TWIN DEMONS by Georgia Kennedy
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.
XVII
SAFE HAVEN
It was a running joke throughout the Big Apple's journalism community that Eddie Brock was J. Jonah Jameson's true son. Obnoxious with colleagues and arrogant with underlings, he was held in contempt by everyone in the Daily Bugle organization except his boss, for whom he had raised apple-polishing to an art. In fact, his entire sense of self was little more than a reflection in the irascible publisher's mirror. So it was only natural that he would subscribe to Jameson's notion that Spider-Man was a reckless vigilante, as much a danger to society as the criminals he purportedly fought. Jonah's crusade against the webslinger became his cause célèbre, at least to the extent that he could cash in on it.
As he rode the subway, his trenchcoat dripping wet, his ears still ringing from Jonah's dressing down over being spotted, Brock reflected on his lot in life. A man of medium stature, he had a large head, dark blonde curly hair, and a proboscis for a nose that made him stand out in a crowd and forced him to abandon his dream of becoming an undercover F.B.I. agent. But old ambitions had been supplanted by new ones. In his own mind, he was a first-rate journalist, the Daily Bugle's star reporter, the go-to guy who wrote the articles that sold Mr. Jameson's newspaper. He was eagerly counting the days until that old gasbag Robertson retired and he would be named City Editor. From there, he would be groomed as Mr. Jameson's heir, the Bugle's next Publisher. Each assignment successfully concluded would bring him a step closer to that goal.
Yesterday, Mr. Jameson had given Brock his latest marching orders; keep Mary Jane Watson's beautiful ass under surveillance until she rendezvoused with Spider-Man, then capture the moment. Catching them frenching on a rooftop would be great; catching them in a carnal embrace would be even better. Either way, he would probably nail the crawler without his mask on and earn his boss's eternal gratitude, and maybe even a Pulitzer Prize.
Unfortunately, his hands were tied. Acceding to John's demands, Mr. Jameson had made it very clear that Mary Jane Watson's career was not to be jeopardized in any way. As Brock thought about the aborted wedding, he began to feel contempt for the jilted groom. The younger Jameson may have been a brave astronaut, but he was also a schmuck for letting his ex-fiancée treat him like dirt and get away with it. Eddie would never have stood for that bullshit. He would never have let that Watson bitch trample all over him like that. He would have used every means at his disposal to make sure that she never found another job again, except possibly waiting tables. But orders were orders, and he would have to do it Mr. Jameson's way if he ever wanted to get his hands on that bonus, or his next promotion.
As Brock mulled over his limited options, he became convinced that he would actually be doing that back-stabbing tart a huge favor by exposing her as Spider-Man's squeeze. It would make her far more famous than she would ever be as the second-rate actress she was, he thought sarcastically. Hell, it would probably send her box office drawing power through the roof and land her on Regis, Oprah, and the Today Show, maybe even Saturday Night Live, the epitome of fame in Eddie's limited imagination.
The only trouble was that Ms. Watson was on to him. There's no way that tramp should've been able to see me, he thought, pissed off at how easily M.J. had caught him off guard. When Eddie spotted her inside the Lyric Theater, he had taken up a position in an alley across the street, well beyond the reach of the street light that illuminated its entrance. She was talking to some blind guy when, out of the blue, she started waving at him. He started to think that the blind man had somehow tipped her off, but, being practical minded, he quickly dismissed that notion. More likely, he got careless and let his guard down, a mistake he would not repeat.
Brock knew the building where Mary Jane lived. While M.J. had been dating John, Mr. Jameson, out of concern for her safety and with his son's blessing, had ordered Eddie to make sure that she had gotten home safely. He would secretly tail her each night as she made the trip from the Lyric. Sometimes she would take the subway, but not today, since the nearest station was seven blocks away and the rain was still coming down in buckets. He was sure that she would be taking a taxi home this evening. He would be waiting when she arrived.
Eddie had once innocently asked Mr. Jameson what floor Mary Jane's apartment was on, but was told in no uncertain terms that it was none of his business. His instructions were to go home once Mary Jane had reached her front door. Finding out that crucial tidbit of information won't be a problem now, he grinned. He imagined that Mr. Jameson would only be too happy to let him know what window Spider-Man would be crawling into.
