Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Marvel characters appearing within, sadly. No profit is being made from their use.

Author's Note: I wasn't trying to traumatize anyone with the last chapter, really! I'm sorry. And for those of you who are a little worried about Rosie's reaction, I have a plan. I know what I'm doing. Er, do those sound like famous last words to anyone else? Right up there with "I certainly know the consequences of the slightest miscalculation." Heh… Warning: this includes a shower scene. Don't get all excited, fangirls. And I'm not satisfied with this chapter, either… I can't seem to get this fic right!!!

Moonlight Becomes You

Three – Distorted Reflections

October 29 - 30

Steven O'Connell recovered first. His initial reaction was to flee before Dr. Octavius regained his composure and attacked, but he fought the urge back. It didn't look as if Octavius was going to be hurting anybody.

The scientist had fallen to his knees, his eyes on the spot where Mrs. Octavius had stood only moments ago. Three of the actuators weaved restlessly through the air above their host; the fourth had its pincers next to Octavius's face, making peculiar squawking sounds as though trying to comfort him. Octavius seemed oblivious of its presence; he didn't even blink as it brushed his cheek. He wasn't crying, as O'Connell had initially feared, but he'd never seen anyone do a whipped-puppy expression quite so well.

This could make things both easier and harder for O'Connell. On the one hand, at least O'Connell didn't need to worry about more of his men being injured. On the other hand, Octavius seemed dangerously close to becoming catatonic, and he'd be no use to O'Connell or Quest in that state.

"Dr. Octavius?" he said gently, taking a step forward. Instantly, the actuators went on the alert, curling around their host, with their pincers opening into a claw-like formation. The guards surrounding Octavius brought their guns into firing position, but O'Connell raised a hand to stop them. "Dr. Octavius?" he tried again.

This time, the scientist seemed to hear him. He lifted his face, meeting O'Connell's eyes. "She was afraid," Octavius whispered. His tone was no longer threatening, but pathetic.

"She – " O'Connell began, but the actuator that had been comforting Octavius snapped at him, and O'Connell backed away.

"Leave him alone," Octavius said in that same low tone. The actuator wavered, but it didn't move. "Leave. Him. Alone," the scientist said more firmly. All four of them shrank back, but not without a series of hisses. O'Connell watched all of this with fascination. He'd heard that the actuators were driven by AI, but he'd had no idea that they were capable of thinking and acting on their own. Maybe that story he'd read in the Bugle about Octavius being under their influence was true after all.

General Heilman was going to be very pleased. Assuming Quest could get Octavius to cooperate.

He knelt down before Octavius. "I had no idea she'd react like that," he said, putting as much sympathy in his voice as he could. Threats wouldn't work now. "She's been in the hospital ever since the accident; she spent about a month in a coma. She hasn't spoken a word since she woke up, but the doctors think she's suffered memory loss. She might not even remember you."

Dr. Octavius winced, and O'Connell almost felt sorry for the man. "The more time she spends with you, the more she might remember," O'Connell continued. "You'll have plenty of opportunities to see her while you're working with us."

"She should be in the hospital," the scientist said. "Not here. Not… with me." He got to his feet with the help of the lower actuators, which then drooped into an 'at-rest' posture behind him. No longer dwarfed by the machinery, O'Connell was suddenly very aware of just how tall Dr. Octavius was. If he hadn't been so thin and weak from his time on the streets, he'd be very imposing. "I think any more contact with me will only make things worse."

"I can't do that, Doctor," O'Connell said pleasantly. "Once she's out of my hands, I'd have no leverage, would I?"

Octavius clenched his jaw. "I give you my word; I will do what you ask, just please, take her to a hospital where she can heal."

"I assure you, she's being given the best care," O'Connell said. "For now. And, while I would like to trust your word, you are, as you said, 'a wanted criminal and a madman who listens to the voices in his head; a very dangerous man,' correct? I'd be a fool to get rid of the one thing that keeps you under control."

Octavius was shaking with rage, but his restraint was admirable. He had the power to strike O'Connell dead, but all he said was, "What do you want from me?"

"Like I said, Quest could use your fine mind, deranged though it may be." Octavius's scowl deepened, but he said nothing. "In particular, we're interested in the secrets of your last, greatest experiment."

"The fusion device doesn't work. I will not-"

"Not the fusion device… those arms of yours. They're called actuators, correct? You may have built them as something to assist you in your life's work, but I don't think you realize just what you have there. The AI and neural interface alone could make millions with the right applications."

Now there was a new expression on Octavius's face: fear. "You're going to take them away from me?" He tensed, and O'Connell knew he'd have to say something quickly before the actuators reacted.

