that level of commitment," she said with the sort of voice people use when they want to be sincere. "I need a reason?"

"Guess not," Harry gritted out, and they sped up a little.

xXx

"Well, that's that," Peter said softly to himself as the credits rolled at the end of one of the many Halloween movies. Peter couldn't rightly remember which one it was, but it had Jamie Lee Curtis in it and that was the main thing. "Maybe I gotta get me a soundtrack," he mused with a grin. He glanced at the slowly ticking wall clock. Quarter after midnight. "And I'm still up why?" he wondered.

He sat on the worn, battered couch and looked at the television. He snapped it off. Then he sat, listening to the ticking clock, smelling the unmistakable and indelibly imprinted smell of his childhood home. He glanced into the perfectly ordered kitchen, looked around each piece of furniture, the wallpaper that had been here since the fifties. He had a sudden overwhelming sense of home. "I could stay here tonight," he murmured.

Then his gaze strayed over his camera bag. He sighed. Needed more film and to get the rest of his shots, from the hospital. Get it all developed tomorrow, get some more snaps. He smiled to himself. Didn't hurt, having money.

He locked the door behind himself and thought his own thoughts all the way to the bungalow.

He slowly drew up to the curb two blocks down. Dammit, not again. Harry's car, MJ's car, the lights off. He sighed.

"I'll go in the window and just get my things and go," Peter muttered. "Surely they're not doing anything in my room."

Maybe, just maybe it's time to seek alternative housing, he thought. Because it would be a bad thing if I ever let on, even to myself, how much it hurts to see Harry and MJ… together.

"Okay, will you shut up already?" he snapped at himself. Quietly. "We're being sneaky here."

This from Peter Parker, his thought retorted. Then they were all quiet in the same head and they strolled down the sidewalk towards the house.

Less than a block, and he felt that uneasiness, that alarm. He stopped. Something wrong. Something about the house. He studied it over.

Then he noticed the small wood spikes from broken wood where the door, hinges and all, was ripped right off the frame. Then propped carefully back in place.

Trap.

And if the door was ripped off… those cars… Peter's face drained of blood.

"Harry," he whispered to himself. "Mary Jane."

And the spider ghost was moving.

Felt strange, using his power while in street clothes. He felt his limbs chafe at the baggy clothes, felt his heightening senses rebel at the distracting rustling feel of his clothing as he moved. Then he was into his room. He opened his bedroom door just a crack and peeked out.

On the couch, Harry and MJ lay unmoving. His blood froze for a moment, then he saw the duct tape over their mouths, around their wrists and ankles. They must still be alive or they wouldn't be restrained. There. Sitting in the chair opposite the doorway. He just saw a huge knee. Big guy. Tough guy.

Peter drew back silently. Think. Think. What to do? How to do this without totally blowing his cover?

His eyes fell on the solution. A feral grin crossed his face.