Chapter One
Mary Jane turned, saw the Green Goblin advancing toward her, and screamed. The Goblin chuckled menacingly, the effect ruined by his quick glance at the script. "Ah—right. Drop your weapon, Agent Amberly. Resistance is futile!"
"Cut, OK, hang on there, Jim—"
"Tim—"
"Sorry. Look, we need you to reach your mark—here—by the time you say the last word."
"Won't part of my face be blocked?"
"You're going to be wearing a mask, Tim." Jon Riebeau, the director, was amazingly patient. He had to be. They were running out of actors willing to take this part. "So you've got to make your body language menacing. You want to kill this woman! You're confident, scary!"
While Riebeau coached Tim, MJ leaned against a nearby car and opened her script. They had a couple of weeks to work on the first scenes to be filmed while the set designers finished up, then a short break, then the next few scenes. It was bizarrely unlike acting in a play, where you had a chance to learn your character and get into her skin as you followed her through the plot. Here, none of the action was in order, leaving Mary Jane uncertain what the movie would be like when it was all put together. Except for one thing—she knew Peter would hate it.
"Resistance is futile!" growled Tim.
Corny. Well, they got the Green Goblin's character down, except cheesy lines are a lot scarier coming from a murderer, MJ thought wryly. Peter had been worried about whether re-living even a distorted version of those terrifying events almost three years ago might be hard for MJ to take. She still had nightmares occasionally about that night on the bridge. As it turned out, movies in progress weren't remotely realistic. Tim, wearing a T-Shirt advertising some band called Dingoes Ate My Baby and ripped jeans, was standing on the street-like platform of a half-built set that would eventually look something like Times Square. A crane suspended a plywood balcony overhead and staff hurried around pushing fake walls and huge bluescreens into place. Hardly the stuff of nightmares.
"MJ!" Riebeau yelled at top volume. At first, Riebeau's constant shouting had made her nervous, but eventually Mary Jane got comfortable with the director's bombastic style and stopped jumping every time he called her name. Now, she grabbed her water bottle and took a long drink before heading over. If she was going to be screaming and running for the next couple of hours, she didn't want her throat to get dry.
Just as she reached the edge of the platform, a loud crack echoed through the sound stage. The crane, it's arm reaching into the shadows of the high ceiling, shuddered as its cable inexplicably snapped. The broken strand slid around the pulley with a whining squeal and the plywood balcony dropped like a rock. Sharp splinters went flying everywhere. Suddenly, stage hands were calling out and running to where Tim was lying motionless under boards painted to look like granite.
"Chris, call an ambulance," Riebeau snapped at the producer. He'd already reached Tim and was gingerly trying to clear away the debris.
"It's the Goblin," Peggy whispered. MJ turned to see her make-up artist standing beside her, a look of terror on her spotty face. "He's cursed us, the whole movie is cursed."
"Don't be silly," MJ snorted. "It's just an accident. Look, Tim's getting up—he's going to be OK." Riebeau helped Tim to his feet and helped him hobble toward the dressing rooms.
"Yeah," Peggy said, eyebrows arched. "It's just another accident."
Peter sat on the edge of Betty's desk, fiddling with the settings on his camera. Betty was on the phone, her voice getting louder every minute.
"Look, I'm at work—no, look, we can fight about this lat—would you just drop it? Fine. Fine, whatever." Slamming the receiver into its cradle, Betty closed her eyes and dropped her head into her fists.
"You okay?"
"Do you ever get into stupid fights with your girlfriend?" Betty asked, not raising her head.
"Any fight with my girlfriend is a stupid fight," Peter said, aware that a goofy smile had split his face at the thought of MJ.
"You're just too nice to be real, you know that?" Betty lifted her head, her eyes suspiciously wet, and sounded determined to be cheerful. "You've got to have an evil side. What's the dark secret, you a serial killer? Closet Brittany Spears fan? Never put the toilet seat down?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Peter mumbled at his camera. He was uncomfortable with the whole topic, and not only because his night job came immediately to mind. He couldn't help feeling that he wasn't being entirely honest, letting Betty think that he didn't ever fight with MJ.
Mary Jane was carefully not looking at him as he closed the script book. He stared at the cover, taking a deep breath.
"It's awful, isn't it." MJ said in a small voice, picking at the sofa cover.
