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

Author's Note: Not much to say… Nearly finished! One more of my SM2 stories will soon be completed! Four out of six isn't bad, not bad at all. That's better than my record for other fandoms. And it means that soon I shall have to begin Shot in the Dark, my mystery. This was another tough chapter to write.

Musique de la Nuit

Fifteen – Hate

Otto's heart was soaring as he gently helped Rosie through her window. His skin was still warm where she'd touched him, and he felt as light as air. She'd agreed! Tomorrow, they were going to leave New York, and they could be together, forever. No one was going to keep them apart any longer. Just one more day… Rosie snagged his arm before he could depart, and she leaned forward for a good-bye kiss, which he eagerly gave. "Tomorrow night," she murmured, her voice breathless.

"Tomorrow night," Otto repeated. They'd worked out the details as they lay twined together under their makeshift tent, listening to the rain as it became a slower, steadier fall instead of the drowning deluge that had heralded Otto's arrival. Only the occasional rumble of thunder had broken the night's near-silence. Rosie was going to use the next day to pack lightly – there was very little she felt she needed, anyway, now that she had the one thing she truly wanted – and withdraw her money from the bank. She'd leave while Michael and his wife were both at work, and then slip away, leaving behind a note telling them not to worry, that she knew what she was doing. Otto's job was to acquire enough food for them both and secure a vehicle, and then… then they'd strike out towards the west, and hopefully find somewhere they could spend the rest of their lives in peace. How they would survive once they were outside the city was still a big question, but Otto knew that, together, they could overcome even the most insurmountable odds.

'Acquiring food' and 'securing a vehicle' meant stealing. Rosie hadn't asked and Otto hadn't explained, but he knew that she knew. It was a measure of her love for him that she didn't try to stop him, though for the first time since his accident, he felt guilty of his criminal lifestyle. He knew he was no longer able to just go to the grocery store and buy whatever he needed, like a normal person, and hadn't let it bother him before. But now he felt ashamed. He wanted to be a better man for Rosie. This will be the last time, he promised himself. After this, Rosie and I will find another way to live. No crimes, nothing that will draw the attention of the law. He felt that first twinge of exhilarated fear, reminiscent of the fear and excitement he'd felt back when he'd moved out of his mother's home to go off to college. It would be the start of another new life…

Food first, Otto decided. He didn't want to acquire a vehicle until just before they left; the longer he stayed the in city with a vehicle that had been reported stolen – which it would be, quickly, in this city – the more the likelihood of attracting the authorities. Better to wait until the last minute to snatch a car and make their getaway. With this is mind, Otto selected a grocer to hit on the way back to his lab, one far enough from his last robbery and lab so as not to alert the police that someone was operating in the area. It meant he'd have to carry a large load of groceries a greater distance, but with the actuators' assistance, it wasn't impossible. He'd have to do it quickly, however; the headache that had been steadily growing since he'd linked with the camera eye after leaving Rosie was nearly reaching the migraine stage, and Otto hadn't thought to bring any aspirin.

He'd chosen a larger grocer than he would normally have, feeling more brazen than usual with the knowledge that he was so close to taking leave of New York forever, and not a little desperate to finish his errand before the migraine reached its peak. The businesses to either side of it were also closed – confident Otto may have been, but he wasn't so stupid as to pull off a robbery where there were plenty of witnesses – and Otto slipped through the shadows behind the building unnoticed. Like most grocers, this one had a back door leading directly to the stock room, for the convenience of unloading shipments, and it took the actuators mere seconds to pick the lock and disable the alarm system.

Using the awning as a makeshift sack, Otto began to pull cans and packages off the shelf, rapidly filling the sack with the assistance of the actuators. Just a few more minutes, and he could be out of there…

…except that his luck had finally run out.

"Y'know, Doc, that disguise would be a lot more effective if you'd lose the tentacles. There're some pretty dumb cops in this city, but even they'd realize that any tentacled thief would have to be you." Somehow, Spider-Man had entered the store unseen by the actuators, and was perched upside down on the ceiling, seemingly unaware that he was defying the laws of gravity. Otto felt his heart plunge, even as the actuators fanned out in a defensive position. He didn't want to fight, not when he was so close to leaving… But could he make Peter understand that?