But it was too bad that little punk Peter Parker quit, he grumbled. Parker was the camera guy and the expert on Spider-Man. Having him on board would have made the whole thing a lot easier. Now Eddie would have to track the webslinger by himself. But it couldn't be that hard, especially if a dweeb like Parker could do it. In fact, he would go one better. He would use videotape. All he had to do was get a good videocam, practice, and wait. With time and patience, the scoop of the century would be his, not to mention a fortune from the T.V. networks, who would pay him the moon just to get their hands on his footage.
The train, meanwhile, had arrived at Mary Jane's stop. Brock decided that he would hang around her building on the hunch that Spider-Man might show up. Fat chance of that happening in this weather, but what the hell? he mused. He didn't relish the prospect of another cold shower, but he didn't have an umbrella and there was no place that he could find shelter from the rain without losing his vantage point. He would wait for about fifteen minutes, and if he didn't see her, he would call it a night and resume his surveillance when the rain let up.
His reporter's luck held. Just as he was emerging from the subway, he saw a taxi pulling up to the building's entrance. The rear door opened and Mary Jane got out. She was with someone. He squinted hard through the heavy downpour, oblivious to its cold sting. Could it be? he thought, shocked at seeing Mary Jane with . . . Peter Parker? What the hell is he doing here? he wondered as he tried to eavesdrop on their conversation. As far as he could tell, they appeared to be shouting at each other. After a few minutes, he saw Mary Jane suddenly belt Parker across the chops. Then he heard Parker threaten to sue her as she disappeared through her revolving door.
It didn't take the normally obtuse Eddie Brock long to get wind of what was happening. Parker must have gotten a job with the New York Post and was now trying to out-scoop the Bugle on the "Spider-Man's girlfriend" story. That little twerp must've pushed his way into the taxi with her, he figured. At the same time, he couldn't help feeling a twinge of admiration for Peter at having turned on Jameson, and then on Spider-Man for what surely had to have been a huge price offered by the Bugle's chief rival. And to think he had Parker pegged as a doormat, he mused. Maybe Parker was a hustler after all; he had certainly pulled the wool over Jameson's eyes with that do-gooder act of his. But Parker's move left Brock with a tactical and strategic problem. Either that sewer rat had an incredible run of good luck or, more likely, he had an insider's knowledge of the wallcrawler's habits, without which Eddie would be at a huge disadvantage. He would have to work fast if he was to have any chance at beating Parker to the scoop.
Suddenly, in what was for Eddie Brock a remarkable flash of intuition, the entire solution to his problem fell neatly into place. Why not just tail Parker and let him lead the way to Spider-Man? He wouldn't even have to worry about tracking the webslinger; he would let Parker do it for him. When Parker nailed that guy, he would be right there, videocam ready. All he had to do was to find out Parker's address and monitor his comings and goings. Confident of victory, he slipped back into the subway and headed home, already formulating his new surveillance strategy.
That the gorgeous Mary Jane Watson could have dumped an all-American hero for the likes of Peter Parker was so outlandish that the idea never even entered Eddie Brock's normally fallow mind. That Parker himself could actually be Spider-Man was even further beyond his comprehension.
XXXXXXXXXX
"L'amo cosí, too," Mary Jane repeated softly as she held Peter in her arms under the Lyric's marquee. They were locked together like magnets, neither wanting to let go of the other. Peter closed his eyes and allowed a deep wave of peace to wash over him. At last, he could stop struggling and rest. After a long minute of basking in Mary Jane's delicious presence, he unzipped the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"I saved this for you, M.J." he said softly as he handed it to her.
She unfolded it, and beheld Peter's Flying Dutchman poem, peek-a-boo picture and all. One of the words near the end was a bit smudged from a tear that had fallen on it, her tear.
"Oh, Peter," she whispered, a rush of passion engulfing her as she hugged him again. "I'm going to frame this and put in on my night stand, so it'll be the second thing I see when I wake up every morning."
"What'll be the first thing?" Peter asked, raising his eyebrows.
