A/N: There are a few cameos of future villains in this chapter. Can you guys spot 'em all? Best of luck!

Web of Spider-Man
#2: Growing Pains Part 2
"Passive/Aggressive"

…

I've never had control, never been able to stand up for myself. When we were kids, you watched out for me, MJ. Nothing's changed, only now I'm not sure I've got anyone to back me up. Harry is…Harry. And you know me; I can't do it on my own.

My entire life, it's felt like I've been beaten down until there was nothing left but a pushover. I couldn't stop my parents from leaving me, from dying. I can't convince Aunt May or Uncle Ben to let me get a job in order to help pay the bills, and believe me, they could use my help. I can't stop bullies. Never could, I guess.

There's this guy, Flash Thompson—the primo douchebag. Picture the stereotypical tool in your head and that's him. He's not always awful, but when you embarrass him, or if you get between him and football, watch out. He's got big time anger issues. Still, an asshole like him never has to worry about being in control of his life. Least not till after college. McDonalds, here he comes.

I'm getting off track. Sorry. Again, this is kinda just me venting.

A friend of mine, she said something to me today that really stuck with me. 'Sometimes you have to fight for what you want.' And maybe you'll get it. That type of 80s movie cliché…and we've come full circle lol.

Sorry. Stupid angsty me back at it again. I just wish I had the courage to fight back. My issue is it's just tough to do that when you know you're going to fail. 'Sometimes you have to fight for what you want.'

I don't know. It's something for me to think about. And to make an inspirational poster of, haha.

…

The next morning, Peter stumbled sluggishly into the kitchen, too tired to feel much of anything. His uncle Ben, a 56-year-old man who'd grayed early and had eaten a few too many steaks in his heyday, sat at the counter, spreading jam over a slice of toast as he read the Daily Bugle. A post-read copy of the New York Times rested just beside him.

Hearing Peter enter, Ben looked up, smiled, and said, "Good morning."

"That's an optimistic view of it," Peter muttered to himself.

"What was that?" Ben wondered.

"I was just wondering why you still have newspaper subscriptions," Peter lied, opening the fridge to find no lactose free milk. He was, in fact, lactose intolerant. "At the very least you'd think you'd go digital. There's a lot less clutter that way."

"You know I'm not much good with computers, Peter. I'm old school. Always been and always will be. There's nothing wrong with that," Ben replied good-naturedly.

"Uh huh," came Peter's teasing response, as he fixed himself a dry bowl of Frosted Flakes. "And could you tell me what the dinosaurs were like again?"

"Watch out, son. You might give your old uncle Ben a heart attack with that talk," Ben retorted.

"Heavens no, I wouldn't want to have to race you off to the witch doctor," Peter said. "Then again, maybe his magic'll make you burn off a few pounds."

"Oh, I'll show you just what these pounds are made of, kid," Ben playfully remarked, drawing his dukes.

"Holy shit, I'm terri—"

"Language."

"Right. Sorry."

Just like that, their fun came to an end. Peter's 'cool uncle' disappeared and out came the surrogate father. His mood darkened again, Peter turned his attention back to his breakfast. Ben struggled to read the boy, and absolutely couldn't figure out what to say next. He opted to leave him be, and reunited with his copy of the Daily Bugle.

"We're out of Lactaid," Peter said after a few minutes of silence, as he neared the bottom of his bowl of cereal.

Ben reached into his pocket and produced from his wallet a twenty. He handed it to Peter. "Why don't you stop by Walmart on your way back from school? Grab a loaf of bread and some eggs while you're at it."

"Yeah, no problem," Peter agreed, taking the money. He moved to the sink to clean out his bowl and put it in the dish washer, but Ben stopped him before he could even turn on the faucet.

"Just leave it in the sink. The dish washer's broken. I'll get to that later tonight," Ben explained.

Peter placed the dishes below the faucet, but nonetheless turned around to his uncle to say, "I can fix it for you."

"You don't have to, son. I was a plumber for nearly a decade. It's no sweat off my back," Ben said.

"You work ten hour days. Let me help out, Ben," Peter pushed.

"No," came his uncle's simple, firm response. "Now, get to your room and get ready for school. At this rate, you're gonna be late."

Peter's shoulders slumped as he agreed with a reluctant, "Fine," before he left the kitchen.

