Disclaimer: Lynnea is mine; the rest all belong to Marvel. No profit is being made from there use.

Author's Note: Another chapter already! I'm going to try to update this weekly, or at least, bi-weekly, schedule permitting. This chapter doesn't have as much Otto in it. I'm sorry. Next chapter will be Otto-centric, I promise. There would have been more, but I had to cut the end to this chapter off, otherwise this would have been way too long.

Moonlight Becomes You

Four – Fateful Encounters

October 30

It was the city that never slept, and now Lynnea knew why. Who the hell could sleep with all that sound? Even her suite on the thirteenth floor of the Hilton wasn't immune to the noise; a nonstop roar of motors, the honking of angry drivers – New York seemed to be full of them – and the blaring of music, the roar of the conversations of millions of pedestrians, the police/fire/ambulance sirens that seemed to pass by every half hour… It was overwhelming to a simple country girl. Oh, she'd been to big cities before; Chicago or Detroit, mostly. But they were nothing compared to New York City.

Lynnea sat on the window sill, gazing down at the packed streets. Her dark eyes watched the teaming masses of humanity with interest. From her height, they looked like insects, like cockroaches fleeing from the light. Lynnea smiled, covering the street below the window with her palm as if she could squish the pedestrians like the bugs they so resembled. A week in the city had left her jaded; she wanted nothing more to return to her quiet apartment.

Still… if she didn't take advantage of some of the tourist attractions in New York, she'd regret it. She'd been toying with the idea of going to see a Broadway musical, Phantom of the Opera, maybe, or the new Fiddler on the Roof, which she'd been hearing good things about. She'd been putting it off, knowing that she didn't fit with the normal Broadway patronage, but what did she care, really? She didn't fit in with any normal crowd, if she was being honest with herself. It was a fact she took great pride in. "What do you think?" she muttered. "Should I risk the Broadway crowd, or visit yet another cult bookstore that I 'just can't leave the city without seeing?'"

A soft mrrrow was her only answer, and she glanced down at the black cat curled in her lap. "Yeah… that's your answer for everything," she muttered. She stroked his sleek head absently. Technically, the cat wasn't supposed to be in the hotel, but no one needed to know he was here. He was very good at hiding himself whenever housekeeping came in to tidy up; Bat was far more intelligent than most humans Lynnea had the misfortune of knowing. "I think I will go; it's not like I can't afford it." Her current employers, 'Mr. Jones' and 'Mr. Smith,' were paying three times her normal rate as compensation for losing the customers she'd normally have lined up this close to Halloween, as well as paying for her air fare and her stay in the hotel. Of course, if they would just give her the other half of her money, they wouldn't have to worry about paying for a hotel stay, and she could be back home taking those Halloween clients!

"Maybe I'll just go see both of those musicals, and wear my work clothes," she said, smirking. "I'm sure Goth is all the rage among the upper class." Bat just mrred and curled himself into a tighter ball. "All right, your highness; I'm not going to go anywhere until I've fulfilled my duties as a cat bed." One green eye opened, as if the cat were saying "Damned straight!"

And then her cell phone rang. Lynnea considered not answering it, but the warbling was insistent, and she pushed the protesting cat off her lap and crossing to the coffee table, where she'd carelessly tossed the annoying piece of technology.

"I'm here," she said in lieu of the normal friendly greetings one used on the phone.

"This is Mr. Smith," the voice on the other end said tersely. Lynnea immediately came to attention; this could be about the rest of her money. "Our mutual employer is sending a conveyance for you in an hour. Be ready."

Lynnea blinked, puzzled. This wasn't how they'd planned to transfer the rest of the money to her. "What's wrong?" she asked sharply.

Smith had been about to hang up, but he deigned to answer her question. "Something is wrong with your little zombie," he said. "It was frightened by our target and spent the entire night screaming."

She wanted to snap at him for using the z-word, but she girded her tongue. Instead she said, "Frightened? I thought you said this man was her husband." Silence was her answer. It took her a moment to realize it was because Smith had already hung up.

Shit. If there was something wrong, then she wouldn't be getting her money. Could they be finding fault where there was none, simply because they didn't want to pay her? Why would she be frightened? Unless… hmm, maybe he abused her or something; that would have left emotional damage that could linger even now. She scowled; if her employers had known that, she could have repressed the residual emotion.

