Chapter 11

Spiderman sat atop the rooftop, taking a moment to reflect on what to do next. In less than a day, his entire life had been turned upside down. Basically, his life and the life of any superhero, depended on balance. In their lives existed a precarious balance between their secret identity and their superhero persona. Superheroes walked a fine line between saving the lives of innocent people and protecting the people they loved. The only way that he was able to be Spiderman and protect the people of New York City was because of the security in knowing that his secret identity remained unknown. It had to kept hidden not just from the general public but from those who would seek to harm the people he held dearest in his life. Peter shuddered to think what some in his own personal list of villains would do as retribution to Mary Jane or Aunt May.

But, in fact, that tenous balance had all but been shattered. The attack on Mary Jane could be completely unrelated to his life as Spiderman, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everything that had happenned so far was somehow connected. Besides, in his life of work as a superhero, it didn't pay to believe in coincidences.

The small glimmer of home that existed for him to maintain his way of life was to discover that his spare costume was still hidden behind the closet. That would ensure that his secret identity was still safe but finding that out could prove difficult. His apartment was now a crime scene, but considering that his apartment had already been searched, police presence should be light. Of course, there was only one way to find out.

At the same time he went to protect his secret, he couldn't forget the very reason that he kept it secret. Mary Jane lay in a hospital bed, fighting to live and it was this thought that strengthened his resolve. Mary Jane needed him right now more than ever, so he couldn't afford to let her down when she needed him most. Being Spiderman wouldn't be quite the same without those that he loved. So, first things first.

Mary Jane lay poisoned on a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes depending on them to keep her alive and with her attacker still remaing at large. Peter vowed to find her assailant, but just as important would be finding a cure for her. Just getting some measure of revenge against the coward that put her there in the hospital would be largely meaningless. Peter had discovered that with his Uncle Ben. Bringing his killer to justice was certainly satisfying, but what he wouldn't give to have Uncle Ben still around. There was no way he would lose Mary Jane. Not like this.

But, in order to find a cure, he would have to work with a sample of her blood. The hospital would have several such samples, but that didn't help him. It would be a lot easier to be Batman or some other superhero that had a good relationship with the police. Not a good relationship, necessarily, but certainly better than his own. The police would probably even give Batman a sample of the blood, but thanks to the Daily Bugle, he was vilified by the press and owing to that, often by the public as well. The hospital wouldn't exactly be forthcoming with blood samples for Spiderman or for Peter Parker, seeing as most of the world believed him to be dead. Even if they didn't think he was dead, the world saw him accused of attempting to murder his wife. The only real option, as Peter saw it, would be to get a blood sample of his own.

So, armed with a few things he had borrowed from Dr. Connors, he was heading off to visit his wife again. Standing to his feet, he extended his arm and shot out a web at a nearby building. Within seconds, he was swinging over the city towards Bellevue. It was another few minutes though before he found himself standing on the windowsill once again outside of Bellevue's most important patient. Gazing in at Mary Jane, he was able to watch as doctors shuffle in and out of the room. Peter found it satisfying to see his wife receive so much care and attention. Right now though, he needed the room empty. It was some time before that need was met. Ironically enough, the last two in the room were Dr. Stone and Nurse Kittiwake again. Listening to their conversation once again, it was painfully clear that they were no closer to even identifying what poison had been used, much less some form of an antidote. This convinced him more than ever that it was up to him and him alone to save his Mary Jane. Finally, they left and the room was empty, save for his wife lying on the hospital bed.

Spiderman then turned towards the window as he tried to grip the bottom of the window and push it upwards. His fingers dug in tight, feeling the window shake a bit, but it wouldn't budge. Not only was the window closed, but considering the weather, it was also likely frozen into place. It was a small mercy that the window wasn't also locked. No matter what though, he couldn't let this stop him. The muscles in his arm tensed up, the window shaking slightly and then finally being thrust upwards with a crash. Spiderman looked up to see whether anybody had heard or noticed the forced entry, but nobody was around. Cold air shot into the room and Spiderman slid into the room along with it.

