Disclaimers; Nope, still don't own 'em. I even offered ten bucks on Ebay, but no takers. Oh well... Oh, and dialogue from 'When Harry Met Sally' was written by Nora Ephron, and owned by MGM.

Chapter two

The Audition

"They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway...

They say there's always magic in the air...

But when you're walking down the street

And you ain't had enough to eat,

The glitter rubs right off and you're nowhere...

They say that I won't last that long on Broadway...

I'll catch a Greyhound bus for home, they all say...

But they're dead wrong, I know they are,

'Cause I can play this here guitar

And I won't quit 'til I'm a star on Broadway..."

--The Drifters

"On Broadway"

"Mary Jane Watson," the calmly dispassionate voice from the auditorium called out. "You're next."

Mary Jane fought down the familiar tremors in her stomach as she strode onto the stage. She had done her share of auditions in the last few years, but this one was different for her. For one thing, it was the first time that a producer had specifically asked for her, as opposed to the traditional cattle-calls she had suffered through before. For another thing, this was the first time Peter was waiting for her in the lobby. She found herself wondering if he was standing up to the pressure better than she was.

MJ immediately put thoughts of her fiancé behind her for now and concentrated on her audition. She hoped that her assertive walk would give her the appearance of confidence. She wanted to make a positive impression on Kathy Ortez. She wanted this part.

Two shadowy figures sat in the tenth row of seats, dead center. Their faces obscured in the darkness, as a glaring spotlight bathed the stage in a thousand watts of moonlight. She figured them to be Miss Ortez and her director, a Los Angeles independent film auteur named Quentin Beck. "You may begin, Miss Watson." the stagehand's voice droned. "I'll read the part of Harry Burns."

Mary Jane found her spot on the stage and cleared her throat. Okay girl, she steeled herself. Do or die time.

"Well, basically it's the same dream I've been having since I was ten," she began to recite.

"Which is?" the voice asked.

"Okay, there's this guy..."

"What does he look like?"

"I don't know, he's just sort of faceless."

"Faceless guy, okay."

"He RIPS off my clothes—"

"CUT!" One of the two shadowed figures shouted. He stood up and approached the stage. As he drew closer, MJ could vaguely make out some of his features; a lean face, with a thin tapering nose, piercing green eyes and lightly swarthy complexion, framed by wisps of thinning brown hair. The reclusive Quentin Beck, she figured. "Excuse me, Miss Ryan," he started imperiously, "can I have a word with you?"

MJ gingerly stepped closer to the edge of the stage. "Uh, my name's Watson, actually," MJ corrected him timidly, her earlier confidence shaken by his imposing attitude. "Mary Jane Watson."

"Oh really?" Beck growled. "I'd have guessed you were Meg Ryan. Or at least channeling her. Tell me, how many times have you watched the video of 'When Harry Met Sally' this last week?"

MJ grimaced slightly, taken aback by his question. "Uh, six or seven, why?"

Beck sighed dramatically and paced along the aisle a couple of times. "See, that's the problem, Why, Miss Watson," he exaggerated the pronunciation of her name slightly, making her even more uncomfortable, "would people pay a hundred dollars for a performance they can rent at Tower Video for two bucks? That's the problem I'm seeing with you so far. You're trying too hard. You're ACTING!"

"I'm an ACTRESS!" she reminded him loudly, exasperation flaring in her emerald eyes, "what did you expect, a trained pigeon routine?"

Beck stopped in mid-rant at MJ's outburst, prompting the redhead to immediately regret opening her mouth. He turned toward the suddenly penitent actress and pointed a tapering finger at her. "Don't back off now, I liked that," he exclaimed. "You're showing spirit, fire, drama! You're letting down the masks and bringing yourself into the role..." He snapped his fingers and grabbed a copy of the script from an empty seat. "Miss Watson," he announced, "I want you to try something for me. I want you to read from page..." he thumbed through the script, looking for the right passage, "forty-seven. In that scene, Harry and Sally meet each other for the third time, and they finally become friends. I want you to read beginning from the scene where Sally is discussing her recent break-up with Joe, where she says, 'When Joe and I started seeing each other, we wanted exactly the same thing.' Right there."

