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

Author's Note: The story has hit its high point; now comes the time for everything to come crashing down… And yes, the cliffhangers shall resume. Sorry. I'm nearly done with this story; I think there will be about two or three more chapters after this, depending on the length of the next chapters. This isn't the best chapter I've ever done; I think I'm a little worn out after completing Moonlight Becomes You.

Musique de la Nuit

Thirteen – News

The next morning, Rosie was gone, leaving a cooling spot on the sheets beside Otto. Panic welled up within him; why had she left him? She hadn't evinced any disgust for him, shown any sign at all that she didn't want to be with him. Why had she gone? Hadn't she said that she loved him? That she didn't care about the changes to his body and mind? Otto found he didn't have the energy for tears; he curled into a tight ball, refusing to move. He ignored the soft inquiries of the actuators, preferring to drown himself in his misery in solitude.

And then the door to the bedroom creaked open. At his command, one of the actuators snapped to attention, focusing its camera. Otto's heart hammered in his chest. Rosie! She wore a long navy blue robe several sizes too big for her – his robe, he noticed – and her long hair was damp. In one hand, she balanced a tray with something with a smell that made him salivate. It had been a long time since he'd had real food… "Good morning," Rosie said, a lilt to her voice. She smiled as she set the tray on the bed beside him before slipping back under the covers. There were two plates on the tray, piled high with an omelet that oozed cheese and peppers, and several slices of toast. Rosie selected a plate, but instead of digging in, she watched him. "You see through them, don't you?" she asked. "The actuators' cameras, I mean. That's how you've been able to keep an eye on me."

Otto nodded as he took a fork in hand. It was one of the elegant filigreed pieces that they had received as a wedding gift from Rosie's family. They had reserved use of the pieces for special occasions. Otto eagerly attacked the omelet; his wife's ability to turn limited food supplies into a hearty meal had never ceased to amaze him. Through one of the actuators, he could see Rosie watching with amusement as she daintily began to eat her own meal.

The actuators hovered around them curiously, uncertain what to think about this new addition to their life. They had vague memories of her presence when they'd first been activated, but that had been during their enslavement to the inhibitor chip, and their memories of that time were hazy. They only knew her as something that had caused their host great pain. Now, though… The upper right snaked towards Rosie, causing Otto to tense. If it tried to hurt his wife, there would be hell to pay. But it just hovered in front of her, watching her, trying to figure out what power this woman had to both hurt their host and make him feel better. Rosie held out her hand, delicately touching the half-closed pincers. The actuator chittered, and Rosie stared at it in wonder. "They never made noises before," she said.

"They talk," Otto said. "Incessantly. Without the inhibitor chip, the AIs are developing personalities, and are even exhibiting rudimentary emotions."

"That… that's incredible! Otto, there's never been an AI this sophisticated before. This is a breakthrough far beyond anything-"

Otto laughed hollowly. "They kill," he said flatly. "They haven't learned the difference between right and wrong, and sometimes it's all I can do to keep them in check."

"How do they feel about me?" she asked, watching the upper right pincer warily. Despite her caution, he didn't sense any fear in her. She had that much confidence in his ability to control them? He was uncertain whether to be touched by this display of trust, or worried. But for the moment, at least, his fears were unfounded. That childlike curiosity was the actuators' dominant emotion, accompanied by acceptance. She was now making their father happy, and if he was happy, then they had no reason to harm her.

"If they wanted to hurt you, they would have done so by now," he said. "I think they'll tolerate your presence, so long as you don't do anything to them or me." Talk about dangerous liaisons, Otto thought wryly. Until the actuators had grown fully accustomed to Rosie's presence, one wrong move on Rosie's part and the actuators would strike. It was very fortunate that his relationship with her had always been excellent; they'd had the occasional lover's spat, of course, but they'd never sunk to the level of screaming at the top of their lungs and hurling possessions at each other.

Still, it was yet another thing to worry about. Otto's hand crept along the mattress until it came into contact with hers, and he clasped her fingers in his own mangled digits. He didn't want to think about his worries right now; Rosie's presence was like an opiate, easing the pain of the last several months. Letting reality intrude rip open wounds that had barely begun to heal. But he couldn't hide from his problems forever.

He sighed, digging deep within himself to find the courage to say what he needed to say. "You can't stay," he murmured, nearly inaudible.

"What?" He heard her shift nearer, so she could better hear him. "What did you say, Otto?"

