Chapter Ten: Science, Bitches.

Peter Parker was one of those dudes that everybody thought was a little weird. Not because anyone thought he was a superhero or anything, pft, of course not. Because he was always stepping out of janitor's closets, storerooms, bathrooms, and stairway doors looking extremely sweaty and out of breath. The campus security personnel would exchange their guesses whenever he came fumbling along.

One guard, leaning on the side of Columbia University's campus security office, crossed his arms. "I reckon he was having a wank."

His pal cocked his head in confusion and replied "What? Look at him. He hasn't had any desire for anything in his life. He was eating a sandwich."

"A sandwich? Why a sandwich?"

"What else would a kid like that eat? A burrito?"

The pair stared as Peter sprinted from the main building to the sciences department. The shoelace of one shoe was undone and whipped about wildly as he flailed awkwardly on his run.

"Yeah...you're right. It's probably ham."

"Ham and cheese. Plain white bread. Not toasted."

Peter's shoelace got caught in the steel grill of a bin and tugged his foot back. Of course, to the untrained eye, one would expect the unassuming man to fall over. But on the contrary, all that befell Peter Parker was a really weird forced leg spread since his left foot was stuck and couldn't step when it needed to. He sighed and hopped over to the bin and snatched his shoelace free.

"Totally"

We now leave the two unnamed security officers that will never be mentioned again since they were just a neat way to begin this chapter, and instead travel alongside Peter Parker into Columbia University's sciences building. And here now, true believers, witness another instance of the famous 'Parker Luck'; our wallcrawler applied for several colleges during his final months at high school. One of them was Empire State University, and another was Columbia. His classroom science teacher, Mister Warren, had recommended him as a lab assistant to an old colleague named Curtis Connors who conducted research and lectured at Columbia. Peter scored the job after a short internship and worked there for the remainder of his high school days. When he graduated, of course Peter was accepted into ESU and not Columbia. He worked on one side of New York, and studied at the other. Even with his super extreme spider powers, it was almost impossible to make it on time normally, let alone when a psycho wearing stilts showed up and tripped over himself.

Meanwhile, whilst you were reading that overly complicated exposition that perhaps wasn't entirely necessary but funny nonetheless because Peter having mildly inconveniencing stuff happening to him is funny and/or relatable, he came barging through the door to the genetics lab.

The first thing he saw was Dr. Connors, completing the preparations for the long-planned trial he and Peter were scheduled to perform today. "Doctor Connors...I'm so sorry. Something came up..." Peter sighed as he took his bag off, tossed it into the back room and snapped up his coat from the rack.

"Parker, I have a question for you. Are you serious about your work, or are you not? If I don't like your answer, I'll ask you to pack your things and get out of my lab." Connors said calmly.

"Sir...I..I'm sorry. I'm trying to...be here on time."

"Don't try, Parker. Just do it. My wife's convincing is the only reason I haven't fired you on the spot."

Peter's eyes fell to the ground.

"Get over here and do your job before I change my mind, please."

"Y-Yes sir!" Peter stammered, hurrying over to his employer who was tending to their samples.

Doctor Connors was spearheading bioengineering research, his prime goal being to use the CRISPR system to isolate and map the elusive 'early growth response' control gene and use it to repair physical injury. Other doctors and professors in the faculty were pursuing other avenues of genetic research, some focusing on fish DNA to achieve regeneration. However, Connors possessed experience in the field of reptilian biology and thus sought out to identify and source their regenerative code, and to use CRISPR to insert this gene into humans, effectively gifting anyone given the treatment with a regenerative healing factor. This may or may not be motivated by the fact that he lost an arm when he was a combat surgeon in the US Army or something, but he insists that it also allows human beings to recover from what could be fatal injuries.

If all of that just sifted through your brain because you were expecting some kind of magic needle injection instead of a long-winded attempt to keep at least one foot planted in real-life science, Peter would be disappointed in you. However, because stupidness is absolutely not your fault and is fine, this is the short version: Doctor Connors wants to copy paste lizard stuff into people so we can not die when certain shit happens to us, maybe even grow arms and legs back. Cool, right?

Right now, they were still working their way through biological samples of hundreds of different reptile species and isolating what was thought to be the EGS gene in each. As Peter readied the petri dish that held salamander DNA, he said quietly "Doctor Connors...thank you. I-I need this job...and I love it. It's my dream to be working in a lab like this, doing this kind of research. I won't let you down again."

Connors thinned his lips as he moved over to a tray lined with capsules of the Cas9 protein that would be introduced into their reptile DNA samples with the preprogrammed task of removing a certain code sequence. Seconds of silence filled Peter's heart with dread until Connors finally spoke. "...Look, Peter. You've been of incredible help on the project. Quite frankly, I would expect this level of involvement from a research partner, not an assistant."

