SPIDER-MAN

Business Part V

Adoption

"Peter. Peter!" came an aged voice. A person was shaking Peter; he could feel the firm grip of a hand on his arm.

"Uncle Ben?" Peter asked groggily, not being able to recognise the face due to the blinding light of the rising sun that was streaming into his eyes.

"Peter, wake up." The now familiar face of Captain Stacy came into view, as the car once again turned right down another empty street. "We're almost there."

Shuffling up from his slouching position, Peter rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stretched his legs in the passenger seat of Captain Stacy's quite spacious car. "Almost where?" he asked, still half asleep.

"Your temporary home, the modest home of Steven Smith, as arranged by your good friend Mr Murdock. Nice guy." Captain Stacy's head bumped the roof of the car as the passed over a speed bump. He was a pretty tall man, and even though he was getting on a bit, still had a commanding presence. His almost grey hair was covered in a baseball cap and his trademark long, brown coat was lying, spread out across the back seats. A cigarette in his mouth, a gaunt look in his eyes and stubble on his chin showed that this had not just been a long night for Peter. "I'm sorry about this taking so long Peter. I really wanted to get you here earlier but the adoption laws, even for temporary ones involve a fair bit of paperwork. And it didn't help that your statement was a bit…well… strange. You're quite lucky really. I mean, if you were 16 you would have had to find somewhere on your own, but as your still a minor, we have to help you out. That's one law that's actually been a help tonight"

"What time is it?" Peter asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from laws and statements.

Swiftly looking at his watch, Stacy replied "9:34. Luckily you got a fair bit of sleep up at the station, so you shouldn't be too tired eh? Gives you some time to get to know Mr Smith."

"Yeah," Peter replied less than enthusiastically, still shattered from last nights' constant questioning, signing of legal documents. He was not at all looking forward to meeting this Mr. Smith.

The car pulled up to a small grey house. Peter and Captain Stacy were sitting in complete silence, only broken by the rhythmic intake of Stacy's cigarette. He tossed it out of his window as he spotted a middle-aged man bounding down the stone steps to meet them. Although his hair and wrinkled face were tell tale signs of his age, his posture and the spring in his step spoke of a great youth hidden inside the aging shell. As he came closer to the car, his features became more apparent and Peter noted the long thin face, relatively small nose and dark almost square glasses. It was as if he was looking at an older version of himself. I guess all scientists really do look the same Peter thought as he stepped out of the car and shook Mr Smiths hand.

"Hello Peter," he said while nodding to Captain Stacy who returned the nod before opening the trunk of the car and retrieving a familiar bag. Peter had used this bag all those years ago, when Aunt May and Uncle Ben had adopted him. Memories rushed back to him of his first week at their home, some happy, some sad, but all showing the kindness of the two people who took him in and raised him to be what he had become. The two people who he had only yesterday, lost forever.

"I had two of my men grab some stuff for you. It's not much, but it should tide you over until we've finished looking over your house." While saying this Captain Stacy had sat himself down in the drivers' seat of his car and turned on the engine. "I'll see you in a couple of days" he added before driving away down the street.

"Come on in Peter. Now, I know you probably don't feel like talking and I'm going to let you rush off to your new room as long as you promise me that we'll have a long talk later." A quick nod from Peter and Mr Smith continued. "From what I've heard, you're pretty good at science and if that's true then I'm sure you'll find your room very well equipped." With this he ushered him upstairs saying "It's the first door on your left. I've got some extra stuff in the basement if you need it but I'm sure you'll be fine with what I've left you. Just shout down if you need anything, and please whatever you do, don't call me Mr Smith, Steve will be fine. Mr Smith makes me feel old." With a quick smile he darted off around the corner into what Peter guessed was the living room.