Grumbling, she changed into black jeans and a black Evanescence T-shirt. She didn't feel like slipping completely into her work persona, and decided to forgo her normal accessories. With the exception of a black collar studded with what looked at first glance to be off-white gemstones but were actually human phalange bones, carved into ovals and polished to a shine. Bat gave her a disapproving look, and she stuck her tongue out at him. Then she pulled out the file Mr. Smith had given her on Rosalie Octavius and thumbed through the papers and photos, searching for some sign of what had gone wrong.

It was a simple enough job, moreso than some she'd been called in to do. Jones and Smith hadn't given her much in the way of details, but they'd told her enough to 'program' Mrs. Octavius for the required task. She was to be used to manipulate her husband, a brilliant scientist who had gone into hiding after an accident which had killed his wife and ended his dream. What Jones wanted to do with Dr. Octavius was none of her business. She'd assumed their relationship had been one of love; but if he was abusive… Well, that just made everything harder.

Lynnea set the file on the coffee table, deciding to bring it to read on the way. For now, she had to go and pack her things; it looked like she was going to have to work today. She wondered if she could charge extra for it.

XXX

O'Connell was already going through his paperwork for the day, even though it was only seven in the morning. He believed in getting things done early; his predecessor had been a procrastinator, and Quest had suffered for it dearly.

Mondale entered unannounced, and O'Connell glanced up. "Did you get a hold of her?" He assumed so, from the grim expression on the man's face.

Mondale nodded. "She'll be here in an hour."

O'Connell turned his attention back to his work, a clear dismissal. But Mondale didn't take the hint. Instead, he said, "We have a problem."

"Oh?"

"I just received word from our spy at OsCorp. Apparently, Harry Osborn's finally sobered up enough to remember that he owns the rights to Dr. Octavius's inventions. He's trying to attract potential investors. He hasn't told anyone yet what he has, but once word gets out, General Heilman could void his contract with us and go to OsCorp. And he could do it; our spy saw Octavius's plans in Osborn's possession."

O'Connell gritted his teeth. "And he's probably got them on computer somewhere, too, if he has any intelligence at all. Has anyone shown any interest in it yet?"

Mondale shook his head. "Not yet; but once they realize the practical applications of Octavius's inventions…" He couldn't finish. He didn't need to; both knew what could be done with the scientist's research, and just how much money it could make for whoever held the rights to it.

"We still have time," O'Connell said finally. "We'll have to put Dr. Octavius at work as soon as we can so we can get his research to General Heilman before he hears about Osborn." Then something occurred to the director, and he smiled wickedly. "Perhaps we could put Octavius to work another way as well." After all, what was the fun of having a super-villain in his control if he couldn't use him?

XXX

Lynnea felt the first twinge of unease when she saw the 'conveyance' that Mr. Smith had referred to was a limousine. She knew her employer was wealthy – he wouldn't be able to afford her otherwise – but he'd been careful thus far not to reveal anything about himself to her. She'd thought at first there was a mistake, but the chauffer had opened the door for her and gestured for her to get inside. So she did, resolving to enjoy it. Who hasn't wanted to ride in a limo, after all?

Her unease grew further when the limo pulled up, not at the same anonymous building where she'd met Jones and performed the ritual, but at a skyscraper bearing the logo of Quest Aerospace over its front entrance. They'd chucked anonymity out the window after taking great pains to conceal who they were from her. This can't bode well… But she smiled at the chauffer as he opened the door to let her out, and he walked through the doors, past the receptionist, and to the main elevator. "Just take this to the top floor; Mr. O'Connell is waiting for you in his office."

Her smile faltered. Now she knew the name of one of her employers, most likely Mr. Jones. And she got the feeling that he was very important to Quest. Shit. She'd had an employer try to kill her once for thinking she knew too much. Then, she'd had peers come to her defense. Now… she was alone in a very big city. Had he brought her here to kill her? No… he could have just given me my money and let me go, and I'd be none the wiser. Why show me his name now? To find an excuse to kill me? If he'd wanted me dead, he could have done it already. She had to assume that he'd called her here because of a problem with Mrs. Octavius.

And if he did try to kill her… well, she wouldn't go without a fight. She kept a knife in the inner pocket of her black coat, and she knew how to use it.

The elevator ride seemed to take forever, and she kept receiving odd looks from the staff whenever they got on. Lynnea kept herself pressed in the back corner, trying to put as much distance between herself and them as possible. When the car finally stopped on her floor, she sighed with relief. Then, steeling herself for a possible confrontation, she stepped out.

Finding O'Connell's office was easy enough; while most of the offices lining the main hallway had doors of either plain metal or metal covered with a false wood design, the massive double doors at the end of the hall were real oak, and carved with an elaborate geometric pattern. There was a camera above the door, no doubt feeding her image right to O'Connell. She paused before the door, took a deep breath, then pushed the door open.

