A/N: I have revised and reposted Chapter 7 to correct some problems (thank you, Tinderblast). It doesn't affect the plot, so you don't have to re-read it to get this Chapter.
Chapter Eight: The Morning After
"You fuss too much, dear," Aunt May said, smiling and lowering herself into the armchair next to the hospital bed. "I'm much happier sitting up and doing something. I'm sure lying there fretting doesn't do me any good." She pulled her knitting to her and dumped the light blue yarn into her lap.
Peter, sitting on the other side of the bed, grinned at her, exasperated but sympathetic. "I know it's boring, but it's only been a couple of days. The doctor said to rest..."
"Humph. I've had this body for over sixty years, young man, and I know it better than the doctor does." Peter had to admit she looked better, minus the oxygen tube, with her hair neatly brushed and wearing the quilted robe he'd brought her from home. The familiar click of her knitting needles was soothing.
"Well, don't push yourself too—"
"Hi, guys." He turned to see Mary Jane, wearing her ugly orangey-red waitress uniform, standing in the doorway. "Aunt May! You look fantastic." The warmth of her smile eased into Peter.
"Thank you, Mary Jane." Aunt May counted her stitches under her breath and went on, "It is so nice for you to visit me, come in, dear."
MJ dropped her coat on the bedside table and bent over to kiss Aunt May's cheek. Then she looked over at Peter. "Are you OK? I saw on the news this morning—" Peter made frantic faces at her from behind Aunt May. "—ah, that, we're going to have rain today." Aunt May turned to look curiously at Peter as MJ grimaced apologetically at him from her other side.
"I, um, had a little cold, there," Peter explained, "but I'm fine, MJ. Don't worry about the rain." He managed to smile innocently at his aunt, but MJ was having trouble controlling a giggle. It made her dimples show. Aunt May regarded both of them tolerantly.
"Anyway," MJ said cheerfully, "I've got the early shift, so I've got to get going, but I wanted to see how you were doing."
"I hope it wasn't out of your way. Peter, your first class isn't until ten, is it? Maybe you could escort Mary Jane to work," Aunt May was hiding a smile now, too.
"Oh, I—"
"That'd be great, Pete, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, anyway—well, if it's not too much of a hassle," she added apologetically. As clearly as if MJ came with subtitles, Peter could read her thoughts; she wanted him to come with her, but she was afraid of asking him for his time, afraid she was being pushy. He was ashamed of himself for treating her so badly she felt like asking him to talk to her was hassling him.
"I'd love to, MJ, it's on my way," Peter said firmly. He hugged Aunt May and gathered his backpack, following MJ out the door and down to the elevators.
"Great acting, Red," Peter teased, as they walked down the hall. "Can't you keep a straight face?"
Mary Jane laughed. "Sorry, I guess you didn't want to worry your aunt with it, but—what happened last night? It was all over the news..."
Peter frowned at the linoleum as they waited for the elevator, wishing his mind was functioning better. He'd never gotten back to bed the night before, and although he needed far less sleep than most people, he had been going non-stop under stress for three days and the strain showed. The morning news had reawakened his anger and horror. Seventeen people in the neighborhood had been treated for what the media was calling 'mystery mass hallucination'. The police had not established a cause or found a suspect at this time. Also, one of the cops at Lamont's precinct had talked to the press, because an 'anonymous source' had credited Spider-Man with being at the scene and beating up a on-looker 'who preferred to remain unnamed'. All in all, the night before had been a complete fiasco.
He was furious with Cheap Shot, furious with Lamont, and most of all, furious with himself.
Haltingly, concentrating hard to keep his story straight, Peter told MJ his short official version of the night's events.
His main worry, that his disappearance from the scene would be noticed and commented on, turned out to be groundless. With all the confusion and bustle in the mansion, it had been surprisingly easy to slip back in through a window, make his way up to his room to slide out of his costume and into his sweats, and then wander into the main hall like he'd just come to his senses. Emergency personnel had been clustered around Harry and the three servants. It appeared that no one had remembered the guest, and Peter was amused at how glad he was to be overlooked.
After getting his eyes examined and answering a few basic questions—yes, he knew who the president was, he knew his middle name, yes, he had a headache—he was given a couple of extra-strength painkillers and ignored. Harry was commanding most of the attention, groaning loudly and pitifully declaring that he was "all right, really," before swaying on his feet and having to be put to bed. When Peter said he'd been in his room the entire time, no one questioned it. Amazingly enough, it looked like Peter was getting away with his extended absence from the scene.
"So, it's kind of a mystery—I don't remember much of what happened..."
