Disclaimer: All Spider-Man characters are property of Marvel. Phantom of the Opera themes belong to LeRoux. Only the prose is mine.

Author's Note: This chapter and the next has a fan art that goes with it, courtesy of Lonely-Invisible at my request for being her 2,000th page view. If you'd like to see it, go to my dA page and find the link. I really, really wish that allowed links in stories!

Musique de la Nuit

Eight – Trust

Trust was not to be given lightly. It was a gift that could used against the giver, breaking hearts and destroying lives. Otto had always been careful who he let get close to him; his intelligence had always drawn close to him those who sought to exploit it. The number of people that Otto could trust before his accident could be counted on his fingers. After the accident, that number had severely diminished. Now, there was no one he could trust. So why had he gone to Curt Connors? What had compelled him to speak to someone who had been part of his former life, someone who might not want anything more to do with him? Why had he told Curt where he was hiding out?

The police hadn't been waiting for him at his lab when he'd finally returned, so Curt hadn't immediately informed authorities. But Otto was taking no chances; he couldn't spend the day in the lab, waiting for the ax to fall. Maybe Curt was waiting until Otto had been lulled into a false sense of security before calling the police. Maybe he had even informed the papers.

Or maybe Curt, good old reliable Curt, could still be considered a friend. Otto didn't dare hope this was true. Everyone else had turned their back on Otto after his accident; why wouldn't Curt be the same? I was a fool, he agonized. You're the only ones that I can trust, he thought to the actuators, which curled around him with pleasure. They made soft squeeing noises, and Otto suppressed a chuckle at this show of delight at his approval. At their gentle urging, he decided to worry about his encounter with Curt later. If Curt had betrayed him, he'd correct his mistake.

Otto shifted position, and a soft rustling, almost like a whisper, accompanied his slightest movement. Broken edges of branches dug into his bare skin, tracing bloody lines in his rippled flesh, but the pain was only a vague annoyance. His chosen hiding place was a wide hedge that surrounded the rooftop garden of the residential building that overshadowed Michael's penthouse. Unlike the garden visible below him, this was a private garden, fenced in on all sides, except for along the two-foot-high wall lining the building's edge. Under the cover of darkness and navigating blindly, shortly after his visit with Curt, Otto had clambered up the fire escape, walking up the stairs when the actuators sensed someone moving within the apartments he passed. He had circled around to the hedge and, using the actuator blades, carved a little niche for himself inside the hedge. It was the perfect spot; the shade protected his sensitive skin from the sun as well as hiding him from any passing arachnids. It was also cooler under the interlocking branches, though he'd had to pull off his mask as sweat streamed down his scarred face, and then his leather coat as the noonday heat threatened to cook him. It made an excellent bed, and he'd spent the morning hours asleep. One of the actuators, threaded through the hedge so it couldn't be seen, was keeping an eye on the garden below. If Rosie came out, it would alert him.

For now, though, he enjoyed the tranquility of the garden around him. Because it was a privately owned garden, it had a greater variety of exotic flowers, and the heady scents reminded him of the intoxicating perfume Rosie had worn when they'd first begun dating, and of their walks through Central Park, and that visit to the arboretum all rolled into one. Otto was almost glad he had no sight; there was nothing to distract him from the wealth of memories triggered by the scent. He traveled the world of his memories, for the first time forgetting the agony of the past few months.

Rosie… She was at the center of his best memories, for even the simplest moment spent with her surpassed even the joys of scientific breakthroughs. The greatest moment of his life had been that day she'd walked toward him down the aisle, white flowers strewn in her hair and the scent of roses coming off her skin. But her real beauty had come from the glow of happiness that seemed to surround her. In comparison he'd felt awkward and overdressed. How had someone as homely as he gotten so lucky? He'd seen the man she'd rejected for him – a man any father would be proud to have as a son-in-law. This had weighed heavily on his mind, and he'd stumbled over his vows as, for the first time in his life, his brain refused to work and he'd been left tongue-tied. Then Rosie had given him an encouraging smile, a promise of a wonderful life to come, a life spent together… And then the words had come pouring out, the vows and so much more. He'd even quoted T. S. Eliot to her, despite his general dislike for the poet.