"It's...it makes me look..." Peter stuttered, unable to put it into words.
"It makes you look like a monster. It has you working with the Green Goblin to terrorize the city and shows you as—like, some inhuman thing." MJ was huddled miserably on the couch, and Peter reached out to hug her impulsively.
"I'm sorry. I know you really wanted to do this," Peter said softly as they pulled apart, wishing she wasn't so hurt.
"What do you mean?" MJ had looked at him then, puzzled and already a little angry.
"You—well, you're not going to do this, are you?"
"Peter—this could be big for me, really big. This isn't some budget flick, this is a Riebeau production—I can't, you can't be serious." She'd stood up, mouth open in shock.
He'd taken a deep breath, forced himself to smile. "Then you stay with it. I didn't realize—I didn't think. I'm sorry."
That had been it, mostly. But the movie had stayed just under the surface between them. Peter tried hard to hide his nagging wish that MJ would refuse to be a part of it, and MJ was just a little too bright and cheery whenever the topic came up. Even now Mary Jane was hesitant to talk about her work on the film—and Peter had to admit, he didn't ask. He heard enough, with all the publicity that the studio was putting into the film.
"Hey," Betty said gently, putting her hand on his and tilting her head quizzically. "Did I hit a nerve?"
"Oh, um, hey," Peter blushed, "just wondering how you uncovered my hidden—"
"Parker!" They both jumped at the familiar bellow and Peter slid to his feet, heading for Jameson's office.
Betty grinned when Peter Parker rolled his eyes as he passed her, before turning back to her work. Like Robbie and most of the Bugle's staff, she knew Peter was dating the girl who had dumped Jameson's darling son at the altar. Everyone had agreed not to tell old JJJ, partly to avoid the inevitable explosion, and partly because everyone was betting on how long it would take Jameson to find out. The office pool had reached over two hundred dollars. Betty, against her better judgment, had picked 'never'. Peter was a sweet guy, and he didn't deserve whatever Jameson was going to throw at him when he tumbled to the situation. She hadn't been able to bet on Peter taking a fall.
Sighing, Betty started to enter the accounts. Maybe Peter would sell a few photographs today. He really made you root for the underdog.
There had to be a way to do it. Quentin Beck pulled at his lower lip and stared at the workbench. How did you defeat someone strong enough to hold up a tram with one hand? How did you take him prisoner and hold on to him?
Gas, of course—knock him out and keep him sedated. Quentin giggled and wiped his nose as he began to work out how much narcotic gas it would take to cause the right effect, density, coverage. Wait a second, how could you be sure that the wind wouldn't blow it clear, out there on the rooftops, before it knocked him out?
Heavy footsteps sounded outside his door and Quentin startled, knocking over his chair and uselessly trying to cover up his equations.
"Beck? You in there?"
"Uh, heh, well—"
Not waiting for an answer, Riebeau threw open the door to Quentin's workshop and scowled at his special effects chief. "Have you got that graphics test done yet?"
Baby stuff. Quentin shrugged, not looking Riebeau in the eye. He found the man irritating and demanding, but the pay was good. "Yeah, well, m-mostly." He wiped at his nose.
Riebeau rolled his eyes and strolled over to the workbench and snatched up Quentin's formulas. "What's all this—for the bridge scene?"
"Ah, well, no. I was working out—see, if the feds or someone really wanted to take Spider-Man down, you know gas would be—"
"Oh, please." Quentin fell silent. "Last week it was a working jet pack for the Goblin—" He stared at the floor mulishly while Riebeau lectured him yet again, "—just concentrate on what we need, for Pete's sake, it doesn't actually have to work—" Quentin nodded, hunched with his arms across his chest, "—as long as it looks good on film."
Riebeau paused. "And speaking of looking good on film, if that graphics test isn't ready to show the producers yet—"
"Oh, sure, sure," Quentin stumbled and knocked a pile of plastic body parts off a chair, before managing to maneuver his way to a computer console. "I changed what we were doing—"
"Heaven help us—"
"—and developed this new technique. I'm calling it holographics, take a look—" hitting a last series of commands, Quentin turned away from the keyboard just as set of lenses lit up.
