Author's note: I reposted this chapter to correct a minor continuity error I made. I just saw Spider-Man 2 again, and discovered that I made a mistake regarding Harry; it turns out that he was there at the chapel. Sadly for John, yet happily for Peter, MJ wasn't. I corrected one passage of this story to reflect that scene. I apologize for the inconvience.
Chapter four
Unfinished Business
"Did you say everything you could?
Do the things that you thought you would?
Did it ever occur to you that this could be your final day?
Did you go where you wanted to go?
Learn about what you wanted to know?
Did you ever really give something back instead of always taking in?
Did you find what you were looking for?
Did you get your foot in the door?
Can you look at yourself and feel proud of all the things you've done?
Did you inspire the ones that you knew?
Make a difference to those who knew you?
Did you finally figure out what it is that makes us who we are today?
Don't waste another day
You never know when you'll get one
Don't waste another day
To do anything you haven't done."
-Hoobastank
"Did You?"
Spencer Smythe could hear the splintering of his front door as he ducked out of the window of his dingy little waterfront loft. He knew that he had failed in his first effort to take down both Spider-Man and Harry Osborn, and that Osborn had informed the police that the Spider-Slayer was his creation. He cursed himself for making the prototype so close to the original blueprints, without any serious modifications. "Next time," he muttered to himself, "I'll shield my Spider-Slayer from outside tampering!" As he landed in an ungainly heap beneath the fire escape and began running, he fought back the urge to mentally hunt down the errors in his devices and concentrated on eluding arrest. "That is," he added, "assuming I get a next time!"
Sirens blared and howled behind him as he ran through the narrow alleyways behind his secret lab. All of his work, his prototype Slayers and their blueprints and circuit diagrams, all of his supplies, everything he had purchased with his last penny, would be impounded by the police, leaving him with nothing. He raged as he sprinted away from the pursuing officers, his anger fueling his pace. Osborn and that wall-crawler had humiliated him, and left him without even the means to avenge his defeat.
Three cops chased him on foot down the dimly-lit alleyways, until his exhausted body slammed hard against a chain-link fence that cordoned off his only avenue of escape. The cops stood at the far end of the alley, one of them hoisting a bullhorn to his mouth. "Spencer Smythe!" the bullhorn-enhanced voice thundered, grating on Spencer's ears, "we've got you trapped! There's no way out except through us! Come out with your hands up!"
Smythe's shoulders sagged as he prepared to accept his defeat. Before he could take his first step toward the waiting police officers, a white object about the size of a softball landed on the fence behind him, its plastic tail fluttering behind it like a mantle. As the object collided with the fence, it detonated almost soundlessly, radiating a brief yet intense blast of heat, enough to knock the fugitive scientist off his feet. Within seconds, a six-foot diameter section of the chain-link fence glowed white-hot before it dissolved into a molten puddle at his feet.
"This way, Doctor Smythe," an eerie voice beckoned from the blackness behind the hole. Smythe, not seeing any alternative, scrambled to his feet and ducked through the sudden escape route. The cops immediately charged after Smythe, only to hear a small explosion ahead, as gray clouds of acrid smoke billowed from the hole, filling the alley with noxious tear-gas vapors, enough to incapacitate the unprepared officers.
Smythe ducked past another alley, as the guiding voice called to him again in whispering tones; "Smythe, if you value your freedom, make your way to the subway station two blocks west of here. Do you know where that is?"
"I-I know," Smythe stammered, scanning the darkened surroundings in a vain attempt to identify the speaker. All he saw was blackness. "I know where it is."
"Good," the voice continued. "Buy a ticket, it doesn't matter which route; once you're at the north-bound platform, make your way to the left-most end of the platform, until you find a door marked 'Authorized Personnel Only'. Knock three times, wait a beat, then knock four times. I will meet you then."
"B-but who..who are you?" Smythe asked, his terror rising in his throat like acid.
"I'm your new best friend, Spencer Smythe," the voice replied. "The rest, I will explain to you when we meet again. Now go, you're too exposed here."