Peter loved science. Everybody knew that. Everything from astrophysics, biology, chemistry, and hell, even geology made his eyes water. But, like the good Doctor Connors, Peter had a personal stake in this. When he first got this job, he wanted to understand the source of his powers, and to do that he needed to map his own genome. After doing so, he discovered that the spider bite he got slapped with only altered portions of his DNA. Whatever venom that turned him into a super spider boy was clearly perfectly balanced against the human immune system. It didn't give him extra eyes or arms, yet it also wasn't completely blanked out by his immune system. Instead, they both cancelled each other out and he became both at the same time.

After learning this, he realised that he himself was the end product of what Connors was trying to do; a human-animal genetic hybrid. And the odds of it working out the exact same way without an extremely calculated response was...well...pretty shitty. He was determined to help Connors get his arm back, and hopefully even save more lives in the long run once tests were complete. And, of course, perhaps...maybe...even use the data to perform the same process but in reverse; remove integrated animal gene sequences from a human system. Once again, for you people; cure himself of Spider-Man permanently.

Connors continued "But I can't keep paying you for not being here. If there's anything going on, the university has several counsellors you can speak to. I don't want to see you waste your abilities by being late, coming to work exhausted, and well, pardon my French, not giving a shit."

Peter tensed his brow. "I do give a shit, sir."

"Of course you do. Now shut up and let's do this."

Minutes passed in utter silence as the pair went from sample to sample, injecting the Cas9 enzyme quickly and efficiently. Connors was hoping to inspect each instance of the EGR code individually, and perhaps even integrate all samples in order to create a more reinforced and robust version of trials on mice.

Before too long, Doctor Martha Connors entered the room with a fresh batch of reptile samples for later testing. "I told you he'd be here, Curt."

Without averting his gaze and dropping his concentration...wait, there are now two Doctor Connors in this scene. Well, this means that after calling him Doctor Connors the entire time, he will suddenly now be referred to as Curtis. Now wasn't that a smooth transition? Without averting his gaze or dropping his concentration, Curtis remarked monotonously "You also told me you'd be back in five minutes. I don't suppose you use the same brand of watch as Mister Parker here?"

"Oh grow up. How are you Peter? How's your degree going?"

"I'm okay, Mrs. C. It's alright I guess."

Curtis rolled his eyes "You need some more self-confidence, Peter. No one likes a man who isn't sure of himself. Especially women."

"Really?" Peter pressed.

Martha laid the tray of petri dishes onto a nearby counter. "No. Don't listen to him. You sounded a little inquisitive there. Is there someone you've got your eyes on?"

"Martha, now isn't the time--"

"Curt? Shut up." Martha snapped. Peter blinked rapidly as he continued cycling through the organic materials. She continued by asking "What's the deal, Peter?"

"U-Uh...I like her. I'm supposed to be going out with her on Friday night?"

"Excuse me?" Curtis droned.

Peter arched an eyebrow.

"You're working. Here."

"What? I am?"

"Yes. "

Martha groaned in frustration "Old man, you are going to let this boy go on a date with his woman."

"O-Oh it's not a date and she's n-not my woman." Peter sheepishly interjected.

"Leave is reserved for unforeseen circumstances."

"Getting a date isn't an unforeseen circumstance?" Martha questioned.

"It's inadequate."

"Inadequate?" Said Martha, crossing her arms.

Peter set his current petri dish and threw his hands up "Do I need to call nine one one and report a domestic dispute?"

"Don't be ridiculous." The geneticist stated blandly. "A university lab isn't a domestic environment."

Martha, clearly not too pleased with her husband's behaviour, simply ignored his response and spoke directly to Peter. "Although he's never going to tell you himself, Curtis wasn't a straight arrow as you might expect. To be honest, you remind me of him. This situation in particular reminds me of how he snuck out of his base when he was in the army so he could take me to watch a movie."

Curt bit his lip and tensed his brow, continuing his Cas9 applications.

"What? Are you serious? He went AWOL for a date?" Peter whistled.

"Yes. He was quite the romantic. So, Curt honey, do you remember that night?"

"...Yes..." He sighed. "Fine. But we're getting through all these samples today, understood?"

Peter breathed a sigh of relief. It was loud...really loud. It sounded like a gust of wind had creaked through the building and punched him in the gut. Having to cancel his 'totally not date' with Annabelle would have been disastrous. "Y-Yeah, of course! Thanks."

Now, finishing one hundred and fifty samples in one afternoon would usually be fairly easy...but, as I'm going to mention for the fortieth time, Peter was incredibly late. He had lost a few hours of daylight and had to practically press fast-forward on his brain just to finish them all in time.

