Chapter 2: Easier To Run

"Sometimes I remember the darkness of my past

Bringing back these memories I wish I didn't have

Sometimes I think of letting go and never looking back

And never moving forward so there'd never be a past...

If I could change, I would

Take back the pain, I would

Retrace every wrong move that I made, I would,

If I could stand up and take the blame, I would,

If I could take all the shame to the grave I would..."

Linkin Park, "Easier To Run"

night, watson residence

She couldn't succeed. Even if she did go back to sleep, Peter would appear once more, prodding her until he finally prodded her to insanity.

"Hold me, Harry," she told him. "Just hold me."

Harry obliged. He knew Pete had had a crush on her for a long time, and they were close friends. As far as he knew from Mary Jane, their relationship had just started to get closer, and she had accompanied him to the bank as he cashed the check that would pay for their first formal date. She'd told Harry a riveting tale that placed her in the lobby as a villainous scientist, taking the nom de guerre of Doctor Octopus, smashed his way to the safe. In the story, she'd taken off her high heels and fled as fast as her legs could take her. In the story she was an eyewitness to the murder. She'd looked over her shoulder to see Peter try to tackle the villain, dying to save the obviously pregnant bank teller. Harry could only imagine how hard it must be for her.

He didn't know Mary Jane's story was just that, a story.

night, osborn penthouse

In his penthouse in Manhattan, a tall, auburn-haired man paced the floor, afflicted by insomnia as well. At first he paced back and forth, but then, the better to utilize the space, he started going around and around.

As he was completely unable to fall asleep, when the sun rose, he changed and headed off to work.

The auburn-haired man was Norman Osborn, and he was Harry's father.

morning, midtown high school

The school counselor stared steadily at Mary Jane from across his desk. "We are all concerned about you, Mary Jane. Your grades haven't suffered—yet—but still, you look horrible. I can see the circles under your eyes, you aren't sleeping. You look like you just came out of a train wreck."

Or a supervillain battle, Mary Jane thought wryly.

"Does this have anything to do with Peter Parker's recent death?" he asked in his usual empathetic, but strangely bloodless voice. "You haven't said a word about it, and neither has Harry Osborn."

"I don't really want to talk about my role in Peter's murder, Mr. Mackey."

"I've heard that you were there. You saw it. Would you like to talk about it?"

The reason why Mr. Mackey would wish to hear all the graphic details escaped her. "No. I wouldn't."

"The NYPD is working with the Fantastic Four, searching for Dr. Otto Octavius. He will be arrested and put on trial, and there will be justice, m'kay?"

Of course not. There never will. Not unless you arrest me as well, as an accessory to the murder.

"He's alive?" She thought she'd…

"Of course he is, Mary Jane. You will have to deal with that. I can give you some phone numbers, various support groups…"

"No thanks. I can handle it."

Like you're really handling it so well now, Peter's voice told her.

morning, oscorp industries headquarters

"Good morning, Mr. Osborn. How are you today?"

"Morning," Norman grumbled, feeling obligated to exchange pleasantries with Dr. Mendel Stromm, head of Research and Development, but hating the experience.

"How's your son? Heard his best friend was murdered by—"

How is that any of your business, dimwit? "He's doing better, thank you. How are the performance enhancers going?"

"I ran the first animal tests two days ago," Stromm cheerfully replied, gesturing towards the glass-walled isolation chamber. "We tried vapor inhalation with rodent subjects. They showed an eight hundred percent increase in strength."

Norman looked pleased, yet thoughtful. "Eight hundred percent," he repeated. "That's excellent."

"There were side effects, though."

Norman sighed and rolled his eyes. Side effects, schmide effects. Leave it to Stromm to emphasize the downside. If he won the Powerball, all he'd think about was the taxes he'd have to pay and the gold-diggers who would come after him.

Seeing the annoyed expression on his boss' face, Stromm tried to backpedal. "One trial. It was an aberration, but…"

"But what, Dr. Stromm? What happened in the test that went wrong?"

"Violence. Aggression. Paranoia. Eventually, insanity. We have to take the whole thing back to formula."

Now Osborn fairly roared at him. "Back to formula?! We have been trying to unlock the next leap in evolution for five years!"

"The closest we've ever come to success were the early tests on the spiders and even those were utter failures—"

"Look on the bright side for a change, Stromm. The spider tests, I've heard, inadvertently produced Spider-Woman. The first human subject."

"Spider-Woman has disappeared, and—"

"Look, if I don't have a successful human trial to show the Pentagon, they will yank my funding out from under me, and I am not going to lose this contract to Halliburton and Quest Aerospace, do you hear me?" Norman shouted down at Stromm.

Dr. Stromm sighed. He had put up with Norman's shit for seven years, and he wasn't about to let it go for eight. He screwed up every bit of courage he had, and then said, "Then you will have to prevent that yourself. I quit."

If Norman was angry then, he had now reached the level of enraged. "The personal transport systems and the exoskeletons are up and running! The enhancers are all we need to complete! You can't quit!"

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because you're fired!"

afternoon, midtown high

Mary Jane clenched her left fist, picking at her lunch with the fork she held in her right. Cafeteria food, she thought, was an oxymoron—a contradiction in terms. Cafeteria food usually involved mystery meat. Mystery meat was named such because Sherlock Holmes himself couldn't figure out what it was made of.

She discreetly hid her hand under the table and tried to shoot at a nearby Twinkie someone had fetched at the snack bar and left temporarily unattended. Instead of a "thwip" and a long string of silky spider web, the only thing that emitted was a fading "fffft" sound faintly reminiscent of a silent fart.

Mary Jane sighed with relief as she disposed of her tray and ducked into the restroom, powder compact in hand. No power, no responsibility!

Did you really think it was going to be that easy? Peter's voice asked her.

The restroom was empty. Mary Jane looked in the mirror and gingerly touched her bicep, remembering how Peter had protectively wrapped his arm around hers. Even though, she remembered, with her superpowers she wasn't the one who needed to be protected. She raised her arm, flexed it, and made a muscle. Made a considerable muscle. She turned away from the mirror; her shoulders were still broad and square.

It will always be with you, Peter's voice reminded her.

He was the one who needed protection, and when he was most in danger, she had failed to give it to him.

Yes, it probably would always be with her, woven in her DNA. No, she probably didn't deserve it.

Yes, you do. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Peter said.

Easy for you to say, she'd reply.