Wednesday the diner buzzed with customers, so much so that Maggie didn't realize it was noon until someone corrected her 'Good Morning' with 'Good Afternoon'. She spent the lunch rush distracted, wondering why he hadn't returned. The answer came later in the afternoon, courtesy of an abandoned copy Times newspaper. Unlike the Bugle, the Times carried more objective reports of Spider-Man's activities, although in a very small corner of the third page with no photo. According to the paper, the city's masked hero had spent the evening busting a drug ring, ending a hostage standoff, and thwarting an armed robbery.

"So where's my hot college boy today?" Jackie asked.

"Out late last night," Maggie said. "I guess he slept in."

On Thursday he was back, his return marked by a whistle Jackie typically reserved for her soap actors. Busy with a table full of teenagers, Maggie reluctantly nodded at Jackie, giving her the go ahead to seat him at the corner table.

By the time Maggie got over to him, he'd acquired a coffee, a huge glass of juice, and a massive breakfast muffin that Jackie had apparently squirreled away for him.

"Hewwo, Maggie," he said around a mouthful of muffin.

"It's not polite to talk with your mouth full, Sport," Maggie said, using what her husband called her 'Mom Voice'.

"Fowwy," he said, and smiled at her light laughter. "You know," he added, after clearing his mouth of muffin, "I really don't know how you make money here."

"How's that?"

"First you with your dollar fifty special, and then that other waitress bringing me all this just for being a regular customer." He picked up the glass of juice. "You sure are nice to…"

He paused with the glass to his lips, staring at the napkin that had been beneath it. Jackie's name and phone number were scrawled upon it in her red lipstick, along with the message "call me!"

Despite his obvious embarrassment, Maggie had to smile. "It seems you have an admirer."

He glanced over at where Jackie stood across the diner, craning her neck to see him.

"Don't worry," Maggie said. "I'll tell her you already have a girlfriend."

His shoulders straightened. "I do, actually."

"I figured that," she said gently. His claim had been more than a little defensive. Apparently he'd been a little too interested in science during high school. "I smelled perfume on your coat the other day," she explained, at his obvious curiousity. "'Strawberry Spring', right? Very popular with younger women."

"I smell like her perfume?"

"It's not noticeable. I only smelled it because I worked at the Macy's Fragrance Counter a few years ago. Made me permanently sensitive to things like that."

"I smell like her perfume," he repeated. He was staring down at the table, his lips pulled upwards just at the corners, as if remembering the most pleasant day he'd ever had.

Maggie fervently hoped that his young lady was as in love with him as he obviously was with her. He deserved that happiness at the very least. "So," she said, hating to interrupt whatever reverie he was having, "we missed you yesterday."

"Hm? Oh. Yeah. Yesterday I was… running a little behind. Believe me, I wanted to be here for your breakfast special. A bowl of stale cereal is not the same."

"Well you won't get that here. You want the same as yesterday? And how about a piece of hot apple pie with ice cream to go with it?"

"That sounds great. I'll need the energy boost to get through all this homework." He sat back in his chair and surveyed his books and papers. "You don't mind that I stay here for so long, do you? I mean, when you have people waiting-"

"Don't you worry. Anyone tries to kick you out and they'll answer to Maggie."

He half turned in his chair, one elbow resting on an open book. "You know, it's just so funny. I keep thinking I know you, but I don't remember ever meeting anyone by the name of Maggie."

"I just have one of those faces. I look like everybody. I hear it all the time. Every day. Look, let me go put in your order, okay Sport? Just sit tight."

Before he could press any further, she darted back into the diner. By the time she returned with his food, he was deep into his homework, scribbling notes in the margins of the various notebooks he'd spread out.

"Hardly an inch of free table today," Maggie noted, to draw his attention to the heavy tray of food she held.

"Sorry about that." He cleared some space for her to set down his plates. This involved moving still-open books onto the seats of two empty chairs, stacking various piles of papers on them and on the floor, and shoving a calculator that resembled a computer into the pocket of the jacket she'd given him.

"What is all that, anyway?" she asked.

"Results from an experiment my class is monitoring down the street at PharmaLabs."

"Nothing dangerous, I hope."

"We're being careful." He took from her a plate so full of pancakes that his eyebrows raised at the sight of it. "Boy, I really am going to miss this place after our time there is done."

The pie plate Maggie held set down with a clack on the tabletop. "Are you… going somewhere?"