"You," she said as she kissed him deeply on the lips once more. She immediately put the poem in her purse, making sure the rain couldn't get to it.
The Japanese busker, meanwhile, had completed her number and was doing an encore, now that the size of her audience had doubled. Peter never liked that song. He grimaced, as he always did, when he heard the line about having radioactive blood.
"I think she's got me confused with Bruce Banner," he said with a rueful smile, well out of the musician's earshot.
"Wanna tell her about the superspider?" M.J. asked giddily.
"I don't think she'd believe me," Peter quipped as he gently rubbed her back. "Heck, I'm not even sure I'd believe me."
They had been apart for only three days, but it seemed like an eternity. They had so many things to say to each other, so much to catch up on. But first, they had to get out of this awful rain. Mary Jane was about to go back inside the theater to call a cab when, as if by magic, a taxi turned the corner and pulled right up to them. M.J. waved at Waldo, graciously acknowledging his alertness. Waldo smiled back as he closed the door, turned off the lights, and locked up the Lyric for the night. He never got a clear view of the slender young man with her.
But Peter had recognized Waldo immediately, and quickly turned his head away. "You think that guy would've been so accommodating if he'd seen me?" he asked Mary Jane dryly as they got into the taxi, remembering all too vividly his unfortunate previous encounter with the haughty usher.
Mary Jane shrugged her shoulders. "I dunno, Tiger," she giggled softly. "Maybe we should ask him."
"No thanks," Peter said emphatically as he breathed in the faint but still tantalizing aroma of her perfume. "I hope you didn't worry about me too much."
"Of course I did," M.J. replied with her priceless grin as she leaned back and opened her arms, inviting him into her warm embrace.
Neither of them said a word during the trip back to her apartment. They were kissing intensely, steaming up the taxi's windows, much to the young Hispanic cabbie's bemusement. Yet, even in the midst of their ardor, Mary Jane had a niggling sense that something was off, ever so slightly.
Her perception was remarkable. As Peter rested his head on Mary Jane's lap, he thought about the roller coaster he had been on since he had last seen her. He had saved a former boss from deportation, stopped a terrorist attack, rescued four children from a potentially deadly fire, thwarted a jewelry store robbery, broken up a gang fight, and landed two more jobs, all while cramming for three finals and struggling to finish a term paper. But Harry Osborn's mental collapse, and Officer Paul Davis's brutal murder still weighed heavily on his mind. His impulse to blame himself for those occurrences had put the kibosh on any urge he might have had to celebrate his considerable accomplishments.
Peter had stopped briefly at the Bergen-Fitzgerald Funeral Home that morning for the veteran police officer's viewing, hoping he could find solace by apologizing to Davis in person. As he quietly filed past the open casket to pay his respects, he couldn't help but be impressed by the wonderful job the morticians had done. Davis was smiling slightly, his expression calm and peaceful, the fatal bullet wound in his neck well camouflaged. For an instant, Peter marveled that Davis just didn't just open his eyes, get up, and walk away. But the dreadful thought that this would be the last day that Officer Davis's face would ever see daylight had forcefully brought Peter back to his final moments with Uncle Ben, and to the overwhelming sense of guilt associated with those memories. Although Peter couldn't acknowledge it consciously, his demons had given him a messiah complex, so much so that he came to view the loss of even one life as a catastrophic failure, regardless of whether he could have actually prevented it. "Forgive me," he had murmured as he stared at the body, hoping that if he tried hard and saved enough lives, the good Lord might overlook his sins, or at least not demand a pound of flesh from his loved ones.
"Forgive me," he repeated in the back seat of the taxi, so lost amid his own thoughts that he didn't realize he had broken the kiss until he felt Mary Jane lightly stroking his stubble-covered cheek.
"You're forgiven, for whatever you did or didn't do," Mary Jane whispered, gently bringing him back to the present.
The darkness inside the cab was punctuated by the transitory glow from street lights and passing vehicles. And in those brief moments of illumination, Mary Jane could see in Peter's ocean-blue eyes the hollow expression of a wanderer who had staggered into an oasis after having endured the worst the desert could dish out. Those eyes were surrounded by huge dark circles, a sure sign of prolonged sleep deprivation.