"Wait a minute," Smythe demanded feebly. "Why should I—that is, what reason do you have—" He fell silent as he sensed that his mysterious rescuer was no longer around. He stood on uncertain feet for ten seconds, before he heard the wail of another police siren. Before they could find him, he fled quickly, making his way toward the subway entrance.
"This had better be worth it…" he muttered under his breath as he purchased a ticket.
Peter Parker sat pensively in the sparsely decorated office. It wasn't quite as large as he expected, but it was certainly three times the size of Robbie Robertson's office at the Bugle building. Heck, he thought to himself, it's three times the size of my apartment!
Mary Jane sat in the chair next to his, watching with a semi-detached amusement as her fiancé squirmed. "You look like you're ready for a blindfold and a cigarette," she quipped. Peter winced, prompting MJ's smile to fade slightly. "You're really scared, aren't you?"
Peter's shoulders sagged under an unseen weight, and MJ regarded her fiancé with compassionate eyes. "He's not going to do anything, Peter. Not with me as a witness anyway." She reached across to him, stroking the back of his hand with the tips of her fingers. "It's going to be okay, Tiger."
Peter glanced around the office space once more, seeking out that familiar tell-tale tingle down the back of his neck. No spider-sense so far, he reasoned. But somehow that didn't put him at ease. "I hope so," Peter whispered tensely, wishing he was as confident as MJ sounded. "Y'know," he added, feigning lightness in his voice, "John's probably still on the compound. If you wanted to catch up with him, I'd understand…"
"Don't even joke about that, Peter," MJ shot back suddenly. "I made my decision, and I'm not looking back. I love you, Peter. I need you in my life. Whatever happens, we're facing it together. You got that?"
Peter caught MJ's determined stare and smiled as he lost himself in her turquoise eyes. "Together," he repeated, his word a whispered vow. MJ nodded solemnly in reply.
Seventeen seconds later, Harry Osborn rushed into the office, flustered and somewhat out of breath. "Peter, MJ, I'm glad you agreed to meet me here," he announced hurriedly. "Pardon me for a moment while I take care of some business." Without another word, he stood behind his desk and jabbed at the intercom button. "Liz," he paged his secretary. "Please contact Adrian Toombs and inform him that I have no interest in his so-called magnetic flight harness at this time, and schedule an appointment with Dr. Curt Conners for tomorrow noon. Tell him that I wish to pursue his cellular regeneration project; from the literature he presented me, it looks like something that Oscorp would do well to get behind. And hold all my calls for the next hour or so. Unless it's George W. Bush, I'm not here."
"Yes, sir," Liz's voice chirped from the intercom speaker. Harry shut off the intercom and opened a mini-fridge behind his desk. "Would you guys care for a drink? Nothing alcoholic, I've recently made friends with Bill W. I have some Evian, root beer, Red Bull…"
"I'd like some Evian, please," MJ said. Harry pulled out a small plastic bottle and poured the contents into a crystal hi-ball glass which he then handed to MJ. She accepted the glass, nodding a thank-you. "And you, Peter?" he offered.
"No thanks," Peter answered politely.
"Suit yourself," Harry nodded as he opened a Red Bull and took a swig straight out of the can. He walked around his desk and stood directly before his one-time best friend and former girlfriend. "I apologize for my brusque entrance, but I knew that today would be hectic, with the symposium and my little bombshell regarding the Ad Astra program. And MJ, I'm sorry I haven't had the chance to touch bases with you since your, uh, almost-wedding. Ad Astra, I'm afraid, has taken up most of my time for the last few months. On the plus side, thanks to my announcements today, Oscorp stock made its first substantial gain on the NYSE since the debacle with Dr. Octavius last year. Anyway, now that I've completed or delegated my business for today, we can finally catch up. So," he turned toward Peter, "you doing okay since we last saw each other?"
Peter swallowed nervously, uncertain quite what to say to Harry; was he still his best friend or his worst enemy? He simply didn't know anymore. MJ saw the tension in Peter's brow and decided to speak her mind. "Peter didn't kill your father, Harry," she announced.