…

When Peter returned to the kitchen, ready to leave, he discovered his uncle Ben had already left for work. An enticing urge crept into his mind as he looked over at the sink. He could fix it in ten minutes, tops, but he'd almost definitely be late for school. On the other hand, he'd be doing his uncle a huge favor. However, his submissive instincts kicked in, and Peter ignored the temptation, heading for the front door. He slipped his shoes on, and then left.

As soon as he exited the apartment, he overheard Anna Watson, their across-the-hall neighbor who had dyed her hair an unnatural shade of red, whispering with his aunt.

"…found another bruise on her cheek—oh, hello, Peter," Anna changed the subject, eyes widening in surprise when she noticed the boy.

"Hey," Peter greeted, forcing a smile. As much as he wanted to know what they were talking about, he suddenly felt very ill simply being in Anna's presence. He knew why. Mary Jane was her niece. So, he elected to continue on to school. "Sorry to cut this short. Gotta get going. Bye!"

"Have a good day! Love you!" May called after him.

"Love you, too, May," Peter yelled back.

"Oh, and next time don't leave your shoes by the front door," May added.

Peter smirked before he disappeared into the stairwell.

…

SWIPE!

Peter removed his student pass from the kiosk and entered the subway terminal. Down the steps he went, until he found himself standing amongst a thin crowd, waiting, like everyone else, for the next train down the Fulton Street Line. However, something caught Peter's attention as he lingered. A commotion had begun to brew just outside of the crowd. Three teenaged punks had surrounded and started teasing a vagrant in an army jacket, who had a scorpion tattooed on his neck.

"Stop grillin' them, kid, unless you wanna get it, too," warned a man beside him.

Peter ignored him. When the delinquents began to push the homeless man around, and Peter realized no one was going to do anything about it, he began to approach the thugs. The screech of a nearby train reached his ears.

"…you say your name's MacDonald? Like the restaurant? Give us your best Ronald McDonald, then! C'mon, man!" The lead thug kicked the vagrant, who cowered before him.

"Hey! Hey, stop it, will you?" Peter demanded.

The lead thug turned to him. He was a good six inches taller than Peter and twice as beefy. The brunet gulped, his confidence gone with the wind.

"Hey, bro, trust me—you don't wanna take it there," the thug said, flashing his grill with a smile. "We're just havin' a little fun."

The train pulled up beside them. Peter glanced at it.

"Go on, faggot," the thug pushed him back, just as his friends noticed what was going on.

Peter backed up another step. He looked between the cruel faces of the thugs and the poor homeless man, who was beginning to cry, terrified. Jessica's words came back to him, and Peter couldn't stop himself from stepping forward.

"Back off."

"This nerd's got mad balls," another of the thugs, who had a tattoo of a tear below his eye, said.

"We stop messin' with this asshole…" the first thug, Grill, pointed to the vagrant, "…we mess with you, you hear me? Your call."

Peter tightened his hands into fists and slid his backpack down to his right hand, ready to throw it away. Grill smirked, popping his knuckles. Suddenly, Peter used his bag as a weapon, smacking Grill with it. The thug fell back onto his behind, but before Peter could do anything else, Tear had tackled him to the ground. He began to beat him down, until Grill threw him off. Amidst the chaos, the tattooed vagrant ran away.

"This bitch is mine," Grill growled, preparing to slug Peter.

"GET OFF OF HIM!"

That was a new voice, and it sure as hell wasn't the last thug's, because he began to scream.

"Who the—FUCK! Crazy bitch!" Grill roared, backing up and covering his face.

Heart racing, Peter saw everything in a blur. Some woman was not only using pepper spray, but actually physically fighting off the thugs.

"Fuck this noise. Let's go!" Grill ordered, and the three thugs ran off.

After a few moments of agonized recovery, Peter made out a hand in front of him. He took it, and was helped up onto his feet. That's when he recognized his savior.

"Are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?" asked Gwen Stacy.

"Wh—no. How…?" had she found him? How had this happened? It was like a nightmare fantasy come true and Peter couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing at the moment.

Misunderstanding, Gwen answered, "My dad's a cop. He made me take self-defense classes before I turned 13."

"Thank you," was all Peter could manage before he had to pinch his nose and lean his head back to stymie the blood flow.

