I'd like to thank all the readers, and I hope they had wonderful Christmas. As always please tell me if you like this story, and if you've got any idea then please let me know.
2.
Peter looked at the small fortune he'd picked up from the last few nights. Scattered around his room were money bags, some of them already empty with the money arranged into neat stacks with small glittering diamonds set into rings and necklaces nearby. Some of the money would be slowly trickled into the Parker accounts to pay off the bills like the rest had already, but it would have to be done carefully to avoid suspicion. He would tell the bank he was doing a paper delivery job or delivering pizzas in case they asked, hopefully he'd get a proper part time job to help launder the cash into his accounts, but he would cycle the money carefully and slowly. But some of the money would be going into small envelopes and sent to Heather to help her and Louise. The jewelry... Peter wasn't sure about, he'd have to find the pawn shops; he knew one or two in Manhattan, but he would need to be careful with where he went. At some point, if he continued his career as a cat burglar, Peter would have to find a fence or two for the goods. But he would keep one or two in hiding somewhere for a rainy day. For now, he decided to clear everything up and deal with it in the morning.
Once in bed, Peter reflected on how things had been going and what his future plans would be. Since donning webs and mask again, Peter had managed to successfully rob a number of places, and used his spider powers to escape capture, and any of his cash proceeds either went into storage for later or were used to pay for the essentials; electricity, water, gas, food, and Aunt May's hospital bills. Some of the money had even found its way in envelopes and pushed through the door of Heather's house. Peter had had to listen to Heather on the rare occasion he saw her nowadays - she was either too busy studying or caring for her mother - wonder who had done it, but it was clear she would take the money. He had seen Heather's mother prior to Luigi firing them, and compared to the woman lying in bed now, there was a significant improvement to her condition now just like there was with Aunt May's care. It still galled Peter that some doctors didn't take the Hippocratic oath seriously, and simply saw their charges as banks to bleed dry.
Peter shook his head to focus on what else he had to do. The most important thing would be to upgrade his equipment; his utility belt needed more compartments for lockpicks, a torch, some spare cash. But to do that he would need to find a way to modify his webshooters to make them more efficient, so he didn't need to give the majority of his utility belt space to the storage of new cartridges. He'd look into that soon. For the heist he'd just been on, Peter had gotten shot at by a couple of cops. They'd picked him out, especially in the dark, so that meant a new costume as well, preferably a black one was in order. The good news was he had gotten lucky, depending on his spider sense and agility to avoid the shells, but he couldn't depend on his luck and spider sense indefinitely. Sooner or later someone would put a bullet in him, and he would have a hard time getting it out and healing the wound. Hospital staff were instructed under the law to report bullet wounds, so if he was shot by anything he would find it hard to work up a convenient story.
As he lay in bed once his plans had been sorted through - there'd be plenty of time in the morning - Peter couldn't help but feel that deciding to pursue a life of crime was better than doing nothing. His hauls had certainly stopped the problems with the bailiffs and the banks though pushing the money into his account was going slowly, but he also needed to do something about Aunt May.
One thing was certain; Peter was sure he could juggle his new dual identity, he wasn't going to be stressed trying to attend his classes at college, and he wasn't going to be late for anything like a date. But Peter did feel that, as Spider-Man, he would and could save people from something like a fire, or from a car about to run them over, but only that. He wasn't going to fight anyone. A few good deeds would go a long way.
But Peter knew he couldn't live on crime alone. If he wasn't careful then people would begin to notice the fact he was getting money in, and eventually it would get out he wasn't just a burglar, but Spider-Man as well.
The next few days, he and Heather scoured the newspaper job columns at her place after he'd phoned her one day and told her he was looking for work and he was hoping they could do it together, looking for work that was better than Luigi's anyday of the week. They kept away from full time work because they couldn't sustain it with their lives as school and college students and time they could care for their sick relatives. Eventually they became part time cleaners, and they thanked god for how flexible their new jobs were, and because they had both applied for the same location they worked together.
Because he was now a college student, Peter was able to ask for more hours than Heather could work, and as a compromise he split his pay with her so then she could receive much the same amount he did, but she wasn't happy because that money should go into his own needs. It had resulted in a rare argument with Heather, and eventually they compromised again by Peter agreeing to give her only a small amount and just that. But realistically, Peter didn't need to give her any money from the cleaning job at all; the envelopes he pushed through the letterbox of her home were filled with more than enough cash to help her and Louise. But Heather didn't know his involvement in that little 'mystery.'
