Author's Note: A brief one-shot featuring Norman Osborn, Jonah Jameson, and the fallout from Civil War #2. Next up: a coversation between Reed and Sue!
Enjoy.
The news came in just past midnight last night, which incidentally was the 24-hour anniversary of the passage of the Superhero Registration Act. Tony Stark was holding a press conference along with Miriam Sharpe, the latest shill for our friends in the District of Columbia.
And then Spider-Man showed up. And my world changed with the simple flex of muscles.
Click. Poof.
The sound of cameras going off with reckless abandon, as Spider-Man pulls off his mask and spits on ten years of established history with me. With himself.
My name is Peter Parker, and I've been Spider-Man since I was fifteen years old.
Noble, but stupid. As usual. Peter Parker. And now, the world knows who he is.
Once, he was best friends with my son Harry. Drug-addled and weak-willed, Harry died. And my world changed.
Once, Parker was dating a girl named Gwen Stacy. She was ambitious, smart. Demure. She was amazing, even I knew that. She was wasting her timewith Parker.
And then I killed Gwen, and changed my world. And Parker's.
We've been at war ever since.
And the landscape of that war has changed significantly. I figured out Spider-Man's identity years ago, and changed the world myself. And for the longest time, I was the only one of us who knew the secret. I used it to what I thought was my benefit, and his.
I wanted to make him better. Wanted to make him an Osborn, but I failed at every turn.
Because you can't change what doesn't want to be changed.
It has to happen on its own. And when it does, it falls to you to watch. And learn. And use it to your advantage.
I'm istting in the darkened office of J. Jonah Jameson, surrounded by thirty years of a career dunderhead. On every wall and every piece of open space there's evidence of his immense ego. So immense, in fact, that it almost rivals my own. The shades are drawn and the door is closed; its just early enough that no one will wonder why he's not in yet.
So when the door bursts open in typical Jameson fashion and he switches the lights on, I'm unsurprised at his slackjawed gawk.
Behind him, his secretary--a small little blonde number--drops her clipboard and picks it up a moment later. Even from behind his desk, I can smell her. The smooth and calming mixtre of Chanel 5 and Oil of Olay lotion. Certainly a secretary has a rough day that requires a tender touch. Especially if she works for Jameson.
Jameson's jaw hangs loose and his eyes study me closely. He's curious. Most would be scared, but then...Jonah was something better than "other."
"Osborn? What the hell are you doing here?"
"I used to own this building, Jonah. Don't ask stupid questions of a smart man."
"Smart man," Jameson grumbles and scratches his head. "Yeah,you're a real Einstein." He takes the clipboard from his secretary and ushers her out of the room. Closes the door behind her and leans on the two-drawer filing cabinet behind him.
"Well," I say and wave one hand expressively, "to each his own."
Jameson reaches his desk and knocks mypropped legs off the edge. "Get out," he says.
"You'll have to specify. The seat or the office. Because I can write you a check for both right now."
He frowns and takes a seat in the lounge chair in front of the desk. After a minute of silence and him staring at the floor like a scientist—like Mendell, so many years ago—he looks back at me.
"How'd you get out?"
"After that little stunt with Cage? Or the one with Octavius?"
"Octavius."
I snicker and lean back in his all-too-comfortable chair. Comfortable. Very much so. Beyond the bay window, the skyline shimmers and stares back at me. The city's alive today, and it's talking to me.
About Parker.
"Oh, I have my ways."
"Such as?"
My gaze shifts from the ring up to meet Jameson.
"Money," I say flatly. "And isn't that the only way these days? That, or a good lawyer."
"Or Tony Stark," he says. If he keeps up this dismal composure, it's going to make even me feel depressed. And I haven't been depressed in…a very long time.
Emily…
"What was that?" I ask, playing facetious.
"Tony Stark," he repeats.
"Ah," I patronize and smile. "I didn't want to bring that up out of the blue, but since we're here…"
"If you're here to buy me out again, then just do it. You'll save me the headaches."
I unprop my feet from the corner of his desk and roll the chair up against the hard oak of his desk. "Really? It's a hell of a non sequitur, and it's not like I wouldn't want to. But I'm tired of pissing money away on this place. I'm sure you understand."
"Yeah," he says unceremoniously.
"So I take it you saw the news too."
He looks at me heavily. Like he just woke up, or is in the middle of some heart trouble. So much for preconceptions about the unsinkable Jonah Jameson.
"I'd heard you fell on your ass after you saw the Parker and Stark Circus yesterday. I see your hospital stay wasn't too long."
"What do you want?"
"Oh just to talk." I check my manicure as I speak. Hmm. Cut too close.
"Then talk," Jameson says.
My eyes narrow, and I entertain a positively Grinchlike sneer. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"
Jameson slaps the desk hard. "Just say it!"
We lock gazes. And neither of us backs down.
"He just gave it all away yesterday morning with about as much fanfare as an invasion from Luxemborg. Why?"
"Faith," he wheezes. "Or something equally stupid." Jameson throws a tired hand in the air.
"Well," I say, slightly impressed. "At least we agree on something. But that's not why he gave it up."
Jameson sighs and sits back down. "Then what was it?"
"He's not afraid anymore, Jonah."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh you know what I'm talking about. He's been scraping for money since he first became Spider-Man, his uncle's been dead since then, his old girlfriend is…likewise dead. Looks to me like he's finally found a comfort zone in that miserable thing he calls a life. For some reason, it's those new Avengers and that alcoholic Stark."
"Why do you care?"
"You know the answer there, too, Jonah."
