Disclaimer: All Spider-Man characters are property of Marvel. Phantom themes belong to LeRoux.

Author's Note: I know you all have been waiting for this chapter, and I hope that it was worth the wait. I certainly was eager to write it; it was one of the first scenes I'd planned out, and it's been begging to be written. It turned out longer than I expected, too, a nice little bonus for all of you. As a result of the care I took writing it, I'm afraid I neglected Moonlight Becomes You in the process. I'm sorry. And for the record, I am not a 'stupid cliffhanging bitch;' I am an 'evil cliffhanging bitch,' thank you very much! LOL.

Musique de la Nuit

Twelve – Whole

Rosie's head was spinning as she descended the stairwell. The image of Death's fall, skeletal wings outspread, and their subsequent transformation into her husband's machines filled her mind. The grandeur of the masquerade no longer enchanted her. She ignored the guests that flocked around her, asking questions about the identity of the mysterious Death. She went straight to Curt, who was picking at the hors d'oeuvres. He turned to her, cocking his head, reminding her uncannily of the lizard his costume mimicked. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I need to speak to you alone," she said. Martha wasn't in sight, to her relief; while Mrs. Connors was a family friend as well, she wouldn't be quite so understanding. She hadn't been 'one of the gang' back when Rosie, Otto, and Curt had attended ESU together. Curt let her drag him into her room, and she shut the door, cutting them off from the festivities.

"What's wrong?" Curt slid back his mask.

"It's the guy I danced with. The one dressed as Death," she began. "He had Otto's actuators…" she trailed off as Curt's face paled, and he seemed to wither under her gaze. He knew something he didn't want to tell her… Oh my God… "Curt… that man… was that Otto?" He didn't verbalize the affirmation, but he didn't need to – Curt had always been poor at hiding his emotions, and she could see the answer clear as day on his face.

Otto was alive! And Curt had known. He'd known, and he'd kept the information from her! It seemed that everyone she knew was keeping secrets from her, and this new betrayal sparked the rage that had been building ever since she'd learned Michael had been keeping her in the dark. She lunged forward, grabbing the front of Curt's costume and pushing him against the wall. The attack had been so unexpected that Curt hadn't even put up a fight; he just stared down at Rosie in astonishment. "You knew… you knew, and you didn't tell me? Curt, how could you do this?" Tears of rage slipped down her cheeks.

"He… he made me promise not to tell you," Curt gasped out. "He didn't want you to know." Curt slumped in her grip. "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't want to betray him." She could hear the agony in his voice at the decision he'd been faced with: Tell Rosie and betray Otto's trust, or keep his word to Otto and risk hurting Rosie. "I had hoped that by arranging for him to come to the masquerade, he'd tell you himself."

Rosie released Curt and took a step back. "Why didn't he just come to me? Why be so mysterious? If he had just come straight to me…" She'd have taken him back without question. There was no need for this subterfuge! If it was a matter of hiding from the police, all he'd have had to do was leave a note for her, and she'd have gone to him.

"I think he's afraid," Curt said softly.

That would certainly fit with how Otto had acted around her tonight, and during their rooftop encounter, as though it was all he could do to keep from running away. Was he afraid of her? Her voice cracked as she asked, "Why would he be afraid?"

"He didn't say, but I can guess. Partly because of what he's done under the influence of the actuators, and partly because…" Here, Curt hesitated. "Something happened to him; something besides the accident that fused the actuators to him. When I first spoke to him, he was wearing a mask, and he kept his entire body covered, but he showed me his hand. It was… it looked… melted," he said, and he looked ill at the memory. Rosie remembered the hand she'd held on the rooftop, with its missing digit and its look of an unfinished sculpture. "He said he'd been immersed in boiling water. I think he's been disfigured, and he doesn't want you to see him like that."

Boiling water? Rosie tried to imagine what something like that would do to a human body. What flesh it didn't sear away would melt like candle wax; for Otto to have survived something like that was a miracle. "There would have been severe third-degree burns," Curt was saying, "resulting in irreparable tissue damage. Be prepared for the worst, Rosie. I don't think he could survive your revulsion."

