"Delicious," Peter said, pushing back from the table. "You cook a wicked meatloaf, Aunt May," he said.

"Thank you, Peter," she said. "Now you go do your homework and I'll wash up."

"No, let me do that," he said. "You go relax. You've got a big day tomorrow, leaving for your trip."
"I can't go relax, I'm not done packing for the trip," she said primly.

"Not… done packing?" Peter said. "What did you do today?"

"A young man just can't understand what a woman has to do to prepare for something like this," Aunt May sniffed.

"Fair enough," Peter said with a grin. "I'll wash up and then go hit the books. You just do whatever you need to do, pretty lady. If you look for me and I'm not here, I'm probably going for a walk."

"Just be careful, Peter," she said.

He finished the dishes with record speed then he headed upstairs and settled in at his desk. Calculus test tomorrow.

For a long, long second he fought the urge.

Then he dove into his backup set of mesh, slipped out the window, and bounded off into the wild night.

"Maybe I'm free of Fisk's goony plans, maybe not," Peter muttered as he sprang over two houses to land running on a third. "Even if I'm not, it's either this or go insane." He squirreled across the rooftops and bounded to land on the top of a bus. He settled himself comfortably, headed downtown.

A few minutes later he bounded off the bus, fired out weblines, and swung up into the glowing dimness of the urban night sky. He slapped onto a skyscraper and climbed like a madman, twirling around the building. In minutes he was high above the city, his senses tingling with the raw danger and thrill of looking down to pinpricks of light that were cars. He leaned back against the wall, looking like a gargoyle, and he assumed the thinker position.

Mary Jane making a play for him… but what about Harry? If Harry loses Mary Jane through some fumble, can Peter in good conscience pick her up? Will Mary Jane leave the choice to him? If she comes after him, is he strong enough to turn her away? Should he? Would she be more faithful to him than she was to Harry, or would he get stale too?

How much of Harry's current funk is Peter's fault anyway? Because of Peter he lost the bungalow and he was in a car accident, forced to move back in with his father. Peter wondered if Harry really knew how crazy Peter was about Mary Jane. He put his face in his hands. How could Harry not know?

"The king of subtlety I'm not," Peter muttered. He looked out over the city, heard the faint echo of a siren wailing, felt the skyscraper flex and shift in the powerful wind. He grinned.

"God it's good to be me," he said aloud to the wind.

Still, it was important to spend some time fixing all his busted relationships. Damn Fisk and everything to do with him. Just when Harry and Aunt May and finances and normal life were coming together, then Fisk's boys hit his health, his money, his family, his friends…

"I can't believe you poisoned Aunt May," he said, looking at Fisk's building. It was even taller than the one he clung to. He repressed the anger that rose in him. "You better be done," he said, shaking a finger at the skyscraper, "or you and me are going to have words." He shied away from what that could mean. He didn't want to start something he couldn't finish.

"Let it go, Parker," he murmured. "I could nail him. But I'm not sure I want to become what I would have to be to do that." He stopped, thought back over the sentence, and nodded to himself. "Yeah."

xXx

Fisk looked impassively out the huge glass walls he used for windows. Below, his city glittered and twinkled, beautiful from a distance and riddled with corruption that provided him with incredible power. He looked at the low clouds, loaded with snow that was waiting to fall. More blew in every moment. A storm was building.

Outside, his underbosses and lieutenants waited to come in and pay homage, to receive their marching orders, to submit to the force that kept the city running smoothly both legally and illegally. Fisk's law was the law. He smiled quietly to himself.

Then his smile faded as his thoughts strayed to Peter Parker. Sometimes a calculated risk fails. He wondered briefly if he had begun something he would not care to see through to the bitter end.

"You have defied me," he murmured to Peter. "It's too late. Too late to bring you under my control. Now I must kill you." He nodded to himself. His organization was like a prison; the inmates outnumber the guards, and it was very important to keep them from understanding what that could mean. One example of insurrection, one defiance that was not crushed went a long way in the anecdotal wisdom of the underworld. Must not be a Robin Hood.