"No; that would be unnecessary, so long as we have your cooperation. It's far easier just to have your input than to figure out how you did it by pulling the actuators apart. Besides, I know what happened to the last doctors who tried to separate you from your creations." The doctor flinched. "No one wants to even touch them. We want you in a purely scientific capacity."

Octavius was silent as he though the offer through. O'Connell knew he was trying to find the catch, but the scientist was likely to relent in the end. After all, what O'Connell was offering was something any scientist would want, something Octavius wouldn't find anywhere else. "You'll have all the funding you need, and your own lab space, and the police won't find you. And when the day is over, you can see your wife again. "Do we have a deal?" He held out his hand.

The wary expression was still on Octavius's face as he took O'Connell's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Deal." O'Connell blinked when he pulled his hand away; his palm was flecked with blood.

XXX

You do not trust him, do you?

No, Otto said as he followed O'Connell into another elevator. Five heavily-armed guards followed, keeping the muzzles of their guns trained on him. They also stayed very close, giving the actuators no room to maneuver. It's too good to be true. If O'Connell simply wanted my scientific expertise, he wouldn't be keeping my wife hostage. He wants something else from us.

And as long as he has the woman, you will give it to him. They didn't bother to hide their disgust.

As long as he has her, yes. But I'm counting on you to help me get her out of here. Not tonight - he didn't think he'd have the strength of mind to face her again so soon - but sometime. I will not be coerced into giving away my theories and inventions for Quest's gain! For now, though, let's see what O'Connell has planned for us.

He didn't add that he needed the time to recover. Rosie's scream still echoed in his mind, and that look of sheer terror was permanently etched in his memory. He'd never frightened Rosie before, never! He didn't want to see her like that again. Had she really forgotten so much? They'd been married for twenty years; could she have lost all of that? Or had he really changed that much? Otto closed his eyes, rubbing his hand down his jaw. He knew he looked different, but he'd thought Rosie would look past all that and see the man she loved. He hoped it was just amnesia; but what if she blamed him for the accident and feared that he'd hurt her again?

If he continued to dwell on this, it would drive him mad. Instead, he examined the wound on his hand. Flexing it had ripped the stitches open, and it was bleeding again. As long as he kept using the hand, it would be slow to heal. O'Connell watched him for a moment, then asked, "Do you need a doctor?"

"No," Otto said flatly. He knew he was a mess; he didn't need a doctor poking around to know that.

O'Connell seemed put off, then shrugged. "If you ever want one, let me know. I can also supply a good tailor." He wrinkled his nose as he looked Otto up and down, taking in the stained, tattered coat he wore.

The elevator stopped and the door slid open, revealing yet more guards. Otto followed docilely, the actuators concealing themselves under his coat. He did his best to seem obedient and totally harmless as he followed O'Connell down a luxurious hallway that was a striking contrast to the last floor he'd been on. It looked more like a floor in an expensive hotel than a place of business. Otto had assumed they were heading to O'Connell's office, but now he asked, "Where are we?" There is someone in the room closest to the elevator, Father, the actuators whispered into his mind. He ignored them as he waited for O'Connell's answer, though he couldn't help but wonder if the occupant of the suit could be Rosie.

"My predecessor had this bright idea to make the top floor of the building into a series of suites. He thought they would come in handy on those nights when board meetings ran late and no one wanted to drive home, or as a good place to put up visiting investors without having to pay for an expensive hotel. Or, in the case of my predecessor, it was a good place for him to go when he was fooling around with his secretary." O'Connell shrugged. "I'm escorting you to your quarters. You didn't think I was going to hold you in a jail cell, did you?"

Otto hadn't really given it much thought. He supposed he had thought O'Connell was going to put him in some sterile holding cell with reinforced walls. But when O'Connell stopped at one room, gesturing at one of the guards to open the door, Otto could only gape at what he saw inside. The room continued the hotel motif, though it wasn't very big, and Otto wondered what O'Connell was thinking. He took a step inside, then stopped in the doorway. The walls were about a foot thick, and there were peculiar indentations in the door jamb. So much for it not being a reinforced cell. O'Connell watched him, a smile playing about his lips. "This particular room was converted into a panic room of sorts after the Green Goblin's attack on our bunker."

"Not a jail cell, no," Otto murmured. But he had to admit, it was preferable. From what he could see in the dim light (O'Connell really had done his homework, if he'd figured out Otto's sensitivity to bright lights), he had a main room, a small kitchen, a bathroom, and there was a closed door that led to what was probably a bedroom. An actual bedroom, likely with a real bed.