And after the wedding… Otto's lips curled into a smile at the memory. That was a night he wouldn't ever forget, either. The floral smell of her perfume and the flowers still twined in her hair, the feel of her soft flesh beneath his strong hands, the taste of her lips… It had been dark in their hotel room; there was no sight tied to this memory, which somehow made it all the more vivid.

These memories were all he had left. How long, he wondered, before sight faded from all his memories? He'd heard of that happening with the blind, a failure to remember what certain colors looked like, an eventual forgetting of faces… Would that forgetting erode his memories until he had nothing left? He had vision, of a sort, but it wasn't true vision. They weren't his eyes, and the flat, washed out camera vision was unlike his own. Any new memories of her would reflect this. Was that why he craved Rosie's touch so much, even though he'd resigned himself to never having her again? To create new memories, memories of scent, of sound, of touch, memories that weren't filtered through a machine? That wouldn't fade away with that loss of color?

Otto couldn't let himself forget. He wouldn't dishonor Rosie by pretending his life with her never existed. He'd come here as often as necessary to glimpse her… and maybe, somehow, get a little closer…

XXX

Sitting sullenly in a bedroom might have worked for Eve, Rosie thought, but for a grown woman, it wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Ever since Michael had returned home the previous day, Rosie had gone out of her way to avoid him. It was easy while Michael was away at work, but now that he was home for the evening, Rosie had hidden herself away in her bedroom. Her air-conditioner-free bedroom… Even with the windows open to admit what little evening breeze there was to be had, the room was stifling.

Rosie set aside the copy of the Daily Bugle she'd picked up that morning, which had, with its usual rants against Spider-Man, an amusing article about a robbery that had happened only a block or so away. The thief had taken out the surveillance system, but not before the camera caught an image of a swirl of black cloth, contrasting sharply with a pale mask at its center. The Bugle had whimsically referred to the thief as the 'Phantom of New York.'

Her glance strayed over to the music box on her nightstand, a gaze obscured by a haze of sweat. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand before reaching out to stroke the warm porcelain. Forget this; I'm not going to stay in here just because of a temper tantrum. She gathered up the book she'd been reading, a sheet, and her music box and headed up to the rooftop garden. Her path took her past Michael, but her cold look forestalled any greeting.

The garden was open to all of the building's tenants, though it was deserted more often than not. It made the perfect place to escape, if one didn't mind the baking heat of the sun. At least the breeze was unobstructed, and the sole building that rose above her brother's was positioned between her and the setting sun, casting a long, cooling shadow.

Rosie shifted the lawn chair to better take advantage of the shade, then settled down to read. She wound the key to the music box, letting the slightly discordant rhythm soothe her. It didn't take long before the heat and the sweet melody lulled her to sleep.

XXX

Otto hadn't shifted from his sprawled position, despite the instinct to hang his head over the side to see. He watched Rosie through the sentinel actuator, savoring the simple sight of his wife reading, possibly a book of poetry, or one of those literary classics she was so fond of. The camera zoomed in, enabling him to see her as clearly as possible through the camera. Even with the slight distortion, she was beautiful, and his heart ached to see her. She seemed to be close, and he fought the urge to try to reach out and touch her.

Time passed. Still, he couldn't take his 'eyes' from her. The sight of her was intoxicating, and made him crave more… But he held himself back, with a strength of will he hadn't known he'd had. His only movement was to fish out his headache pills from his coat pocket when the pain returned full force. He refused to ease the pain by severing the camera link. He didn't want to miss a moment of Rosie.

