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

Author's Note: Nearly daily severe thunder storms have inspired more rainy sequences. Sorry if they bore the rest of you, but that's what resulted. And I can't believe I'm almost done with this fic, though it's starting to look as if it's going to be a chapter longer than I'd first thought. Surprise, surprise... That seems to be the norm for me. First Moonlight Becomes You, and now this. But… it's almost over! When this fic is done, I shall start another called Shot in the Dark, which is a mystery. For now, though, enjoy! Oh, and this one is going to take place over a long period of time; I hope it's clear. This is mostly a Rosie-centric chapter, and I apologize, but at the moment, she has the most plot-centric events going on her life.

Musique de la Nuit

Fourteen – Storm

Rosie gingerly took the copy of the Bugle from her brother, pretending she hadn't seen it earlier. She skimmed the article, even though she knew every incriminating remark by heart. "I think you're overreacting, Michael," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. "This could be anything. You've said so yourself; you won't read the Bugle because they doctor pictures and make up their own stories on slow news days. Remember the alien invasion article of 2002?" Her brother narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but he seemed to be listening. "No one else said anything about this, right? I didn't see anything on the news." For some reason, her voice had started to tremble, and she quickly turned it to her advantage. "I… I wish they'd stop using my husband like this!" she burst out. Tears sprang to her eyes, and to her surprise, they were real. "Haven't they done enough to him? He's dead; why can't they just leave him alone?" She let the paper fall from her fingers and turned away, not wanting her brother to see the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Now she knew why; she'd just found happiness again, and it seemed that the papers wanted to take it all away.

Her tears swayed her brother in a way her dismissal of the Bugle's credibility hadn't.Michael placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I… I shouldn't have shown you this…" He savagely kicked the Bugle to the side, as if it was the paper's fault. He drew her close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he repeated. She permitted the embrace, though it made her long for Otto's strong, familiar touch. She needed a shoulder to cry on, and Michael obligingly let her sob into his expensive suit. It took a quarter of an hour for her to regain her composure. What am I going to do? she wondered dully. Maybe I managed to distract Michael from Otto for the moment, but he'll remember, and he'll be on the alert for anything suspicious. She pulled back from her brother, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. She took a step backward, collapsing on to her bed, and stared forward. Michael sat beside her. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No," she said, her voice hoarse from crying. They sat together in silence, and she could sense Michael's uncomfortable twitching. He was good at playing the overprotective older brother, but not so good at being emotionally supportive. He finally got up, casting one last, sad gaze in her direction, then left her room. Rosie didn't watch him go.

He knows… not the truth, but he suspects I'm hiding something from him. Maybe Michael had dropped the subject for now, but he knew his sister. If he thought she thought Otto was alive, he knew that she would try to find him – if she hadn't already. He'd tried to shield her from the truth; how would he protect her from the perceived threat her husband presented? He'd go to great lengths to keep her "safe;" a trait that had served her well in her teen years, but it wasn't welcome now. She turned the cell phone over and over in her hands; would Michael check to see who she'd called, or was she being paranoid? What if he did, and saw that she'd called the lab? It wouldn't even have to be on purpose; he could see the number in the cell phone bill and figure out what was going on behind his back. She hated this feeling of mistrust! Michael had always been there for her, and now… now she didn't even know if she could ever trust him again.

Instead, she dialed Curt's number. He didn't answer, so she left a message on his voice mail, asking him to call Otto and warn him to lay low, and that she had to stay away for a few days so as not to draw suspicion upon herself or inadvertently lead someone to him. She set the phone aside and threw herself backwards on the bed. Her husband was alive, he was out there, waiting for her… and she couldn't go to him. Rosie closed her eyes, but not before a tear slipped from her swollen red eyes. She didn't want to spend another minute of her life without him.

XXX

She's not coming back. The thought had wormed its way into his thoughts as he'd watched Rosie's receding figure through the upper window of the lab. He'd immediately squashed the poisonous thought, not wanting it to destroy the fragile feeling of hope, the first he'd felt in months. But three days had past since she'd parted, and she hadn't returned. She hadn't sent a note. She hadn't even called. She said it might take time to work things out with Michael. Time, yes… but if Rosie felt even a quarter of the ache that gnawed at him, she wouldn't have been able to keep herself away this long without contacting him in some way.

He'd spent three long, agonizing days sitting at the window, staring out through the actuators' eyes long past the point of developing a pounding headache, hoping for a glimpse of her. He didn't dare go out; he wanted to be here when she returned to him.