All in all the pay from their new jobs weren't perfect, but it was much better than what Luigi had given them, and it was much easier for them stress wise. The cleaning company just gave them a place and let them get on with their job.
In the meantime, Peter collected the newspaper stories and articles screaming about Spider-Man, and by now there were quite a few. It hadn't taken Jameson long to crucify his alter ego, and the editor proved his long memory when he continuously repeated in dozens of his recent editorials about seeing Spider-Man's entertainment acts, and how it would only be a matter of time before he started robbing for money, and he was leading the charge of the newspaper editors throughout New York decrying Spider-Man's actions.
When Peter had first read the editorials about how Spider-Man had been simply biding his time before committing crimes for cash, he had been angry. How dare this jumped up editor who knew nothing about him make up half truths without considering what the man under the Spider-Man mask had gone through, but now he was indifferent. Contrary to what Jameson probably thought, Peter wasn't trying to get rich by theft; he was trying to ensure his last living family and his friend and her mother survived. Where was the harm in that? But Peter had to admit Jameson had good points; yes, he had entertained people, and yes he had become a criminal recently, but Jameson had either not noted or seen the time factor. It had been a full year since Spider-Man had entertained anyone, and surely if he had wanted to become a criminal so soon he would've done it shortly after making his first appearance? But the man had conveniently ignored that bit, and the public had followed like sheep would follow a shepherd.
The thought was banished quickly; Peter or Spider-Man were unlikely to encounter Jameson any time soon, though the idea of robbing the editor was quickly ruled out. The last thing he needed would be to be the cause of a rainforest being decimated because of the angry editorials as a consequence.
Peter had also noticed Uncle Ben's speech about responsibility had seemed to disappear. Was his Uncle's spirit pleased by what he was doing? No. Ben Parker wasn't the type of man to condone robbery, but truthfully Peter no longer cared. The weight he had been feeling for so many months deciding what to do with his powers and trying to support and care for Aunt May had faded, and he was enjoying the rush as he stole from jewellery stores and from vans. For the last year he had been responsible for half of the already meagre income for the family, and that was more important that fighting a few muggers and earning costumed supervillains wearing stupid tights for himself. Now he knew the advice his Uncle had given him had many meanings he no longer let it bother him. But part of Peter wondered, given Ben's love for comic superheroes, if his uncle would've been happier if he had used his powers the same way the Fantastic Four and other so called costumed heroes used theirs in real life. No. The thought of using his powers and getting nothing but hatred back was something Peter was used to already as Peter Parker, and not happy to get anymore as Spider-Man.
He'd been right; responsibility could mean anyone providing it wasn't just to himself. He was putting money, both legal and illegal into the Parker account, and he was paying for his Aunt's treatment, and he was giving his best friend money...
Peter smiled as he thought once more about Heather. Though she was clearly mystified by the money coming into her home, she was at least putting it to good use. He'd seen how much better the quality of food Heather was bringing in now, it was a step up from the slop she'd been forced to endure during the time they'd worked together at Luigi's.
As Peter sat next to his Aunt for one of his visits when he wasn't in college or at work, he could see some improvements already to her outward health. Her skin looked much healthier than it had before, and she seemed less frail than that fateful day he and Heather had stopped working for Luigi.
Peter wondered what had happened to the little fool, but shook his head. Luigi didn't matter anymore, in fact Peter was tempted to walk up to the little man and thank him from the bottom of his heart; if he hadn't fired Peter and Heather, then they wouldn't have found better work, and Peter wouldn't have become Spider-Man again or made his choice. For the past year Peter had tried not to think of his alter ego, which understandably brought back memories of Uncle Ben and his failure to act, but also because he simply didn't have any idea what he should do with his powers at the time. Hero work was a definite out; the way the Fantastic Four acted after that incident, the editorials Jameson and virtually every single paper in town that followed and the hate directed to certain superheroes made the whole thing truly unattractive. Truthfully, Peter had deep down realised that, when the time came, he would choose to become a criminal; when he'd originally thought about it when faced with the dilemma of how he and Aunt May were going to cope without Uncle Ben's solid presence, the thought had been instantaneous and badly thought through, but he'd given himself a year to decide what to do. Now he had made his decision he felt wonderful, but as long as he kept a cool head - a definite need for a thief - he wouldn't lose anyone like Aunt May or Heather.