"Stay out of this, Peter," Otto rasped. He placed heavy emphasis on the vigilante's name, reminding him that, had he been so inclined, Otto knew enough to make the youth's life a living hell. The actuators strained against Otto's control, but he refused to let them strike at Spider-Man unless the vigilante forced him to react.

"I can't do that, Dr. Octavius." The humor was gone from Spider-Man's voice, and he hopped from the ceiling to the top of the shelf Otto had been emptying. Cans fell with a clatter as they were displaced by the arachnid's feet. There was a flash of light and a barely audible click from somewhere to their left, and Otto realized Spider-Man was posing for a camera. So this is how Peter gets his Spider-Man shots… And now photos of Otto would be plastered all over the Bugle come morning. "You've been pulling robberies ever since you drowned the fusion reactor, haven't you?" Sadness filled Spider-Man's voice. "Despite what you did for the city, I can't let you get away with this."

"And what am I supposed to do?" Otto snarled, letting one of the actuators lunge at Spider-Man's crouching form. Cans flew everywhere, and the shelf tottered and began to fall, but the vigilante easily evaded the blow, flipping over the aisle to the top of the shelf across from his previous perch. The camera clicked again, momentarily bathing them in a brilliant flash of light. "Try to lead a normal life? Pretend that nothing happened to me, that I didn't rob a bank or nearly destroy the city?" The actuator lashed out again, and this time, before dodging, Spider-Man webbed the pincers shut and tied it to the shelf. Rather than try to yank itself free and topple the shelf atop its host, it waited to be cut free by the foot-long blade of its twin. Spider-Man alighted on the floor before Otto. The camera clicked again, and Otto realized it must have been on a timer. "I haven't hurt anyone," Otto said. "I'm just trying to stay alive." He didn't see the need to disclose his plans to Peter; what if the youth shared Michael's concern and tried to prevent Rosie from leaving with him?

"Maybe not yet," Spider-Man said regretfully, "but I can't take that chance. Please, Dr. Octavius, just turn yourself in. Get help… you don't have to live like this."

Otto laughed harshly. "There's no help for me," he said coldly, and pulled off his mask. The camera eye was facing away from Spider-Man, so he didn't see the youth's reaction when the camera clicked again, and his ruined features were cast into sharp relief by the flash. He did, however, hear Spider-Man's gasp of horror at what was revealed. Otto didn't want to stay any longer; he didn't want to face the arachnid's disgust – or worse, his pity – at Otto's disfigurement, and he used the opportunity to flee, dropping the bag of groceries to keep them from slowing him. He didn't even try to keep under cover; he leapt through the shop front's glass window and fled as fast as the actuators could take him, no longer caring who saw him. He didn't care if Spider-Man pursued him; it no longer mattered. The young man's indrawn gasp at the sight of Otto's ruined visage had triggered his impulse to hide himself away as rapidly as possible before others could see. Even Peter, good-hearted, helpful Peter who wanted to save the world one person at a time, had reacted in disgust. Logic went out the window, and Otto jus ran. That Spider-Man seemed to be too stunned to follow only increased his self-loathing.

In a matter of hours, pictures of his ruined face would be plastered all over the Bugle. But it didn't matter; he was going to be leaving the city with Rosie, the one person who could look past his scarred outer shell to what was inside. Their departure couldn't happen fast enough.

XXX

The stack of bills within the slim bank envelope was pitifully thin. Seven thousand dollars seemed like a lot of money, but it was nowhere near enough to support two people for very long, even factoring in the sacrifices they would both make. And, while Michael would have gladly loaned her – hell, he'd have given her – money, he'd want to know why she needed the money. Unfortunately, she couldn't think of a convincing lie to persuade him to give her the loan. This would have to suffice, for now.

Rosie stuffed the envelope into her purse, then left the bank and headed towards where the chauffer was waiting for her. Michael had insisted she use his car and driver while he was away, ostensibly as something a good brother would do, but she knew it was his way of keeping an eye on her. At least she didn't have any more errands to run; the bank had been her only planned stop. Now she just had to decide what she wanted to bring with her, finish writing the final draft of the note to her brother, and then slip away. She rested her cheek against the tinted window, watching the city roll by. She was tired of the paranoia, tired of the feeling of being watched, sheltered, protected, hidden… She just wanted to be with Otto.