Only… she hadn't returned. Now, Otto paced the length of the living room, actuators swirling around him as they picked up on his agitation. She doesn't want me, a part of him wailed. She finds me repulsive, she doesn't want to be stuck with a deformed, blind, hideous monster! His shin slammed into the edge of the coffee table; during his erratic pacing, he'd lost track of where he was in the room. Swearing, he ordered the actuators to heave the table across the room, and he heard it impact the wall with a satisfying crack. There was something else, too… Otto crossed the room until he felt splinted wood beneath his bare feet, then began to feel around the wreckage until he found twisted plastic and spilled wires under his fingers – the actuators had thrown the table into the phone. Stupid! he berated himself. Losing your temper like that… there's probably a good reason she hasn't called, and now… now she has no way of calling at all. Otto gathered together the shattered pieces of the phone with some faint hope of rebuilding it, but he didn't need his eyes to see that it was beyond repair. This only increased his panic; he was suddenly, irrationally certain that she'd been about to call and say she was returning, and now…

Otto ran his fingers through his matted hair, scowling. You're starting to lose it, he told himself furiously. He was starting to sound like one of those insecure husbands who started seeing betrayal where there wasn't any. Rosie wanted to be with him; he'd felt it in her touch. Had she been repulsed by the changes his tragic life had wrought in him, he would have sensed it the moment she laid hands on him. I need to get out of here. He'd kept indoors, doing nothing except eat, sleep, and long for his wife to return to his side. It was little different from how he'd lived before their reunion, except that now this solitary existence had become intolerable. He was developing a case of cabin fever, and he had to find some way to alleviate it before he destroyed more furniture. Maybe he could make a food run; he was getting low on canned goods, and he craved something fresh. It was late enough that he could go out…

There was a loud crack, and Otto nearly jumped out of his skin. He clumsily whirled around, instinctively linking with the actuators' visual centers as he searched for the source of the sound. Then he laughed at himself; he really was losing it. Another rumble of thunder rattled the glass, heralding the arrival of another autumnal downpour. New Yorkers, indifferent to the every day muggings, purse-snatchings, and whatnot would be clearing the streets, hiding from the elements.

A lousy time to procure food… but somewhere, high above the drowned city, Rosie would be sitting by her window in darkness. Otto could picture the dreamy expression on her shadowed features, visible only when a flash lightning illuminated her face. He longed to see that look again… and under the cover of the storm, perhaps he'd have that chance. He could drop by Michael's penthouse unnoticed and assuage his fears.

Otto snatched up his mask and coat, then as an afterthought, took up the shredded black awning that had served him well before. His heart soared in anticipation as he stepped into the drenching sheets of rain, not even noticing when cold droplets wormed their way beneath his collar and tracing cold lines down his spine. The thought of seeing Rosie again was enough to warm him as he hurtled across the empty city, the cape-like awning trailing behind him. The thudding of the actuators was thunder, his swift passage a random gust of wind. He was the storm made flesh, and he reveled in the freedom. Freedom… This is what I need. I don't want to stay hidden away from the world any more. Somewhere I don't have to hide my scars. Somewhere I don't have to worry about police or the media. But would Rosie agree to leave everything behind?

XXX

Rosie gazed out the window, not really seeing the tangled skein of rain pathways on the window. Her gaze was directed inward, going over the past three days. She'd kept contact with her brother to a minimum, afraid her face might betray her husband. She only saw him during meals, tense affairs in which she'd keep her gaze downcast. Whether he saw this as evidence that she was hiding something, or just a continuation of her distress at the Bugle's smear campaign leveled at her 'deceased' husband, he hadn't said. But he had been keeping a closer eye on her than normal; she'd overheard him questioning the housekeeper about her actions while he was at work.

She didn't know how much longer she could take this. Part of her wanted to just tell Michael the truth and pray that he understood. He was her big brother, after all, and she still harbored a little sister's yearning for an older sibling's approval. But he'd kept the truth from her, and had overreacted over an article in a paper known for its questionable stories. If he knew Otto still lived… Rosie wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted to be with her husband, but she didn't want to lose her brother in the process. What am I going to do? she wondered. She shut her eyes and leaned against the glass.

Thunder rattled the glass beneath her temple, but she didn't react. The thunder reached its crescendo, but the window pane still shook, and now she could hear a loud rapping underlying the dying thunderclap. She opened her eyes… and nearly screamed at the face hanging upside down outside the window, its black-streaked white mask making it look like some kind of demonic harlequin. Then she recognized the pale oval mask beneath the clownish design – she'd last seen it painted to resemble a skull, but the water-soluble paint had run in the storm. Her heart leapt into her throat as she flung open the window, ignoring the rain that immediately drenched her as she pushed her face to the screen. "Otto?" she gasped, not quite certain she believed what she was seeing. Her husband was clinging to the roof's edge with the stronger lower actuator pincers, with the upper two holding what looked like a shredded black tarp over him to protect him from the driving rain. He gazed at her with that smoldering red eye stolen from the upper left actuator.

