Twin Demons

by Georgia Kennedy

Peter Parker declares his undying love for Mary Jane Watson, who vows to help him confront his fear and guilt as SpiderMan joins forces with Daredevil to break up a ring of international terrorists bent on wreaking havoc all over the Big Apple.

3. Rooftop Reverie

TWIN DEMONS by Georgia Kennedy

Author's Note

Your Wildest Dreams by the Moody Blues, © 1986 by Polygram Records

Disclaimer

This is a derivative work of fiction featuring characters copyrighted and trademarked by Marvel Characters, Inc. It is based upon: Spider-Man, copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Spider-Man 2, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Daredevil - Director's Cut, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved; and Hulk, copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, all rights reserved. The author is not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Characters, Inc., or any of the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on Fanfiction, for the benefit and enjoyment of its intended audience. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the author as a result of said posting. Any unauthorized copying or redistribution of this work might subject the party responsible for such unauthorized copying or redistribution to legal action by the owners of the aforementioned copyrights and trademarks.

III

ROOFTOP REVERIE

It was just how Mary Jane remembered it—that beautiful night in the rain-soaked alley so long ago, when she'd kissed Peter as he was hanging upside down, his mask partly off. That same intensity was back, only stronger this time. Standing on the threshold of his shabby apartment, still clad in the bridal gown in which she was to be wed to another, she melted into his embrace as the two of them momentarily became one. She felt tears of gratitude starting to well up behind her eyes. Her trust in their love had been vindicated, her faith justified. She'd laid it all on the line and he had come through for her.

Then the sirens came, followed by the sound of chopper blades.

Three squad cars and a S.W.A.T. van were barreling past Peter's window, locked in a high-speed chase. They were being tracked by two helicopters overhead. He turned reflexively toward the window, and then turned back to the beautiful red-haired actress he held in his arms. He did not say a word, but his eyes told her, "you know I have to take care of this."

Mary Jane gave him a warm and loving smile as she said softly, "Go get 'em, Tiger."

It took no more than a few seconds for Peter to change. He did it right there in front of Mary Jane, but he was moving so fast that she could not see anything. Just before he lowered the mask over his face, he grasped her by the shoulders and gave her a quick good-bye kiss. "Don't wait for me," he said as he jumped off his terrace and hurtled skyward.

Mary Jane watched him go, trying not to give in to the anxiety that was already tugging at her heart about what she had gotten herself into. As much as Peter loved her, she would never, could never, be his number one priority. There would always be children to rescue from burning buildings, or old ladies to protect from muggers. He would have to break dates at the last minute, or disappear while they on dates. Worse, she thought, we could be right in the middle of lovemaking and . . . she didn't even want to go there.

Incessant questions kept tumbling through her mind as she continued to gaze out Peter's window. Could she accept the existence of Spider-Man as a condition of their relationship? Could she live every minute of every day knowing that he could walk out the door one morning and never come back? Would she have the strength and the fortitude to take that dreaded phone call telling her to come down to the morgue and identify his body, God forbid?

Other thoughts began to plague her as she turned from the window and looked around Peter's apartment. The place was a pigsty, a dump whose occupant who was barely hovering above the poverty line. Could she handle the plunge in lifestyle she would have to endure in order to have a life with him? And what of the repercussions that were sure to follow her departure from the wedding, sans the groom? She could only imagine J. Jonah Jameson's fury at watching his son get left at the altar and being stuck with the bill. Jameson had the means, and now the motive to destroy her career and ruin her life. All it would take is one lousy review—

As Mary Jane played out these worst-case scenarios, her gaze fell upon a framed snapshot that had been sitting on Peter's night stand. She recognized it right away. There she was, posing for Peter in front of the spider display at Columbia University during that high school field trip, so long ago. The picture was on top of a torn-out piece of ordinary notebook paper on which was written: LAST MOMENT OF INNOCENCE, by Peter Parker. It was just a title, nothing more. She remembered that night at the planetarium, when Peter had told her lamely that he'd been reading poetry as she brushed him off. Obviously, he'd started to write a poem, but didn't get anywhere with it.