"Peter, are you all right?" M.J. asked, her concern for his well-being evident in her soft, musical voice.
"Yeah fine.," Peter answered with a sigh, still mentally juxtaposing Officer Davis and Uncle Ben. "I've got a lot on my mind, that's all. It's been quite a week, you know."
"I'll bet it has," Mary Jane said soberly, resisting the urge to thank Peter for stopping the terrorists in the presence of a stranger.
"Sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds, but we're here," the cabbie informed them in heavily accented English as the taxi arrived at its destination.
As they got out of the taxi, Peter handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill. "Keep the change," he said with a tired smile.
"Hey, man, muchas gracias," the cabbie responded gratefully as Peter and Mary Jane made a dash for her revolving door.
"My, we're in a generous mood today," M.J. observed as they reached the porch. Peter was about to tell her about his good fortunes in the job market when suddenly his spider-sense went off.
"What's the matter?" she asked as she saw his eyes went widen and his head jerk up sharply.
"Someone's watching us from the subway station across the street." he said in a low voice. "I think he saw us get out of the taxi together."
Mary Jane knew perfectly well who it was. "Eddie Brock," she said matter-of-factly.
"Huh?" Peter gaped. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah," she replied, her lovely features twisting into a frown. "Just before you got to the theater, I caught him spying on me from across the street. That asshole must've followed us." She knew without being told not to look in Brock's direction.
"Jameson doesn't waste any time," Peter said sardonically as he quickly brought Mary Jane up to speed on what had transpired at the Bugle the day before, including his conversation with her ex-fiancé. They both realized the trouble they were in. If John could figure out that Peter was Spider-Man just from the fact that he and Mary Jane were together, it would not be a stretch for Jonah to draw the same conclusion. Peter shuddered inwardly as he realized the magnitude of the disaster that John had helped him avert, a disaster that would have been of his own making. And not even Matt Murdock would have been able to protect them from the fallout that would surely have resulted.
As mortified as she was at Eddie Brock's blatant intrusion, Mary Jane had to laugh when Peter mentioned Jameson's promise of a bonus for catching her with Spider-Man. At the same time, she was deeply moved by her former flame's quick thinking in staving off his old man's incessantly inquiring mind, and his selflessness in promising never to reveal what he knew about Peter. With a creativity spurred on by extreme necessity, she rapidly devised a countervailing strategy. "Does Brock know you quit?" she asked.
"I think so."
"Good. Then let's do some improvisation. It's kind of like acting, but it's unscripted. Pretend that you got a job with another paper, and that you're hounding me for gossip about Spider-Man."
At first, Peter thought Mary Jane was crazy, but he quickly caught on to her logic. Their off-the-cuff skit would disabuse Brock of the notion that M.J. was dating Peter, if they could pull it off.
"I don't know that I can do this, M.J." he said anxiously.
"You can," she assured him. "You act like a smart ass every time you put that mask on. Now, just trust me and go along with it."
Peter had never thought of himself as an actor. But having seen Eddie Brock in action more than he cared to, he had a pretty good idea of what to do. "Um . . . Is it true, Miss Watson, that you dumped your groom for Spider-Man?" He was getting right into her face the way Eddie would, even mimicking the obnoxious reporter's grating style of questioning and his whiney, nasal voice.
"That's good, Peter, " Mary Jane whispered reassuringly as she ad-libbed, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Who do you think you're kidding, Miss Watson?" he asked loudly, hamming it up with a bit of artificial sarcasm. "Come on, how long have you been dating Spider-Man?"
"Look Sherlock, I'm not gonna tell you again!" Mary Jane snapped, doing a great job of appearing angry and flustered at being harassed by a paparazzo. Using well-honed emoting techniques she had picked up from Robin Kelly, she brought her mind back to the time before her great awakening, back to when she thought Peter was a flighty, irresponsible jerk who did not care a whit about her feelings. She was surprised at how easily she was able to do it. "You've got three seconds to get your ass outta hear before I call the cops!" she yelled, wondering if Brock was buying it.
Peter was wondering the same thing. Suddenly, he had an idea that he hoped would make their performance thoroughly convincing. "Slap me," he whispered.