Peter and Harry turned suddenly toward MJ as she regarded the CEO of Oscorp with defiant eyes. "Yes, Harry, I know who Peter is, and what he is. What he is, is the finest, bravest man I've ever known, and the man with whom I'm going to spend the rest of my life. No matter what you believe, he is not a killer."
The only sound heard for the next five seconds was the ticking of an antique Westminster clock on the bookcase behind Harry's desk. Peter was startled by MJ's declaration, but inwardly proud that she would openly defend him to the son of his enemy.
Harry regarded MJ with a bemused expression before finally speaking; "And so the ice is hereby broken." He chuckled ruefully as he scanned the two. "So you two finally got together huh? Let me guess, you found out about Peter being Spider-Man after he rescued you from Octavius?"
"During, actually," MJ admitted. "Although I had suspected something for awhile."
"That would explain why you did the hundred-yard-dash across Central Park in full veil and gown," Harry nodded. "I just wonder what took you so long to tell her, Peter."
"I tried to warn her away," Peter answered, an edge of anger in his words. "I didn't want another Octopus or Goblin threatening her because of me. I still don't. So whatever beef you have with me, Harry, leave her out of it or as God is my witness I'll make you regret it!"
Harry turned toward Peter, genuinely surprised by the vehemence of his outburst. Sighing deeply, Harry returned to his desk and reached for his computer mouse. With a deft movement of his mouse he brought his computer out of sleep mode. "Peter, MJ, I want to show the two of you something," he spoke as he pulled down some files on the computer screen. He located the proper screen from the heavily encrypted file that his father had set up, typing in the appropriate password (arachnid, Harry sighed sadly as he typed), and waited for the program to kick in. After a few seconds, an image appeared on the flat-screen monitor. Harry took the monitor in his hands and slowly rotated it, showing the screen to Peter and MJ.
Peter's eyes widened and MJ gasped as they recognized the image on the screen; a schematic drawing for a small glider-craft, a bat-winged rocket-powered device. The Goblin Glider.
"My father, as the two of you are no doubt aware," Harry intoned, "was the Green Goblin. I made this little discovery shortly after I found out that you were Spider-Man. In fact, I know the locations of my father's weapons caches throughout the city. The largest of which currently exists in a sub-basement of the Oscorp Building, about three-hundred meters below this office." He turned the monitor back and left the mouse idle on his desk. "As you can understand, this isn't the kind of discovery that just goes away. It's not like I found my dad's secret stash of Playboy magazines. I had a lot to think about in the last six months since I first found his arsenal. And at first, I even entertained, for all of ten seconds, the prospect of putting on my father's armor, mounting his glider and striking back at the man whom I saw standing over his dead body." He slumped in his father's leather-upholstered office chair, his eyes downcast and ashamed. "I even tried his glider out for size on one of Oscorp's testing areas. An amazing machine, Peter. Goes from 0 to 100 in seconds, maneuvers like a dream, fuel efficient, stable, its controls are almost instinctive. And Dad wasted that groundbreaking technology on vengeance and terror. So you'll understand if I'm hesitant to follow in his footsteps."
Peter sat silently as Harry spoke, his mind feverishly trying to process his words. This wasn't what he expected when Harry asked to talk with him. "What are you saying, Harry?"
"I'm saying that I want our feud to be over, Peter," Harry's voice sounded penitent, almost pleading. "I want to know the truth. I want to know why my father and my best friend became bitter enemies. I want to know why the man whose respect I had spent my life trying to earn tried to kill a woman I once loved!" MJ shuddered briefly, grim memories of her fall from the Queensboro Bridge intruding on her psyche at Harry's words. Peter sensed her unease and gently took her hand in his, stroking the back of her hand gently, calming her anxieties.
"I know how Dad changed, and when," Harry continued. "He left detailed notes of his bio-enhancement experiments, a diary detailing what he had done to himself and when. And of course there are the news reports of the Goblin's actions. I also have some idea when you were changed, Peter. It was that field trip, wasn't it? You were bitten by Dad's genetically altered 'super-spider'."