"What are you doing here?" Rosie asked, shouting to be heard over the rain. She should scold him… but her heart was beating faster now that he was here, and she could feel a smile threatening to ruin her stern expression. He'd risked himself just to see her again… what woman wouldn't be flattered by that? "Are you crazy?" Perhaps not the best question to ask, Rosie realized the moment she said the words, but it was too late to take it back now.

"You didn't come back," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the mask and the pounding rain. "I was worried about you."

Rosie shoved at the flimsy screen separating her from her husband, frustrated that something so thin was keeping her from him. Seeing what she intended, one of the actuators suddenly surged forward, and she jumped back just as the screen bulged inward under the impact before popping out of the frame. Rosie leaned out on the sill, letting the rain sluice down her face. Her hair was immediately plastered to her scalp, and cold water dribbled down her back, but she didn't notice. "I told you it would take time. It isn't safe for you to be out here, Otto; didn't you get Curt's message?"

"I didn't get any message," Otto said, his harsh voice sounding puzzled.

"It's not safe for you to be out here; someone took your photo the night of the masquerade and printed it in the Bugle. Michael saw it; I had to keep away to keep you safe! You shouldn't be out," she concluded quietly, but she couldn't conceal her delight.

"I had to see you again," Otto said. He reached for her, lightly caressing her chin with his sodden leather gloves. "Life without you is so…"

"Empty," she finished, reaching out and brushing at a soaked lock of hair that had stuck itself to his mask. "I hate this, Otto… I want to be with you." Her probing fingers found the edge of the mask, and she delicately pulled it away from his face, handing it to the upper left actuator. She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his, molding her lips to fit his inverted mouth. He broke the kiss first, saying apologetically, "I couldn't breathe; the rain's going up my nose." There was a twitch at the ends of his mouth, a faint turning of his scarred lips. With surprise, she realized he was smiling, and felt herself grinning in response. When, she wondered, was the last time he'd let himself smile like that?

"I'd ask you to come inside and dry off, but I don't think you'd fit through the window," she said teasingly.

"Why don't you come out here?" he asked. She wondered if he was joking, but it was difficult to tell. His once expressive face was no longer mobile thanks to the scars that stretched taut the skin across his cheeks. But he seemed to be serious.

"Out there?" she asked incredulously. "In the rain?" She felt a thrill of danger at the thought, but she knew Otto wouldn't let her come to any harm.

"Why not? No one is going to be on the rooftop garden in this weather, are they?" His grin widened.

Rosie stared at him, painfully aware that she must have looked like a landed fish. But why not? she thought, throwing caution to the wind. Michael and Lucy would be in bed by now, and as long as her door was locked from the inside, no one would suspect she wasn't in her room, fast asleep. And it would be unthinkable that anyone would be on the roof in this weather. "Catch," she said playfully, sliding off the sill and into her husband's waiting arms. She couldn't help glancing downward, feeling a wave of vertigo before, with a sickening lurch, Otto pulled them both onto the rooftop, setting her down before righting himself. Her nightgown was instantly soaked, and Otto wrapped his arms around her. With a snap, the actuators unfurled the awning, creating a tent over the both of them. The grass underfoot had become springy under the nourishing rain, and she took a seat. She was already wet, so she barely noticed as her robe soaked up the water clinging to the blades. Otto sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. The heat of his body began to warm her, and she stopped shivering. She leaned against his chest, feeling her worries melting away. Otto leaned his mouth close to her ear, so he could be heard over the fury of the storm.

"Let's leave the city," Otto urged. "Come away with me. No over-protective relatives, no Bugle, no arachnid… Just us."

Leave? Just like that? Rosie didn't answer immediately, and Otto didn't pressure her into an answer. She considered it carefully, weighing the pros and cons. If they left, it would be without any money beyond her own limited assets – she refused to let Otto rob a bank so they could live in luxury – and she'd be abandoning her brother and sister-in-law and their children… they'd be worried sick about her, even if she left them a letter explaining the situation. She'd have to cut off contact with all of her family, actually. But if they left the city, they could escape public scrutiny, and they could live without fear… all she needed to be happy was Otto. She could live the rest of her life with absolutely nothing, so long as she had her husband by her side. "I'll do it," she said. "Just give me a day to put my affairs in order."

"Thank you," Otto said, so softly she had to strain to hear it over the pounding of the rain against the overhead awning.

Tomorrow… tomorrow we'll be free! But tonight, they were alone atop the darkened roof, and may as well have been the only two people in the entire city. Lightning briefly illuminated Otto's face, and she could tell he was thinking the same thing she was. With a smile, he drew the awning closer around them, blocking them from view until they were just one more dark shape in the night…

To Be Continued…