Peter sat, his brow furrowed in confusion, as he watched Anna sift through the mess on Mr. Jameson's desk in search of paper and a pencil. She already had a tape recorder set up, so Peter didn't really understand the necessity of writing utensils, but then, he wasn't a reporter.

"What was that, just now? Why did Mr. Jameson say that to you?"

The young woman looked up and laughed.

"Let's just say that I have a history of putting Mr. Jameson's 'criminals' –" she made little quotation marks in the air with her fingers, " – in a more sympathetic light than he would prefer. The only reason he gave me this interview is because all the other reporters are either doing something else, or are on vacation."

Peter was about to speak again when Anna let out a loud, "AHA!" and emerged from an enormous pile of cigar boxes with a pencil clutched in her fist. She sat down in her boss's swivel chair, cleared some space on the desk, and looked at Peter.

"Ready to begin?"

The young man shrugged indifferently. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Good!" And she pressed a button on the tape recorder.

"So, Spiderman. Or Peter, which do you prefer?"

"Uh… Peter, I guess."

"All right, Peter. First things first, how did you get your powers? You know, the webs, the strength, all that."

"Um… I was on a field trip in high school, and we – uh – we went to this science center where they were doing DNA testing on spiders. One of the spiders it – it got out and bit me. I got pretty sick, and then the next day I was like this."

"Hmm… And how old were you when this happened?"

"I'd just turned seventeen."

"Mmhm… and your uncle was killed very shortly after your seventeenth birthday. Any connections or thoughts on that?"

Peter stared down at his shoes determinedly. After a long silence, he finally spoke.

"He was shot when he refused to give his car to a robber. A robber I could have stopped, if I hadn't been so selfish."

He looked up at Anna, eyes swimming with tears.

"One of the last things he ever said to me was, 'with great power comes great responsibility'. And I threw it in his face."

The next words were spoken so softly that Anna had to strain to hear it.

"I live by those words now."

Peter stared off into space for a long moment, and Anna cleared her throat loudly. He jerked awake and looked around at her.

"Sorry," he said, shifting in his seat.

"It's perfectly all right, Peter. Now, on to the next question."

The interview continued for what seemed to be an age. There were many times when Peter was sorely tempted to just leave and get on the next flight to Australia. Maybe he could hide out with the Aborigines.

Finally, at long last, it was over. Anna stopped the recording and said, in an entirely too cheerful tone of voice, "There! That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Peter laughed humorlessly. "I bet Jonah will have fun converting that into the life story of a desperate criminal."

The young woman giggled and came around the desk to perch on the edge. "Oh, don't worry about that! I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Seeing Peter's quizzical expression, she said, "All you gotta do is wait until about two minutes before the deadline to hand in your story, and then he doesn't have time to edit it. Then your story gets run exactly the way you want it!"

She winked and patted him on the shoulder. "I'll make you look good, have no doubt!"

She slipped off the desk and proceeded to gather her belongings. Rising to help her, Peter couldn't help but say, "Won't Jonah get mad at you?"

Looking utterly unconcerned, she replied, "Oh yes, he'll probably fire me."

"What?" Peter squeaked. "I can't let you lose your job because of some stupid interview!"

She waved him off. "I was going to resign anyway. This paper is going down the tubes, the way it always prints these lies! This just gives me a chance to go out with a bang."

Shaking his head bemusedly, Peter handed her the notes she had been taking. He caught a glimpse of the words 'burdened at a young age' and 'depressed and lonely' before she snatched the paper from him.

"No peeking," she scolded, looking so fierce as she looked up at him through her wire – framed glasses that he had to laugh.

"And just what do you find so amusing, young man?" she said, poking him in the chest with a finger that looked like it had never seen nail polish in its existence.

"Nothing," he choked out, struggling to keep from bursting into loud guffaws.

"Good," she said, though she looked as though she was fighting a smile as well. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got your life story to write within the next twenty – four hours. See you later, alligator."

And with that childish farewell, she turned and left the room.

Peter breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped out of the Daily Bugle onto the crowded sidewalk. He was finally free! A sudden rumbling in his stomach reminded him of the fact that he hadn't eaten since his breakfast of stale saltine crackers he had swiped from a sidewalk café. It was now late afternoon, and he felt like he could eat a cow.

Searching his pockets for money, he came up with some lint, the nub of a chewed pencil, a scrap of paper with some equations on it, and thirty – seven cents. Sighing, he set off in the direction of the Moondance Café.

Maybe Enrique will let me work for a meal.

Feeling slightly nauseated, Peter realized that starving would probably be a less painful way to die than food poisoning from Enrique's dismal cooking.

I'll order something deep - fried. Enrique can't mess that up, he's practically deep – fried himself.

Suddenly, police sirens blared a few blocks away. Pete's hooded head came up. Should he follow them? Should he try to help?

Is that even a question for me?

He dashed into a nearby alley, articles of clothing falling to the ground.

I may not need it anymore, but my costume is still darn cool.

Webslinging had never felt so good. This was what he was meant to do; the air was where he was meant to be. He found the disturbance immediately; a car chase down Fifth Avenue. It was an easy job, and he was soon swinging away, but any doubts he had harbored about whether or not he would continue his acts of heroism were erased from his mind.

He arrived at the Moondance Café to find the press waiting for him. Somehow, they had found out when his shift was, and had organized an ambush.

Whether you like it or not Pete, he told himself, you're a celebrity now. Better get used to this.

He shouldered his way through the crowd, reminding himself to stock up on hoodies the next time he went shopping. They came in handy at times like these when he didn't want to be recognized.

He entered the restaurant and stared around wide – eyed. It was packed. He had never seen half this many people here at one time. There was a waiting line stretching clear out the front door.

"Oh my god…"

Customers gave him curious looks as he pushed past, obviously wondering why he had a hood on inside. He escaped into the kitchen and looked around for Enrique. Finally spotting him stirring a vat of chicken noodle soup, he hurried over and pulled his hood off.

"Enrique, what are all these people doing here? What is going on?"

The enormous Puerto Rican broke into a huge grin at the sight of Peter, and put an arm around the boy's shoulders as if they had been friends all their lives.

"What's goin' on? Why, you, o' course!"

"What?"

"I'm thinking of payin' you extra, for the publicity ya know?"

"As much as I'd like that, you're not suggesting that all these people are here to see – " he gulped. " – me… are you?"

"O' course! You're famous now! Everyone wants to see you! C'mon, put on your apron…"

Peter's blood ran cold. "Oh, no. Oh no, I am not going out there! I don't care how much you pay me, I wouldn't go out there and serve those people if you gave me the crown jewels of England!"

Enrique gave Peter a patronizing look and said, "Pete, my boy, you'll do this if ya want to keep your job. And don't think it'll be different someplace else, because it won't be. People will find you, people will see you, and then it'll just be this all over again." He gestured toward the kitchen doors with one pudgy hand.

"So ya might as well just get it over with, and give them what they want, 'stead of running away and putting it off. The longer you wait, the harder it'll be."

For such a bad cook, Enrique really could be annoyingly sensible.

Groaning in frustration, Peter pulled off his hoodie and tied the waiter's apron around his waist. Enrique beamed with pleasure, and pounded his golden boy on the back jovially. Peter grabbed a pad and pen, took a deep, calming breath, and entered the packed restaurant, his head held high.

Thanks to all my reviewers: deppfreak, RevolutionChick, IcyWaters, unknownshadow, conan98002, Owl, SFBKludge, Delia Ra'Nar, htbthomas, and Locathah. Sorry if I missed anyone.

PLEASE REVIEW!