"You can't stay here!" he repeated, this time more loudly he'd intended. The actuators snapped to attention, seeking the source of their host's agitation. Otto silently told them to stand down, that all was well, though it was anything but.

She gently took his chin in her hand and turned his face to hers, wanting to gaze into his eyes despite knowing he couldn't return it. Did his damaged eyes still display emotion? "Why not?" He heard the challenge in her voice. It made it all the more painful that she wanted so badly to stay.

"Your brother will worry about you. He'll look for you, and when he finds us…" His voice faltered. "Michael never much liked me anyway, and now that I'm a monster, he'll want to keep you away from me. And… he'd be right to do it."

"Why do you say that?" she asked. He could hear her disapproving tone, and was suddenly glad he couldn't see the expression on her face. He knew that tone, and could well imagine the glare accompanying it. It was usually enough to sway him to his wife's point of view. But he was right this time, he knew he was. As much as he longed for Rosie to stay at his side forever, she couldn't. Kept in his shadowed, lonely world, she would wilt and die.

"I'm a fugitive," he said. "I can't go out unless it's in disguise, and only when it's necessary." Or when the need to see you is so intense that I can no longer deny it, he didn't add. "I have to stay hidden – and so would you. If even the smallest rumor that I still live leaks out, you would immediately become the focus of the police and the press. One wrong move and you could accidentally expose me. The safest thing would be for you to stay away from it all. I… I couldn't let you live that way." He was now very glad he couldn't see her face; from her sudden cessation of movement, he could tell she was angry. "Worse still, I can't always control the actuators. You saw how they reacted when I yelled; what if I lost my temper one day and they…" he couldn't complete the thought. "If I hurt you, Rosie, it would kill me." And he didn't want her to be tied to something as hideous as he was, but he kept that to himself, knowing she wouldn't take it well.

"Don't you think," Rosie said slowly, tightly – she was, indeed, furious with him – "that I can make my own decisions? Living without you these past months has been sheer Hell! I don't care if we have to spend our lives in hiding, as long as I'm with you! I could be happy the rest of my life living in a small ramshackle shack with no modern amenities and no other human contact just as long as you're there beside me. Don't you see, Otto? You're the only thing I need." She took one of his hands in hers, grasping it with surprising force. "I love you. I won't leave you again. Not for good." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his, and all his objections melted away under that kiss. She'd always been good at that…

"Let me handle Michael," she told him when they parted. "Afterwards, I promise you that we'll be together. No matter what happens, we'll always be together." He wanted to believe her, to believe that everything would be all right now. Always together… ''Til death do us part.'

XXX

She was reluctant to leave her husband, but Rosie conceded that he'd been correct; Michael would panic if he didn't hear from her soon. As Otto pulled her into one last embrace, Rosie promised him that she'd be back as soon as she could. She could feel him trembling in her arms; he didn't want to give her up, despite what he had told her. He was terrified that he'd lose her again; for a chilling moment, she realized that he would literally die without her. It was almost enough to make her want to stay, and to hell with the consequences. But Otto released her, brushing her cheek with his mangled fingers before backing out of her reach. "Go," he told her. "I'll be here when you return."

She studied his face, looking for any sign that indicated he planned to flee before she could make good on her promise. He'd been hiding from her for so long; what if he went back into hiding again, this time where she would never find him? She needn't have worried; despite the scars that distorted his expressions, she could clearly read one emotion: hope. He wouldn't run, not now that he knew his disfigurements didn't matter to her. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Taking those first steps away from her husband was the hardest thing she'd ever done. Stepping out into daylight, shockingly bright after the twilight gloom of her old home, she almost rushed back inside. After being parted from Otto for so long, she wanted nothing more than to be at his side and ease his pain.

But she squared her shoulders, lifted her head high, and began to walk away. She glanced back only once, and thought she glimpsed a red glow in one of the upper windows; Otto was watching her depart. She smiled, resisting the urge to wave. Waving at what looked to be an abandoned building would attract attention. Then she rapidly began to put distance between herself and her husband, before she could turn on her heel and run back to him.

As soon as she turned at the next block, putting the lab out of sight, Rosie slowed. She needed to find a taxi; the lab was too distant from her brother's place for her to walk home. Home… She almost laughed aloud at the thought. She could go home again! Home was no longer her brother's lavish penthouse, but the place she and her husband called their own. Even more so, home was her husband's arms.