As she continued to stare at her picture and that title, she was struck by a flash of insight that can only come when one person shares a deep soul connection with another. Something must have happened to Peter not long after that photo was taken, she realized, something that had given him his Spider-powers. . . . Of course! He was bitten by that missing superspider! That had to be it! How else could he have possibly knocked out Flash Thompson!

Then she noticed another photo of herself, this time playing peek-a-boo. It was taped to another piece of notebook paper, on which was written a finished poem. Curious, she picked it up and read it, hearing Peter's voice in her head.

ODE TO A MODERN-DAY FLYING DUTCHMAN
By Peter Parker
Dedicated to Mary Jane Jameson,
that she may always have the happiness she deserves.

Mary Jane winced at the notion that Peter had written this thinking she was already married.

He squandered the gifts conferred upon him by the gods,
Turning his back upon a fellow human being who looked to him for help,
To worship at the altar of selfishness and vanity by chasing fame and fortune,
Just so he could impress the girl of his dreams.

And so it was that for the sin of failing to stop a crime when he had the chance,
the gods condemned him to wander in eternal twilight,
Doing penance without end amidst urban canyons,
while the lady who makes his heart sing remains forever beyond his reach.

He is nonetheless deeply grateful,
that the gods have seen fit to grant his one small plea for mercy:
That the woman he loves above all others, indeed, above life itself,
has found safety and happiness in the good captain's warm embrace.

It was a lament over lost love so profound, so powerful, and so heartbreaking that it knocked Mary Jane off her feet—literally. She stumbled backwards and sagged onto Peter's bed, clutching the poem to her bosom. Overwhelmed, she broke down and cried, her warm tears washing away whatever was left of her mascara.

What made Peter think that I could ever be happy without him? she said to herself as she wept. What she shared with Peter had been forged in the fires of the most dire circumstances imaginable. Four times, she'd come within inches of losing her life, and four times, Peter had brought her back from the brink. No . . . not four . . . five! She would've been crushed by the car that Doc Ock had thrown had it not been for Peter's ultra-fast reflexes. Not only was she alive because of him, but the only reason she had been able to chase her dream of being an actress was the inspiration he'd given her.

But for all his powers, all his heroic deeds, and all his virtues, Peter himself had suffered terribly these last eighteen months. It wasn't only fear that had kept him away from her. It was a tremendous sense of guilt as well. For reasons that Mary Jane could not even begin to fathom, Peter had consigned himself to purgatory in order to atone for some awful sin, a sin that had somehow involved her. My God, M.J.wept, what could he have possible done to make himself believe that he didn't deserve me? Suddenly, she too felt overwhelmed by guilt, sickened by her ignorance of what had been really going on with Peter, by how she stupidly tried to use John Jameson to get back at Peter for rejecting her, and by the fallout from an affair that had obviously gotten way out of control. Do I really deserve him after what I did? she asked herself bitterly.

And as Mary Jane sobbed, a transformation occurred within her. She suddenly understood, in a metaphysical sense, why Peter's secret had been revealed to her. She looked up with a new sense of determination, casting aside the anxieties, worries and doubts, that had tormented her only a few minutes earlier. She would be there for him, just as he was there for her and countless others. She would hold him in her arms and nurse him back to health when he was wounded and aching. She would comfort him in the face of incessant media attacks. She would deliver him from this hell-hole, get him through school, and give him the stability he so desperately needed. Most important of all, she would help him break the grip of those twin demons, fear and guilt, that she beheld in his mournful verses. And one day, she would have his child.

As for John, he would survive. Aborted missions were nothing new to him. He would find somebody else to share his life with, someone with whom he would be very happy. And soon, she hoped, very soon.

There was a knock on the open door. An attractive, very thin young girl was standing in the doorway holding a yellow post-it note in her hand. It was the landlord's daughter, Ursula. For an instant, she stood there, her mouth agape. Finding a bride in Peter's apartment was probably the last thing she'd expected.

"I'm . . . sorry. . ." Ursula stammered. "I . . .I have a message . . . for Peter. From Dr. Connors." She extended the note tentatively to Mary Jane, who smiled reassuringly and said, "It's okay. I'll take it." She scribbled her own message on the note and placed it over the picture taped to the Flying Dutchman poem. "Could you tell me where the phone is?" she asked Ursula, after discovering that Peter's had been disconnected. Ursula pointed to a spot around the corner from Peter's front door. She found the phone and called a cab. Then she took one last look around the apartment and closed the door, making sure that it was locked.