MJ nodded thoughtfully. They reached the street and headed toward the bus stop. "I heard—a couple of people said Spider-Man was there," she said.
"Um, I wouldn't know, I was out like a light," Peter ducked his head sheepishly.
"Too bad. You take pictures of him, don't you?" MJ's voice was over-casual and she was deliberately not meeting Peter's eyes.
None lately...and my bank account shows it, Peter thought. "Yeah, I...have taken a few," he said cautiously.
"Ah. Yeah, you told me you kind of know him." MJ stuck her hands in her coat pockets and nonchalantly glanced down the street for the bus. All right, what's up? Peter's eyes narrowed. You're batting zero with the acting today, MJ.
Pulling her shoulders back, Mary Jane turned to look straight into Peter's eyes. "I don't believe he did anything wrong, no matter what they say in the papers. And I don't believe he killed Norman Osborn, whatever Harry says," she said, slowly and firmly. "I think," she continued, blushing redder than her hair, "that he is...amazing. Truly amazing. A hero." MJ was still staring right at him. They were standing only inches apart, and he could see the tiny flecks of brown in her green eyes. Her faith in him was so complete, it felt like she was brushing cobwebs of anger and guilt away from him. "I've always wished I could see him again," she finished softly.
Wait a minute...MJ had never told Peter Parker about kissing Spider-Man in the rain, but his own memory of that night was burned into him. She wants to see...Spider-Man again? She asked about me knowing him...Does she want me to tell her how to find him? Peter wanted MJ to move on and get over him, really, he knew he did...but she'd had a crush on ol' Spidey first, and she wasn't—I mean, aside from the absolute insanity of being jealous of yourself, Peter thought incoherently, this is just too complicated.
"Oh, well, you know, it's...it's not like I have his address or anything," Peter stammered. "It's, he's pretty hard to track down."
MJ tilted her head to one side and watched him reflectively. The bus pulled up at that moment and Peter motioned for her to climb on, thankful for the distraction. After they got settled, MJ spoke again. "Just so you know, tiger, you can trust me," she said, her voice quiet and...disappointed?
Great, now she thinks I don't trust her enough to let her know how to reach Spider-Man. Peter cast about for a change of subject. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about, anyway?" he asked.
Blinking, MJ smiled uncertainly. "Oh, that. I, um, hey, I wanted to ask you—" MJ paused, blushing, "—well, I know most people bring flowers or whatever when someone is sick, but I thought," taking a breath she rushed on, "that it might be more useful if I went in and cleaned up Aunt May's house, you know, pick up and dust and make sure nothing in the kitchen's going bad. You could let me in...well, it's probably a stupid idea," she finished.
Peter didn't move for a few seconds, his face serious. Then he leaned over, and kissed MJ gently on the cheek. "I think it's a great idea."
Mary Jane put her hand over his, and smiled.
Peter shuffled unwillingly into his ten o'clock class, wishing he had the homework finished. He tried half-heartedly to pay attention to the teacher, but Cheap Shot's continuing threat and his conversation with Mary Jane overshadowed the importance of convergent geometric series. Besides, he could do the math with his eyes closed; this requirement was such a waste of his time.
The one thing he had saved from the wreckage was the tiny black box that had caused disorientation and distress in a block-wide radius. Peter had bundled the cloak in with Cheap Shot while webbing him up, but he had stuck the box into the small pocket at his waist—and in his huffy flight from the precinct, he had taken it with him. It was smashed, of course, but the components were identifiable. Peter thought it over and came to a decision.
He had no trouble finding Dr. Althea Bell, the dean of the engineering department. Peter rapped gently on her office door, and saw a middle-aged, heavy-set woman with short brown hair and glasses working at her desk. At his knock, she looked at him inquiringly.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you. I had a question about, um, something I found in the trash." She seemed ready to dismiss him when he set the box on her desk. Her expression changed rapidly. "It looked, well, different, but I electronics aren't really my thing..."
"Your thing, Mr., um—?" she repeated dubiously then hurried on, excited. "Just look—this is a device for transmitting electromagnetic energy, but at very unusual frequencies, if the indications on this dial are—hmm." Dr. Bell sorted through the pieces. "See, this would be just over the ultraviolet range,—but, oooh look! That would modify it entirely...I don't think you'd find these wavelengths occurring naturally—" by this time Dr. Bell was looking at the device the same way MJ looked at fashion magazines. "It might actually have worked before it was broken, amazing that someone threw this away, it's clearly valuable experimental technology. Hmm. I think—you know, Mr.—"
"Oh yeah, I'm Peter Parker—"
"Right, Parker, I think I could make this work again. Come on over, the equipment I need is in the second lab—" Dr. Bell stepped briskly out the door past Peter's protests and headed down the hall at a trot. Peter caught up to her.