"I can do that," MJ affirmed. She glanced around the stage to find her spot, but Beck stopped her. "Wait, I haven't given you your directions yet; I don't want you to act the scene. I want you to read the scene like it's your life, something that happened to you, like...you got a boyfriend?" he asked suddenly.

"Uh, yeah," MJ answered hesitantly. "A fiancé, actually. Peter."

"Peter. Nice name," Beck rapidly stated. "Okay, from this point on, you're not reading for the part of Sally Albright in 'When Harry Met Sally'. I want you to read for the part of Mary Jane Watson in 'When Peter Met Mary Jane'. You just met Peter for the first time after a few years and you're telling him about your life. Do you understand what I'm saying?

Mary Jane considered Beck's words for a moment then nodded. "I'll try, Mr. Beck," she stated.

Beck shook his head mockingly. "Do or do not, Miss Watson," he intoned, his voice carrying equal parts humor and condescension, "there is no try." MJ sighed briefly before returning to her spot on the stage.

She glanced over her lines for a second, considering how she would react if she were Sally Albright in this moment; so self-assured after what she felt was a amicable break-up...then she found herself thinking of six months ago, when she ran away from the chapel, from John, from the promise of security, and into the arms of the man she truly loved. With a knowing smile, she nodded her readiness to Beck.

"And begin," Beck commanded.

"When Joe and I started seeing each other," she began, somehow envisioning John Jameson as the absent Joe, "we wanted exactly the same thing. We wanted to live together, but we didn't want to get married because every time anyone we knew got married, it ruined their relationship. They practically never had sex again. It's true; it's one of the secrets that no one ever tells you. I would sit around with my girlfriends who have kids—and, actually, my one girlfriend who has kids, Alice—and she would complain about how she and Gary never did it anymore. She didn't even complain about it, now that I think about it. She just said it matter-of-factly. She said they were up all night, they were both exhausted all the time—the kids just took every sexual impulse they had out of them. And Joe and I used to talk about it, and we'd say we were so lucky we have this wonderful relationship; we can have sex on the kitchen floor and not worry about the kids walking in. We can fly off to Rome on a moment's notice."

It had only recently occurred to her that she and John never really talked about family. With her own screwed up family life, she never really considered the idea of being a mother herself. It seemed so alien to her, that she never approached the subject seriously with John. He was a good man, but he just didn't seem to be father material. Given what a bastard his dad is, she huffed silently, it's probably just as well.

But when she imagined Peter, saw the obvious love that he had for his aunt May, and the bond he clearly had with his uncle Ben (Would he ever forgive himself for his death? MJ thought absently, her heart going out to Peter), and smiled inwardly; of course he would want kids. He was meant to be a father; it was clearly something he was cut out to do. On stage at that moment, considering what she was about to recite, she realized that she wanted someday to have Peter's children. And that thought didn't seem alien to her at all! After all, Peter was no Philip Watson. He would love and cherish any life that they brought into this world. And so would she. With that knowledge, she launched back into her recital.

"And then one day I was taking Alice's little girl for the afternoon because I'd promised to take her to the circus, and we were in the cab playing "I Spy"—I spy a mailbox, I spy a lamp-post—and she looked out the window and she saw this man and this woman with these two little kids. And the man had one of the little kids on his shoulders, and she said, "I spy a family." And I started to cry. You know, I just started crying. And I went home, and I said, 'the thing is, Joe, we never do fly off to Rome on a moment's notice'."

"And the kitchen floor?" Beck fed her the next line.