Fisk felt just a small cold spot of fear as he contemplated the fact that now Parker knew where he lived. Who he was. The game became dangerous. Fisk wondered if he was going to have to kill Parker himself, with his bare hands…

xXx

Peter shrugged it off, and looked at the tower one last time. "I have better things to do than sit up here and spin worry out of air." He dropped, fired a webline, and turned his fall into an arc, whistling through the air and nearly painful speeds, a grin plastered over his face under the mesh. Eventually he reached the end of his journey and he slid his window up, slithered in, and closed the window behind him.

At the end of the street, a man with binoculars raised a walkie talkie to his mouth and said "Go." His voice was toneless, and he then resumed his watching.

Peter folded his mesh and put it in a drawer under his socks and underwear. He was dressed once more. He wiped his mouth; time to go get something to drink. Just as he left his room, the doorbell rang. He hopped down the stairs and opened the door.

Gwen smiled at him.

"Hi," Peter said, rocked back on his heels. "Gwen, hi. Uh, come on in," he said. He opened the door further and stepped out of the way. She blinked demurely at him and moved into the living room. Peter noticed she was holding a sizeable bouquet.

"Thanks, Peter," Gwen said. "It's good to see you again. I came by to wish Aunt May well on her trip."

Just then Aunt May came out of the kitchen. "Oh, hello, Stacy," she said with a warm smile.

"Hello, Aunt May," Gwen said, giving Aunt May a little hug. "These are for you, to wish you good fortune on your travels tomorrow."

"Why, thank you," Aunt May said, her eyes large. Gwen smiled at her and blushed a little. "I'll go put these in water," Aunt May said, and she hefted the bouquet back towards the kitchen.

"Wanna go get some coffee?" Gwen asked Peter, her eyes asking a different question.
"There's a Starbucks a few blocks over," Peter said.

"Sounds perfect," she said. "Walking distance."

Peter grabbed his windbreaker. "Be right back, Aunt May," he called, and then he followed Gwen out into the chilly night.

They walked a block without saying anything, then Gwen heaved a deep sigh. "I feel really awkward about this," Gwen said.

"About what?" asked Peter, his blood a riot, wondering if maybe things weren't as over as he had thought they were.

"About all this gooshy crap to get close to you, Parker," Gwen said, and as she looked at Peter her pupils flared yellow and catlike then resumed their disguise.

Peter's blood ran cold. "You said I'd never see you again," he said breathlessly.

"No," she corrected, "I said I'd walk away. And I did. But I've found out something you want to know about. I've found out something about your powers. We can tussle here in the street," she said with a gesture, "or we can keep going like normal people and you can hear what I have to say."

"Drop your disguise," Peter said flatly. "You don't deserve to wear her face. I have half a mind to take you apart right here with my bare hands. You have nothing that can interest me."

"Is that so?" Gwen's face asked him, arching an eyebrow, her smile cruel.

His fist darted out and snapped into her chest, flinging her across the empty street. She thudded into the wall of an apartment building and sprawled forward on the sidewalk on her hands and knees. She fought for air, fought unconsciousness, trying not to vomit on the sidewalk.

"Leave me alone or there's harder hits where that came from," Peter called softly across the street. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets and marched home without a look back. He radiated tightly controlled anger.

"Okay," she wheezed, "we… do it… the hard… way…" A pudgy hand thrust itself down into her field of vision.

Mystique squinted up at Faber where he stood expressionless, his hand extended to her. She took his hand and he helped her to her feet. He shook his head slightly and looked after Peter.

Peter went home, kissed Aunt May goodnight, and went to his room. All thoughts of calculus were abandoned. He lay on his back in bed, his fingers meshed behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

Mystique back. His mind raced. Not again. Please not her again. What was he going to do?

Sleep was a long time coming.