"Are you sure we should just start it up?" he said anxiously. "I don't think—"
"Absolutely, Parker, how else can we see if it's salvageable?" Dr. Bell reached the room she wanted and began rummaging through a cupboard on the wall. Peter wondered how he'd lost control of the conversation.
He decided to try again. "Hey, I found it in the neighborhood of the Osborn place, I thought maybe—" A loud thump interrupted him as Dr. Bell set down a jumble of computer boards, connections, meters and dials. She raised her eyebrows at him. "Where all those people went nuts last night? It could be connected, yes, now that's an idea! Yes, we'll have to test that," she said.
Peter mentally threw up his hands in defeat and decided to just smash the thing again if the nutty professor started broadcasting hallucinogenic electromagnetic waves. The plump, motherly woman hummed happily as she made connections, twisting wires together and peering at the needles bouncing up and down on various indicators. "Yes, yes, you're right, um—Parker? Yes, definitely, these frequencies could have an effect on the human brain. In fact, it might be designed to interact with the brain as a wave guide...See here? Hmm." She flipped a switch on the original device—now hooked up to a computer board and a battery—and turned the dial. Watching the reaction on her indicators, she seemed to have forgotten about the student standing beside her. Peter felt an odd sensation, like the inside of his head was itching.
"Dr. Bell? What does it do, exactly?"
Dr. Bell straightened up and faced him. "It creates electromagnetic waves at high frequencies. I'm not sure how the original wave guide worked—it's entirely destroyed—but if the dial is to believed, it had a considerable range."
"And what effect would it have? In general, and on people?"
"In general? No idea, although I can think of practical applications...but there are some hazards. See here," she pointed at the dial, "it's at one of it's lowest settings, slightly higher than ultraviolet, probably shouldn't stay exposed to it for too long, but it's harmless for short periods."
Harmless? This itch is driving me crazy. Dr. Bell gave him an odd look as he rubbed at his head and he dropped his hand.
"I doubt it would have any measurable effect for some time. We can even turn it up slightly," she did so, "and still be well within the safe range." The itch faded, but his awareness of the device became even stronger, like a finger tapping for attention inside the base of his skull. In a way, the sensation was much like his spider-sense, although without giving him any urgent feeling of impending danger. "But, I wouldn't risk it at any higher setting without shielding and equipment to measure the output. I think this may have been designed to transmit on a level perceptible to human beings. Higher frequencies could cause extreme suggestibility, hallucinations, possibly hemorrhaging, and high enough exposure for any period of time could cause death," she added cheerfully.
"Ah. Well, thank you, Dr. Bell, that's very helpful. I'll, um, be very careful with it—" Peter reached out and started untangling the box.
"What?" Dr. Bell was shocked and suspicious. "Aren't you leaving it here? There are many more tests that need to be done, like I said, with the right equipment, and I really should consult Dr. Polanski—you can't be serious."
Peter hastened to calm her down. "It's just that, if it's like you say, then the police will want it. There's a whole investigation going on, with what happened last night. It, it could be evidence—if they return it to me, I'll bring it right back."
It took a lot of fast talking and several mentions of the police to get the single-minded woman to give up her prize, but Peter eventually walked out of the lab with the box safely in his backpack. This was definitely a weapon, but still useless as evidence—Peter had nothing to connect it with Cheap Shot.
Interesting, that I could 'hear' it with my spider-sense, he mused. That might be useful someday.
Head down, thinking hard, Peter dimly heard Dr. Connors calling his name. Blinking up at the disabled professor, Peter smiled uncertainly as Connors frowned at him. I didn't miss a class, did I?
"How's the essay coming, Parker?" Connors said curtly.
Essay. What essay? It took him a heartbeat to remember what he was talking about. Oh man, I forgot the scholarship application. "Uh, it's kinda slow, I've...um, well I've scrapped my first try, I'm rewriting it." I am such a lousy liar.
Connors looked at the floor for a few moments and then spoke quietly. "Listen, Peter, this is an important opportunity. You need to think about your life, where you want to go with it. Intelligence isn't enough. The world's full of intelligent losers." Connors looked Peter in the eye. "Don't be one of them."
As his advisor walked off, Peter sighed with irritation. His life was like one of those acts where the performer ran around spinning dozens of plates on poles, running madly from plate to plate to keep each one rotating in balanced motion. He wondered glumly what would happen when he couldn't keep up any longer.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! If you're still with me, please hit the button and let me know, because the reviews keep me writing.