"I don't care what he looks like," Rosie said. "I don't care what he's done. I'll always love him."

"That's what I tried to tell him," Curt said, rubbing his forehead and sighing. "But he's so… so broken, I guess you could say, that he just can't see that anymore. I hate seeing him like this. Go to him, Rosie. He's been hiding at your old building. Go, now. I'll cover for your absence."

"Thank you," she said, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Curt's cheek. She discarded her mask and wings, tossing them onto her bed, and, heart soaring, she left the masquerade, the penthouse, and her family behind. Only one thing mattered now.

XXX

For the first time in months, Otto gave the actuators free rein, to their delight. He had no thought beyond flight; he had to get away from there, now. Stupid! he told himself furiously. He should have known that Rosie would identify him; after all, how many mysterious masked men could she have stalking her? He'd let his emotions blind him to the risks, and now… now he could never see Rosie again. She'd be on the lookout for him, perhaps alert the police to his presence… further surveillance of his wife would only lead to trouble and the inevitable heartbreak. I have to stay away from her.

He thought about tell the actuators to let him fall; death would be preferable to the solitary life of an outcast who couldn't even glimpse the one thing that made his life worth living. It was so tempting… but he was a coward. Death would be superior to what could laughingly be called his life, but he feared it. He couldn't take that fatal plunge… Perhaps that was why he let the actuators carry him through the city with such gleeful abandon; he wanted to be seen, to be taken down, destroyed… But, depending on one's view, luck was either with him or against him. No one saw him fleeing through the night.

Back at the lab, Otto stripped the cloak and hood from his shoulders, then removed the uncomfortable black-and-silver costume beneath, revealing the hideous form beneath the elegant garments. He ripped the mask from his face, disconnected the camera from the wire and tossed it aside. Then he collapsed onto the battered couch, burying his face in one hand. I blew it. I could have spent the rest of my life watching over her without her ever knowing, and I blew it! He'd have to leave the city, go far away, where he could no longer succumb to the temptation of seeing his wife.

Tomorrow… tomorrow, he'd call up Curt, ask him to help him find a way out of the city. Tomorrow, he'd leave this place of painful memories and shattered dreams forever…

A soft nudge from one of the actuators drew him from his melancholy. For a moment, he was sunk too deeply in his thoughts to understand what they were trying to tell him, then it came with horrible clarity: someone was in the lab. The police, perhaps, or the arachnid. Otto fumbled around for his mask, pressing it to his face before remembering he'd disconnected the wire. The upper left actuator obligingly blossomed open, lending him its vision.

Standing across the room, just beyond the rim of the pool of light that leaked through the shutters, was a vision in white. His breath caught in his throat and his heart pounded in his ears, drowning out all other sound as the figure stepped forward, into the light. Her sheer white dress caught the light, reflecting it, giving her an aura of pure white light. Even her skin seemed to glow, in the actuator's vision. Long hair, slightly more rumpled than when he'd last seen it, framed a beautiful face no longer hidden by the small silver mask. A small, downy feather was stuck in her hair, unnoticed. Her expression was a mixture of fear and hope as she scanned the darkness.

Rosie! Somehow, his wife had found him! She can't be here… not now… She can't see me like this! Otto clumsily got to his feet, hoping to make it to the next room before she noticed him. He could make his escape out the window, and spare Rosie the horror of seeing what her husband had become.

His movement, however, drew her attention, and she called out, "Otto?" He froze, but it was too late; she'd seen him and was coming to investigate.

"Don't come any closer," he said. His harsh, unfamiliar voice gave her pause. "Leave this place. Now."

"Otto… please… I've missed you so much." The sadness in her voice made him want to run forward and pull her into his embrace and never let go… It took all his strength of will to stop himself. "Don't do this to me. I love you."

It felt as if his heart was breaking. His cold disregard of her presence was hurting her, and it killed him to cause her so much pain. Why did she have to come? he agonized. This could only end with both of them hurt! Now that she knew he lived, she wouldn't just go away; not without reason. Maybe… maybe the best way to get rid of her was to reveal himself, after all. Once she saw him, she'd be so frightened, so repulsed that she'd never want to see him again, and that would make his decision to leave so much easier. "Really?" Otto asked, taking a hesitant step forward, battling all the while the impulse to rush forward and take her into his arms. Once he stood in the light, he reached up and pulled the mask free of his face. He heard a soft gasp, confirming his worst fears. "What do you think of me now?"