XXXXXXXXXX

In less than an hour, Spider-Man made short work of the two drug dealers that the cops were chasing. It was a bust gone bad. The suspects had taken hostages, and had demanded ten million dollars in ransom, amnesty, and safe passage out of the country. Although Peter would not find out until months later, these two had been on the FBI's top ten, and had eluded capture for months.

The police found the fugitives bound to a street light by gossamer webbing. Also stuck to the pole was a note that read: This two for one special brought to you by your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. On the sidewalk nearby lay the remains of an uzi that had been broken in two. The officers looked at the wreckage, shuddering at the thought of the force it took to do that kind of damage.

By the time Peter got back to his apartment, Mary Jane was gone. That was to be expected, since he told her not to wait around. Still, he felt a twinge of disappointment that she wasn't there to greet him. Those feelings were aggravated by a throbbing pain in his right hand. Two of his knuckles had swelled up and turned purple from his having smashed the uzi. He could barely extend his fingers without it hurting. Why can't we have better gun control laws in this country? he complained silently.

But his angst and discomfort would soon be forgotten. On his bed lay the love poem he had written that morning. Oh God, she wasn't supposed to see that! he thought, his face reddening with embarrassment at the prospect of his deepest, darkest secrets being laid bare before her without any kind of explanation or preparation. But then he saw the yellow post-it covering Mary Jane's photo. It had two notes on it. The first was from Ursula Ditkovich telling him to call Professor Connors ASAP. The second read, "Please, please call me and let me know you're okay. I love you. XOXOXOX M.J." The double-please had been underlined three times.

The ecstasy that came from knowing how concerned Mary Jane was about his safety made him forget about the pain in his hand, the lax gun control laws, and any fears he might have had about revealing too much of his soul too fast. He went out into the hall, to the same phone that Mary Jane had used earlier. He picked it up and dialed Dr. Connors's phone number. Business before pleasure, he thought as the dial-tone kicked in.

XXXXXXXXXX

It took Mary Jane almost two hours to get home. Traffic had been at a virtual standstill thanks to the police chase that Peter had joined. She'd heard over the taxi's radio that it was a huge drug bust, and that Spider-Man had apprehended the criminals. Well, Duuuuhhhhh! she thought, rolling her eyes in annoyance at hearing the obvious.

She was back in her apartment, in the middle of a web search for recipes when her phone rang. She picked up, holding her breath in anticipation.

"Hi M.J. I'm okay," came Peter's reassuring voice over the line.

"Thank God," she exhaled, wondering how close the bullets had gotten to him this time. "Can you come over tonight Pete?" she asked hopefully. "I'd like to make dinner for the two of us."

"Tonight? Uh . . . sure. Love to. Er . . . when?" Peter responded, thrilled beyond measure at the prospect of his ultimate dream finally coming true.

"Five thirty. . . . Sure you can make it on time?"

"I'll be there," barring any other disturbances, he thought, hoping she understood that silent stipulation. "M.J.?"

"Yeah, Tiger."

"Are you really sure you want to do this?" Peter asked seriously. "I mean . . . you just broke off your engagement. It's . . . . not too soon, is it?" He'd expected that she might want to wait at least a few days before starting another relationship.

"No," Mary Jane said firmly. "It's not too soon . . . and yes . . . I really want to see you tonight, Peter." Touched by his thoughtfulness, she paused, and then added, "but thanks for being considerate enough to ask."

"No problem . . . see you at five thirty. Bye."

On the menu that evening at Chez Emzhay would be chicken parmesan with sauteed vegetables. For dessert there would be a cinnamon cake. She'd just plucked these recipes from the Emeril Live website. The cake went over really well with Emeril's guests. She hoped Peter would enjoy it too. She glanced at her kitchen clock. It read 3:15. That left her a little over two hours.

She quickly put on a pair of sweats and hung the bridal dress in her closet. Then she ran downstairs and across the street to the Safeway to buy the ingredients she needed. Working as fast as she could, she prepared the meal and set the table.

