Chapter Two

Clark and Chloe finally got to the hotel and hauled their luggage up to room 306. It wasn't an overly fancy or especially big room, but it would accommodate them for the few nights that they would be in New York. There was only one bed, but Clark had already agreed to sleep on the fold-out couch.

"So what do you want to do once we get unpacked?" Chloe asked, hoisting her suitcase up onto her bed and popping it open. "Start sight-seeing? Grab some food? Or just lounge around poolside downstairs?"

Clark unzipped his duffel bag and started rummaging through it. "I dunno," he said, absently. "I told Lana I'd give her a call, let her know we got here okay."

"Oh… good idea."

Lana. Even though she and Chloe had gotten to be really good friends over the past year, what with Chloe and her dad taking Lana in when her aunt moved to Metropolis, Chloe could never help but feel a pang of jealousy whenever she heard the girl's name.

Chloe had had a crush on Clark for almost as long as she had known him. More than a crush, in her mind… she was in love with him. But, no matter what she did, or how close they got, it seemed there was only one girl that Clark had his eyes on, and that was Lana Lang.

It was only a few weeks ago, when Clark had gotten very sick… Chloe revealed her feelings to him while he was asleep. In his delirium, he called out Lana's name. Chloe was crushed… but, when she learned that she had won the Daily Bugle's Writers of the Future essay contest and could bring a friend to New York, she saw it as her chance to spend some time alone with Clark, away from Lana, and maybe get a chance to profess her emotions while the farm boy was awake this time.

Clark reached into his duffel bag and pulled out a small framed photograph, and set it on the table next to the couch. It was a picture of Clark and Lana, from their day trip to Granville Falls the previous summer. She was giving him a playful kiss on the cheek, and he had a big grin on his face.

"You know," Chloe said, closing her suitcase back up again. "There'll be plenty of time to unpack later. I'm gonna go check out the vending machines."

"Sounds good," Clark said, picking up the phone and rummaging through his wallet for his phone card.

Chloe walked silently out of the room. Maybe this trip wasn't going to be all that she'd hoped it would.

. . . . . .

Meanwhile, across town, Peter walked into the house that he currently shared with his Aunt May.

"I'm home," he called out, as he sifted through the mail that sat on the coffee table.

"Oh, Peter! I didn't think you'd be home for dinner," she said, as she walked in from the kitchen. "I thought you were going out with Harry and Mary Jane tonight?"

"So did I, Aunt May," Peter said, tossing the mail back onto the coffee table. "I guess Harry had some work to do, so they couldn't hang out."

"Well, you and Mary Jane could have still spent some time together," Aunt May said, with that familiar over-eager twinkle in her eye.

"Mary Jane and Harry got back together, Aunt May, you know that," he said.

"Oh, they're just friends, dear," Aunt May insisted.

Peter turned away so she wouldn't see him roll his eyes. Any time she wanted Peter to get together with someone, anyone else was "just a friend," despite any evidence to the contrary.

"No, I'm pretty sure they're not just friends, they got back together a few weeks ago."

"Oh, dear," she said. "Well, I'm sure she will come around sooner or later, and realize that you are the right man for her."

She's only trying to help, Peter had to think over and over to himself. "So what do you want to do for dinner?" he asked.

"Well, I wasn't planning on fixing anything," she said. "I was just going to warm up a TV dinner for myself, and watch the evening news."

She turned on the television. There was a story about Spider-Man catching some criminals who robbed a bank that afternoon… which is where Peter was when he should have been having coffee with Harry and MJ.

"Oooh, that awful Spider-Man again," Aunt May said, clicking her tongue. "Tsk tsk… you know the Bugle says that he commits these crimes himself, and then makes it look like he was the hero all along!"

Peter shook his head in defeat. "You're right, Aunt May. That's probably what he does. I'll be up in my room for awhile."

He trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. He wistfully remembered the days that he and Harry had shared an apartment together. When Harry moved into his father's mansion, Peter couldn't afford the place by himself, and had to move back home with his aunt. He did love her, very much… but her irrational hatred of Spider-Man and constant doting drove him quite literally up the wall. Peter climbed up the wall of his bedroom and curled into a ball on the ceiling. Maybe he'd just take a nap up here, and try to forget about Mary Jane for one evening.

. . . . . .

The Osborn Mansion. Mary Jane stirred softly in her sleep, her head resting on Harry's chest. Harry Osborn himself could not sleep. He couldn't remember a single night that he had slept soundly since his father's death. The image of Spider-Man standing over his father's dead body haunted him constantly, especially in the early hours of the morning. He looked at the clock. 4:17 AM.

He breathed in the smell of Mary Jane's soft red hair. She smelled just as lovely as she looked… and yet even her warm embrace could no longer bring Harry the comfort that he needed. He gently slid his arm out from behind her, and snuck out of bed.

Wrapping his bathrobe around him, he began to wander around the mansion, as he often did on these restless nights. Sometimes he half expected to see his father sitting in the living room, waiting for him.

Harry stood in front of the empty fireplace and stared up at the portrait of his father. He closed his eyes, and pictured his father's face. "Dad," he whispered. "What am I supposed to do? I can't run OSCORP all by myself… I wish you were here to show me what to do."

"Harry…"

His eyes flew open. His father's voice. He had just heard it, he was sure of it. His father was whispering his name.

"Harry…"

There it was again.

"Dad!"

"Harry… behind the picture…"

Harry started to shake. What was happening? What was behind the picture? Was he losing his mind?

"Behind the picture, Harry…"

Harry reached above the fireplace, and took down the portrait of his father. Behind it was a brick that was lighter in color than the other bricks in the wall. He looked around. Was this some kind of joke?

Reluctantly, he pressed the brick into the wall… with a soft whine, the back of the fireplace slid away, revealing a secret passageway. Harry dropped the portrait and backed away. What was going on?

"Harry…" the voice called his name again. It was definitely his father's voice, and it was definitely coming from the passageway.

Harry crouched down and carefully made his way through the dark, damp passageway. He felt himself moving gradually downward, and spiraling around… he was somewhere far beneath the mansion now. He could just barely make out a light in the distance, at the end of the passageway.

As he got closer to the end the passage widened, and he found he no longer needed to crouch to fit through the passageway, and could walk fully upright.

He finally reached the end, and found himself in a gigantic, dome shaped room with white walls. A gigantic video screen filled up the bulk of the room, and on the screen was his father's face, static and unmoving.

A laser beam from the ceiling passed over Harry's eyes.

"Identity confirmed," a computerized voice reported. "Welcome, Harry Osborn."

The image of his father on the video screen sprang to life. "Harry. If you are watching this video… it means that I am dead."

Harry looked around the room. What was all of this? What did this all mean?

"You have a legacy to carry on, Harry. A legacy far more important than even OSCORP… the true legacy of the Osborn family."

Part of the wall slid away, revealing interior blueprints of the OSCORP facility. The blueprints revealed hidden areas of the plant, with what looked like weapons arsenals inside.

"Harry… you must become the Green Goblin."