"That's when it began," Peter admitted. "I felt dizzy from the bite, and then things started to happen to me. When I woke up the next morning, I put on my glasses, only to find that my vision was blurring. When I took them off, I could see clearly. And then when I looked in the mirror, I discovered that I suddenly had a fairly prominent six-pack. I discovered the other changes over time, the agility, the webs, the spider-sense—"
"Excuse me," Harry asked, "spider-sense?"
"Oh, yeah, that's not exactly public knowledge, I guess," Peter admitted. "It's kind of like a second-sight thing. Can't quite explain how it works, but I can sense when someone is going to attack, or when something dangerous is about to happen."
"Which explains why you and MJ ducked out just before Smythe's Spider-Slayer broke into the auditorium," Harry nodded. "Understood. I guess what I want to know is how you could survive the changes you went through and still remain Peter, while my dad turned into a monster. I need to know…" he swallowed hard, reining in the emotion that threatened to overtake his voice. "I need to know why you became Spider-Man."
Harry's eyes bored into Peter's soul. Peter held his head low, unable to bear the weight of his friend's scrutiny. Finally he spoke in a sad voice, "I'm warning you, Harry. It isn't a happy story."
"So what are you now, Lemony Snickett?" Harry smirked slightly. "Please, Peter, I just want to understand. Why did you become a hero? You could have become a celebrity, a stunt-performer, something like that."
"Because the one time I tried that, someone died!" Peter shot back angrily. MJ kept her eyes glued to Peter, her hand still clasped in his. "It's okay, Peter. You can tell him." Peter felt that familiar warmth radiating from MJ's eyes, the calm gaze that accepted without judgment, that gave without condition. Once again her words from six months ago came unbidden to his thoughts; "Isn't it time somebody saved your life?" Peter and MJ exchanged brief smiles before he began.
"All I wanted was to impress MJ," he started flatly, his voice controlled. "When I first discovered my abilities, I tried to change, to stop being the class joke and actually get noticed. That's why I ended up fighting Flash in the hallway. Anyway, one night, I was taking out the trash, and I saw MJ next door. We got to talking…" He smiled briefly, remembering the first time he really spent any time with Mary Jane Watson. Glancing at his fiancée, he added, "It was the first time you ever called me 'Tiger'."
MJ blushed slightly. "And you became the first person to assure me that I could make it on Broadway," she replied.
"Yeah," Peter nodded. "Then she piled into Flash Thompson's car with her friends. I decided that, if I wanted her to notice me, I needed the wheels. Which of course meant I needed the money. So I went through the want-ads, and noticed one for some underground fight-club that offered three large if I could stay in the ring with their top fighter for three minutes."
"And so you went to this fight-club for a quick buck," Harry reasoned. "Just out of curiosity, how'd you do?"
Peter smiled ruefully, "I kicked his butt." The smile faded instantly. "The club manager shorted me, we exchanged curses, then as I was heading out, a gunman charged in, demanding all the money in the till. As the gunman made off with the money, I just stood there, holding the door open for him. I just let him get away. Why not? The manager gave me the shaft, why should I help him, right?" He swallowed hard, and MJ's eyes watered as she listened to his story. He had told her before about that terrible night, and she knew what had happened next.
Peter blinked away a tear as he continued; "I was headed back home when I heard a police siren, and saw a crowd gathering around a police car. I rushed over to see what was up…" He squinted slightly, and Harry could see the unshed tears forming under his lids. "It was Ben…Uncle Ben, he was just lying there…"
"The carjacking," Harry nodded knowingly. "Peter, you didn't have anything to do with your uncle's murder."
"That's what you think," Peter raised his voice sharply. "Don't you get the punchline? I followed the police cars that were chasing the carjacker. They had him holed up in an old condemned building, so I dropped in and kicked the dogsnot out of him…then I saw his face for the first time…it was him, Harry. The same guy who held up the fight-club…" He inhaled deeply, almost gasping, as MJ leaned across the armrest of her chair to gently embrace Peter. Peter accepted her embrace gratefully, clinging to her arms like a lifeline.