Night fell. He could feel it in the cooling of the air against his skin and in the change of the rhythm of traffic below. And still, Rosie stayed out where he could see her. She hadn't even risen to flip on the garden's lights. She's asleep! Otto realized after a moment. And no one had come out to wake her. A quick heat scan showed three bright, motionless blurs of color within the penthouse; it seemed everyone had gone to bed. No one was going to awaken his sleeping wife. He remembered the end of the argument he'd heard the previous day; perhaps Michael was giving her space. Otto smiled in remembrance; Rosie's temper could be fierce when roused.

Watching his wife's peaceful slumber, an idea began to take form. Only one building was tall enough to observe the happenings in the rooftop garden below, and the only place where one could get a clear view was in the garden that currently concealed Otto – assuming one could see over the hedges. Plus, no light from this building shone down on the garden, giving it a twilit appearance, rare in a city that was never dark. She was right there, unguarded, unaware… what harm could it do to touch that soft hair, or brush his fingers lightly against her skin, or to breathe deeply of her scent?

A voice in the back of his head told him this was foolish, dangerous; he didn't know if it was his conscience or his actuators, but the prospect of being with Rosie clouded his judgment. Otto fixed the mask to his face and pulled the leather coat over his pitted flesh, and perched like a gargoyle atop the narrow stone wall. He scrabbled along the wall, seeking the best place to make his jump. The building was high enough that he should be able to land in the garden below, which would, hopefully, cushion his landing enough to cover the sound of the impact. Before he made his leap, one of the actuators stretched towards a rose bush that had caught Otto's eye earlier. The scarlet petals were the color of freshly-spilled blood, and the shape of each flower was perfect. The bush was clearly the pride and joy of the one who owned and tended the garden. The actuator plucked one of the flawless roses and, with the help of its twin, scraped the thorns from the stem. Otto took the flower in his hand, then poised to leap. The actuators reluctantly coiled, then straightened with a snap, launching him over the wide gap between the two buildings.

Swiftly, the actuators curled under his coat, but not before admonishing him to be quick. They didn't approve of the risks he was taking, but they couldn't understand how he felt. They'd never know this pain of separation, as though he'd lost half of his soul – the better half.

Otto glanced around, wary observers or possible ambushes by vigilantes, but his leap and subsequent landing had gone unnoticed. Even Rosie hadn't stirred at the soft thump. Otto strode softly across the green-brown grass that carpeted the rooftop, wincing as the dry blades crunched underfoot. In the near darkness, the garden had an almost magical air. It was as if he was no longer in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world, but in a fairy tale meadow, going to wake the sleeping princess…

The fantastic turn of his thoughts amused Otto. He hadn't thought about fairy tales since he was a very young child.

His heart pounded loudly in his ears as he came within touching distance of his fairy princess, sprawled inelegantly across a faded green patio chair, her hair a wild tangle around her beautiful face. To the camera's eye, she seemed to glow, as if lit from within, further enhancing the ethereal quality. Entranced, Otto stared down at her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, clear proof that she truly was alive. After a long moment of basking in her presence, Otto pulled of the glove of his right hand and, ignoring the voice in his head that was screaming at him to run, he delicately brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The heat of her skin seemed to warm something that had been cold inside of him, and he couldn't stop himself from running his fingers along the line of her cheek, down the hollow of her throat, tugging at the scarf knotted loosely around her neck…

The pale tracery of scars decorating her throat made him gasp. Rosie, his Rosie, had been marked by the accident that had ruined their lives. He couldn't suppress a groan at the realization that these imperfections, which she'd obviously thought were ugly if she'd been trying to hide them under a scarf, were all his fault. I'm so sorry, he wanted to whisper. He had to get out of there before he hurt her again… before he ruined her as badly as he himself was.

He carefully replaced the scarf and was about to draw his hand away when slim fingers wrapped around his wrist. Otto gasped and jerked his face towards Rosie's. No… this shouldn't be happening… Wide, startled eyes met his own crimson gaze – Rosie was awake!

To Be Continued…

Sorry to leave you hanging here… I had a whole other scene planned for this chapter, but I had to push it back. Exams are coming, and I don't have time for anything more between my study breaks.