XXX

Rosie saw only a vaguely human-shaped blot in the shadows, backlit by crimson glow of the pincers weaving through the air behind him. She took a step forward, but a rough voice commanded, "Don't come any closer." She obeyed, sensing that her husband was poised for flight. She held her position, resolving not to be swayed by his intimidation tactics. "Leave this place. Now."

"Otto… please… I've missed you so much." There was a catch in her voice, and she swallowed back a sob. Why was he trying to keep this distance between them? Why hadn't he come to her as soon as he'd learned that she lived? Did he think her heart was so shallow that she would just discard him because of his disfigurements? She'd made a vow, 'til death do us part,' and she'd meant it. Was he so psychologically damaged that he could no longer see that? Tears welled up. "Don't do this to me. I love you," she whispered.

Silence greeted her heartfelt plea, and she imagined she could hear the sound of her heart breaking. He didn't want her… two tears slipped down her cheeks, glistening in the weak light. Perhaps this was what finally moved Otto; he shifted his weight, then took a step forward. And then another. "Really?" he said, voice nearly inaudible. His movements were slow, deliberate. He paused when the slant of light fell upon his bare legs, then stepped fully into the light, one hand raised palm outward, the other lifted towards his face, pulling away the death's head mask and casting it aside. Rosie couldn't quite stifle her gasp of horror of what was revealed, the devastation that had been wreaked upon his body until there was little left that was recognizable as belong to her husband. "What do you think of me now?" he rasped.

He stood near enough that she could read the tension in every line of his marred body; he was nervous to be this close to her. No, not nervous; frightened. He was terrified of her rejection. She would have to tread very carefully, or she could lose him forever. Slowly, so as not to startle him, she reached upward, caressing his cheek. The skin was a mottling of smooth white scar tissue and patches of rough stubble where it was still intact. Beneath her palm, she felt him stiffen and start to pull away, then stop himself. A tremor ran through him as Rosie slid her fingers down, past the line of his jaw, along his Adam's apple to the hollow of his throat. His trembling intensified as her fingers came to rest over his heart, feeling the familiar rhythm of its beating. It was faster than normal, betraying his fear.

All the while, he'd made no movement, no sound except for a quickening of his breath. Even the actuators had stilled their nervous oscillations, as though sensing the importance of the moment. She pulled her hand away from him with great reluctance, wondering why he wouldn't touch her, why he hadn't even made eye contact with her. It reminded her of when he'd first been courting her, and he'd been so painfully shy that she'd been the one who'd had to ask him out. As she had then, she took the initiative, taking his hand in hers. Again, the contact seemed to surprise him, as if it was unexpected. She brought his hand to her face, rubbing her cheek against his calloused palm. Finally, he reacted; his fingers twitched, and then the tips lightly brushed her face, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. He ran his hand through another loose strand, then lowered it back to his side.

All the while, he kept his face slightly angled away from her, his gaze averted. Why wouldn't he look at her? "Otto," she whispered. "It's all right." Her hand was back on his cheek, turning his head so he would meet her eyes. "Look at me." He'd be able to read the truth in her face: that she wasn't going to leave him, that, despite all that had happened, she still loved him. She gazed into his eyes, willing him to see it. For the first time, she noticed the peculiar, unfocused look in his eyes as if he were gazing off into space despite his appearance of giving her his full attention. "You're blind!"

His shoulders slumped forward, and he buried his head in his chest as though ashamed. "Yes," was all he said, but the word carried all the pain, all the sadness he must have experienced the past several months. And he'd faced it all alone… She could only wonder at the courage and determination that had kept him alive even with all odds against him. He must have been so lonely… a lesser man would have been broken by all that had happened. A sob escaped her, causing Otto to flinch.

"Why didn't you come to me?" she asked. "Why didn't you let me help you?"