At the top of the staircase, Peter turned left and pushed open the door with his left hand to see a large bed, a large window and on the far wall, three shelves each filled with tiny glass bottles. Chemicals Peter thought to himself, I love this place already. Sitting on his new bed, Peter began to empty his bag onto the floor, each item bringing back hundreds of memories. His thoughts drifted to his Aunt and Uncle and he began to sob. In the silence of his room, he could grieve, alone, uninterrupted. He left the world behind and began to relieve his life, every memory. Pulling the cover over his curled up body he cried himself into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Slouched against a small brick building, Ben Urich was doodling mindlessly on a scrap of paper. This was his 6th piece; his clipboard was quickly losing paper while his pockets were quickly losing space. Jonah had dragged him out into the middle of nowhere to get an interview with his incredibly interesting son and his equally interesting co-pilot Max Dillon. They had safely returned from a mission to the moon only yesterday and desperate to show off his famous son, Jonah had arranged for this special edition of the Bugle to be devoted to the mission.

"Urich! Get over here, John's coming" boomed the voice of J. Jonah Jameson, editor of the Daily Bugle.

Pushing off his wall, Urich briskly walked over to John Jameson and Max Dillon and began asking questions.

For each question he asked, John had the perfect answer. It was as if he'd rehearsed them, they were so perfect. Dillon however just stood next to him. Throughout all the questions the only movement he made was to step from one foot to another and to rummage about in his pockets. At one point Ben thought he was stroking something but Dillon caught his line of sight and stopped still causing Urich to return his concentration to John Jamesons' tediously long answers.

In Urichs' research about Max Dillon for the special edition story, he had found some very interesting facts. When he was only 6 years old he had been struck by lightning, and survived, totally unharmed. Doctors had put it down to pure luck but many superstitious people had believed his safety was because of his lineage. He was supposedly a direct descendent of Faraday. This was of course just rumour but it would seem that Dillon had created quite a name for himself when he was younger, his obsession with electricity was well known in the town that he grew up in.

Ben was listening to Jamesons' final answer, dying for it to finish when he spotted what Dillon had been fumbling in his pocket. It was a small clear, oval shaped rock. It had a slight mist affect in the centre yet still seemed perfectly clear. Dillon again spotted Urich watching him and quickly stuffed it back into his pocket.

"Thank you for your answers Mr Jameson. I think your father would like a word with you" Urich said, pointing at an ecstatic J. Jonah Jameson, gesturing his son to come over. Urich was very interested in speaking to Dillon on his own but when he turned around to talk to him, he had already walked over to Jonah alongside John. Annoyed that he had not found out the identity of the stone he began to walk back to his car. The questions were all over and Urich could return to real stories now, ones the public are going to actually be interested in. Before he reached his car a familiar voice shouted from a just arriving taxi.

"Ben, wait. Something's come up, I need you to check something out for me" Matt Murdock shouted with a sense of desperation in his voice.

Finally, something interesting Ben thought to himself as he ran over to the taxi, intrigued by what Matt had in store for him.

"Ah Peter, I see your feeling better" said Mr Smith as Peter strolled down the stairs and into the living room.

"Yeah much better" replied Peter, reliving the endless hours of grieving, the solitary remembrances. His stomach began to grumble and his now gaunt face showed the hunger that was now desperate to be ended.

"I see your hungry," replied Mr Smith with a quick wink before scrambling off to the kitchen. Following this came the quick, sharp sounds of a knife slicing through vegetables. Mr Smith re-emerged from the kitchen a couple of minutes later carrying quite a large chicken club sandwich to find Peter resting in an armchair. "One I prepared earlier" he added with a smile before sitting himself down in the armchair opposite Peter.

"Thanks," came the quick reply from Peter before he began munching the huge sandwich. "How did you know I loved chicken sandwiches?" Peter asked between bites.

"I knew your Aunt and Uncle." Peter's face dropped slightly at the mention of his deceased foster parents. "I also knew your father. I've known you for a very long time yet you obviously don't recognise me. I'm your godfather Peter. Before Richard died, he entrusted me to watch over you, and so I did, but not openly. I really had wanted to adopt you all those years ago, but as Richard had not put our arrangement on paper this was not to be. You were however put in the loving hands of Ben and May Parker, who proved to be very adequate foster parents. You of course had your name changed after the accident happened. I often visited your Aunt May and Uncle Ben while you were attending school to make sure that you were all right. I have also met many times with Mr Murdock, your Aunt and Uncles legal advisor. I'm sure you've met him, he arranged for you to live here and finally meet me."

