Hey! Quite like this chapter, especially the end. I think I write best when I'm sad... anyways please read and review!

Oh yeah, thanks to various reviewers who told me that the poplulation of NY is more like 8 million instead of just a milion... sorry about that.

It seems like some reviewers are psycic or something, somehow Emily M. Hanson knew Harry would be in this fic... hmm... lol.

However, some people seem to be getting confused. When I said 'tests' I meant tests on the photos to check if they're real or not, and Peter has no say in whether they're tested or not since they don't belong to him, it'll happen anyway. Just to clear that up. :)

Surprise, Surprise!

Part 11

Peter spent the rest of that day and much of the next locked in his room. Aunt May stayed for about an hour, and they had talked about the situation, and Peter got a few things off his chest, for which he was grateful for.

At about 3:30pm the day after, he finally showed signs of life by getting up and fixing himself a drink, muttering about the poor plumbing as he did so. The cold tap always dripped noisily for several hours after it had been used.

He walked slowly over to the balcony doors and looked out between the rotten wood frames at the city. It wasn't very pretty at this time of day, especially when viewed from a shabby second story room with the distinct smell of garlic wafting up from a bakery a few doors down. Peter wrinkled his nose; he'd always hated garlic.

Sighing, he wondered how much longer he could stay in his room with the meagre amount of food stored in his fridge, when a sudden wave of anger at the injustice of his situation swept over him. Why should he stay trapped up in his room, just because everyone now knew of his dual identity? He sure as hell couldn't sit there forever, he had to go out, be himself. Both selves.

With long, determined strides he walked over to the sink and left his cup in there for later washing, and headed over to his wardrobe. Digging through the assortment of clothes, he pulled out a fresh Spider-man costume and quickly slipped jeans and a sweater into his bag. If he hurried he could still make it to Bio-Chemistry.

---

Skidding into the room literally a second before the bell, Peter Parker was the subject of many surprised stares. It was a rare day that he did turn up to class, but on time, and after all the press about him being Spider-man...

Needless to say, he kept his head down and made his way quickly to his seat, avoiding the accusing and curious looks from just about everyone in the room.

He sunk down into the only spare seat, unfortunately quite close to the front and not surprisingly the seat next to it was occupied by Debra Whitman. Peter had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes as he trudged over to her, he could see she was opening her mouth, ready to bombard him with an attack of verbal questions.

Fortunately for Peter, Dr. Connors conveniently entered the room at that moment, and Debra immediately fell silent and sat straight in her seat. However, the mere presence of a teacher didn't deter the rest of the class from chattering away, so Dr. Connors swept a stern gaze over the room. Peter couldn't help but notice how his eyes seemed to linger on him for the longest.

The stern glare of course didn't do much, and Connors had to shout to make himself heard. The class finally settled down to work, and Peter settled down to day dreaming. He tried to concentrate, he really did, but he had too much on his mind, too many other important matters to think about.

The bell rang a dreary hour and a half later, jerking Peter out of his trance. Blinking his eyes back into focus he hurriedly stuffed his books back in his bag and set off for the door and freedom. He noticed Connors was looking at him and so kept to the middle of the crowd pushing through the doorway, but, "Parker! May I have a word with you?"

Peter hesitated for a split second, then decided that him not hearing Connors shout wasn't unbelievable. He quickened his pace down the long corridor and turned out onto the front of the school, hoping to get lost in the crowd.

His hope was unfounded. Another shout rang out across the students just as Peter was about to cross the road to safety, and he knew he couldn't ignore Connors this time. Cringing, he stopped and turned around, planting his best look of polite interest on his face.

"Yes, Dr. Connors?" He said, as the teacher came up to him.

"I noticed you weren't paying much attention today in class." Connors said a little sternly. Peter didn't reply, just avoided his gaze.

"Now, I can understand that, with all the media attention that's been crowding you. That's not what I called you back for. I called you back to apologise." He continued, and Peter's head jerked up with a start, confusion evident in his eyes.