When she was sure everything was just right, she showered and changed into a pair of dark blue, low-cut, hip-hugging slacks and a short-sleeved tan v-necked top that left her midriff exposed. Thenshe combed her hair, put on some Emma Rose, the perfume that her image was being used to promote, and took two breath mints. She did not put on a bra. Then she lay back on her living room couch and reviewed her dog-eared script from The Importance of Being Earnest while she waited for him.

XXXXXXXXXX

As Peter hung up the phone, he raised his fists in joyful triumph and shouted, "yyyeeeesssssss!" Fourteen years after he first fell in love with Mary Jane, he would finally be going on his first date with her. He riffled through his closet, trying to find suitable clothes for the occasion. There were none. The elation he felt suddenly turned to disgust—disgust that he had allowed himself to fall into such dire straits. And as he looked around his apartment, a transformation occurred within him. His paycheck-to-paycheck existence was no longer acceptable. Living in a moldy, rotting dump like Ditkovitch's tenement was no longer acceptable. Anything less than a 4.0 grade-point average was no longer acceptable. Not being able to afford good clothes was no longer acceptable. And allowing Mary Jane to take even one step down the economic ladder in order to be with him was most definitely unacceptable. Right now, he could not court M.J. the way Harry and John did. But with time, perseverance, hard work, and Mary Jane's love, he would finish the race of life far ahead of both of them. And it starts right now! he vowed.

He would need cash, and fortunately, he'd just cashed a $750 voucher from the Daily Bugle for his latest batch of Spider-Man photos. As he looked at the wad of bills on his desk, he suddenly realized how stupid he had been. He was a damn good photographer with a huge portfolio, covering lots of other subjects besides Spider-Man. There was a huge market out there, easily accessible through the Internet, and there was no written or oral exclusivity agreement with the Bugle. Why then, had he limited himself to just one customer all this time? It made no sense. He made a mental note to discuss it with Ben Urich when they met for lunch next Wednesday.

He glanced at his watch—3:15. There was a discount men's clothing store about five blocks away, near the edge of the Village. With luck it would still be open. He hustled over to the store, taking care not to move beyond normal speed. It did not take him long to find what he wanted. Decent threads, undamaged, for less than $250.00. After two years of living on his own, Peter Parker knew how to stretch a dollar as far as it could go.

He passed a flower shop on the way home. There was an abundance of yellow carnations in the window. Without hesitating, he bought two bouquets and webbed them together when he was sure no one was watching.

While he showered and dressed, he reflected on his reversal of fortune. The game was over the minute Mary Jane had seen him without his mask on. As far as she was concerned, the firewall between his two worlds no longer existed. Maybe that was a good thing, because she would at last understand why he could never be there for her.

But on the other hand, did Mary Jane truly understand the Faustian bargain that she was about to enter into? Or, as was more likely the case, did she act on impulse, without any real thought behind her decision to walk away from what surely would have been a good life? Being with him would be like being involved with a policeman, a fireman, and a Navy SEAL all rolled into one. He would be on call 24-7, and would have to put his life on the line constantly. Not even moments of intimacy would be out-of-bounds. But why do you have to do this? he asked himself, anticipating the question she would surely ask and he would surely have to answer. Because I simply cannot bear the consequences of another failure like the one that took Uncle Ben's life. Could she understand that? Could anyone who did not live through it themselves really understand?

It suddenly dawned on him that having Mary Jane around would open up a whole new range of safety and security issues that he never had to worry about before. He could not be with her all the time, and his list of enemies was getting longer by the day. The most recent addition to that list, tragically, was Harry Osborn. Harry . . . his one-time best friend and . . .My God, I forgot about Harry. He knows! Being as wealthy as he was, Harry had almost limitless resources to wreak havoc on their lives. Who knew what he would do or where he would strike? He could have Mary Jane kidnaped, or worse, he was now in a position to publicly expose Peter and make M.J. a target for all his enemies.

He was suddenly seized by an impulse to call it off with Mary Jane before things got too hot and heavy. If anything ever happened to her because of what he did or didn't do, it would utterly and completely destroy him.

But he beat back that impulse, not wanting to give God any incentive to take Mary Jane away from him again. He remembered the words she'd used when she showed up on his doorstep—"respect me enough to let me make my own decision." Fine! He would do that. But he would give her the straight dope as much as he could, so that at least her decisions would be informed.