By some miracle he succeeded and left without annoying Doctor Connors any further. Don't let this brief exchange fool you, Peter had an enormous amount of respect for Curtis, and vice versa, but his tardiness was enough to test any employer. The fact that he hadn't been fired yet was enough to suggest that Connors was a decent guy.

Embarrassment still lingering over his head like a dozen grey clouds, Peter journeyed to the roof of the university building. He stripped off his loose-fitting button-up shirt and his jeans with the massive hole in the thigh...and no, before you ask, he wasn't naked underneath. You should all know by now that he wore his Spider-Man suit underneath his clothes as if they were some special kind of underwear; a full-body...muck covered one.

Upon pulling the mask over his head Peter stuffed the clothes into his bag, pulled it over his shoulder, and swung away. The streets were fairly quiet. Well, apart from the usual traffic trouble and verbal battles. Certainly nothing that warranted a super-powered arachnid to save the day.

He did, however, spot Annabelle skipping down the sidewalk with a bag clutched tight in her hands that read 'Midtown Kebabs'. She was grinning like a Cheshire Cat, and...humming? Yeah. Peter was close enough to vaguely hear it. So could the people around her who blinked in bewilderment as she passed completely oblivious to their strange glances.

It is important to note here that Peter Benjamin Parker was no stalker. He rarely had time to follow people around anyway, and even when he did it was usually some old creepy guy that he suspected of criminal activity. Even now, as he followed Annabelle at a reasonably unnoticeable distance, he was definitely not stalking her. He was just...worried about her safety. Kebabs were pretty popular nowadays. Someone might try and rob her of that five dollar meal. Spider-Man wouldn't allow it.

Apparently a thief was no match for Annabelle's own clumsiness though. Within the span of five minutes she had tripped over her own feet and stumbled onto the road. Her kebab bag smashed against the asphalt, but that was probably only a secondary concern compared to the truck that was only seconds away from hitting her. The driver tried to stop and the breaks screeched, but it was already too late.

Heart practically breaking his ribcage in half, Peter leapt into action. He pressed down on his webshooter with such pressure that he was surprised that he didn't immediately break it on impact, and the spindly rope-like substance stuck itself onto Annabelle's backpack. He yanked her backward, caught her before she could fall, and that truck zoomed passed only milliseconds later.

Annabelle's eyes were wide, breath hollow, and her entire body was tense with shock. A pretty standard reaction to, not only tripping into traffic, but being pulled back and barely missing an early grave. She could even see her own tombstone standing, lonely, on the other side of the road. She swore that she could. It was dark grey and read 'Here lies Annabelle Lee. Beloved student, I guess. She made literally no contribution to anyone's life. RIP'.

"U-Uh...are you alright?" Spider-Man stuttered, trying to ignore the fact that she smelt like toast today. He was so close that he could almost tell what kind of toast it was. The mask was in the way of that though. Suddenly, he regretted designing his costume to have one that covered his nose.

Annabelle gulped then turned her gaze towards him. She was wearing bright green eyeshadow like something out of the 80s. He swore she hadn't been wearing it earlier that day. "You're...The Human Spider..."

Have you ever been punched in the jaw by a bodybuilder? Well, this was much worse. Not only had she got his name horribly wrong, but she looked so confident about it as well. How was he meant to correct her when she sounded so certain? Seriously...she knew who The Human Torch was, just one member of the Fantastic Four, but she had no idea what his actual name was? That was a painful reality check that Peter hadn't needed today.

"Yeah...Human Spider, close enough." He shrugged, but he couldn't dismiss his dwindling self-esteem so easily. He couldn't even look at her after such a rejection. Instead, his eyes had flicked to the road where her kebab wrap had dropped...only there was no kebab inside at all. Instead, splattered all across the ground and being run over by a myriad of cars, was a bag full of cooked pasta. No sauce. No meat. Just pasta. "Is there any particular reason you were carrying fettuccine around?"

"Oh, it was just a snack." Belle answered as if she wasn't absolutely insane. She rustled into her backpack and pulled out two more kebab bags. Belle opened one of them, then took out a long piece of pasta and gobbled it down like a baby bird. She extended the remaining one towards Spider-Man as if it were potted gold. "Here. For saving me."

The webslinger stared at it in disbelief, but accepted her offer nonetheless. After all, it was food. Better yet it was food given to him by Annabelle Lee. "What's with the kebab bag?"

"They have foil on the inside to keep stuff hot." She beamed brightly at him; like the sun. Peter was worried that even his costume wouldn't protect him from being burned.

"Gee, thanks..." Spider-Man said, clearly perplexed about the entire situation. This was definitely the strangest way that anyone had thanked him for saving their life. He wasn't even sure how to react.

What is a man to do when handed a bag full of cooked pasta by his crush? It was one of the world's many unanswered questions. Perhaps the most important one that Peter had ever been faced with.