[From A to R: Repto, I can dig where you're coming from. Our beloved Otto is not in this chapter, but we will return to him in chapter 4. Emma and Richard (however brief his appearance) are my OCs. I own nothing outside of that, though I have secret plans to one day own New York. evil grin]

Peter Parker approached the destruction with his camera in his hand. His favorite boss had sent him out with a new reporter to get pictures. Looking over the mayhem, he wondered why he couldn't get some pictures of the animal shelter fund-raiser, or even the Flower Arrangers' club showcase in Central Park, for a change. The new reporter was a small woman, not of spectacular figure, with short, neat blond hair. She never showed any skin and she dressed very plainly, but there was something beautiful that sparkled in her silvery eyes.

"I hate this city," she whispered to Peter as she scanned the crowds of people milling about outside the bank. She spotted the officer in charge and waved at him. "Sir!" He turned to her as she caught up with him. "Emma Renflier, from the Daily Bugle." She smiled her friendliest smile and put out a hand.

He was ready to snap at her but as his hand touched hers he felt so warm he had to smile. "Miss Renflier, I'm a little busy now..."

"This will only take a minute or two, I promise." She led him off to the side.

"May I get your picture?" Peter asked.

"Okay, just one." The officer smiled and posed with one thumb hooked in his belt.

Peter knelt down a little to get the angle just right and pressed the button. Emma could sweet-talk just about anybody into cooperating. The mark of a good reporter, J.J. Jameson had once said.

"What is your name sir?" Emma asked when Peter had finished.

"Richard Thomas."

"How long have you been on the force, Mr. Thomas?"

"About five years. I'm very dedicated to my job."

"It must be very fulfilling to know that people are sleeping easier because of you."

"I wish it was always that simple."

Emma could see it almost as clearly as he had. A jewelry store robbery. The burglars had been armed, and one had fired on the cops. Richard had panicked and fired back, hitting one of the guys square in the chest. The kid had been fifteen. There were various shots of TV screens with news reports, and a court room, a cursing mother, sobbing father. There was also guilt, and shame, self-hatred. Many other things, too, things that physically hurt her heart. A dead infant, a known child molester freed because of a technicality. Richard blamed himself. There were darker things there too. Depression, and even..."It's not your fault," Emma whispered.

Those words struck a chord somewhere deep inside Richard. Those words had reached his ears so many times, but there was a differently quality in them when they drifted from her lips. He gazed into her eyes and saw perfect empathy and understanding. There was something else too...forgiveness? Salvation?

"What exactly happened here?" Emma asked.

Richard blinked and cleared his throat. "There was a collector keeping some rare gems in the safe. Someone broke in, killed two security guards, and stole some of them. We're still searching, but there doesn't appear to be anything else missing."

Four, specifically. You left that part out. "Do you know how they were killed? I know this is morbid business, but the life of a reporter is hardly glamorous."

"We are not allowed to disclose that information at this time."

Though he was really just horrified that whoever had committed the robbery had been so bestial as to rip out their hearts. Emma wasn't surprised. She had seen worse things in her various dealings. However, she wouldn't publish what she heard from his mind, only what she heard from his lips. What went on in the mind was almost as sacred as heaven itself, and even more secret. "Fair enough. Any suspects so far?"

"All the security cameras could pick up during the robbery was static, but we have reason to believe it's related to the four who broke out of prison last month."

"Thank you for your time," Emma smiled and turned to leave.

The smile was the crowning touch on the light that had begun seeping into his heart. Richard suddenly didn't want her to leave. He grabbed her elbow then jerked his hand back as though embarrassed. "Are you an...what are you?"

"Merely a humble reporter." Emma waved and moved off to interview someone else. Was there anyone who could tell her the collector's name? So many personal things going on in other people's heads, some of it made her blush. She didn't like to pry, but this was about survival.

Peter was wandering around the perimeter of the crime scene, snapping the occasional photo, but nothing too up close and detailed. He knew Jameson preferred carnage and chaos, but there was a fine line between informative pictures and insensitive pictures. There were people loading a body bag into the back of an ambulance. He caught sight of one of the bodies just before the bag was zipped and winced. There was a gaping hole in the man's chest, as if he had been stabbed with something quite large. The flesh around the wound was ragged and torn, so the object must have had rough edges. His mind automatically sifted through the usual suspects. The name Dr. Octopus surfaced first, though it was followed by the image of Scorpion's tail. However, Scorpion's tail was smooth and sleek, where as Dr. Octopus' tentacles were vertebra-like and rough, making him seem the most likely suspect. He frowned and looked across the crowd at Emma. She had finished interviewing Richard and was now talking to a paramedic. He turned back to the ambulance and snapped a picture of the body bag being loaded inside. Emma continued to move from person to person but as he watched it became clear the information was getting repetitive. After a while, Emma worked her way towards him. "Shall we return to base?"

"Most certainly." She didn't even bother to open the car door, simply hopped in over the side.