With his good arm, he closed the window gently and he shot out a web with his arm to shut the door forcefully, shielding him from prying eyes. What a nightmare it would be to be spotted by a passing nurse or doctor. He could only imagine the type of headlines Jameson would come up with then. No sense in giving him more ammunition. With the door securely shut, he walked over to it and made sure the door was locked. Finally, he was able to be alone with his wife for the first time in a while.

Slowly, Spiderman pulled off his mask, looking over her now not as a superhero, but as a faithful husband. Giving a soft smile, he walked towards her as he saw the tubes connected to her body and he felt a wave of sadness rush over him. Fighting back tears, he walked towards her and ran his fingers through her hair. Leaning down over her, he pressed his lips softly against hers. Pulling himself back up now, he looked at her and in a voice that was almost inaudible, very nearly lost among the beeping of the heart monitor, said, "I'm sorry, MJ." Peter meant that too. It was up to him to protect the entire city, but above all, his own wife. For the next minute, to his comatose wife, he apologized for his failure to protect and be there for her. He knew that she couldn't hear a word of it, but Peter felt like he needed to apologize for his failure as a husband and as a superhero. It was only after a minute or two that he remembered his original purpose for coming here as he took a deep breathe. Confession was good for the soul, he told himself as he reached into his web pouch for a few things he had borrowed from Dr. Connors and his box of lab equipment.

First of all, his eyes flickered around the room slowly looking for equipment there to assist him in taking a blood sample from Mary Jane. First of all, he pulled a tourniquet from his web pouch. The most common place to find a vein is usually the area in front of the elbow, for which the scientific name escaped him. However, he did manage to remember not to place it too close to the vein, approximately two inches away and he was also very cautious not to pinch her fair skin, but tight enough for it to pull the skin taut and restrict blood flow so that the vein popped out.

Having located a vein, his eyes next settled upon a combined needle and valve system, which is a system most commonly being used in hospitals today. Resting upon a bedside table, the needle is attached to a valve, which is in turn screwed into an open-ended plastic cylinder. Slowly and carefully, he slid the needle in at a 40 degree angle, being careful to hit it at the proper angle to avoid the vein to either be transfixed or to roll out of the way. However, the needle plunged in with ease. Immediately, the blood was automatically drawn into the valve by way of a vaccum and from there, was transported into a tube that had previously been placed into the plastic cylinder. Peter watched in odd fascination to see the blood being sucked into the tube, albeit at a slightly slow pace. The tube filled up with blood as he looked over her face, but there was no change in expression. Peter brought one hand up, letting his fingers trail through her hair and he gave her a smile, despite the fact that he knew she couldn't see it.

Suddenly, Peter felt a buzzing sensation in the back of his head, followed by a sudden pounding at the door. Peter jumped in surprise and it took all of his concentration to keep from pulling the needle out. Frowning, Peter made sure the needle remained in place and continued to focus on the drawing of the blood as the pounding on the door only intensified. His spider sense flared now as the door handle jiggled and on the other side, some nurse or doctor was undoubtedly shocked to find the door locked. The door handle jiggled even harder as suddenly the tube was filled now with blood and with a quick blend of caution and speed, Peter took the tube from the cylinder. Immediately, the valve was sealed and would remain so until another tube was inserted. At almost the same moment, Peter heard the jingle of keys as he leaned down, giving his wife another brief kiss, holding her gently with one hand and using the other hand to tuck the syringe safely into the web pouch.

Then, sliding his mask on, he leaped towards the window. Gripping the window, he opened it quickly as the keys rattled in the lock. The window opened smoothly and then with catlike precision, he slid out of the window and onto the slippery windowsill. The window closed with a thud, Spiderman slid to the side and then, mere moments later, Nurse Kittiwake burst into the room. Frowning a bit, she was obviously surprised to discover nobody there. Casting furtive glances around the room, it didn't take her long to discover the needle still securely attached to her room. With a squeal of alarm, she immediately called for doctors.