Finally his breathing calmed down and he slowly let go of the embrace. "I'm okay, MJ, thanks," Peter assured the red-haired angel who consoled him. "But you see it now, don't you, Harry? Uncle Ben used to say that great power came with great responsibility. And I shirked my responsibility, and Uncle Ben paid for it. After we graduated, I thought back to what he said, and promised myself—and Ben—that I'd never forget that responsibility. That's why I became Spider-Man. Because it's the only way I can think of to use my powers to help others. What happened to Uncle Ben won't happen again. Not on my watch."
Harry weighed and sifted through Peter's words, listened to the timbre of his voice, the emotion behind his story. "I always knew that you were a decent man," Harry spoke silently, "and a bit of a hopeless romantic. And anyone that old coot J. Jonah hated that much must have something good going for him. But you must understand. I saw you standing over my father's body, naturally I'm gonna jump to the obvious conclusion. So right now, I just have one thing I need to know, Peter. You were there when my father died, weren't you?"
Peter regarded Harry, the seeming earnestness of his plea. He concentrated on his surroundings for a split-second. Nothing in Harry or his office triggered Peter's spider-senses. For a brief moment Peter felt strangely elated. He realized that his friendship with Harry was indeed salvageable, but so much depended on the next few moments. He decided to trust himself, and his friend. "Yes," he answered simply.
"How did he die?" The question forced itself out of Harry's mouth with the suddenness of a gunshot. Harry's eyes were pleading with him, gleaming with a desperate passion. He needed to know this.
And Peter needed to tell him. "That night," Peter began, reining in his voice again as he relived the most terrifying night of his life, "the Goblin had taken Mary Jane. Norman had deduced that I was Spider-Man, after he saw me bleeding from a wound that the Goblin had given me just moments before. 'Course, I didn't know that Norman was the Goblin at the time..."
"Thanksgiving?" Harry asked suddenly. "I thought he was acting weird then. Ohmigod," he breathed as realization slammed hard into he. "May…when she was in the hospital…"
Peter nodded darkly. "Goblin. He struck at me through the ones I loved. He had attacked Aunt May, then while I was in the hospital visiting her, she commented on how she could tell that I still loved MJ. She said that anyone could see it. I realized that if Aunt May could see it, then so could Goblin. I called MJ immediately, to make sure she was okay. I got her answering machine, I started to leave a message, and then I heard his voice, taunting me. 'Can Spider-Man come out to play?' Man, I still get chills thinking about that voice."
MJ suddenly paled as Peter recited the Green Goblin's message. The same message someone had given her on the phone last week. She shook her head, attempting to dispel the dread that was now sitting in her stomach like a lead weight. She hadn't received any other crank calls, it was a one-time deal. It had to be. Right?
"He told me to meet him at Queensboro Bridge," Peter continued. "There, he had arranged a little dilemma for me. He had grabbed MJ by one hand, and a gondola car full of tourists in the other. He planned to drop them both, on opposite sides of the bridge, thinking I could save only one of them." Peter made a wry face. "He forgot his basic physics; all I had to do was swing from the bridge, grab MJ, and let my momentum take me to the other side of the bridge to grab the cable car. My arms were sore for a week after, but it worked."
"I remember," MJ agreed. "You had me climb down the cable, and then you lowered it to a waiting Coast Guard boat, while Goblin was throwing grenades at you, until everyone on the bridge started throwing stuff at him."
"I guess New Yorkers know a hero when they see one," Harry observed. "So you managed to save MJ and the gondola car. Then what?"
"Well, then I followed the Goblin to an abandoned building, and we proceeded to beat the crap out of each other. I won't lie to you, Harry. I wanted him dead. After all he had done to Aunt May, to MJ, I wanted to rip that grinning goblin head off of his neck. But finally he backed down. He took off his mask, and that's when I discovered that Norman Osborn was the Goblin. I was shocked, Harry, believe me. Kind of took the fight out of me there also. I still wanted to see him stand trial for his actions, though. He started talking to me, telling me how he thought of me as the son he never had—I'm sorry, Harry."
"No, that's all right," Harry answered. "I know he was sometimes disappointed in me. I'm not my father, I've learned to accept that."