"I've got to get to work soon, Aunt May," Peter whispered after he checked his watch, "I know cleaning work's not the type of job you would've wanted for me, but truthfully its ideal; better and more flexible working hours, slow, quiet and dependable. I don't have to breathe cigarette smoke or listen to the raucous laughter like I did in Luigi's, or see disgusting scum touch Heather or other waitresses up. Anyway, the pay is consistent and worth it. You'll get better soon."
He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek before picking up his coat and left the room. He asked his regular questions to the nurses before he left and headed for work. When Peter signed on at the cleaning site, he saw from his watch he had three hours to kill at work before he had to get to college. When Heather had suggested he drop out of college, Peter had in truth been tempted to stop going, or better yet drop out now and reapply later when his old schoolmates had left and finished their higher educations. College was just like High School in Peter's mind, except the place was larger and there was a part time schedule for students like Peter to attend, which he took advantage of to earn the cash he and his aunt desperately needed to survive. But with people like Mary Jane and Flash Thompson attending there, Peter found the place too much like school for his own comfort. It was clear Flash was only there to get a better chance of becoming a pro football star, though truthfully Peter had no idea why the brainless jock was attending, and frankly didn't care just like he didn't care about Mary Jane's vocation. Peter never spoke to him or his group of brainless lackeys, and if, in the future, someone tried to set up a reunion for his old school friends, he would probably refuse to consider going.
The thought of school reunions made him frown, earning him one or two looks which he didn't notice. He'd never understood the point of them; most of the people who were going were people who'd bullied or annoyed you, that outweighed how many friends you had. In Peter and Heather's case, that was too many people. Besides, Peter honestly had no intention of meeting any of his old schoolmates; it wasn't as though he was close to them, and they didn't think much of him. Would Peter really want to know, in 30 odd years time, what they'd done with themselves, whether they were successes or not? (Rhetorical question.) Of course he didn't, he'd stopped caring what had happened to his schoolmates long ago. He didn't care about the past now, just the future. School reunions were not part of his future plans.
Fortunately, Peter rarely saw Flash, and Peter thanked his lucky stars that his extracurricular activities meant he was too busy to care what the jock was doing with his life, the differences of their respective educations made it easier to avoid one another, and even if they did meet it was usually when the pair of them were rushing in different directions. The idiot boy sometimes guffawed at the grief Peter was going through like it was the most hilarious thing he had ever heard, though he did tone it down a little bit at times, but that didn't make Peter like him or think Flash was mellowing out. He wasn't stupid enough to believe that. Flash believed he was cool because of his school football star image, that his cool haircut and jokes made him look and sound good and cool as well, but Peter didn't want anything to do with him.
Mary Jane Watson had quickly risen to be part of the popular girls in the college, but like Flash she really saw or even had contact with Peter. It was different with Mary Jane than it was with Flash; unlike the jock who regularly went out of his way to verbally attack Peter, Mary Jane just looked at him as though she didn't know him.
That suited him just fine, because he had no real desire to know her.
As Peter worked on his knees, scrubbing the floor as Heather worked silently on wiping down the surfaces. "How's your mum?" Peter asked as they entered the second hour of their three hour shift at the site.
"She's much better, thanks," Heather replied, not bothering to look at him as she was concentrating on her own work, "she's a bit put out that I've told the school I'm taking care of her, but after the Principal came round to my house and promised to deliver all my work to catch up, she's much happier. She was worried I was missing out on my future."
Peter looked up and smiled. This was a recent development; after realising how little time she had for work, Heather had spoken to the Principal of her school and told her she had to take full time care of her mother until she was sufficiently better to take care of herself. Fortunately the Principal and her deputy were both aware of the problem, and they had done their level best to give Heather much needed leeway, and they had visited the family home and saw for themselves how dedicated Heather was. She showed them that when she was not working or looking after her mother, she was also studying.
They did ask why she didn't hire a carer, but the teenager had told them she didn't trust carers; she had checked the reviews of some companies, and found they were either indifferent to the needs of the individual, or they stole from them. It was amazing how many companies received black marks by the media. Peter didn't know beyond the details Heather had given him about what was said, but they had insisted she attend school at different hours to help her catch up with her work. Heather had gone for it; the more chance she had for both her mother and her school work, the better. Sometimes she attended at night.
"How's college?" Heather asked, not wanting to get talking about the state of her present education.
Peter glowered at her, making her giggle. But he smiled. He liked it when she giggled. "It's not going badly," he admitted, "I'm enjoying the classes, and as long as I stay away from certain people, I'm fine."
