Peter reveled in the feel of the free fall. He zoomed down from a tremendous height towards certain death, then at the last moment he fired out a webline that carried him up, clear. He swung free of the entire mess of madness.
One way or another, he felt that his dealings with Fisk were over.
xXx
Mary Jane sat, stone faced, pointed at the window, listening to the clock tick. A shadow at her window. Her eyes widened, but she assumed it was one of the dozens of figments of her imagination that had visited the window in the last hour.
Then Peter Parker levered it open and dropped inside.
She was on her feet then at his side. "Peter, are you okay?" she said.
"Yes," he said. "And busted all to pieces. But I won, and nobody died. Bathtub. Put me in the bathtub."
She supported him as they worked their way to the bathroom. He dropped into the tub, his tattered mesh still hanging on him. Using his toes, he dexterously turned on and adjusted the water. As it poured in, it turned pink with his blood.
"I did it," Peter said, more than a little wonder in his voice. "It's over. If I'm not dead next week," he said, looking into Mary Jane's eyes, "I'm a free man. With everything that entails."
She half smiled. "Hey Pete," she said. "Wanna go to a movie or something? Maybe some dinner?"
He leaned back, utterly exhausted. "Sounds good," he said. "How about Monday?"
"Monday?" she said, raising her eyebrows.
"I gotta rest, gotta heal up tomorrow," Peter said. "Then I should be mobile." He looked down at his foot, cranked at an odd angle and swelling. "Sunday is Harry's dad's funeral," he added quietly.
They sat together quietly as the water ran.
Sunday, December 15
Peter limped out of the church, passing on the reception line of the funeral. He wore a dark suit with a long dark coat. He walked twenty paces from the church door and leaned against a tree, turning to look at the cathedralesque chapel where the funeral had been held.
Less than five minutes later, Mary Jane came through the door. Her black dress made her brilliant red hair even more eye-catching. She looked around for a minute, then walked over to where Peter waited.
"You're a decent man, Peter Parker," she said.
He shrugged. "Thanks."
"I've been mourning Harry since the car accident," she said. "I've been waiting for him to snap out of his funk, but bracing myself against the possibility that our relationship might be over. It's not like we were courting, neither of us planned to get married. Dating has a limited claim on a woman."
"Is that so?" Peter said with a crooked smile.
She examined the cuts on his face, his black eye. "You look like hell," she said.
"Thanks," he said with a full smile this time.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Peter," she said. "How about I pick you up in my fully functional and timely car."
"You do that," he said, restraining a chuckle.
She turned and walked away, and he watched her go. Still, his senses played across the church door.
There was one more person he had to talk to.
Peter was willing to wait the half hour it took Harry to wrap up enough business to escape the funeral and come outside. Harry must have known that. He was looking for Peter the moment he stepped out the door.
Harry walked up to him. "Mind if I smoke?" Harry asked quietly. He had dark circles under his eyes, he looked tired.
"Go ahead," Peter said.
"Walk with me," Harry said, heading down the lawn between the trees. Peter obliged.
"You a hit man?" Harry asked quietly. "Bruises, secrecy, too much charm, all those odd hours."
"I'm afraid not," Peter said. "Just a bit socially inept and a bit clumsy."
"Have it your way," Harry shrugged. "If you ever want to let me in on what's going on, I'll be there for you," he added. "When I get back. I'm going to be… out of touch for a while," Harry said.
"Is this about Mary Jane?" Peter asked, concern in his voice.
"Bah," Harry said. "Half the fun of dating MJ, truth be known and we're both being honest, is that I knew you were crazy about her and that she liked you too. She was a trophy, and we both used to like to party. We had good times, but things are different now. She's all yours, if you think you can handle it."
Peter nodded, at a loss for words. Then he picked something out of what Harry said. "Used to?"
"Maybe it's time to grow up," Harry said to Peter with a somber smile. "You did your growing up, Peter. You think I couldn't tell? Maybe it's time for me to take my place in the world too."
Peter shook his head, not sure what he felt. "You need anything, Harry, you come to me and if I can help you I will," Peter said earnestly. "I owe you."
Harry looked at him. "You really believe that," he mused. He gave Peter a quick hug. "I suspect your help might be worth more than anyone guesses." He grinned puckishly. "You and your fire extinguishers and your pole position."
"Easy, easy," Peter protested. "Okay already. So my covers suck. Leave me alone." He had to grin back.
"I won't be a stranger," Harry said. "I just need to rethink a few things." He nodded. "See you around, Parker," he said.
"I'll be in touch," Peter said. "I wish you the best."
Harry just smiled, walked over to the Jag he inherited, dropped in, and drove away. Peter watched him go.
"Have a happy ending, Harry," he said softly to himself. "Isn't that what we all want?"
EPILOGUE
Tuesday, December 24. Christmas Eve
Peter answered the door just seconds after the doorbell rang. "Come on in," he said with a grin.
