AN: There will be one more chapter after this, which will basically be an author's note detailing everything that I want to say about this story, and about my thoughts on what happens after "Black Widow" ends. If you enjoyed this story, I would suggest reading the next post, as it will give you a more broad view of where I see this plotline going, and why it was created in the first place. Thank you to all my lovely reviewers, and enjoy the last chapter:

Chapter 18: The End and The Beginning

It was hours past midnight, and the only noises in the apartment were the clicking of computer keys and the sound of harsh, labored breathing, both of which seemed hugely magnified to Peter's tired ears as he hunched over his computer. His body was still blood spattered, his ripped, tattered costume still in place, but he was striving not to let his mind focus on the pain aching through his whole being. He had to focus on the computer, he had to try, to search for a solution. After his display of insensitivity on the bridge, he needed to prove to himself that he was still a good person; he needed to care enough to fight for her life. She deserved that effort, even if it proved to be fruitless.

He paused for a moment in his search to glance backward at the girl lying on his couch, covers drawn to her chin, her papery skin pale and withered. She was shaking uncontrollably, her breath coming out in harsh, pained wheezes, her eyes shut tight, looking so helpless for someone he always envisioned being so strong. The poison had worked its way through her system, ravaging her body, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before that labored breathing ceased.

Sighing, he turned back to his computer, searching for the cause, the reason that this poison was killing her, breaking down her DNA. He knew as a scientist that to find the reason was the first step in finding a cure, if there was a cure. He took a deep breath and forced himself to think clearly.

On the screen before him were files on similar serums that had been designed by international scientists, though these had been specifically created with the intention to cure the unusual human mutations that had been cropping up for the past twenty years or so. Peter reasoned that their composition must be similar to the injection that was now slowly destroying Madison's body. He noted unhappily that none of the mutation ridding serums had been effective in keeping their subjects alive for long. Harry must have tinkered with the formula and assumed that he had worked all of the kinks out; however, the fact that he was crazy might have had something to do with the utter and total failure of his serum.

In the background he could hear her breathing grow faster, more shallow, and he fought to stay focused, which was a difficult task. Memories kept clouding his mind as he searched, memories of making it back onto solid ground with MJ clinging to one side of his body and Madison thrown over his other shoulder. He shut his eyes briefly, reliving inside of his head the dead weight of her body, how the cold throbbing of her heart pounded through her skin, echoing onto his as he carried her through the newly falling rain to his apartment. Memories of Harry falling, unresisting, off of the bridge; of the horrible, twisted look of pain and triumph on Madison's face as she proclaimed his fate. Memories of how dead she looked as she fell to her knees, as she lay in a heap on the bridge, even though she was still breathing.

A vast, rattling breath jerked him out of his reverie and his head jerked upward, his eyes once again scanning the monitor in front of him, furious with himself for his lapse. A page came up on the screen, glowing brightly in the relative darkness of his apartment, and for a moment he felt relief. Here was the cause.

The article was only about a year old, but it described the effects of the DNA breakdown accurately, and in a flash of insight he understood. Extra, mutated DNA could be added onto existing DNA and fused with the system without harm to the receiver, because the two types of DNA melded together to create a totally new strand. But if one were to try and remove the mutated DNA from the normal DNA, it would be breaking apart a fused combination, essentially ripping essential pieces out of the recipient's makeup. And, like a domino effect, if part of the strand was ripped from the existing strand the rest would unravel, breaking down the very design of life; the recipient would fall apart at the seams.

A crazy, totally unrealistic, desperate thought crossed his mind. What if he could rebuild the DNA? Fuse it back together with some sort of bonding agent to fill in the unraveling gaps and make it whole again. But what? What could possibly fill in such gaping holes in her genetic code?

Another, even crazier thought intruded itself into his mind. He shook his head, trying to clear it of these insane ideas. That wasn't possible, it couldn't work, it was too far fetched.

He turned, staring at her limp, shaking form again, and he realized that this was exactly the kind of the plan she would have come up with. Peter wasn't sure if this was a good sign or a sign of the plan's total insanity, but he felt he owed it to her to use a scheme that was so totally reckless. She would like that.

