Disclaimer: All characters, except for O'Connell and Lynnea, are property of Marvel, and no profit is being made by their use.
Author's Note: First off, I'm soooo sorry that this is a little late. About halfway through this, I was hit with writer's block. And there are still parts that didn't work out to my satisfaction. Grrr… But here it is, a day late. I'll try to put up chapter twelve sooner. Maybe Wednesday! Also, I've realized that I seem to have developed a reputation for being an Otto-torturer. I feel bad now. It's true, but I still feel guilty. And don't worry, Rainne, I'm going to explain everything about Rosie in chapter twelve. If anyone wants to read a somewhat happier story in which Otto will be eventually reunited with Rosie – with no death or resurrection involved – I have a fic called "Musique de la Nuit" on DeviantArt you all should check out. Just go to my bio and click the 'homepage' link to get to my profile. It's currently about three chapters long. I might put it up here, eventually, when it's done. I'll think about it.
Moonlight Becomes You
Eleven – Damaged Goods
November 2
Peter dumped his backpack, still covered with a light coating of webbing from when he'd stashed it, onto his bed and collapsed into the desk chair. His body was still mottled with the bruises he'd taken from his battle with Harry. No, his battle with the Green Goblin – the vicious creature that had attacked him and tried to kill him bore little resemblance to Harry. At least his ribs were no longer quite so sore; his peculiar healing abilities seemed to focus on severe wounds before fixing bumps and bruises.
His Halloween battle with the Goblin had been a spectacular failure; still woozy from the gas, his movements had been sluggish, and it had been all he could do to keep out of the Goblin's range. Rather than fight, Spider-Man had led the Goblin on a chase through the city, enduring taunts about cowardice. As soon as they were away from any major population centers, he'd lost the Goblin. Spider-Man had spent a tense night fearing that the Goblin was going to start something to attract his attention, but the night had been relatively quiet after that.
After class, he had swept the city, searching for signs that Harry might be stirring up trouble, but according to the Bugle, he was too busy with the disaster at OsCorp for any more super-villain rampages. Which led to Peter's second concern: Dr. Octavius.
The file with the photos from the Quest press conference was still on his desk, along with an envelop the recently developed shots Peter had taken of Otto and Rosie Octavius on his first visit, the couple's last night together. Setting atop the two was the segment Peter had found from Otto's ruined actuator. Peter picked it up, absently flipping it over and over in his hands as he thought. Why had Otto showed up now? Why had he attacked OsCorp? Was it revenge? It seemed the obvious motive… But something about it didn't feel right. If Otto had been under the actuators' influence, Peter would have had no difficulty accepting the attack. But not only had Otto seemed in control when they'd spoken after Peter found him, he'd also saved Peter's life. Doc Ock wouldn't have done that; Dr. Octavius would have. So, if he hadn't done this at the actuators' behest, why had he done it?
There was a knock at the door, then it opened without waiting for an answer. Peter didn't look up; Mary Jane had said she was going to stop by. His bed groaned in protest as she sat on it, and finally he turned to face her. She studied his face for a moment, then smiled wanly. "Your bruises are fading, but you still look like hell," she said.
"Thanks," Peter said dryly. "I'm trying to hurry my healing along so I don't have to go to go through the humiliation of attending school with make-up covering them again. Are you trying to turn me into a woman?"
"You're better than any Barbie doll I had as a child," MJ grinned. "You have such a pretty bone structure."
Peter rolled his eyes. He still held the segment, and he ran his finger along the wider yellow underbelly, tracing the round indentation in the middle that was, ironically, similar to the sucker on an octopus tentacle. "If you drag me along to help you pick out shoes, I'm dumping you."
Mary Jane pouted. "And here I was going to ask if you wanted to go shopping for lingerie with me."
"Really?"
"What's that?" MJ asked instead, plucking the segment from his hands. She examined it for a moment, her brow furrowing. "Isn't this…"
"From one of Dr. Octavius's actuators," Peter said. "It was damaged during the sabotage at OsCorp."