Heather looked at him for a long moment sympathetically. "Still having problems with Thompson?"
Peter nodded. He'd told her stories of what Thompson and that stupid group had done to him during his time at school, one of the good things about college education was he didn't have to deal with them much.
"Not quite, I barely see him anymore. And when I do its usually fleeting, though he does think its funny I'm working, but he does seem to regret laughing about my aunt."
Heather shook her head, and Peter was fairly sure he heard the word "bastard" being whispered, but she smiled at him. Peter smiled back at her, that feeling of butterflies back in his stomach.
Peter was just walking to the hospital room where Aunt May was resting for his most recent visit, already feeling the stirring of hope that she could leave the hospital and come home. She had responded to treatment, and she was now strong enough to speak, but for Peter it would be the first time in nearly a month since he had spoken to her, and he was looking forwards to having the first conversation with the last member of his family.
He was just turning a corner when he bumped into someone.
"Hello Peter," Anna Watson greeted him in a cool manner.
"Mrs Watson," Peter said just as coolly. He had never liked Anna Watson just like she didn't like him, the woman had always felt that he was irresponsible, that he always put himself above others. She seemed blind to how stressed Peter was trying to support and care for his aunt whilst simultaneously studying at college and working at the same time. Anna seemed to believe that if he genuinely cared for May then he would spend all his time in the room, but he couldn't do any of that. He had to support himself and his aunt. But Peter had another reason to dislike the woman; Anna and May had been the ones to set him up on a date with Anna's niece, Mary Jane Watson. At the time, Peter had been burdened with school, worrying about income, and being so busy he had nearly worked himself to death, the last thing he had wanted let alone needed was to date some girl he didn't know, a date set up by his well meaning aunt and a friend who was so criticising of him it was not funny. Peter hadn't been happy with the prospect of a date with a girl whom he didn't even know, he had no idea what this Mary Jane even looked like for heaven's sake. But Peter had gone through with it because he was so overworked he needed a break. He also hadn't seen then harm that dating a girl could do, and who knows where it would have taken him, even if he was sorry it wasn't Heather. At the time Peter had still been sorting out his feelings for Heather, and then he'd met Mary Jane, and whilst he had been entranced with her beauty he had quickly seen how vapid and self absorbed Mary Jane was. In fact, he had noticed it the moment he'd met her. Not something that bode well in the future. She had asked him offhandedly what he did, and when he'd tried to tell her she'd lost interest as soon as two words left his mouth, and after that things had gotten stale. Peter had also gotten the impression she had been as annoyed by the date as he had, that she was only doing it to humour their respective aunts. As the date wore on, that suspicion only grew into certainty.
Things had not improved, no it had taken a nose dive. They had met Flash Thompson and a few of his pals, and something about his jock image had called to Mary Jane's party loving persona, and she had swiftly dumped "the nerd" as she'd termed Peter, and walked off with Flash. She didn't spare a backward glance. Peter had returned home, humiliated and furious. He had told his aunt to never set him up on a date ever again. Not that he would ever want to date Mary Jane ever again, he didn't even speak to the girl. He had seen her a few times since, but he went out of his way to ignore her. With the way his life had gone, it wasn't difficult. Mary Jane made it easier because she didn't go out of her way to speak back to him.
This was around the time he had met Heather. Compared to Mary Jane, she would be considered plain, but there was something more striking to Peter than the shallow girl he had been forced to go out with. Heather was going through things much like he was, and they were very close. The moment they had met they had some kind of bond that had merely deepened the more time they spent around one another. And she had something that Mary Jane lacked for all that beauty.
"Is Aunt May awake?" he asked, pushing by her without a word, but Anna Watson wasn't happy about that, and she grabbed him by the shoulder. "Hold it a minute, you think you can go in there after not being with her-" Peter instantly froze and he turned towards her, and something in his expression shut her up immediately. "Take that hand off my shoulder," he hissed angrily before his patience ebbed, "take it off before I snap it!"
"Peter!" Aunt May's voice was shocked, it seemed that the altercation had taken place in her sight, but he didn't care. He only hoped that she had heard and seen enough to know he was being provoked. "Anna, stop it, take that hand off his shoulder."
Anna looked between the two Parkers, the angry one and the one lying helplessly on the bed, and she silently left. Peter shook his head as she departed.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to his aghast aunt, but he had to let it out, "I just get annoyed by how she goes on about how selfish I am when all I do is try to care for you."