XXXXXXXXXX

Unable to concentrate, Mary Jane put down her script, walked over to her living room window and peered down at the street, six stories below. For a moment, she wondered if she should leave the window open, but then realized that Peter wouldn't be so foolish as to crawl into someone's window while it was still daylight.

There was one other thing that she needed to do. She took an Apri, washing it down with a tall glass of milk to prevent cramping. Not wanting to get pregnant on what was supposed to have been her wedding night, she had been on birth control pills for over a month. Now that she'd broken her engagement to John, she had no idea what would happen with Peter that night. Technically, this was only a first date. But they had been dancing around each other for the last two years when they should have been dating. They were deeply in love, and if that love were to manifest itself physically, she would not want a condom or a diaphragm getting in the way. So she continued to take the pills regularly.

Mary Jane heard her doorbell ring at precisely 5:30. She felt a thrill of anticipation rising in her throat. Right on time, for once.

"Who is it?" she called out.

"Johnny Cash,"Peter's voice answered from the other side of the door, in an affected southern drawl. She opened the door as her heart skipped multiple beats. Peter stood there, dressed completely in black—a black leather jacket, black collarless button-down shirt, black slacks, and shiny black shoes. For a split second, she did not recognize him. He presented a much different appearance than when she had seen him earlier in the day. He looked taller and his big blue eyes shone like newly polished gold coins. His hair was different too. He had combed his bangs lower across his brow in a way that actually made him looked cool, and much more handsome. My handsome, mysterious man in black, mused Mary Jane happily, thinking he looked more like one of those dashing Soviet spies from the 1960s than the late, great country-western star.

Still, the metamorphosis utterly amazed her. This was the Peter Parker that she had always sensed was there, hidden under the camouflage of a geeky little caterpillar. The caterpillar had finally given way tothe butterfly, revealing his soul in all its glory.

He was holding a huge bouquet of yellow carnations, her favorite flower, in his left hand. The stems of the flowers were bundled together by a micro-thin gossamer strand. He must have blown a small fortune to get himself spiffed up for the occasion, she thought in amazement.

She flew into his arms and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. She would have surely crushed the flowers had he not moved them out of the way at the last second. Then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him, her emotions again welling up.

"Oh, Peter," she said, gazing into his eyes and struggling to keep her voice from breaking. "That poem you wrote. It was so . . .so . . . beautiful. . . . so haunting. And the flowers . . . you really didn't have to."

"Okay, I'll take them back," he teased.

"Oh no you won't!" She put the flowers in a vase and set it in the center of her immaculate dining room table, in between twin candles, as yet unlit. Two places had been set. She could not drink wine because of the contraceptive, so she set a bottle of sparkling cider on the table instead. Pleasant aromas from the kitchen filled the apartment.

She then noticed the bruises on his knuckles. "You okay, Tiger?" she asked, taking his injured hand in hers and stroking it gently, obviously concerned.

"Yeah, fine," he said, even as he winced slightly from the pain he was still feeling. "You know, the funny thing about hostage-takers is that they always ask for things they know they won't get. I suppose it makes my job a little more interesting." Reticent about discussing the matter any further, he quickly changed the subject. "This is really something M.J.," he said, marveling at the effort that she put into making everything just right.

"All for you sweetie," she said, flashing her brightest, most extraordinary smile at him. It was same dazzling smile that he saw in his camera lens on the night of her ill-fated engagement, the smile that told its object that he was her chosen one. That smile was for someone else back then. Now it was for him, and him alone.

Dinner was absolutely delightful, and the shadows created by the candlelight and the early evening sun added to the ambiance. They talked, laughed, and gazed into each other's eyes. Peter was savoring every minute with Mary Jane as much as the taste of her cinnamon cake. He was amazed that even a turn of his head in a certain way could elicit a giggle from her. Even their mundane small talk and banter touched his soul . . . and hers as well. It was the most enjoyable evening that either of them had in a long, long time.

"That was fantastic M.J.!" he said enthusiastically as he was finishing the last bite, "my first decent meal in weeks."

"What's the matter, Tiger, don't they feed you in college?" she quipped, her sweet, musical laugh filling his ears as she cleared the table.

