Hospital Room
Late at night. Dark. Peter sat a lonely vigil next to Aunt May's
bed, in and out of consciousness. He heard a soft tapping from the door behind him. He turned.
Kuri stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of flowers. Peter looked at her, then looked away, back at his Aunt.
Kuri came in, sat the flowers down. She bent over, put her
arms around Peter's neck, gave him a hug. He closed his eyes, almost couldnt't bear it. They spoke in hushed whispers.
"Will she be okay?" Kuri said.
"Maybe. Maybe not." Peter said.
Words flowed out of him, almost against his will. They spoke in hushed whispers.
"No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, the people I love are always... the ones who pay." Peter said.
"I been there. I know it feels like your fault. I thought it was my fault when my Grams died, but it wasn't. You're good to her. That's all you can be. You're good to everyone, Peter." Kuri said.
She gave him a kiss on the cheek, a soft, lingering one.
He turned and kissed her on the lips.
They met each other's eyes.
Kuri and Peter.
Miko and Spider-Man.
The only one knowing the truth was Kuri, as her eyes brimmed over with tears.
She was really studying him, staring into his eyes. Was there a flash of something else there?
"Something's... different." Kuri said.
She leaned closer, thinking, trying to place that look she'd seen before. Peter's face turned to steel, like a cell door closing.
"Keep away from me. People I love get hurt. That's how it works." Peter said.
He turned and hurries off down the hospital corridor, leaving a very puzzled Kuri behind.
Parker Living Room
Peter was standing in the living room of the Parker house where he had built a raging fire in the fireplace.
He was clutching his costume, bunched up in his right hand, staring down at it, tears streaking his cheeks.
He looked up, at the mantle, at a picture of himself, with Uncle Ben and Aunt May, taken a couple years ago.
He stared, he clutches his costume, his hand shook with the
agony, the indecision, the choice.
He hurled his costume into the fire.
The flames roared, the orange tongues licking up, consuming it, the sheer fabric curling up and melting, the stenciled spider outline warping and dripping down into the flames.
Peter leaned against the mantle, in unendurable pain.
Outside
Out in front of the Parker house, a dark figure in an overcoat stood in the shadows, just outside the arc of light thrown by a streetlamp.
The Dark Figure stared into the living room of the Parker house, its drapes wide open. The Figure watched Peter, still leaning against the mantle, the fire burning brightly in the fireplace.
The Figure waited, put a cigarette in its mouth, and clinked open a Zippo lighter He swatted a mosquito and unscrewed the lightbulb in the streetlight. All at once.
Guess who.