MJ scowled. She had assisted Otto with his rescue of Peter, but when she'd read the papers and seen just what he had done to OsCorp, she'd confessed that she wished she'd called the police on him, after all. Peter knew she still hadn't accepted that Harry truly had tried to kill him; she still thought Harry would have come to his senses. Seeing him suffer such a major blow, a major setback it would take years to recover from, had made her furious. Peter himself was upset; it hurt to see this happen to someone who had been a friend, who still could be a friend if Peter could snap him out of what had come over him. "That bastard," she mumbled, handing the segment back.
"I don't know if he meant to do it," Peter said slowly. He fished out the file and handed it to Mary Jane.
She looked through the pictures, frowning. "These are those photos you showed me the other day, from the press conference." She selected the one that showed the woman's face most clearly, staring at those empty eyes.
Peter nodded, and slid the other pictures out of the envelope. "Now, tell me if the woman in those pictures looks like this woman." He picked one and gave it to her.
Mary Jane took it and glanced between the two. "You're right; the resemblance is uncanny, though this woman at the press conference looks a bit, I dunno, out of it. Who is she?"
Peter handed her the other photo from the envelope. MJ's brow furrowed, and then her eyes widened with shock as she recognized the man posing with the woman. "That's Doc Ock!" she said, surprised. "He looks… He looks so different."
"That's his wife, Rosie. She died in the accident. Then Quest displays this woman for no apparent reason at their press conference, and suddenly Dr. Octavius comes out of hiding and attacks Quest's biggest competitor. What do you make of that?"
"It seems like a hell of a coincidence," Mary Jane admitted. "But, Peter, if Quest is dealing with a super-villain, they'd lose their contract with the army, wouldn't they?"
"If they are employing the doctor, I think they'd lose a lot of contracts," Peter said. "I wouldn't want to invest in a company with criminal ties. Oh, some people would, but Quest's reputation would be in tatters, and no one honest would ever deal with them again." He gave a frustrated sigh. "I don't know; maybe it is just a coincidence. Maybe she's just some woman who works for them and just happens to look like Rosie, and that's why Dr. Octavius showed up again."
"Or maybe you're right, and Quest secretly has a deadly weapon to take out their competitors," MJ finished.
"I think it's time I did a little detective work," Peter said.
"So… no romantic evening, I take it."
"I'm sorry-" Peter said quickly.
"I understand," she said, smiling ruefully. "This is more important. Is there anything I can do to help? I may not have super powers, but I've got to be good for something, right?"
Peter considered. "Do you think you could search newspaper articles and find what you can about Quest Aerospace? I think there's more to this Steven O'Connell than meets the eye."
XXX
November 3
Otto's eyes fluttered opened. The sound of rain pounding against the window had awakened him, and he wondered how long he'd been out this time.
Fourteen hours. It is now 11:23am.
Otto absently thanked them. The chair against the wall was empty, but the pitcher of water – or another one like it, at least – was still there. Sensing his desire, the upper left actuator grabbed the pitcher and brought it to Otto's lips. He also realized that he was starving, but there wasn't any food in sight. Where is everyone? he asked. He couldn't imagine O'Connell just leaving him alone, even in his condition.
There are guards outside the door. The girl checks in every half an hour.
He assumed they meant Lynnea. Otto cautiously stretched his right arm, careful not to jostle his left. It had been immobilized beneath him, probably since they'd brought him here, and the movement sent pain shooting down his arm as the muscles protested the movement. The pain wasn't overwhelming, however, and Otto began to cautiously try other movements. The pain was a dull, background sensation, so they either had him on painkillers, or the actuators had increased their control over his nervous system. Encouraged, he slowly shifted into a sitting position.
Father, you should not be getting up. You are unwell.
The sooner I'm up and about, the better. I don't like being an invalid in O'Connell's care. The sooner he was up and about, the better. For now, though, he was just happy that he could sit up without getting dizzy, and he could feel the actuators' relief that he wasn't hurting himself. He also noticed something else; the fourth actuator wasn't echoing. In fact, it seemed to have fallen completely silent. Are you all right? he asked. He'd been so concerned about his own health, he hadn't thought about what the damage may have done to the fourth actuator.
We have temporarily shut down the upper right unit. Its link to the power source was damaged, and it needs to conserve what power remains.