"College food's lousy. Lately, I've been eating whatever I could catch in my web. Mostly flies." That really broke her up. She laughed hysterically at his deadpan delivery. She had never really seen his humorous side before, but that was because he'd always been too self-conscious around her to ever let it out.

Peter had a very special evening constitutional planned for them. "M.J.," he asked, "how would you like to go outside and watch the sunset?"

My, she thought excitedly, he really is a true romantic. "Sure, Pete," she said as her laughter subsided, "you have any place in mind?"

"The roof of the Met Life Building."

If Mary Jane had been holding a glass in her hand, she would have dropped it. "You're serious, aren't you?" she asked, stunned.

"Yeah. Great view from up there. . . ." Suddenly, his expression turned anxious.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, M.J. Bad idea," he replied as he silently reprimanded himself for being so insensitive. "Swinging around the city probably holds too many bad memories for you."

"Oh, no, no," she replied quickly, anxious to recapture the intimacy that was in danger of being lost and remembering the feeling of exhilaration she'd experienced as he carried her away from the Unity Festival. "To tell you the truth, I really liked that part of it. I'd love to do it again."

"You sure?" he questioned.

M.J.did not hesitate. "Yes!" she said, throwing her arms around his neck, "just don't drop me."

He grinned at her. "Guaranteed," he said. "It's getting chilly out. You'll need to put on a coat. Try and make it a dark one if you can."

She freshened up and slipped on a charcoal-colored sweater and her own black leather jacket before they left the apartment. They did not go out the window, as she half-expected. Instead, they went downstairs and walked a few blocks from her building. After checking to make sure no one was watching them, Peter motioned her into an alley. She noticed that he made no effort to put on his costume, and wondered why he wasn't wearing it.

"You're not changing?" she asked, puzzled.

"Don't have to," he said with a nonchalant smile. "Why do you think I asked you to wear dark clothes? I get around pretty quickly up there, so I doubt that anyone will see us."

That wasn't exactly what she meant. "But . . . what if . . .something . . . happens?"

"Pray that it doesn't," Peter told her. He desperately hoped that, for once, he would be able to give Mary Jane his undivided attention. "I'm afraid that insurance won't cover this trip, M.J., so I'm going to have to strap you down very tight. You don't get seasick, do you?"

"No."

"Great. Now, jump on my back and put your arms around me. . . No, no, not around my neck . . . you're strangling me. . . That's it. . .Lock your legs around mine. Put your chin on my shoulder and raise your arms. . . Good." When Mary Jane was in position, Peter fired both of his weblines at a point on the wall about twenty feet away. The lines fanned wide so that they formed a net. Peter spun around, cocooning them both in that net. Mary Jane's neck, torso, and legs were strapped tightly to Peter's body, held fast by chords strong enough to tow an aircraft carrier. Yet her arms and feet were left free to move around so that her circulation would not be cut off. Her face was almost cheek-to-cheek with his.

To make sure that her spine was immobile, he jumped a few feet off the ground and danced from side to side, spinning and weaving like a boxer. If she wasn't secured while they were aloft, any sudden change in direction at high speeds would generate a whiplash powerful enough to break her neck instantly.

"You comfortable, M.J.?"

She gave him a thumbs-up sign, making him think of his uncle Ben.

With no further warning, he jumped sixty feet into the air, caught the wall with his hands, and started climbing rapidly. To Mary Jane, it felt like being in a fast-moving express elevator. In less than a minute, they had scaled a fifty-story building. When they reached the roof, he rocketed toward the opposite edge, building momentum for take-off. She was amazed that he could run at full speed with a hundred and two pounds of redhead strapped to his back. Judging from how fast they were moving, he probably didn't even feel her weight. Suddenly, they were airborne. Peter fired a webline as he leaped off the edge of the building, and the two of them arced skyward.

Manhattan was spread out at dusk beneath them, lights ablaze. They sailed between skyscrapers at speeds no human being should have been able to achieve. They were no longer just arcing up and down, but sideways as well, their trajectory guided by centrifugal forces.

"How ya doin' M.J.?" Peter shouted, trying to make himself heard over the rush of air pounding against his ears. He refrained from aeriel acrobatics as much as he could, so that Mary Jane wouldn't suffer vertigo.

