Thanx for waiting. Had exams- urrgghhh (shudders). I didn't want MJ to come out as such an over-controlling pain- she's just overly- concerned for Peter, and not yet used to the whole 'superhero' business. And Pete's excuse was exhaustion.
Anywho, back to the disclaimer: I don't own Peter Parker (would I be writing this if I was? ), I'm not making any money from this...blah, blah, blah!
Jonah Jameson was a proud man. Or so he told himself, at least once a day. And in his opinion, there was a great deal that he had to be proud of- an excellent career, nice house, great salary, a decent barber, a son who was an astronaut, and a genius (much like his father), and a good wif…No scratch that-he was proud of almost everything in his life.
Right now, he was proud to be the editor and owner of the Daily Bugle. All his staff treated him with the utmost respect- then again; they wouldn't be here for long if they did otherwise.
Profits were up, there was a break in the perpetual Libel suits, and, with any luck, tonight's edition would be another 'hot-off-the-presses' success. As it should be…
So, when everything was going so well, why was it that no-one could explain to him where in the HELL was that kid, Parker? His secretary had called the reliable contact number listed in his employee records, SEVEN times, and to no avail.
Jonah wasn't going to lie- he was deep, deep, deep down… vaguely worried that something may have happened to the boy, that would make him so very late for a work appointment. And, after seeing him trudge into the office resembling an extra from a zombie movie on several occasions, it was a most definite possibility.
Not that he paid much attention to that- just as long as Parker was alive, his hands weren't broken, and he brought photos of that costumed miscreant; it was none of Jameson's business what the boy did in his spare time. Unless, of course, it was front page material, and if such an event ever occurred (of which he remained highly doubtful) he would eat one of his much-loved stogies.
Hell, he'd eat a whole box of the damn things- and good, expensive ones, too- if such a thing were to take place right under his nose!
Even after twenty years in the business, he had no concerns about his reporter's instincts having dulled in that time. If anything, they had improved a great deal since he had began working at the then small-time rag he now considered his home. His house was his home away from home, and if his wife had her way, he'd spend more time there, than at the Daily Bugle.
Jonah shuddered at the thought, disturbed by the notion of such long periods of close proximity with the woman- whose idea of Current Affairs and High Profile News was the latest happenings on her blasted soap opera. Unbelievable!
Of course, as the editor walked back to his desk from the stunning morning view (another plus in his life) of the city, and stabbed the remnants of his cigar viciously into his overflowing ashtray, he was also just plain mad.
No, furious would be a better word for the slow burn he felt in the back of his brain.
If…No, WHEN the kid eventually showed up (if he still valued his job), Jonah himself would lecture the living hell out of him, ensuring that he understood the responsibilities that came with being a photographer for one of the most prestigious papers in the city- waltzing in whenever he bloody well-pleased can, and would not, be tolerated. Especially regarding appointments with the editor-in-chief!
The youth of today- all worried 'bout appearances and money. No sense of responsibility or understanding of committment. Orwholly devoting yourself to something greater than the individual. It's all Play stations and bling-bling to them.
Of course, if parents would just discipline their kids from the get-go, instead of clumsily stumbling their way through raising them, we might not be in this position. Fathers teaching sons about the consequences of their actions- that's how it should be- instead of ignoring the whole damn thing, pret…
A polite cough from the direction of the door, snapped him out of his revere. Without bothering to glance up, he settled behind his desk and reclined back into the leather comfort of the chair.
When the second cough came, Jonah shot the man a glare that would have killed a number of small animals, before answering with an annoyed grunt of acknowledgment, curtly waving the intruder in.
Obviously, the man was either denser that rock, or misinterpreted the gesture, because it was after several seconds when Jonah realized that the figure had not, in fact, moved an inch from the doorway.
Repeating himself was not something Jameson did often, and for good reason.
"Well…?" The man looked decidedly out-of-place, as if unused to the frantic air of the outside bullpen- an odd characteristic to find in anyone in the likes of New York; where pushing through crowds was refined to a sport. Those who didn't know how got trampled rather badly.