Ordinarily May would defend her friend, but after seeing and hearing for herself how Anna treated her nephew after how hard he worked, she wasn't going to waste her breath for Anna. "No, don't apologise," she said gently, "how are you doing?"
May's motherly concern did more to make Peter smile except probably Heather. "Not too bad," he replied honestly, and truthfully it wasn't; between college, his nights as Spider-Man, and his new job and his time with Heather and her mother, and worrying about May, Peter had finally managed to strike some kind of balance. "I've got a new job, and college is going well-"
"Speaking of work, what happened to make you get a new job?" May's brow creased. "I heard you when I was asleep, Peter, but the details are kind of blurry."
Peter wasn't surprised by his aunt's statement; it was well documented coma patients were aware of people speaking over them, doctors, nurses, friends and family. Peter had toyed with admitting to his aunt about what happened with his Uncle Ben and the mess he'd made of things with that crook, but he'd held back. Although he would love to receive some kind of judgement from May, he wasn't ready for it just yet, not after a year things had gotten out of hand.
He sighed. "Luigi fired me and Heather, he'd come up with this little scheme to test whether or not we were sincere about wanting extra hours working at the restaurant, but he conveniently didn't contact either of us to let us know, so when we arrived it gave him the proof we weren't sincere."
"And he fired you?" May whispered in disbelief.
Peter nodded and looked down at his hands. "I'm glad he did," he admitted. "I hated that job. The place was filthy, the clientele were scum, especially the ones who touched Heather up-"
"How is Heather? Is the poor dear okay?" May piped up, anything to get away from talking about the sewer that was Luigi's. It had never been what she and Ben had wanted or expected their nephew to do, but it had brought in much needed income and took the pressure off her.
"Oh, she's alright. She's still looking after her mother, but she's working in the same cleaning job I am, but she's gone part time at school until Louise is back on her feet. She looks much better by the way," he added with a smile.
May smiled back. She liked Heather. May had met her and Louise once when the pair of them had been fussed over at a dinner when the two teens had become very close. That dinner had taken place after that disastrous date she and Anna had set up for Peter and Mary Jane, and it was that date which prevented May from trying it again with Heather. But she had noticed something between the teens, Louise had as well, but if they were meant to get together then she would let them do it themselves. Then her expression became serious. "The doctors said you'd been sitting here by yourself," she started, seeing her nephew's relaxed face become tauter. "Is that true?"
Peter nodded. "As far as I know, only Anna Watson and myself have bothered to visit. I haven't seen any of your other friends."
May let out a shuddering breath as she leaned back in her pillows. She and her friends had drifted apart over the last year since Uncle Ben; the stresses due to her declining health and their financial issues making things worse, but she would've imagined that one or two of her friends would've had the heart to be there for her.
"And even she hasn't been any help," Peter went on, "she just sits nearby, talking about herself and her days. She never bothers to ask how you are, how I'm coping, she's just like that good for nothing bitch of a niece."
"Language."
"It's true," Peter insisted, not backing down. "I come in here, talk to you about how its going, asking when you're going to wake up, and Anna's talking about discount shoes going for a quarter or a third of their price, and this is where she annoys me, she always says it in a sing song voice, like she knows you can hear but never do anything about it."
May just lay there, doing her best not to show her nephew how she felt. Anna Watson had been one of her best friends for years, and in all that time she had never had but the best impression of her. No, that wasn't exactly true, she conceded. Anna could be very opinionated at times, be very sure of herself. One of their biggest falling outs had been when they'd tried setting Mary Jane up with Peter. But May had done it with the best of intentions, something Peter understood, but whatever Anna's motives were, May now no longer cared to guess, but at the time they had been furious with how things had gone. Things were still tense between them. Peter had come a long way in confidence over the year since Ben's death, he had to since he was putting up half of the family's already meagre income, and he'd gotten a part time job, but Anna had felt, and May had gone along with it, that Peter could be more confident with a girl by his side. Anna made it sound so medieval, but at the time May had been frightened for her nephew's mental and physical wellbeing. It just wasn't healthy for poor Peter to shoulder so much responsibility ontop of his life at school. The poor dear was always so stressed out, so harried that May was afraid he'd burn out. May had met Mary Jane, but the meeting had been rushed so she hadn't managed to get a feel for the girl. She had met her more often after the date, and she had not liked the girl at all. To make matters worse the girl had tried to blame how the date had gone on Peter, but Peters anger and the general vibe she had gotten from Mary Jane had shown May her friend's niece was anything but an angel like she appeared.