"Of course. I'm just sorry I didn't come sooner. I can't believe nobody else tried to help," Gwen exclaimed, exasperated.

"They probably just didn't want to be late for work," Peter stammered, for the first time noticing the train had already departed.

Gwen chuckled. "True…New Yorkers tend to have a one track mind."

Peter hadn't realized he'd made a joke. Was this going well? She'd laughed, right? At his non-joke…

The roar of the train alerted them to its rapid approach.

"Are you sure you're alright…?" Gwen asked.

"Peter," he said, assuming she was wondering about his name.

"Peter Parker, right," she said. "We're in the same Calc class. And you worked on the yearbook last year."

Peter felt himself nod, this quickly becoming an out of body experience. "Yeah. You're…"

"Gwen Stacy," she answered.

"It's nice to meet you, or, uh, see you, Gwen," Peter said, extending his hand.

She shook it, smiling. "Likewise."

The train arrived, its wheels screeching to a halt. As the doors opened, Peter motioned Gwen inside with one hand, still pinching his nose with the other.

"Thank you," she said, nodding with a smile.

Peter entered after her, and as they waited for other New Yorkers to crowd in, they remained silent. It was only after nearly half a minute that Peter realized what Gwen was waiting for.

"But yeah, I'm alright. Don't worry about it. I'll just…I'll see the nurse when we get to school," Peter managed.

"Oh, okay, cool," Gwen replied.

They both looked away. Peter knew he lost her when she pulled out her cellphone. For the rest of their trip down to Midtown High, the two refrained from speaking. Peter spent the entire time berating himself while he nursed his wounds.

…

Arriving at Midtown High, Peter and Gwen were in fact late, and had to go their separate ways as soon as they passed through the metal detectors and by the drug dog. The security guard nodded at them as they took their belongings.

"Have a good day," he said.

"You too," Gwen replied, while Peter said, "Bye."

Before Peter could make his way too far down the hallway, Gwen stopped him. "Peter…?"

"Yeah?"

"The nurse's office is that way," Gwen said, pointing in the opposite direction he was going.

"Right. Yeah, I was just going to…never mind," Peter stammered, before heading for the nurse's office. Class would have to wait.

"Bye, Peter," Gwen called.

"Bye."

…

A short trip to the nurse's office later and Peter found himself rather embarrassingly sporting a Band-Aid over his cheek, although his nose was thankfully unbroken and now unbloodied. Despite all the trouble, he still had to get a late slip. That was just lovely, because if he was late one more time he'd get detention, which would not only infuriate his aunt and uncle, but drive Peter up the wall as well.

So, as he entered English, Peter wasn't in much of a mood to explain why his face was lightly bruised and bandaged. Thankfully, he received only a surprised look from Mrs. Winterhalter, who greeted him but didn't bring up the subject. In fact, neither did Harry, and Peter sat down right next to him.

All throughout class, the two ignored one another. They made eye contact once, and quickly decided to never make that mistake again. Instead, Peter found himself staring into his copy of Hamlet, zoning out until he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

In the next row up, Hobie Brown had leaned forward and begun to unzip the backpack of the boy in front of him—Flash Thompson. Oh, this had to be good. Hobie subtly removed a small package from his pocket and slipped it into Flash's bag. What it was, Peter couldn't tell, but he imagined he'd find out soon enough.

…

At lunch, Peter did his best to avoid Harry, who had since begun to eat with Jessica's friends. However, he wasn't in any rush to sit alone, so he crashed beside Alistair, who had laid claim to a table in the corner of the cafeteria.

"So, Overwatch this weekend…I don't think it's gonna happen," Al blurted, mid-chew.

"What?" Peter wondered.

"I have other plans," Al explained.

"What?!" Since when did Al ever have plans? With literally anyone else?

"Calm down. I got invited to a party. You didn't. Sorry, but that's the way it is," Al said, very much unapologetic.

"You're going to a party?" Peter pushed, choosing to ignore the fact that Al had been invited at all.

"Just because I've never been to one doesn't mean I don't want to go," Al retorted.

"But we make fun of the partiers all the time. It's, like…I don't know. That's just not us," Peter argued.

Al looked Peter in the eyes, not so much furious as he was serious. "No, that's just not you. And only because you're not invited. Don't pretend like you wouldn't ditch me in an instant if you were invited to a party and I wasn't. The difference here is I'm being honest about it."