There were no taxis in sight, so Rosie decided to head to the next street over. While she walked, she fished her cell phone out of the purse she'd slung over her shoulder. She'd been putting off checking her voice mail, dreading the inevitable panicked inquiries from her brother. She'd left in the middle of her own party; of course he'd panic. She had one message, but to her surprise, it wasn't from Michael, but Curt, asking her to call as soon as she got the message, no matter the time. The urgent tone made Rosie pause and dial her friend's number.

It took two rings for him to answer. "Rosie?" Curt's voice was a little breathless. "I'm glad you called. There's something-"

"Curt, I found him!" She couldn't contain her excitement. She glanced around to make certain no one was listening, then continued. "I found Otto! He didn't run. I have my husband back."

"Rosie, listen to me. Are you anywhere near a newsstand?"

She glanced around, but didn't immediately see one. She'd passed one on the last block, and she turned back. "I just left the lab, and there should be a stand nearby. What am I looking for?"

"The Bugle," Curt said grimly. A chill ran down her spine. Something had spooked Curt… She had to wait for the seller to finish chatting with an elderly customer before she could request a copy of the morning's Bugle.

She didn't need to look any further than the front page to see what had panicked her friend: In huge black letters, the headline screamed at her, DOCTOR OCTOPUS RETURNS? Beneath this was a blurry photo, taken at night, of her husband's distinctive silhouette, with the caption WITNESSES REPORT SEEING MULTI-LIMBED MENACE FLEEING ACROSS THE CITY. "Oh my God… Curt, do you know if Michael has seen this?"

"I have no idea. The news hasn't picked up on it yet, and your brother doesn't read the Bugle, does he? He hasn't called me demanding to know where you are, so I don't think he has any reason to doubt the excuse I gave for your departure. I told him you went off with the Bakers," he said, before she could ask. It was a good excuse; the Bakers were colleagues of hers from the English department at ESU, people Michael didn't know by sight. And, they hadn't been able to come to the masquerade, so they wouldn't have been around after she left to answer awkward questions.

"I've got to get going," she gasped out, hanging up on Curt. Rosie sprinted to the curb, shoving aside a disgruntled businessman and slipping into the taxi cab he'd been about to enter. She tossed him an apologetic look, ignoring the pleased expression on the driver's face as his potentially temperamental passenger was replaced by a much prettier one. She rattled off the address of her brother's building, and the driver's eyes gleamed when he realized he had a potentially high tipper as a passenger.

The taxi pulled up at the penthouse, and Rosie tossed the driver a wad of bills without really looking to see how much she'd given him. She ignored the odd looks in the foyer as she sprinted towards the elevator, her rumpled white dress flowing behind her. She couldn't seem to get to the penthouse fast enough; she had the feeling that if she took too long, something terrible was going to happen. She searched for her keys, then realized she'd forgotten them and started pounding desperately at the door to Michael's penthouse, hoping that the housekeeper was still there. Please, please, don't let Michael have read this. Don't let it be on the news. Don't let him know that Otto is alive! The housekeeper opened the door, looking irritated by Rosie's dramatic arrival. Rosie ignored her anger and demanded, "Where's my brother?"

The housekeeper wiped her soapy hands on the towel she carried; clearly, she'd been washing dishes when Rosie had interrupted her. "He's having brunch with his wife at the country club," she said. "I believe he invited you to go along, didn't he?" It was the closest she'd get to admonishment from the woman; Rosie should have remembered where Michael and Lucy were going. This was good, though; if they'd gone out for brunch, then they didn't know about Otto. They never would have left without knowing Rosie was safe.

Eve had gone with them; Rosie was alone with the housekeeper in the penthouse. Not wanting to spend time in the woman's company, Rosie closed herself in her room. She flicked on the small TV set nestled in the corner, flipping through channels, looking for some sign that her husband had been spotted. So far, it seemed only the Bugle had picked up the story. As long as Michael didn't see this paper, as long as her husband stayed indoors until it all blew over. Speaking of Otto, she needed to warn him… in her haste to get home, she hadn't had time to call. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and started dialing in her home phone number – and then, before she could push the last digit, her door swung open, and Michael entered. His expression was a mix of fear and anger, and he wagged something under her nose, something that looked horribly familiar…

"Rosie! What do you know about this?" Rosie's heart sank when she saw what her brother was waving around; Michael was holding a copy of that morning's Daily Bugle.

To Be Continued…