"Not once," she grimaced slightly. "It's this very cold, hard Mexican ceramic tile." Beck made a slight humming noise, indicating Harry's next line. "Anyway, we talked about it for a long time and I said, "This is what I want." and he says, "Well I don't." and I said, "Well I guess it's over," and he left. And the thing is I... I feel really fine. I am over him; I mean I really am over him. And that was it for him. That was the most that he could give. And every time I think about it I am more and more convinced that I did the right thing. At least I got the apartment--"

"Thank you, Miss Watson," Beck cut her off with a curt wave of his hand. He leaned toward Kathy Ortez and whispered in her ear. She whispered back for a moment, and the two continued this silent exchange. MJ stood pensively, desperately trying not to sweat; she had been on the receiving end of this 'deafening silence' routine before, and it usually meant that she was out of the running for whatever role she was trying for.

After about three minutes of whispered exchanges, Beck turned back to MJ and said, "Yes, I think we've seen enough, Miss Watson. Thank you." MJ's heart sank; no matter how many typical Broadway dismissals she had received over the last two years, that final 'thank you' still hurt like Hell.

As MJ began the long walk off of the stage, Beck called after her. "Oh, one more thing before you go, Miss Watson..."

========

For Peter, the last hour or so waiting for MJ had fallen into a strange routine; pace the floor, sit down, thumb through a six-month old issue of New Yorker, stand up again, pace again, repeat until bored. After about half an hour, he excluded reading the New Yorker when he noticed an announcement on the 'About Town' page, heralding the wedding of Mary Jane Watson and John Jacob Jameson II. Even considering the fact that the aforementioned wedding didn't take place, he still found it disconcerting to read about it.

So he resumed pacing. At least three other people in the waiting area with him started to give him odd looks. One woman glanced kindly toward Peter, saying, "Hi. I'm Shelly."

"Peter," the young science student answered.

"First time, huh? Waiting for someone?"

"That obvious?"

She nodded. "My boyfriend's been going to cattle-calls for weeks. He's trying out for the part of Harry."

Peter nodded. "My fiancé," he started, but paused slightly; given their checkered history, Peter still felt the urge to display a goofy grin whenever he thought of MJ as his fiancé. "She's trying out for Sally."

"Ah," the other woman nodded sympathetically. "Good luck."

Peter smirked for a moment. "Isn't that 'break a leg'?" He and his partner in waiting shared a muffled laugh, and continued the waiting game.

After an eternity (or fifteen minutes, according to Peter's watch), MJ slowly emerged from the staging area. Peter immediately stood up and examined her face; the slightly bent posture, the sag in her shoulders and the gleam of unshed tears in her eyes told him all he needed to know. He gently cradled her chin in his hand and spoke soothingly in her ear; "It's okay, honey. It's gonna be okay. You'll show 'em. I know you will."

MJ slowly lifted her head, green eyes meeting blue. While visible tears started to course their way down her cheeks, the smile that suddenly blossomed on her face was genuine and glowing. Peter found himself taken slightly aback at the sight; if she was smiling joyously after her audition...

"I got the part," she breathed, almost disbelieving it herself.

"You got the part?" Peter repeated her words in wonderment.

"I got the part!" She launched herself into his arms, laughing and crying at the same time, her joy spreading easily to Peter as he lifted her body into the air, hugging her fiercely. "I got the part, I got the part, I got the part!" she continued to cry out joyously.

Shelly smiled at the sight of the two lovers as they celebrated their fortune. And she made a mental note to warn her boyfriend away from his new costar if his audition went well. Although the way that the redhead suddenly started kissing the young man who held her in his arms put any fears she had to rest.

========

"That's wonderful, Peter," May Parker declared as Peter called her up from his cellular with the good news. "Is Mary Jane with you?"

"Right here, Aunt May," Peter answered before handing the phone to MJ and half-listened to her end of the conversation as he simply enjoyed a late summer day in Central Park. A cooling breeze pushed a few clouds across the sky, while a sweet clear birdsong issued from the nearby poplars; amid all this greenery, it was almost easy to forget that they were in the heart of the largest, busiest metropolis in the world. Of course, whenever Peter caught MJ's glorious green eyes peering into his, or felt the soft warmth of her hand in his, it was easy for him to forget the rest of the world.