Mary Jane flashed him another thumbs-up. She was having the time of her life, soaring through Manhattan's concrete canyons at two hundred miles an hour. Just as it looked like they would smash into a building, Peter would fire a webline at the last second and they would careen off in a different direction. It was absolutely exhilarating, and, amazingly, she felt neither queasiness nor fear. But she did smile privately to herself about the fact that Peter could be such an acrobat in the sky but a klutz on the ground. Maybe it was just an act . . . secret identity stuff, she thought.

The initial leg of their flight path took them directly over Chinatown. Peter directed Mary Jane's attention to Lyric Theater, where her show was playing, and where she would return for next Saturday's matinee, after what was to have been her honeymoon. Before long, they were coming up on the Empire State Building. For some odd reason, the lyrics to an old Moody Blues song that she once heard on the radio kept coming to mind .

Once beneath the stars.

They rounded the Empire State Building and used their momentum to slingshot themselves a distance of over eight city blocks. You can fly, you can fly. . . Top this, Peter Pan, Mary Jane sang as she spread her arms like wings. Peter, meanwhile let out a triumphant "whooooooo-hoooooooo!" He was definitely taking the scenic route, because they were heading toward Times Square. The Met Life Building was in the opposite direction.

The universe was ours.

As they hurtled past the Daily Bugle building, Mary Jane shouted, "Hey Jonah, you puny purveyor of pusillanimity! Take that!" and flipped him the finger. Even if Jameson had somehow managed to hear her, she knew they would be gone by the time he turned around to look out his window. She laughed at the irony of the situation, for if Jonah everfound out that she'd jilted his son for, of all people, Spider-Man, it would really send him over the edge. Of course, she still felt terrible about John. And she still worried about reprisals. But that aside, she relished being the instrument of Spider-Man's revenge. Serves him right for destroying Peter's reputation, she thought fiercely.

Love was all we knew.

They flew over Times Square, 42nd Street, Hell's Kitchen, and the Theater District. "Take a look down there," Peter shouted as he showed her the Winter Garden Theater. "That's where you'll be very soon!" Mary Jane flashed a broad grin and pushed her cheek up to his.

And all I knew was you.

They reached their destination. The Met Life Building had a large flat roof that housed what used to be a heliport. The heliport closed a long time ago, after a fatal accident. Timing his arc with a surgeon's precision, Peter let go of his webline on the upward swing. They were moving so fast that they bounced like a B-17 when they landed. Mary Jane counted three bounces before they finally came to a stop.

"Welcome to my world, M.J. Did you have a good flight?" he asked as he tore the webbing loose so that she could dismount.

"Oh, God, yes!" she answered as she slid off his back, her heart beating faster than his. "Peter, that was just unbelievable. I felt so . . . free."

"One does feel a little closer to God up here." Peter told her. He would know. Usually when he went up there, it was to complain to God about all the misfortunes that had befallen him. There would be no complaining tonight, however.

High above the streets of Manhattan, Peter and Mary Jane watched the sun go down over New Jersey. They sat together on the cold concrete, cheek-to-cheek, rubbing each other's hands to keep warm in the Mid-April evening chill. As they turned toward each other, he again saw in her gorgeous green eyes that same sparkling laughter that always sent his soul soaring amidst the heavens.

"Tell me something, Mister Parker," she said softly in a clipped British accent. "Did you actually believe that I could marry the good captain after learning that you loved me all along, not to mention that twas you who saved my arse upon numerous occasions?" She was intentionally parodying Cecily Cardew, her character from Earnest. "It appears that these two years past, you have been deceiving me, leading a double-life, pretending to be wicked, when all along, you were really being good. I ask you sir, have you not scaled the heights of hypocrisy with the same facility as you scale these magnificent edifices?"

"Indeed I have my dear Miss Watson," Peter responded. He tried his best to remember the diction and mannerisms of Algernon Moncrieff, but instead came off like a character right out of Shakespeare. "Though blessed be I with the power of the gods, that power is but a brutal curse that has kept thee from my arms. How my heart ached for thee as I roamed the twilight realms, even as my mind told me that you would be safe in the Captain's warm embrace. Though guilty I plead to the charge of keeping my feelings for thee locked away inside me, the thought of thy demise was far too great a burden for my poor heart to bear. Forgive me, dear lady."