"Does it meet your approval?" O'Connell asked. "You'll find food in the cabinets and refrigerator, and soap and shampoo in the bathroom. I suggest you make use of it." He wrinkled his nose again. For the first time, Otto felt embarrassed about his shabby appearance. "There are some clothes for you in the closet, though they weren't made to accommodate your… unusual needs."

Otto smiled faintly. He wondered if O'Connell was being condescending, or if he was genuinely trying to be nice. Otto doubted it was the latter. "Thank you," he responded in the same tone. He considered goading the actuators into making another appearance to remind O'Connell of who he was dealing with, but that wouldn't help his situation. If he was O'Connell's 'good little boy,' then maybe he'd ease up on security.

"I'll send for you at noon tomorrow," the director continued. "We'll discuss matters in more detail after we've had a night's sleep." He looked like he was about to go, then turned back. "Is there anything you need before I leave?"

Otto considered, then smiled wickedly. "While I appreciate the new clothes, I'm rather fond of this coat. If you could get it cleaned and mended, that'd be a start." He turned his back on O'Connell and removed the heavy coat for what seemed like the first time in months, then deposited the dirty garment in O'Connell's arms. Otto hoped the grime stained O'Connell's immaculate suit. He expected to see a disgusted look on the businessman's face, but instead there was something else, the first expression that was genuine, a look of horrified fascination. Otto frowned, wondering what had brought that about. Then he realized that O'Connell had been staring at his back. Did it really look that bad? He hadn't given the injuries much thought since the accident, but he couldn't help but think that having a couple hundred pounds of sentient machinery fused to his back should hurt a lot more than it did. He suspected the actuators were dulling the pain.

O'Connell abruptly shook his head, and then that falsely pleasant expression was back. "I'll make sure you have this by tomorrow," he said, holding up the coat. He gestured to the armed men, who escorted their boss out of the room. The door slammed shut, accompanied by a loud metallic scraping noise. The actuators examined the door for several moments before reporting to him. This door is steel behind the wood panels. And there are metal bars holding it in place. There are also alarms wired to it; by the time we could break through this, a team of armed men could be ready and waiting for us.

We'll think of something by the time we're ready to escape, he told them. He made a quick circuit of the small suite, noting the peculiar absence of windows. There was an uneven patch on the far wall of the main room where one must have been, but it had been filled in and, the actuators told him, reinforced. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind and letting the actuators show him what was concealed behind the plaster walls. The entire room had, indeed, been reinforced with steel bars, and so had the floor and ceiling. Had the threat of the Green Goblin really scared them that much, or had this been done for him? Escape was going to be difficult, indeed. And it will be harder still with Rosie.

It was too early to formulate a proper escape; Otto decided not to give it further thought. He hadn't had real food or taken a bath or slept in a bed for months. He intended to take advantage of O'Connell's 'hospitality' while he could.

A quick glance in the cupboards showed they were stocked with boxed and canned foods – fortunately, nothing that someone with barely adequate cooking skills couldn't manage – as well as other necessities, like bread and peanut butter. He was also fully stocked on cookware. He pulled a butcher knife from the silverware drawer, examining its razor edge. For a moment, he wondered why O'Connell would leave something like this here for a prisoner – then Otto laughed at himself. Why would the director fear a knife when he was equipped with a far deadlier set of weapons? He completed his investigation of the kitchen with a peek in the fridge and freezer. He'd never been so happy to see a frozen pizza in his life.

But despite the rumbling in his stomach, he didn't let himself eat. Not yet. He didn't want to eat when his fingers were stained with dirt and blood. He decided to check out the clothing O'Connell had mentioned and ended up in the bedroom. It was small, with a bed and bureau the only décor. A bed… an actual bed… Otto ran his fingers along the firm mattress. The actuators poked at it, wondering why it had excited their host. A shower, then food, then bed… Hopefully, the luxuries would be enough to keep his mind off Rosie.

Otto opened the top drawer of the bureau, wondering what O'Connell had found for him. He couldn't imagine the director actually going out and shopping for him; he'd probably just taken some of his own discarded old clothing or whatever his guards could donate. If so, then Otto would be lucky if he could find anything that fit. Then he saw the topmost shirts, and his eyes narrowed. The white button-down dress shirt could have come from anywhere, but the green knit sweater beside it with the peculiar diamond pattern was very familiar… His wife had given it to him on his birthday. He pulled it out, wondering if he was mistaken, but once he'd unfolded it, he could see that it was just his size. And when he held it up to his nose, he could faintly smell traces of the lavender potpourri Rosie had placed in the drawers. It was his clothing! His fingers tightened around the cloth, and he gritted his teeth. O'Connell had taken the clothing from his home. My wife, my research, my clothing… what else of mine does O'Connell want or have? The actuators weaved around him uneasily, reacting to his agitation. Would O'Connell take them next, despite what he had said?

