A/N: Sorry for the long wait! School started up again (sobs), and the red and blue muse swung away for a little while. Hope you like this chapter. Cheers!

A hundred pairs of eyes were fixed on him. No sound was heard, except for the tinny clatter of someone dropping a fork.

Oookay. Leaving now.

Peter turned around and made for the door, but ran straight into Enrique who had just emerged from it, and was now standing with his arms across his enormous chest like some kind of café bouncer. Peter looked at him pleadingly, but the man just shook his head slightly. Peter gulped. He was obviously not getting out of this one.

Slowly he turned around and surveyed the room nervously. Children gaped, women giggled, men glared… Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, Peter whispered to Enrique, "Am I supposed to serve all these people?"

"O' course y'are, they sure as hell didn't come here for the food!"

Despite the situation, Peter couldn't help but snort with laughter at the cook's utter lack of pride. Several people looked rather surprised. Obviously, they had not thought that superheroes could snort.

Deciding that the sooner he started, the sooner he'd finish, Peter took up his pad and pen and walked on wobbly legs to the nearest table.

"G – good evening folks, what can I get for you tonight?" he stammered, putting on his best fake smile.

The adults simply stared at him, but one of their children, a blond – haired little boy of about five, pulled on his apron and beckoned him closer. Peter crouched down until he was level with the boy, who cupped a hand to Peter's ear and whispered, "My daddy'th too shy to thay it, but he wantth ta thank you for thaving him. Remember? You thtopped that bad man from hurtin him."

Peter's eyes widened, and he stared at the little boy for a while after he pulled away. Then he turned to the boy's father. Now that he thought about it, the man did look kind of familiar. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, I do remember."

The boy flung himself at Peter, hugging him tightly. The young man's arms closed instinctively around the little body.

"Thank you, Mithter Thpiderman!"

Peter's surprised eyes found those of the boy's mother. She smiled at him, her gratitude and joy shining through clear as day. Her husband looked vaguely embarrassed, but nodded his thanks to the revealed hero.

"Y - you're welcome…" Peter whispered, his voice raw with emotion. The boy released him, and Peter stood up and cleared his throat, which had somehow gotten a lump in it.

"Well," he chuckled. "That's a first for me."

The mother reached over and patted him on the arm.

"And it won't be a last, I can promise you that."

She was right. As Peter made his way through the tables, taking orders, he realized that most of these people had just come to show their gratitude. They would shake his hand, gawk a little, thank him, have a cup of coffee or a cookie (nothing that involved any real cooking), and go, generally leaving a huge tip. The whole thing seemed rather unreal. The first time Peter came to clear a table and found a twenty-dollar bill sitting underneath the saltshaker, he didn't know exactly what to do. On the one hand, he hated to think that he was accepting charity. On the other hand, he really needed the money. He was late with his rent, he needed new clothes, he was in debt over his college tuition, and his moped was still missing. Finally, face burning with shame, he pocketed the money and slunk off, trying not to think about it too much.

Of course, everyone couldn't like him. A few customers were complete jerks, but Peter was used to that. The gratitude and kindness of everyone else was like a healing balm over the deep, scarred wounds from six years of fighting a thankless battle.

Two hours passed. The young man was just beginning to relax, and become a little less self – conscious when his spider sense tingled. He needed to go, now.

Without an explanation, Peter ripped off his apron, dropped the pad and pen, and dashed out of the restaurant, ignoring everyone's bewildered looks. He sprinted into a nearby alley, and five seconds later swung out of it, red and blue suit barely visible in the dim moonlight.

Letting his instincts guide him, Peter headed toward Broadway. He reached it quickly, and swung into a side street. In the pool of light from a nearby streetlamp, Peter could see three men wielding pocket knives, surrounding a young woman backed up against the wall. When one of the men lunged at her, Peter jumped into action. Webbing the attackers, he pulled them away from the woman and into the street. He jumped down and advanced upon them, balling his fists up in preparation for the first punch. One man looked up, saw who was striding towards them, turned, and tried to run. His legs tangled in the webline hanging from his back, and he came crashing to the ground, knocking himself unconscious on the hard pavement. The other two brandished their knives as threateningly as they could while quivering with fear. It was almost pathetic how easily Peter disarmed them, knocked them out, and webbed them to the streetlamp for the police to find.

Only then did he turn to look at the young woman whom he had saved. And he found himself wishing he hadn't turned, for at the sight of her, his mind was filled with regret and sadness and what ifs.

MJ. If she had been wearing a ball gown, standing in a room full of flowers, with the sun shining down on her, she could not have been more beautiful than she was at that moment, standing on the sidewalk and staring at Peter with all the surprise, awe, and sadness in the world.

"Peter…" she whispered, unfathomable emotions welling from her heart at that one word.

Suddenly, the red and blue barrier between them was too much for Peter to handle. He peeled off the mask that had hid him from her for so very long, and stepped forward into the light. She gasped, as though she hadn't been able to believe the truth without seeing it with her own eyes.

"I - I'm sorry Mary – Jane. I should have told you, but I… I wanted to protect you."

She pressed her lips together, trying desperately to keep the tears under control, and stepped towards him. Putting her hand on his cheek, she shook her head sadly and whispered, "Oh, Peter…"

He leaned into her touch, forgetting for a moment the last time her hand had touched his face. He had missed yet another one of her performances, had tried to explain, and she had slapped him. That had been three years ago, and he had seen her only on billboards and posters until now. He gazed into her eyes as she spoke again, desperate to drink in as much of her beauty as he could before he had to leave her again.

"So those 'disturbances'… they were all real, weren't they? Only you weren't delayed by them. You were stopping them."

There was no need to answer.

"And… you said you were protecting me, by not telling me. And you were protecting me again by…"

She sobbed, and removed her hand. His face felt oddly cold without it.

"… by refusing to love me."

He looked down, blinking furiously, and nodded shortly.

"Yes. I… would never have forgiven myself if one of my enemies found out about you and… hurt you."

She grabbed his chin and pulled his face up until his eyes met hers. They were glinting with anger.

"And you never thought to let me in on this decision?" she snapped, and Peter flinched. "I'm a grown woman, I can decide whether or not I want to be in danger to be with the man I love! Oh, Peter!"

And she kissed him. The young man froze, his mind in overload. What was going on?

Oh God, I'm kissing a married woman. A woman with a husband and a newborn child at home.

And before he could even fully realize what was happening, he pushed her away. He stepped back quickly, the hurt look on MJ's face forever burned into his memories.

"I'm sorry Mary – Jane," he apologized for the second time that night. "But I just can't do this. You – you have a husband. A child. A family who loves you and needs you. I can't be the cause of their pain."

He picked up his mask and slipped it over his head as Mary – Jane looked on in disbelief.

"We had our chance MJ. Let John and your daughter have theirs."

And he disappeared into the night, alone yet again.

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