Whatever advice about poetry that Peter had taken from Otto Octavius, he'd obviously learned his lessons well, Mary Jane thought, very well. Once again, Peter was expressing his feelings for her so eloquently that it melted M.J.'s heart like butter in a hot pan. And once again, as she had when she read his poem about love lost, she felt her emotions rising up like a tidal wave behind her eyes. Now it was her turn to wax poetic. "Come home to me my Flying Dutchman," she whispered, tears running down her cheeks. "Cease thy restless wanderings amidst these urban canyons, that I may hold thee in my arms and proclaim my love for thee everlasting."

She caressed his face as she spoke those words, lifting her mouth toward his. She was about to kiss him when she noticed the abandoned heliport terminal out of the corner of her eye . It was a one-story structure that occupied about a third of the roof. A thought struck her, and she seized upon it. She stood up and motioned him to walk over there with her.

"Peter, do you think that you could . . .?"

He knew immediately what she had in mind. He took off his shoes, so that his feet would adhere to the wall and his hands could be free. Then he jumped up, did a backflip, and in less than a second, he was hanging upside down, his face even with hers.

"Perfect," she whispered, and with that, their lips came together in a kiss that made the one in the alley seem like a peck on the cheek by comparison. Not just their nerves but their entire bodies were aflame—it was as if they had merged and transformed into a white-hot fireball of their own creation. Mary Jane felt certain that neither Flash, nor Harry, nor even John would have survived the surge of raw passion flowing through them at that moment. As for Peter, he felt twenty feet tall, like Bruce Banner might have felt if he had been engulfed by unlimited joy instead of uncontrollable rage. His heart bursting with pride, he leapt onto the roof of the terminal with Mary Jane in his arms and roared, "I LOVE YOU MARY JANE WATSON!" For so long he had those words bottled up inside him, unable to let them out. And now, at last, he was finally able to say them directly to the object of his affections. Not to be outdone, Mary Jane shouted, "AND I LOVE YOU PETER PARKER!" at the top of her lungs. For better or worse, no one else could hear them.

"You know Pete," Mary Jane said as she lay stretched out beside Peter on the roof of the terminal, trying to put into words what she was feeling, "It's like . . .every thing else just vanished. John, the money situation, the wedding . . . it all just melted away as if nothing else mattered. I wish this could last forever . . . city lights below—stars above—and us in between . . . no problems, no responsibilities, just each other."

"So do I, M.J.," he whispered as he struggled to catch the rising Moon's reflection in her beautiful emerald eyes. "More than you could ever know. I just wish . . ."

"What?" she asked expectantly as she slipped a hand beneath his neck and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Peter felt overwhelmed. There was so much he had to say, so much to deal with . . . Tell her about Harry, dammit! Give her the straight scoop, like you said you said you would! She's got to know! But he wasn't ready for reality to intrude upon their marvelous reverie. He did not want to wake up from this wonderful dream.

"I wish I could take back all the times that I hurt you, Mary Jane" His voice was starting to break. "All those times that it looked like I was acting like a jerk, screwing around with your feelings and all . . ."

"Hey," Mary Jane said softly as she again caressed his cheek. "I'm okay with it. You did what you thought was right. So don't keep torturing yourself about it, okay?"

She rolled over on top of him and kissed him eagerly on the lips again. As their kiss lengthened, they opened their mouths wide and allowed their tongues to meet. An enormous sense of gratitude engulfed Peter as he realized that he and Mary Jane were finally ready to build a life together. Their love for each other was so strong that nothing and no one would ever come between them again. He felt her shivering as he wrapped his arms even more tightly around her. He also felt himself growing as her pelvis pressed intimately against his.

"Are you ready to go back?" he asked gently.

"Y-Y-Y-Yes," she answered. Her teeth may have been chattering as she smiled at him, but in her eyes he saw the unmistakable gleam that signaled arousal.

He rubbed her back lightly but quickly to get her warm. Then he motioned her to get up and climb aboard. As soon as she was in position, he secured her into place with his webbing, just as he'd done before. Then he fired a line at the Chrysler Building, and together, they swung off into a night sky dominated by a full moon.