The chauffer didn't usher her up to the penthouse, as she'd half expected, but he did linger long enough to ensure she went through the glass doorway and into the lobby. He needn't have worried; she planned to make her escape when the chauffer left to pick Michael and Lucy up from their respective offices, when the housekeeper was preoccupied making dinner. Rosie had already spoken to Eve, who would be home by then. As Rosie had suspected, the teenager had been delighted to defy her father by assisting Rosie in her flight, and had agreed to help distract the housekeeper while Rosie ran. All she had to do was catch a cab to her rendezvous with Otto, and then… She shivered in anticipation. It had only been a few hours since she and Otto had parted, but she missed him already. After so many months of living with his 'death,' even a few hours without him were pure hell.

She tried not to act any differently than normal as she accepted the lunch the housekeeper had made, nonchalantly thanking the woman and reading her novel over her food as if nothing demanded her attention, though she ached to hurry up and out of there, and go where she'd no longer have to feign happiness. Finally, she went to her room, locking herself in. She'd be uninterrupted for the next several hours; now that the inclement weather that heralded autumn's arrival seemed here to stay, it was no longer her custom to read in the rooftop garden. The housekeeper was used to Rosie keeping to her room.

Once the door was locked, Rosie dug her suitcase out of the closet. She chose not to bring any of the smaller cases that were part of the set; she wanted only what she could carry. She sorted through the outfits hanging in the closet, rejecting most of them before turning to her dresser. As she folded clothing and placed them within the suitcase, she realized with a pang that she was going to have to leave most of her books behind. She'd read them all, but there were certain volumes she loved to savor on cold winter days, wrapped in a blanket and seated next to the frosted window. Sometimes, Otto would bring her a steaming cup of cocoa and join her, and she'd read favorite passages aloud to him. Her hand hovered over one worn leather spine before drawing reluctantly away; first, she'd pack what she'd need, then, if there was any room, she'd bring a book or two.

One thing she refused to abandon was her music box. If she wrapped it in clothing, she could fit it safely in the suitcase, as long as she was careful not to jostle it around too much. She set it on her dresser, intending to pack it last. It would take up a lot of room, and she realized that she'd have to sacrifice her books to bring it. But she didn't want to carry it in her hands; it was heavy, and made an awkward bundle. It would be all too easy for it to slip from her fingers.

Before packing it away, Rosie wound the key, letting the slightly discordant music fill the room. She turned her back on it and went to her desk, where the half-finished letter to her brother lay. It was a mess of struck-through paragraphs and arrows noting where words should be inserted… and the margin was filled with doodles of a masked man in a cape, framed by four long, twisting serpents emerging from his spine… It was the hardest letter she'd ever written, thanking her brother for all he'd done for her, and telling him not to worry, that she knew what she was doing, that this was what she wanted. She didn't tell him that she was leaving with Otto, but he'd have his suspicions, even though it was still only a rumor that her husband lived. Michael would probably look for her, but by closing her bank account and canceling her credit cards, she hoped to make herself harder to trace. And maybe, after awhile, he'd accept it and leave her alone.

She fished out a fresh leaf of paper and began copying the letter in her elegant script, so absorbed in her work that she failed to notice when the tinny music came to an end, leaving her in silence. Nor did she hear when her door opened and her brother entered the room, until Michael noisily cleared his throat. Rosie's head shot up, her gaze darting to the clock on her nightstand. Michael was home early… She felt the first stirring of unease, which became full-fledged alarm when she saw the look on her brother's face. "Lucy called me at the office and told me to check the news," he said tonelessly. "We came straight home to make sure you were okay." He took in Rosie's puzzled look, asking, "You haven't seen it?" Rosie shook her head, though her stomach was in knots because she knew what was coming. "Spider-Man caught a masked man in the act of robbing a grocer last night. Rosie… it was Otto." He held the two newspapers in a shaking hand.

Rosie took the first of the papers, and felt the blood drain from her face. It was another edition of the Bugle, but unlike the previous copy that had panicked Michael, this one had a very clear photo of her masked husband and the actuators poised in the air around him. There could be no doubt as to his identity. Oh, no… The second paper Michael had handed her was the Globe, which was far more accurate in its reporting. While the photo on the first page wasn't as good as the one on the Bugle, the shot of her fleeing husband was clear enough. Otto had been seen, and more than once. And now… now everyone knew that he was alive.