"That's good, Harry," Peter said, "healthier at least. Anyway, he was still trying to talk to me, to plead with me to join him. I refused. Then my spider-sense went off the meter and I instinctively dodged out of the way. Turns out he had remotely programmed his glider to ram into me. I dodged, Norman didn't. If I had known what he was up to, I would have tried to pull him out of the way. I'm sorry, Harry."
Harry listened to Peter's story, separating and examining each word for veracity. Finally he returned his gaze directly to Peter. "So the Goblin tried to take you down, and instead ended up the victim of his own weapon."
Peter nodded sadly. "His last words were, 'Don't tell Harry'. So I took his body out of the armor, and returned it to the mansion. That's where you found me, and the rest you know."
Harry looked at his two closest friends again, seeing the natural closeness between them as MJ gently placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, somehow alleviating the terrible burden of his soul with her touch. "It's like two different people," Harry finally said. "My father, a distant but ultimately caring man who, for all his faults, tried to do right by me; and the Green Goblin, the monster who murdered for sport and tried to kill my two closest friends." Harry shook his head sadly, but slowly lifted his head as he spoke. "No, Peter. You didn't kill my father. The Green Goblin did." Harry turned away from his friends, his head lowered, shoulders sagging. As though he carried the burden of his father's crimes.
"Hey, you okay?" Peter lifted himself out of his chair and approached Harry. He considered placing a caring hand on Harry's shoulder but feared that the gesture would be unwelcome. If anyone knew what it was to carry the weight of a loved ones death, it was Peter. He stood pensively behind Harry, tensing for what would happen next.
"I miss you, man," Harry gasped suddenly, his voice thick with emotion and his shoulders jerking slightly with a deep sob. "I miss the guy who tutored me in science classes, the guy who used to joke with me on the back of the bus... that is, when he was able to catch the bus..." The way Harry's head was shaking, Peter wasn't certain that Harry was chuckling or crying. "I remember how you used to be so tongue-tied around MJ, how you'd just stand there and watch her from afar...and I wasted two years of my life hating you for defending Spider-Man, for still wanting the woman I once loved...for being the son my father wanted..." He began to cry in earnest, and Peter immediately wrapped his arms around his friend, hugging him fiercely, letting Harry's tears fall openly. Mary Jane stood up and approached the two men, gently touching Harry's back. When she felt no resistance, she joined her fiancée and her friend in a group hug.
"I'm sorry too, Harry," Peter assured his longtime friend. "I'm sorry that I wasn't that good a friend to you. It's gonna be okay now. It's gonna be okay..."
"We're both guilty on that score," MJ added. "I was too busy trying to start a new life, to distance myself from that year. Maybe that's why I ended up with John, because I thought the guy I really wanted wasn't interested." Peter groaned inwardly at her statement, recalling how close he had come to losing her forever. "But that's all over now," MJ continued. "I'm not letting you down again, Harry."
"Same here," Peter promised. "You were the best thing that happened to me in high school, I'm not about to forget about it now."
Harry's tears slowly ebbed under the sheer weight of his friends' compassion. He gasped twice, willing his breath to steady, until he could speak more coherently. "Thanks guys," he exhaled deeply, his body slowly relaxing, as Peter and Mary Jane slowly backed away from the impromptu embrace the three of them shared. "I guess I must have been carrying that around for too long. I really needed to let it out, huh?"
"Don't sweat it, Har," Peter answered. "I missed you too. I missed my friend."
"Me too," MJ added. "And if you need to vent, you call us. Anytime, you hear me?"
"Loud and clear," Harry chuckled slightly, a silent, healing laughter in his words.
"Welcome back, Harry," Peter smiled, himself feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders. He had dreaded this day, the inevitable confrontation with the son of the Green Goblin. The realization that his one-time friend wished to hand him an olive branch came as an immense relief. He expected Harry to declare himself Spider-Man's new enemy, and he ended up regaining his best friend.
Finally, having collected himself and calmed his emotions, Harry turned his attention toward Peter and Mary Jane. "Now then," he addressed his former girlfriend, "I couldn't help but notice the rock on your finger. Did Peter finally get his head out of his spider-hole and pop the question?"