Spiderman didn't hear any of this though, already swinging towards his next destination. Swinging over his apartment, he saw a police car driving away. Spiderman watched it turn the corner before he leaped forward, clinging onto the wall as he eased the window open. With a creak, the window opened slowly and he looked around, then entered into a room via the window for the second time in as many hours.

Peter's heart sank as he saw the apartment covered in yellow crime scene tape. Peter glanced towards the closet, noticing the door was closed and so obscuring whether the secret alcove had been discovered. But, Peter noticed the living room through the doorway and there was a square near the couch which had been completely cordoned off. Peter walked over to the square, looking at the spot where he was alleged to have attacked MJ. Whoever had attacked her had gained easy access to the apartment and thinking upon it, had probably done so effortlessly since he was posing as Peter. Who could've fooled MJ so completely that she had honestly believed it was Peter? Only one name came to mind and that was the Chameleon.

The Chameleon had not been seen in some time and currenly, his whereabouts were unknown. If he had indeed returned, this was quite the entrance. What didn't really fit though was the fact of the Chameleon utilizing his talents in an attack on Mary Jane. He had attacked Mary Jane before, but with far less successful results. But, for him to return now, why would he poison Mary Jane? Was he working for somebody? If so, whom? All of these questions had answers and it was becoming painfully clear that the only person who could answer all these questions was the Chameleon. If Chameleon thought he could hide from Spiderman; if he thought he could attack Mary Jane and get away with it, he was very, very wrong. The Chameleon had better hope that his camoflauge skills could hide him because if Spiderman found him, there was honestly no telling what Spiderman would do to get the answers he needed to help Mary Jane.

His eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and sadness, looking around the apartment, which had been throughly turned apart by the police, searching for information. The only thing that gave the apartment any semblance of normalcy was the Christmas tree in the corner. Its branches were a little disheveled, obviously had been searched too, though Peter couldn't imagine what evidence would be discovered in a Christmas tree. The presents underneath the tree were gone and Peter frowned to imagine them being unwrapped in a police laboratory somewhere. But, the lights were still around the tree and atop the tree, was a star that gave him a flicker of hope. Peter smiled slightly, looking around the apartment and took a deep breathe, heading towards the bedroom.

Peter searched for a moment before entering, looking for any evidence that the police might have overlooked, but finding nothing, he knew that it was time to finally face the fact that his secret might no longer be much of a secret anymore. Peter approached the closet with measured steps, growing more apprehensive with each step that brought him closer and closer. He discovered his palms were sweaty, pulling the clothes to the side as the hangers scraped over the steel rod that they hung from.

The secret alcove was closed, which allowed him to breathe a little easier as he pried the loose board open to get to the alcove. Peter was certain by now that his secret hadn't been discovered or else his apartment would be swarming with police. Gripping the door to the alcove, he pulled it open to find it empty. Almost like in a cartoon, Peter found himself doing a double take as his heart almost leaped out of his chest in shock. There was no spare Spiderman outfit inside and somewhere, somebody else had it in their possession. Out there, somebody not only possessed his spare Spiderman outfit but also the knowledge that he was Spiderman. Rocking back on his heels, he searched the accusing darkness for a hint of what had happened or in the hopes that he had made a mistake. But, no mistake had been made. The spare Spiderman costume and the sense of security that was tied to it had vanished into thin air.

It was around this same time that a large yellow manila envelope was being delivered during the lunch hour and was dropped onto the desk approximately ten minutes after it had been hand delivered to the mailroom. Tightly bound, it waited patiently for the recipient to return from lunch so that its contents could be discovered. Until then, it sat in a prominent position in the center of his desk, with no hint as to what lay inside besides a white stick-it note that read: Concerning Spiderman. This yellow manila envelope now resided on the desk of J. Jonah Jameson.