"For God's sake, don't just stand there like a useless mop- Decide what you're doing with yourself and be quick about it." Jonah watched the man through a thin haze of rising smoke as he lit a second cigar, and brought it to his mouth.
Jolted into action, the figure practically flew into the office space and made a move for the chair opposite Jonah, when he barked again.
"Who said you could sit down?" On closer inspection, the ma…boy, Jonah realised, looked no older than eighteen, and he wondered how the kid had gotten past his secretary, let alone into the building.
On the other hand, the intruder looked more terrified of him than anything, and not cocky- but also naïve to the fact that he was seconds away from being forcibly removed from Jameson's office- the longer the kid remained silent, the angrier Jonah got, and the less likely it was, that he could reign in his temper.
The lad, currently under the editor's steely scrutiny- winced slightly, aware of the implied disrespect, and that, it was in no way a temporary lapse of manners.
Familiar with this man's reputation, the rudeness only served to remind the boy to get to the point- and quickly too, by the looks of impatience crossing the face of the man sitting opposite.
"Ummm….I'd like a job sir!"
Whatever reaction he had expected, after visualising this scene in his mind countless times, it certainly wasn't this- he looked on, concerned as Jameson doubled over from a raucous bout of laughter, and remained that way for several seconds.
As swiftly as it had begun, the coughing barks ceased, and the young man shrunk into the seat as once again, he was stabbed by the older man's glare. Silence enveloped the office, and finally, it was the young man who spoke again, unable to contain his unease as the seconds stretched out against his nerves.
"I'm a photographer, and I believe that I can provide the Daily Bugle with a unique visual perspective of life in New York." There, I said it.
With eyebrows raised high enough to reach his receding hairline, Jonah almost gave in to the urge to laugh again. Who the hell does this kid think he is? I'd better nip this in the bud before it gets out of hand.
"Listen, kid…"
"Uh, Samuel. Samuel Guthrie..."
The polite interruption left Jonah slightly out-of-beat, and rudely ignored it, to continue.
"Yeah, whatever! Listen young man, I don't appreciate being told what it is I need, especially by someone from your age bracket! I have neither the time, nor the patience to listen to every crackpot that walks off the streets with a 'unique perspective of life' to peddle."
"So I suggest that you get your insolent little butt out of this office, before I call security and get you removed in a less than pleasant fashion. Understood?"
The last word rose in tempo, and all but pushed Samuel out of the chair with its ferocity. Still, the boy was determined to be heard. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a folder and held it to his chest, as in his haste to stand up, he almost tripped.
"Ah, sir. If you'd please reconsid…."
"OUT!"
Eyes wide, the boy hurriedly turned, to race out the door, inwardly cursing himself for the whole embarrassing mess. So intent on his inner self-depreciating monologue, that he ran headfirst into the beautiful woman standing just inside the doorway.
Apologising profusely, the boy detangled himself, from whom he now recognised as Jamison's private secretary.
Oh wonderful! Completely mortified, Samuel wondered whether it was actually possible for a person to die of embarrassment. He bent to help the poor girl off the floor, catching briefly, the utter contempt reflected in Jameson's face, even through the thick veil of smoke that masked the man's head slightly.
"Miss Brant, wonderful timing. Please escort our young guest to the elevator. And make sure he leaves."
Straightening out an invisible wrinkle in her skirt, and shooting Sam a quick glance, Betty completely ignored the request.
"Actually, sir- I thought you'd like to know, I just called Peter's girlfriend, and she confirms that he is rather ill at the moment and won't be coming into work today."
If physics had, in fact, enabled death by embarrassment, as Samuel had previously pondered, then it would also stand to reason, that, after hearing that unwelcome news, Jonah's head would have exploded.
As it was, he face took on a dangerous shade of red. "WHAT? And how am I going to print the evening edition without a PAGE ONE PHOTO?"
Taking that as his que to leave, Sam was almost out the door when Jonah's enraged voice stopped him.
"Let me see that folder, kid." Suddenly hesitant, Sam paused before crossing the room to place the item still clutched to his chest, on Jonah's desk, eyes flicking between Betty's supportive smile, and the impatient glare of the man who had, moments ago, threatened him with bodily harm.