That shut Peter up. He didn't have a genuine response because Al was right. He and Harry had made plans without him numerous times. It turned out Al was far more socially aware than they realized.

As if Peter's life could get any more awkward, Jessica chose that exact moment to come up and talk to him. "Peter, listen, you and Harry need to—"

"Sorry, I've got work to do," Peter began, standing up, his food not even half-finished.

"Like hell." Jessica shoved Peter back into his seat, and lifted his chin so that he had to look her in the eyes. "You and Harry have been best friends for years. The bullshit that happened yesterday shouldn't be able to keep you apart, especially since you both said some pretty nasty things. Just kiss and make up already; this is getting ridiculous!"

"I'll apologize if he will," Peter managed, admittedly intimidated by Jessica.

Al snorted. Jessica briefly turned to glare at him, and he instantly quieted, sinking back into his seat, head down. She looked back at Peter.

"Good. He said the same thing. Come on then." Jessica pulled Peter out of his seat by his elbow and dragged him over to their table. A number of cute girls caught somewhere between independent and popular tried to suppress their laughter as Jessica stood him upright across from Harry.

"Harry, up, now," Jess demanded.

Harry begrudgingly stood up. He and Peter locked eyes, both still furious.

"Apologize, both of you," she ordered.

"You first," Harry said.

Peter cocked his head. "Yeah, that's about how I figured this would go. Fuck off, Harry."

As Peter turned away, Jessica grabbed his arm to stop him, but he shook her off. Realizing now wasn't the time, she let him go. Instead, Jessica turned to look at Harry, her eyes filled with equal desperation and rage. He merely shrugged and sat back down as Peter stormed out of the cafeteria.

…

Peter managed to successfully avoid Harry and Jessica for the rest of the school day. However, as he headed toward the exit, he caught sight of the two of them beside Harry's locker. He quickly averted his gaze, snuck into the crowd of students who were leaving, and pulled out his phone. Peter had done it to help himself blend into the crowd, but that didn't mean it had to go unused. So, Peter checked his email, knowing exactly what he'd find there.

Ned, the Crier's editor-in-chief, had emailed him with a reminder about what to submit for the portfolio and its due date, which was in fact their first meeting next Monday afternoon at 4 right after school ended. Throughout the rest of the email, Ned explained the difference between a staff photographer and a freelancer. The only major downsides to being freelance were that you wouldn't get your name in the yearbook, and you wouldn't be able to get press passes to legitimate, out-of-school events, which, Peter had to admit, would bother him. If he was going to work for the paper, he wanted to go all in.

"Watch where you're going," Flash growled after Peter walked right into him, his eyes glued to his phone.

"Sorry," Peter muttered back, as the two neared the exit.

Suddenly, the drug dog lost it. He barked viciously in their direction, and the security guard eyed them suspiciously. Flash looked between the dog and Peter, confused.

"Thompson," the guard called him out.

"It's Parker, not me. I don't got shit on me," Flash argued.

"Oh really?" the security guard said, stopping the line of outgoing students so he could lead the drug dog over to Flash. The dog didn't give Peter so much as a sniff, instead immediately barking at the football star.

The commotion had begun to draw a crowd. Flash's cheeks reddened as the guard motioned for his backpack. He reluctantly handed it to him.

"Son, I sincerely hope you're not dumb enough to make the same mistake again," the guard said.

"I swear to God, I learned my lesson. I don't got anything in there. Your dog's wack," Flash said, and he looked like he meant it.

The security guard sighed and shook his head as he went through the smallest of the compartments in Flash's backpack. From it, he produced a brown package—the same package Hobie had put into Flash's bag during English. From it, the guard upturned a bag of weed. How Hobie had gotten it into the school in the first place, Peter couldn't imagine.

"That's—that's not mine! I didn't put that shit in there!" Flash stammered, equally shocked and enraged. He turned to Peter. "Parker was behind me; he did it! He's tryin' to frame me!"

Peter put his hands up defensively. "I did nothing."

Except see the crime. He knew Hobie had left the pot in Flash's backpack, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The asshole deserved it.

"Right, this kid managed to sneak weed past me." The guard sighed. "Go on, Thompson. I know you've got practice. Enjoy it while you still can, because you can bet your ass Principal Davis is going to hear about this. I'm disappointed in you, kid," he finished, waving everyone forward.