He clumsily untied the strings of his hospital gown and pushed it back onto his left shoulder, since he wouldn't be able to pull it off completely without jostling his wounded shoulder. The number of bumps and bruises visible on his too-white skin made him wince, but he did see something that intrigued him: Someone had pried open the waist band – he could see the bright patches along the joints where the corroded outer layer had been scraped off – and then it had been replaced and tightened to fit his slimmer girth. He seemed to be all right, though; it didn't look as if O'Connell had ordered some sort of unnecessary surgery performed on him while he'd been unconscious.
He was trying to decide if he should attempt standing up when the door opened, and in came Lynnea, with her monstrous cat trotting by her feet. Once again, Otto found himself seriously doubting this girl had any experience in the medical field; no nurse would bring something as unsanitary as a pet into a hospital room – or even this close approximation of a hospital room. Today she wore a new black Phantom of the Opera shirt and tight, low slung black jeans, along with a necklace strung with wooden beads and what looked like animal teeth, claws, and bones. Definitely not the most reassuring of nurses…
"Excellent, you're awake," she said, though her tone implied she wouldn't have cared if he hadn't been. "O'Connell wants to move you back to your quarters today." Otto's heart sank at this; this room would be much easier to escape from, and he'd hoped his injuries would mean a prolonged period of lighter security.
Lynnea plunked herself down on her chair and opened the copy of the Daily Bugle she'd been holding. Bat, after glancing between the two of them, settled on his mistress's lap. Otto, a little put off at being ignored, said gruffly, "Anything interesting?"
Lynnea raised an eyebrow. "I've noticed that there's always something interesting in this paper," she said dryly. "William Randolph Hearst would have been proud of the publisher. In my hometown, the Bugle would be one of those papers on the racks you read through while you're waiting in line at the cashier's, right next to the National Inquirer."
Otto chuckled. "They do like to make a mountain out of a molehill – or, in one case, crop circles out of a peculiar fungus formation. And people still buy it."
"No offense, but this is one messed up city. I mean, the other day, there was an article about Spider-Man and something called the Green Goblin planning a hostile takeover of every major corporation in this city, never mind that it was only one business that was attacked – and, somehow, I doubt that you're the Green Goblin."
"Actually, I'm Doctor Octopus," Otto said, wincing at the unwanted sobriquet. Really, couldn't they have come up with a better name?
"Doctor… Octopus?" Her raucous laughter didn't make him feel any better. "Ohmygod… That… that's the lamest thing… You sound like something from a sixties comic book…" She could barely speak, and was gasping for breath between her laughs.
"Done?" Otto asked when she looked up at him, tears running down her cheeks from laughing so hard. "I'm not the one who chose it. The Bugle did. I guess an octopus was the only thing they could think of that had eight arms."
Lynnea wiped her eyes. "I guess… Technically, you only have six arms," she pointed out after a moment. "Wouldn't that make you a sextopus?"
Otto opened his mouth to respond, then shut it. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Sounds like an x-rated movie," he said after a moment.
"'Doctor Sextopus and his Naughty Henchwomen,'" Lynnea said, smirking. "Considering the whole tentacle thing, I bet it would do well in Japan."
'Tentacle thing?' Do these Japanese have tentacles? Do they like tentacles?
Otto decided that now would be a good time to change the subject. "Have you seen my wife?"
"Yeah… don't worry. O'Connell hasn't harmed her. In fact, I think he'll let you see her today, once he's certain you aren't going to keel over in a light breeze," she said.
Otto's feelings were mixed. It would do him good to see Rosie again, and see for himself that she hadn't been harmed. And maybe, if she saw that he was hurt, it would stir some emotion within her. Or maybe she'd treat him with the same callous disregard as she'd shown before, as if he didn't even exist. "I think I'll manage," Otto said.
The door opened again, and O'Connell moved around the bed to stand before Otto. "You seem to be recovering," he said approvingly. "Ready to move back into your room? I think you'll be more comfortable there."