There was a small inner room, where an immaculately-dressed middle-aged secretary was seated at her desk. The woman looked up, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she examined Lynnea. "You're the girl Mr. O'Connell is expecting?" she asked, her tone one of disbelief.

"I am," Lynnea said coolly. The secretary clearly didn't know why, and seemed disgruntled about being left out. Lynnea considered telling the older woman that she was O'Connell's mistress, but it Lynnea was already on thin ice; she didn't want to aggravate the situation.

"Go on in," the woman sniffed.

There was another set of wooden double doors, these of a polished wood so dark they were almost black. They opened on well-oiled hinges, and Lynnea couldn't help but gape at the office's extravagance. No wonder he could afford to put her up at the Hilton.

The man she knew as Mr. Jones but was more accurately known as Mr. O'Connell didn't do more than glance up as she entered, and gestured towards the seat in front of his antique desk. Lynnea sat on the edge of the seat, her body tense. At least I know he isn't planning to kill me; these carpets must have cost more than his secretary makes in a year. Getting blood out of them would be a bitch.

"Good morning, Lynnea," O'Connell said warmly. It was a false warmth; she wasn't fooled by it.

"What's wrong with the puppet?" she asked, ignoring his attempts at pleasantry.

"Straight to the point. I like that." O'Connell leaned back in his chair. "She came face-to-face with her husband last night, took one look at him, then screamed and ran. Her caretaker says she spent the entire night screaming, and wouldn't even follow basic commands. If she's going to do this whenever she comes in contact with Dr. Octavius, we may lose our hold on him." O'Connell's eyes narrowed. "That would be very dangerous for all involved."

Lynnea blinked. She'd looked through the files during her ride over, and, while there wasn't much info included on the husband, there was nothing to suggest he was dangerous. Perhaps he was a wife-beater, but dangerous? "I can eliminate the problem," Lynnea said thoughtfully. "Though it will take some time. I need to figure out the source of her fears, and then I can make her forget it. Did Dr. Octavius beat her or threaten her in any way?"

O'Connell stared at her for a moment, then smirked. "I keep forgetting you're not from around here," he said with genuine mirth. Lynnea wondered what was so funny. "I have no idea if he was abusive or not," O'Connell continued. "Why don't you ask him yourself? He's reluctant to talk to me, of course, but maybe a young, cute girl like yourself could charm it out of him."

Lynnea bristled. She'd already come to the conclusion that she didn't like this Mr. O'Connell, but he was the one paying her. "Perhaps," she agreed. Maybe it would be better this way; she needed to find out what had frightened Mrs. Octavius, and her husband would probably be more likely to speak with someone who didn't look threatening. The sooner she got this done, the sooner she could get her money and get out of there. "All right. When do you want to do this?"

"How about now?" O'Connell stood up and gestured for her to follow. A set of well-armed guards met them outside the office; O'Connell must have some way to alert them inside his office, Lynnea presumed. But why did he need so many guns to talk to some reclusive scientist?

She was escorted to a private elevator situated near O'Connell's office, which took them to a floor that she hadn't been able to reach with the other elevator. She tried to repress her shudders at being wedged into such a small space with so many men; fortunately, the ride was a short one, and the elevator opened onto a floor that looked more like it should belong in a hotel than a business office. "We keep Mrs. Octavius in this room," O'Connell said, gesturing to the nearest room. He led her to the furthest room from the elevator, the door of which was flanked by yet more armed guards.

"Just knock when you want out, though if you aren't out by half an hour, I'm having one of the guards retrieve you," O'Connell said. He nodded at the guards to move aside, then went to the keypad at the side of the door and typed in a code. She heard the scraping of metal, then a click as the door unlocked. "If you're ready afterwards, I'll have you escorted to Mrs. Octavius's room. Do you want any guards with you?"

"No; I think he'll speak more freely if I'm alone. I am, after all, a 'young, cute girl.'" The guards exchanged glances. "If he gets aggressive, he'll find that I can take care of myself," Lynnea continued, annoyed. He's just a damned scientist! What's so frightening about some pudgy middle-aged nerd?

"It's your choice," O'Connell said. He gestured one of the guards to open the door. The man peered inside, then quickly pulled his head back out. He grabbed Lynnea's arm and pushed her inside before she could flinch away from his unwelcome touch, and the door began to close. Just before the door completely shut, she thought she heard the armed guard ask, "What if he kills her, sir?" She never heard the reply. Not reassuring; if she couldn't hear voices through the door, would they hear her knock?