At the mention of his long dead father, Peter's face had drooped even lower, still grieving for the death of someone that he had hardly known. Yet at the realisation that this mysterious man had known both his parents and foster parents, his expression perked. He could finally find out what his real parents were like, he could talk honestly about his Aunt and Uncle knowing that the person sitting opposite him, knew them just as well as he did. He also felt more comfortable that his father had trusted this man to watch over him.

"Did May and Ben ever tell you your real name?" A swift shake of the head answered his question. "No, I guess it's just a thing of the past now isn't it, best not to bring it up."

Finishing his sandwich, Peter laid the plate down on the small table in front of him and asked Mr Smith "What did happen to my parents? Really?"

"Ben and May never told you that either? They were killed, some sort of chemical explosion the police said. But your father was way too careful to leave chemicals unattended for the length of time needed to create an explosion that dangerous. No, their death was no accident. A rival company had approached your parents two weeks before they died to come and work for them. This company had quite a reputation as someone that you didn't turn down, but knowing what kind of work that company did your father turned them down. A man was spotted fleeing from your house on the night of the explosion but he was sadly never captured. We can only thank god that you were at a babysitters that night. That's another mystery of the whole occasion, why on that night did they send you to a babysitter? Who knows, I certainly don't."

Enthralled in Mr Smiths recounting of the circumstances of his parents death, he almost didn't realise that he had stopped talking. "Well that's enough reminiscing for one day I think," Smith added before waddling off to the kitchen once more.

"Are you sure he's escaped? I thought Beck was watching over him," asked Dr Farley Stillwell. He was quite shocked as the illusion tests had all been very successful.

"Beck came to see me. He wasn't too happy, it seems that Parker can climb walls. A very interesting side affect. The web doesn't seem to have gone too well though. He's definitely creating it but at the moment it's of no use to us. I've checked with him and he's given us permission to release the slayers. It is now our top priority to capture him."

"Very well," Stillwell answered while tapping several buttons on the dashboard in front of him. Three new slayers emerged into the pit below. Stromm began to enter their updated behaviour and mission protocols while Stillwell opened the hatch at the far end of the pit. With one final push of a button, the slayers darted through the hatch in search of their prey. "I hope Parker doesn't have a protective layer like Gargan. We didn't have Smythe working on him; he didn't have the opportunity to install one of those sedative chips."

"Have faith in the slayers Farley, Smythe wasn't needed to create Parker, he won't be needed to capture him." With this Stromm returned to his desk but Stillwell remained pondering on why Smythe had not been involved in the creation of Parker. Remembering to ask Stromm this at a later date, he also left his post at the edge of the pit and returned to his desk.

"Peter!" Mr Smith shouted up the stairs.

"Yeah?" came a swift reply followed by Peter almost gliding down the steps, landing next to his new foster parent. Red marks could be seen under his eyes and tearstains were obvious on his shirt but his expression showed none of the grief that had been there only seconds before.

"It's your teacher, Dr Connors he said his name was. He phoned before to ask if he could visit, said there was something he needed to ask you about. He should be here any minute, why don't you take a seat or maybe freshen up a little. I thought it best to give you some time. First impressions and all that, you know what they say." With this he followed his usual routine of visiting the kitchen giving Peter a chance on his own to decide on what he was going to do.

10 minutes later, a knock on the door signalled Dr Connors arrival. Rushing to the door, a much cleaner and slightly happier Peter, welcomed his biology teacher.

"Hi Pete, how are ya'?" Dr Connors had become a friend to Peter, one of the few to ever care for him. Peter had been wondering what he had wanted to talk about and had come to the conclusion that it must be about him missing school. The school has sent Dr Connors because he knew Peter best. It could be about the serum though Peter thought before replying to Dr Connors question.