In response, Otto slid off the edge of the bed, feeling rather shaky but determined not to fall on his ass in front of O'Connell. The two lower actuators braced themselves on the floor, securing him. The upper left twisted restlessly as it tried to keep an eye on the entire room, after resting the upper right so it curled over his shoulder and hung lifelessly down his chest. "We're ready," he said. With a curt nod, O'Connell gestured for Otto to follow. Otto did, slowly, with the two lower actuators supporting him when it felt like his legs were going to give out. Fortunately, they didn't have far to go; the elevator was close by, and it was a simple matter of riding it up to the top floor. Squashed in the car with O'Connell and the guards, Otto asked, "How soon will you need me to get back to work?"
"Eager, are you? I like that in an employee." O'Connell ran his fingers through his hair thoughtfully. "Dr. Hanson wants you to rest for awhile, but you can probably do simple lab work by tomorrow, or the day after. There's no rush."
That worried him. While O'Connell hadn't said he wasn't needed, there was no urgent need for him to get to work. How long before he was of no use to Quest? Would he have time to recover before O'Connell disposed of him? As he was now, he'd have no strength to resist.
We would fight for you. And we would not let your feelings for the woman interfere.
Otto didn't find that reassuring. He was silent the ride up, but as they passed Rosie's room, Otto paused. "Can I see my wife?" he asked.
O'Connell shook his head. "Tonight," he said.
"But why not now? I mean, you and the guards are right here; wouldn't it be more convenient-" Otto prodded. If he waited too late, he'd be too tired to see her.
"I said tonight," O'Connell said coolly. The expression on his face made further protests die in Otto's throat. "Don't question me, Doctor."
As he led Otto to his room, the scientist wondered what that had been all about.
XXX
November 4
Otto sat on his bed, staring off into space. His thoughts were on the previous night, when he'd finally been able to see his wife and reassure himself that she hadn't been harmed. He could find no sign of mistreatment; nothing obvious, anyway. But she'd seemed more withdrawn than ever; she hadn't even looked at him. His time with her had been spent inside her suite, this time, since it had been raining too hard to go outside. She'd spent the entire time seated on the couch, staring at the closed patio door. This time, Otto had spent the entire visit speaking with her, murmuring softly about their life together, mixed with pleas for her to just look at him…
He'd finally given up and dejectedly went back to his suite, where he'd spent a restless night. After spending nearly three days unconscious, Otto felt awake, if not particularly lively. He sighed, brushing his hand through his shaggy hair and pushing his bangs out of his eyes. He checked the sling on his arm to make certain it hadn't shifted during the night, then got to his feet.
He stumbled into the main room, with the intention of scrounging up something to eat. He was brought up short by the fact that someone was sitting on the couch waiting for him. "Uh," Otto said blankly. "Who the hell are you?"
The man, who couldn't have been older than his mid-twenties, looked up from where he was sketching something on a pad of paper. "I'm Mr. O'Connell's tailor," he said, getting to his feet. "I'm Alexander Faraday. Mr. O'Connell said he had a challenge for me, and of course I said yes." He looked Otto up and down, and the doctor felt a twinge of embarrassment that he was only wearing boxers. "I can see he wasn't joking," Faraday said, his gaze finally settling on the actuators, which were peering around Otto's shoulders curiously.
"You're going to do this now?" Otto asked, glancing down at the sling. "Shouldn't this wait until I've healed up?"
"This is the only time this week that I'm free," the tailor said, shrugging. He turned to the bag setting on the couch and started to riffle through the contents.
Otto stared dumbly for a moment. "Aren't you… nervous about working with me?"
Faraday gave him a wide grin. "Are you kidding? How many people get the chance to work on a super-villain? Not that I can boast about it to anyone now, but hey, maybe I'll be telling this to my grandkids some day."
The upper left actuator tilted its head sideways in bafflement. Otto just shrugged and decided to go along with it. Besides, it would be nice to have clothing that wasn't falling apart just because he had to cut it to fit.
So, for the next hour, Otto allowed himself to be carefully measured, an interesting process because the actuators wanted to watch, and they kept up a steady stream of questions. Faraday proved adept at estimating his measurements around his wounded shoulder, much to Otto's relief; he didn't want to unsling and unbandage his arm.
"What do you want?" Faraday asked as he scribbled down the last of the measurements. "Shirts, mostly, right? I've repaired your coat – again," he nodded toward the plastic garment bag laying on the couch's back, "but you might want something new, something doesn't look like it's about to fall to pieces. Anything you can think of that you want?"