"Don't worry, Miss Parker," MJ assured her on the cel phone. "Okay, Aunt May. Don't worry, I'll make sure you have a front row seat on opening night. You and Peter, yes. Okay. Thanks. I love you too. 'Bye." MJ handed the phone back to Peter, saying, "She wants to talk to you."

"Hello, Aunt May?" Peter asked as he took the phone in his hands.

"Just so you know," Aunt May said in an affectionately stern tone of voice, "I promised your girlfriend that I'd be there on opening night. And I'll expect to see you there too, young man."

"Don't worry," laughed Peter. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

"That's good to hear. You two take care of yourself."

"We will," Peter assured his aunt. As he glanced back at MJ, he noticed the redhead mouthing the word 'Saturday' as a reminder. "Oh," Peter added hastily, "why don't we get together for lunch on Saturday, the three of us? MJ's been telling me about this new sandwich shop overlooking Rockefeller Center."

"I'd be delighted, Peter," May assured him.

"I'll see you there. Love you."

"I love you too, dear."

"Bye." Final farewells were exchanged, and Peter turned off his phone and placed it back in his pocket. "And that's a go," he announced. "Saturday, we'll tell Aunt May the big news...I mean the other big news that's not related to your playing the female lead in 'When Harry Met Sally', that is," he amended as he gently draped his arm around MJ's shoulders. "Have I mentioned lately how proud I am of you?"

"Only fifteen times in the last hour," MJ teased Peter as she leaned happily into the crook of his shoulder. "I definitely have a good feeling about this role. Quentin Beck, the director, he already has me thinking about the part of Sally Albright in different ways. During the audition, he basically told me to stop acting. And at first I'm like, 'yeah I've heard that too many times already.' But he was right. I needed to just get out of my own way, to imagine myself in the situation Sally was in."

"Sounds like this Quentin knows his stuff," Peter commented.

"Yeah, he was definitely right on my take on the role," MJ continued. "I was getting too bogged down in remembering the movie version and everything else. I was making it too complicated." She paused and noticed the amused smile on Peter's face. "What's so funny, Peter?" she demanded.

"Nothing, babe," Peter answered. "I just remember someone telling me pretty much the same thing a while back."

MJ rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Well I wasn't wrong, was I?"

"Oh no, not at all," Peter answered. "Of course things are about to get pretty hectic here soon. Once we tell Aunt May that we're getting married, she'll want to help plan the wedding."

"Yeah, there's that," MJ conceded the point. "Hopefully the play will be a big enough hit. If I can help foot the bill..."

"We, MJ, we," Peter corrected his fiancé. "Remember, I'm making a little more now with my student teacher position."

"I didn't think you'd be making that much as a student teacher."

"Hey, it's more than I was making as a freelance photographer for JJJ," Peter defended himself.

"Peter," MJ reminded him, "McDonalds pays more than JJJ. Besides," she added as she turned toward her lover, draping her arms around Peter's neck, "all I need is you, your aunt, my mom and a justice of the peace. And the hilltop."

Peter's mouth broke into a lopsided smile as he regarded the beautiful red-haired angel in his arms. "Wh-what is it you want, Mary?" he started to drawl thickly, causing MJ to laugh merrily. "D'you want the moon? Well say the word and I'll tie a rope around it and bring it down for you. Yeah, that's what I'll do. I'll give you the moon."

"It is a wonderful life," MJ breathed as she smiled lovingly at Peter before leaning into him for a languid kiss.

========

"RENT!" the familiar shriek assailed Peter's ears as he and MJ entered his apartment building. Immediately, the landlord threw open his apartment door and glared hard at Peter, causing the young man's eyes to roll.

"Hello, Mr. Ditkovitch," Peter feigned happiness to see his landlord. "I'd like you to meet my fiance, Mary Jane Watson." He gestured toward MJ, who flashed the landlord with a slight smile and wave.