"Oh yes," he smiles. It's a fretful smile. "The Green Goblin makes house calls."
I smile, snap my fingers and point the index at him. "Sort of. Try again."
"Jesus what is it with you!"
"I just wanted to talk," I say. "You're the one who's in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Or am I just being mean again?"
His head angles up and dead, bloodshot eyes stare back at me. It'd almost frighten me, but then…I know better. I know Jameson.
"I'm ruined," he says quietly. "Ruined. Everything I've been working for is a joke. Overnight, Parker's turned this paper on its ear. I'm a laughing stock, Norman. Ruined…all of it."
"I understand your situation." I take little special effort to sound bored. Idle. Because I want to see him squirm, and I want him to see what life is like when they're all laughing at you. "Although I can't say I sympathize. Jonah, you're not ruined. Just…setback. Think about it Jonah: people started to believe what you were spouting a long time ago, and now there's legislation out there outlawing those heroes because of it. Because you stuck to your guns through hell and brimstone and even a corporate takeover."
"Which you were responsible for." There's no mercy in his voice. He's trying to be tough. Nobody out-toughs me.
"You're breaking my heart," I say.
He leans back in his chair, apparently calming down, produces a cigar from his breast pocket, and lights it. Offers me one, and I wave my hand to dismiss it. There are better ways to kill yourself.
"So what do you want?" he asks, sounding like his typical self again.
"To tell you why I'm here. I'll give you one guess."
"For one weird reason that's uniquely you, you're upset about this Parker thing too?"
I nod slowly. "You clearly remember that Kidder lady I bumped off a few months ago, yes?" He nods back. "Good. Then you also remember how close I came—how agonizingly close I came—to killing you're a-number-1 employee Urich, and that Jones lady. But they were stronger than Kidder ever was."
"Get to the point," he says, gnawing at the cigar.
"Maybe you should stop interrupting me!"
He recoils ever so slightly, the cigar trembles at one corner of his mouth.
"Jesus, you are insane."
I scowl and roll my eyes, if such a thing can actually be done. He's not even trying anymore.
"My point, Jonah," I say, my voice turning sour. "Is that I've known Parker is Spider-Man for years! And what did I do with it, aside from scaring the bejeezus out of him a few times, burying his aunt alive and getting his old girlfriend pregnant?"
"Old girlfriend?" Jameson asks timidly.
"The dead one!" I spout, and calm down within a second. "Hell, the last great thrill I felt was throwing Kidder into the middle of Central Park."
"And then Luke Cage arrested you."
"I got better." I smile. And hold my hands out in an offertory of self-praise. "As you can see. But I found out who he was the hard way."
"Is that so?"
"I created a substance that negated his marvelous spider-sense—the, ah, precognition if you will—without him even knowing. It was simply a matter of following him home after that."
Jameson stares at me for a minute. Two.
"That's it?" he says. "You break into my office for some heart-to-heart?"
And inside, something snaps. I launch out of his desk chair and throw his oak desk up on one side with a violent heave. Papers fly, his desk lamp stutters and sparks and dies a fiery death under the weight of the ruined desk. The action is enough to get me taking deep, angry breathes. And maybe it's the Goblin talking, but all of the sudden I really want to strangle Jameson. But I do the next best thing.
I kick the chair he's sitting in to the floor and crouch over top of him. Wrap my fingers around his throat and just hold them. My face feels warm with the flow of blood. I can feel my hands pulsating on his neck. Either it's me or its him. Don't care.
"That's it? That's not it! That was never it!"
"Then," he rasps under my choking hands, "What was it?"
"I was the first one who figured it out, Jameson. The first! Not Brock, not Dillon, not even Octavius. Me! And now everyone knows, and they didn't even have to try and look for it. He simply gave it to them, and now they're eating it up like some damn royal scandal."
I release the chokehold and stand away while he props himself up on an elbow. I straighten my jacket and tighten my tie, and I help him up.
"I realize now, I think, that I've been working on too small a scale, Jonah. Thinking too minutely about Parker and what I have in store for him."
"Aren't….aren't you the one Parker has by the throat three times a year?" he says and massages what appears to be a bruised sternum. "Why do you care about what happens to him? Shouldn't the authorities be coming after you?"
I smile. Jameson, the great diversionist.
"The government can come after me all they like, but they seem set on making things rough for the heroes. And I'm fine with that, so long as they stay where I can't get to them. And now that he's unmasked himself, it's put me in an uncompromising situation where they're going to want to steal what's rightfully mine."
"What's that?"
"The duty to be his tormentor, Jonah." I say it dismally. Frankly. "Everyone knows who Spider-Man is now. Everyone's going to want a piece of the pie. I can't allow that."
Jameson frowns and his eyes search the room, as if looking for answers. When he comes back to me, he says simply, "Norman?"
"Now," I say with a sigh. "I'm sorry I brought you into this. I've got business in Brooklyn later, but your secretary already has a card with scrambler lines where I can be contacted—privately. When you hear anything more about Parker, call me at the numbers listed. There are three, for redundancy's sake."
Jameson rubs his head again, and I throw the door open to leave. But then I decide to give him a final thought.
"You know all those people I killed?"
He nods. Slowly.
"It will be interesting to see what your…ideological friends in SHIELD and Washington make of that when they decide to canonize Mr. Parker."
I turn to leave, and I'm no sooner out of the threshold when I hear Jameson calling after me.
"What will you do, Norman?"
"The only sensible thing a homicidal maniac can do. Good-bye Mr. Jameson."