Mary Jane smiled happily, lifting her left hand to display her engagement ring. "Let's put it to you this way," Peter added, taking MJ's hand in his own, "how'd you like to be my best man?"
"Name the date, Peter," Harry announced, "I'm there!" Harry rushed toward Peter, wrapping his arm around Peter in another bear-hug, slapping his back heartily. He then broke away from Peter to embrace Mary Jane, lifting her off of the floor. "Congratulations, you two!"
"Thanks, Harry," MJ breathed happily. "And I'm sorry about us."
"Don't be," Harry smiled, leaning back from the hug. "Things turned out the way they were meant to." Harry let go of MJ with only a faint reluctance, and leaned backward, resting on his desk. "So, what's next for you two? You start apartment hunting yet?"
"We're looking at a few ads in the Times," MJ answered. "Nothing serious yet."
"What we need is something with enough space for a small family," Peter added. "Knowing Aunt May, once we're married, she'll be on us to 'be fruitful and multiply', so we're looking for at least one spare bedroom. I just hope we can find something we can both afford."
"Well, you won't find it in the Times, Petey," Harry grinned. "First Unspoken Rule of living in New York; There will always be more people who want to live in New York than there are available places to live." He stood up and walked behind his desk, adding, "Of course the Second Unspoken Rule of New York is, there's always a loophole for every unspoken rule." He rummaged through a desk drawer for a second, before producing a small card. "Here," he announced, presenting the card to Peter with a slight flourish. "Donahue and Donahue, they're a real-estate firm owned by Oscorp. You show them that card, they'll know that you're a friend of mine."
Peter held the textured linen-paper card for a second. "Hadn't really thought about owning a place," he admitted. "Considering my financial status currently, I'm lucky to be renting."
"Hey," Mary Jane slapped Peter's arm lightly. "I'll be making a fair amount once 'When Harry Met Sally' opens, I'll be able to help foot the bill there."
"When Harry Met Sally?" Harry asked. "As in the movie?"
"That's my new play," she explained to Harry. "It's a production based on the movie. I'm Sally."
"I can see it," Harry nodded silently, understanding. "Anyway, Donahue and Donahue has a number of lease properties available. Could probably get you a better rate than you're currently paying for that hole in the wall you're living in now."
"Really?" Peter's eyebrows shot up at the prospect of being rid of Mr. Ditkovitch. Not to mention Ursula, he thought but did not say as he glanced back in Mary Jane's direction. He had been aware of his landlord's daughter and her undisguised crush on him. He didn't look forward to explaining Ursula's obvious affections to Mary Jane "What do you say, MJ," he asked. "Should we call them next week?"
"Sounds like a plan," she announced, smiling. "Thanks, Harry."
"Hey, consider it an early wedding gift."
The three friends laughed and chatted happily for the rest of the hour, before Peter glanced at the clock. "Hey," he announced. "I have to send the photos I took of the symposium and the Spider-Slayer back to the Bugle before the put tonight's edition to bed. Hate to cut this short, but..."
"Don't worry about it," Harry nodded. "Go, face the wrath of J. Jonah Jameson."
"Actually, Robbie Robertson's sitting in the editor's chair these days," Peter corrected him. "But still, I have to get down there before five."
"Thanks for having us over," Mary Jane added. "We needed this talk."
"You're so right," Harry agreed. "You two take care. And if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me, right?"
"We will," Peter said as he helped Mary Jane with her jacket. "And that goes both ways, y'know."
"Thanks, Peter," Harry answered as he escorted his two best friends to the office door.
Goodbyes were exchanged and Peter and Mary Jane left Harry's office. Harry closed the door and leaned against it, the emotions of the last hour slowly draining out of him. For the first time in over six months he felt comfortable in his own skin. His company was slowly shrugging off the negative press of the Dr. Octavius incident, and he had rebuilt the bridge with his best friend. He smiled, for once looking forward to tomorrow.
You shame me! That all-too familiar voice echoed from the recesses of his id. Shaking hands with the enemy!
"Peter is not the enemy," Harry whispered into the emptiness of his office, his voice small but slowly building in conviction. "He did not kill my father, you did.