"So, you're doing cleaning work now?" She said to change the subject, but they both knew that they would speak about this again soon.
"It's the only work I can get that's flexible and covers more hours I can work, study and take care of you," Peter said. "I know its not what you wanted for me, but for now its the best I can do. It's temporary, and hopefully it will lead to something better."
May knew that her nephew was good at making the best in bad situations, and she had faith in him. "Okay. I hope you were fine before being fired by that dreadful restaurant manager."
"I'm better now, but it was a nightmare working, studying and paying for your treatment. The hospital were asking for more, far more than I could give," Peter shook his head. "Now I've got this job, I can get a lot more. It may be in the same pittance category as Luigi's, but the pay amount's far better."
May nodded.
Peter preened as he stood in his new Spider-Man suit in front of the mirror. It had taken him a week to make, but it was far simpler than his original costume without the silk screen pattern. This new costume was black with two white spiders, one on his back and the other on his front. Both were fairly small, identical in design to the original spider on his former costume, but they were the only decorations aside from the white triangles on both of his gloves. It had taken him so long to make because he had been searching for the right equipment to add to it. He had sketched the new design for his webshooters, a new design which was more efficient and make more use of his supply of web fluid than his present pair, and he was thinking of adding additional weapons and gadgets to them to maximise their potential, but he hadn't made them yet since he was still working on the basics of their design, but he had added more webcartidges to his belt. He'd also started researching lockpicking, but he was a long way from becoming an expert, but he was taking a step in the right direction, and he would continue to adjust and add to the costume in due time. But for right now he had a heist to see to. He put on his mask and his disguise was completed.
Turning off his light, Spider-Man crept over to the window and was out into the night. It took him half an hour to reach the jewellery shop he had spent the last two weeks planning to rob, and it took him less than a minute to open one of the doors and slip inside. Successive squirts of webbing at the security cameras, and Spider-Man felt safe. He knew security cameras had night vision capability; what would be the point of installing a camera that worked at night if it couldn't see in the dark?
Spider-Man opened case after case, webbing as many diamond rings, necklaces and put them into a small ball of webbing that he attached to his hip. He looked around to see if there was anything he had missed before he walked out of the room, and back through the office. Once there, he paused and stopped by the safe. Peter had known from the day he had told Aunt May he had planned to drop out of school to help with the family income he could have compensated with becoming a world class thief; his spider powers would have provided him with the means of spying on people without anyone being any the wiser, and with that he could learn the combinations of different safes he had targeted.
It was easier breaking into a safe if you knew the combination, that way you didn't need to be bogged down by heavy equipment; cutting torches, drills, explosives. Peter had studied this store, and he had bugged it with equipment he had purchased recently, but fortunately he had removed all traces of those before he'd committed the job, and he knew the safe contained money. Kneeling down, he examined the combination lock. It was a keypad that made things so much easier, and his memory instantly recalled the combination number. When the safe was opened, he smiled under his mask at the sight of the money rolls. Spider-Man moved his hands as he used his webshooters to create a ready made web sack, making it nice and thick but light at the same time, and then he reached into the safe and removed the money. He replaced the money with a slip of paper, with the message "Thanks, Courtesy of Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."
Underneath the words was a black, red and blue spider. Once the money was stuck to his other side, Spider-Man left the way he'd come. As he webbed closer to Forest Hills, Peter considered how things were going; his heists were going nicely, and if they continued to be profitable he would remain as Spider-Man. That was a thought, he hadn't really considered what he was going to do with himself later in life. He would love to graduate and become a scientist, but he still wanted to be a thief. Peter had no intention of living the way he had for the last year ever again, and he decided he would do some charity work for those who were going through much the same thing as he had done; working for a dingy and disgusting boss in a filthy environment, getting lousy pay, under heavy pressure from school or college, trying to cope and care for a relative.
Despite his different choice, Peter still felt sure he should and could do something just as positive with his spider powers. Once Peter was closer to Queens, he stopped web slinging; he had no idea how many people were still awake, and though he depended on his spider sense to alert him to danger he knew that some people would not be registered as a threat; he remembered how once a neighbor had been distracted walking down the street and he hadn't even known until his spider sense had tingled that he was about to be shouldered.