Face set, he pulled on his partially destroyed mask and made his way to the window, staring resolutely into the night. He needed to save her, and he realized as he vaulted on webbing out of the window and into the cool darkness, that it was as much for him as it was for her. She was his partner; why was he just realizing now that he needed her?

Less than twenty minutes later he was back: winded, tired, but victorious in his journey. He pulled his mask from his face and stared into the small plastic box that housed his last hope with trepidation. This was it; there was nothing left to try. She had survived nearly three hours, but in the past thirty minutes her breathing had slowed to a slow, gasping whimper that foretold death. It was now or never.

He knelt by the couch and pulled one of her long, cold arms from under the blanket. He stared at the torn material of her costume for a moment before pushing it up past her elbow to reveal sickly, almost translucent skin. With a careful flick of his hand the plastic box opened and he nudged his last hope onto her arm.

The small red and blue, genetically enhanced spider, the exact same kind that had found it's way onto Madison's coat that fatefully day sat peacefully on her skin for a moment. Peter prodded it with one finger, and as if realizing the importance of its mission, promptly scuttled up the paleness of her arm and sunk its small pincers into her skin. Before it had time to move again Peter had captured it back in the small plastic cage and set it on the tabletop. He stood and brushed the sweaty hair out of his eyes. Now the only thing to do was wait. If the DNA in that spider couldn't rebuild her torn genetic coding, then nothing could.

After a quick dash to his room to change into clothing that didn't stink of blood, Peter returned to the couch and sat on his coffee table. He took hold of her hand, which was still ice cold, and contemplated the events of the night, and his true feelings toward his difficult, eccentric partner. Harry's words rang in his ears, blaming him for not opening to the only person in his life who shared his burden, who needed him and understood him.

And yet despite the guilt hovering within Peter like a shadow, part of him still wanted to be angry at Madison for killing his once best friend. Despite everything, he hadn't wanted Harry to die, and while he lived there was a chance, however slim, that he could be cured, that he could go back to being the old Harry and live out his life. Now that chance was gone; it ended when Madison jabbed that little, innocent looking syringe into his leg and destroyed him. What hurt the most inside was the look on her face as she pronounced his fate: cold, vengeful, angry. She had hatred within her, and still a long way to go before she could be a true hero. However, perhaps it wasn't hatred, but lack of his own naiveté, a realization of the truth that not everyone can be saved, that killed Harry and saved them both. He owed her his life, again, and that was what mattered. She sacrificed herself for him, and despite Harry's death, her bravery made him unable to hate her. In fact, the pain that they now shared, the fact that they had saved the other's life, bound them even closer together. He needed her, if only to keep him sane, if only to have someone there for him when his secret got to be too much to bear. Somehow, in the space of an evening, Madison Avenue had made the leap from being barely a friend to being, remarkably, his best friend, and someone he couldn't do without. Perhaps she had been all along.

The sun had already risen into the morning sky when Madison opened her eyes to smile weakly at the concerned face of her partner.

"Hey there," she croaked softly, her skin still gaunt and pale.

"Hey," he whispered. "You were very sick, but everything's going to be ok now."

She frowned, as if trying to think clearly. "The formula," she murmured. "You saved me, didn't you?"

"I guess now we're even," he grinned wryly, and she smiled back.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "And my powers…?"

"Intact," Peter said. Then, barely pausing between words, he began to spill out his guilt. "Listen, Madison, about what happened on the bridge, I mean, about what Harry said about us…"

She shook her head. "You saved me Peter, when you didn't have to. I know you're the hero and everything, but I believe that maybe it was more than simple heroics that drove you to find my cure."

He nodded fervently. "You're my partner, Mad, and I need you. I've realized that even superhero's can't survive alone, not without friends. I've realized that I can't be alone anymore."

She smiled vaguely at him, her mind starting to drift to sleep. "Superheroes," she murmured drowsily. "I like the sound of that. Thanks, Partner."

As she drifted off to sleep with Peter watching over her, a slight smile lingered on her face. Despite all that had occurred she was still the same Madison Avenue, still strange, still awkward, still a little bit crazy, but maybe, just maybe, she was no longer alone.

The End

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