Riebeau's eyes went wide as he suddenly found himself face-to-face with Spider-Man—a three-dimensional, motionless figure who looked as solid as his young creator. Quentin was grinning in triumph, and began explaining his project, the words tumbling out in his enthusiasm.
"Better than just an on-screen graphic, the actors can see and react with it—kind of a virtual actor. I've done film tests, it films just fine, after all film records light and it's made of light, it'll just need a little cleaning up post-production and look—" he took a breath and tapped in a new command, "you can program it to perform different moves." The holographic Spider-Man jerkily climbed up a non-existent wall and then clumsily shot a web, which sprang out of projection range and disappeared.
Riebeau frowned thoughtfully. "It doesn't move right."
Quentin gaped at him. "Oh come on! It's genius, so it still needs some programming work—"
The director cut him off, patting him on the shoulder. "Something to work on, right? Meanwhile, I think the producers are really going to love this. You did good, son."
"Thanks." Quentin had to grit it out. He really hated being called son. After all, he was twenty-two, and the best special effects tech in the business. "I'll get right on that movement problem."
"You do that. And give up wasting your time with all that other stuff—" Riebeau chuckled, "—the action isn't going to be real, you know. It's all movie magic!"
"Sure, Mr. Riebeau, I know," Quentin decided not to mention anything else he'd worked out. Just miniature models of course, but if he found the right materials, they would work. He was sure of it. Why not make it as real as possible? Wasn't that what special effects were all about? Quentin sighed.
"I'll get it done."
Riebeau was halfway out the door before Quentin managed to get up his courage and ask, "Hey, Mr. Riebeau?"
"Yes?"
"What about that guy who got hurt today—the actor?"
"Tim's fine, he just got shook up a little."
"Oh. I mean, if he feels he can't go on with it I'd be glad to stand in—"
Riebeau laughed, and Quentin's words faltered to a stop. "Look son, you're great at special effects but you're no actor. Stick to what you know." He sobered, and finished chuckling with a sigh. "It's getting to be a pain, though. Third accident on set—and then that photographer getting mugged. I've got to find someone to take his place for the leads' publicity shoots." As he walked through the door, Quentin heard him muttering to himself, "Gotta stop this run of bad luck."
Folding his arms across his chest, Quentin pouted.
The masked man burst out of the window, tumbled to the ground, rose smoothly to his feet and began to run. Sirens announced the arrival of the police, racing up the street behind him. He clutched a pillowcase to his chest, filled with cash and jewelry from the couple he'd just beaten up. They'd never seen his face, the black ski mask covering his features was his protection. All he had to do to get away clean was make it to the alley before the police saw him, hand his haul off to his partner, and pull off the mask. Piece of cake.
Head down and legs pumping, he ran full tilt into a hard surface. Dazed, he fell back on his rear, stupidly wondering who had built a wall in the middle of the street. He blinked up at what he'd run into and glimpsed a small shape that leaped aside incredibly fast. Before he could gather his wits together, he found himself hoisted by his collar and plastered with something gooey, pillowcase and all, against the wall of an apartment building.
"Hey, Spidey!" The thief craned his neck to see a teenage boy hanging out of a window above him. "Yee-ha! Way to go!" Other windows were opening, people leaning out and cheering all up and down the building. He followed their pointing fingers out across the street and was just in time to see a flash of red disappearing around the corner of a building. Then his vision was filled with a different kind of red flash as cop cars pulled up in front of him.
"Yes!" the teenager hissed. "I don't believe I saw him! Whoa!" He waved his fists in the air, cheering along with his neighbors.
As he was being handcuffed and pushed into a police car sometime later, the last thing the thief heard was the boy saying, "Man, I can't wait for the movie!"
A/N: Thanks for the great response on the first part of this! (Skip this bit if A/N's bug you.)
hazelle: Have you posted that? Sounds fun.
Jodi M., eliant, kaliflower: I ended up agreeing with you and re-wrote the first part—no more 1st person POV. In some ways it worked for me to get the character together, but it just became too distracting.
Jenn, Moonjava, and betty: thank you so much for your support, you make me feel good about my writing.
Starlight1534: Yes—in fact, X-Files stories were the first fanfic I ever read.:)
Kirayoshi: Awww, it's been done? I'll have to read the comics—after I finish writing this!
To everyone: thank you so much. I really appreciate the reviews and comments.