Mary Jane hadn't been anticipating having to take their performance that far. "Is that really necessary?" she asked a little anxiously.
Peter nodded affirmatively. He did not want to take any chances that Brock might see through their deception. "Hit me as hard as you want," he told M.J. with a reassuring smile. "It won't hurt, I promise. Just make it look good."
"Okay Tiger," she said reluctantly. "But just remember, you asked for it." Channeling every ounce of her acting talent into that moment, Mary Jane cut loose and slapped Peter hard across the face, perhaps a little harder than she had wanted to. "Are you deaf as well as dense!" she shouted, putting on a hell of a good show for the smarmy tabloid journalist standing in the rain half a block away. "Now beat it!" Immediately afterward, she whispered. "Meet me at the back door." And with that, she turned and stomped into her lobby, feigning indignation all the way.
Damn, she's good, Peter thought, admiring how even her posture — back and shoulders held rigid with manufactured anger — had struck the perfect note. "You'll be hearing from my lawyer, Miss Watson!" he shouted as he walked quickly away, once again getting drenched. He did not stop walking until his spider-sense told him that Brock had gone. Then he turned back and, with lightning speed, ducked into the alley behind her building and immediately spotted the door he was looking for. No sooner had he knocked when the door opened and a pair of soft feminine hands reached out into the rainy night and yanked him inside. The arms to which those hands were attached encircled him once more as the door closed by itself.
XXXXXXXXXX
Ten minutes later, they were back in the safety and comfort of Mary Jane's apartment, warming up on her sofa, courtesy of dry clothes, hot tea, and a gently hissing space heater. Peter was a sight for M.J.'s sore eyes in the white turtleneck and blue trousers he had left last Monday. And she was absolutely driving him crazy in her low-slung black athletic pants and sexy half-tank top that barely covered her breasts.
Their wet clothes were hanging on Mary Jane's shower curtain. And, for the second time that week, his costume was running through her washer. On her coffee table lay the mail she had retrieved: two bills, a credit card offer from Citibank, and a complimentary copy of the Village Voice.
"It was awfully smart of you to leave your stuff here," Mary Jane observed as she sipped her tea. "You're just lucky your underwear stayed dry."
"I guess so," Peter responded with relief, feeling more at home in her place than he ever did in that miserable excuse for an apartment he was living in.
M.J. had been cuddling next to him on the couch. She reached up and caressed the cheek where she had struck him earlier. She had half-expected to see a red spot, but there was none. "Are you sure that didn't hurt?" she asked, amazed at his resilience.
"Didn't feel a thing," he replied confidently. "You're such a terrific actress, M.J. That was definitely one of your best performances."
"You didn't do such a bad job yourself, Tiger," she grinned. "I only hope it was worth the trouble."
Peter lightly caressed her cheek. "I'm sure it bought us some time," he said cautiously. "But I should warn you. Eddie may be a brockhead, but he's persistent. I guarantee you he'll be back."
Mary Jane laughed merrily at Peter's insulting wordplay with Brock's name. "I hate to say this, Pete, but a thousand bucks for a make-out pic with Spider-Man is kind of cheap."
"You know Jameson," Peter shrugged, catching sight of the sparkling mischief in her eyes. "The man pinches every penny he manages to get his grubby little hands on."
Mary Jane's face suddenly lit up. "Tell you what," she suggested with a giggle. "Why don't we shoot the picture he wants and charge him forty thousand for it?"
"Great idea, M.J.," Peter said wryly. "But why stop there? How about fifty?"
"Sixty then," she said playfully upping the ante.
"Going once, twice, three times . . . Sold . . . to the beautiful red-haired lady in the back."
She nuzzled her face next to his while he pretended to hold a camera out in front of them.
"Oops," he chuckled. "I forgot to load the camera." Suddenly, he started tickling her sides. Mary Jane laughed as she twisted around in his arms, her back arching as she reacted to the wonderful tingling sensation generated by his electrical fingers. She heartily reciprocated, slipping her hands beneath his turtleneck and working her way up to his armpits, softly brushing the rock-hard slabs of warm, rippled muscle in his stomach and chest. He could not remember the last time he ever had such a good laugh.