She took a deep breath. Just a pudgy, middle-aged nerd, she reminded herself.

The room, which reminded her of her old college apartment in size and layout, lacked windows, and the few lights were missing half their bulbs, casting half the room in shadow. Wonderful. If he comes out here in a lab coat and goggles and holding a smoking beaker, I'm out of here. At least this place didn't look like a mad scientist's laboratory. No sparking electrodes, or caged, mutated mice… "Hello?" she called uncertainly. She stepped from the door the short distance to the couch that dominated the main room, with the intention of keeping the piece of furniture between herself and the doctor. She was locked in a room with a strange man; it was all she could do to keep from trembling. Maybe she should have taken O'Connell up on his offer of guards, even if there presence kept Octavius from talking. "Dr. Octavius?"

The bedroom door opened, and Dr. Octavius walked out. Or at least, she assumed it was Octavius. The man in the photos she'd seen in the file had been heavy-set without being fat, with immaculately groomed hair and a friendly, if distant, expression. This man was gaunt under his white button-down shirt, with longish, wavy hair that hung into sunken brown eyes. He was also a whole lot taller than his pictures had made him look. And his expression was anything but friendly. Clearly, losing his wife had been hard on him.

"Who are you?" the man asked. He came over to the couch, tossing aside the pair of scissors he held in one hand before leaning his arms on the back. He made no effort to come too near her, for which she was grateful.

"I'm here about your wife," she said smoothly. She was pleased her voice didn't tremble. "About her reaction last night."

That caught his attention. "What about her?"

"I'm… one of her nurses." O'Connell had outlined what sort of excuse he'd planned to use when she reanimated the woman; saying she was a nurse was the most plausible explanation she could come up with. Octavius arched one brow skeptically. "I know I don't look like it," she said hurriedly, "but, let's face it, this isn't a legal situation we're involved in, here, and there aren't many nurses willing to work in conditions like this." He seemed to accept that. "Your wife Rosie spent the whole night screaming. She may have lost her memory, but something about you struck a chord with her, triggering a memory or something. Can you think of anything that might have frightened her? A repeat of this incident won't be good for her."

Dr. Octavius looked amused by this. What the hell didn't she know that everyone found so damned funny? "I think I might have a good idea," he murmured with a glance backwards.

Lynnea took a few steps backwards. She knew he wasn't going to like her next question, and she wanted to make certain she was out of reach. "Have you ever hurt her or threatened her in any way, Dr. Octavius?" she asked softly.

He reacted so quickly she didn't even have time to scream. One moment she stood halfway between the couch and the door, with the heavy piece of furniture between them; next thing she knew, she was backed against the door, caged in by something that had been a blur to her vision and had hit the wall with astonishing force.

She cringed against the door, eyes squeezed tightly shut, waiting for the whatever-it-was to finish her off. When she wasn't immediately struck down, she cracked one eye open. The first thing she saw was Dr. Octavius's face, his features suffused with rage. "I. Have. Never. Hurt. My. Wife," he hissed, clearly enunciating every word. She opened both eyes, her gaze going to what looked horribly like a metal, skeletal snake with its head squashed against the wall. There were three others, two on either side of her.

It probably wasn't a good time to say that, seeing him like this, it was difficult to believe he'd never hurt his wife. In fact, she didn't think it was a good time to say anything, even if she could force words past the lump in her throat. "I'd never hurt her," the doctor continued softly. "Never." He almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself. The anger left his face, and the… things pulled away, though she had the feeling that the glowing red lights in their centers were watching her… "I'm sorry," Dr. Octavius said quietly. "I shouldn't have reacted like that."

Lynnea tried to speak, but couldn't manage more than a squeak. What the hell kind of city is this?! First I read about some guy in red and blue tights who climbs walls, and now I'm face to face with some freak with mechanical snakes on his back!

"I'm sorry I frightened you," Dr. Octavius said, and his features were genuinely sorrowful.

"This… this answers my question," Lynnea finally managed, her voice still a little high and breathless.

Dr. Octavius sighed. One of the metal snakes twisted around, emitting a peculiar peeping noise. He glanced at it, then turned back to Lynnea. "Yes. Rosie's frightened of them. Of me, of what I've become."

Lynnea's quaking legs could barely hold her; suddenly, they gave out, and she began to slide down the door. Octavius made a move as if to catch her, and Lynnea shrieked, "Don't touch me!" A hurt look crossed the doctor's face, and Lynnea felt bad for her instinctive reaction. "Sorry… I didn't mean to overreact," she said apologetically. Octavius's face had settled back into its neutral expression, and Lynnea wondered if she'd imagined the pain she'd seen there. "Err… what are they?" Lynnea couldn't pull her eyes away from them; their sinuous weaving had a sort of reverse snake charm effect.