Besides, with the police and the Daily Bugle and other newspapers publishing stories about his crimes, people would probably phone for help if they saw him web by. It was safer to leap from one building to another, clinging to the sides to reach home. As soon as he arrived home, Peter looked around, in the back garden, along the sides, and eventually he crawled in.
He didn't know that Heather was just walking through the door at that exact time, his spider sense not registering her. As he took off the web bags, he went downstairs and a light flicked on.
"Peter!?" Heather's surprised shout startled him just as the light had been flicked on. Peter gazed at her aghast, he hadn't intended to reveal who and what he was until much later. Why hadn't his spider sense alerted him to her presence? Peter was kicking himself, he had been so pleased he had once more successfully robbed someplace he hadn't bothered taking other precautions. He had done it again, become cocky.
Both teenagers were presently in hysterics, but Heather was moving in hyperventilation. "Peter...you're...Spider-Man," she gasped, and she moved her hands, and for the first time Peter noticed the jar of soup. Louise, like May, believed he should eat more and she didn't believe he was eating anything at all. Peter found it sweet of her, and he enjoyed the attention of a woman he genuinely liked.
Heather gasped and she almost dropped the jar, and would have done too if Peter didn't suddenly move to catch it and steady her with his other arm. Heather fainted.
Heather woke up on the couch, and looked around for Peter. She was ashamed of herself for fainting the way she had, but those thoughts were snuffed out when she finally found Peter. He was sitting in a chair opposite. He was dressed in an open shirt that showed off his black Spider-Man costume, and he was dressed in a regular pair of pants. So it wasn't a dream, she mused to herself.
"Hi," she whispered, feeling quite foolish and more than a little angry. How dare Peter keep this from her?
"Hi," Peter tried to smile reassuringly, but he didn't manage it. He looked down at his feet, embarrassed, but at the same time he was worried for Heather; why hadn't she reacted differently? Why was she behaving so mildly?
"You really are Spider-Man?" Heather said; what else could she say? For the last month or so, Spider-Man and his crimes had dominated the news, how he broke in silently and effectively in jewellery stores and robbed them blind. Heather hadn't given much thought to Spider-Man, she had had her own problems, and the thought of another superpowered criminal meant little to her.
"Yes," Peter whispered, fiddling with his hands. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you-"
"No, it's fine," Heather interrupted, blinking in surprise; had he planned to tell her what he was doing? Why would he do that?
Peter looked into her face. "I'm sorry I've screwed up. I'd planned to tell you the truth, tell you how I felt-"
"Peter, let's just take this slowly, shall we?" Heather said, feeling the butterfly feeling in her heart and stomach. Did he mean he had feelings for her like she had for him? She pushed that out of the way to focus on what was bigger.
"How are you Spider-Man, I mean were you born this way?"
"No. A year ago, I was on a school trip to this genetics laboratory. The researchers were experimenting with combining the traits of different animals and putting them into others. One side of the lab had different animal species like cats, dogs, and even apes. But there were spiders as well. One of the spiders had escaped, and it bit me on my thumb. I don't know if it was something to do with the experiment, to create an easier way to splice animal and insect DNA into human beings, but somehow the spider venom spliced itself into my DNA. I never found out if they were deliberately trying to replicate the natural abilities of a spider into a human being; that would explain why the venom acted like a gene therapy virus and spliced the spider DNA into my DNA, but I don't know, just like I never found out what the scientists were trying to do in the first place.
"Anyway, I left feeling sick and groggy. No one really noticed me leaving, everyone knew I got sick easily, and I made my way back home to sleep it off. The next morning I was feeling better, but stranger."
"How did you feel strange?" Heather asked curiously, enthralled with the story rather than sickened.
Peter looked thoughtful as he tried to put the sensations he had felt that first morning after discovering the changes to his body, and the resultant changes to his life. But if he wanted Heather to have any kind of life with her, he had to be honest. "I'd always been skinny, always needed glasses," he decided to begin with the basics, "but the next morning, I found I could see far better than I had when I had needed a prescription. Also, my body had some muscles, not enough to be like a jock, but decent enough for my physique and general height. I went downstairs, and I leapt from the stairs. When I went to school, I missed the bus, and had to chase it. In the past such a run would've exhausted me, but that day I wasn't exhausted."
