Author's Note: Thanks so much to htbthomas for being my first reviewer! And again, I disclaim any right to characters owned by whoever it is that owns Spider-Man...situations from the movie are also owned by someone else. Any scenes that aren't from the movie are mine, and I may or may not introduce new characters.

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I had felt so—indescribably conflicted once he had swung away that night. Elated, breathless, still tingling…and yet, once he had gone, feeling alone without his presence.

I had smiled up into the rain, watching him go long after he was out of sight.

And then I remembered. Harry! I really didn't want to spend time with the mundane existence that was Harry. But, we did have plans, so I went and met him at the restaurant, soaked as I was. He was really worried about me, he said. I had walked in, late and drenched, and he asked if I was all right. Still on a high, I smiled and said I was fine.

"How did your audition go?"

Audition? Oh, right. I had almost forgotten. "They didn't want me. Which was fine, because it's just a soap opera. Nobody worth impressing watches those anyway." Somehow, Peter's perspective on life was rubbing off on me. Always positive.

And that was all Harry said about me all night. Every word that came out of his mouth was about himself, his father, or both. By the end of the meal, I swore that one more word about the great Norman Osborn would make me throw up.

It amazes me how quickly one's mood can change, depending on one's company.

Thanksgiving was always a great time of year when Aunt May was involved. She had been inviting my family over for dinner every year since we moved next door to her. This year, we were celebrating in Harry and Peter's new apartment, and Harry's father and I were finally going to meet. Harry was incredibly nervous about it, and I couldn't imagine why. I mean, his father wasn't some kind of monster, and surely he would be supportive no matter who Harry brought home.

Apparently I was wrong, on both counts.

"MJ, will you stop goofing around?" Harry's annoyed voice broke through my thoughts.

"Harry, relax." I hurried to put the casserole to the table, annoyed at him.

"He's here," Harry said as he heard the elevator arrive and the buzzer ring.

"Are you ready?" Aunt May asked.

"Yeah," Harry replied for both of us.

I smoothed my hair and the skirt of my dress (which, incidentally, was black this time).

"Ah, Aunt May," Norman sighed as she opened the door, "I'm sorry I'm late. Work was murder." (Looking back, I realize what he really meant…it gives me shivers just thinking about it.) "I picked up a fruitcake," he continued, presenting Aunt May with a wrapped bakery box.

She smiled in a motherly manner. "Thank you, Mr. Osborn. We're so glad you could come." I was madly rearranging Harry's suit jacket and tie, trying to make them lie straight. We both turned to face his father.

"And who is this lovely young lady?" he asked. I put on my friendliest smile.

"MJ, I'd like you to meet my father, Norman Osborn. Dad, this is Mary Jane Watson."

"Hi," I said, trying to be friendly.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you," he said.

"Happy Thanksgiving, sir," I said. See, Harry? That wasn't so bad!

"Now, where is Peter?" Aunt May's voice cut in. "He'd better have remembered that cranberry sauce."

THUMP. We all turned to look upwards for the source of the noise.

"Oh, that's weird," Harry said. "I didn't know he was here." The sound had come from Peter's room, apparently.

Norman Osborn's eyes were appraising me critically. I began to get very uncomfortable.

Aunt May began up the stairs. "Peter?" she called. "Peter, is that you?" We followed her into his room.

We were the only ones in the room. "How strange," Aunt May said. "There's nobody here."

"Bit of a slob, isn't he?" Norman said disparagingly as I turned to go back downstairs.

Aunt May defended him. "All brilliant men are."

We all went back downstairs again. I wondered what took Norman so long up there, but didn't dare ask. He had started to make me very nervous.

Just then the door to the apartment opened. "Hey, everyone!" came a sheepish voice.

"Oh, Peter!" Aunt May greeted. Everyone stood and greeted him. I waved shyly.

"Sorry I'm late; it's a jungle out there," he told us, then quipped, "Had to beat an old lady with a stick to get these cranberries!"

Everyone laughed. Who knew he could be so funny? That offbeat sense of humour…sounds familiar, somehow, but why?

"Oh, Peter," Aunt May chided him, kissing him on the cheek in greeting. "Thank you, dear," she said, accepting the can from him. "Now then," she said, taking charge, "Everybody sit down, and we can say grace."

Norman shook Peter's hand as they found seats at the table. Across from me, Peter smiled shyly, and I looked back, feeling shy as well, although I couldn't figure why.

Aunt May, ever the mother, placed the turkey on the table. "Oh, it looks delicious!" I praised.