I am your father!
"No, I finally see it," Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "You're not Norman Osborn. You're the Goblin. The curse of my family. You killed my father, just like you're trying to kill me. I've figured it out." He sat back behind his desk and tapped the 'return' key on his computer keyboard. The computer clicked to life from sleep-mode as Harry summoned a server window, typing in a file name he had committed to memory.
It became so clear to him during his conversation with Peter. Norman Osborn was the ego, and the Goblin was the id, the darkness in his psyche. His father's experiments in cellular augmentation somehow unleashed his id, strengthening it until the Goblin dominated his father.
Harry smiled as he began the arduous task of sifting through Norman Osborn's notes regarding the long-abandoned 'super-spider' experiments.
"The Goblin destroyed my father," Harry vowed to himself as he began reading the notes. "I won't let the Spider destroy Peter."
Three knocks, Spencer reminded himself when he reached the door that his unknown benefactor directed him to, then four knocks. He knocked accordingly and waited.
The door opened, and a hoarse whisper said, "In here, Smythe." Spencer, not seeing any options, followed the beckoning voice, shutting the door behind him.
The burly man who opened the door nodded curtly toward the disgraced inventor. "The name's Gargan," he introduced himself. "But some people call me the Scorpion. The boss is waiting for you. This way." He led Smythe down a narrow passageway, and the hapless scientist followed meekly. The dimly-lit concrete corridor was studded with pipes, electrical lines and outlets, and Smythe was afraid to touch anything on either side of him, for fear of electrocution. Gargan took several turns in the winding corridor, leading to narrower passages, some of which Smythe doubted that the city council even knew about.
Finally, Gargan's path led to a skinny door, which Smythe managed to squeeze through barely. The door led to a larger empty chamber, about the size of a small auditorium, lit by a network of scattered shop lamps clamped to ceiling beams. "Welcome, Spencer Smythe." Smythe tried to pinpoint the exact location of that eerie voice, and he noticed a speaker mounted on the wall in front of him, next to a surveillance camera. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. I trust that Gargan treated you well."
"I-I'm fine," Smythe stammered, glancing nervously around the chamber. He was somewhat reminded of 'The Wizard of Oz' and absently wondered where the man behind the curtain was. "Although I'd feel better if you'd come out here to face me."
"Don't you trust me?" the voice boomed out of the speaker.
"It's not that," Smythe answered, "I just want to meet the man who saved me from the cops."
"Fair enough," the voice grumbled. A few seconds later, and Spencer noticed a door sliding open from the opposite side of the chamber. The scream of a jet engine filled the chamber as a shadowy figure sped toward Smythe from the wide doorway, standing with the grace and control of an equestrian as he stood astride a bat-winged glider. The figure streaked directly toward Spencer, who jumped back, hoping to dodge the bizarre missile that threatened to mow him down.
The glider-craft stopped suddenly, less than a foot away from the startled scientist, who nearly fainted from relief. Smythe then took his first long look at his new employer; his face obscured by the pale yellow half-mask that poked out of the dirty tan hood, with greasepaint make-up in the same shade of yellow covering his mouth and jaw. His arms and legs appeared to be covered in a mixture of metal gauntlets and grieves with some modern form of chain mail over the rest of him, all painted a strange muted green.
A sudden flash of recognition hit Smythe hard. "You're that guy who Spider-Man fought years ago, aren't you? The Green Goblin!"
The half-mask grinned a devil's grin, his eyes glowing an unearthly green. "Goblin, yes," he corrected Smythe, "green, no."
"I don't understand," Smythe stated timidly. "Why wait for so long to come back? And why work with Gargan and me? That doesn't seem consistent with your earlier activities."
"Let's get some things clear, Smythe," the ghoul-faced figure barked sharply at the scientist, extending his forefinger. "First, I'm not the same clown who terrorized New York two years ago. As for my consistency..." The Goblin pursed his lips in thought. His next words echoed darkly throughout the chamber:
"As Thoreau observed, a foolish consistency is the Hobgoblin of small minds..."
TBC...