Flash shook his head in disbelief, but nonetheless continued on through the metal detector. He snagged his bag from beside the guard and gave Peter one last furious look before he left the building. Uh oh. That wasn't a good sign.

As it turned out, Peter was right. The instant he stepped foot outside of the building, Peter felt himself get tugged away from the door. Other students eyed Flash, amused, as he tossed Peter onto the ground.

"You're gonna fucking get it now, Parker!" Flash roared, balling his hands into fists as he straddled the smaller boy.

"I didn't do it! I didn't fucking do it!" Peter cried out, struggling against Flash.

"Yeah, then who did?" Flash asked, slugging him in the gut. Peter refused to respond. Flash punched him again. "Who did?!"

"It was…" Peter coughed. Flash lowered his fist. The geek smirked. "…Captain America."

Flash roared with rage and nailed Peter across the cheek. It didn't matter. Peter wouldn't sell Hobie out. It would be wrong to turn Hobie in for trying to get justice for the hell Flash had put so many innocent people through. He deserved his punishment, whatever it may be. Flash had gotten away with too much for too long.

"I could get kicked off the team, you little prick! Was that your plan?! You trying to screw with me?!" Flash said, raising his fist to punch Peter again.

Peter spat out blood. "Sorry, but you're not really my type."

Before Flash's fist could make contact, the larger boy was thrown off of him. Peter was shocked to discover his savior was none other than Harry Osborn, who wasted no time getting the advantage. He kneed Flash in the stomach, causing him to collapse onto all fours.

"Every week or so, I stop and wonder, 'could Flash be any more of an asshole?' Then I see shit like this and think, 'nahhh,'" Harry quipped, before attempting to kick Flash on the chin.

It turned out he'd made a mistake by stopping to insult the jock. Flash managed to recover in time to catch his leg, which he then used to the pin Harry against the ground.

"You want some, too, rich boy?" Flash growled, his attention turned solely to Harry.

Peter quickly rose up onto his feet, and was about to tackle Flash when he heard a voice call, "STOP IT! ALL OF YOU!"

Principal Davis came marching toward them, his face bright red. "You three, to my office, NOW!"

…

It didn't go well. Principal Davis tore into the three of them, until at last Harry explained Peter was innocent. The bespectacled boy got off scot free, but the young Osborn heir wasn't so lucky. He had a day's worth of detention with the warning that if he committed any slight offense, even so much as a tardy, he'd be suspended. To make matters worse, Davis would call his father the following morning.

As frustrated and disappointed as Harry was leaving the principal's office, Flash had it worse.

"He's benched for the next two games. Christ!" Harry muttered.

"Right. That's the issue. Not that he got suspended for three days," Peter said, "Y'know that goes on his permanent record, right?"

"Record shmecord. Who cares? It's just an excuse for Flash to skip class. Missing the games is what will really piss him off," Harry pointed out.

"Watch your back," Flash had told them before he'd left. Peter felt hairs rise on the back of his neck just thinking about it. That wouldn't end well, he was sure of it.

"Listen, Harry, I just wanted to say…thanks," Peter managed, rubbing the back of his head embarrassedly. "You…you really saved my ass back there. Both with Flash and Davis."

"Yeah, well, it's the least I could do. I've been acting like such an asshole recently—"

"Me too. We both have. I just…" Peter stopped walking and turned to Harry. "I'm sorry, man."

"So am I," Harry said. He smirked and motioned Peter toward him, "Bring it in! C'mon, I'm not gonna kiss you. This is the best I can do."

Peter chuckled, but embraced his friend nonetheless. When the two separated, Harry produced his car keys and said, "Can I give you a ride home?"

"After all that shit, you better," Peter teased.

"Asshole alert! We've got an asshole over here, ladies and gentlemen," Harry joked as he led Peter toward the student parking lot. "Somebody doesn't deserve to ride in the fratmobile."

"Somebody shouldn't call his car the 'fratmobile,'" Peter shot back.

"It's ironic!"

"Oh God, Jessica's making you a hipster!"

"Fuck you, man!"

The two looked at one another, and then suddenly broke into a fit of laughter.

After letting it die down, Harry scratched his nose and said, "God, I can't believe I wasn't going to invite you to my party."