"That said, I still expect that essay by Wednesday." Connors finished, and turned to go, the faintest suggestion of a smile on his face, before disappearing into the teeming crowd.

Peter stood staring in place for a while after, mulling it over.

---

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'THE PHOTOS WERE FAKE AFTER ALL'?"

Eddy Brock wisely put more space between himself and his irate boss. "I don't know... I'm sorry!" He choked out, as Jameson advanced on him, not unlike an angry bull that had just seen red.

"How the HELL did these photos manage to get FAKED?!" He shouted, a vein bulging unpleasantly in his forehead.

"Um, well you see... I... I did get the photos you wanted, honest! I got them...them all! I saw Parker in the...the ... alleyway without his mask, and I took the pictures, just like you asked... I swear!" Brock stuttered and stumbled over his words in the face of Jameson's fury.

"So, tell me, how did they managed to become fake in the journey from that alleyway to my office?!" Jameson retorted.

"I...uh... dropped my camera." Brock said very quietly, staring at his shoes like a guilty school kid.

"You what?" Jameson said in a voice of deadly calm.

"I dropped my-"

"I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME!" Jameson roared, spraying spit in his photographer's face.

He stared at Brock for a long while, seething, before he said in a deadly whisper, "Do you realise what you've done?"

Brock gulped and cowered a little more, his back pressed to the wall.

---

Peter whooped as he swung into his bedroom and landed neatly on the bed. Without bothering to change into more ordinary clothes he cheered again and did a triple back flip to let the happiness out.

On his way home, he'd seen a newspaper. That in itself wasn't particularly astounding, it was what was written on the newspaper that made it so special.

Grinning widely, Peter read through the article again.

'SPIDER-MAN/PETER PARKER PHOTOS FAKED', was the proud headline which Peter gazed at, as if it was his firstborn child.

He hugged the paper close to his chest and looked up at his ceiling. "Thank you God!" He yelled, and, still grinning, he hopped off his bed and changed.

Just as he was pulling the spandex over his head his phone decided to ring. He groaned and struggled with the material, until he finally wrestled himself free, ripping a few stitches in the process. Still, nothing could dampen his good mood.

---

Harry Osborn swilled his bottle of scotch around thoughtfully. He'd been sitting there, drinking scotch and re-reading the newspaper article that was published for that morning for how long he didn't know. All he could think about was revenge, revenge on the best friend who'd betrayed him.

He growled angrily and tossed the screwed up newspaper away, before chugging down the rest of his drink, wiping a sleeve across his mouth and stalking over to the phone.

He threw the decanter in the same direction as the newspaper and ignored the tinkle of breaking glass.

He speedily dialled the number that had come to be so familiar in the past few months, but lately had become foreign to him. He hadn't talked to Peter Parker for weeks, maybe months, he didn't know. Living in a drunken glaze could do that to you.

Sure, Peter had called him on numerous occasions but Harry had never had a reason to call him back, until now, that is.

"Hey, Peter? Yeah, this is Harry." He paused and grinned as his friend gasped.

"Harry? Really? Listen, I'm so-"

"No Peter!" Harry felt a flash of anger that came from bottled up emotions and too much alcohol erupt, and repressed it with difficulty.

"No, just listen." He forced his voice back to politeness. "I may have been too hasty in judging you... and well, would you like to meet up somewhere, to talk?" He gritted out in what he hoped was a friendly tone.

He listened for Peter's reply and smiled when he agreed.

"Great, see ya on that café on Swansea Street tomorrow at say, 1?"

"Sure." Peter replied readily.

"Ok, bye." Harry said abruptly before slamming the phone back into it's cradle. He poured himself another glass of scotch to wash the bitter taste from his mouth.

End of Part 11

Love the Jameson scene and the Harry scene. I wish I could have introduced Harry earlier, I love his character. Anyways, for anyone who actaully cares, I didn't get a cat. Plus my dad's car got stolen, so this hasn't been a very fun weekend. :(

Please review! I need cheering up.