"An experiment that went horribly wrong."

The file on Rosie Octavius had said she'd died in a lab accident. The same accident, perhaps? "Can't you remove them?" They were showing no further interest in her, and Lynnea was encouraged by this. It wasn't often one met a man with eight limbs; she had to admit that she was curious.

And now she understood why O'Connell wanted him – what corrupt business man wouldn't want to have a man this powerful under his control? Lynnea was suddenly very happy that Michigan was far from New York.

"I thought everyone knew the story. You aren't from New York, are you? They're fused to my spine, from an electrical current that melted the neural connections. I might have been able to get them surgically removed after the accident first happened. But the doctors who tried to take them from me died." His tone was neutral. "Then there was another incident involving electricity and, well, removing them now would require removing much of my spinal cord as well. I don't think I need to tell a nurse what that would do to a person."

It'd been awhile since Lynnea had felt sympathy for a man. She couldn't imagine what something like this would do to a person. "I'm sorry," was all she could manage.

Dr. Octavius shrugged. "I cope. Tell me," he asked, a catch in his voice. "My Rosie… Will she overcome this? Will I ever be able to see her without frightening her?"

"I'll see what I can do," she promised, wondering how the hell she was going to handle this. It was one thing to repress a memory; how the hell could she make Mrs. Octavius ignore something like this? This was more of an atavistic, irrational terror, much harder to quell. It would make for an interesting challenge.

It would have been a good time to leave, before he could question her further, but if the guards hadn't reacted when Dr. Octavius had slammed the snake-things into the wall, then she doubted they'd hear her knocking. It looked like she'd be stuck with him for another ten minutes or so. "So, um, do you follow any sports?"

XXX

When O'Connell finally retrieved her, she was shaken, but calmer than she had been. The guards seemed disappointed with this; they were probably betting on what condition she'd be in when she finally came out. She just smiled and said, "I told you I could take care of myself." She didn't tell O'Connell that she'd felt safer with Dr. Octavius than with the shady businessman.

"What did you think of our good doctor?" O'Connell asked. He leaned against the wall, seeming in no hurry to get back to his office.

"He's unique, I must admit. I've never met a man who didn't enjoy college football." The baffled look O'Connell gave her made her grin. "Oh, yeah, and then there're the snake things."

"The actuators," O'Connell corrected automatically. "Though many refer to them as 'tentacles.' What did you tell him?"

"That I was a nurse for his wife and wanted to find the source of her fears. You could have told me about the… the actuators," she said accusingly.

"If I had told you that he had tentacles, what would you have said?" O'Connell challenged.

"Good point."

"Can you correct the problem with Mrs. Octavius?"

"Yes, though it may take me awhile."

"Can you have it done by tonight?" O'Connell demanded.

Lynnea considered. "Yes, I think so. I don't know how long it'll take, though. It might wipe me out – shit, I should go back to my room and feed my cat first, since I don't know when I'm going to be back; he'll never speak to me again if I fail to feed him on time."

"Your cat?" Once again, she'd caught O'Connell off guard.

"Demanding creature. Thinks he's the ruler of the universe."

O'Connell appeared to be considering something. "You know, we have rooms here. Perhaps you could stay here awhile. Dr. Octavius seemed to respond to you pretty well; he doesn't trust me, obviously. Having you around might make things easier on him."

And just how do you know how he responded to me? Hidden cameras, I'll bet. Now she felt even more sorry for Octavius. "No," Lynnea said immediately. She wanted out of this city, she didn't want to be here anymore! She wanted to get her money and go.

Worse, she had the feeling that if she hung around Dr. Octavius too long, she'd start to like him. She couldn't afford that in her line of business. If she started liking him, she might start feeling guilty about everything else she'd been involved in. The people who hired her weren't honest people, and she knew they did terrible things with the corpses she reanimated. If she started developing morals, then she was out of a job.

"Don't be so hasty," O'Connell wheedled. "I can offer you a further ten thousand if you will just spend the week here, playing the part of Rosie's nurse. You won't be confined here; you can still go to your hotel room whenever you get tired of us, but I'd like you to be on hand when you're needed."

Ten thousand… It was tempting, very tempting. Lynnea scowled, but in the end, she agreed. She just hoped she wouldn't regret it.

To Be Continued…