Peter looked away as he remembered other events going on that day. "I got into a fight with Flash Thompson, and that was the kicker because I'd never tried to fight him before since he'd win hands down each time. It was for a petty reason, he always liked taking pretend punches at me, to make me cower with fright. But that day, I wasn't afraid. He tried to hit me, I blocked the blow. Then he got angry, and he and some of his friends tried to punch me from different sides, but none of their blows touched me. It was as though I had someone whispering in my ear, telling me where they would punch me next. It turns out I do. It's an ability that warns of impending danger.
"Anyway, to make a long story short, I was able to stop Flash from hurting me, and I kicked him away, and he was rendered unconscious. I bunked school for the rest of the day, and I ran till I found myself in an alleyway. I was amazed by what I could do, and I looked at the bite..."
Peter stood in the alleyway, taking deep breaths. He couldn't believe what had happened, had he just beaten Flash Thompson? But how? He asked himself as he tried to make sense of what had happened since he had woken up, first he had felt better than he had in years, his vision was perfect, and he had suddenly gained a more muscular appearance overnight.
What was going on? What was happening to him?
He looked around the alley, and then his eyes spotted it. A spider web. It was set between two pipes and an overhead ladder. A spider was calmly laying more web to set its trap for passing bugs.
No, Peter thought to himself as the idea bloomed in his head. How was it possible?
He looked down at the bite he'd received from that spider at the lab the day before. It was red, and inflamed, but it was much smaller than he would've expected.
Did he...did he have the same abilities of a spider? Peter looked closely at his hands, seeing the tiny hairs that were suddenly sprouting from his fingers. He knew spiders could cling to surfaces with little hairs that contained even smaller hairs hundreds of nanometres in width, but was he now capable...?
Peter turned around and faced the brick wall, and very slowly and experimentally he placed both hands with his fingers spread outward, and he pulled himself up. He was clinging to the wall!
"I climbed that wall, going higher with every moment. I waited for something to happen, something that would make the hairs now on my hands to retract, something that would make me fall to the ground, but I never did."
Peter climbed higher until he was on top of the roof, and he found a piece of pipe sticking out. Remembering the scientists yesterday expand on how they had taken and combined the genetics of different spiders with different attributes, Peter reached out and grasped the pipe in one hand, and then he made a bending motion.
"I snapped the pipe."
The pipe snapped, and Peter gasped. Even after seeing the proof of his newfound abilities, clinging to walls, leaping to avoid being punched, having some kind of danger sense, and being up here, he was still amazed. What else could his new body do?
He brought the pipe closer. It was rusted, but very strong and thick. No one could bend or twist it, not a normal person. Peter took both ends in both hands, and he twisted the pipe, the metal shrieked a bit as it was bent into a different shape.
Peterbrought himself back to the here and now, as he looked at Heather. "I experimented with my powers a bit more. But I found that although I had the strength, speed and reflexes of a spider, I didn't have the ability to make webbing. I think its because the gene that controls the spider's ability to create webbing is too complex for a human being to replicate, but there was a compromise."
Heather blinked as she made out the two small bracelets attached to both his hands. "What are they?" she asked curiously.
The silver bracelets wrapped around both of Peter's wrists. They were mounted on a band of black material to clearly make them more comfortable to wear, but there was a red metal disc in the centre of his palm, also resting on a piece of this black material, and there was a small nozzle.
"My webshooters. I think, after that spider bit me, it passed on a subconscious or instinctive knowledge of how to combine different chemicals and enzymes to produce webbing. I created the first batch of web fluid, and eventually completed the mechanism by making these bracelets."
"Cool," Heather whispered, but what else could she say?
"Watch this," Peter said and fired a strand of webbing at the ceiling, before he made an adjustment to the nozzle, and he fired a fine white spray before resetting the nozzle to its original position. Meanwhile, Heather was examining the webbing Peter had shot at the ceiling, running her fingers over it. It was like touching a sticky kind of silk, well it was.
"You're going to have to clean this up for when May comes home," she observed.
Peter shook his head. "I don't need to," he replied, enjoying explaining what he had achieved. "Like real spider webbing, mine is biodegradable. It'll dissolve in an hour or so."
Heather looked at him, assimilating this new information, but she wanted to know something she had had on her mind since she had discovered the truth about her best friend.
"Peter, I can understand how excited you were about your powers, but if you'd gotten them a year ago and practiced them a day later, why have you recently become big news by becoming a thief?"
Peter's expression became regretful, and Heather regretted her own question, but Peter pushed that aside visibly, and looked into her eyes.
"I'll tell you."
Will Heather accept Peter? You tell me.