"Very nice," Ditkovitch growled. "Rent!"

"I put a check in your mailbox this morning," Peter reminded him. "I just got paid yesterday, so it will clear. And while we're here, my refrigerator still isn't working."

"If your check clears," Ditkovitch snarled sourly, "I'll put you on a waiting list." Without another word, Mr. Ditkovitch slammed his door, leaving Peter standing on the other side.

MJ took Peter's arm in hers and led him away from his tormentor. Peter shook his head and glanced at MJ. "I think he's starting to chill out."

As they entered Peter's upstairs apartment, MJ asked, "Have you given any consideration to my suggestion Tuesday, about moving in with me?"

"Believe me," Peter answered, collecting the redhead in his arms again. "I've thought of little else for the last few days."

MJ took a seat on the sofa, beckoning Peter to join her. As he sat next to her, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and swung her legs around so they rested on Peter's lap. Peter maneuvered his body slightly, his arms encircling her waist, his form molding naturally to hers. "I know it's a big decision, Peter," MJ said soothingly, her hand slowly combing through Peter's hair. "But think of the advantages. We could be together every night from now on."

"We do that anyway," Peter offered, winning a sour smirk from his girlfriend.

"You're making my case for me," MJ countered. "We've both slept in the same bed..." Peter regarded her with a slight leer. "Or not slept, as is often the case," she amended her statement with a sly wink, "almost every night since we got engaged. Having two apartments to juggle between us is just crazy-making. If you officially moved into my place, we could split the rent and utilities, saving us both a lot of money per month."

"And I'm on board with that, MJ. No problem." Peter reluctantly removed his arms from MJ's waist in order to turn himself so he faced her. "I guess my problem is that your place is about the same size as mine, give or take. And my place, well, look around," he spread his arm out, gesturing toward a nearby wall, demonstrating the unpleasantly cramped apartment. "I just don't want to put you out, y'know."

MJ leaned toward Peter, kissing him on the nose. "I understand," she purred. "And it is sweet of you."

"Actually," Peter suggested, "what we should do is find a couple's apartment. Something big enough for both of us."

"Or more," MJ quipped, almost a whisper. Peter heard the words, though, and stared hard at her for a second. MJ regarded Peter's sudden stare with a questioning glance, before chuckling in comprehension. "No, Peter, I'm not," she assured him. "At least not yet. But someday...during the audition, when Quentin told me to stop acting and put myself in the role, I found myself thinking about us, a few years down the road, raising a brood of our own."

"Really?" Peter mused. "For what it's worth, I think you'll make a dynamite mother."

"Yeah, I probably will," MJ grinned. "Mainly because you'll be a natural father, and I'll just follow your lead. Seriously though, I do want to have your children someday. If nothing else I can prove that my screwed-up start in life doesn't mean that my kids will have that strike against them."

Peter cupped her cheek in his palm and lifted her face to meet his, green eyes to blue. "Not a chance, MJ," Peter assured her. "You brought me around, after all, when I kept trying to let you go. You have too much love in you."

MJ smiled warmly, again marveling at Peter's uncanny ability to know what she's feeling and to respond to it. "Thanks, Peter," she breathed as she lifted her hand to touch the one caressing her cheek. "I love you, y'know that?"

"How convenient," Peter drawled. "Because I happen to be crazy in love with you." The next few minutes were spent wordlessly, as Peter and MJ found their mouths otherwise, and pleasantly, occupied.

After a few minutes, Peter backed away from MJ's lips to simply gaze into her eyes, when he noticed a blinking light on the answering machine next to his phone. "Uh, hold that thought," Peter reluctantly disentangled himself from MJ's arms and legs. "Let me just check my messages."

"I'll keep your place warm, Tiger," MJ cooed, her voice taking on overtones of a growl.