Norman reached his fingers into the casserole dish, apparently hoping for a taste. "Norman!" Aunt May scolded, slapping his hand as she would a misbehaving child. Norman's head snapped up, and I saw something in his eyes that chilled me to the bone more than that night in the rain without my coat had. "Will you do the honours?" She handed him the carving knife, which he proceeded to sharpen, almost menacingly, I thought.

"Why, Peter!" Aunt May exclaimed. "You're bleeding!" We all looked, and surely, there was a red streak on the forearm of his shirtsleeve.

"Oh, uh, yeah," he stammered, "I stepped off a curb and got clipped by one of those bike messengers." He seemed nervous, somehow.

"Well, let me see!" his aunt demanded, rolling up the sleeve. "Oh, my goodness! Oh, that looks awful!"

"No, it's nothing," Peter insisted.

She shook her head. "I'll get the first-aid kit, and then we'll say grace." She strode in the direction of the kitchen, continuing, "This is the boys' first Thanksgiving in this apartment, and we are going to do things properly."

Norman Osborn had a certain glint in his eyes, one I couldn't quite place. He pointed the knife in Peter's direction. "H-how did you say that happened?" He didn't take his eyes off Peter's cut. Confused and worried, I looked back and forth between them. What is going on here?

Peter looked a bit bewildered, too. "Bike messenger. Knocked me down."

Norman looked shaken, and dropped the knife, pushing his chair back. "Uh…if you'll excuse me, I've got to be going." It smelled of lame excuse.

"Why?" Harry asked indignantly.

As he pulled his coat on hastily, Norman continued, sounding shaken (although I couldn't begin to guess why), "Something…has come to my attention."

"Are you all right?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine, just fine." I looked at Peter inquiringly. He looked back and raised an eyebrow, shrugging slightly. "Thank you, Mrs. Parker, everyone. Enjoy the fruitcake." And with that he rushed out the door.

"Dad—Dad!" Harry called, hurrying after him. "What are you doing?" he asked angrily, out in the corridor. "I planned this whole thing so you could meet MJ, and now you have to leave?"

"I gotta go," Norman said. We could hear their conversation clearly from inside.

"Dad, this girl is important to me!"

"Harry, please," his father said dismissively. "Look at her!" I sucked in a breath. "You think a woman like that is sniffing around because she likes your personality?" I looked up at Peter through my lashes. I couldn't completely meet his eyes, but I saw the compassion in them. As usual, he looked worse than I did about the whole thing.

"What are you saying?" I heard Harry's voice ask.

"Your mother was beautiful, too. They're all beautiful, until they're after your trust fund like a pack of ravening wolves!" He was practically growling by this point. I blushed at the implications.

(And if he saw how I ended up, well, he'd have to know that wasn't true.)

"You're wrong about her, Dad," Harry said quietly, without much conviction.

Norman took on a know-it-all tone. "A word to the not-so-wise about your little girlfriend:" he said menacingly, "Do what you need to with her, then broom her—fast."

I lowered my head, fighting back the tears, as the elevator screen slammed shut. Peter sighed, squirming uncomfortably on my behalf.

Then something occurred to me. Where have I heard that raspy, angered voice before? He hadn't sounded that way until he was muffled by the closed door, and angry…it sounded so familiar. Dammit, why does it sound so familiar?

Harry walked back in. "Thanks for sticking up for me, Harry," I said sarcastically.

"You heard?" he asked as I grabbed my coat.

"Everyone heard that creep!"

Harry looked affronted. "That 'creep' is my father! Alright? If I'm lucky, I'll become half of what he is." If you're lucky, I thought angrily, you won't be anything like him. (And I didn't know how true that would turn out to be.) "So just keep your mouth shut about stuff you don't understand!"

Excuse me. What I don't understand? Why is it, Harry, that you can defend your frightening, overbearing father to me, but you can't defend me, your insecure, shy girlfriend to your father? I understand perfectly, Harry. It's over. It's just too bad I can't actually tell you that right now, because I might rip your head off.

"Harry Osborn!" Aunt May rebuked, indignant on my behalf.

"I'm sorry, Aunt May," I said sadly as I left. Peter gazed after me, just as angry as his aunt.

Why is it that the Parkers are like my only family? Stick up for me through boyfriend troubles, comfort me whenever I have problems, and the only decent role model I ever had was Ben Parker…too bad I can't just adopt them.

Mary-Jane Parker. Doesn't sound too bad.