Mary Jane stepped in, shaking snow out of her hair. "It's getting slick out," she said. "Mm. The whole house smells like turkey."
Peter closed the door and took her coat, hanging it in the closet. "You've stumbled into a Christmas extravaganza," Peter said.
"Hello, Mary," Aunt May said as she stepped out of the kitchen, brushing her hands on her apron.
"Willya look at that tan?" Peter said with a grin. "I swear she spent her whole Florida vacation beach combing."
"Hardly," Aunt May said. "I mostly expected calls from my nephew that didn't come. I hoped you'd be in better touch," Aunt May said, half stern.
"I figured I'd make up for it by being on time to pick you up at the airport," Peter grinned.
"You make up for it by just being Peter," Aunt May said with a fond smile. "I missed New York terribly while I was gone."
"I'm sure," Peter said. "Now you ladies sit down and I'll bring all the food into the dining room. Shoo. Go sit. I got it from here." He strolled into the kitchen, and Aunt May led Mary Jane into the dining room.
A few minutes later everything was in place. Peter sat on one side of the table, Aunt May at the head, and Mary Jane on the other side. Aunt May looked at the two of them for a long moment.
"You kids look good together," she beamed. She lowered her head and said Grace while Peter sneaked a glance at Mary Jane, who could hardly contain her smile.
xXx
Mary Jane dunked the plate in the rinse water and put it in the drainer, where Peter snagged it, dried it, and put it away in a precise pattern of movements. Mary Jane's eyes lingered for a moment on his long-sleeved shirt.
"This is really weird for me," Peter said, shaking his head. "I've only seriously dated one other girl, Gwen. She's still not totally gone, you know. I think she'll always be a part of me."
"She always will be," Mary Jane said. "That's the way it goes with relationships. Some mean more than others. The first big one is always important. You just go on anyway. Like those old cities, where they'd get sacked and the survivors would build a new city on the foundations left over from the old ones."
"I suppose that's a lead in for you to tell me how complex you are," Peter said with a grin.
"Goes without saying," she sniffed. She looked at him with an arched eyebrow, mischief in her eyes. "You have no idea."
"Time for the traditional album!" Aunt May called from the living room as they finished the turkey tray.
"No!" Peter said. "Not the Albums of Shame!" Peter yelled over his shoulder.
"But it's tradition," Aunt May said primly.
"Tradition? I've only had one other girlfriend!" Peter protested.
"That's why this is the time to start a tradition," Aunt May said, in a very final tone.
"No no no," Peter said. He put the last dish away and headed for the stairs. "This is so wrong."
"Show me," Mary Jane said, seating herself on the couch with a sly glance up the stairs. "I'm eager to see where our darling Peter comes from."
"Oh, I like this one," Aunt May said. "Here's little Peter with his very first chemistry set. He got it for Christmas eleven years ago. See his missing tooth?"
"He's adorable," Mary Jane cooed. A groan came from upstairs.
Peter came trotting back down the stairs, moving at a pretty good clip. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Let's get some pictures I'll want to remember." He quickly set up the tripod and set the camera up on it, then adjusted the timer and scooted around in front of the camera, squeezing himself between Aunt May and Mary Jane.
"Christmas Eve with my favorite women," he said quietly. He smiled his biggest smile. The camera flashed.
"It's a keeper," Peter said. He was looking at Mary Jane, not the camera. She raised her eyebrows and blinked at him, then nodded towards the camera. He grinned and levered himself off the couch. "Right," he said, and he dismantled the setup.
"Before we finish out the albums, I think I'll put some coffee on," Aunt May said. She headed into the kitchen.
"So are you going to the Christmas dance with me at school?" Mary Jane asked.
"Er," Peter said, "I don't know about dances. The last one was a disaster."
"You don't really mean that," Mary Jane said, eyeing him as though he were dessert.
"You know, those dances. So many people, weird and crazy. And I only know eighties dance moves."
"You're a fine dancer," Mary Jane said. "And of course Gwen is on the planning committee. The place is guaranteed to be festooned with mistletoe," Mary Jane said, her voice low and quiet. "I know," she said, brightening. She reached into her purse and pulled out a Santa hat.
"You can't resist me in a Santa hat," she stated, pulling the hat on over her red hair. She batted her bright green eyes at him, looking for all the world like one of Santa's little helpers. "Come on, Peter, come with me to the dance."
"No, not the hat," Peter gasped, clutching at his chest. "Will to—resist—fading! Oh, God, I'll go, just take the hat off!"
She tugged it off, gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek, and got up off the couch. "I'm going to go see if Aunt May needs any help," she said. Then she stopped and looked him in the eye.
"You're my hero, Peter Parker," she said. Then she smiled, her eyes serious. She tossed the hat on his lap and headed into the kitchen.
"Hoo," Peter said to himself, and his face could barely contain his grin as he leaned back into the cushions and closed his eyes. "Merry Christmas to me."