"Our class is only at PharmaLabs for the duration of the experiment. We're back cross-town next week. A little too far for breakfast, no matter the price."

"Oh. Well. I… I forgot your coffee. I'll be right back."

Maggie wandered in a daze over to the coffee station. She stood a long while with one hand on the carafe, telling herself that of course she should have known he wouldn't be coming in here forever. Stupid and selfish of her to think that he would.

Yet her disappointment stole her breath from her. It just wasn't fair. She wasn't done yet trying to repay him for all he'd done. It was too soon for him to go.

"Wow, look at that fire!"

Maggie turned at the voice and saw Dave, one of the Diner's regular counter-sitters, pointing up at the television. On the screen was an image of a pier fully ablaze. Jackie got to the television first, to turn up the volume of the news report.

"-and the pier at fiftieth street is completely engulfed. The explosion we heard fifteen minutes ago was an unknown amount of combustible drums igniting, trapping fifteen firemen on the roof of a nearby structure where they had been attempting to control the fire-"

The scraping of wooden chair legs across linoleum floor drew Maggie's attention to where Sport stood by his table, his gaze darting from the television screen to his scattered belongings and back again.

Maggie closed the distance between them with coffee pot still in hand. "I'll watch your things."

When he turned to her, Maggie stepped back. Gone was the meek and slouching college boy who sat quietly doing science homework. In his place stood a man with piercing eyes and squared shoulders who faced down armed criminals. "You'll do what?" he asked, and his voice had a sharpness that she hadn't heard before.

"I'll- You-" She swallowed, thought fast. "You look like you want to go see what's happening. I'll watch your things if you do." She saw him hesitate, glancing at the television, back at her. "Go!" she urged.

At the word he dashed into the restaurant, dodging two dozen people without bumping even one, then vanishing through the front door before the breeze from his passing had stopped moving Maggie's skirt.

"Where's my hottie off to in such a hurry?" Jackie asked as she passed by.

To jump into a burning building. To save people's lives. "Had to make a phone call," Maggie said, and collected his plates to put them into the warmer.

For an hour Maggie tried not to think about him and what he was doing. For an hour she followed the special reports, some of them mentioning but not showing the masked hero.

When finally he was back, his return was announced by wracking coughs that she could hear over the din of voices and plates and silverware. After drawing a pitcher of water for him, Maggie joined him at his table.

As she stepped to his side she choked, overwhelmed by the stench of wet firewood, rancid water and chemicals. As bad as he smelled, he looked even worse. His brown hair was soaking wet and badly hand-combed to the side. Water dripped from his bangs onto his soot-covered face, leaving trails of clean skin behind them.

"I put your food in the warmer, S-" Maggie hesitated, feeling odd now about using the nickname.

He stared at the tabletop, his shoulders bowed. "It's all right. I'm not hungry."

Something had happened, she thought. Something bad. "Was Spider-Man able to help those firemen?" she asked, remembering now the news report she'd heard before.

"One fell through the roof before he got there." He swallowed hard, a motion that moved his entire upper body, as if he were trying not to be ill. "Five stories down. Into the fire."

Maggie tried in vain not to think about the man's wife, children, parents, friends. "But- but he saved the others. Right?"

"Yes."

No satisfaction in his voice at the men he'd saved. Only grief and pain from the one he'd lost. "But fourteen men are alive because of- of him. He did the best he could."

"Wasn't good enough."

More than anything Maggie wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that of course it was good enough, that she knew it was because she knew who he was, and she owed him her life too, and the life of her daughter, and could never repay him for it.

But how could she tell him something like that after what he'd just been through? No, she thought. She would tell him tomorrow. Tomorrow she would tell him everything.

"I'll go and wrap your food," she said, though she doubted he heard her or noticed her leave. Only when she returned with the brown bags did he stir. "Before you go," she told him, "you may want to use these."

He stared, uncomprehending, at the towel and wet cloth she'd offered him.

"Your face," she said, and saw him touch his bare cheek – just like that day on the train – and then look at the soot on his fingers. "Take your time," she said, as he took the things from her with a vague nod.

By the time he joined her at the cash register, only faint traces of soot remained on his face and his hair was passably dry and in order. After he'd paid her, he moved to leave, but Maggie put a hand on his arm. "You may want to tuck in the lining of your jeans pocket before you go," she told him softly. "It's sticking out a bit."

He glanced down, saw the piece of red material, and quickly shoved it into his pocket. Without another word, he turned and left the diner.