"I always wondered if Spider-Man was ticklish," she quipped as their mirth subsided, delighted to find out that he was. She gazed deeply and lovingly into his eyes and saw that he was having a lot of trouble keeping them open.
"Have you been getting enough sleep?" she inquired softly, almost seductively.
"Well . . . I . . . er . . ." he stuttered, caught off guard momentarily.
"Come on Peter," she said in a tone that was at once gentle and stern. "Tell me the truth."
"If you really want to know, I haven't gotten any sleep since the last time I was here." he answered sheepishly, for once not trying to hide reality, or even shade it.
"Shame on you!" she said teasingly, uncannily reminding him of Aunt May. "You could get sick, staying up like that."
"You're right, M.J." Peter agreed. "Believe me, I had every intention of going to bed at a decent hour. But it was finals week and . . . there were . . . lots of . . . disturbances . . ." He was giving her that lost-puppy look that she found so incredibly endearing.
"Peter Parker," Mary Jane quipped as her arms encircled him, "if you think for one minute that I'm going to fall for that clumsy . . . idiotic . . . lame excuse again . . . you're absolutely . . . positively . . . definitely right!" Their lips came together as she pulled him down on top of her, igniting their passions once again. God, he's so hot, she thought wickedly as she slipped her hands beneath his shirt, intent on taking it off this time. Too hot, she suddenly realized. She quickly broke their kiss and touched her lips to his forehead. "See, what did I tell you?" she said pointedly. "You've got a fever."
"That's 'cause I got the hots for you, babe," Peter crooned, trying to entertain her with a little spidey humor as he attempted to resume the kiss.
"Come on, Peter, be serious. Let me take your temperature." She led him into her bedroom and made him lie down. Reaching into her night stand drawer, she pulled out an ear thermometer and stuck it in one ear, then the other.
"A hundred and two," she said worriedly, sounding very much like the mother she would one day become.
Peter rolled over, genuinely surprised. "Really?"
She showed him the thermometer's liquid crystal display. "Don't you feel it?" she asked, even more worried that he might not even be capable of acknowledging his own illness.
"Well, to be honest, I'm a bit tired and chilly, but other than that, I feel basically okay."
"I think you'd better take some Motrin, and go to sleep," Mary Jane tenderly admonished, not bothering to hide her disappointment at having to put off lovemaking. She went into the bathroom and quickly returned with a bottle of generic Ibuprofen and a cup of water. She watched in astonishment as he popped two caplets into his mouth and chewed them like candy.
"You're supposed to swallow those," M.J. pointed out.
With a slight shock, Peter realized that he was already picking up Matt Murdock's bad habits. Unlike the older warrior , however, he needed the water to wash away the bitter after-taste. He downed it in one gulp and quickly slipped his clothes off under her thick, quilted blanket. Then he rolled back over on his stomach.
"M.J.?"
"What is it love?"
"Can I trouble you for a back rub?" he asked, his eyelids fluttering.
"Of course you can." Mary Jane beamed. It was about time he asked. She drew down the blanket, straddled his legs, and gently began rubbing her hands up and down his smooth, bare back, occasionally letting them slip beneath his underwear and touch his hot marble buns.
"Ohhh . . . boy, M.J, that feels sooooohhh good," Peter sighed as he vainly struggled to keep his eyes open. He wanted to reciprocate, but his lack of sleep was finally catching up with him. "Stay with me," he pleaded softly as he began to drift off into the netherworld where dreams and nightmares spawn.
"Shhh, I'm right here," Mary Jane said soothingly as she took off her pants and slipped under the covers herself. As she lay next to him, she felt an enormous sense of happiness that she was keeping her promise to take care of him. In the morning, God willing, his fever would be gone and his vitality, and virility, restored. Never again would he be alone, she vowed. She would always be there to give him a safe haven.
No, M.J. corrected herself, she would always be his safe haven. She turned the light off and kissed him softly on his ear. "I love you so much, Tiger," she whispered as she gently stroked his arm and shoulder. But Peter couldn't answer her. He was already asleep.