Jonah snatched up the folder, and for a second, Sam swore that the man's eyes widened slightly as he perused the photographs inside. Hopeful again, the boy straightened his posture, and tried to mask a smile at the rising excitement in his stomach.
Jonah couldn't believe his eyes: and had to concede that the boy was talented, and young- which probably meant he was inexperienced. Jonah's ability to bluff was another proud moot point, but even he recognised a terrible hand when it was dealt.
"Fine," gruffly, he resigned himself to the irony of the situation. As Sam's eyes lit up, he added, rather curtly "Betty, take him to Kensington and tell her we have a rush order on the Mackenzie piece, and to take the boy with her."
Exchanging a look with his secretary, he turned back to the window, as Betty led the grinning boy to the door. They were almost out when Jonah's voice whipped across the silence.
"Guthrie…"
"Yes, sir?"
"Screw up, more than once, and you're fired."
Betty noted the boy's deflated expression at that statement, and waited until they were safely beyond Jonah's hearing range before acknowledging him for the first time since their awkward introduction.
"Hey, don't worry. That's just Jonah's way of saying it." Pointing him in the direction of Kensington's booth, Betty settled back into the huge mound of paperwork crowding her inbox.
Nodding appreciatively, Sam started towards the direction he'd been ordered to, and then turned back to face the secretary, as she stared up at him, eyes dancing with amusement, at the boy's daze.
"Wait. His way of saying what, exactly?"
Laughing inwardly at the boy's apphrensive expression, she felt her smile widen, and tilted her head back playfully, to catch his deep blue gaze.
"Welcome to the Daily Bugle."
Mary Jane's hand was shaking by the time she placed the phone receiver back in its cradle. Hoisting herself out of the wicker chair, she crossed the bare cold floor of her apartment, the agitated knot in the pit of her stomach rising to settle in her throat.
'Officially freaked out' couldn't even begin to cover the wide expanse of confliction dogging her every move.
Arms moved, the kettle boiled; its high pitched hiss with the rising steam adding a somewhat detached feel to the scene. Walking back to the chair, mug in hand, her rational brain took time to add up the pieces.
He said he would call…He hasn't called…His phone's not answering…Work doesn't know where he is…
She'd lied for him- said it was the stomach flu or something else trivial, and the woman at the other end took on a slightly concerned tone as her voice wished for his speedy recovery.
You and me both! Right now, taking deep calming breaths, watching tufts of steam rise lazily from the mug she held in a near death grip, it occurred to her that, even with the phones calls, it was impossible for her to always know all of the happens, in the life of one Mr. Peter Parker. Doesn't mean I can't try!
As the heat bit into her palms, she hit a sudden painful understanding of how difficult it was for him. Being true to the responsibility of protecting those who can't protect themselves, but having to separate yourselves from those you love, for the same reason.
Rising, she realised that she'd just made a decision.
Grabbing her keys and her purse, she was out the door before even pausing to think it over.
Determination washed over all the bad emotions like a torrent- she pelted out the doors of her apartment building, with speed that even Superman would envy, and without any regard to her appearance whatsoever-waved her arms like a maniac and climbed into the first cab that stopped.
After instructing the driver to step on it, she settled back and prayed with all her might, knowing full well that if Peter was injured or worse, there wouldn't be a great deal she could do.
Peter Parker, either you are in a great deal of trouble, or you are going to be!
Back in her apartment, the phone rang and rang. As the click of the answering machine took over, a very familiar voice rang throughout the echoing silence.
"Hey, MJ, look it's me, Peter! Please don't be mad. I am sorry about not phoning earlier, but I had a longer…shift than I'd anticipated. Luckily the trouble was webbed up without problems, but I'm kinda exhausted. I'll see you tonight. Love you…"
Peter Parker: Never tempt fate. In the beginning, after everything that happened, with Harry, MJ, and Uncle Ben, I was quite ready to flip fate the big one, and tell it in less than eloquent terms, to kiss my ass. Unfortunately for me, fate and chance decided to get together, and kick me in it!