"I'm not bad… Could be better, obviously." Peter briefly remembered Aunt May and Uncle Ben bringing a hint of sadness to his face. He quickly blinked back the tears from his eyes and blanked the expression of grief from his face as he had become so used to doing.

"I'm sorry Peter…" Connors replied trying to hold in his own grief.

Quickly changing the subject Peter asked the question that had been dying to ask. "Steve said you had something you wanted to ask me about," Peter quickly pointed to the darting figure of Mr Smith, answering the confused expression on Doc Connors face.

"I got an e-mail from that Foster, Ingman, Stevens and Kendall, the company who are funding our research. Their head scientist, Dr Farley Stillwell made a bit of a breakthrough a couple of months ago and he thought that our serum would benefit greatly from his findings. He sent me his notes in the e-mail and a note saying that they were doubling our funding. I think I can finish the serum. Finish it Peter! Finally I'll be able to get my arm back!"

"Dr Connors that's great. When are you gonna' test it? I want to be there, to see it working," Peter face was now beaming, a complete change from the gaunt expression he had been wearing for the past two days.

"Well, I checked with the school about you coming back, but because of your loss they've pretty much expelled you until they believe that you're mentally healthy enough to come back to school. The school has some sort of mentor who decides this stuff. I'm sorry Peter, but I can't wait, Stillwell has set us a date when we have to send him our results by or their going to pull our funding. I'm sorry Peter."

Peter's expression plummeted. All the work he had put in and now some "mentor" was going to stop him seeing the results. Peter couldn't concentrate for the rest of the conversation. His anger had taken a hold on his brain and was throwing it around inside his skull, finding the tiny part named hope and beating it to a pulp. Once Dr Connors had left, repeating his apologies over and over on his way to the door, Peter rushed upstairs to his solitary grief once more.

Rolling up the familiar steel ramp to his office, Alistaire Smythe sipped idly at his coffee. Entering his password on the small keyboard next to the door, he rolled through the transparent sliding door and stopped at the centre of his desk oblivious to the pale man standing behind him.

"Hello Alistaire. My how you've grown, since last I saw you."

A look of horror swept Smythes' face as he heard a voice that he knew all too well. Spinning his chair, he came face to face with the ghostly creature he and his father had created only years earlier, the failed attempt at an immortality serum. Although as Smythe inspected the man who stood before him, he realised that the serum had by no means failed. The tramp that they had captured years ago looked not a day older than when they first met. Less could be said about Smythe however who had raced through puberty leaving him with a very old looking face.

"I thought it would be a nice surprise if I dropped in to see you. I mean we always were such good friends." He spoke with such malice in his voice that Smythe began to tremble. Smythe blinked and the man had disappeared.

Appearing behind him, the man bent over Smythes' shoulder and whispered into his ear, "I know what has been affecting you. I know why you have the headaches. I know why you look so old. I know how you can stop it all. But do you want to know?"

Smythe turned round to face him once again only to find his office empty. Empty except for a scrap of paper on his desk.

"Peter! Peter!" came the slightly agitated voice of Steve from the base of the stairs.

"What's up?" Peter asked, frantically dashing down the steps.

"Did Dr Connors mention anybody else coming to visit?"

"No, why?" Peter asked. He was quickly become confused at the ramblings of Mr Smith.

"Well it would seem that, three men are walking up the steps to the house."

"Who on earth could…?" Peter asked but before he could finish the question, the door had flown off its hinges and landed on top of Mr Smith with a gruesome crack. Three sleek silver humanoids rolled over the threshold of the house scanning the area. Finally resting their sights on Peter, they raised their arms showing the shotgun placements on each hand.

"Holy…!" Peter exclaimed as three shells sliced their path through the air towards him.

Swiftly dodging the three deadly missiles, Peter landed on his knees inches from the wall. Believing Peter to be injured the robots split their ranks. Two of them approached Peter while the other turned its sight to the unconscious form of Mr Smith. Raising its shotgun, it took aim. And fired.