Otto's lips quirked, and he picked something at random. "Anything? Like, say, an Armani suit?"
Faraday considered. "Yeah, it's possible."
"A white Armani suit?"
"I was told to give you whatever you wanted." Faraday said. He scribbled something down on his pad of paper, and Otto wondered if he'd been taken seriously. "This was interesting," Faraday said cheerfully. "Do you think Spider-Man or the Green Goblin would want my services? There could be real money in the super-people clothing business."
Somebody has a death wish… "You'll have to ask them yourself," Otto said finally. "I don't hang around with them." Well… this was interesting. And at least it took my mind off Rosie for a little while.
Faraday shook hands with Otto again and headed toward to door. It opened as soon as he neared, and Otto frowned. He knew the door was sound-proof; how had they known that Faraday was finished?
Dammit, there's a camera in here somewhere, isn't there?
You're right, Father, the actuators said after a moment. It's hidden on top of the door frame. We didn't see it before because it is very small and sitting inside the wiring for the door electronics. They sounded distraught that they hadn't sensed it before.
Hmph. Otto went back into his room and pulled on a pair of pants and another mutilated shirt. He encountered some difficulty with this; the easiest kind of shirt to put on was one that buttoned in front so he wouldn't have to wrestle with pulling it over his head – but he couldn't put his left hand through the sleeve without pulling it out of the sling, and buttoning one-handed was near impossible. Otto felt a new respect for his friend Curt Connors, who had to deal with this every day. He finally gave up after several moments, and was about to seat himself back on the bed when he heard the door open again.
This time it was Lynnea. She nodded at him approvingly when she saw him. "You're not quite so pale anymore," she said. "O'Connell wants to know if I can help you with anything?"
"I think I'll be all right," Otto said. He didn't feel like putting up with her ministrations right now; he wanted to be alone.
"Ah, good. I don't think O'Connell wants to wait around out there all day for me to be ready to come out." She grinned. "You're right; he is the only one who can open the door, and I think it's finally getting to him."
She brushed past him and headed into the bathroom, gesturing to him to follow. She had a leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder, and once he was inside the small bathroom with her – causing her to back away as far as she could from him, without seeming to realize it – she fished out a plastic bag. "When you collapsed, you left your coat in my room," she told him. "I had to give it to O'Connell – but not before I checked the pockets."
"You what!" Otto was shocked by her audacity.
Lynnea shrugged. "I thought there were things in there you might not want him to find," she said. She handed him the bag.
Otto peered inside. The pumpkin bombs! So that was why O'Connell hadn't said anything. Otto smiled wickedly. "Thank you," he said.
She just grinned. "That's the first time anyone's ever thanked me for picking their pockets," she said, turning to go. Otto didn't watch; his mind was already working on plans for escape.
XXX
"What's the verdict?" Lucas Mondale asked.
O'Connell continued to examine the papers spread out on the desk before him as he answered. "Unfortunately, Dr. Octavius managed to do himself major damage. I'm half-tempted to think he did it just to spite me." O'Connell closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Except that I don't think he'd hurt himself that badly on purpose."
"So he's damaged goods, then?" Mondale said. "It might be for the best to get rid of him now."
"Oh, he'll still do whatever I put him up to; he has to, as long as I have his wife. He just won't do it quite so well."
"Steven, how long do you think that will hold him? Dr. Octavius isn't stupid. He will eventually find away to break your hold over him – and when he does, I fear what he'll do to us." Mondale sounded genuinely worried. "We should do it now."
O'Connell was silent for a long moment. Normally, Mondale's concerns would anger O'Connell, but he had to admit his associate had a point. Dr. Octavius had been very quick to take advantage of the disappearance of the van and his watchers, even though he'd been seriously wounded. He knew the scientist was waiting for the chance to make his break for it – and when he discovered what had been done to Rosie, Dr. Octavius would strike out at Quest. He was showing a reluctance to kill – but there were many things he could do to Quest Aerospace that would destroy the company irreparably.