Peter pressed a button on his machine, and listened as the digital recorder clicked to life; "You have 2 messages"—BEEP—"Peter, this is Robbie. I just wanted to remind you that we have a five p.m. deadline on those photos from the Oscorp symposium tomorrow. Get me some good color shots for the front page and I'll front you a bonus. Yeah, JJJ'l have kittens when he finds out, but I'm running the paper now, not him. Talk to you tomorrow."—BEEP—"Hey, Peter." Peter's heart lurched slightly at the familiar voice on the machine. "Harry here. I was going over the guest list for the company symposium, and I found your name there. I'm glad you'll be attending, Peter, because we need to talk. Hey, if she's available, bring MJ with you. I'll have a VIP pass ready for her. Hope to see you tomorrow, Petey. We'll talk later." "No more messages."

Peter glanced back toward MJ, who regarded the young science student with questioning eyes. "What's wrong, Peter?" she asked as she got up from the couch. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Peter stood silently for a second, summoning the courage to articulate his thoughts. "Harry," Peter whispered, his voice conveying a sick dread. "He wants to talk to us tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah," MJ puzzled aloud. "Wasn't that what the message was about?" She noticed the sudden clench of his jaw, and the way his hands were balled into tense fists. "What is it, Peter? I thought you'd be glad to hear from Harry. I mean he was only your best friend since high-school."

"Present company excluded," Peter admitted, "best and only. But that was then, MJ. Now, I'm not so sure."

MJ took Peter's hand in her own, gently massaging the palm with the ball of her thumb. "Why, Peter? I know he was obsessing a bit about his father's death..."

"That's just it," Peter raised his voice a trifle. "He knows, MJ. When Doctor Octopus kidnapped me, he brought me to Harry. Harry unmasked me. He knows I'm Spider-Man."

MJ glanced sidelong at Peter again, still uncertain what he was saying. "Then he knows that Spider-Man didn't kill his father. You couldn't kill anyone."

Peter lowered his head in remembered shame. This was something that he hadn't told MJ about that terrible night, a dread secret he had hoped to keep to his grave, and now he had to confront the truth. "MJ, that night, I could have killed Norman Osborn. After what he did to you, I wanted him to pay in blood."

"For what?" MJ asked, still lost. "Badmouthing me on Thanksgiving dinner?"

"No, for dropping you and a gondola car off the Queensboro Bridge!" Peter shouted, his voice pushing MJ back about a foot. "For making me believe it was my fault that you were in danger because I'm Spider-Man!" He turned away, ashamed of the rage he felt, at the sudden pain and fear he saw in MJ's eyes when he spoke to her in anger. "Norman Osborn was the Green Goblin. He was impaled by his own glider, when he tried to use it to kill me. And I wanted him dead, for all he had done, to you, to Aunt May..." He shuddered again, almost afraid of his own darkness, and prayed silently that MJ would understand.

He felt slender arms gliding around his chest, as MJ stood behind him, leaning into his back. "It's okay, Peter," she soothed. "Norman Osborn's dead. The Goblin is dead. He can't hurt us again."

Peter heard MJ's words, and with all his heart he desired to believe them. But there was still that nagging fear; what if Harry Osborn were to learn the terrible truth about his father? What if he were to discover a cache of pumpkin grenades, razor-gyros and heavily armed gliders?

What if Osborn's legacy extended to the hideous leering face of the Green Goblin?

========

Author's notes; Sorry it took me so long to update. RL, y'know. And yes, I know, not much Spider-Man action in this one. Bear with me, I have a couple more chapters to set things up. Next up, a confrontation between Peter, MJ and Harry, plus a little Goblin action maybe.

For the sake of complete disclosure, much of the audition part of this chapter was borrowed from ASM #509, written by J. Michael Straszynski.

And yes, I've been introducing some prominent supporting characters, including some possible villains. I'm fleshing out the supporting cast in this story, possibly setting up some future storylines. I don't want to clutter up my story with too many characters at once(that's what killed the Batman movie franchise, remember), but hopefully I'll have more stories to tell here.

Thanks for all the feedback, and keep it comin'!

Peace out,

Kirayoshi