"You know what I am." It was a statement, not a question, confirming that he had been the one to send her the articles about his criminal activities. "I'm a monster. I almost killed you once. I don't want to hurt you again."

"Otto," she slid her arms around his neck, feeling the sharp bite of the spinal brace against her wrists. "That man, that criminal… that wasn't you. I know the truth. It wasn't your fault, Otto… and you redeemed yourself in the end. That doesn't sound like the action of a monster to me." She leaned into him, feeling the familiar sensations of comfort and safety his warm embrace had always given her. And he put his arms around her, whether consciously or reflexively, she wasn't certain. It was a tentative touch, as though he expected her to flee, but it was the first time he'd made contact with her of his own free will.

Something warm and wet fell against her temple; Otto was weeping. "Rosie," he breathed, as if he didn't quite believe this was happening. "I… I thought I'd lost you forever…" His grip suddenly tightened around her, and she could sense the actuators curling around the two of them.

"I'm here for you now, Otto… and I'm never going to leave you again." She pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his.

XXX

For a long moment after waking, Otto didn't know where he was. It had been so long since he'd slept in the bed he'd once shared with Rosie that the feel of the soft mattress and the cool sheets was disorienting. Stranger still was the warm, solid form pressed against his chest, fitting against his body as if she had been molded for that purpose. It's a dream, he thought, the residual fragments of a beautiful dream that would vanish once he was fully awake. He intended to savor it for as long as he could, before it faded away into cruel reality.

And then, as he lay unmoving with Rosie in his arms, he remembered: This wasn't a dream. Last night had actually happened; Rosie had come to him, seen his disfigurements, and she hadn't screamed, hadn't run, hadn't been disgusted. Despite all that had happened, she'd still wanted him, and now she was lying here beside him, his dreams made reality. It was like a deep void inside of him had been filled, and for the first time in – months? Had it really only been months? – he felt whole again.

They'd barely spoken a word over the next several hours, neither wanting to spoil the moment with words too clumsy to express what they were feeling. He'd run his hands over her, forming an image of her by touch rather than relying on the migraine-inducing camera images. She in turn had examined his every scar, a scrutiny that would have been uncomfortable and even shameful from anyone else, but not from Rosie. She wasn't disgusted or frightened, nor did she look at him with that pity mingled with revulsion he'd sensed in others who had seen his face. There was only sorrow, a deep sadness that she hadn't been there for him when he needed her most. They'd spent hours just holding each other, and had finally fallen asleep in each others' arms.

It was incredible… How, he wondered, could he have thought his wife wouldn't want him? Why had he found it so easy to believe that no one would ever love a monster like him? Now that he looked back, he wanted to laugh at himself. How could he have doubted her? He ran his fingers through her hair, feeling its softness under his calloused fingers. Rosie stirred at his touch, mumbling softly. As his fingers traveled down her face, he felt her awaken.

She lightly batted his hand away, and he could hear the humor in her sleepy voice as she said, "You used to be the one who slept in every morning, and I had to wake you up." She stretched, catlike; Otto couldn't see it, but he knew his wife's habits well, and he could well imagine her lithe, sensuous movements. She shifted so that she was facing him; he could tell by the feel of her breath on his face.

"I had to be certain you weren't a dream," he told her.

She brushed a lock of hair from his face. "Satisfied?" she asked.

He answered with a kiss, which she enthusiastically responded to. The actuators, responding to the sudden surge of his vitals brought on by this action, curled around curiously to see what was happening. Otto told them to go back to stand-by mode; there were some things his children shouldn't see…

To Be Continued…

There. No cliffhanger. Happy, everyone? Oh, and thanks for not killing me while waiting for this chapter; I hope this was worth my life.

Oh my God… The part where Rosie encounters Otto was the hardest thing I've ever written. I wanted it to come out perfect, and, while I'm still dissatisfied with certain parts, I think it came out all right. One thing I noticed is that whenever I used the names 'Doctor Octopus,' 'Doc Ock,' or 'Spider-Man' during the scene, it really ruined the moment, so I had to be careful not to use any of them. And I almost freakin' cried while writing it. Cried! I never cry over fics, especially not my own! I am sooooo pathetic…