Peter opened the door and sat down like normal person, not wanting to call attention to himself. "Do they know who did it?"

"They have the usual suspects," Emma answered darkly. "What did you find out?"

"One of the victims was stabbed in the chest, with something quite large. I don't know about the other one. Beautiful city, huh?"

Emma smiled blandly. "I'm not too found of it. I thought I'd get used to it eventually, but it's been a year and I still cringe when I step outside."

"Why don't you move away?"

"My job is here, my house is here. I don't know, I've thought about it a few times, but every time I do...something tells me to stay. I'm not exactly sure why, but I can't go yet. You know what I mean?" She glanced at Peter. Part time photographer, full time super hero.

"Yeah." Peter rested his elbow on the door and put his chin in his hand. Her almost white hair whipped around in the breeze, glowing gold like it was one with the sun. He sighed, thinking of the fire that burned in Mary Jane's hair. It was a random memory, but as clear as if it had happened yesterday. They had been in class. He had been sitting behind her. As she had raised her hand, she had flipped her hair over her shoulder, causing it to erupt in a fire storm of reds and golds. The action had also showered him with the sweet, clean smell of shampoo.

"Relationship troubles?"

Peter jerked out of his dream and stared at her. "How did you..."

"I've seen enough in my life time to recognize a troubled heart. Is there another man involved?"

"No, not really...we've just...hit a rocky place." He paused. Emma didn't say a thing, didn't even look at him. She just waited. "She thinks I care more about...my job than her."

"Do you?"

"No!" Peter jerked upright. "Of course not!" He leaned back into the seat again. "I just...don't give her all the attention I should."

"Would it be so bad if you took off for twenty four hours?"

"I can't..."

"Sure you can. Have a pajama day. I did that growing up, every other Saturday. It's so rejuvenating you wouldn't believe it."

"What's a pajama day?"

"It's takes a little extra planning, but basically you don't get dressed, and you don't leave the house. You can read, watch a movie, play games, eat, whatever, but you can't get dressed or leave the house." She stopped the car and added, jokingly, "If you think you can stand twenty four hours with no one but each other."

"Perhaps I'll give it a shot someday." Peter meant it, too. There was silence as the pair made their way across the parking lot. The silence made Peter cringe. "So, uh, you've been in the city a whole year, huh?"

"I transferred here to finish up college. When I graduated, I decided I wanted to be a reporter. It's easier to keep up to date on all of the amoral activity going on around here that way." Emma didn't feel like talking. She had a lot of thinking to do. Was it her? Has she finally found me? Four stones had been stolen. Four was a troublesome number to her. If Emma could only find out which four stones it had been. Even though she didn't feel like talking, however, it wasn't in her disposition to snub anyone.

"Why did you transfer?" Peter asked, instinctively opening the door for her.

Emma felt a little ill. She needed some water. "I got into some dangerous activities at my old school." She stopped at the water fountain in the lobby to take a refreshing drink.

Peter looked surprised. "You got into trouble? You seem so...nice."

"Unfortunately it seems to attract the worst type of characters. I'm doomed to keep running from them, because, unlike them, I don't have the capacity to harm a single soul." As she spoke they passed an employee on his coffee break. He was reading the Daily Bugle. Emma could hear him mentally admiring a layout he had worked on and smiled. Pride in one's labor, a necessary tool for living. She took pride in her eternal task, no matter how hopeless it seemed sometimes. The cover of the paper was again dominated by a story about the masked menace of Spider-Man. "It's a shame about your friend Spider-Man. This world seems bent on grinding all that is good into the dirt."

Peter was again surprised, by how cheerily she had managed to say such a sad thing. He had tried to stop Jameson's lampooning of Spider-Man by depriving him of pictures, but he needed the money. It just wasn't worth the trouble. Though the bitter irony that he was assisting in tearing himself down, and being paid to do it, gnawed at him night and day.

"It takes courage to stick by what's right, even if doing so will ultimately be your death." Have pride in what you do, Peter, no matter what they say. You are not bound by the same rules as I, and I may need your help.

They were about to part ways, but just before they did he felt a uplifting sensation seize hold of his soul. He glanced at Emma, startled, for she seemed to be its source. The smile she gave him was reserved but so much friendlier than anything he had ever felt before. There was tenderness in it, and tranquility.

"It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Parker. Perhaps we'll get to work together again, sometime."

"Likewise," Peter responded weakly, still to overwhelmed to do or say much else. They turned from each other without another word. Peter made a decision right then. He would drop off the pictures, get his money, use it to purchase the appropriate supplies for pajama day, and go straight home to his beloved. So what if Jameson was just going to use them to make Spider-Man look bad? Peter knew it was all lies, and that was all that really mattered after all.

[FATR: Sorry if it's a little cheesy, I had a lot of trouble with it. I really apreciate the reviews! It is the reader that keeps me going! I kiss your feet, oh mighty Reviewers, and encourage others to do what you have done!]