"We can't, not yet. We need him to clarify some of his theories on the disks, and there's some unfinished work on there that could have useful applications. Plus," O'Connell added heavily, "the Green Goblin has returned. If he targets Quest again, we need someone to defend us. It's better if we wait; I don't want to cut him up now only to find that we need him later. Don't worry; Dr. Mason thinks she has something that will better control him. You have nothing to be concerned about." O'Connell shuffled the papers, which had come from Dr. Hanson's clinic when he'd looked over Dr. Octavius. He'd done a few other things for O'Connell as well – examinations that had nothing to do with his current injuries, and everything to do with the unique fusion of mind and machine that had resulted from the accident. There was nothing of this unexpected side effect in Octavius's data disks; nothing like it in the history of science. And there was no way to study it without going inside, dissecting both machine and flesh…
There was a soft sound, and both O'Connell and Mondale whirled. Lynnea had come in while they were speaking, and was waiting patiently. "Your receptionist let me in," she said by way of explanation. "Sorry if I interrupted something."
O'Connell examined the young woman's face, but could find no clue as to how much she had heard, or what she made of it. They hadn't said much, but the papers on his desk were enough of a clue for her to put two and two together. "What do you want?" he asked.
"It's been a week," she said. She folded her arms over her chest. "I've given you longer than I would most clients, and I've even played nurse to Dr. Octavius, despite the fact that my people skills work better with the 'dead' kind. I'd like to leave."
"All right," O'Connell said immediately. Lynnea looked put off; clearly, she'd been expecting a fight. "Mondale will deliver the rest of the cash to your room in half an hour. The Hilton room is still available to you until you chose to leave New York." He turned his back on her, and after a moment, he heard her leave.
Mondale watched her go. "Do you think she knows what we're planning? And, more to the point, what is she going to do if she does?"
"I don't know," O'Connell admitted. "She hasn't been anything but professional, and her references all say that she can be discrete. But she has spent quite a bit of time with Dr. Octavius… I don't know if she plans to say anything, but… we can't take that chance," O'Connell said flatly.
XXX
Otto was doing the crossword puzzle in the Daily Bugle when O'Connell entered, and he frowned. It was a little late for a casual visit… "What are you doing here?"
"How are you feeling?" O'Connell asked.
"I'm all right," Otto said. "Sore, and I can't use a quarter of my limbs, but I'm all right." There was something about the director's face that raised the hackles on his neck.
"Good," O'Connell said tersely. "Tell me; what was in that bag Lynnea gave you?"
Otto froze. He'd seen that? "Just… something she stole from my pockets," he began. "Nothing major."
"Show me."
He'd stashed the pumpkin bombs in the cabinet under the sink, which he'd thought was out of the camera's view. Apparently not… Otto commanded the actuators to open the cabinet and withdraw the bag. He could hear them rummaging around for a few moments, then they brought the bag to him. "Here," Otto said, keeping his expression neutral.
O'Connell opened the bag and reached inside. He withdrew the contents, examining them with a frown. "Where did you get these?" he asked.
"Osborn's."
O'Connell was holding two small glass bottles Otto had snatched from Harry Osborn's overstocked liquor cabinet. He wasn't sure what they were, yet, since they were unlabeled, but if they were as strong as they smelled, he was going to need them. "I didn't think you'd let me have anything that might inhibit my abilities."
"Hmm…" O'Connell still looked suspicious. He proved this by getting down on his knees and searching the cabinet himself, but he wouldn't find anything; the actuators had each grabbed a pumpkin bomb, and were holding them within the cavities in their pincers. The smaller upper left was having a more difficult time of this, and kept its head pointed down so it wouldn't draw attention to itself.
His expression was more relaxed when he turned back to Otto. "I'm glad you're feeling better," O'Connell said mildly. "Because I have a task that requires your delicate touch, and I need you to do it tonight. I want you to kill Lynnea."
To Be Continued…
See? Not too great a chapter, unfortunately. Stoooooopid writer's block! Plus, I'm writing this during the Oscars. Woo hoo! SM2 won an Oscar! I had to add the tailor bit… C'mon, admit it. Movie Otto would look sexy in that white Armani suit, wouldn't he? I had to find a way to fit that in here somewhere.