"It isn't just the papers; there's actual footage of him robbing a store that was recorded by a camera atop an ATM across the street. You haven't seen it? It's all over the news," Michael said dully. "But then," he nodded towards the suitcase, "you already knew, didn't you?"

Rosie's mouth was dry, and she cast her gaze about, seeking escape. He'd caught her… she couldn't deny it, not when the evidence was so plain. He'd never believe her if she said she was fleeing from Otto, not after the way she'd broken down over the Bugle's earlier mistreatment of him. There was only one thing she could do, and that was face up to the truth, and pray that Michael understood. "I knew," she said. "I've known for awhile now that he's alive."

Michael showed no surprise at her confession; he showed no outward emotion at all. But from the grim set of his jaw, she knew he was furious. "Rosie, you're not going to that… that monster," he said, keeping his tone level. "I forbid it."

Rosie had been determined to keep a rein on her emotions, to discuss this rationally. But to hear her brother call Otto a 'monster' broke down her resolve. "What did you say?" she asked slowly, coldly.

"I forbid it," he repeated. "I won't let you be hurt by a mad man who tried to destroy the city! He's obviously intending to continue his criminal lifestyle. This is for your own good, Rosie… I don't want to see you hurt."

"He's stealing food, Michael! Hardly part of some dastardly plot to put the city under siege! He's just trying to survive."

"And that's the kind of life that you want?" Michael asked, stunned. Clearly, he'd been surrounded by wealth for so long that he couldn't imagine life without it. The thought of her eking out an existence with no assets of any sort must have been appalling to him.

"What I want is a life with the man I love, no matter what sacrifices need to be made. I'm a big girl, Michael, I can make my own choices. I appreciate all you've done for me, but I want to be with Otto. He needs me, and I need him." Rosie folded her arms across her chest and held her head up defiantly.

Angrily, Michael threw out his hands, and the tips of his fingers brushed against the music box sitting on Rosie's dresser. The force of the impact knocked it sideways, to the edge of the dresser, where it teetered perilously for a second… then pitched forward over the edge. Rosie could only watch in horror as the gift from her husband seemed to fall in slow motion, then hit the floor. The ceramic shattered, and the music box played a few discordant notes, a death knell, before falling silent forever. The only whole piece that Rosie could see was the upper torso of the little Phantom, and Rosie dropped to the floor in a futile attempt to collect the fragments, though in her heart she knew it was irreparable. She bit back the screams welling up within her; Michael hadn't intentionally destroyed one of the few possessions she truly valued. "I'm sorry," Michael muttered, put off by this turn of events.

"I'm going to him," Rosie said, scooping up the little half Phantom and examining its cracked mask. He shared so much in common with her husband…

"I can't let you do it." Michael was going to stand firm. "Please understand, I'm not trying to be cruel; I'm doing this for your own good."

"Michael!" Rosie's face jerked upwards to glare at her brother. "Don't you see? This isn't the 'wrong guy' that every girl dates at least once in her life and needs to be protected from, this is my husband! Yes, the accident changed him, but Otto would never hurt me! If you don't trust him, Michael, then trust me. He isn't dangerous! You don't have to protect me from him! Please, can't you understand? Let me go to him, Michael. Please. If you love me, then let me go."

XXX

Michael closed the door on his sister's hysterics, but he could still hear her screams through the wall. His wife, Lucy, was waiting for him in the hall, her face drawn with concern. "What did she say? He's not going to come here, is he?" Her fear was evident, and he knew there was little he could do to assuage it. "What if he hurts Eve?"

"She says he won't," Michael said, though he couldn't say it with any conviction. Lucy's pale eyes were wide with horror. "Don't worry," he assured his wife. He held up the cell phone he'd confiscated from his sister. "She won't be able to call him, and I'll have the housekeeper keep her from leaving. I've decided," he said heavily. "I'm going to send her to live with our cousin Rebecca. Keeping her here, near him, is a mistake. Once she's gone, we'll be safe."

Behind him, through the closed door, he could hear the screams of "I hate you, Michael! I HATE YOU!" He shut his ears to her cries.

To Be Continued…

I'm not quite satisfied with the argument between Rosie and Michael, but at least it does what it's supposed to do…