"So that's the party Al was talking about!" Peter exclaimed. "And fuck you, asshole!"

"'Fuck you, asshole,'" Harry attempted to comedically imitate Peter, but ended up sounding more like Mickey Mouse than anything.

"Are you really going to—"

"'Are you really going to—'" Harry imitated.

"Goddammit."

"'Goddammit.'"

…

Advanced Idea Mechanics, one of the fastest growing tech giants in the world, was headquartered in Silicon Valley with numerous branches stationed throughout the US. One such offshoot stood tall in New York City, but, because of its location, blended in with the sea of skyscrapers.

Inside one of its many impressive laboratories, a group of scientists in yellow radiation suits scrambled to prepare their experiment. Suddenly, the lab doors opened and in rushed an anxious thirty-something black man with a full head of curly hair.

"You're late, Stillwell," another of the scientists, a blonde man by the name of Nels van Adder, called to the new arrival. "Pull this shit again and Smythe will have your head. You know how important this project is to him."

"I know, I know!" Stillwell yelled, stepping into a 'bee suit' of his own. "Is the subject prepped?"

"Of course," van Adder spat.

Stillwell shot van Adder a venomous glance, but didn't waste a second he spent zipping up his suit as he said, "Dr. van Adder, while you may be my superior in age, I'd remind you that Dr. Smythe put me in charge of this project. You'll treat me with the same respect you'd treat him. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," van Adder growled as Stillwell slipped on the headpiece.

"Start recording," the younger scientist ordered. He moved to speak directly into a camera as one of the others turned it on. "Today we're going to attempt a…radical new procedure. We will be using a radioactive isotope to place the transgene inside the subject—what's this, 84?"

A muffled 'yes' came from another of the scientists.

"Subject 84," Stillwell continued. "Or, if you'd prefer, Subject 1 of the new trial. Our hope is that the radiation will help speed up the mutation of the subject's DNA, or rather the insertion of the new trait into its genome, and, due to the size of the isotope, prevent…abnormalities. In other words, additional mutations. So, with that said…let's get started."

Stillwell moved to a table in the center of the room atop which a glass box rested, while another scientist followed him with the camera. Stillwell motioned to van Adder, who handed him a small syringe. He then proceeded to stick the needle through an airtight opening in the box, leaving it just inches above a tiny off-white orb—a spider egg.

Stillwell took a moment to look at the camera again, then focused on the experiment before him, "We will begin in three…two…one—now."

I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! Personally, I think it's a bit better than the last, especially since we're finally getting to the meaty (superhuman) plotlines you're waiting for. Anyway, I'd love it if you dropped a review and told me what you think of this chapter and the story as a whole.

Onto reviews...

cabrera1234- It's certainly inspired by the movies, but my chief inspirations are the original run (Peter in this story acts kinda like a dick, at least to start out, which mimics his first few appearances in the Lee/Ditko era), Ultimate Spider-Man (my favorite comic book run), and my personal high school experience. As for other love interests, while I'm not sure harem is the right phrase, and Gwen and MJ will certainly be involved, Peter's gonna have a number of girls to contend with. Some you may expect; others not so much. There'll definitely be surprise additions. Just wait. However, don't expect every girl to fawn over Peter, and certainly don't expect him to date everyone he wants to. While I had girlfriends in high school, I got rejected plenty of times, as did most of my friends (and Peter in the original Lee/Ditko run). That's just reality. So, you can expect a fair amount of heartbreak for Peter as well. Good question, though.

denyz- Thanks for the compliment and thanks for reviewing!

Sonny Daye- Peter's going to swear as often as I feel is appropriate (vague answer because I don't know how often it'll be lol; depends on the flow of any given conversation). Teenagers cuss a lot in real life (in my experience), and while Peter isn't the sort of kid to rattle off a bunch of F-bombs, he's definitely not afraid to casually use a curse word or two. Glad you appreciate his struggle with depression and anxiety! It really is something that a lot of kids deal with, whether it's a chemical issue for them or not, and something I struggled with in high school (and still do sometimes). Plus, it just feels appropriate for his character, particularly given how he was written by Lee and Ditko.

Heart of the Demons- So glad you followed me to this title, and thanks for reviewing as always! I promise you'll enjoy this!