He stuffed the shirt back in the drawer. Even if it was his shirt, it wouldn't fit over the harness, and he didn't feel like taking the time to modify it. Tomorrow, maybe… He grabbed a robe from the closet – his robe, a worn royal blue one that he warned the actuators not to tear. It smelled like home… He quashed the thought, not wanting to think about Rosie just yet. Shower, food, bed… That's all I want to think about right now.

Otto went into the bathroom, which would have been decent-sized to anyone who didn't have four mechanical arms on their back. He flipped on the light switch and winced; O'Connell had forgotten to dim the lights in here. One of the actuators snaked up and crushed one of the bulbs above the mirror, leaving the room dim enough for Otto to take off his sunglasses without straining his eyes.

As promised, there was soap and shampoo for his use, as well as towels and wash rags. Otto hung the robe on the towel rack and got ready to take his first shower in months.

Was it any wonder New York pedestrians avoided the homeless?

He tossed his pants aside, resolving to never touch the soiled garment again. Then came the hard part; the metal waist band served to take some of the weight of the actuators, and when he'd fitted the piece, it had fit snugly against his abdomen. But months of living on the streets had slimmed him down, leaving a gap between his skin and the metal band itself (and revealing a nasty set of scars where the skin had been charred during his accident.) The waist band was too damaged to adjust, so Otto had been forced to wedge rags between his skin and the band. Otto worked the rags free, commanding the lower two actuators to brace themselves to take the weight. Even then, the sudden pull on his spine was enough to make him gasp. He wondered if O'Connell would let him build a replacement waist band.

Then he started the shower and climbed inside. It was like stepping into Heaven.

The first layer of dirt sloughed off under the onslaught of water. Otto shut his eyes and savored the feel of the hot water on his skin. The actuators tried to stay out of the spray; they were water-proof, but that didn't mean that they liked water. The lower two were firmly braced against the walls, to ease the pull on his spine. Otto spent several minutes just standing under the deluge before he finally set to cleaning the accumulated dirt and grime that came from living on the streets. He scrubbed until his skin felt raw, trying to remove every speck of dirt, even if it meant scraping off a layer of skin. Then he passed the soapy rag to the upper right tentacle, which delicately cleaned around the spinal brace and harness.

When he finally stepped out of the shower he felt clean again. Better yet, he felt almost human again. He ran his fingers through his rough beard; that would be the next to go. The upper actuators each grabbed towels; one began to towel him off, the other carefully dried the other actuators. Otto opened the mirrored cabinet and pulled out the razor and shaving cream, then shut it. The steam had made the mirror opaque, and without thinking, Otto ran his hand down the middle, exposing his reflection.

Dark, haunted eyes, sunken into a gaunt, lined face, stared back at him. The face was almost unrecognizable, and with shock, Otto realized he hadn't really seen himself since… since before the accident. Is that what I look like now? He wiped away the rest of the steam, revealing the shaggy beard, which was streaked with grey, and the long, stringy hair, also threaded with grey, colored black by the water and curling slightly with its length.

He'd caught glimpses of his reflection, of course, on the surface of the East River or in windows. But he'd thought they were distorted, like the reflection in a funhouse mirror. He'd given it no thought beyond that; no one who lived amongst the dregs of society could afford to be vain. Now, though… I don't look like me at all. Did Rosie not even recognize me? Is that why she screamed? Otto closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the mirror. God, I'm a mess. I don't even recognize me. One of the actuators, the upper right, nudged his cheek, but he pushed it away. And I don't even want to see… Otto opened his eyes and slowly turned around. There'd been something else he'd been too afraid to look at, something that he knew wouldn't look good. The expression on O'Connell's face had said as much.

His back was a mess. The part of the spinal brace that hugged his vertebrae was pitted and scored from being electrocuted twice; there were even misshapen pieces where they had partially melted. It looked like some sort of alien parasite embedded in his spine. And the flesh around it… His back was a mass of scar tissue. Misshapen pink ridges and blotches of smooth, shiny white skin decorated the area around the brace.

It was no wonder he was constantly in pain; even if the actuators were dulling it, the damage was just too much for them to suppress completely. In the back of the mind, where the actuators couldn't sense it, he'd nurtured the hope that, someday, somehow, he could remove the actuators and resume a normal life, a life with Rosie again at his side.

He had to face the facts; he wasn't the man he once had been. And he never would be again.

To be continued…

After thinking things through over vacation, I have some ideas to make this story better. Woo hoo! Hopefully now I can get chapters out faster.